Wired Page 15

  Desh nodded. “He’s a computer expert I’ve been working with who got drawn in. I think we can trust him.” He paused. “Matt Griffin—Jim Connelly,” he said.

  The men shook hands while Desh turned to the wounded soldier and stared at him intently. “Who are you working for?” he barked. “And what were your orders?”

  The soldier remained silent.

  “You’re obviously US military; ex-Special Forces. I’m guessing you’re working for a Black Ops group, am I right?” Once again there was no response. “Do you have any idea who it is you were attacking?” He gestured toward Connelly. “You’re looking at a highly decorated officer in the US Army Special Operations Command.”

  The soldier’s expression suggested that he knew exactly who it was he was attacking but didn’t care.

  Desh pocketed the tranquilizer gun, drew his .45, and pulled back on the slide to chamber a round. He pointed it at the prisoner’s kneecap suggestively. “I’m only going to ask one more time,” he growled. “Why are you after him?”

  The soldier’s face remained stoic but he glanced from his kneecap to Desh’s fiery eyes and swallowed hard. “We were told he went off the reservation.”

  Desh glanced at Connelly and raised his eyebrows. “How so?”

  “We weren’t given details. We were just told he had gone rogue and was extremely dangerous. That he was working against the interests of the United States and had to be brought in. The orders came from high up the chain of command.”

  “Brought in or executed?” said Connelly.

  “Brought in.”

  “But you weren’t told he had to be taken alive, correct?” said Desh.

  The soldier didn’t respond, but the look on his face spoke volumes.

  “Just as I thought,” said Desh. “So if you were able to bring him in without a fight to interrogate him, great, but if you had to kill him, no one would lose any sleep over it.”

  The soldier glared at Connelly. “You sell out your country and you get what you deserve.”

  Desh shook his head. “You’ve been lied to. The colonel hasn’t sold out his country. Whoever is ultimately giving the orders has, and is afraid the colonel is on the brink of finding out. So I’ll ask again, who gave you your ord—”

  Desh jerked his head toward the sky in mid sentence as he detected the faint but unmistakable sound of helicopter blades overhead, his heart accelerating wildly. The chopper was already less than two hundred feet away and was closing fast.

  Impossible!

  Desh darted for the tree line as a muffled shot rang out from above, and an armorpiercing bullet screamed through Connelly’s vest and drilled a hole just below his left shoulder, sending his gun flying. Two soldiers in the helicopter tried to follow Desh’s sprinting form with their silenced rifles but held their fire as he entered the woods.

  A helicopter was far too noisy to have made it so close undetected, thought Desh in alarm. But this one had. Which meant it was one of the few, next generation choppers designed to have a dramatically reduced acoustic and radar signature. Whoever was after them had access to the military’s most advanced equipment, which was extremely disconcerting.

  The helicopter approached the clearing and four men, clutching automatic rifles and donned in commando gear, rappelled down a green rope that had unfurled like a streamer from the floor of the chopper. As soon as their boots hit the ground, two of them captured Griffin and Connelly, and two raced into the woods after Desh, fanning out. The helicopter gently settled onto the ground next to Connelly’s car as they did so. The man who had called himself Smith was at the controls.

  Desh sprinted through the woods ahead of his pursuit, stopping abruptly to take up residence behind a particularly thick tree trunk. The two men approached cautiously, keeping to trees for cover, no doubt aware of Desh’s credentials. He was outnumbered, but they had the unenviable task of rooting him out, and he had access to any number of fortified positions. One of the men would circle around and they would coordinate an attack from opposite sides of him. That is if he remained stationary, which he had no intention of doing. Experience told him that he had a better than fifty-fifty chance of escape.

  Smith killed the helicopter’s engine and entered the woods. “Stand down, Mr. Desh,” he bellowed into the trees. “It’s Smith,” he added, in case Desh failed to recognized his voice.

  Desh said nothing.

