Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset (117 page)

“What makes you think the others won’t tell me where Demps is once I find them?”

“No one knows where Demps is located except for me.”

“What’s the first name on your list?”

Berlin had regained most of its composure now that the power was back on. There were still reports of looting from a few of the smaller villages in the north, but order had been restored to all of the larger cities. The halls of the capitol building were relatively quiet compared to the bustling chaos that had reigned the previous week. Dealing with a power outage along with a war had given Andrea’s administration a crescendo she was glad to be done with. If she didn’t face another crisis like the one that had just finished, she’d be more than fine.

Alexander, her chief of staff, was giving her the recent poll numbers since the country had been stabilized, but she wasn’t listening. She found herself staring out the window, watching the building’s maintenance crew clean up the surrounding fields littered with trash that had been thrown at her administration during the crisis.

“Chancellor?” Alexander asked.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, well, I’m glad we’ve rebounded.”

“We’ve done more than that. Your numbers are the highest they’ve been in three years. I think we should use the momentum to reintroduce our power bill.”

“No, Alexander. It’s too soon for that. And any other energy conservations I want to be done in house. No more foreign business—at least, not for a while.”

“I don’t know if that’s the right move, Chancellor.”

“Me either, but it’s the one I’m making.”

“Of course.” Alexander gave a slight bow. “Finn is waiting outside along with the CIA agent.”

“Bring them in.”

Alexander reappeared with Finn and Special Agent Grimes, and after the pleasantries, they were seated. Both Alexander and Finn kept their distance from Grimes, who seemed to sit by himself even with the four of them in the room.

“What do you have for us, Agent Grimes?” Andrea asked.

“Based on the information we currently have, it’s been difficult to make headway, but I’ve managed to get a few good leads.”

Grimes ended there, leaving the rest of the room in anticipation. Alexander bounced his knee, and Finn twiddled his thumbs. Andrea waited for something else, but no one ever spoke up. “Well, Finn, have you made any progress with the case in your collaboration with Agent Grimes?”

“I would, Chancellor, if I had an opportunity to work with Agent Grimes.”

Finn’s words came out cold and harsh, and Andrea put the puzzle pieces together. “Agent Grimes, how long does it usually take for you and your agency to get up to speed on intel?”

“It depends, Chancellor. On the case.”

“It was my understanding that the German and United States governments would be working together. Have I misunderstood that arrangement?”

“No, Chancellor. I’m simply following orders. If you need to confiscate the materials, then you’re welcome to do so.”

Andrea gave a soft smile. “Agent Grimes, collaboration through coercion isn’t collaboration at all.”

Both Finn and Alexander eyed Agent Grimes, who, to his credit, didn’t lose his composure. The silence that cut through the room lingered like flies on a carcass. Whatever flags of alliance had flown between the two countries seemed to be lowering, and Andrea knew she couldn’t find the woman without the CIA’s resources.

Finally, Grimes spoke. “We found six possible matches based on the flight patterns and the picture you were able to provide us. We’ve checked out three of them, and so far none have panned out.”

“What do you mean, ‘checked out’?” Alexander asked.

“I can assure you our review processes are very thorough,” Agent Grimes answered.

“I think we would all be better off if we had a solid understanding of what that process entailed,” Andrea said.

“Family interviews, background checks, financial reviews, purchases, social media presence,” Grimes said. “Our data processing has the ability to check data points that can match purchases and statements made either online or over the phone and determine a psych profile of each individual. Then, based on those profiles, we can see which ones would match someone who would thrive in our line of work.”

“Your line of work?” Finn asked.

“You know,” Agent Grimes answered, “professionals.”

“We don’t need a pissing contest, gentlemen,” Andrea said. “The next review you undertake, I would like for my men to accompany you. As well versed as you are in the world of intelligence, I can assure you that my men are just as qualified.”

“I could always use the extra manpower,” Grimes replied.

The smile on his face was forced, but Andrea ignored it. Agent Grimes was gathering his things when Finn leaned over to him before he left. “So who’s the next name on your list?”

