Ruthless (23 page)

“Are you done?” she asked, already almost certain of the answer.

“I am done,” he said, and she could hear him smiling from here. “Only one task remains, and for that I will need your help.”

“I am on my way,” Natasya said and put the phone back in the case on her belt. She’d changed out of her party dress hours ago, and felt the better for it. Fatigues: this was the attire appropriate for the party she wanted to attend.

And now all she needed do was descend to the basement prison, and the party she had planned could begin in earnest.

I awoke with the natural start of someone who’d been carried off by her ex-boyfriend while in the midst of a deadly game of pursuit by people who wanted to kill me. I went through the rapid cycle of wondering if I’d been dreaming the whole thing, followed by the confusion inherent in finding myself in my own bed, with the room dark around me.

Then I heard Scott’s voice in the living room and knew I hadn’t dreamed it.

I was clad in nothing under the sheet. I might have been more offended that someone had undressed me, but I’d been wearing camouflage soaked with snow and ice before, so I let it go. I clutched my blankets close to me and heard Scott cease speaking in the other room, followed by a gentle, “You want to get some clothes on and come join us?”

“Maybe,” I said, my throat thick with dryness. How long had it been since I’d had a drink of water? “Who is ‘us’?”

The door opened and I pulled the sheet close to my body as a purely reflexive measure. I saw long, dark hair and a woman wearing a cocktail dress, and I felt the urge to in sigh relief and exasperation all at once. “Dr. Perugini,” I said.

“I sewed up your wound,” she said, pulling the door shut behind her. “Nasty little cut, but unsurprising given the window stunt.” She shook her head at me. “Stupid. Very stupid.”

“I didn’t choose to go out the window,” I said, irritable. “It was sort of forced upon me. Also, it didn’t turn out so bad, since I’m still alive.”

“Through no fault of your own,” she said, glaring at me.

“Sienna,” came my brother’s voice from the living room. “Would you mind saving the bickering for later? We’ve got things to talk about here.”

“Yeah,” I said and threw the sheets back, flashing Dr. Perugini, who rolled her eyes to avert them. I opened the closet door and ignored the square, empty space that greeted me under my clothes. I grabbed jeans and a shirt, then made my way over to my dresser and pulled fresh socks and underwear, and threw them all on while Dr. Perugini faced the door. As an afterthought, I went back to the closet and stood on my tiptoes, grabbing my auto shotgun off the top shelf and snatching up the big box of ammo with it.

Perugini’s eyes got wide, and she shook her head at me. She didn’t say anything, but I got the sense she didn’t like me playing with guns. I gave zero craps, and walked past her into the living room to find Scott and Reed huddled around a cell phone that was plugged into the wall, charging. They were just standing there, like it was an object of worship for their primitive Neanderthal society. “It’s a cell phone,” I said, causing both of them to look at me in confusion. “Are you two mesmerized? I feel like I’m staring at cavemen who just discovered fire—”

“Hey, Sienna.” A weak, whispered voice came from the cell phone speaker.

I frowned. “Is that … J.J.?”

“In the not-so-flesh.”

“He’s in headquarters,” Reed said, giving me an appraising look. It took me a second to realize he was scoping the damage rather than checking me out. Because that would be
ewwwww
. “He’s tapped into the network, trying to block the terrorists out of the system.”

“And so far succeeding, despite some pretty impressive efforts on their part,” J.J.’s voice came from the speaker. “Whoever they’ve got on their side is very, very good. I’m holding on by the skin of my cuticles here.”

“Were you the one who’s been helping me?” I asked, easing closer to the phone. Perugini was at my side, but at an appropriate distance since she and I didn’t like each other.

“The very same,” J.J. said. “Sorry about the sprinklers.”

“You had to do it,” I said, staring at the little box producing his tinny voice. “Are you safe?”

“Mmm, probably not,” he said. “But I’ve got access to every camera on campus, and I know where all their guys are, so even though I’m in the belly of the beast, I’m okay for now. I’m hiding in a closet on the second floor.”

I felt a thrill of excitement. Full recon will do that to a girl. Well, at least to a girl like me. Maybe geeks really were a girl’s best friend after all. “How many are there and where are they?”

