Suicide Mission (Guarded Secrets Series Book 1)

by Sara Schoen

  Suicide Mission

  Guarded Secrets, Book One

  Sara Schoen

  Suicide Mission

  Copyright © 2015 by Sara Schoen. All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: July 2015

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-214-7

  ISBN-10: 1-68058-214-3

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  An arrow can only be shot forward by being pulled back. So when life is dragging you back with difficulties, it means that it's going to launch you into something great. So just focus, and keep aiming.

  Remember that life is full of difficulties, at times worse than the last we faced, but if you aim for what you desire you'll almost always hit the target. Don't wait for your dreams, chase them. Don't let fear hold you back, let it remind you that you can push through anything. Let the action of chasing your dreams launch you into an adventure. Be the change you wish to see in the world. You alone are capable of such wonderful things, and it's time you show everyone that you can do whatever you put your mind to. Even if it's to become a spy in a secret agency, and save the world without anyone knowing. I only ask that you stand by your friends, who stood beside you in your hardest times, because they make all the difference in your healing and moving past the hardships you experience. This is for everyone who has ever struggled with depression, that feeling that you aren't good enough, or anyone faced with an impossible choice, and everything in between. Keep aiming, and focus on what you have, as well as what matters to you.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Prologue

  The two agents walked into the director's office with knots in their stomachs. They knew this meeting would bring the end of their friend's life, no matter what they had to say on the matter. The lighting in the room was dim as they entered. There was a familiar excitement coursing through their veins, but it was overwhelmed by the dread of what would become of her. Even as they stepped up to the desk, past the long tables where agents would meet for mission briefings and the awards on the walls, there was a sinking feeling in their stomachs.

  He sat with his back to them, but spoke when he heard them stop in front of the desk.

  “It's time.”

  There was a long pause as each of them waited for him to say something else, but as the silence crept in they realized he had made his choice.

  “Do we have to bring her in? I don't think she's ready, sir,” one of the agents said, whether it was the truth, or he was just worried about her dying on this mission, he wasn't sure. It was probably both. He had spent his life looking after her, he didn't want to see her die on her first mission.

  “Demon,” the Director said, using the codename that had become the agent’s identity over the years. There wasn’t room for actual names in this business. It lead to those they cared about dying. “I know you and Whiplash are against her joining at all costs, but we need a thief. Every one of our other choices have dropped out and rejected the offer, she is our last chance. We need someone to do this mission; we need this.”

  “But, sir,” Whiplash spoke up, coming to the director’s desk to talk to him face to face. “That's less than a week to train her. She won't be ready in time.”

  “You and Demon have been preparing her for the last five years because we had an interest in her,” he said. “And you're telling me that she isn't the slightest bit prepared to hit the ground running?”

  “She is,” Whiplash said. They both knew they had prepared her to join, just not well enough for this mission. “But, sir, she has no idea that we've even been training her. The news of the mission will scare her away, because she will feel untrained. We just need more time.”

  “We don't have that kind of time, Whiplash. You two barely escaped with your lives, and we lost five agents, including the only thief we had. You were supposed to recruit her after this mission so Hess could train her, now that's not an option. We need a thief; the others have either quit or died, so she is it. This is our last chance or we lose them forever.”

  There was a moment of silence between them for their fallen friends. They had died trying to save and protect the lives of innocent people from the drug cartel that was taking over the small city. The cartel was expanding from the West Coast to the East Coast, and in their wake was death and destruction. It was their job as agents of the Combat Intelligence and Reconnaissance Agency to pick up where the law left off. The cartel was established to look like a legitimate business, everything was in order, and because of that no one could touch them and they knew it. They had to be stopped before more lives were taken, and CIRA had the right people to stop them.

  “What do you want us to do, Director?” Demon asked, accepting the fact that his friend was going to be recruited with or without his cooperation.

  “Bring her to me,” he replied. “I don't want any problems with it. We will have a lot of explaining to do, and I don't want her freaking out or it will be harder for her to understand.”

  “Can do, Director,” they responded in unison.

  Without another word, they left the office with a new mission. To pull a girl out of her typical teenage life and bring her into the agency, where she would become a trained killer, and the best thief the agency would ever have. If she could make it through a fight with the cartel, and make it through a month of training in three days that is. If not the East Coast was going to become a battleground and innocent people would die.

