Flood Rising (A Jenna Flood Thriller)

by Jeremy Robinson

  Had they been dangerous, too?

  Had Zack and Ken and the other killers simply been trying to finish the mission that Noah started—and abandoned—fifteen years earlier? Did it all come back to that?

  She could have believed that if not for Zack’s statement. They were right about you. This was more than just a shadowy government agency tying off loose ends. The people responsible for this were convinced that she was a threat, and that made absolutely no sense.

  Except in a weird way, it sort of did.

  You don’t even know what you are.

  What am I?

  The engine throttled down as the blocky silhouettes of Gator Station came into view. Jenna pushed herself up to a sitting position and watched as Mercy nudged Zack’s airboat alongside the dock, where they had boarded the destroyed airboat less than an hour earlier. She felt stiff and achy, but surprisingly better than she had any right to feel. More than anything else, she was famished.

  Mercy cut the engine and hopped down from her chair to tie off the boat, but stopped abruptly. “There are two bodies here.”

  “That can’t be right. There was just the one guy, and the gators got him.”

  “I think these are the people who live here. The owners.”

  Jenna winced as she stood and stepped onto the dock. She couldn’t see much detail, but she was able to distinguish a man and a woman, both about Noah’s age. The man wore jeans and a wife-beater tank-top. The woman was clothed in a muu-muu with some kind of swirly pattern. The fabric of the woman’s garment hid any signs of violence, but the man’s sleeveless T-shirt showed a dark stain directly over the sternum. A shotgun lay on the dock beside him.

  It wasn’t too hard to piece together what had happened. The couple had heard the airboats or perhaps had been wakened by the gunshots. They had come out to investigate and discovered Zack and his crew taking the second boat.

  Rage and grief welled up in Jenna’s throat. Zack had called her dangerous, but she didn’t go around killing innocent people who just happened to be in the way.

  Mercy knelt down next to the man, and after a few seconds, she held up a ring of keys.

  “What are you going to do with those?” Jenna asked.

  “First, we’re going to see what kind of medical supplies they’ve got around here. They deal with dangerous animals all the time, so they’re bound to have some antibiotics and bandages.”

  “Smart.”

  “Thank you. After that, maybe we’ll find some dry clothes and some snacks. And then we’ll see if there’s a car to go with one of these.” Mercy regarded her for a few seconds. “Maybe we’ll start with the car. I think you need to sit down before you fall down.”

  Jenna wasn’t sure she would even make it that far.

  34

  Miami, Florida, USA

  6:15 a.m.

  “Wake up, sleepy head.”

  Jenna heard the words from the midst of a forgotten dream, but did not fully awake until she felt a hand on her shoulder, rocking her back and forth. She mumbled something incoherent and opened her eyes to greet the day.

  It was still dark, though not nearly as dark as it had been in the remote depths of the Everglades. There was no shortage of artificial light—overhead streetlights, neon signs, and the occasional flash of passing headlights. Mercy smiled at her from the driver’s seat. Jenna turned her head to look out her window. They were in a grocery store parking lot with just a few other cars. “Where are we?”

  “The address Noah gave for the mysterious Mr. Cort is just a couple of blocks from here.”

  Jenna felt her bile start to rise at the mention of Noah—she couldn’t bring herself to think of him as her father anymore—and she fought to maintain her bleary-eyed indifference. Mercy didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of her anger.

  “I drove past. It’s a house, no lights. Didn’t look like anyone was home.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Just past six. How are you feeling?”

  Jenna sat up, pleased to discover that her various injuries didn’t hurt anywhere near as bad as she had expected, especially considering the cramped conditions. The road-weary Ford Fiesta was not the luxury ride Jenna would have preferred, but it was the only vehicle available. Mercy had driven and Jenna, after devouring a smorgasbord of snack crackers, chips and candy bars, had slept.

  “Good as new,” Jenna replied, stretching in place and probing the cuff of gauze around her left arm. It was tender, but the bandage remained dry and supple, which told her the wound was closed and healing. When she had cleaned and dressed the wound, Mercy had remarked that it didn’t look too serious, which was welcome news, but a bit of a surprise to Jenna. It had felt pretty serious when the blade had gone in. But she was a fast healer, or so she had always been told.

  Such swift healing didn’t come without a price. She was still famished, and she said so.

  Mercy considered the statement. “Normally, I’d say let’s go grab a breakfast burrito.”

  “But?”

  “I don’t have any cash, and I’m not sure it’s a good idea to use plastic. I’m sure that’s the kind of thing they’ll be watching for.”

  Jenna was a little surprised that Mercy had thought of that, and even more so that she had not. The realization blindsided her with a rush of emotion, crushing her good mood. She thought this must be how people felt when they got a terminal diagnosis from their doctor. “Wow.”

  Mercy looked at her sidelong. “What?”

  “I just realized how completely screwed I am…we are. They’re going to keep coming after us. We can’t go back to our lives. We don’t have anything. We can’t even buy a breakfast burrito.”

  Mercy laid a hand on her arm. “You’re still alive, Jenna. They sent four guys after you, but you’re still breathing. We’ll get through this. Now, let’s go talk to Cort, and then see what happens. Okay?”

