Black Order (Sigma Force 3)

He faced Baldric.

"What do you want to know?"

"Unlike you, Painter Crowe has proven more of an adversary than we had anticipated. He has vanished after escaping our ambush. You're going to help us find out where he's gone."

"How?"

"By contacting Sigma command. We have a scrambled, untraceable line. You're going to break communication silence and find out what Sigma knows about the Black Sun project and where Painter Crowe has gone into hiding. And any hint of treachery…" Baldric nodded to the monitor.

Gray now understood the strident lesson here. They wanted Gray to understand fully, strangling any hope of deception. Save Fiona or betray Sigma?

The decision was momentarily postponed as one of the guards returned with another of Gray's demands.

"My hand!" Monk called out, noting the prosthesis carried by the guard. He struggled, his elbows still bound behind his back.

Baldric waved the guard forward. "Give the prosthesis to Isaak."

Isaak spoke up, speaking Dutch. "Did the lab clear it of any hidden weapons?"

The man nodded. "Ja, sir. All clear."

Still Isaak inspected the prosthetic hand. It was a marvel of DARPA engineering, incorporating direct peripheral nerve control through the titanium wrist contact points. It also was engineered with advanced mechanics and actuators that allowed precise movements and sensory input.

Monk stared at Gray.

Gray noted Monk's left fingers had finished tapping a code on the contact points of his right wrist's stump.

Gray nodded, stepping closer to Monk.

There was one other feature of DARPA's electronic prosthesis.

It was wireless.

A radioed signal passed between Monk and his prosthetic hand.

In response, the disembodied prosthetic clenched in Isaak's grip.

Fingers formed a fist.

Except for a raised middle finger.

"Screw you," Monk mumbled.

Gray grabbed Monk's elbow and yanked him toward the double doors that led into the main house.

The explosion was not large—no more than an extra loud and brilliant flash grenade. The charge had been blended directly into the plastic sleeve of the outer hand, impossible to detect. And while it wasn't much, it proved enough of a distraction. Cries of surprise and pain erupted from the guards. Gray and Monk slammed through the double doors, fled down the hall, and took the first turn. Out of direct sight, they pounded across polished hardwood floors.

Alarms immediately erupted, clanging and urgent.

They needed an escape route ASAP.

Gray noted wide stairs leading up. He guided Monk to them.

"Where we going?" Monk asked.

"Up, up, up…" Gray said as they fled, taking two steps at a time. Security would expect them to make a break for the nearest door or window. He knew another way out. In his head, a schematic of the manor house revolved. He had studied the estate closely as they were marched over here. Gray concentrated, trusting his sense of direction and position in space.

"This way." He hauled Monk off a landing and down another corridor. They were on the sixth floor. Alarms continued.

"Where—?" Monk began again.

"High ground," Gray answered and pointed toward the end of the corridor where a door awaited. "To the walkway in the canopy."

But it wouldn't be that easy.

As if someone had overheard their plan, an inner metal shutter began lowering over the exit door. An automated lockdown.

"Hurry!" Gray yelled.

The shutter trundled quickly, already three-quarters closed.

Gray sped faster, leaving Monk behind. He grabbed a hall chair as he ran past it and flung it ahead. It landed on the hardwood floor and skittered across the polished surface. Gray chased after it. The chair struck the closed outer door as the inner metal shutter clamped down atop it. Gears ground. A red light flared above the doorway. Malfunction. Gray was sure some warning bulb was already flaring in the mansion's main security nest.

As he reached the door, the wooden chair legs splintered and cracked, crushed beneath the grinding shutter.

Monk ran up, out of breath, arms still clamped behind his back.

Gray ducked under the chair and reached for the knob on the exit door. It was a strain with the shutter blocking the way.

His fingers clamped on the knob and twisted.

Locked.

"Goddamn it!" he swore.

More of the chair cracked. Behind them, the tromp of boots echoed, coming fast up the stairs. Voices barked orders.

Gray twisted around. "Brace me!" he said to Monk. He would have to kick the far door open.

On his back, legs pistoned up and ready, Gray leaned against Monk's shoulder for leverage.

Then the exit door simply popped open ahead of him, revealing a pair of legs in camouflaged khakis. One of the walkway patrols must have noted the malfunction and come to investigate.

Gray aimed for the man's shins and kicked out.

Caught by surprise, the man's legs went out from under him. He hit his head with a clang against the shutter and landed hard on the planks. Gray dove out and clocked the man again with his heel. His body went slack.

Monk followed, rolling to Gray, but not before kicking the trapped chair free of the shutter. The metal security gate continued its descent and slammed closed.

Gray relieved the guard of his weapons. He used a knife to slice away Monk's bindings and passed him the man's sidearm, an HK Mark 23 semiautomatic pistol. Gray confiscated the rifle.

Weapons in hand, they fled down the canopy bridge to the first crossroads. It divided just as the bridge reached the jungle. They checked both directions. So far it was all clear.

"We're going to have to split up," Gray said. "Better our chances. You have to get help, get to a phone, contact Logan."

"What about you?"

Gray didn't answer. He didn't have to.

"Gray…she may already be dead."

"We don't know that."

Monk searched his face. He had seen the monster on the computer screen. He knew Gray had no choice.

Monk nodded.

Without another word, they fled in opposite directions.

6:34 a.m.

Khamisi reached the canopy walkway, scaling up a tree on the opposite side of the glade. He moved swiftly and silently.

Below, the ukufa still circled the tree, guarding its trapped prey. The loud bang a moment ago had startled the ukufa. It had dropped from the tree, wary and cautious. It stalked around the tree again, ears high. Alarms and klaxons echoed out from the manor house.

The commotion also concerned Khamisi.

Had Tau and Njongo been discovered?

Or maybe their camouflaged base camp outside the estate grounds had been found? Their rallying point was disguised as a Zulu hunting campsite, one of the many such nomadic camps. Had someone realized it was more than that?