The Hacker Who Became No One

by A J Jameson

  “Like using traffic lights to divert vehicles away from the blast zone?” Ivan asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “So, if Alpha squad were leading this mission, you don’t think Sadie would’ve bothered diverting traffic? She’d just take the risk?”

  Yolanda smirked. “Now that’s the part that drives Sadie crazy. If she were Vanguard on this mission, she’d probably fail to consider the traffic above, but we would, and then we’d bring it up to Law. He, like us, goes to great extents to avoid collateral damage. All we need to do is suggest a plan of action for the sake of the organization—avoiding unnecessary deaths, for example—and Law will override Sadie.”

  “And then she’s forced to implement our suggestion into her strategy,” Ivan said, smiling.

  “That’s right.”

  “They just passed my position,” Eduardo radioed. “Thirty seconds out, Yolanda.”

  “Roger,” Yolanda said, and prepared to divert traffic. But when she glanced at the intersection’s camera feed, she didn’t see a single car.

  “Uh-oh,” Ivan said, spotting the mishap. “Did you do that?”

  “No,” Yolanda said flatly. She typed the command in her laptop to display every street camera within a fifty-block radius. She cycled through them one at a time, searching for the missing vehicles.

  Then her laptop screen faded to blackness. Green, bold letters scrolled from right to left. “I Diverted Traffic, Expanding Your 4-Block Radius to 10 Blocks. People Will Be More Suspicious, But Less Collateral Damage.”

  Yolanda informed the team. “Control over traffic signals lost. Comms possibly compromised. No names, read me, Vanguard?”

  “If someone swiped our line they already know our names,” Sadie said.

  “Who’s to say we used our actual names,” Marek said, irritation in his voice.

  Yolanda prepared to wipe clean the laptop’s files, but before she could, Marek radioed the team. “Mission’s a go, stay focused,” he said. “Engineer, work on getting those lights back up.”

  Yolanda went back to work. “On it.”

  Marek watched his sister open a briefcase from the stack of thirty-nine and take inventory of the medical supplies within. She removed two morphine injections, a handful of anti-infection wipes, and a gauze wrap before returning the case to the pile. The grip of her handgun, tucked in her waist belt, was visible when she lifted the hem of her suit jacket to pocket the medical supplies. It was loaded with tranquilizer rounds.

  Marek turned his gaze to Sadie, her body a dark silhouette in the glare of a floodlight. He raised a hand to brim his vision and walked, the heels of his dress shoes clacking against the subway tracks. Her scowling face became apparent as he cleared the floodlight. She cuffed her ear and returned her attention to the tracks north of their position. Kyle was leaning on a pillar next to her, peering through a night-vision enhanced scope.

  Marek slowed his breathing and listened. A mild echo of enclosed emptiness. He became aware of the dampness surrounding his team, the subterranean chill. Where were the radicals?

  A lively voice in his ear caused a startled breath. “Lost cams,” Yolanda reported.

  “Local or remote?” Marek asked.

  “Both. And no traffic control.”

  “Too many red flags,” Sadie whispered. “Pull your team out, Marek.”

  “Negative.”

  “It’s just foolish pride at this point. Not worth getting us killed over.”

  “Maintain radio silence,” Marek ordered, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple.

  Sadie shook her head but remained in position.

  “The hacker sent another message,” Yolanda said. “Life is good. Refrain from attempted murder, or I promise you’ll regret it.”

  “Tell him he’s interfering with a federal matter,” Marek said.

  “Can’t, the conversation’s one way. He disabled audio input on our side.”

  Zyta whispered in Marek’s ear, “What if the hacker’s one of them?”

  “A radical?” Marek asked. He pondered the connection between the two forces—the hacker that’d been causing C3U problems for the past few months, and the group of radicals C3U had been communicating with over the past…what, two months?

  “Yeah,” Zyta said, looking nervously over Marek’s shoulder. “We think we’re the ones setting the ambush. What if we’re the real targets?”

