Price Of Honor

Chapter Twenty-eight

“Go, go, go!” Stark shouted.

The door at the rear of the car slid open and a blast of icy wind struck Blair in the face. Tears welled in her eyes, blinding her for an instant. A hand gripped her jacket in the center of her back, half guiding, half propelling her forward. She focused on the ground a few feet below and jumped down from the platform into knee-deep snow. Her body was instantly numb. Brock charged ahead, forging a path, and she followed him on autopilot, thinking of nothing except placing one foot in front of the other. The body armor encasing her chest was a lead fist constricting her heart. Was Cam somewhere close by, safe? Or on her way to face another madman?

The helicopter emerged from the thick soup of fog, a prehistoric beast rising out of the underworld. The rotors kicked up sheets of swirling ice, and she stumbled forward with one arm shielding her face. The side doors slid open and figures in armor, bristling with weapons, appeared in the doorway. Then they were reaching down and she up to them. Her feet left the ground, and her body flew the few yards into the helicopter. When she got her balance on the ice-slick floor, she wiped moisture from her eyes and peered around frantically. The ball of terror in her midsection loosened a fraction. Her father was beside her. “Where is everyone else? Dad, where is Luce?”

“There,” he shouted, and she looked where he pointed.

Two agents lifted Luce into the helicopter as the floor tilted and the helicopter rose. Blair gripped Stark’s arm for balance and leaned forward into the open doorway. The train rapidly grew smaller as they picked up speed. The drones perched atop the train cars, the one she’d been in and another one a few cars down, looking like primeval predators from a science fiction movie. Her heart seized. She braced for the explosion, the fireball erupting, the train engulfed in flames. The end of her world.

“It’s going to be all right,” her father shouted, his arm coming around her shoulders. His words were nearly lost in the whir of the rotors and the clatter of the engines.

The door rolled shut and she pulled away, needing to see out the small portholes, unable to breathe, unable to think of anything except Cam. And so many others. The train looked like an abandoned toy in a sea of white.

And then they were over the top of a mountain and the train disappeared. She kept watching, waiting for the flare of red to rise above the purple crests. Sensation returned to her fingers and toes, and her mind started working again.

“What about the others?” she shouted to Stark. “What’s happening on the train?”

“No word yet,” Stark said.

Frustration choked her. She was more a captive here than when she’d been trapped in the train car with a bomb over her head. She knew she was supposed to be safe now, but all she wanted was to escape. She recognized the feeling, she’d had it all her life. But she knew better now. She took a deep breath, searched for what she could do until she had word from Cam.

Lucinda sat on a jump seat, her arms wrapped around her torso, her face pale but composed. Her father was huddled with Evyn Daniels, who had a headset pressed to one ear. Evyn was relaying something to the president that Blair, isolated in a roaring tunnel of silence, couldn’t hear. She crouched next to Lucinda and took her hand.

“All right?” she shouted.

Lucinda nodded and leaned close. “Pissed off.”

“Me too.”

Lucinda squeezed her fingers. “We will get them.”

“I know.”

“And Cam will be fine. She’s the best there is.”

Blair swallowed hard. Cam was everything. “I know.”

Ten minutes later the helicopter circled in a wide arc and set down behind a sprawling log cabin in the foothills, surrounded by evergreens and ringed with familiar black SUVs. The door opened and agents poured toward the helicopter like a black tide, weapons in hand. Stark helped her out of the helicopter and jumped down beside her.

“Where are we?” Blair called as she raced toward the house in the middle of a scrum of agents.

“Safe house,” Stark yelled back.

“What about the train?”

“Command center is inside. Come on.” Stark pushed open a set of french doors and sprinted toward a wide hallway on the far side of a rough-stone-floored foyer.

Blair scarcely noticed her surroundings. All that mattered now was the train.

*

Cam heard the helicopter lift away. Blair and the president were safe. The play was in motion. All that remained was to see it through. No second guesses, no second chances. If she’d misjudged Jane Doe, a lot of people would die.

“Come on,” she said to Gary Williams. “Back up. We’re getting back into the train. She’s seen you now.”

“It won’t matter,” he said dully. “She won’t give up.”

“No,” Cam said. “I don’t think she will. But the game is over for today. She won’t sacrifice you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re family.” Cam gripped his collar and pushed him ahead of her into the command car. “And that’s her Achilles heel.”

He snorted. “You really think you understand what makes her tick?”

Cam thought of Blair and Andrew Powell and Lucinda Washburn and Paula Stark. Of what she would do, what she would give, to keep them safe. “I know I do.”

*

Jane watched through the high-powered scope as Robbie climbed back into the train. He looked frightened and younger than she remembered. He looked resigned too, as if he knew she would not back down. She had never relented when they were growing up and he’d lagged behind in training, always pushing him to try harder, practice more, be stronger. She’d never had to push Jenn—she’d had to struggle to keep up with her sister. Robbie had always believed she and her father had loved Jenn more than him. Maybe he’d been right. None of that mattered now.

Robbie disappeared, and Jane knew she’d seen him for the last time. She set the rifle aside and picked up the remote.