Vengeance (Twenty-Five Percent Book 3) (17 page)

“Don’t move!”

Alex came to a halt and didn’t move.

The tall, black-suited guard standing in the hotel lobby waggled the business end of his rifle. “Put your hands up.”

“You told me not to move.”

“Don’t be facetious.”

Alex couldn’t help himself. “That’s a big word for someone stupid enough to work for Boot.”

The guard narrowed his eyes. “It means...”

“I know what it means. And I’m not armed.” Alex lifted his jacket and turned in a slow circle to prove it.

“Lift the t-shirt.”

“Aren’t you going to buy me dinner first?” Alex thought it was funny. The Boot goon, evidently, didn’t. Sighing, Alex raised the hem of his blue t-shirt and rotated again.

He waved his rifle at Alex’s ankles. “And the bottom of your jeans.”

This was becoming annoying. “Boot wants me here,” Alex said, yanking up each leg to show there was nothing there other than his shapely calves. “This is just a waste of time. Besides, if I was going to kill him I wouldn’t need a weapon.”

“If you say your body is a deadly weapon, I’ll just shoot you right here.”

A Boot employee with a sense of humour. That was a novelty.

He tossed Alex a pair of what turned out to be eater handcuffs. “Put those on behind you.”

“Why are you still with him?” Alex said as he slipped the cuffs on and closed them. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“And what type is that?” he said, motioning with the rifle for Alex to start walking.

“The type to be okay with the slaughter of millions of people.”

The guard didn’t answer and Alex glanced back at him as they headed for a doorway at the far side of the lobby. His face was neutral, but Alex didn’t miss the clenching of his jaw.

Interesting.

. . .

Micah crouch-ran along the side wall of the hotel, keeping below the bottom edge of the windows.

He’d just watched Alex walk into the lobby. Although he didn’t have much time, he’d waited, listening for any sign something had gone wrong. There was always the chance that Boot had told his guards to shoot them on sight. It was unlikely, given Boot’s pathological need to have everyone see how he held all the power, but it was still a worry. To Micah’s relief, there had been no gunshots.

Now he just needed to find a way in.

He reached a fire exit and pulled at the handle. Locked.

At the back of the building he found another door, surrounded by huge rubbish bins of various shapes, pallets, and various other jumble from the former habitation of the hotel. The door was locked, but a window a little farther along was open a crack. He crept up to it and peered inside. Seeing no movement, he pulled the window wide and climbed through.

Micah found himself in a kitchen, surrounded by industrial-sized stainless steel appliances, cabinets and worktops. General clutter covered every surface. Evidently when civilisation fell, so did tidiness.

With a mild feeling of disapproval, he made his way past the mess to a door in the wall opposite, listened for sounds on the other side, then slipped out.

The only way to the upper floors was via the main stairs. There was a service lift, but without power that was useless. Micah considered climbing up the lift shaft, but only briefly and with no real conviction. Although if Alex had been with him, he’d have pretended to be all for it.

He managed to reach the stairs unseen. The plan that Alex would serve as a distraction while Micah found Pat, Emma and Katie and got them out seemed to be working so far. Only a single man guarded the foyer and he was out of sight of the stairs, focused on the outside. Micah guessed that after what happened in Cambridge, Boot wanted all the protection he could get when Alex was around. The thought made him smile.

It was funny how his attitude to Survivors had done a complete u-turn in the past month. Before, those cured of Meir’s disease disgusted him, made him angry and, if he was totally honest, even scared him a little. Now, thanks to Alex and his friends, Micah actually thought the effects of being cured were impressive.

Not that he’d tell Alex that in a million years.

Micah began his search on the first floor, the heavy duty carpeting helping to muffle his footsteps as he jogged along the corridors. His plan was to do a quick sweep of each floor and see if there were any rooms being watched. If that failed he’d have to go door to door, but he hoped that wouldn’t be necessary. He didn’t have that kind of time.

When the first floor came up empty, he moved on to the second. Up the stairs and around the corner, he almost collided with one of Boot’s cronies slouching against the wall, playing a game on his phone.

The surprised man, who towered over Micah by a good half foot, fumbled to raise the rifle he held. Micah darted forward and grabbed the weapon. He twisted it out of the guard’s hands and stepped back, using the strap to slingshot him face first into the wall. He pushed away and swung one massive fist at Micah’s face. Micah dropped to the floor while he was still moving and chopped the edge of his hand hard into the tendon at the back of the guard’s knee. His leg buckled. Following up with an elbow jabbed into the family jewels ensured the big man went down.

