The director cursed. He had not needed cto drive himself anywhere for the better part of five years, and being stuck in highway traffic was the worst possible situation he could be in; he was more or less a sitting duck. To make things worse, the black Dodge Challenger he sat in had such a powerful engine that it took but a touch of the accelerator pedal to propel the car forward like a torpedo, even with all the armor plating on the chassis. On top of all of that, he was having to deal with Graham Alexander on the phone, something that was stretching his patience very thin.
"If even the wind blows slightly wrong in my direction, I swear, I will-"
"Graham, stop behaving like a child. We-"
"I don't think you understand the shit I'm in right now! I've heard rumors about them, they've never yet failed to kill anyone they say they will kill! I was always a marked man, but this-"
"Listen to me. I am not going to allow them to do any such thing-"
"Oh, really! Even with the CIA currently being held hostage-"
The director silently thanked his stars that the line the two were using was secure.
"Do you really think that we don't have a backup plan for everything? Even something as extreme as this? Now, keep that bastard assassin with you and stay where you are; I'm on my way."
He heard a clack, as someone took the phone from Graham, and heard a voice, "And what business would a man like you have with the bastard assassin?"
He took a deep breath, but quietly enough to not let him hear on the other end, and spoke, "Look, just keep Graham alive and make sure he doesn't do anything to hurt himself, will you? We will speak in person soon."
The assassin spoke, "Indeed, we will. Safe travels."
There was another sound, and the call ended.
He put the phone down, and resisted the urge to rub his temple with his fingers, something he did when he was put into extremely demanding situations. He was about to think of what to do when he got there when the sound of a horn jolted him back into reality; a sedan with a trio of what looked like college students- probably drunk, considering how the car weaved slightly on the road- was trying to overtake him. Allowing himself a smile at the thought of what he'd do to them once he got his organization back, he memorized the number on their car's plates, then changed lanes. As they passed by, one of them, a female with a tattoo on her arm, stuck out an arm and made a rude hand gesture towards him. Keep it coming, he thought, keep it coming. You'll only get it back tenfold.
Shaking his head to try and rid himself of his road rage, he continued on to the safe house Graham had told him to come meet him in.
Thiago assessed the situation. The timing of it all, the pattern of attacks, the name of the organization... Coupled with the documents he was going over in Graham's safe room in another one of his underground bunkers, he had a very nasty feeling about the whole situation. The nastiness of the feeling partly- no, mostly ebbed from the links that it had to his past, the past he had before he became an assassin...
"... are you listening? He's here!" Graham's voice, hoarse from the screaming it had been doing for the past hour, pierced through the dark cloud of Thiago's thoughts.
Gathering himself, he strode forward and opened the first door.
There was a panel of bulletproof and soundproof one-way glass that separated them, but even then Thiago could not help but feel slightly impressed by what he saw. The director of the CIA looked to be in his early forties, but he knew from Graham's files was actually in his early sixties. He wore a fitted black suit that showcased a remarkable physique even for someone his age. Square jaw, salt and pepper hair, trimmed so perfectly that not a single hair was out of place... This was a man who took care of himself, and thus he trusted him to look after them as well.
Opening the panel, they stood face to face for a moment, staring into each other's eyes.
The director broke the silence, "You've killed quite a few of our men."
He replied, "That is how our line of work is. Kill or be killed. But then again you would know that better than anyone."
They stared at each other for a moment longer, then the director took a deep sigh, an expression of sadness and weariness forming on his face that made him look closer to his age, as he said, "What a damn cruel world we live in, then. We sent people to kill you, someone who kills other people, and ended up with even more dead people and yet here you are and there they are, in their graves. I do what I can to protect this country from threats abroad, and yet a part of me, the idealist in me that I suppressed long ago to do my job, wishes that we could just all move past all that and get along so that no-one has to die and that we can spare time and money to deal with the real issues plaguing humanity." Thiago stared at him. The director of the CIA had a philosophical streak?
