by James Hunt
“Are you okay?” Becca asked. “I know this is a lot to take in.”
“I’ll be okay.” Sarah winced and then took a breath, giving a firm squeeze of Becca’s hand and then a smile. “I’m glad you and the kids are safe now.”
“Do you need anything?” Becca asked.
“Bryce,” Sarah answered, nearly instantly. “I need to speak to him.”
Becca simply nodded, gave Sarah a kiss on the forehead, and left. While she was alone, Sarah wracked her brain, looking for every possibility to get Mack out of whatever facility Mallory had locked him up in. There was no way Mack had told Mallory about all of their assets and resources, and even the information that Grimes discovered didn’t reveal everything. They could start over, they could get him out, they could still do their job.
The door opened, and an unusually timid Bryce stepped inside. He lingered by the door after he closed it, his hands clasped behind him on the doorknob as if he were ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. “You look terrible.”
Sarah snorted. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you pit me against the perfect specimen.” She adjusted herself on the bed. “Of which I would also like to point out that he was a man.”
Bryce practically floated toward her and sat on the bed so softly that she didn’t even feel the motion. “I know what you want, but there is something I need to tell you first.” He lowered his head, and Sarah blurted it out before he even had a chance.
“Mack told you about this, didn’t he?” Sarah slapped her arms at her sides. “That stubborn piece of—”
“He knew you wouldn’t have gone for it,” Bryce said. “But he also knew it was necessary. As did I. Everyone knew, Sarah. Even you.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “And I thought I was supposed to get the final “up yours” in our relationship.” Her arms fell, and with them the guarded expression. “This isn’t how it was supposed to end, Bryce.”
“I know it wasn’t.” Bryce leaned in close, and his cheek grazed her cheek, and when he cupped his hand under her palm, she felt the smallest prick from a piece of paper sliding underneath then remaining after his hand left. “You need to rest, though.” Bryce smiled and then stood, never showing any sign that he’d just given her something. “It shouldn’t be too long until you’re back on your feet.” He retreated for the door. “And that’s something I think everyone will be glad to see.”
Sarah remained quiet until he shut the door and then closed her eyes, sinking into the pillow behind her. For a moment, she just remained still, the only movement the light rise and fall of her chest. Then she rolled to her side, tucking the hand with the note closer to her pillow as she curled up, and made sure that the only way you could see the note was from her point of view. She glanced at it through squinted eyes, still pretending to be asleep, and it only took one pass to make out Bryce’s cramped handwriting.
You’re being watched.
The “observation” period lasted for almost a week, and even with the daily visits from Becca, Bryce, Grace, and the kids, it passed incredibly slowly. At least twice a day, Sarah tried to escape down the hall but was thwarted by the nursing staff.
Sarah discovered that it was very difficult to sprint with a body that the doctors described as ‘almost beyond the help of modern medicine.’ But against their beliefs, Sarah’s body and sheer stubborn will won out, and she was finally cleared to go home.
The day of her release, Becca and the kids were there to greet her, and when she asked about Bryce and Grace, Becca answered that they were back at the house, getting ready for her homecoming.
A celebratory cake sat on the kitchen table when Sarah entered, Matt and Ella speeding quickly around her crutches and toward the glowing candles and smiling faces—each of them except Bryce.
Once fed and after the kids were in a coma coming off of their sugar high, Grace and Becca focused their efforts on cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, while Bryce and Sarah stepped into the backyard and headed for the rope swing bench that Ben had installed when he was still alive.
Sarah tugged at the rope when they sat down. It was slightly more frayed than in the past, but it was still as strong as the day Ben had put it up. “Did you scan the house?”
“Yeah,” Bryce answered, placing a small blocker on the armrest of the swing and staring at his feet. “It’s clean. For now. Though I’m sure they expected one of us to do that, so Mallory probably figured why bother.”
“Yeah,” Sarah replied, leaning back into the swing. She let out a sigh, unsure of even where to start. “We can’t let him rot in there, Bryce.”
“We don’t have a choice in the matter, Sarah,” Bryce said. “Mack made the move, and it was his decision to make, no matter how much we didn’t like it. He knows we would have done the same thing in his position, and don’t act like you wouldn’t have.”
“I would have shot Mallory and gotten out of there before they had a chance to cuff me,” Sarah said. When Bryce kept quiet, Sarah pivoted in her seat to face him. “Why is Mallory still trying to keep tails on us?”
“Same reason he had to lock up Mack,” Bryce answered. “It was part of the agreement he made with the rest of the intelligence agencies around the world. The agents you knocked out acted as the opening bargaining chip, but even returning their own people along with the genetic freak as proof of what was going on, it wasn’t enough. They wanted someone from the GSF to pay for what happened. And who better than its leader?”
“But we could—”
“It’s over Sarah. The GSF is done. In return the rest of the employees get to live without being disturbed or hunted.” He walked to the house and then stopped. When he turned, he pulled an envelope out of his pocket. “Mack wanted me to give this to you.” He held it between both hands, staring down at it. “He told me I could read it, and I did. He also told me it was up to me whether to give it to you or not.” He barely lifted his head, his eyes doing most of the work to look her in the face.
