06 Double Danger Page 3

  She nodded. Again aware that it was pointless, but the movement made her feel more secure somehow. “What happened?”

  “I can’t say definitively,” he answered as a piece of the metal directly to her left was yanked away. She could see the floor of the room, faint light filtering through the opening. “But it looks like a helicopter crashed into the side of the hospital. It came right through the windows. You’re trapped underneath part of the fuselage.” His head appeared suddenly just to her right, his green eyes filled with concern.

  “What about all the people?” she asked, thinking of the staff and volunteers that had filled the room just before the collision.

  “They’re being evacuated. And emergency responders are on the way.”

  “How many dead?”

  “Can’t say for sure. The pilot and his passenger. And at least five or six others.”

  “Oh, God,” she said, closing her eyes against the threatening tears. She’d been working with these folks for almost a week. Knew most of them by name and several well enough to think of them as friends.

  “Yeah, but it could have been a hell of a lot worse.”

  There was a pause, and Jillian stiffened. “What?” she whispered, turning her head so that she could see his face. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  He hesitated for a moment, his expression grim. Then he reached out to grasp her free hand. She tightened the grip, waiting. “The helicopter’s fuel tank was ruptured when it came through the wall.” That explained the smell of gas.

  “You’re worried about an explosion.” A shudder worked its way up her spine.

  “Yes.” The word was spoken quietly, lending it credence as it hung between them.

  “But I’ll get you out,” he continued. “No man left behind, right?” She thought she saw a flicker of something in his eyes. Regret maybe, although she wasn’t sure why.

  “Easier said than done. I can feel the fuselage. It’s pinning me. And it’s got to weigh a ton. There’s no way you’ll get it off me without help. And there’s not time for that.” She could smell the leaking fuel. Panic rose, but she shoved it down, her gaze locking with his, her decision made. “You’ve got to get out of here, Simon. There’s no sense both of us dying.”

  “No fucking way.” He shook his head.

  “It’s suicide for you to stay. Either the team of rescuers will make it up here or they won’t.” She tried to keep her voice emotion-free. “I haven’t got a choice, but you do.”

  “And I’m making it,” he said, pulling his hand from hers, his face disappearing from the space he’d created. For a moment, she actually thought he’d left, but then another piece of the refuse was pulled free, his face red from the exertion. “Now if I can just find something to use for leverage.”

  “It’s too heavy. Even you’re not strong enough to get it off.” She attempted a smile, but failed as the fuselage shifted again, the pressure robbing her of breath.

  “I don’t have to get it all the way off.” He bent down, rummaging through the wreckage. “I just have to lift it enough for you to slide free. Do you think you can do that?”

  She tensed her muscles, still not feeling any pain. “I’ll give it my best.”

  “Can’t ask for anything more.” His answering smile was reassuring, and she nodded as he pulled a section of rebar free. “This should do the trick.”

  Working to insert the end of the rod underneath the fragment of the helicopter that had pinned her to the floor, he cursed, possibly in pain.

  “Everything okay?” she whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer.

  “Yeah, it’s fine. I just burned my hand—the whole thing is really hot.”

  “Be careful.”

  He nodded, then grimaced as he tightened his hold on the rebar. “On my count.”

  She sucked in a breath as he counted down, muscles primed as he called “three.” She could feel a little movement, but it wasn’t enough. She still couldn’t move. The pressure increased as he let go, and any hope she’d had evaporated.

  The room was deadly silent now, the smell of fuel growing stronger.

  “You need to go,” she whispered, the pressure on her chest intense again.

  He looked up, his gaze colliding with hers, the resolution there unmistakable. “One more time.” He adjusted his stance, and then, with a second count to three, shoved against the rebar, the muscles under his T-shirt rippling with the effort.

  At first there was little difference, a slight easing of the pressure, and then the metal groaned as it slid sideways. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Moving on a burst of pure adrenaline, Jillian slid from underneath the twisted fuselage. The resulting wave of pain was instant and intense, but she was free.

