Phantom zero, p.11
Phantom Zero, page 11
The team’s response was subdued. Not angry or insubordinate, but far from excited. They had lost a third of their number without even seeing the enemy. Now they had a long climb ahead of them that would end in a much harder fight than the one they anticipated.
They were professionals, though. They would do their duty. Trent just hoped they’d be able to come home when they were finished.
He followed Maya outside. His snow goggles helped with the glare, but they didn’t eliminate it. He had to squint a little to look around and take stock of their situation.
The plane had come to rest in a shallow valley. A small alpine lake occupied the floor of that valley some hundred fifty feet below them. The ice and snow that had come free during the avalanche had filled in an unknown amount of that lake. Jagged peaks ringed that valley save for a narrow outlet that dropped precipitously.
Trent looked up and saw a mountain peak he recognized as… as… Well, he didn’t remember the name, but he knew it was a sister peak to the Finsteraarhorn. They had been shot down only a few miles from their target.
And a fifteen-hundred-foot climb on top of that. Assuming they would have to fight defenders and possibly drones on their way, it was reasonable to assume they wouldn’t reach the top until that afternoon. That would put them dangerously close to the deadline. On top of that, they would be exhausted from the crash and the climb by the time they even reached the facility, and once there, they would have to fight through overwhelming odds to reach Keller and figure out how to stop him from doing whatever he had planned next and stop him from what he was doing now.
It was impossible. But, of course, that was what the EOT existed for. To do the impossible.
He shivered, and this time it was cold that made him shiver. It was probably ten above right now with the calm wind, nearly fifty degrees warmer than Antarctica was when the EOT had been sent to stop a mad scientist from using an earthquake machine, but his alpine gear wasn’t nearly as thick as his Antarctic gear. He would have to keep moving or freezing to death was a real risk.
“All right,” Maya said. “Let’s move out. Be steady. Rushing will only increase risk. Consistent progress is what we need right now.
They started the climb. Snow crunched under their feet, and the crisp air burned his nostrils and scraped at his skin. The altitude made every breath feel like half a breath. That was another disadvantage they would have. Presumably Lucifer’s Gift would have the same disadvantage, but they wouldn’t be exhausted from a plane crash and a climb.
This was going to be a hell of a fight.
He turned around, expecting to see the Spooky several hundred yards behind them. Instead, they had barely covered fifty yards. They were moving slowly, too slowly.
His left leg sank to the knee in the snow, and when he tried to kick himself out with his right leg, it sank to his knee too. That was a pretty big damned problem. Their cleats would allow them to fight and climb over ice and hardpacked snow, but it was useless against the soft stuff.
He fell onto his back and wriggled his legs until they pulled free, then got back to his feet. Maya was watching, and he gave her a thumbs up. The team resumed their climb. The sun had risen high enough to reflect off of the patchy snow on the Finisteraarhorn, causing the mountain to sparkle like a diamond. It was beautiful. Breathtaking and not just because of the altitude. He wondered what drew so many terrorists to beauty. Did their souls unconsciously crave something to counter the ugliness in their own souls? Did his soul seek something to fixate on besides the deaths of their comrades and the high likelihood that this assignment would end in their failure and death as well?
In Trent’s mind, Zero’s voice said, You won’t fail. You can’t.
Trent chuckled. Of course Zero’s voice would serve as his conscience when Zero wasn’t even here. He wondered if the old man had learned anything useful about Meridian or if he and Alan were still scratching their heads trying to solve that Rubik’s Cube.
Look at us. Each with the fate of the future in our hands.
“Drones!”
Bolton’s cry drove the strength from Trent’s body. He forced it back with a grunt and looked up to see a line of seven machines, each about the size of a dirt bike, each armed with a machine gun.
Another Bible verse came to Trent’s mind. The Philistines be upon thee, Sampson.
Only these Philistines weren’t invented by the enemy to trick them into revealing the source of their strength. These were very real enemies pointing very real guns at them.
And soon, pointing far more powerful weapons at the innocents they were sworn to protect.
You won’t fail, Zero reminded him. You can’t.
Trent watched the enemy approach and replied silently, If only it were that easy.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Slam!
The heavy bag folded in half when Sara’s shin impacted it. The chain holding it to the ceiling rattled, then rattled again when she spun around and sent it flying backwards with a heel kick. She stepped forward and drove her knee into the bag, catching it when it swung back down. The solid thump of impact filled her with adrenaline.
She released that adrenaline with a flurry of strikes: punches, elbows, kicks, knees, even shoulder strikes and headbutts. Her father had taught her to use all parts of her body as a weapon. Others had taught her that she could use all parts of her body as a weapon, but she had promised herself she never would, nor would she let anyone else use those parts against her.
She increased the intensity of her attack, slipping around the bag and driving her attacks hard. She pictured each blow landing to the body of a particular man, the one she remembered mostly by smell, the one who had slid his hand up her thigh and grinned at her, amused by her shivers, aroused by her fear.
“Fuck you!”
