Terminal Vendetta (A Diana Weick Thriller Book 3)

by Cate Clarke

  Diana heard Wesley and Kennedy bickering and then the sound of them galloping up the stairs.

  “Mom!” Kennedy called. “Can you please get Wesley to put some friggin' pants on?”

  Diana turned. The long black graduation robes billowed around Wesley’s ankles. He almost tripped on them as stepped out of the entrance to the stairs and into the wide-open kitchen and living room. Behind him, Kennedy leaned on the half-wall lining the stairs, sighing and crossing her arms.

  “You going commando?” Diana asked as Wesley took another step toward the island.

  “It’s going to be so hot in there!” Wesley whined. “Pretty sure they don’t even have A/C in the arena.”

  “I’m pretty sure they do…” Diana said.

  “Nobody wants to smell the sweat coming off your balls, Wesley!” Kennedy snapped.

  “Kennedy!” Diana snapped back. From the iPad, Amber snickered.

  “All right then,” Amber said. “Let me see.”

  With the iPad propped up on the island, Diana wrangled the kids on either side of her. She’d pulled out one of her best and only nice dresses for the occasion—finally something formal that didn’t require her military uniform. It was navy and tight but not too short.

  “Oh wait!” Diana exclaimed. “The cap, Wes.”

  Wesley said, “Right.”

  He bounded toward the entryway, peeling through piles of rain jackets until he pulled out a slightly crumpled graduation cap with a golden tassel. Walking back over and pulling the cap on over his too-long hair simultaneously, Wesley did a small turn and finger guns toward the iPad.

  “Cracking cap, Wes!” Amber said.

  Diana adjusted the folded edge of the cap at the back of Wesley’s head and pulled him in next to her. They all posed and smiled at the iPad.

  They had to stay like that for what felt like the entire day. There were so many pictures, not just from the other kids’ parents, but there were journalists and paparazzi there trying to get a shot at the Weicks’ happy family reunion.

  Rex met them at the arena, dressed in his own navy suit, making him and Diana look as if they’d coordinated their outfits.

  “I wish you would’ve answered me when I asked you what you were wearing,” Diana muttered to him as they filtered through the crowds and took their seats near the front of the hall.

  “They make suits in three colors,” Rex said. “Black, navy and cream.”

  “You can’t pull off a cream suit,” Diana replied.

  “Exactly.”

  “Taras could pull it off,” Diana said. “He loved his beige suits.”

  “More of an off-white, but yeah.”

  She gouged his reaction. Rex didn’t stiffen in the same way at the mentioning of Taras’s name anymore, but there was still that flash of absolute dejection across his blue eyes. There was an acceptance, between all of them, that Rex would never be quite the same. His time with Taras seemed to have him questioning the entirety of his life, and he and Diana had only had one drunken conversation so far in the last few months that had given her any indication of what had happened when Rex was a Kushkin prisoner. He told her he’d been seeing a therapist, and Diana believed him, but there were some memories that stuck to you, that made you different, no matter how many TED Talks you watched or positive affirmations you did.

  It was certainly that way for Diana. Every time she looked at Rex she saw what she’d done to him, dropping him into the hands of Taras and making him into this newly formed version of himself. When she looked at Kennedy, she saw the woods, the long stretches of road, the body of Katy stretched out and bleeding along the marble floor of Kushkin’s mansion. And Wesley…as he walked across the stage to take his high school diploma from the principal, she saw so much. The commanding diligence that Ratanake had instilled in him, the critical eye and technological prowess from Laird, and the unstoppable courage from his father.

  The crowd erupted into applause as they announced the class, caps tossing into the air and sinking back down with the bright flashes of cameras.

  It was a few months later when both Diana and Wesley headed off at the same time, back into the familiar hands of the United States military. Wesley headed to Fort Benning in Georgia while Diana set up her new office at the naval base in Coronado, California.

