Bad Nights (24 page)

Trainer reared back, looking like she'd slapped him across the face. “Liar.”

“What's his name?”

“What does that matter to you?”

“I'd like to know.”

He waited for a beat before answering, “I suppose it doesn't matter, since you're never going to tell anyone. It's Yarborough. But that's obviously not his real name.”

“Uh huh.” She dragged in a breath and let it out. They'd gotten that far with the man's name themselves. “Rockfort Security was hired to infiltrate your organization by a man who called himself Arthur Cunningham.”

“So?”

“He happens to be the same man who's financing you.”

“That's a lie.”

She kept her gaze even. “He got past the alarm system at the safe house because he had a remote that turned it off. The Rockfort men gave it to him when he visited—after they got back from Virginia.”

“You're lying,” he said again.

“Why would I bother?”

“To throw me off my stride.”

Yes, that was exactly what she hoped she was doing, but she certainly wasn't going to admit it. “I'm telling you so you can consider what's been going on and act accordingly.”

“Oh, thanks,” he answered in a sarcastic voice.

Ignoring him, she continued, “This Cunningham/Yarborough guy obviously doesn't trust you. He hired Rockfort to keep tabs on you.”

Trainer went from sarcasm to full-out anger. “No,” he bellowed.

“So what's his game now? Is he going to stop you from carrying out your main mission?”

“He wouldn't do that.”

“Are you so sure of that? Did you think he'd arrange to have a plant in your militia?” She kept speaking, working on his emotions. “And while we're asking leading questions, how come you let Jack trick you into taking him on? Did Yarborough vet him?”

She saw Trainer swallow hard.

“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up. I'm not going to listen to any more of this.” He stood up, glaring down at her, and for a few frightening seconds she thought she had gone too far and that he was going to grab one of the whips from the rack on the wall and flay her.

Somehow she managed to keep her voice even as she said, “I've already told you what you need to know.”

Before she had finished speaking, the man turned and stalked out of the room, and she knew she had seriously disturbed him.

She allowed herself a few moments to savor her victory. Then she went back to working on the rope that tied her right wrist to the bed.

***

Wade felt the blood pounding in his temples. But he waited until he had carefully closed the door before starting to curse. The bitch was messing with his head. He knew it. She was lying through her teeth. Yet he couldn't stop himself from wondering if she could possibly be right. Like how
had
Yarborough gotten into the safe house? How did he even know where it was? He hadn't shared those details with Wade.

He was stalking to his office when one of his men stepped into his line of sight. It was Simmons, the man who had been with him the longest. His blond hair was cropped so short that he looked almost bald.

“Sir?”

“What is it?” he asked, struggling not to yell at the worried-looking young man.

“Why haven't they attacked?”

Why indeed. He had no answer for the man.

“Just keep up the vigilance,” he advised as he hurried his steps again.

He was going to call Yarborough, but he decided he couldn't spare the time now. He had to make sure that everything on the compound was as it should be, that the Rockfort men hadn't somehow gotten past his defenses. The only way to assure himself of that was to personally inspect every position.

***

As Jack glided through the darkness toward the militia compound, he was aware of Max keeping pace with him, following his moves. His friend was doing a great job of piloting the other glider, considering that this was his first experience with this kind of craft.

They were getting to the crucial part of the flight, and he wanted to call out directions for the final approach, but there was no way Max could hear him without radio communications.

Jack peered through the darkness, concentrating on his own descent, hoping the other pilot could follow his example. When he saw the lights surrounding the shooting range, he let out the breath he'd been unconsciously holding.

Pulling back on the stick and at the same manipulating the foot pedals, he kept the glider moving in a lazy circle as he continued to descend, keeping his gaze on the center of the lights that Trainer had so thoughtfully provided.

The sight of the camp spread out below him made his stomach clench. He'd barely escaped with his life from this place, and coming back made his heart pound and sweat pop out on his forehead. But he had to return here. He had to rescue Morgan. He'd gotten her into this mess, and he was going to damn well get her out. This wasn't like Afghanistan where he was the only guy on the team who'd survived. He wouldn't let it be.

