Phantom zero, p.19
Phantom Zero, page 19
She looked through the window and saw Trent and the others looking at her, faces taut with worry. She smiled and gave them a thumbs up, and the group burst into cheers. She laughed and collapsed back in Keller’s chair, smiling through the window. The job wasn’t completely over. A chime on the computer told her that the NSA hack had been completed and they were now busily uploading data to Keller’s Site of Revelations. That would have to be addressed quickly to prevent possibly irreparable damage to the US government. They hadn’t come through this unscathed, but once again, the EOT had defeated terrorists and saved the world.
The day had dawned bright after all.
Once more, Lucifer had been cast down.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Mischa breathed calmly and considered her next move. The average human being had a reaction time of approximately three-tenths of a second. A highly trained individual had a reaction time three times faster. Mischa had never measured her own reaction time, but she knew it was considerably faster than either of those numbers. Much of her training had focused on developing her fast-twitch muscle fibers, allowing her to successfully engage much larger and physically stronger individuals effectively and to engage multiple armed individuals without being overwhelmed.
The Ambassador was not a highly trained individual. She could turn, aim, and fire a bullet through his brainstem faster than he could pull the trigger and kill Sara. She’d keep him talking and time her movement when he was speaking, just in case. It was difficult for the brain to focus on speech and movement at the same time, and very difficult for the brain to speak and react reflexively.
She was going to kill him. This miserable, worthless waste of a man who thought of women as property. She was going to kill him, and she wouldn’t even do him the honor of watching him die.
“It’s too bad you had to bring your sister into this,” Marković said. “I really don’t care about her. I only wanted you.”
Guilt lanced through Mischa. She hated that anything this worm said could make her feel that way. She swallowed and said, “Just so you know, I’m going to kill you in a few seconds.”
Marković coughed the closest approximation to laughter he could after Mischa shot him while escaping from his nightclub in Sarajevo with data that revealed the Bosnian Confederacy’s connection to Meridian. “I’m sure you would if I were alone, but I know better than to approach you without overwhelming force.”
Mischa sensed movement and, a split second later, saw the shadows of people emerge from the landscaping behind her. How had she missed them? She should have heard their breathing if nothing else.
“These men and women are Serbian 72nd Brigade,” Marković informed her. “The Chief of the General Staff was a personal friend of my father’s. From time to time, I’m able to ask a favor of him. I try not to overuse that privilege, but I consider you to be worth that effort, Sparrow.”
So that was why Mischa hadn’t heard them. The 72nd Brigade was Serbia’s most elite unit, roughly equivalent to Russia’s GRU Spetsnaz or America’s Delta Force. One on one, they were only a moderate challenge for Mischa, but several of them—Mischa counted nine—were extremely formidable. With the Ambassador’s gun pointed at Sara’s head, the task was impossible.
Fear joined Mischa’s guilt and anger. She could escape herself. Fleeing these men and women was no problem. But there was no way to save Sara. She was at the Ambassador’s mercy.
“So you know,” Marković said, “Their weapons are all pointed at your sister.”
Sara sobbed when she heard that. “You fucking bastard. You asshole.”
“So you say,” Marković said. “Perhaps. From my perspective, I am only the victor. I am no different from anyone with power.”
Mischa’s upper lip curled. “You know differently, slave. You have no power other than that granted you by your master. You are a dog. Nothing more.”
Marković didn’t answer right away. By his breathing, Mischa could tell he was upset. That small victory pleased her, which was rather pathetic considering the danger her sister was in.
I will fucking kill you, she thought. I will kill you like the dog you are.
But she could say that all she wanted. It didn’t change the fact that they were at his mercy.
“Perhaps I am a dog,” Marković conceded, “but I am off my leash right now. Would you like to watch your sister bleed out from her throat, Sparrow?”
Mischa’s hands curled into fists.
“Answer me. Would you like to see your sister bleed out from her throat?”
