Assassin Games

by Sidney Bristol

  Where was Andy? Had he escaped? Would she see him again? If all went well, she wouldn’t know for a week or more.

  “Okay, now, we need to remove anyone who has passed away from this list,” Lillian said.

  “Or retired,” Carol added.

  “This will take a moment.” Jesse tapped the keys, lines of gibberish filling the screen. “This is quite some list you have here.”

  “It’s a You Don’t Want To Know list,” Lillian said.

  “You have the director of the CIA on this list. I already didn’t want to know, now I really don’t want to know.” He sat back. “Okay, you have two hundred and thirty-one names on this list, with thousands of records associated with them. Any other parameters?”

  “Eliminate people who only have one record associated with them,” Carol said.

  “One second… There. Forty-seven.”

  “Shit,” Carol muttered. “Print that for me?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “I’ve got some more data we could download to cross-reference with, but that would take a lot of time.” Carol chewed her lip. She also wasn’t sure whether or not downloading it would make this office a target.

  “Here you go.” Jesse handed the parsed-down list of names to her.

  Carol glanced at the list, her eyes widening.

  “What is it?” Lillian asked.

  “Don’t speak. Hold on.” Carol’s brain was whirling too fast to think or speak.

  She grabbed a pen and began circling job descriptions and boxing departments.

  It was a pattern.

  A goddamn pattern she couldn’t see until it was right in front of her.

  “It’s the contractors,” she muttered to herself.

  Almost every person on the list had some sort of contact with independent contractors.

  Like Andy, or Rand, or Noah.

  Was that another key?

  The interaction with people who were not specifically beholden to the Company was thin ice to build her theory on, but it did support her outside-the-lines theory. The people they were after kept their hands clean and the suspicion off them by using outside people, family even, to carry through with a job.

  As a contractor working outside the Company, this theory put Andy into further suspicion. It could also get them closer to who was really pulling the strings.

  …

  Kristina stared through the glass at the two men restrained in chairs at opposite ends of the room. It was so satisfying to know she had put them there.

  No, everything hadn’t gone according to plan, but it had put her more or less in the driver’s seat. It was a great place to be.

  “Kristina, are you ready?” The Shadow Man hung back against the wall.

  “Which one would you like me to focus on?” Kristina had never trained for, or participated in, an interrogation, but she was game to try. She’d seen plenty of them.

  “Andy. We have a little surprise prepared for him.”

  “What is it?” She frowned.

  “Best if you’re as surprised as he is.”

  Kristina didn’t like that. Wasn’t she supposed to be the one in charge?

  Concessions had to be made. She still wasn’t the big boss. She’d show them she could follow orders, and then she’d really be on her way up.

  …

  Andy kept his head down, peering up out of the corner of his eyes at the room’s perimeter. There were professionals watching him, maybe even the people who’d taught him. He had to be careful.

  Oh, they’d know he was looking for a way out—anyone in his position would be—but he didn’t have to give away what he was seeing.

  This room wasn’t entirely secure. Yes, the walls were thick, the door and viewing window reinforced, but the ceiling? That was the weak spot.

  “Are they alive?” Mitch whispered.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d asked, but Andy didn’t see the value in responding.

  Mitch’s words conveyed that there were more than just the two of them working together, but whoever was on the other side of that glass knew that already. Otherwise, why would Irene have disappeared and Carol been under investigation?

  “I just need to know, please?” Mitch wavered in his chair. Someone had done a number on his face. His lower lip was swollen to the point that it protruded forward, spittle mixed with blood dripping down every time he spoke. His clothes were out of a horror movie.

  Something banged, the sound carrying over the ceiling.

  Tin? Some sort of metal over the ceiling tiles? That was what it’d looked like from above, but he wasn’t sure.

  Footsteps, heavy ones, otherwise they wouldn’t echo so much.

  “Answer me—please?”

  “Shut. Up.”

  “Just—tell me?”

  “Mitch—do us a favor and be quiet. You know why they put us in this kill box together?”

  Mitch blinked at him. Likely his bell was rung so hard he wasn’t thinking properly. Then again, Mitch wasn’t trained for fieldwork like Andy was. Mitch was a paper pusher. Knowing the standard interrogation techniques and experiencing them were two different things.

  “They want us to talk to each other. They want you to ask me questions, reveal what we might be doing, who we could be working with. Come on, you know this move. It’s textbook. Pull yourself together.”

  Andy stared at Mitch a moment longer. He was likely delirious, dehydrated, and in need of medical attention. A person unused to that sort of treatment would break easier. Andy could withstand a good deal of torture, but he’d rather not have to.

  He glanced around the room, looking at no one spot for too long.

  The chair restraints would be the biggest hurtle, but if he could reach his not-just-a-watch he could get free. The issue was timing. He had no doubt there were multiple eyes on them. Without a distraction or something else drawing attention away from them, he couldn’t so much as sneeze without someone taking note of it.

  Then there was the issue of Mitch.

