The Devil You Know

by James P. Sumner

  I can feel Rayne watching me pace in front of the desk. His look of concern and apprehension hasn’t left his face since we left the apartment building. I don’t think he knows what to make of my current state of mind.

  You and me both.

  We boosted a car parked a couple of blocks from the penthouse and drove here, to the abandoned RAF base where we all first met last year. It was the safest place we could think of to go.

  Rayne clears his throat. “Um, Adrian? Maybe you should try to relax. This isn’t helping.”

  I stop and shoot him a glance that would’ve turned a lesser man to dust.

  “You want me to relax?” I ask.

  I turn to the desk and proceed to hammer both fists down onto its surface. The impact echoes around the near-empty room. With each blow, a frustrated snarl escapes through gritted teeth. It takes five for me to split the desk vertically down the middle. The loud crack as the frail wood splinters makes Rayne twitch with surprise.

  I turn back to him, hands throbbing. “I am relaxed!”

  I reach for the nearest chair, scoop it up, and launch it across the room. It clatters into the back wall, causing more noise to ring out at an uncomfortable volume.

  “This is me at my most fucking serene!” I yell.

  He holds his hands up, pressing the air toward me with his palms. “Okay. Okay.”

  “I’m gonna kill him, Adam. I swear to Christ, I’m gonna find him, wrap my hands around his throat, and squeeze him until he fucking dies. Then I’m gonna stomp his head into a fucking puddle. Then I’m gonna—”

  “Okay, man. I get it. Holt’s a dead man. I’m with you. One hundred percent. But you’re not gonna be able to annihilate the sonofabitch if you have a fucking aneurism before we find him.”

  I’m breathing heavily. In through the mouth, out through the nose. It stores more oxygen in the body that way. Helps you regulate your heartbeat more quickly.

  My cell phone starts ringing in my pocket. Rayne and I stare at each other for a long moment. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t look away. He just nods once, letting me know he understands.

  Finally, I reach for the phone and answer it.

  “Yeah?”

  “What in the blue hell happened over there, son?” asks President Schultz. “Do you have any idea how much shit you’ve caused?”

  I take a deep breath. And another. I close my eyes, summoning every ounce of patience I’ve ever had.

  “Good to hear from you, sir,” I say begrudgingly. “I need your help.”

  “You need to get your ass home! This is unacceptable, Adrian. You’re all over every goddamn news channel in the country. You’re—”

  “Ryan?” He stops talking. “Sense the tone here.”

  He sighs heavily down the line. “Adrian, what happened?”

  “Holt happened. The assassin Ruby and I were tracking, Falikov, rocked up in a gunship and destroyed the building. We tried to escape, but a team of Holt’s men stormed in and took the team.”

  “Took them? Where?”

  “I don’t know. Rayne fought them off and stopped them from getting me and him. But the others are gone. We don’t know where.”

  “Jesus…”

  “He left a phone for us to find. He called and said if we come for him again, the team are dead. I need your help, Ryan. We need the resources to track this sonofabitch and get the team back. Get Ruby back.”

  “Adrian, I… I’ll give you the resources I promised you, but this is a whole new problem now.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” I pause, collecting myself. “There’s something else too. The men who took the team. They were Tristar.”

  I hear Schultz catch his breath. “Are you sure?”

  “I am. Why would someone like Holt hire a piss-ant company like Tristar to do his dirty work?”

  “I… I don’t know, son.”

  “Ryan, tell me right now—does this have anything to do with what happened at their offices in New York a few days ago? Does this have anything to do with what’s got you and Buchanan so worked up? If there’s anything you’re not telling me… now isn’t the time for any need-to-know bullshit.”

  He lets out a taut breath. Impatient yet understanding. “Adrian, I promise you I’m not hiding anything about Holt from you. Yes, Tristar have a connection to the people we’re investigating, but I don’t think that has anything to do with Holt.”

  “Are you sure? I told you who he used to be.”

