Chapter 13 #2
“We’ll be right back with your husband, ma’am,” Madison said with a polite tip of her head in the lady’s direction. “Excuse us, please.”
“Do go clean yourself up, Albert,” his wife sniffed, apparently more concerned about their appearance than her husband’s underhanded dealings that had brought them here.
“I—” Albert said, sweat breaking out on his brow.
“Now,” Kyle ordered in a low, harsh voice.
They went, with Madison and Kyle escorting Albert to the nearest bathroom, which was located in a hallway off an exhibit room and near a set of stairs that led to the first level.
They made polite apologies in the form of small talk in case anyone was watching, but Albert didn’t seem to want to fight them.
No one was in the men’s toilet when they went inside. Kyle put his back against the door immediately, leaning his weight against it to keep it shut. He watched Madison push Albert against the wall beside him, her mouth twisting in concentration as she patted him down.
“You have no right—!” Albert began in a ragged voice, raising one hand to smack her.
Kyle caught his wrist, yanking it backward even as Madison clamped a hand over the man’s mouth to muffle his scream of pain. “Don’t even think about it. Madison?”
“Suicide bomb vest,” she grimly said, the fingers of her free hand gently tracing over the fabric. “I need your knife.”
Kyle wordlessly handed it over, catching Albert’s eye. “You make a sound, she’ll cut your throat.”
Albert whimpered, eyes rolling in his head from fear, but he didn’t move to defend himself.
Kyle watched as Madison carefully undid the buttons of Albert’s tuxedo jacket and then his vest, peeling the layers back.
Hidden beneath the vest were tangles of wire, thin plastic tubing, and clear, flat plastic containers holding chemicals in separated compartments that, when combined, would produce a lethal dose of Splice.
All of it was run through a plastic explosive flattened against the fabric by way of mesh netting.
Kyle could see other mechanical components of the bomb, even if he couldn’t identify each piece, but he still knew what the entire picture represented.
“How the hell did they get this through security?” Kyle wanted to know.
“Probably wasn’t our people manning the scanners,” Madison said. She tapped the ceramic blade against Albert’s red, sweaty face, gaining his entire attention. “Who detonates? You or someone else?”
“Me.” Albert sniffled loudly, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead and over his nose. “Please, you have to stop them! I didn’t want to do this!”
Madison ignored his pleas. “How many of you are there?”
“I—I don’t know!” He licked his lips nervously, eyes wide and blinking rapidly. “I don’t know! It arrived with the suit, and I—just put it on. I don’t know why, but I wanted to.”
Albert sounded confused at that admission, but Kyle was a little more familiar now with the havoc the mental powers could wreak on an unguarded mind.
“Jansen probably got to him,” Kyle said.
“Well, shit,” Madison said right before punching Albert in the face to knock him out. She caught him with a grunt, and Kyle moved to help her hold him steady.
Splice bombs are being worn by suicide bombers, Kyle called out to the others through Katie’s telepathic links. They’re on attendees. Don’t know how many, but I’m guessing enough to do a lot of damage.
Kyle tuned out the swearing going on in his mind that wasn’t his own.
Kyle and Madison carefully guided Albert’s heavy bulk to the floor. Madison quickly and decisively cut through what she needed to in order to disarm the suicide bomb vest. She found the small detonator hidden in the man’s pocket and held it up for Kyle to see.
“Not a dead man’s switch, which means they aren’t going for a fail-deadly method here. My guess is the Pavluhkins think Jansen can override the emotions of the suicide bombers and convince them they want to blow themselves up,” she said.
“Guess Cillian is really pulling out all the stops to show off his work. Let’s hide this asshole in a stall and get moving.”
Between the two of them, they hauled the unconscious man—who really needed to go on a diet—into the stall farthest from the door.
Madison cut the vest off him and carefully pulled it free.
She shoved it into the garbage bin at the sink on their way out, pushing it all the way to the bottom.
With the detonation components disarmed and the chemicals still separated within their individual compartments, it wasn’t nearly as dangerous as when it was armed and being worn.
“How the hell are we supposed to figure out who’s wearing them?” Kyle hissed as they hurried down the stairs back to the first floor. “Spill drinks on everyone and offer to help clean them up?”
“That’s a terrible plan,” Madison said. Donovan? We’re gonna need your eyes.
