by Ronie Kendig
“You knew that was electrified.”
He said nothing but finished working, creating a hole. Enough for them to crawl through. He gave her a nod, and she slipped through. Maybe once Nesim got focused on a mission, he wasn’t as chatty. She was grateful for that. When he talked, no more than a couple of minutes ticked by before he shattered some misconception she’d held. And right now, she didn’t need any more shattering.
They climbed over a bed of boulders that lined the bottom of the sheer rock face. Téya took a second to scan up along the steep incline. Moonlight spotlighted the craggy face of the hill, daring her to try. Warning her she’d fail. Was I crazy when I did this at seventeen?
“Second thoughts?”
Téya shifted. Swung her gaze to Nesim, her mind ricocheting off his words. Her boyfriend had said the same thing to her ten years ago. Back then, she’d flashed a smile at Ruzgar, who stood by the cemetery with the others, and grabbed the first hold, placing her foot on a flat-topped boulder. And the one beside her had a nice, swollen curve.
Wrong place. Téya glanced around and moved down three feet, finally locating the right one. Nesim watched her intently, probably second-guessing her change in position. That was fine. He could second-guess all he wanted. When they made it topside, he’d know. She climbed up on the rock and immediately found the first hold. Just like before.
So that was easy. She didn’t dare believe the rest would be. If it went easily, then she was in more trouble than she realized. The trap was bigger. The fall would be harder.
Okay, God…this is where I could use some help. But would He help?
She’d prayed more in the last several years thanks to the simplification of life in Bleak Pond and the faith that helped the people she loved. But since Trace had yanked her back into the life of a soldier, she’d done things that went against the faith. Would God forgive her? Would He help her as she did something that broke laws?
Téya shoved the thoughts aside and focused on getting solid holds. Digging her fingernails into dirt and clinging on for dear life. Behind her, Nesim did the same, following her lead, gripping the same places she did. Her arms and thighs ached as she climbed. It took more than thirty minutes to make it to the top. She dragged herself over the ledge, experiencing the same exhilaration she had ten years ago that she hadn’t inadvertently committed suicide that night.
“Phew,” Houston’s voice tickled in her ear. “I’ve got the fly drone hovering above you, and I’m telling you—if I were on the rock, I’d have to change my pants by now.”
Téya wanted to groan, but then Nesim would know she was bugged.
“Twice,” Houston clarified. “Heights and I have a love-hate relationship. I’d rather throw them off a cliff.”
His humor was as bad as his flirting.
Téya glanced over the side and watched the agile Nesim scaling the rock as if he were a spider. And it struck her then, her sedated pleasure fading, as her mind slid into the past—why hadn’t she seen Tara following her?
Because I wasn’t looking at Tara. She glanced to the cemetery where Ruzgar had watched.
Returning to the present, Téya rolled onto her back and then onto all fours, moving out of the way as Nesim came over the ledge. Téya crouched to the side as he sat on the ledge, huffing.
She swatted his shoulder, silently telling him they should get moving, and stood. When he grunted, as if pained, she frowned at him.
Nesim pulled to his feet awkwardly.
Was he clumsy? Already exhausted? “Maybe you should’ve sent Nesim the First, if this is too much for you.”
Even in the dark, she saw the glare in the whites of his eyes as he flattened himself to her right. “Up?” He said pointing to a pipe that protruded from what looked like a blasted section of the granite.
“This way,” she said, pressing the front of her body against the rock and shimmying around an outcropping that could easily toss them to their deaths if a piece broke away.
His fingers grazed her as she cleared the curve.
Téya made it, glancing down to verify she was in the right spot. The ledge was much narrower than she remembered. In fact, as she looked at the rock beneath her feet, she realized it’d broken. No, it was too clean of a break. That had been—blasted. They’d set charges and destroyed the space. Probably right after she’d broken in.
The moonlight caressed the ledge, seeming to highlight a vein. A deep one.
Crack.
Her heart vaulted into her throat. “Wait.”