Micah grabbed the rifle and drove the butt into the back of the man’s head. He slumped onto the carpet, out cold.

A quick frisk produced a knife, a pistol and a taser, in addition to the automatic rifle, which seemed like an excessive amount of fire power to guard a woman and two small children. He also found a room key. After binding the Boot goon’s hands behind him with a zip tie he’d brought along for the purpose and leaving him more or less in the recovery position on the floor, Micah inserted the key into the lock and opened the door.

At first glance the room appeared to be empty.

“Pat?”

A glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye was the only warning he had. He threw himself out of the way as a chair smashed into the doorframe where he’d been standing.

The chair disintegrated into kindling.

The person wielding it drew in a sharp breath.

“Micah?”

Micah’s jaw dropped as he stared at his attacker. For a few seconds, he couldn’t find any words.

Finally, he managed just one.

“
Hannah
?”

Harvey Boot was holding court in the dining room.

Alex walked in and took quick note of the position of every person present. The small man with the planet-sized ego was sitting at a table by the window, a map of the city spread out in front of him. His PA, Valerie, sat at the same table, with Chester standing behind her. And a grand total of fifteen of Boot’s security guards were scattered around the room, each one armed with an automatic rifle pointed in Alex’s direction.

Alex couldn’t hide his smirk. He must have
really
scared Boot in Cambridge.

Frobisher was leaning against a wall to Alex’s right, arms folded across his huge chest, eyes fixed on Alex.

“So,” Boot said, looking up, “you do have an Achilles heel. I’m curious though, who are the children to you? I wondered if they were yours, but if the woman with them is their mother that wouldn’t be possible, unless they’re adopted. But I’m thinking it’s more likely the man my man shot while taking them is their father. So I’m still unclear as to why they seem to have such an attachment to you.”

Alex forced himself to remain calm, at least outwardly. “I won’t insult your intelligence by telling you what I’ll do to you if you’ve hurt them.”

Boot’s shrug was nonchalant, although a nerve twitched in his jaw. “Well, it doesn’t really matter what your relationship is to them. You care about them, that’s all I need to know. And they are unharmed. I don’t hurt children.”

“Other than the millions slaughtered or turned because of your virus, you mean?”

Boot frowned. “Sometimes there is unavoidable collateral damage. You are in no position to judge me.”

Unavoidable collateral damage
. There really was no answer to that.

“Where is Mr Clarke?” Boot said. “The letter specified the both of you to come.”

“I have no idea where he is,” Alex said. “We had a disagreement earlier and he left. For all I know, he’s halfway to Scotland by now.”

Boot studied him for a few seconds, eyes narrowed. “Mr Frobisher, take some of the men and make a sweep of the building and surrounding area.”

Frobisher pushed away from the wall, motioning to some of the guards. Half of them began to move. It was exactly what Alex didn’t want. He was supposed to be the distraction.

“You said you’d let them go!” he yelled.

Boot jumped at the sudden outburst. Swallowing, he straightened his poker-straight tie. “I said I’d let them go if you and Mr Clarke came here. Mr Clarke has not, therefore...”

“
You lying bastard!
” Alex screamed. Hoping none of the guards had itchy trigger fingers, he launched himself across the room at Boot.

Boot scrambled from his chair, knocking it over behind him, and darted behind Chester. Frobisher and the other bodyguards turned from where they’d been heading for the door and dashed towards Alex. Around the room, rifles were aimed.

“Don’t shoot him!” Boot barked.

A guard threw himself at Alex and they both tumbled to the floor a few feet from Boot’s table. Hands still cuffed behind his back, Alex landed on his chest, the air forced from his lungs. He rolled onto his side and kicked at another guard lunging for him. The guard yelled in pain as Alex’s foot connected with his hip.

Then what felt like far more men than there were in the room piled onto Alex all at once.

He struggled to breathe as he was shoved into the carpet. He was pinned down without the use of his arms, nevertheless he struggled, kicking out and bucking against his attackers. Punches and kicks rained down onto his body and head, forcing him to curl up in an effort to protect his face.

“Stop!” a voice bellowed. It sounded like Frobisher.

