by James Hunt
“Yes, I saw it.”
“Hey, Bryce.”
“No, please, don’t say it.”
“Time to take out the trash.”
“Aaaaand you said it.”
Sarah rolled the dumpster along the front side of the steps of the right building, where the remaining henchmen fired at her. She brought the scope of the rifle out from the side of the dumpster and aimed at the seven armed men on the stoop, half of them reloading and the other half still unloading their magazines into the dumpster’s side. The crosshairs of the scope on the assault rifle found five of the seven by the time the last two finished reloading their clips. The second-to-last shooter managed to graze her right arm with a bullet but was dead before he got another chance. The other was killed before his finger hit the trigger.
Smoke wafted from the tip of the rifle as Sarah lifted the muzzle to the roof, but the men had already scattered. Before she could ask, Bryce was already feeding the information into her ear. “Two went back down into the building, and the other one is heading down the fire escape on the north end of the building.”
“Taking the two inside.”
One of the men she’d killed had fallen inside the foyer of the building, staining the tile red. She stepped over the man’s side, keeping the rifle pointed up the winding staircase as she ascended one step at a time. “The landlord is gonna be pissed.”
“Keep in mind we need at least one of them alive,” Bryce said. “You can’t question a corpse.”
“Technically, you can question a corpse. They just don’t say anything back.” Sarah pushed open one of the doors, checking inside, but all she found was a quivering Ms. Hobbs as she huddled next to her cats, all meowing incessantly. “Hi, Ms. Hobbs, I’d just stay inside for a little while longer.” The woman nodded gravely, and Sarah smiled back at her. “Love what you did with the place, by the way. Hey, Whiskers!” She gently closed the door and continued up the stairs.
With each floor she ascended, she checked the apartments for bad guys and had Bryce do a thermal scan. Once she made it to the fourth floor, which was just below her apartment, Bryce got a good read on two bodies waiting for her at the top of the stairs.
The floors in the building were old, wooden, and not up to fire-safety code. The times when Sarah had had to stay here, she could’ve sworn the walls were made of cardboard. She lifted the rifle’s muzzle, right under the feet of the men upstairs.
“An inch to the left,” Bryce said, “and then your next target will be ten degrees north.”
Sarah shifted the rifle’s barrel slightly and rested her finger on the trigger. The staircase was dead quiet. Not even the sound of breathing could be heard. The boards above her finally creaked with the shifted weight of the man above, and she squeezed the trigger then immediately hit the next target. Two thuds and moaning cries followed, and before they sent a bullet through the floor and into her skull, she rushed up the stairs, shooting both of them in their Kevlar-protected chests. They dropped their rifles and focused on sucking air, trying to catch their breath. “Aw, what’s the matter, boys? Can’t breathe and shoot at the same time?”
Both were shot in the left foot, and one of them tried crawling away. “Oh, no you don’t.” Sarah stepped on his ankle, and he cried out. She shifted the barrel of the gun back and forth between the two of them. Their faces were etched with pain. “So, who wants a get-out-of-jail-free card? First person to tell me where your boss is gets it.”
“Fuck you, lady!”
Sarah aimed for the femoral artery in the man’s left leg and fired. A geyser of blood spurted from his leg, across his chest, and over the side of the railing. His face slowly drained of color until his fingers stopped twitching and his chest stopped moving up and down. She aimed the rifle at the other man, who held up his hands in surrender. “Looks like you’re our winner. And don’t be too upset that you won by default. Like my high school soccer coach always said, ‘Get off the field! You’re not even on the team!’” Sarah laughed. “He didn’t like me at all.”
The line of protestors outside the chancellor’s building in Berlin reached the tipping point. Crowd-control tactics had been deployed, but the agitation levels of the German people were beginning to become immune to the tear gas, beanbags, and batons. The dark clouds above, blocking out the summer sun, reflected the encroaching doom over the capitol building. It wouldn’t be long until the clouds burst with rain.
Chancellor Andrea Jollenbeck watched the growing crowd from the window of her study. The tops of their signs jutted up and down from the hedge of the bushes around her security fence, along with a few sporadic fists. The front lawn of her administration building was littered with glass bottles, sticks, cans—everything and anything her people could chuck over the fence.
It was hard for her to hear the shouts and chants over the generators and the thick bulletproof glass, but she could imagine what they were saying. Her country was in pain. The whole world was in pain, and she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to save them.
“Chancellor, they’re all ready for you.”
Andrea drew the curtain back and adjusted the jacket of her suit. She checked the mirror before heading into the conference room, catching a glimpse of the dark circles under her eyes she was no longer able to hide. The two service agents escorting her opened the double wooden doors to the conference room and closed them behind her, sealing her inside the secure room with the digital images of the other world leaders on the monitors mounted on the back wall.
“Mr. Presidents, Mr. Prime Ministers, I appreciate the time. I know how busy all of us are,” Andrea said.
