Cloak and Dagger (The IMA)

by Nenia Campbell

  “Won't the guards hear the noise? You just said — ”

  “By the time they get here, we'll be long gone. This is more important. Relax your shoulders.” She remained tense, as if the slightest movement would snap her right in half. I tried to press her arms down so she wasn't all hunched up and her hand tightened around the gun. She squeezed the trigger and the gun went off, startling us both. My vest absorbed most of the shock from the recoil, but it didn't do shit for the shock circulating elsewhere.

  “Christ,” I muttered. “Hopefully you won't need it.”

  Her vest wasn't the only thing feeling a little too tight.

  Christina:

  Node Five was bigger than Node Three, which suggested the IMA considered the vast majority of its enemies dangerous. The inside was as silent as a grave. Our breathing sounded impossibly loud in the darkness, almost obscene.

  “Stop that gasping,” Michael hissed. “You're not in a porno, for fuck's sake.”

  He would know. I tried breathing through my nose but that didn't work; I didn't get enough air that way, and it made my chest start to ache.

  When I turned my head to the side, Michael had his gun out and drawn. He was looking around, scanning the cells, a worried line between his eyebrows. “Something's wrong.”

  “What?”

  He compressed his lips and gave a slight shake of his head. He didn't know yet. His eyes, however, were restless. Vigilant. “I know what it is,” he said a moment later. “All the cells — ”

  “Yeah?”

  “They're empty.”

  Something collided with my chest, sending me back against the bars of one of the cells. It was like being punched. Something clattered to the hard floors. A bullet, spent. If I hadn't been wearing the vest, I'd be dead.

  “They evacuated the prisoners.” Michael's words dissolved into an outraged cry when a bullet clipped his shoulder. “I knew something like this was going to happen — ”

  More gunfire. It was like thunder in my ears, shaking the bones of my skull. I couldn't question his judgment this time. We both knew we were only here because I'd asked to be; a request that seemed noble at the time but was growing more foolish with each passing second. Was A really worth it? I'd already gotten my parents.

  Michael shouted something incomprehensible. My injuries awakened from their dormancy, screaming reminders of their presence when he tackled me. “You moron,” he was yelling, “You almost took a bullet in the head.”

  He shoved me through one of the doors, slamming it behind us. I could hear the footsteps of the guards storming past the door. I stared at it, numb, feeling his breath stir my hair. It's pretty fucking counter-intuitive for survival to be thinking, 'What if that bullet hits her?' Instead of, 'What if that bullet hits me?'”

  He had jumped into crossfire to protect me.

  “…standing there, like a deer in the goddamn headlights…”

  The signs had been there all along. I'd just been too obtuse to see them.

  “…maudit. No sense whatsoever — ”

  “You…saved me,” I said. “You…actually care.”

  “Christina.” He sounded genuinely angry. “Shut up.”

  Shutting up would be a good idea. But my mouth wouldn't obey. “Why don't you act like it? The way you treat me, nobody would ever — ”

  “Because it doesn't change a thing.”

  “It does,” I said. “More than ever.”

  “Not to me.”

  “It does to me.”

  “I don't think you understand. I saved you because you're useful to me.” He decreased the distance between us. “In more ways than one. That's all.”

  “No,” I whispered. “You're lying.”

  “Want me to prove it?”

  “Not now.”

  “When?”

  My heart stopped. “What?”

  “When?”

  A shiver snaked through my spine. I looked desperately at the door; the hallway had fallen silent. “I…I don't know when. I can't think…not more than a couple minutes in advance. I'm tired. Just not…not in this place. People have died here.”

  “We won't.” Coming from him, it sounded more like a threat than reassurance.

  “Please.”

  He looked at me a moment longer and nodded shortly. Not here.

  Static crackled through the intercom. A familiar voice rang through the building. “Mr. Boutilier and Miss Parker, we have the building surrounded.”

  I froze, every muscle in my body tightening.

