Rogue Faction Part 2: A Cyrus Cooper Thriller: Book Three

by Xander Weaver

“I don’t understand.”

  “I mean there were guns going off everywhere. People were getting shot down left and right. People were scattering for cover—there must’ve been a hundred of them, all rushing the exit at the same time. But Cyrus grabbed me and pulled me behind the stage. Then he went after the guys shooting at us.”

  “You must be remembering it wrong. It’s understandable, with everything happening so fast.”

  Natasha shook her head. “I remember it perfectly, mostly because it was so strange. He should’ve been terrified, but he wasn’t the least bit scared. He even told me what to do…he had me create a distraction. I didn’t know what he was going to do—I just did what he said. The next thing I know he went after the gunman with a drumstick!

  “A few gunshots later and it was over. He killed two armed men while everyone was either running or hiding.”

  Anna thought about what she’d been told. After a few moments, she had what she considered to be a credible list of explanations.

  “The way I see it,” she offered. “Either you’re crazy and have it all wrong, or your ex-boyfriend isn’t the same guy he was a few years ago. But either way,” Anna continued, throwing her arms around her sister’s neck. “I’m just happy you made it home safe.”

  ————

  When Cyrus walked up to the dining room table, both Natasha’s and Anna’s eyes rose to greet him. Anna couldn’t help herself. She let out an excited squeal and launched herself from her seat. She circled the table in a flash, threw her arms around Cyrus, and pulled him into a crushing hug.

  “Thank you for keeping my sister safe,” she said with a childish laugh that could only come from a desperately relieved younger sibling. “It’s taken me twenty years to train her just right. I don’t think I could handle it if I had to start from scratch with a new one!”

  Natasha laughed and shook her head. The two security guards escorting Cyrus simply watched the display, unsure how best to respond.

  “It was my pleasure,” Cyrus said. His eyes swam from the crushing hug but it was only Natasha who noticed.

  “Okay,” Natasha said, as she carefully tried to pull her sister off of Cyrus’s beaten and battered form. “Nothing says thank you like a plate and a fork. Why don’t you get him what he needs so he can eat with us?”

  Anna laughed and gently elbowed her sister. “You just want him all for yourself,” she chided.

  “Hardly!” Natasha blanched. “I’m more concerned about the gunshot wound you just crushed under the weight of your happiness. If those stitches break again, I’m not sure I can fix them.”

  Anna’s hand leapt to her mouth and her eyes bulged as she realized that she’d just hurt Cyrus with her affectionate display. Cyrus only laughed.

  “No harm done, really,” he smiled. “Though breakfast would really hit the spot. Where do I find a plate?”

  Natasha shook her head. “Have a seat. I’ll take care of it.”

  She disappeared through a doorway in the far wall.

  Anna pulled out a chair beside the one Natasha had used. “Here,” she said with a sly grin. “I have a feeling you two have a lot to talk about.”

  Cyrus lowered himself gently into the seat. His movements were slow and precise. Since her sister wasn’t prone to exaggeration, it was likely the events of the previous night had been even more harrowing than she’d described.

  Stepping up behind Cyrus in the chair, Anna kissed him gently on the top of his head. “Thank you for bringing her home safely,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if something happened to her.”

  Wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, Anna left the room without another word.

  ————

  Natasha returned with a plate stacked high with pancakes, and another, smaller plate piled with bacon. Someone from the kitchen staff followed with a place setting and a tall glass of orange juice.

  “Just the way you like them,” Natasha said.

  Cyrus watched as breakfast was spread out before him. He found himself at a loss for words. It was the personal touches that were most impressive. The pancakes had been poured with blueberries mixed into the batter and the OJ was thick with pulp… just the way he liked. His gaze was focused intensely on Natasha as she settled into the chair beside him.

  She looked him in the eyes and gave a knowing grin. Not sure what to say, all he could do was stare back.

