Rogue Faction Part 2: A Cyrus Cooper Thriller: Book Three Read online

  “Ready when you are,” Cyrus said.

  “Lower door secure,” Natasha confirmed. “Opening outer door now.”

  As soon as the second door reached the appropriate height, Cyrus pulled into the small plaza that filled the distance between the building and the perimeter wall.

  The cold, steady rhythm of a driving winter rain greeted them the moment they exited the tunnel. Cyrus activated the windshield wipers and scanned the grounds for any sign of danger.

  “Bugger,” Talbet mumbled. “I’m going to get soaked!”

  As they pulled up to the front gate, Cyrus looked at Talbet. “All set?”

  The man squinted through the window and into the downpour. Cyrus could see the driving rain clearly in the beams of the vehicle’s headlamps, as well as in the lights that sat high on the perimeter wall.

  “Ready when you are,” Natasha said from the dashboard speaker.

  “Yeah,” Talbet grumbled. “I’m on it.” He slid the gun from the holster on his hip, took a deep breath, and stepped from the vehicle into the freezing rain.

  Cyrus watched Talbet move to the side of the service door to the right of the massive gates. There, he checked a digital display. It showed camera positions outside of the wall. “Still look good out there?” Cyrus asked Natasha.

  “All clear. But it looks cold. I’m glad I’m not out in that.”

  “Yeah, I think Talbet’s having second thoughts,” Cyrus grinned.

  He looked up at the rearview mirror and his smile vanished. Wagner sat slumped at an awkward angle, appearing worse with every glance.

  “Hang in there, buddy,” Cyrus confided. “We’re in the home stretch. Sure you’re up for this?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Wagner muttered in a dry voice that betrayed his weariness. “I’m seeing this through.”

  The massive gates had one security flaw that Cyrus could immediately see. Under normal circumstances, for the short time the gates were open the plaza had to be manned by security personnel, armed and ready to defend the facility. But at the moment, they didn’t have the numbers necessary to repel an incursion, if such an attack occurred. Cyrus needed to leave the compound, so he used the only resource at hand—Talbet.

  Natasha’s voice returned to the line. “Talbet reports we’re set. Here we go.”

  A moment later, the front gates began to separate. Once again, Cyrus waited only long enough for the large four-wheel-drive to gain clearance before powering through the gap.

  “We’re clear,” he instantly relayed to Natasha.

  “Closing outer gates now,” she responded.

  Cyrus braked and scanned the street around them with suspicious eyes. Voss’s compound was located in the heart of Kapros’s capital city. Although it was the tallest building for a block in either direction, the perimeter wall stood shoulder-to-shoulder with dozens of other squat, modern office buildings. The double lane street fronting the property was lined on either side by wide sidewalk. At this time of night and in a driving rain, Cyrus would’ve expected it to be deserted. But Wagner had explained otherwise. There were many twenty-four-hour businesses in the area, so even in the middle of the night there was always some amount of foot traffic. Cyrus immediately saw that was a fact, as his gaze caught a few people out and about.

  Talbet had left the wall to make a visual sweep of the outside before opening the gates. Once the SUV reached the street he stood station, watching the gates to ensure no one slipped through before they locked once more. Natasha was able to see as much from her vantage point in the security office, but Cyrus wanted eyes on the gate—and a gun—just to be sure. He knew firsthand how security measures—cameras specifically—could be subverted.

  Cyrus’s eyes swept the surrounding street while waiting for Talbet to complete his portion of their exit plan. Cyrus knew that all of this was overkill, but then again, they had just repelled a corrupt force from within Voss’s own security detail. There was no such thing as being too careful.

  Scanning the curb on the opposite side, Cyrus’s focus snapped to a figure standing in the shadows two dozen yards down the street. He was beneath a wide eave but he’d been standing absolutely still. It made his form difficult to distinguish against the dim background and heavy rain. Squinting, Cyrus strained to discern what it was that had drawn his interest.

  The man moved slightly. An orange bloom brought a sliver of definition to his features. It wasn’t enough for Cyrus to identify the man as he searched for defining characteristics. He was smoking a cigarette, which accounted for the less than helpful blossom of light each time he took a drag.