  She rolled to a sitting position, fighting a wave of nausea, more than aware that their time was running out. The smell of smoke drew her eyes to the left and the fire burning near the twisted body of the helicopter, the flames licking toward the expanding pool of fuel beneath it.

  “We’ve got to move now,” Simon said, echoing her thoughts as he scooped her into his arms, and she fought against another wave of pain.

  “I can walk,” she argued, shuddering as she caught sight of a body, a nurse from the hospital, Gail something or other. The woman’s eyes were wide, her mouth open in a silent scream, one leg twisted at an inhuman angle. Blood stained her scrubs and the floor beneath her.

  “Don’t look.” Simon pulled her closer and headed across the room through the smoke to the elevator bank.

  “Too late,” she whispered, heart hammering as tears filled her eyes.

  Behind them, the room seemed to shimmy and then erupt. The sound of the explosion reverberated off the walls, shards of metal and glass flying through the room like shrapnel as a giant ball of fire erupted from the center of the wreckage.

  Heat buffeted her exposed skin as Simon ran into the comparative safety of the hallway in front of the elevators. His body blocked hers as the room behind them splintered into a fiery hell—the heated flames reaching out across the room with an intensity that melted the carpet beneath their feet.

  Propping her between his body and the wall, he reached out with one hand to yank open the door to the stairwell. Then he shoved her through, slamming the door behind him, the sound accompanied by the sharp thwack of shrapnel against the metal on the other side.

  “That was close,” she said, suppressing another shudder.

  “It’s not over.” The warning in his voice was echoed as the stairs shook beneath them. “Can you move on your own?” He shot a glance down the stairwell and then moved his gaze back to hers.

  “Yes. I think so.” She nodded, her feet already moving as he wrapped an arm around her, propelling them down the stairs. Above her head, she heard the shearing of metal and a tremendous crack as the landing broke away and fell in a hail of rubble onto the stairs just behind them.

  “Keep moving,” he yelled over the din, his arm tightening as he practically carried her downward, the sound of the collapse still roaring in their wake, a billowing cloud of smoke and dust enveloping them as they ran.

  In what seemed like hours, but was probably no more than minutes, they’d covered the distance from the fifteenth floor to the first, Simon sweeping her back into his arms as they hit the bottom landing and burst through the doors into the pale rays of an October afternoon. There were first responders everywhere. Along with dazed people. Patients in beds, doctors in scrubs. People in crisis.

  Her first thought was that she needed to help them.

  But before she could put voice to the words, her vision went blurry, her mind fuzzy, and her last coherent thought was that, as impossible as it might seem, Simon Kincaid had just saved her life.

  CHAPTER 2

  Sunderland College, New York

  What do you mean she’s not there?” Simon asked, gripping his cellphone as he tried to hold his temper in check. The last time he’d seen J.J., she’d been huddled in the back of an
ambulance, ready for transfer to another city hospital. They’d been separated after making it down the stairs, each of them being checked out and then Simon answering questions from the first responders.

  Still, he should have followed up. Checked on her in person.

  He’d told himself that she wouldn’t have wanted to see him. But the truth was that he was a coward. He’d only just begun to put Ryan’s death and the events surrounding it behind him. And J.J. only brought it all to the surface again, the memories still painful and raw. It was more than he was ready to handle.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the nurse said, her voice pulling him back to the present. “Ms. Montgomery was released shortly after she arrived.”

  “Fine.” His voice was clipped as he disconnected, his anger directed more at himself than anyone else. He’d assumed the docs would have at least kept her overnight. Which meant he’d still had time. But now… hell, now she was gone. Which was a good thing, surely. J.J. was fine. And preliminary findings had ruled the crash a horrible accident. End of story.

  “Checking on the woman from the hospital?” Harrison Blake asked as he stopped next to Simon in front of the professor’s elevators in the Aaron Thomas Academic Center.

