He knew too well, the loss Shirin had survived. Knew too well the torture, anguish, rage that would come if she lost Ben.

  And Robyn… Ben’s older sister, the woman Barrett loved more than life, the suffering she would have to endure…

  No. Ben had to survive. He had to.

  Barrett stepped closer. He wanted to help. He had to do something. He couldn’t just stand by and do nothing!

  At the far side of the trauma bay, he saw Dom and Rollan standing in the middle of the aisle. Dom glanced at him. They shared a look that said the unthinkable, that they both knew it was too late.

  20:18:08

  Shirin held Ben’s hand and squeezed, hoping he would squeeze back. He didn’t. She watched the monitor at his feet. It beeped. Slow, but it beeped. The doctor at Ben’s head, barked orders to the staff. They moved with an efficiency she understood. They were good. They brought Ben back from death. They were better than good.

  She held his hand over the side rail and moved with the bed as they wheeled out of the trauma bay, down a corridor and into an elevator. No one tried to stop her. She stared at him, watched the monitor, closed her eyes, cried, but held his hand. Didn’t let go. Couldn’t let go.

  The doors opened. The bed moved. Someone in operating scrubs, hood, mask, gloves, came close as the bed whirled down a long corridor. “O.R. 1. The team is scrubbing in now. Status?”

  “44-year-old male. GSW right side chest. Punctured lung right side, left perfusing…”

  The noise, the beeps, the voices blurred into the background. Shirin could only see Ben, could only feel the growing warmth in his hand. She pictured him squeezing back, pictured his eyes opening, imagined them both waking as though from a bad dream.

  “Shirin!”

  She blinked hard, looked up.

  “Shirin. This is as far as you go.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not leaving him.”

  The doctor stepped around the head of the bed, gestured for the staff to take the bed through double doors that whirred open in front of them. Inside, Shirin caught a glimpse of the operating table, of staff preparing. “Shirin, we need to operate. Now. His life depends on it. You can’t go in there. This is the best trauma surgical team there is. Let us do our job.” He reached for her hands.

  “I can’t…”

  “You can.” He squeezed her hands. “You have to.” He stared into her eyes. “Trust us.”

  She looked at the doctor holding her hands. Saw the bed, saw Ben, stared at the operating room. She stepped toward him, but the doctor held her hands back. “You can’t go in there, Shirin. They need to focus on saving his life, not on you. We have to open him up.” She watched him look her up and down. “We cannot risk any distraction. Cannot risk any contamination, any infection. Do you understand me?”

  She nodded.

  “We’ll be a few hours. At least. Get your wounds looked at. I’ll come find you the second we get out. I promise.”

  She stared at him as he stepped back, turned, and walked into the room. She saw Ben lifted from the trauma bed, slid to the operating table, then slowly, painfully, the doors closed.

  The operating room airlock activated with a hiss and a thump as the seals around the doors engaged.

  Silence.

  Alone.

  She sank to her knees, clutched at her chest, and sobbed.

  20:20:32

  Executive Director Jordan recognized the number instantly, Director of Clandestine Services, Kevin Trévoux. Her boss.

  “Good evening Kevin. One moment, please.” Jordan activated the encryption package and plugged in her wired headset. “Kevin?”

  “Sue, how are you holding up?”

  She paused before answering. “I’m good.” They had spoken several times through the day, but this was an unexpected call. She waited for him to steer the conversation to the purpose of the impromptu call.

  “I have reached out to Isaac Jago, and asked him to provide me real-time updates on the investigation at the Fed-services Building. I would have liked to run that by you first as you are his direct line manager, but the circumstances required it. I wanted to let you know myself.” His tone invited her to comment. When she didn’t, he continued. “Has he mentioned anything to you?”

  “No.” She lied.

  “I asked him not to. Until you and I could talk.”

  “I understand.”

