Cloak and Dagger (The IMA)

by Nenia Campbell

  My dream came back to me with frightening clarity. But what — I'd overheard Michael telling Kent he had no intention of taking over the IMA. He knew that he had many enemies, and that too many people would resent him for precisely the reasons A had just laid out. He'd also mentioned that he wasn't the only one hankering for a little power. Two other men wanted to lead the IMA, and one of them was Adrian. Did that mean A thought an Adrian-run IMA was better than a Michael-run one? I couldn't see that. Michael wasn't a sadist.

  But again, this was stuff I wasn't supposed to know. I didn't know where A stood in the midst of this. Not enough to regale her with all the forbidden information I had managed to acquire. “You weren't afraid of Michael before.”

  “Of course I was!”

  “But you didn't act like it — he told you to help me, and you did.”

  “He was under our control then. Now he's like a grenade without a ring. He could do anything.” I had a feeling that wasn't the whole story behind why she was afraid. And the plural pronouns confused me. Was A protecting someone? Or was she referring to the IMA as a whole? A piercing alarm cut loose, splicing both my eardrums and my thoughts.

  We both jumped.

  “If that's true, why are you helping me?” I had to raise my voice to be heard.

  “I have a daughter about your age.” She paused, adding swiftly. “I don't want to see you die. This is no place for a child.” We were outside the locker rooms. She handed me a long navy skirt and another white blouse. “You'll stand out too much dressed the way you are now. This way, you can pass as a secretary. Executive assistant. Just change — quickly!”

  I tried to find the words that would simultaneously thank her for everything and wish her the best of luck with her own problems because I suspected she had many, but in the end all I could do was nod awkwardly and duck past the doors before the two of us were spotted.

  Michael:

  The guards had come out of nowhere. I'd already incapacitated several and killed just as many. I'd salvaged a helmet and two AK-47s. Assault rifles were powerful but made too much noise. I was going to have to use them if the Glock ran out of ammunition. Running footsteps down the corridor snagged my attention, turning it from thoughts of artillery. I dropped into a defensive stance, ready to shoot on-sight.

  No guards.

  It was — I couldn't believe my luck — Christina, accompanied by Richardson's little whore. How had Christina persuaded that bitch to help her escape? I stared, edgy, sore, and shocked as they conferred briefly. I couldn't hear what they were saying over the alarm, but I could guess. A shoved a handful of clothes at the girl, who disappeared into the locker room. A muttered something under her breath, turning down a different hall.

  I considered following her and asking her what the hell she was thinking, turning against Richardson like that — dis she believe she was more exempt from insubordination because she was sleeping with him? That he'd let her off with a fucking spanking? The sound of more footsteps swiftly changed my mind.

  I dove into the locker room after the girl.

  Christina:

  39 hours left.

  I got dressed in the privacy of one of the shower stalls. The light in here was good; it gave me a more intimate glimpse of my injuries than I would have liked. The mottled bruises and thick, black thread that laced through my skin like the stitching on a rag doll, made me want to retch. I tried to focus solely on the clothes.

  The scream sounded as I was zipping up my skirt. It echoed shrilly off the yellow tiles. I paused a beat before slipping on the flats. Was it coming from the locker room? I could swear it was. Slowly, I pushed open the stall door, stepping out as my eyes restlessly swept the aisles of lockers. Nothing.

  I made my way to the door that led back to the corridor. As I moved closer, I could make out voices — one male, one female. I cracked open the door and peeped out. Adrian had A pinned against the wall by her throat. “I can make you speak, or you can talk freely. Where are Michael and the girl? This organization does not tolerate traitors.”

  I looked at A to see what she was making of this. She just looked scared. So A's vagueness had been because she was protecting someone. She knew what had happened to Michael, so that meant…she was probably connected to someone directly responsible for killing him. She probably thought Michael was going to come after her for revenge.