Sara flinched, reaching for the ambassador’s gun. One of the Serbians stepped forward and smacked her in the temple, hard enough to stun her without rendering her unconscious.
Mischa turned around, slowly and with her fingers splayed, and saw Marković slapping Sara’s cheek. The Serbians all had their weapons aimed at Sara’s head.
Sara gasped and came back to alertness. Marković smiled down at her, a sickening mockery of tenderness, and said, “That was very brave of you, young lady, but I won’t have you sacrificing yourself to give Mischa a chance to escape.”
Sara—good, brave Sara—spit in his face. Marković flinched. He lifted the hand not holding his gun up to his face. It trembled a little. He wiped the spittle away and stared at Sara, face working with rage. “Hold her, please.”
The Serbian who had struck Sara with his rifle earlier stepped forward and grabbed Sara’s jaw, pinching it so her lips parted. He turned her face toward Marković, and the Ambassador gently wiped the spittle on her lower lip. Mischa’s own lips began to tremble with impotent rage. How dare he win? How dare fate allow this vermin to beat them?
Beneath her rage, her fear formed a pit below her ribcage. Sara was going to die. Mischa was too, but she didn’t care for her own life. She cared for her sister, who had survived so much, who had already endured pain at the hands of evil men. She was supposed to survive. She was supposed to recover and lead a normal life.
And Mischa had taken her away from that. Mischa had stolen her life in her arrogant, misguided attempt to save others from Sara’s fate.
“It’s a pity your spirit wasn’t broken when you were first taken,” Marković said to Sara. “You are spectacularly beautiful. You would have been a wonderful doll.”
Sara shuddered, and Mischa nearly threw caution to the wind and snapped his neck right then. But he clearly intended to toy with them, and there was a small chance that an opportunity would present itself while he was having his fun. She couldn’t jeopardize that.
“Perhaps I will break your spirit,” Marković said. “Perhaps that is how I will punish you, Sparrow. Yes.” He smiled, a wicked, taunting leer that revealed the animal behind the façade of upper-class manners he wore. “That’s what I’ll do.” He looked at Mischa. “I’ll remove your arms and legs. I’ll have you carried wherever we bring her. I’ll make you watch while we break your sister’s spirit. I’ll make you witness everything that we do to her. I’ll make you watch the moment when she stops fighting and the moment when she starts begging. I’ll make you watch the moment when she gives up and the moment when she begs for what we want her to beg for. I’ll show you what your sister is worth. Then, when she is what she is supposed to be and given as a plaything to whoever is willing to pay, I will show you what you’re worth.”
“Let me show you what you’re worth.”
Mischa’s eyes widened when she heard that voice. In less than half the reaction time of the trained men and women threatening her sister with death, she knew that they had won. Marković’s eyes didn’t have time to register his shock before the first man died.
Zero moved like a wraith, knife flashing. Two men fell before the Serbians knew what was happening to them. They spun toward the newcomer, their sense of self-preservation overriding their orders.
It was a waste of time. They were facing a demigod, not a man. Zero kicked one man into another and shot both through the brainstem.
“Mischa!”
Mischa snapped her eyes toward the other familiar voice in time to see Alan kick a Serbian soldier into the back of Sara’s chair. The impact flung Sara into Mischa’s arms. Mischa caught her and ran for the other side of the building, watching Alan snap the enemy’s neck just before he turned around.
She set Sara down in front of the restaurant. Her sister cried out, “Mischa! Watch out!”
Before she finished that sentence, Mischa spun around and grabbed Marković’s wrist. The Ambassador snarled in rage and struggled, but it was over for him already. Mischa twisted viciously, grinning as she felt the bones crack in Marković’s wrist.
The gun fell from his hands and clattered to the ground. Mischa shoved him backwards almost casually, and the man stumbled and tripped over his heel. The battle behind them continued, but Mischa knew it would be over soon. Voices cried out, then choked off as Zero and Alan mopped up the remaining Serbians.
