by James Hunt
“My father made a deal with me when he woke up in the hospital bed,” Evelyn said. “He told me that if I divorced Dylan and filed for sole custody of the kids, he wouldn’t press charges. So I did. For a long time, I told myself that was the reason I divorced him, because of my father, but the truth was that was just an excuse. I’d wanted to end it for a while but didn’t have it in me to lay the axe down myself.” She finally turned to look at Cooper, her eyes dry but still red. “He’s been alone for a long time, Agent Cooper. Whatever the radio says he’s done I know is to help Sean. So if you’re here to try and get me to tell you something to help you stop him”—she wiped her nose again—“you can go fuck yourself.”
A loud crack sounded at the front door, and Evelyn flinched. Cooper drew her pistol and jumped from the couch. Evelyn followed but was two steps slow. The cracks crew louder and were soon followed by the crash of glass. Cooper grabbed Evelyn by the arm and pulled her to the back of the house, the drink spilling from her hand and onto the floor.
Cooper hid them in a back room and shut the door. What few windows it had were boarded up. Cooper had to pull Evelyn from standing at the door and ducked her behind the desk. “Stay down, and stay quiet.”
Evelyn nodded, and Cooper kept her footsteps light. The voices on the other side of the door were muffled, but she could hear the hurried tone and the shuffle of boots running through the house.
Cooper cracked the door open, keeping low. The voices were louder now, clearer. She crouched and waded into the living room, gun aimed for any oncoming perps. She crept around the kitchen behind the marbled island, being mindful of the broken glass of beer bottles around her. The toe of her boot accidently crunched one of the pieces, and she froze, cursing herself silently as she prayed that no one heard it.
The rest of the house went silent, and Cooper heard the goons whispering back and forth in another language. It sounded like Perry had sent in his own unit to collect another body to trade with Dylan. Cooper poked her head around the kitchen’s island and saw a cluster of legs. She quickly darted back behind the counter and gripped the pistol with both hands, slowly backtracking toward the door. Too many. She couldn’t take them all by herself.
The back of Cooper’s right heel hit one of the side tables in the living room, and the lamp on top of it wavered back and forth then crashed to the floor. The moment the lamp shattered into pieces, Cooper sprinted toward the office with a trail of bullets hot on her tail. She slammed the door shut behind her and pulled the couch on the adjacent wall over to barricade the entrance.
Evelyn was still behind the desk, covering her head as bullets thudded against the hardwood paneling of the barricaded office door. Cooper immediately went to the boarded windows, gripping her hands over the angled edges, and pulled down with every ounce of strength she had. The nails in the wall slowly started to retract and finally gave way.
Cooper flung the board to the floor then reached for the second one. She looked to Evelyn. “Help me!” Evelyn, still staying in a crouched position, rushed over to Cooper and helped yank down the rest of the boards. Cooper opened the window, and the first crack in the door splintered open. “Go!” Cooper pushed Evelyn through the window and quickly followed. She half pulled, half dragged Evelyn through the backyard as some of the terrorists spotted them and gave chase.
Cooper had her hand on Evelyn’s wrist when she felt nails dig into her flesh. “AH!”
Evelyn ripped her hand free and pushed Cooper away. “Go! Help Dylan!” Evelyn turned around as the first terrorist opened the back door.
Cooper aimed the pistol and fired three bullets that hit the doorframe and sent the terrorist back inside for cover. She went to reach for Evelyn one more time and again received the same push back. “They’ll kill you!”
“No, they need me, but they’ll kill you. Now, go!” Evelyn didn’t give Cooper a choice as she stumbled forward, picking up speed and almost sprinting to the terrorists.
Cooper watched Evelyn be pulled back into the house, and once she was inside, the terrorists volleyed a barrage of gunfire toward her, and Cooper leapt over the fence. She sprinted to the front of the neighborhood then dashed across the road into the surrounding woods. She ran until her legs gave out and fire filled her lungs. She bent over, resting her hands on her knees, to catch her breath.
