The Fixers (Infernum Book 4) Read online

  The guard examined the identification through the glass. “What’s your purpose here?”

  “Inspection,” said Angela.

  The guard looked away from the glass and checked his computer terminal. “There is nothing here about an inspection.”

  “New policy, following a rash of complaints about poor conditions.” Angela reached for the leather bag that hung from a shoulder strap. She unzipped it and produced several official-looking documents—also forged—and passed then through the slot at the bottom of the window for the guard to inspect. “Unannounced inspections are conducted to make it more difficult for offenders to hide.”

  The guard took the forms and read over them. Even to a trained eye, the forgeries Infernum provided Angela with were works of art, almost indistinguishable from the real thing. And judging from the guard’s furrowed brow, his eye certainly didn’t seem very well-trained in this regard.

  “Just a moment.” He picked up his phone and made a call. Angela looked around the small lobby as the guard spoke to the person on the other end, evidently someone in a position of authority.

  Security cameras hung from the ceiling, in the exact positions the schematics Tauna provided said they would be. Angela made sure to memorize every detail of the prison layout.

  “Ms. Vasin?”

  Angela turned to the guard, who was hanging up the phone. “Yes?”

  “Warden Ilyin will be down shortly. He said he would be honored to give you a tour.”

  Angela flashed him a smile. “Very well.”

  It only took a few moments before Ilyin arrived. He was an older man with a thick beard and short, dark hair with specks of silver. When he met Angela, he smiled broadly and offered his hand.

  “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Vasin. I was unaware of this new policy? When did it start?”

  “Last month.”

  “Ah, perhaps a miscommunication. But I must tell you that this facility—”

  “Warden, you know where my authority comes from, yes?” asked Angela.

  Ilyin swallowed hard. “Yes, but—”

  “Are you refusing to cooperate with the FSIN?” asked Angela, raising an eyebrow. She reached inside her jacket and produced a cell phone. “Perhaps I should contact my superiors, let them know that there will be a job opening here at Vanko?”

  Ilyin nervously laughed and held up his hands. “No, not at all. That won’t be necessary, Ms. Vasin. I just…ah…wished to express my surprise at your appearance. Of course, we shall do everything in our power to cooperate with the FSIN.”

  He turned to the guard and nodded. A large buzz came from the heavy security door and Ilyin opened it, holding it for his visitor.

  “I was wondering, Warden,” said Angela. “Before we begin the inspection, could we have a word in your office?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Ilyin. He led Angela from the visitor’s entrance and into the administrative wing of the facility. Soon, they came to his office and Ilyin unlocked the door and allowed her to go in first. “You must excuse my behavior. We have a medical team coming in today to perform tuberculosis screenings.”

  Angela sat in a chair in front of his desk. Ilyin took the seat behind the desk, rubbing his hands together in a nervous fashion.

  “Vanko is a little old, but we are in the process of upgrading,” said Ilyin. “Most of the prisoners are well-behaved—for prisoners, at least. And we have had very few incidences of problematic guards.”

  “I’m more concerned that you were unaware of our inspection policy,” said Angela. “Is your system not operational?”

  “No, not at all,” said Ilyin. He turned to the terminal on his desk and disabled the screensaver. After entering his password, he navigated to the email system.

  Angela stood from the chair and moved around the desk, looking over his shoulder.

  “When was the order sent? Last month?” asked Ilyin.

  She didn’t answer, just reached in her bag and took out a small syringe. Angela removed the cap from the needle and plunged it into Ilyin’s neck. She pushed the plunger down, forcing the sedative into his bloodstream and he collapsed on the desk.

  Angela pulled Ilyin’s unconscious body off the desk and shoved him onto the floor. She accessed his computer, looking through it for the prisoner records. It didn’t take long for her to discover which cell a prisoner with the false name Alexei Garin had been locked in. She committed the information to memory and left the warden’s office.

  She left the administrative wing and moved down into the cell blocks. When she came to the block where Ilyin’s files told her Samarin was being held, she saw the guard at the checkpoint. She knocked on the glass and showed her identification. The guard buzzed her in and stood from his station, meeting her at the door to the small booth.

  “What is this?” he asked. “We didn’t hear anything about—”

  Angela grabbed the guard by his collar and pulled him forward, slamming his head into the wall. She slammed her elbow on his back and pulled him back inside the booth.

  “Sorry about that,” she muttered in English. Angela went to the computer and checked the surveillance footage, bringing up the camera near Samarin’s cell. She could see him through the bars, lying on the bunk. Angela activated the commands to open just that cell and also to give her access to the block.

  ***

  Not long after Angela arrived, a medical transport came as well for the tuberculosis screening Ilyin had mentioned. But just like Angela’s inspection, the screening was also a lie. And the medical transport actually housed a lot of sophisticated surveillance equipment.

  In the back of the van, Baxter sat at the terminal, looking over a small array of monitors they’d installed into the vehicle. His fingers danced across the keyboard and one of the monitors served as his main display, which he used to hack into the prison’s surveillance system. He smiled as one by one, the blank monitors came alive with feeds from the various cameras.