  Either Andy needed to take Mitch with him, or kill him.

  In Mitch’s condition, he wouldn’t last long, and any death meted out by these people would not be kind.

  It was the same call he’d make for Carol. There were fates worse than death in this world.

  The door behind Andy clicked. The room pressure changed as the metal door swung open on silent hinges. More sounds of people moving around filtered in. There was a decidedly frantic edge in the air.

  “Tina?” Mitch gaped at the person behind Andy.

  The door slammed shut.

  Clearly that name was a pressure point.

  “Kristina,” a woman said. Her footsteps were brisk but muted as she circled Andy and came into view.

  She was in her mid to late thirties, mousy brown hair, fuller figured. Her shoes were for comfort, not style. Her clothes discount-store sale racks. She lacked the polished edge people with rank and privilege had. Whoever she was, she wasn’t a major player, which meant she was bait. This was a show. Whoever was really in charge was behind the glass.

  Andy didn’t turn his head, he didn’t look at the viewing window, but he knew the person was there. They’d sent the lamb to the slaughter.

  This woman was expendable. It was the only reason they’d dangle her in front of them like this, especially since Mitch appeared to know her.

  “What—why? Tina! Kristina?” Mitch rocked in his seat, struggling against the bonds.

  “I’m not here to talk to you.” She stared down her nose at Mitch, her smile victorious.

  She had no idea she was a pawn.

  Andy almost felt sorry for her.

  Kristina turned toward him, tilting her head to the side.

  He could tell her, plant seeds of doubt, work both sides. What stood to get him out of here faster?

  “What did you do to Irene?” Mitch’s ragged voice reverberated through the room. He lifted up the chair and slammed back down.

  “Be. Quie
t.” Kristina glared at Mitch.

  She had a deeply rooted beef with Mitch. This was victory for her. Personal.

  “Mitch, be a good boy and let the adults talk. Kristina?” Andy said without looking at the other man.

  She responded to the use of her full name. Shoulders went back, head up, almost as though she were preening.

  Mitch stared at Andy.

  “We’re prepared to make you an offer.” Kristina focused on him.

  “No,” Mitch snapped.

  “No one is talking to you.” Kristina held up her hand toward Mitch.

  “Yeah, Mitch. Can’t you see Kristina and I are having a conversation?” Andy could use Mitch’s extreme reactions to his favor, it all depended on how he played it. “We could go somewhere quieter if you’d uncuff me.”

  Kristina smirked and shook her head.

  “I’m not stupid,” she said.

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Andy sat back in his seat. “What are you offering?”

  “We could use a man with your talents.” She clasped her hands in front of her.

  “No thanks. I’m not for hire.”

  “You might want to reconsider that.” She rocked back on her heels, far too pleased with herself. “Your options are limited, Andy. If you don’t play ball, he dies, your girlfriend dies, your brothers die, everyone you know dies—and then we might kill you. Or we might toss you in a hole and leave you rotting with the knowledge that you were responsible for all those innocent people dying. Think about it, okay?”

  Kristina turned and walked out of the room.

  Andy did his best to appear shocked, but it was such a clumsy play.

  He turned and stared at his reflection in the glass, trying to make out the figure behind it.

  What were they doing?

  What did they hope to learn by sending her in here?

  “Andy?” Mitch scooted his chair closer. “You can’t do it. Andy? You hear me?”

  “Shut up.”

  They were up to something. There was a plan. But what?

  They would focus everything on finding Carol, disgracing her, slandering her name, and then killing her. Whatever they were doing right now was working toward that. Tossing the lamb at him was an attempt to get him to do…what?

  Andy needed to buy Carol time if he could.

  “You aren’t really considering their offer, are you?” Mitch slumped in his chair. The guy had to be at the end of his rope.

  “I have family to think about,” Andy said slowly.

  They wanted to jab at his pressure point? He could play into that.

  Even if he gave them information, they’d check it out first, expending some of their meager resources to do so. They would be forced to use people loyal to them, people who knew what was going on. People he didn’t have to concern himself with if they died.

  The minutes ticked by, one after another.

  Mitch dozed.

  Andy could hear more people moving around, the occasional voice.

  It must be daylight. People coming in under the guise of going to work, when in truth they were moving this office somewhere else.

  If Andy had known, he’d have brought a whole team with him. The information just sitting here would be enough to sink this whole group. But they hadn’t known at all.

  Rand had mentioned being concerned about someone listening to his conversations with Sarah in the dorm rooms at this facility. None of them had looked into it. They’d missed a great opportunity, and were now back to the starting position again. But only if they didn’t get Carol.

  Andy’s hands were going numb by the time the door opened again and Kristina entered.

  “I have a location,” he said. “I don’t know if that’s where our people are, but it’s where they’ve been. You might pick up the trail there.”

  “I’m listening.” Kristina walked around Andy. She had the good sense to be wary of him.

