Virtually His (21 page)

He nodded to show that he understood her and sat very still. She quickly stretched the rope downward and looped both his hands together, then putting the weapon down within easy reach, she pulled, tied a knot, and relooped it around the back steel support of the chair. Then she did the same thing with his feet. She taped his mouth.

That done, she went back to the desk. She turned the laptop around so she could keep an eye on the man as well.

“I’m removing the key from the device, HQ. That will interrupt whatever program that’s running on the laptop,” she said.

“Download the information into the flashdrive then destroy the laptop, over,” De Clerq instructed.

“Done,” she said, after several minutes.

She took out a microdigital camera and panned the room as she recorded it. She wanted Hades to see how accurate they had both been. She headed for the door and gave the man a last glance.

“I’d rather not say
wiedersehen,
if you don’t mind,” she told him then exited.

“Not a good move, Elena,” a voice told her.

That got her attention all right. “Where are you?” she demanded as she ran down the corridor, retracing her steps back to the elevator.

Silence.

The elevator was still open. She checked her watch. Not that much time had passed. She got inside and pressed the button. Once she had the key, she was to return to her group, give it to Alex, and they would then head back down. Alex would somehow pass the key to their insider so that if they were stopped and searched, they wouldn’t have anything on them.

“Helen?” De Clerq interrupted her thoughts.

Helen caught a note of urgency in his voice. “Yeah?”

“Our feed is showing a male speaking urgently on a mobile and running into one of the offices on the twelfth floor. There’s an elevator behind a set of closet doors. We’re assuming this is the same elevator you’re on.”

That made sense. It would be a pain to have to go all the way up to the boss’s office if someone were needed on the ground floor.

“Wait, another one’s just appeared. Weapon drawn. Two hostiles, repeat, two hostiles heading your way.”

The guys running didn’t bode well.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked calmly. There was no way to stop the moving elevator. “Take him out?”

“Not if he has his mobile on. We don’t want each floor blocked off. We’re monitoring the other feeds right now. So far, none of the other security seems to be aware that anything’s wrong.”

There wasn’t any time to debate about this. “I’m climbing up into the elevator shaft,” Helen announced, pulling out her rappel shot. “If you don’t hear anything, it means I’m busy.”

There was silence from De Clerq’s end. She could see them all at CCC exchanging doubtful glances. The decision had been instinctive, and at moments like this, she usually followed her instinct rather than question it.

The webbing from the rappel-shot was made to hold triple her weight. She aimed at the top corner of the elevator and pulled the trigger. A “twap” resounded in the enclosed space as the prong pierced the metal. She pulled and flipped at the same time, using her feet to kick on parts of the ceiling panel as she “ran” across it, looking for the escape hatch used by repair technicians. At the third kick, a part of the panel gave way. She landed on her feet and pulled on the webbing again, this time running up the sides of the elevator and using her speed to give her enough momentum to let go of the rope so she could shove aside the open hatch. She pushed up quickly, popping the panel to the side as she hung on, half in and out of the elevator car. It didn’t take her long to pull herself into the space above.

Air rushed like a miniature wind tunnel as the elevator continued moving upward. Helen ignored the lurching motion, the cracks of light flickering from between cinder blocks giving her an idea how fast the car was moving. The reverberation of speeding air and moving cables humming together distracted her for a second. Still on her knees, she pressed the trigger that would release the prong from the wall and felt the webbing snap back into the rappel-shot. She moved the paneling back into place even as the elevator was slowing down. That had the same effect of a train shuttle coming to a stop, and she had to hang on to an illuminated box attached to the top of the elevator car to keep her balance. Someone who had been there before her must have spilled some kind of oil; she could smell it and her shoes had no traction as she slid sideways, barely missing the cable.

“That wouldn’t have felt good,” she breathed out, more to herself than anyone.

“We have that on video here. Pretty nifty move, Agent Roston,” De Clerq came in. “The door is opening. Our hostiles are looking into the elevator, weapons drawn.”

Helen rose up on her knees, looking down at the panel, prepared for anything.

