Traitor Games

by Sidney Bristol

  Sunday. Washington, D.C.

  Dave slid the headset on. He’d like to oversee this opportunity from the command center, but Director Donovan’s sudden and untimely death had created an opportunity far too ripe for Dave to miss out on. Which meant he was at his desk by five o’ clock, before more people were out of their beds, watching the body cam of one of their men in Thailand.

  They’d lost the trail of the woman with the baby, but after yesterday’s hit their targets had scattered like birds disturbed from a field. And that was why they had a team in some sleepy Thailand town.

  “All teams in position?” a voice asked over the headset.

  One by one the others chimed in.

  Last time they’d locked in on Rand Duncan’s location they’d missed the trio by moments. This time there would be no such close call.

  “All teams, proceed,” the lead on the op said.

  The camera Dave had tuned into moved forward, toward a house on stilts. The concrete foundation could double as an open-air living area. A motorcycle sat leaned up on one side. The upper floor was where their quarry hid. The house was situated off by itself on a plot of ground that in wet months might be for growing rice.

  Voices muttered, keeping each team appraised.

  The bad thing about this location was how exposed it made the team. If Dave had the luxury, they’d have waited for nightfall. He wanted these three off the map worse than he wanted this to go down quietly.

  Dave sat back in his desk chair.

  They’d tie off these ends, then close in on the others.

  “Going inside the house,” the team leader said, creeping up the rickety stairs.

  Soon—

  Several voices cried out. The body cam footage showed flashes of the sky, the ground, bits of burning debris then nothing but static.

  “What the hell? What just happened?” Dave pressed his hand to his ear.

  The control room came off mute and voices buzzed in the background.

  “Finding out now, sir,” someone in the control room said.

  Dave fisted his hand. “We didn’t just lose a whole team, did we?”

  “The support vehicle reports that the house was rigged to explode—”

  “The targets? What about them?” Dave prayed they were caught inside.

  “They’re sending some people out to check and gather the wounded.”

  “I don’t want to answer questions. Burn the bodies. Get rid of them all.”

  Dave yanked the headset off and ended his connection to the control room. These pesky people were becoming a real problem. It was logical that over time, some would become aware of their organization. It was the price of doing business on this level. The difference was that these people weren’t going away. They kept cropping up, and if Dave didn’t nip this in the bud soon, they could have a whole new problem on their hands.

  He snatched up his phone and brought up the resource reports.

  They were down people. The one resource they couldn’t manufacture. Losing another team meant they had to find warm bodies to fill those places. Bringing on new ones was a risk they had to take.

  Maybe once they offloaded the weapons shipment he could retask the UK people with recruiting, quietly. They didn’t want the competition to think they were hurting or anything.

  …

  Sunday, London, UK.

  Noah studied the bridge of Lillian’s nose, as though he hadn’t spent hours staring at her face. The dark wisps of hair against her cheek accentuated the golden hue of her skin. Her lips were parted, and when she inhaled she snored softly.

  At least one of them was getting rest.

  He wanted to live here, in this bubble, together without the rest of the world barging in.

  That was a luxury they weren’t permitted, which meant Noah couldn’t ignore the nagging facts he’d pushed to the back of his mind rather than deal with them.

  Noah cared about Lillian. He wasn’t just attracted to her and it had taken root long ago. Maybe the first moment they locked eyes over a dead body in her conference room. These feelings for her were why he hadn’t even considered killing her. And he wouldn’t stand by while someone else protected her. If he were smart he’d have realized days ago what that meant. Instead he’d stuck his head in the sand and pushed forward, telling himself this was normal.

  It wasn’t.

  He’d fallen for Lillian. He’d never fallen for a woman like this. There’d always been a defined line between business and pleasure, but Lillian was both.

  A man in his occupation didn’t get the luxury of love. At least not without a price.

  Rand would forever be on the run, looking out for his wife and child.

  Andy had it marginally better with only Carol to keep safe, but even she was a liability.

  People who did what they did made dangerous enemies. Trying to have it all would only get someone killed. Which was why Noah couldn’t allow himself to be in love with Lillian. He could keep her safe, he’d do whatever it took to make sure she made it through this, but after that he had to walk away. For both their sakes. He had too many enemies to risk her like that.

  There would come a day when Lillian could return to a quiet life. Maybe not in the States and probably not as Lillian Matthews. She’d have to be someone else, but whoever that was could have a nice, long life away from all this danger. And he would have to stay far, far away from her.

  He’d miss her. There weren’t many people who could look at him, see through his bullshit, and call him on it without him wanting to put a bullet between their eyes. He’d have put up with Lillian and enjoyed it.

  A squeak of floorboards outside the door brought Noah to attention.

  Someone tapped on the door.

  “Brandon would like you to join us downstairs,” a man said.

  “In a minute,” Noah replied.

  Lillian stretched, the sheets rustling as she shifted. “Hmm?”

  “Go back to sleep. I’ll see what Brandon wants.” Noah leaned toward her and brushed a kiss against her lips. He’d have to leave her someday, but not soon. Until then, he couldn’t help himself.

