Nemesis Boxset

by Alexandria Clarke

  Vince rubbed his wrist, keeping his voice low. “The nearest GSF medical facility was too far out for the surgery you needed. You could have lost your leg if it wasn’t operated on soon, not to mention the amount of blood you lost, so I brought you here.” He squeezed his palm into a fist a few times and rotated it around on his wrist, checking its mobility. “Usually this is when people say, ‘oh, thank you!’”

  Sarah rested her head back on the pillow. She closed her eyes. “I missed it.” She felt something land on her stomach, and when she opened her eyes, she saw her phone.

  “I know,” Vince said, his voice void of the playful newlywed act. “Your brother kept calling. I didn’t answer. I figured you would want to come up with your own story.”

  Sarah scrolled through the twenty missed calls and just as many voicemails and text messages.

  “You have a checkup tomorrow, and then we’ll be moving you back to Chicago,” Vince said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll give you a few minutes. If you need anything, let me know.”

  Sarah nodded, and Vince disappeared behind the curtain. She lay there, phone in her hand, her thumb over the play button for the voicemail messages. She didn’t want to listen to them but forced herself to press play and brought the receiver to her ear.

  “Hey, Sarah, didn’t know if you wanted to ride together to the church. Let me know, and we can either pick you up or you can meet us at the house. Love you.”

  “Sarah, we’re at the church now. Let me know when you get here.”

  “Hey, are you all right? The procession is about to start. Please call or text me.”

  “Okay, you’re starting to scare me. Please, call me.”

  The longer Sarah listened, the more desperate and angrier the messages became. Once they were finished, she pressed the return call button. The monitor measuring her heart rate and vitals beeped in faster intervals. She tried to swallow, but her mouth went dry, and the lump in her throat refused to go down. Her body broke out in a sweat as the phone went to its third ring, then fourth. She found herself hoping that it would go to voicemail, but just before the sixth ring, she heard a click and the raspy sound of her brother’s voice.

  “Hello?” Ben asked.

  A silence followed as Sarah searched for her words. Ben repeated himself again, and Sarah finally spoke up. “Hey, Ben.” Silence. Sarah waited for him to say something, anything, but he wouldn’t give her a response. “Look, I, um, I don’t know where to even star—”

  “Are you okay?” Ben asked.

  Sarah’s throat caught again, and she felt her heart crack along the same fault line that had opened when Ben told her about their parents’ car accident. “Yeah, I, um, just, was doing some overtime at the factory, and there was an accident. I got banged up a little bit. Actually, I got banged up a lot, but I’m fine. Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Matt and Ella kept asking about you. They’ll be glad to know you’re all right,” Ben said.

  A tear formed in the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek alongside her nose until she could taste the salty mixture on her lips. “Ben, I’m so sorry I missed the funeral.”

  “You’ve been sorry about a lot of things over the past few weeks, Sarah,” Ben said, his voice exasperated. “You’ve been sorry about not coming to the hospital with me to identify the bodies. You’ve been sorry about all the appointments and meetings we were supposed to do together to get everything in order. You’ve been sorry about going days without getting back to me. I guess I’m done with your being sorry.”

  “Ben—”

  “Look, I have to go,” Ben said. “I’m at work, and I’ve already had to take off a lot of time because of the funeral, so I need to get back to it.”

  “Right, yeah,” Sarah said, forcing back the quivering in her throat. “I’ll talk to you later.” The call ended without any goodbyes, and the phone slid from her face to the pillow. A numbness washed over her, engulfing her in waves of apathy until she couldn’t think or move. One by one, she was losing her family, and what made it all worse was the knowledge that she could have saved the relationship with her brother.

  1

  Present Day

  The news feeds all said slightly different versions of the same thing: Tuck Investments had been responsible for the financial terrorism and played a major role in the power outages that lasted for more than a week across the entire globe. And if the reporters weren’t commenting on the search for the Tuck Investment board of trustees said to be the masterminds behind the attacks, they were busy talking about fallout from both Russia’s and China’s aggressions during the blackout.

  “The G7, along with the UN, are wrapping up their treaty negotiations with the Russians and Chinese,” the anchor reported. “It’s expected that the negotiations will continue for some time, as tensions are still high. While both Russian and Chinese authorities have ordered all their men to stand down, there are still pockets of Chinese and Russian soldiers fighting along their countries’ borders.” The reporter cleared his throat and turned to another monitor. “The search continues for Rick Demps, CEO and president of Tuck Investments, who authorities say was the orchestrator of the largest coordinated terrorist attack in history. More on where officials believe he and his accomplices are hiding when we come back.”

  Sarah turned the television off and tossed the remote onto the couch. She took a step in front of the mirror to get a final look at herself before she left. The black dress fit snug against her body, and she fidgeted awkwardly in the high heels, her ankles on the verge of snapping. She scrubbed off as much of the dirt and grime as she could and tried doing her hair but in the end just pulled it back in a ponytail to get it out of the way. With her brain burning resources on what the hell she was going to do at the funeral, her bangs were the least of her concerns.

