The Search

by Alex Howell

  “And hurt she will not be, not any further,” the voice said, quickly adding the phrase at the end on account of her already getting slapped. “However, we will also not nourish her any longer. She will receive no food and water until you complete your mission except for the purposes of keeping her alive.”

  Mason dropped his phone, groaning. Was it worth it? Was it worth getting that information, only for his daughter to suddenly be without food and water until the last possible second?

  He couldn’t say, not until he had a chance to digest everything. He had at least gotten some information, but he couldn’t say if that information was even valuable. Blue eyes… white skin…

  Not Middle Eastern, then. Not likely to be so…

  Then who are the guys that we picked up from the mayor’s office building? What’s their connection?

  Just what the hell is going on?

  “Fine,” Mason growled. He looked up at Tessa, who indicated that he needed one more minute. “I will complete this mission for you. I expect you to continue to provide the care and treatment my daughter deserves.”

  “You decide that, Mr. Walker.”

  “Fine,” Mason growled. “Allow me, then, to help ensure she gets good treatment by answering some questions for me. What’s the purpose of this mission, then? What am I working toward? Why am I doing all of this?”

  “All will be revealed in due time, Mr. Walker. Don’t worry. If you do as we say, you will complete the mission with plenty of time to spare for your daughter. But I would not suggest wasting any further time trying to get lucky this afternoon.”

  Mason looked at Tessa, but she was staring intently at her tablet screen at that moment. There was no way for him to get her attention and find out how much longer he needed—time that was becoming more and more painful as he had to account for the voice’s mocking. If he needed to be on for another thirty seconds, he wasn’t going to do anything more than thirty seconds.

  Mason bit his lip as he contemplated his next words carefully. He obviously was not going to incite them any more than he had to, but he couldn’t be soft. He couldn’t show anything that suggested he trusted them. He had to be harsh, fair, and direct.

  “You better be keeping her alive,” Mason growled, settling on the simple.

  “A human can go, what, three days without water?” the voice asked mockingly. “We have faith that you can fulfill your duties within that frame. In fact, I have confidence you can complete your duties within 24 hours.”

  So this isn’t just some week-long goose chase. This will end relatively soon.

  Good.

  But that means time is of the essence. And I have no reason to believe I can just trust these guys.

  “24 hours, huh?” Mason said.

  “Indeed. We have no intentions of dragging this out, Mr. Walker. We have things we want to accomplish, and delaying them for the sake of antagonizing you does us no favors. You and Clara are but mere pawns of pawns, the weakest of the weak, meant only to get the ball rolling We gain nothing by her death other than your anger, which would be nothing more than an obnoxious nuisance we would deal with quickly and swiftly.”

  “So then tell me what’s next,” Mason demanded. “Tell me what I need to do to get Clara back.”

  “Now you understand,” the voice said, a throaty laugh following. “There is a CIA office near Midtown. There is a device inside that belongs to Mr. Abdi that was regrettably procured during his customs questioning and is being held. As a bonus, I will even tell you what you need to do with the device when you procure it. You will need to take it to the IRS in Washington D.C. as soon as you can. And when you get to the IRS building, you will need to activate it within the center.”

  Jesus, really?

  But that’s where Clara might be, so…

  So we go and do as we’re told. Just like we always have so far. Funny how this all works.

  “So, let me get this straight,” Mason said, pausing as the bartender approached and Mason waved him away. Keep the attitude to keep in character. “You want me to go to the CIA’s building in Midtown. You want me to sneak around until I find the right device—which you haven’t told me yet what it is—and then you want me to get to Washington D.C. somehow, put it in an IRS building, and magically turn it on?”

  “Yes.”

  The man answered so quickly and with such ease that it was like a teacher patting the student on the head for figuring out the answer to such a question. It was unbearably condescending, and, yet, Mason could do nothing about it, most especially since it served his utilitarian purposes to get back to D.C.

  “And, I’ll ask again since you didn’t seem to get it the last time, what does this device look like?”

  “You should be able to figure that out,” the voice said. “A man of your intelligence will surely know what a special device looks like. Now, get going. The clock is ticking, Mr. Walker. Your daughter will not live forever.”

  With that, the line disconnected. Mason swore as the phone dropped to the table and he felt his rage rising. He may have known his hopeful final destination, but it did nothing to quell his anger at how he was being jerked around.

  “What did you learn?” Tessa asked.

  It was such a simple question, but it brought him back to his days on the SEALs. Whenever he failed at something or his team did not complete a mission—a rare occurrence, but not totally unique to one situation—Lieutenant Jones would ask them a simple question that centered them: What did you learn?

  This question had taught Mason something valuable. You either succeeded, or you learned. He had not succeeded in getting his daughter back, but he had learned some valuable information. The captors of his daughter were white with blue eyes.

  That sounded about as American as it got.

