Against the Clock

by Charlie Moore

  She shoved the gun in her waistband again and ran straight for her back door. Four strides from the door, she drew her weapon, let loose two bullets into the lock, and saw it splinter as her foot made contact just beneath the shattered lock. The door burst open with the sound of splitting wood. She dove forward, sliding on her side, then rolling onto her back.

  The agent nearest her had been sideswiped by the force of the imploding door. His gun was drawn and finding its mark as Shirin sent two bullets in a double tap to his heart before her body stopped sliding.

  She found her feet and in one smooth motion was up and running toward the stairwell before the dead agent hit the ground.

  She entered low. The kitchen was clear. Same for the dining room. She heard the dull footfalls of the man upstairs heading down. She turned the corner. A bullet snapped past her and buried itself in the wall. She fell back instantly and returned fire on instinct as she readjusted her body to curl and roll out of the line of fire.

  The agent retreated. She had little choice. Abandon him and get out before backup arrived, or chase him up the stairs and into his waiting crosshairs.

  10:49:51

  Barratt ran to the scene to find the taxi driver looking dazed and confused. His two men were sprawled on the street, bleeding, unconscious but alive. They'd both been shot.

  He tried to reach the agents at the house on the radio. No reply.

  He could hear the taxi driver trying to get out of the vehicle, pulled his gun, pointed at him and demanded, "Was it a woman?"

  The young driver looked deathly pale from shock. All he could manage was a vacant nod.

  Barratt cursed himself. Cursed her. Then headed back to the safe house in a sprint. She would die for this.

  10:50:51

  The agent hid in a small alcove near the top of the stairs. He labored to control his breathing and his nerve. This woman was good. Better than he was, he feared. But he had her now. If she came after him, he would pick her off like a sitting duck. If she didn't, more backup would arrive. Then she would die.

  He didn't know where Barratt was. Maybe she had gotten to him already. If so, it was one less thing for him to do. He had his instructions. If Barratt failed again, kill him.

  Sweat formed on his forehead, but he dared not wipe it. His total concentration focused on the sounds from downstairs, waiting for the woman to show her head.

  A whisper of air wafted past him. He wasn't sure if he heard it or felt it. Then, the distinct thup thup of a silenced pistol, the dull, wet pain in his neck, and then, nothing.

  10:51:02

  Shirin stepped out of the upstairs bedroom. The agent was motionless, dead. Her bullets had ripped cleanly through the plasterboard wall and lodged in his neck and skull.

  He had not heard her climb the lattice to the master bedroom balcony above.

  She moved quickly to the front of the house, stayed clear of the windows, and peered down into the street. She could hear sirens in the distance. And see Trent Barratt charging across the front lawn toward the door.

  She had less than a minute.

  10:51:14

  Barratt threw his radio mic on the ground, drew his weapon, and flicked off the safety. There had been no reply from his men. He bulldozed the front door down,, then quickly backed himself against the wall as he surveyed the scene.

  Down the long corridor, he could see the shattered back door, bullet holes, and one of his men lying in a pool of blood.

  He ducked his head around the corner quickly. No one there. Toward the stairs, more bullet holes told the story of a gunfight he should have been there for.

  Careful of where he placed his feet, he moved silently around the stairwell. Nothing made sense to him. Why had she come back? And once she saw the surveillance, why didn't she just leave?

  "You could move, but then I'd have to shoot you." Her voice was calm, almost relaxed.

  Barratt froze. It took him a moment to identify where it came from. He was out of position to raise his weapon in that direction and get a shot off without her bullet finding him first. She had out-maneuvered him.

  Barratt lowered his head. So this was it, he thought. "What next? You shoot me anyway?"

  "No, but I would like to talk. Drop your gun so we can do that."

  Barratt did nothing. He stood there. Contemplating which way he preferred to die.

  "Drop the gun, turn around, we'll talk, then you can go," Shirin said more forcefully. "I did not give your men that choice, and in a moment you won't have it either."