Grimes shifted the folders in his hands, thumbing through the pages to find the file. “She’s an American, based out of Chicago. Sarah Hill.”

***

The sun beat down on Sarah as the boat splashed through the Indian Ocean waves a few miles from the shores of the Maldives, a small cluster of islands in the middle of nowhere that consisted mostly of the rich taking a break from the bustle of their hectic lives or young couples on honeymoons. But among those clusters of the rich and young was a snake Sarah needed to yank out of its hole.

Sweat had soaked through almost all her clothes, and the ocean spray kicked up from the bow of the boat was a welcome relief on her face. The salt air had caused her hair to grow thick and stiff as the wind whipped it back.

Deckhands worked the nets of the fishing boat and glanced at her, though none could work up the courage to speak to her. The two pistols that gleamed in the sunlight and the stone face she had set upon herself made sure of that. Even the voice in her ear was silent. While Sarah had reinserted the chip in her ear, they didn’t say anything to one another if it wasn’t necessary. She didn’t bother stopping back at HQ; she had the names she needed. Once the recon team had arrived at the safe house to collect Branston, she’d immediately headed for the location of the first name on the list: Ted Finley.

Sarah scanned the man’s file once, not that she needed to do it a first time. All that mattered was the location and the face, and those were on the first page. She didn’t care about his position on the board or his duties or how long he’d been with the company. Height, weight, age, family, none of it mattered. She shrugged her shoulders, stretching the muscles along her upper back, and cracked her neck quickly to the left and right, offering a momentary relief before she returned to the thousand-yard stare, searching for the sight of land in the distance.

“Miss!”

Sarah turned around to see the captain of the vessel waving at her. He was a thin, wiry man, his skin crusted with the cracks and lines of someone who’d spent most of his working life under the sun. His hands were calloused and hard. She wondered if that would be the fate of her own body. She’d put herself through a lot over the past six years, and while she still had the exuberance and look of youth, she knew that it would fade into nothing more than what she saw in front of her.

“We’re close to the islands now,” the captain said. “I have a few nets around the one you want to go to. I can get you to the shallows. From there you can walk and swim.”

“Make sure it’s from the south side of the island,” Sarah said. “As long as you can get me closer than a thousand yards, that’ll be fine.”

The captain gave her a look up and down then shook his head. “I don’t know what this person did, but for you to go in there like that…” The captain trailed off and returned his attention to the wheel in front of him. “I hope the person deserves it.”

“They do.”

The deckhands grabbed the buoys of the crab traps with large hooks as the captain maneuvered closer to the island in the distance. When he waved at her, Sarah nodded then made her way to the bow of the ship. She looked over the edge and into the crystal-clear waters. She could see all the way to the bottom, where colorful fish swam around coral. She zipped up her jacket and kept it snug like a wetsuit. She dove from the boat and splashed into the water.

The cool rush of the water felt good on her sweat-drenched body, and when she surfaced, the boat was already veering to the west. A few quick breaststrokes, and Sarah landed in the shallows of the reef, where the water only rose to her knees. She unzipped her jacket and found that her pistols were still dry. The tight seals around her neck and waist had done their jobs. A wake broke out behind her as she trudged through the water as fast as her feet would take her.

Sarah looked for any sentries along the shoreline. Up until one hundred yards out, the coast was clear. She dropped to the water as a Jeep rounded the east side of the island along the beach.

“Two guards, both armed with assault rifles,” Bryce said. “You’ll have a three-minute window after they round to the west side of the island before they make it back.”

It was the first time Bryce had spoken to her since he’d sent her the files for the mission to nab Finley. “It would have been nice to have known that before they rounded the corner.”

“Oh, you didn’t see that?” Bryce’s words were sharp, and Sarah could feel the sting even from nine thousand miles away. His tone didn’t surprise her, but what did was how much it hurt. Bryce had been the one constant in her life for a long time, and the fact that he was so cold now only caused her to burrow deeper within herself, slowly losing what was left of any emotional attachment to anything or anyone.