  Axtell was in her first team, and Diana wasn’t sure if it made the first few days better or worse. It was nice to have someone on the team that was familiar with her, but she couldn’t help but feel that every single decision, every single exercise she made them to do was being scrutinized.

  There was something to prove here. According to Ratanake, she’d been the best of the best when it came to SEALs but as she’d gotten older, it was clearly no longer true. All of the young men and the one young woman in her team were stronger, faster and better than her in every possible way, better than she’d ever been. So she would just have to settle for being the best trainer.

  Yes, she could have retired. There was no shortage of money in her offshore account to keep herself and her family afloat for a little while. But Diana couldn’t sit around anymore. The suburban life—she’d given it a chance. For ten years, she’d given it a really good go. But it wasn’t what she was meant for.

  Diana was—and would always be—a soldier.

  Still, she made a deal. She went back and forth between California and Seattle often, making sure she was more present with Kennedy, seeing more and more of herself in her with the passing time. The picture of her and her family at Wesley’s graduation hung behind her desk, next to a multitude of maps not even taped up this time, but with actual tacks. Military budget. The glass of the frame was catching the setting sun out of her skinny window, the reflection wiping a glare across her and Rex’s faces.

  The computer was open to the news, playing the livestream from the first day of Cameron Snowman’s trial. Diana could do that now. Load up livestreams. Kennedy and Wesley had sat her down before Wesley left for training to give her her own basic training on using computers properly.

  Outside the open window, a group of three dozen soldiers jogged past, camouflaged uniforms shuffling against their muscular bodies, the gap between the sill and the glass allowing Diana to hear every huff of their breaths in the coastal air. Axtell brought up the rear, her face coated in sweat. Her eyes slid toward the office, and she gave Diana a salute as she went past.

  “Don’t get distracted, soldier,” Diana called through the window, jutting out her chin toward her.

  “Yes, ma’am!” Axtell exclaimed back and ran faster, not only catching up with the rest of the group but making her way toward the front.

  Diana smiled as she got up from the desk to watch the soldiers disappear around one of the exterior concrete walls.

  There was a knock on the door. It was already open, Laird’s knuckles resting against the wood as he looked her up and down.

  “Busy, boss?” he asked as he limped inside, leaning on a plain black cane with one hand. There was a paper-wrapped package under his other arm.

  “Come on in,” Diana said, gesturing for him to close the door.

  “I gotta get back,” he replied. “I just came to drop this off.”

  Diana had gone to bat for Laird. After everything he’d done with the Readers, there were several agencies who wanted him arrested, fined, maybe killed. But he’d also been the one with the plan that took down Cameron Snowman, the remaining Reader. He was the one that had crashed the drones, saving dozens of lives in DC at Axtell’s swear-in. The plea bargain hadn’t been easy, but she’d got him off of doing jail time by coming to do some tech service for the naval base. It was pretty much jail time in Laird’s eyes, but Diana was happy to have another familiar face around amongst the sea of insecure old white guys.

  “What is it?” Diana asked as she crossed the room and took the package from under his arm, flipping it over in her hands.

  “It’s a federal crime to open up somebody else’s mail, ma’am,” Laird
said, coated with some type of attitude, sarcasm or just patronage—she wasn’t sure.

  Placing the package on the desk, Diana checked it over for a return address, but there was nothing on it.

  “Did this get swiped?” Diana asked.

  The cane clicked twice as Laird walked forward to stand next to her.

  “Yup. Bomb squad and toxicology test,” Laird explained. “Nothing.”

  “So everybody has seen what’s in here except for me?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Drop the ma’am, Laird,” Diana snapped. “It’s just annoying.”

  “Whatever you say, Lieutenant.”