  Finally Natasha glanced at the pair of guards standing station at the edge of the room. “Give us the room, would you guys?” she asked with a comforting smile.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” one of the guards responded in a thick German accent. “Our orders are explicit. We must never let him out of our sight.”

  “Are we really going to go through this again?” she asked with a roll of her eyes. “Look, I would consider it a personal favor.”

  The guard just shrugged. There was nothing he could do.

  The other guard, however, leaned over and whispered something to his partner. They engaged in a quiet, but spirited back-and-forth talk before arriving at a decision.

  “Alright,” the first guard decided. “As long as he stays in this room. I’ll stand over there,” he nodded at the far end of the open common area. The far wall was at least forty feet away, beyond the entertainment area and just short of the elevator. “Wagner will take-up position beyond the door to the kitchen. As long as your guest doesn’t attempt to leave the room without us, I see no harm.”

  Wagner had apparently campaigned on their behalf, in favor of giving them some privacy. Cyrus remembered Wagner, the guard stationed at his bedroom door. Wagner grinned and shot Natasha a friendly wink when the first guard wasn’t looking.

  “Thank you for your understanding,” Natasha said with a smile that lit up the room.

  Once both guards left, Cyrus felt more comfortable.

  “Is it always that difficult to get some privacy around here,” he asked.

  “They don’t trust you,” she said frankly. “Can you blame them? They don’t even know half the crazy shit you managed last night. If they did, I guarantee they wouldn’t leave the room. In fact, I’d wager that you’d be confined to your room.”

  Offering a grin, Cyrus took a bite of bacon. “I guess I had that coming.”

  “No,” she said more softly as she slipped her hand into his. “I should’ve started by saying thank you. I don’t understand what happened last night, but I do know it would’ve ended differently if it wasn’t for you.”

  He offered a resigned smile. “But you have questions,” he concluded.

  “A whole ton of them.”

  They were now seated very close together speaking softly in tones only slightly louder than a whisper.

  “I know it’s hard to believe, but that’s the main reason I’m here,” Cyrus explained. “Things didn’t end right between us and I’ve always regretted not being able to explain that properly.”

  Running her hands through her hair, Natasha settled back in her chair and stared off into space for a few moments. “That’s only one of my questions, but it’s a big one,” she began. “So let’s start there. The last time I saw you was back at school. You were being taken into witness protection and you said I couldn’t go along. But I found out later that you never asked them to include me.”

  Cyrus sat quietly for a minute and watched her. Finally, he leaned toward her and said quietly, “Would you have come if I asked?”

  Her eyebrows shot up in response. “Would I—? That’s not the point! The point is, not only did you not ask, but now I’m not even sure you went into the protection program in the first place.”

  Rubbing his temples with the tips of his fingers, Cyrus searched for the right place to begin. It was true that it was his own stubborn drive that had landed him in trouble in the first place. He’d joined the school newspaper at the start of his freshman year and found that it dovetailed nicely with his love of writing. Things quickly got out of control, however, when he be
gan a series of investigative stories focusing on campus related issues. His stories quickly made a splash, and it wasn’t long before he was working harder to come up with bigger and bolder topics.

  That went on for several months until he found the story that caused all the trouble. Over the course of one weekend, three students were found dead on campus. The oddity, the horror, the mystery—everything caught Cyrus’s attention, and he launched an investigation. The following weekend, thirteen students were arrested on various felony assault charges. That turned out to be eight times the normal average for any given semester.

  A number of the violent assault cases contained extremely unusual details. In one case, it was reported that the aggressor had literally torn the door from a locked car before beating the driver into a coma. In another case, the perpetrator had gone on a rampage at a local restaurant, throwing tables around as if they were empty cardboard boxes. The arresting officers reported hitting the suspect with at least four taser blasts before subduing her.

  At that point, Cyrus didn’t need a bloodhound to know that something was going on. He started digging, asking questions, and following the clues wherever they led.

  But Cyrus, then known by his birth name of Jonny Webb, uncovered more of a story than he’d bargained for. He soon found the source of the unexplained deaths and unusual violent outburst. A group of students were utilizing the university’s chemistry lab after hours to prototype a powerful new designer drug.