  “I’ll come with,” she mumbled.

  “Sleep.”

  “No way.” Lillian sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest, and glared at him.

  He reached over and took her hand. He wanted to tell her it would be okay, she was safe here, but they both knew the truth.

  “Okay, let’s get dressed,” he whispered.

  They dressed in their rumpled clothes, neither speaking. Together they left the room and descended to the first floor.

  There were fewer people around this time, most of them were in the dining room where Brandon’s command center was set up. Noah and Lillian hung back in the double door entry from the foyer.

  Brandon straightened from where he was looking over the shoulder of one of his techs.

  “Package arrived for you.” He nodded at a padded envelope at the end of the table.

  Noah picked up the bundle and frowned at the script.

  He didn’t recognize the handwriting or the names, but that didn’t mean anything. The package’s country of origin was Germany.

  Irene and Mitch had been in Berlin.

  He tore the package open and peered at its contents.

  Two American passports.

  Two Canadian passports.

  A phone.

  Two bundles of cash.

  A collection of bank cards.

  Noah handed it to Lillian for safe keeping. They’d have to go through it later, discuss their next move. Some clothes and other supplies were in order, even if they remained with Brandon’s people, which Noah wasn’t a fan of if they could help it.

  “You haven’t watched the news yet, have you?” Brandon asked.

  “No, why?” Lillian reached into the package and thumbed through some of the items.

  “Don’t.”

  Noah caught Lillian’s eye and shook his head. Whatever was be
ing said about them on the news, she didn’t want to see it. They had to stay focused on what was next.

  “Any word on the shipment?” Noah pulled out an empty chair for Lillian while watching Brandon leaned over his tech’s shoulder.

  “That’s what we’re watching right now,” he said slowly. “My people at the marina said a couple of guys have been eyeing it all day. We’re wondering if they’ll move on it tonight.”

  “What kind of tracking measures are you taking?” Noah asked.

  “For now, just visual. We’ve got a tracking system in the crates that we’ll turn on remotely once they’ve been moved so if they perform any kind of sweep the tracker we don’t want them to find will remain hidden.”

  “Noah?” Lillian flashed him the cell phone from the package.

  He frowned and leaned back, peering over her shoulder.

  At our summer home. Your former host’s friend reached out to offer his services with the pest problem. – AC

  Andy and Carol were safe, wherever the summer home was. The friend had to be Jeff’s boss. Having Brandon and this other person on their side would help a great deal, but was it enough? They’d had the support of several intel agencies, and look what’d happened.

  Brandon straightened and finally looked at them.

  “If they make a move on this shipment the plan is to follow them to wherever they go next and assess their resources. You in?” he asked.

  “Firsthand information on what we’re up against would be a good thing.” Lillian looked at Noah. “We will need to discuss with the rest of our people.”

  “No offense, but I was thinking your guy would go with us while you stayed here.” Brandon braced his hands on the back of an empty chair.

  “We’re a package deal.” Noah kept looking at Lillian. He wasn’t letting her out of his sight.

  “The shipment is being loaded,” the man at the laptop said.

  “What?” Brandon leaned over the man’s shoulder. “Looks like we’re in business.”

  Noah locked eyes with Lillian.

  This could be the break they needed.

  …

  Sunday. National Action Safe House, Lambeth, United Kingdom.

  Demetrius kept his head down as he strolled the narrow London road. Hector and his boss had Demetrius by the balls. He had to find an opening, a way out of this. Nothing had presented itself yet, but he had to remain vigilant.

  Whoever they were after had these guys scared, which meant Demetrius needed to make some new friends.

  He ticked off the house numbers until he reached the one.

  It was a bit more run-down than its neighbors. The boarded-up and blacked-out windows didn’t help. What gave it away was the son of a bitch glaring at Demetrius from the back porch.

  The man flipped Demetrius off on his way inside the three-story building.

  Demetrius checked the time.

  If everything was going according to plan, the cameras were off. He would have five minutes to get the answers he needed before Hector came to scoop him up with the rest of his friends.

  Demetrius ducked between the two cars in the drive, watching the tiny window at the back of the house. According to Hector, that was where the old man lived and this was where their targets had stayed last night. With any luck, Demetrius wouldn’t find them here.

  He crouched behind the nose of a small car, staring through the screen door into the open apartment.

  The old guy was the one with the answers. The rest were collateral damage.

  He waited for a count of five without any sign of human movement. He vaulted the stone fence rather than risk the gate and landed in an ash heap on the other side, no one the wiser. The rest of the house was similarly quiet. According to Hector, there were five people who lived here. Five loose ends to tie up. He stepped up onto the porch and quickly ducked into the first-floor landing.

  The hinges squeaked, not a lot, but enough that Demetrius cringed.

  “Get me a fifth, will ya?” the old man called out.

  “Sure thing, Pop.”

  Demetrius stepped into the first-floor apartment, gun up.

  The old man whirled, his balance wobbling.

  Demetrius fired. Despite the silencer, the sound was still deafening in the small space.

