Читать книгу Operation: Midnight Tango - Linda Castillo - Страница 12

“Run!”

Zack didn’t wait for her to obey his command. Grabbing Emily’s hand, he dragged her from the locker room and into the main corridor.

A deafening alarm screeched intermittently, keeping perfect time with the blinking red strobes that ran along the walls. He tightened his grip on her hand and tugged her toward the personnel tunnel that would take them to the parking lot where a four-wheel-drive SUV waited, compliments of his contact at MIDNIGHT—a man Zack would happily kiss right now if he were around.

Unfortunately Emily was more interested in answers than running. Digging in her heels, she yanked her hand from his and turned on him, her expression frightened and angry. “What did you do?” she demanded. “What did you blow up? If you hurt someone—”

“I didn’t hurt anyone,” he cut in.

“I heard the explosion, damn it.”

“You heard a variation of a concussion grenade. All I did was add the timer. A lot of noise and smoke but no fire. It’s a diversionary tactic.”

“Why should I believe anything you say?”

“Maybe you prefer to go back in there with those nice men who were about to inject you.” Turning to her, he put his hands on her shoulders. When she tried to pull away, he squeezed just hard enough to make her hold still, listen to him. “Look, we don’t have time to discuss this. All you need to know is that you’re in danger. If we don’t get out of here pronto, they’re going to kill us.”

“Why?”

Because of me, he thought bitterly, and a hefty dose of self-recrimination rose inside him. The memory of Alisa’s death pressed into him with sharp, cruel fingers.

Shoving thoughts of the past back, he looked over his shoulder. “In a few seconds this place is going to be teeming with men who’ve been given orders to kill us on sight. If we don’t get through the personnel tunnel now, we’re toast.”

She looked pale and shaken despite the tough veneer she wore like a coat of armor. He could feel her shaking beneath his hands. Zack couldn’t blame her for being afraid, for not believing him. She thought he was a convict trying to escape. But he could tell she had good instincts. That those instincts were telling her to believe him. If he could only get her to listen to them.

“Trust me,” he said urgently. “I’ll tell you as much as I can once we’re safe.”

She didn’t pull away when he reached for her hand. They sprinted down the corridor at a reckless speed, rounded a corner and entered another hall. Ahead, two corrections officers manned the metal detector all personnel had to walk through to reach the tunnel.

Stopping abruptly, Zack lurched back, out of sight. “Damn it.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Metal detector.” He tugged the gun from his waistband, looked at it longingly, then tossed it into a darkened corner. “Let’s hope this goes the way I want it to.”

Both men looked up as Zack and Emily approached. A quiver of fear went through him when they raised their shotguns.

“Hold it right there,” the first man ordered. “Show me your badges. Now.”

Zack reached into his coat for the ID he’d stolen back at the infirmary. The photo on the badge didn’t look anything like him, but all he could do now was hope the officer didn’t notice.

“Hell of a night for a code,” he said casually.

“Ain’t that the truth,” officer number two muttered.

Vaguely Zack was aware of Emily holding out her badge, the officer looking closely at it, his shotgun ready at his side. Zack unclipped his own badge and held it out. He tensed as the officer looked at it, then at him. “That’s not your photo,” he said.

“Sure it is,” Zack returned smoothly.

The second officer came around the metal detector. “There a problem?”

Zack laughed. “Says this photo doesn’t look like me. Guess I’m too good-looking for my own good.”

The man eyed him suspiciously. “Where you headed?”

For the first time Emily spoke up. “Sarge sent us to do a perimeter patrol of the parking lot. Keep an eye on the vehicles.” She glanced at her watch. “We gotta run, boys, so make up you minds if that looks like him or not.”

Frowning, the officer passed the badge back to Zack. “Go.”

Zack didn’t have to be told twice.

THE PERSONNEL TUNNEL TOOK them to the employee exit. Emily hit the push bar on the double door and shoved it open. The cold predawn air hit her like a blast from a freezer, and she shivered.

“Where to now?” she asked.

“Keep walking.”

But midway to the parking lot Devlin stopped, as if listening, and looked over his shoulder toward the prison. “This is too easy. They had to have seen us on the cameras.”

“If they’d seen us, we’d be in custody already,” she said. “The SORT team doesn’t mess around.” The SORT team was the prison system’s version of a SWAT team.

“Unless their intent isn’t to take us into custody.”

For a moment the only sound came from their boots sinking into snow as they jogged across the parking lot. Around them the January night was bitterly cold. The occasional snowflake fell from a black sky, but the air was heavy with moisture, a precursor to a heavy snowfall.

“Over there.” He pointed toward a big white SUV parked in the far corner of the lot.

“Now you’re adding grand theft auto to your repertoire of charges?”

“My contact left it for me. There’s a GPS chip and a few other useful items hidden inside the wheel.” Taking her hand, he started toward the vehicle at a dead run. “Hurry.”

