Masks of Ash

by Adrian J. Smith

  She pressed the remote. The monitors behind her flicked on and cycled through images. Ryan stared, transfixed. Images of trains derailed, burned-out wreckages, airports with mangled planes, highways and interstates a sea of chaos and devastation. The screens showed the major cities of the United States: Los Angeles, San Francisco, Chicago, Houston, New York, Boston, Miami. It was the same carnage, again and again.

  “Any news on other countries?” Ryan said.

  Avondale nodded and opened a new file. No change. Cities and civilization in ruins. London, Paris, Moscow, Shanghai, Dubai, Cairo, Cape Town, Sydney, Auckland, Mexico City, Rio de Janeiro. All over the world, no population center had been spared.

  “Have any other operatives survived?” Cal asked.

  “Some. Scattered around the world. A few here in America. Avondale sent out an alert to stay off the grid but be ready to act,” Lisa said. “Ten years ago, the other agencies and LK3 got together in the effort toward inter-agency cooperation. It was decided to have sleeper agents planted throughout the government departments because it was feared that homegrown terrorism would be a greater threat than religious extremists. The agents were to perform their jobs and have no contact with us unless a threat to national security forced them to blow their cover.”

  Ryan shook his head in disbelief. “So you’re telling me that even with that, no one – not a single agent – discovered anything?”

  “It appears that way, yes. I suspect something else. Something I dared not think of because it tears at the very fabric of all I believe in,” Lisa said, her voice strained. “We were responsible for our own agents and had a ballot as to where they were planted. LK3 had an agent in the Secret Service. I put her on as an entry-level security detail. She slowly worked her way up to eventually work at the White House. I feared she had perished, but this morning we received this.” Lisa clicked the remote again, changing the image.

  Ryan frowned when he saw the crisis room of the White House. It was as expected: generals, advisors, secretaries of state and defense, the vice president. And President Ward, sitting at the head of the table. The footage was grainy, but the audio was crisp. He recognized the voice in an instant. Victor Offenheim.

  “President Ward. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “Our meeting ran over. I do have a crisis to manage.” Ward hissed through his teeth. “You did promise me total control. Instead, I must put out fires caused by your Black Skulls. I should nuke your little mountain escape and be done with OPIS.”

  “Do you think we would trust you with those codes? Any of you politicians? Go ahead and try.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “If you are quite finished with your little tantrum, President Ward. Do you have the report I asked for?”

  “Yes. But I want to know why the plans have changed again.”

  “No plan survives first contact. You know that. We are adapting as needed.”

  Ryan stared at the screen not quite sure what he was seeing and hearing. It was unfathomable that anyone would knowingly help OPIS. He noted that Ward at least tried to make a stand against bombing the east coast and killing civilians. He took a deep breath and refocused on the footage.

  A man wearing an expensive gray suit stepped forward. As he did so, he drew a black box from his pocket, about the size of a cigarette packet. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I think a demonstration is in order. Perhaps the new secretary of state.”

  The man in the suit nodded and ran the device over the back of the secretary’s neck.

  “What’s going on? What is this Offenheim?”

  The man clicked the red button on the box. The secretary screamed and clutched her head, her eyes bulged, and her tongue shot out of her mouth like a snake’s. As Ryan watched, her arms bent, and her hands locked into claws. Desperately, she clutched at the desk before toppling off her chair.

  The secretary screamed, a long sound filled with anguish and terror. She howled once more, then fell silent as her body disintegrated and turned to ash.

  Several of the Secret Service agents looked between themselves, then drew their weapons and took aim at the man holding the black box.

  Ryan sat frozen, stunned at what he had just witnessed. If he hadn’t seen the footage, he wouldn’t have believed it possible. Ward, the former secretary of state and now President, openly conspiring with OPIS? The other men and women present in the crisis room had to be as well. Only those three Secret Service men appeared outsiders. His mind reeled as he processed the depth of the conspiracy. He understood Yamada now. OPIS had been planning this since the 1950s, slowly moving people into position.

