Page 93 of Sloth
Half-way through discussing the best plan of approach—roof or ground—Griffin walked in, already dressed in his Deadly outfit. His blue face scarf gathered around the base of his neck, leaving his face free. Mussed up dark hair indicated his hood had recently been up. Without his spectacles, he looked completely different, and sometimes Sloan did a double take before she recognized him. It was stupid, really. They were only frames around his eyes.
“Apologies, I’m late.” He strode up to the strategy table. “Wyatt’s just finished up with an antenatal appointment, he’ll be here any minute.” He folded his arms and inspected the glass screen. “This is where you think Max is being held?”
Sloan’s stomach fluttered. “It’s where Daisy was phoning Sara from.”
“And you found the data buried in Sara’s phone.”
“Together with Wyatt’s cell,” she corrected.
He arched an eyebrow but said no more. “That was months ago.”
“We know.” Don’t remind her.
“Okay. What’s the plan?”
Sloan opened her mouth, but Griffin held up a finger for her to wait. He lifted his hood to cover his head and tapped the microphone activator on his breast pocket emblem. The micro-speaker was inbuilt into his hood. “Yes?”
Griffin’s gaze turned dark.
“What is it?” Sloan asked.
“Lilo,” was all he said, and then he walked out of the operations room and into the hallway, no doubt wanting to focus his attention on the call.
Sloan shared a worried look with her two brothers. Lilo, Griffin’s mate, rarely called and asked to be patched through to their suits. She knew if he was in a suit, he’d be in the field and not to be disturbed. Lilo was a news reporter. Calling like this might indicate bad news…
Griffin came hurrying back from the hallway, a hard look on his face.
“AIMI,” he said. “Turn on the channel four news on the middle wall monitor.”
One of the giant screens flickered to life. With it came pictures of a disaster unfolding in the municipal district of Cardinal City.
Sloan’s whole world came crashing down.
“Looks like we found Max,” Evan said.
Twenty-Nine
A warm breezetickled Max’s face and arms. He was lying down. When he opened his eyes, blue sky peeked from the gaps between tall buildings. As his awareness began to focus, sounds of traffic, birds and conversation flowed over him. Frowning, he strained his hearing. It was more than conversation, it was panic. The whoop of a police siren had him jackknifing upright.
His head swam, his stomach rolled, and the weight of his body almost pulled him back down. Looking down at his torso, he knew why he was so heavy. There was a bomb strapped to his middle. Kilos of C4 explosives, wires, and a cell phone with a timer running.
Twenty-five minutes and counting.
Thirty
In the Lazarus basement headquarters,pandemonium broke loose around Sloan, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. She was underwater, watching everything from a muffled distance. She could only watch the video footage, blurring in her eyes: Max sitting in a lonely courtyard in the municipal district, bomb strapped around his chest… bruised, beaten, about to die.
Then something surreal happened. A warbled ring penetrated her underwater doom.
Ring ring.
Ring ring.
Each shrill decibel grated down her spine and brought her closer to the surface of sanity. The sound came from Sara’s old phone. Parker, Evan, Griffin and Sloan looked at each other.
“Answer it,” Parker ordered her.
She hit the connection button and quickly put the call on speaker. “Yes?”
