Nemesis Boxset

by Alexandria Clarke

  “Been working on it, but so far I haven’t been able to find a work-around. If the generators are toast, there won’t be anything I can do.”

  Sarah flicked her light off then let her eyes adjust to the darkness. The gunshots ceased, the goons no doubt waiting for her to come out. She didn’t think they’d be stupid enough to rush her, although she’d been proved wrong before. She plucked one of the smoke grenades from her belt and chucked it into the hallway. Night-vision goggles can’t see through smoke.

  The smoke filtered through the hall and into both her room and whatever rooms were down the hall. She stepped out into the misty camouflage, the hissing canister still emitting its cover. Sarah kept her feet light and moved soundlessly through the smoke. She tossed the rifle over her back and removed the blade from its sheath. She squinted through the smoke, watching and waiting for anyone to appear.

  Visibility was less than three inches from her face, and the first body Sarah collided with received the tip of her blade in his neck and her hand muffling his screams. She lowered the body to the floor, letting the smoke cover him as she continued down the hall. Wherever the henchmen were, the boss couldn’t be too far behind.

  Another body rammed her shoulder. Sarah brought her right arm around the front of his face and grabbed the back of his head. Her left hand took hold of his chin, and she gave a vicious twist just as the man managed to squeeze off three rounds into the ceiling.

  The stampede of feet down the hallway caused Sarah to pull both pistols from their holsters. The bullets that met her own were sloppy, sporadic, the shooters hoping to hit her by chance. The smoke thinned, and the visibility increased. The thicket of bullets heading her way grew denser, and Sarah rolled right, seeking cover in another room. She fired into the clusters of guards, shell casings ejecting from her Colts. The recoil from the .45s felt good in her hands, rippling from her wrists and through her shoulder.

  Sarah aimed the pieces of lead at chests, eyes, cheeks, arms, legs, hands, feet, anything and everything she could get a glimpse of in the fading smoke. Each piece of flesh she hit was followed by fewer and fewer gunshots from the enemies in the hallway. The Colt in her right hand went empty, and she ejected the magazine to reload. The Colt in her left went empty, and she quickly reloaded another full mag and continued squeezing the trigger.

  It wasn’t long before the moans and cries in the hallway were louder than the gunshots being fired in her direction. Sarah ceased fire, listening to the noises beyond the cover of her room. She heard the thump of footsteps, but they grew softer rather than louder. They’re retreating.

  Sarah entered the hallway, keeping the guards on their heels. She passed one guard trying to crawl out of her way. She put two in his back, and the life ran out of him. She stepped over the bodies, the smoke now clear from the hallways. A small point of light flickered from the end of the hall.

  The farther Sarah walked, blasting whatever was left in her path to smithereens, the more the light penetrated the darkness around her. She squinted as the light grew, momentarily blinding her to the group of guards that fired at her, and caught a bullet in the chest, which sent her backward onto her ass. She fired blindly in the direction the blast had come from and crawled behind the cover of a table. Her Kevlar jacket had succeeded in stopping the bullet, but she struggled to catch her breath. The altercation at Becca’s house had already left her body bruised.

  As she recalled the threat to her family, Sarah’s face grew hot. She gritted her teeth, rage growling from the pits deep within her, and then sprinted down the hallway, turning the wall the three remaining guards were hiding behind into Swiss cheese. Just as each of her Colts clicked empty, she jumped into the room, crashing into two guards and knocking them to the floor.

  The third guard raised his rifle, but Sarah kicked it back down with the heel of her boot then brought the other foot across the guard’s face, sending a spray of blood and teeth out of his mouth. The two guards to her left hobbled to their feet, still slightly disoriented. Sarah reached for the pistol at the belt of the guard within arm’s reach and put one in his head. Before she turned to have his comrades join him, a hand slammed into her elbow, blocking her movement.

  A crack sounded with the impact of the pistol dropping to the floor. Sarah brought her left arm around and swung a hook, connecting with the side of the guard’s face, stumbling backward. The third guard she’d knocked the teeth out of grabbed her by the arms and pinned them behind her back. The second guard slammed his fist into her stomach, each blow knocking the wind out of her.

