The Echelon Read online

  Really, I don’t even need to go with her. I know now that, despite her earlier doubts, she’ll see this through.

  The man punches me in the torso. I roll off of him and quickly leap up, putting myself between him and Sophie, who is almost out the door.

  “Leave without me,” I yell to her. “And don’t stop until you get that chest to the royal wing of Princess Serafina Hospital in Cap de Playa and speak to King Lorenzo!”

  T-MINUS:00:50:38

  Sophie drags the heavy antique trunk through the building.

  It’s got a rope handle on one end that makes the process easier, but the handle is short, and the trunk keeps hitting the back of her feet, almost knocking her down a few times.

  That makes it a slower process than she would prefer.

  When she finally reaches the entrance to the bullring, she pulls it out into the sand, where she waits for whoever is supposed to be coming to help her.

  And, despite the fact that she attends mass daily, she does something she hasn’t done on her own in a long time.

  She prays.

  Hard.

  T-MINUS:00:49:41

  The man growls at me, but as he watches the door swing shut, his eyes reveal his next move.

  When he gets up on all fours, ready to spring back into action, I’m right there, throwing my leg out with force and connecting just under his chin. I follow it up with a roundabout shot to the temple, knocking him against one of the restroom stalls and causing it to fall down around him.

  I slam both my feet down hard on the bathroom tiles, finally able to pop the blades out of my shoes.

  He barrels toward me, connecting and shoving me up onto the restroom sink and punching me in the face. The punch sends my head flying back against the mirror, causing it to break, glass raining down on both of us.

  He curses, grabs my shirt, and pulls me up to standing.

  We exchange sparring hits.

  He’s powerful and good.

  But I’m fast, and I manage to deflect his punches enough that he isn’t able to get in a direct hit, just a few glancing blows. I see the watch on my arm flash by as I give him a shot to his solar plexus.

  I’d like to turn the dial to midnight and launch the kind of dart that would paralyze and then kill him, but he’s strong and fast, and I’m afraid, if I’m distracted even for a second, I’ll be dead.

  He throws his arm over my neck, spinning me around in one quick movement and putting me in an effective chokehold.

  I kick my legs out against the wall, like Daniel does when he’s swimming in the pool, launching us both backward. Our motion stops when he hits the door behind us, causing us to tumble out into the exhibition hall.

  His grip on me loosens, so I duck out from under him and spin, kicking my left leg up and connecting with his shoulder, the blade tearing his skin. My shoe flies off in the process, but I follow it up with a bare-footed kick to his face.

  As I’m coming out of the move, he throws a knockout punch, hitting me directly in the temple.

  I’m falling.

  Going down.

  My vision is failing.

  But, as I’m about to land, I see the gun right in the doorway.

  I reach out, but the man kicks it away, causing it to skitter across the floor as he lunges toward me. I plaster my arms to my sides, like I used to do as a kid when going down a grassy hill, and roll out of the way, functioning purely on adrenaline at this point, trying hard to stay conscious long enough for Sophie to get picked up.

  Because the man thought I wouldn’t get out of the way, he puts extra force into his move, meaning he can’t stop the inertia sending him forward. As he tries to pull up, he hits his head on an exhibition case.

  Mid-roll, I make a split-second decision, opting to go for the gun rather than my watch since my left hand is currently trapped under my body.

  T-MINUS:00:48:27

  Sophie hears something in the distance. A soft rumble mixed with the sound of a ceiling fan—like a really large bee. A sort of whup-whup-whup.

  A shadow falls across her face as she looks up to see a Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter directly over the ring, and she wonders how such a large machine managed to practically sneak up on her.

  The thrum of the helicopter’s whirling blades is a welcome sound though.

  After being on the run for days, she finally feels relatively safe.

  She’s a bit awestruck when the helicopter lowers into the ring, but she isn’t all that surprised. Huntley did call someone pretty important.

  Someone so posh and gorgeous, he’s been the star of numerous daydreams of hers over the years.

  The helicopter doesn’t land as she expected, just hovers above the ground, causing sand from the bullring to whip around her like a tornado, stinging her skin and eyes.

  The nun’s robe she’s still wearing over her clothes is flapping in the breeze, and her hair is swirling around her face, making it hard to see.

  Two men leap out of the helicopter, their black military boots hitting the ground.

  She ducks down and shields her eyes and just keeps dragging the trunk toward her saviors.

  One of the men hands her a pair of goggles, which she happily accepts and puts on. They take the trunk from her and load it and her onto the helicopter.

  “Where is the other girl?” one of the soldiers asks.

  “She’s still inside, fighting with the man who tried to kill me earlier,” she sputters out and then coughs. The sand and dirt are wreaking havoc on her throat. “She said to leave without her.”

  But then the sound of gunfire fills the air.

  T-MINUS:00:47:06

  As the man stands back up, I ricochet across the floor, pick up the gun, spin around, and fire, hitting him square in the chest—once, twice.

