Rogue Faction Part 1

by Xander Weaver

  She entered a message in response and hit send:

  > Package secure.

  They waited for several long moments for a response. When none came, she breathed easier. But that wasn’t the end of it, Magda realized. While they’d subdued Agent Gladd, their ultimate target had been the younger agent. He was the one with a price on his head. They still had to deal with him.

  For some reason the idea troubled her. She now had the sense that this job was more dangerous than they’d been led to believe. They were supposed to immobilize Gladd and eliminate Agent Cooper. While they’d been warned that both men were formidable, Gladd had proven anything but, while Cooper had apparently taken out Mongo. To the best of her knowledge, no one had ever gotten the better of him—in a fair fight or otherwise. Mongo was like a guided missile. That was what made him perfect for this type of work. They needed only to point him in the proper direction and send him after a target. The man was born a killing machine.

  The bad feeling she had for the assignment continued to gnaw at Magda. She wondered how her husband would react if she suggested cutting their losses and walking away. Worse yet, she wondered how their employer might respond to that decision. Theirs wasn’t the sort of business where you were simply blackballed for failing to make good on a commitment. Failure invariably carried life and death consequences for the operatives involved. High-level contract killings were not to be taken lightly.

  Magda’s internal debate was stopped cold when the phone in her hand buzzed once again. Brolin, still pacing the small cabin, stopped in his tracks at the tiny sound.

  Magda saw her husband’s eyes dart to meet her own. She was now certain that he shared all of her concerns.

  “What is it now?” Brolin muttered.

  Reluctantly, she glanced at the display.

  > Alpha kilo tango one. Authenticate.

  “Scheiße!” her husband cursed once more.

  Magda felt her stomach drop. Cooper was suspicious. This was a challenge code. They needed to respond properly. If they didn’t, who knew how he might respond. He might abandon the train, he could summon Coalition support; or, he might even alert local authorities. She knew next to nothing about their target’s employer—this…Coalition—but they’d been warned that their targets could not be allowed to call in support. Her brief encounter with the contracting party suddenly sprang back to her mind.

  “If he gets on to you, expect the unexpected. He’s as unpredictable as they come. Be certain that it never comes to that,” the faceless man in the hat and trench coat had warned.

  It had been a very brief meeting, but one Magda would not forget. In that single conversation, their client had expressed how critical it was to never underestimate their quarry. She now realized they’d done exactly that.

  Brolin already had his phone out and was dialing. Their employer had provided an emergency contact number along with their final instructions when he relayed the information about the train. She now wondered if he might have foreseen these circumstances.

  “Well?” she asked of her husband expectantly.

  “I can’t make him pick up the phone any faster,” Brolin snarled. He tapped the speakerphone button so Magda could hear the phone ringing.

  “Is it done?” a male voice finally answered.

  “Not quite,” Brolin admitted. “We’ve taken out the partner, but the young one has just texted some sort of challenge code. We must respond in kind.”

  Silence greeted them from the other end of the line. For a moment Magda wondered if their employer had severed the connection.

  “What was the challenge?” the clearly irritated voice asked.

  Brolin read the line of text from the screen.

  “I see,” the voice said flatly. “Young Cooper isn’t known for following protocol. That he sent this message at all means he is suspicious. Has he identified one of your team?”

  “We don’t know,” Magda admitted, before she realized she’d spoken the words out loud. “Mongo went after him, but now he’s…missing.”

  “I see,” the voice spoke once again, this time with some amusement. “Rest assured, your man Mongo is dead. If you complete your task and make it out of this alive, I will double the fee we agreed upon. Send this message in response: ‘Delta whisky seven one’,” the voice instructed.

  Magda was already entering the string into the mobile phone before the voice was able to continue; hitting send, she took a deep breath.

  “That code should buy you momentary breathing room,” the voice clarified. “But the time it took you to contact me will have made him suspicious. That response won’t hold him off for long.”

  Magda saw her own confusion mirrored on her husband’s face. “How can you be so sure?” he asked.

  “The delay in your response will have tipped him off,” the voice answered frankly. “I warned you not to underestimate the young man. Now, finish the job.”

  “We’re on it,” Magda confirmed.

  “Two more final points,” the voice fell to a mild tone. “If you lose your nerve and decide to pull the plug on this operation, I shall use the money I offered you and put a price on your heads, as well as those of your closest living relatives. I’m entirely serious when I say that I expect results.”

  Magda hung her head. This operation was going to hell in a hand basket. They should’ve known better than to take such a contract. The money was good—too good.

  “You hired professionals,” she remained calm. Her eyes were still shut. She couldn’t bear to open them. “We will see this through.”

  “Excellent,” the voice said without even a hint of satisfaction. “Then on to my second point. Am I to understand that you have put this conversation on speakerphone?”

  Shit…

  “I will take your silence to indicate the affirmative,” the voice continued. “And I will further assume that Agent Gladd is in the room with you right now?”