  Chapter 1

  The headlights shone weakly through the thick darkness that lie ahead. My fingers danced over the five preset radio station buttons as I attempted to find something that would keep me awake for the trip back to our home in southern Virginia. I was so focused on the road and the radio that my father had to tap me to get my attention. He offered me his cup of coffee, but I quickly declined. I wasn't now, nor had ever been, a fan of coffee. I was turned off by the horrid aftertaste that was left in my mouth even after the smallest of sips.

  With the exception of a pop song that I had settled on, and the sound of the ra
in crashing against the car, everything was quiet as I drove down a narrow road which seemed to stretch on forever. I could feel my eyes getting tired, but I was determined to stay awake and make it through my first night driving experience.

  I must have shut my eyes for a few seconds because the next thing I saw was a pair of headlights heading straight for us. That's when I heard car brakes shrieking, disturbing the silence of the night, as they were stomped on in an attempt at preventing the collision. I swerved to avoid the impact, but the other car turned too and hit us on the passenger's side.

  Cries penetrated my ears as the car flipped and glass crashed around us. A scream tore from my throat, and suddenly my eyes flashed open, causing the car and everyone in it to vanish instantly.

  Despite the fact that I knew I was dreaming, I couldn't stop the cry for help from escaping my mouth and the stream of tears that were trickling down my cheeks. My breathing was erratic as I slumped forward, holding my head in my hands.

  “Sara, you're okay! You aren't in the car! It was just a dream!” Alex, my adoptive brother, said until I stopped shrieking. He comforted me until I opened my eyes to look at him through my tear-clouded vision.

  I could see the pain and pity he had for me. I woke him up almost every night with my screams, yet he always came in to check on me knowing I was safe in bed.

  “I'm fine, Alex. Thanks for checking on me,” I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear me as I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. A quick glance at the clock told me that it was one in the morning, and Alex looked as if he had been the one with the panic attack by the exhaustion etched onto his face. “Go back to bed. I'll be fine.” We both knew that was a lie, but I felt guilty for waking him up again.

  “Are you sure?” He seemed uncertain if I was being truthful.

  “Yeah, thanks again,” I said, waiting for him to stand before pretending to cuddle back under the covers and go back to sleep.

  He focused his eyes on me, skepticism on his face. After seeming to be convinced, or at least pretending to for my benefit, he sighed and said, “Good night, Sara,” before turning to walk away.

  I shut my eyes as he left, listening to his footsteps as they went back through my doorway, and then to the sound of the door shutting lightly behind him.

  After he was gone, I sighed heavily and sat up in bed, completely giving up any hope of getting back to sleep. I turned on my bedside lamp and pulled out a sketchbook and began to draw. It had been four years since the crash, but I still wasn't sleeping through the night. It was still too fresh in my mind for me to settle down and move past it.

  What if I hadn't closed my eyes for that second?

  What if someone else had driven?

  These were the questions that haunted me and didn't let me move on with my life, even after so many years. I could still remember Mr. Ricker coming to help after the crash. He had been on his way home from work and accidently stumbled across us, but if he hadn’t I wouldn’t have survived. He moved me from the car when the ambulance came, but they hadn't come soon enough. My brother, the only other person to survive the horrific crash, died on the way to the hospital. I had been so distressed that they had to put me to sleep so I could calm down. Of course, when I woke up the pain was still there, but so was someone else.

  Damon, a lifelong friend, was sitting by my bed with a smirk on his face that still made me smile to think about. I had been sedated while the nurses stitched my wounds. His first words to me were so us that it made me smile even bigger and laugh, just a little bit. He helped me forget for a moment about my recent tragedy.

  “Sara, you look like shit.”

  “You don't look much better,” I had managed to groan back in response. His black hair was falling in front of his face and his eyes had bags under them. I must have been asleep for a long time because he didn't seem to have slept in at least a day.

  “I'm not the one in the hospital!”

  “Exactly, and you still look like crap. Oh, I forgot, that's just your face.” I tried to grin, earning a sigh and a headshake from him.

  He leaned back in his chair slightly as his face fell into a frown. I could tell from his expression that the topic was about to take a turn for the worse. “Sara, as you know, Grant died on his way here, and the rest of your family never made it out of the car. Your mom died on impact; she hit her head on the glass and then on the seat in front of her. Your father's air bag didn't release and he died on impact as well. Your sister, Lisa, wasn't wearing a seat belt and sustained the most damage from the crash since she was free moving the whole time. I’m sorry to say that you’re the only survivor and it’s not clear if you’ll stabilize or crash at any moment.” His eyes were shifted downward as he spoke, but when he finished they met mine, showing how sorry he was for me.

