The compound that had been Jack’s home for the past fifteen months came into view an hour before sunset. It sat in the middle of the great nothingness of the desert like a mirage, an illusion of safety tricking the unwary into veering off course. A high chain-link fence surrounded a twenty-acre parcel of dry dirt, lookout towers at each corner. It was filled with barracks to house the three thousand men, warehouses to hoard the weapons and vehicles, training fields, and in one corner, the small herd of cattle Valadian kept as a ready supply of fresh beef. In the middle of it sat the Big House, which wasn’t really that big. Around the house was a hard-won patch of grass, which never attained a vibrant green colour, no matter the amount of water wasted on it.
There was absolutely no movement. It was as empty as the open, barren plains around it.
“This was your schedule?” Jack asked as Blade assembled the Assassin X. “To get here after they’d evacuated.”
“Yes. We needed to give Valadian time to get his troops out but not enough time to destroy all the evidence. If we’re to find where he’s gone to, we need to get in before he does something drastic.”
“Like what?” Jack demanded.
“Firebomb it.”
“Christ.”
The rifle ready, Blade handed it over. “It’s partly why I wished the chopper taken out of commission. It would seriously delay his plans to destroy the compound. Sourcing another means of dropping the incendiary devices has given us a bit more time.”
Jack raised the Assassin X and scoped the compound. “Why didn’t he rig it all at ground level?” There was no sign of life amongst the buildings or in the towers.
“It’s far too dangerous to have that much explosive on hand. Anyone could have walked in and triggered it while he and his troops were there.”
“Anyone like you.”
“Or you. Do you see anything?”
“Nothing. I think the chopper is still there, though. Something’s shining behind the west weapons store. You sure it’s grounded for good?”
“Fairly certain. The damage we caused it would have been compounded by the flight back here.”
“Damn. I’ve been dreaming about taking it up since I got here. Ka-52s are notoriously awesome birds.”
The look Blade gave him was pure surprise. “You can fly a chopper?”
Jack smirked. “Had to do something while recovering from getting shot up by the Taliban. Learning to fly seemed like a useful skill set. There is absolutely fuck-all movement down there.”
“Charming. Shall we storm the castle?”
Jack put on a chipper accent. “Do let’s. You first, old bean.”
Blade snickered and broke cover. In his DPDU he wouldn’t be immediately visible, but it was a bold move. He skittered down the scree with his usual grace, Desert Eagle in hand though it didn’t have the range to hit anything in the compound. Neither did the Assassin X, but Jack kept the scope on the buildings, looking for any sign Blade had been seen. By the time Blade had crossed half the distance, Jack had seen no movement, so he followed the assassin. He caught up to Blade when they were almost at the entrance.
It was a large gate in the eastern side of the fence with an arching sign over the top, proclaiming it to be “The Saint Jude Retreat for the Hopeless and Despaired.” Under it in smaller print was, The faithful should persevere in the environment of harsh, difficult circumstances.
This was Mr. Valadian’s cover. A religious-orientated retreat for men needing help and direction. The face presented to the public said it was a program geared towards ex-military personnel trying to reacclimatise to civilian life and ex-cons requiring added rehabilitation. Rather than link Jack to the military, the Office had fabricated a history of assault, larceny, and drug possession for Jaidev Reed. It got him in as a general thug, leaving him to work his way up the chain to become a trusted bodyguard. It had been the perfect cover, and then along had come Ethan Blade.
The gate was locked with a huge padlock and chain. Given enough time, Jack could have picked it, but Blade didn’t bother with that. Instead, he ran his hand through his hair. Thick locks got caught around his fingers, and he tugged on them forcefully. With a wince, he broke a substantial clump of hair free. It wasn’t until Blade had picked off most of the hair that Jack realised it was a length of thin black wire. He repeated this action twice more, then wound the wires together to form a thicker diameter, which he then wrapped around the chain. After ejecting the mag of his Desert Eagle, Blade took a single bullet from another pocket. Chambering the round, he moved away from the gate.
“Look away,” he cautioned Jack, lifting the Eagle.
Obeying, Jack turned his face away just as Blade fired. The bullet hit the black wire and exploded. An instant later, the wire flamed into intense life. The extreme temperature of the burning pyrotechnic melted through the thick metal of the chain in the space of seconds, glowing orange droplets splattering on the red soil.
