Mark Midway Box Set: Mark One, Mark Two, Mark Three, and Mark Four

by John Hindmarsh

  “How did you gather this intelligence?”

  “Sir, all pre-Cerberus work together. There’s a team made up of people who’ve established they’re totally unsuitable for army life—they’re older than us. They were given pretend jobs by Cerberus, to keep them occupied. They devote most of their spare time to spying on Cerberus operations. They’ve gathered a lot of data. We can give you access from here.”

  “What do you expect to gain?”

  “A beating around the ears at the least, when Colonel Hudson catches up with us.” He gave a wry grin. “We thought the risk was worthwhile. We’d heard a lot about you and wanted to warn you. Then, we thought you might be prepared to intercede for us with the colonel. We want to be able to follow our own career paths, instead of being dumped into an environment that’s entirely wrong for our abilities. At this stage of our lives, we should be at university, studying whatever we wish.” He shrugged. “We’d be far more valuable to Cerberus if we’re able to make valid, informed contributions to society. I’m trying not to sound arrogant but you know a lot of Cerberus children have exceptional abilities.”

  “I understand your need for a different kind of life; it’s something I’ve been striving for, too. Okay, I’ll help you. I’ll do my best, if needed, to hold off the colonel’s ire. I think she might be sympathetic, anyway.”

  “Excellent, sir,” said Laura. Several faces brightened, giving confirmation to her comment. “We do have a concern though which needs to be addressed. Thomas mentioned the security guards—we think you should get rid of them as soon as you can. Twenty of us will take over the security role.”

  “Are you armed?”

  “Oh, no sir. We’re not allowed to carry weapons in public.”

  Thomas said, “We’ll take the weapons from the current team.”

  “There’s enough of us to provide a proper three-watch patrol system. We’ll be far more effective,” Laura added.

  Mark looked at Anna, not sure if she’d forgiven him for his earlier chastisement. He asked, “What do you think?”

  “I think we have some young people here whom we should support. If we’re going to help them, and if they’re going to assist us, I agree we need to disarm the existing security force before we do anything. We’ll send them on their way and then we can work through our next steps.”

  Mark sighed his relief. While he might not be forgiven, at least Anna was not harboring any resentment. He said to Thomas, “Before we do anything, I’d like to see some of the information you’ve gathered. Can we view what you consider to be the most damning data? You can use my laptop”

  Thomas signaled one of his companions, who stepped forward and commandeered Mark’s computer. Thomas said, “Ivy is our top computer person. Ivy, please show us the video of the meeting between the DI, the Chairman and Andrew Jeffries. The one where they discussed Mark.”

  “Dissed Mark, more like,” said the young woman as she sat at the desk where Mark had his laptop. “We’re using our own storage cloud. Only a few of us know the technical details, and a few more know how to use it. We’re adding more computer training for both companies, so we’ll all have an opportunity to increase our IT skills. Here’s the file. I’ll display it on the larger monitor?”

  Mark nodded. Ivy took only seconds to download and play the video, which showed a small meeting room from one end. Mark suspected the camera was in a bookcase or similar location. Three people were seated around the table.

  DI Goodwin: Midway seems a capable enough person. He’s survived a number of personal attacks.

  Chairman: He’s been lucky.

  Jeffries: He defended the Lifelong Complex against a team of mercenaries. Killed seven of them. Wish I had luck like his.

  Chairman: Bah.

  DI Goodwin: Andrew has a point. The man’s not to be dismissed lightly. He has some strong support—Schmidt, Donnelly, and his personal team. Even the two young children. Reb’s an unknown.

  Chairman: I’ll handle her. I know how to keep her quiet. She’ll wish she drowned on that sailboard of hers. Midway is a fluke. An aberration. We can handle them all.

  DI Goodwin: You might need to temper your over-confidence if you want our assistance.

  Chairman: You need to temper your voice if you want a piece of the Cerberus bankroll.

