Force: Book Two of the Zoya Chronicles

by Kate Sander

  “By the way,” Senka added as she checked her watch, stirring the pot even more, “why are you still at work? Isn’t it like ten at night there?”

  “I will have a chopper there to extract you from the roof in forty-three minutes,” Amanda replied, completely ignoring her. “You better be there.”

  Senka rolled her eyes, “I’m just saying, you need to find balance in your life. It can’t always be about work.”

  “Oh by the way,” Amanda snipped, “your brother called.” Senka winced. Amanda knew how to exact revenge in the pettiest of ways. “He was wondering if you were going to be in Winnipeg on Sunday for your mother’s birthday. I told him I would get you to call him as soon as you were done your shift at Starbucks.”

  Senka put her head back and sighed. Cracking her neck again she let out a long shriek, followed by, “Help! Oh God help me! My stomach! Why am I here? Oh God it hurts so bad somebody help me!” in her loudest, whiniest, sniveling co-ed voice.

  “Really?” Amanda piped up in her ear, “the sick prisoner gig? Should I be sending that chopper for two days from now?”

  “Hundred bucks says it works,” Senka whispered, laying down in the center of the cell in the fetal position, back towards the door. She made sure she was within sight of the peep-hole.

  “You’re on,” Amanda said. “Carter should be back from dinner soon. He might want in on this too.”

  Senka shrugged. Carter would be on her side. He always was. He was the brains, she was the brawn. Senka shrieked again, a high-pitched, cutting scream. “I’m dying! I don’t know where I am! Why am I here, oh god help me please! Help me! Please, someone, help me! Why am I here?”

  “They have probably heard that a million times. What makes you think…”

  “Shut up,” Senka whispered, “they’re coming.”

  Senka had indeed heard boots coming down the hallway. Two sets, marching slightly out of time.

  “Oh God help me! What am I doing here? I think I was drugged. Oh God my stomach! Somebody help me!”

  “Shut up!” A man’s voice yelled, distinctly American accent. So Viktor hired mercenaries, Senka thought, that is interesting. This is bigger than I thought.

  “Help! Are you American? I don’t know why I’m here! I think someone drugged me! My stomach, oh God my stomach!”

  She heard the peep-hole slide open. Senka tensed her muscles. With a pleading sob she wracked her body like she was crying or vomiting. She heard the American on the other side of the metal door sigh and say, “We have to shut her up before the boss gets here. He likes his bitches quiet.”

  “Doesn’t like them hurt or drugged,” the second man replied in English thick with a Russian accent. Senka heard the peep-hole slide closed. The last time she broke out of prison she had spared the Queen’s, Jules’ and Vigo’s lives because she needed their help. These men wouldn’t be as lucky.

  “Look she’s quiet, maybe she’s dead. I don’t want to be the guy to tell the boss,” the American said. The Russian must have acquiesced because Senka heard the heavy bolt on the outside of the door slide open. She loosened up her shoulders and let the men come into the room. She kept still as they crossed towards her and circled to see her face. One nudged her with a boot, the other bent down to get a better look. They were dressed in cargo pants and black military grade jackets. They had toques on. One had an M16 draped across his shoulders, the other a Glock 19 on his hip. These men were well armed. Not very smart though, she thought when they came in without their guns raised, definitely didn’t take me as a threat.

  They would die for that mistake.

  They didn’t even have time to register that they had been duped. Senka was fast, faster than anyone. A remnant of her time in The Other Place. She struck out with her foot to the carotid artery of the bending man. She assumed he was the Russian, he was hulking, at least six foot six, with hair so blond it was almost white. The shot to the throat dropped him to his knees, eyes wide. Senka used his body as leverage and launched herself off the ground and, grabbing on to his shoulder, kicked the other man, a brunet, in the center of the throat. The kick crushed his windpipe, causing his tall frame to fall backwards, his head making a loud crack as it hit the concrete floor. He gasped for air a few times, but air couldn’t get to his lungs and he died. She turned back to the blonde man and sunk in a chokehold. He gasped and scratched at her and she held on until he passed out. She lowered him quietly to the ground.

