The Shadow Agent

by Daniel Judson

  Facing each other just outside the renovated three-story barn at the end of the driveway were the Colonel and Slattery, but there were two other people Tom didn’t immediately recognize standing shoulder to shoulder a few feet behind the Colonel.

  “Is that Cahill and Stella?” Grunn said.

  There was a hint of excitement in Grunn’s voice, and Tom understood why.

  If this were Cahill and Stella, then Krista should be here as well.

  Even at this distance, though, Tom knew that those two people weren’t who Grunn had hoped, despite the fact that the woman bore a resemblance to Stella.

  Tom would know the woman he loved from a mile away.

  Grunn parked the Cherokee behind Slattery’s motorcycle, shifted into park, and shut off the engine and lights.

  It was not yet dawn, and though the sky was a patchwork of dark clouds, there were enough gaps between them for some starlight to show through.

  This light was just enough for Tom to confirm the identity of the woman who was standing behind the Colonel.

  His gut tightened as he felt rage rising like a fire in his heart.

  Forty-Five

  Esa watched as the occupants of the Cherokee exited the vehicle.

  The first out was the front-seat passenger, and she recognized him from the files she’d been provided as being John Hammerton, former SAS.

  Next was the driver, Sarah Grunn, one of the two women a surveillance camera had captured sharing an intimate moment on a back porch. Grunn was, of course, also part of the team that had taken Esa captive.

  The third man was, of course, Sexton, the target of her failed assassination attempt.

  Like the two before him, Sexton’s eyes locked on Esa, but she saw in his stare the hard look of a man who was ready to kill—maybe even looking for an excuse to kill.

  Esa noted that as the trio walked forward, the two-man teams standing guard on the perimeter adjusted their positions to prevent setting themselves up in a cross fire.

  Any one of them—or all of them—could open up on Sexton and his friends without the risk of taking friendly fire.

  Sexton’s efforts to contain his anger were evident as he spoke to his commander. “What is she doing here?”

  The Colonel raised his hand in a calming gesture, but Sexton ignored it and kept approaching steadily.

  “She killed Garrick,” Sexton said. “And Lyman and Durand.”

  “Things have shifted, Tom.” The Colonel positioned himself between Sexton and Esa. “Lyman gave her no choice. I’ve seen video proving that. What was it your favorite philosopher said? The first law of nature is self-defense. As for Durand, a surveillance camera in the lobby of that safe house shows that she was killed by our own security team.”

  Sexton stopped several feet short of the Colonel. Esa got the sense that the two friends flanking him were prepared to grab him should he suddenly charge.

  “I’ve always counted on your levelheadedness, Tom,” the Colonel said. “You have never let me down once. I need to ask right now if you can ally with a former enemy, because that’s what you’ll be required to do if we’re going to do what needs to be done.”

  Sexton’s eyes remained fixed on Esa for a long moment. No one spoke. Eventually, Sexton broke his stare and looked at the man standing in front of him. “What’s going on?”

  The Colonel gestured to Slattery, who was holding a large folder, which she handed to Sexton.

  He took it but didn’t open it. “What is this?”

  The Colonel answered. “That is definitive proof that Raveis is the shadow agent.”

  Sexton still didn’t open the folder.

  “Inside are the dossiers provided to our new friend here by the Benefactor prior to her op,” the Colonel said. “Detailed files, Tom, on you and everyone you care about, complete with still photos, a number of which were taken by a surveillance team outside the Cahill estate on Shelter Island, a place very few know about. Even fewer knew you and your friends were there. The file on Stella includes a printout of a private cell phone photograph that she sent to you two years ago and that had been intercepted, along with all your text exchanges, by Savelle, Raveis’s contact at the NSA. You were promised that photo would be deleted, but it clearly wasn’t.”

  Sexton glanced down at the folder in his hand before looking back at the Colonel.