  The building, which housed the college’s renowned think tank, also sat atop the underground complex that served as headquarters for the American Tactical Intelligence Command. A-Tac. The elite CIA unit was made up of not only experts at covert activities but also some of the top academicians in the country. Simon considered himself lucky to be a part of it all.

  “Yeah.” He nodded as Harrison used his key to activate access to the elevator. “I just wanted to make sure she was okay,” Simon continued. “Which obviously she is, because she’s been released.”

  He hadn’t told anyone about his history with Jillian Montgomery, her new name making it more difficult to connect the dots even if someone was inclined to do so. He’d shared some of his past with Hannah Marshall, A-Tac’s intel specialist. But everyone in A-Tac had secrets, so none of them was in the habit of probing too deeply. At least not without invitation or provocation. And Simon wasn’t inclined to provide either.

  “Well, she’s damn lucky you were on site,” Harrison said, with a shrug.

  They stepped into the elevator, and Harrison lifted the Otis Elevator plaque to insert a second key. For the most part, students were turned away by the sign at the elevator. And without a key, even if they tried to take the elevator, they’d only have access to a suite of offices on the top floor that conceivably served as a professors’ lounge. Of course, with the proper keys, the elevator took occupants down to the sub-basement levels and A-Tac’s operational center.

  “Yeah, well, it’s over now.” Simon frowned, pushing thoughts of J.J. out of his mind. “Any idea why Avery called a meeting?”

  “No. Just that it’s important. I figured it was probably something to do with the stuff you guys brought back from Afghanistan. Maybe the brain trust at Langley found something when they translated the notebook you recovered.”

  “Have you had any luck with the hard drive?” Simon asked. Harrison was the unit’s computer forensics specialist. One of the best Simon had ever worked with.

  “Not yet.” Harrison shook his head. “Damn thing was obliterated. I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull anything intelligible off it. But I haven’t given up yet. Sons of bitches tried to destroy it for a reason.”

  The elevator doors slid open, revealing a large reception area, another ploy to fool students who somehow managed to make it this far. Of course, entering here was a sure ticket straight to Avery’s office. Besides serving as A-Tac’s commander, he was also the dean of students, and his reputation as a hard-ass, in both incarnations, was well earned.

  Harrison slapped his palm against the bust of Aaron Thomas, a Revolutionary War hero who served as A-Tac’s unofficial mascot. A spy for the American side, he’d also been a political philosopher of the day and, as such, a teacher. And in that way, his life and times served to mirror the twin objectives of A-Tac.

  A section of the far wall slid open, and the two men walked through the opening into the heart of the beast, so to speak. Harrison grinned. “Hannah always says it reminds her of the bat cave.”

  “Well, you’ve got to admit, we’ve got a lot of the trappings,” she said, appearing at the doorway to the war room. Hannah Marshall was the unit’s intel officer. Her glasses today were a deep magenta, a contrast to the purple streaks in her spiky hair. “We were just wondering if you guys had found something better to do.”

  She linked arms with Harrison, pulling him over to the large table that dominated the center of the room. At the front, Avery stood deep in conversation with Nash, his expression grim. Simon wondered what had the big man so upset. It had to be something pretty damn serious. He’d learned over the past year that nothing much fazed Avery.

  On the right side of the table, Tyler sat next to Drake, the two of them laughing at something, the light glinting off Tyler’s hair. The sight triggered the memory of J.J. standing in scrubs, blue eyes wide as she recognized him. Then, like some kind of montage, his mind moved to another picture, a younger J.J., lips swollen from his kisses, her sweet breath fanning across his face.

  He shook his head, clearing his thoughts as he moved to the opposite side of the table, feeling, as usual, like the outsider. It was stupid. He’d been through hell with these people. But in their line of work, friendship came at too big a cost. It was a lesson learned in the heat of battle and not easily forgotten.

  When it came to an operation, he’d give everything he had, but no matter how much he liked the people he worked with, it was safer to keep them at arm’s length. The price for anything more was just too damn high.

