Point of No Return (33 page)

She was beginning to understand why they wanted to keep them alive. Forensics would be able to tell if they were dead before the explosions. That is, if they found big enough pieces to work on. “What about the identity theft scam? It’s bound to come out.”

“I will be long gone. Returned home to my country. Illegal activities will be attributed to Mr. Bristol. Any investigation will be stopped by your illustrious vice president. The man won’t want his involvement with us known.”

Despite herself, Honey showed surprise at this information.

“I see you didn’t know.”

Honey shook her head. It made sense. Jordan sat on approval and oversight committees. His office could add and scrub records. “He knows about the murders and kidnapping?” Honey gasped. “The identify theft?”

She shrugged. “He knows what we do here. What Bristol did . . . ?” Another shrug.

“You think you have it all figured out.”

“I don’t think,
I know
,” Porter said triumphantly.

“Did you get that?” Honey said.

Porter looked confused. “Get what, bitch?” she said sharply.

Honey double-tapped her ear, indicating her tiny communication device. Realization replaced Porter’s confused look. “Gotcha,
bitch.
Everything you said was heard and recorded.”

Porter squeezed the trigger on the H&K a second after Honey’s boot blasted into her knee, snapping her leg like a tree limb breaking in an ice storm. The bitch shrieked. Her red hair billowed around her head as she went down, the H&K lost when her hand smacked the floor. Honey swatted the gun out of reach then straddled Porter, opening a can a whoop ass on her head.

The bitch squirmed and twisted at the same time, trying to deflect the blows. Honey swung away, gripped by a cold rage. Porter’s hand came at her face and she rotated to the side to avoid the clawing hand. Her hand flashed back and Honey saw she held a long thin blade. Where the fuck had that come from?

Honey lurched back and Porter rose, coming at her again, aiming the blade at her neck. Her left hand flew up in a defensive move and the blade entered her palm to the hilt, coming out the back. For a moment, Honey stared at the tip inches from her face. Porter collapsed and tried to slide from under her. Honey backhanded her face. The blade sliced from Porter’s jaw, across her mouth, over her cheek and eye to her hairline. She screeched and both hands covered her face. Honey was so jacked on adrenaline she felt no pain when she pulled the knife from her palm. She rolled off Porter, crawled to her gun and sat, double-handing the gun, pointing it at the door. She expected men to come through the door any moment to investigate the screams. None came. She struggled to her feet and went to Jack.

“Can you walk?” He nodded as she helped him to his feet. “Good, ’cause I’m beat.”

“Yeah. First,” he said and limped to the table, picked up the roll of duct tape that had been used on him, “let’s fix your hand.”

“Hurry,” she said as he looped the tape. “They’re going to blow this place.”

Jack’s head jerked up. “As in explosives?”

She nodded.

“Geesus, these tunnels.”

She nodded. Even a small explosion would travel the corridors building pressure, strength, and
bam
. Anything in its way would suffer.

They skirted around Porter to the door. Honey poked her head out and back once, then twice, looking for bad guys and getting her bearings.

“Help me,” Porter said. They turned to see she’d pushed to a sit, a bloody hand outstretched, her undamaged eye wide and wild. “The explosives,” she gagged and sprayed blood. “Help me.” They stepped into the corridor and headed for an exit.

Chapter 27

If the sun came up tomorrow without her there would be few tears, but Jack . . . she couldn’t digest the thought of Jack not breathing, smiling. The thought of him not being there for Ali and his mother was as painful as being run through with Porter’s blade. She didn’t know how best to protect him. He needed her help to walk. They were in the center of the complex and she had no idea from which direction a blast would come. Their only solution was to haul ass out. She jammed the gun into her pants, wrapped Jack’s arm over her shoulder and they did just that.

She figured they were halfway out when a deep
whoomp
followed by a sound like the howl of a beast escaping from the depths of the earth came from a distant tunnel. Pain be damned, they ran. Seconds later the beast’s hot, percussive breath hit, forcing them to the floor. She moved over Jack, who was on his back. He understood she had the vest and it was the best way to protect them both. He wrapped his arms around her head, offering another obstacle to the stinging debris raining down, stinging her bare flesh. An alarm sounded. Overhead lights faded. Before they died completely, emergency lights on the floor glowed to life, creating a shadowy half-light. Nothing large hit them. That could change with the next explosion.

