Deep Black

46

One minute, Stephen Martin was having a glorious wet dream, banging two models on a pristine Aruba beach. The scent of sunscreen mixed with tequila and the heavy odor of women in heat.

The next minute, he was being pulled out of bed by his undershirt, dragged across the cold cement floor.

“Fuck,” he mumbled as he tried to grab whatever had him. “Jesus. Let me wake up.”

He jerked his elbow into something hard, then felt himself spinning backward. His head slammed against the cement.

What the hell were the idiot Russians doing now?

“You better be fuckin’ Martin,” said a voice in English.

American English.

“I am,” he muttered. He realized he was still dreaming, but damn—damn—this felt real. He was lifted up and tossed down, carried over someone’s shoulder.

Not a dream. The man carrying him ran from the room, down the hallway to the steps.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m rescuing you. How the hell are you still alive? You a cat?”

“Put me down.”

“Sshhh.”

Martin’s rescuer paused at the base of the stairwell, glanced at something in his hand, then started running up the steps, taking them two at a time. He paused again at the top. Two men lay sprawled on the floor above.

Martin pushed his torso off the man’s back, trying to twist down. The man was large, with hair so blond it nearly shone. He had a handheld computer in his left hand and a long, boxlike gun in his right.

NSA!

“Hey, are you from Desk Three?” asked Martin.

“Let’s save the songs for later, OK? We still got to get the hell out of here and I don’t know if the place is bugged.”

“There are five hundred troops here, and scientists.”

“The troops are mostly gone, and I’m not worrying about any eggheads. Can you walk?”

“Yes.”

“Nice underwear,” said the NSA op, putting him down.

“You look good in white.”

Martin felt himself flush. The man studied the handheld, which seemed to be getting a live video feed. Martin realized it must be a surveillance arrangement showing what was going on outside.

“OK, when I say go, you go, OK? Run right behind me.

When you see the helicopter, run for it.”

“Helicopter?” asked Martin.

“Get ready.”