Bodyguard Lockdown(35)

Quickly, Aaron probed the injury, ignored Omar’s grunt of pain. “You missed the artery, but caught the bone.”

Omar’s gaze snapped to Booker. “You shot me?”

“You turned at the last moment,” Booker clarified, “Otherwise I would have missed the bone, too.”

“He shot you to keep you from making a stupid mistake,” Aaron added. “Your daughter’s on board that plane.”

“Sandra?” Omar grabbed Booker’s shirt, brought him in close. “I should kill you now. You were supposed to keep her safe.”

“I’ll save your daughter. Then I’m going to kill her,” Booker answered, then pulled away.

“Kill her?” Omar tried to stand. “Get the hell out of here, both of you.”

“He wouldn’t really kill her. He’s just mad that Sandra pushed him out of a helicopter,” Aaron answered, then put his hand on Omar’s chest to keep him in place. The older man’s face paled to a pasty gray. “Stay down. I haven’t got the bleeding under control.”

“Have you both lost your mind?”

“He has,” Aaron commented, then put pressure on the wound with both hands. “He’s in love with her.”

“Shut up, Sabra.” Booker studied the perimeter. “Where are all the guards, Omar?”

“Gone. There were only the three,” the older man bit out. “Did Sandra’s tracking chip lead you here?”

“Trygg placed the chip on Jim Rayo’s dead body,” Aaron finished, his hands bloody. He ripped off his belt and placed it as a tourniquet on the leg.



“So you don’t know she’s there for sure.”

“She’s there. I know Trygg. He’ll want Sandra to watch the deaths. Then he’ll kill her.” Booker slung the backpack over his shoulder. “I promise you, once I find Sandra, I’ll place the explosives for you.”

“We need to get him out of here, Booker.” Aaron’s tone was low, grim. “Now.”

“Let’s go.” Booker hooked his shoulder under Omar’s arm, and waited until Aaron did the same.

They sprinted, with Omar between them, to the tents nearby.

When they stopped, Omar grabbed Booker’s arm, held fast. “I don’t want to lose another child.”

“You won’t. That’s why I have to get on that plane.”

Aaron checked the leg. Blood saturated the pant leg. “He’s losing too much blood.”

He glanced at Booker. “If we leave him here, he’s a dead man. He’s not going to make it out of here on his own.”

“Then get him out of here.” Booker slipped out from under Omar’s arm. “Make your way to the west side of the camp and into the dunes. Find Jarek. Tell them what happened. It will take Trygg’s plane a little over an hour after takeoff to reach his target zone over Taer. I’ll have the doc out in one hour.”

“That’s cutting it close, McKnight.”

“Check your watch. Not one minute before. If Trygg suspects anything, she’ll be the first one to die.”

Aaron glanced at the dial, then turned and hoisted Omar up over his shoulder. “Sixty minutes. Check.”

The aircraft’s engines roared to life.

“Like I said, it’s going to be close,” Aaron commented. “They’re taking off.”

“Tell Jarek and Cain I need that hour.” Booker dropped the rifle to the ground, shoved his pistol into the backpack. “Then use surface-to-air missiles. If I don’t blow the plane with the explosives, I’ll disable the EMP shield.”

“Here. It’s a one-button remote trigger.” Omar reached into his pocket and pulled out a small electronic remote. “For the C4. You flip the safety, press the button.”

Booker shoved it into his pocket. “Seems simple enough.”

* * *

BOOKER MANEUVERED UNDER THE belly, and found the supply hatch. He raised his gun, fired point-blank at the lock and jerked the door open.

He jumped, grabbed the edge and felt it cut into his fingers. Quickly, he hoisted himself up.

Hydraulic cables moved, gears clicked as the plane picked up speed. Booker scrambled in, dodging crates, following the lighted path of the elongated compartment of wires and storage units.

Pistol in hand, Booker maneuvered to the small steel ladder at the end of the compartment. He swung up, then held on when the airplane slanted steep in its takeoff.