  Barratt dropped his pistol. Ready to die, he turned around. His glare found her face, registered recognition, then shock, then, he said, "Shirin?"

  Two wires shot out at him. Hit him hard in the chest. He looked at them, looked at Shirin, then 50,000 volts coursed through his body.

  chapter 2

  "loss is the moment you find something worth keeping."

  the book of seekay

  11:03:19

  Minister Jordan shook his hand reluctantly.

  "Good morning, Minister Jordan, thank you for agreeing to meet with me. "Zelig smirked as he squeezed her hand a little harder than needed before releasing his grip. He walked past her briskly and took a seat at the end of the Minister for Foreign Affairs' desk without waiting to be invited.

  "Let's drop the formalities, Zelig." She crossed the space of her office with an elegance rarely shown in political circles without an audience. "And I didn't 'agree' to meet you. You didn't give me much choice. " Ms. Jordan settled neatly into her executive leather chair. "Why are you here, Zelig?" she asked without hiding her suspicions.

  "You might recall during our last meeting, we were discussing the frequent flights and travel required of a person in your position…"

  "I recall you not-so-subtly suggested I smuggle things through my diplomatic pouch for you. I also recall that I told you in no uncertain terms that should you ever make a similar suggestion to me again, I would have you arrested!" Ms. Jordan was already reaching for the phone before she finished her sentence.

  "Before you make that call…"Zelig pulled an envelope from inside his coat and placed it carefully on her desk. "I think you should see this first." He pushed it slowly toward her.

  The confidence in his eyes disgusted her. But it also scared her. She knew Zelig. She knew what he was capable of. Whatever was in that envelope she was sure would not be good for her.

  Making a show of resilience, Ms. Jordan picked up the phone and held it in her hand. She paused, her fingers over the keypad, and then slowly, reluctantly, cradled the handset.

  Neither of them said a word. Ms. Jordan looked at the envelope on her desk as though it were toxic.

  "Have a look," Zelig prompted. "These are photos taken during a routine surveillance operation. I think they will hold a genuine and pointed interest for you."

  "Why would they be particularly interesting to me?" she asked.

  Zelig thought for a moment, more for dramatic effect, before replying, "Consider it a favor between colleagues."

  She took a deep breath. This is not going to end well.

  She wished in every conceivable way that she could be rid of this conniving weasel. She had tried several times to have him expelled from the Agency, or even reposted to some far corner of the globe. Each attempt ended the same. Nothing changed. And here he was, playing his mind games with her.

  She reached across her large mahogany and leather desk, adorned with photos of visiting heads of state, and picked up the envelope. It was heavy. She flung it back toward Zelig. "Whatever you have here, I'm not interested. And let me be clear. Your dirty tricks and Stone Age mentality are not condoned by me or any of my peers! Frankly, you and your methods disgust me."

  Picking up her phone, she struck the intercom button heavily and spoke matter-of-factly to her secretary. "Anne, call Security and have them escort Director Zelig from the building. Then call the Federal Police and schedule an appointment with the Assistant Commissioner in charge
of Counter-Terrorism for this afternoon."

  She hung up and looked Zelig in the eyes. "My next call will be to the Professional Standards Unit to have you removed from active duty pending an aggressive inquiry into you and your practices. Now get out of my office before Security arrives and forcibly removes you."

  Zelig smiled with his signature arrogance, then clapped his hands."You sure are sexy as hell when you're mad!"

  "How dare you!"

  "Maybe when things are over between you and your husband, you might want to call me. I'll show you how a real man does it."

  "Get out! Now!"

  "Yes, of course, when I'm ready."He calmly opened the envelope, making a show of how delicate and sensitive each photo inside was. He held them up so that their pictures were facing him. Peeking over the edge of one of the photos, he commented, "Your husband seems to have lost a sizeable amount of weight lately…"

  He flicked the next photo. "Did you ever wonder why your devoted husband suddenly chose to lose weight? I mean, what motivated him after thirty-four years of obesity to suddenly lose weight?"