Teeth gritted, he eased his way toward the ground. As the buildings grew larger he fought the sick feeling tightening his chest. He thought he saw men in positions at the perimeter of the property. Praying that none of them would look up as he passed over, he glided silently toward the ground, knowing there was no room for a mistake. In a plane with an engine, you could always pull up again if your descent wasn't quite right. But he had no engine. If he overshot the field, he was in bad trouble.

He knew Max was coming in behind him, and he prayed his friend could bring the craft down in the field as well.

He executed one more circle, then lined up with the firing range as he made his final descent. Something shot past him, and he realized it was Max, who was making his first landing in a glider.

“Shit!”

Jack watched in dismay as Max kept going into the woods, his craft finally coming to rest as the wings were caught by two tree trunks. Not exactly a crash landing, but not the kind of return to terra firma that he would wish on anyone.

From the seat in front of him he heard Shane curse, and he knew the other man had seen the mishap as well.

He could only imagine the effects of the rough landing, but there was nothing he could do until he was on the ground and could get out of his plane.

He'd been anticipating his return with a kind of leaden dread. Now he had no time for his own emotions—only for action.

As he applied the brakes, he saw three of Trainer's men rushing toward Max's glider.

“Christ.” Even before the craft had come to a stop, Shane was lifting the canopy and grabbing one of the equipment packs.

Jack followed him, yanking a knife from his pack as he raced toward the trees.

Jack could hear the RAM troops talking excitedly as they surrounded the disabled glider.

When Max didn't emerge, Jack's stomach knotted. Was he hurt? Dazed? What?

The good news was that the men were entirely focused on the disabled glider plane, giving Jack and Shane an opportunity to get closer before they engaged the troops. Silently, Jack readied himself for an attack.

Three militiamen were trying to lift the plastic canopy over the pilot's seat, but were having trouble doing it from the outside.

Although Jack was unable to see Max, he knew his friend was in a dangerous position.

When Rayburn raised his AR-15 to demolish the canopy and the man inside the craft, Jack leaped forward, slashing out with his knife as he took the man down, feeling the blade slice through flesh.

Rayburn screamed, but the wound didn't knock the fight out of him. He dropped his weapon, trying to keep himself from getting cut again as they rolled across the brush on the forest floor.

Déjà vu all over again. Hadn't he been through this with Gibson a couple of days ago outside the burning house?

When Rayburn made a desperate grab for the knife, Jack tried to thrust the blade forward, but the other man reared back.

As he and Rayburn struggled for position, the militiaman suddenly made a strange gurgling sound and went slack.

Jack blinked, trying to figure out what had happened. He hadn't cut him again, had he?

He rolled the guy to his back and stayed down behind the limp body, trying not to make himself a target in case the other militiamen turned and fired.

There were no shots. Looking toward the glider, he saw that the canopy was open, and Max stood on the seat, a tranquilizer dart gun in each hand. While the militia guys had turned their attention to Jack and Shane, Max had emerged and fired at Rayburn and Harmon, taking them down.

Shane was still grappling with the third guy.

If Jack could have shot the troop, he would have done it. But he couldn't take the chance. Instead he leaped toward the two struggling men and brought the barrel of Rayburn's assault rifle down on the militiaman's head. The guy went slack, and Shane pushed him to the ground.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Jack answered.

They both looked toward Max.

“You okay?” Jack asked.

“I've been better. Wish I hadn't plowed into the woods.”

“You seem to have made it okay,” Shane answered. “Thanks for the darts.”

“What happened when those guys surrounded the glider?” Jack asked.

“I played dead while I got the weapons ready. I was going to shoot them as soon as they opened the canopy, but then you distracted them.”

Jack didn't bother pointing out that he could only have shot two of them.

He looked at Rayburn, Walsh, and Harmon sprawled on the ground. Blood spread across the right sleeve of Rayburn's uniform shirt, but it was obviously not an arterial cut. Aside from that, he was a fit young man like his fellow grunts. Jack had avoided getting to know them well. But he sensed that Rayburn was young and confused. Walsh and Harmon were angry with their lot in life and eager to take out their frustrations on any convenient target. Being in the militia gave them a feeling of power and control that they probably couldn't have gotten any other way.

Too bad all of them had fallen under the sway of a leader who'd filled their heads with the wrong nonsense.

“We'll tie them up, just in case,” he said as he looked from their uniforms to the black outfits he and his friends were wearing. “But maybe we put on their cammies first. That way, we'll blend in with the rest of the troops.”

