by Powers, AJ
“I’ve got something,” the man said, leaning over the piece of paper. “Smile. Wait for… flash.”
“Pandora and Talos teams, get the hell out of there right now! I repeat, get the—”
The radio was silenced by the thunderous blast from behind Mason as the windows to the office he was in shattered from the shockwave of the detonation. Dust and smoke rushed into the room, impairing Mason’s vision and breathing. With his head still rattling from the concussive blast, he groggily felt for Winters’s shoulder and helped him out of his chair, stumbling for the nearest door. Mason gasped deeply as they reached the relatively pure air in the hallway, but that, too, was quickly filling up with particles of debris.
Voices franticly yelled back and forth over the radios, but Mason stopped processing what was being said as he and the other observers escaped the building. As he stumbled out the front door, Mason was greeted by the flaming wreckage of what was once called Aileen’s Bar and Tavern, debris still raining down from the sky with fiery tails.
His chest still bouncing rapidly from his pounding heart, Winters shook his head, speaking between breaths. “I think we’ve got a problem, Lieutenant,” he said, wiping at the dust in his eyes.
“Someone tipped them off,” Mason finished his concern.
Chapter 29
Hagan let out a grunt as he picked up the last two ammo cans from the bed of the truck and carried them into the church—their new home.
First Baptist Church of Wildwood was tucked away behind a large, vacant subdivision, separated from view by a few acres of trees. Behind the abandoned place of worship, hundreds of acres of woods stretched to the south with only the occasional, sparsely populated neighborhood carved out for those who had favored privacy over convenience. They were less than a mile from a road that would take them all the way into St. Louis, yet not visible from the streets. Even the driveway leading to the old building was so overgrown it was barely recognizable.
Out of the half dozen places they looked into, the church was the only location that checked all the boxes on their list. There were even a few rolled up mattresses in the basement, giving Hagan and Solomon a softish place to pass out for the night once they got settled. Of course, even though it met all their criteria, there was still a lot of work to be done to make it home. They would need to create an emergency exit or two, rig the place with explosives, and establish some basic security systems, such as perimeter alarms and surveillance cameras. Fortunately, Hagan spotted a few rooftop solar arrays in town, which would provide more than enough juice to power such measures.
Unlike the cabin, Hagan and Solomon were now hiding in plain sight. And while they wouldn’t be easily spotted by passing patrols who happened to be coming through the area, they were at much greater risk of being discovered in the church than the cabin in the woods. Of course, even in the remote cabin, the cartels still sniffed them out, so, no house was truly safe, Hagan recognized.
But Hagan didn’t plan to stay long. Because after two grueling years of misery and hell, the old warfighter could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. He knew that this horrible chapter of his life was reaching its apex, and that he would soon put it all behind him. And, with a little luck, he would sleep soundly at night once again.
Hagan and Solomon spent the afternoon unpacking their weapons and gear, keeping most of it locked up in a pantry off a small kitchen near the back of the building. They spent most of the evening wiring up the place to detonate with a fiery blast at a moment’s notice, just like they’d done with the cabin. To most operators, such precautions might seem like overkill. But to a couple of sappers who had experienced the worst of humanity, the decision was as rational as it was necessary.
They worked late into the night, finishing up the job under lanterns and flashlights turned to the lowest settings. They finally made the last of the connections around midnight and ran the wire out into the tree line on the south side of the property, ready for a clacker.
Rushing back inside and out of the cold, Solomon immediately reached into their last box of MREs and tossed a vegetable lasagna to Hagan.
“Ugh,” Hagan said, tearing the light brown packaging open. “I’m setting my alarm for 0400. Need to bag a buck or something tomorrow morning. No way I can live off this crap for long.”
“No problem, ‘cuz we only have eight of them left.”
Using the chemical heaters packed inside, Hagan warmed his military grade Italian dish before diving in. “I remember these things tasting so much better in the field.”
