by James Hunt
“The stairs to the left will take you down,” Bryce said. “He’ll be at the first door to your left. Heat signature shows four guards.”
Sarah leapt down the steps five at a time, the soles of her boots catching on the edges of the staircase on her way down. Her knees buckled slightly with each landing to absorb the blows. Shoulder-checking the door at the bottom of the stairs, she gripped a pistol in each hand and made her way into the hallway.
The four guards waiting for her barely had time to lift their weapons before she squeezed off twelve rounds, firing two into each of their chests and one in the head for good measure. The marionettes fell to the floor, their strings severed from the hands controlling them.
Sarah slapped one of the C-4 devices onto the door handle, changed the explosive setting to minimal, and flipped the switch, which set the timer into motion. Two seconds after she ducked around the corner, the solid, six-inch steel lock was cut in half like a stick of butter, and the door swung open. Sarah stepped through the smoke, the alarms still blazing around her, and saw Vince huddled in the corner, looking unconscious and beaten.
“How are we on that transport?” Sarah asked. “I’m gonna need a quick way out.”
“Inbound in sixty seconds,” Bryce answered.
Sarah knelt down by Vince’s face and patted his cheek. “Hey, time to wake up, Vinny.” His only response was a moan and a slight shudder through the rest of his body. Bruises and blood covered most of his arms and face, but she noticed a light padding over his ribs where a fresh bandage had just been placed. She gave his shoulder another shake. “Vinny! Now’s not the time to hit the snooze button.” But still there was nothing. “Okay, you made me do this.” She pulled a square piece of adhesive that almost looked like a bandage from her belt. There was a clear piece of film that covered one side, which she peeled off slowly and then applied to Vince’s neck.
Six seconds later, Vince’s eyes popped open with an alertness that was akin to the average person having a bucket of ice water dropped on them in the morning. He jumped to his feet, taking in his surroundings, his breathing speeding to the point of hyperventilating. “Holy shit!”
“Oh, look who’s awake,” Sarah said. “How are you, Vinny?”
“Transport forty seconds out,” Bryce said.
“Well, no time for chitchat,” Sarah said, yanking Vince by the arm and to the door, peeking her head around the corner to check the hallways. The glasses highlighted another path that appeared on the ground and took her to a side exit. With the coast clear, she pulled Vince through the hallways, keeping him at arm’s length as the two of them sprinted down the corridors.
“Did you really have to give me the patch?” Vince said, his voice screeching in a fever pitch, his bare feet smacking against the floors.
“Hey, you’re the one who didn’t want to wake up.”
“Have you ever had one of these things? The withdrawals afterward are terrible. It’s like there’s venom running through your whole body.”
“Oh, I know. I once used a couple of them during an all-nighter in Rio.” Sarah shook her head. “Damn, those people know how to party.”
The doors to the exit were only a few hundred feet in front of them when the glasses beeped an alert, and a cluster of guards barreled out one of the hallway doors. Sarah knocked them all over like pins at a bowling alley. She and Vince leapt over the bodies and out into the streets. They followed the sound of the thumping helicopter blades, and just before a caravan of bad dudes in cars made their way around the side of the building, the chopper appeared, laying down a blanket of machine-gun fire that turned their black sedans into Swiss cheese.
With the chaos around them, the chopper didn’t have time to make a proper landing, so it dropped down a net, which both Sarah and Vince clung to for dear life as the wind whipped their faces and a few of the dispensed hot shells from the machine gun rained down over them, singeing their shoulders and arms.
“Nothing like a little copper rain to make you feel like you’re home,” Vince said.
“It’s almost as good as the agency’s Christmas party,” Sarah yelled.
***
The chopper touched down at a predetermined location that both Mack and Bryce had cleared for the events to come. The crew was a loaner, mercenaries who thought it was nothing more than a prison break, so once they were paid, they were gone and didn’t ask any questions. Sarah figured business was booming for them right now, and they had to get to their next meeting.
The small Polish house where they were dropped a few miles from was at least a pleasant hike. Nothing but forests around them and the quiet of the trees and animals. It was a polar opposite to the concrete maze the two of them had just escaped from.
Vince’s eyelids started to close more often the longer they walked, and he stumbled a bit in the grass and leaves. The patch was wearing off. It wouldn’t be long before he couldn’t walk at all. Her eyes fell onto the padded bandages over his ribs.
“What happened at the safe house?” Sarah asked.
Vince looked as though he was trying to find the story that had brought him here but was having trouble. Sarah wasn’t sure if that was because of the patch or because he was trying to figure out what lies to come up with.
“I got the alert when the satellite went down. I entered the passcode into my mobile and retrieved my failsafe instructions. Then just hunkered down at the safe house to wait until we were back online. I just assumed that whoever triggered the alert, whoever attacked HQ, were the ones who found me. Or it could be a mole.”
“What makes you say that?”
“C’mon, Sarah. If it’s crossed my mind, then it’s crossed yours.”
Sarah stopped walking, letting Vince get a few steps ahead of her. “It has.” Vince froze, his foot crunching on a pile of leaves. He turned around, his eyes immediately going to the pistol in her hand.
