by Jason Brant
Tate’s muscles clenched. His gaze dropped even further, watching her hand as she continued to tap the blade against his leg.
“I have no doubt you could beat me in a fair fight,” Bree said. “The problem is that I don’t fight fair. Now back away unless you want to be pissing out of a tube for the rest of your miserable life.”
“Holy crap.” Nami clutched her chest. “I think I’m in love with her.”
“Keep it in your pants.” I grinned at Bree through the mirror. “She is pretty badass though.”
Manning had just pulled off a masterful play. Tate had seen and done more insane shit in the wars in the Middle East than everyone else in that room combined. He’d cut more throats than a Columbian drug lord. For Manning to get the drop on him was ridiculously impressive.
“Where did she even pull the knife from?” Nami asked. “I completely missed it.”
Drew closed his eyes, shook his head. “From her belt. The buckle has a hidden blade. She pulled it out while his attention was elsewhere.” He looked at me out of the corners of his eyes. “You’re lucky she didn’t slice and dice him, Ashley.”
“Wasn’t a concern.” I tapped my temple. “I knew Tate wouldn’t lay hands on her, and I knew she wouldn’t cut off Little Tate unless he did. He was just jockeying for his role as the beta of the group.”
Through the window, Tate slowly backed away, his permanent scowl a little deeper than usual. Manning sat down at the same time he did, both of them watching each other like predators circling a downed kill.
“Beta?” Nami asked. “You mean alpha?”
“No, I mean beta.”
She looked up at me. “Because this Manning chica is now the alpha?”
“Nope. She’s the beta at best.”
“I’m super confoosed then. Who is the alpha?”
I turned and walked to the door. After I opened it, I stood in the frame, letting the light from the hallway bathe me in a dramatic silhouette. I glanced over my shoulder at Nami. “You’re looking at him.”
“Oh for fu—”
I closed the door, cutting her off.
The grin on my face was so wide that it hurt. It wasn’t every day you could set up a wisecrack like that and then walk someone as sharp as Nami into it.
I strolled around the corner to the door of the interrogation room and went inside.
All heads turned toward me.
The glares they gave me would have made a weaker man cry.
But not me.
I was too awesome for that.
“Sup?” I pulled up a chair, sat down. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t get into fistfights with each other on the first day. That’s usually a second day kinda thing.”
“Who are you?” Tate asked. He glanced at the mirror. “How many of you are watching us in there? And why do you have us just sitting here?”
“Ease down, tough guy.” I held my hands up in a pacifying gesture. “I’m going to answer all of your questions as best I can.”
“You’re in charge of this operation?” Briggs asked.
“No way.” Tate shook his head as he looked me over. “You look like a POG who lifts weights and then sits in an air-conditioned office all day.”
POG stood for People Other than Grunts and was used by enlisted men to shit on officers. It was usually fairly accurate. Considering the ordeals I’d gone through, I didn’t think it really applied to me anymore.
They’d learn that soon enough.
The door behind me opened.
Nelson stuck his head through it.
“A word, Lieutenant.” He receded back to the hallway.
“Lieutenant,” Tate grumbled. “Told you he was a POG.”
“I’m not an LT anymore.” I got up and stepped into the hall.
Nelson, Nami, and Drew stood in a semi-circle. All of them had worry lines a mile deep etched in their brows.
Albert Nelson was a former CIA officer they’d sent over to restart the Psych Ward. I often referred to him as a pencil neck due to his slight frame and narrow face, but the man was a tireless worker and had earned a begrudging respect from me.
Most of the CIA employees I’d met were real assholes. Nelson kind of was too, but I tried not to hold that against him. He genuinely wanted to put Smith away, so that gave us at least something in common.
He wore a suit and tie, though the knot was loose and pulled down. Normally, he donned a dress shirt, but shunned the jacket and tie. Seeing him in such formal attire made me wary of what I was about to hear and where he’d just come from.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Smith’s men were spotted in Washington, D.C. this morning.” Nelson grabbed his tie and undid the knot. He folded the fabric and stuffed it into his pocket. “They used a mobilized version of the signal in a subway platform. Fifty people are dead.”
My chest tightened.
Jaw clenched.
“Considering you aren’t stuffing us into a chopper and flying us to D.C., I’m guessing they got away.”
Nelson grimaced.
I wanted to punch a hole in the wall. “Damn it.”
“We’re still waiting on a copy of the surveillance footage, but early word is they were chasing someone. We don’t know who or why, but hopefully, the footage will give us some kind of a clue. Identification of the bodies is underway too. Once we have names, maybe we can find some kind of a connection.” Nelson stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I was just in a teleconference with the White House. President Thomas is about to pull the plug on us.”
“What?” Drew’s head snapped around. “We just got the team together five minutes ago.”
“He says that’s part of the problem.”
“Are you kidding me? He gives us almost no budget, a building in the middle of nowhere, and a list of operational requirements that—”
“I’m well aware of our limitations, Detective.” Nelson looked at all three of us in turn. “He’s going to shut us down unless we come up with some actionable intel ASAP. He doesn’t see the point in running the risk of having Lieutenant Benson around if we aren’t producing results.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. I was a commodity to the government. Commodities that lost their worth were cut loose. That usually meant said commodity might find some new housing in a concrete cage with a beautiful view of a chain-link fence.