Nesim froze.
“There’s a crack.” She pushed her spine against the cold granite. “I’m not sure it can hold us both.”
“Where’s the entrance?” he asked.
Téya glanced up and over her shoulder. “Oh no,” she groaned. She’d used a sewer grate to haul herself up, then pried it open and crawled into the reeking space. But now, the grate was gone. In its place, a steel door.
Trace
Lucketts, Virginia
9 June – 1715 Hours EST
“Téya, just hold your position.”
“I doubt she’s going to take any leaps of faith,” Houston said with a snicker, his fingers flying over the keyboard, guiding his fly drone toward the grate. “Yep, definitely electronic. I’m going to guess that opens to release the floodgates of sewage.”
“Can you open it?”
“That I can, Commander.”
“Téya,” Trace said leaning over Houston’s shoulder to get a better view provided by the drone. “Is Nesim wise to your bug? If you think he is, clear your throat.”
Only the sound of wind across the microphone came through.
“Good,” Trace said.
Beside them, Annie breathed a sigh of relief. “I still can’t believe she’s doing this. It’s insane—a trap!”
Trace shot Annie a glare. One that told her to settle down. He knew how to run an op. She should know that.
“You send her in there alone then abandon her.”
This time the look he sent her way had more personal and emotional capital behind it. “Nobody has abandoned her. Rusty and Nuala are there.” And other assets he’d put on alert, ones nobody in this room knew about. He and Téya knew this op was a cesspool of trouble, especially when the Turks had told them he needed to stay behind. She could have an escort, but not Trace. Whatever this was, it was personal and involved Téya.
Because of that, they’d gone to extra precautions. Set up contingencies. If Trace could’ve left the country, he’d have been there. But with Boone at the hospital, that left the bunker unguarded. That’s what she felt, wasn’t it? That he abandoned her. But he wouldn’t argue with her. Not in front of the geek, whose ears were burning as he listened to this conversation.
Sam appeared from the rear bunk room, his arm supported in a sling. He moved slowly, tentatively.
Annie pushed out of her seat and went to him. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“I’ve rested enough to have Rip Van Winkle on my headstone when I die,” Sam said as he kept moving toward the station’s hub. “What’s happening?”
Trace would not answer that. And he hoped Annie wouldn’t, but she was letting her feelings for the Squid get in the way of everything: common sense, operational security, and personal relationships. For now, Trace had to focus on making sure Téya stayed alive.
“Have you figured out what they want from you yet?” That’s the thing. Everyone knew the Turks were using Téya for something nefarious. What that was… “Clear your throat if you know.”
Again, only strong wind.
“Do you still feel it’s trouble, a trap? Clear for yes.”
A rumble boomed through the speakers.
“Uh,” Houston said, lifting his head from his task, “that would be a definite yes.”
“Don’t worry,” Trace said. “Nuala has eyes on you.” He glanced at the second monitor that held a video recording of what Nuala was watching through the scope of her rifle. “And Rusty�
��s there.”
“Okay, the grate should release in three…two…”
Through the feed, they heard a loud, metallic groaning.
“Watch out!” Téya’s shout was followed by a whoosh of liquid-sounding noise.
“I’m going to hurl,” Houston said. “Heights and a pile of sh—”
“Houston,” Trace said. “Are there cameras she needs to worry about?” Houston’s curly head never came up, though he’d spouted off. “Already on it.” The clicking of the keys mingled with the disgusted grunts of Téya and her escort.
“Disgusting,” Téya said, and blew what sounded like a raspberry.
“Yeah, okay, I didn’t need to know that,” Houston said. “It’s one thing to get crapped on.” He looked up and waggled eyebrows with a Get it? look. “Another to—”
“Just get it shut down,” Trace said.
“Aye, aye, Commander.”
Grunts filled the feed once more, and Trace knew they were on the move again. “The drone is still operational. Just play it cool. We’re right with you, Téya.”