“I was captured, Sarah. Look at what they did to me,” Vince said, gesturing down to his body.
“That could have happened before, during the blackouts. I know you had your hands full in Moscow. If you’ve thought about there being a mole, then you would have had to think you might be suspected.”
“They tortured me, Sarah.”
“You had all the intel and relationships needed to make a move with Russia. All you needed was the right buyer to sell us out.”
“Are you crazy?” Vince’s voice was growing more dramatic, more desperate. Sarah had never seen him like this before. He took a step back, pointing at her, a tear forming in his eye. “Bryce in your ear? Hmm? Giving you a reading of my vitals? Telling you if I’m lying or not?” Vince turned his face up to the sky, spreading his arms wide, shouting at the top of his lungs. “Well, Bryce? Am I lying?”
“I don’t need the satellite, Vince,” Sarah said, aiming the pistol at him.
Vince dropped his arms and offered a sad, twisting smile across his face. “I’m not the mole.” He took a step forward, slamming his hands into his chest with each word. “You hear me? I’m. Not. The mole.”
“Who patched your ribs up, Vince?”
Vince’s hands fell to his sides. “They did. They did it to keep me alive, so I would talk, but I didn’t.”
Sarah kept the pistol aimed at him and took a few steps forward. She had control of her hand, but there was a force in the back of her mind that wanted to make her lose what control remained. “You know what happened to my family. I will find out who gave them up, and when I do, I’ll kill anyone who helped put them there. Do you understand me?”
“Sarah, there isn—”
“I said”—her voice grew louder, but she cut herself off, forcing restraint—“do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Sarah holstered the pistol and walked past Vince. “The house is just over the ridge. Bryce says it’s not farther than two miles.” She didn’t bother keeping an eye on him after that. She trudged forward to the safe house, knowing that she was one step closer to ge
tting her family back.
“You don’t think he did it?” Bryce asked.
“No, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think he did something else,” Sarah answered. “Tell Mack I’ll keep him here until we need to move. There should be enough supplies in the house to last us a while. Let me know when you locate Demps. I’m getting tired of this little cat-and-mouse bullshit.”
Chapter 11
The caravan surrounding Andrea’s vehicle stretched farther than she could see in front of her or behind her. She had insisted on being present when the next shipment of supplies arrived in Berlin and chose to work part of her day at one of the relief centers that was set up at a local hospital. The hospital’s resources provided an excellent epicenter for many of the relief efforts, and that’s where she had sent the bulk of her men who weren’t busy fighting the Russians in Ukraine.
The lack of communications had made things difficult, but with the help from the Americans and her new team of hackers, they managed to set up a few channels through which the allied European forces could relay information. It was slow going, but it was a start.
Andrea’s chief of staff rode in the car with her, and just like her, Alexander was transfixed at what they passed in the streets. Smoke from fires in alleyways and from burning structures in the distance, looted storefronts with trampled merchandise strewn about the sidewalks, shattered windows, smashed cars, and anything and everything that could be carried away with a pair of hands seemed to have disappeared. And this was the area that was supposed to have been “contained.”
“My god,” Andrea said. “No wonder we’re always at war. Look at us. Look at what we do to each other.”
“Not everyone’s like this,” Alexander answered. “You’re not like this.”
“Not everyone has the privilege of being the leader of a country,” Andrea retorted. “I imagine most of these people did it to save someone—at least that’s what I hope they did. But there will always be the few who prey on the weak in times like these. It’s unavoidable.”
“It’s reproachable.”
“That too.”
The car finally came to a stop just outside the hospital. Ever since her career in politics had started, every event, no matter what the circumstances, had always had press. They would snap pictures, shout questions, and shove their lenses and microphones into her face, asking for a comment.
But the moment Andrea stepped out onto the asphalt of the hospital parking lot, there were no reporters. No cameras, no pleading questions about what her political adversaries were doing across the aisle. The only things that greeted her were the faces of the sick, tired, and dying. None of them even seemed particularly pleased that she was there or even recognized her.
“Chancellor, this way,” Alexander said, guiding her past a few of the tents set up outside to help accommodate the overflowing amount of patients that the hospital had received.
“What’s this hospital’s capacity?” Andrea asked.
“I’m not sure, but that would be a good question for the chief of medicine.”
The trucks of food, water, and medicine had arrived and along with them hordes of people. The moment the truck came to a stop, it was surrounded by starved bodies, grabbing at anything they could get their hands on. Rice, flour, corn, water—all of it being doled out as fast as possible until there wasn’t anything left except the disappointed faces of those who didn’t receive the food they’d hoped for.
The conditions inside the hospital weren’t much better. The hallways had just as many patients as the rooms themselves. The overwhelming stench of bleach trying to cover up the smell of human rot filled her nostrils, and it took her a moment to gain her composure before continuing down the hall.
Sullen faces, many past the point of willing themselves to go on, stared at her as she made her way through the building. Finally, Alexander introduced her to the hospital’s chief of medicine. “Chancellor, this is Dr. Robert Klein.”
