Sleeper Cell Super Boxset, page 19
“I understand, sir.” Perry buttoned his jacket and shook the director’s hand. “I’ll start a task force immediately.” Out of all the emotions that humans experienced, Perry enjoyed playing off of pride the most. It was man’s most egotistical nature to believe that he was above everything, that somehow, among the millions of organisms on the planet, they were individually special. And that individuality of entitlement granted Perry access to whatever he wanted. All he had to do was stoke the fire.
The phone in Perry’s pocket buzzed with a message, and when he flipped it open, he smiled. Perry now had both Dylan’s son and his wife. Simple math. I have two things you want, yet you only have one thing that I want. Your move, Captain.
Chapter 9
Dylan took a deep breath, the salt air filling his senses. It felt like it was his first trip out to sea. He closed his eyes, not realizing the last time that he’d actually been able to smell the ocean. He’d been so preoccupied on the runs with the terrorists that he hadn’t taken the time to feel like he was back out on the water.
With his eyes closed, he listened to the rolling of the waves, climbing to a crest then crashing into the ocean below. The waves lapped against the side of the boat, and the wind rushed past his ears. The sun warmed his face, and he picked the stitches that Mark had applied to sew up the bullet hole that went straight through his trapezius muscle, then rubbed his hands, feeling the grit of the salt air on his skin.
But then when Dylan opened his eyes, all he could see was his son and the scar across his chest from where Perry had cut him. It didn’t seem there was a place on earth that Dylan could find peace that Perry could not take it from him.
Radio static blew from the cabin as Dylan made his way below deck, where Mark was propped up on a stack of pillows, doing his best to make himself comfortable and locate any news of Dylan’s antics on land. He watched Mark sitting there, with his stomach wrapped, fidgeting awkwardly, and Dylan had never seen him so miserable on a boat.
“Damn thing keeps losing its signal,” Mark said, giving the radio a light lump with his fist.
“Have you heard anything at all?”
“You made the news. More bombs went off in California, and the attacks have started happening in the Midwest. St. Louis was bombed early this morning.”
The plague was spreading, and Dylan had helped cultivate it. His stomach churned at the very thought. He walked over to the computer chips that he’d stolen from the facility and flipped them over in his hand. They were no bigger than his palm and were decorated with hundreds of silver lines, bumps. Almost like a piece of braille. Dylan set it down and then picked up the bag with the second item, the one Perry himself had ordered him to grab. “I still don’t see how this could even help them.” The other piece was nearly three times the size of the computer chips and came in a three-dimensional block, which felt heavier than the others combined.
Mark set the radio down and checked his bandages, peeling the white adhesive to examine his stitches. “Well, I imagine it will just give them another leg up, a bargaining chip, and this time they’ll have something the government wants. They’re nothing more than bullies looking for leverage, Dylan. That’s all any of this is. They can say it’s for their religion, or revenge, but at the end of the day, they just want something we have, something that they’ve never been able to have.” Mark grimaced at the sight of his wounds. “Not that I wouldn’t mind putting every last one of those bastards on an island and then blowing it to bits, but that’s just me.”
“Sounds good to me.” Dylan flashed a grin and placed the stolen gear back in the bag. He looked around the cabin. It was worn, had seen a lot of days at sea, but everything in it was solid. The wood was still thick and hearty and had been well taken care of. “We were in a boat just like this when it happened.”
Mark stopped picking at the bandages around his stomach then looked up. “With Zack?”
Dylan nodded. “It was an overnight trip. His first. He’d gone out with me before but been too little to be able to make it longer than an afternoon. He was so excited.” Dylan gave a whispered laugh, remembering the smile on Zack’s face when he found out he was going. “Mary had just been born a few months before, and with all the attention Evelyn and I were giving the baby, I think he was looking forward to some father–son time. He had this shirt he liked to wear whenever we went out. It was a marlin, jumping from the water, with a boat in the distance and a man trying to reel him in. It’d been washed so many times, holes were forming in it, but Zack wouldn’t let Evelyn throw it out.”
