by Neal, Xavier
So that's it huh? She's gone from my life just like that? Not even so much as an echo of hope for me to cling onto? My fingers scroll up to Glove's number shaking my head in disbelief.
When he answers he doesn't sound like he's at HORN where he should be. “Director let you keep your phone? Was he feeling generous?”
On a chuckle I reply, “I wouldn't know yet. Haven't been in.”
“Really? You either?” Glove questions. “Huh. That's not normal.”
“Wait. What do you mean me either? You got in last night.”
“Yeah. And there was no one there to escort us back like Jazz said there would be. Mindy was there to take Haven home and ended up dropping us both off. We tried to call Jazz and nothing. Tried to report in to The Director and all we received was a one line text telling us we would be summoned at a later date. To return home and wait for further communication.”
The explanation has panic settling in more than just my veins. “None of that seemed fucking suspicious to you?”
“It did. Grim too. But it was given as an order from The Director. Considering everything that just went down, we figured maybe it was backlash. The start of our team being dismembered.”
While it's a valid point, it doesn't sound like the way we operate. The Director is cold and calculated, but prompt. He never delays an ass chewing. “Look, I'm still at the airport. Think you can pick me up?”
“Yeah,” he quickly agrees. “No one came to get you?”
“No.”
“On my way now,” his unsure voice assures me I'm right.
“I'll call Grim and tell him to meet us at HORN. Something isn't right. None of this is right.”
“Alright,” Glove replies before hanging up.
Immediately, I call Grim who answers on the first ring. “He let you up keep your phone. That has to be a good sign.”
“Just the opposite,” I groan moving around the pillar at an attempt at privacy. “No one came to pick me up.” His silence says exactly what I imagined it would. Further assurance that something major is wrong. “Gloves on his way now.”
“I'll meet y'all there.”
“Grim is Haven--”
“She's safe.” He replies. “And I intend to keep it that way.”
“If Jazz--”
“She's a grown woman. If anyone can watch their own six, it's her.” The words should bring me comfort but bring anxiety instead. She can watch her own back. She needs no one. She's never needed any one before. She's never wanted anyone before, but I know that's not the truth now. She needs us. She needs me. “See you soon.”
As soon as the line goes dead, I try Jazz's number once more for good measure before trying The Director's. His number doesn't ring either. Her's could easily be passed off as being fired or whatever happens to HORN members who go rogue, but there's no reason he shouldn't answer.
Glove arrives about twenty minutes after the call in my truck. Confused by his choice of actions, I toss my luggage in the back seat, and demand, “Get out my seat.”
He chuckles and crawls out. “I thought sharing was caring cowboy?”
“My truck is like my women. I don't like sharin'.” Hopping in, I buckle my seatbelt and look at him in disgust at what's blaring through the speakers. “Really Glove? Beyoncé?”
“She's catchy!” He defends himself. “She soothes me. Not to mention I'm flawless.”
“Remind me to make fun of you for that later,” I note pulling out of the airport traffic that's backing up quickly.
“Remind me to make fun of your accent.” A laugh leaves him. “You sound like you're gonna bust out in song any second.” His humor defense mechanism is distracting, but far from calming. Suddenly he starts singing, “Don't break my heart...my achy breaky heart.”
“Don't sing,” I hush him. “I need you to focus. Can you do that?”
He nods. “But you're not gonna like what I have to say.”
“Do I ever?”
“Fair,” he sighs.
“I tried Shepard. Disconnected.”
“Yeah well, Grim tried Merlin. Nothing.”
“No one is answering?”
“I can't help, but feel this is the tip of the iceberg.”
“Fuck!” I hit the steering wheel, flying onto the highway, my speed kicking past lawful limits. Cars seem to part out of my way, emergency signals seeping out of me every time my foot presses harder on the accelerator. “Tell me, you're ready.”
“Nothing.” He tries to lightly say. “Guess that makes two of us huh?”
“Nope.”