  “That’s right,” Brolin confirmed. “But he’s not really with us right now. He had some kind of seizure when we hit him with the stun gun. He’s been non-responsive ever since.”

  The voice on the other end was silent for a few moments before finally returning. “My previous order to spare the life of Agent Gladd is hereby rescinded. Eliminate him immediately. And if you ever put me on speaker again, I will see to it that you share in his fate. Is that clear?”

  Magda wanted to throw the phone against the wall. She wanted to scream. It was those cold, condescending tones that did it. If anyone deserved a bullet, it was their employer. But, a job was a job. Acting out would do no good. At this point Magda just wanted to focus on completing the mission and collecting their paycheck.

  “Understood,” Magda confirmed in an even frostier tone.

  “Understood,” Brolin agreed.

  The line went dead.

  The two of them were left to look at each other. “Was that fear or respect? The client seems to think this Cyrus Cooper is some sort of ghost.” Brolin said in a dry voice. Their employers’ words had gotten to him as well. “He’s just a man. Just a boy, really. Let’s finish this and go home.”

  She couldn’t agree more. And given the circumstances, their ambitions for a subtle and covert kill were becoming less and less of a priority.

  Chapter 25

  Express train out of Paris, France

  12:21 am

  From the moment Cyrus opened the folder containing the case’s information, he’d been hooked. He knew he had to be a part of it. So when the group put the mission together, Cyrus pushed hard to make things work the way he wanted. In this case, circumstances gave him a fair amount of material to work with. At least for now.

  The data showed that Doctor Rutger Voss was developing a memory capture technology that he called, Shadowlight. According to patent applications, the technology would involve a chemical concoction as well as some sort of digital hardware that facilitated the recording of a subject’s memories. Those recordings could be played b
ack at a later time, allowing others to see and hear memories belonging to the original subject. Interestingly, Voss believed this would only be the first generation of the tech. With refinements, he stated that the technology could be extended to record not only visual memories, but sense memories as well. It would be possible to capture what a person smelled, tasted, and felt—essentially, entire experiences with absolute clarity.

  If Voss could make his project work, the implications were astounding. The innovation could be used to treat any number of physical and psychological conditions. None of this, Cyrus knew, interested the Coalition. Put simply, a technology that allowed the recording and retrieval of thoughts and memories meant the end of all secrets. It would be the ultimate interrogation tool. Used in such a way, it was powerful and dangerous.

  Interrogation was often used to gather sensitive information, be the target a criminal, soldier, spy, terrorist, or any other enemy combatant. When interrogation proved ineffective and the stakes were high, some believed that circumstances justified the use of torture. But with torture, just as with less invasive forms of interrogation, the information obtained was often unreliable. Was the subject lying or telling the truth? Was the interrogator simply being told what he wanted to hear? No one ever knew for sure.

  Such would not be the case if Voss’s technology were put to practical use. Not if the interrogator was allowed unfettered access to the mind of his subject. There would be no way to lie or mislead. The interrogator would be privy to any memory that the suspect held within.

  On one hand, Cyrus saw how such a thing could be leveraged to save lives. It would yield immediate and reliable intelligence without any invasive detriment to the subject. Conversely, it was a tool that was far too easily abused. He couldn’t imagine a system of checks and balances sufficient enough to police it.

  Just considering the possibilities, Cyrus felt a cold pit begin to form in his gut. The more he thought about it, the more the pit grew and tore at his insides. He was with the good guys, for God’s sake, and he didn’t even trust his people with that sort of power. What would happen if it fell into hostile hands? It was a nightmare beyond reason.

  People wouldn’t even be safe within their own minds.

  Taking a deep breath, Cyrus centered himself. All of this was troubling, but it still wasn’t the reason he’d fought to make the mission his own. He hadn’t told Boone the truth about his reason for wanting this assignment. There was no question that Boone was suspicious, but to his credit, he hadn’t pressed the issue. That was for the better.

  If he knew the truth, Boone would’ve been obligated to take the information to the Red Queen, and Cyrus couldn’t let that happen…for several reasons. First, he was sure that Monica would try to leverage the information in some foul way. Second, and more importantly, he wasn’t willing to let anything interfere with his chance to see Natasha again. If only he knew how she would react to seeing him. The entire operation hung on her, and the way she chose to respond to his reappearance. It was that great unknown Cyrus wouldn’t be able to explain to anyone’s satisfaction.

  Cyrus knew his mind was wandering as he made his way from one end of the train to the other. Still, it was a welcome distraction. He had an ominous feeling that something was wrong, and that Gladd was in trouble. Even though his partner had provided the proper response to the challenge code, it had taken far too long. Something wasn’t right.

  And if he was right about that, it meant they had another problem. If Gladd had given up the response code under duress, he would’ve used the duress code to let Cyrus know it. The fact that he didn’t do that suggested that whoever was with Gladd knew the codes and was familiar with Coalition protocols. While that would also explain how they’d been located on this train, it didn’t bode well for the overall mission.

