Hostiles

by Ethan Johnson

  Diane ceased her struggle and focused on breathing. The hood was nearly suffocating her. Her face felt hot and sweaty. Her lungs felt like she was inhaling shower spray. She slowed her breathing down and focused her mind on her predicament. She was locked in a trunk and bound tightly. Three men were taking her somewhere. If they were taking her to Sapphire, it didn’t make sense. Sapphire told her they would never see each other again. What changed?

  Then again, Diane thought, Sapphire was a liar. Wasn’t she? She squeezed her eyes shut as sweat trickled onto her eyelids and sorted out her thoughts. Yes, Sapphire was a criminal bitch, and Diane fully intended to kill her for poisoning Lyssa. But Sapphire warned her not to let Lyssa eat the poisoned chocolates. That wasn’t a lie. Sapphire told her over and over she wasn’t her friend. That wasn’t a lie either. But Sapphire had looked out for her too. That meant she wasn’t completely evil, didn’t it?

  Diane fought for her next breath. She felt panic swelling up inside her at the possibility of being suffocated to death in the trunk, never mind what her abductors were thinking they’d do to her later. She wriggled around and felt cool air seep under her hood. The strap around her neck was tight enough to keep the hood in place, she determined, but not so tight as to prevent air flow. She took slow, deliberate breaths and focused on keeping perfectly still for fear of cutting off her air supply.

  She thought about Sapphire again and affirmed Sapphire was, in fact, not to be trusted. Yes, she had her good points. Diane thought back to Ruby Ryerson. She hadn’t seen the episodes of Fortune and Destiny that featured her last major storyline. Lyssa only said it was “good” while they watched the final episodes of the series together. Diane recalled the look on Lyssa’s face when Ruby was introduced as the villain. She was giddy with excitement. Diane wasn’t interested in villains, and she certainly had no empathy for anyone who poisoned her idol and role model.

  The car came to an abrupt halt. The car bounced around as her abductors exited the vehicle, then the trunk door opened with a loud click. Diane was pulled out of the trunk and dropped onto a hard surface. She yelped as her head banged against it. Hands clutched her arms and pulled her onto her feet. Another set of hands released the strap around her neck. Her hood was yanked off and Diane squinted into a bare lightbulb swaying in the center of an otherwise unfurnished room. The Masked Man stepped forward and placed his gloved hand on her cheek.

  “Situational awareness, Miss Pembrook. Too often it is forsaken in favor of,” he paused and seemed to give her a wry smile, “weapons. Hmmm?” His fingers slid down her moist cheek and along her neck. Diane turned to look away. He gripped her chin and forced her to face him once more. “Gadgets. Cameras. Field reports.”

  Diane fought the urge to spit in his face. She struggled with her bonds. The men who held her upright tightened their grip on her arms. The Masked Man pulled his hand away and took a few paces backward. He continued to address Diane in his usual calm, unsettling tone.

  “What are you, Miss Pembrook? Now, here, in this moment. Tell me.”

  “I’m pissed.” Diane glared at him defiantly.

  “You are fodder for the unquenchable libido of your captors. You will entertain them until they bore of you, then you will be disposed of accordingly.”

  “Is this how you get your kicks? We’ll see what kind of tune you’re singing when I peel that stupid mask off your face and jam it so far up your—”

  The Masked Man raised his hand dismissively. “Yes, you do not disappoint with your outrage. Only now do you consider your fate; only now do you face the consequences of how blithely you allowed for your capture. Like a fly caught in the most obvious of webs, it flutters and struggles, but in the end is handily consumed, until the next one. Whatever you believed yourself to be before this evening, Miss Pembrook, with a single command you shall be nothing more than… entertainment.”

  “I’m nobody’s plaything,” she said, opting to spit for emphasis, and wincing when she missed hitting the Masked Man anywhere on his body, let alone his smooth mask.

  “You were meant to be an assassin,” he said coldly. “Is this how an assassin presents herself?”

  Diane hung her head in shame. “No sir.”

