Halon-Seven (53 page)

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Finally relaxing in
her seat, Reese took a breath. She hadn’t realized she was holding it in the first place.

Cyrus looked at her. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, but who is this man? And why is he here?”

Raising his eyebrows, Clayton looked at Cyrus anticipating his response. If she had to guess, the man seemed curious to hear the explanation Cyrus chose to use. When Cyrus hesitated to answer, Clayton spoke up.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind stepping up front for a few minutes so I might have a word with your friends?” he asked.

Her eyes shifted to Cyrus. Now she really wanted to know what was going on. What could this man want to discuss with Cyrus that he couldn’t say in front of her? Whatever it was, Cyrus didn’t look pleased.

“That’s not necessary,” Cyrus said, and laid a reassuring hand on her arm. He turned back to Clayton. There was a cold hard cast to his eyes. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say,” he told the man. “I’ve heard it all before, and my answer hasn’t changed.”

“Yes, but your circumstances have,” the old man explained. “You left four dead bodies in Santa Barbara, and I know the body count doesn’t end there. If you come back to the Coalition, I’ll make sure you’re protected. No one needs to know.”

“Needs to know what?” Cyrus said with a sneer. “What happened in Santa Barbara was completely justified. I’ll stand by it. There were witnesses. You might’ve expedited my release from custody, but they couldn’t prosecute me, and they knew it. What are you playing at?”

“I’m more concerned with your actions outside of Las Vegas last week,” Clayton said with a smug grin. “Look, I’ve got an operation I need your help with. It’s a simple matter, but it has to be you. It’s a sensitive matter involving a cult operating out east. They call themselves The Order of Origin.”

Whatever the man was up to, he clearly thought he had something on Cyrus.

“Las Vegas?” Cyrus asked calmly, without missing a beat. He ignored Clayton’s comment about an operation to the East. “I know you’re making a threat, but I don’t follow.”

“I’m offering to make all of your problems go away; it’s as simple as that.”

“Clayton, some things don’t change. You’re still an asshole, and I still won’t go back to the Coalition! What part of
done
don’t you understand?”

“I’m talking about a dozen dead drug runners killed outside of Las Vegas last Thursday! I don’t know why you did it, and frankly I don’t care. But when they figure out it was you, you’re going to prison!”

Reese felt her stomach turn at the thought. How could this be happening? After everything they’d been through, everything they’d survived, could this man really bring them trouble now?

Cyrus nodded in understanding. “I read about that Las Vegas fiasco online,” he said. “Some kind of gang war? They were fighting over turf, drugs, or God knows what. You think I had something to do with
that
?”

That brought color to Clayton’s face. First the man’s complexion flushed, then he started turning red. His blood pressure was skyrocketing. “Don’t give me that! Damn it, Cyrus! I know you took out the Alvares gang! When the FBI finds out, you’ll go down for it!”

Reese was doing her best to play it cool. To her relief, Hondo was sitting calmly in his seat. He didn’t seem concerned. He hadn’t moved a muscle since holstering his gun. But she couldn’t help it. She found herself looking from Cyrus to the old man, and back to Cyrus again. It seemed to be some kind of standoff. She knew Cyrus hated his old life and had no intention of returning. Could this man really force him to go back?

Finally, Cyrus shrugged. “I’m flattered you think I could walk into a drug lord’s home, start shooting, and still make it out alive. From what I’ve seen on the news, they figure it took at least a dozen men to storm that estate. And you think I did it all by myself?”

He laughed at the old man.

Clayton wasn’t amused. “I know you can do it,” he said coldly. “
I’ve sent you to do that sort of thing before.
”

The thought sent a chill down Reese’s spine. Were they really having this conversation? Did people really talk like this? Did men really do these things and discuss them so casually?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cyrus said flatly. “But hypothetically speaking, I’d wager a man capable of the things you’re referring to would do them
only
to do right by his country. I’d also expect such a man to be sworn to secrecy. Hypothetically speaking.”

“Oh, knock off the hypothetical bullshit!” Clayton spat. “You and I both know what you did! And when the FBI finds the evidence, it’s over!”

