The Search

by Alex Howell

  “If you can find a place to store them all and ensure they are knocked out long enough for Mr. Abdi to do whatever he needs to do,” Tessa said.

  Mason realized much like his brainstorming on the plane, the longer he went in his head for ideas, the more ridiculous and stupid they got. Maybe it was just a function of the limited control he had, but Mason was quickly accepting that this was a mission less for creativity and more for doing whatever needed to be done. Perhaps my skills are not so useful as before.

  “The knock out and drag plan isn’t a great one, huh?” Mason said, already knowing the answer.

  “Probably not for your mystery man’s purposes, no. Nor, for that matter, is it for your intent of moving through the area unseen. Human eyes may not see you, but computer eyes sure will.”

  “Figured.”

  Mason grimaced and snorted. Of course it didn’t matter to terrorists if Americans died. In fact, that was probably a nice benefit for them in all of this. Let the hostage’s father kill a bunch of his own first, delight in the glee of witnessing it all splinter from within, and then…

  No, stay focused, Mason.

  That’s not going to work, fine. Acceptable. But then either come up with some other ideas or get out.

  “What about a smoke bomb?”

  “That’ll lock down the building,” she said. “It’s a secure location, but unless there’s something pushing people out—which a smoke bomb won’t, it’ll only be of minor inconvenience to those inside—they’ll keep it locked down until the SWAT team arrives and clears the building. You’re going to need something that will trigger an alarm that requires people to leave. About the only thing that’s going to work, as far as I can see, is that vial. Not unless you want to go to a WHO office and find some diseases to unleash.”

  “Last thing we need is more people getting involved,” Mason growled. “So the choke-and-hide won’t work. The smoke bomb won’t work. And the fire alarm won’t get everyone out either.”

  “Nope,” Tessa said. “That’s all automatic now, anyways.”

  “Damn technology.”

  “Yeah, welcome to 2028,” Tessa said with an eye roll. “Things were much easier back in the day, huh?”

  “A bit,” Mason said with a snort.

  Begrudgingly, Mason decided that the best plan was to release the vial in the building, perhaps by letting it run into the ventilation shaft or somewhere on the first floor.

  Still, though, there had to be another way. There was always another way. Mason had never come across anything that didn’t have an alternative—sometimes the alternatives were dumb, sure, but even the dumb ones sometimes gave ideas. He just needed—

  And then his phone rang again. Again, it was the blocked number.

  “Yeah?”

  “Mr. Walker, we have noticed that you have not made any progress on our requested assignment. This is of great inconvenience to us and a rather unfortunate progression—or lack thereof—of your mission. We have decided that you need a kick in the rear to get yourself going.”

  No. No. No!

  “Swear if you hurt my daughter—”

  “She is safe for now,” the voice said, drawing a bit of relief from Mason. The most imminent threat, at least, was not so much of a threat. “But I cannot say the same for everyone inside.”

  Oh, no. What now?

  “You have five minutes to make a move, Mason,” the man said. “If you do not, I will have my sleeper agents inside kill everyone who might stand in the way of Mr. Abdi. Innocents will die. And the blood will be on your immobile, unwilling hands.”

  Great. So the terrorists are here. This isn’t just some virtual operation.

  “So what will you do, Mason? Let innocents die with certainty? Or take a chance and cause some minor inconveniences? The choice is yours.”

  With that, the line went dead.

  10

  The roar of frustration that came from Mason caused Tessa to cover her ears. This was unlike any sort of frustration that he’d ever felt from his days as a SEAL.

  Back in those days, almost every single job he had done involved some sort of offensive attack. Sure, the higher-ups were in response mode to a given situation, but as a boots-on-the-ground kind of guy, he felt like he was initiating the battle every single time. Things happened on his terms, and when they didn’t, he could take a clear course of action that resulted in a clear benefit for those around him.

  But, right now? Everything he was doing felt like one giant reaction. Everything he did felt like weighing the consequences of a bad outcome with a slightly less bad outcome. And throughout all of this, there was no guarantee that Clara was still alive. He might just be acting as a pawn and puppet of an organization that had him under their control with ease.

  And yet, perhaps the only thing worse than going along with this and doing their bidding was doing nothing. Because if Mason did nothing, the terrorists would resort to killing innocent lives. That may have been the modus operandi of every terrorist that Mason had ever known, but knowing it didn’t make it any better.

  God, what a screwed up situation.

  And that doesn’t even take into account what they’ll do to my daughter.

  I swear, if they want a one-man war, they’re going to get one. This is beyond evil.

  “We have four minutes,” Tessa said, running a timer.

  Mason muttered swears under his breath. As far as he was concerned, this was no longer a mission he could contemplate. He just had to do what was assigned to him.

  “We don’t have any other option,” Mason said. “I think we have to use the vial.”

  “You know what I said earlier, right?” Tessa said with urgency. “How that killed a quarter of the population who used it?”

  Doesn’t matter anymore.

  “I’m aware,” Mason with a drawn out sigh. “But a quarter of the population is better than all of it, right? And this is a quick-acting virus, right? So it should trigger the alarm immediately?”

