Agent Hill Super Boxset: A Gripping Espionage Thriller

by James Hunt

  Sarah burst through the shed’s back door, toward the trucks. The helicopter circled overhead, and she heard someone calling her name over a loudspeaker, telling her to come out with her hands up. She found the truck that paired with her borrowed keys and climbed inside. Burger wrappers and empty, coffee-stained Styrofoam cups lined the floorboard. She pushed a pile of plastic Coke bottles off the seat, cranked the engine to life, shifted the truck into drive, and made a beeline for the feeble side door.

  The front of the truck crashed through the door, sending a spray of wood and aluminum onto the tarmac. She was met with another flurry of gunfire that peppered the hood and bed of the truck. A line of cop cars headed her way, and the remaining airport traffic had been shut down. The truck offered a four-wheel-drive capability, which she shifted into.

  Given the fleet of police vehicles on her tail and the chopper above, with another wall of law enforcement heading from her left, Sarah wasn’t left with a lot of options. “Right it is.”

  Sarah kept her foot glued to the accelerator, aiming for the open space of the airport, which led to a fence that cordoned off a piece of swampland. The rear window shattered from gunfire, and the metallic thump collided with the back of the truck, intertwining with the hum of the helicopter in hot pursuit.

  The airport’s perimeter chain-link fence bent and crumpled upon impact, and Sarah kept hold of the steering wheel tight as the wheels dug into the slippery grass, which turned into a thick layer of mud. Red and blue lights flashed in her rearview mirror. She followed the mud until it ran into water. Most of the cars behind her couldn’t make the trip into the swamp, and only a handful of the dozens of vehicles sent after her ventured onto the terrain.

  A cluster of trees and waist-deep water were up ahead. Sarah pulled her pistol, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, and fired shots into the corners of the windshield. She pushed out the shattered glass until there was a hole big enough for her body to fit through. The speedometer of the truck pushed past forty, then fifty as the tires struggled to gain traction in the mud. She tipped sixty miles per hour just before the front of the truck splashed into the swamp.

  Water filled the cabin as the truck’s forward motion came to a stop. Sarah holstered the pistols and zipped up her jacket. She pushed her way through the opening in the windshield as the police vehicles behind her came to a stop just before the mudbank turned to water.

  Sarah crawled over the hood of the sinking truck and took one look behind her then a deep breath and dove under the murky waters. She paddled her arms and legs as hard as she could. Underneath the water, the gunshots from above the surface echoed lightly in her ears, followed by someone screaming for them to stop, most likely because they wanted her alive. She kept count in her head as she swam along the muddy bottom. She could hold her breath for three minutes at this pace, which would put her at least one hundred yards from the bank. The cluster of trees and the fact that it would take at least ten minutes to scramble some boats gave her confidence that she’d be able to put some distance between herself and her pursuers.

  The water rippled lightly as Sarah broke the surface. Her vision blurred from the water rolling off her face, and the water stung her eyes. While she couldn’t see the bank of the swamp any longer, the water still carried the long echo of the shouts of the officers chasing her. The humid stench of waterlogged plants and animals filled Sarah’s nostrils. Her boots reached the ground, and the water level came up to her shoulders. A light wake trailed her. She knew that if she kept heading east, she’d run into the Atlantic. From there, she could get a boat to take her up the coast. The farther away she was from cameras right now, the better.

  The whine of a boat engine caused her head to cock to the side. A spotlight bounced off swamp trees, and she heard the echo of voices over the idling engine. “She can’t hold her breath forever.”

  “Wanna bet?” Sarah asked. Her voice bounced off the trees and water, making her sound as though she was coming from all directions.

  The boat’s engine cut off, and she saw the spotlight swinging and scanning the area, looking for the body attached to the voice. “Give it up, Sarah. We’ve got eyes everywhere. We found you once, and we can find you again. Don’t make it hard on yourself.”

  “I could say the same for you.” Sarah maneuvered around the trees, continuing her trek north. The water grew deeper, coming up to her chin. When she rounded the base of a tree, she got a good look at the skiff and the agents on board. Four men, armed with assault rifles, and the spotlight fruitlessly looking for her. From what she saw, there was only one boat, but most likely more were on the way.

  “This isn’t what your family would want, Sarah,” the voice called out.

  “You have no idea what my family wants.”

  “They’re hurting. And you being out here isn’t helping that.”

  Sarah had to admit the guy was smart. Most likely CIA, judging by the gear and the haircut. She circled around to the back of the boat, mindful of the pattern of the spotlight. Each agent on board, except for the one speaking, had his gun aimed into the water. She held her breath when she made it to the back of the transom and reached for the blade tucked into her belt, keeping both her pistols holstered. She lifted herself halfway out of the water and slammed the tip of the blade into the instep of one of the men with an assault rifle closet to her. He screamed, and before the rest of the team could turn around, she yanked his foot toward the edge of the boat and tossed him overboard, making sure to retract the blade before she lost the knife.

