The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection With EXCLUSIVE Post-Shiva Short Story (63 page)

Yes, the aquarium. Okay, now it was time to question her genius.

“Babe, those gunmen should be here. Like now.” That was if they stuck to their pace. Their only hope was if the Knot was as confounded by Rebecca’s behavior as he was and had slowed their entrance.

She scooped up a big handful and black material from the aquarium’s filter and said without a trace of hesitation, “Eat up.”

* * *

Rebecca urged her dripping wet hand to Brandt. They didn’t have much time.

“I am not eating…” Brand said, his face scrunched in disgust. “Fish crap.”

“Yes, you are, along with the activated charcoal.”

To prove to him it might be gross but essential she downed a mouthful of the gritty black material herself. And it did, in fact, taste like fish crap.

Brandt’s eyes narrowed as he scooped some of the material into his hands. “As in activated charcoal that will absorb and neutralize the Gamma radiation?”

“Yep, that’s the activated charcoal I am talking about.”

The high surface area of the active charcoal made it ideal for absorbing and negating all kinds of toxins. From the ammonia in fish urine to drug overdoses to natural gas leaks, activated charcoal was the filtration substance of choice. And this was no different. Radiation could be trapped by the same mechanism as heroin.

Was her solution perfect? No. Would it absorb enough to save their lives and mask their presence? She hoped so.

“I am never eating fish after this,” Brandt said, choking down the last handful.

She gulped down her last grimy bite, then turned on the sink and poured the last of contaminated champagne down the drain. In a single moment all four signatures should have winked out.

With any luck, the only blips on the Knot’s screen should be the carefully placed champagne flutes. The sound of the door clicking open sent them both to their knees behind the restaurant’s bar.

The first gunman came in, gun blazing. Brandt shot once, downing the man. His accuracy and steely nerve reminded her once again why she needed to recruit ex-military for her grad students.

The next two gunmen must have seen what happened to their comrade and entered much more slowly. The only sound of their approach was the crunching of broken glass under their boots. Brandt crept down the bar, cocking his head. Listening to the footfalls, waiting until the opportune time to shoot. Which, for Rebecca, would have been like right now. However, she didn’t rush Brandt. She might have figured out how to mask their Gamma signature and forestall radiation poisoning, but now it was up to Brandt to get them past the ten, now make it nine, well-armed men.

She watched Brandt’s bicep tense and covered her ears as he sprang up, shooting a spray of bullets. One man fell so close that Rebecca could see the assailant’s surprised look as the light left his eyes. Gulping, she scooted closer to his hand. He hadn’t been only carrying a weapon. He had a small-screened device as well. Rebecca reached out and snagged the handle, pulling it from his grasp and sliding it across the floor as more assailants entered the room.

Brandt led them further down the bar as she studied the Gamma readout. She and Brandt weren’t showing up. Rebecca held back tears. The activated charcoal was doing its job. Only the champagne glasses, each titrated with an aliquot of concentrated poison flared red on the screen. She had placed the flutes in pairs scattered around the restaurant as decoys. The assailants had to focus on those areas, leaving Brandt free to pick them off. Or at least that was the plan.

Brandt glanced over his shoulder when she wasn’t right on his heel. Rebecca showed him the Gamma read out although he didn’t seem nearly as pleased as she would have thought.

“Where’d you get that?” he whispered.

“From the gunman and—”

“Is it heavy?” he demanded.

“Well, yeah, but it’s a complicated piece of—”

Brandt didn’t even let her finish. He grabbed the device and like a grenade slung it up and over the bar. The thing exploded as it flew halfway across the room. Screams echoed off the walls as one gunman, his full body on fire, ran past them, through the cracked window and into the street.

Rebecca’s hand shook. Another moment, and that would have been her. Brandt aimed to the street and put the man out of his misery. Shots came from the other side of the restaurant, driving them back under the bar. Then the gunfire died down as shots carried from the back of the restaurant.

“They’re pulling back,” Brandt said.

“That’s great.” Again, Brandt didn’t look all that pleased. “Right?”

* * *

Wrong.

He grabbed her hand. “You’ve got to run when I say.”

