DARC Ops: The Complete Series

by Jamie Garrett

  He checked the lot but saw no one else. From behind he could hear her voice, echoing along the narrow space between storage rows. “Looking for someone?”

  Yes, he was. That was the problem, waiting for his surprise. He’d deserved it, too, walking in like this. He turned around to see the woman sitting on the tailgate of the van, hands on her jeans, ripped at the knees, still that smile on her face. She kept up with the same cheerful tone. “Someone looking for you?”

  “You tell me,” Cole said, walking back toward her. “Where’s your buddy? The meter reader.”

  She smiled. “He’s right around that corner.”

  “I just checked.”

  “Check again.”

  His hand immediately fell to his holster, his legs widened in a proper shooting stance. Though it seemed to have no effect on the woman. He didn’t like how calm she was, just like her “power company” associate. She just sat there, her smile fading to a bored, almost tired expression.

  “Do meter readers often get guns pointed at them?” he asked. Maybe they did, trespassing the whole day onto private property. But in Hawaii? Who could be grouchy about anything on Hawaii?

  “Who do you work for?” he asked her.

  She stayed silent.

  Cole asked again, this time with the added gesture of drawing his gun. He drew and aimed it low, just under her feet, holding it steady and ready for any further escalation. But the escalation came from the opposite direction.

  “Freeze!”

  He had the woman trained in his sights.

  “Drop the gun!”

  It sounded like a cop behind him, and so the last thing he’d want to do was to make any sudden movements—especially turning around to face him with a gun. He decided on no sudden movements, just verbal ones, calmly asking the woman, “Who is that?”

  “Just lower it,” she said. “Everything’s gonna be alright.”

  He lowered it, slightly.

  “Drop it!” came from behind.

  Cole said, “Is that a cop behind me?”

  “No,” she said, still sitting there, hands on knees.

  He lowered his gun even more, and then turned his head, slowly, to find the meter man, in plainclothes now, armed, and using the edge of the building for cover. When Cole turned back to face the woman, he was met with the barrel of her gun. She had somehow drawn it in the split second he’d looked away, and now Cole had two sights on him, from both sides.

  “Drop it,” she said, firmly, but still with politeness. “Drop it.”

  He did.

  11

  Annica

  She tried tapping Ethan’s thigh again with her cross-legged foot, another attempt to steal his attention away from Jackson as the DARC Ops leader walked out of the living room. Though she somewhat understood the attraction. Even his exits were exciting, especially to women. But she couldn’t figure out what had captured Ethan’s attention. Unless . . .

  “What?” he finally said to her, glancing down at his notes again.

  “You don’t have to take notes on everything he says.”

  “I’m not.”

  “It’s not a press conference,” she said. “It’s a party.”

  “A party?”

  Mira entered the room with, “Annica?” and with another tray of cocktails in her hand. “Are you giving him a hard time again?”

  “Always,” Ethan said.

  “I’m trying not to,” Annica said. “It’s just, uh . . .”

  Ethan frowned. “It’s just what?”

  “Well, I think I should warn you, Mira. I think he’s in love with your husband.”

  Ethan dropped his pen flat on his notebook.

  “Well, he’ll have to get in line,” Mira said, her laugh caught short when Annica made the mistake of eye contact. The mistake of thinking too much, of reading too much into what should have just been a stupid joke. Both women suddenly looked away, one looking guilty and the other feeling wounded.

  “Um . . .” Annica just had to fill the silence with something. Even with nonsense, any type of inanity to push away the awkwardness of a shared past with Jackson. “So . . .”

  “So, a drink?” Mira offered her another one off the tray. They had moved on to overly stiff Tom Collins, an attempt, or so Annica thought, to dull their tongues as well as memories.

  “Please,” Annica said, clutching the glass with relief. Having still some more dulling to do, she bent the straw to her lips.

  How many more of these awkward moments would they have to endure? How many more drinks and years would it take for some normalcy?

  And where the hell were Jackson’s other two agents?

  While they continued waiting, she looked around, her thoughts racing through what was coming next. If she had to make any more small talk, it might kill her. That was saying something, given the day she’d had. Still, everyone seemed quietly overjoyed when Jackson returned. Ethan, especially.

  “So you were saying,” Ethan said, “about working for the government.”

  “Huh?” He smiled, taking his seat snug next to Mira in that goddamn love seat. “I was saying what?”

  “About working for the government, as opposed to under it in the form of military service?”

  Jackson said, “Well, yeah, there’s a huge difference. For one thing, there’s way more leeway, I mean, and that goes without saying, I’m sure.” He leaned forward to pick up his glass from the coffee table. “Is that what you mean?”

  “Sure. But what goes without saying?”

  “Okay. Another difference is that you can break the law.” He pointed at Ethan. “But don’t write that.”

  “Don’t,” Annica said, with another tap of her shoe.

  “Better yet,” Jackson said, “How about I ask you some questions? Or rather, Annica.”

  She and Ethan both slumped imperceptibly, one wanting to talk, the other wanting to stay clammed up until she could hear back from Cole, Sharky, whoever the hell he was. No, she’d found Cole. She was sure of it. He’d known who she was. She was sure of that, too.

