Dark Deceptions (3 page)

Springing to his feet, he followed his friends as they sprinted for the cover of the jungle, quietly trying to raise someone
on his com piece. No one answered, and he wasn’t certain if the problem was his alone or if somehow the entire system was
down.

But there was no time to figure it out. Bullets exploded in the mud at his feet, and he dropped to a crouch, still moving,
veering back and forth to keep his path unpredictable. Ahead, he saw Emmett fall, but Drake was quick to pull him back to
his feet, the two of them moving in tandem. Tyler was just off to the right, almost to the cover of the trees.

All she needed was time to detonate.

Swerving back toward the road and the gunmen, Nash rolled to the ground again and came up firing, satisfied to see a burst
of blood as one of the gunmen hit the dirt. Two more shots and another man was dead.

Two down.

Knowing that he was still too close to the blast zone, he pulled to his feet just as the jeep rounded the corner, machine
guns blazing. Reaching into his flak jacket, he produced a grenade and, without slowing, lobbed it over his shoulder. Seconds
passed, but not enough time for the jeep to react, and the resulting explosion flipped the vehicle into a ditch.

Hitting the top of the ravine and the line of trees, he ran into the jungle, scanning the area for signs of Tyler.

“Here,” came her whisper, from the shelter of a clump of bamboo. “I’m here.”

“Did you lose com or is it just me?” Nash asked, dropping to his knees beside her.

“Whole system is down, which means no remote detonation. It’s got to be me.”

“How’s Emmett?” The shooting had subsided for a moment, but there was no doubt that it would resume as soon as the dust from
the grenade had cleared.

“He’s fine. Bullet to the groin. I don’t think it’s life-threatening, but there was a lot of blood, which meant he was no
good to us here, so I sent him ahead with Drake to the rendezvous point. I figured better to get them out of harm’s way. Easier
for me to concentrate on blowing this pop stand.”

“Literally.” Nash shot her a brief smile. “What about the computer virus?”

“With loss of com we can’t be sure that Jason can launch it. Emmett is going to try to do it manually as soon as they’re out
of range of the gunfire.”

“Good. At least we’ve got that much taken care of. So are we far enough away from the blast zone to detonate?”

“Yeah, we’re good. I just need to verify the signal.” The machine-gun fire resumed, this time much closer. Clearly the perimeter
guards had survived the grenade.

“I’ll see if I can buy you some time.” Without waiting for an answer, he jammed a new cartridge into the Sig, and keeping
low, moved in the opposite direction from Tyler. Once he’d managed to put some distance between the two of them, careful to
keep himself between the encroaching terrorists and her position, he twisted to a standing position and lobbed another grenade.

His last one.

For a moment everything moved in slo-mo, the shooters first freezing as they recognized the impending disaster and then running
and diving for cover as the grenade exploded, sending chunks of mud raining down into the night.

Firing over the top of a fallen log, Nash kept the pressure on, all the while waiting for Tyler’s signal. There were six shooters
now. And despite the momentary obstacle created by the grenade, they had resumed their press forward.

One of the men stepped out from the protection of the vegetation to get a better angle on Tyler’s position, but fortunately,
Nash was faster. Three down, five remaining, and two more unaccounted for. A quick flash of light from above him indicated
that Tyler was ready, so, still firing, he moved back again into the cover of the jungle, making his way over to her position.

“You ready?” she mouthed, holding up the transmitter.

“Go,” he bellowed, shooting as a man broke through the vegetation, his body breaking bamboo as he fell.

Tyler pressed a button, already moving deeper into the woods, but nothing happened.

“Shit,” she said, pressing again. This time, however, the motion was rewarded as a maelstrom of thunder and light split the
night, embers and debris raining down into the jungle.

For a moment everything was quiet, and then all hell broke loose, shots volleying off the trees.

“Run,” Nash yelled. And the two of them sprinted through the jungle, the shots growing fainter as the distance grew. As they
neared the rendezvous point they slowed, and Tyler pulled her gun.

“It’s awfully quiet,” she said.

“Too quiet, if you ask me.”

