Bodyguard Lockdown (11 page)

He offered Sandra the bottle.

She swallowed a small amount and handed it back to him. “As
a young man, my father studied in the States and graduated at the top of his class. He was recruited into government work almost immediately. I don’t know the projects, of course—they were all top secret. But he maintained his contacts even after he’d left the government and returned to Taer.”

When Booker remained silent, she said, “I know what you’re thinking.”

“No, you don’t,” he responded
evenly, keeping his features deliberately blank. Omar Haddad had been a government operative long after he’d returned to Taer.

“You’re thinking somehow if my father is involved, the reason might lie in one of those top secret projects he was involved in years ago.”

“All right,” Booker lied. “I have to admit it’s logical.”

“I would have pursued the job without my father’s help. I
had my own reasons for wanting this serum to work, but I needed the funds.”

“What reason?”

“It’s personal.”

“Too personal to share.”

“I’ve lost family members, Booker,” she answered slowly, still not willing to trust him with the information on her brother Andon.

She placed her hand on his arm for a brief second. “I can’t help believing I would save those I have left.”

Booker nodded, understanding. “How did the project get away from you?”

“Eventually I made a breakthrough and Trygg fired my boss, and placed me as the lead researcher. What I didn’t know at the time was that he altered my reports to suit his needs. Omitting information, falsifying test results.”

“Who did he fire?”

“Kate MacAlister-D’Amato,” she said quietly.

“Why?”

“Kate questioned every decision Trygg made,” Sandra stated. “And she had connections to back her up.”

“Obviously, that made Trygg nervous.”

Sandra snorted. “Trygg doesn’t get nervous. He got angry. And then he got rid of her.”

“He would’ve killed her. You know that, right?” Booker asked.

“Now I do,” Sandra replied. “He couldn’t easily, though, because she was so well connected.”

“Trygg brought in Lewis Pitman?”

“Yes,” Sandra said. “Kate tried to convince me to leave also, but I was Trygg’s shining star.”

“You were young,” Booker observed. “Too young to lead a top secret, high-priority research project.”

“I was naive and full of myself,” she corrected, her self-disgust palpable. “Kate went to work on another project, and I continued working on the cell
reconstruction serum. You know the rest.”

“And Trygg?”

“I didn’t know at the time, but Trygg couldn’t have been happier.”

“Fifty men died,” Booker said grimly.

Sandra nodded. “Yes. Because of something I created.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Doc. Trygg is an unbalanced killer with a god complex,” Booker corrected her, the edge of his words cutting the air between them.
“Those men died because Trygg murdered them.”

“Why is Trygg afraid of you, Booker?”

“Trygg decided to let me live. He sent me on a wild-goose chase. I know him. There isn’t a day that goes by that he doesn’t regret that decision.” Booker shoved the water back into the backpack. “And when I catch up with him, he’s not going back to prison. I’m sending him straight to hell.”

Chapter Fourteen

Pitman followed Jim down the circular stairway to the main floor of the lab. “Is everything satisfactory, Doctor?”

“Almost,” Lewis replied, pleased.

The lab ran the length of the plane. Hundreds of square feet of fitted steel and white tile, Plexiglas and state-of-the-art technology.

“The only thing missing are the cylinders,” Pitman advised him.
“Have you located Sandra Haddad?”

“Not yet.”

“Do you know where she is at least?”

“We know who she’s with,” Jim answered.

“Who?”

“Booker McKnight.”

Pitman stopped at the base of the stairs, blocking Jim. “Senator Harper’s son-in-law?”

“Yes,” Jim acknowledged. “But he will be taken care of soon.”

“You realize it is harder dealing with a man bent on revenge
than one who just wants more money?”

“I understand the man more than you think, Lewis. Booker McKnight was more than just military, or loyal. Those men trusted Booker and he let them down. They were his responsibility, his family,” Jim replied. “I’d be surprised if Booker didn’t go after Trygg. Hell, I’d do the same in his shoes.”