  Cyrus leaned closer to the steering wheel, his senses on full alert. But when he leaned forward, his face fell into the shine of a nearby streetlight as it spilled across the dashboard. The man on the street could now see he was being watched. If he were just an innocent passerby, it would mean nothing. If he were surveilling the place, he would know that he’d been made.

  To Cyrus’s surprise, the man took two steps forward. That brought him within the same wash of street light that illuminated the windscreen of the SUV. The bill of the man’s baseball cap shadowed his features, and Cyrus could still see nothing.

  The figure was looking right at him.

  Glancing at the rearview mirror, Cyrus wondered where Talbet was. It felt like time was standing still. Talbet was approaching the vehicle. He must’ve missed the man across the street because he seemed more concerned with the rain as he approached the passenger-side door.

  The man on the street took another step toward the SUV and pulled the cap from his head. He ran a hand through his short, drenched hair and turned his face to better catch the light. Cyrus felt the breath catch in his throat. The figure looked directly at him, and a relieved smile spread across his face. The man held up a small scrap of cardboard with black lettering on it. He flashed it for only a second, but it was enough. A satisfied chuckle escaped Cyrus just as Talbet yanked open the door and hauled himself into the seat.

  “Turn the heat up, Goddammit,” Talbet snarled.

  The man across the street glanced at the ground, quickly drew the cap back over his head, and pulled it low over his eyes. He stepped back into the shadows and resumed his position, seemingly focused on smoking his cigarette. Cyrus read the implication clearly. Keep quiet and don’t say a word.

  Still, it didn’t stop his satisfied grin. He shifted the transmission into ‘drive’ and accelerated down the flooded street. Not only was Boone alive and well, he was on the island.

  Chapter 16

  Rivven Rock

  2:40 am

  Pointing the vehicle east, Cyrus chose to rely on visual prompts from the navigation system and muted its audio instructions. Casper General Hospital was located on the opposite side of the small city. The facility took its name from the reigning king’s grandfather who had started the medical facility generations earlier. The hospital still sat at the midpoint of a mountainous ridge that overlooked the city from its extreme outskirts. With the passage of time, the city grew and prospered. So, too, did the hospital, expanding until it had become as much a modern medical facility as any in the world.

  Even at midday, the drive wouldn’t have taken long. Given the late hour, the streets were nearly devoid of traffic. Cyrus knew they would make good time; after looking in the rearview mirror that fact came as a relief. Wagner sat slouched, and even in the dim light of the truck’s cabin Cyrus could see he was growing increasingly pale.

  “Hanging in there?” Cyrus asked. He didn’t expect much of a reply. Wagner wasn’t a complainer. Cyrus was more interested in how long it took the man to respond, plus the quality of his voice when he did.

  “Never better,” he replied in a tired rasp. “You guys wanna stop for coffee? I’m buying.”

  Cyrus grinned. At least he maintained a sense of humor. That alone could make the difference in a bad situation.

  Talbet had been looking over his shoulder, eyeing Wagner when he rep
lied. After taking a long look at the man, he turned once more and faced forward. He shot a glance at Cyrus that told of his concern. For the moment, all they could do was get Wagner to the hospital as quickly as possible. He was already on borrowed time.

  “It’s been a long day,” Cyrus commented in a conversational tone. He’d directed the statement at Talbet. “How’re you holding up?” He shot a look at Talbet and wasn’t surprised to see him looking fairly ragged himself.

  The question brought a wry grunt in response. “I’ve had better days.”

  When Cyrus failed to contribute more to the discussion, it took only a moment for Talbet to continue.

  “You can bet I’ll be looking for a new job after this fiasco,” he admitted. “Although I guess it’s hard to say what’ll happen next—with Dargo gone and all.”

  When Talbet stopped speaking, he became distracted. He ran his hands through his hair nervously, then sat with them bound into tight fists in his lap. “Where the hell did I go wrong?”