“First hostile’s talking into his unit, shaking his head at his partner, looking around,” De Clerq informed her. “He’s definitely looking for an intruder. Someone must have called him from his post. The other’s turning around and running off.”

Knowing that De Clerq’s end probably couldn’t hear what was being said, Helen put her ear against the loosened panel, trying to catch all the words. The elevator started moving and the whistle of rushing wind cut off some of his words. They were going back down. The German was speaking fast and furiously.

“…no one here. No one’s answering me on my mobile. Something’s wrong…coming down to untie you now…Peter’s alerting security about upstairs now. I heard over the walkie-talkie…visitors. Hang on, I have to call individual numbers—”

Shit. Her decision—Helen didn’t allow herself to think. She couldn’t afford to make another tactical mistake and let this man get more help. It might already be too late, what with the other hostile running off upstairs.

Unsteady from the moving elevator, she cocked her weapon then pushed the panel aside, lurching through the opening and popping a shot to the right. She guessed wrong. Her target was standing against the back of the elevator, not the front. He glanced up and dropped his communication unit, surprised but prepared, his hand holding his weapon already up and firing.

A shot grazed Hell’s arm as she pulled back quickly. Another bullet whizzed past her and from the corner of her eye she could see sparks flying off the steel cable. As long as the stupid car was moving, she couldn’t keep her balance.

That illuminated control box she had been hanging on to. That must be the override control panel of some sort.

She fired a few shots down through the opening to keep the man from picking up his communications unit. A stream of curses in German floated up. Good, she hoped he was hit, too. She turned her attention to the box. It had three buttons, all lit up. More shots from below. She threw herself to the side. Which one? Which one? She pressed the middle one.

The steel cables screeched at the sudden reversal, jerking her body violently. She rolled over the opening, curling her body to avoid the cable. One of her legs fell through. She could hear the man inside the elevator crashing into the wall as the car jerked and swayed for a few seconds as it readjusted. And started going back up. She must have pressed the up button.

She felt her foot being grabbed. She kicked out and leaned forward, pressing the top button this time. The elevator stopped suddenly. Her attacker now had both his hands on her dangling leg. Lying on her front, her other leg was trapped. He pulled on her leg viciously.

Helen could feel perspiration dripping down her face as she grabbed the cable with both her hands so she could twist her body sideways to allow her other leg space. If she let the bastard pull her through the opening with her body jammed so awkwardly, he would pull her leg out of its socket.

“Hmmph!” she growled, grimly gripping on and twisting, and squeezing her leg through the opening so she was no longer doing a split. A part of her registered the pain as the panel scraped the sides of her thighs. She let go.

The man below grunted as she slammed on top of him, using the wall to brace her weight. She used his initial surprise of finding his opponent a woman, grabbing him by the neck and jamming her fingers into the flesh hard so he would loosen his hold on her trapped leg. He grunted in pain.

“Scheiss!”

He freed one hand and yanked her head back by her hair. Ignoring her own pain, she turned her head the opposite way and smashed her elbow into his nose. This time he howled as he let go. Both his hands went up to protect his face.

Helen landed in a heap at his feet. She registered with slight surprise that the elevator was moving again, but there was no time to think about it as her opponent was reaching down for her again. Rage in his eyes. Blood dripping like a faucet from his nose. A string of German curses coming from his lips.

“Sorry, I don’t like what you’re calling me,” she said to him and kicked at his balls.

He tried to jump out of the way but she made enough contact to cause him to howl some more. He dove on top of her and brought up a fist. She turned, saw his fallen weapon, brought it up and pulled the trigger. The shot reverberated in the small space as the bullet hit its mark. The man’s fist lowered as he slowly toppled over.

Helen rolled over to avoid the dead weight, twisting to face the elevator doors. She had no idea whether she had been going up or down this time. She aimed, her finger on the trigger. The doors slid open. There was no one there.

“It’s okay,” a voice greeted her. “Status green.”

It was the COMCEN password. She took her finger from the trigger but still didn’t lower the weapon. She didn’t recognize the voice.