“How did I know you’d be straight to business?” He didn’t sound like he was surprised. “Two on roving patrol on the fourth floor, six guarding the hostages, two mercs plus the remaining Russkie metas heading down into the prison as we speak.”

“Shiiiiiiiit,” I said, and Reed nodded along. I glanced at Scott, who was watching me with only minor interest, comparatively speaking. “Are they through the final door, yet?”

“They’re in,” J.J. said. “But the cell doors are still locked down, so they’ve got a little ways to go. I’m keeping the place in lockdown—”

“Wait, how did they get into the prison?” I asked.

“Vitalik is a frost giant or something,” Reed said, not looking all that thrilled. “He froze the door all the way through and they busted it to pieces. Then he and the mercs set off a chem bomb of some kind in the corridor of death and smoked out the guards, rinsed and repeated the freeze trick on the door to the prison.”

“Crapola, crapola, and crapola,” I said. “What are they doing now?”

“This Vitalik guy made a quick beeline to one cell in particular,” J.J. said. “Eric Simmons.”

“I just put him in there,” I said plaintively.

“Well, he’s almost out now,” J.J. said. “I give it five minutes and he’s going to be a free man.”

“What’s their next play?” I asked, then shook my head. “Never mind, you couldn’t possibly know that—”

“The Russian lady told Phillips they’re going to evacuate under the cover of hostages before the authorities can arrive,” J.J. said. “Gonna take the high-level ones on a helicopter ride to a plane, then jet out of the country to Cuba.”

“How could you possibly know that?” I asked, mystified. “We don’t have microphones on our security cameras.”

“True,” J.J. said. “But we do have them on pretty much every computer in the building, built-in and ready to transmit to anyone who can access the network. Webcams, too.” He sounded a little sheepish. “Plus, I might maybe have hacked into our VME Dominator. Not quite as skilled with it as Roche, but I can do a few things—”

“Are the Russians working for someone?” I asked, suddenly urgent. My time was expiring, and fast.

“Yes,” J.J. said. “But I can’t hear the voice, even though I’ve intercepted a couple calls. It sounds a lot like what Rocha reported in New York. I’m picking up one side of the conversation only, direct through the microphone.”

“That explains why Simmons is the priority rescue,” Reed said grimly. “The brain decided to spring him.”

“Seems like this is our mystery brain’s go-to move,” J.J. said, “the cell phone thing? Most people would just carry a radio.”

“When I catch up with this mystery brain, I’m going to turn them into mystery meat,” I said. “We’ve got to stop them. If Simmons gets out—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Scott said, nodding along. “Sounds like this guy can make the San Andreas fault look like a gentle shaker.”

“If he was of a mind to,” I said. “I don’t really want to deal with that, personally.”

“How you feeling?” Reed asked, nodding at me.

“Weak,” I said. “Powerless.” I lifted a hand and placed it on Scott’s cheek. He recoiled, a little surprised, frowning all the while. I held it there for ten seconds, then twenty. “Yeah, still powerless.”

“Why would you use me to test that?” he asked, more than a little cross.

“Because you’ve still got your power,” Reed said, and now I knew why he was glum.

“Et tu?” I asked, staring at him.

“I was getting you a drink when I realized the barman was a plant,” Reed said and nodded to Perugini. “Didn’t know how to make anything. When the suppressant bomb went off, I was trying to get Isabella to the exit. When I went to clear the air after the blue smoke …” He held a hand up and cringed, not so much as a wisp of air moving at his command. “Performance issues.”

“Getting old, eh?” Scott cracked and snapped his fingers, causing water to splash lightly from his hand in a line as thin as a kid’s squirt gun.

“At least I don’t go spraying all over the place,” Reed volleyed back, amusement creasing his forehead.

Dr. Perugini made a harrumphing noise a moment before I could make one of my own to bring us back on target. “Prison break, yes?” She shuddered. “Do not forget, Anselmo and his hench-loons are in there.”

“We need a plan,” I said, staring at the blackout curtains strung in front of my windows. Now I knew why the lights were off; J.J. was trying to make it look like no one was home.

“Ooh, I got one,” J.J. said. “Come over here and kill all the bad guys. You seem like you’re good at that.”

“Priority has to be the prisoners,” Scott said, jaw tight. “They get out, you’ve got pretty much just me, a water-thrower, against … whatever you’ve been capturing lately.” He said it without an ounce of disdain, which was … predictable, in its way.

