Two Evils

by Christina Moore

  It wasn’t until a necklace had slipped out from under the collar of her shirt that he got it right—the pendant on the thin gold chain was a capital R with red stones in it.

  “I’ve got it!” Darren declared. “Ruby!”

  “At last,” she said with a grin. “Now maybe you’ll shut up for five seconds, Major. Longer would be even better—has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”

  Billie, Gabe, and Wayne laughed. Even John had to grin. Darren leaned closer to Dr. Stone and said, “Talking is my specialty, baby.”

  She lifted her eyebrow as she stood straight. “Well it’s an annoying habit. Kindly put a muzzle on that mouth so I can do my work in peace, will ya?”

  Darren feigned a flinch, placing his hand over his heart as he said, “Doc Ruby, you wound me.”

  Stone rolled her eyes as she straightened, looking to Billie and saying, “Is he always like this?”

  Billie grinned. “Sorry, Doc. Can’t blame it on the concussion, I’m afraid.”

  Shaking her head, she said that there were definite signs of a concussion, but that Darren appeared to be recovering well. She then turned around and faced Wayne, who looked up at her with a smile on his face. “Funny thing about Darren, Doctor,” he said. “Nerdy girls—no offense—are his weakness. He’s going to be after you like a dog with a bone.”

  Stone had raised her eyebrows at being called nerdy, but as though emphasizing his point, she pushed the glasses on her face back up her nose. “Thanks for the warning,” she replied in a dry tone as she took her penlight back out of her pocket and shined it in his eyes. “Pupils are reacting normally. Follow my finger,” she directed, holding up a hand with her index finger extended, moving it from side to side for Wayne to follow.

  Straightening once again, she asked, “Do you have any other injuries I should know about?”

  “I…I got in a fight with Billie and John. I wasn’t myself then,” he told her. “But other than some bruises courtesy of She-Devil, I don’t think so.”

  Stone turned to Billie. “I take it you’re She-Devil?” Billie nodded. “Interesting nickname—I’d ask how you got it but I’m kind of afraid of the answer. What’s your real name, if I may ask?”

  “Wilhelmina Ryan,” Billie replied. “Smart people call me Billie.”

  Stone raised an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know what that means?”

  “It means you won’t ever call her Wilhelmina if you know what’s good for you,” Gabe warned. “We all know from experience why it’s a bad idea.”

  “Speak for yourself pal,” John quipped lightly. “I’ve never been that stupid.”

  “As I already know who everyone else is, you must be Agent John Courtney,” Stone said, turning to him. “Rex said you were the one running the show here.”

  “With all due appreciation to my buddy Rex, this is Billie’s show,” he replied, gesturing toward Billie. “I’m just a resource.”

  The doctor’s eyebrow came into play again and he wondered if she had ever considered becoming an actress, as she’d have been fabulous as a Vulcan on Star Trek. “These men are her friends and former teammates,” he explained. “I was tasked with locating Billie and bringing her back to the U.S. in the hopes of finding them after they went UA.”

  Stone nodded. “Right. Rex said something about that, come to think of it. Now, forgive me for looking at this from a civilian standpoint, but if they’re Marines who went UA, wouldn’t that make this a military matter? Why is the CIA putting them up in a safe house?”

  “Because there is a lot more going on than you know, Dr. Stone,” Billie replied. “I’m assuming you have worked with the CIA before or you wouldn’t be here. I know from my own years as an OO that relationships with doctors and nurses are cultivated so that your talents and skills can be utilized in just such an occasion as this. I’m afraid we don’t have all the details, but suffice it to say there is a reason we need to keep these men safe.”

  Stone held her gaze for a moment and then nodded. She then proceeded to pull three empty vials from the black doctor’s bag next to the open first aid kit, as well as a hypodermic needle. She turned to Darren first and made quick work of drawing blood into one of the tubes. Once she had labeled it, she repeated the procedure on Gabe.

