Jack Kilborn & Ann Voss Peterson & J. A. Konrath

by Flee - a Thriller

  Strange. I’d never pictured Jacob living in an underground bunker.

  Come to think of it, I’d never pictured Jacob living anywhere at all.

  The door clanged closed behind me. Heart banging in my chest, I started down the slope, holding the rifle at the ready. It wasn’t likely someone else had gotten Jacob’s code, but it was possible. And even though I’d heard Jacob’s voice on the speaker, I had to remember the voice I’d identified as Jacob’s was electronically altered. The person speaking could be him, or it could be someone else using his voice changer. Either way, I liked to have as much control as possible.

  People clung to security blankets of all kinds. I preferred a weapon with stopping power.

  The sloping tunnel switched back twice and ended at a door identical to the bank vault model above. As I reached it, the lock clacked and the thick steel swung wide. I paused for a second before stepping through.

  A large room greeted me, much homier in feel than the furniture showcase upstairs. A living room area, and a full-fledged, eat-in kitchen, the obvious source of the bacon odor. A regular apartment, not that different from mine, except for one thing.

  Kitchen counters, tables and shelves were all two thirds the normal height.

  Was Jacob a dwarf? A super-intelligent child? Who really was the man who saw me through countless ops and saved my life scores of times? I knew nothing about him. Our conversations over the years never got deeper than common pleasantries. Yet all of the sudden I felt like I was on a blind date, and I had a sudden, irrational urge to check my hair and make-up.

  Then I heard a quiet whir approach from the side. Turning, I saw a person in an electronic wheelchair. A woman, with wide, expressive eyes, and a smile on her face.

  A smile that matched mine.

  In fact, it matched mine perfectly.

  “There will be times when you’re caught off guard,” The Instructor said. “Even the best prepared operative can be surprised. It’s part of being human.”

  No wise words popped into my mind, no training I could fall back on to help me deal with this. I stared down the rifle sights at yet another of my sisters, this one in a wheelchair.

  “You’re Jacob,” I said.

  “Hi, Chandler.” I could tell her smile was genuine. “Yes, I’m Jacob. If you’d like, I can confirm it by talking about some of the ops you’ve been on. Remember Lebanon, when I sent you to Beirut to replace your fake passport?”

  “I remember.” But my smile fell away and I still kept the gun trained on her. I didn’t trust people, not normally, and if my skepticism needed any reinforcement, today had provided it in spades. “There are only supposed to be seven,” I said.

  “Seven?”

  “Hydra sisters. Seven. And only Hammett and I are still alive. I know. One died years ago and I killed the other four.” The words tasted sour on my tongue, but the truth behind them wasn’t something I could change.

  Her eyebrows flicked upward. “Who told you about Hydra?”

  I didn’t answer.

  She left her hands on her chair’s arm rests, as if she sensed how close I was to drilling a bullet through her forehead. “Was it Hammett? She’s behind this, isn’t she?”

  “The Instructor told me.”

  “So he visited you. I thought he might.”

  “You didn’t know?”

  “I haven’t seen him since training.”

  “Then you’re not Jacob. Jacob is supposed know everything.” Even in my own ears, my argument sounded hollow, like a child insisting on the existence of Santa Claus.

  “I’ve been a little busy,” she said in a dry tone.

  An inflection I’d heard many times in Jacob’s electronically disguised voice. I mulled this over and waited for her to go on.

  “Normally I’m not the one playing catch up. Everything I know about Hydra I’ve learned in the past few hours, digging through government databases. Why haven’t you answered your phone?”

  “It’s gone. I thought they were tracking me with it.”

  “That’s impossible. The transceiver can’t be traced. Did you try to destroy it? The case is made out of carbon fiber, so it’s resistant to—”

  “I didn’t try to break it.”

  Jacob’s eyes got wide. “Does Hammett have it?”

  “We’ll talk about the transceiver in a moment,” I said. “First, let’s talk about who you are.”

  “I’m your handler. You know me as Jacob. At Hydra, I was given the codename Fleming.”

