Agent Hill: Powerless

by James Hunt

  Though she was blinded from the snow still glued to her face, her training instincts kicked in, and her hands found the pistols at her sides. More boots crunched in the snow around the corner of the ice pack and, with her face still stinging red from the ice burn, she killed two more soldiers, discoloring the blanket of white around her with scarlet splashes.

  Sarah picked up the targeting device as clumps of bloodstained snow fell off her coat. The wind picked up, and the snowfall thickened. The radio cackled on the ground. “Sarah! You need to turn back now!”

  She scooped up the radio and pressed the side button. “Hang on, Commander. Almost there.” The heat sensors in her boots had malfunctioned, leaving her to trudge through the thick snow unaided. The temperature plummeted with the gusts of wind and snow that accompanied it. Visibility had shortened to less than a foot. She knew her arms and legs were moving, but she couldn’t feel her body anymore.

  The sound of the gunshots ended, and Sarah did her best to keep the same line of sight that she’d had before, trying to locate the tent without being able to see it. Another burst of wind and snow blinded her and also brought with it two Russians who smacked into her, sending the three of them into the snowdrifts.

  One of the Russians looked up at her, his eyebrows and beard covered in the thick, white powder. “Narushitel'!”

  “I really need to start using that Rosetta Stone language software I bought.” Before the Russian rose to his feet, she swung her leg around, spinning like a top on the slick, snowy surface, and landed it right across the Russian’s jaw, knocking him out cold.

  The brief lull of gunfire ended as the Russian’s scream triggered retaliation from his comrades. Sarah reached for the laser and then, through the large sheets of white raining down on the Alaskan coast, she once again saw the outline of the Russian tents, only a few feet away.

  Sarah reached over and grabbed the unconscious Russian’s wrist and then pulled his belt from around his waist. She pointed the targeting system at the tent, wrapped the man’s hand around the trigger, keeping it in place with the belt, and then sprinted away, radioing the troops on her run. “Target locked.”

  “Affirmative, we have coordinates. Package inbound in ninety seconds.”

  Sarah pumped her legs through the knee-high snow, her bones feeling as though they would snap in half. The wind and snow worked against her as she tried to put as much distance between her and the blast site as she could.

  More gunfire sounded to her left. She pulled her pistol, aiming into the white haze, and squeezed the trigger, firing into the cold, the recoil of each shot sending another splintering pressure through her bones, widening the fault lines in her frozen body.

  The first missile that touched down behind her instantly melted whatever ice was on her body as the heat and percussive wave blasted her face first into the snow. With her head still buried in the snow, she could feel the ground beneath her shake from the secondary blasts. She lifted her head just in time to see the pluming clouds of fire and smoke rise from the white earth, melting the sheets of frosty rain. The explosions went up and down the coastline. Sarah lay there, exhausted, as the fires quickly died out in the cold, and along with it the small amount of warmth they provided.

  ***

  A sudden falling feeling woke Mack from his restless sleep. He rubbed the fog and grogginess from his eyes as he tried to shake off the dream. He looked over at Bryce, who was sound asleep, encircled by a variety of computers. Mack wasn’t sure how long he’d been out. His knees popped as he pushed himself off the floor when a rumble outside drew his attention toward the door.

  Despite the noise repeating itself, Bryce didn’t wake up. Mack shook his shoulder. “Bryce, get up.” Bryce simply moaned, kicking his leg out in a stretch as Mack pulled out his revolver. “Someone’s here.”

  “Maybe it’s Sarah,” he said, the life in his voice quickly returning to him at the sight of the gun. “What time is it?”

  Mack checked his watch. “Eight thirty.”

  “P.m.?”

  “A.m.”

  “Holy shit! Sarah’s been gone the entire night?” Bryce asked, jumping to his feet.

  Mack put his finger to his lips as the building shook slightly. With no windows, all Mack had to go on was the heavy machinery sound coming from beyond the walls. He aimed the pistol at the door. The pounding grew louder until the scraping was right up against the side of the door. Mack pulled back the hammer on the revolver, and the rumbling outside stopped. A few seconds later, Sarah’s muffled voice echoed through the wall.

  “I swear to God, if you have your gun out right now, Mack, I’m going to shoot you in the ass.”

  Mack gave an eye roll then lowered the revolver. The door opened, and Sarah stepped inside, her face red and her eyes tired and her clothes and uniform covered in snow. Sarah’s slushy wet boot prints trailed inside, where she handed Bryce the case he’d left behind.

  “I hope you enjoy that,” Sarah said.

  “Jesus, Sarah, what happened?” Bryce asked.

  Sarah reached into her pocket and pulled out a candy bar that she started to unwrap. “Well, where do I begin? It turns out that one of the worst arctic storms in the past decade decided to come through yesterday, dropping over twelve feet of snow.”

  “Oh my god,” Bryce gasped.

  “Oh, and there was the couple hours where I was helping the United States military push back Russian soldiers who had snaked their way across the Bering Sea and onto the Alaskan shoreline.”

  “What?” Mack asked, finally starting to pay attention to what she was saying.

