by G. K. Parks
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Then make it that simple,” she hissed.
“I don’t have the protocols.”
She looked as if she didn’t believe him. “Yeah, whatever.” Leafing through the stack of papers on the desk, she admitted, “I couldn’t sleep. I keep thinking that Logan and I should leave. We could go back to the states and live our lives free from this, but you said that Alpha’s a diplomat. He can travel. He can find us. We’ll never be safe, will we?”
“This is what I do,” Mercer said. “My team will find him if he doesn’t find us first.”
Sarina shivered at the implication, cinching the robe tighter around her body. She was sorely in need of clothing and other necessities. It was no wonder the woman wanted to return home, even if her house was the site of the abduction.
“Tell me about when you were taken,” Mercer said, returning to the desk chair.
“Two men came into the house.” Her eyes lost focus at the memory. “They had masks. Based on the eyes, I’d say one of them was Omega. I don’t know if Alpha or Zed helped, but they were on me before I even knew what was happening. Then everything gets fuzzy, and I remember being carried past the bushes in the backyard.” She shivered again. “On second thought, maybe I’m not too keen on returning home after all. I just want my things. I want to be around something familiar. I…I want everything to go back to the way it was.”
“It won’t.” He studied her shocked expression, realizing he should say or do something to demonstrate some level of sympathy, but no words came to mind.
“That’s it?” she asked. “The life that I knew is over?”
“You’ll sort it out in time.”
Suddenly, an involuntary snort escaped her throat, and she reddened with embarrassment. “Sorry, I must sound like an ungrateful wretch. You rescued me. I just,” she exhaled, “I don’t even know what I want anymore. Yesterday, I wanted nothing more than to get out of that dungeon and see my husband again. Now, that I’m safe, I feel like I’ve traded one prison for another.” She stood. “I’ll put myself out of my own misery and go to bed. Good night, Julian.” She turned at the doorway. “In case I haven’t said it, thank you.”
“Women,” Mercer muttered. He had barely said anything, and she’d rambled on about her feelings. Obviously, she understood that the situation was complicated, but her obsession with handing over the protocols wouldn’t solve anything.
While Mercer sat alone in the dark room, contemplating his thoughts, Bastian returned from a quick outing to a twenty-four hour market. He put the bags of groceries on the couch and brought the already opened bag of crisps to the computer, shooing Mercer away. After clicking a few keys, Bastian reached into the bag and withdrew a handful of chips. He examined the searches Mercer had been conducting and the lack of progress the facial recognition software had made.
“Something’s bugging me,” Bastian said, “but I’m not entirely sure what it is.” He opened the file that contained copies of Sarina’s private e-mails. “There’s something here. I can feel it.”
“Figure it out,” Mercer said, removing a premade sandwich from the bag and putting the rest of the cold items in the fridge. “I want to move on from this mission, and we can’t do that until Alpha’s neutralized.”
“Donovan asked his contact to scout the embassy. He wants to make sure we didn’t miss something. He figures it’d be faster than waiting for blueprints and renovation work orders. Frankly, it sounds like a fool’s errand.” Bastian smirked. “Then again, so was storming in to save your pathetic life.”
“You aren’t planning on letting me live this down?”
“Hell no. I sacrificed myself for the good of the mission, and you get captured,” Bastian teased. It was the usual ribbing that often followed a harrowing experience. “Ridicule will abound, my friend.” He watched as Mercer eased uncomfortably onto the couch. “Your only other option is to keel over.”
“I could shoot you instead.”
“Then who would work the bloody computers?”
Thirty-nine
“I find it odd,” Hans said from the table. “This bastard had everything meticulously planned. The abduction went perfectly. He makes sure the panic and desperation set in before he issues his ransom demands. He cuts off the lady’s finger and has it delivered by a florist to show what a tough nut he is, and then the wanker puts a bullet in you and lets you escape. What the fuck? Does this guy have multiple personalities?”
“What about Zed?” Bastian asked, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Are you certain Alpha is the brains behind the operation?”
“You’re thinking we’re dealing with a puppet master,” Mercer acknowledged. “What about Alpha’s past offenses?”
Hans shrugged. “It’s speculation made by law enforcement. They get a lot wrong, mate.”
“Yes, they do.” Mercer sighed. His body ached. His injuries were taking a toll on his concentration, and he noticed he was zoning out of the conversation.
“We should go to the Porters’ estate,” Bastian suggested. “Now that we don’t have to worry about Trila shooting us on sight or having us arrested, we should make sure Alpha hasn’t left us a message. Plus,” he turned to glance at the opened bedroom where Sarina and Logan were eating their breakfast alone, “she could use a few of her belongings.”
“Have them make a list,” Mercer said. “We’ll drop by in a couple of hours.” He pushed away from the table. “I need a moment.”
“Are you all right?” Bastian asked.
“Brilliant,” Mercer responded. His attempts to sleep last night didn’t pan out, and he knew it was important to take advantage of the current lull. At any moment, things could change. He walked past the bathroom, hearing Donovan speaking on the phone. They were in tight quarters on account of the two civilians, but keeping the team close was the safest choice right now.
