Tall, Dark and Dangerous Collection Volume 2 by Suzanne Brockmann

Author:Suzanne Brockmann [Brockmann, Suzanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781488091322
Publisher: HQN Books
Published: 2017-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

“You have an hour, ninety minutes tops,” Harvard told P.J., “before the guards’ shift changes.”

P.J. had made the climb to the roof of Sherman’s headquarters with no complaining. And now she was going to have to dangle over the edge of the roof while she squeezed herself into an air vent in which Harvard couldn’t possibly fit.

He’d taken several moments in the jungle to try to rewire his microphone. He got a connection, but it was poor, at best, coming and going, crackling and weak. It was held together by duct tape and a prayer, but it was better than nothing.

They’d also switched to a different radio channel from the one being monitored by the USS Irvin.

P.J. stripped off her pack and combat vest to make herself as small as possible for her trip through the ventilation system. She tucked the handgun into her pants at the small of her back and carried the MP5 and a small flashlight.

She took a deep breath. “I’m ready,” she said.

She was cool and calm. He was the one having the cold sweats.

“The clock’s running,” she reminded him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Talk to me while you’re in there.”

“I will—if I can.”

He couldn’t ask for anything more. They’d been over this four hundred times. There wasn’t much else he could say, except to say again, “If something goes wrong, and you do get caught, tell me where you are in the building. Which floor you’re on, which corner of the building you’re closest to. Because I’ll come and get you out, okay? I’ll figure out a way.” He removed the grille from the vent and lifted P.J. in his arms. “Don’t look down.”

“I won’t. Oh, God.”

She had to go into the vent headfirst. Weapon first.

“Be careful,” he told her.

“I promise I will.”

Bracing himself, Harvard took a deep breath, then lowered the woman he loved more than life itself over the edge of the roof.

* * *

It was hot as hell in there.

P.J. had imagined it would be cool. It was part of the air-conditioning system, after all. But she realized the duct she was in was the equivalent of a giant exhaust pipe. It was hot and smelled faintly of human waste.

It was incredibly close, too.

Small places didn’t bother her, thank God. But Harvard would’ve hated it. He certainly would have done it if he had to, but he would have hated it the entire time.

Of course, the point was moot. He would never fit. She barely fit herself.

Her shirt caught on another of the metal seams, and she impatiently tugged it free. It caught again ten feet down the vent, and she wriggled out of it.

She checked it quickly, making sure it was sanitized—that there was nothing on it, no marks or writing that would link it to her or to anyone American. But it was only a green and brown camouflage shirt. High fashion for the well-dressed guerrilla in jungles everywhere.

P.J. left it behind and kept going.

She concentrated on moving soundlessly. Moving forward was taking her longer than she’d anticipated.

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