Betrayal Read online

  The one called Slaughter, ironic name, that would have no issue with torturing her until he had bled her for every ounce of intel she could manage to spit out. She could see it in his eyes. There was a dark desire in the man for payback over what had been done to his team, and she had played a part in the pain and frustration the man was feeling. Sara Anderson was about to suffer a very painful price for what she had done.

  They had elected to take her back to their home base for questioning. They asked her very little on the chopper ride over, tending to her wounds instead. She was sure Slaughter had not chosen to begin because he preferred as few witnesses as possible.

  She sat in a small room she was sure had been a broom closet just before she arrived at their headquarters. They called it “The Farm.” At first, she had assumed they were taking her back to the place CIA recruits were trained, called by the same nickname. Unlike the CIA training compound, this place looked exactly like a farm. Until she entered the barn, she assumed they were going to string her up amongst the hay bales for questioning. Inside, she quickly realized this place was not at all what it appeared.

  She hobbled around the tiny space, pacing about like the wounded animal she was. There had to be a way out of here, some way of escape. Maybe she could make up some stuff to tell them when they finally got around to asking her questions. The truth was, she had no idea where Seymour had hidden himself. The only thing she could really offer was a list of known accomplices to his many dark deeds. Surely they had access to that already. Still, there was hope. And if she could not come up with a name, she was certain she could make one up. She needed time, that was all. Just enough time to figure a way out of this mess.

  She doubted any escape attempt would work. The place was surrounded by roaming men with guns and radios. Even if she could get out of this room and exit the building, she would be cut down before she made it five feet.

  Something. There had to be something.

  The drugs they had injected her with to subdue the pain were wearing off. Her leg was beginning to throb. Still, Sara kept up the pacing. Keeping her leg moving was imperative. Leave the thing stationary too long and it would be impossible to move at all.

  Move? More like hobble.

  She paused a minute to gingerly rub her leg, grimacing from the pain. All at once, she spotted the hope she had been looking for. It was just a tiny thing, but it was hope nonetheless. A mechanical pencil lay on the floor and had rolled into a corner. Perhaps this had been a storage closet for office supplies?

  She snatched it from the floor for closer examination. It had a good point and was made with sturdy plastic. Jam it into someone’s neck and they would bleed out in short order. Sara Anderson had a weapon. It wasn’t much. She didn’t need much. She just needed something. Now she had it. Time it just right and Sara Anderson might find her way out of this mess.

  She smiled and mumbled to herself. “Should have handcuffed me, you bunch of amateurs.

  __________

  DJ felt like shooting something, putting his fist through a wall, hurling a stapler across the room, something, anything to release his frustration. He had thought going after all of those men back at the safe house would have acted as a release for his anger and stress. It had not. The only thing to fix this was to find Seymour and Sam and make them bleed. Instead, he did what he become proficient at, burying his feelings. He walked over to the playpen in the corner of the operations room and carefully picked up Cassie. She grinned at him, a single tooth showing through her bottom gum.

  DJ tuned back to the room and addressed Agent Ali. “Some of the men at the safe house were employed by the CIA, but what does that mean? Could Seymour really convert that many people to betray the agency and their country? It doesn’t make sense. You guys test for things like that when you are recruiting, right? Besides that, the more people he brings on board, the more ways he has to split the money. I can’t see any agent abandoning everything they knew for a few million dollars. He would have to offer them more than that. What would each of them want? Fifty maybe? More? It all starts to add up quick. So someone please make sense of this for me.”

  Ali was about to answer but Carbon jumped in. “I have an idea.”

  Ali turned to face him, seemingly perturbed that he hadn’t had the chance to give his own theory first. “Please, explain. Because I am sure I already know what the answer is. But show us just how brilliant you are, genius.”

