by JL Terra
“Tiller was one of the best the agency had. If he didn’t want them to know about it, they wouldn’t have.”
“Just like that?”
Ben lifted one shoulder. “He was good. Yes, they’d have looked everywhere, but they trained him to evade and escape. It worked. That’s why they called us.”
Mei pressed her lips together. She was barely twenty-two, slender and lean, but packed a punch. He’d seen her take down a man three times her size, though that skill wasn’t about bulk.
Shadrach sat down on the other side of the aisle. He opened a laptop and plugged a device into the USB port. Ben tossed him the plastic bag containing the thumb. Shadrach wrinkled his nose. Holding the bag, not the thumb, he pressed the pad of the digit on the tiny screen of the scanner. The laptop began its search.
Shadrach closed the bag and sat back, tossing it on the table. “Shouldn’t be too long before Remy can confirm his real identity.”
Remy was their tech guru and an expert hacker—among other things. Preferring to remain stateside for support, she was the one who had found the target’s location.
Mei lifted her hands. “I thought he was Eric Tiller, CIA agent?”
Ben said, “Doesn’t mean that’s his real name. Not with that facsimile of a personnel file the agency gave us.”
Daire sat beside Shadrach without a glance toward Mei. Ben shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. It was the nature of a team that personal relationships would develop. There wasn’t much he could do about it. A contractual rule would only mean they kept things a secret when he would rather no one kept secrets from him.
His watch beeped. Not an incoming message, or email. Battery low. He unsnapped it and tossed it toward the magnetic prongs of the charger he’d plugged into the outlet under the tiny table below the window. It clicked in.
Shadrach said, “Not sure throwing it around is in the manual.”
“Remy didn’t give me one when she made it.”
“Still.”
Ben didn’t say anything else. Shadrach’s tendency was to be overprotective of their genius hacker. He’d stuck close to her since Remy had been hurt. She seemed to be doing better, but the sniper still hadn’t made his move.
Mei said, “So we take this dead guy’s word for it that the flash drive is where he said it is and fly all the way to Kansas. Get the drive, hand it off to the CIA. Job done?”
Daire glanced over at her. “Sorry the exciting part is over.”
Mei muttered in Chinese. Ben’s lips twitched at her words. She was getting the idea; international security was not all excitement and intrigue. It was also a lot of long plane flights, short—but mostly fun—operations. And paperwork.
Shadrach’s computer screen lit up and a ringing sound came from the speakers. He clicked to connect the call, “Hey, you.” The look he reserved for Remy was short-lived. “Everyone’s here.”
“Good.” Her voice was rough through the computer’s built-in speakers. “The scan you just initiated is complete. We got a profile on our guy.”
Ben said, “Remy.”
“Morning, boss.”
Ben grinned at her and turned the computer so everyone could see. She clicked on her end, and Shadrach’s laptop screen changed from the video feed of her in the office to the search results. “As you can see here, our guy was Eric Tiller. Surprise. CIA agent. Clean medical history. Politics and international relations degree from Cambridge University in the UK. Mom was an elementary school teacher, Dad a construction worker. It’s your classic rags-to-spy story.”
Ben said, “Anything that contradicts the CIA file?”
“No, but it was a pretty standard op. We already had Tiller on our radar before we went—” She paused again. “Huh.”
Shadrach said, “What is it?”
“Eric Tiller has a younger brother. Ted. They were close, like ‘BFF’ close.”
Mei saw Ben’s look and said, “Best friends forever.”
“Oh.” He’d had one of those.
Remy continued, “Ted dropped off Google Earth shortly before Eric made his move out of the CIA. His neighbor filed a missing person’s report with the local cops. The US goes after Tiller to get the flash drive back. Meanwhile, no one has seen Ted. So did Eric give him money, and he’s living the high life somewhere? Or is he part of Eric’s plan for the flash drive?”
“He could have already taken the flash drive,” Mei said. “An extra layer of insurance for whoever comes after it.”
