Precipice (24 page)

Shannon rounded the corner with Dominic in tow. The team startled at their sudden appearance. Roth and Anders raised their weapons, but Yemi called them off.

“Glad you could join us,” Yemi murmured before returning his attention to the electrical panel.

Shannon nodded. Dominic stooped and kept his wrists clasped awkwardly behind his back, but he couldn’t hold that pose forever. She glanced down at him, giving a mock look of disgust. An artery in Dominic’s neck pulsed rapidly.

“I figured you’d be halfway inside by now. What’s the holdup?” She hadn’t counted on them still being in the hallway. The charade with Dominic would be much more difficult to pull off with everyone standing idle. One of them was bound to notice, if they had enough down time.

“Ventilation system was a no-go. We were forced to navigate this maze ourselves.”

“Too bad. You’d better hurry. I saw a bunch of cops running around down at the parade.” She hadn’t seen anything of the sort. They hadn’t passed the parade on the way to the capitol, but the director sent extra agents down there to thwart the kidnapping. She wouldn’t be surprised if everyone was in custody already.

Yemi straightened at this. He didn’t show even a hint of surprise, but he frowned in disappointment.

“Hrrmm…” he grumbled. “I guess we’d better get moving on cracking this.” He gestured to Nichols, who dragged the computer geek forward.

The security arrangement was one of the most advanced systems available. Passkeys, a card reader, a fingerprint and eyeball scanner, as well as voice recognition software—the reason they brought the geek along rather than merely stripping him for parts—were all built into this display.

First, he slid the security card Roth had nicked from the guard outside. That action unlocked a physical keypad. He didn’t want to risk their hostage getting any ideas of heroism and typing in the wrong code to lock them out, so he’d asked Shannon to use her connections with SISA to learn the code and she’d pulled off the feat. Stepping forward, one hand still gripping Dominic, she began to type.

The first passkey consisted of a basic six number code, the birthdate of the current Greenlake mayor. It rotated every election, but was simple to deduce if you possessed a computer and Internet access.

Shannon carefully typed the date, day before month:
2-0-1-1-4-3
.

The keys made no sound as she pressed each one in succession, but when she finished the series, a single beep emitted from the machine. The screen disintegrated to solid black. Yemi gave her a sharp look, but she ignored him and took a deep breath. The black screen was meant to happen, a built-in piece of the program to discourage anyone who got this far.

The next code was more complex. A standard, ten-digit hex code, this password involved a random string of numbers and letters that rotated on a weekly basis. She’d been forced to rely on Director Dax for this one. He pulled a few strings and called in an old favor with the head of the National Security Agency, who begrudgingly supplied the code.

m-1-5-T-8-n-J-0-0-Y

Each letter she typed showed up as a small, green asterisk near the top of the black screen, but as soon as she hit the last letter, the blackness blinked and gave way to a small green box in the center of the screen. The fingerprint scan was next. Nichols stepped forward, the geek secured in his massive, suffocating grip.

Yemi seized the kid’s wrist with his fist and yanked it toward the screen. The captive squirmed and fought back, but the men’s combined strength overpowered him, and he quickly relented. At his touch, the screen blinked and a loud beep echoed, causing everyone to jump, but the system quickly confirmed his fingerprint and the system allowed them to continue.

The retina scanner was a high-tech security camera mounted within the wall next to the electronic panel. With Yemi’s hand planted on the back of the hostage’s head, he forced the poor kid’s face into the eye of the camera. He again fought them, keeping his eyes closed.

Yemi leaned forward, whispering into his ear, “You know…we don’t need you alive for this part. We could very easily carve out what we need.” Even Roth shuddered at the spine-chilling lilt in his voice.

They wouldn’t kill the geek until they bypassed the voice recognition software, the final step in the process. The kid surely knew this too, but he’d developed a sudden lump in his throat at the threat. Yemi was a terrifying man to challenge, especially when he gave that hideously twisted smile. A small squeak emitted from the tech, but his eyes remained shut.