“You pack in your truck?” Glove questions. When he receives a sarcastic look he grunts, “Am I the only one who doesn't? Goddamn it, Grim gave me the same fucking look when I asked him that one day.”
“What kind a Marine doesn't pack in his vehicle?”
“The kind that assumes off duty means off fucking duty,” he argues. “I pack a knife on me.”
“So do I. Typically in my boots.”
“'Cause a good cowboy is always ready to go John Wayne on someone?”
“I'm never taking your ass back to Georgia,” I grumble, taking the exit sharply.
“You have to. You promised,” he whines.
“Under your seat. Velcroed. Grab it.” Glove reaches for the handgun I keep there. “Extra bullets in the glove compartment.” He attempts to open it when I instruct, “Spare key taped under the seat lever.” Following my instruction, he grabs the key unlocking it, and loads up with the spare ammo.
“Grim's like Rambo. You're clearly Walker Texas Ranger. Who am I?”
“At the moment? A pain in the ass,” I describe pulling around back streets towards the employee entrance of the building.
That's when we see it. The empty security booth. The lot full of vehicles and no one on duty. There's a clear breach of protocol. At any given point there is someone in that booth. There is someone to take all communication devices and check badges. The fear that this is much worse than we were anticipating seeps into my lungs as I glide through to park my truck.
Glove's demeanor now shifts into HORN mode, jokes of comfort put on the shelf. Loading the weapon he asks, “Vest?”
I shift my truck into park. “No.” When his eyes look up to mine I command. “So don't get hit.”
He nods in understanding before we get out and I move around to the backseat where I keep a couple more guns in a compartment built into the floor. For the most part, I used some of the money I had saved before running away to modify my truck shortly after we were enrolled in HORN. Figured it would be a good idea to be safe rather than sorry.
I grab the two weapons at the same time Grim parks beside me. Slowly he pulls himself out of the vehicle, the look on his face one I can honestly say I haven't missed. Without a word, he moves around to his trunk, grabbing weapons and ammo of his own.
Once we're all strapped for what's feeding our insecurities we gather between the vehicles. Leaning against his car, Grim questions, “What are the chances we're overreacting?”
“Slim,” Glove replies.
“Chances there are survivors?” His eyes cut to me.
Uncomfortable with my answer I sigh, “Slim.”
“Possibility this was an outside job?” We shake our heads in unison. “We go in together. Stick close. We head for Merlin's first. That's our greatest shot at locking whatever's inside in.”
“Grim, what makes you think we can get in?” Glove's question is one I have as well.
“Because if they've wiped out all other parts of this unit, they're waiting to wipe us out too.”
On a hand signal he indicates it's time to move. Together we jog to the door, slip inside, and follow Grim as he moves us flawlessly around corners like the shadows you're afraid of in the depths of night. The lights in the building flicker. Maneuvering past the employee designated sleeping area I notice there are bullet holes in the walls.
“Took you long enough,” a familiar voice announces over the interco
m.
Grim holds a hand for us to cease movements. Pressed against the wall, he holds a finger to his lips.
“Oh, don't be shy,” Tyger playfully says. “Just because I can't see you, doesn't mean I don't know you're here. In fact, I know more about the three of you than you think...”
Glove whispers, “He can't see us?”
“Merlin must've disabled the cameras at the first sign of trouble,” I whisper in return.
“Remind me to buy that hobbit a gift when we make it out of this alive,” Glove's comment makes us briefly smirk.
Grim makes another hand motion for us to return to moving, our movement up the stairs flawlessly silent as we slip onto the second level.
“You don't think I know you're moving,” Tyger starts again. “You three are so fucking predictable. You think you're better than me, but you're so wrong.” His monologue continues as does our movement until Grim stumbles backwards finding wires waiting for us to trip over. “This was planned from the day you stepped into the training center. JZ's prized possessions.” He sneers. “Pathetic. Tearing your team apart has been easier than playing chess with a chicken.” The southern reference has me scowling. He gives us a bad name. “You thought you'd trick me? Make me think you were no longer together? Please. You played right into my hand. Together you are much harder to manipulate than when you're separated. But apart....you're so easy.”
