Page 38 of Pressure Point (Lantern Beach Blackout: Detonation #2)

CHAPTER

THIRTY-EIGHT

The impact of the boat’s hull scraping against the shore jarred Quinn from her white-knuckled grip on the side of the boat.

Somehow they’d made it through Hurricane Delilah’s outer bands and increasingly violent waters. They’d reached the island.

But as Quinn stumbled onto the beach on unsteady legs, her relief was immediately tempered by what she saw on the sand about fifty yards away.

Another boat, sleek and military-grade.

“We’re not alone.” She nodded toward the vessel.

Atlas’s expression immediately shifted into tactical mode. “Sigma operatives. They’re protecting their equipment.”

Quinn’s stomach clenched as the reality of their situation became clear. They weren’t just racing against Hurricane Delilah’s approach. They were walking into a place where armed personnel would kill to protect their weather weapon.

Maverick consulted his tablet, comparing satellite imagery to the terrain around them. “Equipment should be about three hundred meters inland, on the highest ground.”

Quinn looked toward the island’s interior, seeing nothing but windswept scrub vegetation through the driving rain. But somewhere in that seemingly barren landscape was the technology turning Hurricane Delilah into a weapon of mass destruction.

Technology that she may have helped design, even if she couldn’t remember doing so.

Atlas stepped close enough that only she could hear, “You okay?”

She nodded, though her hands were shaking—whether from cold, fear, or the weight of responsibility, she wasn’t sure. “I just hope I can remember what I need to do. The equipment configurations, the shutdown sequences . . .”

“You can do it.”

She looked up at him and saw the concern in his green eyes. “What if my memories aren’t complete? What if I can’t figure out how to stop it?”

“Then we’ll figure it out together. But Quinn, we’re running out of time.”

He was right. Quinn felt Hurricane Delilah’s approach in the dropping air pressure, the increasing wind speed, the electric tension that made her hair stand on end despite the rain.

The storm was probably less than ten hours from landfall now, and every minute they delayed meant more artificial energy being pumped into the system.

“Let’s move.” She forced steel into her voice. “People are counting on us.”

As they made their way inland, Quinn couldn’t shake the feeling that she was walking toward either salvation or destruction.

She wouldn’t know which until she was face-to-face with the equipment.

Atlas moved with practiced stealth through the scrub vegetation, his team spread out in tactical formation as they approached the center of the island.

The storm provided excellent cover. The wind and rain masked the sound of their movement, and visibility was so poor that they could get much closer to their targets before being detected.

But it also meant the enemy had the same advantages.

Jake held up a closed fist, bringing everyone to an immediate halt.

Atlas followed his gaze. Through the driving rain, he’d spotted movement in the distance.

Two figures in tactical gear, assault rifles at the ready, conducted what looked like perimeter patrol.

Sigma guards, positioned to protect their weather station.

Jake gestured to Kyle and Hudson, pointing toward the guards’ positions and indicating a flanking maneuver. His team had worked together long enough that minimal communication was needed—they understood the plan immediately.

Kyle would circle left and Hudson right, while Atlas guarded Quinn. Maverick and Jake would maintain positions to cover their retreat if things went bad.

Atlas watched through his scope as his teammates moved into position. Then they simultaneously neutralized both guards with two quick pops. The guards weren’t dead, but they were definitely out of commission.

As they advanced toward the equipment area, the fire of automatic weapons erupted from a concealed position Atlas hadn’t spotted.

He jerked Quinn down behind a cluster of trees as bullets whined overhead.

Atlas’s team returned fire, the familiar, sharp crack of systematic three-round bursts mixing with the sustained spray of enemy weapons.

Through the chaos, he heard Jake’s voice over the radio: “Two more guards down! Area secure!”

Atlas helped Quinn to her feet, noting how she’d instinctively taken cover without freezing under fire. Whatever her background, he had no doubt she’d been trained for dangerous situations.

They advanced to what Maverick had identified as the equipment site—a small weatherproof shelter.

They stepped inside, and Atlas sucked in a breath.

Someone sat behind a bank of computers monitoring everything.

It was . . .

“Agent Hughes?” Quinn muttered.

The woman turned, a gun in her hand.

Atlas moved in front of Quinn, desperate to protect her.

“You weren’t supposed to come here,” Hughes muttered.

“You’re supposed to be FBI,” Atlas countered.

“I am FBI.” She scowled. “This is my side hustle.”

“Working for Sigma and trying to destroy our country?”

Her scowl deepened. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Not really,” Atlas said.

“You have to stop this,” Quinn told her.

“This is what I’ve worked so hard to do. There’s no way I’m stopping this.”

“Wait . . . you’re a scientist?” Quinn pushed herself in front of Atlas. “You weren’t sent to Lantern Beach to question me. Not by the FBI. You went there to find out what I knew.”

Hughes smirked. “Someone had to design this. That’s where I came in. But I needed help—help that only you and Hartwell could offer. But neither of you were willing to be turned. Things got complicated. But we’ve come too far for me to let you stop me now.”

As she raised her gun, Atlas yelled, “no!”

Then he threw himself in front of Quinn before the rogue agent could kill her.