Agent Hill Super Boxset: A Gripping Espionage Thriller

by James Hunt

  “Unbelievable,” Bryce mumbled.

  Sarah checked her watch and slapped Bryce on the back. “See you bright and early tomorrow, big boy.”

  Bryce kept his face glued to his computer while she walked away. “Can’t wait.”

  Sarah pulled the kickstand down and rested the motorcycle next to the curb outside a modest one-story house with a tire swing in the front yard, where a mixture of footballs, Barbies, and playhouses littered the grass. Without knocking, she burst through the front door and was pelted with the smell of lasagna and the high-pitched squeals of two five-year-olds running through the halls. She bent down and scooped up Ella before she could get away.

  “Didn’t your mom tell you not to run in the house?” Sarah asked, hanging Ella upside down, exposing her olive-skinned belly.

  “Yeah, but you always said I should run faster,” Ella giggled.

  Sarah gasped, then pressed her lips against Ella’s bare stomach and blew a raspberry that echoed a fart noise through the entire house. After a spate of giggling and lightheadedness, Sarah finally let Ella back down as her twin brother, Matt, came tackling into the back of her legs. “Easy there, bulldozer. I don’t need any more knee surgeries.”

  The two five-year-olds clasped Sarah’s legs tightly, and she was forced to waddle forward with the two of them clinging for dear life. She entered the kitchen, where her sister-in-law sliced a loaf of bread.

  “Becca, could you take a minute to give me an exam? I suddenly had these two growths appear on my legs,” Sarah said.

  Becca shook her head in a disappointed cadence. “I don’t know if we can save you. They look like they’re inoperable.”

  Both Ella and Matt giggled and squeezed Sarah’s legs tighter as the front door opened and Sarah’s brother, Ben, brushed past her without a hello. The kids immediately let go of Sarah and rushed to their father, wrapping their little bodies around his legs.

  “Well, I guess I’m just the flavor of the week, then,” Sarah said.

  “I didn’t realize you were coming over tonight,” Ben said, shuffling through the mail.

  “Yeah, well, I talked to Becca about it.”

  Becca set the knife down, wiping her hands on the apron around her waist. She walked over and whispered in Ben’s ear. Sarah watched the slight motion of her lips along with the movement of her throat. I thought it would be good for the two of you. The only thing about learning how to lip read was once you did it, you couldn’t stop noticing other people’s conversations. She actually used lip reading more in her personal life than in the field. With all the surveillance technology, it was becoming an obsolete skill.

  Ben turned around and forced a smile. “Well, I know the kids are happy that you’re over.”

  Sarah smacked her lips together a few times and moved her hands awkwardly. “Yyyup!” She clapped her hands together on the “p.”

  “So, Sarah, you’re back working at the factory again now that your leg’s healed up?” Becca asked.

  “Yeah, today was my first day back. It felt great getting back into the swing of things,” Sarah answered.

  Ben shuffled through the mail some more. “I still can’t believe you work there after what happened. It’s too dangerous.”

  Sarah gave a half smile. “If you only knew.”

  The alloy rims attached to a brand new Audi A6 pulled into the cracked and worn parking space of Clinton, Missouri’s New Bridge Community Church. Heath Fuller stepped out of the rental car and closed his eyes while the faint sound of the evangelistic hymns from inside the building permeated the walls. He picked up a briefcase, grimaced, and headed inside.

  Heath sat in the very back pew, camouflaged among the other sinners seeking salvation from their nefarious deeds. The briefcase rested in his lap, and he laid both of his gloved hands atop it and stared innocently at the pastor giving his sermon filled with words of hope and redemption.

  “And I will tell you this, my brothers and sisters, there is nothing more the devil wants to do than to bring you down to your knees with every temptation he can throw at you. Lust,” the pastor said, extending his index finger, pointing into the crowd as the congregation gave a slight groan. “Power.” The congregation’s holy moan grew louder. “Greed.” Again the room’s fervor grew. “Envy.” Singular shouts started to break through the monotonous tones. “Money!”