Grim gestures we move the other direction to take another route, as we do, we take a corner stumbling upon a lifeless body from another team that reports to this location. The sight hurts, but we have to keep moving.
“Create tension. Apply just enough pressure to a wound and watch it infect the rest of the body...speaking of, Lordy how was it to watch your grandfather die?” The question has me shaking my head. I'll be the one to drop that asshole. Grim glances at me and nods as if he heard me. “Bet the sympathy sex JZ gave up was hottttt....”
Hearing him taunt me about her has me lunging forward to run. Grim holds up an arm to stop me, demanding I keep my focus. I know that. I know to stay focused. I can do that. I can remain focused.
“How livid were you when you found she lied to you? Lied to The Director? Probably as livid as Grim was when he had to play old reliable and swoop down there to bring you home and execute that fake mission I set up huh?”
“I hate people who monologue,” Glove growls in a low voice. “It's the part in the movie, I wish someone would just shoot them in the forehead.”
“God fucking willing at this point,” I grumble back.
Suddenly one of the exit only doors swings open and an arm flies out grabbing him by the back of the shirt. Raising our weapons to fire, we struggle to know which body to shoot at, as their fists and arms fly, blocks and counters in a scuffle that ends with knives placed against each other's throat.
The Director's face starts to soften when he realizes who it is. Holding his hands up in surrender, he motions for us to get out of the main hall and into the typically exit only stairwell.
Shutting the door silently as I can I question, “With the systems down there are more ways to move throughout this building than ever before, aren't there?”
He nods and shakes his head. “It's like a fun house nightmare in here. Every door is as much an entrance as it is an exit. It's the only thing keeping me alive at this point.”
My eyes give him a once over noticing the gunshot wound in his leg. His body looks slightly beat up, but other than the one hit, he looks alright. “How long have you been hit?”
Without so much as looking at the wound he shrugs. “I don't know. Feels like I've been stuck in here for days.”
Grim insists, “Let's get you towards The Doc's office--”
“No,” he refuses. “He's expecting that. I tried that direction and he had a minion rotating that floor.”
“Well now you're not on your own,” Grim reminds him. “We need to get that cleaned.”
“No Jacket. That's an order.”
“No,” Grim argues. “It's not your call right now Director.” When his eyes widen he says, “Team leader of this mission. You do as I say and right now we need that wound cleaned and a safe place to gather more information. Now let's move.” When Shepard doesn't argue, Grim turns his attention to Glove. “I need you quiet. Can you handle that?”
With a shit eating grin he nods putting his gun away. “My pleasure.”
“Why won't anyone talk to me?” Tyger gripes over the intercom. “Why is it so hard for you to just accept defeat?” Moving quietly down a couple floors down with my arm wrapped around The Director to help his speed, we leak right onto the level of the infirmary. The minion has moved just a foot away from where we entered.
Quicker than he has time to react, Glove is behind him, hand over his mouth, neck snapping like a rag doll. Quietly he lowers the body to the ground in case there are others lurking, strips him of the weapon he can see, and holds it out for use. The four of us successfully make it to the medical area where we find The Doc dead on the floor.
Tempted to move him, Grim commands, “Secure Shepard. Glove secure the door.”
I nod and help The Director onto to the bed.
“Doesn't anyone wanna play with me?” The sadistic chuckle is followed by full out laughter then a very sharp loud distinct screaming. “How about now?”
“Jazz!” I shout.
“That's what he wants!” Grim growls in a sharp whisper. “He wants to lure you out.”
She screams again over the intercom clearly in agonizing pain. Clutching the edge of the bed tightly I shut my eyes, the sound echoing through me again and again. I have to get to her. I have to get to her now. I have to--
“Lordy,” Grim's voice breaks through the building rage. My eyes drag up to his. “We'll get her. My word.” After I nod he points. “Fix Shepard. More hands on deck the better.”