  She closed the door behind them. The lock was an old-fashioned bolt system and she wasn’t concerned about locking herself in. She quickly stole the Glock from the blond Russian man, all of his ammo, and his knife. She left the dead brunet his M16. He was laying directly on top of it and she didn’t want to spend the time untangling it from his body. Armed, she felt more like herself. She hated when a mission needed her to abandon her own weapons such as this one had. She always felt naked without them. The Glock felt awkward in her hands, she preferred her Sig Sauer P226. The last three years, ever since she woken up from her coma, her Sig had been by her side.

  “So,” she said out loud, “one dead, one alive but passed out. Door’s open. You owe me a hundred bucks.”

  She heard Amanda sigh on the other end and laughed, “Put Carter on the line. You must be out two-hundred to sigh like that.”

  Carter’s voice came into her ear next, his gravelly baritone a welcome reprieve from Amanda’s nagging, “She was dumb enough to go double with me.”

  “Cause you’re smart enough to trust me,” Senka said. “Good thing you’re smarter than you look.”

  “Well we can’t all be all brawn with no brains,” Carter said with a laugh in his voice. Senka smiled. Carter was a six foot five black man in his mid-thirties. His biceps were bigger than her head. He played college football in the States and was signed to four NFL camps when he decided that football wasn’t for him. He had a four-point-oh grade point average in a double masters of Physics and Computer Science. All impressive, however his high IQ was the reason he was recruited into the Zoya Task Force in the Canadian Security Intelligence Agency. He was all brawn and all brains, but had no stomach for violence, making him a perfect fit as a handler.

  “How was dinner?” Senka asked, puffing a little as she dragged the massive blond man to the metal bed frame.

  “Pad Thai, delicious,” Carter replied. “From the place down the street.”

  “Damn. I’m jealous. I’ve had enough vodka and Shchi to last me a life time,” she found some zip ties in the dead brunet’s pocket and bound the blond man’s hands behind his back to the metal bed.

  “What’s Shchi?”

  “Some cabbage soup stuff,” Senka replied, slapping the man across the face. He started to blink groggily.

  “Hey there bud,” Senka said, straddling his one leg, knee in his groin. She pushed her knee down harder and the man’s eyes snapped open. “That’s better. What’s your name?”

  He glanced around, scared and confused, and said, “Floyd Taylor.”

  “Ha!” Senka laughed. “You’re the American? Sure fooled me.”

  “You should know better than to judge a book by its cover,” Carter piped up in her ear. “You need him to tell you where the main servers are. Best chance of downloading the most information to that hard-drive in your shoe.”

  “Why does Amanda give me shit about not checking in? See? You know that everything is going to plan,” Senka asked lightly. Floyd’s eyes started to dart around again, and Senka put more pressure on to his groin and held his own knife up to him, raising her eyebrows. The man stopped moving and looked at her, wide-eyed.

  “Amanda doesn’t know you like I do. Also, if you recall, you left a few key details out when you were getting the go-ahead for the mission. Anyways, not a rocket science plan.”

  “Thanks Carter, I was pretty proud of it.”

  “You’re simple minded and like to bust doors in before knocking. It’s your style. This has a lot of finesse for you, so I can see why you�
�d be impressed with yourself.”

  “Oh ha-ha,” Senka said. She turned to Floyd, “So, how long you been out of the Marine Corp for?”

  “How did you…” Floyd drifted off when Senka took the tip of the knife and slid his jacket up his arm, exposing a United States Marine Corp tattoo on his wrist. “Six months,” he said shakily.

  “I’m assuming a dishonorable discharge. Drank on the job, didn’t yah bud.”

  He stared at her, shocked.

  Senka shrugged, “A good marine doesn’t get taken down by a five-foot six freshman unless he didn’t give a shit while he was on the job. I’m surprised you actually passed training. Pegged you as a quitter, especially if you’re working for an ass-hat like Viktor Sidorov. I only thought he was distributing drugs, but I think he’s distributing people too,” Senka reared back and punched Floyd squarely in the face. “And working for an ass-hat that sells people makes me really not like you.”

