When Death Frees the Devil

by L. J. Hayward

  Not taking any chances, Ethan dragged the body from the hallway into the cell and after finding the key, locked the door, with himself still inside. Swiftly, he pulled clothes off the body closest to his own size but had to cinch the belt tighter. Jack was right. He’d lost too much weight. It was a thin disguise and he had no real hope of it working, but it might give him a few precious seconds. One of them handily had a pair of sunglasses. The reflective aviators weren’t exactly inconspicuous but they were better than running through an unknown place completely blind.

  As he picked weapons off the bodies, Ethan massaged his throat gently.

  He wasn’t the cold-blooded killer the Doctor said he was. Well, not only that. He’d been out on his own in the world nearly as many years now as he’d been under the influence of the Cabal and Doctor. In that time, he had developed his own rules for taking jobs and how he carried them out. He had said no to the Cabal so many times now it barely required an effort anymore. He had thrown off the name they’d given him—One-three—and become his own man.

  He wasn’t Ethan Blade, or One-three. Not even Paul St. Claire anymore. He was Ethan, the man Jack had shown him he could be. Damaged and grey, but worthy of something better, of being someone better. Someone who didn’t let the monsters from his past construct false walls for him anymore.

  Now he just needed to get beyond these real walls.

  Making sure the hallway outside was still empty, Ethan unlocked the door and slipped out. Blood smeared across his face to help obscure his features, he forced several deep breaths past his abused throat and then set out running.

  The halls he ran through were the same brick as the cell, lined with similar doors. A detention level. There had to be more guards. And sure enough, he hurtled around a corner and ran right into a thick-bodied man dressed the same as the dead guards and carrying a rifle.

  “What the fuck?” the man grumbled.

  Ethan’s gasps for air were real. “Thank god,” he rasped out. “The prisoner’s out. Killed the others. I barely got away.”

  The four guards came on instant alert. Weapons at the ready, one commanded Ethan to go to command and let them know what was happening while the rest went looking for the prisoner.

  Which confirmed something. None of the guards were carrying a radio, and if someone had to convey information on foot, it meant he was at a Cabal black site. Highly secret and completely hidden, with no external power sources and all buildings heat shielded so no hotspots would show up on satellite images. It also meant absolutely no telecommunications that could be picked up. Relaying information was a pain, but not one black site had ever been compromised. This bid for freedom just became even more vital.

  The second encounter didn’t go as well as the first. Halfway through his grating explanation one of the five men recognised him. Two of them were dead before the first man finished saying “It’s him.”

  Ethan rushed into the remaining guards. He spun and twisted in the middle of the enemy, punching and kicking. Within moments he’d worked out their strengths and weaknesses and from there, Ethan whirled into serious motion.

  One man came at him with brute strength and a snarl. Ethan twisted at the last moment and planted his foot in the back of his knee. The big man went down with a startled grunt, his knee cracking into the hard stone. Ethan forced him the rest of the way down, smashing his face into the floor.

  Another guard lunged at him, handgun first. Ethan smacked the weapon aside, grabbed his shirt and tumbled over backwards, feet in the man’s gut. He went with a yelp, cut off sharply as Ethan dropped him on his head.

  The third man didn’t rush in but circled, waiting. With Ethan on the floor, tangled with the other two, he made his move. Two swift kicks to Ethan’s back sent him sprawling. The whip damage flared supernova bright and Ethan jack-knifed at the intensity of the pain. He rolled, presenting his belly for the follow up blows, tensing his abdomen.

  Ethan knew the moment his attacker decided he wasn’t a true danger anymore. The kicks began to lack strength, with longer pauses between them. Which was when Ethan moved.

  Grabbing the man’s foot, Ethan pulled him off balance, then swept the man’s other leg out from under him so he crashed down. Ethan snatched a knife from the side of his boot and rammed it to the hilt in the man’s stomach.