She spun around and sliced the bag open with a crescent kick, the blow landing perfectly and literally slicing the bag open, catching the leather and tearing it so the little plastic beads that filled it spilled out and scattered on the ground. Her breath heaved as she watched the bag’s blood spill. She imagined it spilling from the throat of her kidnapper and wished to God she could be fighting a real trafficker and not cooped up here because her dad was afraid she was too damaged and too rusty to fight.
Wonder if he’ll think I’m rusty when he sees what I just did to the bag?
She left the mess where it was and headed to the locker room to shower. She’d clean it up later, but right now, she just needed to relax.
She stripped her clothes off and turned the water up, leaning against the wall and letting the water cascade down her body. She had a good body. It was athletic, soft where it needed to be, viciously hard where it needed to be. It was shaped nicely, not too tall but not too short either, and combined with her strawberry blonde hair and bright blue eyes, it would allow her to attract any man she wanted. Or woman. Hell, she wasn’t picky.
But she wasn’t interested either. Not now. not when every touch that wasn’t a hug from her family reminded her of… of…
She turned the water all the way to cold, hissing as the warmth turned frigid. Her muscles tensed, held, then relaxed as they adjusted to the temperature.
She shut the water off and walked to the rack for a towel. Mischa stood next to the rack, regarding her unashamedly. Sara chuckled. “Why hello, sis. So nice to see you when I’m bare-ass naked after a shower.”
“Would you like me to leave?”
Sara chuckled. “No, you’re fine. I just forget that you’re an emotionless little robot sometimes.”
“I am not.”
Sara looked up at Mischa. Anger blazed in her eyes. It made her look beautiful, like a young woman. That scared the hell out of Sara.
She looked away. “No. You’re not.”
“I am sorry.”
It took Sara a moment to navigate the sudden switch from anger to remorse. When she did, she sighed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“Then why do you act so angry with me? Why do you treat me so poorly?”
Sara stiffened a little. “I wanted to keep fighting. You don’t. That’s all.”
“I do,” Mischa insisted. “I just don’t want to hurt you anymore.”
Sara stiffened again, but she took deep breaths before replying. She pulled a shirt over her head and met Mischa’s eyes. “I’m hurt. Okay? I’m hurt. I can’t be unhurt. Everyone needs to stop acting like this is a scab you tore off that’ll heal if we just leave it alone. Hiding from the problem won’t make me stop being hurt.”
“Were you raped?”
The blood drained from Sara’s face. Flashes of memory crossed her mind, horrible images that haunted her nightmares and her waking, every goddamned moment of her life, never gone, only temporarily covered, like an old ugly portrait might be covered by a sheet.
“No,” she finally answered. “Not exactly.”
Mischa frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t want to talk about it,” Sara said curtly. “The answer is no, and it’s the honest answer, but things did happen, and I don’t want to talk about them. What I want to do is make sure that it happens to as few other people as possible. You were the most important one of those people, but when it became clear that you weren’t going to stop, I wanted to join you instead. Then we could both make sure that no one else got hurt. And then…”
She took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. “Alan, in his infinite wisdom, told Zero and Maya. Zero and Maya, grand protectors that they are, told us to stop, and you listened. Like, really listened. I never thought I’d see the day.”
She headed for the stairs. She wasn’t sure if Mischa followed at first, but then she heard her say, “You have changed, Sara. Since you joined me. Perhaps you don’t see it, but you have.”
Sara’s blood boiled, but she bit her lip to keep herself calm. “I haven’t changed, Mischa. I’m just not hiding anymore.”
When she reached the top floor, she walked straight for the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. “You can’t go out there,” Mischa warned. “Papa said we are to stay inside.”
“Yep. He sure did.”
She opened the door, walked onto the deck and closed the door behind her. The scent of the tulip trees, cloyingly sweet but bitter beneath the surface, filled her nostrils. Their bright yellow flowers deepened to orange in the center and dripped with the nectar that masked the bitterness. The honeybees and paper wasps that covered them during the day were gone now that night had fallen, but it seemed to Sara that she could still hear them. Their wings droned, a low, vibrating hum that wormed through Sara’s ears and settled in the base of her skull just behind her jaw.
Her jaw started trembling, so she pressed her lips firmly together. The shakes passed to her hands, so she folded them across her chest and gripped her shoulders until her fingers drained of blood. Her tongue thickened, and her throat went dry, but each time she swallowed, the drone pulsed, rippling down her spine all the way to her tailbone. She closed her eyes, but that only made the noise worse, so she opened them again. The light filtering through the canopy pierced her eyes like shards of glass, and the damned hum just kept getting louder and louder and louder.
“Please stop,” she muttered. “Please. It hurts.”
She paced back and forth along the length of the balcony, and that helped a little. The buzzing was still loud in her ear, but as long as she moved, the anxiety stopped growing. She breathed deeply, in through her nose, out through her mouth. The noise receded slightly, but after a moment, the audible breathing brought flashes of memory back. Leers, touches, laughter, screams, then dull, wet thuds when—
She gasped and stood still, tapping her foot on the deck. It occurred to her that Mischa might have gone for Alan to bring her back inside, so she glanced through the glass door. Mischa was watching her, concerned. No Alan. Sara forced a smile and waved. Mischa waved back uncertainly.