  “It’s alright,” Cyrus offered. “You can work that out with Dargo when he gets back.”

  Cyrus felt the burn of Talbet’s sidelong glance as he made the left hand turn at the next intersection. He would’ve known the man was staring him down even if he hadn’t been eyeing him in his peripheral vision.

  “What are you talking about? Dargo’s plane went down over the Atlantic,” Talbet said. Judging by his tone, it sounded like he was stating the fact for himself to believe as much as Cyrus.

  Cyrus offered the man a brief, curious look, then made a right hand turn without showing additional reaction to the statement. “Huh. I never said anything about Dargo’s plane going down.”

  He continued to drive calmly down the dark, empty city street.

  Shifting nervously in his seat, Talbet glared at Cyrus. “Must’ve been the Doctor—or one of the girls.”

  Cyrus glanced at the man for two full seconds. Finally, he shook his head once and returned his eyes to the road. “Nope.” He said it in the same conversational tone. “Wasn’t them either.”

  While the tension coming from the passenger seat was palpable, Cyrus continued to drive in a relaxed manner. He kept both hands on the wheel. Neither gripped the wheel too tightly, and he was certain his lack of concern was now driving Talbet crazy.

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Talbet stammered. “Someone said something…how else would I know?”

  Tipping his head from side to side, Cyrus pondered the idea. “Yeah…that’s the question, isn’t it?” His eyes remained on the road. He betrayed no apprehension for the man in the seat beside him. “As far as I can tell, there’s only one way you could know.”

  Cyrus glanced at Talbet and offered a look that implied the answer was obvious. When Cyrus heard a distinctive metallic click, he looked down to find a gun resting in the shadows of Talbet’s lap. He was impressed. He hadn’t seen him move for the weapon.

  “You tricked me,” Talbet admitted. “Dargo isn’t on his way back. He’s history.” He shook his head in irritation and muttered to himself. “How could I be so stupid.”

  Cyrus noticed it wasn’t so much a question as a statement. His anger at his lack of intelligence was good, considering he had made more than one mistake. If he was disappointed with himself now, things were about to get worse.

  “Hey, take it easy with that thing.” Raising his right hand, Cyrus held it up as if the motion would be enough to ward off a bullet.

  “Hands on the wheel,” Talbet hissed. “No sudden moves, and keep your damn hands on the wheel.”

  Cyrus complied without a word, though his eyes now moved more frequently between the road and the armed man beside him.

  “So how did you know Dargo’s plane went down?” Cyrus asked. “You put a bomb on board!” he realized. “But how did you know when to trigger it?”

  “Hardly! No. No bomb,” Talbet chuckled. “Nothing so crude. It was an additive mixed with the fuel.”

  Stealing a sideways glance, Cyrus took a long look at Talbet. Cyrus’s lack of understanding was clear on his face.

  Talbet offered a shrug. “The science of it is beyond me,” he admitted. “Cutting edge stuff, I’m told. It mixes with the fuel. After a certain amount of time, the pressure—or the oxygenation—something finally activates it. The chemical composition of the fuel changes and suddenly, poof! Jet fuel is jet fuel no longer. The plane simply falls from the sky!”

  A burning pain flared in Cyrus’s gut. Talbet’s description of the technology was painfully familiar. He’d read about something similar in the not-so-recent past. But as his mind started to sort through its catalog of memories with near photographic detail, Cyrus reminded himself that it wasn’t the time for that specific concern. He had to deal with Talbet before moving on to the next problem. His eyes shifted to the rearview mirror and found Wagner slumped and unconscious in the back seat. The slight rise and fall of his chin where it rested on his chest was the only indication that he still lived. The visage reminded Cyrus that he had a whole series of problems to deal with, and that Talbet had only added one more to the list.

  “Sounds like high-tech overkill to me,” Cyrus grumbled. “It’s an overly elaborate plan to kill a guy you see every day. What did you have against Dargo?”

  “Dargo? It was nothing personal. He always treated me well. He was actually a good man. It was just business.”

  Offering a contemptuous look, Cyrus grunted, “Business? Someone hired you to kill Dargo?”

