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“On your knees,” a woman shouted from the platform where seconds earlier Keiko had stood, holding court with the press.
Through the fading smoke, she saw all of the scientists kneel on the stage. Abigail among them. Her friend was deathly white as a woman held a gun to their heads.
“Bring Keiko Sato to me,” she shouted. “Now!”
Mace jumped over something and then banged through a door, all the while carrying her under his arm. The door slammed shut behind them, blocking Keiko’s view of the terrace, leaving her with the image of Abigail kneeling before Freedom.
Leaving Abigail alone without Keiko to protect her.
Chapter Eight
Red Zone Warriors surveillance vehicle
Four blocks from CommTECH Research Facility
Houston, Northern Territory
“We’ve lost communication with Mace,” Hunter said.
Striker looked over at their tech guy. “Is it just our comm feed, or is all communication down? What about the news cameras?”
Hunter hit some buttons, and the main news channels appeared on several of the screens that covered the interior walls of the van. No one had coverage of the press conference.
“This isn’t good.” Friday paled. “The last thing we heard was a freedom cry from that Scottish man.”
“Don’t say it,” Striker ordered Hunter, whose lips were twitching.
“Say what?” Her large blue eyes stared up at him.
“Nothing, bébé.” He rubbed his thumb over her lower lip. There were things his genius wife would never understand, and a movie reference from over a hundred years earlier was one of them.
“That really can’t be good.” Hunter pointed at a screen, then clicked some keys.
An image of the terrace where the press conference was being held filled the wall, but it was a very different scene from the one they’d witnessed just minutes earlier. Reporters sat on the ground in front of the dais, their hands on their heads. On the stage, scientists knelt, their hands tied behind them. One was the Red Team’s target, Rueben Granger. Another was Keiko’s friend Abigail. A fight had taken place, and the camera scanned to show the viewers the bodies of CommTECH security lying where they’d fallen on the expensive painted tiles. Around the edge of the terrace, masked gunmen held weapons on their hostages.
But there was no sign of Mace.
Friday’s fingers clamped around Striker’s wrist. “You don’t think…”
“Mace is too stubborn to die,” Gray Hanson drawled from the front seat of the van, where he sat rubbing the silver-tinged stubble on his chin. As usual, the man seemed disconnected from what was happening around him. Something Striker would worry about another day, after he’d dealt with their current crisis.
“Plus, he’s massive. If he was dead, we’d see the body for sure,” Hunter said.
“He isn’t dead.” Sandi came up to stand behind them. Her tone made it clear that she would not allow her brother to die. As though her word on the matter was enough to prevent it.
A young woman with short blond hair and luminous white skin walked forward to stare into the camera. “My name is Susan Neal. I am a Freedom fighter. For too long we have lived under the oppression of the conglomerates, our lives dictated to us by companies who care nothing for the value of their people, only the value of their stock. We are being held hostage by the companies who rule us. And we will no longer stand for it.”
The camera closed in on her face. “We are controlling all signals in and out of this building. The CommTECH security team has been eliminated. We are in charge of this research facility now.”
She turned her back on the camera and strode to the scientists. She held up a strap. “This is an EMP band.” She threw it to one of her masked team.
The man fastened the band around the head of Rueben Granger, who whimpered like a kicked puppy.
Susan gave the scientist a cold smile before turning back to the camera. “We demand that Miriam Shepherd call a fair and open election, to ensure that this territory is run by elected officials and not by a company that’s more interested in profit than in its citizens. We want to return to an unbiased system of government. One that favors the poor and not the interests of business. If the CEO of CommTECH does not meet our demands to start the process for a fair and public election within the next hour, we will eliminate one member of this world-class scientific team. After that, we will kill one more scientist or member of the press each hour until our demands are met. If our demands still aren’t met by this time tomorrow, Keiko Sato will die in front of her millions of fans.” She held up a tiny black box. “A flick of the switch will ensure that the chips CommTECH implanted to enslave their people wil
l instead kill them. This is on you, Miriam Shepherd. You and your lust for power. You and your never-ending greed for wealth.”
She turned back to the scientists and smiled. “Tell me, Miriam, just how important is your head of tech? How valuable are these world-class scientists? How badly do you want them to live? You have an hour to decide.”
