Assassin Games

by Sidney Bristol

  “Stay.”

  He turned and stalked out the door, slamming it behind him.

  Carol touched her lips, fingers trembling.

  She’d made a mistake. She didn’t know what it was yet, but she’d made it.

  She slid out of bed and tiptoed to the door. She twisted the lock, then scurried back to the warm cocoon of blankets.

  …

  Thursday, CIA Headquarters

  Kristina should head home.

  Should being the operative word. That was the normal thing to do, but she couldn’t do that. Not after finding the two agents in her apartment, and not until this thing with Carol was taken care of.

  Kristina was playing with her life, and she knew it. No, she’d power down her computer and head to a hotel. Her bags were packed. She’d pick a different one at random every night after work. It made her harder to pin down. If someone wanted to get to her, they’d have to take a risk. Or wait.

  Kristina couldn’t afford to stay in hotels forever.

  Her only hope of surviving this op was pulling it off without a hitch.

  The team should be in place in a matter of hours, then, with any luck, this would be over. She’d be in her own bed by the weekend.

  “Night, Tina.” Irene smiled and waved.

  “Have a good evening.” Kristina smiled extra bright, just in case.

  Bitch.

  It was Kristina.

  She glanced around, ensuring that the handful of other people in the department were safely in their offices.

  The coast was clear.

  Kristina toggled her computer off the default setting. She’d been set up with a ghost computer some time ago. It existed only as ones and zeros in a tucked away pocket of the CIA servers, virtually invisible to anyone who didn’t know how to access it.

  This was where she did the bulk of her other work. Even subversive intelligence companies needed someone to manage the data, coordinate, and that was where Kristina came into play.

  She didn’t know names. To her knowledge, each person rarely knew more than two or three others in their ranks. They were shadows. Unknown to even the people they worked with. That was how they survived. How they continued to be in the shadows.

  Her virtual inbox was empty and the task board mostly taken care of.

  Gone were the days of codes posted in personal ads or even using the dark web. Now they conducted their business in the shadows of cyberspace.

  Kristina checked the time.

  She couldn’t leave, not yet.

  The next recon satellite would be over Bulgaria in a matter of moments.

  Kristina sat back and bit the tip of her thumb.

  Andy was smart enough not to use Carol’s credentials to log in to the CIA servers through the sat connection. Kristina didn’t know how he’d do it, but if he did, this was the opportunity.

  She stared at the screen, waiting for an alert to pop up.

  Anyone logging in to the Company would be recorded. The geolocation data was what would be the trigger. After all, the Company didn’t yet know who they were looking for, but Carol and the others did.

  Kristina ticked away the seconds, tapping her toes.

  Maybe they were going to play it safe?

  Carol had made herself a pain in the ass, poking into files and operations that were none of her damn business. Snooping around. She was up to something, but what? To Kristina’s knowledge no one knew why, but it wouldn’t be good news for Kristina.

  A nearly transparent alert box popped up in the bottom of the screen.

  Kristina clicked it, following the path back to the entry point, but it was like staring at a blank wall.

  What was Carol doing?

  …

  Thursday, Switzerland

  Andy hadn’t slept. Couldn’t. Ever since Carol’s lips touched his, he…

  It was like he’d been hooked up to a battery and the power level set on high. He had no center. He was angry for no discernible reason. He couldn’t sit still. He didn’t trust himself to step foot down the hall.

  Pushing her away, putting her in her room, had been the right choice. That wasn’t his question or concern. Going further, exploring what that kiss opened up, would do nothing good for either of them. Thinking about it was problematic enough.

  Morning light reflected off the snow, pristine, unbroken for as far as the eye could see. Which was only a couple dozen yards. A perimeter check would be good for him. All that deep powder, trudging through it, working off some of this excess energy. Maybe when he was done he’d be able to sleep. They could take today in alternating shifts. Besides, he wasn’t sure there was anything for him to do until tonight when he could access the satellite and see what the first run of the algorithm had produced.

  He jotted down a quick note for Carol so she’d know where he was. She might not venture out of her room after last night, which would be a blessing. He’d let himself become too involved, too compromised, where she was concerned. It was a problem he needed to rectify. How, he had no idea, but it needed to be done. Both because he couldn’t be burdened with her—who would look out for her then?—and by caring he put her in danger.

  Andy set the house alarm before he stepped onto the porch and inhaled the scent of evergreens, fresh snow, and clean air. The only thing it missed was the mooing of cattle, and then it might as well be home.

  That place he hadn’t been in over a decade.

  He settled the pack on his shoulders and tugged the hat down farther, covering his ears. The snowshoes were still waiting for him propped up next to the door where he’d left them. The patio would be more convenient to prep, but that meant digging out almost the entire cabin. Since the snowmobile was stored in a shed nearer the front of the house, he’d prioritized that over the patio.