  The man sitting in front of Heath jumped from the pew, lifted his hands into the air with clenched fists of glory, and screamed, “Hallelujah!” The rest of the congregation leapt from their seats and joined in the holy frenzy around them. Only Heath remained in his seat.

  Once the sermon was over, the pastor made his way down to the door, shaking the hands of his flock, thanking them for making time to give to the Lord. The line of churchgoers extended to the last pew, where Heath sat and waited for the building to empty. When Heath heard the slam of the church doors, he knew the two were finally alone.

  “What are you doing here?” the pastor asked.

  Heath rose from the pew, and the pastor took a step back. Heath stood a good foot taller than the holy man. He adjusted his tie and picked up the briefcase. The pastor eyed the package, and a few scattered beads of sweat broke out on his face.

  “I’ve already made my decision,” the pastor said, turning his back to Heath and marching down the aisle. Heath followed him to the pastor’s office, easily catching up, as every one of his strides was two for the chubby cleric.

  Before the pastor could shut the door, Heath stopped it with his left arm and forced his way into the study. The pastor rushed to his desk and picked up the phone, but Heath pulled a gun from the inside of his jacket, and the pastor froze.

  “Sit. Down,” Heath said.

  The dial tone beeped in the receiver, and the pastor set the phone down gently. He fell back in his seat, Adam’s apple bobbing in trepidation. Heath reholstered the pistol inside his jacket and set the briefcase on the desk. He flipped the latches, lifted the lid, pulled out a small stack of papers, and laid them down.

  The pastor sat up in his chair, his spine finding a level of rigidity it previously lacked. “I will not let a house of God become a place for you to funnel whatever type of dirty money you have!”

  “I know you’ve been talking to someone,” Heath said. “Who is it?”

  “There is going to come a day of reckoning, and in that moment, you will be asked to answer for everything you’ve done.”

  “We both will, Pastor.”

  2

  Both Sarah’s and Bryce’s desks were paired together, as were those of every other field and support agent team, but none of the field agents hated being stuck at their desk more than Sarah, which was a sore spot for Bryce, because he loved his desk. He loved his computer. He loved the fact that he had terabytes of processing power and that the room temperature was always a crisp seventy-one degrees. And he loved that he had the best piece of technology in the world at his fingertips. The GSF satellite that hovered in the atmosphere high above them had the capacity to see anything, or anyone, anywhere in the world. It was the epicenter for the entire agency, and it was Bryce’s pride and joy. However, not everyone was as appreciative of his accomplishments as he would have liked.

  “How long?” Sarah asked, slumped in her chair, her feet twirling her around in a circle, face staring up at the ceiling.

  Bryce glanced at the time on his watch. “Six minutes.”

  “What’s the time to beat?”

  “Twelve minutes.”

  “Ha! Your money’s mine, Johnny!”

  One of the other support agents poked his head up from his desk. “Well, if you’re going that slow, then of course you won’t puke. Hell, I could go that speed forever.”

  “Bullshit!” Sarah pointed her finger at Johnny then quickly at Bryce, Mitch, Heather, Ken, Miley, Frank, Sean, Suze, and then Johnny again as she continued her spinning. “And besides, you didn’t say how fast I had to spin to beat it.”

  “Agent Hill! Agent
Milks! My office. Now!” Mack shouted.

  Bryce powered down his computer, and Sarah skidded to a stop with her feet. She jumped up from the chair and pointed back to Johnny. “The clock starts right where I left off when I get back.”

  “That’s not how it works,” Johnny said.

  Sarah flipped him the bird and found herself tilting to the left. She smacked into Heather’s desk, knocking over one of the picture frames as she steadied herself. She pushed herself off and shut the door behind her after entering Mack’s office.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?” Mack asked.

  “She was spinning in her chair, sir,” Bryce said.

  Sarah collapsed in the seat next to Bryce and held her head between her hands, looking a little green around the gills. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  “For Christ’s sake,” Mack said, shaking his head. “I have an assignment for the two of you.”