  “Fleming is dead.”

  Jacob stared at me for a moment. I could practically see the wheels turning in her head.

  “If The Instructor told you that, he’s either been compromised or fed false information. I was completing a sanction in Milan, and had to hang outside of a five story window. My support wire snapped.” She gestured to her legs, covered by a blanket. “I’ve been your handler since then. I should debrief you, but there isn’t time. We have to get the transceiver. Where is it?”

  I wasn’t sure what to answer. I wanted to trust Jacob or Fleming or whatever her name was. But I’d wanted to trust Victor, too. I felt like I was scrambling to keep up. After all that had happened in the past day, all I’d had to process, I couldn’t seem to get my feet under me.

  “Fair enough,” Fleming said. “We’ll talk first. Can you tell me how you found me?”

  “The same way Clancy found you. The tracking chips.”

  “What chips?”

  “Sewn into our stomachs.”

  “Sewn into our…?” Fleming stared down at her waist. “We have locator chips in us?”

  “I’ve got a tablet PC. It shows where all seven sisters are. I guess you’re the seventh.”

  Fleming shook her head. “They chipped us. Those mother fuckers.”

  I couldn’t agree with her sentiments more. “So what is so special about my phone? Why does Hammett want it so badly?”

  “Have you been in contact with her?”

  “You could say that.”

  Her lips pursed, as if she had some guesses as to how unpleasant contact with Hammett might be, then took a deep breath. “Your phone… it’s not just a phone.”

  “I’ve figured out that much.”

  “It’s actually a highly encrypted transceiver.”

  Technically speaking, any phone was a transceiver. As for the encrypted part, Jacob, or Fleming, had told me that part when she had originally sent it to me. “Go on.”

  “I designed it. I’m a bit of a computer genius.” She averted her eyes for a second, and her face tinged just a tiny bit pink. “There are only two transceivers like this in existence. You have one. The President of the United States has the other.”

  “An iPhone isn’t good enough for him?”

  Her expression remained serious. “The iPhone doesn’t have an app for this. There’s a hidden source code on the operating system. If accessed, it can be used to remotely launch America’s nuclear arsenal.”

  My arms trembled, and I had to steady my weapon. “What?”

  “Whoever has your phone could punch in a code and destroy the entire world one hundred eighty times over. If Hammett gets it, she’ll have the power to start World War III.”

  “There is no good information or bad information,” The Instructor said. “Information simply exists. It’s neutral. It’s your reaction to information that is either good or bad. You have to bury that reaction and be neutral too.”

  I felt my stomach do some cartwheels. “So I could dial a wrong number, and accidentally blow up Russia?”

  “It’s more complicated than that. You’d need to—”

  I held up a hand. “I don’t want to know.”

  Fleming nodded as if she’d seen my response coming. “That’s why you were given the phone.”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “Your reaction,” Fleming said. “It’s less common than you think. You don’t even want to know how to use the phone. Not everyone would have that respon
se. And even while most people might not want to blow up the world themselves, they might be tempted to use the power for personal gain.”

  I could see Hammett blowing up the world, or at least holding it for ransom, but I couldn’t be the only sister who wasn’t trigger happy or power mad. “Why give it to me? I don’t want that kind of power.”

  “After 9/11, the President decided there needed to be a safeguard, in case he was compromised. Someone able to follow orders. Someone who could launch the strike in his stead. You’ve killed for your country. You’ve shown your loyalty.”

  “I’ve also turned down assignments. Maybe if given the order to blow up the world, I’d balk.”

  “Your psych profile says you wouldn’t.”

  I didn’t know how much I liked that. “Why not you? You developed it.”

  “The President concluded you were the one to be entrusted with the phone. My psych report was favorable, too, but then this happened.” She glanced down at the wheelchair. “After my injury, I was determined to be too much of a risk.”

  “A risk? You live in an underground bunker.”

  “I think they half-expected me to go crazy with grief over my useless legs and retaliate by blowing up the world.” She gave a laugh.

