Rogues of Overwatch

by Dustin Martin

Mark spent the next two days measuring the ships’ traveled distance. Security was tighter, with more vigilant guards, but he managed to slip by. Checking the distances against a map of the Pacific Ocean he dug up, he had a rough location of the base. Eager to share the news, he waited that second night for Heather’s call. He wondered if instead of tricking people to leave the room this time, he could signal the coordinates to Heather.

  Once Whyte had gathered all his BEPs and Emeryl together in the lounge later that night, he dialed Heather. Her face popped up on-screen and she yawned. “You know, I’m getting kind of sick of losing sleep to tell you the same thing night after night. Nothing to report.”

  “And I’m getting sick of hearing the same thing from you,” Whyte said. “You’re not really holding up your end of the deal. Perhaps you lack proper motivation? What’s more motivating than a life-saving cure?”

  She bit back another yawn. “How about a good eight hours for once?”

  “Well then, I could call during the day,” Whyte said. “That way, you can tell me immediately when something happens. Like a certain BEP failing a swimming test today.”

  “What?”

  “Yes,” Whyte said from the sofa. “According to my person, Mr. Cooper Sanders failed his exam. Something about a rabid mutt running in and disrupting things. Quite the coincidence, eh?” Heather’s expression faltered and Mark knew where this was leading. “Unlike my subordinate, I don’t think it’s a coincidence.” He leaned forward. “Some skulking rat has been blabbing my secrets.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” she said. “I kept my mouth shut.”

  He pursed his lips and draped an arm over the sofa. “I’m sure. Why don’t you call Arthur and all the BEP Division staff in?” He turned to Mark and nodded at the television. “Go on. That way you can tell everyone where we’re located.”

  The absolute silence stifled all sounds until Mark heard only his heartbeat. That froze, too, as time stood still. Eyes, eyes everywhere trained on him and a tingling sensation touched his shoulder. He pulled away, fearing it was a hand restraining him. But it was his own imagination. Everyone simply watched and waited for Whyte to continue.

  “Do you really think we didn’t notice you sneaking onto the ships? Or how you hid right over there a couple nights ago?” He pointed at the arm of the sofa, and Mark wanted to crawl behind it and hide again. “You’ve been sneaking around for a while. So go on, Mark,” he said. “Tell her. Tell her like you told the BEP Division about Cooper Sanders.”

  His throat swelled and his voice croaked. “I,” he licked his lips, “I didn’t—”

  Whyte wagged a disapproving finger. “Mark, do you remember the principles I demanded?” He gave him a second before answering himself. “Loyalty, honesty, and competence. You’ve already broken one. Don’t go for two. It’ll make it harder for you.” He waved Emeryl and Sheila to him. “Take him.”

  The pair each grabbed one of Mark’s arms, and Heather pressed the screen to her face. “Leave him alone! He didn’t do anything!”

  “I assigned three people to bring in Cooper: Oliver, Lionel, and Mark. I told only them about recruiting him. Process of elimination dictates it wasn’t Oliver or Lionel. Mark told the BEP Division about my inside person and Cooper during the last fight. Elementary, my dear Heather. Lionel,” he jerked his thumb to the door, “deal with of him.”

  “With pleasure.”

  Lionel led the way, and Emeryl and Sheila dragged Mark along. No, this can’t be happening! Mark thought. There had to be a way out. He jerked and twisted, but their grips were firm. The closer they neared the door, the more he fought. He struggled and dug his heels into the floor.

  “Don’t do that,” Whyte said, clucking his tongue. “You’ll ruin the carpet.”

  “Let him go!” Heather said. “He didn’t tell them anything!”

  Sheila kicked the back of his knees, yet he refused to buckle. He head-butted Emeryl’s shoulder and loosened his hand. He had one arm almost free. He just had to hit Sheila.

  Suddenly, Mark’s eyes watered and his throat grew scratchy. He hacked and coughed, and his breathing labored as if he’d inhaled an emission from an exhaust pipe. Soon, air eluded him altogether and he collapsed, clawing and flailing. Above him, Lionel grinned, the bottom half of his ashy body seeping into Mark’s mouth, nostrils, and crevices. His very pores were filled with smoke.