  Cyrus also learned that the enterprising students working on the drug had already found themselves sponsors in the form of an east coast mafia outfit. Once the stakes surrounding the story began to escalate, the editor of the school paper panicked and contacted the local authorities. Unfortunately, the support Cyrus’s editor sought was already on the payroll of the project’s sponsors, and Cyrus’s covert investigation was no longer secret. His editor was killed before Cyrus was even aware that the gang was onto him.

  After that, Cyrus had gone underground hoping to stay alive long enough to publish his story and bring the operation out of the shadows and into the light of day. His most pressing problem was that he didn’t know who he could trust. The local police were obviously corrupt. He considered going to the FBI, but given the reach of the mafia, Cyrus had no idea if he would be safe asking for help at a federal level.

  With all of his evidence gathered, and the story ready to publish, Cyrus realized that utilizing the school paper was no longer an option. Using the school press would only endanger more lives. With that in mind, he had to decide between taking the story to one of the major papers, or simply publishing it online. Either way, it was guaranteed to gain traction since he had all of the evidence necessary to substantiate his claims.

  But before he could make a decision and publish the story, Cyrus was confronted by Greg Boone, an operative with an agency Cyrus had never heard of before. Boone explained the ‘hows’ and ‘whys’ of the real situation Cyrus had landed himself in. Namely that, once the story was out, he would never be safe. In spite of what the authorities would tell him, they would never capture everyone behind an operation of such magnitude.

  And while Boone made some fair points, Cyrus had seen through his smoke screen. He knew that Boone had other reasons for wanting him to keep the story a secret. Cyrus refused to discuss the matter further until Boone told him the actual reason that his agency, the Coalition, was taking an interest in the case.

  Boone had been taken aback by Cyrus’s ability to see through his veiled, if accurate, deception. And though it went against all of his mission objectives, Boone leveled with Cyrus. The truth was that the substance the student chemists had developed as a recreational drug actually had greater potential if its development path were altered. Several characteristics of the drug indicated that it could be useful in certain military and paramilitary capacities.

  Boone’s truthfulness captured Cyrus’s attention and Cyrus managed to keep his new friend talking. In the process, Boone explained a good deal more than he likely intended. By the end of the conversation, Cyrus had a plan to use himself as bait and trap the principal perpetrators behind the development of the designer drug. It was a plan that would result in the Coalition taking the new drug off the street, once and for all.

  The operation had worked, and Boone’s people arrested a large part of the mafia organization behind the drug in the process. As Cyrus’s plan had dictated, the drug was stopped before it reached wide scale distribution. But there were two problems: The first was that it was impossible to be sure they had eliminated every threat to Cyrus’s life. The value of the drug as a narcotic was high but its value as a black-market weapon was nearly priceless; and, second, Cyrus’s intimate knowledge of the drug—its history and its origin—was ultimately a major national security problem. The formula was going to be modified and repurposed, and Cyrus knew enough to believe that it would also be more than dangerous.

  While the offer of witness protection had been legitimately placed on the table, Cyrus knew that it would mean leaving behind everyone he’d ever known. But doing so would at least protect his friends as much as it protected himself. As such, it was worth considering. He discussed the matter with Natasha, though it was against procedures outlined by Federal Marshals.

  Soon after, Agent Boone came to Cyrus with an even more interesting offer that held all of the benefits of witness protection but included something personally appealing, as well. Boone offered Cyrus a place in the Coalition. He’d been impressed, not only with Cyrus’s investigative skills and attention to detail, but also with his ability to remain calm while under extreme pressure. Boone explained that both attributes were extremely rare commodities in a person, and highly valued in a field operative. Boone believed that Cyrus had what was required to be one of the agencies very best operatives.

  So, with two options on the table, and lacking any option number three, Jonny Webb ceased to exist and Cyrus Cooper was born.