  “I know that. But I’m sure. Tristar remain an active security contractor. We know their clients can be… less than reputable, shall we say. He’s likely just hired them for the manpower. It’s a coincidence. That’s all.”

  I really hate that word.

  I roll my eyes. “Fine. Adam and I are going to get our team back. I need your help to do it. I need people you can trust in the NSA and CIA to help track the helicopter that attacked us. Wherever it went is likely the same place the team’s being held.”

  “Not a chance, son. I want you and your boy on a plane to D.C. now. You’ll debrief me personally, and I’ll decide how to move forward. But you—”

  “Ryan, let me rephrase: I’m going to get my team back. You can either help me, or you can get the fuck out of my way. Those are your options.”

  “You will do the job you were hired to do, son. And you will not question my orders.”

  “I am doing the job I was hired to do! You brought me in to recruit and train a team capable of doing the jobs no one else can. To do what needs to be done without the burden of rules and regulations and politics. That’s exactly what this is. You try and make this all official, my team will die, along with countless other innocent people when Holt gets around to using that fancy new drone of his.”

  I start pacing, trying to subdue the rising anger inside me. I cast a glance over at Rayne, who’s watching my side of this conversation with something akin to admiration.

  I continue. “The mission is Holt. I know that. But he came at me. He attacked me and mine, and he made it personal. That’s a door you don’t ever knock on, Ryan. You know that. I will not let this stand.”

  The line goes silent. Seconds tick by.

  I place a hand over the mic and look at Rayne. “I think I’m on hold.”

  He shakes his head, smiling with disbelief. “How do you talk to the president like that?”

  I shrug. “What’s he gonna do?”

  Rayne laughs and paces away to the back of the room. He picks up the pieces of the chair I threw over there and rests them on top of a filing cabinet in the corner.

  “Well, son,” says Schultz, “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re in this frame of mind, it’s unwise to get in your way.”

  I let slip a small smile to myself.

  “If I can’t stop you… Hell, I may as well help you.”

  “I appreciate that, Mr. President,” I say. “Thank you.”

  “You’re right, Adrian. Blackstar was made for situations exactly like this one. I guess when the theory becomes the reality, it takes a little getting used to.”

  “It does. But that’s why I was your only choice. You know I’m already used to it, so I can get the job done while you’re wrestling with your moral compass.”

  “Hmph. I guess you’re right. Tell me, son, how did you get used to it?”

  “Easy. I got rid of the compass.”

  He sighs. “Jesus Christ. You better not make me regret this, you crazy sonofabitch. Give me an hour. I’ll find out where your helicopter went.”

  “Thank you again, sir. And don’t worry. The only person who’s gonna regret this is Holt.”

  I end the call. Rayne looks over at me.

  “Well?” he asks. “What did he say?”

  “He says he needs an hour. So, we give him an hour.” I pocket the phone and head for the door. “Come on. Let’s get a coffee.”

  He follows me out the door. “Okay, Boss. But the last thing you need right now is more caffeine.
Goddamn.”

  18:22 BST

  It was a ten-minute drive into town. Another ten minutes to find a café that was still open. Ten minutes back. Most of it passed in silence. We’re now standing outside the entrance to the base, leaning against the fencing, sipping our coffee and killing time.

  “You okay?” asks Rayne.

  I stare ahead. “Mm-hmm.”

  He looks at me. “I’ve been a fighter my whole life. Even as a kid, I was always getting into scrapes. Never could stand to see other kids getting picked on. I would always step in, even if it meant catching an ass-whooping sometimes. It just felt right. So, when I got older, nothing else made sense to me except joining the Navy. I love my country, and I’ve fought for it all over the world.”

  I turn to him, tap my neck, and then point to his. “That why you have your eagle tattoo? Because you’re a patriot?”

  He smiles. “I’d love to say it is. Honest to God, I don’t even remember getting it. I was still at Annapolis. I know that much. So, we’re going back a few years. I had a couple of days’ furlough. Went out with the guys one night. Woke up the next morning with it.”