“What the hell was that?” Jack demanded when the chain dangled in two pieces, ends melted and steaming.
“Thermite.” Blade frowned, as if expecting Jack to know that already.
Recalling running his hands through Blade’s hair the night before, Jack shuddered. “I got that bit, but that wasn’t an ordinary bullet you ignited it with.”
Blade grinned. “It was an HEI.”
“Fuck me,” Jack exclaimed, still a little shocked. “They don’t make high-explosive incendiary rounds for handguns.”
“No, so I make them myself.” Blade leaned back and kicked the chain free of the gate. “Beauty before brawn?” he asked cheekily, then ducked through the gate.
Jack gaped after him. “You crazy bastard.”
“Half right, Jack. Hurry along.”
Muttering under his breath, Jack followed Blade in. The gunshot would have alerted anyone still here to the incursion. Rifle at the ready, Jack scanned the buildings as they moved.
The windows were dark in the lowering light of the afternoon, but no movement showed behind any of them. Shadows gathered between the long, low-roofed buildings. Blade cleared each space before they moved on. Jack scoped the towers constantly, looking for snipers and finding nothing. He did the same to the upper storey of the Big House, again coming up empty. If there was anyone here, they were keeping their heads down.
“Any information about Valadian’s plans will be in the Big House,” Blade reasoned as they drew closer to the central building.
“Yeah.” Jack agreed even though he wasn’t feeling right about this. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt off the same way the clumsy handling of the search parties had felt off. The same way his encounter with the lone soldier had felt off.
Still, he followed Blade to the Big House, keeping his attention sharp and focused, his awareness spilling out around him as it did in combat situations. He was keenly alert, ready for anything, his back-brain working on what was puzzling about it all while his active concentration was on getting out alive and in one piece.
Crossing the dry, brittle grass before the house, Jack was sent right back to that night a week before, making this same journey. His back began to prickle, and he wondered if Jimmy’s ghost might be coming up behind him, knife at the ready. Jack spun, tracking across the open space. Nothing.
At the front door, Blade keyed in the code for the lock. He eased the door open, then covered the interior before sliding in. Jack gave the compound another sweep. Sunset draped orange-and-red light across the buildings, lengthening and deepening the shadows. More room for someone to hide in, but again, nothing. He followed Blade into the house.
The foyer was high and airy, extending up both storeys. A curved staircase gave access to the upper floor, doors to either side led to the parlour and dining room, and a corridor heading deeper into the house went to the study and kitchen.
Jack covered Blade while he pushed open the door to the parlour. The curtains hadn’t been drawn, letting blood-red light fall into the house. There was no way to keep any building in the middle of the desert perfectly clean, so motes of dust drifted through shafts of light and sand crystals sparked on the hardwood floors. The rugs were rucked up where hasty feet hadn’t paid attention to where they stepped. One of the plush armchairs was pushed out of alignment. A painting of Uluru on the wall hung askew, the wall safe behind it left open and empty. All signs of a quick getaway.
“We should split up,” Blade whispered. “Search the place quicker.”
“You sure?” Jack led with the rifle into the dining room. It wasn’t as disturbed, but then Mr. Valadian could get new crockery wherever he ended up.
“It would be the prudent thing to do. Unless you do know Valadian’s schedule and when the bombing is going to take place.”
“Fine. Let’s separate.”
Blade nodded upwards. “I shall take the upper storey.”
“Whatever.”
The assassin sidled out of the dining room and vanished from Jack’s perception. The sneaky bastard was far too quiet for Jack’s comfort.
Jack went back to the parlour and made a cursory inspection of the few things left behind, not really expecting to find a discarded phone with a set of flashing GPS coordinates, but unable to pass the slim chance by entirely. Judging by the shoddy search patterns, it was highly likely some dead shit had left his copy of the evac plan behind.
Jack stood in the middle of the parlour, suddenly suspicious. He let the rifle drop from readiness. It hung from his right hand as he turned around, looking at the room with fresh eyes, trailing unsettled thoughts as he moved.
It all felt unreal, flawless. The disruption to the room, the empty compound waiting for them, a dune buggy exactly where Blade needed it, the search parties walking right by them. Out of memory came Blade’s response when Jack needled him about not killing Valadian in the torture shack.
“Killing Valadian wasn’t the only objective.”
What else was there?
Wish you were here?
