by Alex Howell
She hung up right after. Clara, taking a deep breath, remained hunkered down under the desk.
The only question was how long she could follow Raina’s advice before her concern for her father overtook her rational thought process.
21
August 19th, 2028
9:33 a.m. CST
Topeka, KS
The incessant squawking from the birds—without rhythm, without song, and without a way to stop it—was worse than an alarm at a secure location. An alarm could be rigged, manipulated, and played with, but the cries of a natural animal in distress at the appearance of something new was anything but. There was no shutting up the birds without putting bullets in all of them, and aside from the moral questioning Mason had about such a strategy, he knew Clara would never forgive him if he did such a thing.
And frankly, though he didn’t think of himself as having a sense of humor in such critical conditions, it did cause him to chuckle at the thought that he feared his daughter more than he did a domestic terrorist.
Instead of dealing with the birds, he simply tuned them out, not so much ignoring them as simply acknowledging their presence and what that would probably mean for Warrior and his crew—if they were still there. You better still be here. We’re screwed if you aren’t here.
At least it was much more probable than the warehouse. The warehouse had taken him essentially a full day to get to after the phone call. This had taken less than an hour. He only wished that he had not split up with Clara now, what with the birds alerting the terrorists of his presence.
Still, he could only depend upon his training and he went door by door, examining the various offices, storage facilities, and labs, all empty and all abandoned. Much like much of Kansas and Manhattan, the area seemed abandoned, a relic of the 20th century that no longer had as much value as it once had.
Then, upon pushing a door open, he saw it was not a door to an office but to a basement. That’s gotta be where he’s hiding. He wouldn’t expose himself, most especially if he knows we’re here. He’s probably going to be hiding like the coward that he is.
So then I’ll finish him off like the coward that he is.
Carefully, he pushed open the door, sliding on his night-vision goggles to help him see; someone, noticeably, had shot out the lights in the stairwell. Mason flipped over to infrared vision to see if he could spot footprints.
Not only did he see them, they looked fresher than recently bought fruit. The dust had not even settled on them, suggesting that perhaps Warrior had hurried downstairs as soon as he’d heard the birds chirping. Mason was closer to his target than he could even have realized.
He moved down the flight of stairs and came to a door. He switched on his goggles to X-Ray vision, spotted no one on the other end—and then they went dead on him.
“The hell?” he grumbled.
The goggles, it seemed, had run out of battery life. Muttering under his breath as he dropped them to the ground, he knew now that it’d be like the old days of his SEAL missions—without technology, or at least the technology of the modern day, and a lot more dependent upon instinct and training than on batteries and electronics.
“Might as well,” Mason said. “If a soldier’s instincts don’t die… better prove it now, bud.”
At least he had the knowledge that the other side didn’t have Warrior waiting to ambush him.
He still led with his gun, a habit that would truly never die. The flickering light above showed two different hallways that he could go down, both of them dark and cold. He knew he’d go down both of them sooner rather than later, but if Warrior really was here with the kids, he had to make the right choice now. Warrior knowing that U.S. soldiers had shown up to kill him could not have helped his mental state for keeping the kids alive.
Thinking of Warrior, he decided that left was the best option, if for no other reason than that Warrior seemed a little bit off and wouldn’t have gone right. Mason recognized that that was as much a stretch a reason as he had ever used for a decision, but the alternative was to flip a coin. Just as he had in the hallway above, he went door-by-door, listening for children, for muffled cries, or for laughter from the other side.
But nothing came.
It was an empty hallway, but Mason knew it could not have been an empty basement.
He came to a corner that went right. Hoping that he would be walking in a circle and thus inevitably stumble upon Warrior, he turned. For just a half-second, his gun was angled down as some dust hit him in the eye.
And when he looked up, he was staring right into the end of a gun.
“Oh, hell,” Mason grumbled.
It was Warrior.
22
August 19th, 2028
10:51 a.m. EST
Washington, D.C.
Case stood outside the maximum security prison by his government-issued vehicle, having gone into incognito mode in the car so that outside forces would not see who he was driving. He wore sunglasses and a baseball hat, the better to avoid human detection as long as possible. To the prison, he was just an old friend of the man about to be released from jail.
To himself, he was an insane man who might very well have sentenced himself to a strangulation in the car.
You sure had better be living up to your name right now, Case.
Ahead, the prison doors opened, and in the shadows emerged a large, muscular man. Though Case could immediately see the resemblance to Diego, Anthony Cortez also had significantly more muscle and probably a lot less self-control than Diego did. Anthony sported neck and face tattoos, an expression that suggested no penance for whatever he had gone to jail for, and gnarled hands that had seen more than a few fistfights.
Case did not get intimidated easily, and while he wasn’t willing to say he was intimidated now… someone else could probably say it for him and they wouldn’t exactly be wrong. Diego was a big enough man, but this was like the difference between a kicker and a defensive lineman in football. If that was the analogy, then Case was like the middle schooler who hadn’t hit puberty yet; so tiny and small in comparison to Anthony was he that he wasn’t even sure he’d win a fight if given brass knuckles.
