A Father's Sacrifice (22 page)

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Dylan said.

She shook her head. “Nothing. How far is it to the shack?”

His mouth quirked up. “We’re about halfway. We need to hurry.” He let go of her arms and started walking. Despite her long legs, she had trouble keeping up with him.

“Are Mintz and Campbell waiting for us?”

“I hope not. Alfred should have taken the car and driven into town, so Detective Buckram can put Campbell in custody until we get Ben back.”

“Can Mintz handle him?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said firmly. “Remember when you said Campbell wasn’t in very good shape? Well, Alfred works out in the exercise room and runs every day. He could probably beat up any of his men.”

“That’s good.” She caught herself counting the lights. “Dylan, when we get out, we need to contact Storm. Find out the latest on Ben, and get you and the interface to a safe house.”

“We’ll definitely get the latest on Ben, but I won’t be going to a safe house.”

“You have to. Your safety and the safety of your interface are too important.”

He stopped and turned. “What I have to do is find Ben.”

“We will. I promise you. We will.”

He started walking again. Natasha skipped and lengthened her stride to keep up.

Then as they rounded a gentle curve, she saw the tiny red circle of light in the midst of the white ones. “There’s the exit.” A sigh of relief escaped her lips.

“You made it,” Dylan said, glancing back at her and nodding his head.

“Yeah.” She smiled at him. “Thanks to you.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet.”

Natasha froze. Just ahead of her, Dylan stopped in his tracks.

Fear washed over her like scalding water.
Tom.
She’d never forget that sarcastic voice. Her gaze swept the thirty or so feet between her and the door.

Tom stood in the corner opposite the door, dressed in black. If he hadn’t moved or spoken, they wouldn’t have seen him until they were almost to the door.

Dylan put out a hand to shield her. She measured the distance from where she stood to Tom. Too far to lunge.

She stood about two feet behind Dylan. She felt the weight of her Glock in her fanny pack. If she stayed back, she might be able to get her pack unzipped and retrieve her weapon.

“Hello, Natasha,” Tom said. “Long time, eh? Dr. Stryker, it’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

Dylan didn’t speak.

“Did Natasha tell you that she and I are colleagues?”

Natasha felt Dylan stiffen beside her, but he kept quiet. Her pulse hammered in her throat and ears. Did Dylan still doubt her?

“That’s right. We’ve worked together before. Haven’t we Natasha? Those were good times, weren’t they?”

“How did you get in here?” she snapped.

Tom laughed. “Are you kidding me? I practically walked right in. Not that this isn’t a nice little secret exit. Unfortunately—” he grinned “—your abandoned road and the empty house are visible on aerial photos of the area. Especially photos from ten years ago, when it wasn’t so overgrown.”

“I don’t know what you think you’re going to accomplish—”

“Oh, honey.” Tom gestured and Natasha saw his gun. She was surprised. He’d never carried a gun before—at least not that she knew about. Of course what she didn’t know about Tom would fill a very big book. She’d never even known where he lived.

“I’m taking the interface. It will bring millions—possibly even billions—on the foreign market. I’ve already got several government leaders interested.”

Dylan spoke. “I don’t have it. It’s back there. I destroyed it with the house.”

“Right. And what’s that in your hand? Your lunch?” Tom laughed out loud, then waved his gun at Dylan. “Set it on the floor and slide it over here with your foot.”

Natasha felt a change in Dylan’s stance. Fear arrowed through her. He was going to try to rush Tom.

He’d be killed.

“Dylan,” she muttered.

“Well, well, listen to you.” Tom didn’t take his eyes off Dylan as he spoke to her. “You got a little crush on your doctor? It sounds like it to me. Why don’t you use your persuasive powers to convince him that it’s in his best interest to hand over the box.”

“I wouldn’t dream of telling Dr. Stryker what to do.”

“Let’s go, Stryker. You’re wasting precious time. Time your child doesn’t have.”

Dylan held the metal box in one hand as he bent his knees. Then suddenly he hurled the box, underhanded, at Tom.

Tom jerked to one side and the box crashed
against the stone walls. His face distorted in anger. He clutched his gun in both hands and walked a few steps closer to them.

“That was an incredibly stupid move!” he shouted. “What the hell’s the matter with you? That machine better be packed well.”

