Stories by Kiera Dellacroix

by Dellacroix, Kiera

  The doorbell rang again and as quietly as he could; he closed the distance, pressing his body tightly against the wall to the side of the door. With the gun in one hand and the sofa cushion in the other, he very slowly lifted the cushion until it completely obscured the peephole in the door.

  Several things happened at once. The door smashed open with stunning force causing him to drop the cushion and bring his arm up in an attempt to protect himself from the door, which jarred him painfully up against the wall. Startled, and finding himself trapped between the door and the wall, he reflexively pulled the trigger, simultaneously firing a round through the door and scaring the shit out of him.

  He didn't wait to see if he hit anything. In full panic mode he sprinted for the steps leading upstairs, reaching the top in time to hear the unmistakable sound of the back door crashing open. The sound only added to his speed as he raced for the unused bedroom at the end of the hall and he went right for the window at the rear of the room, opening it quickly and kicking out the screen. He had one leg out the window when he heard a calm, almost amused voice from the hallway.

  "Mr. Satterfield."

  He started so violently at the sound of the voice that he lost his balance. Scrambling wildly for a purchase on the window, he dropped his pistol. Perversely, it landed inside the house on the bedroom floor as he lost the battle for stability, and with arms spiraling madly, he fell painfully to ground in his neighbor's backyard.

  With the wind knocked out of him and his left ankle throbbing, he fell several times in an attempt to shake off his injuries and start running. After the third fall, he finally regained his feet and sprinted for the gate that led to the alley.

  As he ran, his neighbor stepped out of the house onto his back porch, calling out to him as he passed.

  "What the hell is going on, Satterfield?"

  "Get back in your house, Mr. Dillon!"

  He turned his head at the sound of the gunshot to see the top of his neighbors head disappear in a red mist, reacting to the sight by laying on a burst of speed he had not thought himself capable of. The wooden gate almost coming off the hinges as he plowed into it and emerged into the alley. The adrenaline pumping through his body like high-octane gasoline, he put his head down and ran as hard as he could. He was on pace to break the land speed record when he flew from the alley and onto the street. He ran for miles, and when he was sure that he had gotten away, he ran some more.

  Part Two

  There's evil in the air and there's thunder in the sky,

  And a killer's on the bloodshot streets.

  - J. Steinman

  I

  Bailey emerged from her office in time to hear Piper inform the Operator that they would both be at lunch and she turned a smile in her direction as she hung up.

  "Ya ready?"

  She nodded and put on her sunglasses as Piper gathered up her purse and jacket and they walked together to the elevator. All the way down she sorted through dozens of hypothetical conversations. By the time the elevator doors opened to the lobby, she was already becoming frustrated, having really no idea how to conduct herself in a truly social situation. Over the course of her adult life she had carefully avoided forming any personal attachments, the axe that was her family dangling just out of her reach was one axe too many. In addition, there was the shame that came with being who she was and the knowledge that no one in their right mind would want her once the truth was discovered. In fact, she had learned the hard way that friends were just not in the cards for her.

  She had been nineteen at the time and on her third assignment. It was supposed to be a simple elimination job and she had been paired with a man ten years her senior. For three days they shared a hotel room in Athens while awaiting the arrival of the visiting dignitary that was their target.

  As things turned out, it was the last time she would be partnered with another operative and forever afterward she would be known as The Wraith.

  The man she had been teamed with was named Tony. She never shared her name with him and in a way she wished she had. The game plan was in place and they awaited only the arrival of the mark, the time schedule wasn't written in stone but it was known that he would arrive within seventy-two hours. So they spent many long hours in the confines of the hotel room with nothing but time on their hands. Tony babbled endlessly in a way that set her nerves on edge. He was his own favorite subject, loved to compliment himself and spent a lot of time in front of the mirror. She noted very quickly that his ramblings contained an undercurrent of flirting commentary that she guessed she was supposed to find charming. At first she found this slightly humorous, but by the end of the first day it became irritating and because their surroundings weren't all that spacious, she had little choice but to endure his presence. She tried her best to drone him out, but was forced to respond on too many occasions to ignore him completely. When she had to, she acknowledged him with the shortest possible response.

  By late afternoon on the second day, Tony's apparently never ending chatter turned to the subject of sex. He seemed to have a wealth of experience in a subject where she had exactly none and despite of herself she began to listen. She had to admit that she was at least partially enthralled as his commentary grew more and more graphic. Eventually, he began to go over the most unusual locations in which he had engaged in the act, suddenly stopping and throwing a glance in her direction.

  "So, tell me, where's the strangest place you've ever done it?"

  With the question she became angry, although she didn't really know why.

  "I haven't," she stated, abruptly rising from her seat and stalking into the bathroom.

  An hour later, she found herself emerging from the bathroom and trying to ignore his presence as she plopped down on her bed. For the first time in two days he didn't start up the chatter and she was grateful. She rolled over on to her side and stared at the wall for close to half an hour before he finally spoke.

  "You're not a volunteer are you?"

  "No," she said not bothering to turn around.

  "I'm sorry."

  "For what?"

