39. Chapter 39
Chapter thirty-nine
Day 17 Petropavlovsk, Russia
Eloise Carmichael added a round of blubbery sniffles to her whinging as she clutched her bulging satchel to her belly and watched the hard-faced fucker across the room stuff Grigory into his clothes.
Muffy was relaxing in her doggie backpack, which was strapped to Eloise’s chest beneath her coat. Her theatrical performance—which was ongoing—had accomplished exactly what she intended and handed her the advantage. Although the soldiers surrounding her didn’t realize it yet. Men were so easy to manipulate. Mostly through sex. But if sex wasn’t achievable, sobs and screams worked almost as well.
Real men, those that defined themselves as heroic, cowered before sobbing, screaming, terrified women.
Her sobbing and screaming had served their purpose. They’d shielded her from a closer look. They’d manipulated the big, tough asshole who led these soldiers into granting her a satchel full of jewelry, cash, and her special six-inch stilettos. They’d even given her the opportunity to engineer an excuse to climb onboard their aircraft, thus granting her the opportunity to kill Grigory with her lipstick syringe before he told them anything important.
So far, these assholes didn’t know enough about her operation to cause her trouble. To keep them in the dark, Grigory had to die.
She suspected the soldiers who’d stormed her sanctuary were a yank Special Ops team. Maybe SEALs, like the ones they’d tested the nanobots on in Karaveht. They wore similar uniforms and helmets, complete with night vision goggles and communication mics.
With an exaggerated shiver, Eloise hugged the satchel harder against her belly and flipped up the collar of her cashmere coat. Muffy squirmed against her chest in protest. Eloise loosened her arms. Her baby didn’t like being squished.
The leader of this band of soldiers had allowed her to change into a warm pair of trackies, along with her warmest coat and Muffy’s pup pack. But the boots she was wearing had come from him. One of his soldiers had appeared in the bedroom and dropped them at her feet.
The boots were another sign this team was military. A mercenary wouldn’t be so accommodating. Rather than seeing to her comfort and protecting her from Grigory’s guards, he would have stolen her jewelry and money, then taken her for himself before sharing her with his men.
Of course, her screaming and crying didn’t account for all the leader’s goodwill. Some of his kindness was undoubtedly because of her divulging the location and combination of the safe. He’d been pleased with that information.
Offering him the information had been a calculated risk. Once they interrogated him, Grigory would give up the safe’s location and combination, anyway. Odds were, he’d give up more than the safe at that point. But if she offered the safe to the assholes right off the bat, and they found what they were looking for, maybe they wouldn’t interrogate Grigory here. Maybe they’d wait until they hauled him back to wherever they came from. These Americans were deep in enemy territory, right next to a heavily patrolled Russian submarine base. They must be nervous, itching to get home.
Besides, losing this last nanobot bomb wasn’t important. Clark Nantz had plenty more where it came from. The fucker thought he’d kept his identity secret through his false personas and dummy corporations. He hadn’t.
Nantz wasn’t as clever as he thought. None of the men she dealt with were.
While her efforts to delay the questioning hadn’t worked, so far Grigory hadn’t told them anything that would hurt her.
Widening her eyes until they watered, Eloise added a quiver to her jaw and another round of heavy sniffles. She needed to keep up the theatrics until they dropped her off at this haven they’d promised her. Then she could get back to running her business. If she worked them right, maybe they’d sit her next to Grigory on their ride out, and she could use the spring-loaded syringe on her former partner.
That would take care of her Grigory problem.
Too bad she only had one of her lipstick syringes. But her guard would have questioned why she was riffling through the pockets of her clothes. And she’d been distracted with keeping Muffy under control. If her baby got loose and attacked one of these assholes, they probably would shoot her.
At least she’d been able to transfer the tube from her dress pocket to her coat when she changed clothes. Plus, she’d stuffed several pairs of shoes into the satchel. She’d chosen the highest of heels, the ones with the five-inch stiletto blades spring-loaded into the six-inch heels.
What she wouldn’t give to stab the big asshole with one of her fancy shoes. He’d been so condescending when she’d walked out of the closet with her favorite blades strapped to her feet. A smirk touched her mouth before she turned it into a lip wobble.
Like most men, once she’d presented him with what he expected, he didn’t bother to look any deeper.
Doubling down on her trembling lips and teary eyes, she studied the two assholes hauling Grigory to his feet. They wore white and black speckled fatigues with matching backpacks. Even their helmets and boots were white. They’d certainly color coordinated with the weather. An aura of lethality surrounded them, like they knew a thousand ways to kill without breaking a sweat.