  Carbon stood from his desk and crossed his arms. “Three or four months ago there was all this news about how the CIA was going to get less money. The Senate Appropriations Committee, in defiance of President Neville, decided to cut back the CIA’s budget by twenty percent. The President had gone on and on about how we needed to ramp up the war on terrorism. The other party, the majority in the Senate, went on camera and called him a warmonger, saying that this country had spilled enough American blood in too many countries, and that far too many innocent bystanders had suffered the consequences. So, he didn’t get his massive increase in defense spending. He got a massive reduction instead. They twisted his arm into signing the thing saying that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t get his economic package through either. He needed to pick which one he wanted more. The government shut down for nearly three weeks while talking heads from both parties threw little temper tantrums on national television. It was political theater like I’ve never seen before. I’m with DJ on this. Politicians are nothing but a bunch of D-bags.”

  DJ spoke up, interrupting Carbon’s speech. “Not exactly what I said, but you nailed the tone perfectly.”

  Carbon, angry now over having to prove himself to anyone, waved off DJ and continued. “Anyway! I think Deputy Director Hartley, or worse, someone over her, has conspired to steal the drive and all of that cryptocurrency. Explains why she is so focused on recovering the drive for herself, and why she was content to release DJ and all of his caveman-like rage after Two-Faced Sam, or whatever we’re calling him. Also explains why we still have no clue where he is. It also explains why all of those dead guys DJ killed were CIA. I mean, with over two billion dollars in seized assets, the CIA would be able to fund their little private wars for quite a long time. At least long enough to wait for a new shift in power and sentiment on Capitol Hill.” Carbon glared at the rest of the room, daring any to punch holes in his theory.

  No one said anything for a long few seconds. Finally, it was Abbi who spoke. “If Hartley is really behind all of this, how come she’s letting us go after Seymour too?”

  Carbon smiled. “Great question. Glad you asked. She’s not. Remember how she initially resisted DJ’s demands? She pushed back pretty hard. But in the end, she knew tigers were going to do what tigers do. She knew DJ would never stand down. So, she acted like she was passing her blessing over DJ’s pursuit. But think about this: she is also the one who gave us intel on where we might find dynamite chick. She knew full well that I would start looking for power consumption at all of those locations. It’s how I figured where that terrorist was hiding that tried to blow up New York City, remember? She’s a freaking spy. She did research on all of us. She gave me just enough information to lead me right to her. Then, she sent in her goons only after we were inside. She tried to take us out, all the while acting like she was on the same team. But she’s not. She has her own agenda.”

  Abbi nodded but wasn’t convinced. “OK, but why not just come after us here? Why lure us into a trap instead? Why not just kill us all right here at home?”

  Carbon took another few steps into the center of the room, looking at all of them. “Because I don’t think the whole agency is corrupted. It’s a few people at the top and the ones she knows she can count on. Agent Ali has this place surrounded by people he knows and trusts. No way she sends CIA against CIA. She lures us out to that safe house, without backup, and takes out the one person she knows will be there who just can’t let this thing go, though God knows why not.”

  Carbon focused on DJ. “Seriously, DJ, we
should let this thing go. Let them have their stupid money and their little wars. Call her up right now. Tell her the team is too injured. Tell her you had a change of heart and want to retire while you can. Tell her whatever, but let this go. We can’t win this one.”

  DJ shook his head. “Because Bounder is dead. Because Coonie is dead. Because Brett has a hole in his heart. Because if you are right, these people will go on killing innocent bystanders, blinded by their own twisted sense of a greater good. If you’re right, Deputy Director Hartley is no better than Sara Anderson. You want a big dog to protect your house. But no matter how much you may want that dog around, once they start biting the neighbors, you have to put them down.”

  DJ looked at Agent Ali. “So, tell me what your theory is. Tell me why Carbon is wrong about all of this.”

  Ali shook his head. “He’s not. Seriously, you do not give the kid enough credit. He’s way smarter than he looks.”