Téya
Frankfurt, Germany
9 June – 2335 Hours
Still nauseated at the smell of raw sewage, Téya low-crawled through the tunnel on her belly, using her elbows to advance. Behind her, she heard the soft splashes of Nesim. He’d been surprisingly agile in the climb and stealthy now. She’d underestimated him on the plane, she guessed. He didn’t look like the type of guy who could make a climb like that.
Another twenty minutes or so in, following the pattern she’d randomly chosen—left, left, left, right, left. It’d matched the cadence of the ROTC program she’d been in, that her stepfather, Georg, had demanded she do. As a child under his roof, she had no choice. It’d made her mother happy that she didn’t argue. It made Téya happy that she learned to shoot weapons and, once she’d climbed up in rank, got to boss the other cadets around. That was enough for her.
As she banked left for the last time, she slowed. It was dark. Very dark. She should’ve expected this.
A soft tap came to her leg.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Dead end,” she whispered. “They barricaded it.”
Nesim waved her back. They renegotiated the last passage and went right instead of left. As they moved along, this time with Nesim in the lead because of the narrow space and having backed out, light trickled into the tunnel. They came to an air vent. Blades of a fan whirred rapidly, daring them to put their fingers in and get them chopped off.
Tugging a small pack she hadn’t noticed before from his back, Nesim produced a small torch. He burned through the heavy bolts that held the fan vent on. Téya’s gut churned at the thought of having to stop that fan. What if it burned out the motor and set off an alarm? What if it slipped while one of them was climbing through?
Like a pro, Nesim freed the vent cover. Once he’d done that, he reached toward the motor at the center, avoiding the blades completely. With a few deft moves he had stopped the fan.
“Not your first rodeo, huh?” Téya said. She hated that she felt impressed. They were forcing her here. Why?
Bracing the fan blades so they didn’t move, Nesim hauled his legs out from under his body and sat. He nodded to the interior vent. “Hold it.” Using both booted feet, he shoved hard.
Téya pitched forward. The vent came loose, and she nearly fell into the room, but Nesim caught her by the waist. He slowly lowered her into the room. She let the encasing rest against the vinyl floor then pressed both palms to the side and did a sort of cartwheel to her feet. Nesim was at her side.
Metal lockers lined the wall, a few plastic-encased steel benches straddled drain holes. Half walls encircled a center tiled area. Showers.
“You’re entering what, according to our schematics, is the locker room.”
“Outdated,” Téya muttered.
“What?” Nesim asked.
“My memories are outdated,” she said, covering her mistake. “This used to be a laundry room.”
Nesim rushed to the lockers and dug through them. He produced a green jumpsuit and held it out to her, motioning to the showers.
“No,” she hissed. “We have to find Majid, right?”
But he was already going through other lockers. “We reek. They’ll smell us a mile away.” He bent over a lower locker, yanked something out, then straightened. A blue jumpsuit. “Go,” he said again, heading in the opposite direction.
This was all kinds of wrong. But she did stink. And they were probably tracking muck—she glanced at her brown footprints on the floor. Yep.
She stripped, showered, and donned the suit, grateful her undergarments weren’t soaked. But they were damp enough to have some of the smell. As were her socks and boots. When she stepped around the corner, dressed, she found Nesim walking toward her. He had a gun. Aimed it at her.
Téya froze. “You wanted me clean before you killed me?”
With an apologetic shrug, he said, “Sorry.” And fired.
Trace
Lucketts, Virginia
9 June – 1745 Hours EST
“What just happened?”
Mouth open, eyes wide, Houston stared at his systems. His silent systems. “I…”
“Téya,” Trace called through the coms. “Téya can you hear me?” He spun to Houston. “But we can still hear what’s going on, right?”
“Her piece is dead,” Houston said, a stunned, bewildered expression plastered to his face. “I don’t know how. It’s waterproof. That shower shouldn’t have affected it.”
“The shower didn’t,” Trace said.
“Is she dead?” Houston asked, his voice squeaking on the last word.
