Agent Hill: Powerless

by James Hunt

  That was a word that took her a long time to acclimate to. She’d long forsaken sugarcoating her profession. It was who she was. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t use her gifts to make the world a better place. That was something her father had instilled in her.

  It was Ben who had first taught her how to shoot. It was just a fad for him, but it turned into something more for her. The first time she squeezed the trigger on the 9mm Beretta her brother let her shoot, it flew out of her hand, but once she had the grip down, everything else was history. She had to wait until she was in high school before she was allowed to get her own gun. It was a .40 Smith and Wesson. She had eyed the revolver for a little while, but she still hadn’t gotten down the quick speed in reloading as she did with the magazines. And the magazines allowed her more shots. She was all about volume back then and, to an extent, still was.

  Despite the fact that neither of her parents owned guns, used guns, or had the slightest inclination to ever learn, they were supportive. They went and took the gun-safety courses with her to ensure they understood how to handle the weapon since it was being stored at their house, drove her to all of the shooting competitions and cheered her on, and, when they could afford it, helped her stock up on ammo.

  Water collected in Sarah’s left eye until the first drop breached the precipice and rolled down the crevice between her cheek and nose, landing in a splash between the two pistols.

  “I never got to give you my condolences.”

  “Holy shit!” Sarah almost jumped out of her chair.

  “Sorry!” Bryce said. “Sorry.”

  “Jesus, Bryce. I forgot I still had you in. Wait, can you see me?” She looked around, searching the room, checking for any cameras he could have hacked his way into with the satellite.

  “No, the chip in your ear measures a portion of your body chemistry. The algorithm takes into account your heart rate, pulse, brain activity, and core temperature to help determine what kind of mood you’re in. Happy, angry, that kind of thing.”

  Sarah raised her eyebrow. “It can tell any emotion?”

  “Uh, well... I, uh... I don’t... um, what?”

  Sarah wiped her eyes, laughing to herself. “You’re such a prude.” Another silence fell between them, but Sarah knew Bryce was a nice shade of red at the moment.

  “Still,” Bryce said, “I’m sorry about your parents. I know none of this has been easy for you.”

  “Is that your deduction or the computer’s?”

  “Mine.”

  “Thanks, Bryce.”

  “Get some rest. I’ll let you know when we have something.”

  “Will do.”

  Sarah stacked as much of the gear in go bags as she could. When she got the call telling her where Demps was hiding and where her family was, she didn’t want to have to sit around and determine what kind of equipment she’d need. All she wanted to worry about was how she was going to kill him once she was there.

  ***

  Mr. Demps’s secretary kept the same even-toned glance on her computer as Heath waited for his meeting. It was the first time he’d been asked to wait. His knee bounced up and down nervously, unsure what it meant. Finally, the secretary looked up from her work and nodded. “He’ll see you now.”

  Heath adjusted his jacket, along with his cufflinks, and pushed open the heavy steel doors to Mr. Demps’s office. The sight of his boss sitting at his desk working eased his worry until Mr. Demps set down the pen he was using and looked up at Heath, focusing his full attention on him. “What’s the report on the agent, Heath?” Mr. Demps asked.

  “He escaped, sir. Agent Hill was responsible for the work.”

  “I know that. What I’m asking you is, where are we at with finding them?”

  “We’ve scoured any and all flight logs for last-minute passengers or unusual aliases, but so far nothing has come up. The chopper escort that took them from our site in Moscow had a range of only a few hundred miles. Based off some of the intelligence we gathered from the satellite hack, it’s our belief that they fled to Poland.”

  “It’s a large country. I hope you have something more than that to go on.”

  “I do, sir, but I’m afraid it doesn’t have anything to do with Agent Hill. The GSF has regained the use of their satellite link. Global Power picked up the radio frequency signal during Hill’s rescue of the Moscow agent we picked up.”

