“All good questions that deserve answers. Come with me, I’m going to show you.”
Crossing the immense deck, they headed for an alcove marked by six vertical plastic tubes, each five-foot-in-diameter device disappearing up through the ceiling.
Joyce ducked inside one of the tubes. “There are elevators, but this is closer and more efficient.”
“Looks like something out of Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Remember, I’m pregnant.”
“It’s safe up to the second trimester. Climb in and grip the rail by your sides and that will prompt the computer to ask you to state your destination.”
“Good evening, Dr. LaCombe. Please state your destination.”
“Genetics Complex.”
Before Jessica could respond, Joyce shot straight up the vertical shaft and disappeared.
Repositioning the gas mask over his face, Adam carried the unconscious woman back inside the house and up the stairs to the second floor and the master bedroom. He laid the blonde on her back on the queen-size bed and opened the window before searching the closet.
Five minutes later he had secured her wrists and ankles to the four bed posts using an assortment of belts and ties. When he was finished, he glanced at the clock on the end table.
Almost one a.m. Better pick up the pace, Shariak.
He unzipped the front pocket of the backpack and removed a small medical kit. Inside were two syringes and a small vial of clear liquid. Unscrewing the cap, he punctured the foil top with the needle and drew 20cc’s of the elixir into the syringe.
Then he rolled up the counter-intelligence agent’s sleeves, examining the veins in her forearms…
Kelly Kishel’s eyes rolled forward as she inhaled fumes from the ammonia-soaked paper towel Adam held beneath her nostrils. A second later her head snapped back against the bed board, the impact causing her to wince.
She attempted to wipe tears from her watering eyes, only to realize her limbs had been bound. “Kinky.”
“Where is Jessica?”
She looked up at Adam, her voice inflection flirtatious. “What do I get if I tell you?”
“You get to live.”
The agent smiled. “Am I supposed to be scared? We ran your psychological profile… I think we both know you’re not going to hurt me. Unfortunately the people I work for don’t share the same love for humanity. If I don’t report back at the top of the hour you can say bye-bye to the future Mrs. Shariak.”
She wrinkled her nose. “My face feels funny.”
“That’s probably the Scopolamine kicking in.”
She squirmed in her bonds, attempting to view her left forearm. “You injected me with truth serum?”
“Actually, this stuff is better than sodium pentothal. With Scopolamine you won’t remember any of this.”
“It won’t work, Adam.”
“It will if you want to tell me, and I think you do. That is why you sent me that cell phone, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“So then, why am I here?”
She closed her eyes, attempting to focus through a barbiturate fog. “There’s a movement among many of the members of MAJI to release zero-point-energy to the masses; the challenge is smuggling one of the devices out of these underground military bases. We finally managed to do this — with the help of your fiancé. The device should arrive sometime before dawn.”
“And you wanted me to have it?”
“God, no. I’ve arranged a buyer… an Indian billionaire with strong government connections. If you’ve ever been to New Delhi, you’d understand his interest.”
“Where is Jessica?”
“She’s in one of the underground complexes.”
“Which one?”
“Dulce. It’s a shithole town in New Mexico. The facility is located beneath a mountain. There are access points that will take you through the natural canyons to security checkpoints. Of course, Delta Force isn’t about to let you inside.”
“Is she being held against her will?”
“I don’t think so.”
“If you’re not giving me the device why did you ask me to meet you here?”
“You’re the reason the pilot agreed to risk bringing the ZPE unit on this run; he thinks he’s delivering it to you.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know, my boyfriend set the whole thing up.”
“Why meet me out here?”
“The farm is a drop point.”
“For what?”
“Drugs. The CIA moves a couple hundred billion dollars of coke and heroin into the States every year through MAJI depots like this one.”
She paused to listen as a vehicle turned into the farm’s driveway, its wheels grinding gravel. “They’re early. Guess it’s bye-bye time.”
Adam peeked out between slats in the Venetian blinds as a black van rolled to a stop in front of the barn. Two men and a woman exited the vehicle, all three dressed in leather and jeans.
“Looks more like a motorcycle gang than Men in Black.”
Kelly Kishel’s jaw dropped. “Bikers? Are you sure?”
“I said they look like bikers… they’re driving a van.” Remembering the night vision binoculars, he fished them out from beneath his sweat shirt and zoomed in on one of the men as he opened the van’s rear doors. With his back turned, Adam was able to make out an insignia on the big man’s jacket.
“Devil’s Diciples.”
“The Diciples? Are you sure?”
“They spelled Disciples wrong, but yeah… I’m sure.” As he watched, one of the bikers rolled back the interior carpet and unlocked a hidden panel… revealing a cache of weapons.
“Shit.”
“Shariak, the Diciples are MAJI’s hired assassins.”
“No kidding.”
“Shariak, listen to me! If the colonel sent the Devil’s Diciples then he must have put out TWEP orders on both of us.”
Ignoring her, he dumped the contents of his backpack on the floor. Searching through the pile, he located the tactical flashlight he had rigged to power on when Kelly had fled the farmhouse.
He froze as one of the gang members kicked open the front door.
“Shariak, untie me! You’ll need my help.”
Pulling the 9mm from his waistband, he aimed it at the blonde. “Quiet.”
Brent “Snowman” Snowden was a 280-pound bull of a man, his shaved head and thickly-muscled tattooed arms bulged out from the sleeveless black leather Harley-Davidson jacket. Stepping over the downed front door, he entered the farmhouse, his eyes immediately burning from the remnants of tear gas.
Rather than retreat, he simply positioned his white bandana over his nose and mouth so that the fabric’s skull design aligned with the lower half of his face. Holding the Mossberg.12 gauge shotgun out in front of him with the heel of the gun’s butt pressed to his right shoulder, he motioned to “Big Tommy” Thompson to enter.
The former Army Signal Support Systems Specialist fought to see the miniature screen of the electronics device in his hand, its direction finder pinpointing the location of the cell phone that had led them to the farm. He quickly found Kelly Kishel’s iPhone on the dining room floor next to her laptop.
A creak in the floorboards overhead caused both bikers to look up.
Snowden took the lead, ascending the stairs two steps at a time. Reaching the landing, he crouched low and listened.
“Hello? Will somebody help me?”
Big Tommy recognized the woman’s voice, having eavesdropped on her cell phone conversations on the ride over from Detroit. Signaling Snowman to wait, he held the .38 snub-nose revolver with the barrel up as he crept to the closed bedroom and kicked the solid wood door off its eighty-year-old hinges.