  The Masked Man stepped forward and cupped her chin. He lifted her head and tilted his slightly as he studied her. Diane felt ill as she stood helplessly by as he did with her as he pleased. Every touch from his hand was a violation, but on a deeper level she felt beaten. He had trapped her. She was his plaything. She wanted to vomit.

  The Masked Man removed his hand and nodded to the men who held Diane in place. They silently set about releasing her from her bonds. Her sleek black body armor was wheeled into the room on a grey cart. The Masked Man gestured to it, then waved everyone else out of the room. “Dress for work, Miss Pembrook. You will be briefed immediately afterward.”

  His footsteps echoed around the bare cell as he exited. Diane fell to her knees and rubbed her wrists, then clutched her stomach. She spent the next five minutes retching over a dull drainage grate.

  Diane entered the adjoining room dressed in her body armor. She lacked a rifle, but a fully loaded sidearm was available at the flick of a switch. The Masked Man stood beside a blank monitor screen and gestured to a single chair in the middle of the room. “Please, be seated,” he said softly.

  Diane shook her head. “I prefer to stand,” she hissed. After her ordeal and humiliation, she wanted to feel even an ounce of control.

  The Masked Man tapped a tablet. “Please. I insist.” Diane walked to the chair against her will. Her body armor jerked and halted as she fought against the override commands. She plopped down unceremoniously on the chair and glared at the Masked Man.

  “This is bullcrap,” she said.

  “This, unfortunately, is as necessary as it is tedious. See to it that this does not become a trend.”

  “Or what?”

  The Masked Man did not respond. The room dimmed as he swiped and tapped at his tablet, then the monitor began to glow. A female electronic voice filled the room as a series of codes and words flashed on the screen.

  “Begin briefing. Pembrook, Diane positively identified as present.” Diane flashed back to the last time she had received such a briefing. A montage of the Arbor Day attacks appeared first. She wasn’t interested in seeing it again. To her surprise, a clean-shaven man wearing a white dress shirt and blue tie stared back at her. The female voice continued. “Francis Rohrbach. Age 54. Caucasian. Male.”

  The still photo was joined by surveillance footage of the man leaving a building and stepping into a waiting limousine. He looked around nervously before getting in. The camera zoomed in to a folder he was carrying under his left arm. Diane cocked her head to read the largest print. The monitor inserted a selection box over the folder and turned it around so it was easily readable. The folder was titled ALTERNATIVES TO AFFORDABLE HOUSING.

  The man’s likeness was reduced and slid to the upper left-hand corner of the screen. A montage of burning buildings devolving into piles of rubble, then being cleared by work crews in an extended time-lapse sequence displayed without comment. The man’s photo filled the left side of the screen once more. The female voice simply said, “Target identified. Stand by for verbal instructions.”

  Diane shook her head, unsure of what she just witnessed. Some guy with a folder wanted to build new housing. What was wrong with that?

  The Masked Man answered her unspoken question. “Mr. Rohrbach’s apparent intentions are noble enough, but his true objective is to purchase large swaths of land. This, at first glance, is hardly noteworthy, which is the point. If he succeeds, he will own the land under seven police divisions. It may interest you to know Panther is one of them.”

  Diane cocked her head. “So what? People buy land all the time.”

  “Indeed, they do. Had his intent been, as best as can be said for real estate brokers of his stature, honorable, he would not be worthy of our attention and concern. His aim is to
quite literally own the police, Miss Pembrook. Our intel is painting a disconcerting picture. Once his initial objective is met, he will proceed to the second phase of his campaign: the wholesale dismantling and repurposing of the public safety apparatus.” Diane gave him a questioning look. The Masked Man waved to the monitor. A grainy surveillance video of Rohrbach in a small conference room with three other men appeared on the screen. The Masked Man tapped his tablet, and the video began to play.

  Rohrbach patted his folder and turned to the man on his right. “Don’t jerk me around, Jerry. I need to know this is 100 percent before I pull the trigger.”

  The man identified as Jerry nodded vigorously. He dipped his chin low and said, “It’s solid, Frank. You snap that up, you own the cops. Simple as that.”