Solomon laughed. “Yeah, well, they’re about ten years past their prime, brother. We’re lucky they’re still edible,” he said, shoveling a sporkful of Salisbury steak into his mouth. “Could be worse. We could have grabbed one of those gluten and dairy free boxes.”
“Aww man,” Hagan laughed, “you remember that guy, Parker on our first tour in Afghanistan?”
Solomon’s eyes looked up for a moment as he searched his brain. “Yeah… Yeah I think so. Tall, bald Cav guy, right? Always bragging about banging big chicks?”
“That’s the one,” Hagan laughed before taking another bite of his food, the growl in his stomach winning the battle over the taste buds on his tongue. “Anyway, he had some really bad dairy allergy. Would spend hours in the porta john if he even touched a glass of milk. Anyway, I tried one of his dairy-free ice creams once...” Hagan shook his head, “I about ralphed all over my bunk. I nearly reported him for chemical warfare.”
Solomon laughed. “Yeah. I dated a vegan once. She made me a steak, egg, and cheese breakfast taco one morning…”
Hagan’s body was bouncing from laughter, knowing where Solomon was going.
“I had pounded down about three quarters of that thing before I realized that everything in my mouth was tofu.”
“Bet that tasted amazing.”
“It was garbage, so that’s where I put it.”
Hagan was scooping up the last of the congealed tomato sauce into his spork, licking it clean. “So, how long did that relationship last after that?”
“’Bout four minutes,” Solomon shot back immediately.
Both men laughed, enjoying a moment of nostalgia, thinking of the world the way it was then. Solomon broke open a bottle of whiskey and poured a few drinks as they both reminisced. But, like everything in the new world, reality soon hit fast and hard, bringing them back to the present.
“So, are we really going after Gray?” Solomon asked, a look of concern on his face.
Hagan tossed back the rest of his whiskey and clenched his teeth as the liquid warmed his throat. “Yep,” he said with a satisfied sigh. “That’s the plan.”
Solomon gave a look of disapproval. “I dunno, man. You think we can get to someone that big?”
Hagan acted offended with the insinuation that he was incapable of such things. “Did you forget about Senator Swift after that mess with Blackbird?”
Solomon pursed his lips together and nodded. “Fair enough. But this isn’t some dirty senator walking right into your hands, Matt. Someone like Gray? He’s got round-the-clock security details and heavily armed convoys everywhere he goes. If you’re looking to make him dead, I can think of about fifty ways we can make that happen, and I’m a little bit drunk right now, so it’d probably be closer to seventy-five come morning. But if you want to get close enough to nab this guy and have a chat with him… Well, I’m just not seeing how we make that happen.”
Hagan acknowledged Solomon’s concern with a slight nod. Hagan was worried about the same thing long before Solomon even brought it up. He had been thinking of ways to snatch up Gray ever since Price ratted him out, but short of methods that required having a small army at his disposal, he was still drawing a blank.
“There’s always an in, Saul. Just a matter of finding it.”
Solomon gave a halfhearted shrug. “Just let me know what you need me to do.”
Hagan nodded with appreciation. “We’ll take a coupl
e days and get situated here. After that, we’ll start scoping out Gray’s place. See if we can find a chink in the armor that we can exploit. All a couple of pros like us need is a small window of opportunity,” Hagan said with a smirk. “If not, I guess we’ll just have to make a window ourselves.”
Chapter 30
Gray’s heavy eyes scanned over yet another report on the failed raid at Aileen’s. What a disaster, he thought, his head throbbing with tension. Once the dust had settled, thirteen of Alexandria’s finest men were dead, a mountain of evidence had been destroyed, and they were no closer to recovering Colonel Price than they were when he first disappeared. And, on top of that, someone had given the insurgents advanced warning of the raid.