  “True,” Tessa said, although she didn’t look any the better for it. “Damnit. We can’t just sit back and let them dictate things to us. Here. Give me your phone.”

  If there was anyone that Mason would listen to without questioning, it was Tessa. After what had happened in that particular battle, much to his own chagrin, he had dug up some background on her, the better to know who was so willing to offer her services, questions unasked, anytime he needed it. Apparently, her intelligence was unparalleled—she was known as Ivy for having gone to Princeton for undergrad and Harvard for graduate school.

  That research had convinced him that if “Ivy” had an idea for something, Mason went with it.

  But to him, right now, she wasn’t Ivy. She wasn’t a SEAL. She was just Tessa Rogers, a beautiful, smart gal who…

  Stay focused on the mission, Mason. You’ve become emotionally weak over the years. Get it together, now.

  For Clara.

  “That’ll help track the call,” she said once she had put something on the back that looked like silver tape. “But when they call, you need to keep them on the line for two minutes.”

  “It really takes that long?”

  “If your mom calls you, no, it doesn’t,” Tessa said, furiously typing away something on her tablet. “But if these guys are smart, which it seems like they unfortunately are, they will be rerouting their calls in so many different directions, you’ll think they’re calling you from all fifty states at once. It’s going to take some time to figure it out. Two minutes is just a guess, but it should be enough.”

  I don’t ever recall being in a spot of this much uncertainty in the black ops or the SEALs.

  Guess that’s just part of the job.

  “OK,” Mason said, grabbing the vial. “I gotta go. Any idea where—”

  “Bathrooms,” Tessa said. “For the no-smoking places, they knew their employees were most likely to smoke there if they didn’t go to outside. Also, nice factor, you’ll have total privacy i
n there.”

  “I don’t know about total—”

  “Oh, right, sorry, forget the difference between men and women’s,” Tessa said, raising an eyebrow, the closest either of them would get to a laugh at this point. “Even still, you don’t have a ton of people in there. Eight floors, maybe a couple dozen people? You should be fine. Maybe you will get to do the knock-and-drag show.”

  “Understood,” Mason said, getting out of the car. “Thanks, Tessa.”

  He shut the door before Tessa could respond. Now was not the time for pleasantries.

  He had already removed the vial from the bag and put it in his pocket as he swung open the front door once more. As he moved into the building, he began to feel sick—and not because of the virus.

  Was this really what needed to be done? Was there really no other way? Sure, he only had five minutes—three by now—but three minutes was a lot longer time than most people assumed. It was certainly long enough to try and come up with any last-second solutions.

  Perhaps he could resort to the knock-and-drag? He might be able to save the girl on the first floor. He might be able to get to the employees on the second floor. But anyone beyond that? It was all a guessing game.

  And, unfortunately, there was no guessing what the abductors had done to Clara and would do to her if Mason didn’t comply. He hated weighing one human life as more valuable than others, but, to him, no life was more valuable than Clara’s.

  Not even his own.

  Whether that meant that Mason’s soul was damned to hell, whether that made him a terrible person, or whether that meant that there were going to be unforeseen consequences for both himself and his daughter, Mason didn’t much care at the moment. The present had to be dealt with. The future would come when it became the present.

  He headed back inside, trying to ignore the girl at the front, making a beeline for the bathroom.

  “Sir?”

  Crap.

  “Sorry, nature calls,” he said. “You know how it can be, right?”

  The woman smiled, but a hint of suspicion crossed her face. Since when would anyone from Egypt ever use that line? And for that matter, did you even use your accent?

  Idiot. Focus. Deploy that vial now!

  Mason hurried to the bathroom, knowing full well if he tried to correct it, he would only make things worse. It was perhaps with good fortune that he saw that the bathroom was large enough to place the vial on one end, near the ventilation, and he could exit. He held the vial in his hand, staring at it.

  Killed a quarter of a million people within a mile. Let’s hope for the sake of my soul it kills zero of a few dozen people. But if it has to, it has to.

  Clara, forgive me. Know I did this for love.

  With that, he opened a vent, held the vial, smashed it, and then hurried out the door. It took all of five seconds for the alarm to go off.

  It gave Mason some small measure of hope that the woman at the front had immediately left her desk and exited. Perhaps the others would also get the chance to make a quick exit.

  It did not make him feel so good that just before he exited the bathroom, three men in suits, with guns obvious, and gas masks stood before him, waiting for him, hands in pockets.

  And just like that.

  I’m going to die.

  11

  “You wanna kill me?” Mason said. “Better do it before you guys die from the virus as well.”

  “You will drive us if you wish to see your daughter ever again.”

  The mixture of emotions was a strange feeling—on the one hand, he wasn’t going to be killed. On the other hand, though, he was essentially in hostage mode himself, and he was being saved from death here only because he might have to face it in a little bit.

  “Damnit,” Mason muttered. “OK, let’s go.”