  Sarah ducked underneath the hull of the boat as she watched the bullets fly into the water and the man with the bleeding foot scramble for the side of the boat. She swam up next to him, hovering just below the surface, and when a hand reached out to help him, up she broke through the plane, ramming the knife into the shoulder of the man trying to lift him up, and they both splashed into the water, along with their rifles, which sank to the sandy bottom.

  The agents flailed their limbs, trying to get back in the boat, rocking it viciously as the man in charge ordered them to stop. There were still two men on board, with the other two in the water, clutching their wounds and trying to stay afloat. “Sarah! You’re only digging the hole deeper.”

  Even under the surface of the water, she could hear the words loud and clear. She watched the shadows shift above her, waiting for the one wielding the last assault rifle to turn his back. When he did, Sarah jumped from the water, flinging the blade into the man’s shoulder, swung herself onto the boat deck, and knocked him overboard—right after retrieving her blade.

  Before the man who had been speaking could draw his weapon, Sarah had one pistol aimed at him and the other switching between the three men in the swamp. Water dripped from her jacket, and her hair was plastered to her head. “Looks like I’ve reached the bottom of that hole.”

  The agent kept his hands up and at his sides. Even though Sarah focused on the man on the boat, her peripherals watched one of the men in the water try and sneak around back. Sarah fired a bullet, which splashed the water by his head. “I’m gonna need you to stay right where you are.”

  “Sarah, think about what you’re doing,” the agent on the boat told her.

  “You should have asked that question yourself before you tried to come after me. How many men do you have watching my sister-in-law’s house?”

  The man didn’t answer at first but finally said, “Four.”

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” Sarah said. “You’re going to call off your watchdogs and leave my sister-in-law and my niece and nephew alone. They can go anywhere they want and do anything they please. In exchange, I’ll bring you the head of the man responsible for the blackout and the war with China and Russia.”

  “Sounds like a tall tale.”

  The boat rocked as Sarah took a few steps forward, keeping both pistols aimed at her targets. “I’ve been known to tell a few, but if you want to see how this one ends, you’ll need to back off. I di
dn’t have anything to do with the blackout, and I’ve never directly interfered with any of the United States’ covert missions. We may not be on the same team, but we’re on the same side of the line.”

  “If you don’t have anything to hide, then why did you attack my men?”

  “I could have killed you, but I didn’t. In our line of work, I’d say that’s a big professional courtesy.” Sarah looked at the bloodied water the downed trio was wading in and gestured for the fourth man to join them. “In you go.” He jumped into the water, and Sarah kept one pistol on them as she started the engines. “Oh, and I’d make sure to clear out soon. The gators get hungry this time of day.” The wake from the boat washed over their faces as Sarah weaved in and out of the swamp trees.

  7

  Each finger Bryce pressed down onto the keyboard had enough force to break the keys in half. The monitors in front of him were scattered with windows displaying hundreds of lines of code. He had to be faster than the federal cyber security trying to track him and make sure he extracted as much information as possible on Taylor Grimes and what he knew about GSF.

  Mack had approached him earlier, after Sarah went off grid, about the lawyers who had notified him of a CIA agent attempting to get a construction crew into the area to clear out the debris. The agent had filed the request under “unauthorized tunneling.” Both of them knew he must have seen the elevator shaft. Not that there was much left of the place or really anything for them to recover. Before they had repositioned themselves to Milwaukee, they had gone back and made sure to torch everything.

  “Hey,” Johnny said, checking out the screens on Bryce’s monitors. “You need any help over there?”

  “I’m fine, Johnny.” Bryce’s tone caused Johnny to put his hands up and he backed off. Bryce was getting sick of people asking him that. Everybody knew what Sarah was doing: unauthorized kills of the people Branston had given her. But both he and Mack knew she would have to come back eventually—although with the CIA now tracking her and having a good picture, getting back to Milwaukee had just gotten a lot harder. Slowing down the CIA’s data processor would help give her some time once she had to start making moves in urban areas with security cameras.

  “Bryce!” Mack bellowed, standing outside his office. “I need an update. Now.”

  Bryce nodded then cleared out of the windows on his computer and grabbed his phone. He felt eyes on his back as he made his way across the floor. He closed the door behind him, and Mack flipped the privacy screen, blocking them from view.

  “What’s the damage so far?” Mack asked.

  “They still don’t have anything other than Sarah’s face and the location of the old HQ, and they don’t even really know what it is.”

  “Where are we at with the factory’s former employees?”

  “They’re solid. Everyone’s got a new identity, and they have enough money to not have to worry about working or talking. The only real piece of evidence they have is Sarah.”

  Mack let out a heavy sigh. Bryce could see the stress on the man’s face, more so than usual. “Where is she now?”

  “Her tracker has her heading up the eastern Atlantic seaboard. She’ll probably try to cut across somewhere in Virginia. There’s enough wooded area for her to make it through undetected,” Bryce answered. “Sir, I need to know what’s going to happen when she gets back.”

  “She’s killing witnesses, Bryce. What would you like to happen?”

