Thiago shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he took a right turn from the intersection. It wasn't the fear of bullets; the Dodge Ram he had borrowed from Francis was bulletproof, nothing short of an RPG could put a dent in it. It was the pattern of the attacks that had occured, they brought out memories that he had long ago suppressed. The last time he had seen them in action... no, it was impossible. Those secrets were buried deep along with the people whom he had enacted them with.
Right now, his main focus was finding out just what was going on. And there was only one person he could think of who could help him.
Long ago, on a mission that involved deliberately getting captured and then killing a political prisoner in Siberia, he had met Graham Fitzgerald Alexander, then just a reporter for a news firm that was known for publishing scandals and causing outrages in the political arena back in the hustle and bustle of the politically supercharged hub that was called Washington DC. He had been caught sneaking into a sensitive government office in the Kremlin, and been sentenced to a week in the cold prisons of the area. Since he had written so negatively about some of the activities of many higher ups in the political scene of the US, there was very little effort made to get him back, and thus Thiago had been placed in the same cell as the frail and shivering Graham, who had gone from a slightly overweight, clever and yet jolly person to a walking skeleton with a rough, unkempt beard and a wild-eyed stare; it was clear that the plan was to torture and starve him. Back then, Thiago was incapable of feeling pity, but recognizing a potential ally in a field which might prove to be useful to him one day, he took him along- rather, he dragged him along; Graham's stamina had been reduced to being able to a few steps before exhaustion overtook him- out of the prison and back into the US, where the reporter proceeded to have an article published that almost caused World War III. In addition to having gained a paranoia for anything even remotely suspicious- to the extent of having a private army around him at all times upon reaching the level of chief editor in the firm he worked for- he had a knack for knowing about things which even many intelligence chiefs around the world didn't know about. Yes, he would be the perfect person to start his investigation.
In a mansion on the outskirts of DC, Graham ended his call with yet another CEO who had spent the last hour threatening him with all sorts of litigation if he went through with publishing a reveal-all story about his company in tomorrow's papers. Graham, at this point in his career, was unfazed. He had received far worse threats from much more powerful people before, but, just in case, doubling his already formidable guard for the duration of the story's running did not seem like a bad idea. He exited the room, walked over to his personal quarters, scanned his bio metrics into the bomb-proof container that he lived in and stepped inside. He turned on the lights, turned around and almost let off a scream before a hand swiftly moved to cut it off.
"Quiet. I am not here to kill you. I didn't save your life in Siberia to have it end like this. Not yet, anyways."
Graham's scream died in his throat, his eyes widened and he turned around to look at his savior. He looked older, more battle worn, but the steely gaze and his relaxed pose that reminded him of a snake coiled up and ready to strike was still the same. As Thiago let him go, Graham exclaimed,"How in the world did you get in here?"
Thiago smiled. The kind of technology used by his old employers was centuries ahead of the conventional stuff, and to fool a bio metric system into letting him in was quite a simple task. He had obtained similar equipment at Francis' shop earlier in the day, and was feeling truly grateful to him.
"Why, it has been years, and you don't even offer me a drink. Graham, did they beat the manners out of you too?"
Graham took a deep breath to calm his thundering heart, sat down and explained,"I apologize, but I don't carry any alcohol on me. Too much of a chance of my getting loose tongued and revealing something I shouldn't have. Can never be too sure if the place is bugged, even if I have it swept everyday."
Thiago said, "Not a bad idea for someone like yourself. I hear you've become quite the whistle-blower."
Graham replied, "Well, after Siberia, I made a point of revealing secrets wherever I found them. Help to keep the world in check by making people hesitate to do stupid things."
Thiago studied him. He had put on weight since the last time he saw him, but he looked to have aged considerably as well; a few wrinkles around his face, grey hair streaking his brown mane of hair, but otherwise looking well for someone carrying around enough secrets to topple the world, if he so wished.
He said sharply, "I'll get to the point; I don't have much time. I've just been attacked twice in the space of a few hours, both by people from my past. I know you may not know much about me, but-"
Graham raised a hand to silence him. Beckoning to him, he said, "Follow me."