  Floyd blinked stupidly a few times, blood leaking out of his nose.

  “You’re thinking a human trafficking ring?” Carter said in her ear.

  “I’m thinking that we need to have a meeting about the extent of this when I get home,” Senka said. Carter’s silence meant he agreed.

  “You’re no freshmen,” Floyd said thickly through the blood rushing out of his nose.

  “Read the sweater,” Senka said, “says Yale so it must be true. Where are the servers?”

  “Please! They will kill me if they find out I told you,” Floyd pleaded. “And I only took this job cause the job market sucked in the States. The crash of 2019 really put a damper on my options.”

  Senka nodded sympathetically, then punched him in the face again. “You’re selling people. Go home and sell burgers. And it’s either they kill you, or I cut your dick off and you bleed out slowly on the floor.”

  The look on his face told her she’d won.

  2

  Isaac

  October 18, 2023, 22:07

  Location: Toronto, Canada.

  Isaac was fuming.

  He had the clothes on his back, his phone, and his wallet in his pocket. That’s all he had grabbed as he stormed off after his fight with his father.

  ‘Step-father,” he muttered to himself. He didn’t know where that came from. Chris had always been his father; he was the only father he knew. Isaac was ashamed as soon as he thought it. The shame didn’t subdue his anger. His phone vibrated in his pocket. His father’s face filled the screen as he received a call. Isaac quickly pressed ignore.

  His buddy Jeff lived a few blocks down, that’s where Isaac was headed. It was Jeff’s fault that he was in this mess to begin with. Isaac had told him last night that he wanted to go home before he was late for curfew. Jeff hadn’t listened. So Isaac had been forced to stay at the party. His dad had brought up that Isaac could have phoned him for a ride home, but he would rather die than have his dad pick him up from a party.

  Isaac walked up the steps of the large house and hammered on the door. The windows were lit but the shades were drawn. He checked his phone and noticed that it was pretty late, past ten. Jeff’s mom was not going to be impressed.

  The outside light flicked on and the inside wooden door swung open, revealing an insecure Jeff standing in the doorway.

  “Hey,” Jeff said. He kept the screen door closed. Isaac felt uneasy.

  “Hey,” Isaac said. He was trying to be cool and not desperate. He and Jeff had been friends for a long time, but image was always important. They recently moved to the biggest high school in the area and Isaac needed to keep his friends. Meaning he needed to keep up the appearance of being calm and collected all the time.

  “Ummm,” Jeff said, looking behind him. Isaac had the sense that Jeff’s mom was standing behind him out of view. “I’m grounded, Zac. For a while. I can’t hang out tonight.”

  “Yeah, that’s cool,” Isaac said, coughing a bit to hide the crack in his voice. “I was just wondering if I could crash on your couch tonight. Not feeling the vibe at home.”

  Isaac stood awkwardly on the step. The screen door stayed closed between them.

  “My mom says that you need to go home. Your dad called and talked to her.” He gave him a long stare and looked down. “Sorry buddy,” he mumbled and he closed the door.

  “Screw you,” Isaac muttered under his breath as he walked away, heading the opposite direction of home. This was so stupid. This wasn’t his fault and he sure wasn’t going to be punished for some stupid shit that Jeff got him in to.

  Isaac walked quickly to the train station. The night was chilly and he only had on a thin wind-breaker. It was new and bright orange. He liked how it stood out against his dark skin. His mom had bought it for him a couple of weeks ago. He had pretended not to like it, then instantly saw how her face had fallen. He then regretted it and wore it every day. His mom said he looked handsome in it.

  He was making his way through the doors of the Richmond Hill train station. It would take him from his neighborhood in North York to downtown Toronto. He lived close to the train station so the walk hadn’t taken him long. He would run away, get a job and live in Toronto. Hell, maybe he would even leave the country, start his life in Detroit.

