I Am the Mission: The Unknown Assassin Book 2

by Allen Zadoff

  “Anyway, you all know Daniel,” he announces to the table. “Or if you don’t, you’re going to get to know him. Because he’s staying with us for a while.”

  That earns me appreciative nods.

  I grab a plate and dig into some eggs.

  I say, “You’re in a good mood this morning, Lee.”

  “Why not? My father invited you to stay, and it looks like you took him up on the invitation.”

  “Amazing that I got invited after The Hunt,” I say.

  “The Hunt went well,” Lee says. I note heads perking up around the table. “He reviewed all the stats the day after, and he said we did a good job.”

  Some kids fist-bump each other around the table.

  “You did great,” I say. “No thanks to me.”

  “What do you mean?” a blond girl next to me asks.

  I glance at Lee. He nods, like I can say whatever I want about it.

  “I wasn’t exactly a supersoldier,” I tell the girl.

  “It was your first Hunt,” Lee says generously.

  “I guess,” I say. “I’m still playing catch-up with how you do things here. It’s a lot of information all at once.”

  “We’re not so different from other places where people live together. Universities, boarding schools—”

  “Oh yeah,” I say. “It’s just like Exeter. With guns.”

  The kids at the table laugh.

  “There’s a long history of alternative communities in the United States,” Lee says. “In a sense, even our forefathers were an alternative group. They weren’t living in the way that British society dictated, and they were resisting the laws that their British masters attempted to enforce.”

  “Are you comparing our government to the colonial British?” I say.

  “There are similarities,” Lee says. “A large and powerful governmental body that becomes cut off from the source of its power. It grows distant and ineffectual over time, more concerned with servicing the needs of the rich and powerful than the common man.”

  “There are parallels, I agree. But there’s one big difference. It’s our government and our country. We can change it if we like. We’re not a colony.”

  “You’ve heard of ‘too big to fail’?” Lee says.

  “Sure.”

  “We’re too big to change.”

  “I thought change was inevitable,” I say.

  “You guys are boring me,” Miranda says.

  Lee’s face tenses. “These are important issues, Miranda.”

  His voice is suddenly loud enough to be heard across the room.

  Miranda meets his stare. “Vitally important,” she says. “So much so that they shouldn’t be discussed casually over pancakes.”

  Lee’s shoulders relax. “Agreed,” he says. “There’s a time and a place for everything.”

  Suddenly a siren wails through the encampment.

  The entire room stands in unison, people moving in a quick but orderly fashion to exits all around the room.

  “What’s going on?”

  “It’s a drill,” Miranda says.

  “You don’t know if it’s a drill,” Lee says.

  “It has to be a drill,” she says.

  They look at each other, concerned.

  “What does the sound mean?” I say.

  “It’s a warning siren,” Miranda says, quickly coming around the table.

  “A warning of what?”

  “That we’re under attack,” Lee says.

  “We have to hurry,” Miranda says, and she grabs me and pulls me out of the room as the siren blares again.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  PEOPLE ARE RUNNING THROUGH THE BUILDING.

  I am herded through a side door where an assigned monitor stands with a clicker, making a head count of everyone entering the hallway. There is controlled chaos through the house as the siren continues to wail. Guns start appearing, rifles and snub-nosed shotguns. People are strapping on holsters, moving to assigned positions around the house. I glance into rooms as we move down the hall, and I see at least two armed people by each window taking up shooting positions around the perimeter.

  Sergeant Burch comes running toward Lee, thrusting a walkie-talkie into his hands.

  “My father?” Lee says.

  “Secured upstairs,” Sergeant Burch says.

  “It’s just a drill, right?” Lee says.

  “No such thing,” Sergeant Burch says. “It’s real until we hear different.”

  “But my father would tell you if it was a drill.”

  “Not anymore, he wouldn’t,” Sergeant Burch says. “Not since—”

  He glances at me. He chooses his next words very carefully.

  “The troubles,” Sergeant Burch says.

  Lee’s face goes dark.

  “I have to take off,” he says to me. “Miranda, would you take care of him?”

  “What do you want me to do with him?” she says.

  “Stash him someplace safe, then take your position.”

  His walkie crackles, and he moves off quickly.

  “Why do I need to be stashed?” I say.

  “Everyone has assigned positions,” Miranda says. “It’s not safe for you to be walking around on your own.”

  “Can I come with you?”

  “Not a good idea,” she says. “I’m going to put you in an interior room, and I’ll let Lee know where you are. It’s almost certainly a drill. But if anything happens, one of us will come get you.”

  She rushes me down the hall, knocks hard twice at a door, and when there’s no response, she opens it.

  It’s a windowless utility closet. She motions me inside.

  “I’m sorry it’s not nice,” she says. “It’s the best place for you right now.”

  “I’ll be okay,” I say. “I can defend myself with a mop if I have to.”