Contact? GPS system? Useful items? A dozen alarms were blaring simultaneously inside Emily’s head, most of which were warning her not to believe a word he said. She didn’t know what was going on or who to trust. The one thing she did know for certain was that this man was a convict. That he was escaping. That her employers at Lockdown, Inc. presumed she was helping him.

But she couldn’t explain what had taken place back in that locker room. Would Marcus Underwood and his men have hurt her if Zack hadn’t shown up when he did? What information could he possibly have that would be so valuable? Emily didn’t know the answers, but the possibilities chilled her to the bone.

When they reached the SUV, Zack went directly to the right front tire and knelt to open a small hidden compartment set into the wheel. Emily stared in shock as he withdrew a good-size drawstring satchel and a set of keys. She’d never seen a key holder like that before. “How did you know that was there?”

Grinning, he tossed the keys into the air and caught them with one hand. “Must be my lucky day.”

The tinny thwack! of a bullet penetrating steel punctuated the statement. Thwack! Thwack!

“Get down!”

The next thing Emily knew, she was being shoved to the ground. She got a mouthful of snow, and then Zack was on top of her. Thwack! Thwack! His body jerked with each gunshot. She could feel her own nerves jumping, terror beginning to flood her. Thwack!

“Damn it!”

She looked up to see the right front tire explode. Then her hand was locked within his and she was being dragged to her feet. “Run!”

She heard fear in his voice. Felt that same fear galloping through her own system. Adrenaline fed her muscles and within a few steps she was running full-out.

“Where to?” Zack shouted.

“My car. In the lot.”

“We’re sitting ducks in the lot.”

The pop of gunshots sounded behind them. Floodlights as bright as the sun flashed on. The outdoor sirens began to wail. Emily looked over her shoulder and saw a dozen men silhouetted against the prison walls.

“They’re shooting at us!” she said.

“I don’t know why that would come as a surprise.”

Something that felt like a red-hot baseball bat traveling at the speed of sound slammed into her upper arm. She yelped at the sudden burst of pain. The impact knocked her off balance. Her legs tangled. Zack’s hand was torn from hers as she went down hard on her stomach.

“Emily!”

She lifted her head, saw him rushing toward her, his face taut with horror. She had snow in her eyes. In her mouth. In her hair. Down the front of her shirt. For some reason, her arm was burning like the dickens.

“Are you hit?” He went to his knees beside her, reached for her, pulled her toward him. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think—”

“Damn it!”

She looked over to see his fingers probing the tear in her coat. Now how had that happened? Weren’t the SORT team marksmen supposed to be shooting at Zack? Since when had she become a target? “Oh, my God.”

“You’ve been shot.” He glanced over his shoulder, cursed. Four men in full SORT team assault gear were two hundred yards away and closing fast. “Can you run?”

“I don’t think I have a choice.”

Pulling her to her feet, he looked around. “We need a vehicle.”

“The utility garage.” She pointed with her good arm. “Over there.”

“Let’s move.” Taking hold of her uninjured arm, he tugged her into a run toward the corrugated-steel utility garage.

One of the four overhead doors stood partly open. Emily and Zack ducked under the door and burst into the building. Country music billowed from a radio atop a toolbox. Two ATVs were parked near the first bay. A small yellow bulldozer hulked in the corner. Two four-wheel-drive trucks with the Lockdown, Inc. logo on the doors sat at bays two and three.

A scrawny young man wearing insulated coveralls looked up from the engine he was working on. His face blanched at the sight of Zack. “You’re the escapee,” he said.

“I’m your worst nightmare if you don’t find us a vehicle pronto,” Zack said.

The young man looked as if he were about to swallow his tongue. “Take whatever you want.” He pointed. “If it were me, I’d go for the snowmobile. Weatherman says we’re going to get dumped on.”

Wondering what else could go wrong, Zack darted to the snowmobile, shot a hard look at the kid. “Where are the keys?”

The young man raised a trembling hand and pointed. “O-on the bulletin board,” he squeaked.

Emily crossed to the bulletin board, snatched the keys off a hook and tossed them at Zack. He caught them with one hand, then said, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll run out that door and forget you ever saw us.”

The wrench the kid was holding clattered to the floor. Backing away, he spun and sprinted through the door without looking back.

Emily watched him disappear into the falling snow. She could hear voices and shouting coming through the open door. No doubt the prison SORT team and tower guards were assessing the situation. It was only a matter of minutes before they stormed the place.

Somewhere in the distance an engine fired. She watched Zack pull a small bundle from the satchel and set it on the floor beneath one of the trucks.

“Give me that gas can,” he ordered.

Emily spotted the red can next to the workbench, picked it up and handed it to Zack. “What are you doing?”

“Just taking out a little insurance.” He placed the can next to the bundle, then dashed to the snowmobile, picked up two helmets and slid onto the seat. “Come here.”

She met him at the snowmobile. Her arm was burning and throbbing. Light-headed, she wondered if the wound was more than just a graze.

“You okay?” Eyeing her intently, he lifted one of the helmets and slid it gently onto her head.

