Against the Clock (5 page)

Running onto the footpath, he saw but could not believe. The van was gone, and in its place a taxicab sat perpendicular to the curb, with a crumpled front end. As he reached the middle of the road, he saw the back panel and taillights of the van disappear around the corner.

10:48:09

Shirin sped around the corner. They would find the van eventually, she knew. It was sure to have a tracking beacon. She didn't plan to be around when they arrived.

She didn't slow for the next corner but instead skidded deeper into it, accelerating out of the skid and racing down the long road. She was parallel to the street of her safe house.

She pulled up outside the house that shared her own house's back boundary, already jumping out of the van before it stopped moving.

She knew all the people in the properties surrounding her safe house. She knew them better than their own families, she was sure. She raced through the front yard of the block behind her safe house. It belonged to Loren and Dan Francis. They were both at work now. They had no dog. No external alarm. At the side access, she leaped over the six-foot gate and skirted the Colorbond fence until she reached their backyard.

She peered over the fence. She could see one man at the back of her safe house, near the laundry door, and another upstairs in her bedroom. Both men looked distracted but dangerous.

She deposited her bag in the corner behind the trunk of a gum tree. She needed to travel light and fast. She took one pistol, tucked it in her waistband, then leapt up and over the fence.

She landed silently, rolled, and was up, gun raised, waiting, listening, watching. She had not been seen yet.

She shoved the gun in her waistband again and ran straight for her back door. Four strides from the door, she drew her weapon, let loose two bullets into the lock, and saw it splinter as her foot made contact just beneath the shattered lock. The door burst open with the sound of splitting wood. She dove forward, sliding on her side, then rolling onto her back.

The agent nearest her had been sideswiped by the force of the imploding door. His gun was drawn and finding its mark as Shirin sent two bullets in a double tap to his heart before her body stopped sliding.

She found her feet and in one smooth motion was up and running toward the stairwell before the dead agent hit the ground.

She entered low. The kitchen was clear. Same for the dining room. She heard the dull footfalls of the man upstairs heading down. She turned the corner. A bullet snapped past her and buried itself in the wall. She fell back instantly and returned fire on instinct as she readjusted her body to curl and roll out of the line of fire.

The agent retreated. She had little choice. Abandon him and get out before backup arrived, or chase him up the stairs and into his waiting crosshairs.

10:49:51

Barratt ran to the scene to find the taxi driver looking dazed and confused. His two men were sprawled on the street, bleeding, unconscious but alive. They'd both been shot.

He tried to reach the agents at the house on the radio. No reply.

He could hear the taxi driver trying to get out of the vehicle, pulled his gun, pointed at him and demanded, "Was it a woman?"

The young driver looked deathly pale from shock. All he could manage was a vacant nod.

Barratt cursed himself. Cursed her. Then headed back to the safe house in a sprint. She would die for this.

10:50:51

The agent hid in a small alcove near the top of the stairs. He labored to control his breathing and his nerve. This woman was good. Better than he was, he feared. But he had her now. If she came after him, he would pick her off like a sitting duck. If she didn't, more backup would arrive. Then she would die.

He didn't know where Barratt was. Maybe she had gotten to him already. If so, it was one less thing for him to do. He had his instructions. If Barratt failed again, kill him.

Sweat formed on his forehead, but he dared not wipe it. His total concentration focused on the sounds from downstairs, waiting for the woman to show her head.

A whisper of air wafted past him. He wasn't sure if he heard it or felt it. Then, the distinct
thup thup
of a silenced pistol, the dull, wet pain in his neck, and then, nothing.

10:51:02

Shirin stepped out of the upstairs bedroom. The agent was motionless, dead. Her bullets had ripped cleanly through the plasterboard wall and lodged in his neck and skull.

He had not heard her climb the lattice to the master bedroom balcony above.

She moved quickly to the front of the house, stayed clear of the windows, and peered down into the street. She could hear sirens in the distance. And see Trent Barratt charging across the front lawn toward the door.

She had less than a minute.

10:51:14

Barratt threw his radio mic on the ground, drew his weapon, and flicked off the safety. There had been no reply from his men. He bulldozed the front door down,, then quickly backed himself against the wall as he surveyed the scene.

Down the long corridor, he could see the shattered back door, bullet holes, and one of his men lying in a pool of blood.

He ducked his head around the corner quickly. No one there. Toward the stairs, more bullet holes told the story of a gunfight he should have been there for.

Careful of where he placed his feet, he moved silently around the stairwell. Nothing made sense to him. Why had she come back? And once she saw the surveillance, why didn't she just leave?

"You could move, but then I'd have to shoot you." Her voice was calm, almost relaxed.

Barratt froze. It took him a moment to identify where it came from. He was out of position to raise his weapon in that direction and get a shot off without her bullet finding him first. She had out-maneuvered him.

Barratt lowered his head. So this was it, he thought. "What next? You shoot me anyway?"

"No, but I would like to talk. Drop your gun so we can do that."

Barratt did nothing. He stood there. Contemplating which way he preferred to die.

"Drop the gun, turn around, we'll talk, then you can go," Shirin said more forcefully. "I did not give your men that choice, and in a moment you won't have it either."

Barratt dropped his pistol. Ready to die, he turned around. His glare found her face, registered recognition, then shock, then, he said, "Shirin?"