  Adrian must have been in on it, too. He had encountered Michael and I in the hallway, that one time. He'd whispered something that Michael wouldn't repeat. All his thinly veiled threats, his baseless interest in me — which was looking less baseless by the minute. His premature certainty of Michael's death. Suddenly, the situation began to make sense.

  “I'm not a traitor,” A protested. “I was doing what was best — ”

  “For whom? The IMA? All evidence points to the contrary. Releasing hostages, stealing company property — ”

  She flushed angrily. “The clothes are mine — and Michael might have killed the girl.”

  “She'd have made a pretty little trap then, wouldn't she? Why are you protecting her, A? I know you set her free. The door showed no sign of being forced, so I know Michael didn't do it, and we all know Richardson gives you unlimited access to the codes…”

  I started forward and a hand clamped over my mouth for the third time that day. “Don't move.”

  Michael? I went so still I could feel the rise and fall of his chest against my back. Oh God.

  “I'm not here to hurt you,” he said in a strange, muffled voice. “But you have to keep your goddamn mouth shut.”

  I nodded. He released me. I wasted no time in backing up and increasing the space between us. The muffling was caused by a riot helmet that covered all of his face in hard black plastic, except for the transparent visor. He was wearing black pants tucked into heavy black boots and, over a long-sleeved shirt, a ribbed vest that was probably bulletproof.

  He looked as terrifying as I remembered, and very much alive.

  I tried to scramble around him but he was standing between me and my escape. My heart echoed the sounds of his hands hitting the metal lockers. “Hold it.” He was looking at the outlines of my bandages through my shirt. “Callaghan's been playing with you.”

  I tried to keep myself from looking at the door — and failed.

  “And you're still alive? Interesting.” He let his hand fall away. “Did you find anything useful?”

  “A and Adrian were both in on your death. And A might be close to one of the key people”d — his tawny eyebrows lifted — “but if she is,” I added ferociously, “You have to promise not to hurt her, because I'm sure she didn't mean it.”

  “Oh, she means it, Christina. She's just as cruel as the rest of us.”

  “She isn't! She helped me when nobody else would! She kept Adrian from killing me!”

  Michael sighed and rubbed his eyes. There were dark circles around them that hadn't been there before. He made a forwarding motion with his hand.

  “Your death wasn't accidental.”

  “Impressive.”

  Sarcasm? I couldn't tell. In the silence that followed, I heard A cry out again. I turned in that direction and again, Michael blocked my path.

  “Leave her.”

  “I can't. He's killing her, don't you see? She helped me, and he's killing her!”

  “Callaghan can't hurt her. Not as long as she's fucking his boss. You are a different matter. If he's attacked you once, he will do it again — especially if he left you alive.”

  “A is sleeping with Mr. Richardson?”

  “That's one way of putting it. I doubt they do much sleeping.”

  I colored. “Her daughter…”

  “It's his.”

  “I don't believe you.”

  “She's not as innocent as she looks. I'm surprised she bothered to help you at all.”

  “What does she see in him?”

  “Power. Money.” I might have imagined the pause. “Sex.”

  “T
hat's disgusting.”

  “You asked. Don't ask things you don't want to know the answers to. I don't have time to argue. Can you walk?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not fast enough.” He swung me over his shoulder so I was draped around his neck like a mink coat. I was too tired and too surprised to fight him. It wasn't a good idea, anyway. Not when I was six feet above the ground. His face said the subject was non-negotiable, anyway, and his threat about not getting in his way was still clear in my mind.

  A tremor coursed through his body. He stumbled. I probably wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't been on his shoulders, but I was and I had. “Put me down,” I said hastily. “I can walk.”

  “You're in worse condition than I am.”

  “Then why are you helping me?”

  Michael opened his mouth to respond and I heard gunshots. He set me down on the bench. I watched him draw a large gun.

  “He killed her.”

  “Stay here. Don't make a sound.”

