by James Hunt
“I think they’ll accept a corpse once they know the truth,” Sarah answered.
“You’re probably right.” Runehart offered an understanding nod. “But you can never be too sure, can you.”
“Call him back!” Sarah pressed the end of the barrel harder into Runehart’s skull.
“I can’t,” he said. “But even if I could, I wouldn’t. You’re no longer at the top of the food chain, Agent Hill. The world is evolving, and you’re being left in the dust.”
Sarah should have noticed the lack of communication with Bryce. She should have realized something was wrong. There was still time to get back to them.
Runehart laughed. “Thinking of what could have been? It’s a waste of time at this point. You’re very good at seeing what’s in front of you. But you have terrible foresight. But, then again, with a dead brother, dead parents, and by now a dead partner, you probably know that too.”
Sarah placed her finger over the trigger and made sure to commit the vile expression on Runehart’s face to memory. She’d need it to help her justify what she was about to do. “Goodbye, Senator.”
The moment before the bullet sliced through his skull the evil vanished and was replaced by fear and panic. It almost made him look human. Almost.
A spray of blood and bone stretched over the fine living room carpet as Runehart’s body crumpled into a lifeless heap. Sarah picked up the shell casing and tucked it in her pocket. “That was for Hank, asshole.”
Sarah bolted out of the front door, leaping over the agents still passed out on the ground, and sprinted down the middle of the road.
“Bryce, are you there?” No one answered, and the sinking pit in her stomach worsened. “If this is some type of cruel joke to get back at me from all these years of messing with you, I’m telling you that this is a bad time.”
Still nothing. And the longer the silence grew, the faster she ran.
10
The deeper Bryce delved into Black Box, the more he realized just how close they had come to a nuclear holocaust. Grimes had only been two keystrokes away from triggering the end of the world. Just one letter, Y, and then the enter key.
Bryce shivered at the thought. But despite the danger, there was a certain adrenaline-fueled power that the device provided. And that knowledge was equally harrowing.
A small voice in the back of his head told him that he could use Black Box for good. It wouldn’t be hard to reverse the device’s function and prevent launches instead of triggering them. He could end the world’s nuclear armament in one stroke.
Wouldn’t they be safer if he did it? Wouldn’t that lead to global stabilization? Or would it invite the world’s largest armies to begin a campaign to conquer the rest of the world? Thankfully, they were questions to be asked above his pay grade.
And Black Box was only part of the riddle he needed to solve. The documents Mallory had given them on Runehart and NorthStar Industries were hard to believe. But the fact that the spawn of their creation was hunting them down gave him a dose of reality he didn’t want to take.
“Hey,” Grace said, sneaking in from behind him. “Is everything going all right in here?”
“Yeah,” Bryce answered. “It’s fine.” He gestured toward Black Box and shook his head. “It’s crazy to think that such a small device caused so much trouble.”
Grace tilted her head to the side. “It’s usually not so much the object as it is the person wielding it.” She stepped close, and Bryce remained in his seat as he wrapped his arms around her waist, and she kissed the top of his head. “What’d Mallory say?”
“He was a little reluctant, but he finally agreed,” Bryce said. “But if those documents don’t give us anything, then it will have been for nothing.” He thought back to the note that Mack had given him, and hoped that his boss wouldn’t have to follow through with what it said.
Grace held out her hand. “C’mon, Becca put some sandwiches together.”
“What kind?” Bryce asked, following her out of the room.
“Your favorite,” Grace answered, turning around. “Peanut butter and jelly.”
She provided a mocking wink as Bryce fought the urge to gag, and they entered the kitchen. “You know how I feel about those devil sandwiches.”
“I know.” Grace stopped, spun around, and gripped him by the collar. “But sometimes it’s just fun to hear you complain.” She scrunched up her nose as she smiled, then kissed him on the cheek.
“You’ve been spending too much time with Sarah.” But despite the jest, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as she stepped between the twins at the table and playfully dabbed some jelly on Ella’s nose.