A pair of boots came within sight. Her gaze followed the blue jeans upward, taking in the denim jacket, the arms with the hidden hands shoved inside the pockets, up to the owner’s tanned face. A pair of silver eyes coolly looked down at her. His boot moved and kicked the body half on top of her aside.

“You made a mess,” the stranger said.

H
elen didn’t need any of her unusual abilities to tell her the man standing in front of her was dangerous. Even looking up from where she was, his power unnerved her, as if he was standing too close for comfort. Something dark and ruthless lurked behind those silver eyes gazing down at her so dispassionately, taking in the whole scene in the elevator. She didn’t particularly care for the way he just stood there watching her either. She felt like some new trainee being judged incompetent at handling a simple job.

“Need help getting up?” the stranger asked.

His voice was low, like a man who knew people would listen to him. Slightly husky, like he didn’t talk much. Not that he was offering her any help either, because his hands were still in his pockets. One dark brow lifted, waiting for her answer.

Helen’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t need any help, especially from him. Moving her limbs tentatively, she stretched her right leg. No pain. She pushed herself to a crouch. He still just stood there, watching her as she tried to stand up and lost her balance.

She frowned, looking down at her right leg. She had felt a twinge and then it had given out, but there had been no pain. She tried getting up again, this time slowly and carefully, her eyes grimly on those jeans-clad legs as she straightened to her full height. Damn, she was hoping he would be shorter but no such luck. Finally she looked up, expecting to see scorn in his eyes.

There was none. Those silver eyes, though—they were damn compelling.

Danger.

Her whole being lit up like a thousand lightbulbs and she fought the urge to take a step back. Not liking how he was making her feel, she casually looked down at her hands. Blood. And grime from…? She frowned. The oily stuff she had felt while she was rolling around on top of the elevator.

Oh well. Then all her clothes were covered with the stuff. She looked back at the man as she wiped her hands nonchalantly down the side of her bodysuit. Fashionably spy-black to hide blood and grime, of course.

So, he wanted her to talk first? Maybe he was just speechless from admiration. “Did De Clerq send you?” she asked politely, taking a moment again to reexamine her hands, as if having a dead man at her feet was an everyday thing.

De Clerq was strangely silent in her earpiece. Maybe they were all speechless with admiration at what she’d done.

He didn’t respond immediately as his gaze slid down the length of her and back. It was irritating her. His dark brown hair was combed back neatly, reminding her that hers was probably hell to look at. A dark lock curled over his forehead. She quickly took in the masculine features—nothing soft, from the look in those strange eyes that glittered back at her to the uncompromising set of those lips. He looked too damn comfortable in his faded jacket. His weathered jeans fitted him too damn well. So casual. So ordinary. And everything about him sang danger.

It was her turn to arch an eyebrow. What? Were they going to just stand here?

“Do you still have the SEED?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Number One is going to set the stage upstairs to provide distraction. He’ll demand to see Weber immediately and cause enough trouble to get more security going upstairs. Weber is still occupied. It’s evening and most of the floors are empty, so you won’t have trouble moving from floor to floor using the stairwell.” He pointed to the direction she had to take, then looked down at her legs. “Are you injured?”

Helen straightened even more. She recalled her leg being twisted around like a limb in a wrestling match while her upper body was trapped above the elevator.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” she replied smoothly. After all, she didn’t feel any pain. “What floor am I on again?”

“Twelfth. Can you make it?”

“If I don’t, will you carry me?” she retorted. She gave him a cursory up and down glance. “Might dirty that nice clean outfit.”

He moved for the first time. Just one step. And she didn’t like that she had to tilt her head up to look at him. She took in a breath. A heady sensation rushed through her. Gads, the man even smelled of danger. Either that or rocking around in the elevator had made her light-headed.

“Supersoldier-spy,” he said softly, and there was
no
mistaking the mockery in that husky voice. “Surely twelve flights of steps is nothing to you, injured or not.”

A challenge was a challenge. “What are you going to do? Stand here to time me?”

His speed took her by surprise. One moment she was inside the elevator with him. The next she found herself being lifted by the waist, shifted, and set back on her feet. It was so fast, she didn’t have time to retaliate.