They scrambled up, slipping on small fragments littering the floor, into a dense blanket of choking smoke. They stepped through a shattered glass door that would have required a pass card five minutes ago, it’s jagged glass looking like dragon teeth. Covered in plaster dust, eyes stinging, they’d only progressed ten feet when another
whoomp
and howl reached them. The beast wasn’t done. They crouched reflexively. Jack shoved her against the wall and flattened against her.

“No. I have . . . vest.” She tried to push him off.

“Fuck the vest. Be still, damn it.”

She did what he’d done for her and circled her arms around his head. The blast was farther than the first and succeeded in bringing down things the first blast had loosened. A wave of hot air moved the smoke. Floor lights flickered then died, plunging them into breath-stealing darkness.

“Geesus.” Jack moved off her and stood, pulling her with him. They leaned on the wall to orient themselves in the darkness.

“Don’t move,” she said, digging a penlight from her pocket.

“Move?” Jack coughed. “No problem. It’s too dark to know which way is up.”

The light was powerful, but in the overwhelming darkness it barely lit a three-foot area. She handed the tiny light to Jack. “Aim it at our feet, not up. I can see a few feet ahead.” She took a deep, calming breath. Big mistake. The acrid smoke stung her throat and lungs. She pushed the discomfort away, welcomed the darkness, and let it comfort her. Jack looped an arm around her waist. She covered his hand with hers. “Ready?”

“Ready.” He followed each of her steps with his. They walked like their legs were tied together. She picked her way over the wreckage on the floor and things hanging from the ceiling as fast as she dared.

A distant blast produced a rumble from deep in the bowels of the complex. A vibration in the floor whiplashed fear through her like a downed power line flapping in hurricane-force winds. The sprinkler system let loose.

Jack grabbed her hand and, penlight in his mouth, moved past her, trying to run. The floor rolled in waves. It was difficult to stand, much less run. There was a blinding flash followed by a deafening sound. A rush of hot air lifted them, breaking Jack’s grip on her hand, tumbling her body, slamming it against a wall. Stunned, she slid to the floor. Low-decibel sounds roared in her ears. The fucking alarm still worked. There were other sounds and they were coming closer. She felt for the gun. It was gone. She patted the space around her for Jack, intending to get between him and the sounds, finding only sharp inanimate objects. She forced one eye open a slit and immediately closed it. Her vision was fucked and the kaleidoscope effect from a bright light sent pain bouncing from one side of her skull to the other. Her mind was on fire telling her she had move, get up and run, crawl, anything, and find Jack. She couldn’t get to her knees. Her body was slow, uncooperative. She gave in and rolled to a fetal position. A warm trickle made its way down her face. More rumbling and vibration. Gawd, not another explosion. Her body left the floor.

“Obummm hore ebbes.”

Obummm hore ebbes?
Open your eyes? She managed to open one and Jack was there. Holding her under her arms.

She yelled at him, “Gobb to gebb houut.” Shit. Her voice was screwed or . . . her hearing. She made an attempt to run. Her legs gave way. Jack caught her. They stumbled and she cried out, prepared to meet the floor. She didn’t. She was swept up . . . she forced her eyes open . . . into Gunny’s arms. “Help Jack.”

“Buck.”

She turned her head to see Buck, arm around Jack, hustling him along toward the light. Gunny followed. Bouncing in his arms, she closed her eyes, thinking he wasn’t going to let her forget how many times he’d saved her butt in the last few weeks.

The mechanical sound of an engine thrummed and buzzed painfully. A big engine. She squinted and saw they were still inside the building and the bright light came from . . . she blinked . . . from the headlights of a Hummer. She laughed as the four of them squeezed between the wall and truck, remembering Nelson’s pride that a Hummer could be driven inside the complex. There were no seats. Gunny deposited her on the floor and jumped in behind her. Jack, with Gunny’s help, maneuvered her onto his lap, cradling her, the force of the powerful engine vibrating through them. The moment the door closed, they rocketed backward. Who the fuck was driving? She rolled her head to see who was at the wheel. Mad dog Santiago, as Buck loved to call her, sat twisted in the driver’s seat, looking behind. She didn’t care as long as it wasn’t Kara.