  “Oh, yeah. Russians. From Russia.” Sarah tore off a piece of the bar and chewed through the hard pieces of candy, smacking her lips loudly. Mack paced back and forth, rubbing his chin and muttering to himself. Sarah tossed a piece of ice from her boot at him to grab his attention. “Hey! You see this?” Sarah asked, pointing to her face. “This is ice burn. From ice.”

  “You don’t have to keep saying where things come from,” Bryce said.

  “Can we get the satellite link up so we can go and kill these guys? Please?” Sarah asked.

  “It’s going to take a while for the uplink to connect,” Bryce said.

  “How long?” Sarah asked.

  “I don’t know. A day, maybe?” Bryce answered, wincing in anticipation of the physical blow that was about to consume his face.

  But instead Sarah just stood there, her face blank. Finally, after a few moments of silence, she quickly turned on her heel and headed for the door. “I need to shoot something.” And then she disappeared into the high snowbanks outside.

  While Sarah worked out her frustration, Mack tried to think of any other individual who could have helped the Russians find a way past the Americans’ defense. But his mind kept going back to one name, and the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The data on Sarah’s family, the infiltration of HQ, the Russians invading—it was all too perfect. There was only one person who was connected to all of it: Vince.

  Chapter 8

  Andrea reached for the glass of water and drank. The heads of state on the monitors in front of her were busy arguing with one another. The Japanese president demanded the United States send more ships to the area to aid with their defense against the Chinese aggressors. The Italians and French demanded the UK provide more troops to the eastern European border.

  “The Chinese have already taken a handful of islands to the south,” the Japanese prime minister said. “That is our land.”

  “I understand,” the American president replied. “We’re allocating our resources as best we can.”

  “There are tanks rolling into Poland and Ukraine,” the French president replied.

  “It won’t be long until the Russians make it to Germany, Italy, or Spain,” the Italian president said.

  The back and forth had gone on for more than an hour. The Russian and Chinese aggression was quickly growing into a full-fledged war.

&nb
sp; “They have the power back on,” the French president said. “How is it not possible that they are the ones responsible for what happened? How?”

  “We were all contacted by the same individual,” Andrea said, trying to calm the hysteria. “It is all our nations’ priority not to negotiate with terrorists. The Russians and Chinese clearly do not follow that same principle.”

  “The chancellor is right,” the American president said, “and all our intelligence suggests that those responsible for the attacks acted independently of any nation.”

  “And whose intelligence is that, Mr. President?” the French leader asked. “You have yet to share anything with the rest of us. How do we know that you don’t have a hidden agenda yourself?”

  “Our investigations are still ongoing,” the American president replied. “Once we have a better understanding and we’re no longer postulating, we’ll be sure to share anything that is pertinent.”

  “How convenient,” the French president answered.

  “Enough,” Andrea said, shaking her head in exasperation. “Now is not the time to bicker about such petty things. We are at war, gentlemen. Both the Russians and Chinese have sent very clear messages. We must band together.” The room went silent. The solemn lines on their faces flashed embarrassment.

  “My apologies, Mr. President,” the French leader said. “The stress of the past week seems to have caught up with me.”

  “I think it’s caught up to all of us,” the American president replied. “We’ll be sending reinforcement troops to Eastern Europe and a carrier to the south of Japan for support. I would request that the Japanese make whatever plans necessary to help support the American troops.”

  “Of course, Mr. President,” the Japanese leader said, bowing his head slightly. “I’ll have a unit ready whenever you give the word.”

  “And you can count on Germany’s continued support on the Eastern Europe front,” Andrea said. “I’ll be damned if I let those bastards past my country’s lines.”

  “Thank you, everyone,” the American president said.

  The conference call ended, and Andrea walked out of the secure room and back into the flurry that was the capitol building, meeting Alexander in stride as she made her way back to the main conference room to check the status of her country.

  “Water and food supply routes just opened back up in the north,” Alexander said, “and we’re receiving word from the Dutch that they’ll be contributing one thousand soldiers to the efforts in the east.”

  “Where are we at with the evacuation of the Polish?” Andrea asked, looking over the stacks of papers and notes that required her attention.

  “We’re working on getting them out as fast as we can, but some of them are reluctant to move.”

  “Well, tell them that they’re about to be put in the middle of war, and if they don’t want to be turned to rubble, they need to get the hell out of there now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He started to turn to leave as she made her way back into the main conference room, but abruptly stopped. “Oh, and I ran that query you asked.” He leaned in close so he could whisper, and looked around nervously. “On the woman.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing.”

  Andrea looked puzzled. “You conferred with the Americans?”

  “Yes, they had nothing. I even had our unit of underground Internet sleuths take a crack at it, and they came up empty-handed as well. The person you’re searching for doesn’t seem to exist.” He finished his sentence, but after Andrea looked at him, he quickly added, “From the resources we’ve used, Chancellor.”

  “Thank you.”

  Andrea walked back into the conference room, her head still spinning from both the conference call with her allies and the fact that they’d been able to find nothing on the woman. She knew she hadn’t imagined her. It wasn’t some dream or hallucination. But the fact that none of their resources had found anything, nothing, seemed cause for concern.