  “Yes… I’m sure you do.” His voice softened. “We haven’t discussed the Subcommittee hearing tomorrow…”

  She waited for him to continue.

  “I wanted to let you know I opposed it, but, policy in this circumstance is clear. The committee requested the hearing to be this afternoon. I was able to delay it until tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Kevin.”

  “It’s my hope, my belief, you will take the necessary steps to present information that will satisfy the committee’s remit, and we can get back to identifying and pursuing the people responsible for the attack.”

  “Getting back to? I haven’t stopped, Kevin. I know who is responsible. George Tengku, Tilo Apel and Ludwig Brenner. The Clock.” She punctuated her point with silence. Before her boss could reply, she pushed forward. “We got to Tengku. We will get Apel and Brenner.”

  Trévoux’s voice softened over the line, punctuated with pause. “Yes. Indeed. George Tengku… assassinated while in custody. It seems deleting his interrogation files was the trigger for the attack on the Fed-services Building.”

  “Yes. That’s the way it looks.”

  “You have a different working theory?”

  “No.” Jordan shook her head. There was more to it, but she wasn’t ready to discuss it. She would need more information, more evidence first.

  “Sue, with the hearing tomorrow. There is understandable pressure by our brother and sister services, for some sense of accountability, some assurance a repeat event will not happen. They will be looking for answers.”

  “Someone to blame.”

  “Yes. Bluntly.”

  “And, if not me.” Jordan struggled to keep her voice free of the emotion boiling inside her. “Who do you suggest this would fall to?”

  “Sue... were you aware that one of Clint Rollan’s agents had been compromised?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Were you aware Shirin Reyes had retained control of the task force while Special Agent Rollan had left the building to pursue a personal vendetta?”

  She scowled and tensed, her body fighting back the anger ready to erupt, and covered the microphone before crying out as pain shot through her back.

  “I don’t believe you did. You’re the Executive Director of the service. Hardly in a position to be on top of all granular operational details as they unfold. You would be relying on the information escalated and communicated to you.”

  Jordan panted through another wave of pain cutting through her nerves.

  Her boss continued. “I’m not asking you place blame, or defer responsibility. I’m advising you disclose to the subcommittee the facts. The truth. And let the process take care of the rest.”

  Jordan settled back into the wheelchair’s padded frame. Her breath came back in longer, deeper breaths. She ignored the rivulets of sweat formed on her forehead. She glanced at the remote-controlled analgesia button near her wrist, then looked away. She was stronger than that. She had to be.

  “Sue?”

  She closed her eyes, breathed in, let it go, and responded in a flat, calm voice. “I hear you.”

  “Good.” His voice changed in tone. “Good. Now, I’d like you to establish a live update channel on all Ops and loop me in.”

  “Of course. I’ll arrange it.”

  “Within the hour. Call me back when it’s done.”

  “Will do.” She caught him before he could end the call. “Kevin, just so I’m clear when establishing the protocols, do you anticipate this being a long-term arrangement?”

  “That will depend on the hearing tomorrow.”

  The line went dead.

  Jordan stared at the phone on her desk, plucked the headset from her ears and took a long, deep breath. She was being targeted. There was no doubt in her mind. Her boss was preparing to move on without her. The choice: simple and clear, lay blame on her team, or face the consequences.

  20:24:52

  Rollan leaned against the bench top to orientate himself. The headaches had gotten worse. He twisted, “Private Olsen.”

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “Can you find me a wheelchair?”

  “Of course.”

  “And, get my nurse. Nurse Wilson.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Rollan listened to the young man roll his chair back under the desk and his rubber-soled military issued boots pad away. “Dom?”

  “He’s gone. You okay?”

  Rollan nodded, then regretted it. He gripped the bench top with his other hand and kept himself firm against the bench, despite the spinning inside his head. “I’m fine. Just need to sit.” He heard Dom moving his chair, and held his out to stop him. “No. Are we alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Daniel and Cassie built a back door into the Agency network… can you access it?” he sensed Dom computing the question and waited. “Dom?”