“Bryce,” Becca said. “Do you want som—”
The heavy thump on the roof silenced everyone, and every head lifted to the ceiling. The wood groaned with each step, and Bryce felt his pulse quicken. He sprinted to the office in the back of the house and grabbed Black Box and his laptop, both of which he stuffed in a duffel bag.
With a shaking hand, Bryce loaded a magazine into his pistol and rejoined Grace and Becca in the living room. Both were armed, aiming their guns along the footsteps’ methodical path. Grace broke her stare at the ceiling and turned to Bryce, whispering, “What do we do?”
Bryce fished the keys to the van out of his pocket and caught Becca’s attention. “We make a run for it out front. The van is parked only ten yards from the front door.” He shoved the keys into Grace’s hands. “You head for the driver seat, and I’ll cover Becca and the kids.” He turned to Becca. “Don’t look back, don’t stop running, and whatever you do, don’t let the kids out of your sight.”
The footsteps hastened their pace as they clustered around the front door, Bryce with his hand curled around the warm brass knob. He looked at Grace and Becca, mouthing the countdown of “one, two, three.”
Bryce flung the door open and was the first outside. He immediately spun around, aiming the pistol toward the pitched roof, but in the darkness, he saw nothing. Grace sprinted past first, followed closely by Becca and the kids.
But just before either of them arrived at the van door, there was the familiar whistle that Bryce had heard and seen so many times on his missions with Sarah. Bryce turned back to the van, screaming. “RPG!”
Heat, metal, and fire erupted in a percussive blast as both Grace and Becca came to a screeching halt. Bryce aimed in the direction from where the missile had been launched, and the recoil from the gun nearly forced him to drop it, but he held steady, firing blindly into the darkness.
Once the girls were safely back inside, Bryce slammed the door shut then locked it. He aimed his pistol once again at the ceiling, following the footsteps as they traversed the rooftop. With one hand still on the gun, he reached into his pocket and removed the spare phone, and he tossed it to Grace. “Call Sarah. Tell her what’s happening.”
A pane of glass smashed, and the kids screamed in unison. Grace rushed over and gripped Bryce by the arm, pulling them toward the left side of the house. “My parents’ Jeep is in the garage! C’mon!”
Hazy smoke drifted down from the ceiling, and Bryce lifted his head at the harsh crackle of fire eating up the wooden rafters. He funneled the girls and kids into the garage, and just before he entered as well, he stole a quick glance at the staircase. At the top was a hulking figure, only his outline visible in the smoke, and he descended the staircase in a slow, methodical pace.
Bryce slammed the door to the garage shut and backed up with this pistol still aimed at the entrance while Grace helped Becca load the kids in the car.
“Bryce!” Grace exclaimed. He turned around and saw she was frantically searching the side cabinets. “The keys! We need to find the keys!”
A shotgun blast peppered the inside of the garage door, and Bryce returned fire in sporadic fashion. All of the adrenaline that flooded through his veins was enough to make his head explode, but he kept both shaking hands on the pistol for as long as he could, trying to recall his ann
ual field training.
Once the magazine in Bryce’s pistol had been completely unloaded, Grace found the keys and then tossed them to Becca, who climbed behind the driver’s seat. Grace joined Bryce by the door and fired a few rounds into the already splintering wood herself, giving Bryce enough time to reload.
The Jeep’s engine roared to life, and Grace smacked the garage door opener, the fires outside illuminating a wavy orange path from the house. Bryce snatched Grace by the arm and thrust her toward the rear Jeep door. “Get in!”
The Hulk shouldered the door to the garage open, and he aimed the shotgun at Bryce.
“Get down!” Grace screamed and then pushed Bryce to the floor, the back of the Jeep sprayed with buckshot.
The assassin dispensed the shells from the shotgun’s chamber and then tossed the weapon on the ground like a used toy. He reached for Bryce, grabbed him by the collar, and flung him into the wall like a rag doll.
