by Jeff Gunhus
“But my understanding is that we’re not—”
“We’re not ready?” he said. “No, not for the entire plan. But the broad strokes are there. We will be completely ready for a global rollout in less than a year.”
She digested that information. Everything she’d been told by the Council predicted a seven- to ten-year time horizon. A year? Could it be that close? “The Council knows this?”
Ryker stared at her and she felt his eyes evaluating her. “You know something now even they do not. Only me. And my scientific team, of course. But they are sequestered in labs under lock and key.”
She felt a rush at knowing something so monumental. But with the adrenaline came a bout of nausea. A year. It was so soon.
“You see?” Ryker said. “Even you feel it. When the new beginning is that close, people will react in unexpected ways. I predict half the Council will get cold feet when it’s time for action. That’s why they can’t know.”
She sensed this moment was why she’d been summoned. This was the test. “What do you want me to do?”
He smiled, apparently pleased that she’d realized the moment had arrived. “I want you to bring this Townsend business to a conclusion. Show me that you’re not conflicted about any of the circumstances inherent in this situation.”
“That won’t be a problem.”
“And I’ll need another demonstration of loyalty from you.”
She steadied herself, her internal alarm ringing. The real ask was here.
“I believe we need clarity to achieve the task ahead of us. A singular voice to set objectives, dictate the precise actions Omega needs to take to achieve its goals. Leadership by committee has taken us this far, but it won’t suffice as we do the hard work ahead.”
“Each member of the Council controls their own levers of power. Decentralized by nature.”
“But you know how the dots are connected, don’t you?” Ryker said with a sly look. “Sometimes out of necessity when you run an operation. But you’ve been doing digging on your own, too. Unmasking the Council one by one. Gathering leverage on them.”
The Director tried not to show the pulse of fear that she felt at the words. The accusation was akin to reading out charges right before summary execution. It was all true, of course. But she thought she’d been clever enough to hide her activity. She wondered who besides Ryker knew. She glanced at the door in front of them, imagining that a small squad of men were on the other side, waiting for Ryker’s signal to take her. If that was the case, then the stairs behind her were probably also guarded. What a fool she’d been to come here.
She turned to Ryker, dropping the subterfuge of the submissive underling reporting to her superior. She let her anger show. “If you’re planning on taking me down, you’ll be dead before anyone puts a finger on me.”
Ryker appeared shocked at first. She wondered when was the last time someone had spoken back to the billionaire, let alone to threaten his life. But he recovered quickly and responded in a way she hadn’t expected. He laughed.
“I’m not here to take you down,” he said. “I’m here to elevate you. Give you a promotion. Recruit you to my cause, if you will.”
She was puzzled, and it must have shown on her face because Ryker continued.
“I have my own resources to achieve my vision, but it would take years to do it on my own. With Omega, we can transform the world in less than a year. I need you to help me marshal the resources of Omega. Share with me the dots you’ve connected. I’m the strategy, but I need a tactician. And I believe that’s you.”
“And the Council?”
“You and I both know there are members on the Council who don’t possess the backbone to finish what they’ve started. They lack certainty at a time when it’s the most required trait to possess.”
“And you possess that certainty?”
“I see humanity’s one chance for salvation. I’ve never been so certain of anything in my life.”
The Director pretended to think over the proposition. She really had no choice but to accept. If he’d caught her working behind the scenes to unmask the members of the Council, he already held her life in his hands. She was buying herself some time to think through how best to make Ryker understand that her acceptance of his offer was genuine.
She’d come with the hopes of forging an alliance with Ryker. Instead, she was being offered a front row seat in his insurrection against the Council. She couldn’t have imagined a better outcome.
“I dedicated my life to this mission as a young girl,” she said. “I’ve sacrificed all semblance of a normal life so I could be here at this moment. I have clarity on what needs to be done. You’re not the only one who possesses certainty.”
Ryker clapped his handed together. “Good. Very good. But remember my two caveats. Finish this business with Townsend and the loose ends with the Roberts agents.”
“And you mentioned one other test of loyalty,” she said. She was curious what was waiting for her on the other side of the door. She was rarely surprised by anyone, but she couldn’t get a read on Ryker. It felt dangerous, and she liked it.
Ryker invited her to open it. On the other side was a small room, set up like a prison cell with a cot and a toilet in the corner. A prisoner was tied to a chair, a gag in her mouth.
Sweena Mehta.
One of the most powerful women in the world and one of the most vocal members on the Council. The one who had challenged the Director the most in the last meeting.
When Mehta saw her, she struggled against her bindings, desperate guttural sounds filling the small room.
“The culling of those who lack pure intention begins now. Do you need a weapon?” Ryker asked.
The Director stepped into the room, stopping right in front of Mehta. She stared down at the woman for several seconds. Mehta looked back up at her, her eyes pleading.
“No,” the Director said, pleased that the loyalty test being asked of her was something she was actually going to enjoy. “That won’t be necessary.”
Mehta screamed through her gag as Ryker shut the door.
CHAPTER 25
Asset didn’t like what he saw.