  Rohrbach turned to the other man. “How about you, Bob? Any show-stoppers I should know about?”

  Bob turned oddly to square his back to the camera and nodded. “I’m with Jerry. Get the cops, then you rule this town.”

  Rohrbach leaned back in his seat. The video crackled with static for a moment, then Bob was sitting comfortably to Rohrbach’s left. All three men were laughing. Rohrbach clapped his hands together and said, “Okay, it’s a done deal. I’ll make the calls first thing tomorrow.”

  The screen froze, and the Masked Man leaned forward to address Diane directly. “That footage was captured two hours ago. He left that meeting ten minutes later, as you have seen. This gives you approximately eleven hours to locate and terminate the target.”

  Diane sank in her seat. Eleven hours? She had hoped to have time to go to the hospital. Or sleep before her next shift at Panther. She tipped her head at the Masked Man. “I don’t have a clue where he is.”

  “We know where he is,” he replied coolly.

  “And I’m the only person alive who can kill him?”

  “We have other assets stationed nearby, as the situation warrants.”

  “Why don’t you have them do it? Why me?”

  The Masked Man switched off the monitor. “You have your orders. Complete your mission. Dismissed.” He walked out of the briefing room, leaving Diane alone in near darkness. She crossed her arms and sighed, wondering how she was supposed to reach her target without solid intel and perhaps more importantly, a mode of transportation other than her own two feet. As if on cue, a door opened to her left.

  Diane stepped cautiously through the door and found a sleek black SUV waiting for her with its rear passenger door propped open. She got in and sat down. Her rifle was laying on the seat beside her. She looked up and said to the empty front seat, “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave my personal stuff alone.”

  Diane sank in her seat with a huff. She knew it was an empty protest. After all, her apartment wasn’t really hers, nor were any of the furnishings. The rifle had been taken from her own father after she killed him. Of the three things, that felt earned. Its presence in the vehicle served as a reminder that the Masked Man and his minions could take and do as they pleased.

  Diane pulled the door closed and the SUV roared to life. It pulled out of a secret garage on autopilot. Diane frowned at the driver’s seat, then focused her attention on her rifle. She pulled the bolt back and confirmed the rifle was loaded with a single cartridge, with no spares provided. She received the message loud and clear: the SUV would take her to the target, and she would terminate it with one shot. In, out, done.

  On the upside, she mused, that meant she could be at the hospital sooner if that was all the Masked Man required of her. She slid the bolt shut and set the rifle aside. Whatever it takes, for Lyssa, she thought, patting the butt of her rifle and waiting for the SUV to shuttle her to Francis Rohrbach.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The SUV dropped Diane off in the heart of downtown. She switched on her earpiece and slung her rifle across her back. She ducked into the closest building and found her way to the rooftop. No guidance was provided through her earpiece. Diane frowned and assumed she was on the right track. Then again, she thought, the Masked Man could be toying with her, intent on humiliating her for any wrong decisions.

  Diane pulled her rifle from her back and army-crawled to the edge of the roof. A large steel and glass building stood directly across from her. The building she entered was sixteen stories high. She counted thirty-eight in the other building. If Rohrbach was on one of the higher floors, she had next to no chance of getting a clear shot at him. She shrugged and peered through her scope. If Rohrbach was in this building, and she was in the right place to establish her firing position, she mused, the height difference of the two buildings was inconsequential. Diane put her hand to her aching forehead. Inconsequential. She considered the definition. Lacking concern or merit. It worked, but she wondered why she didn’t just use “didn’t matter” instead, for instance. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the pain to subside.

  A few minutes later, Diane raised her rifle and adjusted her scope. She decided to methodically search the building from the top down. It lacked balconies or sliding windows, so she quickly ruled out the top ten floors. As she swept her rifle from side to side, she began to see people through the windows. A man cracked open a beer can and took a hearty swig. Diane focused on his face. He wasn’t Rohrbach.

