Codename: Nightshade (Deadly Seven Strike Force)

by Anderson, S

  Nick, I love you. The words are stuck in my throat. I want to yell them, and yet I’m terrified of ever saying it again. He disappeared the first time I said it.

  I shove all the emotional crap down. I have a job to do. Claymore needs my help.

  I find the right door and ease it open. “Hey, you good to go?”

  I take two steps into the room, stopping when I don’t see Claymore. I’m in the wrong room, I figure, but the dark red stain on the floor and pool of blood in the blue plastic chair that he sat in warn I’m in the right spot.

  Was he dumb enough to try to come after me?

  “MacNeal,” I say, keeping the volume of my voice low. Ducking down, I search under the tables to see if he crawled to the other side of the room. “Where are you?”

  Wherever he is, it isn’t in this room.

  “Damn.”

  I head back out to the hall, the gun clutched tightly between my hands as I search. Nikolai is out of sight, MacNeal is missing, I don’t know where we actually are, and worst of all, I have no idea how we’ll get away from this place without being caught.

  I know the protocol at this point. My training tells me to get myself out, contact help, and hope for the best for my team. Maybe it’s the weeks I’ve spent out of the game, or maybe I’ve just always had a problem with authority, but I ignore what I should do and head toward the observation room.

  I’m halfway there when a loud bang behind me stalls me. I spin on my heel, holding the gun up.

  “Are you lost, Subject B?”

  My shoulders tense, and my hands shake around the gun. Heinrich stands there, flanked on either side by two technicians brandishing the weapons Nikolai warned me about. Other men stand behind him—his guests, I assume.

  My cheek twitches. “That’s not my name.”

  “No? Are you sure?”

  He’s trying to get under my skin, trying to confuse me.

  I won’t let that happen.

  “My name is Penelope Vincent. You can call me Agent Vincent.”

  There’s that evil sneer on his face. “Have you ever wondered, Subject B, why you’re such a stickler about that detail?”

  It’s because my name is the only thing that’s mine. Hassan’s name is Mohin. My mother’s name is Evans. I might not have chosen Penelope, but Vincent was all me. The day I joined the army and became an emancipated minor, I chose my name. Nothing lasted longer than a month, maybe a year in my life, but my name has been mine for twelve years.

  I won’t let anyone take that away from me.

  I don’t tell him. I know the truth. That’s all that matters.

  The gun feels heavy in my hand. My thumb teases the hammer.

  “You were upset earlier,” he says, like he’s talking down to a child. I hate that. “You don’t want to shoot me again, Subject B. That would have horrible repercussions.”

  I aim the gun at his face. “I really don’t give a shit who I piss off. I’m going to shoot you.”

  “Shoot me, Subject B, and I won’t be able to protect you anymore. Shoot me and the world will know what you are.”

  “Spare me the bad guy monologue portion of this bullshit, please,” I say. “The world already knows who I am.”

  That amuses him. “Do they?”

  “Well,” I amend, “not the entire world, but the right people do.”

  “Do they?”

  Do they? Do they? Those two words coupled with his condescending smirk bug the shit out of me.

  “Don’t push me,” I warn.

  “Or what? You’ll kill me, Subject B?”

  Has this bastard been listening to me? Of course I’m going to kill him.

  His expression turns serious, and he frowns as he says, “Don’t you think you’ve killed enough people, Subject B?”

  I’m done with this conversation, done with him. “Not until I add your name to the list.”

  “Why do you entertain this garbage?” that heavy Russian accent asks. The lackeys on either side of Heinrich are shoved out of the way as Minister Kulzkoff steps up. “Kill her.”

  “There’s a special ring in Hell reserved for traitors like you,” I tell him, pointing the gun at him.

  Kulzkoff straightens with confidence I’m going to take great pleasure in knocking down. “Kill her, Gregor, or I will.”

  That makes me laugh. “I’d like to see you try.”

  Heinrich shakes his head. “What would you like to see me try, Subject B?”