  They are perfect shots, straight to the heart, that will kill him.

  But, as he’s falling down, he steadily holds his arm out toward me, taking aim.

  My mind quickly assesses the threat, causing me to veer to the right in an attempt to avoid being shot.

  But I can’t move fast enough.

  I feel something, like the sting of a wasp; looking down, I find a poisoned dart stuck in my left bicep.

  I pluck it out and toss it to the ground next to me, realizing that I only have seconds left to live.

  That I’ll never make it back to Montrovia.

  That I’ll never lay eyes on Lorenzo again.

  Tears fill my eyes though because I’ve successfully completed my mission. Sophie has given the trunk to whoever Kresten sent.

  And that trunk will save the world.

  As I crumple to the ground, I see my mother’s smiling face.

  And I feel happy.

  T-MINUS:00:46:22

  A team of two military operators rushes inside the museum, weapons drawn.

  Upon arriving in one of the exhibit halls, they first spot a man bleeding out from gunshot wounds to the chest.

  Their eyes fall upon a girl.

  A beautiful young girl, her dark blonde hair splayed out around her body in an almost-artistic way.

  One of the men shakes his head, thinking it’s a tragic waste. He picks up her lifeless body, throwing it over his shoulder and carrying it to the helicopter.

  His partner doesn’t bother picking up her shoes. She won’t need them where she’s going.

  T-MINUS:00:44:53

  Sophie starts shaking, her body processing the sight before her mind seems to fully comprehend.

  Huntley is being carried out of the building. Her hair is flying around due to the wind caused by the helicopter blades.

  But it is the only thing on her that is moving.

  How could this have happened?

  After everything Huntley did to save the world, how could this be her end?

  Tears fill her eyes as she watches the men carefully load Huntley’s body into a seat in the back of the helicopter.

  Sophie knows instinctively—through some i
nnate part of her brain—that Huntley is dead.

  Emotion racks through her as she realizes that she herself and these men sent by the crown prince of her country are the ones who must finish the job.

  And she owes it to both her father and Huntley not to fail.

  “How long does it take to get to Montrovia?” she asks with a renewed sense of confidence, trying to wipe away her tears. She is going to have to suck it up and mourn her losses later.

  “About forty minutes,” the pilot says. “But we plan on getting there faster than that.”

  T-MINUS:00:30:15

  Despite the fact that the country of Montrovia has lost all communications with the outside world, excitement fills the air in the royal wing of the hospital.

  “The vaccines have just arrived,” Juan tells Lorenzo. “This will be over soon.”

  But Lorenzo isn’t so sure.

  While everyone else’s spirits seem lifted, he feels a sense of foreboding.

  And a quick look at Daniel confirms he’s not the only one who feels that way. He’s sure Huntley would have told Daniel not to take the vaccine. She was so sure of herself. So strongly opposed to it.

  He surveys the room. Most lying in the beds have already developed the rash, and he’s worried, either way, it might be too late for them. That their disease has progressed past the point of no return.

  More than likely though, what has him most upset has to do with a conversation earlier this morning.

  His late father’s personal physician had run blood work on him just after he took the vaccine and again late last night.

  “Lorenzo, although you are feeling well, your white blood count is up quite a bit. I would expect to see that after taking a vaccine. It just means your body is learning to fight the disease. What is unusual, however, is your lowered red blood count. Have you noticed any unusual bleeding?”

  “Not at all.”

  The doctor sighed. “I know, with everything going on in our country, it isn’t a good time to bring this up, but you might have something else going on—health-wise.”

  “Like what?”

  “To be completely blunt, you have the same illness your father had. The one we couldn’t cure. Your blood work is so similar to his before his passing that I had to double-check I hadn’t pulled up his record by mistake. You need to get your affairs in order. I’m guessing you only have a few days left on this earth.”

  Lorenzo looks at the clock on the wall.

  At the woman carrying the next king of Montrovia.

  And at the walkie-talkie sitting on the bedside table next to her.

  In thirty minutes’ time, he will use it to order the administration of the vaccines to the people of his country—a move that will either save his people or doom them.

  But he will probably never know because, soon after that, he will, without a doubt, die.

  T-MINUS:00:27:31

  “She’s not going to make it back,” Ares says to Intrepid and Blake Cassleberry, who are huddled in the basement of the villa, waiting to hear anything from Huntley while simultaneously trying to get any kind of line of communications open.

  “And we wouldn’t know it if she did.” Intrepid punches another number into his phone and then slams it onto the desk in frustration. “Nothing is working.”

  “We need to go to the hospital,” Ares says.

  “We have no proof to support our cause,” Blake replies, feeling defeated.

  “No, but if Huntley does succeed, that is the first place she will go.”

  “That’s true,” Intrepid agrees. “Get in your disguise, and we’ll leave immediately.”

  Ares shakes his head. “I’m not wearing it.”

  “Mike Burnes is there. As is the president,” Blake argues.