  “About this morning at breakfast—I was ignoring you because I don’t want people to know about us.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  She steps into the closet with me, closing the door behind her. She kisses me hard on the lips.

  “I was thinking about you all night,” she says.

  “I was thinking about you, too,” I say, which is mostly a lie. I was thinking about my mission.

  The siren is still wailing, a cycle of ten-second blasts, followed by ten seconds of silence, then another set of blasts.

  “I have to go,” she says, and she turns and runs out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  A moment later, I hear a key going into the door.

  I give it a minute and I check the knob. It’s locked.

  I hear multiple sets of footsteps passing by in the hall outside, people hustling to get into position.

  The community is on high alert, heavily armed, at the height of paranoia. But all their energy is facing outward, toward an unseen enemy.

  I am inside. I am close.

  Somewhere upstairs is Moore.

  It’s the perfect moment for me to act.

  I reach into my pants pocket, find the knife I took out of the freelance team’s truck last night. I press a button and watch as the three-inch blade slides out.

  I wait for the siren to start up, then slide the knife blade into the doorjamb, twist it hard to create a space between the door and the frame, then jiggle the blade back and forth over the lock, applying pressure until it slips back into the door.

  I twist to remove the knife and open the door, and I am free.

  People are running through the hallway on the way to their ready stations.

  It makes it easy for me to step into the hallway, close the door behind me, and join the flow of people moving through the hall.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  I MOVE WITH PURPOSE, PROJECTING A CONFIDENT ENERGY.

  People nod as they pass me in the hallway, assuming I know where I’m going. I ignore them.

  They have a job; I have a job. This is what I want to pr
oject.

  I move toward the center of the building. It’s a long, rectangular three-story structure with a basement. Moore is upstairs. That’s what Sergeant Burch said.

  Moore is a commander. He will want to direct the action.

  There is strategic advantage to the high ground. Line of sight, an ability to understand the battlefield, to position troops and ammunition.

  So I follow the hallway on the main floor until I arrive at a staircase.

  There are guards here, two of them.

  They raise their weapons as they see me coming.

  “Lee needs me,” I say.

  “We’re not supposed to let anybody up,” a boy says, nervous.

  The siren is still wailing through the building, bodies in motion around us.

  “I’m in a rush,” I say, pressuring him. “Why don’t you call up there right now?”

  “There’s no way to call,” he says, biting his bottom lip.

  “They didn’t give you a walkie?” I say, like I can’t believe it.

  He looks toward the ground, embarrassed. “I’m not C2,” he says. “I don’t get comms gear.”

  C2. Military slang for “command and control,” the officer elite charged with directing battle plans and defining strategy. That means only the top guys have comms, and the rest of the kids stand at their stations until otherwise notified.

  “What do you want to do?” I say impatiently.

  If you put too much responsibility on a nervous guy who isn’t used to it, he’s likely to make a mistake.

  “You say Lee needs you?” he says.

  “That’s what he told me.”

  He looks to his fellow guard, uncertain.

  “You’d better hurry,” he says, stepping aside.

  “Will do,” I say. “Thanks.”

  I take the stairs two at a time. Near the top I miss a step, my toe slipping down and almost causing me to lose my balance. I catch myself without going down and pull myself to the top of the stairs and around the corner.

  I pause there for a moment. I don’t make mistakes, not when I’m operating at full capacity.

  I remind myself to slow down a bit, not let myself go faster than sleep deprivation allows.

  I know this is a three-story building, but the stairs end here. There seems to be no way to get to the top floor.

  I’m confused for a moment, and then I remember something from my studies.

  There’s an old, maze-like section of Tokyo called Edo that was the former seat of power for the shogun. It’s said that it was intentionally laid out in a confusing manner, so if enemies ever penetrated the city, they would become lost and could be slaughtered before they caused harm.

  I’m guessing this building has been designed with alternating stairwells to make it tougher to get up or down quickly. I turn down the second-floor hallway, trusting my instinct, looking for the hidden staircase that will lead me up to Moore.

  I go only a few steps when I sense that someone is shadowing me.

  I pause in the middle of the hall, trying to determine whether the shadow is behind or in front of me. But when I stop, I can’t feel him.

  No shadow. Nothing at all.

  For some reason I think of the dead soldier and the things that might have happened to him inside the camp. Was he tracking Moore one morning, just like me? Did he get close? And if so, what went wrong?

  I should not be thinking about this. Not now, when I am moving toward Moore, when I might have an opportunity to get him alone at last.

  The shadow, or whatever I thought it was, is gone.

  Now there is only me, moving toward my target.

  I round a corner and note a staircase up ahead, tucked into the corner of the building. There are two guards, both of them armed, one of them shouting into a walkie-talkie. I can’t risk having him call my information in to Lee or Sergeant Burch.

  I quickly reverse direction, walking toward another hallway in a more deserted section of the house.

  This stairway is unmanned.

  I stop. My intuition is telling me something is wrong.

