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

by J. A. Konrath

  I felt a hand on my shoulder—Tequila holding me back. He knelt next to the Instructor before I could, but rather than help the man up, he gave him a thorough pat-down.

  “Who are you?” The Instructor asked.

  “Who are you?” Tequila replied.

  Tequila didn’t find any weapons, and I helped the older man to his feet. The Instructor’s age was hard to guess. He didn’t seem any older than the day I’d met him. Graying hair, grizzled features, gruff voice. He probably came out of the womb looking like a drill sergeant.

  “Hammett is here,” the Instructor said. “She wants Fleming. Is Fleming safe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is she, Chandler?”

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  He blinked. “I don’t know. Got jumped in Chicago. Woke up here. Not even sure where here is.”

  “Where are you injured?”

  “Hammett and her boys worked me over, but I’ll manage. Where are we?”

  “A black site.”

  “Baraboo?”

  I nodded.

  “This administration has gone to hell,” the Instructor said, spitting again. “A secret prison on American soil. Why doesn’t the president just wipe his ass with the Constitution?”

  Said the man who trained me to kill people for the government. I’m pretty sure state-ordered assassination wasn’t part of the Bill of Rights, but given the Instructor’s current condition, I could understand his bias.

  “We’re getting you out of here,” I said. “Can you walk?”

  He nodded. “I think I know why Hammett wants Fleming. Are you sure she’s safe?”

  I got on my radio. “We got the package. He wants to know if you’re safe.”

  “I ran into a snag. There’s a cemetery a kilometer west of you. Meet me there.”

  “How are you getting there?”

  “Your firefighter friend is giving me a ride.”

  Lund? Goddamn Boy Scout. “Why aren’t we going for the trucks?”

  “Compromised. I’ll brief you at the cemetery. Out.”

  Shit. I tried to picture the map of the compound in my head. The cemetery was an old one, here before the military acquired the land and built the Badger Ammo facility. If we double-timed it, we could get there in under ten minutes.

  “You have this guy here”—the Instructor stuck his thumb at Tequila—“and a firefighter friend? You’re Miss Popularity lately, Chandler.”

  “Don’t make me regret saving your ass. Let’s move.”

  Fresh air was a relief after the stuffiness underground, but the clear sky was starting to cloud up, and the temperature had risen, humidity hanging in the air.

  As we jogged, I should have kept my mind in the game, but instead I thought about Lund. This mission was almost finished, and I wanted it to be my very last one. So, what next? Tell him I quit? That I wanted to be with him, and see where it led? Even though I’d just met the man, there was something about him that made me feel good about myself, in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe it wouldn’t end with wedding bells, but if there was someone who could lead me back into the world of normalcy, Lund would be a good bet. And the fact that he’d shown up here hopefully meant I hadn’t killed whatever feelings he might have had for me.

  Maybe I would get a real chance at a happy ending.

  The cemetery was small, less than fifty meters wide, surrounded by a short fence. I was surprised to see it carefully maintained, the grass neatly trimmed, no weeds or overgrowth. Our society was a twisted one. We treated our dead better than we treated the living.

  The air was strangely quiet, no geese honking or birds of prey overhead, no sounds from birds at all, nothing but the patter of our footsteps on dry grass. Fleming was sitting on the ground, her back to a tombstone, her legs in their metal braces and stretched out before her. I didn’t see Lund and felt a twinge of disappointment. Fleming had probably sent him home. When we entered the cemetery and approached her, Fleming smiled at me, and I knew something was very wrong.

  A split second later, she was pointing her AR-15 at us.

  “Hands in the air,” she said. “Or I will shoot you.”

  “Not Fleming. Hammett.”

  “We’re surrounded,” Tequila said.

  I checked left, then right, and saw Javier on one side, a black man on the other. Both had guns on us.

  “Hello again, puta,” Javier said. “You owe me a new pair of Ferragamos.”