  Jenna managed a bleak nod. She hadn’t told Mercy about Zack’s comments, but Mercy already understood that the men hunting them had an official sanction.

  They got out and Jenna followed Mercy from the parking lot to the sidewalk running along a busy seven-lane thoroughfare. Businesses and office buildings, many of which appeared to be vacant, lined both sides of the road. Her first ever look at Miami did not match her expectations. Maybe things were different closer to the urban center or in the distinctive neighborhoods that she had always heard people talk about—Little Havana, South Beach and so forth—but this area did not appear that much different from Key West. She paid attention to the unfamiliar environment, noting the street signs. If she got separated from Mercy or had to make a quick escape, some sense of where things were would help.

  She wondered how Mercy had been able to find her way here. Noah’s notebook was gone, probably lost forever in the marsh, and Jenna knew that Mercy had gotten only a quick glance at the page with Bill Cort’s address. Maybe Mercy had an eidetic memory, too. Anything was possible.

  Two blocks down from the supermarket, they turned west and headed into a residential neighborhood. The street was narrow and dark, mostly lit by the porch lights of the modest houses they passed. The humid air hummed with the buzz of insects and the electrical current passing through overhead power lines, but this only accentuated the otherworldly stillness and added to Jenna’s growing apprehension. A few windows were lit from within, early risers getting ready for a day at the office.

  Something about that seemed wrong. It took her a few moments to remember that it was Sunday. It felt like days had passed since the bomb blew her entire life into chaos, but it hadn’t even been twelve hours. I’ve got school tomorrow, she thought, and she wondered when or if she would ever see her friends and teachers again.

  “That’s the place,” Mercy said, pointing to an innocuous looking single-story cottage. The house had bars on the screen door and windows, just like every other house on the block. A wrought iron perimeter fence boxed in a neatly trimmed lawn. There was no car in th
e carport, and unlike the other homes, which had a lived-in look, this house gave a distinct impression of emptiness. Jenna recalled that the first address for Cort had been crossed out, suggesting that he had moved at some point during the years following Noah’s decision to compose a record of his mission. What if Cort had moved again, after the notebook had been secreted away in the Aerojet silo?

  What if this is a dead end?

  Mercy rested a hand on the fence and looked at Jenna. “Shall we go ring the bell?”

  Jenna felt an almost overwhelming urge to turn away, to run, as if by doing so, she might wish away everything that had happened. It was, she knew, just another manifestation of the fight or flight response, a primal fear of the unknown, or in this case, of the possibility that this last desperate hope would end in a crushing disappointment.

  No. I’m done running. And if this is a dead end, I’ll figure something else out.

  She reached over the top of the gate and worked the release. It swung open without the slightest squeak of protest, and she stepped through. Mercy followed, but not before putting a hand into a tote bag. The canvas sack, emblazoned with a cartoon alligator, was just one of the souvenirs they’d acquired before leaving Gator Station. Mercy had filled it with first aid supplies and snacks. Jenna had consumed all of the latter. The sack also contained the night vision monocular and the pistol she had used to shoot Carlos Villegas. Jenna had a feeling that Mercy was reaching for the gun.

  As they neared the front door, the porch light flashed on—presumably triggered by a motion sensor—but nothing else happened to indicate that the house was occupied. Jenna stabbed a finger at the doorbell button and heard a muffled two-tone ringing noise from within. Several seconds passed. Jenna was debating whether to ring again or walk away when she heard the soft click of a lock bolt disengaging.

  She exchanged looks and shrugs with Mercy, then tried the door handle. Both the screen and front doors were unlocked. Jenna stood on the threshold, staring into the room beyond. In the diffuse illumination cast by the porch light, she could make out the front room, appointed with tasteful but generic furniture, and little else. There was no sign of the householder.

  “This is like the start of a bad fairy tale.”

  Mercy nodded. “I know what you mean.”

  Jenna stayed there a moment longer, then turned around. While she had not really known what to expect from the mysterious Bill Cort, this was most definitely not even on the list of possibilities. “We should go.”

  Mercy started to answer, but at that moment another sound issued from within the house: the distinctive trilling of a landline telephone.

  Jenna’s breath caught with a gasp. “Forget fairy tales. This is more like a slasher flick.”

  The phone rang without cease. Jenna expected that after three or four rings, voicemail or an answering machine would pick up. After eight cycles, she figured the caller would give up, but the ringing continued.

  “I think someone knows we’re here,” Mercy finally said. “So we should either answer it or get the hell out of here.”

  “I have to know,” Jenna said. “But hold the door open, okay?”

  Mercy nodded.

  Jenna stepped inside and followed the electronic chirps to their source, a rather quaint telephone set from the pre-digital age, sitting on a side table. Jenna laid a hand on the cool plastic receiver and picked it up.

  She held the receiver at arm’s length, relishing the return of near total silence for a moment, then held it to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Jenna?” The voice was masculine and not the least bit familiar. “Am I speaking to Jenna Flood?”

