Traitor Games

by Sidney Bristol

  “Not saying we were, just that it seemed prudent to take a trip, you know?” Noah tilted his head.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Kenny. Kenny Parker. This is my girlfriend, Jessica.” Noah nodded at Lillian.

  She gave the man a tight smile and a little nod of the head right on cue.

  “Stay here.” The man pushed to his feet and lumbered inside the house, into the ground floor apartment.

  “What’s going on?” Lillian whispered.

  “He’s checking us out. Don’t look at the window, look at me.” Noah put his back to the window and shielded Lillian.

  “But…?”

  “I’ve taken care of everything.”

  Or at least Irene had.

  Part of the reason they’d needed to take a trip around the city was to provide Irene and Mitch time to build enough of a backstory for these temporary names to withstand a simple information check.

  There was no Nazi authority that kept a database of its members. A Google search and a few calls were what it would take to vet Noah and Lillian. A good handler like Irene had resources outside the CIA. Resources who wouldn’t care where her allegiance fell so long as her money was good.

  Lillian rubbed her stomach. “I don’t remember the last time I ate so much fried stuff.”

  “We’ll get a room, some rest, and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

  “Then what?” she whispered.

  Noah didn’t have answers yet. He slid his arm around her waist and tugged her up against his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of her head—not just for show for the men undoubtedly watching them from inside, but for himself. They weren’t out of options, but they didn’t have many. He just hoped Irene and the others had come up with an extraction plan to get them out of the country.

  After cooling their heels in the growing darkness for half an hour, the old man beckoned them inside. He gave them a key to the flat upstairs, told them to be quiet. The other residents they were sharing with worked a night shift and weren’t awake yet.

  Noah went into the apartment first and did a quick check. Sure enough, two men slept in bunk beds in one room while the other was as barren as a dorm room.

  “Well, isn’t this charming?” Lillian sat on the edge of the mattress.

  “It’s better than nothing.”

  “Right.”

  Noah stared at the walls, the radiator, the bed. One of National Action’s beliefs was that the residents of the UK were facing an impending war with the various immigrant groups. What Noah found ironic was that the group studied terrorist structure from the very people they hated, even borrowing the word jihad for their own purposes.

  Lillian watched him. “What?”

  He pointed to his ear.

  Even though they’d been given a room, that didn’t mean their hosts trusted them to not listen in. It was what Noah would do if he were running this place. Given how badly the group had been infiltrated—by him—and almost shut down entirely, they had to be far more careful.

  Where would he hide a microphone or camera?

  In the States, central air ducts were a prime place, but these old houses didn’t have the same kind of vents. Hell, this apartment didn’t have an AC unit.

  “Kenny?” Lillian said slowly. She tilted her head to the radiator.

  Noah crossed to the window and peered behind the heating unit. There, tucked out of sight, was a small transmitter. It wasn’t secured or even positioned that well. Perhaps their host had needed to place it in a hurry.

  “I’m going to shower. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” Noah said over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” Lillian scooted across the bed, the mattress creaking under her.

  “I’ll leave the door open. Yell if you need anything.” Noah reached down and flipped the device off. He closed the bedroom door, careful to not make a sound, then sat on the bed next to Lillian.

  “Okay, what now? Aren’t they going to realize their microphone isn’t on?” she asked.

  “I’ve used this unit. It’s sound activated. If we aren’t making sound, it won’t transmit. It’s not foolproof, but it could buy us a few minutes.”

  He pulled out the latest burner he’d picked up from a stall and jabbed in the last number he’d had for Irene. He prayed something went right. They needed a serious break.

  The phone rang a few times. He plugged in the headphones that had come with the phone and gave one earbud to Lillian.

  “Hallo?” The woman’s accent on the other end of the line was good.

  “It’s us.” Noah didn’t use their names.

  “Glad to hear you made it.” Irene blew out a breath. “That storm up north seemed bad.”

  Translation: things at the summit had gone to hell.

  “Yeah, tell me about it. What’s the weather forecast saying?”

  “You haven’t seen the news?” Genuine surprise.

  Shit.

  What had they missed?

  “Oh, I heard from your friend, Harleen. She seems to have gotten out before the storm hit, too.” Irene continued casually, but he wasn’t connecting the dots.

  Lillian’s eyes were wide.

  Harleen—what had he missed? There wasn’t anyone in the meeting named Harleen.

  “Anyway, we decided to skip our trip. Doesn’t mean we aren’t sending you anything.” Irene continued to chat away without prompting.

  “That’s nice of you,” Noah replied. He was so fucking lost.

  “Well, I wouldn’t want you to try to say we didn’t think about you.”

  “Hold on one moment, will you?” Noah jabbed the mute button and stared at Lillian. “What the hell is she saying? What am I not picking up?”

  “The Medusa mercenary guys? The ones who looked like a biker group? The guy in charge of them is named Brandon. He’s big into Harley motorcycles. It’s in his file. Harley Quinn, Harleen Quinzel?”

  “I…still don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “In the DC comics Harleen Quinzel becomes Harley Quinn. She’s telling us that Brandon contacted her, that the Medusa team got out and have something for us.”