  Smith made several crisp hand signals and seconds later the two commando’s retreated back toward their commander. “I’m recalling my men,” yelled Smith in Desh’s general direction. “We have your two friends,” he continued. “Cooperate and they get treated like royalty. Help me get the girl and I’ll even let them go.” He paused. “Don’t cooperate and I’ll have them executed. Right here, right now,” he bellowed. “So how about it, Desh?”

  Smith paused and waited for Desh’s response, which didn’t come. Desh wasn’t about to be goaded into giving away his position.

  “Look, Desh, my men and I will be waiting in the clearing for you to come to your senses. Your friends’ lives are in your hands. You have three minutes!” he finished, his booming voice reverberating off the trees.

  While Desh didn’t believe Smith would ever let Griffin and Connelly go, he did believe he would execute them if Desh didn’t play ball. He had already proven this by shooting the colonel. But as long as they were alive, there was a chance Desh could get them out of this mess. He had no other choice but to give himself up, and Smith knew it.

  He approached the edge of the tree line. The colonel and the bearded giant were sitting on the ground next to Connelly’s car, their hands and feet bound, while Smith’s men were spread throughout the clearing. Desh was relieved to find Connelly still looking alert despite his gunshot wound.

  Desh planned to announce himself before he broke from the woods in case any of the soldiers were trigger-happy. He opened his mouth to announce his presence but slammed it closed in shock as he heard something that took him completely by surprise.

  The voice of Kira Miller coming from the opposite side of the clearing.

  24

  “Drop your weapons!” commanded Kira as she calmly entered the clearing, not wearing either glasses or makeup to alter her appearance. She was unarmed and protected by nothing more than a black sweatshirt and tan jacket.

  An image flashed across Desh’s mind of the sweatpants Kira had provided, which he had unceremoniously thrown into the hall. But he was still wearing the gray sweatshirt from the night before. She must have bugged both garments. God, she was clever. She told him she had placed a bug in the sweatpants, knowing he would have changed back into his own pants anyway, but she also knew he would keep the sweatshirt on longer, because she had destroyed his shirt. Like a master magician, she had diverted his attention in one direction while she had continued to operate in another. So she was still listening in when he had read the GPS coordinates of this clearing to Connelly. How had he become so inexcusably sloppy!

  “I repeat,” said Kira firmly. “Drop your weapons. Now!”

  The soldier nearest to Kira shook his head in dismay. “Are you out of your mind! What are you threatening us with, girl power?”

  “Girl power. Very witty,” she said sarcastically.

  “Who are you?” said another of the soldiers, his eyes widening in wonder.

  Smith had been as stunned as Desh by Kira’s sudden arrival, but finally snapped out of his trance. “Don’t let down your guard,” he instructed his team. “This girl is dangerous. Don’t let her appearance and lack of weaponry fool you.”

  The commandos nodded, but found it hard to take her seriously even so. Desh knew from their reactions they had no idea who she was.

  “I’ll be damned,” continued Smith. “Kira Miller in the flesh. It’s nice to finally meet you. But I must say I’m surprised you would just walk into our hands like this after proving so elusive for so long.”

  “Mr. Smith, I presume?”

  �
�That’s what I called myself last night, at least. Which means you must have been listening in to my conversation with Desh.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “On the other hand, maybe I was just paying attention when you shouted your name a minute ago loudly enough to wake the dead.”

  “Also a reasonable possibility,” he conceded.

  “I need you to order your men to drop their weapons.”

  “Or what?” said Smith contemptuously. “Have you invented a super weapon you can activate with your mind that can disable us all? I doubt it. If you had something like this you would have used it already.”

  Kira’s eyes burned with a steely resolve. “I don’t need a weapon to get what I want. Either you and your men lay down your weapons—” She paused for effect. “Or I commit suicide.”

  The commando nearest to Kira smirked. “That’s the dumbest threat I’ve ever …” he began, but stopped in mid-sentence as he noticed the expression on Smith’s face. Smith wasn’t laughing.

