Page 86 of Dead Drift

Khaled silenced and rearmed the alarm so it would sound again if anyone else entered the building.

“How do we get out of here?” Bedan asked.

“Go gather your things and meet me back here. Don’t worry. You’ll be well taken care of.” Just as his predecessor, Dr. Kemel, had been.

No loose ends.

Khaled loaded his gun, clicking the magazine into place. “I’ll take care of Beck myself.”

Bedan nodded and rushed off.

He actually believed him. Such a fool. A brilliant fool, though. He’d created his masterpiece. It was finally complete and working. Bedan’s role had been served. There was no further use for him.

Khaled exhaled his wrath for Garrett Beck and stood, knowing the safeguards he’d put in place would buy him the time he needed to escape and for the other three trucks to set off for their destinations before Beck could stop them. He’d be too late, and it would cost him—and those he loved—their lives.

Striding to the rear office door, he punched in the code, opened the door, switched on the tunnel lights, and closed the door behind him. Moving quickly through the drafty underground tunnel, he hurried his way to safety and his waiting vehicle.

Luke carefully avoided the trip wire an inch inside the warehouse door. It was impressive that Ebeid had planned for unwanted visitors even at the secondary warehouse. Impressive, but sick.

Luke shook his head. A trip wire? That was so cliché. He’d have thought men of Ebeid’s and Bedan’s brilliance—disturbingly applied as that intelligence may be—could have come up with something more innovative.

He took another step in, realizing it had been rash and even a bit reckless for him not to wait to get properly suited up in hazmat gear, but as long as he didn’t enter the lab, he should be okay.

“We’re in gear and moving in,” Declan said over Luke’s comm.

Before Luke could respond, the alarm rang around him. It was odd working with a team. He’d always worked solo, or occasionally with a small tactical unit like the one Lauren had run. But certainly not on a full federal team like this.

“Watch out for booby traps,” Luke said. “This place is seriously—”

An explosion—small and contained, but unfortunately lethal for the agent who hadn’t heeded his instruction—sounded throughout the warehouse.

“. . . rigged,” Luke finished his sentence.

36

He should have known there was a reason the heat signatures were all in one quadrant. He knew Ebeid too well to fall for the man’s trap, but he’d been acting on instinct and adrenaline. If he’d stopped to think it through . . .

But it was too late now. At least they were in, and while losing an agent was awful, so far it had just been one casualty. Who knew how many would have been killed if they’d attempted to waltz in the warehouse front door. Knowing Ebeid, there was probably a rocket launcher aimed and ready for anyone foolish enough to try that approach. Ebeid was not a man to trifle with.

Declan approached Luke from his six, and he turned to greet Declan, Tanner, and Tim Barrows, who were following close behind.

“Ebeid knows we’re here. Let’s move.”

According to Declan, SWAT now had the place surrounded. No more trucks could leave, but one had already gotten away. Now they needed to ensure that Ebeid and Bedan did not.

Rushing across the next open expanse, a flare of warning shot through Luke, and he jarred Declan back, but Tim didn’t heed his halting signal, barreling forward as swiftly as he could until something clicked beneath his boot.

“Duck!” Luke hollered, lunging with Declan and Tanner behind an old conveyer belt base as the modified claymore mine shot projectiles with voracious power in all directions. All around them, agents dropped to the ground.

Something pierced Luke’s leg with splintering force, and once the arsenal of screws, ball bearings, and who knew what else finally ceased, they had a handful of agents down and in need of serious medical attention, but it was too late for Tim. He’d taken too many hits in too many vital places and was already gone.

Tanner swallowed back tears, her face reddening, clearly trying to contain the overwhelming sadness battling to break loose. She shifted her weight and coughed back what Luke could only assume was a sob.

Declan wrapped her in his arms, sheltering her for a moment as he called it in that they had agents down. He looked over Tanner’s bent head at Luke’s bleeding thigh. “You’ve got a screw sticking out of your leg.”

“I’m aware. It’s okay. Missed the femoral artery.” Thankfully. He ripped a length off the bottom of his shirt and, bracing his weight against the wall, with a grunt and extreme shot of blistering pain yanked the screw out and quickly wrapped the length of cloth tightly around the wound. It hadn’t hit the artery, but he was still bleeding at a decent clip.

“You okay, man?” Declan asked, his expression mirroring Luke’s pulsating pain.