Hunting Zero

by Jack Mars

  Reid marched forward, the machine gun in hands. To the left, ten o’clock. He fired off a short burst and cut down a trafficker with his back turned. Three o’clock. Another spun, bringing his weapon up, gunned down before he could get his finger to the trigger.

  “Who is shooting?!” someone screamed from inside a boxcar.

  “There! I see him!”

  Reid threw himself to the ground as soon as he heard the words, just an instant before a barrage of bullets pelted against the side of the closest boxcar. He rolled three times on his side until he was under the car.

  “He went under!” the same voice shouted again. “Under the train!”

  Reid quickly shimmied forward on his stomach—not out the other side, where the traffickers would expect, but parallel to the length of the car. He groaned as he pulled himself out and onto the coupling between two freight cars, and then scrambled up the rusting ladder mounted on its rear.

  He crouched atop the container and waited.

  “Dmitri?” a voice called.

  “I see no one!” To his right, on the opposite side. Reid leaned over the top of the car and fired straight down, into the top of the trafficker’s skull.

  “On top now!”

  “Who is this?!”

  “I see him—”

  He tracked the voice to his left, leaning over the side and firing down. The trafficker’s cry caught in his throat as he fell.

  How many left? He had no way to tell. But he had to hold his position until he knew.

  “Ivan?” called out a voice. There was no answer, and Reid could not tell where the voice was coming from. He carefully stepped to the right, peering over the side; he saw no one. He approached the left—

  Sparks flew as bullets penetrated the boxcar ceiling from beneath his feet. Reid jumped forward, skidding on his elbows. He scrambled to his feet and leapt over the coupling to the next car.

  Inside, Reid realized. He’s inside the boxcar. A wave of dread crashed over him as he realized that the car he had just leapt from was red—the red 23.

  “Throw down your gun,” the trafficker shouted from inside the car. “And climb off of there. Or I will start killing girls.”

  Reid gulped. He’s bluffing. There are no girls in that car. The other trafficker, he cleared it already.

  But… what if he hadn’t?

  “You have until the count of three,” the trafficker shouted. “Do not take me for a liar. One!”

  What if there was still someone in there?

  “Two!”

  What if it was Sara?

  “Wait!” Reid shouted in Slovak. He threw the machine gun over the side and into the grass. He simply could not take the chance that his daughter was in harm’s way. “I’m coming down.” He took a deep breath and hopped off the train car. The impact sent a jolting shockwave through both his legs.

  The trafficker jumped out of the red car, his SMG pointed at Reid’s heart. Through the open door, Reid could see the empty interior of the boxcar; there were no other girls inside it.

  The trafficker had been bluffing. And Sara was not there.

  The Slav was around his age, with a sharp, angular face and a noticeable scar down his right cheek. He narrowed his eyes angrily as Reid tensed. As long as even one of them was still alive, the nightmare might continue.

  “I hear no sirens yet,” the trafficker noted in the silence of the night. “You did this? Alone?”

  Reid nodded. “Yes.”

  The Slav frowned. “Who are you?”

  “A father.”

  The man nodded slowly, as if he understood. “You killed many of my friends tonight.”

  “Your friends were monsters. So are you.”

  “Yes,” he agreed quietly. “Even so, those girls are going to die. You… you are going to die. Someone must pay for this, and it will not be me—”

  The trafficker’s forehead exploded outward as if a bomb had gone off inside his head. His passive expression never left his face as he fell forward into the grass.

  Strickland’s hands were still cuffed together, the Glock 19 raised—and now pointed directly at Reid as he stepped forward.

  “Clear?” he asked.

  Reid slowly put his hands up. “Yes. I think so.”

  To his astonishment, Strickland lowered his pistol. “Go,” he said with a wave of his cuffed hands. “Find your daughter. I’ll take care of the other girls until help arrives.”

  Reid blinked, but he was not about to question it. “Thank you,” he said breathlessly. He snatched up the dead Slav’s gun, and then he turned and sprinted for the single passenger car on the freight train.

