Dark Salvation (DARC Ops Book 7)

by Jamie Garrett

  Jackson smiled at him, at the youthful exuberance maybe. “We’ve been doing our own research, alongside yours. That boat ride Annica took was almost a week long, so we got a head start that way. Plus, we just had a mission involving ocean freight. So the topic was fresh in my mind. The woman you’ll be meeting tonight, Macy. We pretty much smuggled her into the US in a shipping container. All the way from South Africa. And the operative you’ll meet helped her.”

  “See?” Mira said. “He likes to keep things close-knit.”

  Jackson said, “And me and Annica go way back, too.”

  Annica, thank God, had something to look at instead of Mira’s uncomfortable smile. She watched Ethan, his pen scribbling to catch up.

  “And then there’s you,” Jackson said. “Ethan Vonnegut.”

  Ethan suddenly looked a little small and uncomfortable in the limelight. He finally said, “Have I said yet that I’m totally honored?”

  “She vouched for you,” Jackson said, motioning to Annica. “She put the word in. She trusts you.”

  Another tap of her shoe against him. He almost jumped, he was so excited.

  “So you can thank her,” Jackson said.

  “Oh, I have.”

  Annica chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Oh, indeed he has.”

  “I just hope that she also gave you a fair enough warning,” Jackson told him.

  Ethan spoke again, quietly while looking outside the window. “I know about . . . what happened to her.”

  Jackson nodded solemnly. “It could happen to you just as easily.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “That’s fine?” Jackson said. “Annica, you’ve trained this one a little too well.”

  “Well, no, not fine, but . . . I’m willing to take the risk.” Ethan glanced at her. “That’s what she and I just talked about, how I didn’t come all this way to fetch her coffee.”

  “Trust me,” Jackson said, laughing. “You’ll be doing a little more than that.”A few quiet, uneasy chuckles filled the room, abruptly ending at the sound of knocking at the front door. Annica’s flinching didn’t go unnoticed, by either Ethan or Jackson, her almost lifting off from the seat at the first knock.

  Jackson left to answer the door, but she could feel Ethan’s eyes on her. He was always so damned attentive.

  “You okay?” he said.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  “You’re jumpy.”

  “Yeah,” she said, hoping to push him back with some eye contact. To appease him. “You’ll know what it’s like soon enough.”

  “Bring it on.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mira’s smirk as she listened in. Mira knew about jumpiness, too. It came with the territory for anyone hanging around DARC Ops long enough.

  “Are we expecting anyone else tonight?” Annica asked her. “Besides his two agents?”

  Mira smiled. “I guess we’ll see. You know how he likes to spring that kind of stuff.”

  “I have to admit”—Annica swallowed—“I think I’ve had too much to drink to deal with any new developments.”

  “I kept telling Jack to keep it light tonight.”

  Ethan chimed in, “I was told it was supposed to be a party.”

  “A gathering,” Annica said.

  “So it’s a gathering now?”

  “Either way,” she said. “You should put away that damn notebook.”

  But he didn’t. Instead, he brought his pen back to the page as if he were about to compose an essay. He sat up straight and rigid, his eyes stuck on the return of Jackson.

  “Hey, guys,” Jackson said. He wore a guilt-ridden expression, particularly when he looked at Annica. “I hate to break up a nice relaxing evening, but I think this definitely changes the mood a little bit.”

  Mira huffed and said, “Just spit it out.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Annica? Do you think you can come outside with me for a moment?”

  Her initial jumpiness was like a precursor. She completed the motion, springing to her feet and following him to the door. It was like she knew all along what was waiting out there for her. Or at least her body knew. A sixth sense embedded in her muscle memory.

  Jackson stood outside and held the door open for her. “Right this way,” he said.

  “The car?”

  “Yes, the car.”

  The street was at the bottom of a downward-sloping cobbled footpath, and parked along its curb was a large white moving van. No windows on the side. No logos. The type of vehicle Annica knew from her news work was called a kidnapper’s special. Whom has it picked up this time?

  “What’s inside that, Jack?”

  Jackson didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

  Stepping out of the passenger side was a woman. She was small, but strong as hell, her body toned and fit. She smiled, but only faintly. “Should we pull around back?” she asked.

  “No,” Jackson said. “That’s why I brought her.”

  “Me?” Annica said, watching the woman spin around to face the van, knocking on the glass and then making a throat-slit gesture. Annica asked Jackson, “What’s going on?”

  “We need you to identify someone,” he said as the van’s engine sputtered to a halt.

  “It’s not a body, is it?”

  The woman from the van laughed. “Aren’t you going to introduce us first?”

  “Sure,” Jackson said. “That’s Macy. And that is . . .” He paused, waiting for the driver walk around the front of the van.

  The driver smiled at her. “Tucker. DARC Ops. Pleased to meet you.”

  No handshakes. Not even from Macy, who stood closer. Instead, the three of them turned in subtly to face the van, the rear side door. Annica heard someone take a deep breath.

  “So who is it?” she asked.

  “We were hoping you could tell us.” Tucker reached for the door and pulled it loose, sliding it back and open. And sitting there on the floor, was Sharky.

