Operation Stealing Christmas Page 22

  Terrifying thought. One that meant every person on Maggie’s team was acting solo, without any coordination from Home Base or any backup from outside the facility—or within it.

  God help them all.

  Her mouth dry, her throat raw, she inched her fingers over the rough plywood, sliding...sliding...sliding blindly along the short-stack wall.

  Her fingers met with air. She’d run out of wall. Imagining where she was in her mind, she stopped. Fourteen steps and she’d be at the inside wall of the secret room. Then she could slide along it to the slatted opening.

  She silently counted off three steps and then tried communicating again. “Darcy? Justin? Anyone?” Who would have thought she’d need night-vision gear on this assignment? But, man, she wished she had it now.

  No answer.

  Four, five, six. She unclipped the two-way, praying that while she wasn’t currently receiving messages, she could transmit one. That Darcy would work around the jamming device, punch a hole in the block. Sometimes that was possible, sometimes it wasn’t. That’s why multiple blockers and systems were always used at Regret in the conference room and operations center. Layered coverage equaled added protection. “Will? Will, I need help in the short-stack. STAT.”

  No answer.

  Darn it. Seven, eight, nine, ten—

  A fist slammed into her jaw then sliced at her arm, catching her just above the wrist. Pain shot up to her shoulder. The gun flew from her hand. The flashlight crashed on the concrete and the light went out. Knocked back to the wall, Maggie twisted and caught her balance, then charged with a series of rabbit punches, aiming for Linda’s throat, followed with a kicked gut-shot to her midsection. Her foot connected.

  “Awww!” Linda went down hard.

  Maggie went after her. They tumbled on the concrete, wrestling for control, banged into boxes that flew off their stacks, spilled and tumbled on the floor. And then a dreaded sound echoed through the short-stack and through the chambers of Maggie’s mind and heart: a trigger being cocked.

  She went statue still.

  Linda stood. “Move one inch and I’ll blow your head off, Maggie.”

  “Okay. Okay.” Maggie didn’t move. Linda’s voice quavered. She was high on an adrenaline rush and not totally in control. “Just calm down.”

  “Stand up.” Linda sucked in squealed, sharp breaths. “Slowly, and get your hands up.”

  “What are you going to do, Linda?” Maggie gained her feet, her hands raised. “Are you going to kill me now, like you did Cynthia Pratt and Judy Meyer?” If she believed Maggie already knew, maybe Linda would reveal what really had happened to Judy. “Or are you going to just attack me again, like you did Justin?”

  “You know it all, don’t you?”

  “Darn right, I do. We all do.” Linda believing that the truth wouldn’t die with Maggie could save her life. “If the sprinklers circling the pit come on, they wet the snow. That releases the DR-27 virus.”

  “Oh, it’s a miracle.” Linda’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Give the captain a medal. She’s finally gotten that she should fear the snow.” Linda guffawed. “They warned me to be very careful around you, but I have to say, you’re much slower on the uptake than they think.”

  “I’m fast enough to know you saw that the sprinkler heads skirted the pit, so you needed the secret room and the fire hose to get sufficient water down to the pit fast—before everyone could evacuate.” Maggie kept talking, giving Linda time to calm down, to get rational and realize she wasn’t going to walk away. She would be held accountable. “Without the additional water, too many would get out. That would seriously reduce the number of people killed and maimed, which would totally mess up Kunz’s capabilities demonstration showing huge numbers of fatalities.”

  “He’ll get them,” Linda swore. “By, God, he’ll get them.”

  Maggie ignored her and talked on. “Diminished numbers will devalue the DR-27 virus on the black market. Naturally, Kunz wants maximum dollars, and for that he needs maximum fatalities.”

  “I told you, he’ll get them!”

  “Yes, indeed you did tell me that,” Maggie agreed with her. She was listening; that was a good sign. “So your assignment was to get the kill numbers as high as possible. To do that, you had to spray additional water through the window to get water on the snow quickly to activate the virus while chaos reigned, and people weren’t yet thinking about a mass exodus. But you failed.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “The mall’s being evacuated, Linda. It’s too late.” Linda looked outraged. Even in the diffused light, her face twisted and looked red-hot, and her eyes stretched open overly wide. “You’re wrong.”

