Silent Truth (B.A.D. Agency #4)(44)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

When the shooter paused to check his watch again, Hunter’s skin tightened. He wondered what Jackson was planning besides the shooting. If the sniper’s finger hadn’t been locked around the trigger and the rifle pointed at a room full of innocent people, Hunter would attack. The longer he kept Jackson talking the more time BAD had to get to the bomb if Linette managed to send location coordinates. This prick was sharing nothing.

“If I don’t kill the prime minister,” Jackson continued, looking up again, “then three American cities will be hit, each with more severity than the last, bringing the death toll up over a hundred thousand. Subsequent bombings would come with a message that any other countries willing to support the U.S. would do so at risk of the same fate.”

“Why are you willing to put our country into political and possibly armed conflict with your country?”

“I don’t actually have a country. I just perform a duty.”

“You want me to choose between killing an innocent man and destroying three cities? How about maiming you as an option?”

“There is that, but if you so much as cut me I’ll bleed out. I’m a type-B hemophiliac, the most prolific of free bleeders.” Jackson enjoyed showing off his perfectly white teeth again. “Speaking of blood, if you win our game without killing me, you’ll be able to save Abbie and her mother.”

“Your mother, too.”

“Genetic semantics.”

Hunter wanted to hurt this Jackson for so many reasons, Eliot and Abbie topping the list. But unsuspecting civilians would die by the thousands if he made a wrong decision. He had to find out why the shooter had brought him to this spot. “Are you through laying out the rules?”

The killer consulted his watch again, then cocked his head at Hunter. “Wait, it only gets better. You can go save Abbie or you can stop me from killing the prime minister, at which point only one city will be sacrificed when five compact bombs with a new strain of uranium detonate. Bombs capable of taking down nine square blocks in… Chicago, Chicago.” He sang the name of the city like the words from the musical. “The explosion will detonate at the Clark Street Bridge and shake the foundation of your ex-sister-in-law’s condominium building on Wacker. Now, who are you willing to save and who do you sacrifice?”

Todd, Pia, and baby Barrett would be home at Pia’s place.

Hunter struggled to breathe. His heart hammered his chest, threatening to burst from the blood surging through his body.

He had to get word on the bomb location to BAD.

“Abbie,” Jackson said, drawing Hunter back to him, “is hanging off a cliff exactly one hundred feet from here, but you don’t know the direction yet, so don’t get excited. And if you don’t leave in”—the killer glanced at his watch again and looked up—“twenty-six seconds you won’t reach her before the small bomb attached to the tension anchor snaps her connection to the wall. What’s it going to be?”

“You f**king bastard!”

“If you read the hidden files, you know I’m not a bastard. Twenty-one seconds.”

“Where is she?”

“Not yet… fifteen, fourteen, thirteen.” He looked up. “There’s a path six feet above you. At that point go twenty-two yards, then veer directly left and keep going until you reach the ridge.” He grinned at Hunter and counted down. “Six, five.”

Jackson’s finger relaxed from the trigger.

Time for a leap of faith that Mako was now in position.

A gunshot exploded from behind Hunter. The bullet hit the backside of the trigger guard and shattered Jackson’s fingers.

The killer howled in pain. He jerked his hand up in horror, blood spewing out of his ragged fingers.

Hunter kicked Jackson backward, away from the rifle.

Mako burst out of the dark and dove on Jackson, yelling, “We know about Chicago. More agents on the way. Get Abbie.”

Hunter had already taken off running. Joe had sent extra agents. Not that much of a surprise since Hunter hadn’t expected to get out of this clean. Mako had explained during the helicopter flight that if they had to wound Jackson, he’d use a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. Mako would inject a clotting agent into Jackson and had no problem tightening the tourniquet to the point of the sniper losing a limb.

Mako had shot “Expert” in the Marine Corps, and was capable of blowing a hole in the enemy with skill that equalled his ability to sew one up in someone he wanted to save.

He’d do whatever it took to keep Jackson alive.