He led a confused Thiago to a door, and opened it. He opened the lights, and spoke, "That, is where you are incorrect. I know everything there is to know about you."
Thiago, wide eyed, looked at a room with pictures of him plastered to every available space.
Photos of him on previous assignments, in different countries, using different aliases, in different disguises... File upon file clattered on a desk in the middle. He went over and looked at one of them. Details of a joint covert ops which had averted a nuclear disaster... He opened another one. Possibly his entire career was in here.
"Impressive, isn't it?"
Thiago rose slowly.
"Graham, in the next minute, which you will use to explain all this, choose your words very carefully. My patience has already been worn thin tonight."
Graham put up a hand and explained, "Ever since I came back, I wanted to know more about the man who saved me. I asked around-rather, I threatened some very powerful people to keep me in the loop regarding your assignments. In fact, I even hired your organization for a task, asking for you specifically. If you remember, the mission in Delhi five years ago."
Thiago let his attention wander momentarily. Oh yes, he remembered that mission...
He had been tasked with killing a businessman living in Delhi. However, it was a little more complex than his usual missions. It was not that he was a very powerful man within the country with many connections, but that he had hired a rival organization to protect him at all times. The men they sent were some of the very best, men even Thiago wanted to avoid going head on against. However, upon further inspection, he found out something that would work in his favor. Despite all of his security measures, he had a few fixed habits, ones that he could exploit: he was a heavy smoker and he went every morning to have breakfast at a particular shop that was owned by some loyal former employees. He hired an expert to change his appearance to mimic one of the waiters at that shop, murdered the concerned employee and took his place one morning. When the businessman came in, he slipped in a few chemicals into his food that would react with any nicotine he absorbed into his system, and give him a heart attack. As he placed his food on his table, as expected, one of the guards took a bite to see if it was poisoned. With most of that organization's assassins known to not smoke, it did nothing to him, however, ten minutes after the businessman finished his meal, the chemicals kicked in. As the bewildered guards looked around frantically, Thiago was already long gone.
Shaking himself out of his repertoire, he looked at him and said, "I will sit with you one of these days and we will have a long chat about all this, but right now, the people trying to kill me, do you know anything about it?"
Graham replied, "I've been hearing rumors of some organization that had plans to do something in the US. Perhaps they are the ones linked to the attacks?"
Thiago pressed on, "Do you know their name? Any details?"
Graham looked up, narrowing his eyes in concentration, then moved to his desk.
"Yes, I wrote it down, actually, it's here somewhere..."
Pulling out a sheet of paper, he read, "They are called Ustao iz groba."
The disquiet in Thiago's mind became a silent roar. This was too much of a coincidence. There was no way that it could be true, and yet, all the signs pointed to the unthinkable. How it was possible...
Graham interrupted his train of thought, "Listen, from what I've heard of them, they are a very dangerous bunch. My advice is to leave the country. I can arrange for a private jet to get you to any country you choose..."
Thiago replied, perhaps more sharply than he normally would have, "No, I am not prey that runs from its predator. It is time for me to fight back, for the prey to become the predator that hunts down those which seek to harm it."
Graham let out a bellowing laugh, and boomed, "Well, in that case, why don't you go and meet the CIA director? He's an old acquaintance, I'll let him know you're coming to see him. He will probably have a lot more information than me."
He considered it. To see the director would not be an opportunity he might be handed many times in his life, and he indeed might be able to help. On the other hand, he had killed a few CIA operatives over the course of his missions, and they probably had a record of him being the killer.
Deciding that he did not have much to lose at that point, he gave Graham a friendly smile and said, "Alright, that seems like a good idea. Thank you."
Graham waved a hand and replied, "You ever need anything from me, just come over and ask. I owe many years of my life to you, after all. Just let me know in advance and not show up like that! You're going to give me a heart attack!"
Thiago smiled, shook his hand and walked out of the door. The moment he did so, he activated the bug that he had placed on his coat and listened. A second of static, and it activated.