  “I told you, Tom,” the Colonel said, “Raveis collects opportunities. He sees them in everything. It’s his particular genius.” He paused. “Raveis conspired with the Benefactor to have you killed—you and whoever happened to be next to you at the time. That included the men he’d sent to bring you back to him.”

  “Why?”

  “Raveis lived for twenty years with the awareness that one day you might learn that he sent your father to his death. But there were purposes you could serve in the meantime, things you could do for us. Raveis was never one to squander an asset. Six months ago, though, he decided for whatever reason that he had pushed his luck and needed you dead. You were guarding the Nakash girl, Valena, and maybe he saw that as his best opportunity to get rid of you. He, as we’ve now learned”—he gestured to Esa and Karl—“was how the Algerian found you in Vermont, Tom. He leaked your location to the Benefactor and framed Carrington for it, then sent kill squads to silence him. But Carrington started digging and ended up joining forces with the one man who knew Raveis’s secret, a man who is now motivated to clear his conscience. Raveis suspected that the information Carrington wanted to give to you was directions on how to meet Smith, so he made yet another deal with the Benefactor that was beneficial to both of them: he provided the Benefactor with the location of the meeting and the route you’d be taking back to New York. He had the explosive device planted on the vehicle. And the team the Benefactor sent to kill you would retrieve the information Carrington had provided, which Raveis would use to take out Smith.”

  “But the drive Carrington gave me was encrypted.”

  “Encryption only slows access, it doesn’t prevent it. In the meantime, you’d be out of the way and your friends would believe that the Benefactor alone had had you killed. Raveis would be in the clear, and perhaps more importantly, he would be in the position to use your friends’ grief and anger to manipulate them into doing whatever it was he wanted them to do. My guess is he’d peg Smith as the shadow agent and send your friends to hunt him down and extract him.” The Colonel nodded toward the pair flanking Sexton. “Hammerton and Grunn here, as well as Stella and Cahill and the MacManus girl—they’d be unwitting pawns in Raveis’s game. And if the op he sent them on didn’t kill them, then once they served their purpose, whoever was left would be eliminated, too, because there’d always be the threat in Raveis’s mind of one of them getting wise and coming after him.”

  Sexton remained silent. His only movement that Esa could see was the rising and falling of his chest as he breathed in and out.

  Finally, he said, “How long has Raveis been making deals with the Benefactor?”

  “From the start.”

  “Was the Benefactor behind the attack on my mother and sister? Did he play a part in the Algerian’s hit team coming to my home?”

  The Colonel nodded. “If your father hadn’t been called away on a business trip at the last minute, he would have been killed that night. A decorated career operative murdered, along with his wife and daughter, in their home—assassinated by foreign agents—the outrage triggered by that would have opened the DOD coffers. Instead, Raveis had to wait another two years for his second chance. And when one didn’t present itself, he decided to create it.”

  The Colonel paused before continuing. “I’m afraid your father wasn’t the only one of us that Raveis betrayed over the years.” He glanced at Hammerton. “Your former commanding officer, Tuoghy, was a friend of mine. I recruited him. Raveis conspired with the Benefactor to have him killed.”

  “How do you know this?” Hammerton said.

  Esa answered that. “Because it was my
op. The Benefactor sent me to kill him.”

  She watched as the physically imposing Brit hardened, his eyes locked on her.

  The Colonel said, “It’s time to end this, once and for all. This is what you’ve been waiting for, Tom. This is what you and Stella have trained for. I’m activating you. Unlimited budget, everything you need, anyone and everyone you want on your team, starting right now.” He reached into his jacket and removed an envelope, offering it to Tom. “Cash, prepaid credit cards, and a series of phone numbers that will connect you with support personnel. Any tech or gear you might need, these people will get it for you.”

  Sexton looked at the envelope, then took it.