  "For everything you've missed. I forget sometimes that some of us don't have a choice," he said sincerely. "If you'd like to talk, I'd be happy to listen."

  She had been somewhat surprised at his compassion but she knew that she couldn't talk to him. She had a hard enough time keeping her thoughts buried as it was, voicing them out loud would only make it harder to reign them back in.

  "I'm not ready to do that."

  "I understand, it's an open offer if you change your mind."

  "Tell me about your family," she asked and listened wistfully until she fell asleep.

  The next morning the mark arrived and security surrounding him was immense, much more than had been expected. The original plan consisted of a sniper round from whichever of the two could get a shot from their planned positions. This was now an impossibility considering the window of opportunity and the amount of bodies shielding the man. They informed operations and requested an alternate game plan. The response was predictable and infuriating.

  "Delay Unacceptable – Proceed Immediately."

  She took it for what it was; they were expendable. All plans of finesse and an unnoticed escape had to be scrapped. She was well aware that she couldn't return without at least an attempt, to have done so would have meant early retirement.

  Since the original plan was not an option, she expressed to Tony that the security would have to be eliminated to be able to reach the mark, and that a frontal assault offered the best chance of success. He vehemently disagreed but could not come up with a reasonably intelligent solution. With time running out, she had simply stated that there were really no alternatives. Squarely stuck between no hope and little hope, he had no choice but to consent. She would spearhead and he would provide fire support.

  The next morning she spent two hours in a light rain as she waited for the mark to exit the hotel. Eventually, the man appeared surroun
ded by his security, and she wasted no time wading into the fray. Approaching rapidly, she engaged at point blank range, her pistols firing relentlessly as she used their numbers against them and utilized the close quarters and falling bodies as shielding.

  She always knew she would win. She never had a doubt. Most never knew what hit them and as the last one fell, she ejected the empty magazines from her Brownings. She emerged without a scratch; surprised that it was over, and barely remembering it.

  The approaching sirens brought her back to the moment. She inserted fresh magazines into her pistols and ran to Tony's position. She found him leaning heavily against a parked car and sitting in a widening pool of blood. A quick examination revealed three hits, twice in the right leg, once in the left hip. Her mind raced to find a solution, although she already knew it was pointless. He couldn't travel on his own and to escape she would have to move too fast to carry him. The rules were very clear; capture was unacceptable. Meeting his eyes, she knew that it was clear to him as well; he nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

  She fired one more round.

  She cried herself to sleep every night for almost a month after that. She wasn't sure that she even liked him, but she cried because he cared and because she knew that as long as she was who she was, she would be alone.

  "Hey, did you fade out there?"

  "Huh?" Bailey looked up, surprised to see Piper standing in front of her with her hands on her hips. She was even more shocked to find herself standing on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant they were supposed to be having lunch in. Apparently, she had dutifully followed Piper all the way here without saying a word while her mind took her down memory lane.

  "I'm sorry, I guess I did fade away there," she said, the slight tinge of embarrassment coloring her face.

  "Well," Piper said cheerily. "I'm going to assume from the blush that it was an amusing place you were visiting?"

  "Not really," Bailey replied starting to feel extremely uncomfortable.

  "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you," Piper said quickly having noted how quickly the blush fled and an emotionless mask took its place. She decided to beam her best smile at her companion, whose body language was beginning to suggest that she might bolt.

  "Uhm… I'm sorry I drifted away on you…" Bailey trailed off a little when her eyes caught the smile being shot at her.

  "Don't be sorry, you're cute when you blush."

  She couldn't remember ever having received such an honest compliment and it took her a few seconds to formulate a reply. She glanced shyly at Piper who just stood there with her smile still in place.

  "Thank you, that has to be the nicest thing anyone has said to me in as long as I can remember."

  "I would think you hear stuff like that all the time," Piper scoffed a little startled at the admission but absorbing the bittersweet look on her face.

  Bailey just shrugged, she couldn't think of an appropriate response.

  Piper studied her new friend seriously. "Well, I meant it."

  Bailey felt the beginnings of a real smile on her face. It was an odd feeling. "Thank you."

  Sensing that she was about out of commentary for the moment, Piper again took control of the situation. "Well, as much as I would like to stand here and chit-chat all day, I find myself intrigued at the possibility of heading inside and having lunch," she grinned impishly. "What do ya say, shall we?"

  "Uhm… Okay," came the spectacularly intelligent response.

  "Goody."

  And to Bailey's complete and utter shock, Piper grabbed her hand and led her purposefully into the restaurant.

  --------

  Terry swiped his keycard over the sensor and entered the code on the keypad that would allow him entrance into the Situation room. He walked briskly to his place at the head of the table where a dozen people were already seated and awaiting his arrival. Setting his briefcase on the table, he elected not to sit and immediately got to the point.

  "Okay folks, we have a rogue operative," he stated simply. "Everyone is probably wondering why the building is in a state of lockdown and all pending Ops have been canceled." He paused and looked around the room. "As you all know, a rogue is something that the Organization has dealt with before. Unfortunately, this is a rather unique situation and the potential of this problem, if not handled correctly, is rather devastating."