  “You and I both know there’s more to it than that. You weren’t there when it happened. When she watched Ben die.”

  “You weren’t there either.”

  “No, but I could see and hear everything. What little family she has left doesn’t want her around and blames her for her brother’s death! If she comes back here and we try to pin her down, I don’t think we’ll ever get her back.”

  “We might not get her back now, Bryce.” Mack rubbed the creases on his forehead, his weathered hands no doubt trying to massage the complications out of his mind.

  “If she goes, then so do I,” Bryce said.

  “Bryce, you can––”

  “I’m serious, Mack.” Bryce went rigid like a piece of rebar that refused to buckle no matter how much force came down upon it. The piece of rebar knew its fate was tied to that of the building around it.

  “I don’t think she’s going to come back,” Mack said.

  The corner of Bryce’s mouth twitched. There was a part of him that believed Mack. He’d seen Sarah go through a lot, but no matter what, there was always a sense of her pulling through. Even the other agents had noticed it. There was an aura around her that couldn’t be explained, no matter how hard he tried to figure out what it was. No, Sarah would come back to HQ, but not as the same woman who had left. “We need to figure out what Branston knows, and we need to do it before Sarah does. We can still get her back. She’s not all the way gone yet.”

  Mack gave a light nod that looked as though there was of a thousand tons behind it then glanced back at the holding cells. “Well,” Mack said. “Time to have a talk.”

  Branston picked at the fabric of the white cloth he had been given as a shirt. The material was heavy, thick, and uncomfortable. It was a tactic used by interrogators to give the illusion that the prisoner’s captors were accommodating but uncaring. He’d reviewed the process himself fifteen years ago.

  The shin where Hill had shot him was dressed and wrapped in a cast. The medical officers that worked on the leg offered Branston something for the pain, but he refused. It’d been too long since he’d felt that rush, the spike of adrenaline that accompanied this line of work. He wanted to savor it, wallow in it.

  The room was small enough to cause claustrophobia but large enough for it to take at least two days for it to set in. Poor lighting strained the eyes, forcing the body to either struggle to stay awake, weakening the immune system, or slip into a lethargy that would break whatever will you had left. Branston had chosen to keep his eyes open.

  The light flicked brighter, causing Branston to shut his eyes, his pupils straining to filter the brightening light. He heard the swing of his cell door, and when his eyes finally adjusted and he got a good look at who it was, he chuckled. “Mack, I didn’t think you’d come to see me.”

  “It’s not something I wanted to do.”

  Branston put his arms behind his head and leaned back. No furniture was in the room. Just the two of them, Mack standing and Branston sprawled across the floor. “You look tired. Getting harder to keep up with the rigors of the position now that you’re getting older? You know, I was the one who suggested keeping you in charge during the last review board meeting eight months ago. More hands go up every year in favor of your retirement.”

  “Give me the locations of the names,” Mack said.

  “Of course, I don’t know what you’d do after retirement.” Branston furrowed his brow. “You know that even I couldn’t get access to your personnel files? It didn’t fall under my jurisdiction, being treasurer.”

  “Where’s Demps, Branston?”

  Branston shifted his gaze to Mack. The skin under his eyes drooped lower than it had the last time they’d met. His body looked as though it was going to cave in on itself at any moment. “And why would I give away my trump card? The moment you know where Demps is, I’m useless. Although you would have known that if you and Agent Hill were on speaking terms.” He watched the lines of fear and confusion run across Mack’s face, but they only lasted for a moment. Branston pushed himself to a sitting position with his back against the wall to get a better look. “No, Mack, I don’t have any bugs in this room. But I do know that you wouldn’t want the Tuck Investments board members dead, and Agent Hill had a look of murder in her eyes. I may deal with money, but the only reason I’ve been able to make so much in my lifetime is because I know people. Are you trying to save her?”

  The only tell Mack gave was a slight twitch of his finger, and Branston clapped his hands together and rubbed them vig
orously. “Mack! I’m surprised. I would have thought you would have written her off, sent another agent after her, but no?”

  “How long have you been doing this?” Mack asked.

  The concrete underneath Branston had a light chalk to it, a grit and dirt that had accumulated on his hands. He picked the granules off his palms and shook his head. “I don’t know if your mind could handle that added stress, Mack. You’re barely holding things together as it is. Do you really want to know how many missions were compromised by my deals? Do you really want to know the true source of over a quarter of the GSF’s funding?”

  “I thought I already did,” Mack answered. “If there are others on the board, I’ll take those names along with Demps’s location.”

  “I’ve always liked you, Mack. I really have. And if it’s a comfort to you, you should know that I always voted for you to stay in your position, not because I thought it would be easier to get away with the things I’ve done but because you made it a challenge for me. All those new proposals, all those checks and balances—you created a tangled web that would catch anyone! And for that, I thank you.”

  “She’ll kill you once she’s done,” Mack said.

  Branston noticed that Mack was almost sad to utter those words aloud. Probably more so because of what that would mean for Hill. “Oh, Mack,” he said, shaking his head. “Only after she’s killed you.”