File Zero

by Jack Mars

  “What am I supposed to do, waltz up to the White House and knock? How do you expect me to get these to the president?”

  “Use whatever connections you can,” Maria insisted. “You’re a CIA director. You must have someone who can help. Besides, you can get a hell of a lot closer than me or Kent can.”

  Cartwright sighed. “Good ol’ Zero. I suppose he never considered going digital.”

  “You and I both know the agency searched his computers,” Maria countered. She was right; there was no way he would ever keep backup copies of something like that lying around to be found. The CIA employed some of the best hackers the world over.

  “Speaking of,” Cartwright said. “The CIA declared him dead.”

  Maria, in her surprise, almost turned around to face him. “They did? Jesus, you don’t think—”

  “No,” Cartwright said quickly, “I don’t. There was no body. They know just as well as you or me that he’s still out there. Any idea why they would do that?”

  Maria shook her head. She thought for a minute, and then said, “Actually… yeah. If Kent wants to put a definitive stop to this, he can’t just assume Pierson will do the right thing. He’ll try to get back to the president. Declaring him dead will make it easier for him to get around, possibly lull into a false sense of security.”

  “He’s smarter than that,” Cartwright scoffed.

  You bet your ass I am, he thought with grim amusement. There was no way he could get back to Pierson, not now, nor could he put his faith in Cartwright to get those documents into the right hands. He needed to come up with a new plan as soon as he reconvened with Maria and Sanders.

  “We have to go,” Maria declared. “We’re going to try to find him before any of that.”

  “How can I reach you?” Cartwright asked.

  “I think it’s better if you can’t. You hold up your end; we’ll get to Kent. And we’ll go from there. If we need to contact you, we’ll reach out.” Maria stood, and Sanders with her. “Thanks, Cartwright. Good luck.”

  “You too,” the deputy director murmured.

  Without so much as a look over her shoulder, Maria and Sanders walked away, down the street in the opposite direction from Zero’s position, looking as if they were chatting idly with each other. Cartwright lowered the phone from his ear and remained at the table.

  Zero quickly tore the headphones from his head and stuffed the sonic ear back into his bag. He could drive around the block, tail them to a safe distance from the coffee shop, and then make his presence known.

  His hand reached for the ignition, but he paused. In the side mirror, Cartwright sipped his coffee and then rose slowly from the table. He tossed his cup in a nearby trash bin, stuffed his phone in his pocket, and picked up the brown satchel that Maria had left behind, on the ground between their two chairs.

  Zero sighed. The smart thing to do would be to rendezvous with Maria. Form a plan. Contact Strickland and see if he had found a way to contact the Fifth Fleet. But he already knew that he’d made up his mind.

  He reached for the door handle instead. He had some questions for his former boss.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Zero fell in stride with Cartwright when he was only a few yards from his car.

  “Keep walking,” he said quickly.

  Cartwright did a double-take, but he didn’t break his stride. “Zero! Jesus. Does Johansson know you’re here?”

  “Not yet. I have questions for you. Just keep walking.” The two of them continued past Cartwright’s SUV and down the street at a casual pace. “You have my documents, everything I worked to build two years ago.” He gestured to the brown bag over Cartwright’s shoulder. “If those fall into the wrong hands, they’ll know exactly what to bury so that none of this comes to light. I need to know I can trust you, and the only way to do that is with the truth.”

  “You should have come to me with this sooner,” Cartwright told him. “We could have stopped this before it started.”

  “I didn’t know it sooner,” Zero said honestly. “It was hazy, disjointed. It’s clearer now.”

  Cartwright stopped suddenly and stared at him. “Are you back? Like, fully back?”

  “Keep walking.” Zero pressed on, and Cartwright jogged a few paces to keep up with him. “An answer for an answer.”

  “That’s fair.”

  “Yes,” Zero told him. “I’m back. It happened yesterday, just all came flooding in on a trigger.”

