Red Rover, Red Rover

by Perry Elisabeth Kirkpatrick

  She joined him in the dark apartment, and closed the door gently behind them. If she thought her apartment was bare, Dr. Novak’s was literally so. The place was completely unfurnished.

  “You know what?” Emily said as Brent swept his flashlight beam around the empty living room identical to hers.

  “What?”

  “I think you need to change your code name to Locksmith.”

  “That is a pretty good one,” he said thoughtfully. “We’d better get to work searching this place, wouldn’t you say, Locksmith?”

  He headed down the short hall to the single bedroom, and Emily followed. “I was saying it should be your code name,” she protested. But Brent just tossed a cheeky grin over his shoulder and didn’t answer.

  The bedroom was completely empty like the rest of the apartment, but Brent insisted there would still be places Dr. Novak could have hidden things. “Check behind the blinds,” he said, adjusting the flashlight to its brightest setting and setting it on the floor. It shone against one wall and reflected light around the whole room.

  She did as he said, but saw nothing. Brent was unscrewing the air vent with his multi tool. He looked down at her over his shoulder. “Check along the walls and see if the carpet comes loose anywhere,” he suggested.

  “It’s amazing to me,” she grunted, getting down on her hands and knees and tugging at the carpet along the baseboard, “that there could be so many hiding spots in a perfectly empty apartment. Anything up in the vent?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Not unless he somehow went spelunking in the ducting.”

  They worked their way around the whole bedroom, paying special attention to the closet. Brent even felt along the top of the trim surrounding the door.

  “Are you up for more of this?” he asked as they methodically checked the trim and the carpet in the short hall. “I can always take you back down to your place and call up a team to help me with this.”

  Emily shook her head. “No, if you don’t mind my help, this is pretty cool. Plus, waiting for a team would just slow things down. Perhaps whatever Dr. Novak hid here was meant as a way to help us find him. Remember: he gave me the key in case something happened to him.”

  Brent stilled and looked at her a moment with a pensive smile. “It’s also possible he just wanted to be sure his papers got to ICS whether he lived or died.”

  Emily shook her head, refusing to believe there was nothing they could do for the older man. “You’re not giving up on him, are you?”

  “No, it’s just that we have no leads.”

  Emily nodded silently. “I’ll start on the kitchen.”

  Brent handed her his flashlight and then headed into the tiny bathroom off the hall. “Thanks. Make sure you check the undersides of the upper cabinets.” He turned the bathroom light on since there were no windows in that room.

  “I’ll even climb up on the counters so I can check the tops of the cabinets,” she said.

  “I’ll have to call you—”

  “No, that’s okay, thanks. Let’s try and keep me as the Locksmith for at least an hour before coming up with a new codename, shall we?”

  Brent’s laugh followed her to the kitchen. Keeping the flashlight low, she turned slowly around the small area. Something lying on the counter caught her eye.

  “Hey, Brent,” she said.

  The bathroom door clicked open and Brent said, “What is it?”

  “How about a Manila file folder? Is that a good place to stash documents?”

  Brent stuck his head around the corner and saw she was serious. Joining her, he stared for a moment at the plain folder lying in the open on the kitchen counter.

  Furrowing his brows, he flipped it open.

  “Oh,” Emily said.

  “Well,” Brent said ruefully, “you were right, Locksmith. File folders are a good place to stash documents. Rental documents.”

  She sighed. “Well, at least you know what fake name he used to rent this place. Bob Cornell—sounds like a book character.”

  Brent took the flashlight and shone it into kitchen cupboards. Emily picked up the folder, thumbing through the other papers in the rental agreement. He’d opted for the minimum rental period of 3 months, apparently. Such a lot of trouble to go through just to hide some papers.

  Where could he have put them? She tapped the edge of the open folder against her chin and then fumbled to catch the rental documents that slid out.

