Codename: Nightshade (Deadly Seven Strike Force)

by Anderson, S

  I move toward the right door and am thrown into Marko’s lap as the car suddenly swerves. We’ve accelerated, going closer to fifty now, eliminating jumping as an option. Marko would probably snap his neck.

  “Hey,” he shouts, slamming his fist on the ceiling. “Watch what you’re doing, asshole!”

  He’s got one arm around me, and I can feel a tremor deep inside him. He’s finally catching on that shit’s getting real.

  “What’s going on?” he whispers.

  “I’ve got it under control,” I promise.

  I do. My heart is beating at a calm, steady pace. My focus is narrowed to the situation at hand. I’m assessing all possible outcomes—several are spelling mortal for me, but all are assuring Marko will walk away from this alive.

  It’s not a question. It’s my job.

  I’m damn good at my job.

  We tumble to the left and then to the right as the limo continues on the erratic course.

  “Tell me about your father’s affairs,” I say.

  “I… uh…” Marko’s voice stumbles. “He introduced me to a woman named Helga once. Told me she was good at sucking dick.”

  I groan. “Political affairs, Marko. Tell me what business he’s involved in right now. I need to know what kind of enemies he’s made.”

  Marko snorts. He’s as pale as fresh snow. Fear like I’ve never seen shines from his eyes. “He doesn’t tell me what he’s got cooking. My mother told me to stay out of the press before we ventured to New York last week, but she didn’t say why.”

  Stay out of the press. My guess would be Representative Veltriv has some big moves he’s about to make, or a move he wishes to be involved in, at the very least. Marko’s antics make him a liability.

  The glass clanks and crunches on the floor of the limo as we turn again.

  I lean around Marko to look out the back window.

  I freeze.

  A black SUV is following us, riding our bumper.

  Kidnapping. Damn it.

  The windows are tinted, and with the added cloak of night, I can’t make out how many are in the car. I narrow my eyes, training them on the driver as we pass under a series of streetlights. The yellowish glare distorts the windshield but highlights just enough that I can make out the build of the driver.

  It’s a man. He’s tall with broad shoulders. He has a big head, not comically huge, but bigger than Marko’s. His jaw is square, rough. I can’t make out his features, but memory stirs in me again.

  Can’t be.

  I’m projecting, and I try like hell to lock that shit down as I turn and crawl off Marko’s lap. It’s at least a three man team, with our driver included. There’s the driver of the SUV, and muscle carrying some sort of weapon—mostly like a gun. If this is a kidnapping, I doubt they’ll open fire on the car. They’ll want Marko alive.

  Even so, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

  “Slide down on the floor,” I tell him.

  “There’s broken glass everywhere.”

  “Fine,” I say. “Get shot in the back of the head. It’s your funeral.”

  He’s on the ground in the next second. I hear the SUV speed up as it pulls along the left side of the car. I’m no longer sold on this being a kidnapping. This has the makings of a hit.

  I count seconds in my head. The shooter only holds his wad for twenty before he unleashes a barrage of bullets into the limo. The SUV flies along the length of the car, spraying lead the entire way down.

  I scream for Marko to duck and cover his eyes. I’ve got my body on top of his, shielding his vital organs.

  “The glass is bullet proof,” Marko yells.

  No such thing. I want to tell him that, but I don’t have to. I’m guessing based on how easily the windows shatter, they’re using armor piercing rounds. Those things will tear through just about anything if you’re persistent enough.

  I tumble off Marko and glance out the now wide-open side windows. We’re on an empty side road, nearly to the edge of the entrance for the bridge. A sinking weight fills my stomach. My skin tightens with anticipation.

  We're heading right for the water.

  They’re going to drown us.

  Shit.

  The SUV circles around and moves to pass us on the left side of the car. I ache for my gun. I could take each of those bastards out with my gun.

