Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset (114 page)

***

The mountain ridges in Tajikistan north of Dushanbe offered a spectacular view of the country’s landscape. Geometrical rock spires jutted from the mountains in smaller formations that accumulated into the massive mounds of earth that would continue to grow long after Rick Demps had died, and the compound that nestled in the heart of the mountain would be consumed.

The past three days had been a culmination of speaking with his colleagues in similar locations and standing at this window in the makeshift office, looking out onto the landscape before him. He was hundreds of miles away from civilization. The only people around him were the bodyguards on his payroll.

A knock at the office door alerted his attention, and he pressed the intercom to let them inside. The doors to the office opened, and Rick’s right hand, Heath Fuller, walked in with the air of servitude. “Mr. Demps, he’s ready to speak with you.”

“Bring up the screen for me,” Rick said, sitting down and adjusting his tie while Heath set up the equipment for the satellite call. Rick had been waiting for this the entire three days he’d been isolated in the mountains. It was his opportunity for escape and actually being able to enjoy what life he had left.

Over the past few years, Rick had been to countless meetings with the man he’d never truly met. But each of those meetings had turned the tide in his favor, and there was no reason to believe that this meeting would be any different. Especially since he finally had an ace up his sleeve—one he’d been waiting to use for a very long time.

“Rick, you look well,” the man said, his face blurred and his voice modified per their usual protocol.

“I wish I could say the same for you,” Rick said. “The news seems to believe that I am responsible for quite a bit of villainy. I’m hoping, now that we’ve finally had a chance to speak, that this could be resolved.”

“Your face is all over the news, Rick. I don’t see how any of this can be resolved.”

“Throughout our interactions, we’ve always been able to maintain a level of professionalism. It’s what’s made our arrangement so beneficial for both parties. You’ve retained and enjoyed your anonymity, while my company’s financial prowess grew, from which you’ve also gained a fair amount of income. I think now would be a bad time for either of us to end what has worked so well for us in the past.”

Rick snapped his fingers, and Heath handed him an envelope. He opened the end with the sharp blade of a letter opener, tilted the envelope to a downward angle, and poured out a small square sheet of paper. He pinched the top corner between his fingers, the contents not visible except to his eyes. “You’re probably wondering what this is, but I’m sure you can take a wild guess, seeing as how I would have surely expected your trepidation in continuing our business exchange with the risk mounting to what it has become.”

“I would tread carefully,” the man said. “Take whatever it is you think you have and burn it.”

“I don’t think I will.” The pleasantness had dropped from his voice, leaving nothing but the cold promise of threats. “I want out of this. And if I don’t get what I want, you’re coming down with me. You and I both know you can’t reach me where I’m at, even if you wanted to. The moment I’m caught, so are you. Your fate is tied to mine.”

The man remained silent for quite some time, and Rick wasn’t sure if the connection had frozen until the shadow covering the man’s face disappeared along with the voice modulation that had disguised him. The man lowered every shroud protecting him, leaving a face that surprised Rick.

“I’ll make this as clear as I can.” The lines on the man’s face hardened, and his voice was slightly raspy as he spoke. The face wasn’t young, though it was supposed to appear that way, but too many attempts at surgery had left a farce. “Whatever plan you think you have, mine is better.” And with that the screen went blank, leaving Rick and Heath alone in the office.

The envelope fell from Rick’s hand, and its contents spilled onto the table. On the little square of paper was a photograph, a picture of who Rick believed his mystery investor was, but the face he had just seen didn’t resemble the man in the picture. A cold chill ran up from the base of his spine, shaking him at his very core, leaving him feeling as though his bones had turned to ice.

“Mr. Demps?” Heath asked.

Rick tore the picture in half and dumped it into the garbage. “I want you to find out as much as you can about whatever the GSF is doing. What resources they have left, what they know about us, and who that man was. And it should go without saying that time is a luxury we don’t have.”

“Yes, sir.”

Heath was gone before Rick turned back to the view of the mountains behind him. The compound around him was the result of planning for every contingency that could arise. His money and resources had carved out a piece of land in a place where no one else could have accomplished it and where many said it could not be done. But here he stood, staring out into the so-called untamed wilderness in front of him. Even with all the forces threatening to close in around, him he still believed nothing was beyond his reach.

***

The conference room doors burst open, and the Russian president, along with his advisors, stomped out with the red-angered face associated with a toddler’s tantrum. Inside the conference room, Andrea and a few other members of the UN packed up the rest of their belongings and exited in a more noble fashion.

Chancellor Andrea Jollenbeck went the opposite direction of her UN colleagues and the Russian president. While they were done with negotiations for the day, Andrea had one more meeting to attend. Her shoulders sagged as she walked, even though her chief of staff, Alexander, carried most of her belongings.

The war with the Russians was over. Both parties knew it. Russia couldn’t afford to keep up the conflict, and neither side wanted to escalate to a nuclear confrontation, which would have been the only card left to play. Andrea expected the tantrum was a way for the Russian president to save face with his people after agreeing to the terms of the treaty. The trade restrictions, along with the monetary compensation for the debts that were to be paid for the damages against the attacked countries, were steep but not unreasonable for what the Russians had done. The ties of trust had always been loose between Europe and Russia, and the recent actions hadn’t helped tighten them. The road to peace was a long, slow, winding one that required a patience most people didn’t have the capacity for.

“Did he say what he wanted to discuss with me?” Andrea asked.

“No, Chancellor,” Alexander answered just before they made it to the door behind which her next appointment was already waiting. “But I suspect it’s about the girl.”

“Has Finn found out anything?”