Together they inched forward until they had a clear view of the beach. Drake and Emmett were huddled next to one of the dinghies,
two Red Sword thugs holding them at gunpoint. Emmett’s pant leg was stained with blood and Drake had a bloody nose, which
meant he hadn’t gone down easily, but it was clear that for the moment at least the terrorists had the upper hand.

Of course they hadn’t counted on Nash and Tyler.

With a mutual nod, they separated, shifting so that they each had a clear shot. And then on a silent count of three, they
fired. Nash’s man was dead before it even dawned on him that he’d been hit. Tyler’s had enough time to get off a shot, but
it went wild, and he, too, went down as Nash and Tyler broke free of the undergrowth and sprinted into the clearing.

“About damn time,” Drake said with a grin.

“You get the virus launched?” Tyler asked.

“Do we look totally incompetent?” Drake quipped. “Of course we got it off. Truth is we had everything under control.”

“Yeah, right,” Nash returned as they pulled the boats into the water and helped Emmett on board. “I don’t know what I was
thinking.”

“We should have let them shoot you,” Tyler said, pulling the cord to start the outboard motor.

Still grinning, Drake did the same with the other dinghy, and the two boats headed for the safety of open water, the jungle
glowing silently behind them, backlit by the eerie fire of the burning array.

Creede, Colorado

A
nnie Gallagher stood at the window watching the fairy fall of snow, each flake glistening as it fell through the swath of
gold cast by the lamplight. Tomorrow she’d have to shovel, but tonight she was content to simply enjoy the magic.

She thought about waking Adam, but resisted the urge. It was late and he had school. Still, the idea of building a snowman
appealed. Behind her the clock struck twelve and she laughed. Definitely too late for Adam to be up. Even with the temptation
of a midnight snowstorm.

She turned her back on the snow, shivering as she walked through the drafty hallway into the warmth of the firelit parlor.
The old Victorian was a rare find in these parts, especially way up here on the mountain. It had been pretty run-down when
she’d first found it, but Annie had recognized its beauty despite the disrepair, and she’d never been afraid of a little work.

The quiet of the San Juans had been just what the doctor ordered. And now she and Adam had made a life here, far away from
the world she’d inhabited for most of her adult life. The shadowy world of espionage. Sometimes she missed it. But she’d never
regretted her decision. Isolation was the best thing for Adam.

And for her.

The little town of Creede was the perfect place for escape. High in the mountains, occupied mainly by others who wanted a
quiet life away from the real world. No one asked questions. Folks here weren’t interested in who you’d been, just who you
were now. And that suited Annie just fine.

She picked up a poker and shifted the logs on the fire, the flames crackling as they danced along spines of spruce and aspen.
Above the firebox, on the mantel, was the only thing that remained from her old life—well, almost the only thing—an intricately
carved wooden box. She’d found it in a market in Krakow. The day Adam had been conceived.

Of course she hadn’t known that then. Or just how much her life was going to change.

She looked down at the objet d’art cupped in her hands. It was a puzzle box. The kind that only opened for someone who knew
its secrets. At the time she’d just thought it beautiful and interesting, but as the years passed, she’d come to realize that
it symbolized her life. She was the box, the secrets of her past locked deep inside alongside parts of her she no longer wished
to acknowledge.

With fingers long practiced, she manipulated the crevices and curves, and with a small squeak of protest, the box sprang open,
revealing its treasure.

The faded petals of a rose.

Cliché, really. But she smiled, her mind drifting back to the market square and the sweet smell of roses. No one had ever
given her flowers before. And in that moment—everything had been perfect.

But nothing was forever.

She closed the box and put it back on the mantel, ashamed suddenly of her vulnerability. It was only a memory. Turning her
back on the mantel, she sat in the wing chair, snuggling into the warmth of its cushions as the snow fell and the fire snapped
and hissed.

Life was in the present. Here in the mountains. With Adam.