Cooper didn’t know what Evelyn was thinking, but the fact of the matter was she no longer had any leverage with Perry or with Dylan. She could try getting in contact with Diaz or Moringer, but she knew reaching out to them now would just put them in more danger. Any way she sliced it, she was screwed.
***
Perry had been working in the federal government for almost twenty years, and in all that time, he’d never been called to his boss’s office after a mission. That’s because he never screwed up, he never let anything happen outside what was planned, and it was a fact that had shot him up through the ranks in the Department of Homeland Security.
And the fact that Perry had to wait for the past hour just outside his boss’s office, forcing him and the receptionist to exchange awkward smiles, only furthered his assumption that the moment he walked through that door, his reputation, along with his file, would be tainted. And with everything that Perry was trying to accomplish, having a mark on him right now was the worst thing that could happen.
The door opened, and the directors of the CIA and the FBI both walked out, not even giving Perry a glance. The secretary nodded that he could enter, and he made sure to close the door behind him when he did. The director said nothing upon Perry’s entrance. His attention was focused on a stack of papers on his desk. Perry took a seat in front of the director’s desk and folded his hands, patiently waiting.
“I know you know why you’re here, Perry.” The director scribbled something down, keeping his eyes off Perry as he spoke.
“Yes, sir. I was made aware of the security breach, but I’m wondering why I wasn’t informed of the DEA team that was stationed west of the facility.”
That got the director to look up. If Perry was going to make it out of this without any further setbacks, then he was going to have to face it head on, charge the offensive. It was something he’d avoided for most of his career. The art of intelligence was just as much of what you knew as how you presented it. And for the most part, being subtle was most effective.
“That was confidential,” the director said, dropping his pen. “No one knew about that setup outside of me and the director of the DEA.”
“And everyone who is on your email listing for top clearance, which would include me, as I was added nearly two years ago.”
“I didn’t authorize that.”
“No, but your predecessor did.” Perry unfolded his hands, and for the first time since he’d joined Homeland, rolled up his sleeves willingly. If it was going to be a day of firsts, he might as well go all in. The sight of his scars made people uncomfortable, a weapon he’d used during his younger days and a tactic that was still effective even on grown men.
Once Perry’s sleeves were up to his elbows, he examined his arms, rotating them around so the light exposed every blemish and mark across his skin. “My father was a cruel man. These are some of the more notable lashes he left on me. But the ones that did the most damage, the ones that truly hurt, cut deeper than any of these.”
“What’s your point, Perry?”
Perry rolled his sleeves back down, buttoned the cuffs, and folded his hands back in place, neatly finishing off his posture. “My father beat me when I fucked up. And while his methods were cruel and twisted, they forged someone who has a commitment to excellence in everything that he does. No matter what. So I find it odd that during the decoy mission, which I suggested, there were details of the mission left out to me.” Perry leaned forward. “I need all the variables to ensure success, not half truths!” He sat back then followed up his loud volume with a curt, “sir.”
The director waited a moment before he answered, chewing his low
er lip. “The DEA was there because they believe there is a mole within our organization, and judging by how easily the terrorist group infiltrated the facility, I would say I believe them.”
“What was stolen?”
“Nuclear computer chips capable of directing ballistic missiles.”
“Anything else?”
The director leaned forward hesitantly, almost weighing to see if he should even tell Perry. “Yes. A prototype, newly developed. A piece of hardware that is very important to both the Air Force and the Navy. We’re not sure if it was taken on purpose.”
“This prototype, what does it do?”
“That’s above your pay grade, Deputy Director. All you need to know is it’s bad and that it’s not something we want in the hands of a bunch of lunatics. I need you to find it, Perry. This isn’t something we can drop the ball on.”
