by James Hunt
“Not really.” Bryce groaned and groped the grass until he found his laptop. With the neighbors all staring, he kept his face down. “I think this might be a good time to get the hell out of here. There should be a stashed vehicle a few streets down we can take to Langley.”
Sarah propped Bryce up with one shoulder, and Grace held the other, and the three limped away.
“Find a way in?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah, though I’m not sure you’re going to like it,” Bryce answered.
“Can’t be worse than this little dance.” Sarah eyed one of the neighbors heading down their driveway to intercept them on their escape.
“I just called the ambulance.” She was an elderly woman, curlers in her hair like ones from the 1950s, wearing a white nightgown with black polka dots. With her lack of eyebrows and a few whiskers on her chin, she looked more billy goat than human. “Are you three okay?”
“We’ll be fine,” Sarah answered then gestured to the burning house. “Need to handle some of the insurance paperwork.” She lowered her voice to a throaty whisper. “If anyone asks, we weren’t here.”
The woman scrunched her face in confusion then retreated back into the house.
“I think we could use some help sneaking into Langley,” Bryce said, still limping. “Though I’m not sure if we can trust him or not.”
“Do we really have a choice?” Grace asked.
Sarah turned back to the burning house then arched her eyebrows. “Let’s just hope that bridge isn’t burned.”
5
The room became overwhelmingly smaller when the twins woke up, and increasingly louder as the two argued over the limited number of toys. Any sleep Mack would have liked to catch up on was put on hold. It’d been a while since he’d been around children, and despite the energy they sucked from him, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss it. And besides, it wasn’t nearly half as bad as dealing with Hill.
The door opened, and the kids immediately ended their argument and scurried to Becca’s legs as Mallory stepped inside.
“I need a word, Mack,” Mallory said.
Mack remained seated. He looked to Becca and the kids then crossed his arms. “They need to go home, Mallory. You can’t keep them here forever. She’s a doctor. They’re registered in school. People will start asking questions. Not to mention the problem of her sister-in-law.”
Mallory rubbed his temples, exhaling. “It’s complicated. And you know that.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Mack answered.
Mallory looked around the cramped space then to Becca. “I can get you a bigger room with beds.” He turned to Mack. “It’s the best I can do for now.”
Becca nodded, and reluctantly, Mack stood, following Mallory and the two agents acting as escorts out of the room. The mood in the building had shifted dramatically since Mack’s arrival, and he felt it all the way down the hallway. While the public hadn’t learned of what happened with Black Box, the intelligence community was a different story. There wasn’t an employee in the entire building that didn’t want to see Mack burn at the stake.
Mack knew the type of loyalty that an employee with their agency felt, and the anger over the harsh betrayal of someone who tried to crush the country that it was their job to protect. And with Mack as the sole person in custody, all of that anger was directed at him.
The eye daggers ended when they reached Mallory’s office, and Mack took a seat in the only chair in front of Mallory’s desk. When the CIA director sat down, his cheeks were unusually pallid.
“I just got off the phone with a member of Senator Runehart’s committee, and they’re pushing up your next hearing date to the end of this week,” Mallory said. “There will only be one more meeting after that, and then everything will be made public.”
It wasn’t unusual for a case like this to be expedited, but even this felt quick, which meant that Runehart had had a sudden change of heart about prolonging this any more than he had to.
“Why?” Mack asked.
Mallory walked to the door, which had a key code above the knob. He entered six numbers, and then there was a light swooshing sound that sealed the cracks along the door, a black line appearing around the edges. “What I tell you doesn’t leave this room.”
“I don’t have many people to tell,” Mack replied.
“My people performed a scan within Black Box and found certain communication between Grimes and unknown individuals,” Mallory said. “And I’m betting my last dollar that one of those were too Runehart. My people can’t decipher the coding in time to discover who they were actually sent to, and their contents, and once Runehart has Black Box—”
“He’ll destroy them,” Mack said, finishing the train of thought.
“You and I both know that Runehart is nothing more than a con man,” Mallory said, returning to his seat. “But he is a particularly dangerous con man who has managed to snake his way into the intelligence community after publicly denouncing it.” Mallory unlocked a drawer of his desk and removed a file. “The only other person who has laid eyes on this is dead.”
Grimes, Mack thought then reached for the file and opened it to the first page. There were a few surveillance images of Runehart exiting a vehicle outside an industrial complex, the name of which he learned on the next page. “NorthStar Industries?”
“It’s a biomedical facility that Runehart created from the trust fund that he inherited from his parents. The same money he used to run for his senate seat.” Mallory flipped to the second to last page in the report for Mack. “But this is what is most interesting.”
Mack scanned the page and saw the same word reappearing in phone and email records. Something called “connection.” A code word Mack found himself surprisingly unaware of. Mack closed the file and set it back on the desk.
“So he’s developing some type of program?” Mack asked.
“Not a program,” Mallory answered. “A person.”
Mack shrugged. “The Chinese are doing the same thing with the Cas-9 proteins. They’re close, but they haven’t been able to perfect it. And they’re the world’s leading researchers on the subject.”