“I’m not talking about his men, Colonel. I’m talking
about his wife, Emily,” Pitman stated bluntly. “I told Trygg killing Harper’s daughter along with his men was an unnecessary risk.”

“The general always weighs the options,” Jim prodded, keeping his voice even, his expression blank. “Emily Harper’s death was unavoidable. She snuck on the base to see Booker without authorization.”

“Unavoidable? Trygg knew that Emily was on the base,” Pitman
scoffed. “How long have you served under General Trygg? That man doesn’t do anything without a purpose.”

“What do you mean?” Jim turned, backed Pitman up against the stairs.

Pitman’s eyes widened. “I understand that circumstance made Emily’s death a last-minute decision, but it wasn’t unavoidable.” Fear made his voice shake. “When Trygg received the call up in the airplane that Emily
crashed the gates, we hadn’t dropped the cylinder yet. I told him he needed more time to think it through. That killing Harper’s daughter would bring attention to our operation. He disagreed.”

Jim’s jaw tightened. The trouble was he couldn’t trust Pitman. The man was a rat; he’d kill his own children to save his skin.

“General Trygg understood the importance of the situation,” Jim said
flatly, but was unable to dismiss the doctor’s theory. He stepped back, giving them both room—and Jim time to think over this new information.

Pitman cleared his throat, used the moment to gain his composure. “Don’t get me wrong, Colonel. I agree with Trygg’s reasoning. Those who died did so for a good cause whether they knew it or not. Harper’s daughter was just another casualty of war,”
Pitman acknowledged. “I’d just prefer it if Booker McKnight wasn’t lurking somewhere in the shadows.”

* * *

R
IORDEN
T
RYGG
STOOD
at the opening of his tent and sipped his coffee, enjoying the bite against his tongue.

It didn’t matter, jungle humidity or desert heat, Trygg drank his coffee strong and hot.

Harper had pulled some strings on the Hill, managed to acquire a mobile
electromagnetic pulse emitter. Or what the higher-ups called an EMP Transportable.

The senator said it would be delivered today, Trygg thought. He glanced at the sun at the top of the sky. Today was half-over.

Rivet guns punched the air, shaking the earth, sending a lizard scurrying over his feet.

In less than twenty-four hours, the airbus would be a fully operational mobile laboratory
for the CIRCADIAN.

Trygg wanted the plane secure, the army tank secure. They’d gutted the inside, filled it with the necessary equipment, but it was not worth the effort or the money if all it would take was one missile to bring her down.

The EMP, while limited in range, would emit enough electromagnetic pulse to fry most electronic instruments in a five-mile radius. Including surface-to-air
missiles or fighter jets.

Trygg took another sip of coffee. From his position, he watched the men maneuver on the scaffolds beneath the netting. He’d wait a few hours, until the heat from the sun had worn off, before he inspected the day’s results. A necessary duty, with pleasing results.

Trygg was more than satisfied with the progress on the airplane. But then again, he expected nothing
less than top results from those he hired.

Jim had recruited the best. Promised them money beyond their dreams.

The fact they’d never live to see their payoff lay easy on Trygg’s conscience.

Sacrifices had to be made for the greater good.

Lewis stepped down from the plane, giving orders. Two men followed him to the plane’s underbelly, where the bay door stood open.

Trygg
didn’t trust Pitman. But one didn’t have to trust a man to appreciate his usefulness.

The wind picked up, making the walls of the tent shudder. Trygg caught the scent of hamburger and grease from the mess tents a few hundred yards away.

Lunchtime soon.

He had forty men supporting him in this campaign. More than enough.

“From the satisfied look on your face, the mission is going
as planned.” The voice spoke from outside the tent, just beyond his shoulder, catching Trygg off guard.

“Minos,” he greeted casually. But the hair bristled at the base of Trygg’s neck, and irritation pulled between his shoulders. The Al Asheera leader moved like a ghost. “This is an unexpected surprise.”