  So… was it a nationalist group of some kind? A radical anarchist group? But if so, how would they possibly have the kind of skills and technology to do what they were doing? And where would they have gotten the information or knowledge about Mr. Abdi? Even if they had connections…

  No, Mason realized with some disturbance, this was an inside job. Unless his daughter was wrong, someone from within the government had orchestrated this whole ordeal, or at least someone very close to government officials had pulled a few strings to make this happen.

  “I learned that someone who should be working to protect this country is instead trying to undermine it from within,” Mason said, staring with determination ahead. “I learned that my next mission is to go to a CIA’s location in Midtown and somehow procure a device that looks like God knows what, then take it to D.C.”

  “Hmm, interesting,” Tessa said, not really looking at Mason so much as she was information on her tablet. “Well, we might as well head to the capital. That’s where the call’s originating from.”

  “I thought we already knew that?”

  “We do. But I’m trying to see just where, exactly, from D.C. it’s coming from. It’s…”

  She sighed. Just what we need. More bad news to slow things down. Guess it wouldn’t be a mission without everything seeming to go against us, huh?

  “The good news is I have all of the data I need to pinpoint a location. The bad news is whatever server they’re using, it’s damn well protected. My best guess is it will take about four or five hours to get this fixed up.”

  It wasn’t all bad news, though. At least, it wasn’t as bad as it might have been in most other circumstances.

  “Better news for us,” Mason grumbled. “That’s about the time it takes to drive from here to D.C. Maybe even faster since the roads are so much clearer.”

  He had given the thought to flying back, but if the item had been taken in customs once already, who was to say it wouldn’t get seized again? Besides, the chance to relax for a few hours might do him some good. Clear his head, refocus, and help him move forward.

  “We can’t speed much, Mason,” Tessa warned. “The systems are much better now at capturing spe
eders, and while we can elude the security some with a car we have to drive, it’ll catch up to us and give us unwanted attention anyways.”

  “Damn modern technology.”

  “Yeah, welcome to the real 21st century,” she said with an eye roll.

  “I’m not too worried about it,” Mason said. “The voice said we’ll be done within 24 hours or so. I’m not that worried in that case.”

  Tessa’s face suggested she didn’t believe that he wasn’t worried, and Mason didn’t blame her in the slightest. But she, like him, was a SEAL and didn’t waste time on feelings any more than she had to.

  “In any case, they want you to go to the CIA building? Did I hear that right?”

  Mason nodded.

  “You’ll need my help. You can try and go in with your background but I’ll work here some. OK? I’ll follow you.”

  Mason had a knee-jerk reaction to the idea at first, feeling that the more she was involved, the more Clara could get hurt. But if she stayed hidden…

  “Relax, Mason,” she said with a smirk. “You act like I’ve never been on an op like this before.”

  “OK, fair enough,” Mason said. “Just be safe.”

  “I will. Now kiss me before you leave.”

  “What?”

  “For appearances. Christ.”

  Mason rolled his eyes, kissed her quickly, and then exited. This one didn’t feel as gross and disgusting at the other kisses, but that was only because he had something much more pressing ahead of him.

  It was time for the mission to continue—with a renewed urgency. He could not let his daughter suffer in any way. Whether it took him 24 minutes or 24 hours, he wasn’t letting things like feelings, masks, and emotions get in the way of his task.

  No matter what he had to do, he would get her back.

  16

  Mason never turned around to see if Tessa was following him. He had no choice but to rely on the trust built up from that one daring rescue all those years ago. To look back would be to give his watchers a reason to believe she was helping.

  Or was it the other way around? Would looking at her drive some sort of sense that he actually cared about her?

  Why am I suddenly so full of self-doubt?

  Too late now. Just move ahead.

  You keep saying that to yourself, but it’s only going to work for so long. At some point, you’re going to have to acknowledge everything going on in your head.

  Not for now, though.

  Mason hauled over the car to the CIA headquarters, a non-descriptive office building that might as well have been an apartment complex in another time. The CIA had taken it over a few years prior, seeking to be closer to the United Nations as globalism took a hold of the global political system once more. While it wasn’t exactly a state secret, it also wasn’t the type of thing readily announced to the world, and those who wanted to visit could not just walk in like it was some convenience store.

  For Mason’s purposes, though, it did the trick just fine. He was tired of being out in the open a bit—he could use some subtlety for once on this mission.

  What was not so fine was the realization that the car was running a bit low on gas. And while the city hadn’t suddenly abandoned gas pumps with the modern era, it was going to be difficult to find anything under ten bucks a gallon. It was much more likely that he was going to have to fork up over a hundred bucks just to get fueled before he left the city. Money was not an issue with Clara, but if he wound up having to pay an extortion of some kind, those little bills would eventually add up.

  For now, though, he was able to pull up and park near the building without much difficulty, able to control his next steps without fear of financial implications. He now could no longer use the Jordan Richardson identity he had before. Jordan Richardson was a great tool for blending in with civilian life, but when it came time to access classified information, he had one alibi that might actually work.

  The truth.