  Jeffries: Enough bickering. Chairman, how will you take care of Midway?

  Chairman: First, the DI needs to make sure Midway’s security team is under our control. Her men must leave when we give them the signal. As soon as possible after that, we’ll attack. Bankton House will be exposed, it needs a dozen or more for proper defense. We’ll soon overrun this bunch of children. Goodwin, you have people who can take part, take responsibility?

  DI Goodwin: Oh yes, I can arrange the resources for the…raid, not attack. We need a pretext, one that will stand up to a degree of scrutiny.

  Jeffries: Can we categorize Midway and his entourage as a terrorist group?

  DI Goodwin: We’d need some evidence.

  Chairman: They can be charged with kidnapping and murder, after I get my hands on the three children who are living in the old school building.

  DI Goodwin: Yes, it should work. How will you dispose of these people?

  Chairman: The Chinese will purchase the children; while they’re from a different batch than Reb, but from the same laboratory, they’ll be interested, I’m sure. They can have her, too, after I’ve finished with her. Midway should be shot while attempting to escape—accidentally, of course—after we get the bank and research details from him. The Cerberus brats? Perhaps they can be shot during the raid.

  Jeffries: I think we’re headed in the right direction. We’ll work out detailed plans. Goodwin, perhaps you and I can prepare something for our next meeting?

  The video ended. Mark looked at Anna. “I think we can work with our new friends, don’t you?”

  Anna said, “Yes, I believe we can.”

  Two subdued voices said in unison, “So do we. They called us Cerberus brats.”

  Mark ignored the comments from Niland and Gabrielle. He spoke toward the ceiling, “Scott, can you and Sera come here for a few minutes? I’ll send two volunteers in to relieve you. Thomas, can you select two of your people to monitor our cameras?”

  Mark waited for the exchange to take place. After he had completed introductions, he said to the visitors, “My proposal is this—Anna, Scott, and Sera will come with me now to the cottages. I’ll also take two or three of your best people to help and another two or three to collect and take control of the weapons we recover. Once we have these security people assembled and weaponless, in the larger cottage, we’ll send them off. I’ll keep one of the vehicles; we need transport. When we’ve finished dealing with them, Thomas, I’d like you to contact your CO. She wants to know you’re all okay.”

  Thomas said, “We parked an army lorry in a lay-by about half a mile away. It’s got our personal gear. We’ll use it for our transport if we need it, and if the colonel will let us keep it for a while. We brought some tents, in case you don’t have enough accommodation here. Oh, and we tied up two of the security guards. We left them just inside the entrance to the property.” He handed over two pistols. “These are their weapons.”

  Mark organized his team and set off to the nearest cottage. The off-duty men were finishing their evening meal before the shift change. They were taken unawares and only one protested when his weapon was taken. He stopped complaining when Mark waved a Glock under his nose. The three men coming off shift were similarly taken by surprise. Finally the young soldiers retrieved the two men they had earlier captured.

  Mark addressed the ten men and two drivers. “We have your weapons. We have your photographs and fingerprints. I don’t care if you’re all Cerberus—I don’t trust your allegiance. I don’t want you to return to this property. If I ever see you here again, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing. Assuming, that is, you don’t get accidentally shot. We have your cell phones; I�
�ll send those to DI Goodwin. Now, I’ll give you fifteen minutes to pack and another five minutes to load up two of the vehicles and get out of here. Do you understand?”

  The response was subdued. Mark was confident the now ex-security guards would depart on schedule. He asked Scott and Sera to ensure they left the property on schedule.

  He signaled Thomas and his companions. “Come with me. You need to contact Colonel Hudson and make sure she understands where you are and what you’re doing.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mark realized the young man was not looking forward to the conversation with his commanding officer. He added, “I’ll speak with her first, if you like.”