“Thought I’d see how the project was coming along.”

“We’re on schedule,” Trygg
answered, his annoyance barely contained. He took in the other man’s scarf-covered features, the desert garb.

“And the cylinders?”

“All aspects of this mission are being handled,” Trygg replied stiffly. “To your satisfaction, I believe.”

Trygg turned on his heel and walked back into his tent.

“I have no complaints.” Minos followed, chuckling. He took in the massive desk, the
leather straight-back chairs, the dining table complete with china and a fruit bowl, brimming with red apples, ripe oranges. “You live well, General.”

“I live civilized,” Trygg corrected. He placed his coffee on his desk and took his hat from a nearby coat stand. “You should try it sometime.”

“It’s not easy for me. I’m nothing more than a paid killer most times,” Minos replied slyly.
“In fact, I was just paid one million dollars by Senator Harper to kill you.”

Trygg froze for a moment, his hat never making it to his head. “May I ask why?”

“I don’t care,” Minos replied. “So I didn’t ask. Not many men can manage three million dollars in bearer bonds as payment.”

He acknowledged Minos’s statement with a short nod before settling the hat on his head. “The amount
doesn’t mean anything to Keith. He’s from old money.”

“It means quite a bit to me.” Minos tsk-tsked. “Did you two have a fight, General?”

“He might not have agreed with some of my past decisions,” Trygg acknowledged with deliberate vagueness. “Did you agree to take the contract?”

“I took his money. But we didn’t shake on it.” Minos shrugged. “I’ll take care of Harper so he stays
out of your way. That was our deal.”

“Not all of it. You have the EMP?”

“Yes. My men left it just beyond the East Ridge. I didn’t want them accidentally mistaken for the enemy and shot during the transfer.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“Trusting you wasn’t part of our deal,” Minos replied. He grabbed a red apple from the fruit bowl, tossed it in his hand. “Do you have McKnight contained?”

“I’ll tell my men to move the emitter.” Trygg stepped out into the open, caught the scent of moisture in the air. “We’re in for a storm.”

“Sahara storms are more common than most think.” Minos glanced up at the sky. Dark clouds swirled over the hilltops; electricity charged the air. “A hint of what is to come maybe?”

“For whom?”

“Depends on where a person is at the time,” Minos
quipped. “One thing for sure, Harper may have stopped Cain MacAlister from sending men over here the other day.”

“You heard about that?”

Minos shrugged. “You still have a major problem on your hands, General.”

“And that would be?”

“King Jarek and Quamar. I wouldn’t underestimate them. Or their men.”

“I don’t,” Trygg replied, his tone razor-sharp. “That’s why I hired you.
To take care of them. After all, who would know them better than their oldest enemy?”

“Who indeed?” Minos acknowledged, then glanced at the men standing guard over the plane. “By the way, your men have holes on your perimeter. You need to shore them up, or you’ll be done before this thing starts.”

“Where?” Trygg turned toward the plane. When he got no answer, he turned back, then swore.

He stood alone.

* * *

“T
HIS
IS
IT
.” Booker parked the jeep at the base of the mountain. He leaned over the wheel and peered through the rain-spattered windshield. Fifty feet of rock and cliff surrounded them, divided by a ravine less than twenty feet wide.

“The ravine is too dangerous for the jeep. If this storm picks up, we’ll get washed away in a flash flood.”

The air,
thick with moisture and hints of electricity, churned up the dust and grit, spattered it with drops of water.

“We don’t have much time, Booker.” Sandra pushed open the door, struggled against the strong gusts of wind and pelting rain.

Booker left the headlights on, then met her in front of the beams. Within moments, thunder cracked, the skies opened up and the storm broke free.

“We need to move to higher ground now,” he yelled over the downpour. “Before this wind kicks up more debris.”

“Here!” Booker shouted over the clamor of the storm. He pointed to a crevice off the ravine. In the dim light she made out the steep path to a higher ridge.