He’d hoped for a while that Hawthorn was leading him to Scott and Mara Roberts. His employer had made it clear that even though Townsend was primary, the Robertses were to be eliminated if found. Since the Tribune Tower, he’d been occupying his mind by devising ways to torture them. He knew the emotion was unwise and it ran counter to his training, but the two had ruined his perfect record. They’d interrupted his operation and forced him to retreat from the field without a kill.
For the first time in his career. And for the most important of clients.
Asset didn’t like losing. Something drilled into him as a boy when his Serbian masters had savagely beaten him each time he lost in the cage matches where he’d earned his keep. Some of the boys shut down after a few months, unable to take the abuse. Asset’s reaction had been different. He simply stopped losing.
Even since his training with the FSB, where his handlers had taught him to control the rage when it threatened to overwhelm him, losing still provoked a visceral reaction in him. Only a few months earlier he’d lost to a stranger at pool in a roadside dive bar. He’d almost been able to walk away until the man taunted him, trying to get Asset to play again. He broke both of the man’s arms and nearly ripped the man’s lower jaw from his face.
And Asset didn’t even consider himself any good at pool.
But he was the best in the world at killing. So the Robertses deserved more than broken arms for ruining his perfect record. And they would get it.
At first, he’d been ecstatic when he’d seen the two of them on the screen, allowing his heart rate to increase by ten beats per minute before forcing it back under control. But he didn’t like the way Hawthorn allowed the girl to hit him. That didn’t make any sense. Unless he was trying to convince them to come in alive.
That’s not what his emp
loyer wanted.
He wasn’t certain his employer wanted Hawthorn alive much longer either. Asset wouldn’t mind killing the old man. He’d do it free of charge, paying him back for nearly making him look like a fool when he was tracking him from the airport.
But then the totally unexpected happened. To Asset’s disappointment, the old son of a bitch pulled a gun and shot both Robertses dead.
The drone was close when it happened. Probably nearer than was advisable to avoid detection, but the directional microphones weren’t picking up the sound, so he’d been forced to fly in tight.
And now he was looking at two bodies on the ground.
The old man had even more surprises in him than he’d thought.
Asset pulled the drone back and higher. There was no audio to be heard, unless Hawthorn was in the habit of talking to himself. But Asset wanted to watch.
Hawthorn took off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and then pulled one body at a time over to one of the small livestock sheds. Then he disappeared into the main barn and came back with a gasoline can. He spread the fuel outside the shed and then appeared to dump the rest inside. Hawthorn bent down, and seconds later wide swaths of flame leapt up the shed walls. It was old wood, dried out after decades of Iowa summers and winters, and it caught fire with ferocity.
Asset looked up from the tablet and spotted the thin column of black smoke rising in the distance. He wondered whether it would draw attention, but decided it likely wouldn’t. Farms burned trash all the time. That was all Hawthorn was doing, burning the trash.
Back on the screen he watched Hawthorn stare at the blaze for over a minute. Just standing there like he was lost. Asset wondered whether he’d been injured. Maybe one of the Roberts had gotten a shot off after all. Or maybe a knife wound.
Or maybe he was just a confused old man.
Asset chided himself for the thought. He underestimated Hawthorn at his own risk. The man had evaded him on the way out here and then taken out two top operatives by himself. He had to stop thinking of him as an old man. The guy was still able to take the fight to the enemy.
Finally, Hawthorn climbed back into the Escalade and drove back up the road. Asset rolled the motorcycle into the cornfield and waited for him to pass. It was easy to track the progress with the mini-drone, but that was about to come to an end. The battery alert flashed in the corner and soon the drone would automatically return to its base. He wished he had a backup, but it wasn’t necessary. He imagined Hawthorn had to go back to Chicago to see Townsend. With the motorcycle, it’d be easy enough to catch up to him on the open road. He wanted to take a look down at the farmhouse first.
* * *
The fire still burned hot by the time he parked the motorcycle in front of the livestock shed. The roof caved in as he watched, sending a whirlwind of sparks and smoke into the sky. The metal grain silo next to it was coated black on one side, but the fire had nowhere else to spread.
He tried to get in closer, knowing his employer would like a photo of the bodies as proof, but the heat kept him at bay. He had the recording from the drone, so that would have to suffice. It was Hawthorn’s kill. He had no problem giving credit where it was due. He got paid either way. Besides, the real target was Townsend.
Asset went inside the farmhouse and did a quick look around. He didn’t think the Robertses would have picked up a third person for their team, but he stayed alive by being thorough. He explored the small house, appreciating its Spartan furnishings and pure functionality. It was the kind of place he could live in.
He found a bag of guns and small explosives. After a quick inventory, he zipped up the bag and hoisted it on his shoulder. Maybe when he had time, he’d return the guns to Harry Walker and give him a little lesson in manners.
On the porch, he spotted a cooler. He opened it up and groaned. Bud Light. Who in their right mind would drink Bud Light?
A floorboard creaked inside the house.
Asset instantly had the bag off his shoulder and gun out, his body pressed against the outside wall.
The floorboard creaked again. Unmistakably. Right inside the front door.