  No, it couldn’t be. The hacker first popped up on C3U’s radar at the beginning of the oil dump missions. That was over six months ago…and ever since then they’d been playing a game of cat and mouse, C3U throwing off the hacker’s trail only to be re-compromised a week later. The weird thing, law enforcement was never involved, despite multiple threats by the hacker.

  You’re just being paranoid,” Marek told his sister. “There can’t be a connection, the time tables don’t match. Plus, we would’ve discovered a link during prep phase.”

  Zyta’s taut features didn’t loosen. She looked over Marek’s shoulder again. The sound of footsteps tiptoeing along the track grew louder. Sadie and Kyle, coming over to either report that the radicals had arrived, or that Marek should “pull his team out,” a phrase Sadie had yet to mutter during her own missions.

  “I can understand Sadie telling me to stand down,” Marek said, stepping closer to Zyta so the others couldn’t hear. “All she’s interested in is being Vanguard. But you? I can’t have you doubting me. I need you by my side.”

  “I am, always,” Zyta said. “But it doesn’t hurt to consider all possible options, right?”

  Marek nodded. Unless the hacker reached out to the radicals before we contacted them…

  “Targets inbound,” Sadie reported. “Fifteen seconds.”

  “Get in position.”

  The team gathered by the stack of briefcases, right in the glare of the floodlights. Great, Marek thought, possibly an ambush, and we’re blinded.

  He glanced at the camera to the team’s right, located midway up the concrete wall, its tiny yellow eye barely discernible from the chrome-colored subway lighting. If the radicals were watching, or listening, four well-placed bullets would bring this meeting to an early close.

  But the muzzle flashes never came. Instead, seven men dressed in dark-shaded suits, all but one wearing white undershirts (the exception sporting black) and well-trimmed facial hair (the exception’s beard a few inches longer than the rest) came sauntering into the light. Four of them carried briefcases identical to those stacked.

  Their leader, Thaddeus, outstretched his hand. Marek took hold of the other’s forearm, Thaddeus squeezing Marek’s in return. The two bowed heads and exchanged pleasantries in the tongue of the motherland.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Marek.”

  His head lowered once more, Marek returned the respect. “It’s an honor, Thaddeus.”

  The two relinquished their grip and Marek snapped his fingers. Zyta hurried forward with a briefcase in hand. She had it unlatched and was displaying the eight blocks of tightly packed C4 before Sadie even made a motion for her designated briefcase. She was purposely taking her time, and Thaddeus noticed.

  A shadow fell on his eyes, despite the beaming floodlights. He watched Sadie carry the case in a careless manner, swinging it forward and backward in exaggerated steps as if its contents weren’t capable of incinerating every bit of flesh around and above them. It reminded Marek of the rerouted traffic above…ten blocks of malfunctioning traffic lights would surely call authoritative attention. They didn’t have time for this.

  And it could only be assumed that Thaddeus was thinking the same thing, his shadowy eyes now befallen upon Marek. The look of expectancy, or perhaps a respect for custom.

  Whatever the reason, Marek took the hint and wacked Sadie across the face the moment she reached his side. Her hand slipped from the briefcase and reached for the weapon holstered at her waist. The mission, Marek mouthed, his back to the radicals.

  The fire never left her eyes, bu
t her fallen hand did return to its duty. She opened the case and revealed the next authentic batch of C4. Thaddeus seemed pleased. He simply nodded and one of his men stepped forward and flashed a case filled with hundred-dollar bills. He removed a sheaf and thumbed through it as if it were an old-fashioned hand-drawn cartoon skit. The encircled 100 located at the bills’ top right corner stayed true.

  The money returned, Zyta and Sadie took the cue to close their cases and retire to their rightful positions behind Marek and Kyle.

  Thaddeus began inspecting the pile of ordinances, measuring its height, width and depth. Each of the briefcases weighed the same, but only the two Sadie and Zyta displayed contained C4. The rest were stuffed with metal blocks, sheathed in plastic. They would pass at a glance, but if Thaddeus were to remove one of the blocks, feel and interact with it as his associate had with the cash—

  Thaddeus’s hand fell on a bogus case. He strummed the case’s leather skin with his fingers—pinky-ring-middle-index, the sound of a micro horse galloping in place. Then stopped. “Thirty-nine, and four of you,” he said.