While she hadn’t expected anyone to track them to this far-flung compound in the middle of Russia, she’d still taken precautions in case they were found. Since the Americans were the ones determined to find her, she’d chosen the least likely place they’d infiltrate: Russia, next to a nuclear submarine base. If they were caught, their presence in Petropavlovsk would spark an international incident and set relations with Russia back by decades. She’d been confident the yanks wouldn’t chance that.
Even so, she ordered Grigory to triple their guard. Which he had. Not that the increased protection had done them any good. The big asshole and his fucking soldiers had slipped through all the guards and accessed the house—hell, the bedroom—entirely too easily,
She sighed, absently scratching the underside of Muffy’s chin, taking comfort in the cool, silky texture of her fur. Even if the leader let her go, like he’d promised—she’d have to start over, find another male partner to act as the face of her operation. Setting up a new partner as the face and voice of her business would take some time—most of it spent locating the right guy to work with.
Ruthless men with pliable dispositions were impossible to find. Nor did such men take orders from women. Instead of finding such a man, she’d have to create the appearance of one, like she’d done with Grigory. Her former partner had been a two-cent thug when she’d stumbled across him. He looked the part, though, acted it, too. But more crucially, he’d been willing to take orders from her. He’d been quite the find. It was a shame she had to let him go.
After she set up shop again, she’d reach out to Clark Nantz and threaten to expose him if he didn’t send her more nanobot weapons. Hell, maybe she could even convince him to work with her. She’d blame the stolen bots and the unauthorized sale on Grigory.
But no matter what happened going forward, she’d be okay. So far, Grigory had spilled nothing detrimental during the interrogation. Even if she couldn’t get close enough to kill him before they threw her off their transport, she’d be long gone by the time they realized she was behind the weapons dealing. And there was nothing Grigory could tell them that would affect her return to business.
While he knew which city her weapons cache was stored, he didn’t know the exact location. She moved the depot after each sale. Nor did her former lover know any of the company’s banking information—or at least the real banking information.
Sure, he knew what account number to give for payment during an arms deal. But as soon as the money hit the account, she transferred most of it out. She’d hired the best computer hacker in existence to cover the transfer tracks and create a mirror account for Grigory’s benefit, one that allowed him the illusion of a true financial partnership, without allowing him control over the account itself—beyond transferring a few hundred thousand. He’d never tested the upper limit of his financial freedom, satisfied with the withdrawals the account permitted him to make.
But the mirror account would cease to exist as soon as she missed the second check in. She was confident nobody would find the actual accounts. Lord knew she’d spent a lot of money to make sure of that.
As soon as these soldiers released her, she and Muffy would disappear, find a new partner, and return to business.
In the meantime, she’d already received two million euros from the sale of the fourth vial. This influx of cash, along with what was already in her accounts, would float her for a very long time if things didn’t go as planned.
Day 17 Denali, Alaska
“Would you ladies like another cup of coffee?” the nurse manning the ER desk asked.
Demi’s belly gurgled sourly at the prospect. “Nothing for me, thank you.”
“I’ll pass, too. But thanks for the offer,” Kait echoed politely, her face blank, her eyes unfocused.
There had already been too many cups of coffee on an empty stomach. What Demi really needed was food. Solid food. Something to soak up the acid from all those cups of coffee. But the thought of walking down to the cafeteria and forcing herself to eat felt like too much effort.
They hadn’t been allowed into the isolation unit, so Demi and Kait were camped out in the ER’s waiting room. Before he’d left for Russia, Wolf had offered them the use of a base apartment. They’d declined, opting to remain close to the clinic doctors and any news they might bring.
Twenty-four hours later, the muscles of Demi’s neck, shoulders, and back protested that decision. After so many hours of sitting, it was impossible to find a comfortable position. Judging by Kait’s countless laps around the waiting room, her muscles weren’t faring any better. Demi had taken just as many laps, but the benefits of moving were fleeting.
This too, she remembered from the vigil beside Donnie’s bed. The cramping muscles and coffee-soured stomach. The combination of fear and hope every time a doctor approached.
Kait stirred, a frown knitting the furrowed skin of her forehead. “Cosky said it’s a four-and-a-half-hour trip to this compound they’re attacking. They left at twelve-thirty last night, which would put them on site around 05:00 a.m. Even with their hike into where that rat bastard is hiding out, they should have arrived hours ago. Their mission should be over. They should be on their way home.” She bit her lip before adding, “If things had gone wrong, and they’d taken casualties, the doctors here would know about it, don’t you think? They’d have been warned about incoming wounded, right?”