Jack brought the rifle back up and eased out of the parlour, covering the foyer and corridor before pointing the weapon up the stairs. Was there something up there Blade didn’t want him seeing? Was that why they had to split up?
Christ, he was stupid. If he got out of this alive, he should probably retire in all good conscience. He didn’t deserve his job when he’d let Ethan fucking Blade lead him around by the dick for a week. How much of what Blade had said was real, and how much was meant to trick Jack into . . . what? Following him around the desert while he pretended to go after Valadian? Why? What reason could Blade have to do all this? And where, Jack couldn’t help but think, did letting Jack fuck him fit into it?
Feeling his combat awareness start to be overtaken by anger, Jack forced his mind off unanswerable questions and focused on finding Blade. Wherever he was, there were bound to be answers, surely.
With slow, cautious steps, Jack ascended the stairs. The second storey was laid out much the same as the first floor: two rooms at the front of the house, the rest at the rear. The corridor ran side to side, though. At the top of the stairs, Jack crouched in the cover of the railing and tracked towards the north side of the house first. Mr. Valadian’s room was that way. Nothing. Likewise to the south. Rising, Jack paced carefully towards The Man’s bedroom. There were thankfully no nooks or embrasures to launch an ambush from, just the hallway and a couple of closed doors, prints of desert landscapes on the walls. A large window at the end of the hallway filled the space with fading orange light.
The door to Mr. Valadian’s room was locked. If Blade had been in here already, he wouldn’t have bothered to lock the door when leaving. Jack checked the hallway again, finding it as empty as before. Then he stepped away from the wall, reared back, and kicked the door open. As it banged inwards, Jack spun and pressed his back to the wall beside the doorway, prepared for an attack.
Nothing.
Leading with the rifle, Jack entered the room. As below, it was artfully disrupted with an unmade bed, a few clothes scattered across the floor, drawers ajar. Another picture shifted to expose a hollowed-out wall safe.
Too textbook.
Jack left the bedroom and, forgoing stealth, busted through the door opposite. A large bathroom, empty. The next door was another bedroom, no sign of life and no hint of Blade. Another bathroom, two more bedrooms, all the same.
“Fuck,” Jack hissed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Where had the mongrel gone?
Alert levels skyrocketing, Jack quickly backtracked downstairs. Swinging around, he scanned the corridor with the rifle and headed for the study, which was locked as well. It would take more than a forceful boot to open this door. After slinging the rifle, Jack took out the Eagle and aimed, then hesitated.
Blade definitely hadn’t been here, either. Which meant whatever he was up to had nothing to do with what might be in here.
Jack left the study untouched. He made a quick recon of the kitchen, just to make sure it was empty, and then crept back to the foyer. Scanning around showed it to be as empty as it was when he left it.
Tension coiling like a snake in his gut, Jack reached for the handle on the front door.
“I wouldn’t do that, Jack.”
Jack spun, raising Assassin X, and pointed it unerringly at Blade. He stood on the staircase, several steps up. Whether he’d just come down or hopped up there from wherever he’d been hiding on the first floor, Jack didn’t know. All he was aware of was the barrel of the Desert Eagle, aimed directly at him. Blade’s white eyes were as unreadable as ever, but his hand didn’t waver, his voice steady.
“What the hell is this, Blade?” Jack ground out, curling his finger over the trigger. “What the hell is going on?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Like fuck it is! Just tell me what you’ve been doing with me.”
Blade didn’t answer, just kept his gun trained on Jack, going as still as a statue.
“Jesus Christ, Blade,” Jack snarled. “This is worse than when we fucked. How hard is it to tell the truth?”
The assassin flinched at the word “fucked,” then firmed up again. “Remarkably hard at times, Jack. If you would—”
“No. No excuses. Just tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Right at this point in time, can’t.”
Anger searing white hot through his veins, Jack took a threatening step forwards, the rifle never once moving off Blade. How pathetic he’d been. Played so easily. He felt gutted, ripped apart. Felt as he had in India, when he’d realised his team was never supposed to get out alive. Like he’d been betrayed.
Which was ridiculous, because that would mean he’d, somehow, come to trust Ethan Blade.
“What’s outside, Blade?” he asked softly, calmly.
“Don’t go out there, Jack.”
“Why not?”
Not waiting for another nonanswer, Jack spun and kicked open the doors.