  The business formality dropped and was replaced by the informal emotions Heath rarely witnessed in their interactions, but Mr. Demps signed the checks, and as far as Heath was concerned, the man could express whatever emotions he pleased. Especially when the news was of this calamity.

  “Have Global Power track down where their servers are operating, and send in however many men you need to destroy it to ensure that they’re never functioning again,” Mr. Demps replied.

  “We’re working on that now, sir.”

  “God damn it!” Mr. Demps pounded his fist into the table, rustling the stack of papers and monitors on his desk. His face flushed red, and the vein on his neck pulsated from the tight pressure around his neck.

  “Mr. Demps, I think we’re sending the wrong message.”

  Mr. Demps dug his finger between his neck and his collar, almost as if he were letting out steam. “What are you talking about?”

  “Up until this point, we’ve played our hand very close to the chest, with the knowledge that we had the upper hand. When you are strong, give the illusion to the enemy that you are weak; when you are weak, give the illusion to your enemy that you are strong.”

  Mr. Demps sat down, the redness in his face slowly subsiding. “What are you proposing, Heath?”

  “Let them know where we are,” Heath said. “We control the flow of information to them before they’re able to seek it out themselves. They’ll send what resources they can, and when they do, they’ll be overwhelmed by ours. We take them out in one swift stroke.”

  Heath watched the smile spread across Mr. Demps’s face. He rubbed his chin, and Heath could see his boss weighing the pros and cons, but Heath knew it all came down to belief. A belief that you were better than your opponent. The confidence that no matter what was thrown your way, you were prepared. And Heath was very confident.

  “Set it up,” Mr. Demps said. “I want a report on the details in less than an hour.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter 12

  The sheets were drenched in sweat when Sarah woke. It was the heat that disrupted her sleep, and she could feel her shirt clinging to her skin. She reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand next to her and drank. She slid out of bed, pulling the pistol that she held under her pillow with her, and put her free hand against the vent. Nothing.

  Sarah slung on her shoulder holster, which contained her second pistol, and headed downstairs to check the power cells. When she made it to the bottom of the steps in the living room, Vince walked through the front door, holding a tool box and looking slightly sweatier and dirtier than she was.

  “A lot of the wiring was corroded on the generator,” Vince said, setting the heavy box down with a thud. “I think it must have been due to the winters.”

  “I see you haven’t lost your touch in getting out of handcuffs,” Sarah said, tossing the empty bottle of water into the trash.

  “Hey, you’re the one who tried to tie me up.”

  “And who says I was trying?” Sarah shoulder-checked him on her way out the door to take a look at Vince’s handiwork. Once outside, she looked behind to make sure the coast was clear. “Bryce, you still with me?”

  “Yup, still here.”

  “Did the bait work?”

  “Not the way we wanted it to. He really was just working on the cells. He didn’t even go down into the basement to check the armory.”

  “He knew you’d be watching him. Did he try any contact with Johnny?”

  “Radio silence.”

  “I think he’s telling the truth. Even with you watching him, he could
have gotten away with something. It was too easy. If I were the mole, this is when I would have taken my chance. I think he’s clean.”

  “Whoa,” Bryce said. “The satellite is picking up a lot of frequency in China.”

  “Demps?”

  “I don’t know. The power signature is really weird. I think the Chinese are trying to send something to the Russians, but they’re running into some interference.”

  “You know, for the past like two days, I’ve been craving Chinese food. I think I’d do anything to eat a bowl of pork fried rice.”

  “I think I can trace where the interference is coming from.”

  “I wouldn’t even need chopsticks. Just go all commando with my fingers and shovel it into my mouth. Throw a little soy sauce in there, make it really dirty.”

  “It’s the Global Power signal. I’ve got it. The Chinese did a shit job of encryption.”

  Sarah immediately started running back inside and down to the basement. “What’s the location?”

  “New Zealand.”

  “Send the call out. Tell Mack I want everybody,” Sarah said, grabbing two duffel bags and tossing one over each shoulder. “I want to bring the fucking hammer down on this bastard.”