“I would think so,” Demi agreed. Although, while the clinic would need to prepare for incoming casualties, would anyone tell them what was going on?
For Kait, yeah, they probably would. As the base’s strongest healer, she’d be on the need-to-know list. The only reason Kait hadn’t been on the helicopter with Cosky was because she’d wanted to be around to heal Aiden if given the chance. The rest of the base’s healers had accompanied Wolf and his men. They’d keep the injured alive long enough to return to base. Once home, Kait could heal the catastrophic injuries.
They hadn’t spoken much over the past twenty-four hours. They were locked in their own thoughts. Kait was caught between anxiety over Cosky and fear for her brother. And Demi was caught between memories of Donnie’s final moments and fear for Aiden’s current condition. Plus, there was the constant memory of Aiden’s expression when she’d broken things off with him; the realization and pain spreading across his face and the gut-wrenching emptiness in his eyes. His reaction still haunted her.
That memory might be the last one she had of him. The knowledge of that sat like a lead weight in her chest.
When the door next to the nurse’s station opened and the tall, lean frame of Dr. Brickenhouse walked through, Demi and Kait rose to their feet. The muscles in Demi’s face and arms tightened as she’d braced for bad news.
“Ladies.” The doctor stopped before them. “Aiden remains unconscious, but he’s responding well to the medications we’ve started him on. His fever has come down and his heart and respiration have stabilized.” He let them absorb that before continuing. “We still don’t know what the autoimmune reaction is in response to, nor do we know whether his earlier symptoms will return as soon as we stop the medications.”
The breath Kait released sounded choked. “What about all the tests you’ve been running? You looked for nanobots, right? Did you find any?”
They had found nothing in the earlier tests they’d run. But they had run even more tests since then. The nanobot question was of utmost importance to everyone. Kait wouldn’t be allowed to touch him if there was any sign of bot activity. If she couldn’t touch him, she couldn’t heal him.
The doctor’s hesitation was enough to catch Demi’s breath and tighten every muscle in her body. Kait noticed his reaction as well.
“Doctor?” Kait’s voice tightened into hoarseness.
“Yes…well.” He sighed and peered at Kait over the frames of his glasses. “We’re not quite certain what we found in his blood beneath the electron microscope.” Removing his glasses, he methodically polished the lenses with the hem of his white coat. “The EM picked up fragments of…something. But we’re uncertain what they are. While they have some of the organic markers of what we found in his teammate’s blood, they aren’t fully developed nanobots. These fragments are somewhere around a hundredth of the size of what we found in his teammate’s bodies, which were microscopic to begin with. We’re testing them, but we’re uncertain what they are.” He paused and added quietly, “Or what we’re dealing with.”
“Where did you find them?” Demi twisted her fingers together. Did this mean Aiden was infected, after all?
“In his blood,” the doctor said as he put his glasses back on and adjusted the frames. “These fragments are too microscopic to show up on the brain scans. To get a look there, we’d have to biopsy his brain and look at the sample through the electron microscope—which we aren’t willing to consider at this point.”
“What about his skin?” Kait asked, holding the doctor’s gaze. “Did you find any of these fragments on his skin?”
From the knowing look that settled across the doctor’s face, he knew exactly why she was asking. “We did not. But that doesn’t mean he’s been cleared for a healing. Caution is in order. We simply don’t know what we’re dealing with yet.”
Demi’s knees joined her fingers in shaking. “How many fragments did you find?”
The doctor shrugged. “Three.”
Three fragments, at least that they’d found. Aiden could be loaded with those things.
“Are you trying to get rid of them?” Demi asked.
If those fragments had some of the organic markers that infected Aiden’s teammates, they were dangerous. They had to be purged from his body. What if they grew into full nanobots? What if they multiplied?
Brickenhouse sighed, looking momentarily exhausted. “We don’t know what they are. We don’t know what they’ll react to, or if they’ll react to anything at all. They’re not mobile. They’re not alive.” He shook his head. “We’re assessing them. Once we have more information, we’ll reevaluate the situation.”
Which wasn’t reassuring. By the time they figured out what they were dealing with, it could be too late to save Aiden.
The doctor turned away. Kait started and took off after him. “Doctor, hang on a minute.”
Demi tuned out Kait’s voice as she questioned the man about Wolf and his men, and whether the clinic had received news of casualties. She was too focused on other questions.
Like what if these fragments they’d found in Aiden’s blood were the reason he was so sick? If the docs couldn’t flush them out of his body, could he survive with them inside him? Or would the autoimmune response eventually overwhelm his system?
Would the damn things kill him before the doctors could figure out what they were and how to get rid of them?