And on that note…

She stood up and began gathering the myriad toys scattered throughout the room. A Tonka truck, a Leapfrog cartridge, a Lego
pirate, a Happy Meal racecar, and a stuffed turtle named Timmy. Crossing the room, she tossed the toys into a plastic basket,
and satisfied that she’d tidied a bit, started for the kitchen and a hot cup of tea.

Before she’d taken two steps, she stopped, instinct sending a warning as the hairs on her arms rose ominously. She waited,
hardly daring to breathe, trying to figure out what it was that bothered her.

And then she heard it—a low screeching noise as if a window were opening or something were being dragged across the floor.
She froze, concentrating on identifying the location of the noise, her heart hammering to a stop as something moved again.

Upstairs.

With Adam.

Mind scrambling, she quickly went through the possibilities. Most likely an animal. The worst of which would be a bear. Thanks
to the summer drought, food was in short supply. But bears were more interested in the kitchen than an upstairs bedroom. Burglary
was possible, but uncommon here in the mountains, which meant if the intruder was human, it was most likely a vagrant looking
for a warm bed for the night. Unless, somehow, her cover had been blown.

She discarded the notion as quickly as it had occurred. It had been too long and she’d been too careful. Probably just the
wind. But better safe than sorry. She grabbed the poker and headed toward the stairs. She’d have preferred her Beretta, but
it was upstairs in a lockbox. Too far from Adam. There simply wasn’t enough time.

Moving silently on bare feet, she crept up the stairs, straining for further indication of where the danger lay. If only she
could get to Adam’s room, they could crawl out the window. The gable would give them a way down to the roof of the porch and
from there to the ground—and safety.

The landing at the top of the stairs was shrouded in darkness. It provided cover, but made it difficult to see. At the end
of the hall, the glow from Adam’s night-light spilled out into the corridor, the soft light almost comforting in its normalcy.
She started to move, pulling up short as a shrill moan echoed through the house, the sound emanating from the spare room.

Adrenaline flooded through her and she lifted the poker as she stepped from the landing into the hallway, ready for a fight.

Nothing moved.

Waiting another moment, just to be certain, she inched forward, back to the wall, sucking in a breath as she swung into the
spare room. A breeze lifted the curtain as snow spilled through a broken window. Jammed into the hole, a twisted tree limb
moved back and forth, screeching against the jagged glass. Annie sighed, relief washing through her, her warrior instincts
dissipating as quickly as they’d come.

She’d meant to cut back the tree. Remove that branch. But there’d always been something else to do and she’d kept putting
it off. Now she’d be replacing a window as well.

First thing tomorrow.

Grabbing a towel, she stuffed it into the hole between the glass and the branch. Then, after bending to retrieve the poker,
she headed back into the hall to check on Adam. The hall was warmer than the spare room, but she shivered anyway. The aftermath
of her scare.

Adam’s room was chaotic as always. No matter how easy she made it to put away toys or how often she managed to do it herself,
there was still always a mess, her son fond of throwing things every which way.

His bed was shadowed, his covers piled high. As usual, he’d burrowed his way to the very bottom of the bed. As a toddler he’d
always managed to turn himself round about. Head under the blankets, tiny little toes pressed against the pillow. Nothing
had changed.

She smiled, lifting the covers, and then choked on a scream as she realized there was no Adam. Only a pile of abandoned stuffed
animals, their friendly faces adding horror to her rising panic. The wind outside whistled, drapes flying high as she whirled
to face an open window.

Heart shriveling, she called Adam’s name, her mind conjuring images of him hurt and frightened.

Outside, in the softly falling snow, she could see fading tire tracks on the drive. Someone had been here. Someone had taken
her little boy.

“Adam,” she screamed again, but the wind whipped her words away, taunting her terror. “Adam��”

But she was too late.

Adam was gone.

“So in the final days of April, General Hooker leads the Army of the Potomac upstream to slip around Lee’s left flank.” Nash
drew a hooked arrow on the board to illustrate the point, just as the beeper on his belt vibrated twice. “Lee responds aggressively
and during the first week of May wins what may have been his greatest victory.” The beeper vibrated again, this time repeating
its message twice, but Nash ignored it, looking instead at his students. “Who can tell me what happens next?”