“Angels, only, I assure you,” Reed said with a smirk. “Of the fallen variety, maybe. Hell beasts, and Anselmo is pretty much the worst. But I think we should make the hostages priority.” He shrugged when all eyes turned to him. “They’re innocent people.”

“Politicians and bureaucrats,” I said without sympathy.

“Ariadne,” Reed said, looking at me seriously. My smug glibness dissolved in an instant. “Jackie. I know the tribal instinct is strong in you, so remember that some of them are our people.”

I grudgingly had to admit he was right. “Still, those prisoners get loose and it’s going to be a free-for-all. We need help.”

“Oh,” J.J. said, “I called the FBI right before I called Scott. There’s a perimeter around the campus, out of sight. The police have the place cordoned off, but they’re playing it super cool at the moment. FBI Hostage Rescue Team is already en route from Chicago via helicopter and should be here in about an hour.”

“We need a SWAT team of our own,” I groused, not for the first time.

“Hey, if the Department of Education can have one, it seems fair that we should,” Reed quipped.

“Whatever you’re going to do, guys,” J.J. said, “you might want to do it fast, because their bench strength is minutes away from getting on the field.” He paused. “Or whatever. Did I say that right? I’m not a sports kind of guy.”

“Hard to believe, that,” I said, and shook my head. When I raised it again, my eyes fell on my backpack, leaning against the side of the couch in my living room. My MP5 was right next to it. Our numbers were improved, but Reed and I were still powerless and about to switch from ambushes and traps to assaulting an enemy in a dug-in position.

“The Russian lady is in the prison,” J.J. said. “I’m thinking this is not good. “

Not good? This was all my nightmares in one.

Stalling for time was only going to make the problem worse from here on out. If we waited, we were screwed. Every minute we let them work was another chance for them to add a player to their team. At this point, time was on their side, the numerical advantage was on their side, and the power gap was all in their favor.

All I had was guts, some guns, and a guy who could spray water hard enough to hurt, maybe kill. Against an ice-type and a … whatever Natasya Sokolov was. Unknowns made me nervous. This was so much worse than what I’d done before. That was running, playing defense as I went.

This was going on the attack against a machine gun nest with inferior numbers.

I thought about it, for one brief second, the idea of running, or doing something similarly cowardly. It didn’t even get fully unpacked before I shoved it out the door like an unwelcome guest. Power or no power, that wasn’t who I was.

“Saddle up,” I said, shaking my head. “We’ve got no choice.” Scott looked at me with a grudging nod, and Reed just looked a little reticent before he gave me a nod of his own. “We’re going in.”

Eric Simmons could hear the freedom train, man, and it sounded good. However long he’d been in this timeless pit in the ground (and he wasn’t real sure, since they didn’t dim the lights, ever) it had been way, way too long. He couldn’t live without the feel of sunlight over his head. He’d bounced around these gel-pack walls itching to let loose with a righteous burst of quake that would send this whole joint shaking.

He hadn’t, though, because that lady with the sweetness-proof soul hadn’t been lying, he didn’t think. Sienna Nealon. That bitch.

So he’d waited, bided his time, sat back and trusted in Cassidy to do her thing. She was good at that.

No, she was the best at that.

And now he watching a guy with ice hands frosting over his cell door, and Eric Simmons couldn’t have been happier. He thought he recognized the guy—one of those Russians, right? The ones that had been doing some time themselves not that long ago? Man, the wheel turned fast for them. Now they were a cause célèbre—or however you said it. After the press got a load of how he lived in this dive, maybe he’d be a cause célèbre, too, because this place was crazy inhuman. No exercise? No TV? No one to talk to? All he did was watch the guards make circles around the Cube all day long until they changed shifts. Lie down, sleep, wait for a meal to come out of a slot in the ceiling. All prepackaged, and nothing left at the end that couldn’t be flushed away down the toilet hole.

It was like hell, if hell had been quiet.

No, Simmons was damned glad to be seeing the end of his days in this place. The door was all frosted over, the gel covered with ice. Now he was just waiting, waiting and trusting the Russians to do what Cassidy had probably convinced them to do. Waiting and—

There it was.