Price Of Honor

Chapter Twenty-six

Dusty stared at the jumble of blurred shapes four inches above her face. She blinked and objects slowly swam into focus. Grease-covered rods, enormous bolts. Mud- and rust-coated sheets of metal. The undercarriage of the train car. Rails pressed into her back. The base of her skull throbbed as if someone had hit her with a sledgehammer. She shivered, glad for the cold. The discomfort convinced her she was alive. When she tried to sit up, her stomach rolled and she abruptly turned her head. Bile erupted. Her insides settled, but a blazing pain in her left shoulder took its place. She couldn’t remember what had happened, and that couldn’t be good. Slowly she became aware of welcome warmth spreading along her side and a distinctive scent—wet fur and all the other tangy odors that said dog. A sense of safety spread through her and the ball of fear in her belly eased. Atlas lay pressed against her left side.

“Hey, guy,” she croaked.

He whined softly and licked her face.

She closed her eyes, trying to reassemble the bits and pieces of the last moments. The pictures coalesced as her mind sluggishly cleared. She’d climbed up the ladder on the side of the train car. An image jumped into sharp focus, and her pulse kicked into overdrive. The drone, she’d needed to see the drone. And when she’d leaned forward just a little, something had slammed into her and knocked her off the car. She tried to make a fist with her left hand. Nothing happened. Her left shoulder was a ball of fire. Fuck, she’d been hit. And then…

Falling. Her last sensation had been of falling. But she was under the train car now. Protected, warm from Atlas’s body heat. She swallowed. “You dragged me under here, didn’t you, boy.” She reached over with the arm that was working and gripped a handful of his coat. Wet, thick, reassuring. “Smart boy.”

He nosed her neck, his big body tight, guarding.

“It’s okay, boy. I’m okay.”

He seemed to relax a fraction, but he didn’t move away from her side. She found her com link and activated it. “This is Nash. I’m down.”

“Nash.” Virtucci’s voice blasted into her ear, loud and hard. “Are you hit?”

“In the shoulder. I’m functional, though, Chief.”

“What’s your location?”

“I’m under one of the cars.” Millimeter by millimeter, she lifted her head and peered down the length of her body. “The three car. The same car as the drone.”

“Can you move?”

“Affirmative.” She dropped her head to the ground. The little bit of motion had spurred a wave of dizziness that made her stomach curl. After a few deep breaths, the nausea settled and she tried digging her feet into the snow-packed surface of the track underneath her. She pushed with her legs and slid forward an inch. Her heart pounded as if she’d run twenty miles. “I’m not sure how far or how fast.”

Her vision dimmed, and she floated. Damn cold. Not so bad now.

“Nash! Nash, you read me?”

Dusty jerked. She’d almost been asleep. She wet her chapped lips. “Yeah. I’m here. Sorry.”

“We need to get you inside,” he said. “Can you make it to the junction between the cars? There ought to be enough cover to pull you in there.”

“I can try.”

“Go. But stay under the cover. We think the shooter is stationary, but we can’t be sure.”

“Roger that.”

Dusty dug in her heels again and pushed. She made it a foot or two and had to stop. The jostling and bouncing sent shafts of pain into her neck and down her injured arm. Sweat broke out on her face and ran into her eyes. The more she struggled to move, the weaker she felt. If she just rested a minute…

Atlas growled and tugged her sleeve.

“Right.” Dusty forced her eyes open. “Okay. One more time.”

This time when she pushed, Atlas scrambled on his belly behind her, gripped the back of her flak jacket, and pulled. With a hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle assisting her, she managed to make progress. A torturous five minutes later, she was staring up at the couplers between two train cars.

“I’m at the rear of the three car,” Dusty said into her com.

“Can you stand up?”

“Yes, sir,” Dusty said, hoping she was right.

“Stand by. We’ll have people to you in a minute.”

Dusty rolled out from under the cover of the car. Ice crystals blew into her face and her eyes watered. Atlas bellied out beside her, his dark head swinging from side to side, scanning. He hunkered down protectively, hackles up, a low growl rumbling in his chest. The sound of a door sliding open above her was possibly the most beautiful music she’d ever heard—after Atlas.

She gripped a handrail on the side of the car with her good hand and pulled herself to her knees. Pain rolled through in waves and spots danced before her eyes. Hands gripped her and tugged. Atlas barked a warning.

Dusty groaned, “Left shoulder,” right before she was swallowed up in a tunnel of blackness.

*

Jane checked her watch. Eighteen minutes since she’d given the ultimatum. She’d expected them to try to stall, knew it wouldn’t be easy. She needed more leverage. She couldn’t beat them with firepower, not as long as they stayed under cover, but sooner or later they’d send ERT and CAT teams against her and she’d be overpowered by sheer numbers. But she had the second drone she’d used to stop the train. Now the train was stationary, and she could deploy it again. If she had to take out one of the train cars to convince the president she was serious, she would. She didn’t want to kill innocents, but innocents died as a consequence of war every day. Casualties couldn’t be helped. And everyone on that train was in some way an enemy. Everyone except Robbie. She’d told him to get to the rear of the train where he’d be safe. Had he done it? Was he safe? And she couldn’t deploy the second drone until she knew he was out of range. Improvisation was a part of any plan. She started the timer on her watch and picked up the phone. Twenty-two seconds later, she slid her phone into her pocket.

Now she would prove she wasn’t afraid to engage the enemy. Jane powered the remote, and the drone lifted off from the track and swept upward toward the train.

*

“I’ve got another communication,” said Cheryl Wilde, the com tech, an edge of excitement in her voice. The trim, thirty-year-old African American wore a navy USSS polo shirt and pressed khaki pants and looked like an all-American advertisement for a job in government service. She’d been the best hacker at MIT when they’d recruited her.

