Perfect Weapon. Amy J. Fetzer

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      Jack saw a black combat boot, then a dark pant leg, and found a body nestled like a sleeping child in the underbrush. Circling for unfriendlies before approaching, he knelt, the business end of his gun pressed to the man’s temple, just in case, though the hole in the man’s back that had blown flesh and fabric four inches wide was a real clue. So, his aim was dead on. Good, Jack thought. But was this guy number one, or number two? He’d no idea how many there were up here.

      He searched for identification, knowing there wouldn’t be any. Not if they were good—and they were. They’d infiltrated into this area without a sound, right under his nose, then slaughtered his friends and did God knew what else in the hills. He pulled off the dead man’s hood and pushed the body over.

      It was cocky not to wear Kevlar, he thought, frowning at the dead man’s face, hair. He yanked off the black gloves, peeling the fingers back. What the hell is this shit? Quickly, he hunted through the front pockets and found C-4 fuses, and a detonator. This ain’t Radio Shack crap, he thought, leaving it where he found it. Moving against the ground in slow increments, Jack found the machine pistol a couple yards away. It was cold. Since he’d no intention of anyone slipping past using it on him, he removed the ammo and disabled it, left the weapon for the Feds, then headed up the mountain. Toward the area where he’d heard motorcycles.

      One killer down. Satisfaction still didn’t taste nearly good enough.

      On the hill, he tracked the woman’s footprints into the dense woods till they just stopped. He covered the area like a madman, trying to find more and put his foot on something soft. He dug and found a parachute pack. No chute, no release buckles, just the pack. He gave it the once-over, knowing he’d have heard a plane, and although a silent fall was possible with a HALO drop from thirty-five thousand feet, no one had free-fallen while he was here. That meant the attackers had staked their territory before he and his friends arrived. Before five A.M. Or they simply hadn’t seen them until he and his buddies had advanced up the mountain. That would explain why the shooters hadn’t shot him out of his deer stand. Jack had been the only who hadn’t moved. He’d been point man and the others moved forward in a straight line toward him, pushing deer his way.

      Under the canopy of trees, he threw down the chute pack and looked around. Find the reason and you’ll find them. The woman could have free-fallen dressed like that. Not wise, but doable. Where had she come from and what were they after? Big questions, he thought. There was something hidden in the Shenandoah Mountains, something worth killing for. He let his gaze move over the forest and felt as if he was hunting down a grain of salt in a sea of snow. There was just too much ground to cover alone.

      Wind blew across his face, leaves rustled and he saw a reflection that appeared and vanished with the breeze. The ground was scraped near the flicker of light and moving slowly, he parted the brush and hit pay dirt. A laminated I.D. tag. The back bore a magnetic strip like a credit card, the front, a thumbprint and the woman’s picture. Dr. Sydney A. Hale. Doctor of what? And what the hell was a doctor doing out here in the cold with a man in black ops gear shooting at her?

      It didn’t add up, but it didn’t matter either. He’d never let this rest. Not until he had the satisfaction of a life for a life. He canvassed the area again before heading toward the cavern entrance below, each step magnifying the grief he wouldn’t allow himself to feel right now. If he did, he’d go postal on the wrong target. So he banked it.

      Right now, rage was his only comfort.

      8:45 A.M.

      The rank smell of blood and her own fear filled the back of the sedan. People were dead, killers were on the mountain and it was a stroke of luck she hadn’t been caught in the crossfire. The cold eyes of the hooded man flooded her mind. He saw me. And he really wanted to kill me. It wasn’t easy to accept that another human being wanted you six feet under. She didn’t have to ask why again. The gas. It was like candy to hungry terrorists. That meant someone directly involved had talked. The list was short, but someone had slipped up.

      Chilled, she reached to turn up the heat and realized the driver was breaking the speed limit about the same time the car rocked hard over uneven ground. She looked out the tinted windows at the terrain shadowed with trees. They were climbing higher. Oh, hell. It’s not D.C. Behind them, another car and an SUV pulled up and flanked them as the car skidded to a halt outside a cabin surrounded by trees. A man in a dark suit and heavy coat hurried to open the door. He offered his hand, but Syd ignored it, stepping out on her own power. He didn’t even glance at the blood covering her clothes and took her arm, two more men rushing close and walking backwards as he led her inside.

      She felt almost presidential.

      No one spoke, no one informed her where she was, or what was happening. Inside, she stood still as they moved around her in a choreographed dance of secure and lock. The interior had a great room, kitchen/dining, a hall leading off to the right. Lots of wood, and rustic. A nice retreat, but she could see that the windows had steel shields that would slide into place, the locks computerized. And there were, of course, five men with guns.

      A safe house. She let out a long slow breath, then heard the vehicles outside move off.

      “Someone tell me what happened.” Sydney waited for an answer.

      No one stopped doing their check of the house, going about their business with a silent determination. Creepy. Syd shivered just as lights blinked on, and warm air pushed up through the vents.

      Worry nibbled at her insides. “Gentlemen, it’s going to get rough if one of you doesn’t start talking.”

      Still nothing.

      “I’m working up to some major hysterics, people.” Only fair to warn them.

      They paused, glanced at each other, then one blond-haired man stepped near and stared down at her. He was gigantic, a Mac truck with arms. “We have orders to secure you and nothing more, ma’am.”

      Okay, they were keeping her safe. That was good. But she needed to know more and somebody had better start talking. “Then get on your nifty radios and find out what happened! Why didn’t the alarms and sensors go off? How did those people get inside my lab? Where is the rest of my team?”

      “Ma’am, you need to calm down.”

      Sydney removed the gun from her waistband. It was muddied СКАЧАТЬ