Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga (34 page)

"Good," Cooper said.
 
He walked over to the curve of the Oval Office where the door to the President's study had been left ajar.
 
"My men and I will secure the elevator.
 
We need to get down to the Bunker."

"I'll hang a 'do not disturb sign' on the door for you," said Gunny Morrin as he turned back to his men.
 
Before Cooper could respond, the Marine barked orders to his men and disappeared back into the smoke-filled hallway.

Cooper pushed open the study's door with the end of his rifle. Books had been knocked off their shelves and the wooden door had been riddled with bullets. A fine dust had settled over the expensive-looking furniture, but the room was empty.
   

Cooper spied a wood panel that had broken loose, revealing a metal door.
 
He stepped over and ripped the panel down.
 
A biometric keypad next to the door glowed green.

"I'm on it," said Charlie.
 
He put his rifle on the floor and took a knee next to the keypad.
 
As Charlie connected his computer equipment to the keypad, Cooper keyed his throat mic.
 

"Cutter Actual, be advised Striker 2-1 has secured the President's personal elevator.
 
Repeat: we have secured the secondary target."

"Get that thing opened, Striker, the package is inbound."

"Roger that," said Cooper.

"What package?" asked Gunny Morrin from the doorway.

 
"A little surprise" said Charlie around the alligator clip in his mouth.
 
He removed the bottom panel on the keypad and attached the clips to the exposed circuitry.
   

"I don't like surprises—Im my experience, surprises are thought up by officers, which guarantee they'll be complete clusterfucks."

Cooper looked at the Marine and grinned.
 
"Gunny, this surprise is our ticket into the Bunker."
 
Cooper ejected the nearly empty magazine from his rifle and dropped it to the floor.
 
He switched to his last full magazine and pulled back on the charging handle and turned back to Charlie.
 

"Get that door open."

C
HAPTER
28

Skye, Scotland.

Dunkeith Castle.

R
EGINALD
LOOKED
AT
THE
numbers scrolling across the screen and couldn't help but smile.
 
So far, the Council had transferred over £60,000,000 to his various accounts.
 
He had already earmarked enough to get vaccine production up and running at the factory he'd acquired in Glasgow.
 
When the Council traced the money they'd find Reginald Tillcott as good as his word.
 
At least so far.

His smile widened.
 
All that money.
 
The family will finally be reestablished.
 
The debts paid off; the castle repaired…all father's work completed…

"
Pardon the interruption, my lord,
" Stefan's voice called out over the intercom.
 
"
I believe you wished to be notified when Mistress Svea has arrived."

Reginald sat back in the chair and scratched his chin.
 
"Yes, Stefan.
 
Is she here?"

"She is indeed, my lord.
 
She refused my suggestion of clean clothes and a bit of refreshment–"

Reginald laughed.
 
"Let me guess, she demands to see me straightaway?"

"Indeed, sir."
 
The tone of Stefan's voice left no doubt about what he thought of such casual disregard of proper manners.

Reginald stood and adjusted his shirt.
 
"Very well, send her in!"

"As you wish, my lord."

The electronic lock clicked, and a guard opened the oak door to Reginald's study.
 
A young woman appeared, her eyes narrow and her chin up as she slowly entered the room.
 
Reginald's breath caught in his throat.
 
He'd known his operatives to spend considerable effort on adjusting their appearance to suit their mission, but this was much more than he'd expected or seen before.

Golden hair, stood out in dirty clumps along her head.
 
Dirt and God knows what else stained her immaculate face.
 
Reginald arched an eyebrow.
 
Her bright orange prison overalls, so graciously provided by the American government, were caked in grime.
 
She stood there, her eyes casting about as if seeing the room for the first time, draped in a coat someone provided her when she'd arrived at the castle.
 

Whatever is that dreadful smell?

Reginald spread his arms wide.
 
"Welcome home, dear."
 
He stepped forward and moved to embrace her, but she stiffened and leaned back.

"Not like this," she said.
 
"I stink."

Reginald put his hand under his nose to hide his grin.
 
He nodded and stepped back.
 
"Of course, of course.
 
Why don't you go get cleaned up, I shall have Stefan bring you some new clothes and–"

"No," she sighed.
 
"I prefer to get the debriefing started—I don't want to forget any details."

Reginald took another look at her.
 
He first met Svea when she'd been brought to him as a teenager for operative training.
 
He'd loved her unbridled spirit in the early days.
 
As he broke her however, Reginald had molded her into one of his best operatives.
 
Second only to Jayne.

Although she preferred to be called 13—her training designation—Reginald could bring himself to call her something so sterile.
 
He would forever know her as Svea—the name she assumed on her first assignment.
 

He waved graciously to a large leather chair.
 
"Now," he said as he offered her a crystal tumbler of water.
 
"Tell me everything."
 

For the next 45 minutes, Reginald sat transfixed as Svea recounted everything about her mission, from the moment she met the Source in Kentucky to the last day of her confinement in Denver.
 