  He wrenched open the sliding door and stuck the barrel of the SMG into the corridor. He didn’t have to; there was only one man in there, and he appeared to be quite dead. He lay on his back, bleeding from the face and neck. Shards of glass stuck in his skin, and Reid smelled the powerful aroma of cheap whiskey.

  He knelt and felt the man’s pulse; he was alive, but barely. In minutes he would bleed out—which was just fine by Reid.

  But what happened here?

  Across from the dying Slav was an open cabin door, and inside it was another apparent mess. A lanky man with long hair was face-down on the floor, a leather belt beside him. Reid approached slowly and prodded the body with the barrel of his gun.

  The man suddenly took a rasping breath, startling Reid. He coughed and choked, his face turning from purple to red as he struggled to suck in air.

  Someone fought back, Reid realized. This man was a john, and he had been attacked, strangled with the belt. The Slav had been smashed over the face with a bottle. Deep pockmarks littered the far wall in no discernible pattern—bullet holes—and the window had been shot out.

  Reid dropped to his knees and rolled the lanky man over. “Who did this?” he insisted. “Who attacked you?”

  The man coughed and attempted to speak, but only a gasp escaped his throat.

  Reid slapped him with an open palm. “Who did this?!”

  “Don’t…” the man said in Czech. “Don’t hurt me…”

  “Who did this to you?” he demanded again in Slovak.

  “A girl…”

  “A young girl? Blonde hair?”

  The man nodded weakly.

  “How long ago? Hmm? How long?”

  The man’s head lolled to the side and he retched. Reid jumped to his feet again. The lanky Czech would be little help; he was likely unconscious and would have no idea how much time had passed.

  Reid looked from the dying Slav to the strangled john to the shot-out window. Several shots had been fired into the wall; nearly the whole clip…

  The gun.

  He snatched up the Agram SMG lying on the floor and felt the barrel. It was still warm; not hot, but warm to the touch.

  Sara had escaped the train only minutes before it struck the X4 on the rails.

  Reid tore out of the passenger car and leapt into the grass. Further down the train, near the still-burning engine, he saw Strickland helping girls down from a freight car. But he went the opposite way, down the length of the train in a full-out sprint.

  The machine gun bounced against his thigh, hanging from its strap. He tossed it aside. His legs burned with every stride, every flex of muscle. Pain be damned, he told himself, panting.

  “Sara!” he called out as he ran. “Sara!”

  Sirens screamed in the night as emergency vehicles from Grodkow raced toward the crashed train from a road nearby. Overhead, a helicopter thrummed past him.

  “Sara!” he screamed.

  He ran for more than a mile. He ran until his legs threatened to give out from beneath him, until the pain was almost too much to bear. But he forced himself to keep going. He would find her. He had to find her…

  Something crunched beneath Reid’s boots and he skidded to a stop. It was glass. He could see it glinting in the moonlight. The window…

  To his right was a steep embankment. “Sara,” he breathed
as he started down it, staggering sideways, his feet sliding and sending cascades of loose dirt into his shoes. He reached the bottom and shouted again. “Sara!” Please be here. You have to be here. “Sara!”

  “Daddy?”

  His knees went weak at the sound of her voice. Behind him he saw the small shape of her, lying on her back in the dirt. He dropped beside her, a racking spasm of a sob bubbling up from deep within him.

  “Sara. Oh, god. Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

  “You came.” Her voice was small, nearly a whisper.

  “Yeah. I came. Of course I came.”

  Her face was white in the moonlight, her eyes partially closed in a dreamy stare. “Is Mom with you?”

  Reid sniffed, holding back another powerful sob. She was in shock. “No, baby. Mom’s… she’s not here. Are you hurt?”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay. All right.” He wiped his eyes and stood. “I’m so sorry, Sara, this might hurt a bit.” He slid his arms under her knees and her neck and hefted her up as gently as he could.

