Bastian watched as Drugov and his security guard shoved Brie up the stairs. Despite her protests, he was leaving Bastian behind with the two guards in riot gear and her shitty brother. He hated that she’d be out of his sight, but at least this way, he could take out the guards and go after her.

And he’d have a team of SEALs to back him up.

But they needed to get here fucking fast, because the moment he was free, he was going after her. The psycho asshole had been waiting twenty years to torture and rape her.

The door slammed closed at the top of the stairs. Bastian smiled meekly at the two henchmen and said in Arabic, “So, who do you have orders to kill first, me or the asshole on the table?”

“You.”

Bastian sprang to his feet and took the guy down with one kick to the throat. Before guard number one hit the floor, he kicked number two in the balls and elbowed him in the face as he fell. The goons were amateurs who believed their body armor would protect them, while Bastian had trained for hours on how to fight with hands bound. Plus these shits had pain coming after they way they’d hit Brie with their chickenshit batons.

One was out cold. Bastian planted his knee on the other man’s neck and asked in Arabic, “Where did the fucker take Brie?”

“I don’t know,” the man said.

“What are you saying?” JJ asked. “Untie me, and I’ll help you go after Brie.”

No way in hell did Bastian trust Brie’s brother, and he wouldn’t waste more time with the guard. A kick to the head and the guy was out cold. Bastian found the cuff keys in his utility belt. In a flash, he was free and had his weapons back. He searched for a cell phone but came up empty.

Fuck. A call to SOCOM would be really helpful about now. There would be a phone upstairs, and if not, he’d steal a car and go after Brie. He headed across the room.

“Where are you going?” JJ asked. “You can’t leave me here! They’ll kill me!” His voice broke.

“Like I give a fuck.” He’d let the SEALs deal with JJ and the guards. He had to find Brie.

He reached the staircase as the door at the top opened. He dove to the side, gun ready.

Footsteps descended. Ivan—or whatever the hell his name was—came into view. He met Bastian’s gaze without flinching at the gun pointed to his head. He was unarmed but carried a leather satchel. He held up his hands—which, Bastian noted, were gloved—in surrender. “I know where he’s taken her.”

Bastian kept the gun trained on Ivan’s left eye. “Where?”

“I’m the best hope you’ve got, Chief Ford, and you need me alive if you want to save her.”

Ivan didn’t know about the tracker. Bastian had options. But his gut said he needed Ivan’s help.

He lowered the gun. “Let’s go.”

Brie had been shoved into the backseat of Nikolai’s car. Nikolai was in the driver’s seat, and the security guard sat in the back with her.

She was scared for herself, but terrified for Bastian. She had no doubt Nikolai had ordered the goons to kill him as soon as she was out of the room.

Bastian can take them. He’ll strike before they have a chance to shoot.

His training outdistanced theirs by miles. As long as there were no other surprises in the lab, Bastian would be fine.

They wound through the industrial part of town. She didn’t know this area, had never really had a reason to explore it. She’d studied maps with Savvy but hadn’t expected to visit this part of town. It had never occurred to her that Armando would have moved forward with her idea, or that he’d suggest a factory tour.

But then, the tour had merely been a way to take her and Bastian by surprise. Nikolai knew Bastian’s training. He knew Brie would never agree to enter his house outside of a party with hundreds of witnesses. The lab tour had been inspired. And Armando had been a fine actor, mentioning it before she’d even seen Nikolai again.

“Is there a prototype?” she asked Nikolai. “Or was it all a lie?”

“Poor Gabriella. We left before we could show you.” Nikolai met her gaze in the rearview mirror.

She was glad he was too much of a control freak to relinquish driving. It meant he was up front and she shared the backseat with a goon who wouldn’t dare touch her in front of his nut-job boss. “Show me?”

“The underwear is ugly and not at all to my liking. A waste. But yes, Armando did make the underwear. And it will be dutifully given to girls in South Sudan, just like you wanted. In fact, they will deliver South Sudan from the war. Little did you know, your period panties would bring peace and Lawiri.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Nikolai?”

