Page 64 of Shadow Boxed (Shadow Warriors #2)

Chapter fifty-one

O’Neill paused, his eyebrows rising at the sight of the utility cart idling in front of the hangar door.

“You waiting for me?” he asked Wolf.

He must have been. While O’Neill hadn’t been the only warrior returning to base on the Citation, the other passenger—Simcosky—had immediately caught the bell and headed down to The Neighborhood.

“Get in,” Wolf said in that annoyingly blasé voice he did so well.

O’Neill shrugged and walked around the vehicle. Would you look at that, personal chauffeur service from commander of Shadow Mountain himself.

“Have you got an ETA on when Embray will return?” O’Neill asked, as he slid into the passenger seat.

Embray’s jet had flown them to Seattle, where the Shadow Mountain Citation had been waiting.

But the Global Dynamic billionaire had remained in Seattle—claiming business.

Which was annoying as hell. Embray had pulled strings to get them out of London before they were cleared on Nantz’s disappearance.

He was supposed to return to Shadow Mountain’s labs.

Only to remain in Seattle? What could be more important than neutralizing the apocalypse?

“He will return soon.” Wolf pressed the accelerator and the vehicle moved forward. “The Citation flies to Anchorage this evening to pick him up.”

O’Neill relaxed at the news. The sitrep Wolf had offered once the Citation was close enough for O’Neill to connect to the Neealaho had made it obvious the base needed all hands on-deck. And that included Embray.

Fuck, the dude might just be pivotal in winning this war.

“Why the personalized service,” O’Neill asked.

Had something gone wrong? More wrong than Nantz’s posse of infected and runaway bots, or the billionaire’s recent collapse? Christ, this was not the clusterfuck he wanted to return home to.

The thought hit him like a fist upside his head. Home ? When did Shadow Mountain become his home?

“I wish to speak with you.” Wolf cast him one quick glance before returning his eyes to the road.

“Okay...” O’Neill waited.

“About your spirit gift,” Wolf continued, with a hesitancy O’Neill had never heard before.

“Okay...” O’Neill waited some more.

“I ask that you use your gift on Nantz.” Wolf shot him another quick look.

“I can try,” O’Neill said quietly. “But don’t get your hopes up.

I tried to connect to an unconscious person before.

Complete failure.” The mind he’d tried to link with had been dying.

He’d been desperate to retrieve the information they needed.

Critical information locked inside that fading consciousness.

Afterwards, he wasn’t sure if his failure to connect was his fault or the circumstances, so he’d asked Benioko.

“The Taounaha told me that in order to connect to another person’s consciousness, both minds must be alert. ..aware.”

Wolf shrugged. “But it will not hurt to try?”

“Never hurts to try.” He frowned. Wolf must be desperate to get more information from their target. “Did Capland’s plan to clean up Nantz’s interrogation footage work?

Wolf picked up the tablet sitting on the console between them. “See for yourself. The footage is loaded.” He lifted his chin toward a pair of headphones sitting on the dash. “Use the headphones. The words will be easier to hear.”

Leaning forward, O’Neill grabbed the headphones, plugged them into the tablet, and stroked his finger down the screen to wake it up. Crystal clear images immediately scrolled across the screen, along with the accompanying audio.

At first, Nantz’s words were slurred, but discernable. But the clarity disintegrated with each second the footage advanced. By the end of the tape, when the bastard was talking about the lab’s location, his voice was so garbled his words made no sense.

T...bst...m..twer...crs. This must be the section Cap wanted to clean.

O’Neill pulled the headphones down until they circled his neck. “Did Cap clean up the section where Nantz is talking about his labs?”

“That is the cleaned version.” Wolf’s even tone screamed frustration. “Can you identify any words?”

“Maybe...one.” O’Neill backed the footage up and listened again, while watching the movements of Nantz’s mouth. “I think he said tower. No sure about the other four words though.”

“Tower.” Wolf nodded, with a fleeting expression of satisfaction. “This is the word others have identified as well.”

“Great.” O’Neill huffed out an exasperated breath. “So we know the labs are located in a tower...somewhere.” He shook his head. “Even if the word he used is tower, the fucking thing could be anywhere.”

“Indeed.” Wolf’s voice was back to placid. “Capland is developing a program that will assess all of Nantz Technology’s properties, using the parameters we have established—seclusion, size, height.” He paused, then sighed. “Perhaps he will identify the location of this secret lab.”