  Andy slung the snowshoes over his shoulder and walked around to the shed. He’d shown Carol the snowmobile after she’d come around to at least working with him yesterday. She hadn’t shown much interest in inspecting the winter terrain vehicle, which was good. There was no way to hide the explosive charges between the house and the snowmobiles.

  He wasn’t taking chances. In the event they were discovered, he had contingency plans.

  Once he’d checked their getaway vehicle, he strapped the snowshoes on. He could, in theory, do the perimeter check on the snowmobile, but the noise would carry far at this high of an altitude. He didn’t want to draw too much attention. He needed to work off some of this excess energy so he could think, anyway.

  The first step beyond the path around to the firewood, even with snowshoes, put him in fresh powder up to his ankles. It was slow going to the tree line, where the snow wasn’t as deep.

  By the time he was under the branches, his muscles were warmed up to the challenge.

  He needed space to clear his head, figure out what to do. Who knew how long they’d be cooped up here? Granted, the longer it took them to work up the program the more danger it put them in. He didn’t want to risk Carol’s safety, even if this was a hard location to find. They’d have to move when the pass cleared then, which would likely be in a few days. He had two other locations they could head to before he’d need to start thinking about a long-term solution. But for now, they were safe.

  It was a pain in the ass to get this far up. Nature provided them a first line of defense. After all, it was near impossible to approach the cabin with anything resembling speed or secrecy.

  Andy trudged on, deeper into the trees, veering to his right, cutting east and toward the road in a circle around the cabin.

  Animal tracks were the only thing that marred the perfection of the snow.

  What was he going to do about Carol?

  She couldn’t be left on her own. She didn’t yet know how to survive. She was well connected, but those connections meant nothing when her possible bolt-holes were in countries that had extradition treaties with the US. A person with Carol’s notoriety and security clearance would be a target, both to the US a
nd their enemies.

  She wasn’t wrong to expect to be hunted like Snowden. Andy wouldn’t tell her that because of her security clearance and operational purview it would be worse. The secrets she knew, the people she could identify, it made her valuable. As soon as it became known that she was out from under the CIA umbrella, people would come for her. Hell, Andy might be sent after her in earnest then, if his involvement wasn’t revealed.

  They were taking a big chance in trusting that their tracks were being covered by the very people they were after. How long would this game last? He was a double agent at the moment. They—whoever they were—would figure out that he wasn’t loyal to them. That he was part of the problem.

  Andy had to keep Carol safe. Even from himself, and that was where it got tricky.

  He wanted her, and he couldn’t have her.

  He might like to pretend that he was a free man, but the truth was that the CIA owned him. They could dump him back in that cell for as long as they liked, and no one would come looking for him.

  What was best for her?

  Not him, that was for sure.

  Andy peered through the boughs. The snow ahead was broken, the pristine smoothness of it disturbed.

  He reached around under his coat and drew the Glock. The barrel was already modified with a silencer.

  Had he missed something? Some sound?

  Andy paused, listening for some movement or noise, but there was none.

  If there were people here, they’d be the best.

  He picked his way forward, moving from tree to bush to tree until he reached the trail.

  One set of snowshoe tracks, likely from the road directly toward the cabin. He eyed the impression of each.

  No, more than one, walking in single file to hide their numbers and conserve their energy.

  He knelt, staring down the line of tracks toward the cabin, mentally ticking off how long he’d been gone and how far the interlopers could have gotten. If they were going slow, trying to be quiet, escape attention, they might still be working on their approach.

  Or what if they’d seen Andy leave? What if they’d been there a while?

  He reached down and touched the disturbed snow.

  It was slightly crunchy.

  These weren’t fresh tracks then.

  Someone had been watching them for at least a few hours. Maybe all night.

  Andy crept forward, following in the tracks to make his way faster and easier.

  If they wanted to capture her, he had a chance, but if they were sent to kill her, it might already be too late.

  …

  Georgia hated the goddamn snow. It got into everything, slowed them down, and Tate was a whiner about having to pull his own weight.

  Just a little bit farther.

  That’s what she had to keep telling herself.

  The two targets hadn’t moved in the last six hours. At least not until the male had emerged and headed into the snow. With any luck, they’d be able to bag the both of them and cash in on the job before the snow set in. She just hated that she had to work with a partner on this job.

  She peered over her shoulder at the trees behind them.

  They’d lost the visual on the man. His identity had been preserved in the instance they could get the woman without being seen by him. The way he moved was fluid, easy. He was a predator, and likely to come across their trail soon. She’d wanted to swing farther east, drop south, and then come up from behind the house, but Tate didn’t want to trudge through that much snow. Their more direct route was going to get them caught. She just hoped that they were already inside when that happened.

  If they got one, then they got both. Least that’s what Georgia was hoping.

  For all they knew, the woman was being held prisoner in a cage and by getting to her first, they cut the man loose.

  God, Georgia hated not having all the information.

  When she did a job, she spent weeks canvassing a location, researching the targets, crafting the perfect kill-shot moment.

  They didn’t have that kind of time now.