  “No, Linda. I’m not.”

  Linda stopped, grunted and sloughed off her anger. “You’re slow, but overall, very good. You almost had me. Almost.” Linda held the gun aimed at Maggie’s chest. The tip of the barrel shone in the beam from her flashlight. The gun was shaking so hard, if Linda fired it, only God knew where it’d hit.

  “I suppose your ability to deduce his plans explains why Mr. Kunz doesn’t want you dead.”

  Now that was useful information to know, even if it conjured horrible visions of torture.

  “He wants the pleasure of your company, too, though I doubt you’ll be as gently treated.” Linda tilted her head. “Actually, I’d bet on that.”

  Too? “So that’s where Judy Meyer is. Kunz has her.”

  “That’s right.” Linda smirked. “You thought she was dead.”

  Oh, God. Poor Judy probably wished she was dead. She likely was praying for it. Kunz was a sadistic troll, a monster, and she was facing him as a novice without any training whatsoever to help her endure it. “What could he possibly want with Judy?”

  “I didn’t ask,” Linda said. “But he did like her an awful lot.”

  Surprise streaked up Maggie’s back. “They met?”

  “Oh, yes. About a year ago.” Linda let out a little giggle. “When he was here, he and Judy spent a lot of time together.”

  Maggie couldn’t believe it. Kunz had been this close. This unbelievably close, and the S.A.S.S. had no idea. “Are you saying Thomas Kunz has a romantic interest in Judy?”

  “Most definitely,” Linda said, a purr in her voice. “But not in you. And from all I hear, that’s not good news for you. Actually, I’m told he quite despises you.”

  Maggie’s insides curdled. Every awful, horrifying image she’d ever seen of Kunz’s victims flashed through her mind in vivid color—mostly red from blood—and she went weak all over. He’d be even more vicious with her.

  “You look ill, Maggie.” Linda baited her. “I suppose you’ve heard stories about him, too. He did say I should tell you that there’s been nothing personal in his actions.”

  Nothing personal? Kunz was a psycho who loved torture and hated S.A.S.S. operatives. If he got his hands on her, it’d be very personal. He hated all of S.A.S.S. as much as he hated Special Forces. No way was Maggie going to become his prisoner. She’d die first—after she disarmed Linda and stopped the attack.

  “You’ve done all this dirty work for Thomas Kunz.” Maggie couldn’t wrap her mind around it. But Linda’s reasoning certainly hadn’t been a romantic interest, not with what she had said about him and Judy Meyer.

  Linda nodded, gleeful and clearly aware of his reputation. “Oh, I was absolutely happy to do it—and would gladly have done more.”

  Appalled, Maggie asked, “Why? How can you kill innocent people just for the sake of killing them?”

  “These people mean less than nothing to me. They’re strangers.” She grunted. “Why should I care what happens to them? They don’t care about me. None of them care a thing about me.” Her face twisted in the shadow from the flashlight. “They come in here day after day and abuse things. They steal and complain and they’re never satisfied. No matter how hard you try, or what you do for them, it’s never enough. They’re all takers. Every single one of them. Takers and users,
and I’m sick of them.”

  “For God’s sake, they’re human beings, Linda. They have lives and families and they care about things just like you.”

  She stiffened her shoulders. “Takers and users—ones who have money and use it to do whatever they want.” Her eyes narrowed. “I hate the people who shop here.”

  Did she realize how crazy she sounded? “If you feel this way, then why didn’t you just quit?”

  “And do what?” she asked. “This is what I know.”

  “But this is just a business. One that provides goods and services to customers. That’s what your job is. You’re paid to listen to them complain and to deal with their abuses. You chose it, Linda, and when they come here and spend their money, they pay for the service you give them.”

  “Shut up. Just shut up. You don’t understand.”

  “Well, explain it to me, then.”

