by Lauren Carr
While Chris changed his clothes, Murphy sat on the foot of the bed and checked the news on the television to see what was being reported about the shooting in Pentagon City. He had tuned in at the start of a news segment about the recent presidential nomination for director of the Central Intelligence Agency.
As with everything else pertaining to the government, the nomination of Daniel Cross was fraught with controversy. Not quite forty years old, Dan had risen quickly through the ranks of the Central Intelligence Agency as an intelligence analyst to the director of the agency’s intelligence directorate. Per usual, half of Washington, political and media, thought the President’s nomination had all of the makings of brilliance. The other half saw it as a democratic crisis.
The news segment cut to a sound bite from Kimberly Douglas, the senator from the nominee’s home state of California. The middle-aged woman’s face was contorted with self-righteousness. “Senator Keaton needs to shut up and do what is right.” She jabbed her finger in the air. “He and the members of the majority on this committee have no choice but to confirm Daniel Cross as director of the CIA. Daniel Cross proved that he is more than qualified ten years ago when he led the investigation into the car bombing that killed our ambassador to Lithuania and chief of station. He uncovered the evidence leading to the terrorist group responsible, which led to their arrests and justice for Ambassador John Brown and Samuel Goldman.”
In the next sound clip, Senator Graham Keaton chuckled when a journalist recounted Senator Douglas’s demand. “Once everyone gets a chance to fully examine all of the facts and talk to Mr. Cross, we will make our decision.”
“Did Cross really uncover the group that planted the bomb killing Ambassador Brown?” Chris asked.
“All by his lonesome.” Murphy regarded Chris out of the corner of his eye before saying. “From what I hear from those in the know, Cross is not shy about taking credit where credit isn’t due. Those who do the real work in the intelligence community keep their mouths shut.”
“So I’ve heard. I suspect the fact that Cross has claimed to play such a big role is a clue that he didn’t.”
“Exactly.”
“What happened to the terrorist group that killed the ambassador and chief of station?” Chris asked.
“They were Islamic extremists bent on driving a wedge between the US and the Lithuanian president to create unrest. They kill our ambassador. We get mad at their president. He looks bad. In the next election, he loses, and their terrorist candidate wins. Next thing you know, Lithuania is under Sharia law.”
“I imagine things didn’t go well for the terrorist group after their plot was uncovered,” Chris said. “When I worked undercover with the FBI, I had a couple of run-ins with crime organizations from that part of the world. They can be quite ruthless.”
“Lithuania has a very low crime rate,” Murphy said. “It’s low for a reason. Let’s just say that terrorist group is no more. It was extracted from the country—all the way down to the roots.”
As the news finally moved on to local coverage, a journalist stood in front of the metro sign for the Pentagon City station. The bright multi-colored lights flashed off to the side. “Details are still unclear,” the reporter said, “but according to unidentified sources within the FBI, tonight’s shooting victim was a dangerous felon known to authorities. He had been the target of an extensive investigation and was in the process of abducting a potential victim. An undercover federal agent was on the scene and had no choice but to use lethal force to save the woman.”
The anchor responded, “So the shooter in this case was a hero …”
A broad smile filling his face, displaying his dimples in his cheeks, Murphy turned around to Chris, whose mouth was hanging open. “You’re welcome.”
“We still have to find Blair,” Chris reminded him as he finished getting dressed. He folded up the suit and stuffed it into the bottom of the duffel bag. “I assume you have contacts inside the state department.” He slipped the wallet with the cash into his pants pocket.
“Some. But from the very little that I have been able to find out since we left the city, no one in the state department had any idea that Blair was alive, let alone what she could possibly have that would be worth killing over.”
Chris strapped one of the guns to his ankle. “Then it must not be detrimental to the government, but rather to particular individuals. Whoever it is, we know one thing about this individual.”
“What’s that?”
“They have deep pockets. Leonardo Mancini doesn’t come cheap and he’s not someone you find on Angie’s List.” Chris examined the second handgun. “I just can’t believe Blair would be savvy enough to fake her death so well that she could fool even the state department.”
“We’ll sort this out. Get some sleep. I’m leaving Hayes here to make sure you’re safe.” Murphy left the room and went into the foyer.
Tucking the second gun into his waistband, Chris followed him. “Are you leaving me here without a vehicle?”
“There’s a car in the garage.”
Chris clutched his stomach. “I’ve just remembered I haven’t eaten since lunch. Have you got any food here?” He looked in the direction of the kitchen.
“Only frozen dinners and canned goods. This is a safe house. Sometimes no one is here for months. I’ll bring you something to eat when I come back in the morning. Things will be clearer then. Get some sleep.”
After Murphy left, Chris went into the country style kitchen to see what type of frozen dinners it had. The fridge turned out to be better equipped than Murphy had led him to believe. The freezer not only had well over a dozen frozen dinners of every type, but there was also a twelve pack of beer in the fridge. He helped himself to a can, opened it, and took a long drink before turning back to the freezer to decide what appealed to him.
