Bodyguard Lockdown Page 17

  “Quamar is not going to like that.” Aaron swore and raised his rifle. “He’s going to kill you.”

  “From the looks of things, he’ll have to take his turn in line.” Booker raised his rifle, fired at a distant movement among the bushes. A cry echoed across the sand. “There’s too many, and they have the high ground.”

  Aaron took down another sniper and fired shots at two more who were quick enough to duck behind some boulders.

  Suddenly, bullets ripped up the ground above them. The mercenaries scattered, screaming as their ranks broke under the barrage of gunfire.

  “What the hell—” Military gunships rose over the dunes, opening fire on the rest of Trygg’s men. Within moments, the gun battle ceased.

  Aaron swore. “Who—”

  “Wait.” Booker raised his rifle. Two helicopters settled on the ground a few yards away. “They might not be friendly.”

  Cain MacAlister, dressed in full desert military fatigues, jumped from the nearest helicopter. A moment later, Jarek Al Asadi followed, wearing identical fatigues.

  “I’ll be damned.” When Booker stood, Aaron joined him. Three additional helicopters approached from the farthest ridge and landed by the others.

  Military personnel—both Taer and U.S.—poured from the birds.

  “Secure the area,” Cain shouted to the nearest men. “Then watch the ridge in case more show.”

  Half the soldiers climbed the dunes; the others stayed to guard the helicopters and the King of Taer.

  “How in the hell did you know where we were?” Aaron asked.

  “Omar Haddad called the President,” Cain admitted. “He informed Jon that Keith Harper was no longer a threat to national security. Then he gave him the frequency on the microchip. Omar led us to believe we were tracking the airbus.”

  “Omar wanted you to save his daughter,” Booker stated, understanding. If Omar had the frequency to the airbus, he’d want to stop Trygg himself.

  “We found Senator Harper, dead, in Omar’s medical offices,” Jarek explained. “Cain and Kate arrived in Taer earlier today. When Jon called Cain with the microchip frequency, I offered my assistance.”

  “I believe, Your Majesty, the exact words were, ‘Either I help you, or you rot in my dungeons,’” Cain remarked.

  “Quamar took my men,” Aaron stated. “He’s following the original frequency, possibly into a trap. We need to bring them back.”

  “Your men?” Jarek demanded. “Who are your men?”

  “He’s Minos,” Booker stated. “Your new Al Asheera leader.”

  Aaron ignored Jarek’s surprise, then anger. “The Al Asheera are heading to the southwest area of the Sahara. We need to warn them.”

  “Quamar is with the Al Asheera?” Jarek looked at Booker. “You approved of this plan?”

  Booker shrugged, enjoying Jarek’s bewilderment. “Not until the Contee brothers offered to act as Quamar’s second lieutenants.”

  “What—”

  “Let’s go,” Cain insisted. “We can radio Quamar, turn him back, then head to the correct coordinates. Booker and Aaron can give us a situation report on the way.”

  “This is Colonel Jim Rayo.” Booker nudged the body with his toe. “Trygg’s first in command. He left us geographic coordinates. That’s where we’ll find Trygg and Sandra.”

  “How can you be sure it’s not another trap?”

  “I know Trygg,” Booker explained. “He sent us on a wild-goose chase. Then laid a trap. But the man is arrogant. He thinks he outmaneuvered us. And we’ve been taken out of the equation. If so, he’ll leave himself vulnerable, just because he thinks he’s indestructible now.”

  “You hope,” Jarek added.

  “Didn’t I just say that?” Booker smirked. “No other alternative has presented itself.”

  “Then you sold me.” Cain turned to one of his men. “Get on the radio.” He nodded toward Aaron. “He’ll give you the frequency and the camp coordinates. Inform Quamar Al Asadi that they need to head back. Tell him where.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “They’re there,” Cain observed, then adjusted his scope. The dunes sloped and rose under the moon and stars in waves of shadows. “Thermal imaging shows maybe fifty men.”

  Booker followed Cain’s line of vision, noting Trygg’s men were moving to the eastern outer boundary of the camp. “It looks like they’re taking up positions to protect the airplane.”

  Cain’s satellite phone buzzed. He grabbed it from his belt and punched a button. “MacAlister.”

