Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga (10 page)

He picked it up and examined it as a jeweler might examine a diamond in the light.
 
Out the corner of his eye he watched the waitress.
 
She stood next to the table, hands clasped in front of her with a hopeful expression on her slightly plump face.
 

Vasily took a healthy swig and let the vodka sting his tongue for a moment.
 
He closed his eyes and sighed, leaning back into the booth.
 
Ah, this is the good stuff.
 

“Well done.”
 
He let the unending beat of the music pulse in his chest as the vodka warmed his belly.
 
“I should reward you.”
 
He sat up and smiled as he opened his billfold again and thumbed through the various denominations.
 
He pulled out a 50 pound note and handed it to her.
 
What is it the Americans always say?
 
Go big or go home.

The waitress practically squealed with glee and glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone noticed.
 
She said something to him, but Vasily couldn't understand her–he hardly heard her over the incessant bass.
 
He wondered if sound could bruise a person’s ribs.

Vasily coughed, then glanced at his hand as he pulled it away from his mouth.
 
He noticed tiny flecks of phlegm on his palm.
 
Disgusted, he absently wiped his hand on the tablecloth, happy that the waitress had already disappeared back into the crowd.

He waited through two more songs before his waitress returned with the entire bottle of vodka and flamboyantly placed it on the table.
 
She had a friend with her.
 
The other girl looked shy, but sexy.
 
She was skinny—not anorexic like some runway model, but in a healthy, strong way.
 
Wiry.
 
Vasily looked her over from top to bottom as he moved his head in time with the music.
 
He hated techno, but after a few rounds of vodka, it started to grow on him.
 

The girl smiled.
 
Her hips were a little narrow, but she looked in good health with ruddy cheeks.
 
If she had a little more weight on her, she’d look perfectly at home on any good Russian farm.
 
Vasily smiled.
 
A farmer's daughter—there’s a thought.
 
I come all the way from Moscow to London to meet a farmer’s daughter in a Russian club.

"I am Zoya," she said in Russian.

Vasily's eyes flew open.
 
He leaned forward.
 
"You're Russian?
 
My name is Vasily.”
 
The words tumbled out of his mouth, fueled by vodka and excitement.
 
He shooed away the first waitress and ignored the hurt look on her face.
 

“I live in Kursk—where are you from?”
 
He motioned for her to join him in the booth and refilled the glass with vodka.
 
“Here, have a drink—it’s excellent.”

The girl smiled and took the glass, draining it.
 
Vasily smiled and poured her another.
 

C
HAPTER
11

The Swiss Alps.

Chalet Tillcott.

C
OOPER
STARED
INTO
THE
smoke-filled hallway.
 
"Nicely done, Jax."
 
He peered up toward the smoke-wreathed ceiling.
 
"Just don't bring the damn mountain down on us, okay?"

"Everybody's a critic.
 
You wanted a hole, you got one."

Cooper motioned for Jax to head through into the newly discovered tunnel.
 
"Go on
—
check it out."

"I got a body!" called out Jax from just inside.
 
"Right side, 20 yards."

"Cover me," Cooper said.
 
He stepped over the ragged entrance and into a wall of smoke.
 
A few steps brought him through the worst of it and his HUD displayed a person laying on the ground just ahead.
 
As he approached, he saw a long, filthy coat that might have once been white.

"Sir, can you hear me?" asked Cooper.
 
No response.
 
After a quick glance down the hallway, Cooper took a knee and turned the man over.
 
His face was a shredded mess, the skin around his injuries charred black.
 
The man coughed and shuddered, groping about in the dust and dirt on the floor.
 
His whole body shuddered then and he let loose with an ear-piercing scream.

"Sir!
 
I’m not going to hurt you–"

"My face!"
 
The man moaned in a British accent.
 
Shaking hands delicately touched the edge of his wounds.
 
"I can't see…"

Cooper put his hand on the man's shoulder as he tried to sit up.
 
"It's okay, sir.
 
I'm here to help—can you tell me what happened?"

"Who—who's there?
 
I can't see.
 
My eyes!"

Cooper stared into the melted, charred pits of what used to be the poor bastard's eyes.
 
"You’ve suffered severe trauma to your face, sir.
 
We’re going to get you help.
 
Can you tell me what happened?
 
It's important."

The man lowered his head back to the floor and let out a ragged breath.
 
"Bloody cold…"

Jax rushed past on his way to investigate deeper down the tunnel.

“W-what was that?” stuttered the injured man at Cooper’s feet.

Cooper focused on the wounded man.
 
"Hey, stay with me…"

"Stay with me…that’s what she—she said ‘don't leave’…"

"Who?" demanded Cooper.
 
"Who said that, sir?"

"All dead…"

"
Who?
”
 

“Sophie!" the man suddenly screamed, his body rigid.

Cooper sighed in frustration as he broke out his first aid kit.
 
"Who is Sophie?"

The burned man screamed again, feebly clutching at his chest with blackened fingers.
 
"Fire!" he screamed as Cooper applied topical burn cream and did his best to wrap the man's face.

"
Tunnel caved in up here, Hoss.
 
There's a gap, looks like a bigger room on the other side—no movement.
 
Hot though.
 
The fire’s somewhere back there
,"
 
Jax reported.

