Under Fire Page 11

  “You mean like sarin or anthrax?”

  “Well, anthrax is actually not a nerve agent. It’s a spore. Biological not chemical, but…Stabilzon will carry pretty much anything you wanted to infiltrate a person’s cells with to wreak havoc.”

  “Anything?” He detected a change in her tone. Dread. A dawning understanding of the serious shit she’d landed in. He said nothing for a moment, debating how much to tell her. “Yeah, anything. The bad stuff in chemical weapons, the bad stuff in biological weapons—”

  “Wait a minute!” Lauren stopped and faced him with wide horror-filled eyes and a slack jaw. “You made some…doomsday molecule?”

  Jackson grimaced. “Yes and no.”

  Before yesterday, when Rick had spewed his extensive knowledge of highly sensitive, top secret information, Jackson had believed his work was secure, his link to the more deadly potential for his invention safe. But Rick had blown his sense of security and privacy to hell. If terrorists already knew about Stabilzon, how could it hurt to give Lauren the truth?

  “I didn’t set out to find a ‘doomsday molecule’, as you put it. Plenty of research has been done finding dendrimers or nanosensors that will help fight disease and serve as man-made antibodies. That—” He poked the air with a finger for emphasis. “—was my intent.”

  He shifted the backpack, stepped over a stump and groaned. What a mess. “I was looking for a drug-delivery system with more universal applications. Nanotechnology in this area has historically been very specific. It all has to do with the chemistry involved and the molecular structure of—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Fast forward through the chemistry lesson to the part about how this molecule you meant to be good turned out to be bad.”

  “Stabilzon, at least in trials, has proven applicable in a wide range of circumstances and conditions. Diabetes, cancer, even the common cold. But that’s all in theory and in controlled laboratory tests.”

  Lauren narrowed her gaze on him as she listened, clearly trying very hard to understand what he explained.

  “None of it is ready for real life applications…yet.”

  “But the military thinks Stabilzon can be used as a weapon? Is that why Rick wants it?”

  “With Stabilzon added to a chemical bomb, the chemical agent—say sarin or VX—would be hundreds of times more effective. Right now, chemical weapons have limited potential for inflicting casualties because they’re subject to the environment. Wind disperses the chemical agent, diluting its concentration. Sun breaks it down. It’s almost impossible to create conditions on the battlefield where a chemical weapon would cause mass casualties.”

  She gave him a skeptical look. “Then why are our troops in the Mid-East lugging chem suits and gas masks with them?”

  “Chemical weapons are harmful, don’t get me wrong. No one wants to breathe sarin or cyanide gas. There’s some pretty nasty stuff out there. Nerve gases will screw you up but good. But for mass casualties, deaths, chemical weapons are basically ineffective as battlefield arsenal. They’re currently most dangerous in confined areas. Think inside buildings or tunnels where there’s no wind to blow it away, no rain to dilute it. Where air is recirculated and breathed again by the victims.”

  “Like the sarin attack in the subway in Japan?”

  “Exactly. But even in that case only twelve people died. Hundreds went to the hospital…” He paused. “But if Stabilzon were added to the mix the numbers would be reversed. Hundreds would have died. Even the tiniest exposure would allow the Stabilzon to penetrate the skin and work its way through a person’s system to be released in the cells throughout the body, essentially bypassing the body’s natural defenses. In the case of the attack in Japan, the sarin would have stayed in the victims’ system, working on them until they finally died.”

  “Geez, nice little product you made there, Jackson. Guess you’re real proud of yourself.”

  His temper sparked, spurred as much by guilt as her prodding. “I didn’t invent Stabilzon to be a weapon. Its potential applications in medicine are mind blowing! But something with universal good uses also means universal bad uses. It had glitches I was working out, but…”

  “You had to know its military potential though. I mean, you’re the genius scientist. Surely you knew what sick people with a destructive mind-set would do with something like this.”

  He dragged a hand over his face. “By the time my work had advanced to the point all the implications were evident…” It was too late. He swallowed the rest of his sentence.

  “So you’ve made a really small, really smart molecule that can both manipulate cells to cure disease and deliver agents of death. Have I got that right?”