He heard the ringing of a phone, and Graham's voice speaking upon someone on the other end answering, "Hello? How ar- who is this?"
He faintly heard a voice saying, "We are coming for you, Mr. Alexander. We know you have asked about us. Do not deny it, " the voice added, as Graham began spluttering out a reply, "we know as we interrogated the man who revealed it to you, before feeding him to a fish tank full of piranhas. That will be your fate, when we come after you."
He heard a footstep: Graham had probably taken a step back.
"We advise you to get your affairs in order. You have, at most, a day left. Good night to you."
The line went dead.
The CIA director assessed the situation. He was completely surrounded, and he knew that the men pointing automatic weapons at him would shoot first and ask questions later. He was confused, however, as to how they had managed to infiltrate the base at all, considering all the security measures around the building, and with the backup contingencies. It meant that not one, not even two, but a whole group of people within the organization had sold them out. If he ever got the opportunity...
The door to his office opened, and in stepped in a man to make the steeliest of hearts flutter a beat.
The man was tall, cloaked in a dark coat that hung loosely on what he imagined would be a fairly thin figure. However, it was not that which made the director stare. He had a long scar running across his face, literally from ear to ear and across his lips; one of his eyes seemed to be permanently bloodshot and there seemed to be horrible burns snaking in from his neck and disappearing into the folds of his cloak. What really made him terrifying was the expression on his face. One of his eyes, the bloodshot one on the left was wide open, giving him an almost maniacal expression. However, the other one was fairly normal, in the sense that it gave the sense of cold calculating logic. His lips were twisted into a sneer, showing a glimpse of curiously shiny teeth. The director just hoped that they were not the ones who had done that to him.
The man spoke, his cold, almost rasping voice making the hairs on the back of the neck of the director stand up, "Good evening. We are going to be taking asset H-012. Thank you for your cooperation."
The director, despite himself, let out a gasp. Not only was that one of the most heavily guarded items in the US, but that man knowing of its location meant that not only had they been compromised by some very high ranking people or someone handling the asset. He composed himself and informed him, "Since you know about it, you know that you cannot use it either, don't you?"
"Yes, I am aware of how to use it. I already have 3 of the bio-metric requirements needed. I only need yours, now." The man stepped towards him, taking long strides and almost shimmying slightly in either direction as he did so. A small glint came from within his cloak, with a long, serrated dagger coming into view in his gloved hand.
The director acted instantaneously. Pressing a button on a device that had been embedded onto his thumb, he immediately ducked underneath his desk, narrowly missing a bullet aimed at his head. From almost every corner of the office, square holes opened and sentry guns popped out, all of which immediately began spewing forth automatic fire. The men were all gunned down, blood shooting everywhere. He pressed another button on the cuff link on his left sleeve, and the entire desk, along with him, began to move down from a secret elevator that led to a location on the outside of the compound, known only to him and two other people.
He immediately thought of one person who might be able to help him, someone he had been keeping tabs on from the moment he had entered US soil. To think asking someone who had murdered some of his best operatives in cold blood made his stomach shift, but he really did not have many options. He could not trust any official channel, as the traitors involved would no doubt be placed on alert in case he should try to do so. No, that man was probably the only one he could go to. However, finding him would be an issue. He decided to call Graham Alexander to ask him for his location, since he too would no doubt be keeping tabs on him, and he also owed him a favor. He would have a lot to explain, no doubt starting off with the threats that the man who had picked up his phone had made, but he was running out of time.
From within the office, the man stood up, the bullets having exited from his body and his wounds having begun to heal. He looked around at the mangled remains of his men around him, feeling a slight pang of annoyance that the sentry guns and the elevator had not been shown in the blueprints that they had obtained of the compound. If he did not have a few surprises on his own, he would no doubt have been dead. He took out a radio from his cloak and spoke into it, "Send all available men to search the compound and everything outside within a mile's radius. The director has escaped, he must not be allowed to get far." A frightening grimace of pain and anger on his face, he moved towards the door.