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "I'm just saying…these are the things people like me notice. So I took the liberty to look into it. He is, after all, the husband of the Minister for Foreign Affairs. His actions, his…indiscretions, could have an impact on national security."Zelig looked at his watch, then continued. "Security will be here in a few moments. I suggest you call and withdraw your request for them before this situation becomes embarrassing for you."

  Zelig twisted one of the photographs around in his hand, teasing her with a quick glimpse of its content. "You're running out of time to call them off, Minister Jordan…"

  She lunged across the table to snatch the photo out of his hand, turned it the right way around, and stared deeply at it. She felt the color drain from her face. She tried to look away, but couldn't.

  "This can't be …",She felt sick to her stomach.

  "Last chance to call off Security," Zelig reminded her.

  Ms. Jordan absently picked up the phone, pressed the intercom button, "Anne, cancel that request for Security. And hold off on the federal police request, too. Something has just come up."

  11:12:02

  Every part of Barratt's body ached.

  Even before he could register where he was, he felt the plastic restraints around his wrists and his ankles cutting into his flesh. His arms were awkwardly stretched behind the back of the car seat.

  His senses came rushing back at him quickly, one by one; muted sounds of traffic, the smell of recently cleaned upholstery, and the sensation of moving. He was in a car, a moving car.

  His vision was the last to clear; as he blinked heavily, he saw Shirin Reyes beside him, driving. She looked at him curiously. Assessing him.

  She abruptly veered the car to the side of the road, pulled up sharply, grabbed her gun, and rested its muzzle firmly into his crotch.

  Without giving him the chance to speak, she said, "Three questions. One chance. Understood?"

  Barratt nodded. He couldn't take his eyes from her gun, its hammer cocked, the safety off. She was crazy.

  "Did you know it was me you were tracking?"

  "No!"

  "Who authorized it?"

  "I got my contract direct from Zelig."

  "Did he know it was me?"

  "No." Barratt shook his head, searching for links to a truth he couldn't possibly know. "I don't think he would sent me if he knew it was you."

  Shirin stared at him hard. Her focused glare seemed to drill deep into his mind, searching for any hint of deception. With a huff, she eased the Glock's hammer back into its neutral position and holstered it.

  "What the hell, Shirin! You scared the shit out of me!"

  She ignored his complaints, leaned back, and reached behind his seat. He felt the bindings to his wrist give way and fall off."And why the hell did you Taser me?"

  "Lucky I didn't shoot you," she said, dumping the wire cutters in his lap. She slammed the gear into drive, gunned the engine, and took off.

  Barratt freed his feet, then rubbed his flesh where the bindings had created red welts. "What the hell is going on?"

  "A lot more than I thought."

  "So that was you at the café? The blonde hair?"

  "It was."

  "Holy shit… I never got a good look at you… I didn't know it was you…"

  "When did you find me?"

  Rubbing his wrists, Barratt replied, "When you left the apartment building in the early hours of the morning. The security guy planted a bug on you when you left. We followed from a distance. Staked out your place. And when you left, I set up a surveillance team while I followed you with three of my men."

  They were quiet for a while.

  "We have a problem," she said matter-of-factly.

  Barratt looked at her. "Only one?"

  "It won't take them long to figure out it's me, and with your team down and you missing…considering our history, they'll assume you're with me now."

  Barratt nodded. They would be hunting for him, too. For whatever reason they wanted her, he was a part of it now.

  "I'm assuming you have a plan," he said.

  "I do."

  11:16:41

  Minister Jordan fought the nausea climbing rapidly up her throat.

  The damming photos lay scattered across her desk. Photos of her husband, naked, in a montage of different positions. Her husband, in the family bedroom, in the bed she shared with him, twisted, tangled, embracing, kissing, and having sex. Her husband, having sex with another man.

  The man she loved, the father of her children, the man she adored, perched on his knees with another man's cock inside his mouth.

