by James Hunt
“Taking into account the seriousness—”
Sarah clucked like a chicken, flapping her arms at her sides. It took less than ten seconds of the charade for Bryce to finally cave.
“Ten minutes,” Bryce said.
“Pff. Ten minutes?” Sarah asked. “Five minutes.”
“The usual wager?”
“Loser has to do one lap around the HQ in the nude.” Sarah smiled and shook her head. “I would have thought you’d be tired of running around the office naked by now. But I guess the thrill still gets you, huh?”
“Those canisters are going to be spread out over twenty blocks. It’ll take you six minutes just to collect all of them.”
“Clock starts when I make my move.” Sarah drew in a breath, closing her eyes and psyching herself up.
“Remember your mission is to simply disarm and destroy the canisters,” Bryce said. “No guns. No dismemberment. No fuss. I’ll keep track of the operatives with the satellite, and all you have to do is go where I tell you.”
Sarah held up a finger and cleared her throat, doing her best to sound as anal retentive as she possibly could. “‘No need for violence, young lady, just be a good girl and do what the nice man says.’” She dropped the hand and reached inside her jacket for one of the two .45 Colt 1911s that rested in their holsters. “Sometimes the situation calls for me to get the lead out.”
“But not this time,” Bryce said.
“Look, it’s me who has to actually do the dirty work, so why don’t you let me decide what is best on this mission, okay?”
“You’re right, I should take a moment to hear your thoughts about the ground conditions,” Bryce answered. “Lay it on me.”
Sarah lifted her head, her chin prominently displayed in an act of prideful vanity. “You will direct me to the canisters through the use of the satellite, and I will retrieve and disarm said biological weapons while minimizing the use of force.”
“Brilliant,” Bryce said dryly.
“I know,” Sarah said, smiling.
“First canister has already been dropped,” Bryce said. “Uploading the path to your display. Clock starts now.”
Sarah flexed her left fist once more and the image switched to a small map of the area and the five-minute timer he’d already started. She darted across the rooftop and to the fire escape that she descended into the alley. Then from the alleyway she broke into a stride with such a fluid, effortless speed that it would have made most Olympic sprinters jealous.
The all-black Kevlar pants, jacket, and boots blended seamlessly in the dark early morning, and she turned the street corner around which the first team of Chinese operatives had disappeared. “What does this chemical do again?”
“You know, one of these days you’re actually going to read the mission documents I send you, and hell will freeze over,” Bryce said, and then without skipping a beat, “The biological weapon inside those canisters is a type of nerve gas that’s stored in liquid form. But the moment one droplet comes into contact with oxygen, it becomes lethal for up to one thousand square feet. There is enough toxin in those canisters to kill half of Tokyo in a matter of minutes.”
The small red dot signaling the first canister the Chinese had dropped was near the stoop of one of the apartment complexes that lined the street. Sarah kept her head on a swivel as she approached, waiting to grab the device until it was clear. “The same could be said about your farts, Bryce.”
“My farts don’t kill people.”
Sarah arched an eyebrow. “Well, that’s your opinion.” She approached the first package, her boots soundless against the damp concrete. The canister was nestled behind a stack of old newspapers. A red light blinked near the bottom, and she flipped it over in her hand. She unscrewed the bottom and exposed a small computer chip. She removed it, snapped it in half, then replaced it with a similar chip she took from one of the compartments at her belt, neutralizing the gas into nothing more harmful than a can of bug spray.
One by one she collected the canisters, all the while the timer on Sarah’s forearm continued to tick away: four minutes left, then three, then two. When she arrived at the location of the last canister, which was tucked in an alleyway between two apartment buildings, she pumped the brakes after a noise pricked her ear. “Bryce, where are the Chinese operatives right now?”
“With the canisters dropped, they should be halfway back to China by now,” Bryce said. “Give me a second and HOLY SHIT THEY’RE ON THE ROOFTOP ABOVE YOU!”