  “What do you think now,” he said, “given your . . . experiences, in one of the Khan facilities?”

  “What do I think about what?”

  “Do you think we’ll be able to gain access without attention? I know it was easy to get in, but getting out . . .” Jackson laughed. “Well, it was easy for you, Annica. But if that happens again, to any of us, I’m guessing they’ll make sure we go dead down that chute.”

  “So you are planning on it,” she said.

  “Planning on what?”

  “Going back to the facility,” Mira said, moving her glance from Jackson to Annica. “It was my idea. He hasn’t been too happy about it.”

  “Oh.” Annica couldn’t let on how shocked she was to hear that. She would have thought the roles would be reversed. Learning that it had been Mira’s initiative made Annica see her in a different light. It was either that or the booze.

  “I mean,” Mira said, “why not just get it over with?”

  Jackson rolled his eyes at her. “It’s not something you just get over with.” And then to Annica, he said, “She wants to get back to her vacation.”

  “He takes me around to these ‘vacations,’” Mira said with her own eye roll. “And those other two . . .”

  “They’re fine.” Jackson finished his drink.

  “Who?” Annica said. “Your other agents?”

  “One is an agent. The other just owes me a favor.”

  “See how he ropes us in?” Mira said.

  “Oh, come on.” Jackson draped his arm around her, a python wrapping around a bunny rabbit. “It’s been good. Everyone’s enjoyed themselves.”

  “Annica hasn’t,” Mira said.

  She almost started to wonder what she’d meant by that . . . until she took another sip of her drink and said, “That was my fault. Jackson never approved of breaking in there like that.”

  “I wanted to kill her myself when I found out
,” Jackson said. “They could have hired me to finish the job for them.”

  Mira chewed on her lip for a moment. “But that guy, Annica. From the facility . . . what do you think his deal was? What didn’t he . . . I mean, well . . . Why didn’t he kill you?”

  “First of all,” Annica said. “I’m not even sure if that’s what they intended to do.”

  “Really?” Jackson said, bug-eyed. “You think that’s customary? That’s just how they usually kick people out of their facility? Down the garbage chute like that?”

  “I know they were definitely trying to scare me.”

  “Right,” Jackson said. “Well, I think they accomplished that. Scared the fuck out of me.” He looked at her dead-on. “Don’t ever take a risk like that again.”

  She held her glass in both hands, looking down at it to wipe the condensation with her thumb. There was nothing really to say in response. Yes, she was scared. Of course she was.

  “Knowing what I do now,” Jackson said, shooting Annica another glare. She ignored him. “These guys aren’t messing around.”

  “So what do you know?” Ethan said, his pen against the notepad and poised to take off writing.

  Jackson smiled at him, at the youthful exuberance maybe. “We’ve been doing our own research, alongside yours. That boat ride Annica took was almost a week long, so we got a head start that way. Plus, we just had a mission involving ocean freight. So the topic was fresh in my mind. The woman you’ll be meeting tonight, Macy. We pretty much smuggled her into the US in a shipping container. All the way from South Africa. And the operative you’ll meet helped her.”

  “See?” Mira said. “He likes to keep things close-knit.”

  Jackson said, “And me and Annica go way back, too.”

  Annica, thank God, had something to look at instead of Mira’s uncomfortable smile. She watched Ethan, his pen scribbling to catch up.

  “And then there’s you,” Jackson said. “Ethan Vonnegut.”

  Ethan suddenly looked a little small and uncomfortable in the limelight. He finally said, “Have I said yet that I’m totally honored?”

  “She vouched for you,” Jackson said, motioning to Annica. “She put the word in. She trusts you.”

  Another tap of her shoe against him. He almost jumped, he was so excited.

  “So you can thank her,” Jackson said.

  “Oh, I have.”

  Annica chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Oh, indeed he has.”

  “I just hope that she also gave you a fair enough warning,” Jackson told him.

  Ethan spoke again, quietly while looking outside the window. “I know about . . . what happened to her.”

  Jackson nodded solemnly. “It could happen to you just as easily.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “That’s fine?” Jackson said. “Annica, you’ve trained this one a little too well.”

  “Well, no, not fine, but . . . I’m willing to take the risk.” Ethan glanced at her. “That’s what she and I just talked about, how I didn’t come all this way to fetch her coffee.”

  “Trust me,” Jackson said, laughing. “You’ll be doing a little more than that.”A few quiet, uneasy chuckles filled the room, abruptly ending at the sound of knocking at the front door. Annica’s flinching didn’t go unnoticed, by either Ethan or Jackson, her almost lifting off from the seat at the first knock.

  Jackson left to answer the door, but she could feel Ethan’s eyes on her. He was always so damned attentive.

  “You okay?” he said.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  “You’re jumpy.”

  “Yeah,” she said, hoping to push him back with some eye contact. To appease him. “You’ll know what it’s like soon enough.”

  “Bring it on.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mira’s smirk as she listened in. Mira knew about jumpiness, too. It came with the territory for anyone hanging around DARC Ops long enough.