When he saw that one was a frozen lasagna, he uttered a groan. If things had gone as planned, he would have enjoyed a plate of fresh linguini and red clam sauce with a robust bottle of Chianti. Not only that, but he would have been eating it with Helen, instead of alone in a dreary house in the middle of nowhere.
While examining the various dinners, he listened for Hayes to step through the front door. He had decided on a homestyle fettuccine alfredo before realizing that quite some time had passed.
How long would it take Hayes to say all was clear and Murphy to leave?
Clutching the cold can of beer in his hand, Chris closed the freezer door and listened for the sound of the SUV driving away.
“Hey, Hayes, are we all clear to go?” Careful not to trip over a rock or stumble into a hole in the dark, Murphy jogged across the front yard to the SUV. The big guy was sitting motionless on a wooden bench between two trees next to a pond at the edge of the yard.
As Murphy drew closer, he noticed that Hayes made no move to acknowledge him. He seemed to be looking down at something in his lap.
Probably texting his girlfriend.
Upon reaching the bench, Murphy called his name again.
Still no response.
He squinted through the dark at where Hayes’s head hung forward. That was when he noticed the blood seeping from his neck down the front of his jacket.
Jumping back, Murphy turned around to shout a warning to Chris as Hayes’s killer jumped out of the shadows to throw the garrote over his head and around his throat.
Silence.
Chris strained to listen for Hayes to come inside and for Murphy to leave but heard nothing.
Abruptly, he noticed a red dot cross the front of the beer can making a path for his chest.
Chris plunged to the floor as the series of bullets shattered the kitchen window and ripped through the wall across the room. Beer foam spilled from the can as it rolled across the floor—drenching Chris’s fresh clothes.
Chris grabbed the gun tucked in his w
aistband and reached up to slap the light switch off. The movement was all they needed to fire another barrage of bullets through the patio door.
Crouching behind the counter, he heard the hushed chatter of two men speaking to each other in a foreign language.
Where the hell are Murphy and Hayes?
Chapter Four
Murphy grabbed the garrote and yank it down from where it was pressed against his trachea. At the same time, he dropped back against his assailant and turned to deliver a fist to his groin. As his bald-headed attacker crumbled, Murphy kneed him in the face.
The killer dropped to one knee. The light from inside the house caught on the blade of a knife as he yanked it out from under his pantleg. The tip caught the front of Murphy’s jacket before he could fall back.
Murphy saw the thrill of blood lust cross his opponent’s face. His gaze fell on the image of a yellow claw reaching around from the back of his neck.
“I thought you Phantoms were supposed to be tough,” the assassin said with a thick foreign accent while backing Murphy toward the pond filled with filthy dark water.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Inches from his fingertips, Murphy’s gun rested in its holster on his hip. Watching the knife threatening to slice him open, he thought of the adage, “Never bring a knife to a gun fight.” The truth of the matter was that in the time it would take the average person to unholster his gun, a trained killer could plunge a knife through his heart—faster if he knew how to throw it. Murphy had no doubt that this guy could complete his mission in less time that it took him to reach for his gun.
“You probably don’t know anything about the Yellow Dragons either.” Murphy’s opponent chuckled. “You notice my badge of honor. I saw the fear in your eyes. It’d almost be worth it to let you live to tell—too bad our orders are to leave no one to tell anything.”
“Anything about what?” Murphy asked.
“Don’t know.” He raised the knife above his head. “Don’t care. Only here to kill.” With a gut-wrenching scream, he lunged forward. Murphy did the same. He grabbed the arm welding the knife, spun around, and brought his arm down on his attacker’s elbow, breaking his arm.
Still, the paid killer refused to go down. He threw his other arm around Murphy and the two men fell into the pond together in a fight to the death.
Chris dared to look around the corner of the counter and through the shattered glass doors into the thick dark woods. He could sense rather than see them moving in. The front door was several feet away and in plain view of his assailants. He could make a run for it or remain trapped in the kitchen.
He didn’t know who or what was waiting on the other side of the door. Obviously not Hayes and Murphy. If so, they would have come to help—unless they were in on it.
Take me out into the middle of nowhere, kill me, and get rid of my body where no one would find it.
He remembered Murphy mentioning a car in the garage. He swallowed when he realized he didn’t have the keys. He’d have to hot wire it. His heart sank when he saw that the door to the garage was on the other side of the dining room—directly across the line of fire.
Go for the garage. I haven’t been in the garage. I don’t know what’s in there. What if the car doesn’t have any gas in it? I’ll deal with that when I come to it. Right now, I’ve got to get out of this kill box called a kitchen.
Sucking in deep breaths, he extracted his second weapon from the ankle holster. Clutching both guns to his chest, he inched his way to the edge of the counter. As he peered around the corner, two men dressed in black charged through the broken patio doors with their assault rifles blazing. Bullets and drywalls flew everywhere.
At the same time, the living room wall exploded—sending glass and debris flying. The SUV didn’t stop. It plowed through the living room into the dining room—picking up every piece of furniture along the way.
