by Tina Folsom
“Okay,” Phoebe finally agreed. “But you’d better not get killed.”
A weary smile curled his lips upward. “Trust me. I only need two or three hours to set everything up, and once that assassin shows up here, he’s toast.”
Phoebe shivered at the thought that Scott would put himself in harm’s way.
“Promise me something,” Scott added.
“What?”
“If something goes wrong, you won’t come back to this house. You won’t mention it to anybody. Nobody can know you were ever here or that you have any connection to me. If you don’t hear from me within twenty-four hours, leave Memphis and go to wherever you feel safe. I’ll find you, no matter what.”
Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She clung to him, kissing him back with a desperation and need she surprised herself with. Too soon, Scott severed the kiss.
“Scott, promise me you’ll come back,” she pleaded.
“I promise, baby. I promise.”
20
With a heavy heart, Scott deposited Phoebe in a motel. He hated having to leave her alone, but he trusted she would be cautious and not do anything to draw any attention to her.
Phoebe would be safe for the next few hours. The premonition he’d had about the attack on her had given him enough clues to figure out the location where it would occur: Nashville. And they were about four hours’ drive from Nashville. If he took down the assassin here in Memphis, he’d change the future and therefore the premonition wouldn’t come true. Just like the kids hadn’t died in the school bus. He could do it again. He could change the course of history. Fulfill his purpose to use his premonitions for the good of society.
He hadn’t told Phoebe about the premonition where he’d seen her die. It would have scared her even more. But he was glad she’d finally accepted what he’d revealed to her. Though he should feel worried now that an outsider knew his deepest secret, he only felt relief that he didn’t have to lie to her anymore. He recalled the moment of their first embrace on the side of the railroad and how even back then he’d gotten the sense he could tell her everything. His intuition hadn’t failed him. Just like he hoped it wouldn’t fail him now.
Scott parked his motorcycle outside a busy diner where numerous other motorcycles stood and walked the six blocks back toward the house. He’d bought various things at the supermarket and together with items found in any garage, kitchen, and bathroom, he’d be able to turn the house into a veritable powder keg. He was no novice when it came to improvising. His father and the CIA had taught him well. Once the assassin entered the house, he would be at Scott’s mercy.
But Scott wouldn’t exercise mercy. He would deal death. Once and for all.
Scott was approaching the house when he felt an odd prickling sensation at his nape. He tensed, every cell in his body instantly alert. Without making any quick movements, he scanned the area ahead of him with his eyes. There was nothing amiss. At the next property, he stopped and lifted his foot up to the concrete socket of the fence and proceeded to retie his shoe. From the corner of this eye he looked in the direction he’d come from.
A sedan was slowly driving past, a pretty woman with short blond hair at the wheel. She didn’t look at him, but kept driving. On the opposite side of the street, a teenager on a skateboard was trying out a maneuver and promptly landed on his ass. His frustrated curse echoed in the otherwise empty street.
Maybe Phoebe was right, and he was getting a little paranoid. After all, according to his watch, his contact in the Deep Web hadn’t even posted the bait yet, which would alert the assassin to his location. It was fifteen minutes too early for it.
Scott shook off the strange feeling and walked into the small alley next to the house, then waited there for a few long moments, looking back to the main street. Nobody passed by. He let a minute elapse for good measure before he continued and reached the back of the property. He vaulted himself over the five-foot-high fence and landed in the soft grass.
Carefully scanning the backyard, he approached the door to the kitchen and knelt down, his eyes zeroing in on the lock. The hair he’d stuck over the gap between door and frame was still in place, indicating nobody had entered the property via the backyard.
He opened the door and slipped inside. The shades were still drawn, and the house was dark. Everything was quiet.
Scott breathed a sigh of relief and opened the cabinet under the sink, grabbing a bottle of bleach, some rags, and a bucket. He carried the items to the dining room table and switched on a standing lamp that gave just enough light so he would be able to work at the table. The bag of things he’d bought already lay on a chair nearby.