  “I can have you captured and pacified long before you could kill yourself,” said Smith.

  “Really?” she said smugly. “I have a cap on a tooth with cyanide enclosed. I bite down on it with all of my strength and I die very quickly. And you can’t have that, can you? Because if I die, you’re next. Your boss would serve your brains as an appetizer at his next dinner party.” She paused and motioned to Smith’s men with her head. “Tell them, Smith. You obviously didn’t expect me here or you would have warned them already. Tell them what happens to them if they accidentally kill me.”

  “She’s right,” said Smith hurriedly, realizing they knew nothing of the stakes and couldn’t risk that they would decide to take matters into their own hands. “None of you are to take any hostile action against her if there is any chance—any chance—that it could result in her death, accidental or otherwise. Am I clear?” he hissed.

  “Clear,” responded his men in turn, looks of disbelief across the board.

  Desh watched her performance in awe. She was the most remarkable woman he had ever known. She had waltzed into an elite group of heavily armed commandoes without even flinching and was attempting to pull off a plan more audacious than any in his memory.

  “Good,” said Smith. He turned once again to Kira. “As for you, you’ve watched too many old spy movies. A suicide tooth? You’re bluffing. And even if you aren’t, you’ll never go through with it.” He pulled a tranquilizer gun from his pocket and raised his eyebrows. “I can have you unconscious in a few seconds,” he said smugly.

  “Even think of pointing that at me and I crack the tooth. You might think I’m bluffing, but are you willing to bet your life?” Kira cast a furtive, nervous glance at the tree line in Desh’s direction and nodded ever so slightly.

  Her nod jolted Desh out of the trance he was in like a cattle prod. “Even if the tooth isn’t real,” he thundered from beyond the clearing, taking the cue she had given him. “I sure as hell am! I have a gun trained on her head and an itchy trigger finger. I’m happy to be the instrument of suicide for this psychopathic bitch!” he spat hatefully.

  “Jesus, Desh!” said Smith in alarm, the smug look vanishing from his face as he realized he had neglected to factor Desh into the equation. “Back off! She could be our only hope of stopping the Ebola attack. You kill her and you’re sentencing millions of others to death as well.”

  “I don’t believe that and you know it!” growled Desh. “I think killing her ends the threat. So I’ll tell you what. Have your men drop their weapons and hug the ground or I put a bullet through her head.”

  There was no response.

  Desh fired, missing Kira’s head by inches.

  “Do it!” he thundered. “Or be prepared to bend over and kiss your ass goodbye when the powers that be discover you allowed her to be killed. I’ll at least die a happy man knowing I stopped her.”

  Desh could tell that Smith’s mind was racing, weighing the possibilities.

  “You have ten seconds,” said Desh forcefully. “Nine. Eight. Seven. Six—”

  “Do what he says!” ordered Smith anxiously. “Now!”

  His men were incredulous, but did as ordered: they dropped their weapons and fell to the ground.

  Smith remained standing.

  “You too, Smith,” demanded Desh. “On the ground. You and I need to have a nice long chat.”

  Smith shook his head. “I’m really not feeling all that chatty,” he said.

  And then, before Desh could react, Smith pointed his tranquilizer gun at his own leg and pulled the trigger.

  PART FOUR

  Reunion

  25

  Kira Miller took the lead as they hiked through the woods. Desh was close behind, his .45 trained on her back, while Connelly and Griffin brought up the rear; all four staying alert for possible ambushes. Their destination was Kira’s SUV, rented under an assumed name, which was parked at a campground a half-mile distant and which could not be immediately traced. They were in an untouched section of the woods, blazing their own trail, and their progress was slower than Desh would have liked. Kira had used a small GPS device to find the clearing, and she consulted it periodically to be sure they were taking the most direct line to her vehicle possible.