  Linda hesitated, her jaw clamped tight. “Never. Not once in my whole life, have I had money. Not for what I need, much less for what I want. For anything I want. For a second, I thought you might understand, but you don’t. You have to live poor to get it. Making do, doing without. So just shut up!” Linda tossed her a cloth. “Cover your nose and mouth—and don’t bother trying to fake it. I’ll know, and I’ll shoot you.”

  She wouldn’t kill her. Kunz had ordered Linda to bring Maggie to him. Maggie caught the cloth and felt a little spray come halfway up her arm. It was soaked, all right. Chloroform. Taking advantage of the poor lighting, she pressed her hand to her nose and mouth, kept it between her face and the rag, then held her breath.

  Linda stood and stared at her, the gun barrel wavering, just waiting for Maggie to fall.

  Maggie had to breathe. When her pulse thrummed in her temples and her chest ached for air, she crumpled to the floor, letting the cloth fall loose from her hand.

  Linda waited a long moment, then cautiously approached Maggie, picked up the rag, and stooped to cover her face and mouth with it, clearly wanting to take no chances that Maggie wasn’t out, or that she came around before Linda wanted.

  Maggie didn’t breathe. She lay still as long as she could, giving Linda time to relax and get comfortable—and hopefully, complacent. Finally, Linda let out a whistling breath.

  That was the signal Maggie had awaited. She reared and attacked, shoving the gun from Linda’s hand. In a flurry of punches, jabs and kicks, Maggie gained control and kept it.

  Squaring off, she landed a solid blow to Linda’s jaw, swept at her knees and knocked her off her feet. Sprawled on the concrete, she moaned and didn’t move.

  Breathing hard and heavy, more from nerves than exertion, Maggie jerked her handcuffs from her center back belt loop, dropped her knee to the small of Linda’s back and jerked her arms behind her, then locked the cuffs on her wrists.

  Blowing calming breaths, Maggie retrieved her gun and the working flashlight off the floor, then pulled Linda to her feet. “Let’s go.” Maggie pushed her toward the short-stack door and followed her out into the thoroughfare.

  “You’re too late, Maggie.” Linda laughed. “The fire will make the sprinklers go on automatically and the water will hit the pit. It’ll take a little longer to release an impressive amount of DR-27 than it would have if aided by the fire hose, but it will happen.”

  “In your dreams.” Maggie shoved at Linda’s shoulder.

  The Level Three thoroughfare was now deserted. Maggie looked around, but saw no one. She handcuffed Linda to a stabilizer pole that went through all three floors. The only way it was coming out was if the building went down. “Darcy?”

  Still no answer. She pulled out her earpiece and saw the wire was severed. Well, that explained it.

  She grabbed the two-way. The problem had to be in the batteries. Nothing else made sense. Who was closest? Maybe still around? An image of Donald Freeman, his pride in his round, in her trust of him, filled her mind. “Hey, Freeman, do you hear me?”

  “Yeah, Maggie.”

  Relief washed through her, head to toe. “Get your hide to Level Three, now!”

  “I’m on Three, guarding the round. Where do you want me?”

  Guarding the round? With a fire burning on Level One below him. God love his dedicated heart. “At the short-stack door. Hurry.” She had to get downstairs, get those sprinklers locked down.

  Donald came from around the corner in a dead ran. “I’m here. I’m here.”

  “Can you contact Will?”

  “Hadn’t tried.”

  “Try.”

  He pulled his two-way. “Will?”

  But only static came back. It wasn’t the batteries. It was certain channels.

  Maggie shoved her gun into Freeman’s hand. “She’s the enemy.” Maggie pointed to Linda Diel. “If she moves, shoot to kill.”

  “Shoot to kill? Linda?” Stark shock registered on his face. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Linda is most definitely the enemy,” Maggie repeated. “Can you shoot her, Donald? I need to know, and I need to know now.”

  “She did all this to us.” Anger replaced his shock. “Oh, yeah, I can shoot her.”

  “Good. You release her only to the FBI. No one else. Got it?”

  He nodded, and Maggie turned and ran toward the escalator, then rode and ran down the steps, shoving past people still heading down. Cutting the corner, she headed down from Level Two to Center Court.