  “How the fuck was I supposed to know that?”

  “That clue wasn’t for you. It was for me. Their guys must have got out and contacted one of the others. That’s what she’s trying to say.”

  “Okay. Whatever.” Noah jabbed the mute button again. If Lillian was certain that was what Irene was saying, he’d trust her. “Back. So what did Harleen have to say about the road conditions?”

  “Treacherous. Said she’d come to you.”

  “I see. Well, thanks for the heads up.”

  “Look for your package tomorrow.”

  “Sure thing. Later.”

  Noah ended the call and tossed the phone on the bed. They needed a longer talk to really figure out their next steps, but not now. They knew things out there were bad, they had a place to lay low, and possible help was on the way. It was about all they could hope for at present.

  “Okay, so Brandon is helping us?” Lillian asked.

  He shook his head. “If you say so. That code was all you two.”

  “It makes sense to me. Promise.”

  “I’m trusting you.” Noah reached for her hand. “You doing okay?”

  “Holding it together.” She smiled, but it was tense.

  “I need to turn the transmitter back on. Want to talk before I do?”

  “No.” She shook her head a little too hard. “I need to compartmentalize. If I talk too much I’m going to cry and I can’t right now.”

  Noah leaned in before he could think better of it and kissed her. He didn’t want her to have to bottle up those emotions, but the fact he didn’t have to tell her to do just that made him all the more proud of her.

  “Five more seconds?” she muttered, eyes still shut.

  “We can’t make them suspicious.” He pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head. “If anyone
asks, I went and took a shower while you tried to sleep. That’s why there wasn’t any audio recorded. Got it?”

  “Yup.”

  He reached over and flipped the transmitter back on. He pitched his voice a little louder, ensuring the recorder would activate. “You aren’t asleep yet?”

  Lillian lay down. “No.”

  Noah stretched out next to her, one arm curled under his head. Lillian rolled toward him. There were dark circles under her eyes. The stress of it all was taking its toll on her. Still, she was going forward, doing her best and had yet to complain. Lillian was proving to be a pleasure to work with. He just wished the situation wasn’t so dire.

  With any luck Irene would send them further instructions now that he had a new phone in hand. Once they knew what tomorrow held, they could make a plan. They could still beat this. It might be hard, but everyone had a weakness. They just needed to find SICA’s.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sunday. National Action Safe House, Lambeth, United Kingdom.

  Noah crept down the stairs. He’d heard their flatmates get up some time ago and leave. Now it was their turn. They couldn’t come back once they’d left, not with their flimsy story. If their host did a lot of digging he’d discover their paper trail wasn’t that thorough.

  He set foot on the lower landing and peered outside.

  The porch was clear.

  The lights in the two lower flats were off.

  This might be their only chance to slip out without someone watching.

  He waved at Lillian to follow.

  She padded down the stairs, making next to no noise at all. He let himself out the back door and stopped short.

  Their host sat in a chair on the tiny patch of grass, a bottle in hand and an ashtray perched on his thigh.

  “Morning,” he said.

  Noah pasted on a brief smile. “Hey. Thanks for putting us up last night.”

  The door creaked as Lillian stepped through.

  “No problem at all. Where you headed?”

  “We’ve got some people to see,” Noah replied. He reached for Lillian’s hand and helped her down the rickety stairs.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, either to Noah or their host, he wasn’t sure.

  Noah tugged on her hand and they crossed to the garden gate.

  “Who was it you said you knew in Jacksonville?” the man called out.

  Noah peered over his shoulder. “I didn’t.”

  They locked gazes for half a second.

  Fuck.

  The guy had suspicions.

  They needed to get out of here.

  “Thanks again,” Noah said. He planted his hand against Lillian’s lower back and propelled her forward through the gate and onto the street.

  “What was that about?” she whispered.

  Noah pulled his hood over his head. “He knows something is up. Come on.”

  Irene wanted them to stay put, but Noah hadn’t been able to shake the feeling telling them to run. He’d survived by trusting his instincts. They were moving. End of story.

  They cut through the main streets, heading north toward the Thames and the heart of London. If nothing else, they could get lost in the press of tourists, pick up a new disguise, and head elsewhere. By the time they reached Westminster Bridge the sun was peeking up over the horizon.

  Noah’s phone vibrated. He peered at the screen but didn’t recognize the number. He jabbed the button and pressed the phone to his ear.

  “We’re outside,” a smooth, American voice said.

  Brandon from the Medusa company. The surly, leather-wearing mercenary that had given Lillian a hard time.

  “Yeah, so are we, but not where you are.” Noah glanced down the street. This so-called friend could be a setup.

  “Where the fuck are you?” the man asked.

  “How’d you get away? How do we know this isn’t a trap?” Noah studied the small compact cars approaching them. Those weren’t going to cut it for a group of mercs. He grabbed Lillian’s hand and they ducked halfway down the stairs toward the London Eye Ferris wheel. They needed to get off the street.