The Jeep disappeared around the bend, and the water dripped from the zippers of her jacket. The sun beat down on her back and evaporated whatever coolness remained. Her boots shifted in the sand as she pushed her way up the beach toward the palm and coconut trees.

The fallen palm leaves littered the ground, and no matter how hard Sarah tried to out-maneuver the dead branches, her boots crunched over them in a hurried succession. She moved slowly, making sure to take her time to search the ground for anything that could kill her or give away her position.

“I need a head count,” Sarah said, finally able to see the back side of Finley’s house.

“Twelve men, including the two in the Jeep scanning the beaches,” Bryce said. “Four men doing sweep passes on each corner of the house outside, and the remaining six are spread out inside the house. It looks like they’ve got a close watch on Finley.”

“Copy that.”

A silence fell between them, and Sarah felt Bryce wanted to say more but didn’t. She eyed the guard on the southeast corner on the balcony of the second floor. Underneath him sat a cluster of trash cans and a small ledge that jutted out from the side of the building. She kept herself hidden in the cluster of bushes with leaves like needles. “No sensors in the field?”

“Everything came back negative,” Bryce answered.

Sarah raised the Colt in her right hand and fired, turning the guard’s head into nothing more than a lump of mushy flesh and bone. Two seconds after she fired her pistol, the silence was cut with the din of alarms. She maneuvered from her current position and headed north, keeping her eye on the house.

“What are you doing?” Bryce asked.

“Just keep me updated on the guards’ locations,” Sarah answered, her words as short as the quick breaths from her sprint. Before Bryce had to tell her about the two guards in the Jeep, it roared through the brush, and Sarah sent two bullets through the windshield and into the driver’s chest. Sarah rolled left, just missing the Jeep’s front bumper and the bullets coming from the passenger side as the Jeep careened out of control.

“Three guards from inside the house are heading toward you right now,” Bryce said. “And the three on the second-floor perimeter are on their way as well.”

Leaves and sand kicked up from Sarah’s roll. She rose wielding both pistols and fired into the rear window, splitting the back of the passenger’s head open as the Jeep smashed into one of the palm trees. Shouts from the other guards grew closer as Sarah dumped the body of the driver onto the ground and shoved the other man out the door.

The front windshield dripped with blood, and the two bullet holes from her first attack obscured any view from the driver’s position. She shoved her heels into the windshield’s corners until the glass gave way and the windshield popped out. Sarah slammed the Jeep into reverse, the wheels and engine whining from the sudden exertion after the collision.

Bullets tore into the hood and passenger side of the Jeep as three of the guards arrived at Sarah’s position. The Jeep bounced over small mounds of sand as Sarah juggled driving the Jeep in reverse and firing into the guards advancing on her position. The sights on her pistol bounced around the shoulders and arms until she managed to line up a shot that sent a .45 right through a guard’s left eye.

Sarah jerked the wheel hard, keeping her foot on the gas, and the Jeep spun a one-eighty. She flew through a cluster of trees, dodging any deadly collisions. “What’s air support looking like?”

“A few of the guards headed to the helipad, but I don’t think any of them know how to fly. They’re just sitting there,” Bryce answered.

“Good.” Sarah shifted into third gear, the clutch straining from the speed. The thump of gunshots peppered the Jeep’s back as she drove out onto the beach, the massive tires kicking up waves of sand and leaving divots in the earth behind her. She drove around the island to the north side, toward the front of the house.

The north end of the island opened up into a larger area void of any trees and brush except for those that were meant for aesthetic purposes. The heliport rested on the right side of the house, and the three guards keeping watch opened fire on the Jeep the moment Sarah entered the front yard. She floored the accelerator, shell casings dumped into her lap.

Each piece of lead Sarah fired drove the guards back. The Jeep sped closer to the house. One magazine emptied, she reloaded, shifting gears and still firing with the other hand. The Jeep sped right for the structure underneath the heliport. Just before the Jeep collided with the building, Sarah tucked and rolled out onto the sand.