  I could remember the crushing feeling of my heart the second I heard the news. It was as if my chest had caved in and my heart was being crushed. Tears streamed down my face and it sent me into a fit of complete hysteria. Damon had jumped up from his chair and grabbed my arms to hold me down so I wouldn't hurt myself, but he forgot about my wounds and caused more damage than help.

  His sudden move ripped my fresh stitches, his fingers slipping easily into the wounds on my arms and shoulders. I let out a tortured scream at which he quickly removed his hands only to show blood staining his fingers. The nurse ran in to calm me down while taking care of my wounds to stop the bleeding again. The struggle had ripped stitches in multiple places and she said that they would have to put me to sleep again if I didn't calm down and we would need to stitch the wounds again.

  Once I was calm enough not to be restrained any more, the nurse explained my injuries while we waited for another nurse to come in and help her stitch me up. According to her, I was awful to give stitches to. That was a fact that even I knew was true. I had a hard time dealing with pain, and I once had to get stitches without any medication because I was allergic to what they used to numb the area around my wound. Needless to say, they eventually just knocked me out and finished while I slept.

  “You have second degree burns from the fire that ignited as the man pulled you and your brother out of the car,” the nurse said as if I knew that the car had caught fire. I turned to Damon who explained that the gas tank had ruptured and exploded. The nurse continued to tell me that I had broken my arm and the gashes, which Damon’s fingers had gone into, were from glass penetrating my skin.

  My femur was broken in two places; the hardest bone in the body and somehow I managed to break it twice. I had also cracked three ribs and fractured my pelvic bone, but compared to the rest of my family, I had gotten off easy. With care, all of my wounds would heal, but it would take months of therapy and a lot of work to get me healthy again. The nurse also informed me that I'd need to be in a wheel chair since my feet were too badly burned to walk on with crutches. Damon laughed slightly and instantly received a dirty look from the nurse, obviously not pleased with his reaction.

  The process of getting my stitches redone was long and painful since they couldn't give me pain-numbing medication and I struggled under the needle. It took both nurses, one to hold me down and the other to put the stitches in. Finally after it was done, the second nurse left the room with scratch wounds from where I tried to pry her off of me. The first nurse bandaged my arms up so that I wouldn't have a repeat injury and then put an IV in my hand.

  Some of my wounds had been able to be glued shut with a purple substance, which I wasn’t allowed to wash off for twenty-four hours. Before leaving the other nurse warned me that cleaning it too early would be similar to ripping out stitches. Hopefully the liquid stitches wouldn’t hurt when I washed it off.

  “I didn't know skin could turn black,” Damon said with a smile. He tried to change the mood of the room when the nurse left to retrieve a guest she said I had waiting for me. The mood needed to change—right now it was dark, angry, and sad, and I didn't like it. It magnified my emotions, and that's probably what
was causing the depressing mood in the room.

  “That's not funny.”

  “It's kind of funny, if you have a pessimistic humor that is,” Damon said with a slight shrug.

  I groaned at his attempt at a joke. “Well then you can take me out of the oven because I'm so done!” I yelled, pointing to my charred feet and broken body. I slumped farther into my pillow and started to cry. I remember how badly I wanted to go home, but I knew that I couldn't. My family was dead and gone, which meant so was my home and all of the things that I held dear. I couldn't hold back the tears, I just cried and let them slip through my eyelashes then down my cheeks.

  “Don't worry, Sara, we will figure something out. Until then you could stay at my house. You know my mom would love to take you in while we figured out what to do,” Damon said, trying to console me. Our fathers went to school together and remained friends afterward, because of that Damon and I had grown up together. We were so close he was apparently able to read my mind—where was I going to stay? I was technically old enough to take care of myself, but I didn't know the first thing about taking care of myself or anyone else for that matter. What was I going to do about the house? My stuff? What about my family’s stuff? How was I going to pay for the hospital bills? I didn't know what to do.

  I sighed heavily at the thoughts and let myself sink back into the bed. Everything was silent for a moment before the quiet was broken by a deep voice. “Sara Night?” a man questioned from the door way.

  “Yes, sir. That's me,” I had mumbled.

  “I am James Ricker. I’m the man that pulled you and your brother out of the car before it exploded. I was warned you may not remember all of it by the doctor.” He quickly let the sentence stop there when he noticed the deep sorrow in my eyes.

  I remembered everything, and I always would.