  ***

  Rick waited in his office, watching the screensaver morph on his desktop. His mind wouldn’t stop working, no matter how hard he tried to quiet it. He’d been receiving reports from both the Russians and the Chinese on their advances, but a few hours ago, the reports had stopped. According to Heath, the ruse against the GSF had worked, but it had come at the cost of their communications with both countries.

  Everyone in Rick’s organization was attempting to reestablish the connection, but there was no timeline on when that would happen. Rick drummed his fingers against the keyboard, which forced the changing screensaver into exile and brought up his desktop. No notifications.

  Rick violently pushed his chair back and shot up from his seat. He paced around the office quickly, waiting for any news. What good was a CEO without the speed and knowledge of information at his fingertips? It was his one advantage over the rest of the world, and he couldn’t exploit it.

  Finally, almost as if sensing his dismay, Rick’s secretary notified him of Heath’s return, and he immediately had her send him in. Rick returned to his chair and regained his composure, knowing that his right hand wouldn’t have returned if he didn’t have important news, whether it was favorable or not.

  “Mr. Demps, the GSF have assembled their agents. We’re tracking at least twelve of them currently en route to our location.”

  “And what about communications with the Chinese and Russians?”

  “We’ll have a line back up with them in less than six hours. We had to sever several of our encryption lines to make sure the GSF didn’t suspect any breadcrumbs being left on purpose.”

  Rick ground his teeth. Six hours was too long. In six hours, the Americans could have figured out a way to override their hold on the nuclear arsenal. Once the threat of nuclear war was present, he knew the Russians and Chinese would back off. That was the only card they had left to play, and it was one that they wouldn’t use unless there was no other option.

  “I need it faster than six hours, Heath. I want to know what’s happening on both war fronts in less than one hour.”

  Heath’s mouth grew taut as he spoke. “Sir, you know I wouldn’t give you an unrealistic deadline. The six hours is—”

  “Six hours is too long,” Rick said, leaning forward in his chair. He watched the struggle in Heath. Rick knew the man well. He was regimented, polished. Heath wouldn’t try to disrespect Rick if he cursed out his own mother.

  “I will have it done, sir, but for the sake of time, the communications quality will be poor.”

  “Fine, just make sure it’s there.” Rick turned back to some of the papers on his desk, having some of the focus returned to his mind, knowing that his problem would be taken care of soon. It was a physical cue that Heath normally picked up on but deliberately ignored this time. “Is there something else?”

  “Yes, sir. I would like possession of Agent Hill’s brother.”

  “What? Wh... Oh, it doesn’t matter. Fine. We’ve gotten all the use out of him that we can.” Rick returned to his work. When Heath turned to leave, a smile crept across Rick’s face. He had outsmarted some of the brightest minds in the world, and now, with the blunt instruments at his disposal, he was about to deliver the final blow to an agency that had operated at such a high level of espionage that it was beyond governments, beyond control. This was to be a battle of titans. There wasn’t a square piece of dirt on this earth that he wasn’t capable of possessing, there wasn’t a mind he couldn’t outmaneuver, and Rick was truly beginning to believe that there was nothing beyond his reach. He was limitless.

  “Heath,” Rick said, calling out to him just before his shoulder was out the door. Heath stopped and turned around. “If it’s possible, bring me Agent Hill alive. I’d like to have a word with her before she dies.”

  ***

  The mattress was flipped from the frame onto the floor, and sheets were torn from the bed. Anything that could have been broken and torn was done so and spread sporadically through the room, and with the lights turned off, it looked like nothing more than piles of trash.

  Ben positioned himself right behind the wall from the hallway entrance of his room’s door. He’d covered himself in a clump of sheets next to the shattered television. He lay there, in the dark, breathing softly, hiding, and clutching the piece of jagged television screen glass.