  “Three per precinct,” Marek answered.

  Thaddeus interlaced his fingers. “How many trips up and down, up and down, transporting only four briefcases at a time? Unless…” he held up a hand, cutting off Marek’s reply, “…you carried two per person? One in each hand, possibly? No, that’s a risk Nabu would never allow.”

  Marek took a step forward and lowered his head before speaking. “Of course not. We transported two at a time, each day, for the past three weeks. A lot of planning has gone into this meeting.”

  Thaddeus inspected the pile of briefcases, counting and comparing the days it would’ve truly taken. He pursed his lips, laughed, and waved a dismissive hand. “Very well, we shall employ the same strategy.”

  “Vanguard, police have arrived on scene,” Yolanda spoke through Marek’s MET. “They’ve begun guiding traffic outside the ten-block radius. Also, the hacker’s threatening to reveal our position if rendezvous is not abandoned.”

  Marek was about to close the transaction when Thaddeus tilted his head and furrowed his brow. He was no longer looking at Marek, but at Sadie. A hand cuffing her ear, she was still listening for any further information transmitted by Yolanda. “What is wrong with your woman?” Thaddeus asked.

  Sadie’s attention snapped from Yolanda to Thaddeus, then to Marek. She wouldn’t allow herself to be smacked again. Her amber eyes, shaken and unpredictable, betrayed the role of the submissive wife she was supposed to be playing. Why does Law force us to work together on every single mission? Marek thought.

  “She suffers from siderodromophobia,” Marek said. The word confused Sadie and Thaddeus alike. “A fear of railroads and trains.”

  “Fear?” Thaddeus asked. “You have, fear?” He addressed this last part to Sadie.

  “Yes,” she said. “Of trains, as my master has informed you.”

  “We have eyes again,” Yolanda said. “Looks like a bomb disposal team is moving in on our position. Engineers pulling out.”

  “Don’t forget a bullet to the head,” Sadie returned over the comms.

  Everyone stared at her. Even Kyle glanced over his shoulder in disbelief. Sadie shrugged, the hint of a smirk curling her lips. Yeah, she was sabotaging this mission, all right.

  A race to brandish weapons ensued. Thaddeus grabbed the briefcase full of C4 and aimed his pistol at it.

  “Hold fire!” Marek yelled, his tranq-gun still holstered at his hip.

  “At every conversion,” Thaddeus said, “thirteen unnecessary emotions are cleansed from the mind, fear topping the list.”

  “We’re having a misunderstanding,” Marek said.

  “You mean a mistake,” Sadie said, priming her weapon. “On their part.”

  “Cut the shit, Sadie,” Marek ordered.

  Thaddeus gave a close-mouthed chuckle. The shadow haunting his eyes gave way to a childish gleam. “Fear of failure, fear of death, fear of trains,” he said. “All gone. Can you comprehend how liberating such a feeling can be?”

  As their leader spoke, four other radicals gathered up as many of the briefcases as possible. They no longer had a problem carrying three per hand through a city buzzing with law enforcement.

  “Maybe in the next life,” Thaddeus said, and handed his case of C4 to one of his subordinates. “If they move or threaten you, kill them.” He pointed to a different radical. “You stay back and oversee Nabu’s will. May we meet again.” Thaddeus bowed his head and then picked up all four cases of money before heading north along the tracks.

  “Eduardo,” Marek spoke into his MET, “you have the greenlight.”

  “Shut up,” one of the radical’s yelled. “And drop your weapons.”

  “The only thing I’m dropping is you,” Sadie said.

  “Hold your fire,” Marek said. “That’s an order.”

  “Grab a briefcase,” the radical said to his partner. “Hurry up.” The man did as he was told, lowering his aim from Sadie to pick up the briefcase full of Zyta’s medical supplies.

  “You move, and I blow us up,” he said.

  “Think about this,” Zyta said, stepping forward to stand beside Marek. “Your leader left, took the money, and gave you a bomb as a shield.”