  Hands caught Ethan around the neck. His abused throat spasmed, but he threw himself backwards and into the chest of the man behind him. It became a scramble of elbows and fists and knees until Ethan got the other man into a strangle hold. Ethan held on as the man struggled, but he couldn’t get free and went slack in Ethan’s hold. Not trusting him, Ethan held on for as long as he could, but the others weren’t entirely out of the fight yet.

  The man Ethan had dropped on his head was crawling away and the other one, with the knife in his stomach, was groaning as he moved in short bursts. Either one of them could get to a gun in seconds.

  Time was up. Ethan let the man go and he twitched as his body automatically pulled in air. Shoving him aside, Ethan scrambled towards the nearest gun. He closed his hand around the barrel of a rifle.

  Bang!

  Ethan was already moving. The bullet cracked into the floor where he’d just been. Flipping the rifle around, stock against his aching abdomen, he pulled the trigger and swept the weapon in shallow arcs. The man with the gun dropped and didn’t move.

  Movement behind him. Ethan rolled and repeated the move, taking out the stabbed man. One more bullet put the strangled one out of his quietly moaning misery.

  Agony swept through Ethan. His back was ablaze, his stomach ached, and his neck felt even more crushed. He gave himself precisely five seconds to wallow, then Ethan slowly got to his feet, braced against the wall for a moment and spat blood out of his mouth. After a few deep breaths, he replenished his weapons and continued onwards.

  Another fight like that wouldn’t end as well, so he continued at a cautious stalk. The first group would have undoubtedly discovered the dead men in the cell and worked out that Ethan had been the one they’d sent to command. It was highly likely they were coming up behind him and just as likely he was going to encounter more resistance before he found the way out.

  The next group didn’t detect Ethan creeping up on them. Crouched behind a corner, he studied them as they milled before a set of double doors. They were the first of that sort he’d seen, so they had to lead somewhere significant. Hopefully out of the detention level. Whatever lay beyond them, though, it would be a new challenge and Ethan had no desire to endure another hand-to-hand fight before he discovered it. Sadly, while he was working out how to take them down as efficiently as possible, one pair from the original group he’d bluffed his way past came up behind him.

  They must have had orders to keep him alive if possible, because the new arrivals shouted at him to put his weapons down. Which of course alerted the group by the door. They came on guard, weapons up and pointed down the hallway toward Ethan’s hiding spot.

  “All right,” Ethan called. “I surrender.”

  “Put the weapons down,” one of the pair to his left commanded. “Hands on your head and face the wall.”

  Ethan grabbed the two rifles he was carrying by their barrels and lifted, shaking the straps off his shoulders.

  “Drop them,” the other man shouted, his own weapon trained on Ethan.

  “Give me a second,” Ethan snapped back, irritably working the straps down his arms. “I’m a bit tied up here.”

  “Put them down!” More forceful, and perhaps a bit worried.

  “Look,” Ethan said patiently. “I’m doing the best I can.”

  One of the pair muttered to his fellow in German. Ethan pretended not to know his intelligence had just been insulted, and to have more issues with the rifle straps. The longer he took, the filthier the insults and, finally, the enemy rifles dropped to point at the floor.

  Twisting, Ethan threw one of his rifles at the pair to his left and flipped the other one to h
is now free hand. A spray of bullets took them out as they ducked the flying weapon. As the bodies crashed down, Ethan sprinted for them. Behind him, the other group sprang into action, racing up the next corridor, yelling for information.

  Just as they rounded the corner, Ethan hit the floor and rolled in behind the dead bodies. They were his only cover in the empty space. Bullets followed him, hitting the bodies he hastily pushed together and ducked behind. On his belly, he stuck the barrel of his rifle between the legs of the body on top and returned fire.

  The position was untenable. Even as two of the enemy dropped to lucky shots, Ethan knew his time was severely limited. He could replace mags in the rifle with those pilfered from the bodies, but the enemy could most likely replenish ammo and bodies from beyond those doors. Plus, there were the last two men from the first group somewhere behind him. He doubted the surrendering ploy would work a second time, and he had no guarantee that they wouldn’t just march him right back into a cell on this level.