  “I’d like to see him kill me,” I say.

  “Who are you talking about, Subject B?” Heinrich asks, glancing over his shoulder as if no one is standing there.

  It’s a trick. He’s good at getting in your head.

  “You damn well know who I’m talking about,” I say.

  “I must confess that I don’t,” he says. “Perhaps you can clue me in.”

  Just shoot him, Penelope.

  I aim the gun between his eyes.

  “Tell me, Subject B,” he says. I have to admit, the man is pretty fearless in the face of death. “Where will you go? What is your plan?”

  “None of your business.”

  “No? Do you even know where you are?”

  “Russia, asshole,” I say. Why am I humoring this? Why can’t I pull the trigger?

  Heinrich shakes his head, a pitiful look on his face. “No, Subject B, you are in a facility for the mentally unwell in Oslo, Norway. You’ve been a patient of mine for over ten years.”

  That’s hitting below the belt, taking me back to the darkest time of my life. I can’t believe it.

  I won’t.

  “Liar,” I say.

  “Penelope, you checked yourself in. Don’t you remember?”

  I do remember. I remember falling to my knees in the street. I remember screaming so loud and long that people thought I’d been stabbed. I remember signing all the documents that claimed my freedom.

  “I checked out of that place a week later.”

  Heinrich shakes his head. “No. You began having delusional episodes a week later. You convinced yourself you were an agent… a spy… and your team had come to retrieve you.”

  My skin itches.

  Just shoot him, Penelope.

  “Penelope, please,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender. “Please don’t try to break out again. Don’t kill any more people. Let me help you. I’ve always been here to help you.”

  I’ve always been here to help you.

  Those words… he told me those words before.

  I’m a killer. It’s what I do, what I’ve been trained to do.

  Isn’t it?

  I stare at Kulzkoff. He looks the part of some villain right out of Hollywood. Even Heinrich fits that part. Is what he’s telling me true? Am I just building up some delusion?

  There are so many memories in my head right now. I don’t know which I can and can’t trust.

  I look to the ground, to my bare feet, and slowly lower the gun.

  “Good girl,” Heinrich says.

  It grates under my skin.

  I really want to kill him.

  I look up just as a red dot appears in the center of Heinrich’s chest.

  “Good girl, Subject B,” he says, oblivious of what’s happening, his focus fully on me. He waves for me to come closer to him, and I raise my hand to warn him.

  I’m too late.

  A bullet rips through his chest, dropping him like a sack of potatoes.

  Instinct has me ducking on the ground, crawling to safety near the wall. I cover my head and look down the hall to find the source of the kill.

  A soldier, dressed all in black stands a few feet away. He lowers his rifle and rushes over to me. I don’t know who to be afraid of, how to react to anyone anymore. I flinch and hide my face when he gets close to me.

  High-pitched ringing fills my ears. I feel him touch me, even hear that he’s speaking, but I can’t make anything out.

  He shakes me, once, twice, hard enough that I smack the b
ack of my head against the wall.

  Somehow, that clears my mind a little.

  “Agent Vincent, are you okay?”

  I’m losing my shit, shaking and crying.

  “Hey,” the soldier says, holding my shoulders steady. “Hey, Pineapple, you with me?”

  Pineapple.

  “Ace?”

  He’s staring at me with the kind of smile that only Ace would have at a moment like this.

  “Am I crazy?”

  He laughs, and his head bobs up and down as he says, “Yep, but that’s just the way we like it.”

  I can’t process any of the moment. I fall forward, throwing my arms around him, and he holds me together.

  “It’s okay,” he tells me over and over. “You’re gonna be okay.”

  I wish I could believe him.

  I don’t know what to believe anymore.

  16

  I don’t know how much time passes before I find myself in an airplane hangar somewhere in Russia. Ace talked me down from hysterics and transported me here. He assured me that Claymore was getting medical attention and that Nikolai was in custody.

  I don’t like the taste of that word in my mouth.

  Nikolai isn’t a criminal.

