Saving Zola (Sleeper SEALs Book 4) Page 17

  As the next half hour went by, Zola tried to keep track of the number of calls, assuming all of them were another freed criminal. She cringed knowing that these were murderers. Each of them had undoubtedly killed many people in the name of a warped version of their religion.

  She didn’t feel her life was equal to the release of so many criminals. For one thing, each of them would then kill again. If the man in charge outside was smart, he would let Zola and her father die rather than release so many horrific individuals. This was an obvious case where the hostages needed to be sacrificed. If she could tell him that, she would. But she would never have the chance.

  Another part of her, a selfish part, wanted them to all be freed so she would live. However, her rational mind told her she was not going to live in either scenario. These men didn’t even have masks. She could ID them all in a heartbeat. No way were they going to let her or her father live.

  Two more calls came in. What were they up to? Eight?

  One of the men grabbed a black backpack she hadn’t noticed from the corner of the room and lugged it to the center, setting it on the coffee table. Judging by the flex of his muscles under the black T-shirt he wore, and the strain on his face, the bag was heavy.

  He unzipped it and carefully removed a canister. After setting it on the table, he pulled something else small out of the backpack and tossed it aside.

  A bomb?

  Dammit.

  She widened her gaze, glancing at her father to see sweat running down his face in shear panic.

  The man leaned over the device, attaching several wires to set it up and then pushing a button on the front that caused a ticking noise to fill the room.

  “There,” he declared. He spun around, holding up a black square that looked a bit like a pager from two decades ago. With a wicked grin on his face, he approached Zola.

  She nearly peed herself contemplating his intent. He roughly rolled her forward, opened her stiff, swollen fingers, and pressed the box into her palm. “You better squeeze that tight, girl. If you let go of the button on the side, we all die. You hear me?”

  She stopped breathing, all her concentration going to the fucking box in her hand. Her fingers were so numb she had no way of feeling the box beyond the fact that it was touching her. She didn’t know if there was really a button on the side or not. He could have been fucking with her mind.

  Or she might hold the power to blow up the house, taking out all four men, herself, and her father.

  Fuck.

  The responsibility was too much. Should she let it go and save countless other lives who would be lost in future mass shootings or bombings at the hands of the fourteen terrorists being released from prison as she lay on the couch being used as a pawn?

  “If your people try anything stupid out there, I shoot you, you die. It will take a few seconds for your hand to unfurl, giving me and my men plenty of time to escape before the gas is released from the canister. You and your father will count the seconds until you both die. It will be painful.”

  Zola froze. Not a bomb. Biological warfare. The horror of the situation closed in on her, threatening to cause her to black out. They would die immediately if she did. And she wasn’t ready to make that choice yet.

  Rationally, it wouldn’t be just the men being released from prison who would be stopped, but also the four in the room. She held too much power. If she somehow lived through this, she would have to live with the guilt of her decision for the rest of her life.

  She knew she would be a victim either way. These men were angry at her for prosecuting their terrorist friends and her father for getting easier laws passed that made it possible for her to convict. No way did they intend to let Zola and her father live.

  Another call came in. Nine?

  She held the black box as tightly as possible with limited use of her fingers. Every ounce of her concentration went to her grip. If she moved even an inch to alleviate some of the discomfort in her shoulders, she would lose her grip.

  Another call. She lost track of how many that was.

  Chapter Fifteen

  While he waited for a weapon, Mike ran his hands through his hair so many times it was a wonder there was any left. He wished he had one of his own guns from the back of the rental car, but even the one he’d had tucked into his waist had freed itself during the accident. He had nothing.

  Finally Jeff Roland set a Glock in his palm. “You’re not in charge here, Dorsen.”

  “With all due respect, your girlfriend and her father aren’t inside that house.” He examined the chamber and palmed the weapon.

  “This is a hostage situation. We have protocol to follow.”

  “Yep. I’m aware. I’ve been through situations you can’t even begin to imagine”—he lifted his head to face Roland—“sir.”

  “This isn’t a contest. Don’t posture with me. I’m not in the mood.”

  “And I’m not in the mood to lose the love of my life today, either. So, let’s work together to ensure we both get what we want.” He met Roland’s gaze again. “Get me a wire. I want to know everything that’s going on.”

  “Fucking SEALs,” Roland muttered under his breath.

  If Mike had been in any other frame of mind, he would have grinned.

  Five minutes later, he had a mic and an earpiece. “So, here’s the deal.”

  “Why do I suspect I’m not going to like this?”

  “Don’t care if you do like it. We’re doing it anyway.” Mike pointed to the corner of the house. “See that trellis over there?”

  Roland groaned. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. This isn’t some horror movie. We’re in the middle of a hostage situation.”

  “One in which the good guy happens to have used that trellis twelve years ago after climbing out of the bedroom window so that a sexy teenage girl’s father wouldn’t know she had a gentleman suitor in the house after curfew.”

  Roland groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “Let me repeat myself, you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

  “Nope.”

  “And what makes you think the window is unlocked and not hooked up to the alarm system? That was a damn long time ago.”