  He’d have to retreat. Take his chances with the other two guards and try to find another way out.

  The enemy ceased fire.

  Ethan let his own finger relax on the trigger and listened as the last echoes died away. Muffled voices, deliberately low so he couldn’t hear. Then a familiar voice called out.

  “Ethan, are you all right?”

  No. Not this again, not so soon. The Doctor.

  “You’ve done very well to get this far, but you won’t make it any further alive. You know that, don’t you.”

  It wasn’t a question because it was plainly obvious to everyone there. Ethan was trapped. No way out. Surrender his only option.

  Ethan brushed his hand over his hip, where Jack’s rough and ready stitches still held his flesh together. Maybe here was good enough. There was a chance he wasn’t underground, but the sterile air and coolness in the walls said otherwise. Below ground or not, the fact of the matter was he had no other choices right then if he wanted to survive this.

  He pulled the rifle free and slowly held it up, then tossed it over the small barricade of corpses.

  “That’s good, mon doux garçon. I’m very happy you can see reason on this. Come, we’ll have a session.”

  The word sent a shiver down his spine, but Ethan suppressed the urge to keep fighting. He didn’t know if he could handle another “session” with the Doctor.

  Swiftly and confidently, the guards advanced. Hands bound behind his back with cuffs around his wrists and a restraint tied between his upper arms, they hauled him up and prodded him forwards. Not back towards the cells, but through those doors. The Doctor walked ahead of them, hands clasped casually behind him, head bowed as if thinking.

  The guards were rough, kicking and pushing him along even though he was going willingly. Another two joined them just beyond the doors, falling in between him and the Doctor. Occasionally a shove from behind sent Ethan reeling into those in front. They merely knocked him back, a pinball tossed between violent paddles. Ethan let them push him around. It would tire them out and if he didn’t respond, they’d soon lose interest.

  He studied the new hallway they came into. Still brick, but smooth and painted an off-white, or a white that had discoloured over time. It was short and led to a lift. Ethan was forced into a back corner, the Doctor at the front opposite. They weren’t taking any chances with the man’s life, apparently.

  The journey upwards wasn’t a long one. Ethan strained to see how many buttons were on the panel but when one of the guards worked out what he was doing, he stepped right in front of it and sneered at Ethan.

  When the lift stopped and the doors opened, sunlight greeted them. The Doctor stepped out and murmured to someone Ethan couldn’t see, then he was herded out into the warmth.

  They appeared to be on an observation deck. A curving expanse of glass created the wall in front of them, slightly hazy with a coating that stopped it reflecting light—a must on any hidden installation. The lift was in a central hub, also round. Ethan didn’t doubt that the glass extended all the way around, giving them unhindered views of the world outside. And so far, what Ethan could see of that world was water.

  Endless, unmarred, deep blue water. Wave tips sparkled with sunlight, darkening only when a soft puffy cloud passed overhead. Around the clouds, the sky was azure and, like the water, unblemished.

  “Let’s walk, Ethan.” The Doctor motioned him forwards.

  Ethan went and the guards stayed behind. The Doctor kept them to a slow, patient pace but they were back where they started in under two minutes. The entire way, Ethan only saw water in the distance and, occasionally, rocky outcroppings of the island they were on. Even if he’d escaped the complex, he wouldn’t have been able to avoid pursuit for long on the tiny land mass.

  “Do you understand now?” the Doctor asked as they began another meandering circuit.

  “There has to a boat, or a chopper.”

  “You’d think so, but the nearest transport is a two hour flight away, I’m afraid. And as I’m sure you’re aware, we will only risk a transmission in the direst of emergencies. We’re quite isolated.”

  Ethan shook his head. “All this for me?”

  The Doctor hummed. “When did you become so arrogant, One-three?”