  When she was ready for Wayne, she looked up at John and asked, “Who has the key to the handcuffs?”

  “I do,” he replied.

  “Well, I need you to take them off. It’ll be much easier for me to do this if he can put his arm on the table,” Stone told him. “Or hold it out.”

  The guard in the doorway, who had remained silent throughout the entire exchange thus far, stood straight and said, “Are you sure about that, Doctor?”

  “Agent Presley, have you ever tried to take a blood sample from someone’s arm while it was restrained behind their back? I didn’t think so.”

  “Everyone, please…” Wayne spoke up. “I know I was out of my head before. I know I keep telling you how I keep hearing the voices and that they’re giving me a splitting headache. But please…stop acting like you’re afraid of me. It’s making things worse on my end.”

  “Wayne, we put you in those handcuffs for a reason,” John reminded him.

  Wayne looked over his shoulder at him. “I know you did. I understand why. But there’s security here—this Agent Presley and the guy outside. And there’s Gabe and there’s you. I’m not going to… Please, let me at least appear to be a functioning adult.”

  “Let’s get one thing straight right now, Col. Scofield,” Stone said. “I am not afraid of you. I am concerned for your well-being.”

  He looked up at her. “Thank you for that, Doctor.”

  Stone nodded and looked at John. Wordlessly, he stepped forward and pulled a key from his pocket. A moment later Wayne’s hands were in front of him and he was massaging his wrists. “Thanks,” he said. “Now I feel a little less like a criminal.”

  The doctor took his arm and wrapped the rubber band around his bicep to get a vein to pop up. With a quick insertion of the needle, she had her third vial filled and labeled in seconds.

  “I’m going to head back to the hospital so I can get these samples to the phlebotomy lab,” she said as she packed them carefully in her bag and gathered her things.

  “Why don’t you let Billie and I take you back, so that neither of the security guards need to leave?” John suggested. “We should be going ourselves anyway.”

  Billie nodded. “I need to check in with my father, see how he’s doing after what happened to his neighbor.”

  John looked to her, and the unspoken message in her eyes was clear: she wanted to make sure her father was okay. Two of the four men from the Sardetsky crew—including Andre Sardetsky himself—were still at large. Andre knew where her father lived, and he possibly knew what two of her brothers looked like. He nodded and turned to Gabe.

  “The fridge should be fully stocked, so help yourselves. The bathroom should have grooming supplies… You guys will be set for a few days.”

  “And I’ll be back to check on Darren and Wayne tomorrow,” Stone said, “though if there are any medical complications, Agents Presley or Green can get word to me through Rex. I hope to have the test results back soon and will let you know what they say.”

  “Thanks, Doc Ruby,” Darren said. “I mean that.”

  “You’re welcome, Major,” she replied.

  After Billie had said her goodbyes to her friends, she headed for the door after the doctor. John followed, and with a last look over his shoulder he shut the door.

  “It feels very strange to be leaving them here,” Billie said as she was putting on her seatbelt.

  “They’ll be all right,” John assured her as he started the car.

  “I know, but it still feels strange,” she said.

  Agent Green, as Stone had called him, directed them out of the driveway. It wasn’t until they were on the road and headed back toward town that the doctor asked, “Do I even wan
t to know what happened to the back window?”

  After dropping the doctor off at Georgetown University Hospital (of all hospitals, Ruby Stone happened to work at the one where Wainright’s daughter had given birth), John headed toward the Ryan house. Billie was quiet for a while, before turning to him to say, “What are we going to do, John? We can’t open up an official investigation based on coincidence and gut instinct.”

  “What about doing what you said before—going to some higher-up general?” he suggested.

  “Again, my gut feeling isn’t going to carry much weight,” she said. “I might be the deadliest female sniper in military history, but the fact of the matter is, I only made it to the rank of captain and I’ve been out of the service for six years. There are many who are upset with me for abandoning the Marines for the CIA.”

  “What organization you’re with doesn’t matter as long as you’re still performing a service to your country, Billie,” John told her.

