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There was only one other place on the island that would give her the position she needed to have a clear shot at Kimball. The guard tower was just down and to the south of the main house. It was built from stucco and glass to match the villa, and it resembled a turret, though it had a flat roof.
“Grim Reaper, is the fuse lit?” she asked, referring to the explosives he was constructing all over the island.
“We’re lit. What do you need?”
“I need a spotter. Meet me at the guard tower at the south end of the island.”
“Roger that.”
“The scientist has been taken care of,” Jack said. “I’m crawling through the rafters in the main house, and I’ve got Gabe in my sights. Kimball has him in a room on the southwest side. Kimball’s showing him off like a damned prize. No one is talking about the auction anymore. If they leave him alone, I can get him out, but if I go down there now I’ll be dead before my feet touch the floor.”
The guard tower came into view, and Grace didn’t slow her momentum. She brought her pistol up and took out the two guards at the bottom. Logan met her at the stairs, and he covered her as she went up to the top level, dispatching the remaining two guards.
“You’re all clear,” Logan said.
“Call out if you need help,” Grace said as he went back downstairs to guard her back. She opened the sliding glass windows that surrounded the top of the tower and slid out onto what could loosely be called a fire escape. She replaced her pistol at the small of her back and climbed onto the flat roof.
The rain had steadily picked up throughout the morning, and visibility was getting more difficult by the second. She lay down flat, ignoring the wet that seemed to surround her from all sides, and placed her rifle on a stand to keep it stable.
“Shit, I can’t see them from here.” She looked again through her scope, but all she could make out from the angled corner room was a single arm holding a drink. “You’ve got to get them out of that room, Jack. I need a better shot.”
“Just a minute,” he answered. “Something’s about to happen.”
* * *
Gabe sat up as straight as he could in the chair Kimball had placed him in, and he stared ahead at the men and woman he’d betrayed before they found out his true identity. He didn’t make a sound when Gabrielle Montpellier—a woman who was more ruthless than any man in the room and who’d once ordered a bombing at a French elementary school to gain her way into this select group of terrorists—pushed her manicured thumb into the exit wound at the front of his shoulder. He didn’t even glance her way as she casually rinsed the blood off her thumb in the glass of champagne she was handed by one of Kimball’s staff.
They all took their turns trying to make his pain worse, and he knew they’d eventually get what they wanted. He wouldn’t stay conscious much longer if he didn’t stop the bleeding.
“I didn’t come here to torture this man,” a voice said from the back of the room. “I’ve already had the opportunity to do so, and I’m bored with your party. I want the weapon.”
Tussad’s voice was as familiar to Gabe as his own, and he held himself rigidly still so he wouldn’t go after the man’s throat. He wouldn’t make it far, and all he’d get for his effort was another bullet in his back.
“I’m so glad you brought us back to our purpose, Tussad. I can always count on you,” Kimball said.
“Where is the weapon?” Gabrielle asked. “You cannot expect us to pay your outrageous opening bid without seeing a demonstration.”
“Your demonstration will be starting in the next few minutes,” Kimball said. “The great thing about this formula is that you can adjust how quickly you want it to respond. It can have a delay of up to twenty-four hours, or it can show itself in a matter of minutes. I think you’ll enjoy the results as much as I have. Why don’t we all go into the dining room? There are plenty of chairs, and the floor is tile. Things are going to get messy.”
“Is Mr. Brennan not our demonstration?” Tussad asked.
“Not for this particular session. Once you get an idea of what the weapon can do, we’ll start the bidding. The winner can use Mr. Brennan as their guinea pig. Or should I call you Ghost?” Kimball asked, leaning forward so Gabe had no choice but to look him in the eyes.
The others filed out of the room, but Kimball stayed behind. “Your wife should be dead just about now. And the rest of your team. My men know where they’re hiding, and they know about the boat you have stashed just off the island. I’ll keep you alive until I get word they’re all dead. It seems fitting you should be the last.”
Kimball saluted with two fingers and left Gabe alone in the room. He heard the lock snick shut on the outside of the door and Kimball give orders to his guards to keep a close watch. It wasn’t until he was truly alone that he allowed himself to slump down in the chair. He was trapped in an oversized media room that had the bad fortune to have white carpet and white suede chairs grouped around small round tables. A large screen sat behind him, covering the entire wall, white velvet curtains flanking each side. A full bar and kitchen sat to his right, and a bank of windows with the shades mostly pulled down sat on his left. There wasn’t a lot to work with.
He tapped the button on his watch that gave him direct communication with his command center. Unfortunately, his command center was stuck in a boat several miles from shore.
“Dragon, do you copy?” Gabe rasped.
Gabe used his good arm to pull the top half of his wetsuit down so his chest was bared and he could see how bad the wound at his shoulder was.
It was bad. Really bad.
“I copy, Ghost. It’s good to hear your voice.”
“That’s a nice change,” Gabe said. “Has everyone checked in?”