  She whimpered slightly and put both arms around his neck as he slowly made his way back up the embankment. It was a struggle, but he was determined. He had found her. Nothing was ever going to hurt her again.

  They reached the top and he followed the tracks slowly back to the wreckage site with her in his arms. A light rain began to fall; the chilled water felt good on Reid’s face.

  “Is Maya okay?” she whispered in his ear.

  “Yeah,” he told her. “Maya’s okay too.”

  Then she cried, sobbing gently into his shoulder as he carried her toward myriad flashing lights. A dozen emergency vehicles had arrived; the engine fire seemed to be out. Personnel scurried everywhere, shouting orders and corralling the girls from the train.

  Only one person was unmoving. Agent Strickland stood near the rearmost car, watching Reid as he approached from the darkness beyond. The young agent nodded once to him.

  The handcuffs were off his wrists, dangling open from one hand.

  The time had come.

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  Reid sat at Sara’s bedside in the small hospital in Grodkow. He held her small right hand in both of his as the sunrise broke on the horizon.

  It looked like it was going to be a beautiful morning.

  Sara’s eyelids fluttered. Her head tilted slightly as she looked at him and smiled faintly. “Good,” she murmured. “I was afraid I only dreamed you.”

  “You didn’t. I’m here.”

  She sighed contentedly as her eyelids drooped again. The doctors had given her a mild sedative so they could reset her broken ulna. She had also suffered a few bruised ribs, and minor contusions and cuts from head to toe.

  While the medical staff worked on Sara, a doctor looked Reid over as well; none of his injuries were very threatening. The stab wound in his abdomen was finally stitched up.

  But otherwise, he was cleared to be put on a plane.

  Sara’s eyes opened again suddenly, wider this time. “Wait, where’s Maya?”

  “Maya is okay,” Reid promised. “She’s coming here right now. She should be here very soon.”

  Sara nodded and leaned back, wincing a little as she did.

  “Listen,” said Reid, trying to keep his voice even. “I want you to know that I’m…” he searched for the right word, “…devastated…that you had to go through this.”

  Sara said nothing in response. She just stared at the white bedspread.

  “But… most of all, I’m sorry that I’m going to have to leave.”

  Sara’s eyes widened again, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Leave? Leave where? Why?”

  “I…” Reid started, but the door to the hospital room clicked and opened. They both looked up as a slight figure entered the room.

  She wore white scrubs, on loan from the hospital to replace her dirty and bloodstained pajamas. There was color again in her cheeks, though one side of her face was still swollen and bruised purple. She limped slightly on one leg as she closed the door again behind her.

  Tears welled in Maya’s eyes as she looked at him. Words seemed to fail her, but she smiled.

  Then she glanced over at her younger sister and her lower lip trembled. “Sara!” she said breathlessly as she hurried to the bedside. “Oh my god. What did they do to you?” She hugged her gently, but Sara still winced slightly. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay,” she said softly as she hugged her sister with one arm, her other hand still between both of Reid’s.

  “I’m so glad to see you,” Maya gushed. “Both of you.”

  “Maya,” said Sara. “You were right. You were right the whole time.”

  “I know.” Maya laughed a little and wiped the tears from her eyes as she turned to Reid once more. “I knew you would come for us.”

  Reid stood as his eldest came around the bedside to hug him.

  Maya stopped in her tracks, staring in bewilderment at the handcuff chain hanging between his wrists. Sara sat up suddenly, seemingly ignoring the pain in her bruised ribs. She hadn’t noticed the cuffs on his wrists as he’d held her hand in his.

  “No.” Maya shook her head as fresh tears brimmed in her eyes. “No, you just got here. You saved us. They can’t…”

  “I’m sorry,” Reid said, his voice nearly a whisper. He raised his arms high, high enough to slip the handcuff chain over her head so that he could hug his daughter. Maya clung to him; he felt it in the wound in his abdomen, in his aching, sore muscles, but he didn’t care. He hugged her back while she cried.