“I don’t—”

The sound of an RPG cut Rebecca off. The men hadn’t pulled back because they were giving up. The Knot had pulled back so they could use a much bigger weapon.

Brandt rose from a crouch, drawing Rebecca with him. Without hesitation they ran through the broken window, past the still burning car that served as the first bomb and out into the street. They charged right into the path of the rocket, ducking as it sailed over their heads and smashed into the restaurant, setting the place afire.

He didn’t stop them there. They raced across the street and toward the source of the RPG. Clearly, the projectiles were coming from one of the Taj Mahal’s minarets. Not as clear was how well-armed the assailant was besides the RPG launcher.

At last check from the satellite feed, The Knot had committed their personnel to the hotel. They must have felt confident they could pinpoint Rebecca and he’s position through the Gamma signature. They had left the RPG operator unprotected. It was that kind of arrogant thinking that had taken them down in the first place.

Luckily, Brandt never assumed an operation would go according to plan, because in his experience, it never did.

Just like operation engagement. He had the ring in his pocket and a boatload of guns upstairs.

Bullets chewed up the street behind them. The remaining gunmen had regrouped and unfortunately Rebecca’s yellow dress was about a good a tag as the radioactivity had been. They reached the towering main gate to the Taj complex but it was closed. It was, after all, a little after tour hours.

The gate structure was massive itself, giving them precious cover behind one of the large turrets. Brandt glanced up. The retaining wall was only ten feet high.

Brandt grinned at Rebecca. “You ready to do some climbing?”

She ripped her dress, creating a slit up to her thigh in answer. They were in luck that the gate structure itself was not only massive, but elaborate as well. There were low decorative walls, long overhangs, and lots and lots of footholds in the brick itself.

Teetering on the edge of the low wall, Brandt cupped his hands. A grappling hook would have been nice, but he didn’t think to bring one. Again, with the Knot on the prowl, a mistake.

Rebecca stepped into his hand. He helped lift her up as she scrambled up the overhang. Brandt swung his equipment bag over his shoulder ready to scale the wall himself when a bullet sliced over his arm. The bastards had advanced on their position. Letting go of his hold, Brandt dropped back down to the ground, swinging to his right, sweeping the area with gunfire.

“Brandt!” Rebecca cried out, half on this side of the wall and half on the other.

“Get over!”

Her yellow hem slid out of view as he continued spraying cover fire. It didn’t look good though. He was pinned down. Sure he had a bit of cover but once the gunmen fanned out again, regrouping after his and Rebecca’s jailbreak? It would only be a few minutes before one of them gained an angle on him.

“I’ll open the gate!” Rebecca yelled above the automatic weapon fire.

Brandt knew she would try her hardest, but would she make it in time?

* * *

Rebecca stared at the locking mechanism on the Grand Gate—a structure that used to be made out of pure silver. Now it was some kind of bulletproof metal alloy with a lock about as sophisticated as a bank safe. Guess they really didn’t want people on the grounds after hours.

The gate was meant to symbolize the profound difference between the material world on Brandt’s side and the spiritual side of the Taj Mahal. She glanced over her shoulder to the brilliantly white monument. The sight nearly took her breath away. It truly was the Seventh Modern Wonder of the World. From its pristine minarets from which prayer could be called to its beautifully etched face, there was no finer craftsmanship. She could have stared at it for hours, except you know, all that gunfire.

Refocusing on the lock, she counted at least five different keyholes with a numeric keypad as well. Brandt really should have come over first. However, that would have left her on the other side with all the men firing.

“Do you have any C-4?” Rebecca yelled.

Brandt didn’t respond as the sound of shots filled the air. Then a small packet, no larger than a pack of gum fell at her feet along with a detonator and trigger. It still freaked her out that C4 could just be tossed around like that, however it came in really handy now. Picking up the packet she placed it in the heart of the locking mechanisms. Rebecca had no idea where else to put it. Targeting was usually Lopez and Brandt’s job—deciding on directionality, torque, and blast radius.

Rebecca buried the detonator into the putty-like material. What if it wasn’t enough? What if she couldn’t get the gate open? The gunshots grew closer and closer.