The leaders joining her were the American president, the UK prime minister, the president of India, the Japanese prime minister, and the Italian president. While each face was unique to its respective culture, all of them shared the same lines of stress and fatigue that Andrea herself felt.
“I don’t have a lot of time, Andrea,” the American president said. “What was so urgent?”
“Every modern country in the world with public utilities and power plants is experiencing massive rioting, looting, and crime,” Andrea said. “Luckily, the safety features installed in most of our nuclear power plants here in Europe have been stabilized until we can get a handle on the situation, but I think we’re all ignoring the bigger threat here.”
“And what threat is that?” the Japanese Prime Minister asked.
“War.”
The faces on the screen shifted uncomfortably until the American president finally spoke up. “There isn’t a single first-world country that isn’t experiencing chaos. Everyone is barely containing the riots within their own borders.”
“All our intelligence indicates that the cause of the blackout was Global Power,” the UK prime minister replied. “None of our enemies knew about the program. We’re still working on tracking down those who are responsible.”
“What is it exactly that you’re suggesting, Chancellor?” the Italian president asked.
Andrea slid her palms across the desk’s smooth, glossy surface. She kept her head down, looking for the right words. Whatever she said next could trigger paranoia in each of her allies, something that was unadvisable in the current climate. “While I don’t believe that any coordinated plans are currently in motion, I believe that some may happen quickly. Since the events at the G7 Summit, we’ve had our own program used against us in the worst ways possible. It was a coordinated attack that over a dozen terrorist organizations are taking credit for, though we have determined none had a hand in orchestrating it. We’re dealing with someone who is organized, who is lethal, and who is intelligent. We need to be prepared for the worst-case scenario.”
“And how would you like us to do that, Chancellor?” the Japanese prime minister asked. “Everyone is barely limping along as it is.”
“I will petition the European Union and the UN to back Germany’s troops in establishing a western line of defense against Russia,” the chancellor said. �
��I would also advise that the Americans increase their naval presence in the North Indian Ocean as well as the perimeter of the East China Sea. All military levels would of course remain at a low alert status to ensure their presence wouldn’t be misconstrued as hostile.”
“That’s a bold move, Andrea,” the American president said. “The Chinese and the Russians will misconstrue any move in those areas as hostile, no matter what threat level we position ourselves as.”
“I believe it’s a risk that’s work taking, Mr. President.” Andrea folded her hands together. She examined the rest of the faces, studying the lines and movements of their mouths, eyes, and body language. She could tell it was making the majority of them uncomfortable, but they didn’t disagree with her.
“All right,” the American president said. “I’ll deploy carriers in both areas.”
“And I will back your petition to the UN and EU,” the UK prime minister replied. “We’ll put in our own petition for British troops in the area.”
“As will I,” the Italian president said.
“Thank you, gentlemen.”
The only one who hadn’t spoken was the Indian president. This was the first time India had taken a seat at the table on a major scale. Andrea didn’t want to exclude India, especially knowing the situation between that country and Pakistan. She was worried the president might construe the invitation as insulting once she spoke her piece about the Americans’ presence close to India’s waters, but she wanted to ensure there wasn’t any miscommunication in what they were trying to accomplish. It was Russia and China that were the main concerns. Not India.
“I wonder, Chancellor, if the programs developed by you and your allies were designed with this possibility in mind?” the Indian president asked. “Some may even go so far as to suggest this would put you in a strategically advantageous position.”
“Mr. President, I can assure you that none of this was premeditated in any way, shape, or form,” Andrea answered. “I would hope the fact that you’re here with us would be proof of that.”
“Of course, Chancellor. My apologies to both you and your colleagues,” the Indian president said.
Andrea gave a nod, which the president reciprocated, and the screens went blank. All except for the American president’s. With the glow from the other monitors now extinguished, the room felt darker. The light from the president’s monitor felt like a spotlight in an inquisition.
“All right, Andrea. What did you want to discuss with me?”
The very act of what she was about to propose was one that could severely hurt the relationship between the two nations, and with the atmosphere the way it was, she wasn’t sure it was the best course of action. But she had to know.
“Mr. President, during the incident at the summit last week, I was pinned down inside the building. My men were under heavy fire, but I was rescued by someone.”
“One of the security detail, no doubt,” the president answered.
Andrea nodded her head slowly. “Yes, that’s what I believed as well. However, a few days later, I was visited by a woman who snuck into my personal chambers, past all my security, and who had knowledge about Global Power.” She watched the president’s face very carefully. The slow morph of intrigue to indignation. Andrea was almost sorry she had brought it up in the first place. Almost.
“Andrea, I don’t like where this is heading.”
“I need to know if you’re operating on a larger scale than just your normal intelligence operations.” She did her best to relax her muscles, but the fact that these accusations could sever the relationship with one of her biggest allies betrayed her years of political training.
“Andrea, I can assure you that I do not have any agencies operating outside my authority,” the president said, “and I would never send one of my operatives into your private chambers. How could you even suggest something like that?”
