Stolen

INFILTRATION

We headed for the exit, checking first to ensure no one else had come outside for a nicotine fix. Once there, Clay removed the head and hand from the bag. I took the hand. As he lifted the head to the camera, I poised the still-warm hand beside the door handle, ready to grab it as soon as the first light turned green. Instead, the indicator stayed red and something beeped. I turned to see a numeric keypad attached to the wall. "ID#?" flashed on the tiny screen.

"Shit!" I said. "A key code. How did I miss that?"

"Because you were breaking out, darling, not breaking in," Clay said. "I didn't notice it either. Must be added security for getting inside."

"No problem," Paige said. "Let's break this down logically. First, find the number of digits." She started pressing the "9" button.

"Don't! "Adam said, snatching her hand. "If we punch in the wrong code, we might set off an alarm."

"I know that. All I'm doing is seeing how many digits it'll accept. Looks like five. Okay. So let's go back to this guy's body and see if we can find a five-digit number."

"Maybe tattooed on his chest," Adam said.

"No need for sarcasm," she said. "He might have a card or something with the number on it. Even if it's a secret, like a PIN, lots of people write it down and hide it in their wallet. We just look for anything with five digits."

"This is stupid," Adam muttered.

"No," I said. "It's logical, like Paige said. I'll run back-"

"We don't have time!"

"We'll make time," Clay said. "You two step into the woods and stay hidden."

Clay and I returned to the headless corpse and searched the pockets, finding neither a wallet nor anything bearing a number of any sort. When we returned, Adam was pacing just beyond the forest's edge.

"Nothing, right?" he said.

I nodded, then turned to Paige. "Okay, so we know it's a five-digit number. Can you hack into the system? Break the code?"

"Not without a laptop and a lot of time." She glanced at Adam, who'd strode out of earshot, then she lowered her voice. "He's wired. I don't think he slept much last night."

"He'll be fine," I said. "Let's check out that keypad again."

We returned to the door.

"Well?" Adam said. "Do we have a plan yet?"

"We're working on it," I said.

"What about you two?" Paige asked. "Can you turn into wolves and get us in?"

"How?" Clay said. "Whine and scratch at the door until someone opens it?"

"Is that all we've got?" Adam snapped. "What about the backup plan?"

"Cool it," Clay said. "We're working on one."

"Working on one? You mean we don't have one?"

Paige laid her hand on Adam's arm. He shook it off.

"What the hell are we standing around for?" he said. His voice tightened, taking on a shrill note of panic. "We have to hurry. Using that scanner probably set off an alarm. Even if it didn't, someone's bound to come looking for those two guards. Goddamn it! "

The whites of Adam's eyes suffused with red, as rage replaced panic. The smell of fire flared. Clay grabbed Adam by the back of the shirt just as Adam's fist connected with the door. There was a loud pop. The door shimmered. Clay hauled Adam back and threw him to the ground, then pushed Paige and me out of the way and stood over Adam.

"Control it, Adam," Clay said. "Concentrate."

Adam lay facedown on the ground. He balled his outstretched hands into fists, grabbing handfuls of grass and earth. The grass sizzled and smoked. When Adam started to stand, Clay put his foot on his back.

"Got it under control?" Clay asked. "I'm not letting you up until you do."

Adam nodded and Clay backed off, but stayed tense. Adam sat up, buried his face in his hands, and groaned like a college freshman with a killer hangover. Then he gave his head a sharp shake and looked at us.

"Sorry, guys," he said. "I didn't mean-" His head jerked up. "Did I do that?"

I followed his gaze and saw that the exit door was open. I blinked, looked again, and realized it wasn't open. It was gone. Only a pile of ash remained.

"Holy shit," Paige whispered. "You incinerated it."

"I did?" Adam stood, walked to the door, and touched the edge of it, then yelped and jerked his hand away. Red welts emblazoned his fingertips. He grinned. "Look, Ma, no door!" He punched the air and whooped. "Guess I'm not your average fire demon after all. See this door, Paige? Remember it next time you decide to bad-mouth me."

"Congratulations," Clay said. "Now get the hell inside."

Adam nodded and tried to plaster on a serious face, but his grin slipped through. Clay motioned for him to lead the way. As he stepped over the pile of ash, he stooped and raked his fingers through it, then turned to Paige and grinned, eyes shining. She smiled back, then prodded him through the doorway. We were in.