I’ve found two in the gallery I’m in right now and looking for more, Donovan said. Sean, ETA?
We’re on the second floor and will work our way through the guests up here, Sean replied.
Donovan? Aren’t you supposed to be watching Jamie’s six? Kyle asked.
The movers and shakers are in the garden. Bodyguards weren’t allowed. Jamie is meeting with Stanislav Pavluhkin, and he told me to wait behind.
Kyle wanted to yell about leaving Jamie alone, but he knew it was pointless. They were running this mission by enemy rules at this point, and the team had to compensate. That meant splitting up.
I’ll head back to Jamie. See if I can’t talk my way past the guards, Kyle said.
Good luck.
I’ve notified the UMG metahumans on-site. Madison, make your way to me. I’ll start telepathically scanning guests in my vicinity and separating everyone as discreetly as I can. I’ll need you to disarm the bombs in my area, Katie said.
Do we even know when they’re supposed to go off? Annabelle asked.
Let’s work under the assumption of soon.
Kyle and Madison worked their way through several galleries dedicated to Asian arts and crafts before they split up.
Kyle kept heading toward the center of the museum, where the garden courtyard was located.
He glimpsed the museum shop through an archway in passing, with many people milling about in the central area, listening to what sounded like a live orchestra that he couldn’t see.
He came into the sculpture gallery he’d left Jamie in less than an hour ago, eyes darting from side to side as he maneuvered through the groups of people.
Kyle dodged around a server with an array of floating trays half-filled with food, twisting his body between the backs of two people that marked the space between two groups.
As he did so, he caught a flash of blonde hair and a familiar profile.
Oksana, bodyguards at her back, with Stanislav Pavluhkin by her side.
Pavluhkin is on the move, Kyle announced.
No one immediately responded to him, so Kyle changed directions, keeping an eye on the Russians heading with unerring strides for the Exhibition Road exit.
Correction. Pavluhkin is leaving. Where are we with the bombs?
Not finished, Katie growled. Stay on them. If we can keep them within the proposed quarantine zone, we can get a sample of their DNA through the release protocols.
Kyle swore under his breath. They were running out of time.
Knowing that letting Pavluhkin and Oksana out of his sight would end badly, Kyle altered course just enough to bring him to the bar across the way from him.
He cut in line, ignoring the angry couple behind him, and smiled grimly at Samaira dressed up in the black-and-white uniform of a bartender.
“I need a Queen’s Special,” Kyle said.
A hand slammed down on his left shoulder.
Kyle reacted without thinking, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting under his arm to wrench it nearly out of the socket even as he wrapped his hand around the man’s throat and squeezed.
His date screamed, while several other people scattered.
This wasn’t the kind of scene Jamie would be happy about, but Kyle didn’t care.
“I’m in a hurry, so why don’t you back the fuck off?” Kyle growled as his fingers pressed down hard over the man’s carotid arteries.
Kyle didn’t expect a response, considering how badly the man was choking against the pressure of Kyle’s grip.
Kyle shoved the man away from him, watching as he fell on his ass at the feet of several guests who hurriedly scattered.
Kyle turned back to the bar, relieved to see Samaira holding a black case out for him to take.
“Thanks,” Kyle said, snatching the case and breaking into a run, not bothering to keep up his cover anymore.
He’d lost sight of Pavluhkin in his stopover for gear, but Kyle was a Strike Force scout sniper.
Tracking his target in a crowd like this was difficult but not impossible.
He was almost to the Exhibition Road exit when he caught a glimpse of Oksana’s bright blonde hair, the two of them disappearing down the stairs to the lower level.
Kyle picked up the pace and reached the top of the stairs in time to see a group of armed men rounding the landing. Kyle threw himself to the side with war-honed instincts as bullets from automatic rifles ripped through the space he’d been standing in.
“Get down!” he barked over the screams of nearby guests.
Kyle slammed his way out the doors leading to the Exhibition Road, case in hand as he ran for cover.
Gear up! he snarled through the mental links. We got hostiles, and they’re coming up from the tunnel entrance! I’m going after Pavluhkin!
Kyle ran, putting distance between himself and the entrance in case any of the shooters came out. He opened the case as he ran, pulling out a 9mm tactical handgun and a few mags of extra ammo that he shoved in his pocket.