  Brent glanced at her as she bent to pick up the papers, and she could almost see him inventing new codenames for her. Then she froze and set the papers back down on the linoleum floor. Something about the folder itself was unusual. It seemed heavier than it should be.

  “Brent, can you shine the light this way?” She stood and held the folder open in front of her as he and his flashlight swiveled her direction. She pointed excitedly to the folder. “The light’s coming through the front piece of the folder, but not the back. It’s extra thick or—maybe a double layer?”

  Brent hurried to her side and shone his flashlight through both halves of the folder. “Dr. Novak!” he exclaimed admiringly under his breath. “What a good operative you must have been! Hiding crucial documents in plain sight like this?”

  He took the folder from Emily, laid it on the kitchen counter, and lightly sliced the topmost edge with the knife from his multi tool.

  “I was right! It is a double layer!” Emily whispered.

  Brent reached into the space between the two layers and withdrew a small stack of papers. There were perhaps a dozen impossibly thin—like tissue paper. The first was something of a cover letter.

  Agent Nighthawk,

  If you are reading this page, they’ve found me.

  Brent and Emily exchanged glances and read together.

  Chapter 14

  I DID MY BEST TO BLOCK the miniature tracking chip they inserted when I was first recruited, but I’ve always known that without proper surgical help, it was going to be just a matter of time before they found a way to track me again.

  Of utmost importance to me is that the information on the following pages makes it into the hands of your government. Please see that this happens.

  I had hoped once I defected I might be able to settle down somewhere in the mid-west under a new identity and lead the kind of normal life my country always denied me.

  But just knowing that these documents will eventually make it into the hands of the right people gives me peace for the moment.

  Sincerely,

  Red Rover / Dr. Aleksy Novak

  P.S.- On the off-chance I’m still alive but missing, try checking standard Russian frequencies from about 40 years ago. My chip is a model 1133a.

  Brent closed the folder around the stack of tissue-thin papers and tucked them under his arm. “And that,” he said with a grin, “is what we call a lead.”

  “What will you do now?” Emily asked, her mind reeling with the confirmation that Dr. Novak had indeed been a spy—but for the other side—and was trying to defect.

  “C’mon,” he said, guiding her to the front door. “We have some papers to deliver.”

  He eased the apartment door open and checked the balcony before leading her outside.

  “That makes you sound like a paperboy, you know,” she teased in an amused whisper as they worked their way down the three flights of stairs to the parking lot.

  He threw her a look and she hurried to add, “Oh, no you don’t. I’m not a boy, so you certainly can’t saddle me with that particular code name.” They were nearly to the parking lot. “Hey, what kind of car do you drive? Something totally awesome, I bet. Porsche? BMW? Cadillac? Umm...” she trailed off as Brent leaned proudly against the hood of his vehicle.

  “Hop in!” he said with a smirk.

  “A gold minivan? This is your ride? I thought sp— um, people in your line of work always drove something fancy and fast.”

  “Movie stuff, Locksmith, movie stuff.” Brent closed the passenger’s side door af
ter her and jogged around to the driver’s side. When he’d started the van, he grinned and said, “No, it’s certainly not fancy—and that’s kind of the point. My job is to blend in, not stick out. But did I say it wasn’t fast?”

  Emily raised her eyebrows at him as he peeled out of the parking lot. “So you’re a spy who drives a souped up minivan?”

  “Don’t sound so underwhelmed.”

  “My mother warned me about jumping into vans with strange men, and you sir, are one strange man.”

  Brent snorted.

  “Call North Pole,” he commanded some unseen system in the van.

  A ringing sound came through the vehicle’s speakers. Brent went through a challenge question with the woman who answered and asked her to add “Locksmith” as Emily Abbott’s new codename. The woman sounded dubious about the change, and it was all Emily could do to hold in a snicker.

  When Brent’s boss picked up, he said, “Nighthawk, living up to your name, I see. Please tell me you have a lead on Red Rover!”

