Shadow zero, p.11
SHADOW ZERO, page 11
“Which Triads?”
“Couple of mid-level outfits based in Sri Lanka, but I don’t think the Triads are behind this. In fact, I don’t think the Triads are even aware of what the Liberation Front is doing.”
“So what are they doing?”
“Well, the op Maya and Trent were on was a retrieval mission. A DoD satellite went down, but not just any satellite. This satellite contained the launch codes for an orbital weapons station that contains enough nuclear firepower to turn the eastern half of the United States into glass.”
“Jesus. And this is now in the hands of drug runners?”
“Looks that way.”
“And once again, there’s a mole in the CIA that had the ability to sell out my daughter’s identity to these people, and they don’t see the problem with giving terrorists access to nuclear weapons.”
There was an edge to Zero's voice. Alan was glad to hear that, even if the circumstances that brought it out were shitty. "Yep. Just like old times."
Zero sighed. “All right. Well, the first priority is getting Maya out of there. We can deal with the CIA mole later.”
Alan smiled. “Does this mean you’re coming back?”
“One step at a time, Alan. I’m going to rescue my daughter. I’m also going to stop these terrorists from using those launch codes.”
“To be clear, Todd’s pretty sure they plan to sell those codes, not use them.”
Zero sighed again. “Well, damn it. It can never be easy, can it?”
“Not for us, muchacho. They call us for the hard jobs.”
“They’re not supposed to call us anymore.”
Alan’s smile faded. “Well, they called Maya and Trent. So that means we’re involved whether we want to be or not.”
Zero must have picked up on the edge in Alan’s voice because he sounded guilty when he said, “Yes. You’re right. I’ll get her home, Alan. You have my word.”
“Them.”
“What?”
“Them home. Maya and Trent.”
Zero paused for a moment. “Right.”
“He’s a good kid, Zero. He makes Maya happy, and he’s good with Mischa.”
“I said all right.”
“You said right, not all right.”
Alan could imagine Zero rolling his eyes during the brief pause. “I’ll bring them home, Alan. But I need weapons, equipment, and transportation. How soon can you arrange that?”
“It’ll be faster if you take a detour to South Africa.”
“Fine. Just tell me where to go.”
“Get to Richards Bay. It’s a little port town on the east coast of South Africa. I’ll have my guy meet you there.”
“I will. Will I be able to contact you if I need you?”
“Yes. Penny set up this radio for me. I’ll bet my life that there’s no mole or NSA anywhere that can listen in on us.”
“You’re betting my daughter’s life. Are you willing to do that?”
"Yes. Also, your son-in-law's life."
“They’re married?”
Alan chuckled at the discomfiture in his old friend’s voice. “In all but name.”
“Jesus.”
“Give him a chance, Zero. He’s a good kid.”
“You’ve said that. All right. I’ll get to Richards Bay. How will I recognize your man?”
“He’ll find you.”
“I don’t look the same as I did when I left, Alan.”
Alan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Zero was still as dramatic as ever. "Tanner, skinnier, and more facial hair?"
A brief pause. “Yes.”
“He’ll find you. We’ve got this, buddy.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “It’s good to hear your voice, Reid.”
“Yes,” Reid replied. “You too, Alan.”
He hung up, and Alan pumped his fist again. He picked up his cell phone and dialed the number again. For the first time since receiving Maya’s distress call, Alan was confident that she’d come home safely.
And if it was already too late for her, then it was too late for the Waswahili Liberation Front and too late for whatever asshole in the CIA thought it was a good idea to sell her out.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“That’s what you said two days ago!” Sara shouted into the phone.
“I know, I know,” Alan replied. “Look, I didn’t know she was going to go this far with it.”
Sara ran her hands through her hair and looked through the kitchen window at the house Maya, Mischa, and Trent shared. This was the second day she had called in sick from her jobs and from school. This was the second day her younger sister hadn’t returned home after going on whatever extracurricular activity Alan had allowed her to pursue.
“She’s not answering her phone either, Alan.”
“I know that too. She’s not answering me either.”
“Well, that’s a fucking problem! How do you know she’s not hurt?”
Alan paused a moment, then said, “Seriously?”
Sara closed her eyes and pushed air through her nose. "Alan, I get that she's a badass, but she's also fifteen years old. Tell me where she is now, or tell me you don't know so I can go look for her."
“No, don’t do that,” Alan said sharply. In a softer voice, he added, “She’s in Baltimore.”
“Baltimore? What the hell is she doing there?”
Alan hesitated again. Then he sighed. “Oh, kid. You don’t want to be involved in this.”
“Alan—”
“She’s going after traffickers, Sara.”
Sara’s legs turned to jelly. She half-stumbled to the couch and lowered herself onto the cushion. A thousand horrible memories crossed her mind.
His foul breath wafted across her nose, but in her drugged state, Sara couldn’t scream. The moan she released instead gave her captor the wrong idea.
“That’s right, little girl,” he crooned, sliding his fingertips over her thigh. “You’re going to love every second of this.”
“Sara? Are you there?”
“I’m here,” she replied tonelessly.