  The Colonel said, “I’ve been informed by Karl that General Graves has taken over the Benefactor’s security detail. His private army is made up of former US military. That’s what we’re up against, Tom. Fighting our very own.” The Colonel stepped closer to Sexton. “I founded this organization to keep Americans safe. A system free of the whims of poll-obsessed politicians and the interference of bureaucrats. For every operation you know about, there are dozens you don’t. Operations that took out imminent threats, hard missions carried out by dedicated men and women, some of whom paid the highest price in the performance of their duties. To continue doing what we do—what is necessary in these dangerous times—I need you to cut out the tumor at the heart of what I have given my life to. I need you, when the time comes, to hunt and kill Sam Raveis. With Raveis and the Benefactor gone, there’ll be no reason for you to spend your life in hiding. I know that’s what you want. That’s the deal we made, and that’s what I want for you, too. But we have to act fast, or we will lose this moment. We have a plan to take out the Benefactor tonight, and once that’s done, your hunt for Raveis begins. We have to do what needs to be done, Tom, without hesitation or remorse. We have to be as ruthless as our enemy. I need to know if you can do that. I need to know that I can count on you to do what needs to be done when the time comes.”

  Sexton was staring at Esa when he answered the Colonel. “What’s your plan?”

  “I’ll need to borrow Hammerton.”

  Sexton turned and looked at the Brit, who was also staring at Esa.

  Finally, Hammerton glanced at Sexton and nodded.

  Forty-Six

  Grunn drove the Cherokee.

  Ahead of them was Slattery on her BMW, leading them along back roads to her secluded home.

  In the passenger seat, Tom was holding the cell phone that Hammerton had passed to him discreetly prior to their parting ways.

  The Redcoats will answer this, Hammerton had said. If there’s trouble, any trouble, they’ll be there for you.

  Back in his room in Slattery’s house, Tom stretched out on the bed.

  Though it was now safe for him to sleep, he was too restless to do more than lie still and stare out the only window, beyond which was a sky cluttered with black clouds that threatened rain.

  The morning, as dark as dusk, seemed to only grow darker as the hours progressed.

  On the table next to the bed were Tom’s three phones—his burner phone, as well as the phones Cahill and Hammerton had given him.

  Stella was reachable by one; Torres—if she was still alive—by another; and a contingent of former SAS was waiting on the other end of the third.

  The SAS were a legendary counterterrorism group, and Hammerton, in Tom’s eyes, had never once fallen short of that status.

  Tom recalled the first time he had seen Hammerton—that night two years ago when a coded distress call had lured Tom into New York City to meet with Carrington.

  That meeting had been brief—Carrington had simply needed to inform Tom that a man named Sam Raveis wanted to talk to him.

  As Tom was driven away in an SUV sent to transport him to where Raveis was waiting, another man had joined Carrington, who was watching Tom from the sidewalk.

  He had a shaved head, like Tom’s was now, but a scarred, scowling face, and he was dressed in the manner of a private military contractor—black jacket, khaki pants, black boots.

  Less than twenty-four hours later, Hammerton had saved not just Tom’s life but also Stella’s.

  And it wouldn’t be the only time.

  Next to the phones on the nightstand was the envelope the Colonel had provided, along with Tom’s sidearm and spare mags.

  It was hard to avoid the fact that his life had been reduced to so little, but he didn’t really care about that. If anything, the life he’d been forced to live these past months—moving from safe house to safe house, waiting to be activated, clinging to his memories of Stella during his long hours and days of inactivity—served to both reaffirm what mattered and allow him to let go of what didn’t.

  Stripped of excessive possessions and any semblance of a daily routine, Tom had been made free to focus on his one and only goal.

  All that was required of him, in fact, was the patience necessary to wait for the day when he would be set loose.

  He had thought of little more than that very moment of action, and it was, it seemed, finally at hand.

  And yet the goalposts had been moved.

  The man he had believed was his target—the Benefactor—was no longer his primary target, and the man who had provided him with every assignment, not to mention his training—Raveis—was now the obstacle standing between Tom and the life he desperately wanted.