  I sip my coffee. “Well, I’d stick with the patriot story if I were you.”

  “Yeah. My point is, in all my time in the Navy, then the SEALs… in all my travels… on all the battlefields… I have never in my life seen passion and rage like I saw in you earlier. It wasn’t human.”

  I momentarily clench my jaw muscles, making them pulse beneath the skin. “That’s what happens after you live a life like mine. It changes you. I’m not always proud of who I am, but I won’t ever deny it.”

  Rayne gulps a mouthful of his own coffee. “So, what are you? My ghost of Christmas future? Now that I’m a part of Blackstar, is that shit what I have to look forward to?”

  I shrug. “That’s up to you, I guess. I’m not a role model. I’ll give you the knowledge I think you need to be the best. To win the wars to come. What you do with that knowledge and how it affects you… that’s up to you.”

  “This is crazy…”

  “This is what it is.”

  “But even you have to admit, the way things have gone since 4/17… it’s hard to process how we’ve ended up here.”

  I finish my coffee and rest the empty cup on the wall behind me.

  “Honestly? In hindsight, I think this was inevitable.” I stand, take a few paces, then turn back to look at Rayne. “I was there, you know? When 4/17 happened. I was in the room when General Matthews hit the button. When he started it all because he was drunk on Cunningham’s Kool-Aid.”

  His eyebrows arch. His mouth hangs open. “Holy shit…”

  I nod. “I knew then that the world would be changed forever. But like everyone else, I got so distracted by how well we all did in the aftermath, I didn’t stop to notice the adverse effects. Nothing really changes. Humans are predictable. The world might update around us, but the shit that happens every day stays the same.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For years… decades… we’ve fought different wars for the same goddamn reasons. World War II, the Cold War, Vietnam, Cuba, the Middle East—all different battlefields, each one more advanced than the last. Different enemies too, obviously. But the reasons that brought us to the brink of war? They never change. 4/17 wiped the slate clean. It reset half the world back to zero. We’ve been rebuilding ever since and doing a good job of it. But we’re humans, and we will forever be our own worst enemy. Conflict is in our nature.

  “Out of the ashes, a new battlefield has emerged, more advanced than the last, just like always. The enemy has changed again too, just like always. Yet, despite the unprecedented global tragedy that put us here, we’re still on the cusp of warfare because the reasons why we fight haven’t changed and never will. I should’ve seen that coming. I should’ve been more prepared for this.”

  I think for a moment, back to Paris, back to what Ruby and I spoke about.

  Maybe Josh was more prepared for this than I was. Maybe he did see something on the horizon.

  Rayne stands. “Well, that’s a grim way of looking at things, Boss. But the sad thing is, you’re probably right.”

  I nod. “And that’s why this feels different to you. To all of you. Jessie, Link… you’ve all struggled with the shift in perspective. With coming to terms with having no rules anymore. I get that. Honestly, I do. But you either get used to it fast, or you die along with the old world. If the shit Holt pulled isn’t evidence enough of that, I don’t know what is.”

  “Yeah.”

  The conversation fades away. I sit back down beside him, and we watch the sun slowly descend in the sky. Streaks of pink and deep orange signal the oncoming dusk. It’s peaceful.

  My phone starts ringing.

  Well, it was peaceful.

  I take it from my pocket, answer it, and put it on speaker.

  “You took your time,” I say.

  “Watch that tone, son,” replies Schultz. “I’ve been working my ass off to help you.”

  “What have you found?”

  A heavy breath wheezes down the line. “We were able to track your helicopter after the attack. It flew a mile and a half east and landed on a construction site. Images show two black vans showed up minutes later. It looks like people were taken from the van and put into the chopper.”

  Rayne and I exchange a glance of concern.

  “That must be the team,” I say. “Tristar moved them in the vans to rendezvous with Falikov.”

  “That’s how it looks,” says Schultz.

  “So, where did the chopper go from there?”

