by James Hunt
“The little weasel from Wisconsin?” Sarah asked. “The one that keeps talking about transparency for intelligence agencies?”
“That’s the guy. And!” Bryce raised a finger, returning to the laptop, where he sifted through a few files. “I found that Grimes had also arranged for some of his personal files to be sent to a law firm in South America with instructions to release the documents in the event that Runehart went back on whatever agreement they shared.”
“Insurance,” Grace answered.
“Yup.”
Sarah took a step back then leaned against the wall for support, her head still slightly woozy. “So Runehart was working with Grimes to make the intelligence community in the United States top dog, after publicly denouncing that very same community, all the while working with some geneticist to build some type of superhuman.” Sarah exhaled a breath. “What a dick.”
“I don’t know if whatever Grimes sent to the lawyer could help us,” Bryce said. “But if it shows that Grimes acted alone instead of by the CIA’s orders, then it could Mack’s ticket out of trouble.”
“What are the chances that there isn’t any evidence that Grimes sent anything of value?” Becca asked, then when everyone looked at her, she sheepishly folded inwards. “Sorry. I got caught up in the moment.”
“She has a point,” Grace said. “Grimes wanted to push this through more than anything. He wanted the GSF to fail, and he wanted Sarah exposed.” She gnawed on her lower lip, lost in her thoughts. “But he had such a deep-rooted loyalty to his country, I’m not sure all of him wanted to do it.”
“Well, we have to try something,” Bryce replied.
“I think it’s time to pay a little visit to Runehart,” Sarah said. “See what he has to say on the matter.” The moment the words left her mouth, she was immediately shut down.
“Sarah, you’re still hurt,” Becca said.
“You can barely stand,” Grace added.
“You need to rest,” Bryce said, his tone mimicking that of Mack.
“First off,” Sarah said, “I’ve been through way worse. And second, I’m the only one qualified to evade the team of assassins looking to hunt all of us down.” She jolted to the side, catching her balance. “Once the room stops spinning, that is.”
“Is there anyone else in the area that can help us out?” Grace asked.
“Yeah,” Becca added. “What about the other agents?”
“Protocol is to stay dark until the head honcho says otherwise,” Bryce answered. “Until they get word from Mack, anyone who is still alive won’t come out of hiding.”
It was the first time Sarah had stopped to consider the number of people who might have already been killed once Grimes had sent all of their information to the rest of the world’s intelligence groups. For all she knew, they were the only ones left. “We have to stick with what we know,” Sarah said. “I’ll go to—”
“Sarah,” Bryce said, protesting.
“I’ll go to Runehart’s place and see what I can turn over. You reach out to Mallory and tell him about the lawyer. See if you can convince him to send in a team to extract those documents. If he gives you a hard time just remind him that his ass is on the line as much as ours. In the meantime, you find out more about who the hell attacked us in the van. I want to know if it was one of Runehart’s test-tube babies or from another agency.” Sarah shook her head. “It’s starting to get hard to keep track of all the people trying to kill me.”
“Really?” Bryce asked. “I thought you’d be used to it by now.”
9
When 289-02 appeared in Runehart’s backyard, the animal had blood all over it. Runehart’s first thought was that it had succeeded in the mission of Hill’s death, but before his excitement could boil over, he learned the truth.
“Target lives,” 289-02 said. “After a failed mission, it is protocol to return for further instructions.”
Runehart slammed his fist onto the kitchen table, seething with anger. “How could you have let this happen?”
“Target exceeded expectations gleaned from researched mission data,” 289-02 answered. “I have readjusted my parameters for the next altercation.”
Runehart cocked his head to the side, examining the specimen more closely. He pointed to the creature’s shoulder. “Whose blood is that?”
“Mine,” 289-02 answered.
“You were shot?”
“Twice. One .45-caliber round that grazed my arm, and a 9mm round in the shoulder. Both wounds have already been tended to.”
Runehart rose from the kitchen table. “It’s such a curious thing, listening to you.” He circled the specimen, looking it up and down. “It’s almost as if you don’t have a personality.” He grazed his fingertips against the bloody bullet holes left behind on its sleeve. When he investigated the bullet hole, he found a puffy bump of pink flesh in lieu of a gruesome wound. “You’ve already healed?”
“My tissue has almost reached original capacity.”
Runehart stepped back, smiling. Despite the creature’s failure, it was still a marvel to behold. He cupped 289-02’s cheek as though he were a child. “Are you able to recognize who made you? Your purpose in life?”
“Yes. My original design and objectives were for military operations, though I have also been programmed with significant mental capacity in the area of critical thinking. My mind can be strengthened in the same way that my muscular and skeletal structures have been shaped.” 289-02 did not make eye contact with Runehart. The creature simply stared straight ahead while it spoke, though Runehart knew that the beast saw everything.
Runehart returned to his chair at the kitchen table. He crossed his legs and leaned against the armrest. “Was Hill alone when you found her?”
“No.”
“Interesting.” During his rise to the political arena that was the United States Senate, Runehart had the fortune of playing many games. There was always someone to hurt, someone to trick, some piece of meat he could dangle for people to yap and jump over. But the good doctor’s specimen offered him an opportunity to reveal a portion of his mind that, up until this point, he had been forced to hide.