  Mason Walker had to come back—it was far more likely to get him access to the building than anything else. After all, what good American denied a black ops veteran access to a tour of the CIA office?

  Of course, the fun part will be finding what it is I’m looking for. But, one step at a time.

  He walked in with confidence, approaching the secretary by the entrance with the certainty of a man who worked there. It was the only body language that he could present, given that anything else would have drawn the suspicion of the world experts on body language and prompted an interrogation on the spot. The woman looked properly bored at her job, as if she could lull unsuspecting visitors in, but did not present a face of cheerfulness the CIA wouldn’t have wanted to project.

  It matched the surrounding areas, which had drab walls, a boring, bland floor, and no chandeliers or fancy lights. If it was meant to keep enemies out by being so incredibly dry aesthetically, it was certainly doing the trick.

  “Hi, name is Mason Walker,” I said. “I’m a Navy SEAL, worked on the black ops. Was in town, just thought I’d tour the place. Worked with a few CIA guys and thought I’d say hi.”

  How funny it is that the literal truth is the thing most likely to get me to where I need to go, Mason thought with a straight face. Saying anything else would make it too easy to help them figure out I’m full of it. And then I’m dead.

  “All right, give the system a moment and we will see if we can get you in, Mr. Walker.”

  Mason heard the computer whirring behind the desk as he looked. The halls were, frankly, incredibly dry and bland, but that was the point, wasn’t it? To make it so boring that only those with a purpose would arrive; it wasn’t like Google or any of those other flashy Silicon Valley places that wanted attention. The less attention this place had, the better.

  He tried to look for anything that would give him some clue as to where to go when he got inside, but there were no directories visible. He’d have to first get in to figure things out, and even then, a place like the CIA might not have had its information so overtly displayed. People probably knew where they needed to go and nothing more. Anything more—

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the woman began, the three words that Mason hated to hear the most right now. “But we are unable to grant you access at this time.”

  Well, that was really dumb to think the truth would work.

  “Huh, really?” Mason said, as if pretending to be confused. “I could’ve sworn that I was granted… well, in any case, let me go talk to my superior and see. They were supposed to give me access.”

  Mason started to walk away as the woman tried to ask who his superior was. Mason knew better than to answer that question, for any information he gave away could be used against him. No, it was far better to just keep his mouth shut, walk out, and let Tessa work her magic. Granted, “far better” was quite a relative term at this point, but it was what he had.

  As soon as he exited the building, he made a beeline for his car and sat inside, away from the security cameras and sound bugs undoubtedly littering the city. He dialed Tessa’s number, took a deep breath, and reminded himself to get into character of a man who wanted to charm and seduce Tessa. No matter how wrong it feels.

  “How’s it coming?”

  “Hey, baby!” Tessa said, easily sliding into character. “I know I’m running a little bit behind schedule, but you can come over in about 20 minutes, OK?”

  20 to get me access then, huh. All right. I guess I’ll find a way to kill 20 minutes.

  It sure seems like a damn long time to wait, though. Shouldn’t modern technology be able to move faster?

  Whatever. Just let it go.

  “OK, sounds good… babe.”

  It felt so awkward and forced coming off the tongue. Mason never had to speak to anyone like that before under such circumstances while with Bree; even after her death, it just felt like cheating and inappropriate.

  Bree would say do it. Anything to get Clara back.

  “I’ll talk to you soon, sex
y.”

  Tessa ended the call with a smooch and then disconnected. Mason let the phone drop to his lap, amused and annoyed by what had just happened simultaneously. Amused, because he couldn’t help but have something to laugh at. He was pretending to be the lover of someone he’d met once in his life.

  Mostly, though, he was just annoyed that he’d even found himself in such a spot in the first place.

  17

  Wasn’t this the life that I tried so hard to leave?

  As Mason sat in his car, the dark thoughts, the ones that had haunted him during his time in deployment, came roaring back.

  Why had he spent so much time away from his wife and daughter? Why had he missed the early years of Clara’s life? He knew what Bree had said. She had begged him not to join the SEALs after he got back from basic bootcamp, fearing that he was walking into a situation that would never leave him.

  Mason had thought he had left that life behind after his service ended. He was sure that the days of combat, unnaturally high levels of awareness and paranoia, and the thoughts of how to kill everyone he met had left him. After all, though Lieutenant Jones had given him some not-so-joking flack about leaving the service, he had ultimately honorably discharged Mason and wished him well in the real world.

  But only now did Mason realize the truth. You weren’t once a Navy SEAL. You were always a Navy SEAL, both for better and for worse.

  Better, because you had a brotherhood of men who could pull through for anything, as his brothers had when Bree had died. Better, because you got the steady paycheck and benefits that a man who had gone through as much as Mason had deserved. Better, because you knew you had served your country well and could rest easily accordingly.

  Worse, however, because at any moment, you might have to rely upon the very skills that you had sworn to leave behind. Worse, because if you were ever identified as a SEAL by an enemy, they could hurt you and your loved ones with ease.