  Desh fumed silently. How had he let Smith slip through his fingers! Smith had known they couldn’t wait until he regained consciousness to interrogate him, and dragging his unconscious body along as they made their escape would be equally foolhardy. As expected, the man had carried no identification. Shit, thought Desh for the third time. He had been so close to finally learning what was going on and who was pulling Smith’s strings. It was maddening!

  Desh had tranquilized the remaining commandoes to ensure they couldn’t sound an alarm. After he had cut Griffin and Connelly free, he had taken the standard, military first-aid kit from the helicopter and had cleaned and dressed the colonel’s wound, giving him a potent pain killer as well. Before they had taken off into the woods, Desh also hurriedly dressed the wound of the now-unconscious soldier Connelly had shot.

  All in all, Connelly had been lucky, but he had still lost a considerable amount of blood and the risk of infection was significant. He needed to get to a doctor soon.

  Kira stopped walking and gestured toward Desh’s gun. “Do you really need to point that at me?” she whispered, taking care that her voice wouldn’t carry and advertise their presence.

  It was a good question, thought Desh. Did he? She had warned him about Smith; warned him that Connelly was in danger. And she had been right. She had also just bailed them out of a big mess.

  But what if this had been nothing but a set-up? For all Desh knew she and Smith were working together. Still, to what end? If she wanted Desh dead she could have accomplished this at the motel. If she was allied with Smith to acquire Griffin and Connelly along with him, they were seconds away from this as well. What’s more, she had voluntarily put herself under Desh’s control.

  Desh wasn’t about to holster his gun until they were in more secure territory, but he joined Kira at the front of the procession and no longer pointed it in her direction.

  “Thanks,” she whispered earnestly.

  “So you bugged the sweatshirt, too, didn’t you?” asked Desh in hushed tones as they began to move again, barely managing to keep any trace of admiration from his voice.

  Kira nodded guiltily.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I knew they’d follow the colonel to your meeting place and try to kill him. I decided I couldn’t let that happen.”

  Desh studied her carefully but detected no sign of deceit. “Do you really have a suicide tooth?” he whispered.

  A broad smile came over her face. “No,” she admitted. “It was all I could think of at the time.” She raised her eyebrows. “Actually, I figured my bluster wouldn’t keep Smith from deciding I was bluffing for very long. I was counting on you to get the hint and jump in—which is exactly what you did.”

  D
esh knew that he should have done so immediately, but he had been too busy admiring her performance. “How did you know I was watching?” he asked.

  “I heard Smith threaten your friends and give you three minutes to return and surrender. I knew you wouldn’t let them die,” she whispered approvingly. “And I knew if you heard my voice you’d stay hidden to see what was going on.”

  Desh nodded but didn’t respond. In addition to being scientifically brilliant, she could think on her feet as well as anyone he had ever known—and this was saying quite a lot.

  Before long they entered a large clearing with a sign that read, “Campground 3B”. Eight small wood cabins were arranged in a semicircle within the clearing, and cars were parked beside several of them. A gravel road led away from the campground on the opposite side.

  Kira had parked the SUV at the edge of the campground, and soon they were all inside, with Kira driving, Desh in the passenger seat, and Connelly and Griffin in the back.

  As Kira started the engine, Desh turned to her and said, “I assume you came here from the road that parallels the one we took. Can you get us back there?”

  “Absolutely.” She pulled onto the gravel road and slowly moved forward. Connelly winced as the SUV vibrated on the unpaved surface and jostled his injury.

  “Where to once we hit the main artery?” she asked.

  Desh pursed his lips in concentration. “That depends. Any guess as to when they’ll link this car to us?”

  “Hard to say,” she replied. “It depends on when they discover their raid back there failed, and how many cars are on the road. It shouldn’t be immediate, though.”

  Desh’s eyes narrowed as he sorted through various possibilities. “There’s a large shopping center between Petersburg and Richmond called the Manor Hill Mall—it’s all-enclosed, making it inaccessible to satellite surveillance. We could lose ourselves in the crowds and then leave. They may be able to track us to there, but they’ll have a hell of a time tracking us from there.”