Dylan shrugged and held out his hands in a submissive gesture. “I told you, it’s not the interface.”

“And I told you I don’t believe you.” Tom dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “See this, Doc? This is my direct line to the person who’s holding Ben. If I don’t call within one hour to stop them, they have instructions to kill him.”

Dylan stared at the man who held his son’s life in his hands. He wanted to rush him and beat him within an inch of his life, gun be damned. If he could overpower him, he could get the cell phone and the FBI could trace the calls.

“I don’t believe
you
,” he said. “You have your supposed interface. What are you going to do with us?”

“Why, I’m going to kill you. What else?” Tom looked genuinely surprised that he hadn’t figured that out.

“Why don’t you just lock us in here and get away with your precious box? And let my son go.”

Tom eyed him narrowly, then nudged the box with his foot.

“Why don’t you open the box for me?” His gaze snapped to Natasha. “But first. Natasha, my dear, please unhook your fanny pack—with your left hand. I want to see your right hand in the air.”

Natasha glanced at Dylan then complied. She had a little trouble manipulating the catch, but finally popped it. She tried to catch the pack, but couldn’t with one hand. It thudded to the floor.

Tom grinned, his eyes darting from her to Dylan then back. “So, you
were
armed. Put both hands up. Now kick the pack over here.”

She did what he asked. Dylan could tell by her face that she was racking her brain to think of a way to overpower Tom.

Tom reached out with one foot and dragged the fanny pack closer. “Now, Doc. How ’bout we open the box?”

He kicked the metal box carefully so that it slid to a stop a foot from Dylan’s shoe. “And don’t try anything else or I’ll be forced to put a hole in sweet Natasha’s forehead. And it would be such a shame to mar that lovely face.”

Dylan’s jaw ached with tension and anger. He had to figure out how to stop Tom. He and Natasha should be able to overpower the skinny, puffy-faced little man. But Tom seemed awfully comfortable with the big semiautomatic he wielded. And it was a very good, very accurate gun. A Desert Eagle. It underscored the theory that Tom was fraternizing with a terrorist group.

With that firepower in his hand, there was no way he or Natasha would survive a point-blank shot.

He began to crouch down to reach the box.

“Hold it. Put your right hand in your pocket, and bend at the waist. Open the box with one hand. Natasha, back away. Two steps.”

“The latch makes it impossible to open one-handed.”

“Give it up, Doc. I’m not buying any of your flimsy efforts to slow me down. And by the way, time’s a-wastin’ for your kid.”

Ben.
He did what Tom said. He’d told him the truth about the box’s latch, but by holding the box steady with his foot, he managed to get it open.

“Straighten up and kick it back to me. And if you try anything this time, I
will
shoot her. I don’t need her anymore and I’m not very fond of her these days.”

Tom glanced down at the open box, then grinned at him. “What do you know. It
is
the implant, isn’t it? And DVDs. Instructions for programming I hope.”

“Now you’ve got what you wanted. Take it and tell me where my son is.”

Natasha moved back to his side. “Come on, Tom. You’re home free. You disappeared before. You can do it again.”

“Natasha,” Dylan said. “Do something for me. Tell him you won’t ID him. I just want to get my son back.” He glared at Tom. “I don’t give a damn what happens to you, but I’m willing to keep quiet if you’ll just give me my son unharmed. He means more to me than any technology.”

“I do,” Natasha said to Tom. “I do promise. I swear. Please let Ben go.”

Tom smirked. “You don’t get it do you? I’m not through with you. You defied me. So high and mighty, not wanting to hack into the government’s files. Are you still as idealistic and naive as you were? Come on. The government is corrupt. Why not steal their secrets. You even skated on the prison time. I can’t believe you got a job with the FBI for
hacking
them!” He shook his head. “Inside the FBI. We could have been rich.”

Dylan listened in fascination. He finally understood exactly what had happened to Natasha eight years ago. She’d tried to tell him, but he’d been so angry, so worried about Ben that he hadn’t paid attention to her.

She’d been framed by Tom, betrayed by him.

“Tom, please. Whatever you’re going to do—do it. Take me with you. If you’ll let Ben go, I’ll go with you. I’ll work for you.”

“No!”
Crap.
He hadn’t meant to blurt that out. He clamped his mouth shut.