  Jenna felt a chill shoot down her spine. “Who are you?”

  “The name is Cort, and the fact that you’re talking to me right now tells me that your father sent you there. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Jenna looked around the room, searching for a hidden video camera, but she remembered that the ringing had started when she was still outside. The camera had been on the porch. Cort, wherever he was, had probably been watching them from the moment they opened the gate.

  When she didn’t answer, Cort continued. “I’m on my way there right now. Five minutes, tops. Just get inside and sit tight. I know you probably won’t believe this, but you can trust me. I know what’s been happening to you. I can help.”

  “You’re right, Mr. Cort. I don’t believe it.”

  “Jenna, listen to me. I worked with your father. He trusts me. You know he does. That’s why he sent you my way.”

  She felt her rage start to boil again. “You have no idea how little that means to me right now.”

  There was a long silence on the line, then a sigh. “I guess you found out about…” He didn’t finish the sentence. “Look, I can explain everything to you when I get there, but you have to trust me.”

  “People are trying to kill me, Mr. Cort. I’m not going to trust anyone.”

  “I’m going to hang up and drive now, but Jenna I’m begging you to hear me out. The danger you’re in right now is just the tip of the iceberg. This is much bigger than you can possibly imagine.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The only answer was the buzz of a dial tone in her ear.

  35

  6:29 a.m.

  Jenna was sitting on the couch in the front room when Cort arrived, as promised, slightly less than five minutes after ending the telephone call. He looked to be about the same age as Noah, a little taller and a little leaner, but no less grizzled. His bloodshot eyes and rumpled clothing—khakis and a tropical-patterned short-sleeved shirt—conveyed the impression of someone who had crashed after an all-night party.

  He gave her an appraising look, then glanced around, as if searching for someone else. “Where’s your friend?”

  Jenna did not answer directly. “You’ve got cameras here, right? That’s how you knew it was me?”

  Mercy had not liked the idea of waiting around for Cort to come to them, but Jenna saw no alternative. “If it is a trap,” she had told Mercy, “we’re already in it. What we have to do now is give ourselves a way out.”

  Mercy was hiding somewhere nearby, keeping an eye and the barrel of her pistol trained on the house. If Cort showed up with a posse in tow, or gave any hint of treachery, she would do what she could to provide cover for Jenna’s escape. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now Jenna felt as alone as she had during the ordeal with the Villegas brothers.

  Cort laughed—a short barking sound—and sank into a chair on the opposite side of the room. “That’s your first question? After everything you’ve been through?”

  “This place is some kind of safe house, right? Cameras, remote locks, who knows what else. That tells me you’re working for the government…well, a government. I’m not sure which one. I think the men that tried to kill me work for the government, too. So…yeah, that’s my first question.”

  She held his gaze, as curious about how he would react, as she was about what he would say. His eyes did not move.

  Of course not. He knows all the same tricks that Noah taught me. I’ll never know if he’s lying.

  “Let’s just cut to the chase, then. Yes, I work for the government. Our government. Just like your father did—”

  “He wasn’t my father.” It was out of her mouth before she could even think about whether it was the right thing to say.

  Cort’s expression did not change. “Now see, I thought your first question would have something to do with that.”

  Jenna did not allow herself to be derailed. “So you do work for the government.”

  “Yes, but not for the people that are after you. Not exactly. It’s complicated.”

  “Uncomplicate it,” she said. “Or I’m out of here.”

  Cort drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair. It was the closest thing to a ‘tell’ that Jenna had seen from him. She thought he might be stalling. Finally he cleared his throat. “Why don’t you invit
e your friend in? She might be interested in what I have to say.”

  Jenna shook her head. “I feel safer with her right where she is.”

  “Suit yourself.” Cort stood up. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? There are some Cokes in the fridge.”

  Definitely stalling. Jenna stood up and headed for the door.

  “Wait.”

  She stopped but did not turn.

  “I need you to see something. In the signal room.”

  “What’s a signal room?”

  “It’s like an office. Come on. I’ll show you.”

  “If you’re wasting my time…” She let the threat hang. She was not exactly in a position to make demands. The only leverage she had was the ability to walk out the door, and the price for that would be abandoning the search for answers.

  Cort led her into a short hall with three doors. The first was slightly ajar, revealing a bathroom. The other two were closed. He opened one of the latter and led Jenna into a space that looked more like the control room of a space ship than a mere office. One entire wall was dominated by enormous flat screen television monitors. There was a long utilitarian desk with two open laptop computers, along with printers, scanners, telephones and other devices that Jenna did not recognize. Large computer servers dominated one entire wall, while the wall opposite the screens was lined with gun-metal gray freestanding cabinets.

  Cort moved to the desk and started pushing buttons, waking up the computers and turning on the televisions. He tuned the TVs to different twenty-four-hour cable news networks, and in a matter of just a few seconds, the room was filled with a crowd of voices, all talking over each other. Yet, even though the voices were not synchronized, the various stations were reporting the same story—the story that had been playing when she had walked into Mercy’s bar the previous night. Each news service called it something different, but the gist was the same: Bio-terrorism in China.