  Something was very wrong. And being stuck on a train hurtling through the European countryside at 60MPH didn’t leave him a lot of tactical options or room to maneuver. Without anything he was comfortable calling a plan, he headed for their cabin at the opposite end of the train. As was often his way, he would make it up as he went along.

  Chapter 26

  Express train out of Paris, France

  12:25 am

  The world around him now spun uncontrollably. Paul Gladd finally recognized the pain and the flashes of blue light he was seeing in the darkness. In time, his memory was returning, even if his other senses were still running haywire. He’d experienced all of this once before. It had been an unfortunate experience at the wrong end of a Taser, back when he was training with the Special Operations Unit.

  Special Operations Unit?

  He took another breath. His memory was still spotty. The contents of his mind were inconsistent and jumbled. It was a constant struggle to keep it sorted while he worked through his current situation. He’d realized the more he focused on mental exercises, the less he suffered from the physical pain. And he was at the point where he needed to do whatever was possible to lessen the pain.

  Special Operations Unit…

  It was a struggle to put his thoughts back on track. He tried to recall where he’d been going with the logic…

  The accident! That was the last time he’d experienced this level of agony. The class had been training with Tasers. Each student was taking a Taser hit so they would know what to expect should they encounter the device in the field. The Taser sent a 50,000 volt jolt of electricity through the human body. It wasn’t supposed to injure an individual as much as incapacitate them. The blast was supposed to overload the central nervous system and temporarily immobilize a subject.

  That was the case 99.99% of the time. Paul Gladd had proven to be the missing 0.01%. Whatever his rare physiological signature, the Taser blast did more than incapacitate. It was more akin to a shock and awe campaign for his neurological and central nervous system. It was essentially the most painful experience anyone could imagine.

  A surge of relief coursed through his body. It was as if gathering a firm grasp on that memory somehow gave him tangible leverage over his situation. And in some ways it did. Though he still couldn’t think clearly, he was finally beginning to regain cognitive control.

  The blue streaks continued to pass before his eyes as he focused against the pain. And though time held no meaning, he was starting to see indications that the light show was abating. The thunder in his ears was lessening, and the flashes where his eyes should be were growing distant and less distinct. Pain levels showed signs of ebbing, and he began to feel a tired ache where his arms and legs should be.

  That Goddamn Taser… Never again…

  The thought made his breath catch. Something about the Taser seemed wrong. He’d made that vow once before…

  So why had he…

  His memory flooded back in a blast of insight. He recalled the train car and his assignment. He’d just finished securing the courier. The man was drugged and wrapped head to toe in a rapid application, full body cast. Then, the last thing he could recall was the strange sense that someone was behind him.

  That was it.

  At last, the room around him was beginning to emerge from the darkness. It was like having the sun spill through blacked out curtains. The light was almost nonexistent, but it was there, it was something real.

  And he heard voices.

  Voices? There shouldn’t be voices…

  Realizing suddenly that he could feel his hands and move his fingers, he wondered why he couldn’t move his arms or legs. He couldn’t see yet, but this was a start. Everything about his situation was troubling—even if he still wasn’t entirely sure why. So was the strange sensation around his wrists. Thinking hard, that feeling also seemed familiar. He struggled to place it.

  With a hard swallow, Gladd felt his heart sink. He recognized the tightness near his wrists and the numbness in the tips of his fingers. They were bound behind his back.

  His mind was still scrambled but he realized he was in trouble. First the Taser, and now
his hands were bound? He didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he knew it wasn’t going to end well.

  Chapter 27

  Express train out of Paris, France

  12:27 am

  Brolin eased his back to the window of the small cabin. The sliding door was eight feet away on the other side of the room, directly opposite him. He had his Beretta drawn and the silencer attached. The gun was held in a relaxed stance, but Magda could see her own anxiety mirrored in his icy stare.

  Was their employer right? Had their delayed response caused the young agent to become suspicious? She was skeptical. Her eyes fell on Paul Gladd, bound hand and foot, now lying on the fold down bunk at the edge of the room.

  Magda eased her small form against the wall. She was using the wall adjacent to the sliding door leading to the corridor. Brolin had a direct line of fire on the doorway while she could literally reach out and press her gun to the head of the young agent when he stepped into the room. All in all, they had the room’s only entrance covered. Even if Cooper was suspicious, his options were severely limited.

  Though they’d been ordered to kill Gladd immediately, Magda reasoned that it was far more logical to take care of Cyrus Cooper first. She couldn’t imagine how the young agent could possibly get the better of them, but should worse come to worst, they could use his partner against him. The way she saw it, they were holding all the cards.

  Still, something was eating at her and she was having trouble placing the source of the discomfort. It didn’t help that their employer was portraying their target as some sort of avenging angel. She found it unsettling, but still wasn’t buying it.