  “It’s… not exactly a back door…”

  “Can you access it?”

  “Well. Yes. But…”

  “Get to the point, Dom.”

  “It’s not a back door in the traditional sense. It’s not anonymous. The agency network is compartmentalized. Daniel built an access portal to the grading matrix.”

  “You can alter access levels.”

  “Exactly. But, it’s not discreet or anonymous. Meaning it must be linked to an official ID and login. It can be traced. And any change must be in relationship to an existing ID: meaning exec will see who accessed the matrix and whose ID access was modified.”

  Rollan dipped his head. “Oh, Daniel…” Daniel had accessed the matrix and reinstated access to himself and Cassie in the past.. Rollan shook his head. Daniel knew he had compromised himself in the process, and yet, he had still done it.

  “Dom. Log in as me. Raise my access. Level seven. I need three things. One, find the file on the safe house Shirin was secured in, that got attacked, find out who accessed that file. Work back in chronological order, work back 76 hours from the attack.”

  “Got it. Two?”

  “The Cypher Protocol file. Who accessed it, and when. I want a tight time-line.”

  “Sure. But, I thought the men that took Daniel, got the Cypher Protocol from his remote drive..?”

  “Maybe.” Rollan cradled his head in his hands. “What if they already had it… what if they had it all along, and they were planning the attack, getting their resources in line.”

  “Making it look like they got it from Daniel would protect the real source.”

  Rollan exhaled. “It’s possible.”

  “On it. And three?”

  “The men that took Daniel. They’re all on our Hunt List. Cross reference their names, mission files, access logs, and see if there are any patterns.”

  “Rollan, we did that already. Didn’t find anything.”

  “Did you run it through at Level Seven access?”

  “No. But that would mean.. you think someone from Director level, or higher, is involved..?”

  “Hand me the keyboard when you’re ready for my login and password.”

  20:28:09

  Minister Anthony Lauder scrolled through the text message with a sense of vindication that balanced the disappointment of reports that Shirin Reyes had escaped.

  Executive Director Jordan hadn’t moved from the Agency's black site. Hiding like a trapped animal behind a military and Agency protection detail. Good. Tracking her with only one team on the ground would have been difficult. Maybe, he scoffed, she felt somehow safe secured in the compound… Pathetic. He knew better. She was a prisoner. And he, only he, had the key to her cell.

  He thumbed a response into the smart phone and pressed send. He didn’t believe for a moment that she would leave the protection of the secured site, but if she did, he wanted to know instantly.

  He pushed the phone to the side, slid several sheets of printed paper closer and read through the Committee Directive one more time. Jordan would have little choice. Her attempts to remain behind the curtain of security teams, guns, and assassins would be squashed. She would have to attend the committee inquiry in the morning in person. The Directive was clear. Due to the nature of security concerns, there would be no Virtual or dial in options. Face to face was the only way to ensure the appropriate security protocols could be reliably in place.

  If she refused? The Agency Charter was clear. The panel would make binding determinations in her absence.

  Lauder leaned back and rubbed his steepled fingers against his chin. A small part of him wished for her to refuse. It would be the simplest way to finish what he started, but, it would be too quick, too kind. No. He wanted to face her in person, to question her, to torture her before a panel of her peers, to watch her allies drop away one by one, and to castrate her of all supports, of all hope. Then he would crush her.

  He sat back and spun the office chair away from the desk and stared out the dark window. He nodded to himself… Maruma Prison would be perfect. Yes… The closest federal prison from his office, he could visit her daily. To never let her forget. To watch her, day by day, week by week, month by month, lose her hope, lose herself, and eventually ebb away into a quiet and lonely death…

  He spun back to the desk, leaned forward, and signed the document. Done.