  His one great regret was the girl he’d left behind. But fate was a strange and twisted creature. And to his surprise, Cyrus found his path once again crossing with that of his lost love.

  Cyrus now took advantage of his limited time alone with Natasha to explain. He made an effort to keep his personal feelings out of it as they would only add fuel to an already emotionally-charged inferno. And though he skirted the topic, implying as much but never actually saying the words, leaving her behind truly had been the toughest, most painful experience of his life.

  It was all just the long way of answering a simple question that wasn’t simple at all. Why hadn’t he asked her to go with him? In his heart, he simply wanted better for her. She was a bright, beautiful, intelligent woman, and he knew she would make her mark on the world. Life lived in hiding was no problem for him, but she deserved better. Then he joined up with the Coalition and there was no turning back. Deep-cover infiltration work wasn’t the least bit conducive to a long term relationship.

  It was a heavy conversation to have over breakfast. Cyrus took the opportunity to tell her all of the things that he’d come to believe he would never have a chance to express face-to-face. The chance to talk to her—to hold her hand and look into her eyes—it was his entire reason for forcing his way into the operation. For him, it had always been about her. In fact, he realized for the first time, his decision to join the Coalition had been about her, as well. He knew he would go nuts thinking about her if he couldn’t sufficiently occupy his mind. At least the work he was doing with the Coalition was fulfilling; he believed he was making the world safer for her and people like her.

  Still, it had been three years. Every day of which he’d thought about her. And nearly every day he’d fought the urge to look for her. Just to see where she was, what she was doing, or how she was getting along—it was an ever-present temptation. But it was an itch he’d never scratched. Not until this mission crossed his desk. But at that point, he realized he would do whatever was necessary just to see her again.

&
nbsp; Cyrus took the opportunity to tell her all of these things. It felt good to get them off his chest, yet left behind a feeling of even more guilt for relieving his burden on her. In the end, his return had shown him something he had never even considered; his departure had been equally difficult for her.

  Chapter 7

  The Voss Compound

  10:50 am

  The pair of security guards escorted Cyrus into Voss’s office. The space was expansive, easily forty feet wide and nearly thirty deep. Given the amount of floor space, there was surprisingly little furniture. A wide, dark mahogany desk sat centered against the back wall and facing the center of the room. A pair of comfortable armchairs sat before the desk. The walls to the left and right were covered with floor-to-ceiling bookcases that were filled, end-to-end, with hard backed volumes. A massive, oval conference table took up most of the space to Cyrus’s immediate right, while the space on his left was entirely empty. That area seemed out of place, strangely unused, as if waiting for some piece of furniture or equipment to fill it.

  Looking slowly around the room, Cyrus took it all in. They were on the fourth floor; it was the floor that held Voss’s lab as well as his office. It was, in theory, the part of the building holding the secrets sought by the Coalition. He’d been ordered to infiltrate Voss’s lab—an idea that almost seemed laughable now, when Cyrus considered it. After all that had happened, he’d finally made it into Voss’s inner sanctum, and he could honestly care less about his prior mission objectives.

  Cyrus regretted leaving Natasha all those years ago. But looking back, nothing had turned out as he expected. Even she hadn’t turned into the person he’d anticipated. Though the idea was egocentric, he was afraid that his leaving had somehow done her more harm than good. When he’d left, the sky was the limit for her—she was limited only by the blockades of her imagination. She was a free spirit; she painted, sang, played guitar, and wrote poetry.

  Without exception, she was the single brightest person he’d ever met. While he did well in school and never had trouble with grades, it was entirely thanks to his eidetic memory. It allowed him to coast through classes with little effort. Academics came with ease. That had never been the case for Natasha. She had no genetic crutch to fall back on, nothing to make her studies easy. Every grade she’d gotten was hard earned. Every course she took, she’d learned rather than absorbed. It was something he admired without exception. Math, science, art—she was brilliant. Maybe talent had just as much to do with it. But all of those gifts, combined with a warm heart and a lust for life unlike anyone he’d ever met, made Natasha extraordinary.