by James Hunt
“You’ve got company coming down the hallway,” Bryce said.
“Looks like I’ll have to get a hand in on the next game.”
The guards stampeded out of the room. Sarah let the hall fill with their bodies before she started firing, taking out the first two with ease. With the doorway blocked by their fallen henchmen, the rest of the guards took to using the door as cover, only revealing themselves to shoot.
“The rest of the household is heading your way. You’ve got less than sixty seconds to make a move,” Bryce said.
“I’ll only need twenty.” Sarah slid on a pair of glasses then pulled the flash grenade from her belt on a sprint down the hallway toward the door. When the first guard turned the corner to fire, she caught him on the outside of his forearm. The gun flew from his hand, and she kicked him out of the way, pulling the pin on the flash grenade, which detonated into a hundred blinding explosions.
The tint of the glasses shielded Sarah’s eyes as she easily maneuvered through the crowd of guards, who grabbed their eyes and screamed. The flashes didn’t radiate just inside the room but also through the hall and down onto the first floor. The light bounced off the walls and ricocheted against any surface it came into contact with.
With each guard trying to palm his way to freedom, Sarah shot each of them through the back of the head, dropping them like flies, one by one, until she pushed her way into the room where Branston Clark was on his side, digging his palms into his eyes to try and block out the light.
“Sarah,” Bryce said.
His voice was soft, almost inaudible as Sarah picked Branston up by the collar and rushed him out of the room, past the dead guards, and down the staircase, where another cluster of guards had collapsed helplessly from the light. Keeping hold of Branston in one hand, she pulled one of her 1911 pistols.
“Sarah!”
Sarah heard him but ignored him. She gave a bullet to each guard she came into contact with, leaving a trail of bodies as the flash grenade slowly petered out. She made it to the garage and shoved Branston into the passenger side of the Ferrari and peeled out of the garage and down the road to where the chopper waited for her. She tossed Branston on the chopper’s floor and scanned his body for a tracker, which she found in his shoulder.
Branston screamed as Sarah dug the tip of the blade into his flesh, carving out the thumbnail-sized chip. She crushed it in her palm and let Branston collapse where he lay. She wiped her nose then gently pressed the edge of the knife against Branston’s throat, and he quit his screaming. “You and I have a lot to talk about.”
Sarah forced the helicopter pilot to take a little detour before they headed back to HQ, despite both the pilot’s and Bryce’s pleas to do otherwise. When the chopper touched down at an abandoned safe house in Wisconsin, Sarah dragged a still-bleeding Branston inside and tied him up in one of the living room chairs.
“I don’t know what you think happened,” Branston said, his body breaking out into cold shakes as sweat mixed with the blood covering his body. “But you were given false information, Agent.”
Sarah formed a fist and brought her right hand hard across Branston’s jaw, ejecting a tooth and a combined solution of spit and blood. His head wobbled on his neck, disoriented from the blow.
“Sarah, you need to get him back to base,” Bryce said. “Mack wants to interrogate him.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Sarah landed another vicious blow against Branston’s jaw that caused his entire head to go limp.
“Sarah, enough!” Bryce said, but Sarah fingered the inside of her ear and ripped out the small communication link and flicked it away, getting Bryce out of her head. She gripped Branston’s face with her left hand, squeezing his cheeks and lips together.
“Where. Is. Demps?” The tone of Sarah’s voice sharpened with each syllable. Then, with her hands still squishing his face, Branston laughed. At first, Sarah thought they were sobs, but as the shaking grew, she felt his cheeks widen in a smile. Sarah ripped her hand off his face, and the laughter filled the house. It wasn’t like anything she’d heard before. She un-holstered her pistol and pressed it to Branston’s forehead.
“I’m glad we finally have some time alone, Agent Hill, but shooting me won’t get you what you want,” Branston said, the laughter slowly subsiding.
“No, but it’ll make me feel better.” Sarah aimed for his shin, squeezed, and the .45-caliber piece of lead connected with the bone, splintering it and sending a gush of blood and bone onto the floor. Branston shrieked in pain then slowly fell back into his fit of laughter.
“You’ve changed, Agent Hill,” Branston said, his body shaking. It was a physiological symptom of shock. It wasn’t something the body could fight, only something you could deal with. “You could have left those guards alive. You know it. Bryce knows it. But you shot them down like dogs. Did that make you feel better?”
Sarah stepped in the growing pool of blood beside Branston’s foot and jammed the Colt’s barrel into his cheek, almost knocking another tooth loose in the process. “I could shoot off your jaw so you couldn’t speak, break your fingers so you couldn’t write, and claw your eyes out so you couldn’t see, and I’d still be able to get what I wanted from you, so do you really want to play this fucking game?”
Branston’s pupils eyed her from the corners of his sockets, looking at her then the gun. The laughing stopped. “No. I don’t suppose I want to play that game at all.”
Sarah pulled the pistol back from his skin but kept it aimed at him, glad the laughing had ended. It irked her. It sounded unnatural; it felt untamed and evil. “Where is Demps?”
“I know where he is,” Branston said. “But I’m not going to tell you. At least not yet.”