“I understand, sir.” Perry buttoned his jacket and shook the director’s hand. “I’ll start a task force immediately.” Out of all the emotions that humans experienced, Perry enjoyed playing off of pride the most. It was man’s most egotistical nature to believe that he was above everything, that somehow, among the millions of organisms on the planet, they were individually special. And that individuality of entitlement granted Perry access to whatever he wanted. All he had to do was stoke the fire.
The phone in Perry’s pocket buzzed with a message, and when he flipped it open, he smiled. Perry now had both Dylan’s son and his wife. Simple math. I have two things you want, yet you only have one thing that I want. Your move, Captain.
Chapter 9
Dylan took a deep breath, the salt air filling his senses. It felt like it was his first trip out to sea. He closed his eyes, not realizing the last time that he’d actually been able to smell the ocean. He’d been so preoccupied on the runs with the terrorists that he hadn’t taken the time to feel like he was back out on the water.
With his eyes closed, he listened to the rolling of the waves, climbing to a crest then crashing into the ocean below. The waves lapped against the side of the boat, and the wind rushed past his ears. The sun warmed his face, and he picked the stitches that Mark had applied to sew up the bullet hole that went straight through his trapezius muscle, then rubbed his hands, feeling the grit of the salt air on his skin.
But then when Dylan opened his eyes, all he could see was his son and the scar across his chest from where Perry had cut him. It didn’t seem there was a place on earth that Dylan could find peace that Perry could not take it from him.
Radio static blew from the cabin as Dylan made his way below deck, where Mark was propped up on a stack of pillows, doing his best to make himself comfortable and locate any news of Dylan’s antics on land. He watched Mark sitting there, with his stomach wrapped, fidgeting awkwardly, and Dylan had never seen him so miserable on a boat.
“Damn thing keeps losing its signal,” Mark said, giving the radio a light lump with his fist.
“Have you heard anything at all?”
“You made the news. More bombs went off in California, and the attacks have started happening in the Midwest. St. Louis was bombed early this morning.”
The plague was spreading, and Dylan had helped cultivate it. His stomach churned at the very thought. He walked over to the computer chips that he’d stolen from the facility and flipped them over in his hand. They were no bigger than his palm and were decorated with hundreds of silver lines, bumps. Almost like a piece of braille. Dylan set it down and then picked up the bag with the second item, the one Perry himself had ordered him to grab. “I still don’t see how this could even help them.” The other piece was nearly three times the size of the computer chips and came in a three-dimensional block, which felt heavier than the others combined.
Mark set the radio down and checked his bandages, peeling the white adhesive to examine his stitches. “Well, I imagine it will just give them another leg up, a bargaining chip, and this time they’ll have something the government wants. They’re nothing more than bullies looking for leverage, Dylan. That’s all any of this is. They can say it’s for their religion, or revenge, but at the end of the day, they just want something we have, something that they’ve never been able to have.” Mark grimaced at the sight of his wounds. “Not that I wouldn’t mind putting every last one of those bastards on an island and then blowing it to bits, but that’s just me.”
“Sounds good to me.” Dylan flashed a grin and placed the stolen gear back in the bag. He looked around the cabin. It was worn, had seen a lot of days at sea, but everything in it was solid. The wood was still thick and hearty and had been well taken care of. “We were in a boat just like this when it happened.”
Mark stopped picking at the bandages around his stomach then looked up. “With Zack?”
Dylan nodded. “It was an overnight trip. His first. He’d gone out with me before but been too little to be able to make it longer than an afternoon. He was so excited.” Dylan gave a whispered laugh, remembering the smile on Zack’s face when he found out he was going. “Mary had just been born a few months before, and with all the attention Evelyn and I were giving the baby, I think he was looking forward to some father–son time. He had this shirt he liked to wear whenever we went out. It was a marlin, jumping from the water, with a boat in the distance and a man trying to reel him in. It’d been washed so many times, holes were forming in it, but Zack wouldn’t let Evelyn throw it out.”