Dylan rested his head back against the hard composite of the cabin wall. “The weather was fine when we left, and there wasn’t anything on the radar. No alerts, no warnings, not a cloud in the sky.” He shook his head. “I never was able to figure out what happened, if the power had gone out or the battery was just drained. Maybe I left one of the lights on and that did it, I don’t know.” He waved it off, the creases on his forehead scrunched in a concentrated effort of forcing himself through the memories. “It was the wind that I noticed first. It was so loud, so fast. It was like the storm just materialized out of nowhere, just on us, just on that spot in the ocean where we were anchored.”
“Dylan, you did everything you could,” Mark said. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Mark’s words fell on deaf ears as Dylan focused on a point on the wall across from him, almost like he was speaking to himself, despite the fact that Mark was only a few feet away. “The rain came at us horizontally, almost blinding me as I pulled up the anchor. I kept Zack below; it was too dangerous for him to be out on the deck. When I went into the wheelhouse, none of the equipment was working, everything had gone black. GPS, bilge, lights, engine, all gone. The waves were rocking us hard; swells must have been at least fifteen feet. The deck was soaked with water, and a lot of it was draining down into the cabin.” A lump caught in Dylan’s throat, and he felt the dry patch. He clawed at it but was unable to relieve the itch. “I put a life jacket on him and then one for myself. I tried the radio again, calling out for anyone in the area, but I got nothing but static. The thunder and wind boomed and howled outside. I’d seen bad storms before, but this one seemed to have a mind of its own, with some type of beast controlling it.”
Dylan’s left hand shook. He didn’t bother hiding it. He squeezed it into a fist, trying to regain control of his faculties, but it only lessened the shake slightly. “I knew we were going to capsize. The seas were becoming too violent for the boat. I went back down into the cabin, and Zack was so scared. When it finally happened, I tried to keep hold of him, but something hit my shoulder, and I let him go. Water was everywhere; I was up to my shoulders in it standing up. When I saw Zack, I knew something was wrong. His eyes were flitting open and closed, and I saw flecks of red on the side of his head. He didn’t respond when I called his name, but he was still breathing, and his pulse was fine. The gash on the side of his head was bad, but it wasn’t bleeding a lot, at least not that I could see. I just held him, kept him close. I told him that everything was going to be okay and that we were going to make it out. I don’t know how many times I repeated that. Toward the end, I think I said it more for myself.”
Dylan rubbed his eyes, trying to drill the images from his memory. “We managed to stay afloat, but somewhere in the night I must have fallen asleep, drifted off. I don’t know how long it was for; all I remember was the cold. The water was cold. I was cold. Zack was cold. His lips had turned blue, and when I checked his pulse, there was nothing. I ripped off his jacket and tried giving him compressions, but with the water inside the cabin and us capsized, there just wasn’t any way for me to get leverage.”
“You did what you could, Dylan.”
“He looked so small. So peaceful.” Water leaked from Dylan’s eyes, and his voice distorted in grief. “If I hadn’t let go when we flipped, he’d still be alive. If I hadn’t fallen asleep, my boy would still be alive.” Sobs rippled through him, and he buried his face in his hands.
Mark came and put his arm around Dylan. It was the first time Dylan had let himself go like that since he’d stopped drinking. He remembered when the Coast Guard finally came, how they tried to peel Zack out of his arms, but he wouldn’t let them have him. He remembered the primal screams that erupted from his throat, and it didn’t matter how many of the sailors tried to take Zack, Dylan wouldn’t let his boy go.
Once the sobs had run dry and there wasn’t anything left, Dylan wiped his eyes, and Mark patted him firmly on the back. “I haven’t talked about that in a while.”
“Sometimes we find ourselves reflecting on the past when we think we’re about to fall into the same mistakes,” Mark said. “But this is different. And you need to stop beating yourself up over what happened, Dylan. Zack’s death wasn’t your fault, and neither is Sean being kept by those psychos. You will get him back. This will work.”