  The waves of shock and disgust overwhelmed her, and she lurched for the waste bin next to her desk. She vomited into it, retching in long sobs that racked her body with a deep and taxing pain. She didn't care who saw her, who knew. She was oblivious to all but the deep sorrow hollowing out her soul.

  Across from her, Zelig smiled. He had broken her.

  "I'm sorry I had to bring this to you, “he said dryly. "But I thought you should know what your husband has been doing while you're here working hard for our country."Zelig postured, his sincerity well groomed yet transparent. "He obviously doesn't appreciate how any of this would affect you. How these photographs would have a very dramatic and damning effect on your political future. Even more damaging would be the shocking revelation that the man your husband is sleeping with is, in fact, a minor."

  He paused, but she knew there was more to come. She saw him watching her; enjoying the effect his words had on her."But not to worry. Fortunately I was able to intercept the evidence before anything was officially logged."

  He rose, walked to the door, and turned to face her.

  "Minister Jordan," he said gently. "I'll leave you to process all of this. But if you need anything, please don't hesitate to call me. Anytime. At the moment, only you and I need know about this. But we'll have to work together, to keep it that way… I'll be in touch."

  With that, Zelig left her office. The message was clear.

  11:21:05

  Smith walked through the ruins of the back door. The debris crunched under his boot. He didn't worry about contaminating the scene. He didn't need to preserve forensic evidence. There would be no investigation. A cleaning team had already been dispatched to remove any sign of what had happened here.

  Smith knew this was the work of Shirin Reyes. As he glanced at the body on the floor, the shattered doorjamb, and recalled the dead man upstairs, he felt an odd sense of admiration for Reyes. She was good. Really good.

  He had managed to get the two technicians off the street before the growing crowd of neighbors ventured out from the safety of their doorways. An Agency doctor would patch them up without an official record. She had let them live…and he didn't understand why, yet.

  The surveillance van was already in transit, secured t
o a "company" tow-truck. Regrettably, he was unable to interview the cab driver before the first responders had arrived and taken him to the nearest hospital. The police would want to speak with him too. The cab driver would have to wait, he decided.

  The cleaning team arrived from the rear of the block, as instructed. Smith was coordinating them when his phone rang. It was Zelig.

  "You have news?"Zelig was abrupt as usual.

  "Yes." Smith cupped the phone to his chest. He instructed one of the cleaning crew to remove the body at the rear of the house first. Back on the cell to Zelig, he said, "Video footage from the club confirmed it. The girl is Shirin Reyes. I've just arrived at her safe house. We had a team here. Barratt was on lead. From what I understand, he was pulling out when she attacked."

  "She what?"

  "She attacked." Smith paused for a moment while he peeked through the curtain to assess the police presence in the street. "I'd say we upset her at the café this morning, and she came back to either collect something from the safe house, or she was just pissed off and wanted to hurt someone."

  "Damage?"Zelig whispered in a white-hot rage.

  "Considerable. Two men outside with bullets in their legs, and two men inside, dead." Smith pulled the phone from his ear before the blasting of Zelig's shouts damaged his eardrum.

  Calming quickly, Zelig asked, "What happened?"

  "From what I can see, she commandeered a taxi, rammed the surveillance van, wounded the technicians inside, took the van around the block, and gained entrance to the safe house from the rear block. There was an exchange of gunfire. Two men went down. She was gone only minutes before I arrived."

  "Where's Barratt? If he's not one of the dead men, I want him shot! Get rid of him!"

  "Barratt is not here." He heard Zelig catch his breath. He waited for Zelig to say something.

  "He's with her," Zelig said, his voice flat.

  "Excuse me?"

  "Barratt and Reyes have a history."

  11:36:42

  Shirin exited the yellow sedan; their third vehicle in the last hour. She closed the door behind her. Barratt followed her, his eyes taking in every detail around him in one practiced sweep. The large underground car park was a hive of activity. Cars lined up, reversed, stopped, started, and blared their horns as patrons of the shopping complex fought their way in and out.