Anthony reached the car, looked Case up and down, and snorted. The condescension was obvious and immediate—but at least the violence was not.
“You the one that got me out of here, huh,” he grunted. “I’d say thanks, but I’ve gotten burned by too many people I should be thanking. Take me to my brother.”
“That’s the plan, Anthony,” Case said, motioning for him to get into the car. “I’m not going to do anything to hurt you or put you in a bad spot.”
“How do I know this isn’t a trap?” Anthony said. “How do I know you aren’t full of it?”
Case raised his arms and showed his jacket to show that he was unarmed. It was an incredibly risky move given the physical discrepancy—all the martial arts training in the world meant little when the size difference made it seem so unlikely the two were even the same species, let alone the same weight class—but Case had to trust that if Anthony was a Joras, he lived by the Joras code. Especially since he was Diego’s brother.
“I still don’t trust you,” Anthony said.
All right. The man wants to play hardball. Fine, we can play that way too.
“Would you rather go back into jail?” Case said. “You know you were pardoned, right? That’s something that we can change with an official decree. You’re a strong man, but you’re not going to be able to handle all of the security at once.”
Anthony’s eyes lit up just enough that Case knew he got the hint. Anthony mumbled something about using his bare hands if he was tricked, but Case had no intentions of doing anything other than getting him to his brother.
The information he needed depended as much on it.
“You may be able to hurt me, but my brother will come for you in a heartbeat.”
“Which is exactly why I have no plans to betray you, Anthony,” Case s
aid. “Your brother has seen my face more than enough times to know who I am. If he wants me dead, there’s not much I can do without starting a war in the streets of D.C.”
Anthony grunted in response. Good enough, Case thought.
Case had the vehicle bring them to the pool hall he’d already visited a time too many, a fact that drew the curious arched eyebrow of Anthony. The car ride, though, was one of complete silence, the two looking down or out the window, but the other in their periphery vision at all times. No one was going to pull a fast one on the other, and no one was going to get away from the other.
It was a tense but uneventful ride in the end. No further noise was exchanged between the two other than what sounded like a smoker’s cough from Anthony, and Case managed to keep a low profile.
As soon as the vehicle reached the pool hall, Anthony hurried out, ignoring that other vehicles had to stop suddenly for his sudden step out to the road. Case also got out, making sure it was safe to cross, and walked inside about fifteen seconds after Anthony walked in.
When he got inside, he could scarcely believe the emotions pouring out of Anthony as he hugged his brother. It was like the hungry grizzly bear had turned into the little girl’s stuffed teddy bear. Tears were definitely pouring, and cheers and applause could be heard everywhere in the room.
“I never thought I’d get to see you again,” Anthony said, his voice wavering. “Brother, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was stupid enough to get caught. I’ll kill that Duke character if you want—”
“Brother, you’re free,” Diego said. “We will make sure you never go back there again. Never. Don’t worry about him. It’ll get taken care of.”
They hugged for so long and with sobs and tears that the rest of the Joras didn’t even seem to mind that Case had walked back in. Case thus remained the closest thing to a fly on the wall, confirming what he had already suspected about the Joras—there was plenty illegal to them, to be sure, but there were plenty of codes and expectations all the same. His suspicions about them were right. They had a system of honor.
He now had to have faith that Diego would be true to that system of honor with him, a Navy SEAL, a suit, the closest thing to the polar opposite of Diego.
It was only after the two pulled back that Diego saw Case, arched an eyebrow, and approached slowly. He raised his hands, as if to indicate he was coming in peace. Case did the same, and Diego nodded. Both men dropped their hands.
“You got him free?”
Case nodded.
“I never thought that I would see my brother again. For the stuff that they threw at him… I cannot believe I am saying this, but thank you. You have given me something beyond money.”
He then did something that Case never imagined would happen between the two of them. He shook his hand. And it was a firm, but not deathly strong, shake. It was a shake between two men who appreciated what the other had done or would do.
“Glad I could help,” Case said. “With this all done, however, I would appreciate something back.”
“Money?” Diego asked.
Deliberately trying to push me away. They’re not dumb negotiators.
“No, Diego. Information.”
Diego grimaced, bit his lip, but then seemed perfectly fine with it. He shrugged, crossed his arms, and even smiled.
“You gave me back that which I most value,” he said. “So I will tell you whatever you want to know.”
“Ok,” Case said. “Do you know anything about who could have kidnapped the kids?”
“The kids?” Diego said. “Unfortunately, no. We were paid to say we kidnapped the kids. We don’t actually know who kidnapped the kids. However, you may want to ask a different question.”
It’s a dead end, then. The Joras really did not have anything to do with the kids. It was all a ploy.
But… then who hired them?
I’ll bet that’s the question that he wants me to ask. The information he can give. Hopefully it’s not more dead ends, but it’s a start at least.
