The Mercenary's Daughter Read online

  “Come in and eat something...” I said, but Mitch wasn’t listening. He was looking at something. A specific hole in the wall, narrowing his gaze as he approached it.

  “What the...” He ignored my confused look and grabbed the hammer, knocking new holes every foot or so.

  “Mitch,” I yelled. “Stop already!”

  “There’s something here,” he yelled back. “Look.”

  I finally saw it. A metal mechanism inside the wall. “What the heck is that?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  MITCH AND I FOLLOWED the metal gears and wiring until we found a small control panel in the wall. After taking a moment to study it, he reached in, tripped a lever and...thunk. A portion of the hardwood floor at the far end of the room popped up. I watched as Mitch walked over, found space for his fingers and yanked upward. The four-by-four section of the floor suddenly tilted back on hydraulics and revealed stairs.

  Mitch turned to me. “This isn’t on any blueprints I saw.”

  I pushed past him and slowly made my way down the stairs, listening for any sound in the darkness. Light from the office space spilled into the small underground cement bunker. As far as I could tell, it was twenty feet by twenty feet.

  “Uhh, you didn’t notice Dad building this?” I asked, squinting.

  “No!” Mitch said, following me down. “He must have put it in when I was at the science competition...” Mitch’s voice faded as I dropped off the last step.

  A pressure plate turned everything on at once. Lights sprung to life amidst a cacophony of electric hums.

  My lips parted in shock. “Whoa.”

  On the farthest wall, five flat retina screens flickered on, displaying things like satellite vistas, streaming intel, voice recognition and hacked camera views. Next to the setup sat a warren of bleeding-edge computer equipment. Thick bundled wires snaked in and around a stainless-steel supporting structure.

  To the right of the stairs, a fully organized weapons arsenal was built into the wall. An assortment of sniper rifles topped with laser scopes were racked along the bottom. Several handguns sat above those. They were all fitted in black silhouette foam, which formed neat rows. A shelf on the left side held small bins which contained a myriad of grenades, both concussive and shrapnel, along with extra clips and boxes of bullets. Topping it off was a display of combat knives and several bulletproof vests.

  Mitch’s features twisted in confusion. “What is this place?”

  “Looks like a Deep Cover Operations Center,” I answered, trying to make sense of things.

  “A deep what?” Mitch whispered, still staring.

  I made my way to the weapons and reached for one of the handguns, pulling back the chamber to check if it was loaded. It was. I couldn’t imagine Dad holding a gun, let alone knowing how to use one.

  “A black ops room,” I finally answered, setting the gun on a table most likely used for weapons prep. I nodded toward the screens. “That’s intelligence data.”

  Mitch shook his head, clinging to the stairs like they were anchoring him to a different reality. “Dad made slides. For dishwashers!”

  I was too lost in thought to respond. “I knew something was weird when they got that call...”

  Mitch looked at me. “Why aren’t you as freaked out as I am?”

  “I am,” I snapped. “This just makes more sense than flying to Beijing for an appliance crisis.”

  “But he takes business trips all the time...” Things seemed to click into place. “You think—”

  “Stop asking me so many questions. Just let me think.” I moved to a stainless-steel desk and tested one of the large drawers. It slid open. Inside, currency, passports, and cell phones were organized into neat piles.

  I paused before I picked up a German passport. As I flipped it open, a well-groomed version of Dad stared back. My heart hurt at the sight of him. Who was he?

  “Look at this,” I said, waving Mitch over.

  He grabbed the passport and stood in silence, shaking his head. But something else drew my attention: the dark brown envelope Dad had carried in from Sasha’s car the night he left. I picked it up and noticed a big “S” written on the top.

  Inside there was a silver flash drive and a small computer tablet. I instinctively slipped the flash drive into the tablet’s port, but was immediately prompted for a password. After a few birthdays and anniversary dates it threatened to lock me out.

  “Come here, Mr. MIT.” I held out the tablet. “Can you unlock this?”

