The Shadow Agent

by Daniel Judson

  He told you to wait, Torres said.

  Lyman replied, I’m not waiting here and doing nothing.

  Their exchange went on, Torres insisting that Lyman follow orders, Lyman asserting his authority over the operation.

  It was, essentially, a pissing match.

  After a moment of this, Esa heard a door open and close, and then nothing more for several minutes.

  In this silence, she felt her heart beating faster.

  Finally, she detected activity beyond the closet—something heavy being dragged across a floor.

  Her calves and lower back and shoulders were fatigued to the point of spasms, but she knew she needed to ignore that.

  The dragging ceased just beyond the closet; another moment of silence fell, but this one was shorter and ended with the door being opened and the hood being pulled from Esa’s head.

  Though the room was dimly lit, she had been in total darkness so long that her eyes struggled to adjust to even the minimal light.

  Once they did, she saw that Durand was standing in front of her, a pair of wire cutters in her hand.

  Behind Durand, standing beside a heavy butcher-block table, was Lyman. He was holding the roll of mechanic’s wire.

  By his feet was another bucket of water, and on the floor behind him, plugged into a wall outlet via a heavy-duty extension cord, was a clothes iron.

  Sharing the same electrical outlet was a small video recorder on a tripod, its recording indicator light glowing red.

  Durand stepped aside, and Lyman picked up the bucket.

  This time, ice cubes had been added to the tap water.

  The forceful blast of icy water that struck Esa caused her heart to seize briefly, then beat even faster once it was able to resume.

  But she refused the urge to gasp from the shock.

  Goose bumps rose on her skin as the water poured off her and gathered into a shallow puddle around her bare feet.

  Adding to her torment, the natural contraction of every muscle in her body caused by the cold also served to increase the power and frequency of her spasms.

  Lyman put the bucket down, stepped behind the video camera, and removed his sidearm from its holster, placing the weapon on the windowsill.

  Durand did the same—standard operating procedure when handling a dangerous prisoner.

  Also on the windowsill was a single white sock, a roll of duct tape, and a plastic gallon-size gasoline container.

  Esa understood what it was Lyman intended to do with those items.

  After it was thoroughly soaked with gasoline, the sock would be stuffed into her mouth, which would then be covered by the tape.

  Her inevitable screams would be significantly muffled, and over a period of time, as she alternated between gasping for air and biting down on the wadded sock, she would both inhale the gas vapor and swallow more and more of the acidic liquid.

  And if needed, her tormentors could threaten to put a lit lighter to the sock, or worse.

  Esa sized up the man who would take the lead in working her over.

  Lyman’s torso, as thick as a tree trunk, was covered by a plate carrier vest. Esa could tell by the thickness of the front and back panels that they contained steel plates. Attached to the face of the vest were several rifle-magazine holders, as well as a pistol-gripped knife in a Kydex holster and an IFAK—a small individual first aid kit.

  Everything she already knew about him, combined with everything she was seeing now, told her that he was a man to be feared.

  But she’d killed men like him before.

  Lyman removed his vest and leaned it against the wall, then returned to where he had placed the empty bucket.

  Durand joined him.

  “Cut her down,” Lyman said.

  Twenty-Three

  The Second Avenue subway station was empty.

  It remained empty as Tom waited on the platform for the F local.

  When the train pulled up, Tom boarded and, as instructed, walked back to the next-to-the-last car.

  He saw only two people, an older man and a man in his late twenties. Seated apart, one was on the bank seat along the wall of the car, the other was across from him on the opposing bank seat but a few spots down.

  The younger man was bearded and dressed in jeans, a sweatshirt, and a leather jacket, but his footwear—walnut-colored Merrell MOABS, the boot favored by a number of Special Forces units—told Tom what he needed to know about the man.

  Whatever his specific background may have been, he was a close-protection agent now.

  The younger man was watching Tom with a hardened yet indifferent stare. On the seat next to him was a messenger bag similar to Tom’s, though larger.

  The bag leaned against the man’s left leg, the zipper to its main compartment open. The train moved with a lurch, but Tom kept his balance.

  The younger man nodded to a seat near him, though not the one directly next to him. Tom sat where the man had indicated and was now facing the older man.

  His head was bald, his face gaunt. The heavy overcoat he was wrapped in—heavier, Tom thought, than the chilly October morning called for—didn’t hide a thinness that bordered on frailty.

  A closer, second look at the man’s face revealed that he had no eyebrows. And though he was seated, his breathing was labored.

  Tom knew a terminal case when he saw one.

  He knew, too, that the man was giving him the time needed to come to this very understanding.

  To allow Tom to recognize what he was facing.

  Finally, the man said, “You don’t look like your father.”

  Tom ignored that. “What should I call you?”

  “I’m known as the Engineer.”

  “Why is that?”

  “There was a time when we chose to be identified by what we did. To protect ourselves as well as those we loved. When I first met the Colonel, I was a surveillance expert.” He paused. “I’ve been hoping to meet you for a long time, Tom.”