“Good idea,” Max agreed. “And we'd better take their weapons to complete the charade.”

He climbed out of the glider and stood for a moment with his hand on the smooth skin of the craft, which was now cracked on the left side. In fact, as Jack looked more closely, he saw that the impact with the tree had split the right wing where it joined the body.

“Sorry about that,” Max said as he followed Jack's gaze.

“It's insured. The important part is that you got out okay.”

“Flying is easier than landing,” Max said, as he tested his left leg against the ground.

“Did you lose consciousness when you crashed?” Jack asked.

“No.” Max turned and pulled plastic handcuffs out of his pack.

Jack watched, thinking it would be easier to just slit these guys' throats, the way his Navy SEAL training had taught him to deal with the enemy. Then he thought about Morgan's reaction when he had faked Gibson's fatal accident. She'd been repulsed by the role of Jack Brandt as cold-blooded killer. He had done what he knew was necessary to save their lives. Now he knew he'd changed because of Morgan.

He shuddered.

“What?” Shane asked.

“Nothing. Let's secure these guys and get out of here.”

He and the other men started stripping the camouflage gear off of the men they'd disabled. Jack pulled off Rayburn's T-shirt and slit it in half. He used part of it to bind the knife wound on the man's arm—and the other half for a gag.

As they were stripping the clothing off Harmon, a radio in his pocket chattered.

“Position three, report,” a voice demanded.

The three Rockfort men glanced at each other.

Jack pulled out the radio.

“Position three, report,” the voice said again.

Jack clicked the send button. “This is Harmon.”

“Anything to report?”

“Negative,” he answered.

“Your voice sounds funny.”

Jack coughed. “Sore throat.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

“And watch out for those bastards that are coming in.”

“If they have the guts,” Jack answered.

When the radio went dead again, he breathed out a sigh, then looked over his shoulder at the glider sitting in the middle of the firing range.

“We'd better move that thing,” he said, jerking his shoulder toward the aircraft.

They quickly finished stripping the militiamen to their undershorts and cuffed their hands and feet. Then they gagged them with their undershirts and pulled them into the woods where they'd be less likely to be discovered.

Next they took off their own outfits and pulled on the ones the troops weren't going to need anytime soon.

Jack took the bloody shirt, making a low sound as he thrust his arm through the sticky sleeve.

When they had donned the uniforms, Jack and Shane trotted out to the field and pulled the glider into the woods, tipping it to its side to slip it between the trees.

“What next?” Max asked.

“I'd like to head right for the place where I think they're holding Morgan, but we could be trapping ourselves.”

The other two men nodded.

“I assume Trainer stationed the largest force at the entrance to the compound. If we take them out, there's less chance of our running into trouble.”

The comment drew nods of agreement.

“One more thing,” he said. “If we can do it, we need to find out what's in the steel building where he's keeping something special.”

Shane gave him a questioning look. “You'd risk Morgan to do that?”

“I hope not. But I get the feeling we're risking a lot more if we don't go in there.” He dragged in a breath. “Let's get Morgan, and then make a decision.”

***

Morgan's arm ached and her wrist was raw as she kept sawing at the rope, but she allowed herself only short periods to rest. Trainer could come back at any time, and she wanted to be free when he did.

And then what? She didn't know, but she was going to give herself every chance she could.

As she worked, her thoughts zinged back to Jack. If only she could send him a telepathic message to warn him that Trainer had some kind of booby trap waiting for him.

She bit back a sob of frustration.

“Oh, Jack,” she whispered. When he got here, she didn't want to be tied to this bed. He'd escaped from this place once. She knew that coming back must be the worst thing he could imagine. Yet she knew he'd do it—to rescue her. She had no doubt about that whatsoever. And when he did, she had to be ready to help him.

She stopped sawing and pulled at the cord. She thought she felt some give in the rope, and her hope surged.

“Just a little more,” she whispered to herself. “Just a little more.”

She turned her head, looking at the rope, seeing how much she'd already cut. That gave her the will to work harder, and she redoubled her efforts, stopping the sawing after a couple of minutes to pull on the rope again. To her astonishment it parted, and her arm jerked upward, wrenching her shoulder.