  “That’s great, but why—”

  “An answer for an answer,” Zero interrupted, and then he got straight to business. “Two years ago, did you order the hit on me? Did you send Reidigger and Morris to kill me?”

  “Dammit.” Cartwright sighed heavily. “Look, I could give you all the answers you want, but time is of the essence here—”

  “Just answer the question,” Zero demanded. “The faster we get this over with, the faster you can go do what needs to be done.” It was important for him to know the parts of his past that had been left hanging when the memory suppressor was installed. And if there was even a chance that he was going to die trying to stop the war and the plot, he would die knowing the truth.

  “I didn’t give the order. The order came to me.”

  Zero scoffed. “That’s a bureaucrat’s answer.”

  “What do you want me to say? You were out of control. If you’re back, then you remember.”

  He did remember. He could recall the sharp pain left in the wake of Kate’s death—her murder—and the agency’s insistence that she had died at the hands of an Amun assassin. He remembered his wild tear across Europe and the Middle East. Killing. Torturing. Refusing to come in. Looking for answers in all the wrong places.

  And none of it would have happened if he hadn’t been lied to in the first place.

  “The order came down that you were to be eliminated,” Cartwright explained. “Reidigger and Morris volunteered. They didn’t want some assassin or Division merc capping you in the back. I’m sorry, Zero. I really am. I blindly followed an order. But I’m not the same person I was then. Neither are you.”

  They walked in silence for several seconds before Cartwright asked his question. “My turn. How can you be certain that President Pierson isn’t in on this plot?”

  “Simple,” Zero said. “Because we’re not at war yet. I saw the look in his eye when I tried to tell him what was happening. He’s either an incredible actor, or had no idea. Pierson is a pawn in this game. They thought it would be easier to sway him, but by going to him first I’ve at least delayed their plan. But if Iran is closing the strait, Pierson will be easier to manipulate. The pressure will be on and the stakes will get high. That’s why he needs to see those documents. He needs to know that I wasn’t lying.”

  “My sources told me he’s returning to the White House today,” Cartwright said. “They think you’re dead. Pierson thinks he’s safe. You can’t go within a mile of that place. You know that.”

  “I know. Turn left here. We’ll loop back around to your car.” They took the corner and walked a tree-lined avenue of Georgetown. “One more question, Cartwright. Who killed my wife?”

  Again the deputy director stopped in his tracks, staring at Zero in bewilderment. “What?”

  Zero stopped too, looking him in the eye. He wanted to gauge his reaction, watch his facial tics, determine whether or not he was telling the truth. “My wife,” he repeated. “Kate Lawson. She was murdered. Her autopsy showed she had ingested tetrodotoxin, a powerful poison that causes respiratory paralysis.” He felt a lump in his throat; it was the first time he had ever spoken the words aloud. But he pushed himself to continue. “Her diaphragm was paralyzed as she was walking to her car after work. She suffered respiratory failure and died on the sidewalk. And you…” Zero pointed a finger at Cartwright’s chest, hovering an inch from his shirt. “You were the one that called me. I was overseas, on an op. And you called me to tell me what had happened. You told me it was—”

&nb
sp; “The assassin,” Cartwright finished. “The Amun assassin. The one that took your girls. The one you killed in Dubrovnik.”

  “That’s right,” Zero said evenly. “You told me that Rais did it, and I killed him for it. He was a psychopath who took pleasure in killing. With his dying breath, he told me about my wife’s murder. But it wasn’t to gloat. It was to tell me that he didn’t get the chance to kill her. Because the CIA did it first.”

  Cartwright’s mouth opened slightly, his lower lip hanging slack. Zero searched for some flicker of betrayal, of recognition, of guile.

  But he saw none.

  “Zero,” he said in almost a whisper, “that’s not—”

  Distant gunshots cracked sharply, interrupting Cartwright. He crouched instinctively and looked around wildly. Zero perked up, listening as intently as he could as two more shots went off.