  He didn’t need his mom and step-dad. He was black, his parents were white. They didn’t have to tell him that Chris wasn’t his real father, he was smart enough to figure it out.

  Isaac was angry at the world. At how unfair everything that had happened the last few days was. None of this was his fault. And he would make sure that they missed him when he was gone.

  The train creaked to a stop and Isaac hopped on. He had his train pass in his wallet, as well as a few hundred dollars he got from his grandma on his birthday. He had saved it for the past month, not really knowing what to spend it on. He would stay the night in a hotel in Toronto, then go and find a job tomorrow.

  There were quite a few people already on the train and Isaac had to look for a seat. The train lurched to a start and he collided with another guy in the aisle.

  “Sorry!” Isaac said, barely keeping his feet. The man gave him a half smile and quickly hurried down the train.

  Isaac found a seat near the back of the lurching train and sat down in a huff. He wished he had brought a sweater with him. That’ll be the first thing you buy with your first paycheque, he thought to himself. The thought cheered him and he looked out the window, watching his old life fade into darkness. He put his headphones in and began listening to his electronic play list. His dad called it “fake music” because it didn’t use instruments. His dad didn’t know anything.

  He was in high spirits when he got off the train. He checked his phone and found a hotel within walking distance. This was it, his new life. He could live however he wanted without his stupid father telling him what to do. He almost felt bad for leaving his mother without telling her where he was going, but he would call her in a couple of weeks. Once everyone cools off, he thought. He strode up the stairs of the brightly lit, fancy hotel. He earned a hotel like this for the night. He smiled at the door man and, remembering his manners, took his headphones out of his ears.

  Isaac walked through the brightly lit lobby to the front desk. His sneakers made a weird sound against the marble floors. This is living, he thought proudly to himself.

  The man working at the front desk looked at him. “How can I help you, sir?” he asked. Isaac detected a sneer in his voice. He was blond and had a pointed face. Isaac disliked him, he looked like a mouse.

  “Hi,” Isaac said hesitantly. He looked at the name prominently displayed on the concierge’s chest. “Hi, Nolan, I want to book a hotel for the night.”

  Nolan, the Ass, as Isaac was starting to call him in his head, looked him up and down.

  “I will need a credit card to put on file, sir. And our rooms start at two hundred and sixty dollars a night.”

  “That’s fine,” Isaac said, reaching for his wallet in his thin jacket pocket. His heart dropped. It wasn’t
there. He looked around nervously, checking and re-checking all of his pockets. Panic set in. His wallet was gone.

  “Sorry, I lost my wallet,” he mumbled and, head down, rushed out of the hotel. His face was burning with embarrassment. He knew he grabbed his wallet when he left. It was sentimental, his grandma on his dad’s side had given it to him for Christmas last year. It was leather and had his favorite Canadian Football League team logo embossed on the front. It was also filled with cash. Cash that he had gotten for his birthday. He flashed back to the man who had fallen into him on the subway. That asshole had stolen his wallet!

  Isaac looked around frantically. There were people milling about, lots of drunk ones. He didn’t like the look of anyone. He wanted to go home but he knew he would be in so much trouble if he went back. He needed to let his parents cool off for a little bit.

  He made his way down the steps and his phone vibrated again. This time his mother’s face filled the screen. Isaac stared at his phone. He desperately wanted to answer. His wallet was gone, his phone was dying. He wanted to go home. But he was fifteen. This was his chance to get out on his own. Considering it the bravest thing he’d ever done, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and let it go to voicemail.

  He huddled deeper into his jacket and made his way down the street, making sure to keep his hand on his phone as he walked. A long, black limo pulled up next to him and stopped. The window rolled down, and Isaac saw a white man with red hair and a moustache poke his head out. He started walking faster, the old adage “Don’t talk to strangers,” going through his head.

  “Hello there!” the man yelled. He had an accent that Isaac couldn’t place. He thought it sounded European.

  Isaac ignored him and sped up, turning down a side street. The limousine slowly followed. Isaac didn’t notice there were no longer any people around.