by James Hunt
The structure quaked from the hellfire, and Sarah tucked herself into a ball amidst the glass shards that were sprinkled around her on the floor. Bullets tore through the roof as the chopper passed over, and when the gunfire stopped she lifted her head.
Pieces of roof and bits of wood and dust littered the floor. And tucked underneath a coffee table were the shaking bodies of a woman and her son. Only the whites of their eyes were visible as Sarah waved. “Hello.”
The choppers hovered and vibrated the air outside, no doubt waiting for the first load of plutonium. Sarah pushed herself off the floor and limped the first few steps to the mother and son, rotating her shoulder. The pair cowered on her approach, and she looked down at the pistols in her hands. “Oh, sorry about that.” She holstered the weapons, but the two kept their distance. She looked to the little boy, who couldn’t have been much older than her nephew Matt.
Sarah removed her Kevlar jacket, shook out the rest of the glass shards, and extended the protective piece of clothing to the family, but still the mother wouldn’t move. “C’mon, lady, don’t make me get my guns out again.” Sarah placed the jacket in the mother’s hand. “Take it.”
“They’re moving the plutonium,” Bryce said.
“It’ll keep you safe.” Sarah crossed her arms protectively over her body, hoping the crude sign language would compensate for her lack of understanding of the Slavic tongue. Slowly, the mother placed the high-tech Kevlar over the boy while Sarah returned to the window.
The remaining six mercenaries on Vince’s squad had broken into two teams of three. Two members of each team carried the crates, with one man on point, and Vince stood right between both groups, each of them heading for their own chopper. With no Kevlar for the top half of her body and that third chopper just waiting for her to step outside, Sarah activated the display on her wrist. “Bryce, bring back the aerial visual that you have for the area.” A few seconds later she had a bird’s-eye view of Vince and his men in the field out back. She located the chopper with the machine guns hovering just to her south, then plucked another explosive from her belt. A special attachment for her Colt resided in the compartment on her right hip, and she twisted it into the barrel.
Once it was in place, Sarah took a deep breath and eyed the boy still huddled under her jacket, who watched her with eyes as big as apples. “Don’t try this at home, kid.” She loaded the explosive into the Colt’s attachment then jumped out the window and rolled, grass and dirt flinging up from her elbows and knees as the ominous whine of the chopper’s machine gun prepared to blow her off the face of the earth.
On the last rotation over the ground, Sarah planted her foot in the dirt to steady her shot and brought the tail of the chopper into her sight. The recoil from the pistol rattled both arms and bucked her backward a few steps, but the shot still connected with its target.
The rotor burst into flames, spinning the chopper into a dive while the machine gun fired randomly into the night air. In a heaping ball of metal and fire, the helicopter crashed to the earth, rattling the ground when it landed in the field behind the house.
Vince’s goons returned fire, and Sarah sprinted along the side of the barn. She loaded another explosive into the adapted grenade launcher and aimed for the second chopper, the first team of three nearly on board. “Plutonium is only dangerous when activated for fission, right?”
“I mean there’s a little more to it than that, with the amount of energy split by atoms and the neutrons absorbed by the—”
“Right. What I said.” Sarah fired the explosive. It arced through the night air, whistling on its approach. The mercenaries scattered just before the explosion of bright red and orange flames that morphed the chopper into scrap metal.
Vince spread his men out in the open field, firing from the cover of the tall grass. Sarah ducked back into the barn to evade the gunfire, then checked the display on her arm and watched the second group near the last chopper.
Sarah darted out the rear exit of the building, leaping over the bodies of the first two guards she’d killed, and jumped into the tall grass for cover before Vince and his henchmen had a clear shot. Rolling to a stop over the bare earth, the soil cool against her exposed shoulders, she paused, the thick blades of wheat blocking her view.