He asked questions every so often to clarify the details of her capture, imprisonment, and escape.
 

He admitted to himself that he had an uneasy feeling about Svea ever since Darius had returned bloodied and beaten half to death.
 
It was not uncommon for one of his operatives to kill a fellow employee for the sake of mission completion.
 
He saw it as an unpleasant if sometimes unavoidable cost of doing business.
 
It was largely the reason Reginald insisted his operatives work solo—they were a huge investment in time, training, and resources.

But he'd never had a mission go south like this one had.
 
Svea had managed to directly or indirectly cause the death of three of his top-tier operatives and gravely injured Darius himself.
 
The man was still recuperating and the doctors assured him it would take weeks before he could return to the field.

Reginald took a sip of water.
 
Everything about Evelyn's story checked out, from her intentional capture by Mosby—in Kentucky of all places— to her escape, facilitated by killing the flight crew of a helicopter leaving Denver.
 
But something seemed…off.
 

He couldn't put his finger on it, but there it was.
 
Something was amiss.
 
Over the years, he'd learned to trust his instincts—in this situation it didn't change his course of action.
 
He couldn't afford to alienate her, she knew too much.
 
As one of his better trained operatives, she would be most difficult to eliminate if needed, but also to replace.
 

"How long have you been with me now, dear?" he asked abruptly.

Svea blinked and stopped mid-sentence.
 
She thought for a moment, her eyes flicking down to the floor.
 
"Twelve years, sir."

Reginald's eyebrow rose.
 
"Twelve years?
 
My goodness, that's almost half your life…"

Svea nodded, but still her eyes did not meet his.
 
Reginald steepled his fingers and perched his thumbs under his chin.
 
"You have one of the best track records of any operative I've ever trained.
 
Twelve years and a perfect record.
 
Simply incredible."

Svea looked up then, the light from the fire making her skin–where it wasn't covered in filth–glow a healthy orange.
 
"You don't consider the mission a failure?"

Reginald leaned back in his chair and laughed.
 
"Why ever would I do that?
 
You deprived the Americans of the Source and made possible the extraction of a rather large sample of his blood—along with all of Dr. Boatner's research."
 
He leaned forward and refilled her glass.
 
"You made it possible for me to complete the vaccine for the Council as promised."
 
Reginald cocked his head and looked at her.
 
"How can all that be considered a failure?"

Svea wrapped her fingers around the glass.
 
"I…I've never lost three…"

Reginald sighed.
 
"Ah, yes.
 
Post action guilt—I've seen it before, you know.
 
It's not all that uncommon when an upper-tier operative is involved in the deaths of co-combatants."
 
He waved the idea away casually.
 
"In time you'll get over it.
 
Every one of you know the risks involved.
 
Don't be too hard on yourself, my dear."
 
The men she killed would be difficult to replace, but nearly so difficult as someone of Svea's caliber.
 

He smiled to see her sit up a little straighter in her chair and take a long drink of water.
 
She was a strong one, this child he'd taken from Sweden.
 
How she'd struggled, how she'd resisted his training.
 

Reginald allowed himself the luxury of remembering her disciplinary sessions.
 
The punishment he meted out to her had been more delicious than most.
 
He quickly moved his train of thought to another track.
 
That was a long time ago—the relationship they enjoyed now was purely professional.

"So where is the Source?" Reginald asked to change the subject.
 
"Can you confirm he's dead?
 
I've yet to get anything out of Denver.
 
President Harris has proven quite capable of keeping a tight lid on things."

Svea shook her head.
 
"The last I saw him, he was in the custody of two of your men."
 
She shrugged and took another deep drink of water.
 
"They dragged him out of the exam room while Darius and I took care of Dr. Alston.
 
They…"
 

Reginald nodded and patted her gently on the knee.
 
"Don't worry about them."

That meshed well with what Darius told him.
 
The Source had been taken out, but they couldn't escape and he'd been recaptured and wounded in the firefight.
 
And at that point, the Source disappeared from the narrative.
 

"You know, I find it highly unusual so many of my moles have been discovered since President Harris took power…it doesn't normally happen so quickly."

"I wouldn't know anything about that," she said through clenched teeth.
 
Her knuckles shone white through the dirt on her hands as she gripped her glass.
 
"Those animals kept me locked in solitary confinement.
 
I saw eyes, sometimes a face.
 
Mostly I saw trays of food."

Her words had the ring of truth.
 
He knew exactly where they'd kept her.
 
Reginald nodded.
 
"A pity, that.
 
You my dear, were born to be seen, not locked away."
 
He flashed his best smile and was relieved when she returned it.

Reginald stood and clapped his hands.
 
"Well!
 
Consider yourself debriefed.
 
I think it's time you get clean, find some fresh clothes, food, and plenty of rest."
 
He turned toward the door.
 
"I'm glad you're home.
 
We'll very likely need your expertise soon."