  They both looked down at the package. Laird gave her a small nudge on the arm, pushing her slightly forward. Of all the things she’d been through, all the people she fought, Diana still couldn’t stop her fingers from trembling as she peeled back the brown paper. Not bothering with an opener or scissors, she ripped apart the tape that was holding the cardboard box closed. Her muscles flexed and her biceps warmed, reminding her of the lack of physical activity over these last few weeks. She’d taken it easy after taking down a Russian terrorist organization and an anti-military rebellion.

  Inside the box, there was a black leather bag that was zipped closed, no larger than a schoolkid’s backpack. Laird tried to get a view over her shoulder but she moved her body in front of him. With a sigh and a click of his cane, he took a step back. Diana could hear his fingers tapping against the top of his cane, restless hands, needing something to smoke.

  She unzipped the bag.

  There was a small note on top with printed text on the paper, not hand-written, that said, “Your share.”

  Underneath the paper, there were two bundles of cash, thick and wrapped up in cellophane, pressing against Benjamin Franklin’s face—at least two hundred thousand dollars in cash sitting on her desk.

  Diana took a step back.

  “What’s that about?” Laird asked.

  She rushed around to the other side of the desk, checking the livestream of Cameron Snowman’s trial as if he had suddenly stepped out of the laptop and into the room with them. But he was there, in handcuffs, head down with a tilted grin across the bottom of his face. He had recovered well from his Brown Recluse bite—it had only put him in the hospital for a couple of days unfortunately.

  Had he been holding on to this? Something he planned before he’d gotten arrested and had a contact send it on his behalf? Or had Cameron somehow organized a package to be sent to her from inside his jail cell?

  Either way, it was blood money—Cameron’s payoff to the veterans that had gone around the country a couple of months ago. But he had sat on hers, waited for the moment when he knew it would really get into her head to send it.

  “Diana,” Laird said, bringing her back into the room. “You good?”

  “They recovered all of Asher’s money, right?” Diana asked, looking up from the laptop.

  “Pretty sure,” Laird stated, nodding. “Definitely not hidden in the walls of my house.”

  She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head to one side.

  “I’m kidding,” he said flatly, sitting down on one of the chairs in front of her desk.

  “Actually, Laird,” Diana started, taking both of her hands and running them over her face. “Can you give me a sec to process this?”

  “Sure. God, I hate standing up nowadays.” Laird sighed and struggled back up to his feet, wincing and groaning as he circled back around the chair. “Don’t let him do that, Weick. He’s just fucking with you. He’s going to prison for a long time.”

  Not looking up from the surface of the desk, holding her head in her hands, she said, “I know.”

  “Lunch later?”

  “Sure.”

  As Laird hobbled out of the room, Diana turned back to the computer, watching the courtroom for any indication of another Reader attack or Cameron’s contacts, but there was nothing. Just the droning of the judge’s voice. The polite shuffling of the audience and the jury. The clicking of the court reporter’s keys.

  Not a thing that should have caused her to be concerned. But she was. Diana was worried that these things that had been following her for so long would never cease, and the package seemed to be another indication that those worries were her intuition speaking up once again.

  She could sit and stir in her thoughts for hours if she wasn’t careful. Something she’d been doing a lot of lately. Without the action of her SEAL life, her life without Kushkin and the Readers, there was way too much time and space to think. Retiring didn’t mean she’d never set foot on the field or hold a gun in her hands again. But to Diana it meant that she didn’t have to be the first one to do so. It was the passing of the torch, the silenced pistol, the sniper rifle. Diana would step off this rocky boat and onto the docks of guidance instead, leaving the sailors on board to decide on their next direction—Amber, Axtell, Wesley. She trusted them all with her life. She trusted them with her job.

  Forever a green face. Always a soldier. Always focused.

  But she was learning to ask for help, learning to step back and allow the interference of the brave men and women around her. She could step back into the shadows, a ghost whispering advice; a leader guiding her students like Ratanake had been to her. Perhaps, she could be a catalyst of change to more tortured souls like Taras Kushkin, find some light in the shadows that she spent so much time in.

