Across the dusty space, Harm stood, a gun in one hand and a detonator in the other. Behind him, circled like terrified cattle, a half dozen hostages were tied back to back with bombs strapped to their chests. Behind them, four other members of the Underground stood watch, assault rifles in hand. Lead lines led to canisters of thermite scattered throughout the floor of the condemned building, piggy-backing on the explosives already put in place for the planned demolition tomorrow, ensuring the whole goddamned thing would be obliterated at the push of a button. They had the perfect setup. Ian was beginning to wonder if it was all for naught.
The squad should’ve arrived by now. He’d contacted Auggie, told him he’d gotten a bead on the remainder of the cell that had killed Nico and asked for backup. He was banking on the lingering bonds of squad loyalty to override the other man’s natural caution and adherence to protocol. But he had expected better response time.
The hostages’ terror was palpable. The bitter scent of their sweat-slicked skin coated the back of his throat, and the haze of purple clouded the room. His own skin was clammy from the memories he’d tapped to create the illusion. All the old anxieties, all the strain of that last mission, were stirred back up. He fed them back into the hostages, adding an extra layer of authenticity to the scene. But the whole thing was draining him. This illusion was much more detailed, much more complex than the forest fire he’d conjured in North Dakota. Though they’d run test scenarios earlier in the week, he wondered how long he could keep this up.
Maybe Auggie suspected a trap. Or maybe he’d actually gone to his ops commander as protocol dictated.
“Please don’t do this,” begged Marley. She was all but in tears. The contrast to the faint cast of nerves and determination of her actual emotional state was striking. She was quite the actress when need be.
Ian’s senses pinged.
There. Two. Three. Four. A single squad, their emotional grids conspicuous by dint of how little they projected. He recognized only one profile. Augg
ie, running point. The group of them were at the periphery. Ian could just sense them. So could Marley.
“There has to be some other way,” she insisted. The signal.
Showtime.
“It’s quite simple,” Harm said. “If your boyfriend over there wants to join us, he has to prove himself by killing the hostages. This is how we operate. He has to prove his loyalty.”
Some of the lower floors of the building had walls, but this one had obviously been a cubicle farm during its lifetime. A series of load bearing columns were the only interruption to the open floor plan. The electricity was already cut off, so there were plenty of shadows for the squad to navigate, splitting into two lines, edging around the hostages, the guards. Which meant they were definitely seeing the illusion. Excellent.
“How the hell does killing innocent people prove my loyalty to you?” Ian demanded.
“Innocent?” Harm sneered. “Don’t be ridiculous. They aren’t innocent. They’re Council drones. Following orders, just like you did before you had the sense to defect. Carrying out the Council’s agenda without question. They’re cogs in the machine. You take them out, you slow the Council down, show you don’t support their politics.”
A couple of the female hostages cried out.
Harm swung around, pointing the gun at the nearest one’s head. “Shut up!”
Ian’s hands fisted reflexively, and he took a step closer, a part of him needing to act, to stop this from happening again, though he was fully aware it wasn’t real.
The squad closed ranks, getting closer.
A fifth grid popped up, not part of the formation.
Four. There are always four. Who the hell is this? Ian attempted to identify this unexpected newcomer as he struggled to maintain the illusion and continue to play his part.
“Why not try to convert them to your cause? I saw the light, so can they.”
“They’ll say anything to stay alive. Nothing you get out of them would be the truth. The world will be better off without them in it.”
Weeping, incoherent pleading.
Harm was entirely too good at playing this part.
Not real, he reminded himself. Stick to the plan.
He still couldn’t get a handle on the fifth signature. It worried him, but the plan was fully in play now. There was no breaking role or all their efforts would be wasted.
“What’s it gonna be, Ryker?” asked Harm, holding out the gun like an offering.
“I won’t do it.”
Harm shrugged, shifting his grip in an instant and redirecting his aim straight at Ian’s chest. “Fine. I’ll just kill you instead.”
“No!” Marley leapt in front of him, a living shield.