Daire shrugged one shoulder. “I’d have made him a bank teller. Anyone comes in inquiring about that safety deposit box, and he sends a message to his brother. A failsafe. Meanwhile it’s hidden somewhere else. They know exactly who they can trust. Who they can’t.”
Ben said, “So we go in soft and recon. See what happens. Maybe we’ll find Ted as well.”
There weren’t a lot of rules in their work. It made Ben all the more cautious. They were governed only by their own convictions. No safety net meant not only did they have no backup when they were on a job, but often they were hung out to dry.
Governments denied all knowledge of any operation—if his team was caught. Corporations required iron-clad agreements absolving them of all responsibility. They got sent in because the operation was hypersensitive and all other options had been exhausted. Rogue intelligence agents who couldn’t be left to roam free. Killers who operated the world over in the shadows. Ben had to have rules and boundaries of his own accord, otherwise it would be a morality free-for-all.
“Or,” Ben said, “We go in hard after hours. Break in and steal the flash drive. If it’s even there.”
Mei said, “Hard.”
“Hard.” Shadrach flashed his teeth.
Daire shook his head. “So what’s it to be, boss? A recon and gather intelligence, or let Bonnie and Clyde here have their bank robbery?”
“I should make you guys duke it out.” Ben said. “How about best of both worlds? Remy, get me info on all the bank staff before we break in.”
“Yeah, boss.” Remy started a web search on the laptop’s screen. She typed so fast Ben could hardly keep up.
“If Ted works there I want to know. But we go in after hours and get the flash drive.”
Mei folded her arms, a satisfied look on her face. “I’ve never robbed a bank before.”
“Anything else, Remy?”
Her face popped back on the screen. “Anabeth sent over two files. One is marked priority and urgent, but it’s from a private corporation.”
Shadrach snorted. Ben shared the sentiment. Every file they got was priority and urgent. It was how their business worked. Anabeth was the company receptionist. She lived on the Oregon coast with her husband and provided a legitimate front to the business. She handled all contracts.
Remy’s eyes smiled. “And Grant wants to know if you’ll go in with him on Pat’s birthday present. I already told him yes.”
“Thanks.” His nephew could have whatever he wanted. Grant’s girls were in college now, but he knew kids better than Ben did. Ben’s relationship with Pat was as close as it could be considering they were almost never in the same time zone, and the kid was in witness protection.
Grant was the former director of the US Marshals and now worked for Ben. Not exactly a man you brought on covert ops, but useful for navigating Washington. Ben had no stomach for politicians. He could barely handle the top brass of any of the military branches and didn’t always take jobs from the American government. They occasionally worked for the UN, Interpol and a handful of other countries. Evil knew little allegiance to nation or people group. Race. Religion. It lived inside everyone, and his intimate knowledge of it made him the one they called.
“Also, your mom phoned this morning.”
All of them smiled, but Ben ignored it. The four Mason boys bent backwards for their mama. It was how they were raised.
“She said it wasn’t urgent, just that she was planning to see a doctor about something
. I told her I’d pass the message on nevertheless.”
“Thanks Remy.”
She said, “Sure. Later guys.”
Shadrach twisted the laptop around so she’d be able to see only him. “I’ll—”
The screen went black. Call ended.
“I’ve figured it out.” Mei sat up straight in her chair, an almost nervous expression on her face. “I think.”
Daire said, “Figured what out?”
She didn’t take her attention from Ben. “You’re, like, the sheriff of the world.”
Ben laughed.
“No, think about it for a second.” She spread her hands. “British intelligence. Australian. Interpol. You’ve done jobs for them all. Rogue agents, deep cover black ops. You go in and clean up because someone went too far off the map, and they can’t bring them in without a giant mess. Or an international incident. The KGB—”
“That job sucked,” Daire said.