  Ryan glanced up at Booth, his oldest friend, who tapped his fingers in rhythm on the boardroom table. The corner of his mouth twitched as he returned Ryan’s gaze. Ryan knew he felt it too, the sense of dread, hopelessness. What could they – The Nameless, and scattered dregs of LK3 – do against the might of the US Armed Forces at Ward’s disposal?

  “Holy mother of pearl,” Booth murmured, shaking his head. “I never liked that Ward. Shifty eyes. We have to get this to Munroe and Captain Richmond; to everyone and anyone left.”

  Avondale grinned. “Already taken care of.”

  “We have to be careful,” Ryan interjected. “I mean, we don’t know who we can trust. Yamada told us that OPIS’s claws dig deep.”

  “We sent it to Munroe immediately. He has offered to help in any way he can and is talking to other bases up and down the Pacific coast. He has a lot of friends. Our primary objective is to take down Offenheim at The Eyrie, but before then, we have another mission we need to complete.”

  “I know this seems hopeless,” Lisa said, giving voice to everyone’s fears. “Some of you are religious and believe in God, so take that faith and believe that He or She has a plan. Even if you don’t, and have a different belief system, it doesn’t matter. Because you’re here. You do this job for the right reasons, to protect humanity. So take that belief and remember those moments. All those moments, those lessons, those queer coincidences that have led you to be here. Hold onto those because you – we – are going to need them.” Lisa clicked her PowerPoint remote once more. The image changed. On screen now was the Legacy Emmanuel Medical Center.

  Ryan frowned. What was this all about?

  “Earlier, we decided to extract Doctor Josie Lahm from this center. Zanzi met her at The Eyrie. She’s an expert in nanotechnology. We need her. Avondale believes that with her and Sofia’s help, we can send a localized pulse to render the OPIS elites unconscious and take down Offenheim.” Lisa paused to pass out folders. “The mission brief to get Dr. Josie Lahm. Nameless, I could really use your help with planning.”

  “We’ll need some equipment to replicate that pulse,” Sofia said. “Sorry, going back to the OPIS problem.”

  Zanzi pulled the microchip readers from her rucksack and plonked them on the table with a thud. “Like this?”

  Sofia chortled and shook her head. “Yes, like that.”

  “Do you think you can do it?” Lisa said.

  “It was my idea. The pulse was to take out the Black Skulls that had Yamada’s lab surrounded. It was our backup plan. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry, maybe I would have figured out what Touma Yamada had in mind for us. So, yeah, I can replicate it,” Sofia said.

  Ryan pursed his lips and ran his eyes over the briefing. His eyebrows shot up when he read Zanzi’s idea. He looked at his daughter, pride swelling in his gut. “This is you?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Ingenious. This will work.”

  “Good.” Lisa smiled. “Avondale, you have the floor.”

  The computer genius shifted from one foot to the other. He stumbled over his first few words before regaining control. “I’ve been watching the medical center. There are several entrances, but I think the front doors are the best option. It’ll be where they expect someone to arrive.” Using a laser pointer, Avondale indicated the entrance he meant. “Four guards are stat
ioned here at all times.”

  “You guys notice the uniform change?” Zanzi observed.

  “Yes. I should’ve mentioned that. Around the time you left the previous safe house, I noticed the Black Skulls disappearing, to be replaced by these guys. But if you look closely at the first guy on the left, he has a scar on his jawline. A few hours ago, he was wearing a Black Skull uniform. Same guy.”

  “Why would they change uniforms?” Reid said.

  “It wasn’t working,” Lisa said. “The camps and shelters. People were suspicious, stopped going to them.”

  Avondale cycled through the camera feeds. “Once you have the doctor, get across this skybridge to the main car park building. If we have several drivers ready to leave at the same time, it’ll confuse any Black Skulls chasing us.”

  “Too noisy,” Ryan said. “If we’re silent, we won’t need them. We leave on foot, at least for a few blocks.”

  The meeting carried on for several more minutes as they ironed out the details. Lisa stood in front of the monitors, her gaze wandering over those gathered as they talked.