  Tequila and I raised our hands. Then we were being disarmed, someone taking our weapons, and I clenched my jaw when I saw who was doing it.

  The Instructor.

  And in that instant, I realized how stupid I’d been.

  My sister lowered her rifle, unbuckled her leg braces, and sprang to her feet with the grace of a dancer.

  “You removed the chip,” I said.

  She nodded, still flashing that shark grin. “Hurt like a bitch.”

  “And it was you on the radio, telling us to come here.”

  “We all sound the same. You, me, Fleming.”

  “So what were you?” I asked the Instructor. “Bait?”

  “I was expecting Rochester to take you prisoner.”

  Of course, if anyone knew my training and fighting style intimately, it was the Instructor. When Rochester first came after me, I’d known he was there to neutralize me. I just hadn’t guessed who sent him.

  Or maybe I just hadn’t wanted to face it.

  “He was very good,” the Instructor said.

  “So am I.”

  “Obviously.” The Instructor studied me through narrowed eyes. “Yet here you are, with your hands in the air. You still need me, Chandler.”

  “I need you like I need an extra asshole.”

  “Want to tell me what’s happening?” Tequila asked.

  I glanced at Tequila. He hadn’t trusted the Instructor. I wished I’d taken my cue from him, instead of pushing aside my doubts. Hell, I wished we hadn’t tried to save him in the first place. That we were all back at the farm right now, or better yet, heading down the road.

  “You two haven’t been officially introduced. Tequila, this is my sister, Hammett. Hammett, Tequila.”

  Hammett grinned at him. “Hello, tough guy.” She’d even put on Fleming’s shoes, and had done her hair in the same style.

  “Sorry about your balloon,” Tequila said.

  Hammett’s expression hardened. She strolled up to Tequila and punched him square in the jaw. He took the punch, and spit out some blood and a tooth.

  “Apology accepted,” Hammett said.

  I glanced around the cemetery, almost afraid to voice the question. “Where are Fleming and Lund?”

  Hammett’s smile snaked back over her lips. “Let’s go check on them.”

  That prick Javier raised his shotgun, herding us deeper into the graveyard. I saw Lund and Fleming under camouflage netting, their bodies lying next to each other.

  It felt like I’d swallowed a block of ice. “Are they…?”

  “Just drugged,” Hammett said. “Should be wearing off soon. Go wake them up. They should be conscious for this next part.”

  I went to them, kneeling down, not sure who to check first. Tequila saved me from my indecision by going to Fleming, sitting her up, and lightly slapping her face. I checked Lund’s pulse—strong—and gave him some gentle shakes.

  “Ch-Chandler?” he said, droopy eyes opening.

  “Wake up, Lund. We’re in some shit.”

  “Go figure.”

  When Fleming awoke, she wrapped her arms around Tequila. Then she met my eyes and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

  My throat felt thick, and I mouthed back, “Me too.”

  “I owe you ladies an explanation,” the Instructor said. “After the fiasco in Chicago, I needed a place to take you both so you could be properly debriefed. But the only place available to me was this facility in Baraboo, and I had to get you here without explaining why to the agency that runs it. A p
ower-hungry little grub named Malcolm tried to find out on his own what the fuss was about, and he did as inept a job as I’d expected. I apologize for that, Fleming. You deserve better.”

  “You had Hammett take him out,” I said.

  “Fleming did most of the job before Hammett arrived.” The Instructor glanced at Fleming, a strange look on his face, something resembling pride. “I was right about you. You’re as tough and resourceful in the field as you always were.”

  I could read where this was going. “And that’s why you became a prisoner. In case Fleming managed to escape.”

  “And once you had my trust, you’d try to get the codes from me,” Fleming said.

  “That was the plan. But it changed when Hammett discovered your interrogation tapes. I had no idea the transceivers could be detonated.”