Lightning flashed. On its heels came another crack of thunder. Minutes passed and rain continued to pound the earth with
heavy fists. Smooth surfaces grew treacherous; the wind whipped scrub and rocks into a frenzy.

They reached the twenty-foot ledge in unspoken urgency. The rain continued to rage. Water poured from the shadows and crevices into the ravine below.

Suddenly, the wind drowned under a muffled roar. Booker swore. “The water is coming! We aren’t high enough!”

They searched the side of the
canyon, finding nothing but slick walls. Booker tugged Sandra’s hand, pulled her blindly into the shadows.

Without warning the wall broke free into a crevice that turned into a wide path up through the ravine.

“Booker!” Sandra yanked back on his hand. He turned, saw the narrow path that led up through some boulders.

“Go!” he yelled over the roar.

Sandra scrambled up through
the rocks; sharp edges bit and scraped her palms.

She squeezed between two boulders, came out onto a path that led to a higher ledge. Ten feet higher. Quickly, she scrambled, praying Booker stayed close.

The wall of water hit. Rolling and pitching, the waves threw scrub and rocks, tumbling them like dice.

The water caught at Sandra’s clothes. Booker slammed his knife into a nearby
crevice, anchoring the blade. He gripped the handle until his knuckles whitened, pinning Sandra between him and the wall.

Water rushed around them, slammed them against the stone, washed out the dirt beneath their feet.

“Hold on to me!” Booker yelled through the blast, gripping the knife, gripping Sandra.

She locked her arms around his waist—praying for the first time in many years.

Moments later, the water fell away, became a trickle at their feet. But the wind whipped, the rain poured.

Booker stepped away. Sandra’s muscles shook with fatigue, and she knew fear.

She eased away from the wall, her body stiff, her skin on fire from cuts and bruises.

But still alive.

Uprooted scrub lay snagged around the serrated rocks with only puddles left from the
flood.

“That was easy enough,” she joked weakly, her teeth chattering. Her hand flexed on the strap of her medical bag, but for the first time she didn’t care about it getting lost.

Her clothes clung to her, cold and wet. Strands of hair stuck to her cheeks, clung to the back and sides of her neck.

“You all right?” He gripped her shoulders, rubbed some warmth into her icy limbs.

“Yes.” She clenched her jaw, kept her teeth from knocking together, locked her knees and willed the strength back into her legs.

“We can’t stop here. There are only a few more hours of sunlight. It’s best if we go higher, find a cave and rest for the night,” he explained gently. Without warning, he tipped his forehead until it touched hers. “Are you up for it, Doc?”

“Don’t be nice
to me now, Booker. Or I’ll fall apart,” she whispered back. Tears pricked at her eyes; she blinked hard against the sting. “Just get me somewhere safe, so we can rest. Okay?”

“Okay.” He interlaced his fingers with hers, squeezed just a bit to give her back the strength she needed. “Watch the rocks. The flood softened the terrain making it unstable.”

An hour later, they found a cave.
The entrance stood seven feet high and four feet wide, with a lip over the ground that hid a flat, earth-packed floor. A scattering of rocks and a fairly large boulder littered the space inside.

“Here.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a mini flashlight.

Booker thumbed it on and flashed it inside of the cave. “Stay close.”

She followed him, keeping her arms crossed, her body
tight against the chill that settled in the night air.

The scent of damp earth and stale air tickled her nose. The pattering of rain grew, echoing off the wall.

“The storm’s picking up again.”

“We’re good. The flood level won’t reach this high.” Booker stopped abruptly, swore when she bumped into him and felt the icy skin of her hand against his arm.

They had nothing to stay
warm. No blanket, no dry clothes. “Do you still have my lighter?”

Booker explored the cave, found dried branches and scrub behind the farthest rock. “There’s enough kindling here for a small fire. We can keep it going most of the night.” Within a few short minutes, flames glowed and flickered.