“When this is all over, you will be taking me to Gillian Golightly so I may apologise for the terrible uses I put her excellent fudge to.”
“When this is all over, I’ll be lucky if I’m not in the cell you escaped from.”
Ethan reached across the table and touched the back of Jack’s hand. “Do you think I won’t keep you safe?”
“How can you? I broke a dozen laws helping you out of that cell and another half dozen just getting here, and I’m sure simply sitting here with you breaks at least three more.”
“Not to mention trespassing on private property. I must thank you for accurately discerning the door code. A wrong one would have triggered the destruction of the building.” At Jack’s alarmed eyebrow raise, he added, “Explosives under the floor. The whole place would have come down, not to mention a good portion of the street. I’m glad you made it in successfully. I would have hated to lose . . . Victoria.”
“Guess you’re going to have to change your brilliant code now I know it.”
Ethan smiled, slow and reminiscent of the way he’d looked after the second fuck. “I trust you, Jack.”
“You’ve said that before, then shot me.”
“For which I apologised.”
“Whatever.” Jack took a gulp of coffee. The subject of trust was one that should have been addressed before he willingly walked into this building. Well before. “So, if not to kill the traitor, what was the purpose of infiltrating the Office?”
“The purpose, Jack, was to discover the identity of the traitor. On my way out of the building, I planted spyware that will send data to an outside server.”
Jack frowned. “It’s been four days. They will have found it by now, isolated it, and purged it from the system. We do have some of the finest software and techs available, you realise.”
“I know. That’s why I planted four different programs. The first two are fairly standard infiltration programs, which mimic each other. Your techs will find one and think they’ve contained it, while the second continues to work in the background.” He held up a hand when Jack made to defend his co-workers’ skills. “When they realise the second program is still running, the third piggybacks on their own efforts to isolate it, in the process giving the fourth program a back door into most of their systems.”
Jack nodded. “All right, pretty thorough, but not foolproof.”
“It’s as close as it can be, though.”
“How?”
“The final program. It’s a Matryoshka program.”
The mug Jack had half raised to his mouth hit the table hard enough to slosh coffee onto the smooth surface. “Matryoshka program. Isn’t that just a rumour?”
Like the Russian nesting dolls it was named for, the Matryoshka program was layers upon layers of code that, when discovered by a host-protection program, peeled off the top coat as a distraction before escaping. It was hypothesised a perfect Matryoshka program could run forever and never be disabled. The downside was, they were supposedly very narrow-minded programs, specifically tasked with a single goal.
Ethan smirked. “To those who don’t have the money to buy one.”
Jack’s gaze skipped off Ethan, to the expensive car, to the living quarters setup that must have cost more than a few pretty pennies, then down to the floor under his bare feet, laced with enough explosives to take out the building. Even considering that . . .
“And you have enough money for that?” he asked, wondering just who this man was.
“No. But my client does.”
“Right. Your client. And this mysterious person cares enough about a traitor within the Office to buy a mythological computer program that can infiltrate any system?”
“Apparently so.”
Jack slumped in his chair. “Fuck.”
Ethan acknowledged it with a nod, then tucked into his food. Jack managed a bit of bacon, then had to stop.
“So, if this undetectable—”
“Not undetectable. Just unstoppable.”
“Fine. Unstoppable. If this wonder program is digging through the Office systems, what have you got it looking for?”
“The name of the traitor, of course.”
Jack snorted. “You really think they’re dumb enough to leave something so obvious on the system?”
“Of course not. The program was given a defined set of parameters to look for, namely any information on Samuel Valadian. He was definitely being protected by this person and the data should show some evidence of that. It will send that information to an associate of mine, who will do a pattern recognition scan on it and, fingers crossed, find the identity of the traitor. It was my associate I was talking to earlier. She’s not very happy with me at the moment.” A touch of his earlier annoyance tinged his tone again. “Apparently, I did not accurately surmise the amount of data she would have to go through. It will take her some time.”