Shutting himself in the other bedroom, Mercer changed the bandage and examined the shoddy stitching. Normally, they would have taken Sarina to a hospital, but with Alpha at large and half the team incarcerated, Mercer didn’t believe it was the best idea, particularly since they had been wanted criminals at the time. Pulling a clean shirt over his head, he took a deep breath, feeling a sharp stabbing in his side. One of these days, his luck would run out. Truthfully, it should have long ago.
“Commander,” Donovan knocked on the door, “I have news.”
“Enter,” Mercer replied, shaking off any thought he might have had of getting some shuteye.
“You were right. There are tunnels beneath the embassy that connect to the sewer lines. Johann discovered a hidden passage in the basement. However, the tunnels themselves have a laser grid which was installed in the 1990s. If there’s a breach, it would be noticed.”
“There are ways around that,” Mercer said. “Where do the tunnels lead?”
“Conceivably, anywhere. It would explain how Alpha was able to get in and out with Sarina without arousing suspicion.”
“Is it possible to track where he went?” Mercer asked.
“Probably.”
“Okay.” Mercer opened the drawer and put two additional magazines in his pocket. Then he slipped a jacket on to conceal his weapon. “Let’s find out.”
“Jules, I can handle this,” Donovan said, following the commander out of the room and back to the kitchenette.
“I know, but Alpha’s mine.” Mercer gave orders to Bastian to send maps and information on the sewer lines to their phones and to keep guard at the hotel. Under no circumstances were the Porters to be left unprotected. “We need an access point,” Mercer said, knowing that they couldn’t begin at the embassy.
“I found one,” Bastian said. “The area should be familiar. It’s where you were almost blown-up.”
Without another word, Mercer selected a set of keys and went out the door. Donovan grabbed the large black duffel that co
ntained his gear and followed after the commander, catching up to him in the garage.
“I’ll drive,” Donovan said. “You shouldn’t be operating heavy machinery in your condition.”
“Fine.” Mercer tossed him the keys. They had just exited the garage when Mercer’s phone rang. He checked the display, surprised to see the caller. “Mr. Browne,” Mercer said, waiting for the man to speak.
“Have you any additional information to share?” Browne asked.
“Not at the present.”
Browne made a disgusted sound. “Against my better judgment, I’m being forced to divulge the progress we’re making. As you may know, we have numerous contracts with various governments. That position allows us access to information that isn’t readily available to others. I checked into the diplomat in question. We’ve reviewed the sign-in sheets and the security footage. As you know, the identity of the man you believe to be a kidnapper has proved difficult to ascertain. However, our surveillance footage from the garage has provided a clear license plate number. Our police pals have traced it back to one of many vehicles used by the embassy. I’ve contacted the embassy, and that’s the vehicle the cultural attaché and his staff use.”
“Does the attaché have a name?” Mercer asked
“I’ve already compared his photograph to that of the man on our security footage. They don’t match,” Browne said.
“Then why did you phone?”
“Various embassy staff members and civilian personnel have access to the car in question. It is my belief that the person who used that vehicle is responsible for the threat to Trila. After reviewing Mr. Black’s file, I believe your assertion is correct that Mr. Black was placed inside Trila to provide information on our developmental software to someone else, and that unknown entity is to blame for the threat against Trila and Logan Porter.”
“What do you want?”
Browne swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’ve been authorized to offer you a finder’s fee if you can verify these details and identify the threat.”
“We do not work blind,” Mercer replied, shifting the call to speakerphone. “What interest would members of the embassy have in your computer systems?”
“The operating system that those protocols allow total access to is used in the housing of weapons systems. If a nation-state or individual could gain access to the system via the backdoor protocols, they would control a sovereignty’s defenses. Handling this quietly would be particularly beneficial for us and lucrative for you.”
“Bollocks,” Donovan muttered.
“Avoiding an international crisis is no longer my focus,” Mercer spat. “However, ensuring the safety of my client is. Whatever the overlap might be, so be it.” He disconnected the call.
“Guess we know what makes those protocols so valuable,” Donovan mused. “Alpha must believe they’re in our possession. That means we’re walking targets.”
“Browne’s wrong. Alpha’s actions aren’t sanctioned by a government that lost a bidding war. Alpha killed his associate. He wants the information to sell to the highest bidder. He’s a bloody arms dealer on a massive scale.”
“Which means he’ll eliminate anyone that causes problems.” Donovan parked the car. “Logan and Sarina are a problem.”
“Overlap,” Mercer replied, opening the door. He stared at the entrance to the maintenance tunnel. “Let’s get on with it.”
Forty
“Shit,” Donovan griped, cautioning a glance at Julian. The maintenance tunnel had split in multiple directions, and cell service underground was spotty. The GPS had blinked out after a few dozen meters, so they were relying on Donovan’s natural sense of direction. They had stopped at a metal door that looked far too clean to be in the middle of the sewer system. It had a keypad next to it. “We should have taken Bastian with us.”
“I can override it,” Mercer offered.