  His lips were still pressed into a tight, stubborn line, but the challenge must have won him over because he took it, his brow low in concentration.

  “Move over,” he said.

  I watched as he connected his cell to the computer tablet via Bluetooth. After finding something on his phone, he held down the volume + and power button at the same time. A picture of an Android bot appeared on screen followed by backend reboot options. He scrolled and typed with one hand on the flat screen, waited for system checks, and eventually reached out for the flash drive.

  As soon as it was in, the tablet synched and a DECRYPTION SEQUENCE began. Mitch tapped the touch screen a few more times, typing in things I didn’t understand until finally, the tablet’s operating system was suddenly replaced with a single file. He tapped it and the folder opened.

  Mitch stared at if for a second before handing it to me. “What is it?” he asked.

  I took the tablet and opened a few of the documents, scanning their contents. “I’m pretty sure...it’s a mission dossier.”

  I glanced at Mitch and enlarged a photo, the full magnitude of the lie I’d been told sinking to the depths of my stomach like a bag of rocks. A picture of a forty-year-old man with a thick shock of prematurely white hair and a dark face riddled with pockmarks filled the screen.

  “Who’s he?”

  I swiped a finger and read through what I could of the encrypted data. “If I had to guess, I’d say he’s a target.”

  Mitch’s voice spiked. “Target? Target for what?”

  I swiped the screen again. “I dunno. I don’t understand the verbiage or most of the symbols. Some of it is military, so I kinda get it, but you’d have to know the full code to really make sense of it. He’s the target, that’s all I can figure out.”

  As I paged through the electronic document, there was one more picture. I tapped and it enlarged.

  The young man in the photo was in his early twenties at the most. He was handsome, with a prominent Adam’s apple and thick black eyelashes surrounding clear green eyes. His dark, wavy hair fell against the tops of his bronze cheeks and whiskery jaw. Large exotic lips curved into a subtle smile revealing straight, white teeth.

  “That guy a target, too?” Mitch asked.

  “Um,” I cleared my throat and read the photo details. “He’s the mission contact.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  I set the tablet on the desk and reached for my iPhone. “Someone local to help...with whatever it is you’re there to do.”

  “Local where? Where did Dad go?”

  I pointed to a set of coordinates below the contact picture: 23.1431° N, 82.3806° W

  I whispered them out loud as I punched the numbers into the GPS on my phone. “It’s a beach in Havana, Cuba.”

  Mitch’s eyes went wide and he started to pace, trying to make sense of it all. “Is Dad an assassin, is he a killer?” He wiped his hands on his jeans and blew out deep sighs every few steps.

  “I don’t know—”

  Mitch grew manic, talking louder and faster. “This target, that guy. Do you think Dad went there to kill him?”

  Before I could answer, a voice echoed from the steps. “No. Those were not his orders. He was supposed to bring him in alive.”

  I turned to see Sasha as she stepped into the room. She collapsed the stairs back into the ceiling with a small handheld remote.

  “Sasha?” Mitch stopped and stared at her.

  “I’ll need that d
rive and the tablet,” she said, her demeanor cold and unfamiliar.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SASHA’S POSTURE WAS MUCH more rigid and her eyes hyper-focused. “The package should have been marked with an “S”. I’m his liaison. He left that information for me.”

  “You’re involved in this, too?” I asked. My eyebrows sank as I imagined Dad sneaking out to visit this room before leaving. It was all a charade. Deep down I knew he was trying to protect us, but the lie still felt like one of my nightmares.

  “The tablet and the drive,” Sasha repeated with a parental sternness.

  With Dad missing, I didn’t trust her. She was a liar, too. “And if I say no?”

  “I care about you kids, and this is all very awkward. You were never supposed to know,” Sasha said, revealing a gun in her hand. “That being said, please don’t make me use this. Just give me the tablet and the drive.”

  I relented as she approached, extending the tablet out in front of me, but it wasn’t in my nature to submit. My quieted rage had already grown into a glowing ember of red-hot anger. As Sasha took it, I trapped her gun hand and in one swift movement, twisted the weapon from her grip and shoved her back with force.

