Shadow zero, p.6
SHADOW ZERO, page 6
In the past two years, none of them had ever activated that beacon. Sara had never been in any real danger since their little group prevented Mr. Bright from lighting the world up like fireworks. Maya was every bit the badass her father was, and Mischa was… well, Mischa.
Knowing Maya, she would never have activated that beacon unless she had completely run out of options. She was fiercely independent and had just a little chip on her shoulder about people always assuming she needed help or couldn’t do things on her own. That was another way she was like her father.
Alan swallowed and tapped the alert. His phone screen filled with data, including a map and a snapshot taken when Maya activated the beacon.
The snapshot showed a snarling giant of a man who had to go closer to seven feet than six striding toward Maya. He was surrounded by smaller men, all of whom carried rifles. The men were dark-skinned, and based on their outfits and the age of their rifles, he guessed they were one of the numerous feuding freedom fighter groups to be found on that continent.
Where they were on the continent was very important.
Please, God, let it be North Africa.
It wasn't North Africa. The data related Maya's vital signs—nothing alarming there, thank God—and GPS coordinates. Those coordinates and the map with a red dot placed at those coordinates revealed that Maya was in East Africa. He guessed Tanzania or Kenya, but he could figure out the exact location easily enough by plugging the coordinates into a GPS locator.
That wasn’t the problem. The problem was getting her help soon enough to make a difference.
Of course, it's East Africa. The one damned place on Earth where I don't have friends.
He called Todd immediately. Todd answered on the third ring. “Alan, is this important? I’m in the middle of something right now.”
“Does it have something to do with the fact that Maya just hit her emergency beacon?”
Todd was quiet for a moment. He broke the silence with an elegantly enunciated, “Shit.”
Alan frowned. “You didn’t know she was in trouble.”
Todd sighed. “I knew there was potential for trouble, but I didn’t know they’d found it already.”
“By they, I assume you mean Maya and Trent.”
“Yeah, I sent them on their first real assignment. Hell, the first real assignment we’ve had in two years. I know it was a lot to ask, but I figured they were ready. Damn it.”
“What exactly is the assignment?”
“I can’t go into details over the phone. I’ll… damn it. Look, I need to figure out what to do about this. I’ll talk to you when I can.”
Something in Todd’s tone worried Alan. “You’re going to send help, right? You’re going to go get them.”
Todd didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was with a far from encouraging, “I’ll do everything I can.”
Alan’s frown deepened. “Todd—”
“I have to go.”
Todd hung up, and Alan swore. “God damn it.”
He repeated the curse several times under his breath as he considered his next move. Todd hadn’t said it, but it was clear in his voice. He was going to burn Maya and Trent.
That was Todd’s greatest and most glaring weakness. He was by the book. The CIA’s standard response when their agents were discovered was to burn them. The technical term was “disavow.” They would purge the agents from any and all records, deny any involvement with them, basically treat them as though they never existed.
Alan hated that. He understood the logic behind it. The United States needed plausible deniability for its intelligence activities.
He still hated it. The CIA had disavowed Maya’s father, had, in fact, ordered Alan to kill him. Alan had ignored that order and nearly gotten himself killed over it. No one would order Todd to kill Maya and Trent, but that was only because they were sure the terrorists would take care of it for them.
Alan wouldn’t allow that to happen. The problem was figuring out how to get them home safely.
He could get an ID on the African soldiers or terrorists or gangsters or whatever they were. That was probably step one.
But in the meantime, how could he get to Maya? He could try going himself, but despite his arrogant thought earlier about his badassery, the fact was that two years of limited physical activity and a love affair with deli sandwiches had blunted any remaining sharpness to his edge. He could make a lot of noise before he was brought down, but he couldn’t get Maya out himself.
But someone could.
Alan stopped cursing. He sat in his office chair, leaned over his desk, and stared at the little microphone clipped to his computer. That microphone didn't work except if Alan spoke a certain code phrase. Then, it would link to a radio dish that would broadcast an encrypted signal to the CIA's satellite network. The signal would command the CIA satellites to broadcast whatever Alan wanted to the entire world on a few channels that only he and one other person knew about.
If that other person was still alive.
Alan steepled his fingers and leaned his head against them. If he did this, he would risk compromising possibly the greatest secret he’d kept from the CIA to date.
How many “greatest secrets” is that now?
He found no humor in that thought. If he didn't make this call, then there was a very real chance that Maya wouldn't receive the help she desperately needed and would end up losing her life somewhere deep in the middle of the devil's asscrack in East Africa.
When he thought about it that way, there was really only one choice.
He pressed a button that would activate a sound dampening system to render everything he said inaudible outside of the office. Then he picked up the microphone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sara Lawson loved every second of her new life. She loved her apartment, a small but well-appointed one bedroom five minutes from Maya, Trent and Mischa's house. She loved her car, a brand-new Honda Civic Hybrid that was as ordinary as a car could possibly be. She loved her part-time job at the Dolley Madison Library, the branch of the Fairfax County Public Library located in McLean, and her other part-time job at the Giant Food in Arlington. She loved her classes at George Washington University. She spent her free time either watching TV, reading a book, or taking a walk around her quiet residential neighborhood, and she liked that too.