Tools that lined the shelves on the wall rattled to the ground, and despite the blinding pain that radiated up his right arm, Bryce managed to keep his eyes on the assassin, now turning for Grace. Bryce gripped the nearest tool to his left and then flung it at the ape’s head.
He snatched the hammer out of midair with his bare hand just before it struck his head. He stopped, turning toward Bryce, the same vacant expression plastered over his face, but a focus in his eyes that burned with intensity.
Bryce turned to Grace and Becca, the Jeep now out of the garage and idling in the drive. He waved his arm. “Go!”
Grace slammed her fists against the back window as Becca floored the accelerator, leaving Bryce alone with the beast in the garage. The engine’s whine stole the assassin’s attention for only a moment, but it was long enough for Bryce to sprint back inside the burning building.
Flames licked the walls and ceiling, consuming the wooden cabin as if it were a box of toothpicks. Bryce hacked and coughed, the acrid smoke filling his lungs as he stumbled to the back of the house. The bannister from the staircase collapsed, and one of the burning wooden beams smacked his arm.
Bryce batted the flames that caught on his shirt, the fire so intense he thought his skin would melt, but he gained as much momentum forward as he could, eyeing the burning back door as drips of molten fire rained down.
Either he was fueled by the adrenaline of the moment, or the fire had already done its job for weakening the structural integrity of the house, but he was able to break down the door with his small frame and burst outside into the fresh air.
Bryce rolled in the grass and dirt, dousing the flames that had tried to consume him, then crawled backward, away from the house and toward the woods, unsure of where the assassin had disappeared.
But just before he made it to the forest line, he heard gunshots echo from the front of the house along with the rev of the Jeep’s engine. Bryce immediately pivoted on his heel and sprinted toward the commotion. He circled the now completely engulfed cabin, and amidst the orange light cast from the burning house, he saw a pair of headlights, the flash of a pistol firing behind them.
Bryce waved his arms and flagged Becca down. She screeched to a halt, and he reached for the passenger- side door. When he climbed inside, Grace was in the very back with the window open while the kids where in the middle row of seats.
Becca floored it, speeding around the back of the house. “Are you all right?”
Bryce nodded, coughing and hacking, unable to speak, his eyes and nearly all of his body still burning from the past few minutes. “I’ll be okay.” He quickly spun around as Becca turned the back corner of the house, curving around to the front. “Did you get ahold of Sarah?”
“No,” Grace answered. “There is some sort of interference. I couldn’t even make the call.”
“Black Box and my laptop still in here?” Bryce asked.
Grace passed him the equipment, and when she did, she clutched Bryce’s hand, her eyes misty and red. “I love you.”
Bryce smiled. “I love you too.”
Becca drove to the right rear corner of the house, but she slammed on the brakes. Bullets peppered the hood and front windshield. Becca ducked, her foot off the gas. Bryce reached over and jammed the shifter into reverse.
“Floor it!” he said.
Becca slammed her foot on the accelerator. More vibrations from bullets continued to spray from the assassin’s gunfire, and Bryce lifted his head up above the dash long enough to watch the glass completely shatter.
The Jeep spun a one-eighty as they disappeared behind the house. When Bryce looked up again, the assassin was no longer in their field of vision.
“Stop!” Bryce said.
Every head snapped back and forth when Becca slammed on the brakes. Bryce planted his shoes against what remained of the shattered windshield and kicked out the rest.
“We’re sitting ducks back here,” Becca said. “He could come from anywhere.”
“What’s he waiting for?” Bryce asked. “He could have taken us by just breaking through the house.” Bryce knew it was true. If the assassin had any of the physical gifts and training that Sarah had, then he could have brought all of them down without all of the flashy show. “He’s waiting for something.”
“Sarah?” Grace asked.
“Maybe,” Bryce answered.
And if that was true, then that could be why the assassin had blocked their communications. The bastard was waiting until she showed up to finish them off.