  Schultz sighs. “They, ah… they took off and flew southeast. Son… they landed in Rome about twenty minutes ago.”

  I stare blankly ahead as his words sink in.

  Rome.

  I feel the color drain from my face. My mind is flooded with images from a thousand nightmares.

  Gunfire. Blood. Screaming.

  Josh.

  “What’s wrong?” asks Rayne.

  His question pulls me out of my trance.

  “I don’t like Rome,” I say.

  “Why?”

  “Nothing good ever comes from me being there.” I look at the phone. “Sir, do we know why they would’ve gone there? Is that where Holt is?”

  “We don’t know for certain, son, but we think so. Satellite images show them landing at a private airfield not far from the airport. There’s been a lot of movement in the last few days, including deliveries of large, wooden crates. We think that’s where Holt is, and we think he has the drone with him. Makes sense he would take your team there.”

  “But why Rome?”

  “We have no idea, but I have the entire intelligence community working to find out. This sonofabitch is good. There’s no chatter, no sightings—nothing. Whatever he’s doing in Rome, he’s managed to keep it hidden from everyone.”

  I walk inside the grounds of the base and head for the car. Rayne quickly follows.

  “How quickly can you get me to Rome?” I ask him.

  “The U.K. government are gonna arrange military transportation for that,” says Schultz. “But Adrian… you know what Holt said. He sees you coming, your team are dead. And there’s no way he won’t see you coming. You have to think about this.”

  “I have, sir. The mission is to stop Holt from using that drone. I haven’t forgotten that. But I’m going to get my team back. Adam and I will figure it out on the flight over there.”

  I stop beside the passenger door of our vehicle. Rayne leans on the roof opposite me and looks over expectantly.

  “Godspeed to you both,” says Schultz, then he ends the call.

  I nod to Rayne. “Looks like we’re going to Rome.”

  We climb inside the car and drive away, putting the RAF base in our rearview. I gaze silently out the window as Rayne navigates the traffic.

  Rome.

  The slideshow of horror begins playing in my head again.

&
nbsp; I close my eyes, willing it away.

  I’m honestly not sure I can do this.

  24

  22:06 CEST

  “You okay?” asks Rayne. He gestures to his own face, then points at mine. “You look a little… pale.”

  I smile at him. Not in a pleasant way. Imagine if you could make a middle finger using just your mouth.

  Like that.

  “I’m fine,” I reply. “I just don’t like flying in these things.”

  “What, planes?”

  I shake my head. “Not just planes. Big fucking planes.”

  We’re sitting in the back of a C-130, resting against some cargo netting. The hold is mostly empty, apart from the three British soldiers who are sitting across from us, minding their own business. Schultz’s idea of the U.K. doing us a favor was them allowing us to hitchhike to Italy on an RAF training mission.

  I look over at three soldiers. Well, I say soldiers… they look like kids. All three of them—fresh-faced, a week out of puberty, not a facial hair between them. They look terrified.

  One of them catches me staring. I nod courteously. He returns the gesture.

  “Why don’t you like planes?” asks Rayne. “You scared of heights?”

  I shrug. “Scared is a strong word.”

  He smiles. “So, yes…”

  I look at him. “So, shut your mouth.”

  “Hey, nothing wrong with being scared of heights. Perfectly common phobia. For me, it’s clowns. Clowns and Playboy Bunnies.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Playboy Bunnies?”

  “Yeah. The way I see it, if I’m ever captured and tortured, and they want to expose me to my biggest fear to break me, or if I die and go to Hell and have to spend an eternity surrounded by my all-time greatest phobias, I can truthfully tell people I’m terrified of Playboy Bunnies. That way, the whole thing ain’t so bad, y’know?”

  I regard him for a moment before a smile escapes across my face.

  “You remind me of an old friend,” I say. “You two would’ve gotten on great.”

  “Was he scared of Playboy Bunnies?”

  “No, but he was just as fucking crazy to think that would make sense.”