  A giggle bubbled in my own throat. I’d never laid eyes on this woman until tonight, and yet I sensed the idea was ridiculous. Fleming might be new to me, but in all the time I’d known her as Jacob, she was as reliable as gravity.

  I lowered my gun.

  “Are we at a level where we’re trusting each other?” she asked.

  I hadn’t realized I’d decided to take that leap until her words hit the air. I gave a slight nod, uncertain if my voice would function.

  “Good,” she said. Fleming took her hands off of her armrests, then lifted up the covers. Concealed beneath were two rifle barrels, built into the frame. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to shoot you. All I have to do is squeeze the armrests.”

  “Nice. Is that standard for that chair model?”

  “I made a few minor modifications. Can I be frank? I know you don’t know anything about me, but I know a lot about you and always hoped we’d meet one day.”

  “Maybe we can have a sleep over,” I said. “Braid each other’s hair and talk about boys we’ve kissed.”

  “Then we’ll bake s’mores and play truth or dare.” Fleming’s face got serious. “But first… where’s the phone, Chandler?”

  “I hid it. But… Hammett might be able to find it.” Again my throat thickened, this time with humiliation. I’d broken and done the worst thing anyone in my position could do. I’d revealed secrets to the enemy. My cheeks burned and I felt a little dizzy.

  “She got to you,” Fleming said. “Was it Kaufmann?”

  “You know about Kaufmann?”

  “You said it yourself. I know everything. Is he…?”

  “Dead.” I said. “I told Hammett the transceiver is on the 96th floor of the Hancock Building. But I didn’t tell her where exactly.”

  “She was persuasive, I take it.”

  I nodded. “Waterboarding.”

  Fleming’s eyes went mean. “Fucking bitch. Took that right out of our training. When we catch her, let’s tie a weight to her legs and drop her in Lake Michigan.”

  My spirits perked up. “So… we’re a team now?”

  “We’ve always been a team, Chandler.”

  Fleming held out her hand. I walked slowly toward her and clasped it in mine.

  It felt good.

  • • •

  After gathering the equipment I would need, I left Fleming at the bunker and retraced my steps through the forest. The sky was a giant, black blanket, only a glimpse of stars and moon between clouds. The wind had died down. I found Clancy’s body without too much difficulty. Trying not to look too closely at the ground meat and bits of skull formerly known as her face, I grabbed her ankle and dragged her through trees and brush, fifty meters south to a dirt road.

  Sweat slicked my back from the effort, cool in the night air. I had just managed to slow my breathing when headlights split the night. A green Humvee stopped near me, and the driver’s window lowered. Fleming peered out from behind the wheel. “Need some help?”

  I wasn’t sure how my sister meant to help lift a body into the van without the use of her legs, but I had no doubt she’d find a way. I waved her offer away. “I can manage.”

  The Hummer’s interior flatbed was lined with plastic, no doubt Fleming’s plan to contain the blood and fluids. Using her arms to lift herself out of the driver’s seat and into a chair, she met me in the back. For a moment, she said nothing, just stared down at the body I’d loaded inside, then I saw the shine in her eyes.

  At least she didn’t have to look at Clancy’s face, since it was no longer there.”Did you know her?”

  Fleming shook her head. “Not personally.”

  “But you knew you had sisters.”

  “Only you. Until today.” She glanced up at me. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you.”

  I shrugged a shoulder. “I always wondered what it would be like to have a sister. I never imagined I would have six… and that five of them would want to kill me. That sort of weakens the sisterly bond.”

  Fleming gave me a dry smile. “Well, I’m glad to finally meet you.”

  My throat tightened, and all I could manage was a nod.

  She returned the gesture and pulled a plastic package from a duffle of equipment she’d brought with. “Do you want me to do it?”

  “Do you want to?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither. Rock scissors paper?”

  Her eyes crinkled. “Are you serious?”

  “We could flip a coin. Got a coin?”

  “I don’t. Okay, we’ll go on three. One… two… three.”

  I made my hand into scissors. So did Fleming. Since her hand looked exactly the same as mine, it was a pretty surreal moment.