  “How did you get my old Colt?”

  The Engineer smiled. “You and I, we do our best to obey the orders we’re given, like the good soldiers we have always striven to be. Well, good soldier in my case, good sailor in yours.”

  “Were you disobeying or obeying orders when you preserved that weapon?”

  The Engineer shook his head, dismissing the question. “There are more important questions to ask than that.”

  Tom said, “I don’t have time for games.”

  “On that we agree. But this entire business, what we do for a living, all of it in the name of serving our country—that’s the game. I’m not surprised you haven’t figured that out yet. It took me decades to recognize that fact. Or rather, it took me decades to stop ignoring what was right there in front of me and see the painful truth.”

  “Which is?”

  “That I had given my life to a lie.”

  “What lie?”

  “There isn’t time for all that.”

  “I’m in no hurry.”

  “I am. Hunted men can’t sit still for long. I’m afraid you may just understand what that means before this is over.”

  “Then why are we here? Why risk coming out into the open to meet me at all if there’s no time to talk?”

  “Because your father is dead and you have no idea why. And because I could have done something to save him but didn’t. I would like to atone for certain things before my time comes. And I want that rarest of things for someone in our line of work. I want to die in my bed, with what family I have left at my side.”

  Tom glanced at the bodyguard, then looked back at the Engineer. “What happened that night?”

  “Your father was a sacrificial lamb. And he was sent to his slaughter by his closest friend.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Carrington tells me that you shared with him a certain set of memories—memories of a man visiting your father during the two years following the murder of your mother and sister. This man came to y
our home always late at night, and from your bed you could hear him talking to your father down in his study.”

  “It was the detective in charge of the case, filling him in.”

  “Is that what your father told you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was no detective, Tom.”

  “Then who was it?”

  “Your not recognizing the voice is understandable. It was decades ago, you were just a teenager, it was just the voice of a stranger in the night—”

  “Who was it?”

  “It was Sam Raveis.”

  Tom said nothing.

  The Engineer gave Tom a moment before continuing. “It’s amazing how that man has served as such a keystone in your life, and for as long as he has, all without your ever knowing it. You thought you first met him face-to-face two years ago. Later you find out that it was Raveis and the Colonel who sent Carrington to recruit you for his Seabee recon team. And now I’m telling you that two years before you even joined the navy, there he was in your own home, manipulating your father. He has guided your life, for better or for worse, for more than twenty years, and you hadn’t a clue.”

  “How was he manipulating my father?”

  “The night your father sought out the Algerian and his men—the night your father was killed in a fleabag hotel room—that was the event that made all this possible.”

  “All what?”

  “The Colonel’s great experiment. A private-sector spec ops group, ready to work for the highest bidder. A civilian organization but with a surprising number of government contracts, it turns out. I have given more than two decades of my life to this endeavor and only recently recognized it for the lie that it is. A lie that must be kept hidden, even if it means sacrificing you and your friends.”

  “How did my father’s death make that possible?”

  “He was the first sacrifice.”

  “What does that mean?”

  The train slowed as it approached the station.

  “This is your stop, Tom. Everything you want, everything you need to know, is waiting for you up top.” He nodded toward the man seated to Tom’s left. “Manning here will see you safely to your destination. After that you two will part ways. You’ll want to go somewhere safe and review the material. I’d suggest you do that alone.”

  “No, we’ll ride with you to the next stop,” Tom said. “We can make our way back to our destination on foot after you’ve given me some answers.”

  “It’s best to stay underground as much as possible.”

  “Then we’ll take the subway back to this stop.”

  “Please, Tom, do as I ask.”

  “Then at least tell me why you had the Colt?”

  “That’s obvious, no? In case it became necessary to frame you. Just like it had become necessary to frame Carrington.”

  “You did that?”

  “I played my part.”

  “Who ordered you to do it?”

  “I think you know the answer to that.”

  Tom said nothing.

  “Once you exit the station, you’ll see a storage facility at the end of the block. Head up to the ninth floor, unit 955. Inside, you’ll find a device. What it contains is for your eyes only. Understand?”

  Tom glanced at Manning before looking back at the Engineer.

  “Why the extra steps?” Tom said. “Why not bring the item with you, hand it to me yourself? For that matter, why didn’t Carrington give it to me earlier?”

  “The men sent to escort you home were Raveis’s men. We couldn’t risk the item ending up in his hands. Their orders were to bring you to him for debriefing, and he could have taken it from you then.” The Engineer paused. “But I also wanted to meet you face-to-face. I wanted the chance to clear my conscience for this one matter, at least.”

  “You said you could have done something to save my father but didn’t. What did you mean?”

  “He was in the next room, fighting for his life.”

  “And you stayed where you were.”

  “We all have a job to do. I did mine.”

  Tom waited for more, but it became apparent that nothing else would be forthcoming.

  He studied the man seated across from him for a moment, then asked, “How long have the doctors given you?”