Cooper stood and glanced at his handiwork.
 
It wasn't pretty, but if the man survived he supposed that wouldn't matter.
 
"Any sign of survivors back there?"

"Negative."

"Caved in…the lab…he'll be mad…" the man groaned.
 
"So cold."

"Who?" hissed Cooper.
 
"Sir, you're going into shock.
 
I need you to stay with me," he said, kneeling again and checked the burned man's pulse.
 
His heart's racing.
 

"Dunkeith…"

"
Actual—we could use a little help up here—they’re getting frisky,
" warned Switchplate from the surface.

Damn it!
 

The blind man started coughing and clutching at his chest.
 
"Can't breathe…"

"I can’t get any further—whatever was here is still burning like a—" Jax began.

The walls trembled and Cooper felt the floor shake.
 
Dust filtered out of the ceiling.
 

"I don't think this place is entirely stable," mumbled Jax.

Cooper looked up from his patient.
 
"Jax, on me!"

“Moving.”

Hands scrabbled at Cooper’s leg.
 
"Take…take this…" said the blind man.
 
His charred fingers dug through one of the outer pockets on his lab coat.
 
The skin on the back of his hand, cracked and bleeding, smeared red on the grimy coat.
 

Cooper accepted the little box from the man's trembling hands.
 
Relieved of his package, the man flopped onto the floor and let out a long, shuddering breath.

"Sir?
 
What is this?"

"Test results…everything…he said don't let the Americans get it…"
 
The man coughed and tried to laugh, one blackened hand covering his ruined face.
 
“He said not to let the Americans get it…doesn't matter now…"
 
He took a deep, ragged breath and pink foam bubbled around the corners of his lips.
 

Cooper leaned over him, his helmet light illuminating the man's last moments.
 
"Sir, stay with me!"

The air fizzed from the man's cracked lips and his head turned to the side.
 
The body twitched a few more moments, and Cooper felt the jittery, uneven pulse stutter, then stop.

"Coop, they’re trying to set charges! They—"
gunfire interrupted Switchplate's transmission.
 
"Get out of there!"

Cooper took one last look at the now dead man at his feet.
 
"Dammit," he muttered.
 
He ripped the ID badge from the man's charred coat and stuffed it and the little box into his hip pouch.
 

Jax skidded to a stop next to him.
 
“He died?
 
You should have let me do the first aid man, you suck.”

"What?"

Jax gestured at the body.
 
"You're patient, Hoss.
 
He's dead."

"Later,” Cooper growled.
 
“This tunnel won’t hold much longer."

Another violent tremor nearly knocked them to the ground.
 
Cooper braced himself against the wall and peered through the shifting dust.
 

“You think?” asked Jax.

“Cooper, what the hell’s going on down there?
” asked Charlie.
 
“
Feels like an earthquake.
”

Jax grabbed Cooper’s shoulder and pointed down the tunnel.
 
"Go!
 
Roof’s coming down!" he yelled.
 

They sprinted to the main corridor.
 
Another tremor sent them sprawling to the floor as the side tunnel collapsed.
 
"Don't stop!"
 
Cooper got to his feet and shoved Jax forward toward the big double doors that led back into the chalet’s basement guard room.
 
They bolted past the guards’ bodies and moved toward the main stairwell.
 
Charlie stood at the doorway, urging them on.

“I sent Sparky up already.
 
Hurry!”
 
He turned and led the way up the stairs.

Something hit Cooper in the back and knocked him to the floor with a grunt of pain.
 
He felt his legs dangle free over open space—part of the stairwell had collapsed underneath him.

Jax hauled him to his feet, and they struggled up the crumbling stairs.
 
Clouds of smoke and dust rushed up out of the stairwell enveloped and them in blinding nothingness.
 
Jax slowed, but Cooper pushed forward.
 
At the top of the stairs, the world turned orange.
 

“The whole place is on fire!” warned Charlie, ducking through the door.

Cooper peered through the fire and shapes moving just beyond the flames.
 
"Almost there—keep going!"
 

Jax grabbed Cooper’s arm and pointed through the fire to their left.
 
"Look—the server room!"

Cooper turned and saw a bullet-riddled door held open by the bodies of Reginald's men.
 
More holes perforated the wall around where Charlie and Sparky had fought back.
 
More guards appeared from the right, pouring in from outside.
 
Incoming rounds buzzed past Cooper’s head like angry hornets.

He ducked, eyes locked on the server room.
 
"I need suppressing fire."

"Go!" replied Jax.
 
He turned and cut loose a stream of lead toward the newcomers.
 
“Charlie, Sparky, help me out!”

Cooper fired blindly toward the guards, unable to see through the flames.
 
He heard the roar of Jax's M60 somewhere behind him, accompanied by Charlie and Sparky.
 

“Now or never, old man,” shouted Jax.
 

Cooper dashed across the room during a brief lull in the fight, dropped on his left leg and slid the final few feet to the door.
 
He slammed his body against the lower half of the door to no avail.
 
Cooper dropped to his back, raised his rifle and fired on full auto right at the strike plate.
 
He ended up cutting most of the hardware off the door in the split second he took to pull the trigger.
 
He kicked the door open and rolled through as rounds tore apart the door frame around him.