“And in the meantime?”
Ethan pointed to the food between them. “I suggest you eat before it goes cold.”
“Maria said she had information that you’ve spent the past year tracking down the rest of Valadian’s organisation.”
Ethan went still, like prey sensing a predator. No, a predator sensing discovery. “I’m sure she did.”
Wondering what about his comment spooked Ethan, Jack pushed. “And? What did you find?”
After a long, tense moment, Ethan sighed and let the tension go. “Eventually, confirmation he was being protected by someone in the Australasian Meta-State, and precisely, a director in the Sydney Office. And that’s all you need to know.”
“Like fuck.” Jack was starting to feel used and abused again. Just another means Ethan utilised to reach his desired goal. He’d been a fool to think otherwise, though. “I think there’s a shitload more I need to know.”
“Jack, plausible denia—”
“No! That’s not what I’m talking about.”
Tone calm, Ethan asked, “Then what, Jack? What else is there?”
The sheer ignorance in those words shot through Jack like a jolt from a shock-stick. Did Ethan honestly not realise what he’d done? Yes, a small part of Jack’s mind answered. Ethan didn’t think the same way as normal people. How could he when he’d been tortured as a child and killing for half his life? Jack shouldn’t expect rational answers. Still, that voice was drowned out by rising anger, a surge he couldn’t stop just as he hadn’t been able to stop himself from climbing into bed with him.
“There’s me, Blade,” Jack snapped, as upset with himself as he was with Ethan but unable to hold back. “It’s been a year. It took me three weeks to get my shit together and come home. Then I spent two months under intensive review, my entire life put under the microscope. I went through hell trying to convince them I wasn’t a traitor. My own director still suspected me, right up to the day you waltzed into that building.” Jack pushed away from the table, getting up so he could pace. “I spent the first six months so on edge, waiting for you to show up somewhere, I cannot, in all good conscience, blame them for doubting me. Then when I finally decided you weren’t going to show, when I began to think you’d changed your mind, you appear. Right in my building!” He held his fingers a couple of millimetres apart. “This close, Blade. I was this close to getting my life back. And here you are, to fuck it all up again.”
Ethan sat and took it, his gaze locked on the cup of tea between his hands.
“So, yes, I think . . . no, I hope, there’s something more.” Jack forced himself to stop pacing. He leaned on the back of his chair, gripping it so tightly his knuckles went white. “Is there, Blade? Is there something else?”
The assassin was still, barely breathing. “Yes, Jack, there’s something else. Or at least, there was.”
“What was it?”
Drawing in a deep breath, then letting it out slowly, Ethan stood. He began gathering up the breakfast plates. “It was . . . something I can’t tell you about.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Right at this moment, it’s can’t.” He sounded calm enough, but he wouldn’t look at Jack.
It was like the night in the cave, when after fucking, Ethan hadn’t been able to look at him. The man needed to be in control, of himself and his surroundings, and hadn’t liked it being taken away from him. But more so, he hadn’t wanted to admit that he had liked it, too.
He also hadn’t liked that it had been Jack to do it to him. Jack, the man he’d been gearing up to betray the very next day.
“Fine,” Jack muttered, shoving the chair under the table harder than necessary. “Here’s a suggestion, though. This time, when you aim a gun at me, make sure you mean to kill me.”
The compound that had been Jack’s home for the past fifteen months came into view an hour before sunset. It sat in the middle of the great nothingness of the desert like a mirage, an illusion of safety tricking the unwary into veering off course. A high chain-link fence surrounded a twenty-acre parcel of dry dirt, lookout towers at each corner. It was filled with barracks to house the three thousand men, warehouses to hoard the weapons and vehicles, training fields, and in one corner, the small herd of cattle Valadian kept as a ready supply of fresh beef. In the middle of it sat the Big House, which wasn’t really that big. Around the house was a hard-won patch of grass, which never attained a vibrant green colour, no matter the amount of water wasted on it.