  On the edge of the bench, my hands were white. The sirens were still going off. I could see one of the alarms near the ceiling, flashing like a police car. Michael made his way towards the door and one of the spinning red beams turned his hair and skin flaming red. He opened the door slowly at first, then threw it wide open. I caught a glimpse of the sterile white hallway. He pointed the gun at me, giving it a downward shake, motioning for me to stay where I was, and slipped out the door as silently as a shadow.

  I counted the seconds — he was gone for less than thirty. When he returned, there was a rigidity to his face I didn't like; it made him disconcertingly similar to the Michael-corpse from my dream. I wanted to ask him what he'd seen but didn't quite dare.

  “Sit down,” he said brusquely.

  “What happened to getting out of here?”

  “Change of plans. Sit down.”

  “What do you mean, change of plans? What's going on?”

  Michael fired the gun. “Sit down.”

  I sat down.

  “There is a rift going through this organization. Roughtly half are satisfied with the way things are now. The other half thinks we've gone soft. They want to turn the IMA into a freelance mafia. The main advocate of that is Callaghan. The other is a man named Morelli but he's not the one to worry about — and that's not what's important. What is important is that, right now, they are united by one thing and that is their mutual desire to see us both dead.”

  “You're only one man,” I said.

  “Two.” I stared at him, not understanding. “Including you. You're in this with me.”

  I nodded, thinking I could escape the moment he was gone. Screw his plan. I wasn't going to get myself killed because of him. He wanted to go play Rambo, fine — he could do it by himself. I was going to look for A.

  Something cold snapped around my wrist. Michael snapped the other cuff to one of the wooden legs bolting the bench down to the floor. “What the hell?”

  He dropped the key into his pocket. “I need you. I can't have you running off.”

  Was I that transparent? “They're going to find me here!”

  “Then you had better be really quiet.”

  He was going to leave me here as bait so he could get away. I couldn't believe it. “Bastard. I should have known I couldn't trust you.”

  “You shouldn't trust me. But trust me on this: I am coming back.”

  The alarm was still going off.

  “Say it.”

  “You're coming back.”

  Michael glanced at the doorway. “That's right, darlin. You'll hardly know I'm gone.”

  And then he was.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Valiance

  I noticed, and didn't enjoy the feeling of helplessness. I tugged on the handcuff. Stainless steel — it wasn't going to break. The bench was a different matter. The wooden peg wiggled when I pulled. Not a lot, but enough to show a weakness in the design. Enough to work it free? I jostled the peg back and forth. It got looser. Finally, it fell out with a hollow clatter that made me start guiltily, half-expecting Michael to burst through the door with a face fit to kill.

  But no, I was free. Better yet, I had one-upped the man who used to baffle me with his thoroughness. I felt like Houdini, only better. I shoved the dangling handcuff up my sleeve. Provided nobody got a good look at me, it wouldn't be noticed. I hoped.

  Except for the incessant alarm, there was silence. I waited thirty seconds before opening the door and scanning the hallway. Empty. Almost empty. There was a uniformed man lying on the floor, facing away from me. Was he unconscious? Or dead? I stepped closer, surveying him frowningly. His posture was relaxed, his eyes closed — then I saw the other half of his face. Or what remained behind the liquid mess that dripped into the ragged caverns where his features had been. I bent down, trying to keep whatever I'd last eaten from rising back up.

  Someone had been shot here, only mere feet away from where I'd been hiding in the locker room. Shot in the face. I remembered the gunshots — Michael's expression. Was this the sight that had greeted him, that had made his face look so grim? Nice to know he was still capable of being shocked. There hadn't been a scream, at least. Maybe it had been painless.

  What if this happened to my parents? What if they're locked up in a bunker somewhere, being tortured by a man like Adrian?

  I looked down the hallway, avoiding the dead man. I'd never been through these corridors on my own. I always had an escort before and the size of the place made an impression on me all over gain, now that I was alone. The alarm made me less shy about trying the doors than I might have been, but all of them were locked.

  Of course.