  Thomas looked relieved. “Thank you, sir.”

  ~~~

  Maeve had developed the habit of reading her e-mails aloud while she sat next to Schmidt’s hospital bed. She had no idea whether he understood or was absorbing any of her words. She hoped the steady sound of her voice gave him comfort. The nurse entered and Maeve recognized her as Cerberus. They exchanged polite greetings.

  An hour later, close to midnight, as Maeve was preparing to leave, she heard movement. Surprised, she looked up. Schmidt was watching her. She licked her lips. “How do you feel? Can you talk?”

  He moved his mouth. At first she was unable to hear anything, but the heard two faint words. “Rotten. Barely.” His eyes closed. She kept silent for a few minutes. His eyes opened again. “Keep…reading.” At least, she thought it was what he said. Her heart was thumping far too loudly for her to be certain.

  Maeve opened up her laptop and read aloud the next e-mail from her team of analysts.

  ***

  Chapter 30

  Mercante was baffled. Typically, his plans worked. No, not typically. Always. Without exception. Midway and Schmidt seemed to cast some kind of bad-luck spell over everything he attempted with their names attached. He was perplexed now as to his next move. He couldn’t stay in the United Kingdom too long; he had tasks demanding his attention in Langley. His little foray to kidnap three genetically engineered teenagers had gone awry; someone had beaten him to the finish line. Wentworth was not contactable for some unknown reason. He hadn’t heard whether Schmidt was recovering or not. Midway was well guarded. Mercante’s revenge path was proving impassable.

  He had an open ticket for his return and phoned the hotel’s concierge desk to arrange his seat on the earliest morning flight back to Washington. He also arranged for a taxi to take him to the airport. Scheduled departure was seven-thirty a.m., and he would be back at his desk early in the afternoon.

  The flight was uneventful. Mercante passed through DHS’s passport inspection in minutes and strolled through Customs without a pause. He had ordered a limo to meet him and he would go straight to the office. He could shower and change at the Agency’s facilities.

  His plans had not allowed for the involvement of Maeve Donnelly.

  The limo driver was waiting, holding a sign that read McCARR. Mercante nodded to the man and detoured around a small group of anxious people waiting for other passengers. As he did so, the driver stepped up to him and Mercante felt someone approach from behind.

  “Mr. Mercante. Or McCarr, it doesn’t matter which,” a voice murmured from behind. “Please come with us, quietly. We all would prefer this to be without any fuss, don’t you agree?”

  Mercante said, “I’ll make a fuss and you’ll both feel the pain.”

  The man behind jabbed him in the back, an inch above his right kidney. “This is a Beretta. Silenced. A shot here”—the man jabbed again—“will be painful, potentially fatal, depending on how much time elapses before we get you to the hospital, and my driver is known for how slowly he drives. Now, we’d be obliged to assist you to your vehicle, which is waiting for you at the curb. What did you say about a fuss?”

  Mercante did not protest further. Beneath his calm facade he was fuming. Another jab, again above his kidney, prevented his rising temper from exploding. For the moment. The curbside vehicle was an SUV. The driver opened the rear door and Mercante entered and sat down. When the driver closed the door, Mercante swore. The door had automatically locked. He slid over and tried the other door—also locked. There was a hefty plastic barrier between him and the front seat. Another barrier prevented him from accessing the rear of the vehicle. He vowed aloud his revenge on anyone within his reach.

  The driver and the other man took their places in the SUV. They ignored Mercante’s tirade and drove out of the airport. Mercante did not recognize their route; it was neither to the Agency nor to Quantico. He began to worry. He didn’t know who his captors were; he assumed they were law enforcement of some kind. He was silent for a minute or two. At last he managed a question. “Are you freelancers or some official law enforcement idiots who don’t know what you’re doing?”

  “Oh, we’re law enforcement,” replied the passenger, “and we know what we’re doing.”

  “Identification?”

  The passenger laughed. “We’ll get to identification in due course, don’t you worry. Maybe first you should work on explaining why you’re traveling as Robert McCarr.”

  He ignored the suggestion. “Where are you taking me?”