  A moment later he checked his watch. “Got it.”

  “Quamar is an hour out with the Al Asheera, Jarek,” Cain said, putting away the phone.

  “So,” Jarek acknowledged. “We wait.”

  “You wait,” Booker stated. He checked his pistol, holstered it, then shoved additional clips into his pocket. “I’m going in to find Sandra.”

  “We’re going to stop him, Booker.” Jarek gripped his arm, stopping his friend. “And find Sandra, too. But the fact remains that Trygg plans on releasing CIRCADIAN on my city. That’s fifty thousand people. We can’t risk tipping our hand too soon.”

  “You and I both know he’ll kill her first,” Booker stated, then yanked his arm free. He grabbed his rifle from the helicopter. “I’m going in, and I’m bringing her out.”

  “Hell,” Aaron bit out. “I don’t get my payoff unless Doctor Haddad walks away from this relatively healthy.”

  Aaron lifted his machine gun, checked the clips. “I’ll go with him.”

  Jarek nodded. “You have an hour to get her out of there. By that time, Quamar is going to be here. And we are going to flatten that camp and everyone in it.”

  * * *

  BOOKER SCANNED THE PERIMETER, his gun raised, his stance ready. He studied the airbus less than a hundred yards away. “But I don’t like it.”

  Aaron took a step away from the nearest tent, then froze. “Booker, look at the netting by the plane.”

  Two guards lay unmoving, tangled in the web of rope.

  “Omar,” Booker bit out.

  Omar Haddad, dressed in full military gear, stepped over another body and made his way to the steps into the airplane.

  “Looks like Senator Harper gave him more than the frequencies for the microchips.” Aaron pulled out his binoculars, thumbed them into focus. “He must have given Omar the new camp location.”

  “Tent,” Booker commented, annoyed. “Another dead soldier.”

  “Doesn’t he know he’s too old for this?” Aaron whistled, his eyes still on Omar. “Hell, we’re too old for this.”

  He pressed the button, zoomed in on Omar’s name patch. “The uniform is Harper’s, too. Not bad, put on a helmet and face shield, step into the plane and they think he’s Harper.”

  “We need to stop him.”

  Aaron’s gaze swung to the airplane. “Don’t suppose we could just shoot the tires and call it a day.”

  “Shooting the tires won’t stop Trygg from releasing the poison. Or killing Sandra.” Booker observed the situation through the scope of his rifle. “We need to get on board, change course and destroy the cylinders.”

  Omar pulled a package from his backpack.

  Aaron swore. “He’s got C4 explosives. He’s going to blow up that plane.”

  “Damn fool,” Booker snapped. “He must not realize Sandra is on board.”

  “What are you going to do? We can’t reach him in time.”

  “Shoot him.” Booker adjusted the scope, bringing Omar’s image closer.

  “He might be your future father-in-law—”

  “Better injured than dead.” Booker squeezed the trigger.

  Omar cried out; his right leg went out from under him.

  “If we survive this, you’d better tell him exactly why you shot him,” Aaron warned, running after Booker, gun raised. “Quamar told me what he did to Harper.”

  Both men sprinted to the aircraft. Aaron knelt beside the doctor.

&nb
sp; Omar swore, his hands gripping the bullet wound. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Saving you.” Booker lifted the backpack, checked the contents. “There’s no timer. You were going in as a suicide bomber?”

  “Trygg has loaded the plane with the best military technology available. Including an EMP shield. An electromagnetic pulse shield will kill any jet or missile instruments within five miles of the airbus.”

  “I know. I delivered it to him,” Aaron muttered.

  “You what?” Omar and Booker asked in unison.

  “Under orders, damn it,” Aaron snapped. “We couldn’t sabotage it without blowing the mission. It’s fully functional.”

  Booker swore. “Did you leave us any advantage in your undercover work, Sabra?”

  “I got you the girl, didn’t I?”

  “What girl?” Omar’s eyes narrowed. “If you mean Sandra—”

  “Later,” Booker said, his voice terse. “We have more pressing matters right now.”