  That’s a Glock 17. About eight blocks away.

  Maria.

  “Were you followed?” he hissed.

  “What? No!” Cartwright insisted, his eyes wide.

  “I followed you!”

  “Then you should know better than me!”

  “Come on.” Zero grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him along, running back down the avenue the way they came. “We’ll get to your car and get out of here. You can drop me as soon as we’re clear of—”

  Tires screeched, and a black Jeep careened around the corner just ahead of them. Zero spun quickly and pushed through the nearest door. “Come on!”

  Cartwright followed as the two of them dashed through an antiques shop, sidling around customers and shelves toward the rear. An elderly female clerk looked up in alarm at the sight of them, but didn’t get a word in before they ran past her and into the back.

  Zero shouldered open the back door and the two of them leapt out into a narrow alley between two rows of buildings. He looked left and right as Cartwright struggled to catch his breath. “Left. Let’s hope they don’t double back…”

  No sooner had he said it than they heard the roar of the Jeep’s engine approaching at the southern mouth of the alley. It zoomed past, and then brakes screeched. They were coming back around.

  “Other side…” He started to run in that direction when a siren whooped. A black cruiser with a magnetic-mount dome light squealed to a stop, red and blue flashing, blocking the other end of the alley.

  “Basement!” Zero dashed across the alley and down six concrete stairs to a subterranean door. He reared back and kicked it twice before it gave. Cartwright followed, clutching the brown satchel in both arms.

  Zero pushed the door closed and glanced around quickly. The basement’s floor and walls were smooth concrete, clean, lined on both sides with steel-cage storage units filled with all manner of belongings, each labeled with a number and a letter. They were in the basement of an apartment building.

  “Upstairs,” Zero ordered. “Come on—”

  “Wait,” Cartwright panted. “Just wait a second. That was a Division Jeep. They’re here for you. Run. I’ll stall them as long as I can.”

  Zero shook his head quickly. “I can get us out of this—”

  “I’m a high-ranking CIA official. You’re a rogue agent that threatened the president. If I’m found with you, I’ll lose all credibility, and these documents will never get to where they need to go.”

  He couldn’t argue with Cartwright’s logic. Outside, he heard the shouts of men approaching rapidly.

  “Listen to me.” Cartwright put a hand on Zero’s shoulder, but couldn’t seem to make eye contact. “They didn’t know the truth. They were following an order, just like I was. We’ve all been lied to.”

  “What…?” Zero blinked in confusion. Outside, they could hear boots stomping on cement as the Division men descended on the basement.

  “Go!” Cartwright gave him a shove. “Go now!”

  “Agent Zero!” called a deep-voiced male from the other side of the basement door. “Drop any weapons and put your hands up! You have to the count of three! One…”

  Zero sprinted for the stairs that led up and out of this basement. They turned at the landing and led to a steel door and the first floor of the apartment building.

  “Two!”

  But he didn’t go through the door just yet. Instead he crouched in the stairwell and drew his Glock.

  “Three!” He heard the sound of the basement door flying open and smacking against the wall behind it. Heavy footfalls as more than one pair of boots rushed into the basement, and three voices overlapping, all shouting over each other: “Hands up! Hands where we can see them!”

  “All right, all right!” Cartwright shouted back. “Jesus. It’s me.”

  Zero cautiously lowered himself to the landing and dared to peer down as best he could without showing himself. All he could see was Cartwright’s legs and shoes, and three pairs of black Division boots that surrounded him.

  “Where is he?” demanded the voice.

  “Where’s who?” Cartwright said innocently.

  “Agent Zero. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know,” Cartwright insisted. “Isn’t it your job to find him?”

  The Division man scoffed. “Then what are you doing down here, Director Cartwright?”

  “I heard gunshots. I sought safety.”

  “Uh-huh. And you just happened to be in the vicinity of a known terrorist?”

  Cartwright frowned. “I’d hardly call Zero a terrorist.”