  When her attacker attempted a swing at Sarah’s face, she pivoted her head right, letting the guard punch his comrade square in the nose. The hold on her loosened, and she wiggled out, brought her elbow up, and slammed it into the already-crushed cartilage of his nose, sending him to the floor. Sarah jammed her hand into the neck of the man in front of her and felt the crunch of his windpipe. The sentry clutched his throat and gasped for air. The guard behind her threw a punch, which she blocked then countered with two quick jabs to his face. She pulled the knife from its sheath and sliced his throat open. Blood spilled between his fingers as he tried to stanch the life leaving him. Sarah quickly turned and flung the blade into the throat of the last guard, finishing him off for good.

  Sarah’s breathing was labored, and the tender muscles around her stomach ached from her movements. She picked up the Colts she’d dropped on the floor, holstering one, loading another magazine into the other.

  The rest of the hallway was quiet, and the light she’d seen at the end turned into a window of an office. The doors were open, allowing the light to flood in, casting its glow on the desk and furniture. It was simple, small, with only the necessities required for work. The chair to the desk faced the wall, and Sarah made an arching half circle with her Colt aimed at the chair’s back. She sidestepped until she could see the front, and it was empty.

  Metal covers slid down the windows. The line of darkness that shielded the light slowly cast over Sarah’s face, chest, and legs. She turned to the door and found it already closed. “Bryce? A little insight would be nice.”

  “Sar-h, I ca--- --er y-u.”

  The radio flickered in her ear, and Bryce’s voice disappeared along with the light. Sarah backed up to the wall, limiting the number of angles Demps could come at her. She was down to her last mag, and she blinked furiously, trying to force her eyes to adjust once again to the darkness, but all she saw was black.

  A light squeal sounded over a speaker. “It seems you’ve finally found me, Agent Hill.” Sarah tilted her head to the left, trying to pinpoint Demps’s voice. “You’ve killed my best man. You’ve destroyed my company, and you’ve cut off whatever connections and escape I had to the outside world. This room. This mountain. It’s all that remains of my life.”

  Sarah worked her way to the right, searching for the corner of the room. “Yeah, well, you know what they say. You can’t take it with you.” Her shoulder bumped against the wall, and she crouched low, trying to make herself a small target.

  “That’s not entirely true,” Demps said, his voice still echoing through the speakers. “I can take you with me.” The speaker squealed again, and Sarah heard the sound click off.

  That can’t be good. The darkness started to transform into shapes. Sarah saw the desk to her left, the outlines of the walls, the ceiling, her eyes starting to adjust to the lack of light. It was the lightest of clicks that tipped her off, and Sarah rolled right as machine gun fire peppered her corner of the room.

  Flashes from the barrel of Demps’s gun lit up the room like lightning strikes, and Sarah saw him standing in the middle, chasing her around the room, the bullets tearing apart anything and everything in their path. She sprinted as fast as her legs would carry her, weaving and cutting a path to him. The brief flashes of light illuminated a face distorted with rage, his arms and body shaking from the force of the weapon.

  Vibrations from the gunshots rippled through Sarah’
s body, and she aimed her Colt on the run, lining the sight up on his right shoulder, her eyes straining in the darkness. She squeezed the trigger, and the bullet flew, just as her left arm was hit. She twisted sideways from the force of the bullet, and Demps was knocked backwards, a stream of gunfire peppering the ceiling as he fell.

  Before Demps could recover, Sarah knocked the rifle away and ripped the goggles off him, and put them on. She saw the wet patches of blood on his shoulder and kept the pistol aimed at him as he labored heavily on the floor. She examined her arm. The Kevlar sleeve of her jacket was torn, and a portion of the bullet had gone through, leaving a gash.

  The walls over the windows retracted, and Sarah peeled the goggles off, letting the sunlight fill the room. She blinked and shook her head. “You need to make up your mind, Demps. First the lights are on, then they’re off. You’re giving me a migraine here.”