“I have prepared something special for the girls. Each pair will come with a starter pack of pads.”

Only Nikolai could make something like that sound ominous. “The point of the underwear is that girls can fill it with anything absorbent. They don’t need maxi pads.”

“Don’t need, but still, I am a generous man.”

“What are you planning, Nikolai?”

He held her gaze in the mirror, making her hope he’d crash the car so she could escape. “I will let Lawiri tell you. He is most eager to meet you again.”

“I need a phone,” Bastian said as Ivan led him down another flight of stairs, then down a corridor.

“Cell phones don’t work in the lowest level of the lab,” Ivan said as he dialed a code into a security pad.

“Then we need to go up. Out.”

“No.”

The door opened to reveal a corridor that appeared to be a dead end. Bastian turned and decked Ivan. He dropped, and Bastian followed him down and pinned him to the floor. “You said we’re going after Brie.”

“This first. Then Brie.”

Bastian’s hand closed on his throat. Beneath him, he felt Ivan’s muscles coil. The guy was a snake, and Bastian had no doubt he was a deadly variety. “No. Brie first.”

“One minute. Just give me one minute. You’ll see.”

“No.”

The man was ready to strike. If he was GRU, he had training equal to or even surpassing Bastian’s. They could fight to a draw, but it wouldn’t help Brie.

“This is more important than Brie or either of us,” Ivan said. “And Brie would agree.”

That Ivan could strike but chose not to gave Bastian pause. “What is it?”

“The surprise Lawiri and Drugov have been cooking up to end the civil war in South Sudan. We need to destroy it.”

Bastian released his throat and lifted his weight from Ivan’s frame, rising to his knees. “What’s the surprise?”

“Brie’s project—the girls’ underwear will be distributed with sanitary napkins to get the girls started.”

“So?”

“The pads have been infected with Ebola.”

Bastian’s entire body went cold. “Infected? Like smallpox blankets given to Indian tribes in the seventeen hundreds?”

“Exactly.”

“I thought Ebola couldn’t be weaponized?”

“Russian scientists have been working toward weaponizing Ebola since it was discovered.” Ivan scooted backward to lean against the wall. “The Soviets experimented with chemical and biological agents all throughout the Cold War, so they had the expertise required. The Drugov family had billions to throw at the problem. The other main issue was having a decent lab.” He spread his arms, indicating the building around them. “The Cordova family provided that.”

Bastian was no expert, but the Army had covered the risks of Ebola before his team deployed to Africa. “But Ebola doesn’t last long outside the host.”

“Natural Ebola doesn’t. This strain isn’t natural.”

Another wave of dread spread through him. “But heat kills it,” he insisted.

Ivan’s jaw tightened. “Not anymore. Listen, the biggest roadblock was always the fragility of the virus.” His tone gained urgency as his speech turned rapid. “It’s an ‘enveloped virus’—so the core virus is surrounded by a lipoprotein layer. Recent developments in gene splicing allowed them to hybridize it with a more stable virus and knock out the part that denatures with heat. Then they created microcapsules that hold the virus in stasis when dry, so it can survive for long periods outside a host. As far as I’ve been able to learn, they mixed those microcapsules in with the superabsorbent polymers that fill maxipads. The problem is, when the microcapsules get wet, the outer membranes break down, activating and releasing the virus.”

“Gets wet. As in menstrual blood.”

“Yes. Once released, the Ebola virus attaches to mucosal tissue—such as vaginal walls. Girls will get sick anywhere from two to twenty-one days after exposure. Starvation is taking too long. Lawiri is impatient for the country to collapse.”

“So he made a deal with Drugov for genocide.” Bastian stood and extended a hand to Ivan. He took it, and Bastian pulled him to his feet.

“Yes. Genocide. Starting with adolescent girls.”

Much as his brain screamed to go after Brie, Ivan’s words had trapped him here more than restraints could.

Ebola.

Biological warfare.

Genocide.