So when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle as she finished the last of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich, her first reaction was to violently shove that feeling away. She was safe. She was out. She was her own person, and things like this didn’t happen to her anymore.
In a few more years, Sara wouldn't have to rely on anyone but herself. Both of her jobs paid minimum wage, and neither job offered health benefits to part-time employees, but she had government health insurance thanks to her sister's job at the CIA, and the money she earned was enough to pay for her modest rent, her car payment and insurance, and necessities like food and clothing. When she finished school, she would find a full-time job that paid for her own health insurance, so she didn't need to rely on Maya for that.
She would have her own life. A small life. A meaningless life. An ordinary life. A good life. One she’d always wanted and for a long time feared she’d never have. One free of the addiction, danger, and fear that had plagued her as a teenager.
Maya had embraced that danger. She had laughed in the face of that fear. Sara admired her for it, but it wasn't something she could do herself. She'd tried, God knows she had, but she wasn't cut out for that life.
And that was okay. Sara was fine with herself. For the first time in years, she was fine with herself.
But the feeling wouldn’t go away. With a frustrated sigh, she got out of her car and scanned the area around her. She saw several people entering and exiting the library, but none of them gave off the telltale signs that they were dangerous or that they were watching her.
And the feeling wouldn’t go away.
She checked her car for nails in her tires, scratches on her paint, leaks underneath the hood, and yes, any sign of a tracking device or explosive that might have been planted on her car while she worked her shift at the library. She found nothing.
When she finally convinced herself that absolutely nothing around her was trying to kidnap, assault or kill her and the sense of wrongness still lingered, she sighed and called Maya. She had read that one symptom of PTSD was random, unprompted bouts of anxiety. She was probably having one of those now. Once she spoke to her sister and confirmed that everyone was okay, she would be okay.
The phone call dropped. It didn’t go to voicemail. It didn’t ring and then inform her that Maya was unavailable. It didn’t even tell her that the number she dialed was no longer listed. It just dropped.
The prickling in the back of her neck became a chill that ran all the way down her spine. Sara swallowed and dialed Trent. When she got the same result, her breath escaped in a rush that doubled her over. A concerned but wary woman of around forty pulled her kids behind her and asked, “Are you all right?”
Sara forced a smile and lifted her hand. “Fine. Thank you.”
She got into her car and pulled out of the parking lot. She didn’t know where to drive, so she just drove toward school. After all, one of them was going to call her back and tell her everything was okay. She was going to laugh about it, then reach school, head to her class and shake her head in exasperation while she prepared for a droning lecture about the importance of the fall of Constantinople to history.
She called Mischa along the way, just to see how she was doing. Not to confirm that she was okay and that Maya and Trent were also okay. They were. Of course they were.
She breathed a sigh of relief when Mischa’s voice answered before a single ring sounded. “This is Mischa.”
“Oh, thank God!” Sara cried. She reddened instantly and said, “I mean—”
“I did not answer. Leave a message if you wish. I will respond if I deem it necessary.”
Sara’s smile faded. She dialed the number again. Straight to voicemail. She dialed a third time. Straight to voicemail. That time, she left a message. “Mischa, it’s Sara. Call me, please. Something’s going on. No one’s answering their phones.”
She hung up, shouted, “Fucking bitch!” and threw the phone onto the floor of her passenger seat. Had she not spent forty dollars on a stainless-steel case for the phone, it would probably have shattered.
Heads up purchase, Sara. You predicted your future.
She navigated around a stalled car and accelerated to match the speed of traffic. She tapped her finger on the wheel, then put her blinker on and took the next exit off of George Washington Memorial Parkway. She obviously wasn’t going to fucking school today.
She fought hard to keep from driving recklessly as she navigated the streets according to traffic laws to return to the Parkway and drive back the way she came. When she entered the Parkway again, she dialed one more number.
When Mitch answered with his other name, his old name, the one he used when he was partnered with Sara’s father, Sara finally knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that something was very wrong.
“Alan.”
"Mitch, what's going… I mean, Alan, what's going on? I'm trying to call Maya Trent, and Mischa, and no one's answering. Maya's and Trent's phones won't even work, and Mischa's keeps going to voicemail, and I'm freaking out right now.”
“Sara, calm down.”
Which, of course, was the absolute worst thing he could have said. “How the fuck am I supposed to calm down, asshole?”
“You’re right, I’m sorry, that was an asshole thing to say.” Alan sighed. “Look, Maya activated her distress beacon.”
Sara’s hand immediately went to the necklace around her throat. She clutched the pendant tightly, careful not to put pressure on the amethyst at the center that would activate her own alarm. She’d forgotten entirely about Alan’s gift to her. She’d finally convinced herself that she’d never need to use it.