“Yes, of course…” Yemi hissed. “You’re absolutely right. We do need you for the voice software. But we don’t need to kill you to get your eye. I could ask Jillian to do a little surgery. We didn’t bring any anesthetic, but I’m sure you’re a tough boy…” He gestured toward Roth and she bent down to slide an ISAK army knife from a sheath in her boot.

The kid stood still for a moment, considering this proposition, before deciding he didn’t want to lose an eye, and he snapped them open wide. The camera gave a soft whir and then a click as it snapped a quick photograph of his retina. After a couple seconds, a picture popped up on the screen with basic biographical information.
Bradley Francis. 27 years old.
And at the top of the screen in bold, green lettering:
ACCEPTED
.

“Now speak!” Yemi commanded the boy.

Bradley said nothing.

“Now! You don’t want to know what we’ll do if you don’t….”

Shannon felt sorry for the kid. She knew Yemi meant what he said. She decided to intervene and took a small step forward, pulling Dominic with her. “Brad…my name is Shannon. I know you think you’re being heroic, but this man here,” she gestured to Yemi, “is very skilled in making people talk. One way or another, you’re going to give in.”

The boy’s eyes pleaded, wide and frantic. “You seem like a good kid. For your sake, it’s best you give him what he wants now, while you’re still fully intact.” She smiled.

Brad stared at her, deliberating furiously before resigning himself to his fate and nodding. Shannon gestured to Nichols to slacken his vice grip and the boy leaned forward toward the microphone. His voice was quiet and high-pitched, squeaky and full of fear, but he spoke his name clearly enough for the computer to register. “Bradley Francis.”

Until this point, Dominic had been skeptical of the whole secret vault legend. But not anymore. The door shuddered violently and forcibly slid apart into four equal pieces, each one spiraling outward and disappearing into the wall. Behind that stood another door, this one with four large bolt-locks which slid apart one by one, revealing one of those massive wheels seen on bank vaults in the movies.

The final security step breached, Yemi nodded at Nichols. The big man responded with a sharp swing of his arm. The loud crack of a gun barrel connecting with Bradley Francis’s skull echoed in the bare hallway, and he went limp in the bodyguard’s arms before slowly sliding to the floor.

Shannon and Dominic both cringed as they watched the young programmer crumple like a rag doll at their feet. Unfazed, Yemi stepped forward and placed his hands on the gigantic wheel, his fingers caressing it.

***

He was here, mere inches away. He smiled and closed his eyes to savor the moment. He could almost taste it. Grasping the wheel with a firm grip, he braced himself and threw his strength to the left.

“Get in here, you idiot,” Yemi grunted in the direction of his gorilla.

“
Dra åt helvete” Anders snarled—in a language Yemi didn’t understand—but
strode forward, muttering under his breath. Yemi thought he heard “idiot” and something that sounded like “vekling”, but he didn’t care.

Mammoth fingers wrapped around the metal wheel and a forearm larger than most men’s thighs flexed. The wheel remained frozen for a second, prompting a grunt from the behemoth, but then it lurched. First a single inch, then two. The rest of the group stood mesmerized, watching the struggle and then, with one final exertion, the wheel abruptly gave way.

Together the two men rotated for three full revolutions before the wheel ground to a halt. Yemi beamed, rubbing his hands together. He pushed Anders out of the way, no easy task, and stepped forward.

Yemi hesitantly reached out and placed his hand on the door handle and gave a solid tug. The door hadn’t been used in a long time, so the hinges fought the temptation to open, but Yemi wasn’t about to be denied. Mustering more strength, he braced himself and gave it one more tug.

Under the force of that final heave, the vault door swung open.

And then all hell broke loose.