No wonder Wolf had requested that O’Neill use his spirit gift on Nantz. The dude was desperate. Hell, they were all desperate.

O’Neill’s gaze narrowed. “We should put the Nantz building in D.C. at the top of Cap’s list. Embray said Nantz moved all his people from there to a new location. The timing there is suspicious as hell.”

Wolf simply nodded. “His DC building has fifteen floors. Perhaps he considers that a tower?”

“Could be,” O’Neill agreed.

Wolf pulled into a parking slot in front of the ER. “You are certain that linking with a comatose mind will not be a danger to you?”

“Shouldn’t be.” O’Neill slid out of the passenger seat. “You said over the Neealaho that Kait tried to heal him. No luck?”

“No. Nor has One Bird, or any of the other healers. Woohanta medicine keeps him breathing for now.”

Wolf led him through the emergency room waiting area, through the clinic, and into the back section, where those in long-term care were housed. Like Nantz. And Samuel.

O’Neill glanced at Wolf, wondering if he was going to visit his hee-javaanee while they were here. If that was Wolf’s plan, it would be best if O’Neill left the clinic first. His jie'van presence might fuck with the fallen warrior’s ability to heal.

Wolf stopped in front of a room full of beeping, whooshing, and whirring. Apparently, every medical machine known to man was keeping the billionaire alive.

“I will remain here,” Wolf said, resting his back against the wall.

O’Neill approached the bed. He’d been in enough hospitals, as a patient and a visitor, to recognize the scent permeating Nantz’s room—a mix of bleach, alcohol, and disinfectant.

O’Neill stepped up to Nantz’s shoulders, squeezing in front of a boxy white ventilator.

Nantz looked frail, his face bone white against the pillows.

His chest rose and fell beneath the ventilator tube plunging down his throat.

Death shrouded him, even though he was still breathing.

At least they had his hard drive files. Those were the only secrets they’d be prying from him now.

Maybe his role as bodyguard had been a mistake. If he’d been on that plane when they dragged him onboard...if he’d been on base while the bastard was awake...he might have seen or heard something in his mind that would have given them a location.

Or Wolf could be right, and the mission would have failed—spectacularly—from the outset.

Before, in Nantz’s office, he’d started to link with the bastard by touching his neck and mouth. But there were too many tubes in place. So he pulled down the thin blanket, and then the lightweight cotton hospital gown instead, baring the dude’s chest.

Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply and tried to empty his mind, as Benioko had instructed before sending him to Petropavlovsk with Wolf’s aggress team.

He’d never mastered this gift, partially because of his reluctance to use it, and partially because there were few opportunities prior to his arrival at Shadow Mountain.

And even afterwards, to a certain extent.

He let his hands settle on Nantz’s chest and waited for the electrical buzzing and butterflies to hit his brain. They came, but weakly.

Still, he hadn’t felt anything—no buzzing, no butterflies—when Chetza had been dying beneath his hands. At least this link with Nantz was giving him something. He waited, letting the connection settle, waiting for the flashes of foreign images and sounds to start scrolling through his mind.

But nothing came. At least no images or sounds. He saw fog instead. Thick, whirling fog. There was something beneath the fog, moving within it, pushing it up in waves, but he couldn’t see what it was.

Couldn’t see what the fog was hiding.

When the fog didn’t lift, and Nantz’s memories didn’t surface, O’Neill opened his eyes and lifted his hands. Yeah, this attempt was useless.

Perhaps it mattered where he touched? Perhaps if he touched the dude’s face like he had in London, he’d get a clearer connection. He moved further up the bed and carefully leaned across Nantz’s chest to rest his palms on either side of the ventilation tube.

Once again he closed his eyes and emptied his mind. But nope, just more fog.

Well hell...he opened his eyes again and studied Nantz’s slack face. His gaze drifted to the top of Nantz’s head. He frowned, shrugged, and raised his hands. What the hell, might as well try again.

To his shock, as soon as he touched Nantz’s skull, the butterflies and buzzing strengthened.

There was fog again, but this time images pierced the fog, rising and falling like serpents beneath the waves.

He was so shocked, he jerked back and lost the connection.

Thank Christ he didn’t dislodge anything when he recoiled.

He opened his eyes to stabilize himself and reached for Nantz’s head again. This time, he braced himself.

“Fuck you.” A rifle rising. “Nobody is restraining me. Nobody is stealing my ability to defend myself. I’ll see you all dead first.”

The crack...crack...crack...of rifle fire