He paused for a moment, then spoke, "However, the realist in me recognizes that as of right now, you are our best bet into stopping what looks like a national, if not a global catastrophe. I have agents across the country who I could mobilize to deal with this threat, however I'm having a little trouble trusting anyone right about now." A vicious look formed on his face as he temporarily drifted into thoughts of vengeance, a muscle jumping in his jaw. If he ever got his hands on the people who had betrayed their country, he would make such an example of them that not even the hundredth generation of their descendants - should his punishment leave them capable of producing offspring- would forget the terror of what was inflicted on their ancestors. Bringing himself under control, he continued in a more composed tone, "In addition, I have your file. You are the best person available in this given situation. We-"
Thiago interrupted him, "What makes you think that I'm available, much less willing to work for you?" He knew that the director was right; if the CIA had been infiltrated, anyone from the janitor to his second in command could be an enemy. Furthermore, he needed the directors knowledge and expertise to carry out the fledgling plan that had begun forming in his mind. However, old habits, formed by a long career of never working for anything but his own terms, did not allow him to accept his offer as it was. If he was going to do this, there would be a price. There was always a price.
From the background, Graham's voice sounded, "Do you mind letting him in? It's not safe keeping that door open too long."
Apologizing for his rudeness, he stepped out of the way to let him in. The director strode past him, firm but quick footsteps taking him inside to a straight backed chair, where he proceeded to sit and tell him, "Because whoever is after you will likely not pursuing you until either they are destroyed or you are. With my help, the former is a little bit more likely."
Thiago considered this, then spoke, "Alright, but I have conditions."
With a slight frown, the director replied, "I thought it might come to that. However, seeing the direness of the situation, you have but to name your terms. On behalf of the US government, I am authorized to accept them in the name of national security."
Thiago took a breath, then spoke, "First, we follow my plan and my rules. You may offer advice to the effect of better carrying out the plan, but the core of the plan does not change. Furthermore, you will do whatever I ask of you, no matter what that is. The same goes for anyone we might happen to use or bring with us along the way."
"Second, I want US citizenship. However, this will be under a fake name, and my entire background will be forged. But then again, that is understood."
"Third, I want immunity from prosecution in the United States, and the promise of extraction if held captive in any other country, regardless of your treaties- or lack thereof- with them." At this, the director, despite himself, allowed the corner of his lip to curl into a small smile. His demands were very well directed thus far.
"Fourth, the sum of a hundred million dollars, wired to an offshore bank account under the name of the ID you will be making for me. Arrange it so that the money appears legitimate. I do not care how."
"Finally, I want the operative assigned to me to have lesser hours so that he can go home to his family more often. That, and a substantial raise." Thiago considered, then continued, "I also want his daughter's admission into the college of her choosing guaranteed.
At the last one, the director was a little startled. He had no intention of telling him the truth about the Adams family when he didn't have to; to him, it was just a condition wasted, and he considered himself lucky that he did not ask for anything more serious. Furthermore, he had discovered something about Thiago; he was not entirely without emotion. The last demand was not the demand of a killer, it was the demand of someone with a soft spot for someone. This was information that the director knew might be useful to him someday. However, there were more pressing issues at hand. Looking at Thiago, he declared, "I accept your terms. Now, what will we do?"
"To start off with, what are they after in the CIA Headquarters?" Graham leaned in just slightly, unable to help his reporters instincts from kicking in.
The director hesitated, then spoke in a steely monologue, "What you two are about to hear is one of the most classified secrets in existence. If I have even the most minuscule reason to suspect the two of you leaking it, I will have you both killed instantly." He drew in a deep breath, then revealed, "We possess a prototype weather modification device. It manipulates water molecules in the air to create weather conditions of our choosing. As per the Geneva Convention, it is strictly prohibited by international law, but we needed to be able to build a weapon that would decimate and demoralize terrorist organizations. Imagine, how would a brainwashed religious fanatic feel if the very skies started spewing thunderbolts at them? What claim would extremist leaders have over their forces if massive dust storms ravaged their lands? More importantly, how would missiles hit the mainland of the US if gale force winds suddenly blew them off trajectory? The uses are endless... and I believe those bastards know that."
He paused for a moment, before continuing,"The weapon is housed in the most heavily guarded and secure vault in the compound, but somehow they knew how to safely access it, which means it wasn't so goddamn secure. There were also a number of activation pre-requisites, one of which is the scan of my right retina. My right eye happens to be the last piece they need, so if things go south, shoot it out before they can use it."