At the top lay another hatch. Slowly, Booker pushed it open, saw a walkway. He climbed through, checked the perimeter for guards, then stopped. Just beyond lay thousands of square feet filled with Plexiglas, sterile areas and computers.

“A moving lab,” he murmured. “Why not?”

* * *

SANDRA TUGGED AT THE handcuffs, her gaze focused on the computer nearby.

“Looking for something?” Lewis Pitman laughed. “No one is here to help you, Sandra. We’ve cleared out the plane. I’ve set the computers to automatic. Even my lab technicians have been dispensed of by Trygg’s men. It’s me, the pilot and Trygg.”

“He killed all of the lab people?”

“Cut them down with guns just beyond one of the dunes.” Pitman shrugged. “We couldn’t risk one of them developing a conscience when we drop the canister over Taer. Better this way.”

“And what are you, Lewis?” Sandra scoffed. “What makes you think he won’t get rid of you, too?”

“What makes you think I’ll give him the opportunity?” Lewis scoffed. “The computer has my key code. Nothing works without my authority. That’s my security measure. He needs me.”

Then she saw it, the look, the snide, arrogant twist of his mouth. “But you don’t need him. Not anymore.”

“Not anymore,” Lewis agreed, smiling.

* * *

“HEADING IS LOCKED in, General. The autopilot is engaged,” the pilot stated, satisfied.

Trygg shifted in the copilot’s seat and glanced at the young man. His newest recruit. A young kid with close-cropped blond hair and acne still on his cheeks. No more than twenty-five. Barely passed puberty and barely shaving.

“Good job, son.” Suddenly, Trygg felt old. And angry. Jim had left him no choice. But killing a friend never sat well with Riorden.

“Thank you, sir,” the young soldier replied, then eased back into his chair. “We’ll be over our target in fifty-seven minutes.”

Trygg took his pistol from beside his seat and stood. “I am sorry you’re going to miss it, son.” He leveled the pistol and pulled the trigger.

* * *

BOOKER HEARD THE BULLET pop just one deck above.

He took the circular stairs two at a time, his pistol up, his heart racing. With quiet steps, Booker made his way into the galley—a gourmet kitchen of steel and black carpet.

A door stood close to the edge of the galley. A storage unit. Booker turned the knob.

A first-aid kit, a portable oxygen tank with mask, several extinguishers. Two parachutes hung from the hooks.

He searched the shelves above, found blankets and pillows. Goggles.

No weapons.

Booker made his way across the tile to the other end of the galley. Slowly, he peered around the corner.

The cockpit door stood ten feet from him on the right. Booker paused. The choice was simple: land the plane or rescue Sandra.

Booker swore, then stepped down the short corridor to the cockpit. He pulled the latch, eased the door open.

The pilot lay slumped back in the seat, dead. Blood saturated his shirt.

“Welcome aboard, Captain.” Trygg stepped from the corner, his pistol raised.

* * *

THE PLANE JERKED, then slanted. Booker opened his eyes, blinked the blood away.

“Booker,” Sandra whispered. “Are you all right?”

Relief filled him. There’d been a small sliver of doubt that he wouldn’t reach her in time. He tugged on his hands, found them cuffed above his head. “How long have I been out?”

“No more than five minutes,” Trygg answered. “I didn’t want you to miss anything.”

“We’re about twenty minutes out, General.” Pitman sat at a nearby computer. “All systems online and focused. I’m loading the weapon.”

A missile lowered from the top of the lab, into the floor.



“A bomber bay.” Booker swore under his breath. “They built a bomber bay.”

“It’s more than that. It’s aerodynamic dissemination,” Sandra whispered. “He developed a smart bomb that has the capability of controlling the release of the nanites into the air. Think of it as a crop-dusting bomb. One that follows a preprogrammed flight pattern.”

“Very good, Doctor Haddad,” Trygg commented, coming down the stairs.