  Bryce pulled out his phone and opened his email app. “What’s the case number?”

  “It’s off the books.”

  Sarah snapped her head up from her hands. The fact that there was espionage within espionage returned the color to her cheeks. “Sweet.”

  “What are we looking at, sir?” Bryce asked.

  Mack flipped the switch on his desk, which tinted the glass walls of his office, and the projector from the wall behind him slid down. He clicked a small remote, activating a picture of a Missouri newspaper with an article headlined “Pastor leaves flock to join his father.” “Pastor Ernest Turnick was found dead in his office yesterday afternoon when his assistant came in to use the church’s printer.”

  “The article says he died from natural causes,” Bryce said.

  “There’s foul play afoot!” Sarah yelled, pointing her finger to the sky in traditional Sherlock Holmes deduction, which both Bryce and Mack ignored.

  “I need the two of you to head to Clinton, Missouri and retrieve any and all data from the pastor’s computer.”

  “The two of us?” Sarah and Bryce said at the same time.

  “Agent Hill doesn’t have the amount of computer training you have, Bryce.”

  “I’ll have you know that I managed to set up my email today.”

  “You just set that up today?” Bryce asked. “You’ve worked here for six years.”

  “What? You give me the rundown of everything I need before I go out on a mission.”

  Bryce shook his head and turned back to Mack. “Can’t I just hack it with the satellite?”

  “No, the PC isn’t hooked up to any network.” Mack flopped the manila folder containing their orders on his desk. “Your cover and gear are at check-out.”

  Sarah adjusted the laminated badge around her neck as Bryce grabbed his gear out of the trunk. Police vehicles, traffic cones, and yellow tape had the parking lot completely sealed off. The large tower of a television van sat parked outside the crime scene, milking the story for everything it was worth. Sarah couldn’t imagine there was much happening in the small town stuck in the middle of nowhere, so the fact that they had a dead pastor on their hands was like Christmas in July.

  “You have what you need?” Sarah asked. Bryce’s grip slipped on the handle of the equipment, and it hit the asphalt. “Pending it still works?”

  “Yeah,” Bryce said, his breathing quick. His arms, legs, and head twitched sporadically, and the sun reflected against the glossy coat of sweat over his face.

  “Hey, you’ll be fine,” Sarah said, gently patting his shoulder. “It’s a cakewalk. We go in, pretend to be the cleanup guys, put on some hazmat suits, you get what you need off the computer, and we get out of there.”

  “We don’t actually clean anything?”

  “Oh, god, no. We’ll leave that for the professionals.”

  Sarah picked up one of the cases of equipment and took the lead as she ducked under the yellow police tape. An officer stopped them at the pastor’s office door, and Sarah flashed the phony badge. “Hazard Solutions. We’re here for cleanup.”

  “Cleanup?” the officer asked.

  “Yeah, gotta make sure the place smells good for the new guy.” Sarah laughed, slapped the officer’s arm, and stepped inside. Bryce gave a weak smile and set the duffel bag on the floor once inside. Sarah grabbed hold of the door and started closing it. “We’ll just be a minute.”

  Bryce unzipped his bag,pulled out the laptop, and hooked it up to the pastor’s computer. With the PC still unplugged, the screen turned on, and Bryce started his hack into the hard drive. “I don’t know how long this is gonna take, so you should probably watch the door.”

  “I locked it,” Sarah said, walking around the pastor’s office, examining the different books, pictures, plaques, and degrees that adorned the walls and shelves. “I don’t think I could do it.”

  “Do what?” Bryce asked.

  “Go celibate, join the church. No sex? No thank you.”

  “Not all religions require their ministers to be celibate.”

  Sarah picked up a plaque that read “Clifton Table Tennis Champion 2010.” “Still, I don’t think this guy was getting much anyway.” She flashed the plaque at Bryce then set it back down. She continued her meandering around the room until she came to a framed picture of the pastor and a few other men next to the desk.

  The picture caused a double take, and she ripped it from the wall, leaving a gash in the paint. Just to the left of the pastor, sporting a full head of hair and a cigar in his mouth, was their boss, Mack Farr. “Holy shit.”

