Flee (24 page)

I
scooped in a deep breath of night air. If that blip was a hostile and had
infiltrated Jacob's defenses, I might be too late.

Dropping
to a knee, I brought my rifle to my shoulder and peered through the starlight
scope. From this angle, I could see through the windows. Even though the room
was dark, I could make out furniture, a few plants, a dark hall presumably
leading to other rooms.

No
light. No movement.

Time
for me to see who was home.

I
swung away from the home's interior and scanned the grounds. A path sloped
upward to an entrance just to the south of the window bank. I could see scorch
marks from here, along with the mangled steel that used to be the doorknob and
deadbolt mechanism. The remnants of a destroyed camera hung down from under the
eave.

I
thrust to my feet and moved quickly through the forest. My footsteps were quiet,
although I was more worried about surveillance cameras than sound. As I grew
nearer, I spotted two additional cameras hidden in trees. Both were out of
commission, like the one I'd noticed on the house—no doubt the fault of the
bullet that had drilled a hole through each lens.

I
approached the south entrance. Keeping low, I crept up the sloping path and
stopped to the side of the scarred door. I paused outside, listening for
movement, scanning for any unusual scents. The memory of stepping through
Victor's apartment door and getting zapped with the stun gun was still fresh in
my mind, and I waited an additional two minutes and stole another glance at the
computer to be sure the blip wasn't awaiting my entrance. Finally I shoved open
the disabled door and surged inside, leading with my rifle.

I
moved into the living area, clearing each corner as I went. Satisfied no one
was in the front room, I mentally logged my surroundings. A gleaming hardwood
floor was broken up by two cream rugs. A cream sofa and contemporary styled
chairs dotted the living area. A formal dining room complete with buffet and
silk flowers on the table occupied the other side of the long room. A simple
and small kitchen nestled along the back wall. Generic prints hung on beige
walls and silk greenery popped here and there. All in all, the place looked
more like a furniture showroom than a home, impractical and unlived in. I
noticed two more cameras, these looking as if they'd been clubbed instead of
shot, then turned my attention to the dark hallway leading deeper into the
house.

Four
doors led off the hall, one on the left, two on the right and one at the end.
The farthest door was slightly open. A broken diamond bit drill littered the
hardwood floor at its foot. A small monitor nestled in the wall, its screen
shattered.

Gun
at the ready, I walked to the door and swung the wooden portal wide. Behind the
oak hid the type of door commonly seen at the mouth of a bank vault. Explosion
burns scorched the steel, but except for cosmetic damage, the door appeared
unbreached.

I
could guess what had happened. Clancy had tried to penetrate Jacob's defenses.
Unable to, she had taken up her position outside, waiting for Jacob to emerge
or for someone like me to try to help. But that explanation didn't answer one
important question.

Since
the source of the blip was beyond those doors, what was it?

 "Is
that Xena?"

The
familiar electronic male voice made me jump. Jacob! Following the sound to the
side of the door, I spotted a small speaker and intercom control under the
shattered monitor. I hit the speak button. "I'm sorry, she's in Oklahoma.
At the baseball game."

"I
prefer basketball myself."

After
verifying our identities, the sports references were code that each of us was
alone.

I
was so relieved to hear his voice, my throat felt thick.

"Are
you okay?" I asked him.

"Clancy
cut the power. I got the back-up generator working, but it doesn't supply power
to the entire grid. Let me reroute it to the door."

A
loud clack echoed through the hall, and the thick steel door swung open.

"Come
inside," Jacob said.

A
chill worked over my skin. Leading with the gun, I slipped through the door and
found myself in a long, sloped tunnel. Steel girders reinforced the textured
concrete walls and floor. The air smelled surprisingly fresh and dry and
carried a hint of bacon.

Strange.
I'd never pictured Jacob living in an underground bunker.

Come
to think of it, I'd never pictured Jacob living anywhere at all.

The
door clanged closed behind me. Heart banging in my chest, I started down the
slope, holding the rifle at the ready. It wasn't likely someone else had gotten
Jacob's code, but it was possible. And even though I'd heard Jacob's voice on
the speaker, I had to remember the voice I'd identified as Jacob's was
electronically altered. The person speaking could be him, or it could be someone
else using his voice changer. Either way, I liked to have as much control as
possible.

People
clung to security blankets of all kinds. I preferred a weapon with stopping
power.

The
sloping tunnel switched back twice and ended at a door identical to the bank
vault model above. As I reached it, the lock clacked and the thick steel swung
wide. I paused for a second before stepping through.

A
large room greeted me, much homier in feel than the furniture showcase
upstairs. A living room area, and a full-fledged, eat-in kitchen, the obvious
source of the bacon odor. A regular apartment, not that different from mine,
except for one thing.

Kitchen
counters, tables and shelves were all two thirds the normal height.

Was
Jacob a dwarf? A super-intelligent child? Who really was the man who saw me
through countless ops and saved my life scores of times? I knew nothing about
him. Our conversations over the years never got deeper than common
pleasantries. Yet all of the sudden I felt like I was on a blind date, and I
had a sudden, irrational urge to check my hair and make-up.

Then
I heard a quiet whir approach from the side. Turning, I saw a person in an
electronic wheelchair. A woman, with wide, expressive eyes, and a smile on her
face.

A
smile that matched mine.

In
fact, it matched mine perfectly.

"There will be times when you're caught off guard," The
Instructor said. "Even the best prepared operative can be surprised. It's
part of being human."