Marković tried to get up, and Mischa swept his legs out from under him. He grunted when he hit his backside. He tried to backpedal, and she kicked him hard in between his legs. Her grin widened when she felt something pop.
Marković released a sound halfway between a teakettle and a wheeze. “Poor little dog,” Mischa said in Bosnian. “He can’t even scream.”
She was going to watch him die. She was going to pick him apart little by little and savor every scream he made. This little svoloch, who thought he was going to torture Mischa's sister. Little kyur.
Marković rolled over, and Mischa kicked him again. His eyes shut in anguish, then opened when she stomped on his knee.
Marković waved his hands in front of his face, whispering something that might have been a plea for mercy. Mischa laughed. Mercy. She would show no mercy. Not to him.
She walked around him, and when he tried to turn to keep his legs in between them, she broke one of his ribs with a sharp kick. He curled onto his side, and she swung her heel over and around to strike his back and force him supine again.
She looked down at him and smiled, showing the same false tenderness he had a moment ago. “I’m going to crush your throat now, little dog.”
She lifted her foot, but before she could bring it down, a gunshot rang out. The bullet struck Marković in his temple and exited through the crown of his head. Mischa had seen death before, but the instantaneousness of his transition from living to nonexistent snapped her out of her rage. She blinked down at the dead body, then lifted her head.
Sara leaned against the building, Marković’s pistol in her hand. Smoke trailed from the barrel. She looked at Mischa with compassion, and Mischa realized that she had shot Marković to keep Mischa from experiencing revenge. To keep her from being changed.
A wave of love for Sara filled Mischa. She ran toward her, arms outstretched, and Sara pulled her into her embrace, weeping with her and repeating over and over, “It’s all right. It’s okay. It’s over now.”
It wasn’t over, of course. Marković was dead, but Meridian remained. Chen Wei-Ming was the master, and Marković only his dog. They had more to do before they could close this chapter of their lives, but for now, at least, they were alive.
Strong arms wrapped around Mischa and Sara. Rough, grizzled stubble scraped gently on her cheek as Zero planted a kiss there. “Come on,” he said softly. “We need to go.”
Mischa heard sirens and separated from her sister. “Yes. Thank you, Papa.”
“Always.”
Zero picked Sara up and carried her away. Seeing her older sister smile up at their father sent a warm glow through Mischa’s body. The trio followed Alan through the landscaping to a small late-model pickup truck parked in the alley. Her brow furrowed. “Where is your Ranger?”
“Fallen in the line of duty,” Zero told her.
He opened the passenger door of the small truck and carefully placed Sara inside. Mischa ran to the other side and belted herself in next to Sara. Zero jumped into the front passenger seat, and Alan got into the driver’s seat. He groaned exaggeratedly as he started the engine and pulled out onto the road. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”
“If only that would stop you,” Zero said.
“Hey, you never know. I could wake up tomorrow morning so sore that I hate my life and swear off violence forever.”
“Like you did the last sixty-eight times you engaged in violence?”
“I could be a priest,” Alan suggested. “It’s not like I have a chance with women anyway.”
Zero laughed at that. “Yeah, there might be a few other commandments you’ll have trouble with, but sure.” He chuckled again. “Miracle Mitch’s confession booth. God, I’d love to see that.”
Mischa shared a smile with her sister. “I take it you two are getting along again.”
“We’ll see. We’re all giddy from surviving combat. Enjoy it while it lasts, girls, because we’re going to have a serious talk after we get Sara some help.”
“Speaking of that,” Alan said, “Todd wanted me to tell both of you that he’s calling Santa personally. You’re both getting coal in your stockings this Christmas.”
“Santa wouldn’t dare,” Sara said. “He knows better than to piss us off.”
“That’s what I told him, but you know Todd. He gets in his moods, and there’s no talking to the guy.”