  She recovered, gripping the tablet with one hand and straightening her shirt with the other. “Nicely done, but it doesn’t change anything. I’ve already put in a call. There will be a tactical team here in minutes to clean up all this gear.”

  “Who’s coming here? What team?” Mitch asked. I could almost see the quick beats of his pulse in the jumpy way he moved and the panicked look on his face.

  Damn her for intruding in our lives. She had no right.

  “Listen to me,” Sasha continued, “this can all go really easy. They’ll need to bring the two of you in. Just for a debrief and to sign some nondisclosure contracts. But if they see you waving a gun around—”

  My forehead creased like a paper fan and I jabbed the gun at Sasha. “Then you’d better talk fast.”

  When Sasha didn’t speak, Mitch stepped in front of her. “I treated you like family. I trusted you. The least you can do is tell us what’s going on.”

  Sasha paused as if trying to reconcile what she was allowed to say versus what she’d like to say. She finally looked up at me. “Your father was an Extractor.”

  Mitch’s gaze didn’t waiver. “What is that?”

  “There are criminals, all over the world, who are beyond the legal reach of our government. They’ve done horrible, atrocious things, but are untouchable because we can’t secure extradition or it’s too politically sensitive. Most of the time, our governmental agencies have to swallow the fact that these evil men get to live free.”

  “Except...” I said, leading Sasha. I gripped the gun firmly, but kept it comfortably at my side. Ready, in case she made a move.

  “Except when the circumstances become too extreme and the government feels they must be captured at any cost.”

  “So we send someone to ‘extract’ them,” I finished for Mitch’s sake.

  “Yes.” Sasha nodded. “Someone off the books.”

  “So, Dad was what, then?” Mitch asked. “Some sort of international bounty hunter?”

  “Like I said,” Sasha answered, “an Extractor.”

  I’d heard rumors of people like that, but I never imagined my sense-talking, well-organized Dad could be one. I still couldn’t picture it. If I hadn’t seen the passports and the room, I’d be sure she was lying.

  “That doesn’t mean anything to me. Who did he work for specifically?” Mitch’s voice rose with insistence. “The CIA?”

  “No.” Sasha hesitated, obviously not wanting to go any further down this road. “The intelligence community is much different than it used to be. It’s scattered, privatized. Sensitive ops are farmed out to help maintain deniability.”

  “She’s saying Dad was a merc,” I explained to Mitch. “A guy for hire.” I turned to Sasha. “Which means you’re no sales rep.”

  “Like I said, I’m just a liaison, a go-between.” Sasha’s posture softened. “Look, I realize all this is jarring. You must be feeling confused, betrayed—”

  I cut her off. “Most of what’s come out of your mouth has been a lie, so I’m gonna ask one last question and you better tell me the truth—Is my dad really dead?” As Sasha remained silent, I leveled the gun at her, my heart beating impatiently. “It’s the only question that matters.”

  She lowered her head. “There’s no way to know.”

  “How could you not know?” I yelled. Somewhere under the rush of anger there was a glimmer of hope, and I wouldn’t let go of it. “How could you look me in the eyes and tell me he’s dead and not be sure? Explain.”

  “Something went wrong and your father was captured, after that, all intel ceased.”

  “But...” Mitch stepped forward. “If you had to guess, do you think he’s really dead?”

  Sasha’s large, pouty lips and dimpled cheeks turned down with sympathy. “I don’t think so. Not yet.”

  “There’s a chance he’ll be rescued?” Mitch asked, his eyes lighting up.

  She shook her head. “You don’t understand. Harry was never there. This op never existed.”

  Mitch’s shoulders sank. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying...your father’s been officially disavowed.”

  “So, they’re just gonna leave him there to rot,” I snapped as I began absent-mindedly tapping my thumb against the pistol grip. I could feel myself start to lose control of my emotions. There wasn’t time to talk this out. I needed to do something.