Scott marched up the narrow back stairs to head for the bathroom. There were a few things he would need from there. When his feet hit the soft carpet on the landing on the second floor, a faint sound drifted to his ears. His heart stopped and he held his breath, waiting for the sound to repeat. It didn’t.
The guy was good, Scott had to give him that. How the assassin had found the place already was anybody’s guess, but one thing was crystal clear: he’d just entered the house—at least an hour ahead of schedule. Scott’s idea of booby-trapping the property and letting the assassin walk into it wouldn’t come to pass. It appeared this would turn into a bloody hand-to-hand combat.
Scott slipped his hand into the inside pocket of the jeans jacket he was still wearing and gripped the handle of his knife. He gritted his teeth, ready for it. His skin started to prickle again. Oddly enough, the feeling reminded him of being near his father. He’d always been able to sense when Sheppard was near. It was almost like a sixth sense. But this had to be something else, because his mentor was dead. Pushing the unnerving sensation aside, he concentrated on his other senses, trying to figure out the assassin’s plan.
Scott glanced down the upper floor hallway. The main staircase was in the front of the house. If Scott could reach the first floor from there, there was a chance he could surprise the assassin. Scott silently snuck toward the main staircase, then turned and looked back. His eyes fell on the sideboard where a few knickknacks were displayed. He snatched a carving of a tiny mouse, no larger than his thumb, and tossed it toward the back staircase. The sound it made as it hit the carpet wasn’t loud, but it was audible. Anything louder and the assassin would realize it was a diversionary tactic. But this faint sound would rouse no suspicion.
Scott turned to the front stairs and set one foot onto the first step, descending slowly, his eyes scanning the area in front of him, peering into the dim foyer. He reached the last step and held his breath. The wall obstructed his view into the living area. He was about to take the last step when a prickling sensation raced over his skin once more.
Shit!
Knife in hand, Scott rounded the corner and pounced. The assassin was right there, waiting for him. He hadn’t fallen for the diversion.
The intruder was as tall and well-built as Scott, his sandy brown hair in stark contrast to his dark clothes. Scott tackled him. They both lost their balance and landed on the ground, kicking a lamp over. As it crashed on the hardwood floor, Scott aimed his knife at the assassin’s head, but the guy was fast and blocked him by jerking his elbow up. With his other hand he twisted Scott’s wrist, making him lose his hold on the knife. It tumbled to the floor and slid out of his reach.
“Scott! No! Stargate—”
Scott landed a right hook under the guy’s chin, cutting him off. If the assassin’s shout was meant to distract Scott, it didn’t work. Of course the man would know his name and that he was a Stargate agent. After all, he’d come to kill Scott.
Before Scott could land another blow, his attacker kicked his knee up and managed to thrust Scott to the side, slamming him against the sofa.
“Stop, Scott!” the stranger ground out, jumping up. “I’m not your enemy! I’m—”
Scott was already on his feet again and launched himself at the assassin once more. “Could’ve fooled me,” he hissed
from between clenched teeth as he delivered a roundhouse kick then followed it up with a blow to the guy’s temple.
But the assassin was no willing punching bag, defending himself by blocking the next punch and sidestepping the kick that followed.
“Fuck, Scott! I’m not here to harm you!”
Scott let out a bitter laugh, but for the first time noticed the assassin didn’t seem to be armed. Had he come without a gun or a knife to finish Scott off? “Fuck you!”
Scott slammed his fist into the guy’s stomach, making him fold in half for a second. Time enough for Scott to dive for the knife that had landed at the edge of the carpet. He stretched, reaching for it, his fingers already feeling the handle when he was jerked back. He rolled onto his back and kicked his legs at the attacker, thrusting him back. But he kept coming. This time he landed with such force, the impact made Scott slide on the waxed wooden floor, bringing him closer to the knife.