He slammed his fist on his dining room table, a loud, exhausted sigh quickly following. Unable to take any more, Gray got up from the table, retrieved a glass of scotch from the kitchen, then made his way to the stairs. He paused as he reached the top, a loud knock echoing off the marble floor of the foyer. Another sigh escaped his lungs as the weary man turned around and descended the stairs he’d just climbed. Knowing that two guards were posted on the other side, he didn’t bother to check to see who was visiting and just opened the door.
“Shravya?” Gray said, his voice filled with surprise. “Please, come in,” he said, gesturing her inside.
“Thank you, Anthony,” she said, stepping out of the cold and into the warmth of his house.
Gray closed the door behind her and followed her into his study, the heels of her black pumps clicking loudly off the floor. Shravya made herself at home in the office, taking off her coat and revealing a red skirt suit that blurred the very fine line between professional and sexy. Draping the coat over the back of a brown leather chair, Shravya sat down and crossed her legs.
Shravya’s figure was the first thing Gray noticed after meeting her for the first time more than twenty years ago. Of course, being a happily married man on a job interview, not to mention being nearly ten years her senior, Gray had made sure his moments of appreciation for her beauty were subtle and infrequent. But even so, she often noticed and offered a seductive smile whenever she did. The same seductive smile she wore on her face as she sat in the chair across from him. But there was also worry in her eyes.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Gray asked before taking a sip of his drink. “Can I get you anything? Scotch?” he said, holding up his glass. “Some white zin?”
“No, thank you, Anthony. To be perfectly honest, I came to check on you.”
“Check on me?” Gray said, a quizzical look on his face. “I’m okay,” he said confidently. “Frustrated, but okay.”
“That’s good,” she said, her long, slender fingers stroking the arm of the chair absentmindedly. “Because, I really need you to start making some headway on this situation very soon,” she said, a plea of desperation in her eyes. “As you know, I am the most senior member on the Council, and with that comes an extra layer of influence. But Anthony, I can only stall for so long. The Council wants you removed.”
“Removed…” Gray repeated.
The urgency and worry in Shravya’s eyes told Gray that he understood the fatal undertones behind the word. “Their patience is wearing thin, and I really need to take something back to them to keep them from moving forward on that.” Shravya leaned forward and reached across the small, round coffee table separating them. She lightly grabbed his hand and stroked it with her thumb, a fretted smile on her face this time. “Please tell me you have something.”
Gray closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Images of passion between him and the woman stroking his hand flashed through his head with tormenting pleasure. No matter how hard he tried to blot out his years of infidelity to Jasmine, he seemed to remember each and every night he spent with Shravya in vivid detail. He remembered ignoring his conscience each time their lips met. He remembered shrugging off the disgust he felt with himself whenever he ran his hand along her smooth skin. He remembered all the time he spent with her instead of his beloved wife, whose body was being consumed by a cancer no one knew she had until after it was too late.
He felt sick to his stomach just thinking about it. His only consolation was that she never learned of the affair before taking her last breath. The lifelong burden would be his to bear, and his alone.
Gray stared achingly into Shravya’s deep, brown eyes. The two of them hadn’t shared a bed since he found out about Jasmine’s aggressive cancer, but it wasn’t from a lack of desire. It wasn’t that Gray didn’t want to be with Shravya again—to feel her embrace once more. To hear her soft whimpers in his ear—but he wouldn’t allow it. It was his penitence for a life unfaithful to the woman he loved. But in that moment, as Shravya looked at him with loving, almost devoted eyes, Gray felt weaker than ever. He wanted to cave.
This was a side of Shravya no one else knew existed. Her husband, Sam, perhaps, before he left her. But beyond that, it was a side seemingly reserved for him. Back when she was climbing the ranks at the Apollo Group, Shravya was viewed as cold, calculated, and heartless. She had ice in her veins and was rarely challenged because of it. Many people viewed her as a callous bitch, a view that never bothered Shravya, but Gray always saw her as a motivated businesswoman, doing what was necessary to be more successful than the day before. Aside from being attractive, the woman exuded a confidence like he’d never seen. And the more he worked with her, the more captivated he became. That led to a careless lapse of judgment during a late night at the office, which led to a long and passionate affair.