  “Truth is...” Sasha said, struggling to finish. “They don’t keep men like Harry prisoner for long. Even if the higher-ups wanted to make a play at a rescue, the team they sent in probably wouldn’t get to him in time.”

  With a quick thrust, I slammed Sasha against the wall and pressed the gun into her stomach. “You’re gonna give me details. Everything you know. Now.”

  “No. I’m not.” Sasha’s gaze hardened as she stared me in the eyes. “I loved your father. I told you that and I meant it. It’s the only reason I’ve compromised the information I have. But this talk is officially over.” She raised her eyebrows. “So I guess you’re just going to have to shoot.”

  I clenched my teeth, lowering the gun and backing away. Time was on her side, not mine.

  Mitch began to pace again. “This isn’t happening.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Sasha said with genuine regret in her voice.

  I turned to Sasha. “Do what you gotta do. Burn this place to the ground for all I care. But me and my brother are not hanging around to be interrogated.”

  Sure, the military worked under a set of laws and government policies, but private companies had their own moral code, one I couldn’t trust. To them, Mitch and I were just loose ends that needed tying up.

  My pulse quickened as I pointed the gun at Sasha again, realizing this time I might actually have to use it.

  She gave me a look. “Tara...”

  “Open the hatch,” I said in a strong, even tone.

  After a moment, Sasha reached into her pocket and clicked the handheld remote to lower the staircase. Cool night air rushed in from above as it locked into place. I grabbed Mitch by the arm and kept my eyes on Sasha as I headed for the exit, but she didn’t try to stop us. Once we reached the backyard, Mitch yanked himself free.

  “Let go of me.”

  “You want to stick around?” I asked, hiding the gun in the back of my shorts.

  Mitch held his arms out wide. “I don’t know.”

  Suddenly, pulling up to the front of the house were five black, nondescript vehicles. I grabbed his arm again. “Fine. But do me a favor and keep moving while you decide.”

  I led him behind the office building, to an old, loose plank of fence I’d used in high school to sneak out. Low voices hummed in the distance as we crept through our neighbor’s backyard, slinking along the edge of their blue pool, glowing in the night, and o
nto a parallel street.

  “Keep against the fence. In the shadows,” I whispered to Mitch as I glided along every parked car and tested locks until one finally opened. A 1980s dark green Ford Taurus. Looking over my shoulder I slid inside, ducking under the steering column to find the wire bundle. The nostalgic rush of deciphering the ignition and battery cables from a tangled nest felt like an unsettled hive of bees in my chest. As the engine fired up, I let out a held breath and hid the gun in the glove box.

  I popped the passenger side door open and locked eyes with Mitch. “Get in.”

  He did, thank God, and I gunned the car away. A few blocks from the house, I headed onto the freeway. After driving a few miles in silence, I realized we had nowhere to go. We’d probably have to sleep in the car tonight. I bit my lip thinking through different options.

  “This is crazy,” Mitch finally spoke. He stared out the windshield, his arms crossed. “I can’t believe Dad lied to us.” He turned to me. “Why are you not more freaked out?”

  My eyes widened. “Who said I’m not?”

  “You don’t look freaked out.”

  “What do you want me to do, scream? Pound the dash?”

  “Yeah,” his voice spiked. “For starters.”

  “I’m just trying to focus on what I can control. I need to think.”

  Mitch stared at me for another few moments. “What are we even doing? Pull over. Right now!”

  I swerved onto the shoulder and skidded to a stop. “What?” I yelled. “What?!”

  “Why are we running?” Mitch dragged both hands through his hair. “We didn’t do anything.”

  “Because I don’t have time to be detained, debriefed, or whatever else they have planned for us.” I watched the taillights of other cars speed by and blur into a red glow up ahead.

  “Needing time implies you have a plan.”

  I let out a deep breath. No matter how many plans ran through my head, there was only one real option for getting Dad back if he was alive. “I’m going to Cuba.”

  “Say again?”