The Last Second (A Brit in the FBI #6)(93)

Nicholas’s satellite phone showed they were nearing the road, which meant a clear shot to the gates, a blessed relief for their screaming legs.

Nicholas said, “I think we need to split into two groups, come at the gate from two sides.”

Mills agreed and he, his five CIA agents, and Bernard split off.

Mike pulled up, leaned against a trunk, and shut off the flashlight to save the battery. They had to shout to be heard, even with their comms.

“The winds are getting stronger. I want to get inside the facility before the worst hits.”

“Agreed. Catch your breath, then off we go. By my estimation, we’re nearly to the road. Though the forest is giving us cover from the worst of the winds. I wish we’d thought to pack goggles. We’ll be maybe thirty yards away from Bernard and Vinny when we get to the gates.”

She pushed off the tree, turned the Maglite back on. This time Nicholas went first, hacking with the machete. They took three steps, and the forest in front of them exploded.

Nicholas was thrown backward into Mike, and they both hit the ground hard.

Mike was on her hands and knees a moment later, head up, gun in her hand. Nicholas wasn’t quite as quick. She cleared the zone ahead, stepped back to his side, searching for fresh blood or broken bones. His eyes were open, no pain she could see.

Nicholas sucked in a big breath. “I’m okay, give me a second.” He put a finger in his ear and cracked open his mouth. “I can’t hear you.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Your mouth is moving.”

“I’m cursing Nevaeh Patel to hell and back. What happened?”

“I don’t know. Let’s go—carefully.”

She hauled him to his knees, then to his feet. He swayed for a moment, then got his footing and nodded.

Twenty yards farther and the trees thinned. They saw a smoking crater. It looked like a war zone, bodies scattered around, the stench of death thick in the air. There were five people on their knees or staggering to their feet.

They saw Mills on his side, unmoving. Two of his CIA agents were beside him, covered in blood, now quickly being washed away. Bernard was on his knees, giving CPR to another agent. Mike knelt with him while Nicholas checked the others.

Bernard’s face was grim, blood-streaked from a cut on his head. He’d lost his helmet, was sheltering the agent with his body. He shouted, “Hit an IED. Mills was on point. It exploded right in front of him, he took the brunt of the blast. They are supposed to be on the roads, not in the forest.”

Mike pressed her palm against the man’s chest. After a moment, she felt his heart stutter against her hand. “He’s alive.” She closed her eyes a moment.

Bernard helped the man sit up. “I don’t know how stable he is, and we can’t get help for anyone. Is Mills—?”

Nicholas was standing next to her now. “Mills is alive, but he’s in bad shape. The lucky bugger’s unconscious, and that’s a very good thing. He has a piece of shrapnel in his thigh. I’m afraid it could be wedged against the artery. If we try to remove it without the proper medical tools, he could bleed to death. We’ve got a tourniquet in place and stabilized the wound so we can get him to shelter. Bernard, we have to move, and move now. Are you okay?”

Bernard nodded, but stayed kneeling in the mud. “We have two dead and three more wounded. There is no way we can carry this many people. We will build a quick shelter and stay here while you two continue into the facility.”

“You’re going to be stuck out in the storm.”

“We have the proper gear. The forest is cutting the wind.”

A massive gust blew through, and Mike stumbled. Not two feet away, a tree creaked and uprooted, and fell heavily, scattering mud and leaves everywhere.

Mike said, “Absolutely not. The storm is getting worse. You have to come with us. We can’t leave you here. Just to the gates, to shelter.”

One of Mills’s men, Honeycut, stumbled toward them. “She’s right, we have to go, the worst of the storm is about on us. We can carry three wounded.”

Honeycut pulled Bernard to his feet and set him toward the road. “We estimate we’re less than half a click from the gates. Can you manage Tomkins here? We’ll take Mills.”

Nicholas handed Mike his gear, holding back his weapon, ducked down and lifted Tomkins in a fireman’s carry. Once Nicholas had his feet and was braced against the wind, he nodded.

Honeycut looked at Mike. “You have to lead us. Watch for anything white—on the road, in the bushes. That’s what this one looked like, a piece of dirty white cloth, like a flag, planted. We think it was marked for removal and someone missed it.”

“Copy that.”

The going was slow. Mike was careful where she stepped. Mud squelched underfoot, her clothes were sodden, rain dripping in her eyes. She was royally pissed and worried, no, scared to death was more like it. Ten minutes later, the path, miraculously, was clear.

She shouted over the wind, “We’re at the road,” and soon they were all with her. Mills wasn’t looking good, his head slumped on his teammate’s shoulders. They’d covered his leg with a tarp and she couldn’t see any additional bleeding but couldn’t imagine the jostling of being carried through the woods was doing the leg any good.

Tomkins, the man Nicholas carried, had come to and was insisting on trying to walk.