The pummelling finally ended and bit by bit the weight lifted from Alex. He opened his eyes to see Frobisher lower to one knee in front of him. Despite the agony he now felt in every part of his body, Alex tried to jerk away.

“Stop struggling, you idiot,” Frobisher growled. “Do you
want
to die?”

Adrenaline and fear still coursing through him, Alex spat a mouthful of blood into his face. Frobisher glared at him, wiping the red saliva from his cheek. Grabbing his arm, he hauled Alex roughly to his feet.

“Mr MacCallum, when will you stop disappointing me?” Boot said in his ridiculous, conceited voice as he sat down again.

Alex tried to stand up properly, but the pain in his ribs made it difficult to straighten. He could feel one eye swelling. He only hoped the move had bought enough time for Micah to find and liberate Pat, Emma and Katie.

“Sir?” a voice said from the door. “We found him on the second floor, trying to get to the woman and girls.”

A void opened in Alex’s gut. He looked back to see two guards lead Micah into the dining room. At the sight of Alex, Micah winced.

Boot smiled. “I knew you wouldn’t come here without him,” he said to Alex. “You’re too predictable. I’m beginning to think I didn’t need to bring the horde with me. I fear I have severely overestimated the two of you. A pity.”

A loud crash sounded from somewhere outside the room, followed by a cacophony of shattering glass. The rat-a-tat of automatic weapons fire cracked through the air.

“Get down!” Micah yelled, darting towards Alex.

Alex started to crouch.

Micah grabbed his arm, hissing, “Not you.”

Everyone else in the room flung themselves to the floor. Boot disappeared under the table.

Micah ran for the door, dragging Alex with him. As they exited the dining room, bullets from inside hit the doorframe.

More gunfire sounded somewhere nearby, but Alex couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

“Come on!” Micah yelled, still pulling Alex along with him as they headed for the front entrance.

Why was he shouting when Alex was right next to him?

Ahead of them, both doors to the outside were now empty metal frames, their glass in a billion sparkling pieces on the floor. Alex and Micah’s footsteps crunched across the detritus as they ran for freedom.

As they burst into the weak sunshine, a third set of footsteps crunched behind them. Alex was about to look back when the Prius he’d brought sped across the car park and screeched to a halt in front of the door.

“Get in!” Pat shouted from the driver’s seat.

The back door opened and Emma beckoned to them, Katie clutched on her lap. Relief flooded Alex at the sight of them.

He climbed into the back seat awkwardly, his cuffed hands and sore ribs making the effort marginally less pleasant than getting a root canal. Micah squeezed in beside him and Alex wondered vaguely why he wasn’t getting into the front, but then Emma and Katie grabbed onto him and his ribs screamed in protest. Despite the pain, he would have given anything to have been able to hug the two girls back.

The car bounced as someone dropped into the passenger’s seat, then Micah yelled, “Go!”

The car lurched forward. Craning to look through the back window, Alex saw a handful of Boot’s guards run out of the building, guns firing. Pat swerved, they bounced over an ornamental flowerbed, and then they were speeding along the road and out of sight.

“Go to the lab,” Micah said to Pat. “They’ve taken Leon there.”

Emma looked into Alex’s bruised face. “You’re hurt.”

He smiled. “I’m okay, now I’ve got you back.”

She nodded and buried her face in his chest. Alex closed his eyes, saying a silent thank you. If anything had happened to the two little girls, he didn’t know how he would have gone on.

“Alex?”

He opened his eyes and looked at a grinning Micah.

“Pat and the girls aren’t the only ones I found.” He nodded towards the front seat.

Alex had almost forgotten their passenger. He wasn’t aware that Boot had taken someone else from the city. He moved his gaze to the front seat and saw a woman’s long, dark hair. She turned her head to look back at him.

Alex gasped in a breath, his mouth falling open.

He blinked a few times in case there was something wrong with his eyes caused by the beating he’d just taken. After an age of staring, the only sound the car’s engine driving them back into the city, he managed to whisper a word.

“Hannah?”

She reached her hand out to his face. Slightly afraid she would turn out to be an illusion if she touched him, he leaned forward. Her fingertips brushed down his cheek, the touch soft, but reassuringly solid.

She pressed her lips together, blinking a few times, and Alex could see she was trying not to cry.

She’s alive.

Alex wanted to ask her how she was here, what had happened, how it was possible, but no words would come. All he could do was stare, his mouth still hanging open.

Hannah’s alive.