“She can handle herself. I know you and Maya went through some terrible things, but Mischa’s different. Not that there’s anything wrong with you. I just mean—”
“I get it,” she said curtly, rubbing her temples. “You don’t want me going after her because you’re afraid I’ll lose control and make the situation worse than it needs to be.”
Alan hesitated once more, only briefly. “Yes.”
Sara nodded, then took a deep breath. “Okay.”
Alan seemed surprised. “Okay?”
Sara lifted her left hand—the one not holding the cell phone—and let it fall to her lap. “Okay. I won’t go after her. It’s not like she’d listen to me anyway. My older sister is missing in Africa, and my younger sister is hunting people whose job it is to kidnap girls her age and sell them into sexual slavery, and if I get involved in either situation, I’ll make things worse.”
“Sara—”
“Just…” She lifted her left hand to her face, then closed her fingers into a fist. “Just don’t, Alan. I’ll stay here. I’ll wait for her. I’ll trust you that she’s good enough to handle the men she’s trying to punish. And if you turn out to be right, and she comes home, then you and I are good. Okay?”
Left unspoken was the fact that if Mischa didn’t come home or came home in any state other than “good,” she and Alan wouldn’t be okay.
“Okay. Look, I’m only an hour away. If you want me to bring you anything or just keep you company—”
“I want you to keep an eye on my sisters, Alan. I want you to make sure they come home alive. Do that, and we can grab dinner and a movie later.”
“Okay. Sure.” He paused a moment, then added, “I love you guys. I haven’t said that before, but I do. I hope you know that.”
Sara sighed. “I know. I just… I guess this is why I’m not in this life anymore. The only thing that keeps me from being a nervous wreck in situations like this is drugs, and I’m not going back to that.”
“No, you shouldn’t. And I’m sorry. Believe me, there are days I wish everyone I loved had a normal career, and I could just tinker with cars and never worry about anything but bills.”
She smiled slightly. “But we don’t get to have that. That’s the price we pay for being in a family of superheroes.”
“Yep. Two normal people stuck in a tribe of freaks.”
She giggled. “Yep. That’s us.”
“I’ll call you later, kid. Be safe.”
“I will. Thank you.”
He hung up, and Sara took a deep breath. She would follow Alan’s instructions for the most part, but there was one request he’d made that she could no longer keep. They were family, and family didn’t hide things from each other, not even to keep them safe. That was one lesson she’d learned from her father’s mistakes.
So she picked up her phone and sent Mischa a text. She didn’t know if Mischa would respond or even read it, but she sent it anyway. It didn’t ease her fear much, but it relieved some of her guilt. Right now, she needed at least that much.
***
Mischa crouched on a rooftop and watched the two men lead the young woman into a warehouse near the harbor. Her upper lip curled in a sneer. What pathetic dogs. How weak did you need to be to sell women? Was that seriously the only way they could get attention from girls?
She had tracked the traffickers from the shoe store in Arlington to this warehouse in Baltimore. Her informant was correct about the transfer but not correct about the date. The transfer was happening tonight, and it was happening here in Baltimore, not in Arlington.
Mischa could have taken the traffickers out back in Arlington, but then she wouldn’t have had a chance to rescue these women. She didn’t know where they were before being brought here. Others would have come for them, and it would be too late for anyone to save them.
So, she would rescue them and take the traffickers out all at the same time. Tonight would be a good night.
She pulled out her cell phone and took pictures of the three of them, the warehouse, the lot around it, and the vehicles parked in that lot. The pictures automatically backed up to a private folder encrypted with software she had stolen from Penny. It was unfortunate that Mischa had to lie to people she considered family, but despite their experience with her, they still treated her like a normal child sometimes.
She was about to put the phone in her pocket when it buzzed. A text from Sara.
Actual guilt flitted through Mischa’s mind when she saw that number. She had ignored Sara’s calls because she didn’t want her older sister to try to help her. Sara had suffered greatly at the hands of men like these, and while Mischa trusted Sara’s combat ability, she didn’t trust her judgment when it came to this. Dismantling a human trafficking ring required a cool head, and after what Sara had suffered, she couldn’t have one in this situation.
She read the text. Mischa, it’s Sara. I know what you’re doing. I’m not going to follow you. I’m not going to try to stop you, and I’m not going to try to help you. I don’t agree with you going by yourself to stop these men, even if you are you, but I won’t get in your way.
I just want you to know something, and since you won’t answer your phone, I’m going to text it to you. Maya’s in trouble. Her op went sideways, and now she’s missing in Tanzania. Alan’s trying to find her and get her out of there, but no one knows where she is right now.
Alan didn’t want me to tell you because he’s afraid you’ll go by yourself to find her. I hope you won’t. I know you’re a good fighter, but you don’t have the training to gather the intelligence you need to find her. But you need to know. I don’t want you to find out about this from someone who isn’t family. Please don’t be mad at Alan. He’s only trying to keep you safe.
PLEASE be safe. I love you so much. Sara.
Mischa’s blood boiled as she read that message. If Sara knew what Mischa was doing, then someone must have told her. Maya didn’t know, or Maya would have tried to stop her long ago. For that matter, Sara would have told Maya. Hell, she probably would tell Maya when Maya got home.