  “Because I removed the sensor on that window myself. Both pieces. Stuck them together and attached them to the inside of the sill so that they were always connected even when the window was open. I also broke the lock.”

  Roland stared at him. “You were one randy teenager.”

  “Yeah, don’t get too excited. She wasn’t that kind of girl. But it didn’t keep me from spending every moment I could with her. I knew I had a good thing the moment I saw her.” He rushed on, “Now I’m going to get inside the house and survey what we’re up against. You’re going to keep me informed from out here. And on my call, your men need to shoot to kill.”

  “I hate this plan.”

  “You have a better one?”

  “No.” Roland sighed loudly, his shoulders slumping. “Don’t make me regret this. It’s so far out of protocol, my ass is liable to get fired even if you succeed.”

  “I’ll take the heat and cover your ass, Roland. You just keep me informed.”

  “Fine.” Roland turned around as if not watching would somehow exonerate him of all blame.

  Mike ignored the throbbing pain in his head as he rushed around the side of the house. It was dusk. He was protected partially by the growing darkness. In addition, few people had their attention focused on the side of the house.

  He prayed to God everything he told Roland was true—that the window was indeed still unlocked and the sensor still misplaced. And for the love of all that was holy, that damn trellis needed to hold his older, heavier body up after twelve additional years of wear and tear.

  He held his breath as he climbed the side of the house and then crept across the slightly slanted roof to get to the window hidden around the side in the near darkness.

  His eyes were swollen, leaving his vision impaired. The lacerati
on on his forehead had been closed with a butterfly bandage. He was banged up and bruised over every inch of his body. And his knee was screaming in pain.

  But none of that mattered, and his adrenaline was pumping so hard he hated to consider how much worse he would feel when this was over.

  He hesitated only a second when he set his fingers under the edge of the window. “Please, God.” And then he eased the window open, an internal smile all he could muster.

  Ten seconds later, he was in the room. It was no longer Zola’s room, but a guest room. Everything had been redone, but somehow no one had noticed the rigged window after all these years.

  The lights weren’t on, of course, but he could see well enough to make his way across the floor to the open doorway. “I’m in,” he whispered into the mic. “I’ll give you a layout as soon as I can, and then you mobilize.”

  “You are one crazy bastard, Dorsen.”

  * * *

  Silence. Pacing. Staring out the window.

  Zola watched the man who had set up the canister. His smug face would haunt her for the rest of her fifteen minutes on earth. He was the man responsible for watching. And he turned around again, stared at Zola with a crazed look in his eye, and leaned against the window sill.

  Two seconds later, all hell broke loose. The room filled with gunfire.

  She watched in horror as the man looking at her fell to the floor, a shot through the back of his head most likely.

  The man called Assad hit the floor next, his body slumping dramatically forward, blood running from his forehead.

  The last two men rushed into the center of the room, guns drawn.

  Zola had no idea why they didn’t shoot her or her father. Perhaps because they were busy trying to figure out where the gunfire was coming from and remain alive.

  They didn’t have a chance, however. Several more shots rang out, missing their target. Amid the chaos, a hand landed on Zola’s shoulder. She flinched, fear making her almost drop the device in her palm. Her eyes widened as she tipped her face to the side.

  Mike. He leaned around her without looking at her, and made two final shots to the men in the center of the room. Instantly, they were down. Not moving.

  She had never been so happy to see anyone in her life, but she needed to remember the damn button she gripped.

  “Mike,” her father shouted as several members of SWAT filled the room, “the canister. Zola has the controller in her hands.”

  “Fuck.” Mike leaned over her, carefully tipping her body forward. He touched her fingers, though she could hardly feel them. “Baby, I need you to let go.”

  She shook her head, trying to speak through the tape.

  He held both her hands securely with one of his and reached with his other hand to ease the tape off her mouth.

  She rushed to explain. “Button,” she gasped. “I’m holding it down.”

  “Okay, babe. I’m going to take it over for you.” He spun his head around. “Get everyone out of here. Now. Get her father out. All of you out,” he commanded.

  Her father was frantically pleading with anyone who would listen, but Zola only looked at Mike’s face, tuning everyone else out. “You came.”

  He smiled. “I’m here. We’re going to get you out of here. Hang on one more minute.”

  Someone leaned over the back of the couch, their shadow darkening the area. “Dorsen, let the bomb squad handle this. You get out.”

  “Not a fucking chance in hell. I’m doing it, or nobody is doing it. Get everyone out. Let me free Zola, then you can send the bomb squad in. And let them know it’s not a bomb. It’s a biological weapon.” Thank God he recognized it with a glance. He would realize this was no bomb.

  She squeezed her hands inside his larger one. He had her though. She wasn’t going to let go with his fingers so tight around hers.

  He cupped her face with his free hand. “Zola, look at me. You’re okay. We’re going to get you out of here.”

  She nodded, licking her parched lips. Her face hurt. Everything hurt. “My wrists,” she whispered.

  “I know. Can’t release them yet. The rush of blood to your fingers would be dangerous.”