  He didn’t wait to see if the old man died. He ducked up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. Feet pounded the boards overhead. The other occupants were aware now, not that it would matter. He’d been doing this work for a long time.

  The door on the right of the second-floor landing banged open. Demetrius fired off three rounds, two into the first man, one into the person behind him.

  Three down, two to go.

  He jerked the door to the other apartment open and entered. The lights were on, but the living room and kitchen were clear. He crept toward the bedroom.

  A man lay in bed, headphones on, oblivious to the world.

  Demetrius sighed and aimed.

  Fish in a barrel.

  Something banged against the side of the house.

  Demetrius leaned out the open window.

  A man dangled out a front window, clinging to a piece of rope with one hand and the windowsill with the other.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Demetrius muttered.

  These guys wanted to play at being a big, bad white supremacist organization. Demetrius had grown up in apartheid. Their secret club and shitty hideout had nothing on the horrors he’d lived through.

  Demetrius crossed into the other bedroom and stared at the panicked man clinging to the rope and the windowsill.

  “You want me to help you out?” he asked.

  “Please don’t kill me.” The man stank of fear.

  “If you had this gun, you’d kill me.”

  “N-no I wouldn’t!”

  “You’re living in a white supremacist walk-up and you tell me you don’t want me dead?” He shook his head and yanked the rope.

  The man yelped and let go, hanging onto the windowsill by his fingers.

  Demetrius could shoot him, but a body on the sidewalk would draw the kind of attention he didn’t want. He grabbed the man by the shirt and hauled him into the apartment, letting him fall on the floor. The man scrambled on his hands and knees, like a cockroach. Demetrius aimed and fired, putting a bullet into the back of the guy’s head.

  These haters, there was no point to it. Mass genocide didn’t make sense. Hate made less sense. This was why Demetrius had wanted out of this work. The killing never stopped. There was never a justifiable reason, only what a customer wanted done.

  Demetrius checked the four tenants and ensured they were dead before returning to the first floor.

  Groans met him.

  Good. He hadn’t killed the old bastard.

  Demetrius kept his gun out. Just because the radio talked about men with knives and acid being the scariest thing on London streets didn’t mean there weren’t a few guns floating around out there.

  A long streak of blood betrayed the old man.

  Demetrius followed the trail into a large bedroom.

  The old guy lay in the middle of the floor, panting for breath.

  Demetrius crossed to the bed and perched on the edge.

  “You got any kids?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

  “Fuck you,” the old man said.

  “That’s not a very nice answer.” Demetrius leveled the gun at the man’s head. “I asked you a question, do you have any kids?”

  The man stared at the gun a moment, no doubt weighing his hatred against his desire to live.

  “No,” he finally said.

  “I’ve got two. Little girls. They’re beautiful. They’re why I got out of this line of work. Men like you make me wonder if I made the right decision.” Demetrius shook his head. “There are some men who are going to hurt my little girls unless I get something from you. It’s nothing personal, even if you are a racist bastard.”

  “Fuck you.
I’m not giving you anything.”

  “There’s where you’re wrong. You see, you’re dying one way or another. You can go peacefully, or I can make it hurt. Your pick. You should know, I’m very good at making it hurt. All I want to know is, where’s the recording of the couple you put up last night? I know you record your people after they slipped one by you. Smart, and lucky for me.”

  “I’m not telling you shit.”

  Demetrius groaned inwardly. He just didn’t have it in him to dig into this man, make it hurt. The apartment was small. The guy had to keep whatever surveillance equipment nearby. Demetrius stood and studied the bedroom. His tenants likely came to his apartment, hung out in his living room, drank beer. But the bedroom was a strange place to be if you were a couple grown men hanging out.

  He stood and stepped over the man to the closet. A few clothes hung on the rod, but most of the space was taken up by a set of shelves.

  “It’s your lucky day, man.” Demetrius fired a shot, putting them both out of their misery.

  He shoved the gun into the holster tucked inside his pants, then began going through the digital recorders. His hands were sweating inside the gloves, causing him to fumble a bit. His phone vibrated, alerting him to the ticking clock.

  “Come on,” he muttered.

  “You aren’t asleep yet?” a man asked.

  “No,” a woman responded.

  Bingo.

  Demetrius shoved that recorder into his pockets. The rest of the devices went into a canvas bag from the floor of the closet. He paused to pilfer the old man’s phone before getting out of there. He jogged all the way to the end of the street to a waiting van and climbed inside.

  “Well?” Hector prompted.

  “That’s everything.” Demetrius shoved the bag at Hector and slumped in his seat.

  “Reload and get ready. We got a hit on where that mercenary got away to. We’re headed there now,” Hector said.

  The recorder pressed against his thigh. With any luck, he’d get a lead. Something that would help him find these people before Hector and make a couple new friends.

  …

  Sunday. London, United Kingdom.

  Lillian tapped away at the laptop, following the bread crumbs, tabbing through public records. She appreciated Brandon making room for her on the team and giving her a job to do. It kept her mind off Noah being out there on top of a roof, making himself a target.