“Negative.” Trace would not accept that. “If she was dead, we should still be able to hear, right?”
“Uh…yeah.” Houston sat a bit straighter. “Yes. If she died, the piece wouldn’t.”
“Only an electrical surge can shut those down, right?”
Houston nodded but said nothing.
“Can anything else? Think, Houston!”
“No, nothing. I mean, they can fluke on us. Something goes haywire and it stops working, but that’s rare. It’s more likely that there was a surge somehow.”
“Stun gun,” Sam offered from the lounge area.
“Yes.” Houston blinked. “Yes, yes. The Squid is a genius—a stun gun. That’s why it died. It’s not because my technology is shoddy.”
Trace covered his mouth. He didn’t want to go there. Didn’t want to consider that option.
“Wait—wait. But that’s bad, right?” Houston swung another stupefied expression his way. “Because that means he shocked her. And that means he knows she was bugged.”
A direct violation of the agreement.
“Would he kill her?”
“Why stun her then kill her?” Sam said.
Trace grouped up what he had left of his nerves and shifted his focus to a recovery mission. “Rusty.”
“I’m on my way in,” Rusty said without hesitation.
“Noodle.”
“I have no joy,” she said.
“Stay eyes out. Keep me posted.”
“Roger, eyes out,” Nuala repeated.
Whatever had just gone down in that facility, Téya was in trouble. The Turk had her. The skilled, trained assassin who had targeted her for the last month had caught up with her. Played chess with her life. Now, was he calling checkmate?
Téya
Frankfurt, Germany
9 June – 2345 Hours
Téya blinked and found herself in a small, dimly lit room. Fire licked through her veins, through every tendril of her flesh. Every hair follicle. Confused, disoriented, she tried to remember how she’d gotten here. In a flash, she remembered the claws of the Taser grabbing her in the chest and pumping voltage through her body. Her heart had seized. Her lungs squeezed, forbidding a breath.
She dragged herself upright and looked around.
Nesim stood against the
wall, arms folded and one leg crossed over the other at the ankle. As if this were a casual day and meeting.
“I knew you’d try to kill me,” she gritted, rubbing the spot on her chest that still tingled from the tiny charges. “Why not just put a sniper bullet through my gray matter? It would have saved us both some time.” She held her palm to her forehead, begging for a breath and heartbeat that didn’t hurt.
He came closer. “I was not trying to kill you,” he said as he reached for the black hood.
Téya shoved to her feet. Used her palm and struck upward, aiming for his nose.
Skilled and swift, he caught her hand. Jerked it behind her back then dropped to the floor, forcing her down. Her cheek hit hard. “Try that again, and I will kill you.”
“What do you want with me?”
“That is my concern. Your concern is compliance.” He released her and hopped up, standing over her.
Téya pulled her throbbing head and wounded pride off the floor.
Lowering his head, Nesim reached for the top of his hood again. He pulled it off and scrubbed his still-wet hair. Only then did she realize, he didn’t have Nesim’s jet-black hair.
He lifted his gaze.
Mentally, Téya threw herself backward, screaming. But a split-second defiance zipped through her. She went perfectly still. However, she could not fend off the terror clawing her courage. She tried to make sense of what she saw. The tattoo on his left cheekbone.
He said he hadn’t come to kill her. This time. Then…what? Was she to be a captive? His prisoner? Even as she locked gazes with him, she let herself take in her periphery. It sure looked like a cell. Gray cement walls. A lone bed.
He held out his hand, something small in his palm—the device she’d tucked in her ear before making the climb with him. “You were bugged, and that was expressly forbidden.”
Téya said nothing. She stared at him. Hard.
“You are smart not to tempt my anger further. I could’ve used this”—he showed her a Glock—“instead of the taser.”
“But killing me would’ve defeated the reason you brought me here.” She hoped it’d induce him to tell her what that reason was.
He almost seemed to smile, the star-crescent dancing. “Still, you do not remember.”