Scott reached above his head, and without looking at it, his fingers found purchase and gripped the handle. Scott twisted onto his side and hauled himself onto his attacker, swinging his arm forward to aim the knife at the assassin’s neck.
“That’s payback for killing Sheppard!”
The assassin’s eyes went wide as the knife veered toward him. “Stargate rise! Stargate rise!”
The command made Scott’s heart beat into his throat. He froze. Nobody but the members of the Stargate program knew the command. It was meant as identification in emergencies only. And Scott knew from Sheppard that this particular command had never been put to paper. It wasn’t in the files or the official records of the program. Only another Stargate agent would know it.
The assassin breathed hard, still staring at the knife that had stopped less than an inch from his carotid artery. “I’m Zulu. I’m part of Stargate, just like you.”
Scott’s breath rushed from his lungs in erratic pants. “Shit!” He stared at the man who’d called himself Zulu, a code name from the list Sheppard had made him memorize. There was no menace in the man’s eyes as he met Scott’s gaze. Still holding the knife, he sat back on his knees, taking some of the pressure off his captive.
“Why the fuck didn’t you use the emergency code immediately?”
“I was trying, but you kept cutting me off with those vicious hooks.” He rubbed his chin. “Nice work, buddy.”
“Cut the crap and tell me what you want!” He was still on the edge, still not sure whether the stranger was who he said he was. Involuntarily, he rubbed his nape with his free hand, as if he could rid himself of the strange prickling sensation by doing so.
Zulu motioned to Scott’s neck. “The tingling you’re feeling is a sign of like recognizing like.”
Stunned, Scott dropped his hand. “How did you—”
“I feel it too. That’s why I had to sneak up on you. I needed to be sure before I made myself known to you. My skill of sensing another of my kind isn’t very strong. I have to be physically close to someone to feel it. It was the only way for me to confirm that you’re a Stargate agent.”
Scott rocked back onto his heels and rose, nodding to Zulu, who followed his lead and got to his feet. “That still doesn’t explain how you found me and what you want.”
“Our enemy is on the move. An assassin came after me in Seattle not too long ago. And whoever sent him is going to come for the others too. You might be next.”
“What happened to the one who came after you?”
“I killed him.”
“But you think there are more?”
“Yes. Whoever destroyed the Stargate program and killed Sheppard isn’t done. Or he wouldn’t have sent an assassin after me.”
“Stargate is done, finished. We don’t even know who’s still alive. For all we know, it’s just you and me.”
“I don’t believe that. I don’t want to believe that.”
“Well, we don’t always get what we want. Guess what? This wasn’t how I wanted my father to leave me, by sending me a message. Stargate down,” Scott spat, remembering the mental message he’d received from Sheppard.
Zulu’s chin dropped. “You’re the one. You’re Sheppard’s son. It was rumored that he had a boy. So it’s true. You’re that boy.”
Scott remained silent, unable to find the right words to respond. Finally, he said, “I’m Ace.”
Zulu offered his hand. “My real name is Eric. It’s good to finally meet you.”
Scott suddenly realized he was still holding his knife. He sheathed it then shook Eric’s hand. “How did you find me?”
“Your premonition. You acted upon it. When I saw the news about that train colliding with the school bus, I knew you had to be a Stargate agent. I followed the clues about your motorcycle and then that reporter who was on the bus. It wasn’t too hard to follow you to St. Louis. That reporter was practically leaving a trail of breadcrumbs behind.”
Scott snorted. He was glad he’d destroyed Phoebe’s car and phone outside of St. Louis.
“But then it got harder. However, I got lucky.”
“How so?”
“Your Ducati is a nice piece of machinery. People notice it. I was able to figure out where you were heading. But I lost the trail until just now, when I saw you park the bike outside that diner. I followed you.”
“I didn’t see you, and believe me, I looked.”
Eric chuckled. “I know. That’s why I made Tess follow you. She draws way less suspicion on her than I do.”
Scott raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know there were female Stargate members.”