There was absolutely no movement. It was as empty as the open, barren plains around it.
“This was your schedule?” Jack asked as Blade assembled the Assassin X. “To get here after they’d evacuated.”
“Yes. We needed to give Valadian time to get his troops out but not enough time to destroy all the evidence. If we’re to find where he’s gone to, we need to get in before he does something drastic.”
“Like what?” Jack demanded.
“Firebomb it.”
“Christ.”
The rifle ready, Blade handed it over. “It’s partly why I wished the chopper taken out of commission. It would seriously delay his plans to destroy the compound. Sourcing another means of dropping the incendiary devices has given us a bit more time.”
Jack raised the Assassin X and scoped the compound. “Why didn’t he rig it all at ground level?” There was no sign of life amongst the buildings or in the towers.
“It’s far too dangerous to have that much explosive on hand. Anyone could have walked in and triggered it while he and his troops were there.”
“Anyone like you.”
“Or you. Do you see anything?”
“Nothing. I think the chopper is still there, though. Something’s shining behind the west weapons store. You sure it’s grounded for good?”
“Fairly certain. The damage we caused it would have been compounded by the flight back here.”
“Damn. I’ve been dreaming about taking it up since I got here. Ka-52s are notoriously awesome birds.”
The look Blade gave him was pure surprise. “You can fly a chopper?”
Jack smirked. “Had to do something while recovering from getting shot up by the Taliban. Learning to fly seemed like a useful skill set. There is absolutely fuck-all movement down there.”
“Charming. Shall we storm the castle?”
Jack put on a chipper accent. “Do let’s. You first, old bean.”
Blade snickered and broke cover. In his DPDU he wouldn’t be immediately visible, but it was a bold move. He skittered down the scree with his usual grace, Desert Eagle in hand though it didn’t have the range to hit anything in the compound. Neither did the Assassin X, but Jack kept the scope on the buildings, looking for any sign Blade had been seen. By the time Blade had crossed half the distance, Jack had seen no movement, so he followed the assassin. He caught up to Blade when they were almost at the entrance.
It was a large gate in the eastern side of the fence with an arching sign over the top, proclaiming it to be “The Saint Jude Retreat for the Hopeless and Despaired.” Under it in smaller print was, The faithful should persevere in the environment of harsh, difficult circumstances.
This was Mr. Valadian’s cover. A religious-orientated retreat for men needing help and direction. The face presented to the public said it was a program geared towards ex-military personnel trying to reacclimatise to civilian life and ex-cons requiring added rehabilitation. Rather than link Jack to the military, the Office had fabricated a history of assault, larceny, and drug possession for Jaidev Reed. It got him in as a general thug, leaving him to work his way up the chain to become a trusted bodyguard. It had been the perfect cover, and then along had come Ethan Blade.
The gate was locked with a huge padlock and chain. Given enough time, Jack could have picked it, but Blade didn’t bother with that. Instead, he ran his hand through his hair. Thick locks got caught around his fingers, and he tugged on them forcefully. With a wince, he broke a substantial clump of hair free. It wasn’t until Blade had picked off most of the hair that Jack realised it was a length of thin black wire. He repeated this action twice more, then wound the wires together to form a thicker diameter, which he then wrapped around the chain. After ejecting the mag of his Desert Eagle, Blade took a single bullet from another pocket. Chambering the round, he moved away from the gate.
“Look away,” he cautioned Jack, lifting the Eagle.
Obeying, Jack turned his face away just as Blade fired. The bullet hit the black wire and exploded. An instant later, the wire flamed into intense life. The extreme temperature of the burning pyrotechnic melted through the thick metal of the chain in the space of seconds, glowing orange droplets splattering on the red soil.
“What the hell was that?” Jack demanded when the chain dangled in two pieces, ends melted and steaming.