  Shame flooded Ethan, more from the sound than the words. He hated the automatic response, especially here, after he’d failed at his escape attempt. And now, after he’d seen just how futile the attempt had been right from the start. The only good thing right then was that he was definitely above ground now. This was his chance, so he had to make the most of it.

  “Then why show me this?” he asked in a small voice.

  “Because I know you, One-three. You’re tenacious. You don’t leave things half done, even when commanded to.”

  There was a hint of reprimand, perhaps for Ethan’s failed attempt now, or his disregard for orders during the Valadian job. After the desert, the Cabal hadn’t wanted him to finish it. They’d been worried about his connection to Jack—rightly—but in the end, it was that connection which had allowed the job to be finished.

  “This isn’t a place you can escape from, my boy. I want to you understand that. You’ve proven you can get out of your cell and that eliminating the guards isn’t a problem for you. But you can’t try this again.” The Doctor turned to him and lifted his chin, clucking disappointedly at the damage done to Ethan’s throat. “For your own sake, as much as my peace of mind.” Apparently he wasn’t too concerned for the survival rate of the guards, though.

  The Doctor encouraged him along and they returned to the starting point. A small table had been set up, this time with two chairs, a tea set and a tray of medical paraphernalia. Ethan sat and the Doctor checked his throat, inside and out, proclaiming it only bruised and made him a cup of hot water with honey. The guards were reluctant, but gave in and released Ethan’s bonds after the Doctor assured them he would be safe now that Ethan knew there was no hope of escape.

  Ethan gratefully sipped the hot drink, relishing the soothing warmth and honey as it washed over his abused tissues. He knew he would be made to pay for accepting this kindness at a later point, but right then, it calmed the fire in his throat and gave him a moment to order his thoughts.

  The Doctor was manipulative. Ethan knew that now, but the learned responses from his childhood were still there, making him obedient. The Doctor was confident his conditioning was still strong, with good reason given Ethan’s performance so far, but that didn’t mean Ethan couldn’t use it to his own advantage. It was just that it was hard to remember not to respond to the little cues when he was so sore and tired.

  “Let’s talk about Two’s death,” the Doctor murmured. “How did it make you feel?”

  Ethan drank again and looked out at the vast view of water and sky. He ran his hand over his hip, found the slightly raised section with the stitches and pinched it hard. He felt the crack but didn’t hear it, thankfully, and the physical pain diverted his attenti
on from the other, difficult to understand feelings.

  “I just find it hypocritical of you, One-three,” the Doctor continued in a disappointed tone. “You refused the final test.”

  “Because it was cruel and pointless. We’d already been tested enough. It defeated so much of what we’d been conditioned to do.” Ethan shook his head in disgust.

  “It was a necessary test. Trust in your siblings was only one lesson taught to you. What was the last task testing, One-three?”

  Swallowing against the urge to yell, Ethan winced at the pain it caused. After another drink, he murmured, “Obedience and survival.”

  “And you failed it.”

  Ethan had consciously decided not to partake in the final test. He’d been sixteen, the youngest of the group, and once the final test was done, they were going to be unleashed on the world under their own recognisance. Beholden to the Cabal but spread around the world, awaiting assignments in the territory they’d been assigned. Failure to complete the jobs would be punished. They’d all been punished enough over the years to know obeying was best.

  There had been twelve children in the initial program, then Ethan had been abandoned by his mother and taken in as a late addition. He had never found out why they’d decided a six year old would fit into a system designed to take neonates and mould them from birth. Perhaps an experiment within an experiment?

  Eleven of them had survived to reach the final test. After the final test, there had only been six.

  Ethan forced the memory down and focused on the Doctor. “And yet you recommended they send me out regardless.”

  The Doctor nodded. “I did. A decision I have yet to regret. You’ve been much more difficult than the others ever were, including Ten, and yet your evolution has been fascinating. You are what we made you, One-three. An emotionless killer. You took down twelve trained men today and I know you’re thinking about how to finish the job. If you got the chance, I’m sure you’d do it and walk away without a second thought for the lives ended by your weapons.”