  The flips and knots in her stomach had been present for the past seventy-two hours, but it felt much longer. The tired lines on her face accentuated her age by a decade. But despite the fatigue that both her body and mind had gone through, she was still wired with grief and rage.

  A knock at the door caused Sarah’s hand to instinctively reach for the pistol that would have been found in her shoulder holster but stopped when her fingertips grazed the fabric of her dress, confused at the material they found. When she checked the peephole on the front door, she gave a brief sigh of relief. She opened the door, and standing in front of her with his best attempt at grooming and dressing himself was Bryce.

  “Hey, wow, you look great,” Bryce said, his lower jaw still sagging after the words left him. “I mean, well, you look nice.” He cleared his throat and glanced down at his shoes awkwardly.

  “What are you doing here?” Sarah asked.

  Bryce kept his head down as he spoke. “Well, I know the funeral is today, and I thought you could use some company.”

  The painful fault line that had cracked itself open in her heart, cutting its path deeper and making it seemingly impossible to ever heal, felt like it closed a fraction of an inch at the sound of Bryce’s words. She gave a light smile, which he still couldn’t see because his face was glued to his shoes, then embraced him in a hug. “Thank you.”

  Bryce smiled, waiving it off. “Hey, that’s what I’m here for, right? Support. It’s literally my job.”

  “You really know how to make a girl feel special,” Sarah answered, the sarcastic tone ringing in the air between them. “Let’s go.”

  The two descended the steps to where Bryce had a car waiting. The black sedan was definitely from GSF’s stash of vehicles. Before Sarah could reach for the handle, Bryce offered a feeble attempt at chivalry by opening the door, which Sarah smacked away. “I’m grieving, not crippled.”

  The car ride was quiet; neither Bryce nor Sarah spoke. Only the driver offered the occasional word, making sure the two were comfortable and asking if they needed anything.

  “Did you speak with her yet?” Bryce asked.

  “I tried calling, but she
wouldn’t pick up. And she hasn’t returned any of my calls.” The last interaction she’d had with Becca wasn’t exactly a family gem. She reached her hand up and touched the side of her cheek, where the burn of Becca’s palm still felt fresh on her skin. “I only found out about where the funeral was going to be held through the announcement in the paper.”

  “She’s hurting,” Bryce said, his hand covering her own. “It’ll take some time.” He gave a light squeeze, and Sarah offered a smile that was more sad than happy.

  The truth was Sarah wasn’t sure if she wanted Becca to forgive her. It seemed like justice for her to be shunned from the family she had always seemed to ignore. Her job didn’t allow for long-lasting emotional connections. The past six years had seen her seat at family dinners and holidays lie empty more often than filled. All of the excuses she gave were lies, but in her conscience, she’d given them weight, knowing that she was out trying to keep safe the very people she was leaving behind. Her family had always chalked it up to her being independent, but she was afraid that her absence was just a cover that lay under the façade of lies. A truth that she may have loved her job more than her family. And today those lies could finally break through the surface.

  The mountain ridges in Tajikistan north of Dushanbe offered a spectacular view of the country’s landscape. Geometrical rock spires jutted from the mountains in smaller formations that accumulated into the massive mounds of earth that would continue to grow long after Rick Demps had died, and the compound that nestled in the heart of the mountain would be consumed.

  The past three days had been a culmination of speaking with his colleagues in similar locations and standing at this window in the makeshift office, looking out onto the landscape before him. He was hundreds of miles away from civilization. The only people around him were the bodyguards on his payroll.

  A knock at the office door alerted his attention, and he pressed the intercom to let them inside. The doors to the office opened, and Rick’s right hand, Heath Fuller, walked in with the air of servitude. “Mr. Demps, he’s ready to speak with you.”

  “Bring up the screen for me,” Rick said, sitting down and adjusting his tie while Heath set up the equipment for the satellite call. Rick had been waiting for this the entire three days he’d been isolated in the mountains. It was his opportunity for escape and actually being able to enjoy what life he had left.

  Over the past few years, Rick had been to countless meetings with the man he’d never truly met. But each of those meetings had turned the tide in his favor, and there was no reason to believe that this meeting would be any different. Especially since he finally had an ace up his sleeve—one he’d been waiting to use for a very long time.

  “Rick, you look well,” the man said, his face blurred and his voice modified per their usual protocol.

  “I wish I could say the same for you,” Rick said. “The news seems to believe that I am responsible for quite a bit of villainy. I’m hoping, now that we’ve finally had a chance to speak, that this could be resolved.”

  “Your face is all over the news, Rick. I don’t see how any of this can be resolved.”

  “Throughout our interactions, we’ve always been able to maintain a level of professionalism. It’s what’s made our arrangement so beneficial for both parties. You’ve retained and enjoyed your anonymity, while my company’s financial prowess grew, from which you’ve also gained a fair amount of income. I think now would be a bad time for either of us to end what has worked so well for us in the past.”