Becca turned around in the driver seat, looking to the forest beyond then back to the collapsing house. “Should we try and make a run for it in the woods?”
“He’d catch us,” Bryce answered. “We either wait, or we try and go through him.”
“Jesus Christ,” Becca said, whispering to herself.
“There is a third option,” Grace said, and when Bryce whipped his head around to where she sat in the backseat, he immediately didn’t like where she was going with it. “We need someone to keep him busy long enough to make it down the road. Once that happens, he won’t be able to keep up.” She raised her eyebrows. “At least I hope not.”
“No,” Bryce said. “Absolutely not. We stick together. The moment one of us goes rogue, he’ll pick us off. This guy is too good to not think about every scenario that we could throw at him.” Bryce glanced back out the shattered windows, his brain scouring for a solution.
“It would take an act of god to stop him now,” Bryce said. “Something big enough to—” And a thought pricked up in the back of his mind. An idea inspired by his eight-year partnership with Sarah.
Bryce delved into the bag with Black Box and his laptop and removed the computer hastily. He flipped open the screen and started typing like a madman. “Reverse as close to the edge of the woods as you can.”
Becca backed up, the bumper grazing a tree trunk, then shifted into park. “Anything you’d like to share?”
Bryce’s eyes remained glued to the computer screen. “I’m still not sure if telling you the plan would make you feel better or worse about it.” As he pulled up the go-codes for the nearest drone and set it into motion, he was beginning to see why Sarah had never wanted to share her brilliant, off-the-cuff ideas. “Grace, in the middle row with the kids.”
“Hey, guys.” Grace hopped over the backseat, stuffing as many blankets as she could over their bodies as they huddled, shaking in fear.
The heat signature from the house had died down, and Bryce found the assassin near the front with the satellite’s thermal scan of the area. He currently blocked their only escape route.
“The moment I tell you to go, floor it,” Bryce said. “And do exactly what I tell you to do.”
Becca let out a breath and rubbed her grip over the leather of the steering wheel. “Just keep us alive, Bryce.”
He peered up from his laptop, his eyes switching between the view of the shattered windshield and the flight path of the drone, which was now only sixty seconds away. “Grace, I hope your parents didn’t h
ave anything in that house they expected to save.”
“Not really,” Grace said. “Why?”
“Because what’s left of that burnt rubble is about to be blown off the face of the earth,” Bryce answered. And then, as the flight path of the drone aligned with the location of the assassin, he enhanced the image of the screen.
A light whistling echoed from the sky, and Becca and Grace both lifted their heads to the noise. And Bryce watched the assassin on the screen quickly sprint around the left side of the house toward the backyard.
“Now! To the right! Gun it!”
Their tires chewed up the grass, and just when the Jeep picked up speed, Bryce watched the assassin round the corner to the backyard, rifle aimed, poised to shoot.
“Head straight for the path to the roadway out of here, and do not let up on the gas!” Bryce kept his eyes flitting between the computer screen and the gaining assassin behind them. “How fast are you going?”
“Just hit forty!” Becca answered.
“Jesus Christ,” Bryce said.
Three gunshots popped off into the night, the rest overshadowed by the approaching drone. The screen of Bryce’s laptop blinked rapidly as the missile was fired. The Jeep rounded the front corner of the house, and from what Bryce could see, the assassin was still dangerously close—close enough to include the Jeep in the blast radius. “Shit!”
Becca was screaming something in Bryce’s ear, but he couldn’t hear what she said. He was too busy trying to divert the missile away from his target. His fingers flew across the keyboard, and the missile was practically in the rearview mirror when Bryce finally managed to make it nose-dive.
11
Mallory paced the floor of his office. The flesh over his cheeks was translucent, and the sour pit in his stomach had only worsened over the past hour. His eyes remained glued to the phone on his desk, which should ring any moment. And the information his team told him would either save or condemn him. Perhaps both.