  “Not Zero,” said the Division man. “Emilia Sanders. The CIA picked up facial recognition on a traffic cam a few blocks from here.”

  Zero shook his head, certain that it was a lie. No software was going to pick up facial recognition with the huge sunglasses that Sanders had on her face. They were tracking Cartwright, and they had set a trap. They’d let the meeting happen at the coffeehouse, and then followed Maria and Sanders.

  Which meant they’d followed Cartwright and him as well.

  He gripped the Glock tighter. They know I’m here. They waited so they could trap me. But why are they waiting now?

  “What’s in the bag, Director?” the Division man asked.

  “Official CIA business. Certainly none of yours.” Zero saw Cartwright’s feet take a cautionary step backward. “Is Sanders in custody?”

  “We got her,” the man answered. “Along with another agent. One of yours.”

  Maria. He hoped she was alive. The only gunshots he’d heard were from a Glock, or so he believed. So he wanted to believe.

  “And I’m guessing that whatever is in that bag is pretty important to them,” the Division man said. “Isn’t that true, Director?”

  “Are you deaf?” Cartwright said angrily. “These are sensitive documents that require specific security clearance. And frankly, it’s none of your damn concern. Now if you believe that Agent Zero is in the area, I suggest you stop wasting my time and get after him!”

  “Wasting your time,” the merc repeated quietly. “You know what I think? I think he’s already gone. I think you’re stalling for him.”

  Outside the basement, wheels screeched as at least two more vehicles arrived. That’s why they’re waiting, Zero realized. They were waiting for backup. They weren’t going to risk pursuing Zero with only three men.

  “But you’re right,” the Division man agreed. “We should get after him. Especially after what he’s done here today.”

  “What? What has he done?”

  “He killed Deputy Director Shawn Cartwright.” A gun barked twice. The deputy director fell silently, his wide eyes staring up at the stairwell where Zero hid.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Blind rage overtook him. It slowed his mind while his body reacted in the only way that made sense to him in the moment.

  Zero leapt down the stairs, gun in hand, and landed hard on the concrete floor but ignoring the pain that shot up his leg. The Glock 17 was up in an instant, before the three Division men could even look his way.

  They had expected him
to run.

  He shot the first one in the forehead at fourteen feet. He tracked right and fired twice, hitting the second man in the stomach and knee. His aim was slightly off with his left hand.

  The third merc hit the deck and rolled, parallel to Cartwright’s body. There was a bullet in the deputy director’s chest and another in his forehead.

  Zero was only vaguely aware of the shouts from outside. Then the broken door to the basement flew open again and, before either he or the merc could get another shot off, a smoke grenade rolled into the basement.

  Go. The voice in his head prodding him to get the hell out of there sounded like Cartwright. Go now.

  He took two steps forward, making a bid for the satchel, but the third Division merc fired blindly in his direction. Zero backpedaled quickly, narrowly missing having his right foot shot through. He sprinted back up the stairs, skidding across the landing and hurtling toward the door. He shouldered it open and found himself face to face with two black-clad Division men on their way to block the door.

  Neither party had been expecting the other.

  Zero didn’t stop. He dropped the Glock and threw himself towards the closer of the two, bringing his hand up in a chopping motion across the merc’s neck. Then he twisted around and used his right elbow to catch the second merc’s arm before he could get a pistol up.

  He dropped his weight, throwing the man off balance, and then brought his elbow to his ear—and with it, the arm. The man screamed as his shoulder twisted in a way it shouldn’t.

  Then he snapped up the Glock and pistol-whipped the first merc in the back of the head.

  Can’t just go out the front door. Can’t go back. The only way to go was up. He sprinted across a lobby lined with mailboxes as another pair of men came through the glass front doors.

  These two wore ties and blue windbreakers. He couldn’t see their backs, but he was certain he’d find the letters “FBI” emblazoned across them.

  “Freeze!” one of them shouted as they pushed through the door.