Our next task was to disable the alarm and radio system. From my trips to and from the infirmary, I knew the communication center was located on the second floor, around the corner from the elevator. Several guards were on duty there at all times, manning the equipment. Tucker's office adjoined the guard station. With any luck, he'd be there. Killing Tucker was another high-priority job. Of all the remaining staff, Tucker was the most dangerous, not for any personal qualities-I didn't know the man well enough to assess that-but because he commanded the troops. When someone discovered that we'd infiltrated the compound, Tucker would rally them to action. Without Tucker and without the radio system, any sense of order among the guards would break down-or so we hoped. The only other person who could possibly control the men would be Winsloe. The guards might not like or respect Winsloe, but he paid their wages, which they wouldn't receive if they cut and ran at the first sign of trouble. So Winsloe would be next on our target list.

Once Winsloe and Tucker were dead, we'd be more concerned with fighting individual guards than tracking down the remaining staff members. Oh, sure, Tess might pull a nail file on us, but I could probably take her. That left Matasumi, a guy who couldn't fight his way out of a locked bathroom. Oh, right, I was forgetting someone. The sorcerer. Paige assured me she'd know Katzen if she saw him. Witches intuitively recognized sorcerers… or so she'd heard, though she'd never met one herself. Very comforting.

We'd planned to take our time moving from the exit to the guard station, avoiding confrontations, taking side routes if necessary. The incinerated exit door kiboshed that plan. We had to get to the guard room and disable the radios before anyone saw the damage.

Fortunately, we arrived at the communication center without incident. Our luck continued when we found only two guards manning the station. One was chomping on a granola bar. The other was doing the crossword in a week-old newspaper. We could only see slivers of their profiles, but it was enough to send a cold thrill through me. I smiled. These were two guards I recognized, two I'd never forget: Ryman and Jolliffe, the men who'd helped Winsloe hunt Lake, who'd played key roles in Armen's death, who'd taken such pride and vicious pleasure in their jobs. And now this dedicated duo was so engrossed in their work that Clay and I managed to sneak up behind them without either noticing. The temptation to shout "Boo!" and watch them hit the rafters was almost too great. But we were in a hurry. So Clay grabbed Ryman in a headlock and I snapped Jolliffe's neck as he pondered a nine-letter synonym for stupidity. We needed to keep one guard alive and had chosen Ryman, hoping his mouth would be too full of granola for him to scream. It was. Unfortunately, it was so full that when Clay grabbed him by the throat, he almost choked to death, thereby necessitating a flurry of discussion over the proper way to perform the Heimlich maneuver. It was a sad state of affairs when you had to save someone's life before you killed him.

Ryman finally coughed up a soggy chunk of oats, then let loose a stream of vulgarity.

"Now that doesn't sound like 'thank you,'" Clay said, clamping his hand over Ryman's mouth.

"There's gratitude for you," I said. I leaned into Ryman's face. "Remember me?"

His face went white. I grinned, baring my teeth.

"These are the two I told you about," I said to Clay.

His eyes sparked, and he returned my grin. "Good."

Ryman made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper. I flashed him one last smile, then stepped away, leaving him to Clay. As Adam disconnected the communication equipment, I snapped the lock on Tucker's office, leaned inside, looked, and sniffed.

"Seems our luck stops here," I said. "No sign of the colonel."

"That's why we have this one." Clay slammed Ryman's head and upper torso onto the desktop, knocking over a bottle of mineral water. "Let's keep this brief. Where do we find Tucker?"

Blood trickled from Ryman's nose. He blinked, orienting himself, then cleared his throat and lifted his head.

"Paul Michael Ryman," he said, voice clipped, robotic. "Former corporal with the United States Army. Currently serving under Special Operations Colonel R. J. Tucker."

"What the hell is that?" Clay said.

Paige muffled a laugh. "I-uh-think it's his version of name, rank, and serial number. Sorry, Paul, but that's really not going to help us."

Clay leaned over, stretched Ryman's hand flat against the desktop, then smashed it with his fist. There was a sickening crunch, like the snapping of bird bones. Ryman shrieked, cut off in mid-note by Clay's hand over his mouth.

"Doctors will have a hell of a time fixing that," Clay said. "I'd call it a write-off. That was the left hand. Next I do the right. Where is Tucker?"

"Paul Michael Ryman," Ryman gasped when Clay uncovered his mouth. "Former corporal with the United States Army. Currently serving under Special Operations Colonel R. J. Tucker."