So Alan must have told her. Which meant Alan knew. Which meant Alan had been watching her.
Her anger faded. Of course, he was watching her. Father asked him to. He was watching Maya, too. That's how he knew that she was in trouble.
Her blood boiled again. Why hadn’t he told her? Sara was right. She needed to know if her older sister was in danger. It wasn’t Alan’s right to decide what she needed to know. Yes, she would have wanted to go after Maya, but it wasn’t Alan’s right to tell her she couldn’t do that either.
She looked down at the warehouse. The woman and the two men were inside now. She looked back at her phone and bit her lip.
Maya was in danger. Whatever Alan’s or Sara’s mistrust, Mischa could help. She wasn't just an assassin. She was a spy and a good one.
But so was Maya. Maya was as good as Father was, probably better than he was at the end when age and injuries slowed his body. It was frightening to be on the outside and not know exactly where she was or what was happening to her, but she could handle herself.
The woman in that warehouse—or women, probably—couldn’t. They were helpless.
Mischa put her cell phone in her pocket. After a moment, she pulled it out and texted Sara again. I love you too. I will be home soon.
She touched the DO NOT DISTURB button and put the phone in her pocket. She would free these women and gather the intelligence she needed. She would then go home to keep Sara company and to wait and see if Maya needed her. She could act on the information she gathered once Maya was home safe.
She jumped from the rooftop and pushed herself from wall to wall as she descended to the ground. She landed softly and sprinted toward the warehouse, drawing her knife as she did so. The warehouse was poorly protected, as places like this often were. She vaulted over the eight-foot chain link fence and landed as softly as a cat on the other side.
There was one guard protecting the entrance. He caught sight of her just in time for his eyes to widen before her knife severed his voicebox along with his windpipe, both jugular veins, and both carotid arteries.
She didn’t wait to watch him die. She ran into the entrance and straight for two other men with guns tucked into their waistbands. There was little need for stealth here. These men were simple thugs, brutish and stupid.
They turned toward her. One of them reached for his gun. The other widened his eyes and said, “What the—”
She assumed either the word hell or the word fuck was meant to follow those two. She wasn’t sure if she believed in hell, but the man who uttered that sentence would surely never fuck again.
The man reaching for his gun cursed. She allowed him to draw the weapon, then shoved her knife through his arm, severing the radial nerve. His fingers relaxed, and she caught the gun as it dropped.
She fired two shots, one through the head of another man on the opposite side of the warehouse and one through the base of the final man’s spine. Both men dropped, but only one man remained alive to scream.
The man with her knife in his arm punched her. It was a horrible blow, poorly aimed and thrown with the bicep rather than the hip. She released her knife, slipped the blow, and slid behind him. As her hands wrapped around his head—one under his chin, one on the crown of his head—he cried out, “No, please!”
She allowed herself to hesitate just one moment. She pressed her lips to his ear and hissed, “Did you stop when those women begged?”
Before he could reply, she twisted viciously. There was a wet snap like the crack of a glowstick. Then he fell.
Mischa walked to the screaming man, who was trying to drag himself to the door. His useless legs trailed behind him. The women held here gasped and murmured to themselves. Mischa heard one exclaim, “She’s just a kid!”
She reached the brand-new paraplegic and flipped him onto his back. He snarled and tried to stab her with a switchblade he had hidden under his right hand. She caught his wrist and twisted sharply. She felt several ligaments tear as the knife fell from his grasp.
She kicked it away and planted her knee on his throat to stifle his fresh screams. His eyes bugged out, and he tried to push her off of him, but he had only one working limb, and she knew how to make her one hundred pounds of weight feel thrice as heavy. She waited until his efforts grew desperate, then lifted her knee just enough to allow him the tiniest of breaths.
“If you answer my questions, I will let you live. If you don’t, I will kill you.”
The man stilled. She stood, and he coughed and croaked, “Who are you? What are you?”
“Neither answer is of consequence,” she replied. “Who do you work for?”
“Fuck—Ahh! God!”
The cry came when she dislocated his other wrist. “That is your one warning,” she told him. “Answer me, or I will snap your neck next.”
“God. Ti jebena đavolja pičko.”
She recognized the language as Bosnian. A childish insult. She sighed and lifted his head almost tenderly. His eyes flew open. “No! No, please! I’ll talk!”
“So talk.”
“The Confederacy. I work for the Bosnian Confederacy. Okay?” His face twisted in an ugly snarl. “And they’ll kill you for—”
She twisted. His body jumped, then fell still.
She got to her feet and walked toward the women. Several of them shrank away as she cut through their bonds. That was all right. It was a natural reaction, especially after what they had witnessed.
"I have freed you," she said when she released the last one. "Call the police. Do not tell them that I rescued you, or I will be unable to continue my work. Tell them that a male assassin did this, but you could not see his face or any identifying features."
“We don’t have our phones,” one of the women said. “We don’t know where they took them.”
“Use one of theirs,” Mischa said. “Good luck.”
She turned around, and another of the women called to her. “Wait! Who are you?”
