The Shift: Book II of the Wildfire Saga (46 page)

“Oh, that's better," he sighed.
 
"Now, where is he?"

"Where's who?" asked Alston.

The agent rolled his eyes.
 
"Really?
 
The Source.
 
The guy at least three different governments are hunting.
 
The guy you went to South Carolina to rescue and dragged out of that Russian prison."

Alston sighed and stood, sliding his rifle over his shoulder.
 
There was no way the Russians could have known everything Mosby had related.
 
He had to be legit.
 
"Follow me, he’s back there with—"

“Shit!” hissed Mosby.
 
He ducked behind Alston as 13 appeared from the vestry and limped to the altar.
 
Alston glanced at her, illuminated by lightning flashes through the stained glass window.
 
She looked more like an angel than someone that would cause a trained CIA agent to hide behind another man.

"Seriously? You brought
her?
"
 

13 rummaged around the altar for a moment, then Huntley’s voice from the vestry called her back.
 
Alston looked over his shoulder at the her as she peered around the darkened church.
 
13 accepted a bottle of water from one of the Marines at the altar and shuffled back into the vestry.
 
The door closed behind her as another clap of thunder rattled the church.
 

Alston chuckled.
 
“I have to admit, I wasn't thrilled when Huntley came out and demanded to rescue her as well…but I didn't have
that
reaction."
 

"That woman works for the enemy."

Alston raised an eyebrow and looked at Mosby.
 
"I don't think she's Russian," said Alston.
 
“Maybe Norwegian or something.”

"The enemy we're fighting does not know national borders.
 
Forget about Russians and Chinese and North Koreans.
 
The enemy we’re fighting is an international conglomerate—a syndicate.”

Alston slowly lowered himself into the pew.
 
He wiped the sweat from his brow and noticed how his hand trembled.
 
To cover the fever-shakes, he unstrapped his helmet and removed the armor from his head, basking in the coolness that kissed the back of his neck.
 
"So," he sighed, "should I break out the tinfoil hats now or…?"

Mosby sat down cautiously in the pew behind him.
 
He leaned forward and rested his arms on Alston's seat.
 
"I know, I thought it was a joke
 
when I first heard it, too.
 
Believe me, the United States government takes this group very,
very
seriously."

“Okay, I’ll bite.
 
Why exactly would the government worry about them?
 
Are they the Illuminati or something?"
 

Mosby tensed.
 
"Something like that.
 
Look," the agent said, as he scratched his injured cheek.
 
"These people are the ones that orchestrated the attack on Atlanta."

That got Alston's attention.
 
He half-turned in his seat and stared at the agent.
 
“Want to run that by me again?"

A crooked smile appeared on Mosby’s face.
 
Alston noticed for the first time the man looked like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life.
 
Black eyes, a nasty bruise around his throat
 
Who the hell is this guy?

"These assholes are the ones behind the nuke strike in Atlanta.
 
They're the ones that got the bio-weapon to North Korea, they're the ones that allowed the NKors to bring it inside our borders.
 
I've been on this case for three years now," he said and leaned back in his pew.
 
"The CIA's been hunting these people for as long as I've been alive.
 
They are threat Number One.
 
And she,” he said nodding toward the vestry, “works for them.”

Alston shook his head.
 
"You mean to tell me that with all the resources that we have, we haven’t been able to round up a handful of people around the planet?” Alston shook his head again.
 
"I remember it took years to track down bin Laden back in the day, but we did it.
 
And you're telling me the government’s been trying to take these people down for what… 50 years?
 
They covert ops or what?”

Mosby nodded.
 
“They’re civilians.
 
For the most part, just wealthy individuals or businessmen and women.
 
I'm telling you, that woman you rescued works for the man in charge of their field operations.
 
His name is Reginald."

Alston laughed.
 
“Reginald?
 
Doesn’t sound very threatening.”
 
He looked at Deuce, who shrugged.
 
Alston turned back to Mosby:
 
"I wish one of you guys would come up with some kind of cool codename like…Nightstalker or something.
 
Reginald, hah!”

Mosby was not amused.
 
"I didn't come up with his name, okay?
 
His parents did—at least we
think
it's his real name."

“Good grief.
 
Okay, okay,” said Alston.
 
“So Huntley's girlfriend is some kind of—"

“What did you say?"
 

Alston flashed a smile.
 
"I think Huntley’s sweet on her.
 
Can't say I blame him—she's pretty easy on the eyes.”

“That woman is one of the more dangerous operatives that Reginald commands.
 
She's personally taken out three of our Counter-Terrorism boys.
 
I'm not talking fresh-out-of-training here, I'm talking hardened badasses.”
 
He turned and looked Alston square in the face.
 
"One of them came to us from the Rangers.”

The smile faded from Alston's face.
 

“We've got to get in there and separate her from the Source.
 
Right now, he’s the most sought after high-value target in the history of HVTs.
 
