Silver Fire (Guardians) (37 page)

Derek felt his heart and something in his nether region swell. Sophie reached up and pinched his cheek affectionately. “Next time, honey, drink a little less. Drunk sex is great, but it would be better if you stayed awake long enough for the afterglow.”

“Minx,” Derek muttered.
 

“Hey, I’m still upset with you for taking off when we had some serious discussion going on,” Sophie said as she pulled out the bagels and cream cheese.
 

The reason for his drunken binge last night came rushing back. He and Jack had gotten nowhere with that discussion as the scotch flowed fairly quickly.

“What you said cut deep, Sophie,” Derek admitted. “It made me feel worthless when all I wanted to do was protect you. I wanted to lash out. I had to leave before I said something I would regret.”

“I should have phrased my words better,” Sophie said softly. “You did not deserve what I said. Especially after all you’ve done for me.”

“What kills me is there’s some truth to your statement. But I’m not letting you go without me. That will never happen.”

“So you’re okay with me going?”

“Of course not. But there’s no stopping you. Might as well help you prepare.”

“Training starts tomorrow.”

“Maia’s helping with the training,” Derek replied. “There’s no one better to prepare you. We’ve got three days before we leave.”

***

“So, have you told him you love him yet?” Beth asked.

They were hanging out at the same spot as the other day in front of the DC Tattler building. The August heat beat down on them, the humidity was thick and suffocating. Not a gentle breeze relieved the stagnant air.
 

“Not really. No.” Sophie sighed. She watched the condensation trickle down her cold fountain drink.

“What’s stopping you?”

“Besides the fact that I could become a mass murderer. Oh nothing,” Sophie replied sarcastically.

Beth winced. “About that, Sophie—”

“It’s fine. Forget it.”
 

Just then a little girl with light shimmering blonde hair walked up to them. She was about eight-years old and looked faintly familiar. She held out a cell phone to Sophie and said, “He told me you should do it.”

Sophie frowned as she reached for the phone. “He? Do what?” She looked around expecting Derek to suddenly jump out and say “psyche.”

It was then she stared into the girl’s gray eyes and noticed how similar they were to her own. The girl smiled sadly, took a couple of steps back and walked away.

Sophie rose from the bench to go after her, but her eyes were inexplicably drawn to the phone. The screen flickered oddly, and she was prompted in some trance-like state to punch in some numbers and press send. Sophie glanced up at the little girl’s retreating form. Silver light engulfed her tiny body, turning it as black as charcoal with fiery embers shooting out from within.
 

Filled with horror, Sophie wanted to scream, but she had gone mute, so she reached out only to see her hand turn red and slowly dissolve.
 

Beth stood up to shake her, but her best friend was nothing more but deformed flesh, like a figure made out of wax and thrown into a fire, melted just like she was.

“Oh god, oh god!” Her mind screamed.

“Sophie!”

“No...no...I did this. I killed them!”

“Sophie, wake up!”

She was breathing hard when her eyes shot open and focused on Derek’s worried face.

“I killed them...the little girl...Beth,” Sophie whispered raggedly.

“It’s just a dream, baby,” Derek said soothingly, gathering her into his arms and rocking her gently.
 

Sophie felt her body spasm, her tears flowing freely.
 

“There was an explosion, I caused it—”

“Just a dream,” Derek said firmly. He set her away for a bit, and cupped her face, his thumbs caressing her cheek, and wiping her tears away. His own eyes were tortured, and Sophie’s heart splintered with the knowledge that her own messed-up life was causing Derek such anguish.
 

“What if we can’t stop it?” Sophie mumbled. Her mind seemed to finally accept the fate of the zee bomb’s destructive inevitability, which her subconscious already knew.

“We’re going to stop it, Sophie,” Derek assured her. “We can’t fail.”
 

***

“Who are you?” Marissa asked her.