But the bullets rained down before Bryce could even finish. Still while in mid-sprint and evading the hail of gunfire, Sarah unzipped her jacket, removing both pistols. One glance at the rooftop, and she zeroed in on the shooters’ positions. She raised both arms, guns aimed at the rooftop’s ledge, and returned fire, ending the hail of gunfire as she skidded behind a dumpster in the middle of the alleyway where the last canister had been placed.
Gunfire peppered the dumpster, the metallic ring of metal on metal disrupting the quiet neighborhood. Sarah poked her head out of the left side of the dumpster and returned fire, again forcing the shooters back behind the ledge of the roof. “So much for no fuss. Any way I could bump up my time to six minutes?”
“Bets have already been placed,” Bryce answered. “Table is cleared.”
The clock on her forearm ticked below ninety seconds. “Shit!” Sarah inched to the edge of the dumpster, trying to get a bead on the two shooters on the roof. Unable to get a solid read from her current position behind the dumpster, she leapt from cover and aimed her pistols on the fly.
Sarah seamlessly glided the sight of her Colts toward the two targets on the rooftop’s ledge, making contact with a shoulder and arm before they were even able to squeeze off a single round. “Damn, I’m good!” With the shooters above neutralized, Sarah jogged to the south end of the alleyway.
The moment she turned the corner, three more Chinese operatives forced her back between the buildings. Three bullets cracked the concrete wall to her right and Sarah let a frustrated sigh. “How about a little heads-up next time?”
“The Chinese are running some type of interference program that’s disrupting the satellite’s radar,” Bryce replied. “Just hang in there while I adjust the frequency.”
More gunfire thundered, this time from the north end of the alley, trapping Sarah between a proverbial rock and a hard place. “You’re really dropping the ball on this one, Bryce!” She squeezed the triggers of her Colts, fending off gunfire from both directions.
Brass shells littered the pavement, and Sarah emptied the magazine on the Colt in her right hand. She swung down to her belt, sliding a fresh magazine into the pistol, and flicked the slide forward, which loaded the chamber. The one sweeping movement took less than the time it took for her to squeeze off a round in the pistol in her left hand.
“Got it!” Bryce said. “The Chinese have converged at both ends of the alley.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious!” Two bullets smacked into the concrete wall less than two inches from Sarah’s head as she ducked on her retreat back to the dumpster in the alley’s middle. “Sometimes I wonder why I even keep you around.”
The end of Sarah’s 1911 Colt flashed four quick strikes, the recoil from the gunfire rattling up the side of her arm, burning her muscles. Bullets nipped her ankles as gunfire was funneled toward her from both alley entrances.
When she finally reached the large trash receptacle, Sarah flattened her back against the wall while her cheek grazed the cool metal of the dumpster, arms outstretched in the shape of a T. She checked her forearm. Less than sixty seconds. “Plenty of time.” She squeezed a few rounds into the three-man team on the south end of the alley. “Clock stops when I’m on the evacuation chopper, right?”
“Yup,” Bryce answered. “Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight. Fifty-seven.”
“I don’t need the Cape Canaveral countdown!” One of the bullets from the Chinese to the south end connected with the Kevlar on her chest. “GAH
! Right on the nipple!” She rubbed the point of impact then grimaced. “That’s it!” She shouldered the dumpster’s left end, spinning it the long way to block the enemy at the north end of the alleyway but exposing herself to the three shooters on the south side.
Sarah stared down the barrels aiming to kill her, keeping her composure as she maneuvered the sights on her Colts over the three targets. Brass shells smacked the ground, and the three Chinese agents were quick to follow suit.
“Thirty seconds!” Bryce said, his voice practically giddy.
Sarah pressed her shoulder against the dumpster and leaned her weight against it. “Don’t get too excited, princess.” One push and the hulking piece of metal and plastic rolled forward. Gunfire vibrated the whole dumpster from the remaining three operatives on the other side.
