Radclyffe - Price of Honor

Blair turned, stared. Vivian’s face was stricken, white and pinched. “We don’t know who.”

“This is insane,” Vivian railed. “This is the United States of America. People with bombs don’t threaten the president! They don’t shoot—” She broke off, visibly pulled herself up straight. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was flat, devoid of everything but rage. “Of course they do. They shoot presidents, they blow up buildings filled with innocents, they send planes to crash into the Pentagon. These things do happen here.”

“How bad is it?” Blair said.

Stark shook her head. “I’m not sure. Reports are scattered. I’m linked to command, but they don’t know yet.”

“We have to do something,” Blair said.

“Believe me, I’d love to get you out of this car. We don’t know where the shooter is or the range of the bombs. Right now, we’re paralyzed.”

“My father will never negotiate,” Blair said. “Whatever they want, they’re not going to get it.”

“No,” Stark said, a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. “They’re not.”

Blair glanced at Vivian. She was holding up better than most civilians might under the circumstances. And she was smart enough to know what was happening.

“We’re not going to die in here,” Blair said with absolute certainty. “No one on this train is going to let that happen.”

“I know that.” Viv took a deep breath. “Can you find out about the agent? I…It’s personal.”

“As soon as we hear, I’ll let you know.” Blair gripped her hand. “But if it helps at all, I’ve been where you are now. And let me tell you this…our agents are the best there is. They’ll take care of whoever is down.”

“Thank you.” Viv lifted her chin, steel in her gaze. “And you’re right. Whoever is out there, they’ve already got one agent by their side. They’ve got their dog.”

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.