  “It's a bluff,” said Michael, though he didn't sound certain.

  “Exit the building with your hands up. You have five minutes before we begin to execute one prisoner for each minute past the deadline.”

  A familiar cry.

  “Starting with A.”

  Michael:

  Richardson had made his point clear. He held all of the cards, even the trumps. We had knocked out the electricity but that was by no means the only power we had to worry about. Not even close. Christina stared at the loudspeaker, wide-eyed. “Do they really have us surrounded?”

  “Probably,” I said, “He has the whole complex at his disposal.”

  We still had a chance at survival. Richardson didn't know where we were, as evidenced by the fact that the guards weren't bursting down the door. He wouldn't have bothered with threats at all if he through he could get the drop on us.

  I had a plan. Risky, but I didn't have much choice.

  I left the building, followed by Christina. Because they would be expecting it, I fired off a few seemingly careless shots — at the roof, where there were snipers, at the guards — until I was tackled and the weapon was removed. The guards didn't look at the gun too closely. I was glad. If they had, they might have realized it wasn't an ordinary gun, and that my shots hadn't been all that careless.

  Christina screamed. She must have been apprehended, her weapon also confiscated. And then I turned my head and realized who was doing the confiscating. “Aw,” Adrian said, cupping the girl's face with the hand holding the gun. “It's so easy to get people to cooperate when they care about each other.”

  I got two steps in before I was restrained by the guards.

  Slow clapping broke the silence. Richardson was standing nine meters away, holding a struggling A at gunpoint. That was cold, even for him. “Congratulations, Mr. Boutilier: you have managed to waste approximately six hours of my time and destroy several thousand dollars' worth of irreplaceable equipment. I hope you're pleased with yourself.”

  “As punch,” I said. That earned me a clip from one of the guards.

  “I always knew that you would someday betray me,” Richardson continued. “I hoped to be rid of you before that happened. I never imagined, however, that when you did pull such a stunt, my own whore would be among you. I was always under the impression you two didn't like each other. Points for ingenuity, Mr. Boutilier, but then again, you always did manage to exceed expectations.”

  “Whore?” A repeated, outraged. “Whore? Is that all you have to say to me you son of a — ”

  “Ah, ah, ah. Don't make me gag you, my dear.” He gave the woman a poisonous smile.

  She spat in his face. I didn't know she had it in her.

  Richardson was unimpressed. “Gag her.” He foisted her upon the nearest guard, dabbing the spit from his face with a handkerchief. “As for you, Mr. Boutilier, you have two options. Choice one — die where you stand.”

  “And the second?”

  He was interrupted by a bright exclamation from A, who was trying to kick the guard with the gag. Richardson shot her an annoyed look before turning to face me. “I would hate to kill one of my best soldiers. You may live, provided that you prove your loyalty to this agency and to me” — he nodded to the girl — “by killing Miss Parker.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Motive

  Christina:

  Adrian smiled. For one hideous second I was paralyzed by my fear, like a mouse lo
cked in the hypnotic eyes of a serpent. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, though — it never had, which had been one of the first things that alerted me to his true nature. They were almost blue in the sunlight, as cold and hard as ice. There was no mistaking the boundless killing drive that lurked behind them, like a demon peering though the windows of its mortal prison.

  I remembered the gun a split second before he reached me. I whipped it out of the vest pocket, hooking my finger around the trigger. “Stay away.”

  “That's a dangerous toy, Christina Parker.”

  I heard several gunshots. My heart leaped as I caught a glimpse of Michael in my periphery. To my utter disbelief, all of his shots missed. Only one bullet came even remotely close to hitting anyone and it rebounded off the rooftop of Node Five, causing the snipers to break rank.

  “Poor marksmanship,” Adrian scoffed. “He's usually quite good. Hard to distract. I wonder what's gotten into him.”

  “I'll shoot you,” I bit out, tightening my grip on the gun.

  “Do it.”