“I’m Linda Brooks, I’m a tax accountant with Enoch and York. I’m here on vacation with my girlfriend, Susan Halloway. I’m 28-years old, grew up in Charlotte North Carolina. Both parents deceased. Unmarried. I currently live in 205 Bleaker Street, Vienna Virginia,” Sophie droned on. Their rental car was exiting O.R. Tambo International Airport located northeast of Johannesburg. Marissa, aka Susan Halloway, was driving.
 

The team had been divided into smaller groups and were all given inconspicuous covers. Marissa’s cover was a buyer for a high-end retailer, and she clearly could pull it off with her expensive clothes and shoes—working the polished look with no problem. Who would suspect her of leading a CIA Black Ops team?

“Great job, Sophie,” Marissa said. Sophie watched her maneuver the vehicle to the M1 thoroughfare that would lead them straight to the heart of Johannesburg. It was 9:00 a.m. Johannesburg time, Saturday morning. Their hotel was located on St. Andrews road in the district of Parktown—a place well known for street cafes. They were going to meet up with the rest of the AGS-CIA team during the regular Saturday night street festival in Melville. It was also a beer festival, so there would be lots of people, making it easier to hide and rendezvous for a final mission briefing.

An advance reconnaissance team that included Derek had left two days before. Her man was not pleased at all with the plan to separate them, but being the team player that he was and not wanting to be taken off the mission, he went along with the playbook. An inner room at one of the drinking dives was going to be used as the meeting place. The location had been vetted by the CIA station in South Africa and had been used frequently for secret drops. Such was the life of a spook: false identities, secret drops and secret rooms.

Marissa pulled into a quaint boutique hotel, La Belle Epoche. Two African men in khaki shorts and loose white polo shirts immediately met their vehicle to open their doors. Sophie stepped out and stretched. She couldn’t wait to take a nap. According to Marissa, everything would happen fast. The team planned to go on the offensive at zero dark thirty, Sunday morning. Once they left the hotel this evening, they wouldn’t be back until the end of the mission. Everything they needed would be at the briefing room: clothes, weapons and other gear.

Marissa checked-in while Sophie hung back. What had she gotten herself into? When had she become a spy? This was crazy. Of course she couldn’t tell Stephen and Beth where she was. She told them she was taking a vacation to some tropical paradise somewhere with Derek. Crazy.

“Linda.”
 

A hand grasped her elbow tightly. “Linda. You seem to be extremely jet-lagged,” Marissa said meaningfully, her green eyes narrowing in disapproval. “Focus, Linda.”

Oh yeah, that was her name. Sheesh. This was going to be difficult.
 
Jet-lagged and under an assumed identity.
How do spies do it? Really.

***

It was a sea of humanity—the Saturday night market at Melville. It was raunchier, Sophie suspected, because it coincided with a beer festival. Vendors lined the street hawking their wares of South African heritage souvenirs. There were tables of gorgeous ceramics and beaded artwork, cape Dutch antiques, impressive wood carvings and an array of endless costume jewelry. Loud music from every corner vibrated through the air infusing it with carefree revelry. She shook her head at how small she had allowed her world to be by shutting herself away in her lab.
 

Sophie gravitated toward the food vendors; heavenly curry aromas assailed her nostrils. She wondered if there was time to grab something to eat. Maybe they could pack some food for the team. God knows what they would serve at the beer joint they were meeting at. She quickly glanced around for Marissa. Shit. Where was she?

Her hunger forgotten, Sophie quickly pushed through the crowd. Some people glared at her because she had jostled them while they were drinking their beer, spilling the liquid.
 

“Hey, watch it will you?” Disgruntled folks barked at her.

“Sorry. Sorry,” Sophie muttered. She was so stupid. This was not a sight-seeing trip. The one instruction Marissa had hammered into her was to stick to her and not let her out of her sight and she couldn’t even do that. She let her curiosity and awe of the place distract her and boy, was she easily distracted. She mentally crossed out “CIA agent” from her list of future professions.
 

Thankfully, she was tall enough to look over the crowd and spot Marissa maybe twenty feet from her. “Mari...Susan!” Damn it. Trying not to lose track of the brunette, Sophie became more aggressive in weaving through the crowd. Unfortunately, some folks were not too happy to have their beer sloshed on them. One of them shoved Sophie back.
 