We've
got
to bring him back to the lab."

“That’s the plan,” agreed Alston.
 
He coughed, unable to hold it in any longer.
 
His chest felt so tight.
 
“But since the Russians shot down my ride, we’re sorta out of options at the moment.”
 

“Denver's a long walk from Kentucky,” confirmed Deuce.

Mosby stared at the door to the vestry.
 
“Leave that to me.
 
I have
 
transport available.”
 

Alston regarded the agent.
 
"Transport?
 
What kind of transport?
 
CIA give you a private jet or something?"
 

Mosby smiled smugly in the lightning-lit church.
 
"Yeah, something like that."

“Why the hell didn’t you say something earlier?"
 
Alston stood.
 
"Let's get the fuck out of here!”
 
He turned to Deuce.
 
"Go get—”
 

“Whoa there, cowboy.
 
I never said it was big enough for everybody.
 
You got what, five or six Marines, your Rangers, and yourself?"

Alston felt the hope die his chest.
 
Or maybe that was just the virus filling his airways with mucus.
 
"Yeah…"

"That's what I thought.
 
I have space for three people—it’s a small jet."
 

“So what are you suggesting?”
 
Alston rubbed at his burning eyes.
 

"I'm the agent in charge of this operation, so I'll be taking the Source with me.
 
You guys, unfortunately, will have to find your own way back to Denver.
 
However, once I reestablish comms, I'll make sure to send the cavalry…"
 
Mosby stood and put a hand on Alston’s shoulder.
 
"Nice talking with you boys, but I gotta get him out of here."

Now it was Alston’s turn.
 
He put a hand on Mosby’s chest and pushed him back.
 
"Sorry, but I can’t let you do that."

Mosby’s eyes shifted from Alston to the vestry door.
 
He didn't notice Deuce move up behind him like a ghost.

"What makes you think otherwise?"

Alston rolled his shoulders and felt a pop in his neck.
 
"My mission is to bring him home.
 
My
mission.
 
Nobody ever briefed me about you.
 
I don't know what the hell your ultimate goal is, but where he goes,
I
go."
 
Alston continued, ignoring Mosby’s frown: “And where I go, the men I'm responsible for go.
 
End.
 
Of.
 
Discussion."

"You're serious, aren't you?" said Mosby, hands on his hips.
 
“You’re one of those John Wayne, deep-blue hero guys, aren’t you?”
 
He sighed and looked at the floor.
 
"All right, all right.
 
Give me some time and I’ll see if I can round up transport for you and your men.
 
I'm taking the Source with me now, though—"

Alston shook his head.
 
"All due respect, Mr. Mosby, but
you
will not be taking him anywhere.
 
He will remain here under my protection until you return.
 
If you don't have transport for all of us, then we’ll figure out a way to get home on our own.”

Mosby stared at Alston, the muscles of his jaw working.
 
His eyes narrowed as he spoke, “Fine.
 
Have it your way."
 
He turned and started to walk away.
 
Looking over his shoulder he reached out one hand.
 
“I’ll need my pistol back, though.
 
This place isn’t safe anymore."

“Afraid of zombies?” asked Deuce.
 
“This place is a ghost town.”

Mosby shot him a dark look.
 
“I grew up here, Corporal.
 
A lot of my friends and family are going to die—if they haven’t already.
 
Just give me my fucking gun.”

“Hand it over, Corporal,” said Alston.
 
Whatever Mosby may be lying about, he was telling the truth right then, Alston could see it in his eyes.
 
When the door had shut behind Mosby, once more muffling the storm, Alston frowned.
 
"Everybody catch that?"

"
Roger that
," reported Garza’s voice.
 
"
I don't trust him, sir.
"

"
Ditto
," replied Gunny Morin. "
He’s moved two doors down, standing underneath the porch at the bank.
 
I got movement… He's got a sat-phone, sir
."

"Now what we do?" asked Deuce.
 
Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed, casting a pink glow over the interior of the church.
 

Alston put his helmet back on and felt the reassuring weight settle on his neck.
 
“I think it's time for us to go have a chat with Mr. Huntley and his girlfriend."

C
HAPTER
23

Denver, Colorado.

Emergency National Reserve Operations Center.

The Cave.

C
OOPER
CLENCHED
HIS
FIST
against the thick glass.
 
He was finally out of quarantine but it didn’t seem to make any difference.
 
There was yet another barrier in front of him.
 
He leaned against the observation window and stared at the infirmary on the other side.
 
Mike lay in the first cot next to the window, his breathing shallow and light.
 
He had more tubes sticking out of him than Cooper ever wanted to see.
 

A nurse in a biohazard suit stood in attendance, writing something on a checklist.
 
She looked up through the plastic bubble on her head and offered a sad, well-practiced smile of reassurance.
 
Cooper nodded his thanks and clenched his fist again.
 
He needed to hit something.
 
He needed to break something.
 
He needed to
do
something.