  He rattled off an address to the tune of Mitch’s labored breathing. Good thing he’d passed out or he might have given Andy’s plan away.

  “Good,” Kristina purred.

  “Now, what about letting me go?” he asked.

  “I’ll see if we can’t do something to make you more comfortable.”

  Yeah, Andy bet they would.

  He leaned back in the metal chair and stared at the ceiling.

  How long would it take them to realize he’d just sent them to death’s door?

  Noah was going to make them regret trusting Andy’s word. What he wouldn’t give to see the unholy hell Noah would unleash upon these people.

  Chapter Twenty

  Georgia would have preferred to wait for the dead of night. Doing a strike, even in the morning, was risky in the heart of the city. At least the building was in a more commercial area. People were too concerned about going on with their own duties than paying attention to their team.

  “Tate, you in position?” she asked via the headsets.

  “Almost.”

  They’d stopped long enough to pick up a four-man team for backup. Considering that Andy was in custody, it seemed a bit overkill to her. It was one woman. How hard could it be to snatch and grab her?

  Orders were orders.

  “Ready,” Tate said.

  “On three then,” she said.

  She nodded at the two men ahead of her. The other reason they’d picked up the additional help was for equipment. Andy had warned that the location was reinforced. There would be no picking locks and bypassing security. They had to go in the old-fashioned way, with a boom.

  “One…”

  She covered her ears.

  “Two…”

  She turned from the door.

  “Three…”

  The small charge exploded, blowing the door inward.

  They moved as a team, in unison. Words were unnecessary. Besides, their ears were all ringing anyway despite the earplugs.

  Georgia stepped through the hole in the wall and peered inside the former warehouse.

  A reinforced steel box without windows took up the bulk of the interior.

  Her team spread out, circling the structure. Even their surveillance cameras hadn’t been able to give them more information about the structure, though they were able to read one faint heat signature.

  “Anything?” Tate called out from the other side.

  Georgia frowned at the bunker box.

  If Carol was in there, it would take hours to bust in. They’d need to weld it open.

  “Shit,” she muttered. This was going to be a lot of work.

  “There’s a door,” someone on the other side of the structure said.

  “This is going to take all day,” she groused.

  A mechanical whirring like a small motor sent the hair on the back of Georgia’s neck rising.

  She glanced up at the ceiling, in the darker shadows, and saw something move.

  “Take—”

  Before Georgia could get another word out, muzzle fire lit up the rafters, raining bullets down on the team.

  She dove for the side of the building, keeping low.

  Bullets ricocheted off the walls and floor, flying at her from almost every direction.

  A scream was cut off.

  Someone yelled for help.

  The doors were too far away. She made it to one of the large supports and hid in the lee of the beam.

  What kind of crazy fuck had guns in the rafters?

  Click, click, click, click.

  She peered up at the defensive weaponry, the motors still whirling, but no more bullets.

  “Report?” she said.

  “Two down on this side,” Tate replied, breathless.

  Georgia saw one down, the other was propped up against the wall near the door, hands pressed to his leg.

  The creak of hinges heralded a new problem.

  They were not prepared for this.

  She needed to get her ass out of here.

  Either Andy had prepared Carol
with a bolt-hole or this was a trap.

  “‘Say hello to my little friend,’” a man yelled, punctuated by the sharp report of a gun.

  “Shit,” Georgia muttered.

  She tore the headset off.

  This was every man for himself.

  “Pst.”

  She glanced at the end of the bunker. Tate crouched in the shadows, his back to the structure.

  A man advanced from the other end of the warehouse, his focus on the downed team member. He was decked out in Kevlar hastily strapped on. He had thigh and shin guards, a bulletproof shield over his face, even his arms were covered. There was no clean shot anywhere but at the joints.

  “Who sent you?” the man demanded.

  Georgia didn’t know who he was and she didn’t want to find out.

  She couldn’t dart past him through the door her team had blown, and if she sprinted for the other side of the building, the man would cut her off.

  Tate waved at her, catching her eye.

  He signed at her.

  She shook her head.

  No way.

  He jerked his head.

  This was a stupid, foolhardy plan.

  The target stood and fired a kill shot at the downed man.

  Georgia hadn’t even known his name.

  Fuck.

  She jerked her head at Tate.

  He didn’t acknowledge her, just took a step out into the open and fired repeatedly at the target.

  The man ducked and turned.

  Forget this. If Tate wanted to go after the crazy guy in bulletproof armor, that was up to him. She was getting out of there.

  “Go,” Tate hollered.

  Georgia sprinted, praying their lighter gear would give them an advantage. Answering shots hit the concrete behind them.

  Tate was hot on her heels, but they had a longer path to the exit.

  The target jogged around the other end of the bunker at an easy pace, gun up.

  Georgia ducked.

  The man fired.

  She heard Tate’s pained yell as she flew through the partially blown-out wall and kept going.

  This was every man for himself. She was not going back in there.

  …

  Carol paced the office, the names scrolling through her mind.