  “I suggest you sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  ~~~

  Maeve Donnelly entered the interview room escorted by two young Cerberus agents. Their prisoner was seated, handcuffed, one leg chained to his chair. He sneered, “So you think you’re back running the FBI?”

  “Not at all, Roberto,” Maeve replied. “I have more than enough on my plate with Cerberus. Now, tell me, why were you at an old school building in London?” She signaled to one of the Cerberus agents. “Run the video for me.”

  There was a video monitor at one end of the interview room. Mercante watched as the file loaded and the video played. He swore under his breath as he saw himself using the lock picks to open the door. The video switched to the interior and followed him from camera to camera along the corridor and into the room where he had discovered the housekeeper’s body.

  “We should hand this over to the British authorities. It’d curtail at least some of your travels, don’t you think?”

  “It’s a forgery, obviously,” said Mercante.

  Maeve spoke to the young agent. “This time, the audio file from within the Agency, the one where Mercante met with Wentworth.” She waited until the clip ended. Despite gaps due to the quality, there was enough data to raise suspicions.

  “Again—”

  “Yes, I know, a forgery. You’ll be interested to know we received intel from a surprising source—Colonel Alexey Grigoryevich. Yes, he’s dead, as you know. Shot by an unknown person after his small team of Russians launched a Strela 21 at Schmidt’s helicopter. But he’d arranged to send me two files, in the event of his death. One was effectively a confession, describing how he had been coerced into a situation that he regretted. The second was videos of meetings between himself and someone named Robert McCarr. This McCarr, who looks remarkably like you, was setting up Grigoryevich and providing him with instructions, helicopter flight details, and even a SAM. The video is clear, the quality is excellent. I’ll play it, if you want.”

  “No, thanks. I’m sure it’s a forgery, too.” Mercante mentally cursed the Russian colonel. He had thought the man was too cowed to take any such action. “Now that this entertainment has concluded, I want to know who you think you are, and by what right you’re holding me?”

  “Concluded? Not by a long shot. We’ve a police sketch of a Robert McCarr, supposedly a senior ICE manager, who authorized a black op in London. It failed, by the way, and we have detailed statements from two of the three ICE agents involved. I can see a remarkable resemblance between the sketch and you. We expect to have the Reverend Barker in custody shortly, and, if he lives up to his reputation, he’ll be willing to provide us with all the details of his meeting with you. His militia raid on Midway’s property, the one you requested and paid for using Agency funds
, was a prime example of disastrous planning, don’t you think? The more I think about it, the more I think all your recent activities have been disastrous, hmm?”

  “Listen, lady, I’m higher on the totem pole than you’ll ever be, despite your FBI background. These trumped-up charges will be regarded as the result of professional jealousy. They’ll be dismissed by any sensible prosecutor, assuming you’re able to get anyone to listen to you.”

  “Oh, I don’t think it will be an issue. The murder of Colonel Dempsey and the attack on General Schmidt clearly fall within the definition of terrorist activities. We’ve arranged your flight to Gitmo. You leave tomorrow morning. Don’t expect a return ticket.”

  “The Agency will stop you. You can’t write me off so easily.” He struggled against his restraints. “The Agency looks after its own.”

  Maeve shrugged. “The President has signed the order. It was raised and approved by the Agency. They’ve washed their hands of you.”

  Mercante swore. “I don’t believe you, bitch—”

  Maeve ignored the appellation. There was a knock on the door and she turned to the closer of the two Cerberus agents. “That should be our man. Let him in, please.” She turned back to the prisoner. “You don’t need me to introduce you to your Executive Director?”

  A final wave of doom crashed over Mercante. The CIA ED stood in the doorway and looked at him for a moment, the way an entomologist might examine a particularly nasty bug. He said, “Mercante, your tenure with the Agency has been terminated. We’ve approved your transfer to Guantánamo. I trust I’ll never see or hear from you again.” The man turned and walked away. The Cerberus agent closed the door and resumed his seat at the table.