  “It’s a lot more complicated than that. The technology hasn’t been proven in human trials yet and—”

  “Jackson! A simple yes or no will do.”

  He plucked a leaf off a low-hanging branch and shredded it. “Basically. Yes.”

  She blew her bangs out of her eyes with a puff. “If Stabilzon is just theoretical at this point, why all the fuss?”

  “It’s more than theory. We’ve gotten it to work on rats in the lab.”

  “So then it’s a reality?”

  “No.” He wasn’t sure why he was arguing the semantics. The end result was the same. “Mass production of Stabilzon is one problem. Besides the logistics of recreating it in volume, the costs would be outrageous. And we still have to prove it can work in real life settings. Not just in the lab. We haven’t run the human trials we need, but…”

  “But there is enough of this stuff, this Stabilzon to run trials? Enough to say…make one of those really deadly chemical bombs? Isn’t that what Rick wants?”

  Jackson cleared his throat, guilt biting hard. “Yeah, that’s his plan.”

  And the death and destruction would lay squarely at Jackson’s feet. The blood on his hands.

  Unless…

  If he could find a way to stop Rick and his band of merry men, maybe he could undo some of the damage he’d caused.

  Jackson gritted his teeth so hard his jaw hurt.

  Forget “if”. He had to stop Rick. He would keep Stabilzon out of the madman’s hands. Or die trying.

  Chapter Ten

  Lauren’s feet were killing her. And her back hurt from carrying the supply pack. She’d wrangled it away from Jackson after listening to him hiss in pain one time too many. The macho idiot had probably re-injured his shoulder thinking he had to be a man and carry the huge pack for her.

  But she could only blame her headache on the overwhelming and mind-boggling information she’d pried out of Jackson. Munching the last of her power bar snack, she jammed the wrapper into her pocket.

  She wished she didn’t know. Why had she thought she had to know what he was involved in? The devastating potential of his Stabi-whatever. Chemical bombs. Terrorists.

  Holy hell. Her head swam, and she stumbled over a root she should have seen.

  Jackson caught her elbow and steadied her. “Whoa. Easy there.”

  He didn’t release her arm, and the warmth of his fingers sank all the way to the bone. A firm, protective hold. Yet gentle. The overwhelming effect of his touch baffled her, muddying her thoughts even more. My God, she was around men all the time! So why did her bones seem to melt simply from Jackson’s touch?

  His brown eyes were full of compassion and concern, the way they had been when he held her after finding Riley’s body. Reluctantly she pulled her arm out of his grasp. Clearing the sudden thickness from her throat, she said, “I’m okay.”

  He nodded, but his eyes said he knew she was lying. That he knew how his revelations had shaken her. “The rain made the leaves pretty slick, huh?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” She rubbed her forehead where a tension headache coiled like a viper waiting to strike. “Listen I…I need to excuse myself for a minute.”

  His dark eyebrows jerked into a deep V. “Something wrong?”

  “Just the
call of nature, Jackson. Don’t get your boxers in a knot.”

  “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  Rolling her eyes, she slipped the supply pack off her shoulders to thunk on the ground. “I’m fine. Wait here, okay? I’ll be right back.”

  He gave her a skeptical once over. Sighed. “Okay.”

  Courtesy and protectiveness were one thing but—sheesh! Didn’t the man even think she could handle peeing by herself?

  Dogged by the notion she was more irritated by her schoolgirl reaction to Jackson’s touch than his over-protectiveness, Lauren turned and marched deeper into the woods. She walked until she thought she was far enough to be out of his view.

  She’d just unfastened her fire pants when she heard the loud crack of a snapping twig. She raised her head and scanned the woods, thinking maybe Jackson had followed her after all.

  Damn the man, he just wouldn’t listen to her! She’d never met a more stubborn, infuriating man in all her—

  A flash of color, out-of-place among the greens and browns of the woods, snagged her attention. Bright blue.

  Except Jackson was wearing Birdman’s navy shirt. A prickle on her neck told her something wasn’t right. She refastened her pants, peering deeper into the shifting shadows of the trees. “Jackson?”