  The instructions from the time they received them were in and out in less than twenty-four hours to eliminate the targets and get out of the country. It wasn’t ideal. Even busting ass they were still clocking in at sixteen hours spent between travel from the States to Switzerland, the drive, and scouting.

  “I see movement inside,” Tate said over his shoulder.

  Shit.

  There was nowhere to hide unless they burrowed into the snow. Even wearing whiteout gear would only disguise them so much in open ground.

  Georgia heard the creak of hinges.

  She and Tate both hit the powder in the same instant. Georgia rolled, covering herself in a few inches of snow. She grit her teeth and held her breath.

  “Andy? Andy, you out here?” a woman called out.

  Fuck.

  Georgia had a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  She’d met an Andy once.

  Crazy son of a bitch almost got her killed.

  What were the chances it was the same one?

  And if it was, why wouldn’t anyone tell them? Because they wanted to keep him on his leash?

  Georgia didn’t like this one bit. If the other target was the same man, he was a contractor, just like Georgia and Tate. His skills made him too deadly to employ outright, and too valuable to cut loose.

  The cabin door shut with a thud.

  Georgia remained where she was for another ten long seconds.

  Tate moved first, shaking more snow off onto Georgia.

  She held her breath, waiting for a shot, a bang, a shout, something to say that Tate had been spotted.

  Nothing.

  She pushed up and followed in Tate’s wake, quickstepping to the best of her ability after him. She reached the side of the cabin and put her back up against the wooden walls.

  “Did you hear her?” Georgia asked.

  “Yeah.” Judging by Tate’s grim expression, they were having similar thoughts.

  “Is he one of us, do you think?”

  “That bastard? No.”

  Georgia lifted up on tiptoes to examine the window.

  They’d chosen to approach from this side of the house because of the rooms. The lights in the main part of the house had never gone off, while the windows at the back of the house remained dark.

  “I see an alarm wire here.” Tate pointed at the corner.

  “Any traps?”

  “Room’s too dark.”

  Tate pulled out a pair of wire cutters and set to work.

  Georgia reached under her coat and unclipped one of her handguns from the holster.

  She had a bad feeling about this…

  Chapter Seven

  Carol finally rolled out of bed. She’d slept off and on. More off than on, listening to Andy pace through the house all night. He was like a caged animal, and she the cornered prey. In the light of day, she was more than a little mortified by her behavior.

  It was past time to get up and act like adults.

  She’d drunk too much, acted like a spoiled brat, and kissed a man who wanted nothing to do with her. The fault was all hers. She’d make her apologies and hope they could put it behind them. For a short period, she’d snapped, allowing the stress of it all to confuse her, make her act out of character. It was regrettable.

  Then why did part of her want to kiss Andy again?

  The crazy part, that was what.

  Carol dressed in layers. The cabin was comfortable in places, but if she was going to be sitting in one spot, she found that she got cold easily.

  Mentally prepared and clothed, she opened the bedroom door—to silence.

  That was strange.

  Andy had prowled around the house almost all night long. He was quiet, but in the silence even his passing was noticeable.

  “Andy?”

  No answer.

  Odd.

  She entered the living room and glanced aro
und.

  The lights were off. The dishes had been done. All the files were neatly arranged.

  Still no Andy.

  She walked through the kitchen. A piece of paper on the fridge caught her eye.

  Perimeter check. Back later.

  -A

  Carol frowned. Perimeter check? What did that mean? And how long would it take?

  She sighed and crumpled the piece of paper.

  He was avoiding her. He’d probably heard her get up and left before she could come out and clear the air. Did he expect her to try to maul him again? Not her proudest moment, that was for sure, but it wasn’t like she was a physical threat. He’d proven he could more than handle himself against her when he tossed her in bed.

  She wandered over to the table.

  Yesterday they’d spent breaking down the code, rebuilding parts of it. The basic function of the search program was to return related information. It lumped things into groups of similar results, thereby doing much of the heavy lifting for them in terms of looking for operations that had gone sideways in a similar manner. There was still tweaking that had to be done, massaging how it was used.

  That was great and all for the future, but it didn’t help them in the now. They needed to know who was currently working against them. If she had even the smallest hope of returning to her life, it would be by uncovering the who of it all.

  She unearthed one of her notebooks from the pile of things taken from her home. She’d been analyzing all of now-deceased CIA field agent Charlie Peterson’s communications. In post-investigation interviews, many had commented on Charlie’s estranged relationship with his brother, and yet when Carol dug into the information recovered from Charlie’s laptop, what she found were encrypted, long correspondences with his brother.

  Or someone pretending to be Charlie’s brother.

  Both men were now dead, so the truth could only be inferred.

  Charlie’s brother was his emergency contact, they communicated regularly, and Charlie had even swapped his DNA and dental records with his brother’s to protect his identity from the suspected moles. Except Charlie was really a mole, and his brother was killed in his place.

  She wasn’t as concerned with the case of Charlie’s death and the circumstances around disguising the body. It was the communications, the trade of information that worried her.