  “Can someone explain what’s happening to the viewers just tuning in?” Lund asked. He should his head, a little bleary, but the same cool-under-pressure guy I’d liked from the start.

  “Fleming created a method of encryption that’s unbreakable,” I said. I wasn’t sure how Lund would take any of this, but I supposed that no longer mattered. The longer I talked, the longer we’d all stay alive. “She built it into two cell phones, called transceivers. With one of the cell phones and the proper code, you could launch our country’s nukes.”

  “Jesus Christ. So that thing in England the other day? That was you guys?”

  I pointed my chin at Hammett. “It was her. Fleming stopped it.”

  Lund glanced from one of my sisters to the other. “So now they want the codes. Do they have the phone?”

  “That phone was destroyed,” Hammett said. “Fleming punched in a code, and it self-destructed. But there’s another phone. And that’s the one that interests me.” Hammett stared at Fleming. “You gave Chandler that phone because she could carry out orders. If it was needed, she could either launch or defuse a nuclear missile strike. She was a fail-safe. But you loaded the transceivers with explosives. And that tells me you have another fail-safe in place, don’t you, Sis?”

  “It won’t work,” Fleming said. “You need to have the transceiver with you.”

  “To launch a strike, yes. But to detonate the transceiver? You needed to be able to do that anywhere, anytime, without any special equipment. Because if Chandler went rogue, you needed to be able to stop her.” Hammett smiled. “Am I right?”

  I looked at Fleming. “The transceivers can be remotely detonated?”

  She didn’t say anything, but the look on her face said enough.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. But I knew the answer. If I were compromised, Fleming needed a way to destroy the transceiver. And me with it. I wondered why she hadn’t done that a few days ago in Chicago, but then realized she’d never had the chance.

  “Wait a minute,” Lund said. “Who has got the other cell phone?”

  “The president,” I told him.

  “The president’s cell phone can explode?” Lund asked. “What’s the point of that?”

  I exchanged a look with Fleming. Her expression was flat, but I could see the pain beneath.

  “Checks and balances,” Hammett answered for her. “If the current leader got out of hand, he could be removed.”

  Lund shook his head. “That’s…insane.”

  Hammett shot Lund a look of disgust. “No, a populace who thinks patriotism is all about wearing flag lapel pins and watching fireworks on the Fourth of July is insane. This is reality.”

  “Assassination is faster than an election,” I said.

  Hammett nodded. “We tried to do it the hard way, by launching a nuclear attack on a friendly nation. Let public opinion hang this president. But someone fucked that up.”

  “You would have killed millions of innocent people,” Fleming said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Nobody’s innocent. Least of all you, Sis.”

  Lund shook his head. “I don’t believe you people. You planted a bomb on the president of the United States, and you’re talking like it is part of the balance of power. He was elected by the people.”

  Fleming took a deep breath, then spoke. “Technically, he was elected by the electoral college, with a campaign financed by lobbyists, special interest groups, big business, and foreign powers. The president starts wars based on personal agendas, detains American citizens without due process, tortures in blatant defiance of the Geneva Convention, and is responsible for greater abuses of power than anyone currently living. If he got out of control, there was previously no way to stop him. Now there is.”

  “Who are you to make that decision?”

  “The only one with the technological capability,” Fleming said. “So it had to be me. I didn’t want the power, or the responsibility. But the alternative was leaving absolute power unchecked.”

  “So, what now?” Lund asked.

  He sounded tired, dispirited, and I guess I couldn’t blame him. This was a glimpse into the world I inhabited. Fleming, Hammett, the Instructor, and to some degree, Tequila, lived in it as well. Lund lived in a better world. Not an ideal one, but at least his made sense. Lund was all about fairness and justice and doing the right thing. The rest of us were weapons used to gain power. The country, and the world, was corrupt.

  I could imagine how Lund felt. It was like being in a beautiful meadow, finding a stone, and turning it over to see all the creepy, crawly, ugly creatures underneath. Those creatures were always there, but we normally didn’t have to see them.