Ben didn’t disagree, but she still shouldn’t be digging through their old case files. Because there weren’t any. Which begged the question of how she’d found all that out. “Mei—”
She ignored him. “You’re the one who gets the man—or woman—no one else can find. And the one who cleans up collateral damage way more precisely than a government could manage. So you’re either the sheriff of the world, or some kind of international bounty hunter.”
“Which makes me a glorified janitor, or the Lone Ranger.”
It was Shadrach’s turn to laugh.
Mei continued, “These people think they’re above the laws of their country, or any other. And it’s not a case to be tried in the International Criminal Court, so they send you.”
Ben said, “We don’t interfere in the politics of any nation.”
Daire nodded, deadly serious. “It’s the prime directive.”
Mei glanced between them. If Daire told her Ben had seen every episode of Star Trek, even Voyager, the man was going to be on the receiving end of a Vulcan death grip.
She said, “I’m serious.”
“I know you are.” And she wasn’t exactly wrong. “Still, it’s time to rest before we reach Kansas.”
A lame excuse to end the conversation, but he moved to his own seat anyway, grabbed a pillow and leaned the chair back. Eyes closed against the soft cotton, his brain continued to work.
He went over the conversation with Eric Tiller, looking for any clues he’d missed. Things they should have done differently. Ways the team could improve. He catalogued the notes in his mind. When he woke, he’d write them down for Remy to distribute at the next team meeting.
Ben took a breath and exhaled, long and slow. His mind stilled. There was no fatigue in his muscles, no stiffness or soreness. No adrenaline lingered from the fight, either, and he wasn’t restless. He wasn’t tired or buzzed. Adrenaline didn’t provide him the normal jolt of clarity or strength most people attributed to it. Neither did he suffer the aftereffects as it dissipated.
Only this state of constant energy—in his body and his mind. Always at the same level, never increasing or decreasing. It didn’t rush through him like an electric current. More like being switched on, fully charged, all the time. No change.
Ben could get an hour of sleep every night for a month and never feel the ill effects of fatigue. During Delta Force selection was the first time he’d realized how unusual it was. And just how far he could push himself. He’d had to feign some symptoms of exhaustion toward the end of the week while other guys were ragged and collapsing. Ben only felt as though he’d done a full day of productive work.
It’d been like this for years.
Ever since he walked onto a highway in Montana dressed in only his underwear. Sixteen years old, bleeding from cuts and abrasions across his body. Even thirty years later he still didn’t know what’d happened during those two weeks he’d been missing. Maybe the fact you don’t remember is a good thing. Ben wasn’t sure he agreed with his mom’s assessment.
With enough concentration, he could shut his body down enough that he fell asleep.
When he did, the dreams inevitably came.
Chapter 3
London. Saturday, 07:27hrs GMT
Anton Lauer tapped his cane on the escalator and shifted his body to the right. The suited young man brushed past him without a word. Anton would not have heard him anyway. His hearing had degraded the way of the rest of his body. Hearing aids brought back some clarity but not in the hustle and noise of the underground’s Circle line.
At the bottom of the escalator, Anton stepped into the crowd, eager to get to the shop and open up. A cup of tea first. Three minutes until the next train didn’t afford him much time to sit, even if there had been an available spot.
He muttered in Czech as he shuffled through the crowd of tourists and their mobile phones. Past a woman in a black skirt, a blouse under her rain coat, and orange trainers. He moved down the platform because he liked to be in the first few cars.
Warm wind whipped his hair under his hat. Tickled his ears, signaling the approaching train. People shifted. Readied themselves as the train slid past and stopped, blocking his view of an advert on the far wall. He wasn’t sure what they were trying to sell. Anton scratched at the edge of his checkered cap. The press of people would provide the momentum he needed to make that step across the gap.
His foot landed on the floor of the train car. Someone grasped his elbow to help him the rest of the way inside. A man with blond hair, smartly cut. He appeared youthful, and yet somehow full of years. His age was an indiscernible thing. Anton nodded through the sea of memories, so familiar.