That miserable piece of shit had better survive.

After counting twenty-two yards with running strides, Hunter swung left. He shoved branches out of his way and stumbled over rocks and burst into a clearing at a cliff.

A rope was tied to a tree six feet back from the edge of a cliff. The face fell off for days. He hurried to grab the rope that was slack, which meant the killer had climbed back up from wherever he’d left Abbie hanging.

Hunter looked over the edge into a black abyss.

His heart dropped faster than the blood pressure of a dying man at the sight of her body in a snowsuit dangling in the wind.

Her sobs echoed against the stone.

“Hang on, baby, I’m coming!”

All Hunter had was Eliot’s beat-up karabiner. He hooked the rope through it and looped the tail of the rope around his back in a makeshift rappelling tension, then swung over the side, easing himself down.

“Don’t come down,” she cried. “There’s a… a bomb… it’s—”

“Stay still.”

“Hunter, stop!” she screamed. “You’ll die. Go back.”

He dropped fast, sick with fear he’d reach her too late. When he reached the tension anchor holding her rope sling he spotted the bomb device. It had enough C-4 to start an avalanche. And there was no way to remove the bomb without removing the anchor.

The timer ticked down. Sixty-four seconds, sixty-three…

She begged him between sobs. “Please go back.”

He lowered himself. “I’m not losing you.” When he dropped down beside her he only had another six feet of rope trailing from his waist. Her hands had been tied in front of her.

“We don’t both have to die.”

“We’re not going to.” He hoped. He looped a quick knot at the karabiner, not even sure if the battered piece would still hold, then used his knife to free her wrists. Pulling up the tail of his rope, he threaded it under the rope tied around her waist and made two quick figure-eight knots.

Waves of tremors shook off her, but he couldn’t comfort her yet with seconds flying away. “Hold this rope. Brace your feet apart and keep them against the wall,” he ordered and climbed back up, hand over hand, feeding the rope through his karabiner.

“He told me you’d die trying to save me,” she yelled in a stronger voice, determined to negotiate. “He said—”

“Forget him. Do what I say.” Keeping her alive was not negotiable. He walked his feet against the wall, stopping next to the bomb, and tied off with what slack rope he could pull up. “Look straight ahead,” he ordered.

Twelve… eleven seconds. Disarming the device would be easy. If he had tools.

He reached for his knife. “Abbie, get ready.”

“For what?”

Ten… nine.

“To fall.” He cut the rope sling holding her and grabbed the anchor attached to the bomb as her weight yanked him back.

She screamed when she fell.

His hand slipped off the anchor.

Six seconds… five.

Lunging up against the dead weight towing him down, his fingers hooked on metal. He released the tension clip and yanked the bomb and anchor free, flinging the deadly pair away. “Cover your ears!”

The bomb detonated. Compression and heat boiled off the explosion, but far away from Abbie. “Baby, you okay?”

He didn’t hear anything. “Abbie, goddammit, talk to me.”

“I’m okay,” she yelled.

He started breathing again and almost laughed at her angry tone until she got quiet again.

“But… you can’t get back up with me,” she said in a small voice. Her terror traveled easily in the empty night air, but it didn’t stop her. “He told me… how your friend died. That I had to—”

“Abbie, stop.”

“—untie my rope…”

“Don’t you f**king do that!” Hunter couldn’t live through this again. “Don’t… baby, please, oh, God, please trust me. I can get us both out of here.”

She was wheezing, close to hyperventilating. “How?”

“Just give me a minute. Don’t quit on me now.” His voice shook, the words coming out in a rough croak. Something sure and strong blazed in his mind. She needed to know why she could trust him. “I love you. I can’t lose you.”

But had the bastard jury-rigged the rope sling so that the loops around her waist would come loose? Hunter couldn’t think that way.

“Hunter—”

“Please… don’t leave me.”

“I don’t want to lose you either.”

He dropped his head against the rope, getting his breath back. “Then hold on. My team will get us out of here.”