  “More table tennis?” Bryce asked.

  “Mack knew this guy,” Sarah said, handing Bryce the picture.

  The cop pounded at the door, and Sarah set the picture back on the nail on the wall, which now hung crooked. The download finished, and Bryce unplugged the laptop and quickly stowed the gear back in his bag. Sarah swung the door open with the officer in mid-swing for another round of knocking. “So, this is embarrassing, but we forgot some of our gear back at the office. We’ll be right back.” Before the officer had time to object, Sarah and Bryce hurried out of the church and drove off.

  Once they made it back to HQ, Bryce rushed over to his desk and wrapped it in a loving embrace. “Oh, it’s so good to see you.”

  Sarah walked up behind him and smacked the back of his head with the files they’d gathered. “At least buy it dinner first.” The windows to Mack’s office were tinted. “Hey, Johnny, Mack in?”

  “I don’t think so. He stepped out an hour ago. I haven’t seen him come back.”

  It was never a good thing when your boss told you to go investigate a death out in the middle of nowhere off the books, then failed to tell you he and the victim knew each other. In the spy world, that was called a “real big fuck-up.”

  “What are we gonna do about Mack?” Bryce whispered.

  Sarah shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out whenever he gets back.”

  “You two,” Mack said, sneaking up behind both of them and causing Bryce to hit a pitch reserved for professional opera singers. “My office. Now. Bring what you found.”

  Once the three of them were firmly squared away in the office, Sarah crossed her arms over her chest and made a few sweeping steps around Mack’s desk in the manner of a principal addressing a student sent to her office. “Is there… anything you want to tell us?”

  “Sit down, Agent Hill.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sarah took a seat next to Bryce, who had his lips sucked into his mouth and his legs crossed so tight it looked like he was trying to prevent himself from crapping his pants.

  “I didn’t tell you about my relationship with Pastor Turnick because I wanted to make sure you were focused on collecting the facts before you let your imaginations get the better of you and delved into whatever wild conspiracy theories popped into your brain.”

  “Sooooo, you’re not tied to an Illuminati assassination of the pope?” Sarah asked.

  “Pastor Turnick and I served in the Gulf War together. When the tour wa
s over, he chose not to reenlist and decided he wanted to help heal people spiritually, and I decided to make sure the bad guys didn’t bother us at home,” Mack said. “We’ve kept in touch over the years, and last month he started sending me emails telling me he was getting unusual pressure from the company that handles their taxes. They wanted the church to sign off on a deal that would put a large chunk of land under the church’s name for future growth at no cost to the church in exchange for a large sum of money.”

  “Where was the land?” Bryce asked.

  “Spain.”

  “I hear it’s nice this time of year,” Sarah said.

  “Turnick didn’t feel comfortable signing off on a piece of land that his church would be responsible for without any knowledge of or control over what it was to be used for. When that happened, he started receiving threats, and that’s when he called me.”

  “When did he first get in contact with you?” Sarah asked.

  “Three days ago. I was planning on going down there myself today, but in the current climate, I didn’t think it best for me to be answering any type of questions from reporters or police.”

  “What are you thinking, boss?” Sarah asked.

  “I want you two to find out who did this, and why.”

  3

  Rick Demps leaned back in his recliner and glanced out the window into the busy downtown that was Manhattan. From atop his tower, he couldn’t hear the roaring streets or the hordes of bodies walking about, trying to go about whatever meek life they had to live. No, Rick Demps was above them all, and he would never stop rising. His dark eyes, almost black, like they were void of any color, took in the skyline around him. His black hair stood slicked and stuck together in straightened spikes, glued together with a thick gel.

  His secretary entered with the day’s itinerary. “You have a meeting with the board in three minutes. They’ll be phoning in via satellite.” She disappeared, and the white, blank wall across from his desk suddenly revealed twelve different screens on its digital surface. One by one, the screens filled with the manicured, bulging faces that comprised the Tuck Investments executive board, except for one.