  “Okay, lady and gentleman, we are now online,” he said, his voice transmitting through the small comms device plugged into his ear.

  “Good job, Sutton,” said Quartermain. “We need a location on Samarin. Remember, he’s being held under the name—”

  “Alexei Garin, yeah I know,” said Baxter with a huff. “I’m not an amateur, big guy. Been doing this long before the Agency paid me my thirty pieces of silver.”

  Baxter searched through the records for Garin’s name. When he found it and the cell number, he brought up the feed of the camera closest do it. At first, everything seemed normal.

  But then, the cell door opened.

  “What the hell?”

  “What’s going on, Baxter?” asked Julie.

  Baxter went to work on the keyboard to answer that question. “Umm…someone opened Samarin’s cell.”

  “What do you mean someone opened it?” asked Quartermain.

  “Just that, command came from the checkpoint. And now—”

  Baxter stopped, watching as Samarin exited the cell, looking from side to side. He then saw a woman with dark hair and glasses approach Samarin. The two were engaged in conversation, talking about something.

  “I think we’ve got a problem,” said Baxter. “There’s someone else trying to spring our guy.”

  ***

  Quartermain turned away from the guards as Julie distracted them, holding a hand up to his ear. “Who the hell else is in here?”

  “I don’t know!” said Baxter over the comms. “Whoever she is, she’s smart enough to keep the camera off her face. Like she knows where each of them is. I can’t get any positive ID on her.”

  “But it’s a woman?”

  “Either that or a really slight guy.”

  “Must be Dante’s operative,” whispered Quartermain. “Can you keep tabs on them?”

  “For now, but you’ll have to move fast. They’re still in Samarin’s cell block but looks like she took out the guards there.”

  “Spring ‘em
,” said Quartermain.

  “What? But—”

  “We need to distract the rest of the guards and we can’t let Infernum get their hands on Samarin,” said Quartermain. “Do as I say.”

  Baxter sighed on the other end of the comms. “You’re the boss…”

  Quartermain returned to the guards, who had their backs to him and were still speaking with Julie, going over procedures for the screenings. But when Quartermain came up behind the first guard, he clasped his hands together, raised them up, and brought them crashing down on the back of the guard’s head.

  The second guard turned, reaching for his gun. Julie kicked him in the chest with another kick at his leg, knocking him down. Quartermain towered over the guard and knelt down to punch hard enough to knock him out.

  “What’s going on?” asked Julie.

  Quartermain stripped off the white lab coat, revealing a black outfit underneath. “Infernum’s here. We have to move fast.”

  He went to the crates that were meant to hold their supplies for the screening and opened one of them as Julie took off her own coat, wearing a similar outfit under. Inside Quartermain’s case were materials for the mission. He tossed a belt lined with ammunition packs to Julie and she clasped it around her waist and he donned the other. Guns were passed out, first side-arms to be holstered and then shotguns they could carry with them.

  “Do we know who the operative is?” asked Julie.

  Quartermain shook his head. “She’s in disguise, but she’s already managed to get Samarin out.”

  “So what’s our move?”

  “Slow ‘em down,” said Quartermain. He touched the comms in his ear. “Baxter, open the cells.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Angela found Samarin stepping out of his cell, looking around in confusion. There were shouts from the other prisoners, demanding to know why he was let out and they were still locked inside. As Angela ran down the corridor, she ignored the catcalls from the inmates.

  “Viktor Samarin?” she asked once she approached the older scientist.

  Samarin studied her in surprise. He looked malnourished and ragged. It was obvious he hadn’t eaten much since coming here and treatment from his fellow prisoners and even the guards was likely not very good.

  “Who are you?” he asked in Russian. “How do you know my name?”

  Angela took off her wig and glasses. She shook out her long, blond hair. “My name’s Angela Lockhart. I’m here to get you out.”

  “But why?”

  Angela grabbed his arm and pulled him along. “Less questions, more running!”

  But just as she turned, a klaxon went off. She glanced back at Samarin, who had fear written all over his face. His wide eyes looked at Angela with dread. “I don’t think we’re going anywhere, Ms. Lockhart.”

  The doors on all the other prison cells suddenly slid open. Angela pushed Samarin back, standing in front of him as the prisoners poured out into the corridor. She took the bag off her shoulder and handed it to the man she had to protect.

  “Hold onto this for me.”

  But before she continued further, she drew something from the bag—a pair of submachine guns. Angela held the weapons out at arms’ length, pointing them at the advancing prisoners and they all stopped their approach.

  “Here’s how it’s gonna be,” she said, speaking in Russian. “You’re going to make a path for me and my friend. And then, you’re not going to get shot. Do we have an agreement?”

  One of the prisoners tried to rush her and Angela proved her intent by perforating his face. He collapsed to the ground and many of the other prisoners suddenly moved away, making a path for her and Samarin.

  “Move carefully,” she whispered to Samarin, still in Russian. “Stay close to me.”