  I stared at him incredulously. Did he want to die? He reached out for my wrist, intent on restraining me and seizing the weapon. The answer seemed to be “yes.” I saw, as if watching somebody else, my finger tighten involuntarily on the trigger.

  Click.

  With a growing feeling of dread, I pulled it again.

  Click.

  A soft, derisive laugh burned my ears. He wrenched the gun out of my sweaty, shaking hand. “Works better without the safety on,” was his only comment as he unloaded the clip and tossed it aside. I stared at those discarded bullets. Adrian had goaded me into firing at him. And I had let him get to me…eagerly, even. If the safety hadn't been on, I would have killed him.

  I couldn't remember what the bible said about self-defense.

  “Poor Christina,” he said. “You should see your face.”

  He moved before I had time to register his words. I screamed, stumbling away from him, glancing over my shoulder as I did so. There was nowhere to run. Michael had already been handcuffed by the guards. We had been running all morning. I was exhausted. There was no way I was going to win. Adrian knew it, too. Because he laughed again, and that laugh tore through my defenses and caused my anger to reach its breaking point.

  With a growl, I launched myself at him. I managed to lunge a clumsy punch at his face. But I was running on empty and adrenaline was no match for a soldier in riot gear. He caught me by the wrist, twisting that arm behind my back. When I tugged my arm the pain increased tenfold and I gasped wretchedly.

  Michael looked at me, his expression black. He managed exactly two steps.

  “Aw,” Adrian said. His cold fingers slid beneath my throat, and I felt the textured surface of the gun against my skin, still warm from my palms. “It's so easy to get people to cooperate when they care about each other.”

  I forced myself to stay silent.

  Slow clapping filled the clearing. Mr. Richardson, in addition to his usual entourage of guards. A was with him. At gunpoint. I let out a wordless cry of rage. Adrian bent my arm back a little more. “Don't be rude, Christina — it's not polite to interrupt.”

  “Congratulations, Mr. Boutilier,” Mr. Richardson said, in a voice that conveyed his irritation and his triumph perfectly. “You have managed to waste approximately six hours of my time and destroy several thousand dollars' worth of irreplaceable equipment. I hope you're pleased with yourself.”

  “As punch.”

  Adrian chuckled. “It's not polite to show up to your own execution, either, is it?”

  “I always knew that you would someday betray me,” Richrdson continued. “I hoped to be rid of you before that happened — but I never imagined that when you did pull such a stunt, my own whore would be among you. I was always under the impressions that you two didn't like each other. Points for ingenuity, Mr. Boutilier, but then again, you always did manage to exceed expectations.”

  “Did he exceed your expectations, too, Christina?”

  “Stop talking to me!”

  “Mhmm. Soon you'll wish the only thing I ever did was talk to you.”

  Ignore him.

  “The boss has a surprise for you, Christina.”

  Don't give him what he wants.

  “I helped him pick it out, just for you.”

  I stared ahead resolutely, not letting myself think about what Adrian might have picked out as a surprise for me. Panic was already pecking at me from the inside like a small, frantic bird.

  “As for you, Mr. Boutilier, you have two options. Choice one — die where you stand.”

  “And the second?”

  “This is the good part,” Adrian whispered.

  I twisted my head away.

  “I would hate to kill one of my best soldiers. You may lie, provided that you prove your loyalty to the agency and to me” — he nodded at me — “by killing Miss Parker.”

  “That's the surprise,” Adrian said.

  Mr. Richardson pushed past A, now gagged and looking both livid and frightened, and made his way over to me. I backed up automatically and bumped into Adrian's chest. Loathing merged with my fear and I had to choke back a suddenly overwhelming urge to puke all over his shoes.

  “Hello, Miss Parker.”

  Adrian gave me a nudge.

  I said nothing.