  I can see why you finally settled down, Raveis had said during their first meeting, letting him know that Stella’s cell phone had been hacked and that all the communications between them—including the private pics she would occasionally send Tom while he was at work—had been intercepted. She’s a very attractive woman. In great shape for her age. And the pearls are a nice touch.

  Tom had almost bolted from that meeting, and a part of him wondered now what would have happened had he listened to his gut that long-ago night.

  Would he and Stella still be in her apartment in Canaan, working long shifts, spending their nights together, waking beside each other at the crack of dawn every morning?

  But there was a more pressing question on his mind: Of those who were dead, who might now be alive?

  And another question: Of those still alive, who would be dead?

  Tom realized quickly enough that there was no point in asking such unanswerable questions, but that didn’t stop him from thinking of the peaceful existence he and Stella had made for themselves—the life they’d been living right up to the moment when Sam Raveis had entered it and forever altered their future.

  He was still thinking of that life when, around noon, he unwound enough to drift into a heavy sleep.

  Tom hears a sound from downstairs and sits up.

  He is surrounded by darkness.

  Reaching for the table beside his bed, he finds nothing but empty space.

  No weapon, no cell phones, no light to switch on.

  Rising from the bed, he crosses the room and opens the door.

  The hallway is empty, but the sound—a door closing, coming from below—repeats.

  Barefooted, Tom makes his way along the hall to the stairs, and then down those to the living room with the large fieldstone fireplace and stone mantel.

  The house is utterly still in that way unoccupied spaces can be—dormant and lifeless, and eerie, like a museum after closing.

  Tom hears the sound again, closer this time, and follows it to a room in Slattery’s house that he has so far not yet seen.

  The room is long and contains no furniture, but here the air is stagnant and cool, like the air inside a cavern. The only source of the noise that stirred him can be the closed door at the far end of that room.

  Tom approaches it, feels no fear as he opens it, sees only an even deeper darkness within, and steps through anyway—only to find himself back in the storage facility’s slow-moving elevator.

  To his right is the young man, who says to Tom, “I told you, the surveillance cameras are being monitored.” He pauses. “He�
��s watching you.”

  The man is smiling in a friendly way, but Tom doesn’t understand what his comment means.

  Before Tom can say anything, though, a woman’s voice comes from his left.

  “Hey, Tom.”

  He turns and sees the young woman, the muzzle of a nine-mil Glock leveled at his chest.

  The weapon is just inches away. The woman says, “We gotcha,” and fires.

  Tom woke with a gasp, sat up, and moved to the edge of the bed to wait for his racing heart to slow.

  Eventually he looked for the alarm clock on the nightstand and saw that it was four p.m.

  He had slept for four hours.

  If anything, though, this sleep had only made him more tired.

  His heart was just calming down when one of the three cell phones on the nightstand vibrated.

  It was the phone that Cahill had given him. Grasping it quickly, he looked at the display.

  U R OKAY?

  He thumbed the keys and sent his reply: YES.

  Another message came through, and this one told him that Stella was the sender.

  MISS YOU.

  He replied that he missed her, too.

  A half minute passed with no other message. Tom was returning the phone to the table when it vibrated in his hand.

  He looked at the display.

  HAVEN’T SEEN YOUR FACE IN SIX MONTHS. DO YOU LOOK DIFFERENT?

  Tom smiled and replied, MORE HANDSOME THAN EVER.

  Stella’s reply was a pair of emojis—a smiley face and a red heart.

  This was followed by: SEE YOU SOON.

  Tom keyed in YES and sent the message.

  He was still smiling when he returned the phone to the tabletop, but the smile faded as he was struck by a sudden realization.

  At first he wasn’t certain what to make of it, but after a half minute he understood what it was he would have to do.

  Forty-Seven

  Tom gathered his belongings, pausing to check the phone that Cahill had given him.