Dax led the way into the whitewashed hallway, with Krieger close on his tail and Sloan huffing and puffing a few steps behind. Amadi’s injuries hindered his paces, but he lagged only a couple seconds behind as well. Making as little noise as possible, they followed the proceedings from their vantage point at the end of the corridor, mostly by sound.

Observation was the first step. From their position, less than 100 feet away, Dax watched in amazement as one security block after another beaten or bypassed until the incredible vault door transformation. For a few seconds, nobody moved. No one spoke. They just gaped.

“You ready?” Dax broke the stunned silence, keeping his voice low and quiet.

The others nodded and covered their slack-jawed reactions. He glanced at his team. They weren’t many; he’d made the call to D.C. during the car ride, requesting backup, but they were at least forty minutes away, not including parade traffic. Time had run out.

They had to handle this alone.

Sloan was sweating profusely from the exertion of clambering down that ladder and his frayed nerves weren’t helping. He hadn’t participated in a firefight in the field since before his promotion.

Krieger carried himself as the professional he was. His nerves appeared calm and collected, but he was still getting up there in age. At seventy, his reaction time must have slowed and his accuracy had surely suffered a drop-off since his honorable discharge.

The final member of the team, Amadi, was in the worst shape. He did his best to keep pace, but the torture and imprisonment had taken a toll on what used to be a very fit body. He looked ready to drop.

Nevertheless, they’d have to do. Hopefully, Shannon and Dominic were up to the task. Dax turned his gaze down the hallway, staying hidden as he peered around the corner. The door to the vault stood open. Yemi disappeared inside, along with the large, mustached man, but the rest of the team remained in the hallway.

If they waited until everyone entered the vault, there was too great a risk of harming Dominic and Shannon, an outcome he wanted to avoid at all costs. Shannon, vital to this mission, understood the risks when she signed on, but didn’t deserve to go down with Yemi’s sinking ship. If they held off their assault until everyone exited, it would come as less of a surprise and draw Yemi’s full attention. They needed to move in now with the target’s team split and their advantage maximized.

Signaling his team with a flick of the hand, he strode out into the middle of the hall, gun raised. The others flanked him.

“Federal agents! Everyone freeze!”

The impact of his booming voice set off a shockwave. No one obeyed.

Nichols ducked behind a small protrusion in the wall, plunged his hand inside his jacket and drew his weapon from a shoulder holster. The big Scandinavian man, who’d vanished with Yemi into the room, reappeared, a gun in each hand. Dax appraised them as short-recoil Glocks.

Roth drew her weapon as well. Dax only had a millisecond to notice, but he registered surprise at the Beretta 71, modified for .22 long rifle ammunition.
A Mossad weapon?
She fired once, eliciting a painful grunt from behind him, and ducked behind another outcrop in the wall

A puff of smoke burst out of the muzzle of his standard-issue semi-automatic and Dax’s first bullet missed, sending a shower of plaster and drywall raining into the corridor. He fired again.

Bullets flew fast and heavy, whizzing past in both directions. One plowed through the broad chest of the Scandinavian and he fell. Dax felt someone next to him fall as well. A sudden, sharp twinge in his shoulder caused him to yelp and cringe, but he kept firing.

Shannon and Dominic dropped to the floor. His hands appeared to come untied, as though by magic, as he caught himself. His sidearm was knocked loose and skidded out of his reach, sending him scrambling after it.

Dax led the charge toward the vault, his team flanking him. The fire slowed as the first round of clips began to run out. Someone behind him scrambled to reload; a loud grunt and then a yelp of pain interrupted their efforts.

In his peripheral vision, he spotted Shannon, from her prone position, get a grip on her gun. She fired at Roth, but missed as the assassin turned tail and ducked around the far corner. Shannon scrambled to her feet in hot pursuit.

Anders, already down, lay unmoving.

To his right, Sloan engaged Nichols, a beefy fist knocking the big man’s gun from his hand. The two men grappled. Sloan’s heft and age were a hindrance against the toned musculature of Nichols, but he was holding his own. The agent might have packed on a few pounds, but he hadn’t forgotten his training.

