Flee, Spree, Three (Codename: Chandler Trilogy - Three Complete Novels)

by J. A. Konrath

  Adios, Sis.

  I had nothing in my stomach, but retched bile onto the dirt next to me.

  That was the fourth lookalike I’d killed today. Four suicides by proxy. Four sisters I desperately wanted and never got the chance to know. I’d never met Clancy. She’d been my enemy. I shouldn’t care that she was dead. But the thought that there were only two of us now—me and that psycho, Hammett—made me feel almost as alone as I had after Kaufmann’s death.

  Freud would have loved me.

  But there was no time for distractions. I couldn’t allow myself to be anything but senses, reflexes, and training. No thoughts. No feelings. It took less than a minute to pull myself together, to get my breathing and heart rate under control, to get my head back in the game and my emotions buried. When I finished compartmentalizing everything, I scrambled to my feet and headed east through the forest, toward the other blip on the screen, trying not to think about my sister’s face.

  The murmur of wind through branches was now joined by the plaintive hooting of an owl. Darkness cloaked the forest, the moon and stars only visible in brief flashes between the clouds. The terrain sloped upward, and I entered a clearing and caught another glimpse of the low hulk of a house, a shadow behind the trees.

  The place was expansive, a block of stone and glass built into the side of the hill. Only the east side had a view, windows peering across sloped paths. The rest of the house burrowed into the earth, like the hobbit homes in Lord of the Rings, but without charm. I had no idea if this was Jacob’s personal home or some kind of Hydra Project safe house, but clearly whoever paid the bills had cash to spare and a serious need for security.

  I scooped in a deep breath of night air. If that blip was a hostile and had infiltrated Jacob’s defenses, I might be too late.

  Dropping to a knee, I brought my rifle to my shoulder and peered through the starlight scope. From this angle, I could see through the windows. Even though the room was dark, I could make out furniture, a few plants, a dark hall presumably leading to other rooms.

  No light. No movement.

  Time for me to see who was home.

  I swung away from the home’s interior and scanned the grounds. A path sloped upward to an entrance just to the south of the window bank. I could see scorch marks from here, along with the mangled steel that used to be the doorknob and dead-bolt mechanism. The remnants of a destroyed camera hung down from under the eave.

  I thrust to my feet and moved quickly through the forest. My footsteps were quiet, although I was more worried about surveillance cameras than sound. As I drew nearer, I spotted two additional cameras hidden in trees. Both were out of commission, like the one I’d noticed on the house—no doubt the fault of the bullet that had drilled a hole through each lens.

  I approached the south entrance. Keeping low, I crept up the sloping path and stopped to the side of the scarred door. I paused outside, listening for movement, scanning for any unusual scents. The memory of stepping through Victor’s apartment door and getting zapped with the stun gun was still fresh in my mind, and I waited an additional two minutes and stole another glance at the computer to be sure the blip wasn’t awaiting my entrance. Finally I shoved open the disabled door and surged inside, leading with my rifle.

  I moved into the living area, clearing each corner as I went. Satisfied no one was in the front room, I mentally logged my surroundings. A gleaming hardwood floor was broken up by two cream rugs. A cream sofa and contemporary-style chairs dotted the living area. A formal dining room complete with buffet and silk flowers on the table occupied the other side of the long room. A simple and small kitchen nestled along the back wall. Generic prints hung on beige walls, and silk greenery popped here and there. All in all, the place looked more like a furniture showroom than a home, impractical and unlived in. I noticed two more cameras, these looking as if they’d been clubbed instead of shot, then turned my attention to the dark hallway leading deeper into the house.

  Four doors led off the hall, one on the left, two on the right, and one at the end. The farthest door was slightly open. A broken diamond bit drill littered the hardwood floor at its foot. A small monitor nestled in the wall, its screen shattered.

  Gun at the ready, I walked to the door and swung the wooden portal wide. Behind the oak hid the type of door commonly seen at the mouth of a bank vault. Explosion burns scorched the steel, but except for cosmetic damage, the door appeared unbreached.

  I could guess what had happened. Clancy had tried to penetrate Jacob’s defenses. Unable to, she had taken up her position outside, waiting for Jacob to emerge or for someone like me to try to help. But that explanation didn’t answer one important question.

  Since the source of the blip was beyond those doors, what was it?

  “Is that Xena?”

  The familiar electronic male voice made me jump. Jacob! Following the sound to the side of the door, I spotted a small speaker and intercom control under the shattered monitor. I hit the speak button. “I’m sorry, she’s in Oklahoma. At the baseball game.”

  “I prefer basketball myself.”

  After verifying our identities, the sports references were code that each of us was alone.

  I was so relieved to hear his voice, my throat felt thick.

  “Are you OK?” I asked him.

  “Clancy cut the power. I got the backup generator working, but it doesn’t supply power to the entire grid. Let me reroute it to the door.”

  A loud clack echoed through the hall, and the thick steel door swung open.

  “Come inside,” Jacob said.

  A chill worked over my skin. Leading with the gun, I slipped through the door and found myself in a long, sloped tunnel. Steel girders reinforced the textured concrete walls and floor. The air smelled surprisingly fresh and dry and carried a hint of bacon.

  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 makeup.

  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 code name 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 motherfuckers.”

  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 Three.”

  “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 response. 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 nine-eleven, 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 ho
ped we’d meet one day.”

  “Maybe we can have a sleepover,” 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 ninety-sixth 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.”