“I thought you said you didn’t want to play games.”
“I don’t. I want the same thing you want. Revenge.”
“You don’t know anything about what I want.”
“No? With the way you’ve treated me, the reckless abandonment, a key asset in the biggest security breach in GSF’s magnificent history, I would say it’s exactly what you want. But to get it, you’ll have to give a little to get a little, as the saying goes.” Branston ended each of his sentences with a smirk. “Rick Demps, along with the rest of the Tuck Investments Board, was willing to give me up like that!” He snapped his fingers still tied behind his back, accentuating his point. “I know who they are and where they’re hiding. You kill them, and I’ll give you Demps.”
“No,” Sarah said. “You give me Demps now.”
“The moment you have his name and location, I’m a dead man,” Branston snapped. “I don’t know how you would feel in my situation, but I think you’d want a few more days of life to enjoy.” He glanced down at the bullet hole now clotting on his leg. “As much as I can, at least. And as for the board members, they had just as much of a hand in your brother’s death as I did. You could even save me for last. A triumphant ending to the rage-induced bloodlust your mind and body crave.” Again he smiled.
“What makes you think the others won’t tell me where Demps is once I find them?”
“No one knows where Demps is located except for me.”
“What’s the first name on your list?”
4
Berlin had regained most of its composure now that the power was back on. There were still reports of looting from a few of the smaller villages in the north, but order had been restored to all of the larger cities. The halls of the capitol building were relatively quiet compared to the bustling chaos that had reigned the previous week. Dealing with a power outage along with a war had given Andrea’s administration a crescendo she was glad to be done with. If she didn’t face another crisis like the one that had just finished, she’d be more than fine.
Alexander, her chief of staff, was giving her the recent poll numbers since the country had been stabilized, but she wasn’t listening. She found herself staring out the window, watching the building’s maintenance crew clean up the
surrounding fields littered with trash that had been thrown at her administration during the crisis.
“Chancellor?” Alexander asked.
“Hmm? Oh, yes, well, I’m glad we’ve rebounded.”
“We’ve done more than that. Your numbers are the highest they’ve been in three years. I think we should use the momentum to reintroduce our power bill.”
“No, Alexander. It’s too soon for that. And any other energy conservations I want to be done in house. No more foreign business—at least, not for a while.”
“I don’t know if that’s the right move, Chancellor.”
“Me either, but it’s the one I’m making.”
“Of course.” Alexander gave a slight bow. “Finn is waiting outside along with the CIA agent.”
“Bring them in.”
Alexander reappeared with Finn and Special Agent Grimes, and after the pleasantries, they were seated. Both Alexander and Finn kept their distance from Grimes, who seemed to sit by himself even with the four of them in the room.
“What do you have for us, Agent Grimes?” Andrea asked.
“Based on the information we currently have, it’s been difficult to make headway, but I’ve managed to get a few good leads.”
Grimes ended there, leaving the rest of the room in anticipation. Alexander bounced his knee, and Finn twiddled his thumbs. Andrea waited for something else, but no one ever spoke up. “Well, Finn, have you made any progress with the case in your collaboration with Agent Grimes?”
“I would, Chancellor, if I had an opportunity to work with Agent Grimes.”
Finn’s words came out cold and harsh, and Andrea put the puzzle pieces together. “Agent Grimes, how long does it usually take for you and your agency to get up to speed on intel?”
“It depends, Chancellor. On the case.”
“It was my understanding that the German and United States governments would be working together. Have I misunderstood that arrangement?”
“No, Chancellor. I’m simply following orders. If you need to confiscate the materials, then you’re welcome to do so.”
Andrea gave a soft smile. “Agent Grimes, collaboration through coercion isn’t collaboration at all.”
Both Finn and Alexander eyed Agent Grimes, who, to his credit, didn’t lose his composure. The silence that cut through the room lingered like flies on a carcass. Whatever flags of alliance had flown between the two countries seemed to be lowering, and Andrea knew she couldn’t find the woman without the CIA’s resources.
Finally, Grimes spoke. “We found six possible matches based on the flight patterns and the picture you were able to provide us. We’ve checked out three of them, and so far none have panned out.”
“What do you mean, ‘checked out’?” Alexander asked.
“I can assure you our review processes are very thorough,” Agent Grimes answered.
“I think we would all be better off if we had a solid understanding of what that process entailed,” Andrea said.
“Family interviews, background checks, financial reviews, purchases, social media presence,” Grimes said. “Our data processing has the ability to check data points that can match purchases and statements made either online or over the phone and determine a psych profile of each individual. Then, based on those profiles, we can see which ones would match someone who would thrive in our line of work.”
“Your line of work?” Finn asked.
“You know,” Agent Grimes answered, “professionals.”
“We don’t need a pissing contest, gentlemen,” Andrea said. “The next review you undertake, I would like for my men to accompany you. As well versed as you are in the world of intelligence, I can assure you that my men are just as qualified.”
“I could always use the extra manpower,” Grimes replied.
The smile on his face was forced, but Andrea ignored it. Agent Grimes was gathering his things when Finn leaned over to him before he left. “So who’s the next name on your list?”
