Halon-Seven (45 page)

“I know that look,” Nathan said proudly. “You’ve got a plan!”

“That I do,” Cyrus confirmed with a smile of his own.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I can tell it’s serious. Just tell me what you need.”

This surprised Cyrus. He’d come here ready to take Nathan apart for his betrayal. It was something he hadn’t wanted to do, but he was reacting to the situation as it developed. But watching Nathan, he understood. He wasn’t just a professional, he was also a good man. A good man whose job required working with unsavory people. But after today Cyrus felt confident of something he’d never been sure of in the past. When push came to shove, Nathan was a man who would side with his conscience over his Swiss accounts. A quality far too rare in his, or any other profession.

“Thank you,” Cyrus said with a grin. “I only a couple of things.” He leaned over the counter and detailed his mental shopping list.

Without so much as a sideways glance, Nathan set off to collect the requested gear. Cyrus was impressed. His confidence in Nathan was restored, but other concerns were beginning to weight more heavily. The moment he’d stepped off the transport platform in Miami, his apprehension toward the Coalition had resurfaced. That he hadn’t encountered one of their field agents already was becoming a bother, and for the first time, he wondered who they might send. Certainly not Boone. Never again—he’d seen to that on their last encounter. And while rumor had it that the agency had suffered cutbacks following the disappearance of Monica Fichtner, he had no doubt that someone would eventually be sent to make an
approach
.

Berton Springs, Colorado

Friday, 4:28 pm

There was a flash of light, and Cyrus felt his ears pop. He was atop the transport platform on one knee with his Springfield drawn, but the room was dark as pitch. Without making a sound, he reached up and lowered the night vision goggles from their rest position above his brow. They slid securely from his forehead and over his eyes. The goggles functioned by amplifying existing low levels of ambient light. Since there was absolutely no visible light in the room, Cyrus activated an infrared emitter built into the frame. The room immediately sprang into crisp, green-tinted detail.

Slowly scanning the room, he didn’t move until he was confident he was alone. Not that he expected to meet resistance here. He stepped from the platform and walked slowly across the concrete floor. The file boxes and open cabinet drawers were exactly as he and Reese left them. And, as he’d hoped, the basement vault had hidden the flash of light that normally marked the arrival of a transport.

Looking back at the old prototype platform, Cyrus continued to wonder why Meade kept it online. It seemed likely the old man had kept it out of nostalgia, but why had it remained active? Based on all he read, it used older technology and required a massive amount of power to operate. That meant this platform either had a nuclear power source or it was retrofitted to utilize Halon-Seven. Either way, keeping the old prototype running seemed an unnecessary effort. So why would Meade have gone through the trouble? Could he have anticipated using it as some sort of escape route? Whatever the reason, there was no denying that it had come in handy today. Cyrus was inside the house. That was all that mattered.

He stepped up beside the vault door and tapped the release switch. The large vault door slid open with almost no sound. All the same, he had his gun up and at the ready. He peered around the edge of the thick concrete doorframe and scanned the darkened basement beyond. It was clear. Still, he kept his movements slow and deliberate.

Passing the server cabinet, he tapped the hidden button to close the vault door. As the wall slid shut, he watched the basement and covered the stairway with his silenced Springfield in the off chance someone might arrive to investigate.

When no response came, he relaxed slightly. He made his way quickly across the open floor, but he stopped short of the entrance to the enclosed stairway. Taking an extra moment to listen once more, he also reached out with his senses, feeling for any presence nearby. It wasn’t a guaranteed method for assessing the situation, but it had worked in the past. The mind often picked up on subconscious cues, such as an odor or a shift in the air flow that would indicate the presence of another person. The conscious mind was often oblivious to these primitive tells, but paying attention to one’s animal instincts often meant the difference between life and death.

Feeling nothing unusual, Cyrus tipped his shoulder and his gun hand around the corner and took a peek. The stairwell was clear. It was time for the next stage of the plan. He’d made successful entry. It was time to bring in reinforcements. He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and tapped two buttons on the screen before hitting send.

Now he needed to wait.