  This was all he could think of. He’d done the work in the dark, and he hoped that someone would come and check on him soon. He couldn’t be sure how long he’d been lying there in the darkness. He could feel the stiffness in his muscles and the fog in his mind. But when he heard the door handle turn, he could feel his heart beating through his shirt, and he prayed that whoever entered wouldn’t be able to hear the beat in his chest or see the pulsating thump through the layers of sheets he was covered in.

  Ben heard the door open, and the lights flicked on. The dull darkness that had shrouded him for the past few hours suddenly burst into light. Even through the filtering layers of sheets, the light still managed to cause his eyes to squint, but he had little time to adjust as the voices of the men entering grew louder.

  “Holy shit!”

  The vibrations from the men’s footsteps rippled through the floor and into Ben’s back. He could only see the odd-shaped clumps of their bodies, distorted through the pieces of cloth, and from what he could see and hear, there were only two.

  The two men started flipping over the mattress and sheets. “Where the hell did he go?” Ben felt his pulse quicken. He gripped the shard in his hand harder, letting the jagged edged cut into his palm. He could see one of the body clumps hovering over him. He wouldn’t get much time. He had to do it quickly. Aim for the neck.

  The sheet was ripped off, and as Ben watched, the guard’s realization spread across his face, and with all the speed he could muster, Ben jumped from the floor and jammed the tip of the shard into the side of the guard’s neck.

  Ben felt the warm splash of blood explode over his hand and arm, and a few specks flew onto his face. The air around him burst with a metallic scent and the stench of the man’s last dying breath on Ben’s cheek. The man gurgled then collapsed on top of him.

  The second guard immediately rushed over, even firing a few rounds that missed Ben and entered his dead comrade. Ben reached for the sidearm at the lifeless guard’s hip and tugged, but the hammer snagged on the man’s belt loop. The second guard peeled the dead man’s carcass off Ben in one quick pull, and before Ben could jam the piece of glass into his neck, the man countered with a punch to Ben’s face.

  The shard fell from Ben’s hand as the hammering of his head continued. The fourth or fifth crack knocked Ben to his side and slammed his forehead into the wall next to him. His eyelids opened and managed to see the p
istol from the dead man’s holster wedged between the body and the wall. He reached for the pistol again, and when the second guard pulled Ben’s shoulder back, he shoved the barrel into the guard’s stomach and squeezed the trigger three times.

  Ben dropped the pistol in his hands and pushed the dead men off him, wiggling out from under their heavy bodies. When he stood, he found that his legs shook. He took a few wobbly steps forward, looking at the devastation around him.

  Some of the blood from the guards had seeped from their bodies and collected around the pistol. Ben reached out his hand and picked it up from the pooling liquid. Blood dripped from the side of the barrel, and he wiped off as much of it against the sheets as he could. Even after he was done, the grip around the handle felt sticky, which wasn’t a bad thing, considering how sweaty and shaky his palms were.

  Ben stopped at the entrance to the hallway. He looked to his left—empty. To his right—nothing. He hesitated, waiting at the starting line like a track athlete in preparation to the gun firing into the air and starting the race. A pent-up energy rustled within him, waiting to be set free, and he struggled with the comprehension of what he’d done.

  The torture, food and water deprivation, the constant stress of worry about his wife and children, all of it had piled into a mountain that he carried on his back, and he wasn’t sure if he’d make it more than a few steps down the hallway. He looked back at the bodies in his room then down to the gun in his palm. He closed his eyes, focusing his thoughts, his energies, his will. He slowly wrapped his fingers tighter around the pistol’s handle and stepped out into the hallway. He closed the door behind him and ran.

  Before Ben made it past the fifth door on his right, the lights shut off. He immediately stopped, his eyes completely blind in the darkness, with no artificial or natural light to guide him. He stepped to his right, reaching his hand out for the wall to offer any guidance. His fingers scraped the concrete, and a darker, reddish tone replaced the white lights from before, casting the hallway in a filter that looked like the same shade of red as the spots of blood on the pistol in his hand.