  “Once more,” I said. “One… two… three.”

  This time we both made a rock.

  “This is weirding me out,” I said. “Just give me the gloves and the scalpel.”

  Fleming handed me a pair of latex gloves, and I snapped them on while she tore open the disposable scalpel wrapper. Grasping the ghillie suit, I stretched it away from Clancy’s body and, dodging bits of stick and weeds, slit it down the middle. Underneath the camouflage, Clancy wore combat fatigues. I patted her down.

  “Got a cell phone,” I said, handing it over.

  Fleming played with the buttons. “Password protected. I can crack it back at my place, but it’ll take a few minutes.”

  “Later, if we need to.”

  She nodded. “Right. We already know where Hammett is.”

  A few more cuts, and I exposed Clancy’s belly.

  “Would you look at that?” Fleming leaned forward. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Her skin appeared as if it was coated with peanut butter, brownish and somewhat lumpy. Not an attractive look, but one I’d seen before.

  “Liquid body armor.” I scraped some off with the flat of the blade. “Forsyth was wearing it, too.”

  “I thought this stuff only existed in theory.” Fleming pinched some between her fingers. “It’s a sheer thickening paste. Semi-solid now, but watch.” She flicked her fingernail at it, and it made a clicking sound as the paste became rock hard. “Add energy, it becomes a solid. I also feel some iron filings in the mixture, so it could be magnetorheological as well. Amazing.”

  “Yeah. Well, she should have smeared some on her face.”

  Fleming glanced at me, and we shared a small laugh, one that was surprisingly comfortable. Then I turned my attention back to the task at hand. Once I’d finished scraping off the body armor, I positioned the blade above Clancy’s belly button. I tried not to think about how her belly looked like mine, and how I also had a tracker in me, and then I made my first cut.

  Dead hearts no longer pumped blood, and so dead
bodies didn’t exactly bleed. Instead they oozed. Blood reddened my fingers and seeped out onto the plastic as I widened the incision, past the layers of skin and fat and muscle, until her insides were exposed.

  “Check the duodenum,” Fleming said. “I see a scar there. And try not to nick the intestines. This smell is bad enough.”

  “You can jump in at any time,” I said, breathing through my mouth.

  The odor of blood and death and digestive tract nearly overwhelming. I palpated the tissue, finally feeling a very small but hard nub beneath the slick scar tissue. I sliced carefully and finally freed the tracking device.

  The thing was a small, round chip of clear plastic, the size of a penny, but several times as thick. I brushed off some blood and saw the circuit panel inside. Fleming pried it from my fingers, even though she wasn’t wearing gloves.

  “The weight is lopsided. I think it has a rotor in it, like a self-winding watch. That keeps the battery charged.”

  “Fascinating,” I said, pulling the ghillie suit closed. Then I wiped my hands with some paper towels and fished in the duffle for what I needed next.

  I chose a hand clipper, the kind used to prune rose bushes. A branch nipper would have been easier, with its extra leverage, but for all the tools Fleming had in her bunker, she was woefully short on garden implements.

  Ironic, since she lived in the middle of a forest.

  It didn’t take long for me to snip off the ends of Clancy’s fingers and plop them into a jar filled with hydrochloric acid. Then I cleaned up the mess and encased my dead sister in a body bag.

  I was grateful that part was done, but the first step in our plan was far from over.

  “Were you able to get the paperwork?”

  “I have everything we’ll need.” Fleming handed me a pile of clothing, and then climbed back behind the wheel. Instead of using a foot pedal for brake and gas, she maneuvered the vehicle with hand controls, and soon we were cruising down the lonely road.

  Time for me to get dressed.

  By the time we reached the city, rush hour was long since over and traffic was heavy but flowing well. We made it into the city in good time. Fleming drove like she was pissed off at the entire world, and maybe she was. But being in a Humvee, with a horn stolen straight off a freight train, motorists gave her a wide berth. A good thing too, because I could easily have pictured her driving over some of the slower, smaller cars in her way.