"Oh, for pity's sake," Paige said. "Come on, Paul. We all appreciate your loyalty, but trust me, no one else is going to give a damn. Just tell the man what he wants to know and get it over with."

"Paul Michael Ryman. Former corporal with the United States Army. Currently serving under Special Operations Colonel R. J. Tucker."

"Men," Paige muttered, shaking her head.

Clay spread Ryman's right hand on the desktop. A spurt of static from one set of speakers made me jump. Clay only glanced at Adam.

"Sorry," Adam said. "I'm almost done."

He jacked down the volume on the static-spewing speaker, then bent to look at the wiring on the other one.

"Okay," Clay said. "One last chance. Wh-"

The still-functional speaker broke into an earsplitting whine. As Adam reached to flick it off, a voice sounded.

"Jackson to base. Base, do you read? Repeat, security has been breached. Over."

"Hold on," Clay whispered before Adam turned it off. He motioned for me to hold Ryman still and quiet, then snatched the mike from Adam. "How do you work this thing?"

"Push the button to talk. Release to listen. They can't hear anything unless the button's down."

Clay cranked up the volume on the disconnected speaker. Static filled the room. He pushed the talk button.

"Base to Jackson," Clay said, swallowing his accent. "Ryman here. We're having equipment problems. Repeat. Over."

"Shit, Paul," the voice came back. "I can barely hear you. I said we have a breach. The fucking door's been blown off. I'm guessing explosives, but shit, you should see this. Nothing left but ash. One helluva bomb."

"No," Adam said, grinning. "One helluva half-demon."

Clay motioned him to silence, then pressed the mike button. "Where's Tu-Colonel Tucker?"

"Last time I saw him, he was on level two, taking inventory in the gun locker. He isn't answering his radio?"

"I'll try again. Maintain your position. I'm sending backup."

Clay handed the mike to Adam, then gestured from me to Ryman.

"You want him?" he asked.

I met Ryman's eyes with a cold stare. "Not really. Go ahead and kill him."

Ryman's eyes bulged. His mouth opened but before anything came out, Clay snapped his neck. Once Adam finished disconnecting the radio and security systems, we headed for the gun locker.

Now, we didn't know exactly where to find the gun locker. The guard had said level two, which narrowed it down somewhat. From my infirmary excursions, I'd learned that the second floor was laid out much like the lower level, one large block with a single corridor looping around and joining at the elevator. That made it easier. All we had to do was start at one end and check every room until we found Tucker. Getting Ryman to divulge the exact location of the gun locker would have taken too much time.

On our search, we found and killed two kitchen workers. No, they didn't threaten us. No, we didn't perceive them as a threat. The unpleasant truth was that we had to kill everyone. No matter how harmless they might seem, even the lowliest staff member possessed the most dangerous weapon of all: knowledge. They knew we existed, and for that, they couldn't be allowed to leave the compound.

While searching for Tucker, we found Matasumi in a locked room-or I should say, I smelled him through a locked door. We listened for a moment, then Paige cast a minor spell to open it. She admitted the spell worked only on simple locks, but since it was silent, we decided to try that before employing more physical techniques. It worked and we eased the door open. I peered inside and saw Matasumi seated at a computer. He was alone. I eased the door shut, bumping Paige in the chin as she craned her neck for a look inside.

"All clear," I whispered. "He's working at a computer. Doesn't seem to even realize there's a problem."

"He knows," Paige said. "Did you see the Zip disks? The knapsack? He's backing up data and clearing the hard drive before he runs."

"And he's about to encounter a fatal error," Adam said, grinning. "Mind if I handle this one?"

"I saw a gun on the desk," Paige said. "A big one. He probably grabbed the largest one he could find."

Clay glanced at me.

"I doubt he has any idea how to use it." I nodded to Adam. "Sure, go ahead. We'll cover you. Just be-"

"Careful," Adam said. "I know."

I eased open the door. Matasumi faced the side wall. His fingers flew across the keyboard. As Adam stepped into the room, Matasumi bent to put another disk into the drive. He saw Adam and froze, then sneaked a glance at the gun on the corner of the desk. His hand darted out, but Adam snatched the rifle before Matasumi got close.

Adam brandished the gun and whistled. "This is one wicked piece of firepower. You got a license for it, Doc?"

Matasumi froze again, hand still outstretched.

"Didn't think so," Adam said. "Neither do I, so how about we get rid of this before someone gets hurt."