“She’s not part of Stargate. She’s my girlfriend.” He reached for his pocket.
Instantly Scott tensed.
“Sorry,” Eric said apologetically. “I’m just going to call her.” He swiped his iPhone and initiated a call. A moment later, he said, “Hey, Tess. Coast is clear. You can come in. Use the back entrance.” He disconnected the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket.
“Your girlfriend knows who you are?”
Eric nodded. “I trust her with my life.”
Scott heard the words and realized that he too knew somebody he trusted with his life: Phoebe.
Moments later, there was a sound at the door to the kitchen. Eric walked ahead, and Scott followed him. A young blond woman stood in the kitchen, and the moment Eric reached her, she wrapped her arms around him. Scott recognized her instantly. She was the woman who’d driven past him when he’d tied his shoe.
“I was so worried,” she murmured.
“Everything’s all right, babe.” He turned his head to Scott. “Right, Scott?”
“Apart from the fact that I’m getting ready for the assassin to show.” He glanced at his wristwatch.
“How do you know he’s coming?”
“I put out some bait via the Deep Web.”
Eric motioned in the direction of the dining room. “So that’s what you were planning on doing with the stuff on the table.”
Scott nodded. “Had you come a little later, you would have gone up in smoke.”
“Lucky me that I’m an early bird. Want a hand?”
“Sure thing.” Then Scott nodded to Tess. “Nice to meet you, Tess. But I don’t think this is a good place for you right now.”
Eric stroked his knuckles over Tess’s cheek. “He’s right, Tess. You should go to a safe place.”
“I’d rather not be alone.”
“It’s better that way.”
Scott took a step toward her. “You won’t have to be alone. You should go where Phoebe is waiting for me.”
Eric’s forehead furrowed. “Phoebe? Are you talking about the reporter from Chicago?”
Scott nodded.
“She’s still here? You didn’t ditch her? But what if she—”
“She won’t betray me.”
For a moment, Eric said nothing, only looked at him. “How would you know that?”
“What’s between us…it’s special. I trust her with my life.”
Eric let out a breath. “Well, I hope that’s not your dick talking.”
“It’s not any different from you telling your girlfriend all our secrets,” Scott countered.
“I bet you I’ve known Tess a hell of a lot longer than you’ve known this Phoebe person.”
“What are you implying?”
“Shut up, both of you!” Tess yelled, bracing her hands at her hips. “This is not a competition about who trusts his girlfriend more.” Then she turned to Scott. “So where do I find her?”
“I’ll write it down for you.” He grabbed a pad from the kitchen counter and started scribbling. Then he looked up and handed the piece of paper to Tess. When Tess turned, he stopped her. “Wait. I need to write a note to her first. I’ve given her instructions not to trust anybody. She’ll have to know I sent you.”
He scribbled a few lines on a piece of paper and signed it, before handing it to Tess. She glanced at it, then looked at him quizzically.
“Scott ‘you wouldn’t understand’ Thompson?”
He shrugged. “It’s an inside joke. She’ll get it.” After all, he’d told her in his first note that she wouldn’t understand, and he hoped Phoebe would make the connection and know this note was legitimate.
After Eric and Tess said their goodbyes, Scott walked into the living room. Eric followed him.
Eric rubbed his hands together. “So, let’s make a few nice firecrackers for our guest. At least this is going to be one explosion I’m not going to have to prevent.”
Scott cast him a sideways glance. “What do you mean?”
“Do you sometimes get premonitions that keep repeating again and again?”
One premonition instantly came to mind. A premonition that only ever came to him in his dreams, not like the others that he got when fully awake. “Yeah. And there’s nothing I can do about it. Some things we just can’t prevent from happening.”
“I can’t accept that,” Eric said, suddenly agitated. “I just can’t. Too many lives are at stake. Every time it happens, every time I see it, it shakes me to the core. The explosion…it’s so powerful, it knocks me on my ass. I can feel the heat, the burning, my skin melting.”