  “We leave in a few hours to be in time for their shift change. President Ward has issued martial law and a curfew at eighteen hundred hours. This is a dangerous mission, no doubt about it. We need Lahm to take down Offenheim. Zanzi, Ebony, Jolene, you’re Gamma team. Get inside and let Alpha team in. Ryan, Cal, that’s you. Find Lahm and get out. Backup is Beta team, Booth and Reid. Avondale, Sofia and Allie will be Control and I’ll oversee. This is a Green Ops mission. Do your best not to discharge your weapon.”

  Lisa waited until they’d all left the room, apart from Avondale. “Load up the van. Everything you need. Once we have Lahm, we’re moving to Outpost Amon Hen.”

  Avondale let out a small chuckle. Then he caught Lisa’s frown. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at the order. Just remembering how you let me name all our safe houses and outposts.”

  “Just get it done, Avondale,” Lisa said. She shook her head as she left the room. She had another place in mind. One that only she knew of. A place for a situation such as this. She would let the others know later. The next few hours and days were going to be difficult. She was confident, even had a sense of destiny as though all her life, everything that she had been through and achieved, had been for this one purpose.

  Eighteen

  The Portland weather had granted The Nameless a favor. Despite it being April, the day had been warm, so when night fell, the cool sea breeze turned to mist as it met the city. In the darkness, they crept through the small park laden with oak trees until the parking garage was within view. Nothing moved. Silent and slow, they crept forward and jumped the low wall into the car park. Most of the vehicles sat, doors closed, silent. As Ryan passed a BMW with its driver’s door ajar, he spotted a briefcase lying open, its papers scattered – some lying on the seat and others covering the footwell. Frozen ash remains still clutched the briefcase. Whatever events occurred next, the images of the billions lost would be forever etched on Ryan’s mind.

  Using a large SUV as cover, he crouched and duck-walked the last couple of meters, then thumbed his comms. “Alpha team in position.”

  “Copy that. Hold,” Sofia said.

  Cal elbowed him softly in the side. “Are we doing the right thing?”

  “What? This?”

  “No, letting Zanzi head into danger,” Cal said.

  “Maybe. She’s proven that she can handle herself, and she knows Lahm. If one of us goes charging in there, it might spook the doctor.”

  “True. I hope she’s worth it. We should be on the way to the Sierra Nevadas to blow that cursed satellite installation to smithereens. It’s the only way to be sure Offenheim is stopped.”

  “You don’t think this localized pulse will work?”

  Cal shrugged. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t OPIS have thought of that? Remember Yamada Tower? It was a Faraday cage. Nothing electronic could get in or out. The Eyrie will be the same.” She snapped her MP5 up at a sound. Just a pigeon flying to its roost. They had chosen the submachine gun for its built-in suppressor, and the fact it was one of the best for close-quarters battle.

  This is a Green Ops mission… The director’s words echoed in Ryan’s head.

  He peered into the mist, searching for the car that was to bring Gamma team to the hospital. Had they been caught?

  He turned back to his wife. “Why didn’t you say something at the briefing?”

  “Because I’m not certain, that’s why. Maybe we can flush OPIS from their satellite installation and hit them with the pulse. Whatever we do, Offenheim expects an attack.” Cal shrugged again and continued to watch their backs. “It’s the way he thinks.”

  Ryan agreed with her. OPIS knew The Nameless would attempt an attack. The question that had plagued him since Dutch Harbor was why they hadn’t been taken out yet. Those F-16s had been playing with them, tormenting, teasing.

  Is this all just a game to you, Victor?

  “Beta team in position,” Booth reported over the radio.

  “Copy that. Hold. Gamma incoming,” Sofia said.

  While Gamma distracted the guards at the front, Alpha needed to get to the morgue entrance, where they would be let in.

  All hospitals have a morgue, usually tucked away around the back or down a side lane. They don’t like to advertise the fact that not everyone could be saved.

  ***

  After collecting Adam’s body, Zanzi and Ebony used the sticky blood from his wounds to mess up their own heads and faces, doing their best to make it look realistic. Then Jolene drove slowly through the city.

  “Hospital coming into view now,” she said, glancing first at Zanzi, then at the back seat, where Ebony and the deceased Adam were. “Ready?”