  I jump out of the cab of the truck we traveled in and find utter chaos. Both Russian and American military uniforms are bunched all around the space. An ambulance with a med team is working in one corner and a truck that followed us in produces an enraged Minister Kulzkoff.

  “How long has he been working with them?” I ask, huddling into my borrowed boots and jacket as the cold from the snow outside finally reaches me.

  Ace watches as Kulzkoff is handed off to guards I’ve only ever seen at council headquarters.

  “The council suspected all along. About six years ago, Vix found evidence that made them question how Minister Beletski died, but it wasn’t until Vix was eliminated that the red flags went up.”

  Six years ago. Vixen.

  Prizrak.

  Shit. They sent Nikolai to kill her.

  Who the hell was the poor bastard I killed in Paris?

  My eyes scan the hangar. “Where is he?”

  Ace grabs my arm. Confusion is a permanent feature on his face. “You don’t want to know how we found you, or why you were never briefed on this?”

  What’s there to know? “Wasn’t my mission. It was yours.”

  I did my part. I survived.

  That’s all I’ve ever been trained to do.

  He nods, looking a little unbalanced by how easily I come to that conclusion.

  “Right.” He points to the ambulance. “MacNeal’s over there.”

  “Yeah, I kind of figured that out as soon as I saw the guys with doctor bags. Where’s Nikolai?”

  Ace’s eyes narrow. “He’s in custody.”

  There’s that word again. “He’s not a criminal.”

  “The hell he isn’t. He killed Vix… and lots of other people. He tried to kill you, Pine—”

  “Don’t call me that,” I shout. “And he didn’t know what he was doing. They were using him!”

  “Wow.” I can tell he’s stunned. He looks at me like I’m a stranger. “Your hero worship of the guy really knows no bounds, does it?”

  His anger confuses me. Why does everyone jump to the horrible shit he does before being relieved he’s alive? If the world focused on the bad shit we all do, we’d be considered the bad guys, too.

  “This isn’t hero worship,” I defend. “I know what he’s been through.”

  I shove him as hard as I can.

  He barely budges.

  “I won’t let you take him in like a common murderer.”

  “Don’t give a shit what you will or won’t do, Penelope,” he says, planting his hands on his hips. “He has to pay for his actions.”

  Something in my brain snaps. If I’m being honest, that piece of my brain has been on the verge of breaking all my life. This was the moment with just the right amount of pressure to do it.

  I grab the revolver tucked in his waistband and have it aimed at his face before he realizes I’ve moved.

  I hear people shouting my name. The air around me shifts, and I hear the click of safeties unlocking on all the guns in the room.

  Maybe Heinrich wasn’t that far off with who I really am.

  A crazy bitch with a gun.

  Ace doesn’t look bothered in the least. He gives me the look a grown up gives a kid who vows they’re about to run away from home.

  “If you want to share a cell with him, I’m sure they can arrange that.”

  “Is there a problem here?”

  I turn my head, finding Hassan standing next to me.

  I’m not surprised he’s here. I did see him in the facility when Claymore showed up, and on the ride to the hangar, Ace explained Hassan had been working with the council undercover to locate that place for nearly a decade.

  He was the one who told Ace to go in and get us out when we failed to arrive at the rendezvous site.

  “Stay out of this,” I say.

  His eyes, eyes that I know are mirrored in my own face, are patient and calm as he says, “I do not think so, daughter.”

  “What’s everyone drawn for? Stand down, everyone stand down,” a voice shouts.

  I know the voice as well as my own.

  Secretary Williams shoves his way through a group of American soldiers and commands them again to put down their weapons. He turns a worried glance on me and pleads for me to do the same.

  I do as I’m told.

  Secretary Williams isn’t young, but he’s not slowed by his advanced years. He rushes over, glancing between the three of us. “What’s going on here?”

  Ace opens his mouth to explain, but I can’t let him.

  No one else here understands what Nikolai has gone through but me. “Sir, you can’t take him in as a fugitive.”