  His hand fluttered enough over his gun that the three men pulled back their suits, revealing beyond doubt that they were armed. And, furthermore, without a gas mask, there wasn’t much option in the way of stalling for time. Mason couldn’t pull a bluff on these guys even if he wanted to.

  But there was another issue, one that at this point was now entirely out of his control.

  Tessa, I really hope you got out of the car. I don’t have room for all of you, and I don’t think they’re going to accept you in any case. And they may just as well end me at that point.

  Mason raised his hands and walked outside, the three men following.

  “Keep your hands down, you idiot,” the man said, his voice sounding… American? “You want us to blow our cover and have to kill you?”

  “You heard him. Move.”

  That sounds more Middle Eastern.

  I need to hear them speaking more.

  “What’s going on?” Mason said. “I don’t know where we’re going, I just want—”

  But it was the one with the Middle Eastern accent that spoke.

  “Shut up. Take us to your car and start driving.”

  Mason swung open the front door, noticing that, thank heavens, Tessa wasn’t in the front seat.

  In fact, Tessa wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

  Good. She’s safe. She doesn’t know where I’m going, but that doesn’t matter now. I need to just keep going and keep moving. She can find me twice, since she already got me once.

  As he moved, though, he turned to the sounds of people stumbling out of the building, coughing and wheezing. One vomited as the sound of distant sirens filled the air. More than a few cried for help.

  All of them looked innocent. None of them looked like the guard on the eighth floor.

  Who, Mason just realized, was probably dead, or, at best, in serious need of a team to come in and help. But what if the medics and emergency responders couldn’t get to him in time?

  Blood on my hands already.

  All his career, Mason had managed to dodge having to sacrifice his men for others. He had managed to avoid having to sacrifice any human life—hostages, heads of state, anyone—for any purpose. It was considered one of the highest principles of combat to avoid sacrificing anyone other than yourself for the sake of a mission unless absolutely, unequivocally necessary.

  But now?

  That was all out the window. Mason had caused actions that would kill one man, send several more to the hospital, and leave many in a confused state of panic.

  There was nothing from his days as a Navy SEAL that was going to properly prepare him for this.

  Mason could only think this as he moved to the car, though, trying to not seem obvious that he was sympathizing with the guards and administrative people working here.

  What about Harnad…

  Mr. Abdi is fine, I’m sure. The voice would not have requested that if they hadn’t prepared him accordingly. At least, it sure seems that way.

  Just what the hell is going on?

  Mason got into his car and turned it on as the three men piled in, keeping their gas masks on. Mason did his best to move as quickly as he could without drawing attention, the better so he wouldn’t have to worry about police or other personnel stopping him.

  “Let us remind you what happens if you disobey,” the man with the Middle Eastern accent said, his hand moving to show his gun.

  Mason looked down to the passenger seat with disgust.

  “You think I’d disobey at this point?” Mason said, but no one responded.

  Of course not.

  I’ve gotten myself way too deep.

  Who the hell did I piss off that caused them to kidnap Clara like this?

  Mason pulled out of the road and began driving aimlessly around the city. For several minutes, nothing happened. It felt like an awkward cab ride, in which Mason was the driver, the three passengers were in a fight, and the tense silence ensured that the only thing that happened was that people were staring at each other

  A good 15 minutes passed without a word. It didn’t help matters that Mason began to wonder what had happened to Tessa. It really didn’t help matters that
Mason began to wonder what was happening to Clara.

  His beautiful daughter… whom he had gotten no updates on over the last few hours.

  That needed to change.

  That was, once the terrorists called him back.

  If they called him back.

  So much time passed, in fact, that he started to feel less like a man on a mission and more like a tourist with foreign diplomats in town. He could see the Empire State Building, One World Trade Center, and the Chrysler Building.

  All prime targets for a terrorist attack, Mason feared. All areas that the men could request the vehicle be driven to. Who was to say that they hadn’t already rigged the car in some fashion?

  “Where are we going?” Mason finally said, having driven around the financial district and Times Square so many times that he felt like he was going to slam his head into a wall, if not his car. “You didn’t take me so I could take you sightseeing.”

  “We will tell you when it is time.”

  “I think enough damn time has passed, wouldn’t—”

  “Mr. Walker,” the man said. So much for Jordan Richardson. Guess that was stupid to ever think that will work. “Do not pressure us to work on your schedule. You work on ours. Understood?”

  Mason wished he had an automatic car at that moment strictly so he could punch the man who talked to him, shoot the other two, and then demand to see the computer voice over his phone.

  Keep it together.

  “Oh, I understand,” Mason said.

  He quickly reigned himself in, biting his tongue from saying anything more. Too rusty. Too out of the SEALs.

  I should have known this lifestyle would never leave me. At least I got to spend the last years of Bree’s life with her. I don’t want to think of what would happen if… if…

  If Bree and I—

  His phone rang.

  Finally.

  “I suggest you answer that.”

  Mason snorted, shot the man to his right a look, and picked up the phone. Just as he did, though, he decided he was going to be a bit more defiant than usual. He’d fulfilled his first few tasks—it was time for some things to be sent to him.