Bodyguard Lockdown(5)

“Come in, Trizal,” Jarek commanded, his tone neutral, his temper curbed for the moment.

Jarek’s secretary stopped just inside the doorway. Once tall, his thin, willowy frame was now slightly bent with age. His hawkish features now more sullen, the bones more predominant. But his hand remained firm on the door handle, his stern and strong voice familiar with its no-nonsense tone that sent many of the palace staff scurrying in fear. “I’m sorry for the interruption, Your Majesty, but you have unexpected visitors. Considering the urgency of Dr. Sandra’s disappearance—”

“He’ll see me.” Cain MacAlister, the current director of Labyrinth, brushed past the royal secretary and into the private office.

The servant nodded stiffly, then turned to Jarek.

“Your Majesty?” His words dripped with indignation, his question quite clear. If Jarek ordered so, the secretary would have thrown Cain MacAlister out on his ear.

And Jarek knew he’d do it without help and with a great deal of pleasure.



“Thank you, Trizal. Please see that a suite is made ready for the director.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Trizal didn’t flicker one glance in the visitor’s direction, but instead shut the door behind him with an efficient snap.

“I don’t think he likes me, Your Majesty,” Cain mused, then shook Jarek’s hand.

“Sometimes, I don’t like you, Cain,” Jarek responded wryly, noting the director hadn’t changed since the last time they’d seen each other in D.C. six months earlier. More silver maybe in the jet-black hair, but the steel eyes were sharp, steady. “Since our countries are on good terms, I feel I must tolerate you at best.”

Cain chuckled, then turned toward Quamar. “Hello, friend.”

“Hello.” Quamar pulled the American into a short hug. Both men had become friends while working as Labyrinth operatives years before. “You heard about Sandra?”

“Yes.” Cain stepped away and frowned. “Why in the hell did you let her walk out of here?”

“There’s a difference between walking and sneaking,” Jarek replied. “Her choice to leave was unexpected.”

“Have you found her?”

“No.” Jarek indicated two high-back leather chairs in front of his desk. “Have you captured Trygg?”

“No. But Intel has him on his way here,” Cain answered as they settled into their seats.

“When?”

“Our time, 0600 hours. Yours, 1500.”

“Twelve hours ago,” Quamar commented. “So he is already here.”

“I didn’t hear about the breach through the normal channels. It took time to verify my source.”

“What source?” Jarek leaned forward, his hand flat on the desk. Self-control was taught to kings at a young age. It took forty years of practice to keep his fist from pounding the desk.

“One of the guards, a Sergeant Thomas Levi, survived the escape,” Cain explained. “Chest wound. Just missed his heart. I had to wait until he got out of surgery to verify what happened.”

“President Mercer informed me that Trygg escaped while being transported from Leavenworth,” Jarek said. “Why was Trygg being transported in the first place?”

“We don’t know,” Cain managed, the anger, the frustration cutting off each syllable. “The orders to transfer Trygg disappeared. We’re tracking them down.”

“A federal prisoner transfer just doesn’t materialize out of nowhere, Cain,” Jarek snapped, and this time he couldn’t stop his hand from hitting the desk. “It comes from the top. And it always leaves a trail of red tape.”

“If this one did, we’ll find it. You have my word,” Cain replied, his body rigid, his tone more so.

“I’m not worried that you and Jon Mercer won’t find your traitor, or Trygg,” Jarek countered. He’d known President Mercer for years. They’d worked together developing and maintaining Taer’s oil trade with the United States. “I’m worried you won’t find them in time to save Sandra.”

“We’re running a check on the men who kidnapped Sandra against Interpol’s most-wanted list right now,” Quamar stated.

“You have someone in custody?” Cain asked.

“I found several men dead in a room on the outskirts of the city,” Quamar answered grimly. “We have a witness who placed her there.”

“So where is she now?” Cain questioned.

“We believe Booker McKnight killed the men, then disappeared with Sandra,” Jarek added. “We haven’t figured out the ‘why’ yet.”

“Booker?” Cain sat back in his chair and crossed his legs.

“You don’t sound surprised,” Jarek observed.

“Because it makes sense,” Cain surmised. “This mess started several years ago on a research project called

CIRCADIAN. And it involved both Sandra and Booker.”

“We know very little of CIRCADIAN,” Quamar said. “Only that Sandra’s involvement made her the main witness at General Trygg’s trial. After, when she came home, we took responsibility for her personal safety.”

“It was suspected he hadn’t given up his quest for CIRCADIAN. And he had many fanatical followers.” Jarek settled back into his seat, his fingers locked across his lap. “But what does this have to do with Booker?”

“Sandra discovered, with CIRCADIAN, a possible way for individual cells to be treated and healed at an accelerated rate. With the help of nanite technology.”

“Nanites?” Jarek frowned.

“Miniscule sensory vessels, no more than a nanometer in size and composed of carbon,” Cain explained. “These particular nanites were made specifically to have a compatible, yet invasive, accessibility to the human body.”

“How accelerated?” Jarek asked, his frown deepening.

“Twenty-four hours. Hence CIRCADIAN. It’s Latin for consecutive twenty-four hours.” Cain reached over and grabbed his briefcase. “The nanites are inhaled, flushed into the bloodstream through the lungs and delivered directly to the injured or sick cells through hundreds of DNA programmed sensors that blanket the carbon. Given the nanites are smaller than a single cell, they can treat each cell individually.”

He thumbed the combination on the briefcase lock and popped open the lid. “Treated with the serum, most humans with an illness or injury healed at supernatural speeds. It was a viable concept,” he explained, then pulled out a thick manila envelope and handed it to Jarek. “Within the first year of research, Trygg heard about it and used his clout to be the military liaison on the project.”

Jarek opened the file and glanced over its contents. “These are Sandra’s research notes.”

“I thought they were destroyed,” Quamar inserted.

“We very rarely destroy files. Especially the projects that show promise,” Cain replied wryly. “We just let people believe they’re destroyed.”

“So Sandra was close,” Jarek commented, his eyes still on the documents. “How does that help us now?”

“CIRCADIAN falls in the scope of the Super Soldier image that Trygg was known to promote,” Cain clarified. “Heal a soldier faster. Get him back out in the field.”

“Kate was originally assigned as the lead on the research.”



“Kate?” Quamar asked. Kate MacAlister-D’Amato was the head of the Labyrinth Technology division and a leading scientist in antimatter energy.

She was also Cain’s sister, and a good friend of Quamar’s.

Cain nodded. “President Mercer’s idea. But within a few months Kate and Trygg clashed. Mercer pulled Kate and Trygg brought in another nanite specialist and made Sandra the team leader. She worked tirelessly for the general. Eventually he found her a private lab and isolated her from the outside world. Including his superiors.”

Jarek glanced at Cain, surprised. “You’re saying she was a prisoner?”

“No. She loved her work,” Cain corrected. “And she worked for two years, pouring her soul into the research. But in the end, the results were unsuccessful. The serum attacked healthy tissue at an accelerated rate, damaging internal organs until they hemorrhaged.”

“A painful death,” Quamar commented, his brow furrowed.

“Yes,” Cain agreed. “Sandra tried for months but she couldn’t find a way to correct the problem. Eventually, word came down from the Hill that Mercer wanted the project shut down. The serum posed too much of a threat as a weapon of mass destruction.”



“And Trygg?” Jarek asked him.

“Trygg disagreed with Mercer,” Cain answered. “He believed CIRCADIAN needed more funding.”