  It was immediate, a numbness in Annica’s extremities as the blood surged inward, hot and acidic, everything shooting up into her brain. Sharky’s face clouded over, as did everything else. There was a hand on her shoulder. And then around, behind her back, holding her up.

  The voices finally came back, Jackson’s first, repeating her name softly. Faces came back. Sharky, too.

  “Maybe we should have brought him around back,” Jackson said.

  Annica mumbled out a “No.”

  “Do you know him?” he asked her.

  “Did you . . .” She looked him over, waiting to come across some blood or bruises. “Did you hurt him?”

  “No way,” Macy said. “That’s just for his safety.”

  “What is?” Annica looked even closer.

  “The handcuffs,” Sharky said, the displeasure on his face obvious, yet subsiding.

  Annica said, “Can you take them off?”

  “Do you know him?” Jackson said again, more quietly this time.

  “No, I don’t.” She watched Sharky’s eyes widen. “But he saved my life.”

  12

  Cole

  He watched the blond kid scribble a few things down on a notepad before tossing it aside.

  “Can we record this?” the kid asked, pulling a small voice recorder out of his pocket.

  Before he could answer, their leader, Jackson, gave him a firm no. Cole was glad about that. There were already too many people here at this house. He felt the noose around his neck tighten with every new person that knew him and his story. That kid and whatever damned story he was working on wouldn’t help things in the least.

  “What’s that for?” Cole asked him, watching the notepad return to the kid’s knees.

  “I’m working with Annica.”

  Great. Another person he didn’t want to talk to who likely already knew the entire story.

  This location, too . . . This house, and people in it, were definitely not what he’d expected and dreaded during the mostly silent ride out of the city. H
e had tried not to think about the obvious, what he almost certainly thought would be his last car ride. His last location, wherever they chose to dump the body.

  He supposed it was only fitting that Annica had something to do with his rescue, if he could call it that.

  “I’m a reporter,” the kid said, knocking the back of his pen against the pad.

  “He’s the intern.”

  Cole followed the direction of that familiar sound, a familiar voice though lacking its usual hushed urgency. He’d known it before as the sound of desperation, of fear, a blood-curdling scream lurking just under the surface. No, it was sweet and easy, and almost as pretty as the woman behind it. Annica.

  “They’re getting some food together,” she said, motioning back to the kitchen from where she came.

  He had no taste for food right now.

  She sat next to her news buddy, sliding over to the side a little bit so their bodies weren’t touching. “Can we get you anything else in the meantime?”

  “When can we talk this over?”

  “Whenever you want.”

  Cole looked to the kitchen doorway. “With them?”

  “Yeah, we can wait for the others.”

  “I don’t care about them,” he said, glancing to the guy next to her. “I just want this kid to take it easy.”

  “With the notes?” she asked. He nodded. “Take it easy,” Annica told him.

  “What about the other two?” Cole said. “In the van.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?” Annica said.

  He checked on the kid again. He had put the pad and pen away, this time not bothering with the recorder but just sitting there, hands crossed. Cole looked at Annica. “Can we go outside for that?”

  “After.”

  “After . . . dinner?”

  “Sure,” Annica said. “But I just need to know. Are you Cole?”

  He took a deep breath, and said, “Yes. My name is Cole Hunter.”

  “My contact? The whistle-blower?”

  He nodded.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I couldn’t risk it,” Cole said. “I wasn’t sure at first. You shocked the hell out of me, falling through the ceiling like that. Then before I could get close enough to figure it out for sure, Roger had arrived. And then . . .” He trailed off, his words stolen away by the blank look on Annica’s face. Her sudden pallor seemed to draw in light and energy, and his concentration. “I feel the same way,” he said finally.

  “Shock?”

  Cole nodded. “And relief.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “For a few reasons.” Annica turned her head away, looking instead toward the doorway, from which his two “captors” emerged. He had learned now that they were Tucker Quinn and Macy Chandler, associates of a Washington-based security company. What Cole knew of DARC Ops was even more limited. He knew they handled security in a broader sense, even going as high as national security at times. They were hackers and tech specialists, not armed thugs watching over drug shipments. The two companies were security—related, yes, but they couldn’t be more different.

  “No hard feelings?” Tucker said to him.

  “It’s all good.”

  “You sure?” Macy asked. “Your wrists okay?”

  He looked down at them, rubbing his hand around his left wrist. The bones were a little sore, but he’d be okay. “I’m fine,” he told her, offering a smile since they’d probably only seen his scowl. “Better you guys than whoever else they sent after me.”

  Tucker nodded. “We fixed your phone, by the way.”

  “How?” Cole said. “Did you smash it with a hammer?”

  “Have you ever heard of a Faraday cage?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I guess it’s more of a box,” Tucker said. “It completely isolates your phone from any signal, so it can’t be traced. You’ll want to keep it in there until we get one of our guys to look at it.”

  “Who?” Annica asked. “I thought it’s just the five of us.”

  “Six?” the kid next to Annica said.