  Lund stared at me like I was one of those creatures. And I guess I was.

  “Now?” the Instructor said. “Now Fleming gives up the code, we use it, and the vice president gets sworn in, a man more favorable to our position than the current POTUS.”

  “And if he isn’t more favorable, what then? You kill him, too?”

  The Instructor shrugged.

  “You’re going to kill the president,” Lund said, as if he still couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

  “Where did you find this guy?” the Instructor said, jerking a thumb at Lund. “Mayberry?” He turned to Lund. “Let me clue you in, son. The president sends our troops to die in wars we shouldn’t even be involved in. He kills people in secret prisons every day. He uses me, and these ladies, to kill people abroad and in our own country. He’s got more blood on his hands than all of us here put together.”

  “He’s a dick,” Hammett said.

  “There’s one thing you didn’t think of,” Fleming said. “I won’t give up the codes.”

  “Yeah, you’re a tough little cookie,” Hammett said. “But what if I start killing all your friends here?”

  Fleming and I exchanged a glance, and hers said, I’m willing to die.

  Mine didn’t match hers.

  “Fleming,” the Instructor said. “I’ve been in constant touch with the president since yesterday, and his last directive to me was to make sure this security leak gets plugged. You know what that means. All of you are supposed to die.”

  “Assuming I believe you,” Fleming said, “that doesn’t make me change my mind.”

  “Then let’s start with the altruistic firefighter,” Hammett said. “I’m going to count to three, then put a round in his brain. One…”

  Lund’s jaw clenched, and he glared at Fleming. “Don’t tell this bitch anything.”

  “Two…”

  His eyes flitted to mine, and I wasn’t sure what I saw there. Resignation? Regret? Fear?

  Love?

  I couldn’t breathe, my lungs, my throat, all of me squeezed as if by some giant hand.

  Lund, like Fleming, was willing to die for the cause. Except it wasn’t Lund’s cause, wasn’t his fight. He was a civilian, and I never should have brought him into this. What did he think he was doing? Rushing to the rescue? Saving the world? I doubted Lund had blood on his hands, but the president did. And of the two, I cared for Lund a lot more. Hell, I didn’t even vote for the current guy.

  “Three!” />
  “I know the codes!” I said.

  Everyone stared at me.

  “I’ll do it,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

  “Chandler…” Fleming said.

  Lund shook his head. “Chandler, don’t.”

  Tequila, predictably, didn’t say anything.

  “Stand over there,” the Instructor ordered, pointing next to a tree.

  “Got a sniper on site? These two aren’t enough?” I asked, looking at Javier and the other guy.

  “Just do it.”

  I complied.

  The Instructor reached out a hand, and Hammett handed him a leather satchel. He slung it across his chest and pulled a piece of paper from inside. “Here’s the phone number to the other transceiver,” he said, handing me the typed note. “Call it and read the script, or your friend dies.”

  “Chandler?” Lund stared at me, but I couldn’t read his expression. “You can’t do this. You can’t.”

  “Your life for the president’s? It’s not even close.”

  Hammett winked at Lund. “I think she’s sweet on you, buddy.”

  “Put it on speakerphone,” the Instructor ordered.

  I did, and dialed the number. It rang twice, and then, “This is the president. Who is this?”

  “Read it,” the Instructor said.

  I swallowed into a parched throat, and began reading the message. “Mr. President. I work for Hydra, a secret assassination arm of the military. You’re familiar with it. Hydra is upset with the job you’re doing, and because we’re patriots, we have no choice but to relieve you of your power.”

  I punched in the code Fleming had shared with me earlier. There was a loud POP!, then static.

  For a moment, nobody moved or spoke.

  I’d killed many people on my job, and this one had been the easiest. But the weight of what I’d done began to seep in, and I became light-headed.

  John Wilkes Booth. Lee Harvey Oswald.