“No matter what,” Brandt shouted in between firing short controlled bursts. “Run.”

Rebecca gulped. She could hear it in his voice. Even if she blew the lock, he may not make it past the veritable firing squad outside. The sense that the tiny patch of C4 would be too little too late crushed down on her already sore shoulders.

Then she heard the all-too-familiar thunk and sizzle of an RPG being launched. The rocket flared from the left-most Taj minaret, speeding right toward her. Diving out of the way, Rebecca watched as the RPG hit the gate, shattering it, scattering the gunmen on the other side.

Okay, maybe she didn’t need the C4.

Brandt was through the breach, firing behind him. “Good job.”

Yep. She made one hell of a target.

* * *

Brandt grabbed Rebecca’s hand and made for the Taj Mahal. Not exactly how he expected to enter one of the most romantic spots in the world, but the monument was their best chance for cover and would be impossible for the RPG guy to safely hit, since any direct strike would knock down the minaret the gunmen was holed up in.

So he guided Rebecca down the long pool that led up to the mausoleum. It beautifully reflected the Taj’s white dome and moon that had climbed high overhead. Which wasn’t great, since it gave the gunmen trailing them plenty of light to aim.

Brandt zigged and zagged them down the garden courtyard, using the sparse shrubs as cover but the bullets were getting closer and closer on their heel. Another RPG went off, hitting the tranquil pool, spraying water and debris everywhere. He definitely wasn’t getting the deposit back on this tux.

The Taj Mahal loomed before them. Soon its white elaborately decorated façade filled their vision. He was certain that Rebecca could tell him the artistic technique used and even name the type of gems encrusting the entire structure, however, he only cared that those marble walls could stop armor piercing rounds.

Sirens wailed in the distance, but if he didn’t get them some solid cover, those gunmen would pick them off long before the Indian police arrived. He urged Rebecca to run up the marble steps ahead of him to the main extremely embellished entrance to the monument. They couldn’t wait for another RPG strike, or even long enough to plant some C4 on the door’s lock. Instead, he swung his rifle around and peppered the lock with bullets.

Before they even reached the door, it swung open. Yep, that was the “lead” key for you.

Even Brandt stumbled as they entered the interior of the Taj Mahal. This kind of beauty could take him by surprise even with gunmen on their tail. Stone arches soared overhead, supporting the huge dome above them. Even the floor was inlaid in a geometric pattern. And the details? The flowers? The Arabic script?

However, the single most important object was the stone bench for visitors. He heaved it over in front of the door. It wouldn’t hold off the gunmen long, but every second they could get deeper into the structure without getting fired upon, the better.

“This way,” Brandt pointed for Rebecca to take the first hallway. The closer they were to the RPG minaret the better. If the guy was going to fire, he was going to have to risk his own—

Gunfire rang out from in front of them. Brandt’s body spun to the right as a shot hit him in the gut. He compensated to the left and fired off a series of shots. A scream abruptly stopped the return fire.

“You’re hit,” Rebecca cried, tears streaming down her face.

He was, in fact, hit. His knees felt like Jell-O, and his vision constricted down to a pinpoint in front of him.

Come on
, he chided himself. It’s just a through and through.

“I’m fine,” he gritted out. “We’ve got to make sure he is down for good.”

Gripping his side, the opposite side that took a bullet in Rome, which now made a matching pair, Brandt made his way to the vestibule where a man lay in a pool of bright red blood. The guy was decked out, head to toe, literally with a skullcap and everything, in a reflective black material. Heat shielding material. That was how he was masked from the Pentagon’s infrared sensors.

If he hadn’t already been shot, Brandt probably would have shot himself for his stupidity. Of course the Knot would place a guard on the RPG position. Because, of course, Brandt would make a beeline to the RPG position and take the higher ground.

More shots rang out behind them as the other gun men tried to breach the Taj’s main door.

“Oh, my God,” Rebecca whispered as the moonlight filtered in through the elaborate grates that served as windows. Her horrified face glowed with an almost supernatural beauty.

“It’s not that bad,” Brandt said, removing his hand away from the bullet wound in his side. And actually, he wasn’t lying. Only a trickle of blood dripped off his belt.