  “All right.” Omar nodded stiffly. “Jarek’s missiles will never get close enough to bring Trygg down before he reaches Taer,” he insisted. “The only way to destroy the cylinders is from the inside. The heat of the explosion will burn off the serum, disrupt the nanites’ sensors.”

  Quickly, Aaron probed the injury, ignored Omar’s grunt of pain. “You missed the artery, but caught the bone.”

  Omar’s gaze snapped to Booker. “You shot me?”

  “You turned at the last moment,” Booker clarified, “Otherwise I would have missed the bone, too.”

  “He shot you to keep you from making a stupid mistake,” Aaron added. “Your daughter’s on board that plane.”

  “Sandra?” Omar grabbed Booker’s shirt, brought him in close. “I should kill you now. You were supposed to keep her safe.”

  “I’ll save your daughter. Then I’m going to kill her,” Booker answered, then pulled away.

  “Kill her?” Omar tried to stand. “Get the hell out of here, both of you.”

  “He wouldn’t really kill her. He’s just mad that Sandra pushed him out of a helicopter,” Aaron answered, then put his hand on Omar’s chest to keep him in place. The older man’s face paled to a pasty gray. “Stay down. I haven’t got the bleeding under control.”

  “Have you both lost your mind?”

  “He has,” Aaron commented, then put pressure on the wound with both hands. “He’s in love with her.”

  “Shut up, Sabra.” Booker studied the perimeter. “Where are all the guards, Omar?”

  “Gone. There were only the three,” the older man bit out. “Did Sandra’s tracking chip lead you here?”

  “Trygg placed the chip on Jim Rayo’s dead body,” Aaron finished, his hands bloody. He ripped off his belt and placed it as a tourniquet on the leg.

  “So you don’t know she’s there for sure.”

  “She’s there. I know Trygg. He’ll want Sandra to watch the deaths. Then he’ll kill her.” Booker slung the backpack over his shoulder. “I promise you, once I find Sandra, I’ll place the explosives for you.”

  “We need to get him out of here, Booker.” Aaron’s tone was low, grim. “Now.”

  “Let’s go.” Booker hooked his shoulder under Omar’s arm, and waited until Aaron did the same.

  They sprinted, with Omar between them, to the tents nearby.

  When they stopped, Omar grabbed Booker’s arm, held fast. “I don’t want to lose another child.”

  “You won’t. That’s why I have to get on that plane.”

  Aaron checked the leg. Blood saturated the pant leg. “He’s losing too much blood.”

  He glanced at Booker. “If we leave him here, he’s a dead man. He’s not going to make it out of here on his own.”

  “Then get him out of here.” Booker slipped out from under Omar’s arm. “Make your way to the west side of the camp and into the dunes. Find Jarek. Tell them what happened. It will take Trygg’s plane a little over an hour after takeoff to reach his target zone over Taer. I’ll have the doc out in one hour.”

  “That’s cutting it close, McKnight.”

  “Check your watch. Not one minute before. If Trygg suspects anything, she’ll be the first one to die.”

  Aaron glanced at the dial, then turned and hoisted Omar up over his shoulder. “Sixty minutes. Check.”

  The aircraft’s engines roared to life.

  “Like I said, it’s going to be close,” Aaron commented. “They’re taking off.”

  “Tell Jarek and Cain I need that hour.” Booker dropped the rifle to the ground, shoved his pistol into the backpack. “Then use surface-to-air missiles. If I don’t blow the plane with the explosives, I’ll disable the EMP shield.”

  “Here. It’s a one-button remote trigger.” Omar reached into his pocket and pulled out a small electronic remote. “For the C4. You flip the safety, press the button.”

  Booker shoved it into his pocket. “Seems simple enough.”

  * * *

  BOOKER MANEUVERED UNDER THE belly, and found the supply hatch. He raised his gun, fired point-blank at the lock and jerked the door open.

  He jumped, grabbed the edge and felt it cut into his fingers. Quickly, he hoisted himself up.

  Hydraulic cables moved, gears clicked as the plane picked up speed. Booker scrambled in, dodging crates, following the lighted path of the elongated compartment of wires and storage units.

  Pistol in hand, Booker maneuvered to the small steel ladder at the end of the compartment. He swung up, then held on when the airplane slanted steep in its takeoff.