  I wait for the gunman to shoot out the first window before I sit up. The driver’s window is down as is the back window. The shooter sits in the back and I get a good look at what he’s working with. The M60 he fires lights up as he unleashes another bout of bullets into the limo. The angle is extreme, moving a good sixty miles an hour with wind whipping in my eyes, but I catch a hint of black hair and a scar on the side of the driver’s bright white neck.

  Little by little, I’ll piece these bastards together. Bit by bit, I’ll figure out how to defeat them.

  I’m taking a flying leap into the dark, but I’m willing to bet these are Russian hitmen that I’m dealing with.

  Great. The only thing more deadly is a ninja.

  Little do these bastards know, they’re dealing with a soldier trained by the best Russian hitman to ever live.

  Pain pierces my heart, and I use it. I let it spread along my veins and numb me inside and out.

  “We’re not going to have much time,” I say.

  “For what?” Marko’s voice is strained.

  I glance down and see a shard of glass wedged in his side. He’s bleeding but not fatally. A healthy dose of fear settles into my bones. “How well can you swim?”

  Despite the situation, his panic, and his pain, he smirks at that. “You were the one ogling me earlier today. You tell me.”

  I nod. As long as we don’t get trapped under the weight of the car, or shot, we’ll be okay. We’ll swim to safety.

  There’s a slight chance that they’ll park the car. That they’ll try to kill us before they toss the limo over the edge into the Hudson. In that case, I’ll try to fend them off and give him time to run. If he can at least get to a populated area, find another car or person with a cell phone, he can call for help.

  Wait… that’s it. A phone.

  “Do you have your phone on you?” I ask. I forgot I left mine back at the hotel and he told me I could use his in an emergency.

  He searches his pockets and produces it. The screen is cracked from all the commotion, but it still works.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Dominoes,” I say. I dial a number only six other people on earth have access to and wait for the beep. “This is Nightshade.” A loud burst echoes through the cabin as the SUV slams into the left side of the car. The door is bent and mangled—jammed. Shit. “I repeat, Nightshade. I am under heavy enemy fire with a friendly.” Another loud boom as the SUV destroys the right door. We’re trapped inside the car unless we wiggle out the windows. “Follow the coordinates one mile south from this transmission. Possible Titanic in process. All points S-O-S. Come and find me, boys.”

  The limo has slowed speed, and I hang up, ignoring the questions Marko is throwing at me in rapid fire. Police will only get killed. It takes too long to get through to any governmental channels. Too much red tape. Only The Deadly Seven can find us now.

  We pull alongside the edge of the river and stop. We’re a few hundred feet away from any sort of witnesses.

  Great.

  I hear the limo driver get out and see a flash of his gun as he stands next to the limo. He had a gun too. He could have shot us at any time, long before the SUV showed up. Why didn’t he? Who are the guys in the SUV?

  Who’s behind all of this?

  “What do you want?” Marko shouts.

  I know how helpless he feels. I’ve been there. But I can’t let myself fall to fear.

  I’m not giving up hope. It’s my job to keep him alive.

  I slowly start to crawl toward the other side of the car, the side closest to the river. I’m going to climb out. I use the palm of my hand t
o smash out the remaining glass to the clear the ledge.

  I don’t get any further than that.

  My arm flies through the open window as force propels my body forward. The SUV has rammed the opposite side of the limo and is backing up to ram it again.

  “Yebat’,” Marko shouts.

  The SUV keeps slamming too violently for us to react. I feel the limo slip closer to the edge.

  “I don’t know what they want,” Marko says, panicking as he turns to me. “What do they want to stop this?”

  I don’t have any words for him. I’m done with this leg of the fight. “Brace yourself,” I warn. “It’s going to be cold.”

  His eyes widen. “What is?”

  “That water.”

  The SUV hits us again, and that’s it.

  “Marko,” I scream as the world drops out from under us.

  Gravity shifts, and for a second, I’m weightless. The car is suspended midair, Marko and I floating in the middle of it. A large shadow stands at the ledge, aiming a gun straight for us.