  The woman she met didn’t strike her as someone who had a hidden agenda. Her years in politics had left her with a nose that could sniff out the scaly underbelly of anyone she met. But still, there was always the possibility that she had been played.

  Andrea sat down and allowed her mind to wind down that path until she realized it was ludicrous. She wasn’t wrong. The woman existed. And she was going to do everything in her power to find her.

  ***

  Heath had placed a towel down on the crate before he sat down. It seemed that all of Russia was covered in a layer of filth. He picked at his fingernails with a file, rounding out any jagged edges to create a smooth, leveled surface. He stood out from the soldiers around him, dressed in their fatigues and Kevlar, helmets, gloves, and boots. He looked at them as much as they looked at him, while he wore his tailored suit, with a clean-shaven face, combed hair, and polished black shoes. Neither could understand why the other’s attire was necessary.

  But Heath simply finished the pinky nail on his left hand and tucked the file back into the inside of his jacket, flashing his holster to the soldiers still looking at him. One of the soldiers nudged his friend, pointing to Heath, muttering something in Russian, and the two laughed.

  “Care to share?” Heath asked.

  “You wear such fancy clothes,” the Russian said. “I was asking my friend here whether the man we’re going to pick up is your date.” The two soldiers chuckled again, and laughter rippled through the rest of the group.

  Heath answered with a half grin and reached back inside his jacket. He watched the soldiers tense up, and the laughter disappeared. But when Heath revealed the nail file he had used earlier, the soldiers relaxed, smiles returning to their faces. He gently pressed his finger into the sharp tip of the file that was used for cleaning underneath the nail.

  “You’re funny.” Heath rose from the crate, the Russian soldiers suddenly shrinking beneath him as his full height was on display. He kept his eye on the file in his hand as he took a few steps toward the soldier who had spoken, and before the Russian could react, Heath had the tip of the file against the artery on the side of his neck. “Tell me another joke.”

  The Russian’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down from the large gulp he took with Heath standing in front of him. The tip of the file slowly dug deeper into the side of his neck. “W-what?” the Russian asked.

  “I want to hear another joke,” Heath answered. “Go on. Make me laugh.” The Russian looked to his comrades for assistance, but they all took a step back from the towering behemoth. Heath watched the man’s mouth go dry, and his lips formed soundless words. Heath frowned. “No more jokes?” He shook his head. “Pity.”

  “Mr. Fuller.”

  The voiced boomed and echoed from behind Heath, the thick Russian accent curling over each “e” and “r.” Heath removed the tip of the file from the soldier’s neck and walked over to the colonel to greet him as the Russian soldier behind him almost collapsed out of his seat.

  “Your men need more discipline, Colonel,” Heath said, ignoring the man’s extended hand meant for a greeting. “Are the rest of your units in place?”

  The colonel gave a disgusted grin and nodded. “Per your instructions.”

  “Tell your men they need to be on high alert. The man we’re after is highly dangerous. I would imagine that most of your soldiers will die before they even see him coming.”

  “It’s just one man, and we have his building surrounded,” the colonel exclaimed. “He has nowhere else to go.”

  “There is always somewhere else to go, Colonel.”

  Heath rode in the front of the truck while the rest of the Russian soldiers, one of them gingerly rubbing the red mark on the side of his neck, piled into the back. The snows pushed to the sidewalks were soiled, and the people walking on them looked no different.

  Heath hated this country. He hated being here, but the fact that they had a location on one of the GSF agents holed up in their safe house with no communication to their peers
overrode his disgust for his current predicament. He would have preferred going after Sarah, but they were unable to locate her safe house off the hard drives they recovered.

  The truck came to a stop at the end of a narrow street in the middle of a poor neighborhood at the Moscow city limits. “This is where he is?” Heath asked.

  The driver nodded. His broken English was not completely understandable but decipherable. “House. Middle Street.”

  Heath’s polished shoe hit the brown-stained cobble street, and the driver banged on the back of the truck, sending the soldiers spilling out the back. The colonel walked to Heath, who was adjusting the cuffs on his shirt, surrounded by a cluster of rifles.

  “Are you ready?” the colonel asked.

  “The schematics of the house show that the only two entrances are the front and the back,” Heath answered. “But your men should know that there will most likely be exits that they don’t know about. And remember, I want him alive.”

  The colonel nodded.

  “Then let’s move,” Heath said. He pulled the pistol from the inside of his jacket and took the first steps down the unevenly cobbled street. His eyes focused on the structure in the distance. He examined the doors, the windows, and the people scattering to their houses from the street corners at the sight of the advancing soldiers. No doubt that the GSF operative inside would be alerted to his presence. Heath picked up his pace, his long strides separating him from the soldiers behind him.

  In a full sprint, Heath fired and shot the door handle off, splintering both the door and the frame it was attached to. He drove his foot into the broken pieces, dismantling what was left.

  The room was dark and empty, and the only light came from the sunlight through the broken door, which was quickly dispersed by the shadows of the soldiers behind him. Heath kept his pistol aimed, his finger on the trigger, while he scanned the room for anything.