  At the top lay another hatch. Slowly, Booker pushed it open, saw a walkway. He climbed through, checked the perimeter for guards, then stopped. Just beyond lay thousands of square feet filled with Plexiglas, sterile areas and computers.

  “A moving lab,” he murmured. “Why not?”

  * * *

  SANDRA TUGGED AT THE handcuffs, her gaze focused on the computer nearby.

  “Looking for something?” Lewis Pitman laughed. “No one is here to help you, Sandra. We’ve cleared out the plane. I’ve set the computers to automatic. Even my lab technicians have been dispensed of by Trygg’s men. It’s me, the pilot and Trygg.”

  “He killed all of the lab people?”

  “Cut them down with guns just beyond one of the dunes.” Pitman shrugged. “We couldn’t risk one of them developing a conscience when we drop the canister over Taer. Better this way.”

  “And what are you, Lewis?” Sandra scoffed. “What makes you think he won’t get rid of you, too?”

  “What makes you think I’ll give him the opportunity?” Lewis scoffed. “The computer has my key code. Nothing works without my authority. That’s my security measure. He needs me.”

  Then she saw it, the look, the snide, arrogant twist of his mouth. “But you don’t need him. Not anymore.”

  “Not anymore,” Lewis agreed, smiling.

  * * *

  “HEADING IS LOCKED in, General. The autopilot is engaged,” the pilot stated, satisfied.

  Trygg shifted in the copilot’s seat and glanced at the young man. His newest recruit. A young kid with close-cropped blond hair and acne still on his cheeks. No more than twenty-five. Barely passed puberty and barely shaving.

  “Good job, son.” Suddenly, Trygg felt old. And angry. Jim had left him no choice. But killing a friend never sat well with Riorden.

  “Thank you, sir,” the young soldier replied, then eased back into his chair. “We’ll be over our target in fifty-seven minutes.”

  Trygg took his pistol from beside his seat and stood. “I am sorry you’re going to miss it, son.” He leveled the pistol and pulled the trigger.

  * * *

  BOOKER HEARD THE BULLET pop just one deck above.

  He took the circular stairs two at a time, his pistol up, his heart racing. With quiet steps, Booker made his way into the galley—a gourmet kitchen of steel and black carpet.

  A door stood close to the edge of the gal
ley. A storage unit. Booker turned the knob.

  A first-aid kit, a portable oxygen tank with mask, several extinguishers. Two parachutes hung from the hooks.

  He searched the shelves above, found blankets and pillows. Goggles.

  No weapons.

  Booker made his way across the tile to the other end of the galley. Slowly, he peered around the corner.

  The cockpit door stood ten feet from him on the right. Booker paused. The choice was simple: land the plane or rescue Sandra.

  Booker swore, then stepped down the short corridor to the cockpit. He pulled the latch, eased the door open.

  The pilot lay slumped back in the seat, dead. Blood saturated his shirt.

  “Welcome aboard, Captain.” Trygg stepped from the corner, his pistol raised.

  * * *

  THE PLANE JERKED, then slanted. Booker opened his eyes, blinked the blood away.

  “Booker,” Sandra whispered. “Are you all right?”

  Relief filled him. There’d been a small sliver of doubt that he wouldn’t reach her in time. He tugged on his hands, found them cuffed above his head. “How long have I been out?”

  “No more than five minutes,” Trygg answered. “I didn’t want you to miss anything.”

  “We’re about twenty minutes out, General.” Pitman sat at a nearby computer. “All systems online and focused. I’m loading the weapon.”

  A missile lowered from the top of the lab, into the floor.

  “A bomber bay.” Booker swore under his breath. “They built a bomber bay.”

  “It’s more than that. It’s aerodynamic dissemination,” Sandra whispered. “He developed a smart bomb that has the capability of controlling the release of the nanites into the air. Think of it as a crop-dusting bomb. One that follows a preprogrammed flight pattern.”

  “Very good, Doctor Haddad,” Trygg commented, coming down the stairs.

  “So why not shoot us?” Booker prodded. He glanced around, noting Omar’s backpack shoved against the nearest console.

  “Oh, I will, if I have to, but I’d much rather let you experience the full effect of what I’m trying to accomplish.”