She managed to keep from crying out, then lay panting on the bed. She had one arm free. Now she only had to get the other arm and her feet before Trainer came back.

Forcing down the fear that leaped inside her, she rolled as far to the side as she could and pulled at the knot that held her left arm in place.

***

The three Rockfort men moved quietly across the militia compound as though they were patrolling the area under Trainer's orders. Each of them had two of the dart guns, ready to fire at anyone else who was moving around.

Jack was thinking that he'd like to meet up with Trainer and finish this thing off. If he killed the head of the snake, he knew that discipline would fall apart. But he couldn't be sure where to find Trainer, and if he made a mistake, he was risking Morgan's life.

“This is a hell of a place,” Shane whispered as they rounded one of the former camp cabins that had been converted into barracks.

“Cunningham made sure Trainer was—” His answer cut off as a militiaman named Cooper stepped around the corner.

“You're off your post,” he said, not recognizing the three fakes.

“Special assignment,” Shane said.

The guy gave Shane a sharp look, but Jack was already in back of him. He jabbed the rifle into the man's back, and he went still.

They marched him into the barracks, and Shane started tying him up.

Cooper shot them dagger looks. “You won't get out of here alive.”

“Let us worry about that,” Jack said. “How many men are on duty?”

“You think I'm going to tell you?”

“Yeah, because if you don't, I'm going to cut your balls off.” He reached for the guy's zipper and yanked it down.

The militiaman would have screamed if Max hadn't clamped a hand over his mouth.

“How many?” Jack asked again, as Max moved his hand enough so the troop could speak.

His frightened eyes darted from man to man.

“How many?” Jack pressed.

“Nineteen.”

“Including you?”

“Yes.” He swallowed. “How did you get back in here?”

“Trade secret.” He gave the guy a shake. “If you're lying, we'll be back to finish the job.” For emphasis Jack yanked the man's pants down, along with his shorts so that his privates were hanging out.

Cooper whimpered, until Shane shot him with one of the tranc darts, and his eyes went out of focus, then closed.

Shane gave Jack a shocked look. “Were you really going to cut off his balls?”

“He never demonstrated much in the way of guts. I think a nick from the knife would have had him talking. He doesn't love Trainer enough to lose his manhood for the guy,” Jack said as he took off the bloody shirt he was wearing and tossed it onto the floor before pulling another one out of a nearby footlocker.

Shane nodded.

When Jack had exchanged his ruined shirt for a clean one, they all stepped out into the still morning air and stood close to the cabin where they had a good view of the compound.

“We've taken down four of the troops including that guy,” Jack said, jerking his shoulder toward the cabin. “If there are ten at the gate, then that leaves five loose cannons, plus the medic, his assistant, and Trainer.”

“Still good odds,” Max said. “Let's go get the gatekeepers. ”

Jack led the way toward the entrance, stopping in the shadow of some trees as he looked at the men who were stationed behind concrete barriers with their guns at the ready, and all of them with their backs toward the interlopers. It reminded him of the famous Maginot Line that France had built after World War I. The line was a series of gun emplacements pointed toward Germany. The only trouble was that all the artillery were in fixed positions. When the Germans broke through and got behind the line, the guns were pointing in the wrong direction.

***

Morgan got her other hand free and shifted the cuffs so that she could rub her wrists. Leaning over, she began working on her ankles, unbuckling the leather cuffs.

She allowed herself a moment of elation. She'd done it! Against all odds, she'd done it.

Moving carefully, she climbed off the bed. After being tied in such an awkward position for hours, she was shaky on her feet and had to steady herself with a hand against the wall. When she was feeling surer of herself, she started doing stretching exercises, trying to get the circulation back into her hands and feet. Now that she was out of the bed, she wished she could find some clothing, but there was nothing in the room she could wear. At least she wasn't naked.

She looked toward the door, wondering if she dared open it. Trainer had said it had some kind of explosive charges. He could be lying since he'd certainly come in and out without doing anything special that she noticed.

***

Wade was walking briskly back to the interrogation room when his comms unit crackled.

He looked at the call signal. It said Big Dog, which meant it was for him.

“Sir?”

“What is it?”

“Cooper and I are patrolling the grounds. I was supposed to meet up with him at the mess hall five minutes ago. He hasn't shown up.”

“Does he answer his call signal?”