  An unmanned staircase, all the way in the far corner of the house.

  Part of me feels it is a lucky break. Part of me senses a trap.

  The problem is I am too tired to know which part to listen to.

  Move forward or abandon the mission and wait for another opportunity?

  I quickly assess the risks, and I decide this is not the time to hesitate. So I take the stairs two at a time, accelerating as I ascend, not stopping until I arrive, undetected, on the third floor.

  The command floor.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  HE IS HERE.

  Moore.

  I hear his voice coming from a room at the end of the hall. He is giving orders, adjusting the position of forces throughout the main house.

  A moment later two men step out of the room carrying rifles. They rush away from me, not bothering to look back, where they would certainly see me.

  A lucky break. I may not get another.

  I take a long, centering breath, and I step into the room.

  It’s a war room, maps pinned to one wall, a schematic of the compound on the table with troop positions marked out with colored pins.

  A man with long hair is studying the wall map, his back to me.

  He turns. It’s Francisco.

  “What are you doing up here?” he says.

  “I thought I heard Moore.”

  “You did hear him, but he’s gone. Now answer my question.”

  “The alarm went off when I was at breakfast. Lee and Miranda told me to wait.”

  “Wait downstairs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why are you upstairs?”

  “I was curious,” I say.

  He doesn’t seem surprised.

  “You’re a very talented guy,” he says.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You made it past all the security checkpoints, and if I’m not mistaken, a locked door.” He takes a step toward me. “I find that remarkable.”

  “I just wandered up here,” I say. “Besides, everyone’s running around like chickens with their heads cut off. I don’t know how remarkable it was.”

  “Let’s take a walk,” Francisco says. “Just you and me.”

  “Where to?”

  “I have to fix a relay station. You can help me.”

  “I was hoping to finish breakfast,” I say.

  He takes another step toward me. His voice is firm but steady.

  “Grab a protein bar and eat it on the way,” he says. “But now I’d like you to come with me.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  I measure the distance between us, use my peripheral vision to scan the room for weapons.

  “There’s always a choice,” Francisco says.

  He spreads his arms wide. I can’t tell if it’s a gesture of friendship or an invitation to fight.

  I look at him, judging whether I should go with him or whether I should end this now.

  One-on-one, I believe I could take Francisco. But that’s not the issue.

  The issue is Moore. If I take on Francisco, it’s sure to attract attention, and I’ll have a lot of explaining to do. My cover could be threatened, or even blown.

  That’s assuming it’s not blown already.

  I look at Francisco staring at me from across the room. His face betrays nothing.

  Moore is gone, and Francisco is offering me a carrot.

  “Let’s take that walk,” I say. “Where’s the relay station?”

  “It’s in the mountains.”

  “I guess I’ll need hiking boots, then, won’t I?”

  “We’re about the same size,” Francisco says. “You can borrow mine.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  WE STOP BY FRANCISCO’S ROOM IN THE MAIN HOUSE.

  I wait outside in the hall as he gathers some things for the journey. He leaves his door open, and I glance in t
o see a bare room without decorations on the walls. Either Francisco lives like a monk, or he moved in here not too long ago.

  A minute later he comes out with rope, a tool kit, and an extra set of boots.

  “These should fit you,” he says.

  “How do you know my size?”

  “Your profile.”

  “What profile?”

  “In the game. I looked at your stats. And we just happen to be the same size.”

  “Convenient,” I say.

  “Very,” he says.

  We walk together toward the edge of the encampment. The sirens stopped a while ago, signaling the end of the defense drill, but the grounds of Camp Liberty are still empty. We are alone with the exception of a single sentry in the distance.

  Francisco pauses at what should be the edge of the laser perimeter. He removes a square gray device from his bag.

  “What’s that for?” I say.

  “We have some security provisions. This turns them off for a few seconds.”

  He’s talking about the lasers, but I don’t want him to think I know about them.

  He presses a button. “Are you ready for an adventure?” he says.

  “Always.”

  He moves forward through the perimeter. I follow him up a path into the mountain. It’s a different path from the one I used the other night, one that begins cloaked in trees at the base of the hill behind the encampment but quickly opens into a narrow and well-defined trail.

  “How are you keeping up?” Francisco says after we’ve gone a few hundred meters.

  “I’m fine.”

  “New boots can be tough.”

  “I can be tough,” I say.

  My foot hits the ground wrong, twisting my ankle as I stumble.

  Francisco stops.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he says. “The climb gets more difficult up ahead,” he says.

  I walked through these woods silently three nights ago, but now I am unsteady on my feet, lack of sleep breaking my concentration and affecting my stride.

  “I can handle myself,” I say to Francisco.

  He glances at my feet and grunts, and then he starts out again.

  He stays ahead of me on the trail, legs strong, sweat appearing around the neck of his flannel shirt, then under his arms, then across his entire back. He sips from a canteen as he hikes, but he never complains about the heat or effort, never even rolls up his sleeves.