Adam started to toss the gun to Clay, then thought better of it, laid it on the floor, and scooted it to us with his foot.

"Adam Vasic," Matasumi murmured.

"You know my name? I'm flattered."

Adam grabbed Matasumi's hand and shook it. Matasumi yelped and yanked his hand back. He stared at the bright red splotches on his palm, then gaped at Adam, as if unable to believe he'd burned him.

"Whoops," Adam said. "Sorry about that, Doc. Haven't quite got the fiery stuff under control yet." Adam turned to the computer. "Whatcha working on? That's some piece of hardware. Paige, you see this? What is it?"

Adam bent and squinted at the tower box. He reached out and touched it. Sparks flew. Circuits popped. Matasumi jerked back.

"Damn!" Adam said. "That looks bad. Think you can fix it, Paige?"

"Sorry, I'm not a technician."

Adam shook his head. "Guess we're shit outta luck, then, Doc. Sorry about that. What were you doing anyway? Downloading files?" Adam popped the disk from the drive. It sizzled, then melted like wax between his fingers. "Oops. Hope you have backups."

Matasumi's eyes flickered to a locked shelf overhead. Clay stepped forward and snapped it open. Adam scooped up a handful of disk cases. This time they disintegrated at his touch, leaving only charred bits of plastic and metal.

"See?" he said, showing Clay his fistful of ash. "That's what happens when you help me strengthen my powers. Even worse than King Midas's curse. At least gold's valuable." He turned to Matasumi and shrugged. "Sorry, Doc, but it's really for the best. We can't let that information get outside these walls, can we? Oh, wait. There's one more memory bank I need to shut down. My apologies in advance."

Adam tore a wire from the computer and wrapped it around Matasumi's neck. For a second, Matasumi didn't seem to realize what was happening. Then his hands flew to his throat. Too late. As Adam wrenched the wire tight, it ignited, flared, then died as Matasumi slumped sideways, garrotted.

"You enjoyed that far too much," Paige said.

Adam only grinned. "What do you expect? I'm a demon."

"Half-demon."

"And a full demon would have tortured the poor guy first. At least I was merciful."

"Finish destroying the files and the computer," Clay said. "Then we move."

"Should I contact Kenneth now?" Paige asked as we left the room.

Clay shook his head and kept walking.

"But Jeremy said to notify them once we were inside and had the systems down."

"No, he said to notify him when Elena told you to."

Paige glanced at me.

I shook my head. "Not yet."

"But we could use their help."

"Whose help?" Clay said, stopping suddenly and wheeling on her. "Kenneth's? He can't fight. Cassandra's? She might fight, if she feels like it. We'll call them in when it's clear."

"But-"

"But nothing." Clay glowered at Paige. "You're asking me to put my Alpha in a potentially dangerous position where he's not only the lone fighter, but where he's responsible for two other people. I won't do that."

"I'm sorry," Paige murmured as Clay turned away.

Clay spun on her. "What?"

"I said, I'm sorry."

Clay hesitated, gave a brusque nod, then motioned us to silence and started forward again.

We found the gun locker. To my surprise, it was actually a whole room. Hey, I've never been in the military. I hear the term "gun locker" and I picture a high-school locker stuffed with AK-47s and grenades instead of smelly socks and week-old ham sandwiches.

I sneaked up to an open doorway, peeked around the corner, and saw Tucker scribbling on a clipboard. Not only was he alone, but he had his back to us. Maybe Bauer had a point when she made that little speech about overreliance on technology in the post-industrial age. These guys were so convinced of the impenetrability of their high-tech security system that, so long as no alarms blared, they felt safe. Tucker wasn't even armed. Really, where was the challenge?

I backed away from the door and motioned to Clay. He crept to my side, glanced around the door, and shook his head. We broke into a flurry of sign language. Then I nodded, stepped back, and waved Adam and Paige forward. Clay glided around the door, shoes silent on the linoleum. When Adam tried to follow, I put out my hands to stop him. Clay could handle this alone. Better if we stayed hidden.

I closed my eyes to sharpen my hearing and tracked the whisper of Clay's breathing, mapping it against Tucker's. The gap between them closed. Then, as I waited for the scuffle of the attack, two loud clicks shattered the silence. Guns.

I lunged into the open doorway. Paige grabbed the back of my shirt, stopping me just as two guards stepped from their hiding places, guns trained on Clay's head.