Reaching around, he got his hands on the trailing rope and pulled with everything he had, lifting her slowly to him.

When she got closer, he called out in a voice thick with worry, “Give me your hand.”

He pulled up another foot of rope, and another.

Her fingertips touched his arm. He grabbed her arm, hauling her up to him with a burst of adrenaline. She was sobbing and terrified and alive.

He had her wrapped in his arms and wasn’t letting go.

Mako and the other two agents weren’t really his team, but Joe and Tee expected—no, demanded—all their agents to work as a unit of one in any situation. Hunter could now see how much space Joe and Retter had allowed him to prove he could be a team player for the past four years.

He’d failed miserably. And going rogue to find the killer had sealed his fate.

Joe wouldn’t suffer that with any agent.

Once Hunter got off this mountain, he’d find out the extent of his penalties and pay them without a word of complaint.

“It’s okay, baby. They’re coming,” Hunter assured her, even though Mako’s first duty was to secure the prisoner. Might be another half hour, but he’d talk her through this.

“Ready to come up, a**hole?” someone shouted from the top. Lights appeared overhead and Mako peered down at him, his big grin in place. He had extra rope looped over his arm.

Being called a**hole had never sounded so good.

But what about Todd and his family in Chicago?

Chapter Forty-four

Retter kept checking his watch, willing it to slow down and help Korbin, who had gained a slight edge from the learning curve after disarming the first bomb. He’d just called an all-clear on the third bomb in less than two minutes, but the first one had cost nine.

People had scattered faster than ants from a disturbed anthill from the Clark Street Bridge, but thousands were clogging downtown Chicago in a mad dash to exit. The roar of voices competed with sirens coming from all directions.

Korbin could do this. Had to come through.

When Joe had brought the cocky demolitions expert into BAD two years back, Retter withheld his opinion of the former stunt professional until he’d had a chance to observe Korbin in action during a mission in Chechnya.

Korbin ran so cool when he worked he could freeze lava.

Gotthard had joked that Korbin lived on a diet of ice water and available women.

One female might be too available. Retter hadn’t determined if Korbin and Rae had hooked up or not. Something he’d deal with later.

The ping of a bullet striking metal sounded clearly at the same time as Korbin’s yell. “Incoming fire.”

A second shot rang out.

“Shooter low on the north side,” Rae called, already racing along the parking area below the south side of the bridge. She wheeled and shot out lights along the bridge to give Korbin the cover of darkness first, then she took out the lights above her.

“Find him, Drake.” Retter issued the order, then ran down the drive from the bridge and joined Rae in the parking zone to better cover Korbin.

With so many civilians around, no agent could return fire unless he or she had a clear shot.

“I’m at number four,” Korbin said.

Retter used his thermal imaging scope to sweep over the north bank, looking for a heat signature from the next flash. He told Rae, “You keep watch for the flash; I’m going to take a look at Korbin’s position.”

“I’m on it.” She swept her rifle systematically across the opposite bank.

“Number four disarmed,” Korbin said a minute later, calm and controlled.

Retter watched Korbin’s heat signature swing toward the last bomb, his body fully exposed.

A shot pierced the night.

Rae called into the headset, “Second floor, two o’clock from the bridge.”

Korbin’s body jerked. He cursed. The bullet had hit him.

“How bad are you?” Retter called.

“I’ll make it,” Korbin ground out.

Rae held her weapon steady, watching.

The next shot hit a steel beam on the bridge, then she fired and cursed. “He moved. Drake, you got him?”

Shots echoed, striking metal… then no ping against metal.

Korbin cursed, livid. He’d been hit again, but there was nothing any of them could do except find the shooter.

A shot exploded from the other bank. “Got the f**ker,” Drake called out. “Terminated.”

Korbin stopped moving forward on the bridge. He was at the last bomb. Retter checked his watch. Seventy seconds until 10:00 PM. If the bullet wounds hadn’t incapacitated Korbin, Retter estimated he could disarm the last bomb in sixty seconds, maybe less—