The Impossible Alliance. Candace Irvin
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Rajalla had long since passed behind him. Even with night-vision goggles, the remaining flickering pinpricks were few and far between. Though he couldn’t yet make out the closing mountainous terrain, he already knew the only hazards between his silk chute and DeBruzkya’s private compound were the thousand and one massive pines crowding the jagged crags.
Years of whizzing through the clouds warned him he’d passed the halfway point, as did the gradually warming air. A quick glance at his altimeter and his watch confirmed it.
Ten thousand feet, 2410 hours.
Time to lock and load.
He slipped his right hand inside his pressure suit and retrieved his MP-5, automatically flicking the safety off with his thumb as he reintroduced the submachine gun to the night air. He reached inside his suit again, this time punching the kickoff button with his left hand. A high-pitched tone followed.
One covert transmission sent.
His confirmation arrived five seconds later as the terrain below came to deafening—and blinding—life.
Minutes later, as fellow ARIES operative Marty Lyons and his band of masquerading marauders lobbed half the CIA’s local arsenal at the northern facade of DeBruzkya’s compound, Jared’s own boots slammed onto the granite roof of the castle’s southernmost tower. He rolled with the force, ignoring the shards of glass that ripped into his pressure suit. He severed the lines of his chute as he came to his feet. A quick snap of his wrists deflated the billowing silk. He expended precious seconds whipping the fabric into a tight ball, then raced across the roof, stopping to cram the chute into the first ventilation shaft he hit along the way.
Christ, Marty!
Jared hit the deck as the trail from a stray rocket lit up the night sky. The moment the explosion died out, he was up and running again. Marty and his men continued to pound at the northern facade of the castle as he tore into his rucksack and yanked out the waiting coils of rappelling rope. He dropped the bulk of the nylon to the roof and used one end to form his seat, threading the other through a makeshift pulley. Seconds later he scrambled over the granite ledge, his face and chest, as well as his submachine gun, front and center as he bounded down the wall Australian-style, face-first toward the now unguarded basement door at the base of the southern tower.
He left his ropes dangling in the breeze and tore into his ruck again, this time snagging a block of C-4. He molded the plastic explosive to the array of dead bolts, then played out enough time fuse and pre-rigged the caps. He ripped off his night-vision goggles and glanced at his watch as he sought cover in an identical recessed doorway ten feet away.
He jerked the ring on the fuse igniter.
Ten seconds later, the C-4 blew the locks off the door. Jared wrenched the metal slab open and scrambled down the stone steps. He was already halfway down the main corridor by the time the smoke cleared, night-vision goggles firmly in place as he compared the doors and secondary corridors he passed against the floor plan ARIES agent Robert Davidson had managed to obtain before he was forced to evacuate Rebelia. The hair on the back of Jared’s neck snapped to attention as he passed the first door that didn’t belong. And then the second.
He slammed the demons down as he swapped his goggles for the thermal imaging scope stashed in his ruck. A solitary heat source glowed within. It wasn’t moving.
Morrow.
Though the scarred slab separating them was three doors away from the one Davidson’s source had pegged, Jared’s instincts locked in. They wouldn’t budge. Unfortunately neither would the door.
If he blew this door, the resulting internal vibrations would announce his presence within the castle with all the finesse of a fragmentation grenade chewing through a sheet of rice paper. He double-checked his watch. What the hell—five minutes from now it wouldn’t matter. He was almost out of time and definitely out of options. He grabbed another block of C-4 from his ruck, this time rigging half of it. Seconds later, the locks on the wooden door followed the explosive fate of the outer metal one. With them went his sole chance at culling enough time to execute a quick search for DeBruzkya’s cache of purloined jewels before the exfiltration chopper arrived.
Jared vaulted into the room and shoved a set of portable hospital curtains aside. Bypassing the empty bed, he leaned over the occupied one and peered through the darkness and still swirling smoke. The man’s eyes were closed, but Jared recognized him instantly, despite the bandages and missing glasses. He leaned closer and checked the man’s breathing. Prayed.
Razor-sharp steel kissed Jared’s throat.
His estimation of Morrow shot up a notch. The man wasn’t unconscious, after all. Not with those eyes wide open.
“Name’s Jared Sullivan, ARIES. We met three months ago in a guest room in Director Hatch’s house.”
Recognition flooded brown eyes as the scalpel clattered to the floor. Morrow’s relief was palpable. Humbling. Unlike many Jared had served with over the years, it wasn’t the adrenaline or the toys that had kept him coming back for more.
It was that look. It made it all worthwhile.
It made this particular job worthwhile.
He saw Morrow’s mouth open, heard the air rip past his lips. “Where?”
“Later. Can you stand?”
He caught the man’s answering nod—and tore into his medic bag, anyway. Given the wobble punctuating the motion, Morrow needed the boost the amphetamines would provide. Jared scanned the makeshift hospital room as he snagged the syringe from his bag, biting back a curse as he recognized the array of machines and monitors. There was no way he could risk shooting Morrow up with speed now. He pitched the syringe, still capped, to the floor and leaned down to heft Morrow over his shoulder, clearing the still-smoldering doorway before the man could argue.
“W-wait! There may be someone else. A—”
“No time. Sorry.”
He truly was. But he had his orders—and his package. He carried the former engraved in his brain, the latter locked over his shoulder as he headed for the basement’s main corridor. DeBruzkya’s goons would be arriving soon. Even the stash of gems estimated to rival the contents of the main vault at Fort Knox would have to wait for another day. Another opportunity.
Yesterday morning Morrow had clearly been Hatch’s priority. Today the man was his.
Unfortunately Morrow opted to struggle. “Dammit, you’ve got to—”
Jared deliberately clipped the geologist’s head into his shoulder to muffle the rest, relieved when the sudden motion also caused the man to pass out. Right now he didn’t need the distraction. Especially when he rounded the basement corner and spied the two camouflaged goons examining the remains of the outer door he’d blown on his way in. He was about to receive distraction enough as it was. The first goon raised the barrel of his rifle.
That was as far as he got.
Two quick bursts from his own submachine gun knocked the men down and swept their AK-47s across the stone floor. Jared shouldered Morrow up the moldy basement steps and into the shadowy night, then dumped the geologist at the base of the ropes he’d left dangling down the wall. Thirty seconds later, he’d attached the risers and hefted Morrow again. The moment he locked his boots into the risers, the man’s body jerked to life.
“Goddammit, you just can’t leave the—”
A massive explosion rocked the castle walls.
Jared blessed Marty and his team once more as he used the rappelling ropes and risers to quickly scale the remaining thirty feet of granite separating him and his living package from the roof. That chopper had damned well better be waiting by the time they arrived. Halfway up, gunfire riddled the night air, along with the length of the castle wall.
Christ.
Someone must have discovered the bodies and sounded the alarm. Jared instinctively tightened his hold on Morrow with one