  Someone cut her legs free, however. Her feet were sore but not nearly as compromised as her hands. He was right. Removing the tape would be a bad idea. “It hurts,” she told him, leaning her forehead forward to set it against his chin.

  “I know, baby. We’re going to fix it in just a few seconds.” He tipped her head back and glanced around again. “What the fuck are you all waiting for? Get out. Fast. She can’t hold on much longer.”

  People rushed around. Her father leaned over her. “Zola.”

  She met his pained gaze. “It’ll be okay, Dad.”

  “I love you.” He set a hand on Mike’s shoulder.

  “I love you too, Dad,” she managed to say without bursting into tears.

  He turned his gaze to Mike. “Get her out alive, son.”

  “I will, sir. You have my word.”

  Someone grabbed her father by both arms and pulled him away. “I’m sorry, Senator, but we need to get you a safe distance away.”

  When he was gone, she set her gaze on Mike’s. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice choked.

  “Don’t.” He shook his head. “Don’t act like you aren’t going to live. We’re in this together now. I’m right here. You hold on. If you go, I go. And I don’t intend for this to be my last day on earth, so you have no choice.”

  Someone shouted from the doorway. “Okay, Dorsen. Room’s clear. House’s clear. Send Zola out when you have the remote free, and we’ll get the bomb squad in here ASAP.”

  Silence.

  Deafening silence.

  Tears ran down her face. She was more scared now than she had been for the last several hours. “Mike…”

  He cupped her face one more time and kissed her soundly. “I’m going to figure out where the button is and then ease my finger over it. When I tell you to let go, you release the box and run. You hear me?”

  She shook her head, sobbing. “Not leaving you here.”

  “Yes. You are. I’ll be right behind you. It will be much easier for me to pass it off to the bomb squad. We will get it dismantled. Neither of us is going to die today.”

  “Promise me.”

  “Zola, baby, I swear.”

  Fear gripped her, but she had no other options. She nodded. “Okay, do it.”

  He released her face after another quick kiss and leaned over her back, rolling her gently forward onto her belly. “I see the button. It’s pressed to your palm. I’m going to ease my thumb against your hand and transfer the pressure from you to me.”

  “Okay.” She could feel almost nothing. All she heard for several moments was the beat of her heart ringing in her ears.

  “I’ve got it. Zola, I’m in control of it now. You can let go.”

  She couldn’t though. She couldn’t release the grip. Her fingers were swollen and not obeying any commands as if frostbitten. “I can’t, Mike. I can’t.”

  He pried her fingers open with his other hand. Finally she was free, and he stood, backing away from her, the controller in his hand. “Run, baby.”

  She worked hard to pull herself to sitting with her arms still useless and her legs barely working themselves. And then she rocked forward to propel herself to standing. She wanted to say so many things, but Mike’s face was hard. “Zola, run.”

  She turned and rushed from the room as fast as she could, knowing he needed her to get out so the bomb squad could get in. It would be okay. He would be okay. He had to be. There was no other option.

  Zola rushed out the front door, barely clearing the frame before two members of the bomb squad ran in around her without a word.

  She kept moving forward, but was quickly met by an agent, who hustled her farther away from the house and immediately cut the tape from her wrists.

  She winced at the incredible pain.

  The man released her arms
, and she drew them around to her front slowly, her shoulders screaming. Her hands felt like they were being stabbed with a million tiny needles.

  Her father was by her side a moment later. “Zola. Oh God. Are you okay?” He reached for her as she tried to rub her palms together to get the circulation moving.

  A medic crowded in beside her next. “Let me see, ma’am.” He wrapped a hand gently around her arm. “Let’s move into the light so I can check your injuries.”

  She nodded, biting her lip, unable to speak through the pain. A tear ran down her face.

  The paramedic spoke again when they reached the open doors of his ambulance. The light spilled around them. “Rub your palms together gently to get the blood flowing. I know it hurts, but that’s a good sign. And they’re still red. The stabbing will stop in a few minutes.”

  She hoped so. All she could do was nod and try to get them to function. She wiggled her fingers.

  Her dad stood silently at her side.

  She glanced back at the house. “Why isn’t Mike out yet?”

  “I don’t know, honey. They’re working on it. He probably knows more about biological warfare than anyone on the scene. They need his help.”

  “He promised,” she stated unnecessarily.

  Her father set a hand on her shoulder. “I know. And he won’t break that promise. He’ll be here.”

  She stared at her dad. Like the last time he made me a promise? And you forced him to break it?

  Obviously realizing where her thoughts had gone, he sighed. “I was a fool, Zola. I’m so sorry. I totally messed with your life. I had no business interfering.”

  She said nothing. She had to forgive him. She would forgive him. He was her father. But it would take time.

  “Ma’am, we need to get you in the ambulance. You need medical care.”

  She lifted her gaze to the paramedic. “I’m not going anywhere yet. Don’t even suggest it.”

  The guy glanced at the house and nodded. He was tall and lanky with brown hair that hung over his forehead. In a different life—one in which the only man she’d ever loved didn’t exist—she would have been attracted to him.

  She flexed her fingers, the pain dulling to something more manageable.