Metal, concrete, wood, and glass twisted and crumbled as the Jeep drove itself deep into the house. Sarah wiped the sand from her cheek, rising to one knee. The ground felt uneven, and the images in front of her wavered and doubled. Movement rustled on her right, and she fired, dropping one of the guards that had come around the corner in a Spartan sprint, thinking he could take her alone. Sarah pushed herself off the ground, darting into the hole the Jeep had just created for her.

“The remaining guards are all converging on the house,” Bryce said.

“Where’s Finley?”

“Still locked in his room.”

Glass crunched under Sarah’s boots as she made her way to the staircase in the middle of the house. The thump of feet above told her exactly where the brutes would be coming from, and when they turned the corner, she lined each of their heads up in her sights like pins in a bowling alley. The force of the bullets flung their heads back in such jerks that their feet flew out from under them, crashing them to the floor.

Sarah leapt the stairs, two at a time, pistols up and out, poised and ready to strike for any others heading her way. The crunch of glass behind her triggered a spin while still ascending the steps, driving her heels into the wood, firing into the guards who had spread themselves out, bringing a storm of bullets from different angles.

Two bullets hit the chest of Sarah’s Kevlar jacket and pushed her backward. Her heels almost tripped over the back side of the stairs, but her legs stiffened, keeping her balance. The wooden bannisters next to her erupted in splinters as she made it to the second floor. She pushed herself behind a column, feeling bullets enter the opposite side.

Hallways jutted out from both sides of Sarah. Her pistols hung light in her hands. She checked the ammo count around her waist. Only one magazine left. She pivoted on her right foot and swung around the column, marching her legs sideways while keeping her body positioned to the front of the house. Her run caused the three guards to reveal themselves and abandon their cover. Gunshots blasted and deafened the world around her. She lined up the face of the guard on the far right and squeezed the trigger. The bullet connected and tossed the guard onto his back, dead. The slide on her right pistol opened, signaling the empty magazine. While she lowered her right pistol, she fired the left and sent a bullet into the neck of the guard in the middle, then brought the Colt’s sight to the final guard. Just before she had a clear line of sight, a bullet hit her right leg, and she collapsed. Her shoulder smacked into the hardwood floor. She brought the pistol’s barrel between the wooden bannisters of the second floor and fired, the slide in her right pistol opening as the last bullet from her magazine ejected and landed in the right eye socket of the last guard downstairs.

“Sarah! Are you all right?” Bryce asked. His voice was panicked, loud, even with her ears still ringing from the gunfire.

Sarah checked the gash in her right thigh. “Missed the femoral. Looks like it went right through.” Her fingers found the exit hole on the back of her hamstring. She pushed herself off the floor with one leg, dropping the magazine from the right pistol. “Where’s Finley?”

“The only heat signature I have left is down the hall, third door on the left,” Bryce answered.

Sarah limped down the hallway, each pressured step on her right leg sending a gush of blood rolling down the side of her pants, the dark fabric blending with the oozing blood. She holstered the Colt in her left hand and wiggled the door handle. Locked. She rammed her shoulder into the door repeatedly until it finally gave way, and she barreled inside.

A scream followed her entrance. An old man huddled in the corner by his desk. The face was the same as in the file. Finley. He held both his hands in the air, his entire body trembling. “Please!” His words were nothing more than terrified whispers. “Please, don’t hurt me. I didn’t do anything on purpose. It wasn’t my fault. Whatever they told you,” the man whimpered.

“Sarah,” Bryce said, slowly. “Put the cuffs on him, and get him on the chopper.”

“Do you even know what you did?” Sarah asked. “Do you know what you were a part of?”

The man was crying now, tears streaming down his face, big sobbing pools of regret and sorrow, beseeching mercy. “I’ll give you whatever you want. Just, please! Don’t hurt me! Don’t kill me!” Each syllable that came out of his mouth wavered and shook, like the loose skin around his neck.