“When?” she said. “Where?” Her voice sounded clear but distant, like a television played at low volume.
“Tanzania. Near Mount Kilimanjaro.”
“Kilimanjaro,” she repeated. “Is she on assignment?”
“I assume so,” Alan replied. “I’m talking to some people right now to get some more intel on what kind of trouble she’s in. We’ll get her out of there.”
“And Mischa?”
“She’s fine. She’s… out right now. She should be home not long after dark.”
“Not long after… Alan, where is she?”
“She’s fine. What you need to do right now is go to Maya’s house and stay with Mischa for the next few days. Don’t tell her about Maya. Don’t show her that you’re scared.”
Sara laughed shrilly. “Well, I’m pretty goddamned scared, Alan.”
“I know. But please don’t do anything foolish. Just keep Mischa company until this is all worked out.”
Sara realized now what Alan was really asking. Stay with Mischa and distract her so that she doesn’t try to rescue Maya by herself.
For the first time in two years, Sara wished desperately that she had kept up with her training. She was in good shape, and she could probably handle a fight with an average asshole or even a few assholes, but there was no way in hell she could rescue Maya. As for Mischa? She could handle a fight with a SEAL team or two, but if Maya found out that Mischa had risked her life to save her, then she would never forgive Alan or Sara for letting her go.
Sara sobbed. She hated this.
“Sara,” Alan said. “It’s going to be okay. Please trust me. I know this is hard, but—”
“Fine,” Sara snapped. “Fine, I’ll go home. Just please get Maya back.”
“I will. You have my word.”
He hung up, and Sara sobbed again, then took the next exit and changed direction again, this time heading for Maya’s and Mischa’s house.
The problem with Alan’s promise was that he was only human. He would absolutely try his best to get Maya back, but there were limits to what he could do. Like Sara, he was out of practice and out of shape. He could call in favors, but after two years, how many of those favors still held water?
And what happened if the CIA caught wind that Maya had been captured by an enemy force? That was almost certainly what had occurred. Sara knew what the CIA did with agents who were compromised.
A rod of steel worked its way through her fear. If the CIA disavowed her sister, then Sara would make them pay. Even if it took years for her to sharpen her rough edges, gather the resources she needed and make the right moves, she would make them pay.
CHAPTER NINE
Masveriyaa opened his eyes. It was pitch black outside. His internal clock guessed it was after midnight, but not long after. He lay in bed for a moment, waiting for his thoughts to gather.
Beep… beep… beep…
He frowned at the noise. A memory came to him. Beeping. Screaming. Cursing. Burning. Dying.
Beep… beep… beep…
His frown deepened into a scowl. Was ancient history coming back to haunt him again? Was his time in isolation driving him insane without his realization? Now he was hearing beeps that weren’t—
Beep… beep… beep…
His eyes widened. The radio. It was the radio.
Masveriyaa rolled out of bed and rushed to the radio, pausing only to slip his feet into thong sandals. When he reached the radio and saw the red light blinking, his heart first stilled, then began to pound in his chest.
This was it. The one risk he had taken. The one connection to life before the island. He swallowed, hearing his throat click.
Beep… beep… beep…
He stared at the radio without answering it. If he answered it, this would be the end of everything. The end of his life. The end of Masveriyaa.
Beep… beep… beep…
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t endanger so much, so many others. He had to let the signal pass.
Beep… beep… beep…
A bead of sweat formed on his brow. His trembling hand lifted, moving toward the radio. He swallowed again.
Beep… beep… beep…
He picked it up. It was solid, cold, and heavy.
Beep… beep… beep…
He swallowed a third time, pressed the talk button, and said in a voice that was raspy and hoarse with disuse, “Hello?”
The voice that followed was one he knew. One he recognized from before. One he thought he would never hear again. One he hoped to never hear again, though he loved its owner as a brother.
“Zero?”
Masveriyaa felt a surge of grief and fear. Grief for the quiet, simple life he could no longer live. Fear for what was to come, for the damage that would occur if he replied.
But he replied. As soon as his hand closed around the radio, he had no choice in the matter. Masveriyaa wailed silently to the night, then passed away.
“Hello, Alan.”
“Oh my God,” Alan said softly. Then, louder, “Oh my God! It’s you! It is you! You’re alive!”
Alan Reidigger, Zero’s best friend and most trusted companion save perhaps for his late second wife, Maria Johansson, spoke these words with joy. Immediately after, his voice was tinged with anger. “What the hell, Zero? You’re alive? Where the hell have you been?”
The words stuck in Zero’s throat. It had been so long since he’d spoken other than to say a few words here and there when bartering for goods. “I’ve been away. I’ve been… gone. I wanted everyone to be safe.”
“Well, they’re not safe. Maya’s in trouble.”
The breath left Zero in a rush. He knew it. That could be the only reason Alan would make such a shot in the dark. That and…
“Did you call the CIA?”
“Yeah, I talked to Todd.”
“And?”
“And he said he’d do everything he could, but the way he said it suggested that there wasn’t anything he could do.”