Dylan rested his head back against the hard composite of the cabin wall. “The weather was fine when we left, and there wasn’t anything on the radar. No alerts, no warnings, not a cloud in the sky.” He shook his head. “I never was able to figure out what happened, if the power had gone out or the battery was just drained. Maybe I left one of the lights on and that did it, I don’t know.” He waved it off, the creases on his forehead scrunched in a concentrated effort of forcing himself through the memories. “It was the wind that I noticed first. It was so loud, so fast. It was like the storm just materialized out of nowhere, just on us, just on that spot in the ocean where we were anchored.”
“Dylan, you did everything you could,” Mark said. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Mark’s words fell on deaf ears as Dylan focused on a point on the wall across from him, almost like he was speaking to himself, despite the fact that Mark was only a few feet away. “The rain came at us horizontally, almost blinding me as I pulled up the anchor. I kept Zack below; it was too dangerous for him to be out on the deck. When I went into the wheelhouse, none of the equipment was working, everything had gone black. GPS, bilge, lights, engine, all gone. The waves were rocking us hard; swells must have been at least fifteen feet. The deck was soaked with water, and a lot of it was draining down into the cabin.” A lump caught in Dylan’s throat, and he felt the dry patch. He clawed at it but was unable to relieve the itch. “I put a life jacket on him and then one for myself. I tried the radio again, calling out for anyone in the area, but I got nothing but static. The thunder and wind boomed and howled outside. I’d seen bad storms before, but this one seemed to have a mind of its own, with some type of beast controlling it.”
Dylan’s left hand shook. He didn’t bother hiding it. He squeezed it into a fist, trying to regain control of his faculties, but it only lessened the shake slightly. “I knew we were going to capsize. The seas were becoming too violent for the boat. I went back down into the cabin, and Zack was so scared. When it finally happened, I tried to keep hold of him, but something hit my shoulder, and I let him go. Water was everywhere; I was up to my shoulders in it standing up. When I saw Zack, I knew something was wrong. His eyes were flitting open and closed, and I saw flecks of red on the side of his head. He didn’t respond when I called his name, but he was still breathing, and his pulse was fine. The gash on the side of his head was bad, but it wasn’t bleeding a lot, at least not that I could see. I just held him, kept him close. I told him that everything was going to be okay and that we were going to make it out. I don’t know how many times I
repeated that. Toward the end, I think I said it more for myself.”
Dylan rubbed his eyes, trying to drill the images from his memory. “We managed to stay afloat, but somewhere in the night I must have fallen asleep, drifted off. I don’t know how long it was for; all I remember was the cold. The water was cold. I was cold. Zack was cold. His lips had turned blue, and when I checked his pulse, there was nothing. I ripped off his jacket and tried giving him compressions, but with the water inside the cabin and us capsized, there just wasn’t any way for me to get leverage.”
“You did what you could, Dylan.”
“He looked so small. So peaceful.” Water leaked from Dylan’s eyes, and his voice distorted in grief. “If I hadn’t let go when we flipped, he’d still be alive. If I hadn’t fallen asleep, my boy would still be alive.” Sobs rippled through him, and he buried his face in his hands.
Mark came and put his arm around Dylan. It was the first time Dylan had let himself go like that since he’d stopped drinking. He remembered when the Coast Guard finally came, how they tried to peel Zack out of his arms, but he wouldn’t let them have him. He remembered the primal screams that erupted from his throat, and it didn’t matter how many of the sailors tried to take Zack, Dylan wouldn’t let his boy go.
Once the sobs had run dry and there wasn’t anything left, Dylan wiped his eyes, and Mark patted him firmly on the back. “I haven’t talked about that in a while.”
“Sometimes we find ourselves reflecting on the past when we think we’re about to fall into the same mistakes,” Mark said. “But this is different. And you need to stop beating yourself up over what happened, Dylan. Zack’s death wasn’t your fault, and neither is Sean being kept by those psychos. You will get him back. This will work.”