He kept his position just outside of the stairwell and listened. Strangely, he couldn’t hear any sounds coming from above. There should’ve at least been the normal sounds of a home. The small creak of the floorboards as someone walked from one room to the next. Or the sound of dishes being moved, things being disturbed. But there was absolute silence.

It was unnerving. Completely understandable if the house was empty, but the tingling feeling behind his eyes told him something was wrong. Nothing so mundane as an empty house.

The phone in his pocket vibrated silently.

Cyrus glanced up the staircase one last time before he doubled back across the basement to stop beside the hidden door in the concrete wall. He ran his thumb over the sensor on the security pad and touched the screen once the light went green. The massive door began to silently slide open. As soon as the door came to as stop, Hondo made a slow advance from the vault with his silenced H&K MP5 held high. He scanned left and right across the room, ignoring Cyrus until he was satisfied they were alone.

Their eyes met, two human-sized, mechanical-looking insects when wearing their high tech night-vision goggles. Hondo nodded silently. Cyrus triggered the door’s mechanism once more and the vault closed behind them.

They advanced on the stairwell with organized precision, each man taking a position at a side of the empty doorframe.

Once again, Cyrus glanced around the corner and up the stairway. He could see the light shining through the gap under the closed door at the top. Sliding the goggles from his face and setting them aside, he waited for Hondo to do the same. They wouldn’t need them from here on out.

They held position for several minutes allowing their eyes time to adjust to the darkness. Once satisfied, Cyrus led the way, climbing silently up the stairs.

Reaching the closed door at the top, he stopped and took a long slow breath. His heartbeat was calm and controlled, but he knew he would be able to hear better if he could slow down and focus. Sending all of his attention to his hearing, he listened for sounds coming from anywhere in the house. But as long as he waited and as patient as he was, he could hear nothing. Even if a group of men were lying in wait, sooner or later one of them would make some sort of noise. It was just a matter of patience. But for as long as Cyrus dared to wait, he heard noting. Nothing to betray a team waiting in ambush. For the first time, he began to wonder whether he might have misinterpreted Reese’s comment.

It was unlikely, he reasoned. He would act accordingly.

Turning the doorknob silently and pushing, he looked into the hallway. He could see part of the kitchen and most of the dining room. The far end of the house, where the doors led to the laundry room and the garage, was also visible. He couldn’t see anyone and nothing was out of place.

This ruled out the likelihood of a large-scale tactical team. It was a good sign. And, Cyrus reasoned, if they were here waiting for him, it meant they knew about the platforms. They would most likely be waiting in the spare bedroom, ready to grab him as soon as he teleported in. The plan was for Hondo to take out the team waiting in the spare room. He would be coming up on them from behind, a major tactical advantage. Cyrus would sweep the remainder of the house. No one knew about the prototype platform in the vault, so they should have surprise on their side.

Swinging the basement door open further, Cyrus stepped out with the silenced handgun held high and ready to fire. He would clear the living room, kitchen, and dining room, while Hondo took the back bedrooms. Leaving the basement door mostly open, Cyrus knew it would obscure the view, should anyone step from a back bedroom before he completed his sweep of his end of the house.

He glanced over his shoulder to see Hondo advancing slowly and silently in the opposite direction. This was it.

Just before Cyrus reached the end of the hall, where it opened to the living room on the left and the kitchen on the right, he heard the sound of movement in the living room. Someone was on one of the couches, and they had just shifted in their seat.
Crap!
Cyrus knew he wasn’t as alone as he had hoped. The best-case scenario was that it was Reese, sitting there reading, and this was all just a misunderstanding. The worst-case? Well…he was about to find out. Glancing to his right, he confirmed that the kitchen was clear. Checking over his shoulder, he confirmed that the open door to the basement still blocked the view of the hallway beyond. He took a deep breath, readied his gun, and stepped around the corner into the living room.

Reese was sitting on the sofa, but she was bound hand and foot with white flex-cuffs. A swatch of gaffer’s tape covered her mouth. Beside her sat Dargo, a hulk of a man wearing a black leather jacket, a black turtleneck, dark jeans, and boots. His face was weathered and mildly wrinkled. He’d aged since their last encounter, but his beard and hair were the same neatly trimmed gray stubble. The man had a .45 Colt resting in his lap.