Clayton was pissed. Actually, Clayton looked like he might have a stroke. Reese watched him carefully. The man was beyond angry. He wanted Cyrus to come back to work, and he seemed to be willing to do anything to achieve that goal.

“Let me give you one more hypothetical,” Cyrus said calmly. If Reese didn’t know better, she would think he enjoyed pushing the old man’s buttons. “If I was the one who broke into a drug lord’s home and shot the place up, killed the head of a major cartel, and fled leaving evidence that would lead back to me…” He stretched the statement with a dramatic silence. “Is that the kind of operative you’d want working on your goon squad? It strikes me as sloppy. And sloppy is unprofessional. You’re the kind of guy who’s only interested in running professionals. So, yeah, do what you have to do. But I want you to remember one thing. I quit. I left your bullshit behind. I did right by my country and by the Coalition. But I’m through with it, and I’m though with you.” Cyrus’s voice was flat and cold, his eyes locked on Clayton the entire time. “But if you come at me or mine again, I’ll make sure no one ever finds your body. Remember, that’s what you had me trained to do.”

She could see the anger in the man’s eyes. None of this had gone the way he had expected. But there did seem to be some positives. First of all, Cyrus wasn’t the least bit concerned with the threats. And if he wasn’t concerned, maybe she shouldn’t be either. Secondly, Clayton didn’t appear to know anything about Meridian or Halon-Seven. His interest in the events of the last week seemed to be limited to Cyrus and any way he might leverage those events to bring Cyrus back into the fold.

It was a relief. From what she’d been able to intuit, Clayton had resources and influence. If he’d found out about Meridian, he might very well be a greater danger to the safety of the team than Bola Alvares or Nil Bayer.

As Reese pulled back from her thoughts, she saw Hondo toss Cyrus a roll of duct tape. Cyrus stood and tore off a strip. “You were rude enough to stow away, but I’m going to give you a choice. You can go with this,” he held up the flap of tape. “Or we can close you in the lavatory for the remainder of the flight.”

For his part, Clayton looked genuinely amused. His eyes tightened on Cyrus with realization, and then he grew tense. “You’d better be joking!” he protested.

This brought no response from Cyrus. He stood his ground, figuratively and literally. The strip of duct tape was held high for all to see. “It’s a basic rule of covert operations. You never walk into a place you can’t walk out of.”

A rattle moved through the aircraft, and the pilot’s voice was broadcast from the overhead speakers. He announced they were beginning their descent toward Santa Barbara airport. While this was a relief to Reese, she was troubled by the curious look in Cyrus’s eyes.

“What is it?” she whispered.

Cyrus’s response was loud enough for both her and Hondo to hear. “He might be a bloated bureaucrat, but Clayton isn’t foolish enough to board a plane where he’s going to get himself stuck. He knew I would push back.”

Cyrus glanced out the window, nodding with understanding. “He’s got men waiting for us on the ground.”

Clayton’s troubled expression morphed into a look of triumph. The vindictive gleam in his eye couldn’t be suppressed any longer. “That’s right,” he said smugly. “You know me, kid. I get my way, one way or the other! I have two-dozen men waiting on the ground. Either you take me up on my offer and come back to the Coalition, or your friends here get listed as enemy combatants and I throw them in a hole so deep and dark they’ll never again see the light of day again.”

Reese felt the sudden churn of acid in her stomach. This man wouldn’t take no for an answer! No wonder Cyrus left the Coalition and never looked back. She glanced at Hondo. This time, even he looked concerned. She felt a new, more powerful wave of nausea. Could this man really make good on his threat?

There was one ray of hope as far as she could see. While Clayton looked supremely self-assured, Cyrus appeared completely unconcerned by the man’s threat. Either he had one hell of a poker face, or he had a card left to play. All the same, she couldn’t help herself. Her grip on Cyrus’s arm tightened.

“He’s just not going to be happy until I toss his ass out of this plane,” Cyrus muttered to Reese.

He looked her full in the eyes. “I’ll be right back,” he said with a confident smile. Without a moment’s hesitation, he kissed her. Not a peck on the lips but a slow, confident, nothing-else-in-the-world-matters kind of kiss.

Cyrus gave her a wink. Then he turned, grabbed Clayton by the strap that bound his hands and effortlessly forced him to his feet. Throwing an arm over the man’s shoulder, he casually guided him toward the end of the cabin.