  The alarm cut off mid-shriek, plunging the corridors into a deathly silence. Who had shut it off? And why? Had they caught Michael? Apart from A, he was the closest thing I had to an ally in this place.

  In the sudden absence of sound, my breathing and the soft scuff of my feet on the polished floor sounded so loud, I almost wished the alarm would come back on. Without that blaring sound to mask me, I would have to be twice as careful about making noise.

  There was another gunshot, farther off. I could barely make it out for what it was. I quickly headed in an alternate direction, farther from the gunfire, towards a series of darkened rooms with large glass windows. I could see the faint glow of computer monitors inside. They looked like laboratories. I tried one of the metal doors but these also required access codes and no one had been hasty enough to leave them unlocked. Or maybe they locked automatically in the case of an emergency. I rapped the windows — the glass was thick, the kind used in pressurized tanks. They wouldn't shatter. Another dead end.

  I headed back into the main hallway. Somebody crashed into me. Another uniformed guard. Young. His dark eyes were wide with fright, his hand clapped over his side as though favoring an injury. I held my handcuffed arm behind me, just in case, but his eyes barely skimmed over me as he mumbled an apology and broke into a sprint. I wondered if he would have done anything, even if he had noticed that I'd escaped. Somehow I didn't think so. He'd seemed desperate…almost panicked. As if the devil himself was after him.

  He'd dropped a badge. The cord that had held it around his neck was broken. Snapped. Like someone had pulled it too hard. Miles Trevelyan. Didn't know him. Shrugging, I tossed it back on the floor. Never would, either. But I saw somebody I did know.

  Adrian.

  I dove back into the small corridor with the laboratories, pressing myself up against the shadows and praying he wouldn't see me. I could hear him running. His breath was a little pushed; it sounded like he had been running for a while. Had he been chasing the guard? Or was somebody else chasing both of them? There was another gunshot, closer this time. Adrian glanced over his shoulder and headed into my corridor.

  His gray eyes widened in surprise. “Well, well — I was looking for you.”

  He was? I tried to hide the handcuff.

  “All dressed up with nowhere to go. I'm impress
ed you still have the energy to escape.” I watched his eyes flicker to the hallway. He was definitely the chased. For once. But when he looked back at me, his smile was full of assurance. “Maybe I was too easy on you.”

  I should have stayed in the locker room.

  There was another blast. “Oh, Michael.”

  “What?”

  “The rifleman. He didn't even bother attaching a silencer to that handgun of his — and he's got two assault rifles to boot. Setting off alarms left and right. He must want to be caught.” I almost mentioned the other two gunshots, then thought better of it. Adrian didn't need to know. With any luck, they'd shoot him next.

  “Michael is in big trouble,” he informed me.

  I took a step back. “Isn't he always?”

  “Mm-hmm. You know him well. A little too well. But this time, he has outdone himself. Not only has he failed at being dead — and staying dead — he bribed a technician here to wipe the database clean and then ran off with the back-up disk.”

  “Too bad.” I took another step back. “What was on it?”

  “Everything. An entire library obliterated in a matter of seconds. The little fool didn't even realize what he'd agreed to until I interrogated him. Then he did, but it was too little, too late…”

  The sneer was wiped from my face as I grasped what he was alluding to. Before I could come up with a response, he leaned over me, sliding his hands down the wall until they were level with my face. “That reminds me — where did we leave off?”

  I looked at the hallway, hoping to see…anyone.

  “Everyone evacuated.” He found my desperation hilarious. “In a matter of minutes, special forces will be coming in to take Michael down. Until then, we're alone.”

  Stall him. “He was chasing you, wasn't he? He was going to kill you.”

  “Oh, Michael and I go way back, Christina. I taught him everything he knows.”

  “Y-you did?” Everything?

  “Nobody else wanted him. He had a foul mouth, and a criminal record to boot. But I like a challenge. He requested a transfer after a year. I suppose I can be a little much for people. They tend to prefer me in small doses — or not at all, if they can help it.” He flashed his teeth. “They usually can't.”