  Cash finally spoke, having sat back absorbing it all. “Then what do we do about it? If Carbon is right, and I’m inclined to believe he is, how do we deal with this new development? If we just assassinate her, we’ll be wanted for the rest of our lives. That’s no way to raise a daughter, DJ. Besides, they’ll eventually find us. They’ll kill us when they do.”

  Before DJ could answer, Carbon jumped in again. “What we can’t do is stay here. Hanging out behind Agent Ali’s chosen troops may have offered us protection up until now, but not anymore. If baiting us into an ambush didn’t work, she’ll just drop a JDAM on this place from a drone. She’ll resign herself to killing her own CIA to get the job done. At this point, she’s all in.”

  Cash agreed, offering the only solution that seemed viable at the moment. “We go into hiding. We vanish before she knows we’re on to her. We gather the evidence to hang her and then take her out. We at least go into hiding until we have a solution.”

  DJ nodded and handed Cassie back off to Abbi. “Fine. Then I know just the place. But, Ali, you need to leave the room while we talk about it. I appreciate all you’ve done, but it’s time for you to walk away. You’re better off not being a part of what we do next.”

  Ali stood straighter and stared DJ in the eye. “Are you fond of shooting your friends? Because that’s what you’ll have to do to keep me from coming along. I won’t work for an agency that has done what they’ve done. We take them all out. I’m with you. Now, where is that you propose disappearing to?”

  DJ nodded, stepping forward to pat his friend on the back. “It’s right next to a place I like to call Paradise.”

  Chapter 15: Fix It

  Ali looked at his friend and fellow agent, Hank Rayland, and shook his head. “No, the fewer the people that know the details, the better.”

  He could see Rayland wasn’t happy. “You need backup. I know Slaughter’s reputation but look what he’s bringing with him. You’ve got an old has-been sheriff. You’ve got an ex-FBI agent that I am sure is really good at what he does, but he has a bullet hole in his leg. He’s not on his A-game. Slaughter has a few in him as well. As good as he is, he’s going to be slower. Period. And then there’s a mother and her child tagging along. Or what about Carbon? Don’t get me wrong, the kid’s smart, but that won’t help you in a gunfight. That’s not a team. That’s a target-rich environment. You know me and can trust me. Let me go along.”

  Ali nodded. “You’re right on all of it. But it’s because I trust you more than any other that I need you to get Sara some place safe; someplace no one knows about. She’s the only witness we have. We need her alive. Somewhere down the road, there’s going to be a Senate Intelligence meeting over all of this, and her testimony will be crucial to keeping us out of prison. Besides, we’re dropping Abbi and the baby off on the way. It’s with someone Abbi knows. Not really sure who.”

  Rayland shook his head, placing his fists on his hip. “I don’t like this. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

  Ali nodded in agreement. “There’s a good chance. That’s why we need someone else that knows everything that’s gone on and can keep trying to get to the truth. Should we lose, we need someone to avenge us. You will need to fix this if we can’t.”

  __________

  Sara felt vibrations on the floor of someone approaching. She stepped back against the wall and slipped the mechanical pencil into her waistband under her shirt. She briefly thought about just going for it and stabbing the first person to open the door, but that was foolish. The place must have fifty armed agents roaming around. Even if she was able to take a gun off her victim, she wouldn’t get too far. Besides, she had no desire to kill another good guy and make her problem worse. She had to figure out how to get into their good graces instead. After she escaped, of course. There was no chance at redeeming herself if she stayed locked up in closets until she was sentenced in a tribunal and was shipped off to Gitmo.

  The door opened and a well-dressed man in a suit jacket sized her up. He was cute, in a do-gooder sort of way. His brown hair was well-groomed, with a carefully shaped beard and mustache to match. His eyes were dark, mysterious, and seemed to be hiding his real thoughts. She was sure the man was condemning her up one side and down the other, perhaps contemplating the most efficient way to kill her, but he looked like he might be on the way to a meeting in a board room. He would have fit in perfectly walking the sidewalks of Wall Street.