She looked to the display on her arm, watching the three mercenaries from the first group converge on her position while the second team was sliding the plutonium on deck of the only remaining chopper. She loaded another grenade and popped up from the grass, sending the explosive sailing through the air where it detonated on the pilot’s window, shattering glass, twisting steel, and knocking the chopper to its demise along with the second mercenary team.
The shot gave away her position, and Vince and the three remaining mercenaries fired on her location. Bullets whizzed through the tall reeds, nicking the narrow pieces of grass as Sarah ducked and rolled left.
“Spread out!” Vince said. “Find her!”
Sarah removed the explosive attachment from her Colt, then holstered both weapons and removed the knife. She squeezed the display on her arm, enhancing the image of the field. She crept through the grass, silent, patient. Just before she came within an arm’s reach of the first shooter he saw the flash of her shoulder and quickly aimed the rifle. Bullets zipped past, and barely missed as she yanked his feet from under him and sent the knife through his neck.
Methodically, Sarah roamed the field, dragging the second mercenary down, then the third, brief spurts of gunfire blasting into the night before she silenced them with the blade. Finally, it was only Sarah and Vince. She crept slowly, minimizing her movements to shake the grass as the helicopters smoldered around them in the field, the fires harsh against the black of night.
“I see you still have a flair the theatrical!” Vince said, shouting above the flames.
Sarah checked her display and saw that he was crouched below the height of the tall grass, doing his best to stay hidden. “And it looks like you still suck at your job!”
Vince laughed. “You never did want to admit that I was just as good as you were.”
Sarah inched closer, carefully plodding to Vince’s location. The fires cast manipulative shadows through the strands of grass, making it harder to see Vince in real time. Her eyes darted from the screen with the satellite imagery to the path she cut for herself. Within less than a few feet, she raised her blade to strike, and then Vince burst through the grass, knocking both of them into the dirt.
Sarah and Vince both rolled across the field, and he smacked the blade from her hand, then quickly followed up with three jabs to her ribs. She bent her knees, planted both feet into Vince’s chest, then shoved him off her. She reached for the Colt, and before she could extend her arm, Vince pounced again and knocked the pistol aside, the weapon lost in the grass. She stepped back, reaching for the second Colt, and Vince lunged forward, clasping his massive hands over her own and ripped the weapon from her holster and into the grass. She grimaced. “Son of a bitch! You know those are my favorite guns!”
Sarah landed a kick to his right leg, and Vince countered with a left hook. Sarah ducked, and then Vince sidestepped to the right and then lunged from the new angle. Hook and uppercut combinations followed and Sarah dodged left, then right, then left again. A knee caught her stomach and knocked the air from her lungs, but she evaded the second knee to the face. She spun around to Vince’s back side, slamming his kidneys, along with two more harsh jabs to the ribs before he turned, fists swinging wildly, a brief moment of rage overwhelming the control of technique.
Sarah caught the next of Vince’s swings and pinned his arm behind his back so hard she heard the light crack of cartilage. Vince cried out but then spun, slamming his elbow into her cheek, upon which she released him and stumbled backward.
Wiping the blood from the corner of her mouth, Sarah couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given her this much trouble. “You’re earning that number two spot today, Vinny.” She glanced over
to the smoldering wreckage of the choppers and the dead bodies of his mercenaries. “Looks like you need to be a little more selective with your friends. But I imagine it’s hard to meet new people when you can’t pull your head out of your ass.”
“Friends like you and Bryce?” Vince shook his head. “I think I’ll pass.”
“It’s over, Vince,” Sarah said. “You’ve got nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.”
Vince smiled. It exuded an arrogance that he’d never possessed during his time with the GSF, and despite the heat from the fires she felt a cold breeze graze the back of her neck. “Do you know the biggest inefficiency of the GSF, Sarah? Every single mission has to take into account the possibility of collateral damage and ensuring zero loss of civilian life.” He slowly turned the face of his watch toward her. Red numbers counted down. Less than ninety seconds remained. “But that’s not something I have to worry about anymore.”