"Now, I had a passage built into the chamber, that only I know can access. It also needs my right retina scan, which is why I haven't already gouged out my eye and crushed it. However, getting in is the real headache. They seem to have a blueprint of the compound, which means that they'll have all entry points well guarded. We will need to be fast, precise and efficient."
Thiago smiled and said,"That won't be a problem."
The director concluded,"Once inside, we disable to weapon. It requires a code, my palm prints and a blood sample from me. You will need to provide me with cover while I'm doing this. Then, I send word to the President and we have the compound stormed with troops." He pulled out his mobile, opened it and fiddled with it for a moment before handing it to Thiago, "here is the layout for the compound."
Thiago studied it for a few minutes, then started,"Here is how we will do it..."
It was not a loud sound, but to her, in the silence, it was as loud as a gunshot.
The mercenary cursed, taking her foot off the broken branch. She was supposed to be looking for the director stealthily, but how on earth would she do that bumbling around like this in the forest surrounding the compound? There was no chance the director would come back and allow himself to be captured; it would mean that he ran the risk of unleashing the veritable kraken that was the weapon. The idea was useless, they should have been transporting it away, to their HQ where a team of their best tech experts would no doubt crack the security requirements.
That being said, there must be some reason that the Gazda wanted him. She had met him once, in a dark room that had hid his features, and even for a hardened killer like herself there had been something frightening about being congratulated on a successful mission by a raspy voice that she was sure would have made any nearby plants wilt and die. If that was how he congratulated people, she did not want to get on his bad side and find out the opposite.
Right, back to work. Scan the area. Trees, leaves, earth, a flash-
That was the last thing that went through her mind, as a bullet tore through her head, killing her instantly.
Thiago did not pause; experience had taught him to trust his gut instincts. And that told him that his shot had done its job. Hoisting his silenced rifle, he continued forward, the director in tow behind him.
The director observed as Thiago moved- his feet expertly avoiding anything on the ground that might give away their position- and mimicked his movements. It had been a while since he had been in the field himself; nonetheless his reflexes remained sharp through his relentless self discipline. They had almost reached their destination: the opening to an underground passage in the ground that led straight to the room, a shaft only he knew about and only he could access.
A minute later, the director spoke, "Stop. We're here."
He moved, scraping away the dirt from the ground at a certain spot until his fingernails hit something metallic. Digging in his fingers, he found the handle and pulled, upturning a mound of earth as the door opened and a passageway revealed itself, lights turning on along the tunnel.
Thiago paused, then asked, "If this weapon is so dangerous, why is there such a passage into the open?"
The director smiled and said, "this 'such a passage' is a death trap for anyone who isn't allowed in. High voltage floors, spiked walls that cave in, cutting laser traps, an electromagnetic field generator, a vacuum chamber in the middle and my personal favorite- an incinerator that runs the length of the passage. The passage has its own dedicated power supply that can sustain itself for decades- if every person in the country stormed this tunnel, it'd kill all of them and still continue to guard its treasure." Running his hands through the sides until his right index found a hole, he pushed inwards. A few seconds later, a small feminine voice spoke from inside the passage, "Clearance level 0: Director. Welcome."
Climbing down the ladder that led to the passageway, he beckoned and said, "Now get in before they spot us."
Thiago obliged and moved after him, closing the door as he went in.
The passage was a large one- his instincts, perhaps sharpened after the director's introduction of the room- were screaming danger. Inch thick spikes, points shining, lined the top of the room. An electrode ran through the sides, small black nozzles pointed out from the corners that he knew to be the lasers and the floor was made of metal. It was disconcerting to walk through a room where death could come in so many different forms, none any more pleasant than the other. He would be glad to reach the end.
After what seemed like an eternity, they reached a door- a door not unlike one finds in safes in a bank- and the director walked up to a retina scanning machine. Thiago was half-tempted to ask what happened if the wrong person tried to open the door, but thought against it. He did not want to know the answer.
As the machine scanned his retina, the director felt a small pang of discomfort. Another man might have dismissed it as nerves, but he, a man with a memory as sharp as a knife, knew that something was off. Perhaps he had imagined it, but had there been a slight delay in the scan?