“Not anymore.” Mallory reached for another folder and placed it in Mack’s lap. “Dr. Steven Kline. He started his career as a neonatal surgeon. Six years ago, both his wife and fifteen-year-old son were in a car accident. The son was driving, had his learner’s permit. A semi-truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and ran them off the road. Wife was killed instantly, but the son survived.”
Mack flipped the page and saw the pictures of the boy after the accident, or at least what was left of him. Mack started to piece the puzzle together. “He thought the Cas-9 protein could save his son. Rebuild what was broken.”
“And spent the next six years perfecting it like a madman,” Mallory answered. “The only reason he popped up on our radar was because of our background checks on campaign donations.” He tapped his finger on Dr. Kline’s photograph. “The good doctor was a major donor to Runehart because of the senator’s views on biomedical research. Runehart had an open mind when it came to stem cells and alternative medicines.”
“And that’s how the two of them got hooked up?” Mack asked.
“Yeah. NorthStar is a dummy corp spin-off from Runehart’s parent company. I have evidence that suggests Runehart has used his pull within his senate committees to smuggle in materials from China to advance Kline’s research.”
“What happened to his son?” Mack asked.
Mallory let out a sigh. “Died two years ago. He caught pneumonia while he was in his vegetative state. Kline was still working at the hospital when that happened, and only doing Runehart’s research part time. After his son’s death, payroll records show Kline started working for NorthStar full time. He logged a dozen hours a day. He was a man on a mission.”
“A mission you think he’s succeeded in?” Mack asked.
“If he did, the good doctor didn’t have much time to celebrate.�
�� Mallory slid another picture across the desk. “That was taken earlier today.”
The photograph revealed half a dozen dead bodies, and Mack recognized one of the faces. It was Dr. Kline.
“Runehart did this?” Mack asked.
Mallory stared off into a corner of the room, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. “I think it was him, but the security tapes of the facility were wiped clean along with the doctor’s research.” He looked up. “Is there any way you can get into contact with Hill?” He raised an eyebrow. “Have you already gotten into contact with Hill?”
“You don’t have to worry about finding Hill,” Mack said. “She’ll find you.”
Mallory looked out the window, looking as though he expected her to come crashing through right then and there. Not that Mack would be surprised—after all, she did have a flair for the dramatic.
“When?” Mallory asked. “I just told you that Runehart has moved up our hearing. His top scientist is suddenly dead. And he might have some sort of superhuman weapon at his disposal.” Mallory leaned forward. “Runehart has access to the same list of your people that we do.” He pointed to the picture of the dead bodies. “If Kline’s creation did this like I think he did, then Runehart will be able to hunt anyone down. I’m turning over Black Box to Runehart tomorrow. We’re running out of time.”
“Hill will find you,” Mack said. “Tell her what you told me. Bryce will be able to fill in the gaps for her once it’s done.” Pending that Bryce was still alive. “Just do one thing for me.”
Mallory shrugged. “What?”
“Resist the urge to shoot her.”
It was the second suburban neighborhood that Sarah had found herself waltzing through in the past few hours, and she hoped the neighborhood watch didn’t cause too much trouble, and she also prayed that it wasn’t outsourced to China.
“The satellite just tracked Mallory’s car off the highway,” Bryce said.
He and Grace were positioned in a van a few miles north, which made Bryce jumpier than usual. He’d already made it a point to tell her the number of times he’d been shot at today.
“What’s the security system like on his house?” Sarah asked, darting between Mallory’s house and his next-door neighbor’s, both of which had their lights off.
“He doesn’t have one,” Bryce said.
Sarah punched the glass pane of the back door and let herself inside. “That’s what happens when you get cocky.”
“He probably just thought no one would be stupid enough to rob the director of the CIA’s house,” Bryce answered. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to know you proved him wrong.”
The back door opened to reveal a kitchen, and Sarah immediately went to the fridge, snatching an apple out of the crisper and munching on it while she examined the rest of the house. “You know, I’m surprised we haven’t snuck into this guy’s house before.” She munched loudly, wiping the juice dribbling down her chin with the back of her hand. “It seems a little counterintuitive.”
“We did search his house,” Bryce said. “It just wasn’t you that did it.”
“What? When did that happen?”
“After Global Power.”
Sarah collapsed on the couch, the apple nearly finished, and reached for a stack of mail on the coffee table. There was a subscription to a few magazines, one of them Good Housekeeping. “Mallory is married?”
“No,” Bryce answered.
Sarah flopped the magazine back down on the table. “Well, then it looks like he’ll stay that way.” A pair of headlights turned into the driveway, and Sarah positioned herself on the couch that faced the front door, posing like a playboy centerfold. “Do you think he’ll like me?” She batted her eyelashes and pouted her lips.
“He’ll think something,” Bryce answered.
“Whatever.” Sarah ended the playful charade and planted both dirty boots on the carpet. “He couldn’t handle me anyway. Plus he’s old. Like Mack old.” She shivered. “I bet those sweet chariots are swinging low.”