“Not yet.”

“Very well. Tell him that his time will most likely be preoccupied the moment I come out of this exchange, so he’d better get his rest now.”

“Yes, Chancellor.”

Andrea entered, and three gentlemen, all American, all dressed in well-tailored suits, rose, bowing respectfully and extending their hands in greeting. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Andrea said. “I’m afraid the Russians are tougher in the conference room than they are on the battlefield.”

“I highly doubt that, Chancellor.” The man who seemed to be in charge sat in the middle. He was average height and size. His clean-cut hair and freshly shaved faced indicated a man who was disciplined. “My name is Special Agent Taylor Grimes. These are my colleagues, Agent Mallory and Agent Thompson. We’ll be partnering with your staff to aid in the president’s inquiry about this woman you’re seeking.”

“Well, it’s good to have you gentlemen on board,” Andrea said. “I’ve briefed my team on your arrival, but I know you said you wanted to meet with me personally, so I hope you have something more than just pleasantries.” The two agents flanking Grimes flushed red, but Grimes kept his composure.

Grimes reached for a briefcase at the side of his chair and rested it on the table between them. He popped both locks, grabbed a manila folder from inside, and set it flat against the tabletop. “The president wants us to be clear that everything done moving forward is collaborative. In the current global climate, it’s important for the good guys to stick together, and while I understand that my organization doesn’t have the best reputation for collaboration, I was hoping this would be a gesture of good faith on our behalf.”

Grimes slid the folder within Andrea’s reach, and she took it from him. “Am I to believe the CIA has adopted a new mission statement?”

“No, ma’am, we’re just trying to let our friends know we’re on their side.”

The right corner of Andrea’s mouth curled upward. The farm boys from America always called her “ma’am.” It was a term she’d learned to accept over the years, although that didn’t mean she liked it. She pulled out the document and scanned its contents.

“Feel free to share that with who you think appropriate on your staff,” Grimes said. “I’ll swing by first thing tomorrow.” Grimes extended his hand, which Andrea took absentmindedly.

Once they had left the room, Andrea picked up the paper, along with the folder and its contents, and found Alexander waiting for her in the hallway. “The Americans think the organization’s Chinese,” she said, handing the folder over to him.

“That’s quite the accusation,” Alexander said, flipping through the document. “Most of this looks like conjecture.”

“Conjecture that could hurt the treaty negotiations between us and China,” Andrea said. “The agents will be coming by in the morning. I want a meeting with Finn and you the moment we get back to the capitol building. Despite the CIA’s peace offering, I want to be careful what we share with them. I don’t buy the Boy Scout act.”

***

The bustling downtown streets of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, made Mack nervous. He kept his head forward, but his peripherals were fully alert for anyone following or watching him closely. The HQ back in Chicago was nestled in the factory district, away from the millions of prying eyes that wandered downtown. Here he felt like everyone was watching him. He didn’t like it. There were too many people.

Mack pushed through the lobby doors of one of the many cloned skyscraper office buildings with a box tucked under his arm and didn’t return the smile of the receptionist as he made his way past her. He walked past the elevators, the first-floor offices, and the maintenance room until he was out the back door and entered a courtyard with a small shed in the left corner.

The courtyard was fenced in and had a few tables and benches for those on their smoke break, but for the most part went unused. Mack opened the door then locked it behind him. Rusty garden tools and lawn equipment lined the walls and hung from the ceiling. On the far back wall was a large chest, four feet long, three feet wide, and four feet tall with a lock over the latch. Mack pressed his thumb against the face of the lock, and it glowed red then green and popped open. He opened the lid and stepped inside. His body was slowly lowered into the ground, and the lid closed then locked after he had disappeared.

The deeper the floor descended, the inside of the box opened up into a larger elevator space, and when it came to a rest, the doors opened to reveal a large floor with a cluster of desks being set up. Mack marched past the support agents unpacking gear and setting up their stations toward the small corner office at the far end of the room. His secretary, Grace, smiled at him, handing him his mug full of piping-hot coffee, and took the box from under his arm.

“Make sure you set it up like Chicago,” Mack said. “It’s bad enough we have to be in this cramped space. I at least want it organized.”

The GSF Milwaukee satellite office had been built as a contingent secondary site in the event the facilities in Chicago were ever compromised. It didn’t have the pomp and circumstance of the original HQ, but Mack had hopes that they wouldn’t have to be there for very long. He sipped the black coffee and let the bitter, caffeine-fueled concoction pump through his veins. Halfway through the mug, he started to feel better.

Once his secretary had set up the office, Mack leaned back in his chair, which squeaked, triggering a frown and bringing him back to the situation that brought them here in the first place: the mole. Grace brought in a large box with a stack of papers toppling out of it and dropped it on his desk with a thump.

“Is this all of it?” Mack asked.

“No,” Grace answered. “There are a LOT more. You want to tell me what all this is for?”

Mack pulled one of the sheets of paper out of the box and answered without looking at her. “Just making sure everything is still secure after the Chicago breach.”

Grace rolled her eyes, which Mack ignored. He started the long process of sifting through GSF’s financials to find out who would have had something to gain with the agency’s demise. With each piece of paper Mack looked over, cross-referenced in the GSF’s database of employees, and crossed off his list, he could feel a piece of himself chipping away. It was a slow crumble, a poison almost. He operated the GSF under the premise of knowing exactly where the money was coming from and that the agents under his management were trained to be the best at what they did while adhering to the GSF’s regulations. Up until a week ago, that had never been called into question, but in the world of espionage, Mack knew things were bound to get uncomfortable sooner or later.