Memory Zero (Spook Squad 1)

Stephan’s smile was one of agreement. “Where’s Sam?”

He split the screen, tuning in to Sam’s wristcom. The stairs in which she stood were brightly lit and empty. “In the control center stairwell. I’m about to head for the elevator mechanic’s room.”

“She’s alone?” Stephan frowned. “That’s a bit risky, isn’t it?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Kazdan will expect a guard in the stairs, but he’ll run if he hears any more than that. He certainly won’t expect to see Sam there. It might give her—and us—a slight advantage.”

“Let’s hope you’re right. I’ll take over here.” Stephan hesitated, his frown deepening as he jabbed a finger at the slender figure in the center of the screen. “What the hell is Lyssa doing here?”

Gabriel glanced at the screen. It was undoubtedly Lyssa’s form, but this woman’s walk was different—less graceful, more energetic. And given that the real Lyssa was safely tucked away, this was obviously the replacement. But if she was a multi-shifter, why would she wear this form here? Surely she’d have to be aware that the SIU and the Feds would be here. He paused. Maybe that was the entire idea. Kazdan would have found out by now that his prisoners had escaped. Maybe they were planning to frame the real Lyssa for the attempt on the PM’s life. The video evidence would be undeniable, especially since few authorities knew about multi-shifters.

He gripped his brother’s shoulder. “That’s not Lyssa.”

Stephan glanced at him sharply. “Why would you say that?”

“Because the real Lyssa is safe with Karl. That’s Kazdan’s wife, and the shifter you’ve been living with for the past six months.”

Though Stephan’s face went pale, anger burned deep in his eyes. “And the baby?”

Gabriel hesitated. “We don’t know, but Kazdan believes it’s his.” Then, unable to leave his brother in pain, he added, “But don’t worry. I have the real Lyssa—and your real child—safe. You’ll see them again when this is all over.”

The anger in his brother’s eyes grew. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I wasn’t sure until a few hours ago.” He pulled out his gun and checked the clip one final time. “I’ll explain later. Right now, I have to go catch our traitor.”

“When all this is over, we’ll talk.”

When all this was over, he was taking a holiday. Gabriel tapped the wristcom one of the State boys had given him, unlocking the audio pin and placing it behind his ear. “Keep an eye on her. I’ll be in touch.”

Suzy had taken a corridor that led to both the workers’ lounge and the refueling depot. With the careful placement of one or two bombs, the depot would provide one hell of a light and sound show, which was why Stephan had arranged for extra security there.

After exiting the security center, Gabriel ran down the corridor, made a sharp right and continued on. The workers’ lounge came into sight, but there was no one in the immediate area. He slowed and pressed the wristcom. “See her?” he asked softly.

“Just gone into the ladies’ room.”

He studied the door to his left. Would a terrorist stop for a quick bathroom break? “Check the plans. Is there a large vent of some kind connected to the bathroom?”

“Hang on.”

He crept forward while he waited. Once he neared the door, he pressed his back against the wall and his fingers against the door, slowly opening it. He heard soft cursing and then the harsh rasp of metal against tile. She was up to something in there, for sure.

“One vent,” Stephan said. “It connects to vents that lead to depots one and two.”

Both of which were well covered. Even if she succeeded in getting into the depots without being caught, she wouldn’t get much farther. There had to be something else, something they were missing. “Where else does the vent go?”

“Heads back past the kitchens and up to the main air-conditioning unit.”

“No other vent openings beside the kitchen?”

“Nope.”

Then what the hell was she up to? A soft, metallic thumping indicated she was climbing into the vent. “Keep an eye on the vents at the depot. Inform security I’m heading down to the kitchen.”

He eased the door closed and ran for the stairs. State police swung toward him, guns raised, as he entered the lower level. They didn’t shoot, though, which meant Stephan had been in contact with them. He dug out his ID, flashing it as he ran past.

The kitchen was dark and still. The exit lights gleamed brightly, lending a ruddy glow to the darkness. He quietly closed the swinging double doors and waited for his eyes to adjust.

“The vent’s near the crockery shelves,” Stephan said.