Chapter 14
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 vibrated through 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 others jogged 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 punch of 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.”
Nick backed up, sprinted ahead, sliding through on the waxed floor. He twisted, used his hand to stop his momentum before turning, looking back. Bodie followed, Sloane moving in behind him when the door dropped a foot, nearly catching her in the head.
The image got him up and sprinting — shoving his rifle underneath like Dalton had done earlier. The door dropped, smacking the butt, gears whining overhead, the weapon looking as if it might crack at any second.
He held firm, twisting it free once Dalton had scooted through, the edge banging into place with a resounding boom.
Nick stumbled to his feet, the lack of oxygen really kicking in, reducing the surroundings to blurry shapes all bleeding into beige. He shook it off, forced his legs to move, when a low cackle sounded through the speakers.
“Better get a move on, Colter. Once that last door closes, it won’t open again unless your girlfriend can hack it.” Another laugh. “And I’m betting she can’t.”
Up ahead, the ceiling panel popped open, the final suppression shutter inching down at some ridiculously slow pace, as if daring them to challenge it. Nick looked at Dalton, the same thought passing between them, as they took off, surging from a run into a full out sprint in a heartbeat.
They reached the door, both placing their shoulders under the descending metal as if they could hold it back with nothing but bones and determination. The annoyingly bright lights winked back out, the crimson emergency lighting bathing the corridor in a bloody glow.
Bodie hoofed it toward them, Sloane hot on his heels as the pressure beneath Nick’s shoulder dropped him to one knee, Dalton falling in with him. Bodie didn’t slow, diving forward Superman-style — skidding under the lip and into the wall beyond.
Nick waved Sloane through, hissing out each breath, locking his gaze on Dalton as his buddy counted it down. They both rolled once he reached three, barely getting free before the door slotted into place, blocking out their view of the hallway.
Fatigue weighed him down, sucking out any remaining energy as he crawled over to the last door, pounding his fist on it.
Sloane collapsed beside him, her fingers still tapping her tablet, though he wasn’t sure if she was actually touching anything or just sliding them over the screen. Bodie shouldered the door, then slid down it, chest heaving, an alarming squeak hissing out with every labored breath.
The scenery swam, everything washing into black when the keypad chimed, the doors sliding apart with a welcomed blast of fresh air.
They tumbled through, landing face-first in the isolation ward foyer, the lights humming back to full strength.
Cool air rushed past them, lifting a fraction of the fuzziness.
Sloane did something with her tablet, closed the doors behind them, sealing out the compromised air. Nick straightened, lungs still burning, vision a wash of gray at the fringes. He looked at the series of glass-walled rooms, his thoughts scattering before truly taking shape.
Sloane got her weight beneath her, pointed at the last room on the right. “Kessler…”
It took more focus than Nick wanted to admit he needed to follow her hand, zero in on the room. He blinked, realizing he hadn’t even tried moving yet, then pushed off, dragging his feet over to the window.
Beyond the glass, Kessler writhed on the bed, still straining against the leather restraints, his skin turning an eerie shade of blue.
Bodie shouldered the doors, resorting to a steel spreader he’d brought in his kit, but the seam didn’t budge. “It’s sealed tight. Sloane?”