  “You know that and I know that. But try telling a four-star general that.”

  John had to shrug. “Then I’m as lost as you are as to what we’re going to do about Wainright. You know he’s going to expect some kind of progress report at some point.”

  Billie drew a breath. “I do actually have an idea, but no one is going to like it much—I know I don’t. But it’s all I’ve got.”

  “What’s the idea?” he asked.

  When she told him, he felt his eyes widen. There was merit to the idea, but as to whether or not it could be done…

  “Well, it’s certainly not the ideal way to go about it,” he said when she’d finished. “But you’re right about two things. One, it’s all we’ve got.”

  “And the other thing?” she pressed.

  He looked over at her. “I don’t think your guys are going to like it one bit.”

  

  When they pulled up to her father’s house, Billie looked to the neighbor’s. The Ellis house was still and there was police tape across the door. She imagined that the widower was staying elsewhere for the time being. Seeing the place so quiet renewed her anger at Andre, who she was determined to put an end to herself as soon as she found him.

  John had pulled up to the curb as her father’s and Kevin’s cars were both in the driveway. She wondered what they were both doing here in the early afternoon—surely the city of Langley needed their top engineer and Howe’s Contracting needed their newest project manager? Her father’s house seemed just as quiet and foreboding as the one next door where a woman had been killed in her own bathtub, and a feeling she refused to put words to crept down her spine, leading her to draw one of her Glocks as she got out of the battle-scarred Explorer.

  “Billie?” John queried.

  “Something is wrong,” she said. “Dad and Kevin should be at work—it’s the middle of the damn day.”

  Normally she would have gone to her father’s office to check on him for that very reason. But something—some inner instinct, perhaps, or the memory that a woman had been killed just yards away from him—had prompted her to direct John to bring her home instead.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said in a vain attempt at reassurance.

  Billie shook her head and began walking slowly toward the house. She was about halfway up the yard when Kevin burst through the door.

  “Billie, run!” he yelled, just as a man she had never seen before appeared in the doorway and fired a gun.

  “Kevin!” she screamed as her brother’s body jerked and fell to the ground in a heap. Her gun was up and firing before the shooter had a chance to close the door, and a loud grunt just before it slammed shut told her she’d hit him.

  “Kevin!” Billie cried again as she scrambled low to the ground to her brother’s side. He wasn’t moving and there was a spreading bloodstain on his back. John was by her side with his gun drawn and pointed toward the door, his cell phone in his other hand as he dialed for backup.

  “This is Special Agent John Courtney, Central Intelligence Agency,” he said, spouting off his serial number for verification. “Shots fired at 116 Weatherford. I have one civilian down, white male early 30s, GSW to the back, right side. Victim is unresponsive. Shooter is a white male, late 20s to early 30s, dressed in black and holed up inside this location. Possible 207 in progress. Request medics and backup units from local LEOs.”

  “Kevin Alexander Ryan, wake the fuck up!” Billie yelled in her brother’s ear. He couldn’t be dying—she would not, could not, believe that.

  “Billie, we need to get out of the line of fire,” John said then.

  “I am not leaving my brother!”

  John took her by the arm. “I am not suggesting we leave him here. We’ll drag him to the street behind the Explorer—but we have got to move before whoever’s in there decides to start shooting at us again!”

  She knew she couldn’t argue with his reasoning, but once Kevin was safely in the street, what about her father?

  Each of them took hold of Kevin under the arm and dragged him backward toward the street, holding their guns at the ready and pointed toward the house. Once they had him laid in the street in relative safety, Billie holstered her gun and gave him her full attention. “Kevin, come on. Time to quit screwing around, you gotta wake up for me.”

  John held his phone to his ear even as he pointed his gun toward the house over the hood of the car. “They want to know if he’s got a pulse, if he’s breathing at all.”

  Billie put her fingers to his throat. The pulse she found there was almost non-existent, and she could feel no movement from his chest at all. Fear unlike any she had known before seized her heart, and she squinted her eyes against it.