The Director readied his weapon, looking for a clean shot, but couldn’t find one, so he just watched, waiting for an opportunity. Nichols looked to use his length, so swung hard and fast, but Sloan managed to deflect the blows with his forearms.

One fist finally got past the outer defenses and sank into the flab around Sloan’s ribcage, but he reacted quickly and pinned it there with his arm. A quick twist and the big man let out a yelp as his elbow bent the wrong direction.

That slight edge and loss of concentration was all Sloan needed. With a hand on the man’s wrist, he wrenched the arm behind the man’s back, yanking it back and up. Putting more pressure on the already injured elbow caused another cry of pain. Sloan used his leverage to shove the man to his knees, locking his wrists together with a pair of handcuffs. He toppled him with a well-placed knee between the man’s shoulder blades.

With the last man subdued, Dax edged forward, eyeing the carnage. Something was out of place. Someone had been lost in the fracas. Olayemi was missing.

Heads spun on a swivel to the vault door. It had closed during the firefight. Sloan stepped forward, attempting to force the wheel to spin, but to no avail. It had wedged shut.

***

Shannon could hear the soles of her shoes slapping the tiled floor with every footfall as she tore after Roth. Her firearm wasn’t much use while running full speed; to slow down enough to take an accurate shot would cost her precious distance and hitting a moving target like that was no guarantee. She preferred a ground fight over a difficult shot like that.

Her long legs allowed her to make up ground and once within range, she dove. Her shoulder impacted Roth in the back of the knees, sending both women crashing to the ground. Guns dislodged from their hands upon impact with the tiled floor and went skidding out of reach.

Roth writhed beneath Shannon, fighting for position, ultimately succeeding in rotating to face up. Shannon swung a left fist that was easily deflected by the assassin who grabbed her by the wrist. After a quick twist and a sharp jab to her elbow, Shannon felt her arm pop out of joint. She yelped in pain and reflexively sunk a right fist into Roth’s momentarily unprotected face.

The blow broke the assassin’s nose and both women quickly separated to regroup, scrambling to their feet. They eyed the loose weapons on the floor. Too far away. Shannon’s arm throbbed and the pain temporarily sent shockwaves through her body, but she ignored it. The appendage was useless at this point.

“Traitor,” Roth rasped through blood that dripped from her nose.

“Give it up, Jillian. Backup is probably already here. You can’t fight your way out of this.”

“I’ve been in worse,” she snarled.

“Please, Jillian…” Shannon pleaded. “Turn yourself in. Cooperate. With your help, we can put Yemi behind bars for life.”

“We both know there’s no judge in the world who will accept that deal. I’m wanted in a dozen countries.” She wiped a sleeve on her face, smearing the blood across her chin.

“I’m sure we can work something out. We can help you.” With a dislocated elbow, the last thing she wanted was to continue their fight. She was likely overmatched, even at full strength, by a professional killer.

“That’s the problem with people like you. Always optimistic, hoping things will work out in the end. But that’s not true. The universe is cold and chaotic, uncaring.”

“So you’d rather die? Because we both know that’s what will happen here. Even if you escape this hallway, your path ends here. You’ll never get past the gate.” Shannon spoke softly, but forcefully. “Surely, you have someone in your life who doesn’t want you dead…”

“Emotions are a sign of weakness. So are relationships.” Hatred radiated from Roth as she growled, burning with disdain for her opponent.

“That’s not true. When you find that soulmate, that one who connects you to the world in a way that you’ve never felt before, you change. You become stronger, better. Because of them.” Shannon felt a tear emerge from the corner of her eye. She was unsure if it was due to the pain in her elbow or something deeper.

“And when that person is taken from you? Is brutally killed because you were distracted?” Roth snarled, her face twisting into a cruel, bloody smile. She reached to her waistband, slowly lifted her shirt slightly, and dislodged a knife that had been hidden there. “What exactly do you become then?”