  Cole figured he’d join in. “Seven,” he said, smiling at Annica. “If you’re working with her, then I know it’s all good.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Jackson said, walking into the room, holding a tray. “We need you, Cole. You’re that missing ingredient that could piece this whole thing together.”

  “And you’re the start of it all,” Annica said. “You set this in motion, everything, everyone here, starting with that first email to me.”

  “I had no idea,” Cole said. “I mean, just yesterday I wasn’t even sure if I’d be . . . um . . . coming back here.” He noticed, after he said that, a flicker of life in Annica’s eyes. She already knew so much about him. He’d almost forgotten everything that happened before Batchewana, the weeks of email exchanges. The slow build up. The fear and excitement. The release of endorphins with each new message from her.

  She was still looking at him, her gaze focused intently. Now it was his turn to look away, his gaze falling on Jackson. Another military guy by the looks of him. He was nodding confidently.

  “I heard you talking about the Faraday cage,” Jackson said. “You won’t be needing that much longer. And I don’t mean that Tansy’s almost here. I think there’s a quicker way of dealing with this.”

  “Yeah,” Cole said. “I think so, too.”

  13

  Cole

  They took their man-to-man chat outside, him and Jackson with their cigars, meandering through the palm grove next to the raised house. Now and then, he could hear the sound of laughter wafting out of the house. But as they moved further away, it was just the waves. Distant. Relentless.

  “We don’t have to talk about what happened with you on the ship,” Jackson said. “I was told a little about it by Annica. The rest I can fill in myself, because I’ve been there too.”

  Cole looked over at him in surprise. “I’d never guess that.”

  “Me neither,” Jackson said. “Until I was there. Were you in the service?”

  “Yeah, but not for very long.”

  “Now that I could’ve guessed.”

  “Why?” Cole said. “Because my line of work?”

  “Yeah, but not just because it’s security. A lot of ex-military guys go into it, sure. But there’s not many that would do the kind of work you’re doing.”

  “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

  “It depends.”

  “On?

  “On what I find out about you.”

  “I’ve got nothing to hide,” Cole said. “What do you want to know?”

  “I want to know what you do. What you’ve done.”

  “I saved your girl’s life.”

  “Yeah, but how many people haven’t you saved?”

  “I don’t just go around shooting people every day. I’m not an executioner.”

  Jackson looked at him sharply, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t do hits? Wet work?”

  “No,” Cole said. “Scare someone, yes. Hurt them, maybe. But until today, they’ve never asked me to kill anyone.”

  “And our investigations won’t find out differently? They’re pretty thorough.”

  “I’ve been clean with everything else I’ve said, haven’t I?”

  “Maybe,” Jackson said. “We’re still looking.”

  “And I’ve come forward with some pretty damning evidence.”

  “We need more.”

  “I need more,” Cole said. “I think you’re forgetting how my ass is on the line here. We need evidence to put a stop to the Kahn Brothers, but I also need to save myself. You don’t think that’s enough motivation for me?”

  Jackson put the cigar back into his mouth.

  “I don’t need a pep talk.”

  A cloud of smoke from Jackson.

  “I don’t need your threats, either.”

  “Okay,” Jackson said, whipping his head toward the house.

  Cole heard it
, too, footsteps through sand. He looked through the shadows. “I want to feel like you trust me. So we can go through with this thing.”

  “It’s a problem on my end,” Jackson said, still watching down the path. “I’m slow to trust.”

  A face emerged, lit up soft and white with moonlight. Annica. “But once he trusts you,” she said, “that’s when you’re really screwed.”

  “I’m better off screwed that way than what the Kahn’s have in store for me,” Cole said.

  She walked up to them, slowly, bare feet dragging the sand. “How are you guys doing?”

  “Very well,” Jackson said.

  “You’re not giving him a hard time, right?” she asked, inclining her head toward Cole.

  “He gave me a cigar,” Cole said.

  “Okay,” she said, looking almost relieved. “That’s a start.”

  “It’s more than a start,” Jackson said, admiring his cigar, rolling it to see the ash line. “It’s from Tansy, a two-hundred-dollar Cohiba.”

  “What?” Cole said, regretting that he’d spit out his reaction like that. But he was shocked to hear about the price tag. Shocked that Jackson had been so generous, and shocked that it tasted as bad as it did. Or maybe he just couldn’t appreciate cigars.

  “So he’s trying to buy your allegiance,” Annica said.

  “It’s working.” Cole took another puff from the cigar that had begun to sour. He had wanted to say something nice about it, to at least acknowledge the extravagant price of the cigar. But it would be a lie. It wasn’t working at all, though he appreciated the gesture. He’d already come to appreciate a lot about the DARC Ops founder and leader. Where was a guy like that when he was in the military? Maybe if he’d met someone like Jackson, he would have stuck around a little longer. Maybe stay on the straightened path.

  “So, Annica,” Jackson said. “How’s your intern doing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How is he?”

  “As a journalist? Fine. He’s great, a great prospect.”

  “I’m assuming you brought him here because he can do more than write.”

  Her eyes narrowed in the dark.“What do you mean?”