  Zanzi blew out a breath. “As can be.”

  “I’m good,” Ebony said.

  Jolene gunned the engine and sped toward the hospital. The lights of the hospital shone out into the darkness like a candle beckoning moths to the flame. “Hold on. Nearly there.”

  The tires squealed as they hit the smoother concrete of the entrance ramp. Zanzi slouched in the front passenger seat, looking through her half-closed eyes. The main entrance to the hospital had become a makeshift memorial. The temporary construction fences and low garden walls had thousands of photos and homemade missing posters. Everywhere she looked, she saw fragments of lost humanity. Here, a photo of a smiling African American woman, long dreadlocks and brightly colored clothing. There, another smiling face, this time a young boy looking at the camera shyly, like that awkward school photo. A man in a business suit. Another with thick glasses. Surrounding the photos were hundreds of flowers, some in bunches, others just a single rose or a hydrangea. Candles burnt down to stubs next to messages of hope and prayer.

  Zanzi blinked away tears. It was all here, all Portland’s faith. Faith that, by some miracle, their loved ones had survived.

  Jolene brought the car to a sudden halt, locking the rear wheels.

  “Who the hell are you?” shouted an angry voice. “There’s a curfew.”

  “Please!” Jolene screamed.

  Perhaps a little too dramatic. Zanzi held her breath. Don’t oversell it.

  “Please. My friends were attacked by those things. Help!” Jolene screamed as she cracked opened the door.

  “Wait. Turn your car off and put your hands through the window,” the man said.

  “My friends? Help them, please! There’s so much blood!” Jolene started to sob.

  He repeated his commands until Jolene complied. Zanzi let out a breath, then forced her breathing to slow despite the rising panic, the doubts and fears that plagued her. Reid’s earlier conversation with her filtered through her mind. He had been right; she was a scientist, but sometimes fate and, if you believe it, destiny, have other plans.

  The passenger door opened and something cold and metallic prodded Zanzi in the chest.

  “This one’s still alive. This one too. Get a couple of orderlies
. Driver. Stay where you are,” he ordered.

  Zanzi kept her eyes shut and listened as the orderlies arrived and placed her on a gurney.

  “Take them down to Lahm. She’ll want to examine them. And the dead guy too,” he said.

  Minutes later, they were being wheeled down corridors and through double doors. Zanzi risked a peek to her left. Ebony’s arm hung from the next gurney. She strained to hear, listening for Adam’s gurney; their weapons were tucked inside his stomach cavity.

  Zanzi recognized Josie’s voice as the gurney slammed through another set of doors.

  “Over there,” Josie said. “The emergency team will attend to them. I’ll take the deceased.”

  Zanzi’s eyes were forced open and a bright light shone into them. She blinked and tried to focus. An Asian man with graying hair peered back at her. He continued to assess her, feeling her limbs for breaks. He shook her shoulder.

  “Can you hear me? My name is Doctor Chang.”

  Zanzi let out a groan and rolled around on the metal trolley. “Hurt,” she mumbled.

  “Where does it hurt the most?”

  “All over.”

  “Were you shot?”

  “No. The blood’s not mine,” Zanzi said.

  That was the agreed signal to Ebony. Ebony bolted up off the bed and plunged the syringe full of tranquilizer, which she had prepared earlier, into the neck of the doctor standing over her gurney in one fluid motion. At the same time, Zanzi pushed Chang away. Chang stumbled backward, his eyes flicking around the brightly lit ER. Zanzi followed his gaze. A couple of feet away was a large red button for alerting security. Chang never got a chance to push it. Ebony slammed her elbow into his temple, dropping him like a sack of potatoes, and administered a dose of the sedative.

  They dragged the doctors into another room and tidied up to make it look like they had been moved to surgery. Next, they dressed in white lab coats and went through to the next room.

  Doctor Josie Lahm blinked in surprise when she saw them. She looked at Zanzi, then back at Adam’s body, which now lay on her autopsy table. She had cleaned away the blood from his head and bullet wound. She brushed past them, shut the door, and pushed them up against it.