“Oh, I’m just peachy. In the last half hour I’ve been taken hostage, shot at, lied to by people I thought were the good guys. No, I’m not okay! I want to know what the hell is going on.”

His eyes met hers as he fastened the strap beneath her chin. “Look, I didn’t mean to involve you. But I can’t leave you here. And there’s no time for me to explain right now, okay?”

It wasn’t okay, but she didn’t think it would help the situation if she started demanding answers now. She looked down at the hole that had been torn in her coat. Her stomach clenched when she saw the blood seeping through the sleeve.

As if reading her thoughts, Zack reached out and touched her arm. “As soon as we get out of here, I’ll find a place to stop and take care of your arm. I’m an EMT. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

It was ridiculous, but looking into his eyes, she believed him. “I can’t believe they shot me.” Of all the things that had happened, that was the one that bothered her the most. She’d been a member of the Lockdown, Inc. corrections team for three years. Her teammates were her friends. Her family. Surely the prison marksman had been aiming for Zack.

Hadn’t he?

His eyes darkened as he slid his own helmet over his head and fastened the strap. “I’m going to drive this thing like a bat out of hell. Put your arms around my waist and don’t let go. You got that?”

The motor purred like a big, wild cat as she slid onto the seat behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

An instant later the snowmobile’s steel shoes dug into the concrete. Sparks flew as the machine shot out the open door like a cannonball.

Once outside, Zack looked behind him toward the utility garage, holding what looked like a tiny television channel-changer in his hand. He depressed a button, then dropped the device into his coat pocket. “Hang on!”

The snowmobile took off like a racehorse out of the gate. Emily tightened her arms around Zack’s waist. She heard gunshots and shouting over the roar of wind coming through her helmet. Zack veered sharply, barely missing a light pole. They were heading toward a line of trees that would take them to the foothills of Idaho’s Bitterroot Mountain range when the garage exploded.

Even from a hundred yards away Emily felt the hot breath of the explosion. She glanced over her shoulder to see a ball of flames billow like a giant orange mushroom into the early-morning sky.

“I take it that wasn’t a concussion grenade,” she shouted to be heard over the whine of the engine, the roar of wind around her helmet.

“No,” he shouted over his shoulder. “But it might buy us some time if we’re lucky.”

“If we’re lucky?”

“Yeah.” He muttered a curse. “We’re about to run out of gas.”

“HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?” Marcus Underwood furiously paced the briefing room.

Standing a few feet away, Lieutenant Riley Cooper looked everywhere but into his superior’s livid eyes. “We didn’t anticipate an inmate getting inside help,” he said.

“Didn’t anticipate? It is your job to anticipate!”

The other man swallowed hard. “I understand.”

“I want them caught or dead—and I want it done yesterday!”

“Y-yes, sir.”

The seven men who comprised the prison SORT team shifted uncomfortably in their chairs while their team leader was grilled to a crisp.

“The woman, too?” one of the men asked after a moment.

“She is an accomplice and is to be considered armed and extremely dangerous. For God’s sake, she smuggled a firearm into the prison for him.” Underwood’s gaze scanned the faces of the team he’d gathered to hunt down and kill Zack Devlin and Emily Monroe. “All of you saw the security-camera video. She and Devlin have evidently been planning his escape for quite some time. He is armed with explosives, antipersonnel devices and at least one semiautomatic weapon. I don’t need to remind any of you what this man is capable of.”

Nobody had anything to say about that. Underwood had made certain each man on this handpicked team had seen the file he’d built on the infamous Irish terrorist, Zack Devlin. As far as they knew, Devlin had spent the last ten years murdering indiscriminately. Men. Women. Children.

“This is a race against time, gentlemen,” Underwood said. “It is your responsibility to stop this murderer and his accomplice before they kill again. It is your responsibility to bring them back to me dead or alive. Am I clear?”

Silence shrilled for the span of a full minute.

“This briefing is over,” Underwood snapped.

The team members rose quickly, gathered their weapons and gear and filed out the door.

Dr. Lionel was in the process of gathering his notes when Underwood approached him. “Were you able to locate and remove the GPS device before he got away?” Underwood asked.

“It had been implanted just under the skin.” The doctor pulled a sealed plastic bag from the file and held it up. “I extracted it just a few minutes before he overpowered me.”

Underwood took the bag and studied the tiny device. “Looks to be state of the art.”

“It is. But without it, whatever agency he’s working for won’t be able to locate him.”

The lieutenant approached the two men. “Devlin doesn’t stand a chance in a storm like this with seven of my best men tracking him.”

“You had better be right.” Underwood looked at Dr. Lionel. “I do not want our progress on RZ-902 interrupted.”

The doctor nodded. “We’re moving on to the next phase as planned.”

“Excellent. You know how I feel about delays.” Dropping the GPS device on the floor, Marcus Underwood crushed it with his shoe. “I hate waiting almost as much as I hate loose ends.”