  He dropped down into a seat. Hannah and Harrison had moved to the front of the table, both opening laptops. The room had several computer stations around the periphery and a large screen above Avery’s head on the far wall. There were monitors built into the table as well, the room’s equipment state of the art.

  Nash joined Simon on his side of the table, frowning across it at Drake. “I’ve got to say you’re not looking too good.”

  “No shit.” Drake sighed. “Truth is, I haven’t slept in two weeks. Doctor says it’s teething.” Drake and his wife, Madeline, had a six-month-old, Brianna—named in honor of Harrison’s sister. “I love my daughter more than I ever could have imagined, but, I’ll be honest, I think I’d be better off bunking somewhere else for the duration.”

  “Like eighteen years?” Nash smiled with a fatalistic shrug. “Trust me, it’s worth the pain. I’d give anything to have had those early days with Adam.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m just blowing hot air. Although I have to say I’m not sorry Madeline and Bree are off to California to visit Alexis.” Alexis was Tucker’s wife. The two of them spent most of their time in Redlands although they had a house here at Sunderland too.

  “Yeah, Annie and Adam were stoked about the trip, too,” Nash acknowledged. “Although I think the promise of going to an Angels game played a large part in Adam’s excitement.”

  “Hey, what can I say, the kid has great taste in baseball teams. And although I’ll definitely miss my wife and kid, I’m looking forward to some down time. I’m telling you, Simon,” Drake said with his usual easy grin, “if you value your sleep, think long and hard before you have kids.”

  “Not an issue.” Simon held up a hand to underscore his words. “I don’t think I’m exactly father material.”

  “That’s what I said.” Drake laughed as he propped his chair back against the wall. “And look at me now.”

  “So where’s Tucker?” Simon asked, with a frown. Tucker was Drake’s brother. And, like Simon, a fairly new member to the team.

  “Off with Owen. NSA business,” Tyler said. “The two of them are thick as thieves these days.” Owen was Tyler’s husband, and he worked for the division of NSA tasked with policing the other intelligence agencies.
It didn’t always make him the most popular guy on the block. But he seemed like a stand-up guy, and Tyler loved him, so Simon figured he was okay.

  “All right, people.” Avery cleared his throat, signaling a beginning to the meeting, and Simon sat forward in anticipation.

  “So what’s with the summons?” Drake asked, raising an eyebrow. “You got a new assignment for us?” He sounded so hopeful that Simon hid a smile. Fatherhood was definitely taking a toll.

  “Possibly,” Avery said. “Or maybe I should say an old one.”

  “The Consortium.” Nash’s expression darkened, the two words hanging in the air almost like a challenge, everyone’s mood sobering in an instant.

  “Again that’s a maybe,” Avery repeated. “At the moment, we haven’t got anything tangible to tie them in to any of what I’m about to tell you. Hell, we can’t even prove for certain that what we found isn’t just some kind of cosmic coincidence.”

  “Well, for the record, my gut is telling me it’s anything but,” Hannah was quick to add.

  “Your hunches I believe in.” Drake’s smile was tempered with a wry twist of his lips. Hannah had been part of the team who’d gone off book to rescue Madeline and Drake from a Consortium trap in Colombia. Flying the helicopter, no less.

  “So what have we got?” Nash prompted, pulling everyone’s attention back to Avery.

  “The guys at Langley are still working on the notebook we uncovered,” Avery said, nodding at Hannah, who hit a button and pulled up the image of a burned page. “But they’ve managed to decipher at least part of it. Something that I think you’re all going to find relevant in light of recent events.”

  Hannah hit another key on the computer and the page dissolved into a newer version, the enhanced image courtesy of Langley’s forensics department. She adjusted slightly, and the diagram became clear.

  “Holy shit,” Simon whispered, his eyes riveted to the screen. “Is that what I think it is?” The diagram was a blueprint. The layout exactly the same as the hospital floor where the helicopter crashed. He could see the doctor’s office, the hallway, the waiting room, even the windows—it was all there.