  “You think you’ve won?”

  Sarah glanced around the room, then at the pistol in her hand, then at the bullet she’d put in his shoulder that had him on his back. “Well, considering I’m the only one left with a gun… yeah, I think I did.”

  Demps chuckled, shaking his head. “I didn’t know who he was, and neither do you.”

  Sarah looked over to his desk, where clusters of papers were spread out, some of them in half-crumpled heaps. She knelt down to Demps and pressed the gun to his head. “It’s over, Demps.” The sunlight bathed him in white and caught the black in his eyes and the blood on his body. Sarah’s hand shook, the pistol shook, and she found her finger unconsciously moving to the trigger.

  The radio crackled in Sarah’s ear. “Remember that we need him alive.” Bryce’s voice was shaking, no doubt taking in her vitals at the moment, now that their connection was back up and running.

  “I know you want to kill me,” Demps said.

  “You’re scum that’s not worth the pieces of shit I scrape off the sole of my boot,” Sarah said, her words harsh, venomous. “You hurt a lot of people. Do you know that? Do you know what you did? And for what? Money?”

  “Throughout history, money has been the one constant in life, in whatever form it comes in. For centuries it was gold, now it’s the dollar, and it will change to something else before you and I are dead. I just wanted to have as much of it as I could.”

  “Once we hand you over to the CIA, they’re going to tear you a new one, and there won’t be enough money in the world to save you. Not from me or the courts.”

  “Whoever he is, he’s smarter than me, smarter than you, smarter than your whole organization.” His words were muffled, and Sarah moved closer so she could hear him.

  “Branston? You’re talking about Branston?” Sarah asked.

  “Chopper is inbound,” Bryce said. “ETA ninety seconds.”

  Sarah glanced back at the papers then to Demps. She gave an aggressive step forward, shoving the pistol’s barrel into his temple and cocking his head at an angle. “What did you find, Demps?”

  “The end.” Demps clenched his jaw hard, and Sarah watched his mouth foam and blood drip out of his nose. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he convulsed on the floor, as a bloody froth spilled from the corners of his mouth.

  Sarah holstered her pistol, watching the life drain out of his eyes. Bryce was in her ear, hollering about something, but all she could focus on was the dead man in front of her. “He took something.” The words weren’t directed at Bryce, more just so she could say something out loud. And then she started to make sense of what Bryce was screaming. It wasn’t about Demps. It was about Branston. He was gone.

  12

  The steps of the CIA headquarters on the outskirts of Washington were filled with reporters and news vans, causing congestion for all the employees. Agent Grimes could see them from inside the building, and he felt his stomach turn.

  “You’re going to have to go out there sooner or later,” Mallory said. “You know what you should say. All you have to do is go out there and do it. It’s like a Band-Aid. You just have to pull it off really quick.”

  “Right,” Grimes said, letting out an exhalation that seemed to quiver and shake along with his stomach. “Band-Aid.” He adjusted his tie and checked his reflection in the mirror one last time before he turned the corner into the lobby and marched out the front doors. The reporters flooded him before he even had a chance to get all the way out of the building.

  “Agent Grimes! Have you received anything about the autopsy report in Rick Demps’s death?”

  “Agent Grimes! How many other employees at Tuck Investments were a part of the attack on the world’s power grids?”

  “Any comment on your collaboration with the German government in finding these individuals?”

  “Did the US government have anything to do with the death of some of the Tuck Investments board members in addition to Rick Demps’s suicide?”

  Grimes held up his hands, blocking the microphones and cameras jutting into his face. “Until we have all the information from the investigation currently taking place, we cannot divulge any information in regard to the deaths of the Tuck Investments board members. What we do know at this time is what we have stated before: Tuck Investments was responsible for financing global terrorism and played a large part in the global blackout that happened three weeks ago. That’s all the information I have for you right now. Thank you.”

