AMIDST THE CATS' CRADLE - 18

C H A P T E R E I G H T E E N - - - - M I T C H

A little north of Quezon City, it was a chilly night, and as Mitch made his way through the brush, the wind bit through his meager clothing. While his gun felt secure in his hands and there was some static from the communications device in his ear, something didn't seem right.

There was nothing nearby that it was. He could make out the chain-link fence up ahead, shimmering in the moonlight as he peered through the woods. It was silent. No, he already had it. He wasn't feeling himself.

Since they learned that the blood samples from the lads were deteriorating, it had been a week. Nothing had occurred for the first several days, but things soon began to unfold. The first person to begin coughing and having respiratory issues was Duncan, and then Dawson.

Then their eyes, noses, and ears started bleeding, followed by trembling, cold sweats, and muscular weakness.

Nothing was more horrifying than witnessing your child suffer. The agony that threatened to strangle Mitch to death every time he glanced at Duncan's or Dawson's perplexed, pain-twisted expressions was nothing compared to the close call Mitch had had with losing his left arm and having to have it basically reattached in a tent in Afghanistan. Nothing even existed to calm them down.

Even though the researchers were working around the clock, it had been a year since they had succeeded in synthesizing PX-45. They wouldn't complete it right away. Ace loved to refer to Mitch's boys as their most important assets, even if it meant losing them.

"Mitch, are you ready to go? The werewolf shifter was now directly across from Tim at the opposite end of the property when Tim's voice came over the comm.

I am, he answered.

This time, they no longer used their code names. It wasn't important. All of the equipment was their own, and in the eyes of The Firm, they were out having fun with Tim and Tom while Jordan, Gwen, and the rest of the team were still in Laguna keeping watch over the infants' cribs.

The familiar shout of "Lock and load" caused Mitch, despite himself, to smile a bit.

He answered, pulling out the fence cutters and rapidly clearing a passage for himself, "Lock and load."

Thames, who was acting as backup and lookout, stated, "You have two minutes to go in and out, starting... now."

Mitch sprung into action, sprinting through the tiny yard and toward the door that was padlocked from the outside. Although there weren't many of them and they tended to stray, there were guards patrolling the perimeter. However, they followed a very clear pattern that was easy to identify.

Thames reminded Mitch, as the large cougar knocked the padlock straight off the door, "In and out, no mess, no worry."

Mitch muttered under his breath, "Sure, whatever," but kept his thoughts to himself.

If all went according to plan, Thames would be entering the building from a door similar to this one at the opposite end of the structure. Mitch opened it, ducked inside, and then slammed the door behind him.

Above him, fluorescent lights began to flicker, and he swiftly exited the room with his revolver pulled. Except for a few guards who appeared to seldom enter these floors, there shouldn't be more than a few individuals in the building at this time of night. Which suited Mitch just fine, even though killing a few Arctics on route would only enhance his evening.

"North corridor clean," Mitch said over the comm.

Tim responded with a resounding "South hallway clear."

Good.

He was moving quicker now, inspecting one door after the next and mainly discovering little warehouses full of items. According to the containers' notes, they held everything from firearms to bombs to detecting gadgets. Things Mitch would want to go through or blow up depending on his mood, but didn't have time for tonight. He grinned when he finally arrived to a closed door.

"I found it. You should take a left and a right about halfway down," he stated into the comms, mentally envisioning the cellar level of the four-story structure they were in.

They didn't have any maps, only educated estimates. The Arctics, like The Firm, had safehouses all throughout. Most of these were little more than luxurious storage facilities for teams to relax or equip up, and this one was no exception. The only thing that distinguished this one was that Squad Six knew where it was and, even better, had a solid idea of what may be hiding behind its walls.

Information. Right now, the most precious possession they could think of.

This had better be it. We're almost out of time.

Tim didn't appear for another thirty seconds, appearing deathly quiet as he frequently did during missions, all the loud-mouthed joking and bickering he was typically renowned for pushed away.

"Do you believe this is it?" he said, searching through his belt bag and taking out a little piece of explosive putty and a trigger.

"Has to be, we don't have enough time to go look for anything else," Mitch remarked, aware of how depressing it sounded.

He took a step back, keeping an eye in both directions as Tim performed his magic at the entrance. Mitch was certain that the area would be swarming with guards the instant he blew it. They could have had a minute or two to gather their belongings and leave.

"On three... three, two, one," Tim counted, both men avoiding their gazes and hiding their ears as a minor explosion shook the door, causing it to rattle for a time before collapsing off its hinges and crashing within.

Tim went in first, followed by Mitch, who pulled out a small, portable PC as he reached the server racks. He was correct in his supposition. The spot he'd selected appeared to be the closest to the air conditioning vents, making it the simplest to keep cool, which was necessary for servers of that scale. They were strewn throughout the entire room. There were a lot of delicious secrets stashed away on those discs that would make fighting The Arctics in general a lot simpler.

They simply needed to know where the fuckers were tonight.

As Tim stood vigil, Mitch connected with the servers through a cable, connecting the other end to his computer. It was simple to get around security since the Arctics plainly weren't anticipating anyone to backdoor them in such a way. Mitch chewed the inside of his cheek as he considered the various files and data stores he want to possess. Time was of the importance, and he couldn't get caught up in all that was offered; instead, he had to keep his eye on the goal.