In politics, no matter how vile, corrupt, or blasphemous you truly were, you never let the public see it. And in order for Runehart to succeed in his current role, he was forced to play the game, holding back a malice that he was only able to unleash in private, calculated moments. But 289-02 changed things.
“I want to know who she was with,” Runehart said. “And I want to—”
One of the Secret Service agents entered the kitchen, and Runehart tossed him an icy glare. The agent froze. “My apologies, sir, but you said you wanted any updates on the situation at Langley?”
Runehart motioned the agent forward and snatched the piece of paper out of his hand, the agent quickly exiting the moment his duty was complete. Runehart had to reread the note twice before the information sank in. “No, no, no!” He crumpled the paper and tossed it on the ground. “That bitch!”
Heat steamed from his shirt collar, and Runehart tugged at it viciously. He slammed his foot into one of the legs of the table then flipped it over.
With Black Box gone, he was exposed. And he didn’t have any doubt about who had taken it. If Hill and her cohorts found his correspondence with Grimes, then his little game would end before it had a chance to begin. Runehart glanced back at 289-02, and the rage slowly calmed.
“Who was Hill with?” Runehart asked.
“The files I was given prior to the mission indicate that the persons associated with the target were her designated GSF support agent, Bryce Milks, her sister-in-law, Becca Hill, niece, Ella Hill, and nephew, Matt Hill, along with a woman I could not identify. Becca Hill is a doctor at—”
“That’s enough.” Runehart waved his hand, swirling in thoughts that he would normally have been forced to subdue. There were no longer any issues of taking the moral high ground, nothing to keep him from enacting all of his will and power. He
could do whatever he wanted, to whomever he wanted.
“Her family,” Runehart said. “Kill them, but leave Hill alive.”
“Objective understood.” 289-02 remained fixated on Runehart then started to leave.
“Wait!” Runehart thrust out his hand, and the creature stopped.
A thought entered Runehart’s mind, a delicious nugget that flooded his veins with the rush of adrenaline. He started to laugh.
“I want you to make her watch,” Runehart said. “Make her feel the pain. Make her feel the loss. Then return to me immediately.”
“Understood.” 289-02 did not react. He simply turned and disappeared out of the same way he had come inside.
Once Runehart was left alone, he felt that mask he always had to wear slowly melt from his face. But the way it disappeared this time was different. It was natural in its progression to disappear, and he felt a certain elation at the fact that it faded without his consent. This was just the change he needed. And he couldn’t have felt more at ease.
If Sarah had arrived ten minutes earlier, she could have saved herself a lot of heartache, but she didn’t. Instead, she watched the pair of Secret Service agents in front of Runehart’s house from the living room of his neighbor’s house across the street. She’d snuck in and took a seat on the couch that contained the best view through the front windows. The elderly couple upstairs was fast asleep, and judging by the dozens of pills on their nightstand, they would be zonked out for quite some time.
Standard operating procedures for the Secret Service required a shift change every ninety minutes in order for everyone’s attention spans to stay fresh. And it was a procedure Sarah was glad was in place, because the past five minutes sitting inside the home of Mr. and Mrs. Stonopolis was more than she could bear.
The replacement agents stepped out from inside the house, and the pair exchanged a few quick words, but it was all she needed to slip out the front door, sprint across the street with soundless footsteps, and ram the hard portion of her palm into the soft flesh of their throats, dropping both agents to the pavement.
She resisted the urge to snap their necks and instead opted for a quick syringe of anesthesia to keep them under until her business was completed. She stepped inside Runehart’s house and made sure to brush her feet on the mat before she set foot in the foyer.
The house was nice, about as fancy as she expected it to be. The six-figure-a-year salary was being put to good use, though everything inside the house seemed to be in place simply for show. There was nothing in the building that suggested warmth or welcome. It screamed, “I was told this is what homes were supposed to look like.”
“I hope you didn’t kill them,” Runehart said, stepping from the opening in the kitchen to the living room that gave him a clear view into the foyer, where Sarah had barely stepped out of. “I don’t think that would help you and your case after all of the damning evidence that Grimes set against you.”
“They’re just taking a long nap.” Sarah entered the living room with a calm display of power, showing neither fear nor shock that the senator was able to sneak up on her. There was only one other man in her career that had been able to do that. And he hadn’t shown his head for nearly two years. “You, on the other hand, I can’t make any promises.”
“I suppose you can’t.” Runehart gestured to the chair. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Whiskey,” Sarah said. “Neat.” She reclined on a sofa that looked as if it would feel more at home in a museum than a living room. “And don’t bother giving me that crap in the crystal vase you have sitting on the mantel. I’ll take the good stuff. I bet you have some fine bourbon in that cupboard behind that painting.”
Runehart smiled, making his way toward the painting in question, and when he pulled back the frame and exposed the hidden door right where Sarah said it would be, she gave a little shrug.
“Am I that obvious?” Runehart asked, reaching inside and removing a bottle of bourbon that looked to be older than his grandfather. Assuming he had a grandfather and wasn’t the spawn of Satan himself.