  It’s an impossible hit. He’d have to shoot between the broken windows and hope for the best. Very few people could ever make the shot. I've only ever known one.

  Even so, I use what’s left of my energy to throw my body toward Marko, but I’m too late. A bullet whizzes into the cabin a second before we plunge into the river.

  It’s October. The weather has just begun to shift, and the leaves are red and yellow in the trees that line the banks. The water is ice when I hit it. It locks my lungs, seizing every inch of my body at once.

  This can’t be the end.

  I told myself a long time ago I wouldn’t go out like this.

  I remember when I was a kid—maybe three or four. My mother would let me spend some time alone in the tub after she finished washing my hair. She’d leave the bathroom door open just in case I needed her help. I’d splash and play, imagining my toys were submarines on secret missions.

  I never felt threatened by the water, never feared being alone in it.

  But then, that water had been warm and comforting. My mother was only a few feet away, ready to save me if needed be.

  The water I find myself in now is freezing—ice slashing at my skin and ripping me apart. I’m held down, forced to feel it, to face the pain.

  My mommy isn’t going to help me now.

  As brutally as I'm shoved under, I’m yanked right back above the surface. Water spews from my lips, and I gag as I try to breathe.

  “You’re useless,” a voice shouts, the cruelty of the man's voice is nothing compared to the sincerity of his words. His hands are gripped like vices to my shirt.

  I can’t take a full breath, can’t defend myself in any way before he plunges me under the water again. This time is worse. This time I’m caught off guard. I didn’t get enough air into my lungs before he did it. My arms and legs are dead weight, pulling down like lead anchors. I’m not kicking and fighting anymore.

  I can’t.

  Darkness bleeds into my vision. Somehow the cold is turning into comforting warmth.

  “Come on.” I hear a muffled, warped voice yelling. I’m detached from my body, detached from my mind, floating someplace I can’t describe. “No, you don’t. You hear me? You are not allowed to die!”

  Those words strike me as funny, and I want to laugh. If I still had lungs, I would laugh. I didn’t want to die, either. I just wanted to feel like I belonged somewhere for once in my life. Why did I think agreeing to this training would do that for me?

  “Breathe.” The command is ferocious. I’m pretty sure my lungs begin to move simply from fear.

  I hear a weak, shredded gasp a second before I feel my lungs contract. Feeling returns to my body slowly. Eventually I realize I’ve become a fish, flopping mindlessly on the ground. I’m soaking and shaking.

  My eyes clear, and I see he’s inches from my face—angry.

  “What am I going to do with you, Recruit Vincent?” General Zolkov gives me a hard stare that somehow makes my numb body shiver. “You’re a disgrace.”

  “I’ll do better, sir,” I say through chattering teeth.

  He shakes his head, dropping me right there on the ground like a heap of garbage.

  “I told them I believed you have what it takes.”

  I lay on my side, panting. I can feel my heart in my chest. Every vessel straining as it pulls and pushes. My blood is slowing down, each beat exaggerated. My skin is so cold it’s burning from the inside out as my body fights for life.

  I stare at his boots. I feel like dog shit smudged on the bottom of those boots.

  “I do, sir,” I say between strangled breaths.

  “You’ve yet to prove it to me, Recruit.”

  “I will, sir.”

  General Zolkov squats in front of me. I’ve only known him for two weeks, but I’ve already decided I hate him—hate him so much I have to prove him wrong.

  His eyes are so dark I don’t know if he has pupils. Maybe he’s like an eagle. Maybe his entire eye is a pupil, open and sharp. Maybe that’s why I can’t get away with taking one second to catch my breath.

  He sees everything.

  “You bet your ass you will,” he says, grabbing me without warning.

  I’m thrust back into the freezing Hell. Despite what I just told him, I want to give up. I want to close my eyes and just let the darkness take me.

  I tell that voice inside my head to shut up. I can see his smug expression through the water. It’s distorted by the ripples my struggling causes. I want nothing more in that moment than to rise up and drag him under. To be strong enough to hold him down instead.