  She smiled, innocently. “And who are you?” she asked demurely. She knew flirting wouldn’t work, but it was still fun to try.

  The man didn’t reply with his name. Instead, he tossed over a pair of handcuffs. “Behind your back. Put them on and turn around.”

  Sara sighed and did as instructed, locking her wrists behind her and facing the wall. The stranger stepped closer and adjusted the cuffs, clicking them tighter to ensure she couldn’t wiggle free. “Where’re we going?” she asked.

  The man wheeled her about, stepped in behind, and pushed her through the door. “Not to a firing squad, if that’s what you’re thinking, but try anything with me and I’ll be happy to put a bullet through your head. We’re taking a ride, you and I.”

  She smiled as she walked down the hallway. “Great, I love adventures, but you still didn’t tell me your name.”

  The man jerked her to a halt, spun her halfway around, and pinned her against the wall with one hand to her throat, squeezing to make his point. “The name’s Hank. That’s the last question you ask, got me? The next time you go for idle chit chat, thinking to get me to drop my guard, there’ll be pain involved. Now shut your hole and head down the stairs at the end of the hall.” Hank released her and stepped back. Despite the threat, Hank’s countenance was nonchalant, like he had just greeted a colleague at the water cooler.

  A trip down the stairs turned into a trip through the front door. The door led to a dark blue sedan. The sedan led to being told to lay down in the back seat and a pillowcase pulled over her head. Then it was a long drive of twisting, turning, hooded darkness. She did manage to get in a good nap, though.

  Sometime later, she awoke to the feel of turning into what felt like a parking lot. There was slow driving, a sharp turn, and then a halt. She heard Hank get out of the car, leaving the engine running, and the sound of a metal door being lifted; like that of a metal garage door being pushed up along its tracks. Hank got back in, pulled the car forward briefly, then killed the engine. After hearing the garage door lowered into place, she was finally removed from the back seat and the hood was yanked off.

  Sara blinked from the sudden change in light and looked around. They were in what appeared to be a warehouse. The walls were all corrugated steel with no windows. There were two roll-up doors behind the car, and gymnasium-styled lighting hanging from the high ceiling. It may have been an auto maintenance garage of some kind a long time ago. The air had the smell of old oil and grease. It explained the many dark spots staining the concrete floor. It was mostly one giant, dust-filled room. Against the back wall was a closed-in section that had been cons
tructed inside. Perhaps for offices?

  She was pushed in that direction and through an open door. Hank flipped on a light switch to reveal a twenty-by-fifteen-foot space with cheap paneling for the walls. There was a couch, a small table with two chairs, a fridge, a five-foot-long stretch of counter space with cabinets above and below, and a stainless kitchen sink on one end. Two other doors were in one corner. As Hank pushed her through one of them, leading into a space converted to function as a bedroom. She could see the other door opened into a small bath with a fiberglass shower. It wasn’t much to look at. Sara guessed this must be a safe house of some kind. She had a few of her own that looked worse than this, so she couldn’t complain.

  Hank made her stop. “I’m going to uncuff your hands from behind you and reattach you to the bed frame. Try something, I dare you.”

  Sara let out a soft laugh. “You’re the one with the muscles and the gun. I’m just along for the ride. Nice place you got here. But, before you shackle me to my new bed, it’s been a long time since I went to the bathroom. I kinda hafta pee.”

  Hank paused, seeming to consider. “Fine. I hope you’re not shy because I’m not leaving you in there alone.”

  As Sara was guided toward the bathroom, she considered a variety of sarcastic remarks she could make about men and their weird fetishes but decided against it. Good old Hank might knock her in the back of the head and let her wet herself while she was unconscious. He marched her inside to face the toilet and then stepped back.

  She turned her head to look over her shoulder. “I can’t pull my pants down with my hands behind my back.” She turned to face him. “Unless you want to do it for me? I don’t mind, but I’ll need you to wipe me when I’m finished.” She flashed him a mischievous grin.