  Time would tell—determined by choice.

  But for now, Diana would do her best here, training and working with the young soldiers, helping Laird cut back on the weed and taking him out for lunch. And in the background, as necessary, keeping her eyes on her enemies, biding her time like a spider in the dark corner of a room, watching from its web until the hunger hit once again. No antidote for her bite. No resolve to her violence. Only her, pure and unadulterated as venom. The best of the best, waiting for someone to beat her.

  The End

  Epilogue

  Idris Amber

  London, England

  It was odd sitting in Voss’s chair, squeaking along the desk that he’d so many times sat on the other side of. There hadn’t been much discussion on his appointment to the vice-chief position. Not that Idris would have turned it down. Never. This was something he’d worked for his entire life and career.

  He turned in the empty office. It still smelled of bleach and cleaner even after months of sanitization, even after rebuilding the bathroom and the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the Thames.

  Reina was a good assistant, albeit a little naive. He needed and wanted her to have just a bit more of a backbone. If she did, perhaps Rex and Wesley wouldn’t have been held captive for so long by Voss, only a hop and a skip away from her office.

  After all those weeks of international travel and constant missions, it was nice to have a bit of office time. And it was office time without any of the Readers to intrude and invade. That was one of the first things that Idris had done as vice-chief—tested the loyalties of every staff member with a lie detector test and security checks that he’d run himself. He couldn’t have any more moles, any more liabilities. Idris was responsible for it now. It was clear that Chief Harlow didn’t give a damn what went down at MI6. Even while he was in the office or in meetings, that man was always checked out, thinking about the next bird to stick his dick in.

  He got up from the desk, pushing his hair back and moving to the hall to see Reina off for the day. Apparently this was something Voss had never done, said good morning or goodbye, so the first time that Idris had popped his head into her office to do so, Reina had nearly fallen off her chair.

  “Plans this weekend?” Idris asked as he leaned in the doorway. Reina looked up from the computer, dyed pink hair falling over her shoulder and acrylic nails tapping against her mouse.

  “No, sir,” she squeaked. “Yourself?”

  “Not really,” he replied. “Maybe a call with Diana, we’ll see.”

  “You
still chat quite often?”

  Idris shrugged. “It’s difficult being this far apart, but we make do.”

  “Is it too forward of me to ask if you two are exclusive?” Reina stood up from her desk, reaching for her white raincoat that was hanging on the back of the door.

  He let out a small laugh.

  “It’s a bit too forward,” he noted.

  A flash of red reached across Reina’s cheeks.

  “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean—”

  He lifted his hand, and she pulled in her lips, brushing her hair behind her ear. It really wasn’t too forward. It was just a conversation that Idris and Diana had never had themselves. Sure, they had a lot in common. They certainly worked well together, and they were attracted to each other. But they were both uncertain if it would ever go beyond that. Diana wanted to retire and settle down. Idris was just getting started.

  “I’ll see you on Monday, Reina,” Idris said, nodding at her as he pushed himself out of the doorway. “Have a nice weekend.”

  As he headed back down the hall, he heard Reina muttering to herself behind him, clearly still embarrassed by the question she’d asked. The elevator dinged. The doors slid open. She went down and left him alone, once again. That was something that many failed to mention about executive positions—how lonely they were. Though he very much blamed Voss entirely for the choices she’d made, he understood a bit more now why she had done what she did to Diana and her family. The quiet of the office was thick and cruel some days.

  He re-opened the door with a swipe of his keycard.

  In the few minutes that he’d been gone, from Voss’s chair to Reina’s office, someone had been here. Not on the inside of the room but the outside, a message painted all the way across the window in matte spray paint that said:

  I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.

  It was still fresh, drops of white running down the glass.

  The same glass where papers were once taped up by Voss that said “bring me Diana Weick,” but now it was his turn, his message. The fresh glass tainted by someone who saw through him, who saw him for who he really was.