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She laughed softly, groaning. “I don’t care what anyone says, Volk. You do have a sense of humor.”
He tossed the shirt at her with a scowl. “Don’t make me regret saving your ass,” he growled with affection.
She rose, donned the shirt, the tails almost touching her knees. “Bastards didn’t even buy me dinner,” she groused.
With the keys in his hand and nothing for a weapon but the cattle prod, he went to the door. Of course, he didn’t really need a weapon.
“They injected me with something,” she whispered.
“Yeah, me, too.”
“The Gruber Vial?”
“That’s my guess. It’s how they control captives, then eliminate witnesses and hostages when they’re done with their reign of terror. Have you found out anything more about them?”
“Not much. Vak and Savic are definitely working with them…the leader of this group.”
“How do you know that?”
“I heard them talking on the plane.” She touched Volk’s arm. “This isn’t like any terror group I’ve ever investigated. He doesn’t have any followers, just mercenaries and people he bribes to carry out the acts. Whoever is behind this has a personal vendetta against America. That’s why the attacks are three-pronged. He’s ruthless.”
Volk unlocked the door and turned to her. “We’re going to find out who he is and we’re going to stop him.”
She nodded and fist-bumped him. “Damn straight.”
“We need to find something to cut these vials out.”
He pulled the door open a crack and peered out. No one. The room exited into a hallway with the same rock walls. This base was underground in the middle of the jungle. That had to take some planning. His gut clenched. Whoever was behind this had set up everything way in advance. Volk had to wonder how many more places on the planet were already prepared and ready to go in the next leg of this terrorist's plan. The CIA and NSA had delved into the background of the mercenaries who had carried out the attacks in Paris, but so far, they had hit a dead end. These guys were paid in uncut diamonds, no way to trace them and no way to find out who was behind the source of the funds. In his experience from the war on terror, following the source of the money had been a direct line to the financial guys supporting the network. Except in this case, the money was truly untraceable. All of the mercenaries who had been hired for the attacks in Paris were each paid in diamonds, a million dollars worth.
But this underground hideout and HQ had to have been built by someone. If he and Zorra could get out of here with the coordinates, investigations into the construction could unearth some leads or clues. Right now, they had nothing.
He stepped out and Zorra followed behind him. The hallway led both ways. “To the right,” she whispered. “I memorized the turns when they brought me in and thought I was unconscious.”
Zorra had an uncanny sense of direction and in his experience working with her, she’d never lost her way. He went right. They walked through the underground base until he came to a door.
It was locked. He used the key to gain access.Jackpot. They had found the command center. That meant he could send out a signal or something. He entered the room and headed toward one of the computers. Behind him, Zorra stumbled, and he turned and caught her. Suddenly, nausea rolled in his gut, and then he got light-headed.
“Get to the computer,” Zorra said, her eyes glazing over. “Thank you for coming for me.” She crumpled and he eased her to the floor. Staggering over to the computer, he crashed into the desk, then held on as his head reeled and his vision started to go gray.
They’d activated the vial. He was almost out of time. He touched the keyboard. He had to get through to Karasu. It was his only chance to alert them to this base. But he wasn’t going to make it. Spying a laptop on the desk, he grabbed it and slid it as far as he could under the console. When they came for him, and he knew they would, hopefully they would find this laptop.
He rose, losing his balance and sitting heavily in the chair. The poison overwhelmed him, and he slumped over the keyboard. His last thoughts surprisingly weren’t about his job or saving more people.
His only thoughts were for Brigitte and Etienne and how much regret he felt that he wouldn’t get to see them again. And pain for his partner who would forever blame herself for not being with him. He knew that kind of pain and loss. His love for Papillion, Brigitte, Etienne, and Karasu mingled. His partner would go on. She’d triumph. These bastards were going down.
* * *
Preacher,the team, Karasu, and the GAT commander all sat at the conference table waiting for Rose, who was talking on the phone. The minister had been here and gone, needing to speak with the president to get authorization to assemble all sixty GAT members as a precaution.
Rose was shaken and pissed. He understood her reaction to what they had found beyond the hotel. So many dead, the sticky labels NSH had used to cover the DEA patches on the uniforms of the dead, a blight to the honor of those men and women who had gone into that ambush, ready and willing to fight the good fight against the Cortez Cartel. Drug running had morphed into something so ugly it took the kind of people as dedicated as the DEA to wrestle the monsters and take away their power.
Their leader, Nancy Chambers, had been taken to the hospital. She had been devastated and understandably so. There was no word on her yet.
The other chilling revelation to come out of this attack was that NSH was working with America's enemies…enemy of my enemy is my friend took on a whole new meaning here. They had colluded and NSH probably didn’t have to offer them a damn thing to lure the DEA into their trap.
He had a feeling his team would be tracking down some Cortez Cartel members. Preacher was ready to get into some action with them.
GQ’s discovery of the massacre had gotten them all out of bed, a warm, cozy bed full of Karasu. They still hadn’t had much time to talk to each other. They had been too busy screwing each other’s brains out. But he was prepared to talk. He wanted her to be able to tell him everything and trust him with her innermost secrets. To do that, he had to trust her with his own demons.