The explosion was enough to divert the two men’s attention from Chris. They turned their automatic weapons on the vehicle. Bullets bounced off the hood and windshield as it sped straight toward them.
With a battle cry, one of the gunmen ran toward the vehicle, which gathered speed. It rammed the top of the dining table into him and crushed him against the wall like a bug. With nowhere else to go, Murphy threw open the driver’s door and fired on the pinned man with two guns.
As soon as Murphy jumped out, the second gunman jumped up from where he had lunged out of the way and took aim on him.
Chris pulled the triggers on both guns in his hands. The assassin dropped onto the hood of the vehicle.
Ready to fire again, Murphy spun around in time to see the dead man slide off the hood.
“You’re welcome!” Chris yelled.
“This safe house has been compromised!” Murphy reached across the front compartment to shove open the passenger door.
“Ya think?” Chris looked down at the man he had shot to make sure he was dead. When he saw his face, he realized he had seen him earlier. The metro. He was the irritated man Chris had collided with at the bottom of the escalator.
“Chris, get in the car! We need to get out of here! There may be more!”
Chris climbed into the passenger seat. “Where’s Hayes?”
“Dead.” Murphy put the SUV into reverse and backed out of the house. “By the time I realized things were going sideways, I got jumped. I found Hayes’s body by the pond. He’d been garroted.”
Chris noticed that Murphy was soaking wet. “You look like you went for a swim in the pond. You smell like it, too.”
Upon reaching the driveway, Murphy spun the vehicle around and sped down the road. As they passed a street light, Chris saw that he was covered in more blood than pond water. His hands and knuckles were bruised. “Are you okay?”
Murphy wiped one hand after the other on his pants. “It’s not my blood. How did they know where we were? Somehow they tracked us.” He pressed a button on the steering wheel and the display screen on the console lit up. “Nigel!”
A deep, intimidating voice, not unlike Darth Vader erupted from the speakers. “Lieutenant Thornton, you sound agitated. Do you need backup?”
“The safe house has been compromised,” Murphy said. “We got ambushed by hostiles. Hayes is dead.”
Chris punched a button on the dashboard to disconnect the cell phone. “Did this Nigel guy you’re talking to know where you were taking me?”
“Yes—”
“How do you know he isn’t the one who leaked our location to whoever is behind this?”
The display lit up again. “Because my circuits are not capable of deception. Dishonesty is a human condition that has yet to be digitally created.”
While Chris digested that information, Murphy said, “Still, Nigel, someone was able to track us. The only ones who knew we were going to that safehouse was me, Hayes, CO, and you. We need to find out how they got that information. Code EMCON.”
“EMCON?” There was a note of indignation in Nigel’s tone. “Lieutenant Thornton, you do realize that no one will be able to access the information in my databases during the scrubbing process if you call for Code EMCON. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Two of my teammates are dead,” Murphy said. “EMCON. Repeat EMCON.”
“Very well, Lieutenant.”
The dashboard screen went dark.
“Lieutenant?” Chris asked. “Is this Nigel CIA?”
Murphy glanced at him. “You never heard of Nigel. Understand?”
“Nigel who?”
Murphy was startled when he heard a familiar click. He looked to see that Chris was aiming one of his weapons at him.
“We did things your way and two members of your team are dead. Now, we’re going to do things my way. Pull over.”
“Are you serious? For all we know, some members of that
death squad survived, and we’re being followed.”
“I’d rather deal with them here, out in the middle of nowhere, than lead them back to my family. Pull over. Now!”
Murphy lifted his foot from the accelerator and steered the vehicle off to the side of the road. He turned it off. Aware of Chris’s law enforcement experience, he followed protocol and placed both hands flat on the dashboard.
Keeping one eye on the road behind them, Chris held out his hand. “Give me your cell phone.”
“You can’t have my cell phone.”
“I recognized one of those men from the metro.”
“That’s probably where they followed us from,” Murphy said. “The people behind this are very highly trained.”
“Do you know who they are?”
“I don’t want to say until I get more information.”
“In the meantime, hand it over.” Chris wiggled his fingers.
Grudgingly, Murphy took the cell phone from the case on his belt and handed it to him. Chris tossed it to the floor and crushed it with his heel. While Murphy cursed, he held out his hand again. “Now hand me the other one.”
“What?”
“The real one. The one you keep in the inside breast pocket of your jacket. The one you just gave me was a decoy.”
“You can’t have it. If you smash it, we’ll have no way to contact my home base. We’ll be without a lifeline. I’ve turn it off.”
“They can track us even if the phone is off,” Chris said.
“I’ll take out the battery.” Murphy took the phone from his pocket.
Chris watched as he dismantled the phone and handed the battery and chip to him.
“I’m not going to let you disarm me,” Murphy said. “There is no way I’m letting you leave me out here with no way to defend myself. You’re going to have to kill me.”
“I’m not going to disarm you.” Chris pocketed the battery and chip.
Murphy let out a sigh of relief. “You trust me?”