  Ace sighs.

  Secretary Williams frowns. “Who are you talking about, Penelope?”

  I feel odd standing between the Secretary and Hassan, but I focus on how Nikolai has to be feeling right now. “General Zolkov, sir.”

  His eyebrows practically touch his hairline. “General… Nick is alive?”

  I know in the spy game we’re taught that anyone can fool you. Everyone lies about something, and those with the biggest secrets are the best at hiding them.

  But the look on the Secretary’s face is genuine to me. He didn’t know Nikolai was the assassin.

  He looks to Ace, and I note that Ace’s reaction isn’t as sincere.

  He knew before today.

  How did he know?

  “Yes,” Ace says. “It seems the former General was the DMG assassin we’ve been hunting, sir.”

  Secretary Williams turns and walks off without another word. I stare after him in shock.

  “Suck it up, Pineapple,” Ace says, slapping my arm. “Bad guys pay for their crimes.”

  He saunters away, and the room starts to spin around me. This can’t be how this plays out. I couldn’t have been destined to find Nikolai only to lose him to a lifetime in prison for war crimes he didn’t want to commit.

  Hassan wraps his arm around me. “Come,” he says, steering us away from where I stand.

  He eases me down on to the tail end of the ambulance and calls for one of the medics to check me out.

  “Are you feeling alright?” the young man asks, and I nod. He shines a light in my eyes, checks my vitals and tells Hassan that I’m fine.

  I’m staring at the ground when I hear a low whistle.

  “In all the remote locations of this country, I never thought I’d run into you here.”

  I look up. Marko. Somehow, I still have the ability to be surprised. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  He smiles as he stares down at me. He’s dressed in a three-piece dark blue suit. His hair’s slicked back, and he’s the only one wearing a jacket that’s actually meant to withstand the weather outside.

&n
bsp; “Ask your dad,” Marko says nodding to Hassan.

  He’s not my dad. I bite down on the comeback and turn to Hassan.

  “We needed a distraction to gain access. When Roman decided he was done with risking his neck—”

  “He’s alive? Roman made it out of New York alive?”

  “He did, yes,” Hassan says. “I asked for his help once we learned where you were taken. He refused. So I approached the younger Veltriv for his assistance.”

  Marko beams when I turn back to him. “I helped bust you out.”

  “I saw you. Before,” I say, remembering a hazy walk through the hall. “You were here before.”

  He nods. “Yeah. I went in twice before today. Once to see if you were really here and then again to case the place. It was pretty easy. Kulzkoff’s been wanting me to replace my father for a few years now. He was happy to let me tag along.”

  That’s the stupidest, most reckless thing I’ve ever heard. Marko can barely tie his shoes without assistance. He should’ve never been put in this position.

  I want to slap both of them over the head for risking so much to get me out.

  But instead, I just say, “Thanks.”

  Marko’s attention keeps sneaking to the right of the ambulance, and I lean around to see what he’s seeing. A group of medics are stationed around a gurney, working together to help whoever is strapped to the bed.

  “Bloody fucking hell!”

  “MacNeal,” I say, hopping to my feet.

  “I told you to sedate him,” one of the medics says as I step closer.

  “You put me under while I’m still in the middle of the ass end, and I’ll strangle you with this IV tube, doc,” Claymore warns.

  “Mr. MacNeal, I need you to calm down,” the medic says. “We’re only trying to stitch this wound in place. I need you to lie still.”

  “You’ll be lying still if you don’t let me up, you little punk.”

  “Hey,” I say, pushing my way through the group around him. “Hey… what’s with the threats?”

  He’s pale and shaking. I can tell he lost a lot blood. “Shade, you’re alright?”

  I nod, making eye contact with the lady holding the syringe with his happy juice. She nods, and I lean in to distract him. “I’m good. You got me out.”

  He sighs with a weak smile. “Aye. Good. Now where is it?”

  Where is it? Of all the things I expected him to say in this moment, that wasn’t on the list. “Where’s what?”