  “Justin!” She shouted above the screaming, scurrying, push of people cramming the exits and backed up into Center Court. Everything was log-jammed—and some were trapped with no way out of the snow. “Justin!”

  Hearing her, he swiveled around, searching faces, looking for her. “Maggie?”

  “Two o’clock!” she told him, now that he’d honed in on her voice.

  He saw her, started toward her.

  “It’s in the snow. Tell Darcy, it’s in the snow!”

  Justin repeated what she’d told him. She saw it from his lip movements, and heard Darcy confirm it a moment later in a message she delivered over the PA system.

  It boomed through the half-empty mall. “Get out of the snow. Everyone immediately get out of the snow and exit the building.”

  Maggie wound through throngs of people and met up with Justin. “My earpiece died. No communications. Tell Darcy that Kunz’s primary point person is Linda Diel. I’ve got her handcuffed to a pole up on Level Three. Donald Freeman is guarding her at gunpoint under orders to shoot to kill. Get the FBI up there. The DR-27 virus is—”

  “In the snow!” Justin said, running for the nearest store. Maggie followed. “Where are you going?”

  “Plastic bags,” he answered, speaking not to her but to a startled clerk. “Give me the biggest ones you’ve got, and all the little ones.”

  Maggie grabbed them by the armfuls, passing instructions through him to relay. Darcy had visual but audio was out. She needed verifications.

  “Kate, Amanda, Mark—keep the water off the snow. Darcy,” he repeated all Maggie had told him and then added, “did you lock down the sprinklers?”

  “There’s a fire,” Darcy said. “I can’t shut them down.”

  “Can’t Will manually lock them down?” Justin asked. “Water breaks the capsules and releases the virus, Darcy. We’ve got to stop any water from hitting that pit.”

  Darcy relayed to Maggie through Justin. “Barone’s key is lost and someone stole Will’s.”

  “It wasn’t on Linda,” Maggie said. “Consider the keys gone and go to backup protocol. Darcy, shut off all the water to the facility.”

  Justin shifted a huge load of plastic bags to his left arm, pulled out his earpiece and stuck it in Maggie’s ear. “I’ve got to get these shields on the kids in the pit.” He ran with the bags out of the store and into Center Court.

  Carrying more, Maggie headed for the other side, telling everyone she saw to get out of the building. People were panicked. Shoving. Screaming. Crying. Dropping packages and dragging bellowing, terrified k
ids.

  “Maggie, the main shutoff is outside and only the water department—”

  “Get them on it, then,” Maggie interrupted Darcy. “Now.” She looked down the corridor toward Men’s Row. The smoke was gathering, growing thick. The sprinklers could go on at any time. Guessing, they had five to seven minutes. “Talk to the fire department, too. Maybe they have emergency access.”

  “Will do.”

  Maggie tripped over a fallen woman well into her sixties. She bent to help her up, then told her to leave right away.

  “But I need to exchange—”

  “The building’s on fire,” Maggie said, losing it. “Get out!”

  “Well, all right, then.” The woman left in a huff, swinging her handbag and muttering.

  Maggie found Justin down on his knees, showing a small group how to fashion waterproof vests out of the bags. She dumped the extra bags at his feet.

  She straightened and pulled a quick visual assessment. People poured out through the exit, but there were so many more yet to go. “Darcy, run that directive to have people exit away from Center Court nonstop, until the stampede thins out, and then get some medical staff outside the other exits to check those injured coming out.”

  A man was swinging his cane, clearing a path. Justin spotted him, had words with him, and the guy took a swing at him. Catching the cane midair, Justin snatched it and tossed it up onto the empty stage.

  About twenty people went down like a row of dominoes. He and Mark headed in that direction to help get folks moving again.

  Maggie looked at the sprinkler heads above her, at the wall of smoke pushing toward Center Court. Thank God the fire was still small. It would activate the sprinklers—she checked her watch—in less than five minutes. Five minutes, and there were still thousands to get out of the building. The fire and water departments were working on cutting water to the building, but if they didn’t make it...

  “Justin,” Maggie called. “We’ve got to stop the sprinklers.” She pointed to the heads circling the pit.