  Talbet’s only reply was a sour expression.

  “I don’t suppose you’re willing to tell me who hired you to do it? Or why?” Cyrus urged, attempting a good-natured grin. He didn’t let the fact that Talbet was armed hamper the upbeat nature of his conversational tone. In fact, other than letting his eyes fall once on the man’s gun, Cyrus hadn’t done much to acknowledge the weapon, or that any danger was imminent.

  His expression shifting, Talbet turned slightly in his seat, partly to get a better look at Cyrus and partly to give his weapon a better angle. “He said you were a handful,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “That was an understatement. You’re not very intimidated by the gun, are you?”

  Cyrus took a long look at Talbet before returning his eyes to the road. They were on a long, flat stretch; if he wanted to make a move against Talbet, his opportunity would arrive with the next turn. But Cyrus didn’t want to disarm him. The goal was to keep him talking. The real challenge was the relatively short drive to the city hospital, and how long it had taken Talbet to make his move. Cyrus was working against the clock to make the necessary headway in the time he had left. There was no doubt that Talbet didn’t want them to reach the hospital, so the clock was running down fast. Cyrus didn’t know what would happen when it ran out.

  “Talk or don’t,” Cyrus said with a disinterested shake of his head. He kept his eyes on the road in an attempt to sell the ploy. “I really don’t care. But I think you’re being used. I don’t see the point of going through all that trouble just to kill Dargo. You were close to him. He trusted you. If everything that happened was just a setup to take him out, you could’ve done that twenty different times on any given day.”

  Talbet sputtered, nearly choking on his derisive chortle. “You’re right about that much. I could’ve finished Dargo anytime, anywhere. But that wasn’t the point.”

  Cyrus glanced at the man but said nothing. It was the sort of look that said, if you say so. And when Talbet continued, Cyrus knew he’d played him properly.

  “The Doc is the target,” Talbet explained. “He’s working on something my employer wants. I was just about to get it, too, when you showed up. You put the entire plan in a tailspin. You got Dargo all paranoid and looking over his shoulder. He started double checking everything. He didn’t trust you at all.”

  Cyrus kept his eyes on the road and his hands at ten and two on the wheel.

  “You threw off the timing of the entire operation,” Talbet complained. “Then my contact
reaches out and tells me to be real careful around you. He said to play it nice because you might actually catch on.”

  With a laugh, Talbet admitted, “It didn’t make sense. I told him you were just some delivery kid who got beat up trying to get something to the Doc. But my guy said that was the problem—you didn’t get beat up on the way to the compound. And he said you killed three of his hired guns along the way. Not bad for a delivery boy.”

  Cyrus fought the urge to glare at Talbet. Indifference seemed to be the key to keeping him talking but the self-centered fool was hard to tolerate. Plus, Cyrus suspected Talbet was using the opportunity to work things through in his mind. The man wasn’t exactly sure what was happening, and his confusion had made him edgy. The rest of his team was dead, and he was now on his own.

  That part of the night was still bothering Cyrus. Talbet didn’t seem all that put off about his team being wiped out in the course of their failed operation. Then there was the slashed tires on the trucks in the motor pool.

  Cyrus looked at Talbet. His eyes settled on the man, taking him in again as if for the first time. The moment wasn’t lost on Talbet. He raised the gun, placing it in Cyrus’s eye line. “Don’t even think about it, kid.”

  “You were in the garage slashing the tires on the SUV’s when the facility went on lockdown,” Cyrus concluded. “You got stuck down there when the doors sealed, and you couldn’t get out. When you realized your guys messed things up, you bound yourself with zip ties and faked the whole—”

  “I wouldn’t say that I faked it,” Talbet interrupted. “For things to go that pear shaped, it occurred to me that you might actually be as good as my guy said. And if the rest of my team was down, I knew I couldn’t complete the operation on my own. So yes, I did bind myself with the ties, but I knew that wouldn’t be good enough so I used the chloroform, too.”

  Cyrus shot the man a grin. “No kidding? You dosed yourself—just to sell the lie?”