“Afraid so,” Sarah answered. “Though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get a little help from a quick structural scan of the house before I stepped inside.”
Runehart offered a little chuckle as he poured both himself and Sarah a drink into the short crystal glasses and then handed one to her as if she were just another constituent that needed to be wooed by his talented tongue and charming smile.
“You do have quite the impressive array of gadgets at your disposal,” Runehart said, leaning back in an armchair, where he crossed his legs. “I must admit that I’m quite jealous.” He took a sip and then pointed toward the front door, where his Secret Service detail was piled unconscious on top of one another. “Do you have any idea the scrutiny and training those agents go through just to be considered for this detail?” He shook his head. “And to think there are more people like you is a testament to what Mack has been able to achieve.” He took another sip, this one slightly longer than before, then added, “Though I don’t think he’ll be around for much longer to continue that streak.”
Sarah looked down at the shot worth of whiskey and then downed it in one gulp and slid the crystal across the coffee table in front of the sofa. It was a motion that caused Runehart to freeze, and she was glad to see that she could surprise the senator, even if it was only for a moment.
“From what I’ve seen, you’ve started your own little club of espionage,” Sarah said. “In fact, I ran into him earlier today. Quite the pain in the ass, if I do say so myself.”
Runehart smiled. “And your legend continues to grow, Agent Hill. He told me you exceeded his expectations. I hope it brings you some consolation.”
A sour pit formed in Sarah’s stomach.
“Consolation?” she asked.
Runehart downed the rest of his whiskey and tossed the crystal aside, and it shattered on the wooden floorboards. The mask he had donned during all of his television interviews and speeches was gone. In its place was an expression of contempt. The man thought himself to be untouchable. And whenever Sarah encountered a man like that, people always died.
“The GSF was the premier force in strength and stealth for a very long time, Agent Hill, but the days of your empire have ended.” Runehart stood, his polished black shoes crunching the bits of crystal that lay in their path. “I know what you took from Langley today, and if you think you’ll find anything that Grimes left behind, you’re a bigger fool than I expected you to be. I have billions at my disposal, and the full faith and backing of the United States government, along with its people.” He snarled and gestured to the pair of Colts beneath her jacket. “You have nothing more than a pair of pea-shooters and an organization that has been branded as terrorists. You will not win. You will not stop me. You will yield, or you will die.”
Runehart remained hunched over, the expression on his face still twisted in the snarl from earlier, and his right index finger extended toward Sarah in the same manner in which so many of her former public school principals had done before.
“First off,” Sarah said, raising her own index finger, “no one. Ever. In the history of my life calls my 1911 Colts pea shooters and gets away without a broken bone, so just know you had this coming.”
Sarah jolted up and twisted Runehart’s arm behind his back, triggering a yelp and forcing him rigid as a board. His body trembled, and she held back enough pressure to prevent the break, keeping the maximum threshold of pain.
“When your Secret Service agents wake up, you’re going to want to tell them you have a left radial fracture in your arm,” Sarah said.
The bone snapped, and Runehart screamed a high-pitched wail usually reserved for little girls. Sarah smiled as she let him drop to the floor.
“Thank God for those soundproof windows, right? So glad I did my homework before this one.” Sarah stepped on the senator’s broken arm, and he let out another groan. “What
are you planning, Runehart? What did you and Grimes talk about?”
Slowly, Runehart’s moans turned to heaving sobs, then laughter as the senator revealed a toothy grin.
“Grimes wanted to expose you,” Runehart said. “He wanted America to be the only military might in the world. Second to none. Me? I wanted to be in charge of it.”
“So you gut the old system and replace it with one that you’re in control of, is that?”
Sarah pressed harder on Runehart’s arm, and a throaty wail escaped his lips.
“Power is accumulated by those who take it!” he said. “And, unlike Grimes, once I have power, I intend to keep it.”
Sarah removed her foot, and Runehart gasped relief. She picked him up by his collar, his sweaty face close to hers, all of the imperfections of his skin in clear view. He was ugly up close.
“Newsflash for you, buddy,” Sarah said. “I won’t let you keep it.”
Runehart’s eyes rolled in his skull, a delirious madness taking hold of him. He smiled, spitting out a chuckle between bared teeth. “It’s a shame you won’t see them again.”
Sarah slammed him up against the wall, the back of his skull cracking against the drywall. “For your sake, I hope I misheard you, and that comment was just a side effect from the insane amount of pain you’re experiencing right now.” But the sinking feeling in her stomach told her otherwise.
“Oh, I wish I could have seen the look on their faces when he found them,” Runehart said.
Sarah checked the communication link. “Bryce, are you there?”
No answer. Why hadn’t she noticed he’d been so quiet?
“I told him that I wanted you to watch them die,” Runehart said.
Sarah removed one of her Colts and aimed it at the senator’s head. “Call him back, or I put a bullet through your head right now.”
“Is that smart, Agent Hill?” he asked. “If you want to clear your name, then someone else has to take the fall. Someone else will need to be offered up to the people you’ve scorned.”