He also looked to be a tourist, college-age. “Watch it!” And Australian.
 

“Sorry, but I’m trying to get to—” Sophie craned her neck. Damn. Marissa was out of sight again.
 

“What’s the rush, darlin’,” he drawled. “You spilled my beer. You get me another one.”

The Australian reached out to grab her, but was immediately pushed aside.

“She’s with me.”

Sophie felt relieved, expecting to see one of the AGS/CIA commandos. Instead she stared straight into the piercing eyes of Stan Morgan.

***

Derek waited impatiently by one of the street vendors selling grilled chicken livers on a stick. He took a long pull from his beer—his first and last one for the day. They still had hours before the mission, so he allowed himself this indulgence. The sorghum and maize-based beer in South Africa were actually quite good and went so well with the street food.
 

Their reconnaissance mission was productive, and they were able to nail down specifics like timings and a visual lay of the land. He and Quint got over their rocky start and realized they worked well together and understood the implications of their mission. Their model of incursion teams were not restricted by military protocols. They would do anything to get the job done and that included breaking the laws in a foreign land. The clincher was, with Black Ops, if they got caught, the US government would immediately disavow all knowledge of them. These were the risks they took every single time.

“See them yet?” Quint asked beside him. They were dressed in casual khakis and linen shirts. Their cover: history professors specializing in African culture. Derek had a little fun playing the part, slicking his hair back with gel and wearing spectacles.
 

“No,” Derek replied. “Wait. There’s Susan.” No sign of Sophie. What the hell? Derek peeled himself from the sidelines and made his way to the CIA team lead. She was not looking happy and Derek felt his temper rising.

“Where is she?” he growled.

“We got separated,” Marissa said in annoyance. “She was supposed to stick to me. Damn it!”

“What do you mean you got separated?” Derek roared.

“Yelling at me is not gonna help,” Marissa retorted. “She couldn’t be far. I didn’t want you guys to think something happened to us, so I came here first. I saw her not two minutes ago, she was right behind me!”

“What was she wearing?”

“White blouse, pink shorts.”

Derek was already pushing his way back in the direction Marissa had come from, shouldering past festival goers. Derek briefly noted the annoyed looks shot his way, but he must be wearing the ferocious scowl from hell because people started scrambling out of his way.

“Professor Banning!” Marissa called out, but Derek ignored her, pulling out his phone and hoping the tracking app worked. They promised to take care of Sophie and they lost her. Fuck them all.

***

Stan Morgan dragged her to an alley away from the festival. Sophie knew resisting was futile—the man could snap her like a toothpick if he wanted to. Far enough from the crowd, he backed her against a wall, planted his hands on either side of her head and leaned in.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he said angrily.

“I...I..,” Sophie stammered. What was she going to say?
 

“Who’s with you?”

Sophie figured silence was her best defense.

Morgan decided to try a different tactic. His right hand curled around her neck and squeezed, not too tight, but enough to put the fear of god in her.
 

“I did not let you go only for you to get yourself killed,” Morgan snarled. “Walk away from this, Sophie. You do not want to mess with Damian Stoltz.”

“How can you let him kill thousands?”

The hand around her neck loosened its grip, and the big man stepped back and crossed his arms. “Those are strong allegations, lady. Although I have problems with some of his methods, Damian Stoltz is a respectable businessman around here. It is my understanding the device is used for demolition—clearing sections of land in a clean sweep.”

“Wiping out some towns in the process.”

“Where did you hear this?”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “As if I’m going to tell you. You work for Stoltz.”

“I work for myself. I’m just a transporter.”

Sophie’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’ve heard about people like you.”

Morgan ignored her statement and said, “Sophie, I know you’re feeling guilty about building the zefinium bomb, but it’s not you who is pulling the trigger. Walk away.”

“Is that how you justify your actions?” Sophie fired back. “You provide the weapon, but it’s not you pulling the trigger?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Morgan snapped. “Down here? Life is different. More vicious and far from the cushy existence you know in your little corner of the world.”