“Anthony,” she said, squeezing his hand, “tell me something. Give me something that I can take back to the Council, so they know we’re making progress on this.”
Gray puffed his cheeks as he let out a long-winded breath. “Well,” he said hesitantly, “we have a name.”
“This is excellent news!” Shravya said excitedly, her bright white teeth contrasting against her olive-toned skin. “Who is this man?”
“His name is Matthew Hagan. He was once part of a clandestine group called the Ground Division. Funded by the CIA.”
“What else do you know? Is there more?” she said optimistically.
Gray frowned, there was a look of dread on his face.
“What is it, Anthony? You can tell me.”
Gray set his Scotch down on the coffee table and got out of his chair. He walked over to his desk, rifled through some papers and came back with a single sheet in his hand. He gave it to Shravya.
“What’s this?” she asked, her eyes scanning through a long list of names with the word DECEASED next to each one. “Wait… Matthew Hagan. It says here that he’s dead,” she said, pointing at the paper. “What is this, Anthony?” she repeated.
Gray leaned against his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “Fifteen years ago, Apollo compiled a list of names of various people we thought might become… problematic for us when Delphi was activated. We sent those names out to a specialized group within Vortex called Hunter Killers. These teams were given the task to cross those names off that list…
“Matthew Hagan was a special case. Not only was he marked for elimination, but he also became the fall-guy for the Diablo Canyon meltdown.”
The worry grew on Shravya’s expression.
“But,” Gray continued, standing up from his desk to pace around the room, “it’s obvious now that the Hunter Killers weren’t exactly thorough with their work, because, as we’ve painfully learned, Matthew Hagan is very much alive and well.”
Shravya’s expression fell blank, as if she was struggling to process everything Gray had just said. “So, you think he’s here for revenge?” she asked.
“Yes,” Gray said, stopping in front of her. “But not for that.”
Shravya’s brow scrunched with confusion. “What the hell are you talking about, Anthony?” she said, paranoia edging into her voice.
“This is where things become problematic, Shravya. For both of us,” he said, his face ha
rdening. “While a man doesn’t forget a thing like being framed for a nuclear disaster in California, he doesn’t just show up fifteen years later to settle the score. Hagan is here for something much more recent. And, if possible, more personal than being pegged for an act of terrorism he didn’t commit.”
Shravya, her jaw hanging slack as the paper in her hand began to tremble, stared vacantly at Gray, as if looking through him. She shook her head. “Why is he here, then?”
Gray’s reluctance to tell her was evident as he took a breath to speak but couldn’t find the words. The truth was just as damning for her as it was for him. Perhaps even more. But eventually, he mustered up the courage. “I believe this is about Samaya.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?” Gray asked.
Shravya remained quiet for a moment, then changed directions. “Do you have any evidence to support this claim?”
“Not definitively, no. However, one of my men dug deep into each of Hagan’s victims. The only thing that linked them all together was their payment for Operation Cassandra.”
“Could just be a coincidence,” Shravya said, almost pleading for Gray to believe her. “There were a lot of people involved with that.”
“Do you remember who I put in charge of that operation?”
Shravya thought for a moment, the color quickly draining from her face as the name came to mind. “Colonel Price.”
“Yeah. Hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
“So, you think Price was taken by this Hagan man, too?”
Gray shook his head with frustration. “I honestly don’t know,” he said, finally sitting back down in the chair across from her. “The insurgents have just as much reason to go after Price as Hagan would. For all we know, Hagan might have been recruited by Cleon and the insurgents after arriving. We just don’t know. Sometimes the evidence points to him working with them, other times it seems as if he is off doing his own thing.”
Shravya folded her hands over her face, closed her eyes and let out an exacerbated sigh.