  I’m not going to give up.

  I’m going to prove I’ve got what it takes.

  I’ll be goddamned if I let General Zolkov be the man who kills me.

  3

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Penelope,” I say. It hurts to talk. My lungs burn, preventing me from taking a full breath. I feel like an elephant is sitting on my chest.

  Bright light shines in my eyes.

  “Can you tell me where you were tonight?”

  “No.”

  I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what’s happening.

  “You were in a car accident.”

  My own scream fills my fuzzy mind as memories flash before my eyes. “Marko—”

  “That’s right,” the voice says. “You were with Marko Veltriv. You were in a car accident.”

  “Attack,” I say. Too many words are in my brain, and my mouth doesn’t seem to understand how to speak them.

  “Conserve your energy, Penelope. You’re alright. Just some bumps and bruises. A few broken bones, but you’ll be fine.”

  “Marko,” I say again. I feel like I’m playing some twisted childish game. I keep calling 'Marko' but no one is saying 'Polo'. “Where is he?”

  “He’s in surgery right now.”

  Surgery? Why? What's wrong with him?

  I have so many questions, but all of a sudden, my lips are too heavy. My body floats away from me.

  Recruit Vincent, do you think sleeping is going to keep you safe from an attack? Because it won’t.

  I startle awake. The whole world is a throbbing ache that pulses from my skin. I was dreaming of Nikolai, of the first days of my training. He was such a bastard back then.

  He was still a bastard later. He was just my bastard then.

  “What did I tell ya? I think she truly loves me.”

  Laughter draws my attention to the left side of the bed. A knife twirls in the air.

  Claymore. He smirks at me. “Good to see you awake, lass.”

  A haughty huff from the right side of the bed pulls my eyes too quickly in that direction. “She’s only awake because I kissed her,” Ace says.

  “Great, I'm surrounded by Dopey and Happy," I mumble. "This is the worst reproduction of Snow White ever.”

  “You should have been awake an hour ago,” a third voice says nearby
. I fumble around for the controls and sit my bed up. A tall, thin blonde woman with a sharp chin and tiny nose stands there. Countess, our Russian operative. “They were playing poker on your chest.”

  Her accent gives her a deeper voice than one would expect from such a tiny frame. Her lips pinch together as she surveys me.

  “As long as they were playing a card game and not literally poking my tits, I’m all good,” I say.

  Countess sighs. She’s like some royal cat with how she slinks closer to the bed. She has no patience for my sense of humor—or for me, really.

  I’m frankly surprised she’s here.

  “Do not look like I am apparition floating in air,” she says. “I am who received distress signal and notified Moe and Curly.”

  Ace sits on the edge of my bed, mock whispering, “She was in tears when she called us. All torn up that the only other chick in the bunch would be gone.”

  “Aye,” Claymore adds, “she was deeply troubled. I think it took her a solid minute before she suggested they begin a new recruitment for the American position.”

  Countess doesn’t react. Her expression remains blank, deadpan. “You were white like zombie when we found you. It was logical suggestion.”

  When we found you.

  “You guys found me? How? Where?” I vaguely remember making the distress call right before the limo was shoved into the river. I don’t remember anything after that.

  Trauma, the doctors will call it. Circumstances so intense that the body is unable to process them. I consider it a tactical maneuver. The ice dip washed away most of my memory from the entire night. I just remember being terrified and Marko—

  “Marko,” I say, scooting up in my seat. Big mistake. Everything pulls and stretches. Pain zings up my spine and explodes out through my body in the form of a sharp scream.

  “Take it easy,” Claymore says. He spins his knife over, implanting the tip in the bedside table as his hand settles on my shoulder. "You've been through a lot."

  “How long have I been out?”

  “Three days,” Ace says, leaning back so his head’s on my lap. “And I found you. You somehow managed to get yourself and Veltriv out of the limo and swam upstream. You were both passed out on the shore a mile away from where you said to look.”