His stomach was in knots, and images of Duncan and Dawson's misery made him want to gag. His hands, though, worked steadily, tapping through files once he discovered what he was looking for. Prime locations for research and development in the Americas. Locations where he might be able to get additional PX-45 before it was too late.

He swiftly transferred the file to his computer and then backtracked, disguising his activity in the logs as best he could and erasing any proof he'd left.

He had no doubt that The Arctics' computer monkeys would figure out what he was up to in no time. His sole hope was that they could outrun him.

“Got it,” he said, standing up at the very moment that heavy footsteps rained down the hallway.

“About fucking time,” Tim growled, spinning out of the room for a second and taking three precise shots, which was answered with a hail of rapid gunfire from his opponents.

Mitch tucked the computer away, tiny as it was, and picked up his gun as well. He was at Tim’s side when the man ducked back into the room.

“Think I got two, and there’s two more,” Tim said, his eyes flashing gold.

“Good,” Mitch said, picking a smoke grenade off his belt. “I feel like killing something today.”

He threw the grenade outside the door, and the corridor erupted in a haze as both of the Squad Six shifters pulled on their gas masks and stepped out. Mitch was on top of the remaining soldiers before they knew what hit them, shooting one in the face and hitting the other a fraction of a second later in the gut with the butt of his gun, before dropping the rifle and grabbing the man by the neck.

The man was slammed against the wall once, twice, landing face-first every time, and on the third collision, Mitch heard the satisfying pop of muscle and tendon coming loose from bone, the blond man’s head snapping back and lolling to the side uselessly. Mitch scooped up his rifle and wordlessly the two ex-SEALs ran out of the building, sure to encounter and kill more Arctics on the way.

As they’d always intended to.

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“The whole thing smells fucking rotten to me,” Tom said, rolling his shoulders back as they rattled in the back of a nondescript van toward a small private airport.

There would be a plane waiting for them there, organized by a man Shaun had once known in the service—a small-town sheriff now called Diesel. The pilot was a tiger shifter called Slate, who had both the good sense to shut up about things as well as pilot a plane well enough. Having friends came in handy at times like these, when a man couldn’t particularly depend on the company he worked for.

“Yeah? A certain ‘eau de Arctics’ catching you wrong?” Tim asked with a chuckle.

It was always odd listening to Tim and Tom discuss The Arctics. Being werewolves themselves, they seemed to take everything the group did almost personally. As if every single rotten thing one werewolf did reflected negatively on the whole bunch of them.

It was one of those rare moments where Mitch got to be glad that there weren’t that many cougars out there. At least there was no one to judge him beside himself and his brother most of the time.

And Gwen now.

“No, well... yes, obviously, but that’s not what I mean,” Tom said, scrunching his nose.

“So what do you mean?” Mitch asked, rousing from his dark musings.

The computer was in his hands, though he’d already sent the files ahead to Jordan to see if they could determine anything useful from them with Shaun and Jerome. He had to hope so. Getting them had been a pain in the ass but even more so, he knew he was running out of options. They all were. Duncan and Dawson were getting worse by the hour.

What if… no. I won’t let that happen, he thought resolutely, whisking the moroseness of his train of thought out of his head.

“I mean, think about it. The Arctics have been pounding their drums about creating super shifters and super wolves for ages now. Year after year, we keep catching them doing shit. The Jonah guy and his research, then the shit Madeline almost got killed over, and Haygrove, obviously… Detroit was the worst, I think, considering how many people it touched. But now, with the gasses? They could pump that shit into the air and every shifter baby that was born and their parents would be slaves to The Arctics’ cause, if they were dependent on it.”

“What’s your point?” Mitch asked, feeling bile and anger rise in his throat.

Not at his friend and squad mate, but at the fact that he already knew they were up shit’s creek without a paddle. He didn’t need the extra reminder.

“My point is, you know who always knows about this shit? Ace. I think this should be making a whole lot of fucking more bells ring in The Firm than it is currently. This should be our number one concern, not weeding out some Middle Eastern idiots or getting rid of another batch of shitty heroin dealers. But for some reason, it’s not.

“I’m willing to bet you that most of the powder we scooped up at Haygrove went missing before we ever got there. The tech himself said there was more there than what we can account for. It’s like the motherfuckers tapped into whatever The Arctics are doing. I’m willing to bet that it won’t come as any surprise to him that your kids are hopped up on this shit.”

“You think Ace knows an antidote or something?” Tim asked, cocking a brow.

“Maybe not that much, but I’m sure he knew what was going to happen before those kids were ever born. And if The Firm catches onto what we’re going to do, then you can bet that most of whatever we find will go ‘missing’ again,” Tom said, his face stern.

Mitch considered this for a moment, feeling the muscles in his neck twitch. Ace was an asshole and while there was never any love lost between the tall intelligence officer and Shifter Squad Six, there had been times when Mitch had thought the man almost acted out of compassion. But with that guy, he couldn’t really tell.

But Ace had better hope that he wasn’t hiding anything from Squad Six this time. Mitch wasn’t over killing a smug prick for lesser offenses, and if the lives of his children were at stake, he was willing to go to any lengths necessary.