Cyrus held the gun steady, pointed directly at Dargo’s head. Dargo’s gaze fell on Cyrus the moment he appeared in the corner of the room. There was no surprise in the man’s eyes. Though his hand was still wrapped around the grip of the gun, he made no effort to raise it.

“Has been a long time,” Dargo said. His English was still slightly broken, and there was only a mild Russian accent.

Cyrus didn’t say anything. His eyes searched Dargo’s for a sign of the man’s intentions. Dargo had never cared for Cyrus, but after Natasha’s death, Cyrus was confident Dargo wanted him dead. So confident, it fact, he wasn’t sure why Dargo hadn’t paid him a visit years earlier. Since the day Cyrus had walked away from the Coalition, there was one thing he believed with absolute certainty. Dargo would one day visit to settle a past debt. Cyrus just hated having Reese involved in old business.

But watching Dargo’s eyes, Cyrus didn’t see the hate he expected. Strangely, it wasn’t clear exactly what he was seeing in the man’s gaze. Was it possible Dargo didn’t even know his own intentions here?

Cyrus considered this. If that were the case, Dargo wasn’t here for the vendetta. He was here because of Meridian. He was here because he was on the job. This was something with which Cyrus could work. A man set on vengeance was unpredictable, but a man doing a job was a slave to the agenda of his employer. This increased the chances of getting Reese out of here alive.

“You’re not happy to see me,” Dargo said, finally breaking the unpleasant silence. “This is how you greet an old friend?”

“You made it pretty clear where we stood, the last time we spoke,” Cyrus said finally. “Considering that conversation,” Cyrus’s eyes flicked to the gun Dargo still held in his lap. “Or the fact that you came strapped, I’m going with no. I’m not glad to see you, Dargo.”

The Russian pursed his lips, making a show of considering Cyrus’s words. He nodded in understanding. Finally, the man smiled. “What is the American saying? ‘Fair enough?’”

Cyrus held his gun steady. There was no waver, no wobble to the sight picture he’d drawn on Dargo’s head. Maybe 35 feet between them. It wasn’t a difficult shot. In his peripheral vision, he could see Reese’s eyes were large. Her eyes went back and forth between Dargo and Cyrus.

“Use two fingers,” Cyrus warned. “Do it now.” He didn’t need to explain what his was referring to.

Showing no concern whatsoever, Dargo released his grip on the gun and picked it up between the thumb and pointer finger of his right hand. With a slow and gentle flick of the wrist, he tossed it to the carpet. It landed halfway between them.

“I intend no harm,” Dargo said calmly. “But we must talk. Something has happened.”

“You don’t need a hostage to have a conversation, Dargo. Normal people use telephones. Cut her loose, now!”

“Da, da! Slow down,” the Russian encouraged. “You’re not exactly in the book. This last week, you have become a very difficult man to reach. Your friend Professor Meade, he died. You came out here and met Miss Knoland. Then you,” he searched a moment for the words. “Then you drop from the grid. Not as simple as picking up phone, you see.”

“Enough!” Cyrus said. It wasn’t so much a yell as an end to the discussion. “Cut her loose. Once she is safely out of here, you and I can have that talk. But nothing happens until she’s out of here.”

Dargo raised both hands in a placating manner and nodded. “Da,” he agreed. He reached over and peeled the strip of tape away from Reese’s mouth.

The moment the tape came free, Reese’s pleading look finally made sense to Cyrus. “There’s two of them!” she bellowed.

Cyrus was already in motion, turning to his left. His eyes fell on a dark object already flying at his head, even as he spun. As the object came into view, Cyrus saw it spark with flashes of electricity.

A last minute pivot was enough for him to get his shoulder up. He felt a crush of pain course through his body as the Taser’s 50,000 volts made a glancing impact. Luckily he rolled out of reach of the remaining jolt before he lost motor function. Still, the blast was enough to knock the gun from his hand.

Dropping to a knee, he grappled the wrist of the oncoming attacker. Using the man’s momentum and weight against him, Cyrus recognized the bandaged face of Yuri Dargoslav as the man was launched overhead. The Taser was still crackling, even as Yuri crashed to the floor in a heap.