Chapter 1:
Music Choice: I See Fire by Ed Sheeran
They say that hindsight is 20/20. In the world of espionage, hindsight isn't a luxury afforded to most operatives because a single miscalculation, a single misstep will bring a carefully constructed house of cards to the ground in an instant. An operative's main objective is always the mission – or getting out alive to complete the mission – and to do that he or she has to be all in. No matter the cost. No matter how high the stakes. There is no going back. Not now. Not after this. How could there be? Hindsight is 20/20 and I am reminded of the road not taken. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…and I…I took the one less traveled by in an attempt to make him pay for what he had done. Now? Even after 5-years, countless missions, the death of a dozen CIA operatives and blatant terrorist attacks on American interests my loyalty is tested. One last test. All I had to do was pull the trigger. Complete the mission. Just as I had done a dozen times before. Collateral damage in a war of espionage that had been waged for decades. One little squeeze. The sun felt so oppressive, beating down on me as I looked through that damned scope and the moment the target came into focus I felt as though all the oxygen around me suddenly vanished. After 45 confirmed kills I'd earned the nickname "The Sun Widow" – a play on my platinum hair and my reputation for never missing – and as I stared down the scope looking into the eyes of my next target all I could think about was what pulling that trigger meant. One last goddamned test that was impossible for me to pass and he effectively gave me both the keys to the kingdom while calling my very well-played bluff. Son of a bitch.
The click in her right ear signaled that her botched attempt to eliminate the target had not gone unnoticed. She swallowed the lump in her throat, closing her eyes momentarily as she felt the sweat drip down the curve of her neck causing her body to involuntarily shiver. This was Ben Mercer. She didn't have to open her eyes to know that he stood a mere three feet in front of her and had a Glock 19 trained squarely at her head. Her hands slowly rose of their own accord, allowing the bipod of her M110 fall to the ground with a resounding clang. She had never mastered disassembling the damned thing in less than 2 minutes and she swore under her breath that if she survived this moment she would spend more time perfecting the technique. As she forced her eyes open, her breathing slow and steady, she could feel the anger radiating off of him in waves.
"When Henry suggested Anderson as the target I knew you would never be able to pull that trigger," his voice was clipped, his eyes sparking fury, "No contact for years and he still has you wrapped around his finger."
Taking in a slow, deep breath, she lowered her hands to her side and pivoted slowly toward him so that the barrel of the gun was pointed in the middle of her forehead. Ben Mercer was no fool. He'd spent years in the cold evading CIA and rival agency teams hell bent on subduing him and it had been a shock to know that he'd been in Henry Wilcox's back pocket for years. He was also a complication that she hadn't anticipated when she presented her mission brief to Joan and Arthur Campbell to infiltrate Lexington Global Consulting and Risk Management. Think Walker. Think.
Adjusting his grip on the gun, Mercer continued, "All you had to do was pull the trigger, Walker."
"Sorry to disappoint you," her voice sounded like gravel to her own ears and when the hard butt of the gun connected with her jar, she immediately regretted opening her mouth. Waving a red cape at a raging bull isn't the smartest thing, Walker.
Spitting out the blood that pooled in her mouth, Annie listened to his rich laugh echoed from the rooftop of the small, concrete rooftop that would likely be the last place she ever laid eyes on again unless she was able to turn this situation to her advantage. Mercer was murderous in his gaze and there was no doubt in her mind that what he had planned for her would not be quick but most definitely would be painful. He dug the barrel into her forehead; the vein at his temple bulging as his hand once again adjusted its grip. Now.
She quickly grabbed the barrel of the gun with her left hand and pushed it to the right, her head moving in the opposite direction as her right hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward her while her knee hit him squarely in the groin. He howled in anger, releasing the weapon, but immediately barreled into her knocking her to the ground squarely on her back. The blood rushed to her ears like a freight train as she felt the weight of him on top of her, his knees digging into her sides and his left hand wrapped solidly around her neck. Her eyes went wide as he brought his right arm cocked back, fist closed posed to strike. With her right hand, thumb in tight, she wrapped around his left wrist, elbow high and right leg hooked as close to her backside as possible breaking the hold he had on her neck while using her left arm, fingers straight into his throat stunning him. Pulling him forward she rolled him onto his back and pushed against his chin with both hands. With a guttural growl he squeezed her tightly between his thighs and reached for the gun inches from his fingers. Annie reached back with her elbows, connecting with his thigh then used her fist to once again hit him in the groin breaking his hold on her. She jumped to her feet, pushed his legs to the side, and moved away as she saw him level the gun squarely at her.
In that moment I had expected many things to happen. I was sure I'd see the time that I knocked out Billy Cunningham in 3rd grade because he'd pulled my hair. Or the time in high school when I was caught smoking in the boy's bathroom. My first mission, a highlight of my career, should have been on this so-called movie reel but instead all I heard was the beating of my own heart as I realized that this mission was over. The resounding crack the bullet made as it exploded through the chamber may well have been thunder for how loud it sound. The acrid smell of smoke wafted to my nose as I prepared myself for the searing pain that I would feel the second the bullet entered my heart and the darkness that I prayed would soon follow. It never came.
Blood sprayed across the rooftop as the bullet sliced through Mercer's brain ending his life immediately. Annie watched as he slumped forward, the gun falling harmlessly to the ground, and immediately felt white, cold fear. Her first instinct was to fall to her knees beside the body of the man that she'd shared a bed with more than once over the last few years in an attempt to seek comfort and to cement her place in Henry's organization; however, the sting of tears was unexpected to even her.
"Neshomeleh, we have no time for this," an accented voice cut through her momentary mourning.
Blinking back the tears her brow furrowed as she met the gaze of a man that she had long thought abandoned her as she rose in the ranks of Interpol's Most Wanted, "Eyal?"
"We must go. Mishteret Yisrael will be here momentarily and I need to move you to a safe house," he told her quickly as he grabbed her upper arm, pulling her to her feet.
"No," she whispered, her voice hoarse as she shrugged out of his grip, "You know who I am. You know what I've done—"
"Neshomeleh, I do not have time to explain but you have to trust me," he grabbed her by the upper arms and turned her to face him, his eyes boring into here, "Now come with me."
They say that Hindsight is 20/20. I have replayed the events over and over in my mind with the same outcome. As I followed Eyal Lavin through the back alleys of Jerusalem in an attempt to evade both the Israeli Police and Mossad, I knew that my window of opportunity to salvage this mission was closing fast. I would not throw away years of a highly classified black ops mission all because I couldn't pull the trigger. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…I took the road less travelled before and paid the price. I'd be damned if I let that sacrifice go to waste. I'd be damned if those 12 operatives – collateral damage, enemies, or innocents – die in vain. Henry Wilcox and his organization would be destroyed piece by piece even if it meant I'd do it with my dying breath. What I didn't know and what I couldn't know at the time was how integral to that take down Eyal Lavin would be.