  “I don’t care anymore. My son and his new wife are going to die either way, and I’m going to be there with them as myself when it happens.”

  “And what about the rest of the world?” Intrepid asks.

  “I’ll state my case to Lorenzo and plead with him not to give the vaccines. Or at least talk him into giving Huntley more time. And, if he doesn’t listen, at least I will know that I tried my best.”

  “You’ve been trying to stop this for over six years,” Blake says.

  “And, now, it’s over,” Ares replies.

  T-MINUS:00:22:12

  My nostrils flare at a smell.

  I breathe in a strong, pungent scent.

  My body does a shiver.

  And I open my eyes.

  I see shapes. I hear a soft purring. I feel movement next to me.

  I react quickly, crossing my arms over my head to protect myself from the beating that I instinctively know is coming.

  It’s then that I discover that I’m restrained.

  Not good.

  At all.

  Was I captured?

  “It’s okay,” I hear a female voice say. “Huntley, you’re okay. We’re safe.”

  At first, I think it’s my mother’s voice.

  I shake my head and try to focus on the tone. “Sophie?”

  It’s then that I become more aware.

  My vision clears.

  I’m in a helicopter. Military. UH-60 Black Hawk, I think.

  I’m strapped into one of the rear seats.

  I remember firing at the man I was fighting.

  Killing him.

  And getting shot with what I assumed was a poisoned dart.

  “Tranquilizer dart?” I ask.

  “Yes,” a soldier to my left says. He’s of a stocky build with gorgeous green eyes and wearing military fatigues with a small American flag patch. He hands me a headset, so we can communicate without yelling.

  I’m quickly introduced to the six men onboard.

  “We did it,” Sophie says happily over the comms. “We’ve got the proof, and we’re about halfway to Montrovia.”

  I immediately check the countdown on my watch and feel an immense sense of relief when I see there are still twenty minutes before the shots will be given—provided they didn’t decide to start early.

  “How did you guys get to Ronda so fast?” I ask.

  “We were out on routine maneuvers when we got the call from the commander of Morón Air Base,” the pilot says. “He told us to hightail it over and then get you to the Montrovian border.”

  “The border? What? No, that won’t work!” I exclaim.

  “Where do you need to go, ma’am?” the crew chief sitting next to me asks.

  “We have to go into the country, to the hospital specifically.”

  “The country is under quarantine,” the pilot says. “No one is allowed in or out.”

  “Did your commander tell you why you needed to get us there?”

  “No, we were just told to provide VIP transport.”

  “You know the disease that started in Montrovia? The one they say will kill everyone in the world if they don’t take the vaccine?”

  “Yep. We’re set to get the vaccines this evening back at the base.”

  “It’s not the disease that is going to kill people. It’s the vaccine.” I point to Sophie. “Her father discovered it, and we have proof of what the vaccine will do. You have to drop me and the box off at the main hospital in the capital. Then, you need to get Sophie somewhere she can announce the truth to the rest of the world. She won’t be able to do that from Montrovia because their communications systems are all down.”

  “Roger,” the pilot responds. “We’ll come up with something.”

  My comms are switched off, so I can’t hear what they are discussing, but it appears to be tense.

  A few minutes later, the crew chief next to me says, “Since the country is under quarantine, we won’t be able to announce our presence. We’ll fly in low. Our plan is to drop you off at the hospital and then hightail it out of there.”

  “I’m not as worried about getting in as I am about you getting out,” I say. “Rumors before I left suggested that any aircraft that tried t
o leave might be shot down.”

  “Well, you’re lucky we happen to be fully loaded and can handle the threat.”

  “And where will you take Sophie?”

  “I would assume back to the base.”

  “And how long will that take?”

  “At least an hour.”

  “That’s too much time. Wait!” I say, suddenly remembering something Daniel told me regarding the security of the president while he attended the Olympics. “Can you land a helicopter on an aircraft carrier?”

  “Of course,” the pilot says. “We can land anywhere. As long as the seas are calm and I have enough room.”

  “A Navy flotilla was moved into position just off the coast of Montrovia to protect President Spear while he was attending the Olympics. And more ships were added when people started getting sick. Could you get to them faster than the base?” I ask.

  “Absolutely,” the copilot replies. “Let me get on the horn and see what we can arrange.”

  After a heated conversation with someone only the pilots can hear, he says, “We’ll drop you off at the hospital and take Miss Sophie out to the carrier. But we won’t be able to land.”

  He then tells me the rest of the plan.

  I’m given some ibuprofen to help with my injuries and the headache I have from the tranquilizer. I get unbuckled and move around a little, stretching my arms and legs and inventorying what hurts.

  Which … is pretty much everything.

  My knuckles are bruised. I have numerous scratches from the broken mirror glass. My ribs ache. The corner of my lip and above my eyebrow are cut, and my cheekbone is swollen.

  But it feels a whole heck of a lot better than being dead.