“A call?” Cam asked quickly.

Cheryl had already traced the number on the phone the UNSUB used to contact the president, but the UNSUB had been wise enough not to have used it before. They hadn’t been able to pull up any previous contact info, but Cheryl could monitor the number now and tell when it was in use. If the president was able to keep the UNSUB talking just a little longer the next time she called, they might be able to triangulate a location with enough accuracy to neutralize her with a missile strike. F-15 fighter planes were scrambled and waiting for the order. For now they were working blind, and if they couldn’t find a way to alleviate the threat to POTUS, they’d have to send a counterassault team out and hope their firepower would overwhelm the UNSUB before the team sustained significant casualties. They could not risk her triggering the drones out of retaliation or in an attempt to force the president to negotiate.

“Not a call,” Cheryl said with a note of frustration. “A data burst.”

“Can you read it?” Cam asked.

“Working on it.”

“What about the recipient,” Turner said. “Can you track that?”

“The burst is too short and gets lost in traffic. I was lucky to grab it at all.”

“That’s okay,” Cam said. “You’re doing great—we just need the text.”

“I know,” Cheryl said, fingers flying over the keyboard, sorting and downloading data packets. “It’s in here somewhere.”

Lines of scrolling text filled the screen. Cam, Tom, and Phil leaned forward together, shoulders touching. They were running out of time. The president, Lucinda, Blair—they were all in range of the drone if the UNSUB detonated it. Initially they’d waited to evacuate POTUS, judging the likelihood of the UNSUB triggering the drone while he negotiated with her to be less than the threat to him if they tried to pull him out of the car before she was neutralized. But they couldn’t wait any longer. They needed a weapon of their own. Cam needed the inside man.

Cheryl slammed back in her chair and pointed at the screen. “There!”

Where r u

15

Stay

“What?” Virtucci exploded. “What the fuck is that?”

“That,” Cam said grimly, “is from someone else on the train.”

“Son of a bitch,” Tom murmured.

Cam smiled. “Gotcha.”

*

Stark and a big dark-haired agent Viv didn’t know carried Dusty into the lounge. Atlas bounded in beside them, his eyes riveted on Dusty.

“Put her on the sofa,” Stark said.

“Who is it?” Blair asked.

“Dusty,” Viv said, “Dusty Nash.” She pressed forward, sickening fear twining through her. Dusty wasn’t moving. Her eyes were closed, her skin a waxy white. Her wet hair was plastered to her forehead. Viv didn’t see any blood. Was that good? She didn’t even know.

Dusty moaned and twitched. Atlas growled, his lips pulled back and two inches of gleaming canines directed at the agents.

“We need a dog handler up here,” Brock said, his eyes riveted on Atlas.

“No one is coming up here,” Stark said. “Just don’t make any sudden moves.”

“How about no moves at all,” Brock muttered from a spot near Dusty’s feet.

“He thinks you’re hurting her.” Viv inched over and slowly knelt at the side of the sofa by Dusty’s head. “Hey, Atlas. She’s going to be okay. You can stay right there and look after her.”

He glanced at her once quickly, and then back at Dusty. His hackles rose but the warning growls quieted.

“Go ahead,” Viv said. “He’s just protecting. Just try not to get between him and her.”

“Good dog,” Stark said. She unzipped Dusty’s camo jacket, pulled the Velcro flaps on the vest underneath, and eased off her body armor. “We’re going to fix her right up, fella.”

“Shot?” Viv’s voice sounded foreign to her ears, feathery and tight. She clenched her fists, willing herself to stay grounded, clearheaded. She had to help. Screaming was not an option.

“Can’t tell,” Stark ground out, swiftly opening the buttons on Dusty’s shirt. She parted it to reveal a tight green tank underneath.

Viv’s stomach tightened. A purple bruise extended from Dusty’s left shoulder down onto her chest, and a fiery lump as big as a softball rose from her collarbone. Viv caught her lower lip between her teeth, wanting to look away but needing to see. “Blood? Is there—”

“Don’t see any yet.” Stark cut the tank straps with a pocketknife and pulled the stretchy cotton down to the tops of Dusty’s breasts. “Looks like the vest caught the force of the round. I don’t see any penetration. Might have broken her collarbone, though, and there could be some internal bleeding.”

“Here…” Blair slipped up behind Viv and passed a towel-wrapped bundle to Stark. “Ice.”

Stark pressed it to Dusty’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Why isn’t she waking up?” Viv asked.

“Don’t know.” Stark slipped her hand behind Dusty’s head. A few seconds later she pulled her hand away, her fingers streaked with blood. “Got a scalp laceration. Must have hit her head.”

“I can hold the ice,” Viv said.

Stark narrowed her eyes, then must have decided Viv wasn’t going to fall apart, and nodded. “Good, thanks.”

Viv said, “Atlas, let me closer, boy.”

Atlas shifted a fraction of an inch, and Viv sat on the side of the sofa, holding the ice to Dusty’s chest with one hand and stroking the damp hair from her forehead with the other. Atlas rested his head on Dusty’s arm and watched her face with total concentration.

*

Cam gritted her teeth and listened as the president answered the ringing phone.

“I didn’t want to have to do that,” the woman said. “I asked you not to interfere with the drones. I’m trying to be reasonable here. I’m not interested in shooting anyone else, so don’t make me. Now you’ve got nine minutes to put Jennifer on the phone to me.”

“That’s not enough time,” the president said. “Holding this train hostage is not—”

“I’m not going to negotiate with you,” the woman said calmly. “I either hear from Jennifer or you’re going to have more than one dead Secret Service agent. Car eight is your command center, isn’t it? Don’t bother lying. There’s a drone on the roof.”