  “Whyte! Leave him alone!” Heather screamed louder. Off to the side, everyone watched with the same solemn expressions as they had when Frieda died. Roy bowed his head and turned away while Valerie’s head drooped as she fought sleep. The rest were casual, business as usual. All except Oliver. His held a tinge of something more. Sadness? No, his heavy headshake said disbelief.

  “Looks like your betrayal went up in smoke,” Oliver said, forcing a single chuckle. “Too bad.”

  “Lionel, I said outside,” Whyte said.

  “Had to calm him down,” Lionel said. “Let’s go.” The door opened, and Lionel stayed right beside Mark, feeding him the smoke and keeping him conscious enough to panic.

  “It was me!” Heather said. “All right? I told them about Cooper!”

  Whyte raised a hand and they stopped. “And who did you hear it from? Mark?” She hesitated and he pointed them on. “Hurry, Lionel.”

  “Yes, fine. I heard it from him,” she said. They halted once more.

  “What else have you told them?”

  “They know about your power,” she said. “At least Arthur, Sylvia, and Lydia do.”

  Whyte perked up. “How did Arthur react?”

  “He was very excited, asking me how far into the future you could see, et cetera. Like he knew you.”

  “I see,” he said, scratching his beard. “Anyway, back to the matter at hand, none of this excuses Mark’s behavior. I won’t tolerate traitors here.”

  “Look, I made him do it,” she said. “Everything he did was to help me. Just leave him alone.”

  Emeryl and Sheila dropped Mark and the ashy taste receded. He spat out the remains and raised his head. “Ugh.” Once she heard him, she relaxed.

  “You’re in no position to ask for that. Unless,” Whyte stroked his chin, “you want to bargain again?”

  She clenched her teeth. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to come back and work for me again,” he said. “In exchange, I won’t kill Mark. You’ll still get your cure and I’ll get the BEP Division. Consider that your new motivation.”

  Heather swallowed several insults on her tongue. “And will you release Mark?” she asked, a sharp bitter tone in her voice.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Her nostrils flared. Closing her eyes, she asked, “I have your word?” Mark’s tension ebbed through his muscles, abandoning him, and he thanked Heaven for Heather. She had saved him from the jaws of death once more.

  “You do. But if it helps…” Whyte stood and opened a cabinet in the corner of the room. He traced his finger along the various rows of books inside and selected one. A black Bible, which he presented to everyone, before he placed his hand upon it. A wry grin snaked on his lips. “I have a Bible here. Let’s take this to the highest bond. On the Holy Scripture, on my life and soul, I will not lay a finger on Mark. And, if you help me get the BEP Division, I will free you of your power. Does that make you feel better?”

  “No,” she said. “But I have no choice.”

  “That’s right,” he said, tossing the Bible onto the sofa. “Now, we’re going to get you out of there before you blab anymore.”

  “How?”

  “Never you mind. I’ll arrange to have you transferred out of there and then you can lead me to the BEP Division. I’ll tell you all you need to know once I’ve set it up. For the time being, keep your mouth shut or Mark will pay.” He picked up a remote and aimed it at the television. He said a pleasant, “Good night,” and ended the call.

  Whyte turned on his heel and pointed at Valerie. “Get the FBI on the phone. I
have a few friends who owe me some favors.” She rocked several times and, with a tired groan, hoisted herself to her feet. She puffed away her strands of hair and grumbled about these late-night meetings as she left. Then Whyte turned to Mark.

  “Want me to take him out?” Lionel asked.

  “No, if we do anything before we have Heather, she won’t cooperate,” he said. “Mark is our little carrot for her. Besides,” he said, laughing to himself, “I did take an oath on the Bible not to harm him.” He grabbed Mark by his shirt and jerked him to his feet. He studied his face for a moment and shoved the boy against the wall. “Take him to a cell for now.”

  Emeryl and Sheila latched onto Mark’s arms again and followed Lionel. They dragged him to the elevator, down a few levels, and to a quiet hall. Mark didn’t fight. He wasn’t keen on more ash in his throat, not when he finally spat out the last taste from his mouth. Emeryl and Sheila threw him into an empty, lit cell with a cot and a toilet.

  “Pleasant dreams,” Lionel said, and they closed the door with a resounding metal slam.