  “I said shut up!”

  “Both of our weapons are trained on you, and yours are aimed at a couple of briefcases—”

  “I’ll shoot and blow us all up!”

  “They’re nearly in position,” Eduardo radioed.

  “Briefcases that are full of bandages and antiseptics,” Zyta finished. “Go ahead, open it and take a look.” She motioned at the medical case.

  “T-minus five…four…” Eduardo counted.

  The radical opened the medical case and shook loose its contents. Gauze pads, scissors, and sting wipes fell to the ground.

  “…two…one.”

  Both radicals dropped their cases and raised their weapons as the ground shook from the blast north of the tracks. A shockwave rippled through the walls, knocking loose debris that came crashing down from the ceiling. Sadie opened fire.

  The gun shots were muffled by the heavy grumblings of the collapsing walls. Sadie fired twice before anyone realized what was happening. The third pop of her weapon sent a violent jerk through the neck of a radical. He fell limp to the ground, a pond of blood slowly forming beneath his head.

  Dammit she’s using bullets, Marek thought, drawing his tranq-gun.

  More pops. This time from the unharmed radical, his weapon recoiling as he staggered backward. Someone yelped in pain to Marek’s right. By the time the shaking ground stabilized enough for Marek to take aim, small red dots were already materializing on the second radical’s chest. Marek fired two tranq-bullets anyway. One stuck the radical’s neck, and the other his cheek. The man hit the ground like a stringless puppet.

  “Non-lethal,” Marek shouted, turning to Sadie. “I specifically ordered for all weapons to be loaded with non-lethal rounds.”

  Sadie was kneeling, one hand pressed against her shoulder. Zyta opened a gauze pack and began to wrap the wound. “A lot of things you specified for this mission didn’t happen,” Sadie said.

  “Hold this in place,” Zyta said. “Sure you don’t want me to take care of the pain?”

  Sadie shook her head. Then gritted her teeth. “A little dose.” Then to Marek, “It’s called improvising.”

  “It’s not improvising if you have the bullets already loaded. Kyle, grab that body, I got this one.” Marek holstered his tranq-gun. “Zyta, when you’re done with Premeditated, will you grab the shells?”

  Sadie pushed away Zyta’s hands. “I got the damn shells.”

  Marek took hold of the dead man’s legs and began dragging the body. “Weapons, too, Sadie,” he said, the corpse losing grip of its pistol.

  She didn’t say anything, but she did pick up the expended shells. Next, she reached for the darts lodged in the neck and face of the second radical. I
t’s her fault Marek’s follow-up shot didn’t hit the jugular. If the target hadn’t stumbled…or been in the middle of dropping dead…

  “Demolitions, report,” Marek transmitted through his MET.

  “Presentation finished. Preparing next slides,” Eduardo answered.

  Nice job filling him in, Yolanda. “Good work. Over here we’ve suffered an unforeseen drop in customer satisfaction but are still pushing forward with part two. Standby for update.”

  Marek took a break from his burden. He noticed Kyle keeping his eyes on the ceiling as he dragged the dead radical. It seemed he was troubled by the life he had taken…if the red holes puncturing the radical’s chest came from Kyle’s weapon. He had to be the shooter; Sadie was hit before the second radical showed any signs of injury. Unless she mustered through the pain of her own wound and killed the second target as well…there’s no way.

  Marek proceeded with delivering the corpse to phase two. “Almost there,” he encouraged Kyle.

  Zyta was still at the rendezvous area giving Sadie an injection of antibiotics and anti-biochemical reactance, in case the radical’s bullet had been infused with poison. She had conceived the formula herself, testing its rate of effectiveness against the bioweapons at C3U headquarters.

  “Let’s go, double time,” Marek ordered. “Eduardo’s about to flick his second match.”

  “Moving out,” Zyta’s voice came through the MET.

  Despite the injury and her questionable defiance to Marek’s every order thus far, Sadie picked up the pace and started jogging for the exit. They were above ground and inside the evac-limo with time to spare before the second blast caused the earth to shake and collapse a great portion of the city street.

  Chapter 2