  A knock came from his office door. He checked the time on his cell phone. Gladys his assistant. She was early. He gathered the papers and slid them into a government sealed envelope. “Come in.”

  The door swung open, then closed as though on the whiff of a breeze. He looked up and froze. He stared at the gun in the woman’s hand, looked at her face, then leaned back in his chair and forced a confident smile. “Viola Lenz.”

  20:28:17

  Lenz stepped deeper into the room and circled to her left until Lauder was between her and the door. “You know my name. Not exactly organization protocol.” She glanced along the perimeter of the well-appointed office and paused at two internal doors at the far end of the office.

  “My private bathroom. And a closet.”

  Lenz whipped her gun toward Lauder. “Show me.” She gestured for him to get up with a wave of the silenced pistol. “Slowly.”

  Lenz watched him carefully. The man covered the fear well, but she saw it clearly, smelt it, like a hungry animal tracking the scent of its next meal. She understood the effect she had on men. The gun pointed at him only added to the excitement and confusion of his feelings. This one was no different.

  She was a beautiful woman. She knew it. She accepted it. Much like the silenced pistol in her hand, she used it like a weapon.

  Even now, with a gun pointed at him, she read the messages firing from the man’s eyes. Scared she could kill him in an instant, but still, imagining what she looked like naked, imagining her legs wrapped around him and banging her.. No… not this one. She frowned, burrowing her glare deep into his mind. No, this one was different. He was… cruel. He liked to control people. To hurt them.

  Her finger tightened on the trigger.

  The man stood from his chair and raised his hands, then gestured for her to lower the gun. “Lenz, put that away. We’re alone. You won’t need that here.”

  She held the gun aimed at him. “Show me.”

  Lenz stepped around the man as he walked to the side of the office and reached for the first door. “Stop.” She closed the gap between them. “Face the door.” She grabbed a handful of his shirt collar at the base of his neck and held her pistol back against her sternum. “I have my gun aimed at your spine.”

  “We’re alone Lenz.”

  “Open the door.”

  Lenz held him out in front of her and peered over his shoulder as he pulled the door open. The closet light stitched on automatically. Suits. Shirts. Ties. Hung neatly. Shoes stacked on an internal shelf. Clear.

  “Next door. Slowly.”

  “This really is unnecessary…”

  Lenz ignored him. She pushed him toward the bathroom door, positioned herself carefully behind him as he opened the door, then charged inside, using him as a shield. She scanned right, left. Clear.

  “I told y…”

  Lenz spun the man around mid-sentence and pushed him back into the vanity unit hard. She raised the pistol in her hand and aimed it at his chest. “You know my name. How?” She glared into the man’s face. Watched his eyes.

  He raised his hands and scowled. “It’s my job to know who my gun in the field is.”

  Lenz tilted her head as she interrogated his every word, his every breath. “I’m not your gun. The organization would not disclose my name.” Lenz straightened, then lowered her aim. “I’ve been patient so far. But, I don’t need you.” She flexed her body, leaned into a firing position, and adjusted her aim toward his stomach.

  “Wait!” he held his hands out. “Wait.”

  She lifted her finger off the trigger and stared into his eyes. She gestured for him to hurry with a flick of the silenced gun barrel.

  “Ulrich Atler. Was my field man. We had to work closely together. We knew each other. Trusted each other, with each other’s lives. After Shirin killed him, I knew the organization would allocate a new field agent…”

  She prompted him to continue with a wave of the pistol.

  “I needed to know I could trust whoever was appointed... I did my due diligence. Once I found out you were Atler’s protégé, it wasn’t hard to identify you.” He lowered his hands slowly. “With the work we still have to do, knowing who you were, what you could do, became a priority. The Clockmaker understood that. It’s the only reason protocol in this case was over-ruled. We have to trust one another.”

  Lenz stared at him. Considered shooting him, but resisted the urge. She holstered the gun. “I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anyone. Lie to me once, and I’ll kill you.”

 

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