  “Actually, yes sir, I do,” Brent said, unable to keep the grin out of his voice. “And I also have his papers. Locksmith, formerly known as Princess Em, formerly known as Frostbite—well, she found the papers and the lead on Red Rover.”

  “Someone should give that girl a raise!” Santa exclaimed.

  “Well, perhaps you should talk to your old buddy, Gomez, since he’s her employer and all,” Brent said. “And there is that matter about her car. Anyway, this lead... you’re gonna need someone who can track a signal on an old Russian channel—whatever they were using 40 years ago.”

  “Uh-huh,” Santa said absently.

  “Red Rover has a tracking device that’s an 1133a model. Way before my time, but hopefully you can find someone who can put it all together into a location for me.”

  Santa was silent a long moment, and then he grunted and said, “Got it.”

  “Got it, sir?” Brent looked surprised. “As in: got what I said or got a location?”

  “Son, what do you think I was doing 40 years ago?”

  “Wild guess: running surveillance on Russian comm channels?”

  “Your man’s in what appears to be a warehouse. I’ll send directions to your vehicle now. Oh.”

  “What is it, sir?”

  “You’re literally right around the corner. Before you do anything foolhardy, though, I’m sending in some backup.”

  “Sure, backup sounds great,” Brent said hurriedly, easing the van to a stop at the corner. A dark warehouse loomed ahead in the yellow-ish glow of a decrepit street light. “Thanks a bunch, Santa. You’re literally the Best. Gotta run.”

  “Brent—”

  The young man disconnected the call and parked the car along the curb across from the warehouse.

  “You’re not going in alone, are you?” Emily asked, startled.

  “Well, you’re certainly not coming in with me, so... yeah. I guess that means I’m going in alone.” He turned toward her and rested a hand on her arm. “Listen, I want you to move to the driver’s seat and wait here. We might need to make a fast getaway, so if you’re already in position and ready to go, that could make all the difference.”

  He looked at her searchingly. “I’m sorry that you’re all mixed up in this again. Are you okay with this?”

  “Brent, it’s the most exciting thing I’ve ever done. Ever. Now, go get Dr. Novak. But please try not to die in the process?”

  He gave her a mock salute. “I’ll do my best. Hang tight.”

  Brent slipped out of the driver’s seat, and closed the door quietly. Emily crawled across to take his place behind the steering wheel and watched him walk toward the quiet building.

  Oh, God. Help him.

  Chapter 15

  EMILY FIDGETED NERVOUSLY, waiting for any sign of how it was going in the warehouse. She hoped to see Brent and Dr. Novak running toward the van at any moment, but she realized it might take a little while for Brent to locate the doctor in such a large building. Beside her, on the center console, lay the Manila file folder. She flipped it open and traced her finger along Dr. Novak’s letter, reading it again. Shifting the page to the side, she skimmed the first of the documents curiously.

  Before she knew it, she was completely engrossed in a description of an enemy spy operation right there in Phoenix. She recognized the cross streets of their headquarters and one of the safe houses mentioned. It was better than reading a spy novel.

  Also a little freaky because it’s true and right here in my hometown.

  She continued reading, careful with the thin pages so as to not tear them. Bios of half a dozen covert operatives filled the remaining pages. She read them quickly, wide-eyed.

  It wasn’t until she’d read the very last page that she realized a frequent popping sound was coming from the direction of the warehouse.

  “Oh, no—no, no, no!” she gasped, recognizing the sound. “That’s gunfire!”

  She craned her neck to look around the area, hoping against hope that the backup Santa had referred to was arriving.

  “Come on, Brent, you can do it!” she whispered, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

  With a bang, a side door on the warehouse flew open and two dark figures rushed out, hunkering down behind some barrels. Other men spilled out of doors and flooded around the side of the building, muzzle flashes lighting up the scene.