Sara turned around and stared out at the forest as though the scene fascinated her. She hoped that knowing that Mischa was watching would calm her down, but it didn’t. It only reminded her of the others, the ones Mischa’s age. Her age when she was taken. Hell, she was younger than Mischa when she was captured by traffickers.
The noise. It settled the back of her head and wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t go away, not even for a minute, not even for a goddamned—
A sharp sensation shocked her left arm like a needle piercing her skin. She slapped at the sting, and a bark scorpion flew from her arm. It struck the wood fence with a soft thump, then fell to the ground. Its tail and legs curled inward in death.
The sting was painful, but God was it sweet, so sweet. It drove the droning away in an instant. It always did. It was the only thing that could shut it off, just for a little while.
She remembered the first sting, the one that pierced her vein, then her mind, then her soul. The heroin washed away every trace of pain, every trace of fear, every trace of filth and left her warm and floating and free.
With the drone silenced, clarity returned. She couldn’t live with that drone, and she definitely couldn’t live with the temptation to seek out that sweet sting. The freedom it offered was false, nothing more than a façade covering a different set of chains.
The door opened, and Mischa asked, “Sara? Are you all right?”
“Yeah, fine. It was just a scorpion.”
Mischa’s eyes fell to the dead arachnid on the ground. “I see you found your revenge.”
Oh, I will. “Yeah, I kind of smacked it without thinking. I’m sorry it’s dead. I actually like scorpions. They’re important to the ecosystem.”
Mischa gave her a quizzical look. “Your mood seems to have improved.”
“Fresh air is great medicine,” Sara replied. She turned to Mischa, smiling again. “Sorry about downstairs. There are just some things I’m not comfortable revisiting.”
“Of course,” Mischa said. “I understand.”
Sara wanted to tell her that she didn’t understand, couldn’t understand, things Sara hoped she would never understand, but she needed to stay calm. She couldn’t lose control, or there was no way to convince Mischa of what she wanted to do.
“I’m going after them, Mischa.”
Mischa flinched. “What?”
“I’m going after Meridian. I know it means breaking the rules. I know it means breaking our promise to Dad, but I have to do this.”
“You can’t. I won’t let you.”
Sara took a breath. “I told you downstairs that this hurt isn’t like a scab that’s going to just heal and fall off. This is more like a bullet stuck near my heart that’s going to poison me as it slowly works its way deeper until one day it pierces all the way through and kills me. The only way to stop this is to remove the bullet. Meridian is the bullet.”
Mischa’s eyes widened. “Were they the ones who kidnapped you?”
“No. But I can’t get the ones who kidnapped me. Dad already did. I think that’s why I’ve never gotten over this. This feeling of helplessness. That’s what needs to go away. I need to stop feeling like I’m helpless, that men can do whatever they want to me unless other men come to save me. I know that Meridian is your crusade, but they’ve become my enemy just as much as yours. If I beat them…”
“Then you prove that you’re not helpless.”
Sara was going to say that, then the noise stopped, but it amounted to the same thing. She nodded. "You can help me if you want. You can stop me too. I hope you don't. If you can't help me, at least don't tell Alan where I went. Let him find out on his own when I've already gotten away."
“Alan has sensors watching the entire property. As soon as you cross the perimeter, he will know you’ve gone and where you are.”
“I’ll switch directions and zigzag my way back. He won’t be able to pin me down long enough to stop me.”
“And where will you go for equipment? Weapons?”
“I have some stuff at the apartment. It’s not much, but it’ll get me started. I can find anything else I need. I have some experience with that.”
Mischa hesitated for a moment, then said, “Forgive me for saying this, but being able to find drugs is not the same as being able to find weapons, espionage equipment, transportation across international borders and necessities such as food and water.”
“Yes it does,” Sara replied. “It absolutely does. But I’m not planning on going that far yet. Or maybe ever. I’m going to find the people after us now and stop them. Then… We’ll see.”
Mischa crossed her arms and tapped her foot, considering. “You’ll pass the house on your way to the apartment. There is a strong chance that Papa will see you.”
“I’ll loop south to Gainesville and come up the highway. I’ll use side roads.”
“The apartment is near the house.”
“Not close enough. Dad’s going to be focused on the house. He’ll be in the cul-de-sac, I guarantee it.”
Mischa thought for another long moment. “Very well. I know where Alan keeps his sedatives. I’ll put one in a beer. It will only keep him unconscious a short while, but it should be long enough for us to reach your apartment and gather the necessary supplies.”
Sara’s eyes widened. “So… You’ll help me?”
“I am not letting you go out there by yourself,” Mischa said firmly. “You are strong.” She glanced at the remains of the heavy bag. “Clearly. You are resourceful, and you are determined. But you don’t have experience in this type of work. Not at a high level. You’ll need my help.”
Sara rushed into Mischa’s arms and pulled her close. “Thank you.”
Mischa returned the embrace, holding tightly to her older sister. She smelled like peaches and lavender. Sara chuckled. “Have you been using my shampoo?”
“Have you seen how Maya reacts when one uses her shampoo?”