With the dumpster gaining momentum, Sarah gripped the top ledge and catapulted herself on top. It felt like she rose in slow motion, and when the faces of the Chinese on the other side came into view, she smiled, aiming her pistols. “Hey, boys.” The quip preceded three gunshots that knocked them flat on their asses before they could even pull their triggers.
Sarah jumped from the dumpster and sprinted out of the alleyway, smiling at the still-moaning agents scrambling to get away before the police arrived, the wail of sirens blaring in the distance. “Looks like we woke up the neighborhood.”
The thump of chopper blades flitted through the night air as Sarah neared the rendezvous point. She glanced at the countdown on the display as the chopper touched down on the small patch of grass in the park across the street. Ten seconds remained.
“No, no, no, no!” Bryce said.
“Oh, yes.” Sarah slid onto the helicopter’s deck and splayed out like a starfish. “I win.”
“How do you always do that!?”
Sarah rolled to her side and leaned against the back of the chopper, looking down to the city passing underneath. “Tell Grace to get the camera ready. You take the lap as soon as I get back to New York.”
“I hate you. So. Much.”
Sarah cupped her hands around her mouth and mimicked a DJ at a strip club. “Coming out on stage next is everybody’s favorite tiny dancer! Put your hands together for Bryce ‘The Full Monty’ Milks!”
2
The black sedan, with windows tinted so dark it was impossible to see inside, pulled up to the front doors of the CIA building in Langley, Virginia, at a quarter past nine Eastern Standard Time. The car idled, and Mack Farr sat in the back seat directly behind the driver, reviewing Hill’s mission in Tokyo. After a quick scan of the report Bryce had filed upon the mission’s completion, he learned she had managed to escape the city without destroying public property. It was a miracle.
“Sir.” The driver glanced into his rearview mirror, trying to get a look at Mack, but was unable to make out his features. “We’re here.”
Mack tucked the phone away, but not before rolling his eyes at the communication transcripts between Hill and Bryce, then opened the door without a word. Nearing sixty, he found that his joints stiffened after a prolonged sit, and the drive from New York had been particularly long considering the circumstances. He stretched a little upon his exit, letting his body catch up to the pace of his mind as he examined the shockingly ordinary building that was the home of the United States Central Intelligence Agency.
The dark circles under Mack’s eyes dragged his face downward, and his loose jowls made him look more like an aging hound dog than the operations manager for the world’s most covert intelligence agency, but much like the building in front of him, his looks were deceiving. And that’s the way he liked it.
Mack received a few odd glares as he strode through security, who were no doubt confused about the level of clearance he possessed, especially considering the fact that none of these people had ever seen him before, but they followed their protocol and let him pass without incident.
A glare formed on Mack’s bald dome from the florescent lights, and he adjusted the button on his jacket around the large stomach that seemed to have ballooned overnight, though he knew the forty pounds of added weight had been collected slowly over the past twenty years.
Mack knowingly followed the hallways to Director Mallory’s office without ever having set foot in this building before. After all, he did have the schematics, even the ones that showed all of the secret rooms below ground that most people weren’t even aware existed.
“Can I help you?” The secretary outside Mallory’s office had a polite tone but a heavily skeptical face.
“Tell your boss that his 9:30 is here,” Mack answered.
The secretary, her hair done up neatly in a tight bun without a single strand out of place, much like the items on her desk, furrowed her brow and immediately checked the synced calendar that she shared with her superior. “I’m sorry, sir, but Director Mallory doesn’t have anything scheduled for that time.”
Mack removed his phone, typed a quick message to Bryce, and then slid it back into his pocket. “Now he does.”
“I don’t think—” A notification on her desktop triggered a spread of confusion. She held up her finger and reached for the phone. “Just one second.”