Dylan nodded then reached for the satellite phone Mark kept for emergencies. He pulled out the piece of paper with the number that was programmed into the old cell phone and waited for the signal to connect.
“You’ve managed to stay quiet for the past twenty-four hours,” Perry said, answering quickly. “I’m impressed.”
“You get Sean to a police station. Once I have confirmation over the news that he’s there, then I’ll meet you and hand over the hardware. No other deals, no games.”
Perry paused before answering slowly. “You’ve outgrown yourself, Captain. Don’t let your ambitions cloud your capabilities. Yes, you do have something that I want, that I need, but this doesn’t grant you authority over me; it simply makes us equals.”
Dylan stepped out of the cabin and onto the boat’s deck. “I don’t care what this does to your ego. That is the deal, Perry.”
Perry clucked his tongue. “You forget that I can still deliver your son alive but not in the pristine condition in which you left him. While you think I need that device, you want your son alive and in one piece more.”
Dylan knew Perry was right. While he could push the threats of destroying the device, once it was gone, he’d have nothing left that Perry would want, and with that, his son would pay the price. But Dylan also knew that Perry was arrogant, thinking that he was untouchable. He had danced along the lines of truth and lies for so long that he believed he was the puppet master. “You don’t just need the device, Perry, you need your cover. All I have to do is walk myself into any police station, and I’ll have the ear of any White House official I want. That’s the only reason you’ve kept up your charade, because you still need your people to believe you’re not involved.”
“I will give you your son, but not at a police station.”
“My old marina. Tomorrow. Sundown. I want to be able to see my son from a long way off before the exchange happens.”
“I look forward to seeing you again.”
The call ended, and Dylan exhaled, his body shaking as he collapsed into a seat on the deck. Mark popped out of the cabin below and took the seat across from Dylan. “Well?”
“He went for the marina.”
“It’s a good play, Captain.”
“Yeah.” But none of it mattered unless it worked, and Sean wouldn’t be safe until he was miles away from the city, from Perry, even from himself. Dylan would send him away with his mother. Maybe Cooper could help. Regardless, tomorrow was going to be rough.
***
The clean walls and sharp lighting of the CIA conference room had been Kasaika’s only view for the past twelve hours. He had spoken to no government officials and had not been allowed to see his brothers who had been captured with him. He wondered if Perry would show up but quickly dismissed the thought once he realized what that would mean for the cause.
They couldn’t afford to have that kind of heat on them now. Kasaika knew that the chips they were to steal from the facility were vital. Without them, they couldn’t complete their nuclear missile. Neither he nor Perry would jeopardize that.
Still, the thought of seeing Perry here, holding the man’s life in his hands, made him feel good. While Kasaika didn’t like the man and would like nothing more than to see him locked up, he hated the men Perry worked for more.
But when the door cracked open to the conference room and Perry walked in, accompanied by two other men he didn’t recognize, he had to force the surprised emotions from revealing themselves across his face.
“Hello, Mr. Shamaun, I’m Deputy Director Richard Perry.” Perry placed a folder on the space of desk in front of a chair then took a seat. “First off, I just want to tell you that whatever rights you think you have or you think you’re entitled to don’t exist.”
Perry maintained a look of understanding on his face, but his colleagues looked as though they wanted to lunge across the table and choke him to death. “I do not recognize the legitimacy of this government and demand to be set free. Do this, and I promise you I will kill you quickly.” Kasaika kept his eyes locked on Perry during his final words.
“Regardless of what you recognize, Mr. Shamaun, you are a terrorist of the United States of America, and we will get the truth out of you.” Perry opened the file and tossed pictures over to Kasaika’s side. They were security pictures from the raid on the facility. Perry pointed to Dylan on the page. “This man. He’s an American. How long has he been working with you?”