He aimed the gun along the wall. Head high.
The screen door edged open. Only an inch. Then it closed again.
Did the person inside know he was here?
He crouched lower and turned to the side, reducing his profile in case someone came out shooting.
The screen door edged open again, wider this time. Six inches or so.
Then it slammed shut.
The fattest cat he’d ever seen strutted across the porch.
Asset lowered his gun and laughed. He looked around, a human impulse when embarrassed, as if someone else might have seen the whole episode.
Little did he know, someone had.
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
Mara used an opening in the rusted grain silo to watch the man’s movements. It was only a half-inch wide and right on the floor, so she lay sprawled out on her belly, cheek against what she imagined was half corn dust and half mouse turds.
They were in the second silo over from the burning livestock barn. Once Hawthorn had dragged them over, it’d been easy enough to scramble into the chute that led into the first silo. Mara found herself thankful for the enterprising, or lazy, farmer who’d set up the chute to pour feed directly into the feeding troughs from the silo. Once inside, they’d crawled through the second connection and into the second silo.
Mara’s ears still rang from the shot fired at her from close range. She swore she’d heard the bullet whizz by her ear. She understood the plan to fake it, but she wondered if Hawthorn meant to come as close as he did.
Right before he’d pulled out the gun, he’d whispered quick instructions. Her dad had uttered a single word in reply. Go.
That was all she needed with her training. Sometimes hesitation got you killed. An audible from someone on the team had to be acted on immediately. If you trusted the person, that was. She didn’t fully understand the plan, but she trusted her dad did. That realization, that she had some semblance of trust again, wasn’t lost on her. A couple of days earlier she wouldn’t have believed him if he’d told her the sky was blue. Things had changed.
But now, in the silo, she wondered what in the hell she’d agreed to.
The man outside moved with easy, fluid movements, eyes taking everything in. She didn’t recognize him, but that wasn’t too surprising. In her world, operatives known by their appearance were either hacks or washed up. Anonymity was a valued commodity among the elite. The good operatives were known by the trail of destruction they left behind, like the path of a tornado that passed in the darkest night. The truly top tier barely left a mark when they completed their jobs, giving those investigating a disappearance or sudden death no reason to suspect anything other than natural causes, or perhaps a random crime.
She watched him move from the burning shed to the farmhouse. When he was inside, she turned to her dad to ask him a question, but he put a finger to his lips and pointed outside, making a fluttering movement with his hands. The drone. They both knew some of the models were equipped with sensitive listening devices, perhaps even strong enough to pick up their whispers inside the silo.
She crawled to her knees and leaned into his ear. “Let’s take this guy. Make him tell us who he’s working for,” she whispered, so quietly she wondered if her dad heard.
He must have because he shook his head no. “He won’t know how to get them. And we want them to think we’re dead. Has its advantages.”
“And its disadvantages,” she whispered. “If they think we’re dead, what use is Joey to them?” She felt her gorge rise as she played out the logical conclusion. “They’re going to kill him. It’s the cleanest solution.”
“Calm down,” he said. “Hawthorn has his guys watching Joey. He’s not going to let anything happen to him.”
“Unless he’s caught. Then what?” She tried to stand up, moving toward the
small door in the silo, but a strong hand grabbed her sleeve and pulled her back down. It took every part of her self-control not to take a swing at him.
“Think it through. If you go out there, we lose our advantage. We reveal that Hawthorn just staged our deaths and is working with us. What do you think happens to Joey then?”
She strained against his grip, but it was like being caught in a vise.
“Let me go.”
“Emotion can’t drive action,” he said. “That’s how you end up dead.”
She wrenched her arm free and eyed the silo door. But they both knew she wasn’t going to walk through it. She was trapped. Both by the situation and because he was right. The safest thing to protect Joey was to stay in the silo and follow his plan.
She returned to her spot on the floor and watched as the man left the house with their duffel bag of weapons. Something spooked him and he took a defensive position against the outside wall of the house. Her first thought was that Hawthorn had circled back to get the drop on the man, but that didn’t mesh with her dad’s plan for Omega to keep trusting Hawthorn.
Then she saw the cat and nearly laughed. The man glanced around, as if to see if anyone had spotted him going head-to-head against the tomcat. This made her grin even more. She filed it away for later. This guy had an ego and it could be used against him someday.
A shot went off and she jerked back from her spyhole on reflex, losing sight of the man for a second. She was back in position in time to see him kick the cat’s lifeless body off the front porch.
Mara pushed her emotions back down, knowing the swell of anger inside her was counterproductive. Still, what kind of asshole shot a cat just for making him look bad?
The man jumped on his motorcycle, revved it up, and kicked up a tail of gravel as he hauled down the drive.
Mara sat up and leaned against the wall of the silo.
“I hope you’re right about staying put,” she said. “Because I would have loved to introduce myself to that guy.”
* * *
They resolved to wait inside the silo for another hour. There was no way to know whether the man had left a drone in place to monitor activity. Most of the drones had a max battery life of an hour, and those were the advanced versions. If they waited it out long enough, anything out there would run out of power and land harmlessly out in the corn.