“I’m taking the elevator down of course,” he told her as he took a step back.

She stared at him as he leaned forward to press the button.

“Down?” she echoed. “Why? I have the key card. There’s nothing down there.”

His eyes glittered back at her as the doors began to slide. “You have unfinished business,” he said, and the doors shut.

Helen stared at the closed doors for a second. She remembered the man she’d tied in the vault. “De Clerq,” she said sharply. “Who…was…that?”

“Number Nine,” De Clerq told her.

One of the commandos. Figured. “Tell me he isn’t going down to the vault,” she said. She was mad at herself, for what her one mistake had caused her. “He doesn’t have to do this.”

“He finishes the operation. Now get the hell out of the building. Security’s already alerted about trouble on the top floor. Leave it to the others to get the rest of the operation. We need you back in the van pronto, with the key card.”

She had no choice. The electronic card was more important than her pride. She turned in the direction he had pointed and started to…limp. She looked down in surprise. The serum was definitely blocking any pain.

She followed the signs to the exit doors. Right. Twelve flights of stairs. She could do it. She pushed them open. The body of a man slumped against the railing. No blood. But the angle of his head told her he was dead. She remembered De Clerq telling her that there were two men outside the elevator, with one running off, presumably to get more help. This must be him.

There was no doubt in her mind whom the unfortunate man had bumped into. Mr. I-am-a-god-in-jeans. She started limping down the stairs, then decided to take two at a time. No way was she going to let any injury cause any more delays in this mission.

“Agent 51, can you hear me?”

One needed quiet when one was remote viewing. It was hard enough to do it in a van full of electronic equipment that disturbed his senses. Didn’t his monitor understand that he needed a modicum of silence? Some kind of white noise filter would be helpful.

But no, time and again they interrupted him with loud discussions about what was going on. He was pulled back in each time, catching drifts of conversation about what was happening inside Deutsche International.

Rage and frustration coursed through him. He couldn’t savor those delicious emotions in the energy spectrum. They were still going way too fast. And the fucking guys were constantly interrupting. This last time almost made him yell at them. Having a hard-on for so long with no relief was painful. Didn’t they fucking know that? He needed to find a way to slow the images down…get some relief…so he could…More snippets of conversation cut through his focus.

“What the hell is going on at that place? The list HQ faxed me has some big-time names on it.”

“I suspect COS Command Center has something to do with it. Security overload is perfect for a heist, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but they’re taking a chance with so many people on alert in there.”

Shut up! Shut the fuck up. But if he said what was on his mind, they would get mad and might not use him anymore. He had to be good, bide his time with this thing. Double dosage. He mustn’t be greedy. He had plenty recorded from the earlier session and he could spend all of tonight rewinding and rewinding and rewinding…

“Agent 51, you’ve been quiet for a while now.”

“They always look like they’ve fallen asleep when they’re doing this. How do you tell the difference?”

“As long as he answers when I talk to him.”

He’d better say something then. “I can hear you.” Maybe he could be tactful with his request. It was too late anyway. Opening his eyes, he added, “But you need to speak softer. I can’t sense very well when there’s so much noise around me. You pulled my whole consciousness back here and I’ll need ten minutes to get back into RV mode.”

His monitor studied him for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. I apologize for the interruption. Are you sure the key’s still there?”

He knew it was still in the building. As for the location of that room he saw…he hadn’t been able to pinpoint it exactly. “I’m sure it’s there,” he answered truthfully, mentally crossing his fingers that they wouldn’t push him for the location. He elaborated more, hoping it would satisfy them that he knew what he was talking about. “I see the same long dark shaft. Same enclosed tunnel and space. I sense the point of entry to that place in a very high-up location.”

“So the key’s still up at Weber’s office somewhere then?”

“I don’t know who Weber is but yes, the key is around there,” he hedged.

“You’d better be right, 51,” his monitor warned. “Now, what could we do to help you get back into RV mode? The drug’s still good, right? You’re feeling the beginnings of downtime, right?”

