Liam expected some kind of blow to prove that he was still unconscious. When it came, it took everything in him not to react as the woman kicked him in the leg where Murphy had impaled him with the rebar.
“I still think we should’ve had that bitch of a teleporter take him to the port.”
“She’s busy keeping the UMG busy an’ Tegan is coordinatin’ the attack on Parliament. Now shut the fuck up an’ get a bloody move on. The prince is our payday, which means it’s our job to keep him secure for the swap,” the woman said.
Liam tucked that information deep where he’d remember it. Focusing took effort, but it was getting easier. Maybe whatever drugs they’d given him were nearing the end of burning out of his system.
The group left, arguing about who was transporting what cargo. Liam listened for any other signs someone was in the van with him before taking a chance and cracking open his eyes to look around. He kept his head still for the moment. His left eye was half swollen, and while he definitely saw double, the only man guarding the van stood outside it. The guard seemed more interested in things going on around him than the interior of the van.
Metal shelves had been attached to one side of the van, while a bench was bolted to the other. Liam slowly tipped his head to the right, just enough for him to get a visual on the supplies. Half the shelves were filled with rugged cases, none of which seemed to be locked, judging by the red dots glowing on each code panel.
Liam closed his eyes, breathing as steadily as he could. His head spun, but he had to risk moving now rather than wait. The Reborn IRA wouldn’t take long to pack up and move out, and he only had this one chance.
Move.
Liam opened his eyes, checked that the guard was still not paying attention, and twisted his upper body to the side. The shelves were to his right, which meant he wouldn’t be lying on his wounded leg, but it still fucking hurt to move. Liam moved as soundlessly as he could, reaching for the bottom shelf and the closest case. He tapped at the lock with bloodstained fingers, praying it would open without making a lot of noise.
Liam would’ve breathed a sigh of relief if he had the lung capacity for it when the latch undid itself with a quiet click he could barely hear. The lid popped up slightly, and Liam shoved his hands through the gap, spreading his fingers to lift it up. The buzz in his ears was all adrenaline as his heart beat in double-time.
The cuffs wrapped around his wrists scraped against the edges of the case, but the sound wasn’t enough to draw attention. Liam felt around blindly, hoping that whatever was in the case would be the one thing he wanted. When his fingers curled around a cold metal sphere, Liam could’ve cried.
Instead, he withdrew his hands, clutching at his precious cargo. With his hands full, and as shaky as they were, Liam didn’t want to risk dropping the EMP. So he left the case open, the gap barely a centimeter wide, hoping no one would notice. He rolled onto his back again, gritting his teeth against the pain. He folded his fingers around the EMP, carefully spinning it against his palms until his thumb found the detonation trigger.
One push in to arm the EMP, and then upon release, it would detonate it. The range on it would be severely restricted—maybe a half a block, judging by its size. It was meant for a localized attack, and Liam couldn’t think of anything more local than the Faraday cage he wore.
So long as no one saw the EMP, Liam had a chance.
“Yuir ridin’ in the other car, Seamus,” the woman from before said. “We’ll take it from here.”
“Aye.”
The van shook from people climbing up. Liam heard the doors shut, the shadows encompassing his closed eyes deepening. Someone swore before an interior light was turned on, the darkness lightening through his eyelids by a few shades.
“Cannae fuckin’ believe we’re playin’ at delivery boys,” the man muttered.
“Hey,” the woman snapped. “He’ll get us what we need, so shut it.”
The engine started up, vibrations rumbling through the floor bed under him. Liam’s head banged a little against the metal as the van jerked forward, sending flashes of pain through his skull and making his stomach roil. The van picked up speed, the thrum of the engine turning into a hum that Liam felt more than heard. Since he wasn’t anchored down to anything, his body shifted with every turn the van took, sliding inches one way and then another. Every bump spiked agony down his leg and through his head, the ache making him sick to his stomach.
Liam’s thoughts were slippery from the concussion and blood loss, but he forced himself to stay awake. The nausea wouldn’t go away, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide his conscious state for much longer. At least no one had noticed what he held in his hands. Liam didn’t know how long he’d been missing, but he was ready to be found, even if it meant getting himself out of this mess first.
He didn’t know what sort of convoy the Reborn IRA was running with him in it, or where they were, but with only two people in the back with him, Liam maybe had a fifty-fifty chance of getting out of the vehicle. After that, he had a feeling his chance of survival would start to go down, but he was holding on to the possibility they wouldn’t kill him.
What would slow him down was a left leg he wasn’t sure would support his weight, a concussion and possibly cracked skull, blood loss, and the Faraday cage.
He’d had worse odds, and the last problem was one he could get rid of first.
The plan was makeshift, but sometimes those were the ones that worked.
Liam let his head roll with the motion of the van as it took another turn. Wherever they were driving, they were taking many sharp turns, which was atypical of central London, whose streets had never been set down in a grid but grown out of the snaking mess of ancient medieval towns.
Maybe they weren’t in London. Maybe they weren’t even in the United Kingdom.
Deal with it later.
Liam opened his eyes, blinking rapidly against the glare of the light.
“Shit. Is he wakin’ up?” the man asked.