  Six floors later, Diane began to suffer from eye strain. She lowered her rifle and squinted at the large building. Rohrbach wasn’t in there. Or, if he was, she thought, he was a fricking needle in a haystack. She tapped her earpiece and considered asking for a hint as to her target’s location. She pulled her hand away and thought better of it. She wanted to show the Masked Man she could get the job done without any help from him.

  Diane heard breathing in her ear and winced. The Masked Man’s soft voice said, “Taking it easy?”

  “Target unidentified. Adjusting search parameters.” A sharp pain tore through her forehead. Parameters? She didn’t recall ever hearing that word before or studying it in her dictionary. She was nowhere near the Ps.

  “It might interest you to know the target is not in that building. Adjust accordingly.”

  Diane nodded and slithered toward the next edge of the building. It looked out at an expanse of parking lot. She raised her rifle and began to survey the lot, when the Masked Man’s voice returned. “Not there either.”

  Diane huffed and fought the urge to scream, “Then give me better intel, you ass!” She instead crawled over to the edge opposite from the one she started with and observed a six-story building with balconies. One look through the scope revealed her target sitting beside a round table, reading a glowing tablet. “I have visual on the target,” she whispered.

  “Noted,” the Masked Man said flatly. “Transport unit departing in five minutes.”

  Diane cocked her head. She hadn’t thought about the SUV that dropped her off. She assumed it went away, and now hearing it was still parked out front, she wondered what would happen if she missed her ride home. She didn’t want to find out. She raised her rifle and adjusted her scope. Rohrbach reached over and picked up a glass of red wine from the table. He raised the glass to his lips, and Diane pulled her trigger.

  She took a moment to confirm the kill. Blood splattered in a round pattern against the wall where Rohrbach had been seated. His dead body slid down his chair and crumpled unceremoniously on the balcony. His wine glass dripped the remnants of its contents through the floorboards. His tablet tumbled through the steel bars of the balcony and smashed on a concrete walking path.

  Satisfied, Diane crawled backward and quickly rose to her feet. She slung her rifle across her back and rushed down the stairs to the street below. The SUV sat in silence under a streetlamp. Diane pulled the rear passenger door open and tossed her rifle onto the seat before getting in. She patted the front seat, expecting the vehicle to roar to life at her urging. Nothing happened.

  Diane looked around and tried not to panic. She heard screams coming from the Rohrbach’s building. She laid down in the back seat and hissed, “Target eliminated.
I’m in the transport unit.”

  “Scheduled departure: two minutes, nineteen seconds,” the Masked Man replied.

  “But I’m ready now,” Diane said. “I hear sirens.”

  “Indeed. We estimate local law enforcement will be on the scene in one minute, thirteen seconds.”

  “Then what the hell are you waiting for?”

  “The question, Miss Pembrook, is this: why did you rush to exterminate your target without timing your actions according to the scheduled departure time you were given?”

  Diane rolled her eyes. Another of his goddamned lessons, she fumed. Just get me the hell out of here and save the lectures for the office. “I assumed you were pushing me to get the job done quickly. I got it done quickly. Now, let’s scoot.”

  “You will depart when the vehicle is scheduled to depart. Contemplate the importance of timing while you await possible discovery and capture.” The Masked Man paused, then said, “One minute, thirty-four seconds.”

  Diane held her breath. She heard police cruisers pull up to Rohrbach’s building. She heard a female voice say she heard shots coming from “over there”. Diane cringed. The police would key in on any suspicious movements. She patted her thigh and considered pinning them back with some warning shots. She immediately thought better of it. The SUV would be a target for sure if they took heavy fire. She pulled her rifle against her chest to hide it from anyone who looked through the glass at her.

  “You two, clear the building. Farris and I will check the perimeter,” said a gruff voice from behind the SUV.

  “Thirty seconds,” said the Masked Man.

  Diane’s heart raced as a shadow spread across the front seat from the SUV’s rear window. She reached down and prepared to draw her sidearm. She hated having to gun down a fellow police officer, but her mission had to remain secret. Discovery only scratched the surface of how bad things could get in a very short amount of time. Rohrbach was dead, and the city was safer as a result. Nobody needed to know the details, she thought.