  “Same as you, I reckon. Can’t do business over a network owned by someone you don’t trust. Some of my men were staying at a house a half-mile away. I was there to take care of a few things before we started the circus.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “You could have someone else oversee business. You’ve got a network of almost two hundred guys, not counting your contracted labor. You’re not a small-time operation. Try again.”

  “I’m not telling you anything else,” Brandon said.

  “Then have fun.” Noah would do this without the merc’s help.

  “Wait!” Brandon grumbled under his breath. “My girlfriend had a baby last week. I’ve barely seen my kid. Happy?”

  That was a detail Noah could research. It was also personal and potentially dangerous to the mother and child. These were not details someone would fabricate. Brandon was telling the truth.

  “We’re at the Westminster Bridge. Head up the 302, roll your windows down.” Noah ended the call.

  Regardless of how dark and dangerous the world could get, life went on.

  “What? What happened?” Lillian asked.

  “That mercenary, Brandon?”

  “Brandon Jones.”

  “Did you know he has a girlfriend?”

  “Yes. M-something.” She closed her eyes. “Mol. Just Mol. Not Molly. She’s going to have a baby, I think.”

  “She already had it. Brandon was down the street with her when the house was attacked. We’re about to trust Brandon’s people with our life.” Noah nodded at the street. “Come on.”

  He jogged up a few steps while Lillian remained rooted to the spot. He followed her slack-jawed gaze to a newspaper dispenser.

  Lillian’s face stared back at them along with a sketch of Noah.

  Fuck.

  “Come on. Now.” He snatched her hand and dragged her up the stairs, glancing over his shoulder toward Westminster.

  They had to get off the street.

  “Did you see the headline?” Lillian peered up at him.

  “Yeah.” He reached over and tugged her hat down further.

  Terrorist Cell Strikes Again

  The dead heads of intel agencies weren’t the newspaper headline, which meant the story was being controlled. Noah knew how this worked. In a few days, the attendees would slowly have accidents, explainable tragedies that would spread out the time of death. Whoever was spinning the story also had ties to SICA and that was where their identities came from. It would benefit them to point fingers at Lillian and Noah.

  The paper told them one thing at least: SICA didn’t have an updated photograph of her. The dark hair could help them hide for a bit longer. He’d get her some nonprescription glasses. Some makeup could help disguise her face. From here on out they had to be much, much more careful.

  A dark SUV slowed, coming straight for them, windows down.

  “I think this is our new friend,” Noah said.

  Sure enough, the SUV stopped at the curb and the back door swung open.

  Noah nudged Lillian in, then slid onto the bench seat.

  “Go,” Brandon barked from the front passenger seat. He twisted to look back at them. “You shouldn’t be out, walking around.”

  “Yeah, we got the memo. Thanks,” Noah said. “What else is the news reporting?”

  “They’re pinning the death of the head of MI5 on you.” Brandon passed a newspaper back to Lillian. “You’re working with that Mitch Fowler character. It’s all some big scheme.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere we can better coordinate.” Brandon twisted to face forward.

  They rode for half an hour out of the London city center in mostly silence. Eventually their driver pulled off the road, through an older home with a tall, ivy covered fence around it, and parked in a detached garage.

 
“Come on,” Brandon said.

  Lillian nodded, not a single crack showing. He didn’t trust these people, but if he was going to protect Lillian he had to work with them.

  They entered the house through a small mudroom. The residence appeared updated and well maintained from the glimpse Noah got over their heads.

  Across the house a baby wailed.

  Brandon was telling the truth.

  They followed their hosts in through the kitchen. The breakfast nook held two computer bays and three men peering at the screens.

  “More people, Brandon?” A woman sighed and the baby’s cries grew closer.

  “In here.” Their chauffeur nodded toward the formal dining room at the front of the house.

  Still yet more people were posted up, looking at maps, charts. None of them paid Noah or Lillian any attention. He was beginning to understand why Medusa had been included in the summit. They had mobile command center capabilities, manpower, resources, and money. All things Noah would like right about now.

  “Sorry about that.” Brandon strode into the room and closed the double doors behind him. “We created a timeline for yesterday.”

  They clustered around three sheets of paper taped together to form a long sheet.

  “This is when I left, this is the time of the bombing, this is when the news began reporting it and when you two became the stars of the show.”

  “Pen?” Noah took the offered writing utensil and jotted down when they’d left the property and then when they’d seen the front entrance barricaded.

  “Makes you wonder what would have happened if those two guards had come after us,” Lillian said.

  Brandon frowned. “What?”

  “Oh, uh…” Lillian stammered.

  “The perimeter guards saw our trail, radioed it in, and were warned off that spot.”

  “That’s awfully convenient,” Brandon muttered.

  “It was.” Noah hadn’t thought about that. “What if Jeff knew they were surrounded? What if he knew he couldn’t get everyone out, but he let us go?”

  “I might have to like him, but there’s no way we can prove that story.”

  “Actually…” Noah looked at the others in the room.

  Brandon addressed the rest of the room. “I’m going to need everyone to leave. Go get breakfast, stay out of Mol’s way, okay?”