  Grimes pushed his way through the crowd, the reporters following him like flies on rotting meat, continuing to shout their questions. Once he made it to the gated parking lot, the security detail blocked the press from following him, and he made a beeline for his car. He collapsed in the seat and slammed the door shut. He sat there for a moment, lingering in the silence. He smashed his fist into the dashboard. Then again, harder, each time bringing force that tried to break a hole in the car itself. He screamed, the pain in his knuckles reaching the point to where he thought they would break. He stopped, trying to catch the breath he’d lost. He examined the flesh that was torn away at his knuckles. He closed his eyes, letting his heart rate slow. Then he reached for his keys, started the car, and backed out of his spot.

  The reporters again tried to bum rush him with questions, blocking his car until the security guards were able to clear a path, and he drove off. He squeezed his right hand as he drove, trying to bring back some of the feeling he’d lost from the earlier beating. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Despite the neat little bow his bosses had put on the whole package, he knew it was bullshit.

  Sarah Hill was still out there, along with the organization she worked for. When he tried prying into receiving more details, he was just told that it was “handled.” He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a package of Nicorette gum. The aluminum covering crinkled as he popped a square out of the packaging and tossed it into his mouth. He chewed viciously. This was the first time in almost three years he felt like he needed a cigarette, but he wasn’t going to let something like this allow the return of old habits.

  All that was left now was paperwork. Grimes had been swimming in it since he’d returned from Chicago. He included as much detail as he could in all his reports, but in the end, he knew most of it would be redacted to whatever kind of story his superiors wanted to tell. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he knew he’d see that woman again. It was only a matter of time before she slipped up and exposed herself. People like her didn’t change their habits; they kept going until they were locked up or dead. It was in her nature. Just like it was in his nature to catch her.

  Much like they had been for the American leaders and the CIA, the press conferences for Andrea had been nonstop. She took a moment between interviews to sit down and rest her mind, eat, and make sure she had enough coffee in her to make it through the next fifteen press sessions. She’d been anxious all day, and not because of the interviews or the coffee. Tonight she’d finally get the answer to the question she’d been waiting for since the attack on the G7 summit.

  “Chance
llor?” Alexander asked, poking his head into the room. “I’m sorry, but they’re ready for you.”

  Andrea nodded and left half the sandwich on the plate then drained the rest of the water in her cup. The reporters rose upon her entrance then sat when she made it to the podium. The sea of faces staring at her comprised members of the press from all different countries, mostly the ones that had been affected by the power outages a few weeks ago.

  “Thank you for coming.” Andrea cleared her throat. “As you all know, the collaboration between the German government and the Americans has been an ongoing affair. Together we have been able to discover the roots of what Tuck Investments’ involvement was in regard to the global grid failure that happened just a few weeks ago. This collaboration will continue at the international level, and we both hope it will last for a long time.”

  Hands shot into the air as the press called out her name. She pointed to a young Indian man in the third row. “Chancellor, what is the relationship with China and Russia at this point in time?”

  “Both myself and the American president, along with the other members of the G7, are working on making sure we reestablish communications with our eastern neighbors as quickly as possible. Both parties understand that trust will be an issue moving forward, but as long as the lines of dialogue remain open, we’re optimistic that trust will heal quickly.”

  Another round of hands went up, accompanied by a flurry of questions filling the room in a crowded roar. She looked toward the back, the lights shining in her face, and pointed to an older woman sporting a CNN badge. “Chancellor, there has been speculation that there may have been a third party involved in the death of the Tuck Investments board. Do you have any comment on that?”

  “I can assure you that the only countries and organizations involved in the investigation were the American and German governments with their underlying investigative departments.” Andrea scanned the rest of the room, squinting in the light of the cameras in the back. Then, against the back wall, beyond the cameras and the lights, she caught a glimpse of a figure dressed in black. She tried looking for it again but lost it in the blinding lights. The shouts of questions continued as Andrea frantically scanned the back wall. Then she found the door at the back and watched the figure disappear. “I’m sorry, everyone, but that’s all the time I have. Thank you.”