The doctor extended his hand. The blue surgical glove was covered in a wet, sticky coat of blood. The doctor hastily removed it, apologizing profusely, which the chancellor waved off while trying to fight the feeling of nausea rising in her stomach.
“How are things here, Dr. Klein?” Andrea asked.
“We’re holding on, Chancellor.” Dr. Klein gestured down the hall, and the group continued their tour. “The fuel we’ve been receiving to keep the generators running has been helpful, but I’m worried that, with the confrontation with Russia, those fuel resources will be used to aid in the front lines.”
“I can assure you that all our hospitals and relief centers are a top priority, Dr. Klein.”
The doctor stopped, and Andrea and the team walking with her halted abruptly. “Chancellor, may I speak with you in private?”
Andrea looked back to her staff and nodded, having them give her and the doctor some space. Dr. Klein led Andrea down the hall, past the surgical rooms. They stopped at a window where six beds lined the walls of the room, each of them with a child, their ages ranging from toddler to middle schooler.
“Chancellor, I’m no fool. I understand what the country is up against, what the world is up against. I know the Russians will lose—they lack the passion and vigor for a sustained assault. While their leaders may have something to gain, the men under their command don’t, and it will cost them.” Dr. Klein placed his hand on the windowsill, his head bowed, almost touching the glass. When he lifted his face again for the chancellor to see, it was covered in the distorted lines of pain and grief. “I just want to make sure that when this is over, we still have a future that’s worth living in.”
Dr. Klein buried his face in his hands and turned away from the window to wipe his eyes. While the doctor composed himself, she looked inside, taking in all the sleeping faces in front of her, wondering when and where they had come from, how old they were, whether or not they had family. The machines next to them beeped and hummed through the glass. She didn’t know what their ailments were, she didn’t know their names, and she wasn’t sure whether any of them would live the long life that they deserved. All she knew was that she wasn’t going to let any of them die because of a lack of resources on her end.
Andrea placed her hand on the doctor’s shoulder. She could still feel him trembling under her palm, but she also felt the sudden urge in him to control them. He slowly turned around, his eyes red and puffy.
“I promise you this, Dr. Klein. As long as this conflict goes on, and as long as I am still in office, your hospital will have what it needs to continue.”
“Thank you, Chancellor.”
“Chancellor!”
The urgent voice echoed down the hall, and Andrea watched Alexander sprint toward her, weaving around the nurses and patients. He skidded to a halt, out of breath and bent over on his knees, holding up a piece of paper in his hand. Andrea snatched it and looked it over while he tried to control his breathing. She read the paper twice to make sure she wasn’t misreading it. “How?”
“The images were confirmed from a transport that landed in Moscow in congruence with intelligence coming out of Alaska. It’s the same woman.”
“Were they able to identify her from the pictures?”
Alexander shook his head, still huffing and puffing. “No, they were too pixelated and only caught a portion of the profile. It wasn’t enough to get a match in any of our databases.”
Andrea turned to the doctor and apologized for the sudden departure. “Thank you for your time, Doctor, and what I said will hold true. You have my word.” Dr. Klein thanked her profusely, even after she had turned the corner of the hallway and disappeared out of sight.
If this woman was the same one from her visit at the capitol, then everything that was happening couldn’t be coincidental. This mystery woman’s identity was related to everything that was happening. If she could track down the woman, then perhaps she could end this war.
***
The Polish safe house hadn’t held any
agents for a very long time. Everything was coated in a layer of dust, and it took Sarah half an hour to make sure everything was up and running properly.
Vince didn’t do much but sleep, and she made sure to keep one eye on him at all times. Even if he wasn’t the mole, accusations of being one could cause an agent to do some stupid things. Their kind, her included, didn’t respond well to threats. In the world of espionage, the agency is home base, and when you take that away, most people don’t have much else to stand on.
Sarah made her way down to the basement and flicked the light on, which swung on a string in a bright cadence, casting its glow back and forth across the floors, exposing the different crates. She pried open the ammo first, making sure to load as many magazines as possible. The rifle closet was next, and she broke down each of the weapons, cleaning them to make sure they would fire.
The guns probably didn’t need a cleaning, but Sarah did them anyway. It kept her mind busy, focused. All the shit was starting to pile up, and that stench was beginning to rub off on her. She rubbed her nose and placed both 1911s on the table. Her hands went through the motions of maintenance without her even having to think of it.
Over the years, Sarah had determined that her hands had a mind of their own, almost as if they were a separate entity. There were times when her hands did things that left her in awe, and there were times when her hands angered her enough that she was willing to chop them off. They had saved her life more times than she should count.
Before Sarah realized it, the two pistols in front of her had been disassembled, oiled, cleaned, and put back together. The metallic silver gleamed under the light above. She smiled. The pistols were as much a part of her hands as her hands were a part of her. She consciously picked up the .45 and held it. In her hands, those pieces of metal were more deadly than anything else in the world.
When Sarah had gone through training, she had received the highest marks of anyone in the history of the GSF in marksmanship. She had shattered records that had stood since the agency’s birth. She was a gifted killer.