Gunny leaned close. “Anything broken or leaking?” At least that’s what she thought he said. She held up her taped hand then shook her head, creating a ringing to rival any bell choir.

A forceful explosion rattled the Hummer and was followed by two more. “Hang on,” Santiago shouted, pushing the engine into what seemed like Mach 1 speed.

Honey did as told and clutched Jack, who reciprocated. Tires bounced over debris and metal ground against concrete walls, scraping one then veering to do the same on the opposite side. Her hearing returned enough to hear Santiago recite her version of the Marine Corps dictionary of cusswords as she fought to control the monster vehicle. Then . . . they were free of the walls. Brakes screeched. They slid and Santiago executed a 180 then shot forward.

“Almost there,” Santiago called. Gunny scrambled to his knees near the door. Santiago stood on the brakes and the tires screamed for mercy as they slid over the wet asphalt. Doors flung open and she was carried by Buck and Gunny into the van, where Kara clutched Ali. The child saw Jack.

“Uncle.” She broke Kara’s hold and launched into Jack, wrapping her arms around his neck, legs around his waist.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “You’re safe.”

“I know.” She looked into his face. “But you aren’t.”

Honey’s heart lurched at Ali’s distress. She imagined the child thinking she could lose another family member.

They settled on the floor of the van and Coop drove, leaving the fire-reddened sky behind. A half mile down the road they were forced to pull over for a motorcade of emergency vehicles. An explosion so massive it lit the dead of night like a red dawn rocked the van and stopped all the vehicles in the road.

“Geezsus.” Coop looked in the side-view mirror. “It looks like they were bombed. The whole f’ing place is on fire. Don’t have to worry about finding any trace of us in that mess.”

First responders continued to rush toward Global as the van crept in the opposite direction on less traveled roads. They listened to the radio and watched local news stations on laptops for reports on the explosion. There were none for thirty minutes, then every station with a news department was reporting something. National security was mentioned. By the time Kara was escorting Honey, Jack and Ali down the stairs to her father’s medical bomb shelter, one station jock excitedly called the events at Global a terrorist bombing.

Exhausted, they slumped in chairs waiting for Dr. Gregg to examine Ali. Physically she was fine but she did not want to be separated from Jack. Not even to go with her grandmother. Theresa and Clare O’Brien tried to coax her upstairs with all-you-could-eat ice cream for breakfast. No deal. Coop was the deciding factor. He promised, to Jack’s chagrin, the Marines would make sure nothing happened to Uncle. Then he went to his knees, took Ali’s hand, and asked if she would accompany him to the kitchen for ice cream. Jack gave her an approving nod and she agreed.

Gunny and Santiago monitored the news stations on the billboard-sized TV in the family room. Buck came down to the bomb shelter/medical center to assist Gregg. Triage rules applied. Worst treated first, and Jack was it. Her hand wasn’t bleeding and would heal. She may look bad, but unlike Jack, nothing was broken. His nose was messed up and he was good for a broken rib or two.

“Daddy said to take these for the pain.” Kara handed her a bottle of water and two white pills. Honey swallowed them down with a long pull of water.

Kara screwed her face up. “Hurt much?”

“Not yet. When my adrenaline high wears off every place I’ve been hit, bumped, and cut will be screaming. Got your phone?” Kara nodded. “Come with me. We’ve got calls to make.”

Her first and most important call would be to Ramsey and Saunders, telling them about Global and the night’s events. Then they’d tell the story to a couple of other people.

Chapter 28

Cooper set up a connection giving Jack seven untraceable minutes for a tense phone conversation with the FBI. He explained, to very pissed-off agents, they could call off the Amber Alert, his family was safe, in hiding and their job was over. Their demands to know more were met with a broken laugh, “No fucking way,” and the end of the call.

Then he took Ali to see Honey.

They stood at the door of the bedroom Honey was in. “Go ahead,” he prompted, and she rapped.

“Who is it?” He recognized Theresa’s voice.

“Jack and Ali. Ali wants to talk to Honey.”

Theresa opened the door. “Come in.”