Two wires shot out at him. Hit him hard in the chest. He looked at them, looked at Shirin, then 50,000 volts coursed through his body.

chapter 2

"loss is the moment you find something worth keeping."

the book of seekay

11:03:19

Minister Jordan shook his hand reluctantly.

"Good morning, Minister Jordan, thank you for agreeing to meet with me. "Zelig smirked as he squeezed her hand a little harder than needed before releasing his grip. He walked past her briskly and took a seat at the end of the Minister for Foreign Affairs' desk without waiting to be invited.

"Let's drop the formalities, Zelig." She crossed the space of her office with an elegance rarely shown in political circles without an audience. "And I didn't 'agree' to meet you. You didn't give me much choice. " Ms. Jordan settled neatly into her executive leather chair. "Why are you here, Zelig?" she asked without hiding her suspicions.

"You might recall during our last meeting, we were discussing the frequent flights and travel required of a person in your position…"

"I recall you not-so-subtly suggested I smuggle things through my diplomatic pouch for you. I also recall that I told you in no uncertain terms that should you ever make a similar suggestion to me again, I would have you arrested!" Ms. Jordan was already reaching for the phone before she finished her sentence.

"Before you make that call…"Zelig pulled an envelope from inside his coat and placed it carefully on her desk. "I think you should see this first." He pushed it slowly toward her.

The confidence in his eyes disgusted her. But it also scared her. She knew Zelig. She knew what he was capable of. Whatever was in that envelope she was sure would not be good for her.

Making a show of resilience, Ms. Jordan picked up the phone and held it in her hand. She paused, her fingers over the keypad, and then slowly, reluctantly, cradled the handset.

Neither of them said a word. Ms. Jordan looked at the envelope on her desk as though it were toxic.

"Have a look," Zelig prompted. "These are photos taken during a routine surveillance operation. I think they will hold a genuine and pointed interest for you."

"Why would they be particularly interesting to me?" she asked.

Zelig thought for a moment, more for dramatic effect, before replying, "Consider it a favor between colleagues."

She took a deep breath.
This is not going to end well.

She wished in every conceivable way that she could be rid of this conniving weasel. She had tried several times to have him expelled from the Agency, or even reposted to some far corner of the globe. Each attempt ended the same. Nothing changed. And here he was, playing his mind games with her.

She reached across her large mahogany and leather desk, adorned with photos of visiting heads of state, and picked up the envelope. It was heavy. She flung it back toward Zelig. "Whatever you have here, I'm not interested. And let me be clear. Your dirty tricks and Stone Age mentality are not condoned by me or any of my peers! Frankly, you and your methods disgust me."

Picking up her phone, she struck the intercom button heavily and spoke matter-of-factly to her secretary. "Anne, call Security and have them escort Director Zelig from the building. Then call the Federal Police and schedule an appointment with the Assistant Commissioner in charge of Counter-Terrorism for this afternoon."

She hung up and looked Zelig in the eyes. "My next call will be to the Professional Standards Unit to have you removed from active duty pending an aggressive inquiry into you and your practices. Now get out of my office before Security arrives and forcibly removes you."

Zelig smiled with his signature arrogance, then clapped his hands."You sure are sexy as hell when you're mad!"

"How dare you!"

"Maybe when things are over between you and your husband, you might want to call me. I'll show you how a real man does it."

"Get out! Now!"

"Yes, of course, when I'm ready."He calmly opened the envelope, making a show of how delicate and sensitive each photo inside was. He held them up so that their pictures were facing him. Peeking over the edge of one of the photos, he commented, "Your husband seems to have lost a sizeable amount of weight lately…"

He flicked the next photo. "Did you ever wonder why your
devoted
husband suddenly chose to lose weight? I mean, what motivated him after thirty-four years of obesity to suddenly lose weight?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm just saying…these are the things people like me notice. So I took the liberty to look into it. He is, after all, the husband of the Minister for Foreign Affairs. His actions, his…indiscretions, could have an impact on national security."Zelig looked at his watch, then continued. "Security will be here in a few moments. I suggest you call and withdraw your request for them before this situation becomes embarrassing for you."

Zelig twisted one of the photographs around in his hand, teasing her with a quick glimpse of its content. "You're running out of time to call them off, Minister Jordan…"

She lunged across the table to snatch the photo out of his hand, turned it the right way around, and stared deeply at it. She felt the color drain from her face. She tried to look away, but couldn't.

"This can't be …",She felt sick to her stomach.

"Last chance to call off Security," Zelig reminded her.

Ms. Jordan absently picked up the phone, pressed the intercom button, "Anne, cancel that request for Security. And hold off on the federal police request, too. Something has just come up."

11:12:02

Every part of Barratt's body ached.

Even before he could register where he was, he felt the plastic restraints around his wrists and his ankles cutting into his flesh. His arms were awkwardly stretched behind the back of the car seat.

His senses came rushing back at him quickly, one by one; muted sounds of traffic, the smell of recently cleaned upholstery, and the sensation of moving. He was in a car, a moving car.

His vision was the last to clear; as he blinked heavily, he saw Shirin Reyes beside him, driving. She looked at him curiously. Assessing him.

She abruptly veered the car to the side of the road, pulled up sharply, grabbed her gun, and rested its muzzle firmly into his crotch.

Without giving him the chance to speak, she said, "Three questions. One chance. Understood?"