Sarah arched her brows. “And what conclusion has Your Highness come to?”
Bryce smirked and walked back to the swing, setting the envelope down on her leg. “That if anyone deserves this, it’s you.” And for the first time in their eight years together, Bryce leaned down and planted a kiss on her forehead.
There weren’t many things that could shock Sarah, but that was one action that literally dropped her jaw, which remained slacked as Bryce walked away. The imprint of his lips lasted much longer than the warmth of his touch, for reasons she wouldn’t discover for a very long time.
Sarah glanced down at the envelope, which had already been opened, the flap drifting back and forth lazily in the breeze. Curiosity had always gotten the better of her, but even with that emotion blaring in the back of her head, she couldn’t help but feel the mounting fear telling her to keep it shut.
Whatever Mack had written was undoubtedly meant to persuade her against doing what she wanted, and if there was any one person that could get her to go against her own interests, it was Mack Farr. But still…
Sarah opened the envelope and removed the folded piece of paper. The handwriting was neat, formal, and incredibly legible.
Hill,
I never had any doubts about your ability to succeed. It’s why I wrote this letter the day after Mallory took me into custody. You don’t quit, you never have, but I’m telling you now that that day has finally come.
I suppose that means in some ways that Grimes did win, but it didn’t happen the way he wanted, and I’ll take that as a victory for our side. In our line of work one of two things happens: it kills us, or it takes us. For me, it happened to be the latter.
You and I both know that our relationship has been strained over the years, but nothing has brought me more pleasure than watching you turn into the agent you’ve become. You’re relentless, you’re loyal, and you have a moral center that most people with your God-given abilities don’t possess. I knew from the first moment I saw you that
you would be the best and retain that title for a very, very long time. Never in my life will I see someone like you again. And with the things my eyes have seen, that is the highest compliment I could give you.
The last mission I give you, the last order from your overweight, high-blood-pressured, bald superior, is to enjoy the time you have left with your family. You’ve sacrificed so much, endured for so long, that this was the only gift I had left to give to you. You have been the daughter I never wanted. And I love you for that.
Sincerely,
Mack Farr
The first tear that fell landed on Mack’s signature. The rest landed in her lap as she tossed the paper aside and cried silently in the backyard alone.
One Month Later
The echo of chatter that emitted from cellblock H-9 was a constant hum in the background. It started from the moment the rise ‘n’ shine call at six o’clock in the morning and went till lights out at eight o’clock at night.
It was the day that passed by quickly for Mack. He busied himself with the books he requested from the library, and he hadn’t found much trouble from the other inmates after the first few days. To the rest of them he was just an old man who’d die in that cell. And if there was one thing he’d learned, it was that people who would spend their life in jail didn’t care what happened to them once they were on the inside. It was a strategy he’d used generously his first three days.
And after two fights to prove he wasn’t a pussy and a week in solitary confinement, the regular routine of prison had begun. He kept to himself, speaking neither to the inmates nor the guards, his only interactions those where he was forced to interact, such as the book cart, the food line, and the infirmary, where the nurses gave him his blood pressure medications.
But after the routines were finished and once he was locked away in his cell—Mallory had managed to secure him a place for himself (the director’s way of thanking him for what he did, he surmised)—time stood still. He hardly ever slept, and the few hours he received were restless and quickly ended with him doused in sweat and momentarily forgetting where he was.
But the reality of that didn’t take very long to sink in. The four walls and reinforced-steel door were quick to remind him of where he would spend his golden years. Whatever happened to the golden watch and party with cake?
Normally, with lights out at this time, the place was quiet, but not tonight. Tonight, he heard the heavy boots of the correctional officers. He hadn’t been through a random inspection, and when he heard the harsh knock on the door, he positioned himself to the side of the bed, his joints groaning as he pushed himself off. The lack of activity had not been a friend to his arthritis.
The heavy metal door groaned as the correctional officer stepped inside. “Back of the cell, Farr.” The officer was a gorilla of a man, his forearms thick, his brow ridge pronounced, and his eyes beady and small. He patted Farr down and then spun him around.
“Skipping the cavity search today?” Mack asked. “I bet you’re disappointed.”
It was the only sense of enjoyment that Mack had left, the fact that he could still chide someone who was violent and had no business being a position of power. The officer removed his baton and then gave a firm whack against the right side of Mack’s leg, dropping him to the floor.
The pain ached all the way to the bone, and what felt like a series of pins and needles stabbed what remained of the cartilage in his knee. When he lifted his head, the officer pointed the baton at his face. Sweat had broken out on his forehead, and he waited for the next blow.
“Officer Stanton.” The shift captain stepped inside, and the ever-loyal Stanton spun around on command.
“Yes, sir!”
“Any contraband?” The captain glanced around the cell lazily.
“No, sir.”
The captain glanced down at Mack, who was still collecting himself from the pain of the growing welt on his knee. “Farr, let Officer Vasquez escort you down to the infirmary. Get your leg checked out.”