  “I would say I feel some regret for what is about to happen to you, being young as you are, but I don't. You two have sabotaged an entire mission, destroyed precious equipment, freed two potentially dangerous prisoners, and wreaked havoc over entire base…” I fixed him with a flat look of hatred. He went on, “For which you will pay with your life. However, you have managed to earn my respect — your determination is nothing short of remarkable.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Quite so.” My sarcasm appeared to fly over his head. “And that is why your death will be painless. Such is my generosity.”

  Adrian's hands locked around both my wrists as I took a step forward and told him what he could do with his generosity.

  “Well. It appears that you have spent entirely too much time around our operative, Miss Parker. You're beginning to sound like him.”

  “Screw you.”

  He held my gaze a moment longer. “The vest she is wearing is bulletproof, as well as company property. Kindly remove it, Mr. Callaghan.”

  Adrian had to let go of one of my arms to comply with his boss's order. I braced myself for that moment, swinging around — scratching, kicking, clawing, going for his soulless eyes. I heard Adrian choke and latched on with the grim determination that comes with imminent death. One of the guards cracked me over the head with the butt of his rifle. Bright flashes of light erupted before my eyes. I relinquished my grip on his throat with a gasp, dropping to my knees.

  “I'll get you for that,” he said, ripping the vest off with unnecessary force, his voice burning like hot oil in my ears. “And I'm going to enjoy it.” My heart was slamming against my ribcage, as if trying to break free from my chest before the bad things started happening.

  Satisfied, Mr. Richardson turned around. “Your decision, Mr. Boutilier? Quickly — I am a busy man and you have had considerable time to think over your choice.”

  Michael spoke the three words that made my breath come to a stuttering halt.

  “I'll do it.”

  Michael:

  Richardson had been the head of the IMA for a long time. His expression suggested that he had seen it all, and none of it had impressed him. I focused all my attention on his face as my words sank in. Though I could not be sure, I suspected he was satisfied, suspicious, and wary.

  “No tricks, Mr. Boutilier?”

  I shrugged.

  He continued to study me. I did not shrink under his scrutiny. Standard intimidation techniques would not work on me; I had long since become immune. “You will use one of my guns,” he said at last. “You understand of course.”

  Of course.

  “Release
him.” This order was directed to the guard holding my left arm. “Let's see what he does.”

  Lefty was not as easily convinced. “Are you sure that's a good idea, sir?”

  “He's right, sir,” Righty echoed. “WE've been chasing this bastard all morning. He ran us all over the island. Now that we've finally caught him, you want to give him a gun?”

  If they were trying to dissuade him, they were doing a poor job of it. Richardson did not like being chastised by subordinates, especially not publicly. “We have confiscated all of his other weapons. If he can bring himself to shoot the young woman he seems to place so much value on then he will have proved his loyalty to me, and may therefore live. If not…”

  Richardson glanced back at me, clearly looking for some kind of response. He got none.

  “If not, you may deal with him accordingly — if the snipers don't get to him first.”

  Seeing they had no choice, the guards unlocked my cuffs but didn't release me. Not yet. I straightened to my full height as Richardson approached. He was not a tall man — in fact, he was several inches well below the national average — though he gave no indication that he found my stature intimidating. He had a gun, I didn't.

  Overconfidence didn't become him.

  “One wrong move,” he said, just loudly enough to be overheard by the guards. “And they will not hesitate. You will die in more agony than you ever believed possible.”

  Richardson snapped his fingers without breaking eye contact. “Hernandez,” he said, speaking to Lefty. “Give me your gun.” The guard stepped forward and handed over the aforementioned firearm. “One wrong move,” Richardson repeated, pressing the weapon into my hands. “And there will be no more chances for you, Mr. Boutilier. I do not find you nearly as amusing as Miss Parker, and your death will be neither quick nor painless. Do you understand?”

  “Perfectly.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek and turned to face the girl. Her stiff posture betrayed her fear and she grew even more rigid as I approached. That front of hers was crumbling. I knew, from experience, that the overt brightness of her eyes was a sign she was close to tears.