  She saw the bright blue again. Moving.

  Heard another crack. Footsteps. The flash of sunlight on metal.

  Lauren gasped and dove to the ground without thinking why. Without questioning the impulse. A split second later the bark on the tree behind where she’d stood splintered, rained down on her.

  A man emerged from the shadows. Not Jackson. A man with a lethal glare and a steady hand. And a gun aimed at her head.

  “Jackson!” she screamed. She rolled to the right, narrowly escaping the bullet that zinged past her ear. Leaves and dirt sprayed her face. Adrenaline wooshed through her blood. She used the surge of energy to scramble to her feet and dash through the veil of low branches. “Jackson! Run!”

  When she reached him, Jackson was digging in Birdman’s PG bag. He pulled out her gun and flicked off the safety. Lauren skidded to a stop only long enough to grab the PG bag and sputter breathlessly, “Man…shooting. Run!”

  She abandoned the cumbersome backpack and took off. Down a steep slope. Tangled weeds tripped her. Limbs slapped her face. Briars clawed her arms.

  She heard Jackson behind her, his labored breaths, the thrash and shuffle as he ran through the brush.

  Another gunshot exploded through the forest.

  “Go, go, go!” Jackson shouted.

  Lauren pumped her legs, sprinting for all she was worth. Not looking back. Fueled by fear.

  When she no longer heard Jackson, panic spread through her like poison. She stumbled to a halt. Turned. Heard another shot reverberate through the trees. “Jackson!”

  More gunfire followed. Lauren searched the woods frantically, listening for Jackson over her gasping breaths. Finally, he appeared, racing through the trees. Darting behind a large pine, he turned and squeezed off a shot from her gun.

  “Go!” he shouted again. “Don’t wait for me!”

  She hesitated. Torn. Not wanting to leave him. Not wanting to get separated. They had a better chance of survival together.

  She waited until she saw him running her direction again. The flash of gunfire lit the shadows of the pines behind him. The man firing at them was on Jackson’s heels, almost literally.

  Spinning, she scrambled further down the steep hillside.

  Her feet slipped and skittered in the leaves. Ahead she saw a break in the trees, a spot where sunlight streamed down brightly, unhampered by the veil of branches. The hill dipped sharply at that point, disappearing as if the earth opened to a great void. She puzzled over the illusion for a moment until she heard the rush of water.

  And realized what lay beyond.

  Lauren glanced behind her to warn Jackson. She slid on the wet leaves and landed on her butt, hard enough to knock the wind from her.

  Jackson raced up to her, grabbed her hand and yanked her to her feet as he hurdled past. “Come on! Hurry!”

  “Jackson,” she sputtered, trying to suck air into her lungs, “Wait!”

  But he rushed toward the drop-off. Scrambled, trying to stop. Skidded in the loose rocks.

  Lauren held her breath.

  He dropped the gun. His arms flailed. He pivoted and flopped on his stomach, grabbing at the scrubby weeds.

  Too little, too late. His momentum carried him over the edge.

  “Jackson!” Lauren hurried to the cliff. Not wanting to know how far Jackson had fallen. Fearing the worst. Praying for a miracle.

  Sidling up to the drop-off, she peered down. Way down. A different sort of chill slithered through her. Her fear of heights. Some sixty or more feet below, a river thundered down the steep mountain. Whitewater churned as it rushed downhill.

  Jackson dangled precariously over the river, clinging to a small tree that grew from the side of the hill.

  He cried out in pain, and she realized he held the thin branch with his left hand. Putting his weight on his bad shoulder.

  Oh God, oh God! Please let him be all right!

  Behind her the gunman crashed through the woods, closing in. She snatched the gun Jackson had dropped and aimed at the forest.

  “Give it up, McKay!” the man shouted. “I have your kid! Give yourself up or she will suffer!”

  Her hands shook. Badly. Even if she could squeeze off a shot, the bullet would fly wide, miss her target.

  She was caught. Trapped between a cliff and a killer.

  Stay calm. Think.

  As with a parachute malfunction, she knew she had precious few seconds to make a life and death decision.