Grimes shifted the folders in his hands, thumbing through the pages to find the file. “She’s an American, based out of Chicago. Sarah Hill.”
The sun beat down on Sarah as the boat splashed through the Indian Ocean waves a few miles from the shores of the Maldives, a small cluster of islands in the middle of nowhere that consisted mostly of the rich taking a break from the bustle of their hectic lives or young couples on honeymoons. But among those clusters of the rich and young was a snake Sarah needed to yank out of its hole.
Sweat had soaked through almost all her clothes, and the ocean spray kicked up from the bow of the boat was a welcome relief on her face. The salt air had caused her hair to grow thick and stiff as the wind whipped it back.
Deckhands worked the nets of the fishing boat and glanced at her, though none could work up the courage to speak to her. The two pistols that gleamed in the sunlight and the stone face she had set upon herself made sure of that. Even the voice in her ear was silent. While Sarah had reinserted the chip in her ear, they didn’t say anything to one another if it wasn’t necessary. She didn’t bother stopping back at HQ; she had the names she needed. Once the recon team had arrived at the safe house to collect Branston, she’d immediately headed for the location of the first name on the list: Ted Finley.
Sarah scanned the man’s file once, not that she needed to do it a first time. All that mattered was the location and the face, and those were on the first page. She didn’t care about his position on the board or his duties or how long he’d been with the company. Height, weight, age, family, none of it mattered. She shrugged her shoulders, stretching the muscles along her upper back, and cracked her neck quickly to the left and right, offering a momentary relief before she returned to the thousand-yard stare, searching for the sight of land in the distance.
“Miss!”
Sarah turned around to see the captain of the vessel waving at her. He was a thin, wiry man, his skin crusted with the cracks and lines of someone who’d spent most of his working life under the sun. His hands were calloused and hard. She wondered if that would be the fate of her own body. She’d put herself through a lot over the past six years, and while she still had the exuberance and look of youth, she knew that it would fade into nothing more than what she saw in front of her.
“We’re close to the islands now,” the captain said. “I have a few nets around the one you want to go to. I can get you to the shallows. From there you can walk and swim.”
“Make sure it’s from the south side of the island,” Sarah said. “As long as you can get me closer than a thousand yards, that’ll be fine.”
The captain gave her a look up and down then shook his head. “I don’t know what this person did, but for you to go in there like that…” The captain trailed off and returned his attention to the wheel in front of him. “I hope the person deserves it.”
“They do.”
The deckhands grabbed the buoys of the crab traps with large hooks as the captain maneuvered closer to the island in the distance. When he waved at her, Sarah nodded then made her way to the bow of the ship. She looked over the edge and into the crystal-clear waters. She could see all the way to the bottom, where colorful fish swam around coral. She zipped up her jacket and kept it snug like a wetsuit. She dove from the boat and splashed into the water.
The cool rush of the water felt good on her sweat-drenched body, and when she surfaced, the boat was already veering to the west. A few quick breaststrokes, and Sarah landed in the shallows of the reef, where the water only rose to her knees. She unzipped her jacket and found that her pistols were still dry. The tight seals around her neck and waist had done their jobs. A wake broke out behind her as she trudged through the water as fast as her feet would take her.
Sarah looked for any sentries along the shoreline. Up until one hundred yards out, the coast was clear. She dropped to the water as a Jeep rounded the east side of the island along the beach.
“Two guards, both armed with assault rifles,” Bry
ce said. “You’ll have a three-minute window after they round to the west side of the island before they make it back.”
It was the first time Bryce had spoken to her since he’d sent her the files for the mission to nab Finley. “It would have been nice to have known that before they rounded the corner.”
“Oh, you didn’t see that?” Bryce’s words were sharp, and Sarah could feel the sting even from nine thousand miles away. His tone didn’t surprise her, but what did was how much it hurt. Bryce had been the one constant in her life for a long time, and the fact that he was so cold now only caused her to burrow deeper within herself, slowly losing what was left of any emotional attachment to anything or anyone.
The Jeep disappeared around the bend, and the water dripped from the zippers of her jacket. The sun beat down on her back and evaporated whatever coolness remained. Her boots shifted in the sand as she pushed her way up the beach toward the palm and coconut trees.
The fallen palm leaves littered the ground, and no matter how hard Sarah tried to out-maneuver the dead branches, her boots crunched over them in a hurried succession. She moved slowly, making sure to take her time to search the ground for anything that could kill her or give away her position.
“I need a head count,” Sarah said, finally able to see the back side of Finley’s house.
“Twelve men, including the two in the Jeep scanning the beaches,” Bryce said. “Four men doing sweep passes on each corner of the house outside, and the remaining six are spread out inside the house. It looks like they’ve got a close watch on Finley.”
“Copy that.”
A silence fell between them, and Sarah felt Bryce wanted to say more but didn’t. She eyed the guard on the southeast corner on the balcony of the second floor. Underneath him sat a cluster of trash cans and a small ledge that jutted out from the side of the building. She kept herself hidden in the cluster of bushes with leaves like needles. “No sensors in the field?”