“Oh no, I’m okay, sir,” he said, “but I need to go to take a piss, splash some water on my face.”

“We don’t have the time for that,” the other man said impatiently. “I thought you psychics could control things like that.”

“I’m not a psychic, sir,” he told them, feeling somewhat indignant. What, did they think he was just someone they picked up from the Yellow Pages? “I was being trained in surveillance when I was reassigned by the director. I don’t have any psychic abilities at all. We’re specially trained for—”

“Oh, cut the crap. Just get back into whatever you want to call it. You’re a trained professional, right? You can suck in that piss for a while longer. Go on, 51, show us your tricks.”

He didn’t care whether this guy was one of his monitors or not. His attitude was pissing him off. A monitor was supposed to be the guiding hand, a person he could trust to help him if he encountered problems while remote viewing, and this man just wanted to use him.

Fine. He had been desperate to help because he wanted that drug so much, but now that he had some, he felt he was in control again. He could play them the way they played him; he could withhold information from them until absolutely necessary. Why not? The idea was brilliant! That way, he could get more of the serum because they would want him to help them.

Ignoring his pressing hard-on, he took in a deep breath and focused inward. He’d just have to figure a way to get off while he was in the ether.

Switch to Channel Three. Set programming time. Set channel.

Timer on. Record.

“I’m ready,” he said.

“We’ll talk quietly, 51, promise,” the first agent, the one who seemed to be more understanding, said. “What do you see?”

Hot damn. The key’s coordinates weren’t the same. It was being moved! “I’m zooming in,” he said. “Many people milling around the ground floor. I have to concentrate on which ones are your targets. Give me a few minutes.”

“Good. We know they have operatives watching on the perimeters. We’re keeping our eyes on them. We need to know which exit point they’re taking so we can mount a surprise attack of our own.”

“Okay,” he said.
Change channel. Change channel.

He was back in that vaultlike place where the electronic key exchanged hands. Except that this time, the two men who were working on them were dead. He didn’t move nearer. He could feel emptiness in them—no energy. One was lying on the floor. The other was sitting down, hands tied, a piece of tape hanging off the side of his mouth.

He hovered closer to the one in the chair. This one was recently dead, the last one to go. There was still a little energy left but he was careful not to go too near and touch it. Out of curiosity, he had done it once before. He shuddered at the memory. No, that kind of energy wasn’t beautiful.

However, this man was probably the last to see what had happened to the electronic key and he needed to touch something close to him that he’d used prior to death. The chair? No, too close.

The blinking light from the intercom on the desk. Someone was trying to contact him and from the looks of it, he had probably been trying to be rescued…hmm…when he was interrupted by his killer. Well, too late for him. The last thing he touched was probably the button answering the intercom. Where was it?

He hovered closer, warily, making sure he didn’t get too close. He saw the electronic pad dangling by its wires on the side of the desk toward the dead man. Slowly, carefully, he reached out and touched each of the buttons on it.

He withdrew his hand quickly. Death energy. Yeah, the man was talking into the intercom when he was interrupted. But he didn’t understand German, so he had no idea what the words yelling in his mind were about. And he didn’t particularly care. He’d caught the image of a hand pulling the key out of the decoding device.

Record.
Where was it? He saw stairs. Someone was moving it up…no, down a long flight of steps. Many, many flights. A stairwell. He would go there.

Change channel.

Monotonously running down flight after flight of stairs freed Helen’s mind to quickly review what had taken place. She was totally focused on the exercise at hand, very aware of each turn of the stairway, yet a part of her appeared to be observing herself. The more she hurried, the more cut-off that part seemed to be.

She found herself thinking calmly, as if she was not running at all. It had to do with the serum, of course. She was injured. The drug was somehow kicking in.

The serum had an unusual dichotomy. On one hand, it impeded sensation. Helen couldn’t feel any pain, even though she knew, from the way her right leg wasn’t properly supporting her weight, that she was hurting. On the other hand, it didn’t totally block out all emotions. Her usual warped sense of humor was still there. Also, she had reacted to Number Nine’s presence quite strongly.