CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Nick stared at the grainy image on the mounted TV, the picture still fraying in and out of focus. The Reaper’s eyes focused on them, the cold edge reflecting the flat fluorescent light from Kessler’s secure suite.
He leaned forward, tilted his head, then eased back, revealing a square of the room beyond his shoulder. “Or maybe, you’re right on time. Someone’s been dying to see you again.”
The bastard backed away, moving with an unsettling fluid grace that spoke of decades of missions avoiding men just like him. He turned, revealed half the room to the camera.
Julian Kessler — strapped to a high-tech hospital bed, complete with an integrated, automated monitoring system. The Reaper had taped a plastic surgical mask across Kessler’s mouth, Julian’s eyes wide, overly white as he looked at the camera, then back to the Reaper.
The asshole started whistling, then turned, ambling over to the bed as Kessler thrashed against his restraints, his failed attempts at freeing himself rattling the rails. Muffled shouts sounded over the speakers, gradually fading as the Reaper stopped in front of a wall-mounted touch screen, his fingers dancing across the glass. A deep resonant thrum vibratedthrough the floorboards, a loud humming noise replacing the quiet.
Sloane tapped her tablet, shaking her head as she scrolled through a bunch of numbers. “He’s hacked into the HVAC system — reversed the scrubbers. Rerouted the building’s exhaust system venting it directly into the isolation ward beyond the next set of suppression doors.”
Nick waited. “Which is bad because…”
“He’s essentially pushing carbon dioxide directly into the wing without any way to purge it.”
“Shit. How long before it’s lethal?”
“At this rate? Five minutes… Ten, if we’re lucky.”
Nick tapped his chin, the time already counting down. “We should split up. Three or four of us make a play for Kessler, the others stay here — keep our escape route open. Maybe have some C4 handy in case we get trapped.”
Bodie raked his fingers through his hair. “You’ve got a point. The fewer people breathing the compromised air, the longer what little oxygen’s in there will last.” He turned, eyed the crew. “Buck, you’re our ordinance guy. You should stay in case we need a dynamic rescue. Tierney, Avery… Keep him company and guard his damn six. I’m still not convinced another team won’t come barging around that corner. The rest of us will go… Grab Kessler, then get the hell out.”
Nick bit back the suggestion of having Sloane stay, too. Not just because he knew they’d likely need her hacking skills, but because she’d never forgive him if he didn’t treat her as the operative she’d always been. Prove she had more than just his trust.
She had his back.
Tierney and Avery looked as if they might argue, but they simply took up point positions, watching as Nick and the othersjogged over to the hallway connecting the regular wing to the advanced, high security isolation ward.
Sloane swiped her badge, and the double doors slid apart, retreating into the wall with a hushed whoosh. They cleared the threshold, started moving forward when the doors snapped shut — the sound hitting their chests like the kick of a rifle as the panels interlocked for an air-tight fit.
Dalton shuffled in beside them. “That doesn’t bode well.” He pointed at a set of equally spaced grooves in the floor. “Do I want to know what those are for?”
A tone sounded over the tinny intercom, something above them kicking into gear. Creaks filled the empty spaces as the lights in the corridor pulsed as if taking one last breath.
The first hit rang out with a heavy, tectonic thud that vibrated through the soles of Nick’s boots. Fifty feet ahead, a gleaming roll of interlocking brushed steel slats dropped from the ceiling, sealing the corridor with the finality of a guillotine. The magnetic locks engaged with a bone-deep hum, halving the path to Kessler’s suite.
A second later, another identical shutter slammed into place just several feet ahead, the reduced space increasing the effects of the compromised air. The rising carbon dioxide burned his lungs, fading everything at the edges until the barrier lifted, clicked back into the ceiling.
Nick waved them ahead. “Move, before it lowers, again.”
They took off, his harsh rasp hanging in the artificially pressurized air. They hit the first section moving fast, that shutter still hiding behind the panel. Nick cleared the grooves, headed for the next when a telltale click sounded behind him a moment before the door dropped with a pneumatic hiss.
He slid to a halt, looked back as Dalton and Sloane rolled clear of the metal panel before scrambling to their feet. They dusted off, then waved Nick on. He tamped down the punchof fear that somehow, she’d get stuck on the other side — that the Reaper would find a way to target her while Nick pounded uselessly on the metal panels — then took off, feet flying, arms pumping.
The floor tilted, a scattering of black dots eating away his vision, as his legs bogged down, each step feeling as if he was dragging a hundred pounds. He pushed through, somehow staying upright and running when the roll clanged into place a foot ahead.
He managed to get his arms in front before he smashed into the metal, head bouncing off the surface, his shoulder shifting in its socket. He reeled backwards, slamming into the linoleum, stars dancing around his head. Whether from the impact or the hypoxia, he wasn’t sure, but he knew if they didn’t get clear soon, they’d all die.
Bodie went to a knee beside Nick, helping him up as Dalton and Sloane skidded to a halt, hands braced on their knees, their faces ashen, slack. Nick rolled his shoulder, prayed the damn thing stayed in place long enough to finish the mission when something clunked overhead, the shutter slowly rising.
It ground to a halt with only a few feet of space showing beneath it, the gap trying to reel them in like a fish.
He shook his head, fingers already tingling, mouth dry. “It’s like the whole hospital is taunting us.”
Bodie huffed. “Only way clear is through, brother.”