Reese couldn’t help herself. “What’s he going to do?” she whispered to Hondo—the whisper more out of concern than an effort to keep quiet.

Hondo shrugged. “You got me,” he admitted. He knelt on his seat and looked though the window.

When Reese joined him, she could see what had drawn his attention. A dozen black SUVs sat at the end of the runway, their hideaway blue and red emergency response lights strobing in the distance. All the while, the plane was dropping closer and closer to the ground as the pilot prepared to land.

At the far end of the cabin, Cyrus was speaking calmly in hushed tones with Clayton. It didn’t appear to be much of a conversation. Cyrus was doing all of the talking. Clayton wasn’t reacting. He just listened without interrupting. After about two minutes of this, Cyrus must’ve finished what he had to say, because he became silent. He just looked at the short older man. For seemingly endless moments, Clayton stared back at Cyrus.

Finally, with great consternation, Clayton held out his hand. Cyrus handed Clayton his confiscated phone. The man tapped a speed dial key and waited only a moment. There was brief exchange with the individual on the other end of the line before Clayton disconnected and handed the phone back to Cyrus, who pocketed it. Clayton took a long look at Cyrus and exhaled deeply. Dejected and beaten, he slowly plodded back to his designated seat.

Cyrus walked back to Reese’s end of the cabin and took his seat on the sofa. Hondo chuckled, and returned to his seat. Reese still didn’t understand what had happened. Everyone suddenly seemed content with the situation. Well, except for Clayton. He looked like a child who had just been put in a timeout. But why? She knelt on the seat and looked back out the window in time to see the last of the black SUVs driving off the runway with its lights extinguished. Clayton’s men were falling back.

She looked back at Cyrus. What had he done?

Cyrus smiled and shrugged. Reese couldn’t imagine what he’d said to cause Clayton’s about-face, but she looked forward to the story. For the time being, it seemed, things were back to normal.
Funny,
she thought.
When did all this become normal?

Undisclosed Location

Monday, 12:05 pm Colorado Time

There was a flash and a pronounced popping in his ears, and then the trip was complete. Cyrus held Reese in his arms. Once again, they had gotten used to teleporting together. He actually looked forward to it. Any chance to hold her close. It was the popping in his ears he could do without. However, this time it hurt more than ever. The others would have experienced it too, but only he would know the cause. They were standing in a fifteen-by-fifteen-square-foot concrete room, located four hundred feet below the Superstition Mountains in the southwestern United States.

The irony of their destination wasn’t lost on Cyrus. Following the bloody confrontation at the warehouse, they’d flown out of Phoenix only to land in western California. From there, they’d teleported essentially back to where they had started in Arizona. Only this time, hundreds of feet below ground. The installation they had just entered carried a double-black security clearance that put it well above top secret. Even the venerable Coalition wasn’t aware of its existence. Cyrus wasn’t able to share the specifics of their location with Reese or Hondo. The juxtaposition was reserved for his personal amusement.

Access to the facility had been arranged for him by Walter Meade, prior to the man’s death. Meade truly had planned ahead and thought of everything. And Cyrus finally understood why. A thumb drive stashed in a hidden burn safe within the basement vault had finally fully put things in perspective. The data drive was in an envelope that also contained a hand-written letter, addressed to Cyrus. That letter had explained that only Cyrus could unlock the biometric encryption of the thumb drive, and Cyrus alone should be privy to the information it held. What he decided to do with the information after he considered it was entirely up to him. Meade had asked only that Cooper first review the data in private.

So Cyrus had, prior to the operation at the warehouse in Phoenix. The information on that drive had changed his perspective on everything: Meridian, Meade’s work, even the way he looked at the world around him.

Moments later there came another flash of light, and Hondo appeared on the teleportation platform. His hands instantly went to his ears. “Bloody hell!” he grimaced.

Cyrus nodded. “It seems to be a shortcoming of the technology.” He looked at Reese. “Is there any way to lessen the shocking effects on the inner ear?”

She considered the question. “We’ll look into it. It’s tricky but worth the effort. Where are we? There must be a serious shift in barometric pressure to make our ears pop like that.”