  “Billie!” John said sharply to get her attention.

  She blinked. “Uh, pulse is very weak. I’m not feeling any breathing at all. John, there’s so much blood,” she said, feeling tears come to her eyes.

  He relayed the information to whoever was on the phone. In the distance she could finally hear sirens, their pealing getting louder as the seconds passed. Then John turned to her and said, “Billie, I promise medics are on the way.”

  She nodded and took a deep breath. She remembered that her brother was tough, and prayed that Kevin could hold on. And she remembered that her father was most likely still inside the house with at least one man who had a gun.

  Rage that her home and her family had been violated filled her. Leaning down she kissed Kevin’s flushed temple, then she pulled one of her guns from its holster and started to move around the Explorer.

  “Billie, what the hell are you doing?” John asked, his voice incredulous.

  “I have a feeling that Andre Sardetsky is in there holding my father hostage,” she said. “I’m going to end this.”

  “We should wait for the police. You know they’ll bring SWAT for a barricade situation,” he told her.

  “John, you know as well as I do that Andre will drag this out until he gets what he wants, which is me. If the SWAT team goes in, there’s a risk my father will be injured. I’m not going to take that risk. I can end this. I will end this, once and for all.”

  She ignored his further protests and moved around the front end of the car, walking up the front walk with her gun held low. No shots were fired as she approached the house, which she had kind of expected. But then, Andre had made this personal by taking her father and brother hostage. She’d killed three of his men in the last two days, guys that were probably friends of his. So he’d struck back, hitting her where the most damage would be done.

  And she was refusing to allow one more person she loved be taken away from her.

  Standing on the hinge side of the door as she had at the cabin that morning, Billie reached for the door handle and turned it, pushing the door open. There was blood on the carpet in front of the stairs to the second floor that trailed into the living room, and she swung her gun in that direction as she stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. Some of the furniture had been knocked
out of place, she noted, indicating that her father and/or Kevin had struggled with their captors. A smile of satisfaction flitted across her face for a brief moment before she turned and faced the arched doorway that led to the back of the house.

  She found them in the dining room. The man she’d shot was slumped on the floor against the short dividing wall separating the dining room from the kitchen. His gun was in his hand but he didn’t lift it—she must have hit an artery as his breathing was shallow and his face sweaty, his lips already beginning to turn blue. When she neared him she kicked the gun out of his reach; the man didn’t even flinch.

  Her father was seated in one of the chairs at the table. Andre Sardetsky stood behind him with a gun to his head.

  “Wilhelmina Ryan,” the Russian said slowly. “We meet at last.”

  She raised her gun and pointed it at his head. “Let my father go.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You see, like his lovely neighbor, he’s seen my face. I cannot allow him to identify me to the authorities.”

  She smirked as the sound of sirens grew almost deafening and several vehicles screeched to a halt out on the street. “Sounds like the authorities are already here. Give up now and just maybe you won’t get the death penalty.”

  “Poshel na khuy, suka!” Andre spat snidely. “I killed my own uncle—do you think I am afraid to die?!”

  “I think you’re afraid that grandpa’s going to find out you’re a fucking failure at this hitman thing. If memory serves, ol’ Grigori doesn’t tolerate incompetence,” she shot back. “Maybe you should pray for the death penalty, come to think of it. The chair or the needle have to be better than whatever Grigori’s people will do to you, and you know as well as I do that he’s got his fingers in a lot of pies. He’d get to you even in solitary.”

  Billie hefted her gun, firming up her stance. “Now let my father go. This is between you and me.”

  Her words had cut deep. She could see in his eyes that Andre was getting scared. His entire crew was either dead or dying. She had him cornered. If he gave himself up to the police now, he could possibly be killed even before his case went to trial. He certainly wouldn’t last long in prison. She knew that Grigori had the ability to have him executed even behind bars, and Andre knew that too.