A darkness crept over Shannon’s face at the taunt and she reached behind her with her good arm, revealing her own knife. Her voice fell into a dry monotone, “I guess we’re about to find out.”

Roth took a step forward, knife in her left fist, and swung. Shannon took a step back, the blade whistling beneath her chin. She barely had a millisecond to react, as the assassin reversed course on a dime and sent a sharp backhand right at her head.

Shannon ducked beneath it, this time feeling the blade catch for a moment in her hair. But Roth followed with a well-aimed right fist which slammed into Shannon’s jaw. She fell backwards, but managed to throw up her arm and bump Roth off balance on the follow through.

This gave her a couple seconds to let the stars subside as Roth straightened. Shannon’s anger flared and she jabbed with her knife at her opponent’s midsection, but a quick sidestep caused her to miss. Roth followed with a left hook. Shannon’s arm snapped upward and caught the attack, pinning it against her body.

She took advantage of the opportunity and sent a swift kick to Roth’s side, her shoe sinking into the soft tissue between ribcage and waist. Using the pinned arm as a lever, Shannon spun right, hurling Roth into the corridor wall, dislodging the knife in the process.

Roth stumbled and her head hit the wall hard, leaving a slight crack in the plaster, but she bounced off the wall into a roll, just in time to have Shannon’s follow-up kick fly past her face.

From her knees, the assassin launched at Shannon, catching her in the hips and taking them both back to the ground. The two wrestled for position, but Roth managed to grab the agent’s dislocated elbow and wrench it backwards.

Pain exploded through the arm, and across her shoulders and Shannon screamed. Roth quickly used the injured arm as leverage and pinned it behind Shannon’s back, while simultaneously wrapping her arm around the agent’s neck.

Shannon flailed, flopping her head back and forth trying to get air, any small jot she could. Her good hand clawed frantically at Roth’s arm, failing to pry it away from her throat. “Don’t…do…this…” she managed to gasp.

“You could have just let me escape, you know? Take down Yemi, become a hero.” Roth shifted her weight and her arm slipped for a second, giving Shannon an extra gulp of air, before clenching the vice once more. “But you had to come after me. Did you think you had nothing left to lose after you lost your fiancé? You were wrong. But now you’re about to lose the only thing you actually had left.”

“Say hello to your fiancé for me,” Roth hissed as she flexed and leaned into the chokehold.

Shannon’s lungs burned, desperate, begging for oxygen. But Roth was too strong. That cinching grip was too tight. All the scratching and tugging and clawing in the world wasn’t going to break that vise. Blackness began to cloud the corners of her vision and Shannon frantically fought to latch her gaze onto any light she could. The bulbs overhead, the whitewashed walls reflecting their beams, the shimmering glint off the blade of the knife.

The knife
. It had fallen to her side in the struggle. She’s forgotten about it in the pain and struggle to breathe. Shannon stabbed her hand at the knife, grabbing its handle and, closing her eyes, packed all her strength into one final backward thrust.

A second later, Roth’s grip relaxed, then fell away. Shannon gasped, parched for air, and scrambled a few feet away before turning to find where her knife had landed.

Only the handle was visible, its blade completely buried in her ribcage, near the heart. A quickly growing dark circle surrounded its protrusion. Too much blood. The knife had done its job.

Roth fell back, her breaths gurgling in short bursts. She moved her hand to the wound and pulled it back, coated in red. She had seconds, not minutes.

“This is your first, isn’t it?” Roth rasped. “Your first kill, I mean.” She paused for a coughing fit, spewing droplets of blood onto the floor.

Shannon just stared.

“I thought so.” Another cough, more blood. “I remember my first. I was a lot like you before that,” she tried to laugh, but couldn’t manage it. “But you lose something when you kill someone with your own hands. A part of yourself dies too. The most important part.”