As the door opened up into the large warehouse-like room with rows of metal boxes, he could not shake it off. Had someone done something to the scanner? Impossible; no-one but he could have entered through that door.
They both tensed. They could hear voices not too far away- they were not alone.
Silently, they walked, the director leading the way. Thiago had his glasses on, on the lookout for heat signatures. He spotted a few at a certain distance, but they were far enough for him to not have to consider pulling out the shotgun in his jacket. Discretion was the better part of valor for this task.
At last, the director stopped. Turning to Thiago, he pointed left, and nodded. They could both hear voices; there would have to be bloodshed. Together, they turned into. The clearing.
As he saw the glint of guns pointed at them, Thiago pulled him back into their earlier position and shouted, "Run!"
Then, a hand grabbed his throat from behind with unnatural strength and threw him across the aisle. He landed on his arm, sliding across the floor.
Dazed, he turned. There were ten men with automatic weapons pointed at him, but the man who had thrown him was behind them. Cloaked and tall, he was standing at an angle, as if nursing a limp. One of the crates lay open, a round metal sphere the size of a small car balanced in the middle.
The cloaked man moved forward, walking up to him, paused and removed the cloak from his face, staring at his horrified enemy.
It couldn't be, there was no way...
The man grinned, a horrifying expression upon his face, and spoke, "Well, well, well. It has been a while, hasn't it, Osman?"
"Adem!" Osman's voice faltered slightly, strangled by the terror that was filling him up. He had walked into a situation worse than even the most terrible of his nightmares...
Adem walked forward and spread out his arms, displaying the full extent of the damage done to his body, and exclaimed, "Look at the fruit of your decisions. The recoil from your gun. The equal and opposite reaction to your actions. Your cowardice. Your sins." He lifted his scarred left arm down, while bringing his equally scarred right one forward to point at him, saying, "I am the fruit of your wrongdoings, come hime to roost. Look at me, old friend-" he spat out the last word like a curse, before finishing "- and be reminded of the real you."
Osman, struggling with all that he was experiencing, managed to force out, "But how is this possible? How are you alive? And why are you doing this?"
Adem turned, as if suddenly unable to look at him anymore, and started, "Nothing I say to you now will make any difference. The only thing you need to know is that you are going to die."
A man stepped out of the corner of one of the crates and spoke, "Why don't you let me explain the latter part, Gazda?"
Osman started as Graham Alexander stepped forward. What in the world was going on?
Graham began, "Let me guess. You're torn between his plan and what the hell I'm doing here, right? Well, let me rest your fragile mind before you die."
Adem snapped, back still turned, "Make it quick. We don't have much time."
Graham resumed, "The plan is to bring about a collection of natural disasters to different government buildings across the world. More specifically, everyone who has the power to be able to stop all the atrocities being committed across the world but doesn't. Who look the other way when genocide, human rights abuses and slavery occur under their goddamn noses. I wonder how the members of the UN security council will feel as tornadoes ravage their lands? As lightning bolts fry them in their expensive cars? This is us delivering punishment to those in power on the Earth for their failure to act."
He paused, then continued, "As for me, I'm in this for myself as well. Since it's my money that's funded this whole operation, I get revenge on those who ignored me over here while I rotted away in Siberia, as well as the bastards who made my life a freezing hell there. I swore revenge on them all even as you dragged me from the pits to freedom." He looked sheepish as he said the last sentence, as he further explained, "It's nothing personal against you, of course. I'm not the one who wants you dead out of the people in this room."
Then, turning and waving, he concluded, "Well old boy, I'm sure that director of yours will no doubt be plotting something, so I think we should leave. Sans you, of course. Luckily, we got his retina scan when he came in. That was quite a clever computer virus these guys put in- any retina scan from the director anywhere in the compound would replicate and work here."
A group of men came in and lifted the sphere, as Adem moved towards him and said,"That's enough. All of you, get that to the transport. UIG-56, store him with the rest."
As he finished, he curled his right hand into a fist and brought it down in a hammer on Osman's head, knocking him out cold. Graham looked almost slightly sad as he followed Adem.
A mile away, bloodied and wide eyed, the director, ignoring the stabbing pain of the bullet in his arm, spoke to the President, "It can't be helped. Activate the final failsafe. Blow the place to smithereens."