In the west there was the familiar sound of another chopper, and Bryce confirmed her suspicion over radar. Sarah took a step forward, and Vince took one back. “I don’t remember you being this clever, Vinny.”
The sound of the chopper grew louder as it neared. “You can have me or stop the bomb that’ll blow this little village and all its people to smithereens. Not both.”
“You run now I’ll just find you again,” Sarah said, the chopper growing louder in the night sky. “You know how this is going to end.”
Vince smiled. “What’s funny is I actually do.”
Sarah gave a side eye to the house where she knew the mother and son were still hiding, then sprinted back toward Main Street, the helicopter passing overhead. “Where’d he put the bomb?”
“I’m looking!” Bryce said. “... Tavern! GO!”
Embers from the helicopter wrecks drizzled from the sky. Her boots kicked up the dirt road of Main Street as the lights and sounds of the pub packed with patrons grew louder. Bryce transferred the time remaining on her display, and the clock’s red numbered countdown ticked off second after second, dipping below thirty. Her legs and lungs burned from the hastened pace as she neared the tavern, her hair flying behind her.
Sarah bounded up the tavern steps, crossed the narrow porch, and burst through the front door where she skidded to a stop. Her face was sweaty and red, her body filthy from the smoke of the fires and the dirt of the field. “Everybody needs to get out of here, now!”
The commotion from the fight had sent everyone to the back of the pub, all of them huddled together in fear. The laughter and boisterous voices had fallen silent as nearly sixty Hrobians stared at her, slack-jawed. With no movement from anyone, Sarah sighed then reached for one of the grenades at her waist and pulled the pin. Everyone scattered, bolting for the exit. “I don’t know why I just didn’t lead with that.”
“Building’s clear!” Bryce said.
Sarah repinned the grenade and turned to leave but then stopped when she saw the beers on tap. Quickly, she reached over the bar and grabbed a glass.
“What the hell are you doing?” Bryce asked.
“You can’t get this one in the States.” The foam hovered just over the rim, and Sarah balanced the glass mug and sprinted back into the street where the crowd had gathered on the other side of the dirt road. “And besides, I still have like ten seconds.” She took a sip from the mug and let out a low hum. “That’s good.”
Now in a leisurely stroll, every single eye was locked on her. She took another sip and then acknowledged the crowd. “If you have sensitive hearing, now would be a good time to cover your ears.”
A volcano of fire, smoke, and debris jettisoned into the sky, scorching Sarah’s backside with heat and wind. The townspeople ducked, turning away from the blast as wood and ash fell. Sarah turned around to the lingering fire then back to the townspeople, who looked from the wreckage of what had been, most likely, the town’s most coveted hangout. “There goes the Village of the Year award.”
The mother and son from earlier emerged from their house and joined the crowd in the streets. The little boy walked up to Sarah and extended her jacket back to her.
“Thanks, little dude. You all right?”
The boy’s gaze drifted to the smoldering remains of the tavern, a slight tear in his eye. Sarah ruffled the boy’s hair. “I know, buddy. It’s such a crime to waste good beer.” She turned around to the crowd and raised her glass. “To insurance claims!”
4
Bryce slipped the headset down the back of his head, where it rested on his neck. He watched the chopper with Vince and the one crate of plutonium land in Turkey. The closest asset they had in the area was two hours away, and by the time any reinforcements arrived where Vince was located, he and the plutonium were gone.
At any given time, the GSF was running dozens of missions, ranging from recovery and rescue to capture and interrogation. Every step the agency made was a calculated move to ensure the world remained a safer place. Bryce and Sarah were given the bulk of the more sensitive jobs because they were the best. They didn’t quit. They didn’t fail.
But now Vince Moors had enough weapons-grade plutonium to kill tens of thousands in the blink of an eye. He could trigger a financial collapse or the start of World War III. His mind raced through the applications that plutonium could perform. The enemy was one step closer to a nuke. And the repercussions that followed rested on his and his partner’s shoulders.