Mack pushed himself up, and when he walked past Stanton, he made sure to brush his chest with his shoulder. In the hallway, Vasquez took Mack by the arm and helped him hobble down the flights of stairs and out of the holding cells over to the stand-alone building that was the infirmary.
The air was crisp outside, and as they walked between the towering chain-link fences on either side, the power in the security lights above turned off. Vasquez reached for his radio just as the alarms turned on, and it was so dark that Mack didn’t see the dart that flew into the officer’s neck and then dropped him to the ground.
Mack froze, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dark as the sirens wailed, and the shouts of officers echoed from the facility. A light tap on the shoulder caused him to spin around, and even in the darkness, he recognized the silhouette of Hill.
“Hiya, boss.” She gripped him by the arm and practically dragged him down the sidewalk, both of them limping along.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Mack asked, keeping his voice to a whisper.
Hill stepped through the cutout in the fence she’d made and pulled Mack through on their way to the forest line, less than twenty yards from their location. “It’s a prison break.”
Dogs started barking, and emergency lights flashed back on, the spotlights on the towers scanning the area just as the two of them reached the cover of trees.
Mack yanked his hand free and stopped to catch his breath and rub the throbbing in his knee. He waved Hill off. “I told you not to come here. I told you to just let it be!”
Hill, unusually calm, hobbled closer. As she did Mack noticed that her hair was pulled back in the practical ponytail he was always used to seeing her in, and she had returned to the black tactical jacket and pants. The flash of searchlights behind him illuminated the light scarring on her cheeks from all those years in the field, and she picked up his hand, shoving the note that he’d written her into his palm. “You know, I thought you’d figure out by now that I never listen to you.”
The dogs were still barking, and the sirens were still blaring, but Mack Farr couldn’t help but smile. “It’ll go into your personnel file as another insubordination.”
“Good,” Sarah said, yanking Mack deeper into the forest. “Wouldn’t want my record to be in jeopardy.”
They didn’t have to go far. A Jeep sat covered in brush, and when Sarah ripped off the cover, Grace was sitting in the driver’s seat and Bryce was in the back, a laptop sitting on top of his legs. Hill opened the door for Mack and gave a light bow.
“Your chariot awaits, sir,” Sarah said.
Mack climbed in, and Grace immediately planted a kiss on his cheek.
“It’s good to see you, boss,” Grace said.
“Yes, now can we go?” Bryce asked. “Sorry, sir, but the cavalry is about to come breathing down our necks.”
Sarah punched Bryce in the arm. “Stop being such a dweeb, and enjoy the moment!” She rubbed her hands together. “The band is back together!”
“And riding off into the sunset,” Mack said slowly to himself.
Grace started the engine and shifted into drive. “You guys ready? Could get bumpy.”
“Seat belt is on,” Bryce said.
“Can we stop for Chinese?” Sarah asked. “I’m starving.”
And as they drove off, Mack still couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.
Prologue – 2 Years Later
Red light bathed the room as photographs hung from thin pieces of cord that stretched from one end of the room to the other. The pictures were still developing, most of them fresh out of the solution for exposure. In a digital world, Branston found the ritual and techniques of old-school photography fascinating and a temporary challenge to help fill the void left behind.
He dunked another blank sheet of paper into the solution, gently patting it until it was completely covered. The sleeves of his button-up shirt were rolled to the elbow, and his hair was slicked back, still the jet-black
color that he dyed it every month.
After soaking the paper, he hung it up to dry with the rest, taking a step back to admire his handiwork. His eyes glowed an unearthly black in the red lighting, and when he smiled, there was nothing but a black hole, his yellowed teeth darkened by the shading of the light.
Branston stepped behind the black cloth and then transitioned to the door to go out. The photographs needed time to develop.
The inside of his apartment was neatly organized, with minimal furniture. The living room consisted only of a chair with a side table and a four-chair kitchen table, but the walls were lined with books. Like the rest of the room, it was simply designed. Only shelves lined the walls, none of them encased in actual bookcases. Branston liked to think it allowed the ideas to flow across the room and into his mind. It was a constant feed of information and inspiration.
He grabbed the latest book from the table next to his chair, in which he always read, where he reclined and flipped through the pages quickly. He had always been a fast reader, and he had a memory like no one else he’d met before or would likely meet in the future. He was a creature who understood his abilities far too well. And that was what had landed him in the position he found himself now.
It had been four years since his little plan had gone to shit. Though, to be fair, it was simply a test. Then, two years after the failed experiment, he tried again, pulling the strings from his apartment and leaving whispers in the ears of those he still had connections with.
The older he became, the more he realized how easy it was to manipulate people. Most saw what they wanted to see or heard what they wanted to hear. All he had to do was stoke a fire that was already burning and then watch the flames consume them.
It was perhaps the greatest paradox of human existence. We had all of the ability to save ourselves, but we had a deep-seated root to kill each other. But it was what we picked and chose to kill each other about that separated most people. For Branston, it was the thrill of a challenge. And, almost ten years ago to the day, he watched the greatest challenge of his life walk right past him on his way into retirement.