  The gunfire was much louder now that they were outside, and she scrunched down in the seat, praying frantically that she was safe in the van, unsure whether the vehicle could stop a bullet. She peered nervously over the top of the dash. It was hard to make out what was going on, but after a moment a silhouette broke away from the group, doggedly limping away from the fight. The man crossed the street and stumbled against the curb a few yards ahead of the van.

  Emily couldn’t tell who it was in the darkness, but a worry that it was either Brent or Dr. Novak gnawed at her. Making a split-second decision, she slipped out the door of the van and stooped low, running toward the now-prone figure.

  When she got near, she realized he wasn’t either of her friends, but one of the enemy agents wounded in the gunfight still going on behind her. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he gripped one of his legs, groaning. A red stain seeped through the fabric of his pants much too rapidly. If he didn’t get some help soon, he probably wouldn’t make it.

  Emily hung back a moment, thinking fast. She’d help him. Try to stop the bleeding. But first she had to make sure he was immobilized. He was still on the wrong side of this whole thing, and she didn’t trust him—even wounded.

  She cast about for something to tie his hands together with, settling on the scarf headband she wore. Taking it off and undoing the knot, she approached the man slowly.

  He no longer grimaced or clutched his leg, but rather sagged, unconscious, on the sidewalk. She felt bad for tying him up while he was passed out, but it really wouldn’t be safe to help him any other way. She made quick work of knotting the scarf around his wrists and then checked him over.

  She was no first-aid expert, but she knew applying pressure to the wound should help stop the bleeding. She needed a bit of cloth, though. Going through his pockets, she quickly discovered a large handkerchief. That would have to do. She wadded it over the wound, trying to look at it as little as possible and pressed down as hard as she could.

  Taking a deep breath, she allowed herself to look up again for the first time. Surprisingly, the gunfire had significantly lessened. She hoped the fight was nearly over and that somehow Brent would come out victorious.

  Someone across the way shouted and another man answered. She couldn’t make out exactly what was said, but the first man motioned toward the street, and a moment later she saw a figure take a knee and shoulder a large rifle.

  He paused briefly and then a small arc of light sped through her peripheral vision. A loud boom shook her to her core and she found herself tumbling to the sidewalk beside the wounded man as a wave of heat passed ov
er them.

  Shaking her head to try and clear the ringing in her ears, she pulled herself up to a crouch and stared in dismay at Brent’s minivan.

  It was only partially intact and engulfed in raging hot flames.

  There would be no fast getaway now.

  Someone burst away from the building and ran toward the blazing van, screaming something unintelligible to Emily’s still-ringing ears.

  Her mind was clear enough to recognize Brent. And the second figure charging behind him was Dr. Novak. They were still alive.

  She blinked hard and scrubbed at her ringing ears, still feeling fuzzy from the shock of the explosion. Her gaze swung to the man who’d fired the shot. He was shifting his position, acquiring a new target.

  She looked back to Brent and Dr. Novak as she realized the sniper’s intention.

  Before she could gather her wits enough to call out and warn them, something distracted the sniper and he lowered the rifle, glancing toward the sky. A low, bassy throbbing penetrated the fog in Emily’s brain, and she turned to see a black helicopter descending upon the scene.

  Santa’s promised backup had arrived.

  Chapter 16

  MEN BRISTLING WITH weapons, helmets, and night-vision equipment descended from the helicopter and hemmed in the remaining enemy agents. Emily staggered to her feet.

  Brent was shouting something frantically and circling the blazing van, shielding his face from the heat with one arm. The noise of the rotors overhead and the wind they caused was drowning out most of his voice, but as her mind returned to clarity, Emily realized he was screaming her name. She ran forward.

  “Brent!”

  He jumped and spun around, wild-eyed.

  “Emily! You’re— HOW?!”

  He tucked his arm around her shoulders and pulled her away from the blaze. A short distance away, he illuminated her with his flashlight and checked her over, in shock.

  “How did you get out?” he bawled over the noise.