  Samarin moved to the wall of the corridor across from the cells, his back pressed against it, both hands clutching the bag. Angela stood right in front of him, the only thing between Samarin and the other prisoners. The inmates, to their credit, weren’t as stupid as the one Angela had killed. They moved back towards the cells, allowing her and Samarin to move down the corridor.

  And then, the lights went out.

  There were shouts and screams that filled the cell block. It wasn’t completely dark, but dark enough where it was difficult to see anything other than the basic outline of the people.

  An inmate charged at Angela, slamming her against the wall and grabbing her wrist. He squeezed it and banged her hand against the wall, trying to get her to relinquish her weapon. Angela’s other hand was free and she pressed the barrel of the gun into the prisoner’s side, pulling the trigger.

  He slumped to the ground and Angela raised the guns, firing at anyone else who dared to come close to her. She now wished she had kept the bag with her because there were supplies in it she desperately needed.

  “Samarin!” she shouted, praying her voice would be heard over the noise of the riot. But no answer.

  The prisoners were concerned not so much with her, but were now even fighting each other. And yet, the guards were leaving them to it. No one came after them to try and break up the riot and Angela knew this wasn’t random—it was engineered.

  Angela’s magazines emptied and she discarded the guns. Reloading both of them in this melee would be too much of a challenge and there was also the risk she’d hit Samarin.

  She flicked her wrists and spring-loaded daggers slid into her waiting hands. Angela removed them from the housings attached to her forearms and lunged for the first inmate that came at her, cutting into his throat. She stabbed another in the head.

  By now, Angela’s eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness and she had a clearer view of the corridor. She could make out a man being shoved into one of the cells and she got enough of a look at his face to know it was Samarin.

  Angela readied the knives and pushed into the crowd separating her from her goal. Her blades tore through any prisoners they needed to as she forced her way through them. One in the gut, another in the leg. A third took a blade to the eye. Her progress was relentless through the onslaught until finally, she reached the cell.

  Two prisoners were trying to pull the bag from Samarin’s grasp and he was too weak to fend them off. Angela came up behind one and rammed the knife into the base of his spine. He screamed and dropped to the ground the instant she pulled the blade free. He’d survive but would never walk again.

  The other prisoner now held the bag and backed into the cell. He began to pull down the zipper. If he got inside it, he would have weapons to pose a threat and Angela couldn’t allow that.

  She threw one of her daggers and hit him right in the center of his forehead. He slumped against the wall and slid down it. Angela pulled the bag from his lifeless hands and searched inside, taking out what she needed—a cylindrical, black object with a pin attached to a ring.

  “Get over here,” said Angela, pulling Samarin away from the bunk and into the corner of the cell. She pulled the ring and threw the object out into the corridor, then covered Samarin with her own body. She clasped her eyes shut and covered her ears.

  The stun grenade went off with a massive flash, accompanied by a loud burst of sound. Angela stood, pulling Samarin with her and the two of them entered the corridor. The inmates were on the ground, writing in pain and clutching their ears or trying to free themselves from the disorientating light.

  It gave the two of them the chance they needed to get to the cell block exit. Once they reached the door, they found it was locked again. Angela opened the bag and removed a small explosive, planting it on the lock.

  “Step back,” she said and her and Samarin moved away. The small bomb went off, blowing open the lock. They crossed through the opening, but once they stepped inside a waiting area, Angela saw someone approaching.

  “Get down!” she shouted, pulling Samarin with her as she hit the ground.

  Quartermain and Julie stood blocking one of the exits and Quartermain fired his shotgun just before Angela pu
lled Samarin from the path. The Fixer blinked a few times when he realized who Infernum had sent. Julie stood by his side, just as surprised.

  “Angela…?” she said.

  “Lockhart,” said Quartermain.

  The former Agency operative stood, facing off against both of them. “Julie. Bill. Long time.”

  “Not long enough!” shouted Quartermain, raising his weapon. He was about to pull the trigger, but Julie grabbed the gun and disrupted his aim.

  “No!” she cried out and Quartermain inadvertently shot a light fixture above them, dropping it on the two of them.

  Angela used that distraction and took Samarin in another direction. When they reached a stairwell, Angela had Samarin go inside first. She followed, closing the door behind her and rigging it with a small explosive. With that accomplished, she led the way down the steps.

  Angela had to move slower than usual so that Samarin wouldn’t get left behind. She hadn’t counted on running into Julie and Quartermain so soon. In fact, she hoped she could finish this job without dealing with them. And from Quartermain’s reaction, it was obvious he was still sore after their last encounter.

  They reached the bottom level and as soon as they ran off the last step, Samarin collapsed on the ground in the corner. Angela knelt down by his side. His breathing was heavy and he was begging her to stop.

  “P-please. Can’t…need to rest…”

  “You speak English, that’ll make things a little easier,” said Angela as she pulled a canteen from the bag. She removed the top and passed it to Samarin. He tipped his head back and opened his mouth wide, pouring the water down his throat. Almost immediately, he started coughing.

  “Easy,” said Angela, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Take it slow.”

  “They’re coming?” asked Samarin, casting his eyes up the stairs they just descended.

  “I set a trap, but at best it’ll just slow them down,” said Angela.