  “Not long. Not long enough, certainly. The device is encrypted. A seven-digit code is required to unlock it. A single failed attempt causes all that the device contains to be permanently deleted. Carrington assures me that the password prompt will lead you to the correct seven digits.”

  “And what do I do with the information?”

  “What your heart tells you, Tom,” he said. “Which is what I should have done a long time ago.”

  The train emerged from the tunnel and slowed for its stop at the platform.

  Manning stood, and so did Tom.

  “Good luck,” the Engineer said.

  Tom started for the still-closed doors, but he stopped when the Engineer spoke.

  “The woman you took captive, the leader of the team that attacked you, her name is Esa Hirsh.”

  “How did you know about her? That we have her?”

  “It is my job to know.”

  It took Tom only a second. “You had Cahill under surveillance.”

  The Engineer nodded. “It was put in place years ago as a precaution, in case you ever ended up back there. A complete workup—audio, cell, Ethernet. You’d be surprised how much of our resources are devoted to spying on our own people. The good news is I rerouted the signal before I pulled my disappearing act. I’m the only one who knows about it, so I’m the only one who knows what you and Cahill discussed.”

  Tom noted a discrepancy in something Carrington had told him earlier. “Carrington said he went looking for you after you disappeared.”

  “That is correct.”

  “So why did you divert the surveillance on my old place when you went black?”

  “I knew that if you and I ever got here—if you and I ever got this far—there was a good chance you’d go to Cahill for help. He was already there with his doctor girlfriend. If you did end up going to him, I needed to know what he told you, if only to help keep you on the right track.” He paused. “It was smart to ask of him what you did. Stella is vulnerable. But don’t think you can protect everyone. It’s already too late for that.”

  The doors opened. Manning moved through, but Tom waited.

  He asked, “What can you tell me about the woman?”

  “That your people will get nothing from her. No one has had the training she has had. No one has had the life she has had. She is a devil, Tom, from a long line of devils. If I were you, I would contact whoever is watching her and tell them to put a bullet in her head. Two, to be sure. And sooner rather than later. Trust me, the world would be just that much better off if she were no longer in it.”

  The doors began to close, and Tom slipped through just in time.

  He watched as the train pulled away from the platform, picking up speed as it disappeared into the tunnel.

  “We should get moving, sir,” Manning said.

  “I need to make a call.”

  “You won’t get a signal down here. We’ll head up.”

  They were midway up the exit’s steep stairs when Tom saw enough bars on his burner phone to make a call.

  He had no way of contacting Lyman and Durand directly—a failure of leadership on his part, no doubt about that, but there was nothing he could do about it now except learn from his mistake.

  He had no intention of giving the order the Engineer had suggested—the summary execution of the prisoner—but considering Torres’s last text, there was no way he wasn’t going to warn what remained of his team of the danger they were in.

  Moving just ahead of Tom, Manning watched their surroundings. They were at the top of the stairs and in the open dawn air by the time Tom reached Torres’s voice mail.

  As he and Manning hurried toward the end of the block, Tom s
poke.

  He could hear the urgency in his own voice as he explained that he needed Torres to get ahold of Grunn and inform her that she needed to send more security to the safe house right away.

  He stressed that Torres wasn’t to go back there herself, no matter what, and that he wanted her to text him once she had spoken to Grunn, then proceed with her own mission as planned.

  Then he informed her he might be out of touch for a few hours but that he’d get back in touch with her when he could.

  Ending the call, he pocketed the phone as they reached the end of the block.

  The storage facility was a ten-story building, open twenty-four hours, seven days a week, and accessible by a security card, which Manning had ready in his hand as they approached the door.

  Once inside the lobby, Tom instructed Manning to wait for him.

  Manning suggested that he at least ride with Tom in the elevator, but Tom insisted that he go alone.

  “Keep the lobby secure,” Tom ordered.

  He entered the elevator, pressed the button for the ninth floor, and waited till the doors closed.

  The elevator, old and large, originally built for handling freight, was painstakingly slow, but Tom remained patient.

  Opening his jacket, he reached for the Colt, adjusting the holster within his waistband so that it was properly canted for easy accessibility and rapid draw.

  After roughly a minute, Tom noted that the elevator had passed only five floors.

  Four more to go.

  Twenty-Four

  Stepping into the closet, Durand moved behind Esa and severed the wire connected to the coat hook, then took Esa by one arm and led her out into the room.

  Esa sensed something akin to care in the woman’s touch, but she wasn’t sure what to make of that.

  There was always the chance that Durand—early thirties, intelligent eyes, the quietest of her three captors—was in over her head, especially considering what Lyman clearly had in mind.

  Kindness was a weakness that Esa had long ago learned to not only spot but to exploit as well.

  Quickly surveying her surroundings, Esa determined that she was in a small apartment in an old building—a prewar building, as evidenced by the thick plaster walls and ornate molding that framed the two large windows.