Our facility had dozens of armed guards surrounding it at all times. They weren’t there to keep us safe. Their job was to watch me. Until it wasn’t. A call from the White House might turn those guards into aggressors.
“What good is having a goddamn telepath help us if he isn’t even allowed to leave the base?” Nami put her hands on her hips. “He can’t figure out why we haven’t found Smith yet? What kind of a—?”
Nelson cut her off. “President Thomas has temporarily lifted the travel restriction from Lieu—”
“I’ve been telling you to call me Ash, Asher, or Sir Badass for a long time now.”
Nelson closed his eyes, took a deep breath. It was plain to see that his stress levels were reaching the head-exploding point. “Fine. Asher’s travel restriction has been lifted. We’re allowed to begin operational missions effective immediately.”
I loved the way they called my lockdown a travel restriction. They made it sound like I wanted to take a jaunt to the Caribbean instead of hitting up a bar or something.
Up until now, our primary jobs had been less than exciting. Drew and Nami scoured over what little evidence remained from the old Psych Ward. They recovered data from hard drives and tried to dig up old personnel files.
Nelson and I put together the team of misfits in the other room. I also drank beer and wallowed in self-loathing.
Good times were had by all.
“Decent timing.” Drew gestured to the door behind me. “We brought Bree Manning in just now. The whole team is here.”
“With minimal training together,” I grumbled. “Sure, they’re a bunch of tough
guys... people. Tough people. But their experience and training is all over the place. They might as well speak another language when it comes to pulling off an op. The three bros in there have only known each for a few days. Bree has known them for thirty seconds and already threatened one with castration.”
“That was the tits.” Nami giggled.
All three of us slowly turned toward her. Sometimes, I wasn’t sure if I should give her a high-five or inspect her brain for obvious signs of trauma.
Nelson inspected his feet for a moment. “I interrupted you in there just now—did you debrief them on the situation?”
“No.”
“I guess we better get started.”
“What about their training?” Drew asked. “Are we going to throw them to the wolves without ever having worked together?”
“Normally, I would say no.” Nelson glanced at me. “But if they can take Lieut... Asher... with them, then that’s going to have to be good enough. He can provide advance warning to them before they engage hostiles.”
Drew’s frown deepened. “But—”
“I’m open to suggestions, Detective.”
Drew stood motionless for several seconds, then shook his head.
“Then let’s inform the team what they’re up against and get busy. Either we catch Smith with the meager resources we’ve got or we’re shut down. God knows what they’ll do with us if we aren’t useful to them anymore.”
“I’m so glad that knowing Ashley has made me a liability to Washington.” Nami looked up at me. “Balls.”
That about summed it up.
We followed Nelson into the room.
You’re going to get them all killed, Asher. Every last one of them, Sammy whispered.
10 – Curiosity Killed the Christie
Christie paced around her living room, kneading the thumb drive in her hands. She’d thrown it in the trash and fished it out again a dozen times in the past twenty minutes. Indecision clung to her every thought and action.
Part of her wanted to plug the drive into her computer and see what was on it.
But another part knew that could get her killed.
What if there was information about the device that caused everyone in the subway to go mad? Maybe industrial secrets were contained on it. It could have even been a small bomb disguised to look like a thumb drive.
Christie jumped at the thought, dropping the drive to the floor. She flinched as it bounced twice and slid under the couch. If it had been a bomb, then dropping it like an idiot probably wasn’t the smartest idea.
She knelt down and reached under the couch.
Dust bunnies brushed against her fingers.
After she grabbed the cylinder and wiped off tangles of hair and dust from its surface, she pulled the cap off again and stared at the USB plug. What could be so important on such a small device? She was being silly. How bad could it possibly be? Before she could talk herself out of it again, Christie walked around her couch and sat down.
She plugged it in.
Waited forever for the PC to detect the device and pull it up.
The drive appeared.
She double clicked it.
A window popped up, asking for a password.
“Damn it.” Christie typed in crazypeople as a joke and hit ENTER.
The little window shook on her screen and the PASSWORD window cleared.
She stared at it for several seconds. “Probably for the best anyway.”
Without entering another password in, she hit ENTER again with the field blank.
And then a single folder opened in the window named PHASE II. Christie’s heart rate accelerated. Sweat slicked her palms. She opened the folder, found a series of files.
She opened the first one, a .DOC file. Some kind of blueprints or schematics popped up. Christie tried scrolling down, but just found image after image of the same confusing plans.
Her cell phone bleated beside her.
Christie flinched, almost dropped her laptop. Leaving it open, she placed the old computer on her coffee table and reached for the phone.
It was her mother.
She accepted the call. “Mom, you won’t believe what happened to me today.”
11 – Dropping Knowledge
“My name is Albert Nelson. I’m currently in charge of this operation.” Nelson stood in the middle of the room, facing the new hires.