No
wise words popped into my mind, no training I could fall back on to help me
deal with this. I stared down the rifle sights at yet another of my sisters,
this one in a wheelchair.

"You're
Jacob," I said.

"Hi,
Chandler." I could tell her smile was genuine. "Yes, I'm Jacob. If
you'd like, I can confirm it by talking about some of the ops you've been on.
Remember Lebanon, when I sent you to Beirut to replace your fake passport?"

"I
remember." But my smile fell away and I still kept the gun trained on her.
I didn't trust people, not normally, and if my skepticism needed any
reinforcement, today had provided it in spades. "There are only supposed
to be seven," I said.

"Seven?"

"Hydra
sisters. Seven. And only Hammett and I are still alive. I know. One died years
ago and I killed the other four." The words tasted sour on my tongue, but
the truth behind them wasn't something I could change.

Her
eyebrows flicked upward. "Who told you about Hydra?"

I
didn't answer.

She
left her hands on her chair's arm rests, as if she sensed how close I was to
drilling a bullet through her forehead. "Was it Hammett? She's behind this,
isn't she?"

"The
Instructor told me."

"So
he visited you. I thought he might."

"You
didn't know?"

"I
haven't seen him since training."

"Then
you're not Jacob. Jacob is supposed know everything." Even in my own ears,
my argument sounded hollow, like a child insisting on the existence of Santa
Claus.

"I've
been a little busy," she said in a dry tone.

An
inflection I'd heard many times in Jacob's electronically disguised voice. I
mulled this over and waited for her to go on.

"Normally
I'm not the one playing catch up. Everything I know about Hydra I've learned in
the past few hours, digging through government databases. Why haven't you
answered your phone?"

"It's
gone. I thought they were tracking me with it."

"That's
impossible. The transceiver can't be traced. Did you try to destroy it? The
case is made out of carbon fiber, so it's resistant to—"

"I
didn't try to break it."

Jacob's
eyes got wide. "Does Hammett have it?"

"We'll
talk about the transceiver in a moment," I said. "First, let's talk
about who you are."

"I'm
your handler. You know me as Jacob. At Hydra, I was given the codename Fleming."

"Fleming
is dead."

Jacob
stared at me for a moment. I could practically see the wheels turning in her
head.

"If
The Instructor told you that, he's either been compromised or fed false
information. I was completing a sanction in Milan, and had to hang outside of a
five story window. My support wire snapped." She gestured to her legs,
covered by a blanket. "I've been your handler since then. I should debrief
you, but there isn't time. We have to get the transceiver. Where is it?"

I
wasn't sure what to answer. I wanted to trust Jacob or Fleming or whatever her
name was. But I'd wanted to trust Victor, too. I felt like I was scrambling to
keep up. After all that had happened in the past day, all I'd had to process, I
couldn't seem to get my feet under me.

"Fair
enough," Fleming said. "We'll talk first. Can you tell me how you
found me?"

"The
same way Clancy found you. The tracking chips."

"What
chips?"

"Sewn
into our stomachs."

"Sewn
into our...?" Fleming stared down at her waist. "We have locator
chips in us?"

"I've
got a tablet PC. It shows where all seven sisters are. I guess you're the
seventh."

Fleming
shook her head. "They chipped us. Those mother fuckers."

I
couldn't agree with her sentiments more. "So what is so special about my
phone? Why does Hammett want it so badly?"

"Have
you been in contact with her?"

"You
could say that."

Her
lips pursed, as if she had some guesses as to how unpleasant contact with
Hammett might be, then took a deep breath. "Your phone... it's not just a
phone."

"I've
figured out that much."

"It's
actually a highly encrypted transceiver."

Technically
speaking, any phone was a transceiver. As for the encrypted part, Jacob, or
Fleming, had told me that part when she had originally sent it to me. "Go
on."

"I
designed it. I'm a bit of a computer genius." She averted her eyes for a
second, and her face tinged just a tiny bit pink. "There are only two transceivers
like this in existence. You have one. The President of the United States has
the other."

"An
iPhone isn't good enough for him?"

Her
expression remained serious. "The iPhone doesn't have an app for this. There's
a hidden source code on the operating system. If accessed, it can be used to
remotely launch America's nuclear arsenal."

My
arms trembled, and I had to steady my weapon. "What?"

"Whoever
has your phone could punch in a code and destroy the entire world one hundred eighty
times over. If Hammett gets it, she'll have the power to start World War III."

"There is no good information or bad information," The
Instructor said. "Information simply exists. It's neutral. It's your
reaction to information that is either good or bad. You have to bury that
reaction and be neutral too."

I
felt my stomach do some cartwheels. "So I could dial a wrong number, and
accidentally blow up Russia?"

"It's
more complicated than that. You'd need to—"

I
held up a hand. "I don't want to know."

Fleming
nodded as if she'd seen my response coming. "That's why you were given the
phone."

I
narrowed my eyes.

"Your
reaction," Fleming said. "It's less common than you think. You don't
even want to know how to use the phone. Not everyone would have that response.
And even while most people might not want to blow up the world themselves, they
might be tempted to use the power for personal gain."

I
could see Hammett blowing up the world, or at least holding it for ransom, but
I couldn't be the only sister who wasn't trigger happy or power mad. "Why
give it to me? I don't want that kind of power."

"After
9/11, the President decided there needed to be a safeguard, in case he was
compromised. Someone able to follow orders. Someone who could launch the strike
in his stead. You've killed for your country. You've shown your loyalty."