Bryce slammed his palm into the desk, the dull smack breaking through the mumbled conversations between agents on the floor. He struck it again, hitting it repeatedly until the flesh of his palm grew tingly and then numb, and he knocked over one of the Star Wars action figures on his desk.
“Don’t take it out on Luke.”
Grace appeared in Bryce’s peripheral vision. She held a folder in her hand that she tucked under her arm as she placed her hand on his back. The touch released a sigh riddled with stress. “We were this close.” He held up his two fingers, nearly touching one another.
The monitors on Bryce’s desk still showed some of the images and aftermath of Hrob. Cleanup crews were already on scene, smoothing over the locals and making sure zero traces of what happened could be located by any news crews. Sarah also made it abundantly clear that the search for her Colts should be top priority. The images caught Grace’s attention, and she shook her head. “I don’t understand how he could do that.”
“I know.” Bryce could still remember sitting in on briefings with Vince. Never, in all of their interactions together before Vince turned, did Bryce suspect that he was a mole. His eyes flitted back to the folder in Grace’s hand. “What’s that?”
Grace hesitated and scrunched her face, centering her eyes, nose, and mouth. “I started thinking about what you said in regards to that computer code.” She placed the folder down and opened the first page.
“The Ghost Twins?” Bryce asked.
“Roman Lahftz and Mabel Lahftz,” Grace answered. “They were reported as missing by the FBI a few months ago. It’s standard operating procedure for GSF to investigate any most wanted criminal updates from the intelligence community, but with the backlog of cases I didn’t get to analyze their profile until yesterday. When you brought up that code for the terrorists it reminded me of them.”
“You think they’re working with the Islamic State?” Bryce asked. “That’s not their usual clientele. They’re more of a social justice pair, attacking corporations and politicians.”
“I know, but”—Grace flipped to the next page—“the code that you were having so much trouble with yesterday matches their specialty in quantum algorithms.”
Bryce skimmed the page, already aware of the twins’ uncanny ability for programming. “There could be a connection, but again I don’t think they’d be willing to work with a terrorist group like the one Vince’s has been contracted by.”
“Maybe they don’t know it’s the Islamic State,” Grace said, shrugging her shoulders. “Or maybe they’re being forced into something.”
Bryce nodded, flipping back to the first page. “Have you brought it up to Mack?”
“No. I wanted to get your thoughts.”
Bryce mulled it over. If the Islamic State had hired the Ghost Twins, that would solve the riddle of how their encryption had developed so quickly over the past few months. “I think it could be possible. You should tell him.”
Grace smiled, taking the folder from his hands, her eyes lit up like Christmas lights. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Bryce stood and grabbed Grace by the waist and pulled her close. “I’m very proud of you.” He kissed her lips, and she smiled, that warmth she emitted in full glow.
“Thank you.” When Grace turned to leave Bryce watched her enter Mack’s office, the old curmudgeon taking the file and looking it over.
Bryce returned to his work. Even though Vince now had the plutonium, he still needed the detonation system if he wanted to set it off. And if they could grab it before he could they’d have the leverage needed to bring him out of hiding.
The flight out of Europe was long. Sarah replayed the interaction with Vince over and over in her mind. For two years, catching him was all she could think of. And just when she’d had the opportunity to cross another name off her list, he had slipped through her fingers.
But it wasn’t just her own vengeance that Sarah wanted to satisfy; it was her brother’s family as well. Ben left behind a wife and two children. Whatever despair she felt paled in comparison to their grief. She wrestled with telling Becca about Vince, the fear of exposing a scar to the knife once again holding her back. But in the end she decided Becca deserved to know. Sarah would have expected the same herself.
The plane landed in Chicago, and the ride over to their house on the motorcycle felt good. It’d been a while since Sarah had visited her hometown. She had not realized how much she’d missed it until she was actually there. The buildings, the food, the people, and of course the Cubs, opened a floodgate of memories from her childhood and career.