Nami, Drew and I sat behind him, closer to the door.
“What is this place exactly?” Bree asked. She’d returned her tiny knife back to her belt where it pretended to be a buckle. She gestured at Nami. “And shouldn’t the girl leave before we get into this? Why is she even here?”
Nami deflated in her chair. Her love affair with Bree Manning had just crashed to a screaming halt.
“I’m not a goddamn little girl!” Nami crossed her arms over her chest. She mumbled, “Shit lords,” under her breath.
“Really?” Manning’s cheeks reddened. “Sorry.”
We sat there for nearly twenty minutes, listening to Nelson describe just how boned we all were. He went over Murdock’s rampage through D.C., the old mission and capabilities of the Psych Ward, and how Smith had caused the horror in Arthur’s Creek.
A laugh escaped me at one point as I listened to the entire story. I couldn’t help it. The narrative Nelson had weaved was preposterous. Sure, it was all true, but that didn’t make it any less absurd.
The whole thing sounded like the basis for a crappy thriller novel. But it was even worse than that because only an asshole would write an idiot like me in as the hero of a story. You’d have to be a real loser to conjure me up as the protagonist.
The four newbies gaped at him throughout most of it, their disbelief etched all over their faces. At the end, when they were obviously not buying what Nelson was selling, he told them about me.
That led to more incredulous questions, followed by me going through the whole mindreading rigmarole. Everyone always asked the same questions.
What am I thinking now?
That I’m full of shit.
What color is in my head?
Blue.
What number is going to win the lottery next week?
I’m a telepath, not a precog.
What the hell is a precog?
I need beer. Lots and lots of beer.
It was the same thing every single time someone learned what I could do. They asked the same questions with the same disbelief before finally pulling away from me in fear. Everyone was worried I would know all the fucked-up things that passed through their minds a million times a day.
And they were right to fear that.
I did hear those things.
Unfortunately for them, I’d already scanned all of their minds the moment they’d touched down on the roof of our building. Part of our screening of new recruits consisted of me verifying they hadn’t already been turned by Smith.
If Tate’s scowl deepened anymore, the corners of his mouth would have dragged on the floor. He stared me dead in the eyes, asked, “You actually think we’re going to buy this scam, asshole?”
“Actually, it’s Asher.”
“What?”
“You said asshole when you meant Asher.”
“You think you’re funny?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
Tate tensed, and I could tell he was about to lunge across the room at me. The man was wound so tight that a caravan of horses couldn’t have yanked a needle out of his ass. He’d seen too much during his time overseas, done too much, that had caused him to lose most of his ability to act like a civilized human being.
I held a hand up. “Calm down, tough guy. We’re on the same side here.”
“Not sure that we are.” Tate glared at me, but he stayed seated. “Your parlor tricks aren’t fooling me.”
Huxx sat quietly, watching and listening. The man was a calculated, intense thinker. He didn’t make rash decisions. I liked that about him. He stood in stark
contrast to Tate. And myself. He finally said, “Why the four of us? I’ve been out of the game for almost a year.”
“We’re in a tough spot.” Nelson finally sat down, his shoulders sagging. Even though the morning was young, weariness permeated his every move. “We’ve discovered that Smith is blackmailing members of the government. So far, we’ve uncovered more than half a dozen FBI and DHS employees he’d coerced into doing something for him. Sometimes, they would pass him information. Other times, they would disable a surveillance system for several minutes. Because of that, we can’t just approach someone still in active duty for fear that he’ll learn about what we’re doing here.”
“So you grabbed a bunch of beat-down old war horses?” Huxx shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.” He gestured at me. “You’ve got a man who could vet anyone.”
“We don’t know who he’s watching. If he found out we were recruiting for a new team, he could use that information against us. If he found out where we were located, things would get ugly.” Nelson glanced at Manning for a moment. “And we had other stipulations we had to consider. You were also selected because none of you has any immediate family—no kids, no spouses, no ties to the world.”
Manning’s features tensed, but she stayed quiet.
Nelson continued, “Make no mistake. This mission is more dangerous than anything you’ve tackled before. Not just for you, but also for everyone you know. Smith has unique resources at his disposal that he’ll use to manipulate you. If you love a dog, he’ll find out and have it killed. If you’re dating someone new, he’ll kidnap and torture them. After what he did to our country in Arthur’s Creek, it’s safe to assume that there is no line he won’t cross. We selected you because the only thing you have to lose is your life.”
Manning really bristled at Nelson’s explanation. Frustration and embarrassment radiated from her mind. She hated that her career choices had forced her to abandon the normalcy that she craved. She wanted to get married someday, to have kids. That she had to set those desires aside to pursue a career with SWAT ate at her every day.
Hearing that Nelson had chosen her because of those sacrifices angered her. That only made her even more conflicted because she realized that her hard work had paid off. She’d been chosen because of her qualifications and the hard lifestyle decisions she’d made. And yet, that bothered her. She ached to be at the top of her field and still be able to go on the occasional date, but she had yet to figure out how to rectify the two.