There was no need to be rude. Even if blonde-haired, blue-eyed men in dark uniforms haunted every dream he’d had for nearly eighty years.
Anton turned to the seats where an older Indian man was already gathering his Saturday newspaper. The man stood and waved Anton to the now empty seat. With the first step, he stumbled. Pain shot from the spot on his elbow where the man had held it and traveled through his body. He collapsed into the chair as the sharp stab of discomfort reached his heart.
Two beats later, it stopped.
Anton Lauer was dead.
Chapter 4
Wichita, KS. Saturday, 05:42hrs CDT
First National Bank was downtown, the central branch located on the ground floor of a high-rise. Above were the offices of a huge law firm and a related accountant’s firm. The vault containing safety deposit boxes was in the basement. No sewer access. The floor and walls were reinforced. Impenetrable, at least in theory.
Ben pulled the van to the side of the street and parked where they could see the front door of the bank. Lights off, doors locked. Not even the janitor was there—that crew did their thing at night.
A thorough study of schematics had given them a solid plan to get in and out with minimal damage. To them, or bank property.
Time was short. They should move.
“What’s wrong?” Mei stuck her head between the front seats.
Ben climbed out. Mei stepped onto the sidewalk beside him without making a sound. Then huffed, ruining any attempt at stealth. “Look, I’m sorry about that whole, ‘sheriff of the world’ thing. I’m still trying to figure this out, and I didn’t know I’d hit a nerve. Sorry.” She danced from one foot to the other while he watched.
“Is that all of it?”
“Well, if you’re talking about the ‘father’ thing, I haven’t decided yet.” She bit her lip. “I should never have mentioned it.”
That conversation had taken place a week before. In Ghana. The mission had been completed but with casualties. Children. He’d been as frustrated as she. Mei, however, hadn’t been able to stop herself from demanding to know if he was her father.
Daire stepped out of the van. “You could just ask him for a DNA sample.”
“No,” she called back. “I want to figure it out myself. The old-fashioned way.”
“Okay, Sherlock,” Daire said. “Whatever you say.”
Ben’s lips twitched. The constant was-he or was-he-not her father was like being on a rollercoaster. He’d asked Mei once if she even wanted an answer, though it wasn’t a simple one. His and Mei’s lives were intertwined. Only he and one other person in the world knew exactly how. Ben didn’t want to think about her. Not when they were in the middle of a job.
Mei had said she was learning more about her history, and it wasn’t all good. There were times he hadn’t been able to protect her, something he deeply regretted. If she knew the truth, she’d probably be disappointed. Ben wouldn’t blame her. He wasn’t father material.
Mei studied his face. Hair on the back of his neck prickled but not from her attention. The morning air was thick with the coming day’s humidity but held a slight chill, considering they’d just been in Venezuela. Ben zipped up his jacket and used the motion as cover, while he scanned the area around him.
Mei drew her own conclusion. “Someone is watching us.”
Daire scanned the street, then looked at Ben. “Should we wait...get the breach set up better? We could create a plumbing problem. Pose as repairmen.”
Shadrach hopped out onto the sidewalk. “That’ll take extra time we don’t have.”
Ben glanced at his second-in-command. “The longer we wait, the longer those agents live with a death sentence over their heads. We have to secure the flash drive.”
He looked both ways again. A lady running with her dog. Early morning traffic. This disquiet had to be about the lingering images from his sleep. That man on the train who’d just…expired where he sat. “Let’s go.”
They crossed the street as a unit, Ben in front. Guns tucked away. The finger was in a bag in his pocket. Everything was fine.
Except the feeling was still there.
He glanced high and to the right. Saw nothing. Did the same to his left. The sun rose beyond the high-rises and cast a yellow glare against the glass windows of the building on the west side of the street. Ben followed the line of the building up to the roof as he walked. Anyone could look out those windows without being seen.