Mack took a seat in one of the chairs across from her desk and caught his breath. The leather squeaked its annoyance at the sudden influx of weight, and again he was reminded of the gut staring up at him, which he tried to conceal with his suit jacket but failed.
The door to Mallory’s office opened before the secretary was off the phone, and Mack recognized the faces that stepped out. The FBI director, along with liaisons from the NSA and Homeland, tossed Mack glares that dripped with a “Who the fuck is this guy?” animosity.
Mallory was the last to exit once the rest of his comrades were well down the hallway to focus on the growing threat in India and Pakistan with both parties escalating border tensions for the past twelve hours. It was just one of many symptoms that stemmed from the same problem that forced Hill to stop a Chinese attack on Japanese citizens.
“Nancy, clear my schedule for the next hour,” Mallory said. “I’ll let you know if I need any more time.”
“Yes, sir.” The secretary offered the same glare the directors had as Mack stepped inside and shut the door behind him.
“You could have just called.” Mallory took a seat at his desk, stacked with mission documents and memos from every office in the federal government. He pointed toward the closed door. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re in the middle of a shit storm right now.”
“A shit storm you helped cause.” Mack found a chair and took a seat, again easing himself down.
“You’re not exactly innocent in all of this yourself, Mack.” Mallory drummed his fingers on the desk. For a man of forty, he looked fifteen years older. The receding hairline and pallid complexion told a story of the anxiety and stress of keeping an entire nation from tearing itself apart. It was a burden Mack was familiar with. Mallory took a breath and started what would be the worst conversation of his career. “How much do you know so far?”
“We know he has already made contact with France, the UK, China, and Russia. Each communication is the same. He collects the classified documents from each intelligence agency, then uses the threat of nuclear holocaust to have those same agencies send assets into enemy territory to stir up trouble. I have my agents doing what they can to prevent any destabilizing efforts, but if things continue to escalate, we’ll have a very big problem on our hands.” Mack removed his phone, opened an app, and projected a digital display on the empty white wall to his left, setting the phone on Mallory’s desk. “Despite what you may think, my agency does have a finite amount of resources.”
“Could have fooled me,” Mallory said.
The projection was a map of the world, and it was littered with blinking red dots, all of them clustered among the nations of Russia, China, France, the UK, Israel, Pakistan, India, North Korea, and the United States. Their commonality: a nuclear arsena
l.
“The nuclear weaponry you see here is what has been activated into a RTD status, or ready to detonate.” Mack zoomed in on the clustered Russian dots in the country’s south. “From what we can gather, each of the countries has been able to keep this under wraps from their media outlets. And we don’t have any data to suggest that any of the mentioned governments are looking to push the button.”
“At least not yet.” Mallory sighed and rubbed his forehead with both hands, his voice exasperated. “This is just what we need right now.” He sprang from his chair, his mobility the only sign of his youth, which Mack found himself envying, and paced the small stretch of carpet behind his desk. “We already have three attempted military coups in the Middle East, two of them in Afghanistan and Iraq. The whole world is leaning against a fucking trip wire that could blow at any minute!” He slammed his palm into the wall, the dull thud diminishing the force behind the powerful strike. “Not to mention Runehart breathing down my neck along with his constituents who are convinced that any and all clandestine activities should be completely transparent.”
Mack had heard of the senator. His platform had riled up public interest in what their tax dollars were really doing. One more reason Mack preferred the private sector. “Transparent-clandestine operations. Bit of an oxymoron, isn’t it?”
“Tell that to the intelligence appropriations committee where Senator Runehart has suddenly found himself as the head chairman.” Mallory collapsed back into his chair, slouching.
Mack reached for his phone, and the projection disappeared as he slid the device back into his pocket. “China has already moved toward infiltration steps, which one of my agents stopped just a few minutes ago. North Korea has bolstered a few heated press conferences, but that isn’t anything new. South Korea seems content on gathering more intel on what’s happening, but that will change if we don’t find him soon. What have your people found?”