The muscles along Andrea’s neck and back relaxed slightly after the president spoke. The lines on his face showed no indication that he was lying, and Andrea suddenly felt foolish for asking the question in the first place. “I apologize if I offended you, but it was something I had to ask you face to face.”
“I understand,” the president answered. “And I’ll be sure to follow up with my defense and security councils to ensure there haven’t been any unconstitutional endeavors.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.” While Andrea had felt a slight weight lift itself from her shoulders, she couldn’t help but feel a heavier one burden her as the president looked down. There was something he wasn’t telling her, something she was afraid to ask. “Frank,” she said. “What is it?”
It could have been the break in her formality or the stress of the past week or the fact that she had accused him of betraying the trust that was in such rare currency these days—arguably the most valuable resource they had left—but she watched the American president, the most powerful man in the world, widen his eyes in the anticipation of fear. But the fear of what, she had no idea. “Frank?”
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head, and with it the brief lapse in emotion left. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long week.”
“It’s not going to slow down anytime soon,” Andrea replied. “Get some rest.”
“You too.”
The president disappeared, leaving Andrea alone. The only light left was the faint glow of the monitors, which cast the room in a dark glaze. She sat there in silence, knowing the moment she walked back out those conference room doors, she would be thrust back into the world and running the country that was falling apart from the inside out.
Despite the uphill battle she faced, she felt a sudden, invigorating pulse rush through her. The sense and mystery of the unknown had gripped her, something she hadn’t felt in a very long time—since her first days in politics over thirty years ago. She’d felt this way before, almost a week ago, during the same incident that she had described to the American president. The night when a woman, with no name and swearing no allegiance to any flag, had spoken to her. She couldn’t help but feel the moments were connected somehow, and she wondered if she’d ever find out who the woman in black really was.
Rick Demps strolled along the outside of the compound, needing a break from the rigors of his office. An armed escort followed him, watching the surrounding field diligently from atop their sentry wall. The smell of grass and nature filled Rick’s nostrils, and he immediately felt sick. The rolling hills of New Zealand were a poor substitute for the beautiful concrete skyline of New York. He yearned for the city, his city. But he would have to wait, at least for a little while longer.
“Mr. Demps,” one of the guards said. “A call is waiting for you inside.”
Rick nodded, taking in the vast green around him. The trees, the wind, the sun, the land, all in their natural state, all useless without the hands of men to yield what those elements offered. “I’ll turn this place into a parking lot.” He spat on the ground and walked back inside.
The conference room was already set up, and the Tuck Investment Board members were all accounted for on the monitor screens mounted on the wall. “Gentlemen, I hope you’re not finding this time too stressful.” Rick took his seat as the board members shook their heads, the loose skin on their faces and necks wobbling as they did.
“No, Mr. Demps,” one of the board members said. “Although I would say that it has been a bit of a nuisance with the lack of choices in my own kitchen. I haven’t had a decent meal in days.”
“It will be over soon enough, Mr. Hayes,” Demps said. “The terrorist organizations we’ve collaborated with are turning the world’s major cities into chaos. The leaders of those cities’ nations won’t be able to ignore us for much longer. They’ll give us whatever amount of money we demand.” He turned his attention to the middle screen, on which one of the board members had his face blurred, as he always did. Of all the men to invest in his company, that one had been the most reserved, but he always had a piec
e of information for him when he needed it most. Rick didn’t know his name, where he came from, or what his end game was, but as far as Rick was concerned, all that mattered was the dollar. And that man had quite a few of them. “I’ve already begun negotiations with a few interested countries that would like their power turned back on. I’ve sent the details to all your secretaries. If you have any questions, my assistants would be happy to walk you through the process. Till next time, gentlemen.”
Grumbles and nods proceeded, and the faces disappeared from the screen—all but one. The blurred face of his mystery investor remained, per usual, and whatever device he used to distort his voice rang through the speakers. “I’m told that you’re almost done with your pest.”
“Yes,” Demps said. “My men are tracking her down now.”
“And you have what you need to finish the job?”
“Yes, the security files you provided for the GSF facility were very thorough.”
“Good.”
Without another word, the screen went blank, finally leaving Rick alone. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Heath. A few rings later, his right hand answered. “Bring everyone on board for this,” Rick said. “I want you to crush them.”
4
Sarah marched her captive across the main floor, where every pair of support agent eyes watched the parading spectacle. She made sure to step on the back of his heel a few times, causing him to stumble and a smile to spread across her face each time she did it. The blindfold around his head was a security precaution that Sarah chose to keep on even after his arrival, which she had a little fun with, failing to tell him about any obstacles in his path.
The HQ didn’t have a proper interrogation room, so Sarah brought him into one of the empty offices and kicked him in the back of the knees, where he collapsed into the chair behind him. She locked both his legs and arms together, making sure he was completely immobile, then closed the blinds to the office and tore off his blindfold. “Hi, remember me?”