  “Lauren!” Jackson shouted.

  Warily, she glanced over the edge again. Jackson released the branch. Plummeted into the water.

  Oh God! She judged distance, obstacles. Tied the strap of the PG bag on her belt loop. Jammed the gun in the bag. Backed up several steps.

  “McKay!” The man fired a shot that whistled by her ear.

  Go!

  Lauren charged the edge of the precipice. Leaped out.

  Freefalling. No chute. No reserve.

  Her arms and legs bicycled. Her stomach somersaulted.

  She gulped air then sliced the water feet first. The icy river closed over her head, powerful currents sucking her under. She was shoved into a rock, scraping her knees. Spun around. Pulled down. Tumbled.

  Lungs burning, she fought her way to the surface and gasped for oxygen. She paddled and twisted then turned her legs downstream and raised her feet. Battling the rushing water to keep her head up, she floated. And searched for Jackson.

  She glimpsed navy tossing through the whitewater ahead of her. He fought the current, trying to swim to the bank. A deadly waste of energy.

  “Jack—” She choked on the water that splashed in her face. Arching her back, she using her waning strength to keep her head above the undulating river. She had to get instructions to Jackson. She only prayed he’d hear her over the thundering water.

  His head bobbed in and out of the waves.

  The next time he surfaced, she shouted in a voice that would make Boomer proud, “Jackson! Don’t fight the current!”

  He went under again.

  She was washing downstream, past him. Losing her chance.

  Keep him in sight!

  He came up again, still trying to swim.

  “Float!” she screamed. “Feet first!”

  His head turned toward her. Yes! He heard her.

  “Don’t fight the current! Lift your fe—!” River water doused her again, and she sputtered. “Float!”

  She’d washed far enough downstream now she couldn’t see him any more. She paddled some with her hands and angled her feet to steer herself through the rapids.

  She’d lost Jackson. All she could do was save herself. And pray he would follow her directions. Pray for a calmer st
retch where they could swim to the bank. Pray they didn’t smash into a rock, didn’t hit any waterfalls…

  She shivered. They needed a miracle.

  Rick stood at the top of the cliff and stared downstream. So he’d been right. McKay had help. A woman.

  Not that anyone could help McKay now.

  Rick looked at the whorls of thundering water, the giant rocks, the pounding current. Survivable. But McKay and the woman would have to be damn lucky to come out of that river unscathed. They’d be bear food by morning.

  “Shit!” His frustration echoed off the rock walls of the ravine. His best chance to get Stabilzon washed down the tumbling mountain river. His hope to build a chemical weapon with the power to take out the entire Congress in a spectacle the world wouldn’t soon forget had escaped.

  But the institution responsible for poisoning Pop still had to pay. And the president’s State of the Union address was still the time. Before God and every network camera, the men and women who sent Pop to ’Nam and doused him with Agent Orange would see how it felt to choke on noxious gas and die slowly, painfully.

  Maybe he wouldn’t take them all out, like he could with the Stabilzon, but he’d have revenge for Pop.

  Beads of sweat wet his face, and he swiped them away with shaking hands. Frustration vibrated through Rick as he stood silently in the dappled sunlight, catching his breath. The moist air held the loamy scent of decaying trees and lush pine laced subtly with smoke. He jammed his pistol back into the waist of his jeans then stared down at the tumbling river. Thinking. Planning. Now what?

  Over the roar of the water, a panicked squawking filtered up to him. Unable to identify the noise, Rick paused, glancing again over the edge of the cliff to the water. He saw nothing at first, but then a large twig nest, lined with down caught his eye. An empty nest.

  With his gaze, he followed the squawking sound down several feet to a small ridge in the cliff where a tiny, awkward hatchling floundered. Each flop and wobble took the baby bird closer to the edge of the ridge and certain death.

  Rick moved closer for a better look. The bird seemed to be a young eagle or hawk. Noble birds. Hunters. It’d be a pity for this hatchling to die. With a weak grin, he remembered the numerous animals he and Cara had nursed back to health when he was a kid—young birds, squirrels and rabbits he’d found in the yard or while hunting with Pop.