“He's using the intercom. So he has to be in your office or Merlin's right?” Glove moves towards us as I start disinfecting The Director's gunshot wound.
“No,” Shepard sighs. “The dick hacked into the system and rewired it to an earpiece he's walking around with. He can literally be anywhere. And is everywhere.”
Grim folds his arms across his chest. “The rest of the building?”
“Took 'em out.” Shepard growls through the pain. “While you three were away, I'd taken my own minor trip on a tip JZ gave me. In our absence...Rome fell. Every member of his team. Every member of security. The two other teams that work out of this office as well.”
“Merlin?” Grim questions while I wrap the wound.
“Unknown. If he did take him out, I haven't come across his body yet. Regardless, Merlin had emergency protocols all his own he set off before he died or disappeared.”
“It's why that dick stick mumbling can't see us,” Glove declares.
When Shepard nods, I ask, “What was the tip Jazz gave you?”
“To make a personal visit to Tyger's adopted parents.”
“Asshole's adopted?” Glove grunts. “Gives foster kids a bad name.”
“He was adopted. Nothing about his adoption seemed suspicious. Nothing on paper. Nothing digitally. It looked as clean as could be, but JZ compared some bonus info from when his father was younger she didn't buy. Vacations to places that shouldn't raise flags but raised hers. She insisted I look again.”
“And?” Grim growls.
“She was right. Their stories had holes that were familiar. Their home had clues they were hiding more than they let on. So I kept digging after I left and it turns out Tyger's adoption wasn't random. He was a child The Face purchased and placed into adoption by a 'perfect all American' family. Raised and bred to be a sleeper agent for him. Raised to protect The Face from the inside.”
“How the hell do you miss that?” Glove shouts.
“Bury anything deep enough,” I mumble knowing how it feels.
“Where is The Face now?” Grim questions.
“Here.” Shepard
replies.
Quickly I ask, “What do you mean here?”
“I mean here. My office.” Shepard sighs. “Destroying files. Learning others.”
“That seems out of character,” I comment.
“Does it?” Grim shakes his head. “Who does The Face trust with his money? Second in command. Who do you think he would trust with that level of information that we have? Who else besides himself could he trust to destroy it without using it as leverage?”
“Paranoid bastard,” Glove mumbles.
“Yeah. But it puts him here and we can take him down too.” Grim declares. “Bullet to the skull.”
“He's not coming out of that office,” Shepard denies. “Not without believing it's time to go or us having something he wants more than those files.”
Slowly I smirk. “I've got an idea for that....” Grim tilts his head at me in question. “Trust me.”
“Uh...guys,” Glove interrupts. “Is it just me or did he stop talking?”
The silence on the intercom is like the murder music in a horror movie. Frightening. Quickly Grim declares, “Let’s move. Weapons room needs to be our next stop.”
“It's locked,” Shepard grunts, standing to his feet slightly better. “Part of protocol. Don't want the enemy to access those kinds of weapons. This place would've been locked had the Doc been alive long enough to hit the emergency switch.”
“So you're telling me what we have on us, is what we've got?” Grim tries not to sound defeated.
“Basically, yeah. Another reason to keep moving.” Shepard insists.
“We need to draw them to us.” I speak up. “The training center. We need them in the training center.”
“That's a lot of territory to cover,” Grim denies. “Too much. Too many angles and chances.”
“Not if we all take a space.” I argue. “One of us covering the front, one of us covering the back corner, one of us covering up top and one of us for bait.”
Gritting his teeth he lets out a deep breath. “And you're bait.”
“His biggest ax to grind is with Jazz. And I'm her favorite play thing.”
“That sounds dirty,” Glove's attempt at humor is actually welcomed at this moment. Something about offering myself as target practice for a raging psychopath makes the desire for anything to lighten the situation necessary.