Kasaika remained silent, and Perry nodded to the man to his left, who got up, walked behind Kasaika, and wrapped his neck in a choke hold. With his hands bound to the chair, Kasaika could do nothing to defend himself. The pressure in his head felt like it would explode, and he drew in his breath in sharp gasps.
With Kasaika’s face turning purple, the man finally let go. Kasaika collapsed on the desk, and his face slowly returned to a normal shade with each breath. When he looked at Perry, he got nothing more than an expression that told him to tell what he knew.
“A week,” Kasaika said, breathing heavily.
“And what was your mission’s primary objective?”
“You will not win.” Kasaika shook his head. “We have men everywhere, eyes in every city. Your people are paralyzed with fear and too weak to stop us. None of you can.”
Perry nodded to the man behind Kasaika again, and this time a fist landed on the left side of his face, knocking Kasaika’s jaw, along with the rest of him, out of his chair and to the floor. A high-pitched whine filled his ears, and Kasaika managed to push himself to all fours, only to be knocked to his side again with a foot to the ribs.
“What was the mission objective, Mr. Shamaun?”
Kasaika rolled around on the polished floor, a knife-like stabbing running along the right side of his body. The ringing in his ears subsided, but the pain in his ribs only grew with each movement across the floor. He looked up to see both Perry and the agent who’d hit him standing above.
“Agent Diaz is capable of providing further incentive if it’s needed,” Perry said.
“We will kill all of you.” Kasaika’s words came out between wheezes, then he spit out a glob of blood and wiped his mouth. “Your world is over, and my brothers will be the ones to take it from you. It doesn’t matter how many you send or what you do; we will win.”
Perry turned to leave, along with one of the men, leaving Kasaika alone with Agent Diaz. Kasaika looked up, and Diaz cracked his knuckles.
“Time to tell me what you know,” Diaz said. He reached down and picked Kasaika up by the collar then slammed him on the desk, sending blow after blow across Kasaika’s face.
After the first five hits, Kasaika lost count, and the striking pain that accompanied each blow faded with it. Everything started to go numb, and as consciousness slowly drifted from Kasaika’s mind, the last thing he remembered was Dylan’s face and that if he ever had the chance to see him again, he would kill him with his own two hands.
Chapter 10
Underneath the bridges of Boston, trash, feces, and any other litter were a common sight. It smelled sour and dead, as if a dozen bodies had been left to rot.
Cooper had stayed there for the night and hadn’t slept a single hour of it. The slanted, cold concrete provided little comfort, and the sporadic echoes of gunfire and screams haunted her throughout the night. Her body was stiff and uncomfortable, and most of the night consisted of her keeping her hand on her pistol, looking for anyone approaching her who might want to do her harm.
When she wasn’t worrying about someone trying to mug her, her mind drifted to what her next move should be. Wherever Dylan was, it wasn’t likely that he’d be in the mood for any type of bargaining, especially with the woman who let his ex-wife volunteer herself to be taken by the same terrorists who had his son. She could try and call Diaz or Moringer, but that would involve locating a working phone, which she hadn’t been able to find at all yesterday.
It’d been a long walk from the suburban neighborhood back to the city, and she didn’t want to travel at night, which was why she’d tucked herself under the bridge in the first place. It seemed as good a place as any to guard herself, except for the smell, but at the end of the day, she determined that it was better to risk her nose than her life.
With the morning cast in the grey glow of dawn just before the sun rose, she crawled out from under the spot on the bridge and made her way onto the road. The city skyline was much closer than it had been the day before, but other than the buildings, there wasn’t another person so far as she could see.
A sharp, knife-stabbing pain shot through Cooper’s right leg as she hobbled forward. It was her body’s temper tantrum to get her to rest, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through it. The more she moved, the less her body felt like a slab of concrete, and her alertness returned. But the energy was short lived once the sun was well above the horizon and the heat started to sink in.
By the time Cooper found a police station, her mouth was parched, and what water was left in her body had poured onto her skin and clothes, leaving nothing but crusts of salt. She felt like a raisin when she walked through the station’s front doors.