  Rick snapped his fingers, and Heath handed him an envelope. He opened the end with the sharp blade of a letter opener, tilted the envelope to a downward angle, and poured out a small square sheet of paper. He pinched the top corner between his fingers, the contents not visible except to his eyes. “You’re probably wondering what this is, but I’m sure you can take a wild guess, seeing as how I would have surely expected your trepidation in continuing our business exchange with the risk mounting to what it has become.”

  “I would tread carefully,” the man said. “Take whatever it is you think you have and burn it.”

  “I don’t think I will.” The pleasantness had dropped from his voice, leaving nothing but the cold promise of threats. “I want out of this. And if I don’t get what I want, you’re coming down with me. You and I both know you can’t reach me where I’m at, even if you wanted to. The moment I’m caught, so are you. Your fate is tied to mine.”

  The man remained silent for quite some time, and Rick wasn’t sure if the connection had frozen until the shadow covering the man’s face disappeared along with the voice modulation that had disguised him. The man lowered every shroud protecting him, leaving a face that surprised Rick.

  “I’ll make this as clear as I can.” The lines on the man’s face hardened, and his voice was slightly raspy as he spoke. The face wasn’t young, though it was supposed to appear that way, but too many attempts at surgery had left a farce. “Whatever plan you think you have, mine is better.” And with that the screen went blank, leaving Rick and Heath alone in the office.

  The envelope fell from Rick’s hand, and its contents spilled onto the table. On the little square of paper was a photograph, a picture of who Rick believed his mystery investor was, but the face he had just seen didn’t resemble the man in the picture. A cold chill ran up from the base of his spine, shaking him at his very core, leaving him feeling as though his bones had turned to ice.

  “Mr. Demps?” Heath asked.

  Rick tore the picture in half and dumped it into the garbage. “I want you to find out as much as you can about whatever the GSF is doing. What resources they have left, what they know about us, and who that man was. And it should go without saying that time is a luxury we don’t have.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Heath was gone before Rick turned back to the view of the mountains behind him. The compound around him was the result of planning for every contingency that could arise. His money and resources had carved out a piece of land in a place where no one else could have accomplished it and where many said it could not be done. But here he stood, staring out into the so-called untamed wilderness in front of him. Even with all the forces threatening to close in around, him he still believed nothing was beyond his reach.

  The conference room doors burst open, and the Russian president, along with his advisors, stomped out with the red-angered face associated with a toddler’s tantrum. Inside the conference room, Andrea and a few other members of the UN packed up the rest of their belongings and exited in a more noble fashion.

  Chancellor Andrea Jollenbeck went the opposite direction of her UN colleagues and the Russian president. While they were done with negotiations for the day, Andrea had one more meeting to attend. Her shoulders sagged as she walked, even though her chief of staff, Alexander, carried most of her belongings.

  The war with the Russians was over. Both parties knew it. Russia couldn’t afford to keep up the conflict, and neither side wanted to escalate to a nuclear confrontation, which would have been the only card left to play. Andrea expected the tantrum was a way for the Russian president to save face with his people after agreeing to the terms of the treaty. The trade restrictions, along with the monetary compensation for the debts that were to be paid for the damages against the attacked countries, were steep but not unreasonable for what the Russians had done. The ties of trust had always been loose between Europe and Russia, and the recent actions hadn’t helped tighten them. The road to peace was a long, slow, winding one that required a patience most people didn’t have the capacity for.

  “Did he say what he wanted to discuss with me?” Andrea asked.

  “No, Chancellor,” Alexander answered just before they made it to the door behind which her next appointment was already waiting. “But I suspect it’s about the girl.”

  “Has Finn found out anything?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Very well. Tell him that his time will most likely be preoccupi
ed the moment I come out of this exchange, so he’d better get his rest now.”

  “Yes, Chancellor.”

  Andrea entered, and three gentlemen, all American, all dressed in well-tailored suits, rose, bowing respectfully and extending their hands in greeting. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Andrea said. “I’m afraid the Russians are tougher in the conference room than they are on the battlefield.”

  “I highly doubt that, Chancellor.” The man who seemed to be in charge sat in the middle. He was average height and size. His clean-cut hair and freshly shaved faced indicated a man who was disciplined. “My name is Special Agent Taylor Grimes. These are my colleagues, Agent Mallory and Agent Thompson. We’ll be partnering with your staff to aid in the president’s inquiry about this woman you’re seeking.”

  “Well, it’s good to have you gentlemen on board,” Andrea said. “I’ve briefed my team on your arrival, but I know you said you wanted to meet with me personally, so I hope you have something more than just pleasantries.” The two agents flanking Grimes flushed red, but Grimes kept his composure.

  Grimes reached for a briefcase at the side of his chair and rested it on the table between them. He popped both locks, grabbed a manila folder from inside, and set it flat against the tabletop. “The president wants us to be clear that everything done moving forward is collaborative. In the current global climate, it’s important for the good guys to stick together, and while I understand that my organization doesn’t have the best reputation for collaboration, I was hoping this would be a gesture of good faith on our behalf.”

  Grimes slid the folder within Andrea’s reach, and she took it from him. “Am I to believe the CIA has adopted a new mission statement?”

  “No, ma’am, we’re just trying to let our friends know we’re on their side.”