  “You two are safe,” he told them. “That’s all that matters to me. That’s all that ever mattered.” He had told that to himself so many times during his pursuit of them, and now he knew that he truly meant it. No matter what was going to happen to him, he would accept it, as long as they were safe. “But to get to you, I had to… do things. And I’m going to have to leave because of that.”

  “You’re not coming home with us?” Sara asked as she too began to cry. “How long will you be gone?”

  A sob bubbled from Maya’s throat; she understood what Reid meant, even if Sara didn’t.

  “I won’t let them,” she said. “I-I’ll talk to them. They’ll see…”

  “Maya, no…”

  “They’ll understand. They have to understand why you did what you did—”

  “Maya,” Reid said firmly. He took one of her hands in his and Sara’s in the other, holding them both close. “I knew what would happen to me. I was warned and I did it anyway. I have to face that.”

  “That’s not fair,” Maya sobbed. “That’s not fair at all. You didn’t do anything wrong…”

  Yes, I did.

  “Listen to me,” he told his daughters. “Before I go, I need to tell you something. You are both so strong. I’m stunned by how strong you both were in the face of what you went through. I am in sheer awe of you for not giving up or giving in. Most importantly…” His voice broke as he added, “Your mother would be very, very proud of you.”

  Sara’s shoulders heaved as she wept. Maya stared at the floor—or possibly at the hanging handcuff chain—as tears streaked her cheeks. Reid wiped his own eyes.

  For the briefest moment, he thought of what he had learned from the assassin about Kate. His daughters deserved to know the truth, just like he had deserved to know. But now was far from the time to mention it. It might never be the time to mention it, he realized.

  Maybe Maria had been right. Maybe sometimes ignorance really was bliss. If he could do it over again, he couldn’t say for sure that he would want to relearn the truth.

  The door to the hospital room opened and Agent Strickland peered in. “Zero,” he said gently. “Time to go.”

  Maya’s hand squeezed harder around Reid’s. She did not look up at Strickland, barely moved at all as she said, “Please don’t take him.”

  “Hey.” Reid hugged her once more. He whispered in her ear so that only she could hear.
“You’re going to be taken care of. But you need to keep your sister safe, okay? That’s your job now. At least until… until I’m back.”

  “Will we see you again?”

  He was quiet for a moment, unsure whether or not to speak the truth. He was quiet for too long. She was smart enough to know the answer from his hesitation.

  “I don’t know,” he told her honestly. He carefully pulled away from her and kissed her forehead. He hugged Sara once more and kissed her goodbye.

  “I love you both.”

  Then he left them there, closing the door behind him as he stepped out into the hall. Agent Strickland leaned against the wall just outside with his hands in his pockets.

  “Thank you,” Reid murmured. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Least I could do,” Strickland said with a small shrug. He had been authorized to take Reid to the hospital to have his wounds treated, but it had been the young agent’s call to allow him a precious few minutes with his daughters.

  Reid sighed and wiped his eyes clear with the back of his hands. “How’s your jaw?”

  Strickland smiled. “Don’t flatter yourself, Zero. I’ve been hit harder than that before.”

  They both chuckled, but it was short-lived.

  “I know what you’re thinking Zero,” Strickland said. “You’re wondering if it’s really safe to leave your girls. You’re wondering if you should resist me. Risk it all.”

  Reid met his eyes. That was exactly what he was thinking—calculating the odds of a confrontation with Strickland. Calculating the risk of personally breaking his daughters out of here, flying them home. Calculating what life would be like, always on the run from the CIA.

  Ironically, that sort of life would keep him away from his daughters forever.

  Strickland turned to face him, taking his hands from his pockets.

  “I promise you,” Strickland said, his voice more serious than Reid had ever heard it, “nothing is going to happen to them again. I’m going to see to it personally. I swear by my life.”

  Reid frowned in confusion.