Everything was crystal clear now. This had never been a simple plastics factory. This was one of Russia’s chemical labs. Owned by a Spaniard—who must fear kompromat or be otherwise beholden to Russia—and run by a twisted oligarch who was tight with the Russian dictator. Nothing was off-limits. Nothing too horrible.

The only surprise was that the lab wasn’t in Moscow. But then, that was where the CIA had been looking for decades. And an accident there would endanger the oligarchs and government officials.

It made sense the lab was here, where no one thought to look. A chemical spill or mistake with Ebola wouldn’t hurt Mother Russia and they were close enough to Sierra Leone and Liberia that it could look like the outbreak was natural and caused by a visitor from either West African country. And given the popularity of white supremacist ideology in Russia, the fact that most of the victims would be Muslim wouldn’t engender tears from anyone inside the Kremlin.

There was another keypad and shiny black box mounted next to the door at the end of the corridor. “I don’t have access past this point,” Ivan said.

Before Bastian could ask how Ivan planned to breach the security, the man pulled a severed hand from his satchel.

Bastian stumbled back. “What the fuck!”

“It was faster than dragging Armando down here.” He typed in a number, then waved the hand in front of the black box.

Bastian was glad the door didn’t have a retina scanner. He did not want to see the sonofabitch pull an eye from his pocket. “I thought palm readers didn’t work with severed hands.”

“It’s not a palm reader. It’s RFID, embedded in the palm between thumb and index finger. Everyone with access to the secret lab has an embedded chip. That way they can be tracked all around the building, always, and every minute they spend inside the lab is logged. I was afraid I’d damage the chip if I tried to dig it out.”

Ivan waved the hand again, closer to the box, and the door slid open.

“How did you manage it? Getting to Armando, I mean.”

Ivan gave him a slight smile. “I played chauffer.” He stepped into the small room and opened one of several lockers.

Bastian hadn’t paid attention to the man behind the wheel of the limousine, but he was certain Ivan hadn’t been the man who’d opened the door for Brie in Armando’s driveway. “How—?”

“I paid off the regular driver. I was already in the driver’s seat when he got the door. Then it was a simple matter of him circling the car and slipping away as I opened the driver’s door and sat up in the seat.” He grabbed thick plastic coveralls from the locker. “Armando was pleasingly forthcoming with the door code.”

Before or after his hand was cut off? Bastian couldn’t find it in him to pity the bastard. He’d knowingly housed a biological weapon lab, and he’d set up Brie’s abduction. “Is he dead?”

“Not yet. I used a tourniquet. He might survive, but someone from the Kremlin will probably take care of him.”

“Not you?” Bastian asked.

Ivan shook his head. “My orders weren’t to kill Cardona.” He opened an upper locker and pulled out a mask and gloves. “Put these on.” He handed Bastian coveralls, mask, and gloves, then located a second set for himself.

“Who were you ordered to kill?” Bastian asked as he donned the safety suit.

“Drugov.”

Bastian was surprised the Russian gave a straightforward answer. “Why?”

“They never tell me why.”

“If those were your orders, why is he still alive?”

“Because I found out about the Ebola, and was trying to figure out how to destroy it without revealing that action to my employers.”

“You aren’t following orders now?”

“If anyone discovers I helped you, I’m a dead man.”

“If Cardona lives—”

“I wore a mask, and he’s wacked on drugs. I dosed him to get him to talk.” Ivan dropped his filtered mask in place and turned to the door on the other side of the small room. A sign, written in Arabic and posted on that door, warned that masks were required and all exposed skin needed to be covered beyond this point.

Sweat beaded on Bastian’s brow. Ivan was right, this was more important than going after Brie, but fuck, it killed him to know this delay in finding her likely meant she would suffer. He pushed open the door, wondering what horrors in addition to Ebola they’d find in this room.

Stark stainless steel tables lined the room. There were sinks and shelves and equipment, and everything was completely empty.

There was nothing here.

Ivan stopped in his tracks. After a moment of hesitation, he kicked a table, sending it careening into the wall. “Motherfucker. We’re too late. The Ebola is on the move.”