  “Are we expecting anyone else tonight?” Annica asked her. “Besides his two agents?”

  Mira smiled. “I guess we’ll see. You know how he likes to spring that kind of stuff.”

  “I have to admit”—Annica swallowed—“I think I’ve had too much to drink to deal with any new developments.”

  “I kept telling Jack to keep it light tonight.”

  Ethan chimed in, “I was told it was supposed to be a party.”

  “A gathering,” Annica said.

  “So it’s a gathering now?”

  “Either way,” she said. “You should put away that damn notebook.”

  But he didn’t. Instead, he brought his pen back to the page as if he were about to compose an essay. He sat up straight and rigid, his eyes stuck on the return of Jackson.

  “Hey, guys,” Jackson said. He wore a guilt-ridden expression, particularly when he looked at Annica. “I hate to break up a nice relaxing evening, but I think this definitely changes the mood a little bit.”

  Mira huffed and said, “Just spit it out.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Annica? Do you think you can come outside with me for a moment?”

  Her initial jumpiness was like a precursor. She completed the motion, springing to her feet and following him to the door. It was like she knew all along what was waiting out there for her. Or at least her body knew. A sixth sense embedded in her muscle memory.

  Jackson stood outside and held the door open for her. “Right this way,” he said.

  “The car?”

  “Yes, the car.”

  The street was at the bottom of a downward-sloping cobbled footpath, and parked along its curb was a large white moving van. No windows on the side. No logos. The type of vehicle Annica knew from her news work was called a kidnapper’s special. Whom has it picked up this time?

  “What’s inside that, Jack?”

  Jackson didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

  Stepping out of the passenger side was a woman. She was small, but strong as hell, her body toned and fit. She smiled, but only faintly. “Should we pull around back?” she asked.

  “No,” Jackson said. “That’s why I brought her.”

  “Me?” Annica said, watching the woman spin around to face the van, knocking on the glass and then making a throat-slit gesture. Annica asked Jackson, “What’s going on?”

  “We need you to identify someone,” he said as the van’s engine sputtered to a halt.

  “It’s not a body, is it?”

  The woman from the van laughed. “Aren’t you going to introduce us first?”

  “Sure,” Jackson said. “That’s Macy. And that is . . .” He paused, waiting for the driver walk around the front of the van.

  The driver smiled at her. “Tucker. DARC Ops. Pleased to meet you.”

  No handshakes. Not even from Macy, who stood closer. Instead, the three of them turned in subtly to face the van, the rear side door. Annica heard someone take a deep breath.

  “So who is it?” she asked.

  “We were hoping you could tell us.” Tucker reached for the door and pulled it loose, sliding it back and open. And sitting there on the floor, was Sharky.

  It was immediate, a numbness in Annica’s extremities as the blood surged inward, hot and acidic, everything shooting up into her brain. Sharky’s face clouded over, as did everything else. There was a hand on her shoulder. And then around, behind her back, holding her up.

  The voices finally came back, Jackson’s first, repeating her name softly. Faces came back. Sharky, too.

  “Maybe we should have brought him around back,” Jackson said.

  Annica mumbled out a “No.”

  “Do you know him?” he asked her.

  “Did you . . .” She looked him over, waiting to come across some blood or bruises. “Did you hurt him?”

  “No way,” Macy said. “That’s just for his safety.”

  “What is?” Annica looked even closer.

  “The handcuffs,” Sharky said, the displeasure on his face obvious, ye
t subsiding.

  Annica said, “Can you take them off?”

  “Do you know him?” Jackson said again, more quietly this time.

  “No, I don’t.” She watched Sharky’s eyes widen. “But he saved my life.”

  12

  Cole

  He watched the blond kid scribble a few things down on a notepad before tossing it aside.

  “Can we record this?” the kid asked, pulling a small voice recorder out of his pocket.

  Before he could answer, their leader, Jackson, gave him a firm no. Cole was glad about that. There were already too many people here at this house. He felt the noose around his neck tighten with every new person that knew him and his story. That kid and whatever damned story he was working on wouldn’t help things in the least.

  “What’s that for?” Cole asked him, watching the notepad return to the kid’s knees.

  “I’m working with Annica.”

  Great. Another person he didn’t want to talk to who likely already knew the entire story.

  This location, too . . . This house, and people in it, were definitely not what he’d expected and dreaded during the mostly silent ride out of the city. He had tried not to think about the obvious, what he almost certainly thought would be his last car ride. His last location, wherever they chose to dump the body.

  He supposed it was only fitting that Annica had something to do with his rescue, if he could call it that.

  “I’m a reporter,” the kid said, knocking the back of his pen against the pad.

  “He’s the intern.”

  Cole followed the direction of that familiar sound, a familiar voice though lacking its usual hushed urgency. He’d known it before as the sound of desperation, of fear, a blood-curdling scream lurking just under the surface. No, it was sweet and easy, and almost as pretty as the woman behind it. Annica.

  “They’re getting some food together,” she said, motioning back to the kitchen from where she came.