  "Excuse me, Terry. But you're absolutely correct in saying that we've dealt with rogue situations before. If I recall accurately, all past occurrences were dealt with rather quickly and efficiently," Bob Spicher announced. "Without the precautions that we all see in effect at the moment."

  Terry looked at the man who was the Organization's third in command and would be his replacement if he fucked this up. "True. Like I said, this is a rather unique situation."

  "How so?" Spicher asked.

  Terry reached down and powered on the laptop situated in front of him. A few seconds later and the projection screen on the wall behind him lit up with a photograph. "I seriously doubt that any of you would recognize this person." He gestured toward the picture, which was so large that no position in the room would offer an obstructed view. "However, I imagine that everyone here is familiar with her Identifier."

  "She's very attractive, Terry. What's the catch?" Bob asked.

  "The catch is, Bob, that very attractive woman is our rogue." He paused and finally sat down in his chair. "Gentleman, that woman also happens to be the operative known as The Wraith."

  As Terry suspected, a long silence encompassed the room.

  "Holy shit," Bob said finally breaking the silence.

  "I take it everybody here is familiar with the name?" Terry asked and looked around the table to see nodding heads. "Good, then you all should know that while any rogue operative presents a very viable danger, this one in particular is one we cannot afford to make mistakes with. What I need is a realistic game plan to eliminate her without taking significant hits to Organization resources." He considered a second and continued. "In plain terms, I don't want to be putting our people in body bags in the attempt to eliminate her."

  "Rumor had it that the Organization allowed The Wraith to retire a few years back," Bob said.

  "You should be well aware, Bob, that for most people, a career with the Secondary is permanent. Almost no one retires from the Organization, especially one with her background and obvious skill." He shot an annoyed look at the man and continued.

  "The Wraith was given inactive status in an attempt to avoid the kind of situation we find ourselves in at the moment. In the past, only the Director and myself have been privy to the particulars of this operative. Today, that information will be shared with everyone in this room. This information will not, I repeat, will not leave this room." He stopped and looked very carefully at each face in the room until he felt confident that he was understood. He stood from his chair and walked completely around the table, pausing at every station to hand each person a CD.

  "Her file in its entirety is on the disks I just gave you. I'm expecting several field reports, so I will leave you to study this information for a few hours. None of those disks are to leave the room. I'll want opinions and scenarios upon my return. Any questions?"

  Seeing that there were none, Terry made his way to the door and headed toward his office. He wondered idly what new horrors awaited him as he sat down behind his desk. He hadn't been seated for more than a minute when the intercom spoke.

  "Mr. McKraken?"

  "Yes, Miss Marshall?" he replied wearily.

  "You have two messages. Ben Richards and Kevin Marland. Both request contact, sir."

  "Thank you."

  He put his head in his hands and let out a long breath. At the thought of Richards, the tip of his dick started to hurt. He had been hoping for an update, a request for contact only meant complications. Marland was his man in charge in Atlanta and wasn't due to report until tomorrow, a sign that meant he was destined for another mouthful of shit.

  Reluc
tantly, he reached for the phone to make the calls.

  --------

  Despite the close call, Martin had made some preparations in the hours before the flight from his home. His mother had left him with a mint condition 1973 AMC Gremlin. It was the very pinnacle of cool, boasting a sweet bright orange paint job with matching interior. He remembered standing stupefied on his front porch as his mother drove up in the butt ugly little car that he never knew she owned. She had explained to him that it was a family heirloom and that he was being entrusted to take care of it. A week later, she had departed to what he could only describe as a swinging retirement community in Florida. He privately felt that his mother was far too young for this sort of exile, but he had little say in the matter.

  Fortunately, the car was still in her name and he had, out of a sense of duty, habitually tagged it in the two years following his mother's southern migration. Having been too embarrassed to keep it at home, he had ended up finding it a berth at a local mini-storage. Visiting the vehicle once every couple of months to start it and keep it maintained. He now thought it a stroke of genius that he never sold it or registered it in his name. He would be deliriously happy to drive the monstrosity all the way to Georgia. In fact, if it were a possibility, he would be happy to drive it all the way to Florida and spend the rest of his days playing shuffleboard and Canasta with his mother's swinging friends.

  So it was a very tired and still very scared Martin Satterfield sporting a fresh head of bleached hair and wearing the ugliest Hawaiian shirt in existence, that proudly drove a bright orange eyesore down I-95 and out of the District of Columbia. He was so relieved at having escaped earlier in the day that he would have been blasting the stereo if he owned at least one 8-track tape.

  Instead, he listened to the radio. But with just A/M at his disposal, his only choice was some god-awful country station. He endured the mind numbing music in an attempt to keep his thoughts occupied. Having watched the top of his neighbor's head disappear was something he was trying very hard not to think about. He listened to the bowel wrenching twang of the ever present steel guitar and tried to keep his mind on the much more immediate concerns of his own survival. He knew it was roughly a twelve-hour drive to Atlanta but he had decided, after much internal debate, to stop in South Carolina for the night. He needed some rest, and more importantly he needed to decide how to best approach the woman his former employers called The Wraith.