“Well, let me ask you this then,” Case said. “Who paid you to say that you were the ones to kidnap the kid? Who set you up on all of this?”
“Now you’re asking the right question,” Diego said. “Before I tell you, though, recognize that what I’m about to tell you will seem completely unexpected. You need to be aware that this is the truth and nothing but the truth. Do you trust me?”
“I’m aware it may be unexpected,” Case said, trying to not get flustered by the situation. “But I trust you. I know your kind, Diego. You don’t believe in the law, but you do believe in justice. You don’t believe in official law enforcement, but you do believe in the enforcement of what’s fair. And I know you know the truth is fair.”
Case still trusted Diego, but just in case Diego got any smart ideas about playing tricks on him, that was Case’s way of reminding Diego of his own values.
“Very well,” Diego said, coming close and leaning into Case’s ear. “The person who paid us is the same man who arrested my brother all these years ago.”
Before Diego had even said who it was, Case knew. He felt sick to his stomach as he realized he had to get back to Onyx immediately.
“Your partner, Duke.”
23
August 19th, 2028
9:35 a.m. CST
Topeka, KS
Mason stared down the barrel of the gun as a man shrouded in darkness behind it breathed heavily.
“Turn around,” the man said. “Drop the gun.”
Warrior.
For a second, Mason thought that he could outmaneuver the enemy. Warrior’s voice was shaky, and he was already known to have poor self-control. But if he had that advantage, there was no reason to waste it now when the odds weren’t quite in his favor. Better, he thought, to wait until he had the gun pointed down or away from him to strike.
Thus, Mason did as he was told, raising his hands after he placed the rifle on the ground. He felt the enemy’s gun poke him hard in the back, staggering him forward.
“Move! Walk forward!”
Mason did as he was commanded, trying to find the ideal opportunity to fight back. He turned around and saw Warrior had, smartly on his part, moved back a few paces, making it all but impossible for Mason to get to him before Warrior pulled the trigger. Mason instead moved slowly, the better so that it would not raise Warrior’s suspicions. He at least wanted to be facing his captor before he did anything potentially risky.
“Where are we—”
“Shut up!” Warrior snapped. “Here! Go in there!”
Mason, having walked past the original entrance, turned into a room that was almost empty, except for a lightbulb, a single chair, and a string activating the light bulb. It looked very much like something out of a 20th century spy film, except now Mason really was by himself.
With better lighting now than what he had before, Mason could see a small, thin, Korean man with unkempt black hair pointing the gun at him. Raina was right—he very much looked like an unhinged man who would have to be dealt with very carefully. His hand shook, not from nerves, but from such extreme anger.
Although such types could be volatile and prone to shooting early, Mason figured he would have shot by now if he wanted to kill him. Instead… perhaps Warrior wanted a point made, or he thought his terms could not come to fruition if he killed a U.S. soldier. Even though Mason wasn’t acting as one, it was easy to see how Warrior would mistake him for it.
Perhaps, instead, Mason could take the opportunity to learn more about Warrior. There were no guarantees it would work, but the alternative of sitting in silence and hoping for the best seemed like a death wish in its own right.
“Who are you?” Mason started with, keeping his voice calm and low key.
The man didn’t say anything at first, his breathing still heavy and his hand still shaking. That he had not responded with an angry outburst was encouraging to Mason, suggesting that Warrior would at least listen to him and give him a chanc
e.
So he went for the next best thing—flattery.
“I know you’re probably going to kill me. You have the gun, I dropped mine. Can’t I at least know who is going to kill a Navy SEAL? That’s no small feat, you know. It’s very rare that we get killed in action.”
The move seemed to work, because Warrior took a deeper, less shallow breath in and raised his chin. He even smirked.
“My name is Warrior, and you are right, I am going to kill you,” he said. “But I am going to do more than that.”
Then why haven’t you done that? Is this just one giant ego trip for you? One massive way to get attention? I have to keep him talking.
I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but I need Clara to stumble her way to me. I need her to rescue me.
Funny how the roles reverse.
“What are you going to do?” Mason said, pretending to be in awe of what Warrior was “capable” of doing.
“I’m going to wipe out an entire country with my demands,” Warrior said, laughing with glee—although the laughter seemed to be hiding something. “I’m going to destroy North Korea with the force of the United States. The entire country will be nothing more than smoldering ash, reduced to mere rubble.”
“I see,” Mason said.
While he couldn’t pretend that much of the United States probably would have wanted for something similar over the last few decades, such a brash and currently unexpected move would only produce what Mason had averted a few years before—total warfare and essentially the apocalypse. China would take North Korea’s side, Russia would find a way to get involved, and Mason might as well have traveled back in time and let General Jones’ plan succeed, if for no other reason than at least the war would be prevented more easily.
“Let me ask you something, Warrior,” Mason said, again trying his best to be cognizant of the fact that an unhinged man had him at gunpoint. “Why do you hate North Korea so much? Did they do something to you?”