“Thermite.” Blade frowned, as if expecting Jack to know that already.
Recalling running his hands through Blade’s hair the night before, Jack shuddered. “I got that bit, but that wasn’t an ordinary bullet you ignited it with.”
Blade grinned. “It was an HEI.”
“Fuck me,” Jack exclaimed, still a little shocked. “They don’t make high-explosive incendiary rounds for handguns.”
“No, so I make them myself.” Blade leaned back and kicked the chain free of the gate. “Beauty before brawn?” he asked cheekily, then ducked through the gate.
Jack gaped after him. “You crazy bastard.”
“Half right, Jack. Hurry along.”
Muttering under his breath, Jack followed Blade in. The gunshot would have alerted anyone still here to the incursion. Rifle at the ready, Jack scanned the buildings as they moved.
The windows were dark in the lowering light of the afternoon, but no movement showed behind any of them. Shadows gathered between the long, low-roofed buildings. Blade cleared each space before they moved on. Jack scoped the towers constantly, looking for snipers and finding nothing. He did the same to the upper storey of the Big House, again coming up empty. If there was anyone here, they were keeping their heads down.
“Any information about Valadian’s plans will be in the Big House,” Blade reasoned as they drew closer to the central building.
“Yeah.” Jack agreed even though he wasn’t feeling right about this. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt off the same way the clumsy handling of the search parties had felt off. The same way his encounter with the lone soldier had felt off.
Still, he followed Blade to the Big House, keeping his attention sharp and focused, his awareness spilling out around him as it did in combat situations. He was keenly alert, ready for anything, his back-brain working on what was puzzling about it all while his active concentration was on getting out alive and in one piece.
Crossing the dry, brittle grass before the house, Jack was sent right back to that night a week before, making this same journey. His back began to prickle, and he wondered if Jimmy’s ghost might be coming up behind him, knife at the ready. Jack spun, tracking across the open space. Nothing.
At the front door, Blade ke
yed in the code for the lock. He eased the door open, then covered the interior before sliding in. Jack gave the compound another sweep. Sunset draped orange-and-red light across the buildings, lengthening and deepening the shadows. More room for someone to hide in, but again, nothing. He followed Blade into the house.
The foyer was high and airy, extending up both storeys. A curved staircase gave access to the upper floor, doors to either side led to the parlour and dining room, and a corridor heading deeper into the house went to the study and kitchen.
Jack covered Blade while he pushed open the door to the parlour. The curtains hadn’t been drawn, letting blood-red light fall into the house. There was no way to keep any building in the middle of the desert perfectly clean, so motes of dust drifted through shafts of light and sand crystals sparked on the hardwood floors. The rugs were rucked up where hasty feet hadn’t paid attention to where they stepped. One of the plush armchairs was pushed out of alignment. A painting of Uluru on the wall hung askew, the wall safe behind it left open and empty. All signs of a quick getaway.
“We should split up,” Blade whispered. “Search the place quicker.”
“You sure?” Jack led with the rifle into the dining room. It wasn’t as disturbed, but then Mr. Valadian could get new crockery wherever he ended up.
“It would be the prudent thing to do. Unless you do know Valadian’s schedule and when the bombing is going to take place.”
“Fine. Let’s separate.”
Blade nodded upwards. “I shall take the upper storey.”
“Whatever.”
The assassin sidled out of the dining room and vanished from Jack’s perception. The sneaky bastard was far too quiet for Jack’s comfort.
Jack went back to the parlour and made a cursory inspection of the few things left behind, not really expecting to find a discarded phone with a set of flashing GPS coordinates, but unable to pass the slim chance by entirely. Judging by the shoddy search patterns, it was highly likely some dead shit had left his copy of the evac plan behind.
Jack stood in the middle of the parlour, suddenly suspicious. He let the rifle drop from readiness. It hung from his right hand as he turned around, looking at the room with fresh eyes, trailing unsettled thoughts as he moved.
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