The door cracked open, and Mallory stepped inside, holding a briefcase, and he flicked on the light. At first, he didn’t notice Sarah sitting quietly in the living room, and she watched him head for the kitchen.
“Hello, Clarice.”
Mallory jumped back and screamed as he dropped the briefcase. Sarah rolled off the couch, clutching her gut from laughing.
“Jesus Christ, Hill!”
Sarah pushed herself off the rug and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Oh my god, you should have seen your face.” She stiffened her body and mimicked the most frightened expression she could muster. “I think I might have a second career in those surprise scare videos I see on the Internet all the time. That’d be a fun job.”
Mallory gripped her by the arm and pulled her away from the front door. “Did anyone follow you here? Anyone see you break in?”
Sarah pulled her arm away. “Relax. I am a spy, remember?”
“Tell him about Black Box,” Bryce said.
“Look,” Sarah said, doing her best to sound as Mack-like as possible. “This is going to sound crazy, but—”
“Never mind that,” Mallory said, waving his hands in exaggeration. “I need you to break into Langley and steal Black Box.”
Sarah kept quiet, both eyebrows raised. “Well, this worked out nicely.”
Mallory returned to fetch his briefcase that he’d dropped in the foyer, and he quickly brought it over to the coffee table and took a seat on the couch. “Runehart is collecting as much material as he can in his investigation against the GSF and Mack, and Black Box is high on that priority list.” He flipped the latches of the case and shuffled through some papers. “As of right now, the CIA has jurisdiction over the software, but the moment I get a subpoena from him, which my sources tell me will be tomorrow, I have to hand it over. Once Runehart has Black Box, I don’t think I’ll be able to do much for Mack, or you.” He extended a few pieces of paper, and Sarah took them.
“Security details?” Sarah asked.
“It’s the best I can give you about the facility without raising any alarms,” Mallory said. “If I try and access any more classified documents, it’s going to trigger an alert to the secretary of defense.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want that. Bryce, you good with these?”
“I’ll analyze them and add it to what we already have on file,” Bryce answered.
Sarah stuffed them into her back pocket and placed her hands on her hips, letting out a sigh. “Well, this went significantly easier than I thought it would. I’m glad we didn’t have to resort to torture or name calling.”
“There’s more.” Mallory removed the same files he showed Mack that revealed Kline’s research and Runehart’s connection to NorthStar.
Sarah glanced over the notes. “Somebody’s been busy.”
“Runehart is a madman, Hill,” Mallory said. “You have to stop him.”
Sarah tucked the folders under an arm. “I’ll give ’em hell, Captain.” She gave a salute. “Thanks for the intelligence.” She turned to leave, stopping at the front door. “Oh, and I accidently broke your back window to sneak inside. You can talk to Mack about the bill. Have a good one!” Sarah shut the door, leaving a stunned Mallory standing in his living room. “You think it’ll be as hard as he says it will?”
“Let’s put it this way,” Bryce answered. “Do you remember the time when you snuck into the G-8 summit during the Global Power meltdown and you had to fight off not just the bad guys, but also the highly trained secret service agents of the good guys?”
“Yeah,” Sarah answered.
“Multiply that difficulty by a thousand, and then imagine yourself on fire while you do it.”
“A simple yes would have been acceptable.”
6
The summons came later in the evening after Becca and the girls were already moved to their new location. But it wasn’t Mallory’s people that fetched Mack.
The Secret Service agen
ts escorted him out to the car and locked him in the back of the sedan. At first, Mack thought he was being taken back to the Capitol, but when the sedan veered off into one of the suburban areas around the city, passing a series of small mansions, he had a better idea of where he was heading. It was a part of town owned by the Washington elite. And there was only one man in that circle who would want to speak with him now.
The sedan pulled into the driveway of a single-story home, noticeably smaller than its neighbors but with a simple elegance that provided a sophistication the other gaudy buildings lacked, trying too hard to impress.
The Secret Service agents exited the car first, and Mack followed, noticeably slower. The mute bodyguards simply pointed to the door and then gave Mack a light push on the shoulder that made him stumble forward a few steps.
The lights in the foyer were on, and a small table with a bowl sat immediately to the left. But instead of holding car keys, change, or candy, it held a single bullet. It was void of its casing, meaning it had already been fired. But what, or whom, it had been fired at, Mack had no idea.
Another shove prompted Mack into the living room, where Runehart sat in a velvet chair, much like those of the statesmen of years past. He wore a smoking jacket, despite the lack of tobacco, and the pompous ass even had a fire roaring in the fireplace.
“A little warm for that, don’t you think?” Mack asked.
A soft smile graced Runehart’s lips. It was more sinister than what Mack had seen during the television interviews and their earlier meeting in the Capitol building. Runehart looked past Mack and gave a nod, and the two Secret Service agents departed.
“There,” Runehart said. “That way we can have a moment to ourselves.”
And, almost as if he were shedding a skin, Runehart disrobed and revealed a white undershirt, stained with dried blotches of blood. He walked across the fireplace to a crystal holder with some type of brown liquor inside. He popped the top and poured a quarter cup into a matching crystal glass.