Mischa giggled, and the two adults shared a smile. Her laughter ended in a wave of emotion that was hard to identify. It brought tears to her eyes, and when Sara pulled her close, she wrapped her own arms around her older sister’s shoulders, buried her head in her neck, and for the second time tonight, allowed her to weep.
The adults didn’t interrupt. When Mischa finished her cry, she pulled away, wiped tears from her eyes, and said, “Oh, God, what is wrong with me? I am growing sentimental like a suka.”
“Hey,” Alan scolded. “Watch your language.”
“It just means you’re human,” Sara said softly.
“Mischa?” Zero replied with exaggerated surprise. “No, I don’t believe it.”
“It’s true,” Alan said. “I heard her burp the other day.”
“Eww!” Sara cried out. “Why would you say that?”
“What? We all do it.”
Mischa chuckled at her family. It was wholly inappropriate for them to react like this after the night they’d had, but on the other hand, it was perfectly appropriate.
They were human, yes, but not just any humans.
They were the Lawsons.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Ten days later…
“Well?” Todd asked. “What do you think?”
Zero looked around the interior of the two-story home in Tibitha, an unincorporated community on the shores of Chesapeake Bay about two and half hours south of Washington. The outside of the home was an interesting style that reminded Zero of a cross between Colonial and Spanish Revival with a white brick façade, wraparound balcony and two gables jutting above a gently sloped roof with clay shingles. It had a single-story wing with its own master bedroom, living room, and kitchen extending to the right of the house, where Sara would live, so she could have the privacy she was used to at her apartment.
In the main home, the interior reminded Zero a lot of their old house in McLean. The foyer was about nine feet deep and ended in an ornately carved maple table with two small houseplants framing a large family picture, the first one they’d taken after Zero returned from exile. To the left was the large kitchen, adorned with granite countertops and high-end stainless-steel appliances. To the right was the living room with identical furniture to the old house, facing a real stone fireplace.
“No television,” Todd said. “Like you wanted. The extra bedroom is the tv room. I tried to make everything else like the old house. I couldn’t get the deck built in time, but the backyard faces the ocean, and since it’s set on a hillside, you’ll get to watch the waves without worrying about salt spray affecting the paint. Not that that’s a big deal, but…”
He shrugged, and Zero put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
Todd smiled and clapped Zero on the back. “Glad you like it.” He took a deep breath and said, “Anyway, yeah, the whole neighborhood is CIA. SOG agents and a few techs to operate the surveillance equipment. We’ll see anything that comes within three miles of the gate to the community and anything that flies within eight miles. Anything looks fishy, it’s not getting through.”
“Wow. You went out of your way.”
Todd chuckled. “Yeah, well… Your daughter and her fiancé once again saved the world. You’d have been proud of her. They were cut off from contact for two days after their plane went down. They survived a crash, an avalanche, a professional-grade climb, a crapton of security, and of course, a crazy asshole trying to project his own insecurities on the world. You know, the usual. That and you guys really can’t be in McLean anymore. It’s a nightmare and a half figuring out how to keep people from realizing what went down at that apartment complex and then the shopping center. We’re leaning toward gang war, but… You know what? Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out. We should have brought you guys to a place like this months ago. We’ll chalk it up to all of us making mistakes and underestimating the threat. We won’t make that mistake again.”
“No,” Zero agreed. “No, we won’t.”
Zero looked into the living room at his eldest daughter. She sat on the couch next to Sara. Sara’s left leg was bandaged heavily and lifted onto the ottoman. Both of them were laughing at something Mischa was saying.
His youngest daughter carried some weight from the ordeal they had suffered. It was only the second time Zero had seen Mischa cry, the first coming after Maria died. There were dark circles under Mischa’s eyes, and strain at the corners of her lips. It had affected her badly to see Sara in danger.
And she hadn’t been able to save her. If Zero and Alan hadn’t arrived when they did, then Mischa would have lost. That wasn’t as terrifying as watching her sister almost die, but it had no doubt shaken Mischa’s confidence to the core to be beaten by Meridian a second time.