“No,” Donovan shook his head, “if I’m right, this ought to lead to the embassy’s underground tunnels. The door could have an alarm.” Unzipping the duffel bag, Donovan removed a container with fingerprint powder. He brushed the keys, seeing obvious marks on four of the numbers.
“Take a guess,” Mercer said. He turned to look behind them. Since entering the tunnel, he’d heard echoes and pings, making him believe that an attack was imminent.
“Light to dark.” Donovan pressed the keys, hearing an angry beep. “We’ll try again.” He entered another combination and another, each time, hearing the same negative beep.
“Any progress?”
“Do you want to give it a go?” Donovan retorted.
Mercer glanced at the permutations that they’d already tried. “Have you tried all the combinations?”
“Not yet.” Donovan entered another set of numbers; this time the lock unhinged. “Jolly good.” Slowly, he cracked the door slightly, slipping a fiber optic cable into the gap. His embassy contact warned of lasers, but the grid was undetectable. “Wait.”
Pulling out a spray can, Donovan lightly misted the area, catching the slightest hint of a laser grid against the sides of the wall. Confused, he carefully pushed the door open, seeing the reflective material that was placed parallel to the walls in order to thwart the system.
“Someone’s been here,” Mercer said, raising his gun.
Instead of taking point, Julian followed Donovan into the tunnel. Donovan kept his eyes on the grid, occasionally checking to make sure that there were no lasers or other security measures to trip. The tunnel grew darker, and Julian turned on a torch, keeping it aimed at the ground in front of them. At a juncture, he took point, continuing on the path that would most likely lead to the embassy.
Donovan tapped him on the shoulder, halting their progress. “Twelve o’clock.”
Mercer nodded, carefully stepping to the side so they could make the approach together. On the ground was a large indecipherable object. As they got closer, it was apparent that they had found a body.
“Is it Omega?” Donovan asked, pushing the man over with the toe of his shoe.
“No.” Julian stared at what was left of the man’s face. A gunshot had gone through the back of his skull and exited below his eye socket, taking most of his cheek and upper jaw with it. However, the sunglasses inside the man’s shirt pocket were the only evidence Mercer needed. “It’s Alpha.”
Kneeling down, Mercer checked the deceased’s pockets for identification, finding an embassy access card but no identification. Beneath the body was Mercer’s back-up sidearm.
“It’s him.” Mercer pocketed the gun, wondering who shot Alpha. Before he could say another word, he heard a sound.
“Footsteps,” Donovan whispered. They were trapped with no place to hide. This would not be pretty.
Julian nodded, extinguishing the light. The footfalls sounded like they were coming from behind. Then the sound grew louder from somewhere in front of them. They were surrounded. The former SAS took up a position, back to back, waiting to see what was about to happen.
“We must have tripped the alarm,” Donovan murmured, “unless Alpha has a team of mercenaries guarding his rotting corpse.”
“Silence.” Mercer’s mind was analyzing the situation. Assuming the footfalls belonged to the embassy’s security team, it’d be best to surrender.
“Police. Freeze.” The unexpected announcement was a surprise.
“Hold your fire,” Mercer commanded.
Donovan held his weapon by the handle, carefully placing it on the ground. Just as Mercer began to follow suit, additional voices shouted commands from the other end of the tunnel. He turned, seeing assault rifles aimed in his direction. He drew a bead on one of the men, watching Donovan scoop up his weapon and shift his focus while the police continued to bark orders at them to drop their weapons and surrender.
“This is sovereign property,” one of the embassy guards yelled. “You have no jurisdiction here.”
“What embassy? This is part of the city’s tunnel system,” the co
p responded. He was too far away to make out the dead body, but Mercer knew things would turn ugly soon.
“Identify yourselves,” someone yelled, focusing laser sights on Mercer and Donovan. Embassy security and the police unit closed the gap from both directions, noticing the man on the ground. “Don’t move.”
“Easy,” Donovan said, “we’re personal security consultants.”
“Lower your weapons,” the police ordered. “Now.”
“Not until the men with the assault rifles do the same,” Mercer said.
“Are you trying to start a turf war?” Donovan whispered. “We’ll be shredded in the crossfire.”
A booming voice broke through from the back of the police unit. “Those men are working for us.”
“Browne,” Mercer snarled, “you tracked my phone. It’s why you called.”
“I wanted to know what you were doing.” He made his way toward Mercer, holding his hands up as he broke past the police officers and entered the kill box. He smiled at the embassy security guards. “I’m George Browne. I work for Trila International. I phoned earlier about a threat. Your superior should have the details to explain this away.” He looked down at the body. “Well, most of it.”
The embassy guards seemed uncertain. One radioed for advice, and during the confusion, Browne urged Mercer and Donovan to back away from the body. The police were the better option, so the former SAS retreated, letting the cops and embassy guards duke out who was to take possession of the crime scene.
“Get out of here,” Browne said as soon as they safely exited into the maintenance tunnel.
“They can’t leave. They’re suspects in a murder,” the detective on scene protested.
“I said they can go.” Browne gave the detective a pointed look. “I need to know the dead man’s identity and his affiliation with the embassy. Send a photo as soon as you take possession of the crime scene. Time is of the essence.”