Tom’s dark eyes sparkled. “You’ll work for me? You’re falling on your sword for his kid? And, you…” He turned to Dylan. “I guess you can’t stand to think of her working for me, can you?”

He laughed loud and long. “I see what’s going on now. You two are in love, aren’t you?” He shook his head. “Sorry, Natasha. I appreciate the offer, but you’ll understand why I can’t bring myself to trust you.”

Dylan studied him, waiting for an opportunity to jump him. He wasn’t concerned about himself, although he’d rather not die here. His main concern was Natasha. He knew that even if Tom killed him, she’d do everything humanly possible to save Ben.

“But before I do anything—permanent—one of you open this door for me. I haven’t touched it, figuring you probably have some kind of lockout on it.” Tom looked at Natasha. “Come open the door.”

“She doesn’t have access,” Dylan snapped, hoping to hell that Natasha would keep quiet.

“Doc, would you give me a break? You’re becoming so freaking annoying that I feel like shooting you just to shut you up.”

Dylan shrugged. “Let her try then. As you said, there’s a lockout for incorrect entries.”

“Then you get over here. Natasha, turn your face to the wall and put your hands up. High up, palms against the wall.”

Dylan saw Natasha comply. The awkward pose raised her top to her midriff, exposing a lot of skin between her ribs and her hips in the low-rise jeans she wore.

He moved slowly toward Tom, his hands spread. As he approached, Tom kept the gun aimed at his head. He didn’t have any idea if his impromptu plan was smart or stupid, but it was all he could come up with.

“Go ahead. Enter your code.”

“I have to get my pass code generator out of my pocket. It’s on that chain that’s attached to my belt.”

Tom pressed the barrel of the gun into the nape of his neck. “Go ahead. If it’s not your pass code device, then it’s bye-bye, Doc.”

He slipped the pass code generator out of his pocket and held it so Tom could see it. The pressure of the gun barrel against his skin relaxed a little.

“Okay, Doc. Your kid’s waiting. Let’s go.”

For an instant, Dylan’s anguished heart wanted to believe Tom. That all he was going to do was take the interface. That as soon as he was safely away from the shack, he’d call and tell his accomplice to let Ben go.

But looking into his eyes, Dylan knew with a sick dread that Tom wasn’t like that. He was the type who didn’t want a mess. Natasha, Ben and he were a mess that Tom would want to clean up.

So he used his middle finger instead of his thumb in the fingerprint reader, then entered the numbers that appeared on the tiny screen of the pass code generator.

The lock flashed red and beeped.

“I thought you didn’t touch the lock,” Dylan burst out before Tom had a chance to react. “Damn, what did you do?”

“What the hell?” Tom buried a centimeter of the gun barrel into Dylan’s neck. A shooting pain streaked up his skull. “I didn’t do anything. I swear, Doc. If you don’t get that door open, I’ll shoot you both right now.”

Dylan nodded and met Tom’s gaze. “You
have
to tell me if you did anything to the lock.” He knew he looked scared to death. He just hoped Tom would think it was because of the lock rather than fear that Tom would shoot them if the door didn’t open.

Tom blinked and scowled. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t press any of the buttons? You didn’t try your fingerprint?”

“I might have accidentally touched the keypad. What the hell are you saying?”

“Quiet!” Dylan said. “If I don’t enter the correct code within twenty seconds—” He tried it again, still using the wrong finger on the print reader.

The lights flashed red and the beeping started again.

“Ah, hell.” He allowed the panic that swirled inside him to seep into his voice. “I only have one more chance,” he lied.

Tom pushed him against the wall and put the gun barrel under his chin. “Get the damn door open or you’re both dead.”

Dylan lifted his chin. “If you kill us you’ll never get out.”

“I swear I’ll kill you.” He cocked the gun.

At the same time the snick of metal against metal echoed around the tunnel. A solid whine began and immediately rose in pitch and blared.

Dylan took a deep breath, prepared to grab Tom’s gun.

Behind him, Natasha screamed.

Tom froze, his finger on the trigger.

“No! Dylan!” she cried, reaching out, touching the concrete walls. “I can’t stand it. Get me out of here.” She beat her fists against the walls. “Get me out! Get me out! Oh, God! I can’t breathe!” She collapsed to the ground.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Dylan shoved Tom with all his might.