Hey Guys!
Ay yai yai, this took so much LONGER than I thought it would! Can you tell I'm back in college? Yeah, sorry this chapter is so late and kind short. And VIOLENTLY cliff-hung. *Evil grin*
Also, I appreciate your guys' continued suspension of disbelief toward the multitude of screw-ups in this story. Literally every time I read back I find something else that makes me say, "Shit, that's wrong!" Maybe someday I'll clean this thing up and repost it better. But for now, thanks for your continued support!
Hope you guys like it! P.S. Don't hate me. More will come.
Enjoy.
Chapter 12
Thieves Must Be Punished
Shit, thought Brandt. Shit, shit, shit.
Jane and Walter were side by side. They were kneeling, their hands behind their backs, clothes torn and faces bruised. Duct tape covered their mouths. Six black-clothed men in masks stood behind them, each with a silenced pistol aimed at the backs of Jane and Walters' heads.
For a sharp, silent moment, no one moved or spoke.
Then, from a side tunnel, another two men emerged, dragging a small figure between them.
Casper made a choking noise and tensed beside Brandt. "Logan," he called, desperation heavy in his words.
The figure raised his head. He looked like a younger version of his brother, but his eyes were less heavy. His mouth was also taped.
Jane's head was down. Blood matted the side of her face, and she didn't stir at their entrance. Walter's eyes met Brandt's. They were blazing with anger– and warning.
"Good afternoon, Agent Hunt."
The disembodied voice that thrummed through the tunnel seemed to bleed out of the brick itself. Brandt scanned for hidden speakers and failed to find any. Voice distortion, well-hidden cameras– these people were nothing if not committed to their anonymity.
The tension in Ethan's frame was his only tell, a stress reaction that Brandt only saw because he knew to look for it. His face was perfectly calm, though, as was his voice when he spoke.
"And to whom do I owe the pleasure?" He was looking right at Jane and Walter, and Brandt could almost see the gears turning even as he himself tried to formulate a way out of here.
"That is an introduction for a later time," the speaker replied. "And that is for your knowledge only. That brings us, conveniently, to our next point: come with us willingly, Agent Hunt, and we will release your friends. Refuse to do so, and we will shoot them in the skull, starting with the boy."
The masked guards yanked Logan closer to them and forced him to his knees, nestling the muzzle of the silenced pistol against the base of his skull. Casper cried out and lunged forward. Brandt grabbed him and yanked him back and circled his chest with his arms.
"Control your companions, or we will expedite the process," the voice said. "Or perhaps we will simply reinforce the gravity of your situation."
The gun behind Logan's head was cocked with a click.
"Wait." Ethan's voice was still deadly calm, but Brandt could hear the fear in it. And the resolve.
"Ethan, no," Brandt muttered. No. No. Not again.
Ethan turned to him, and for the first time since meeting him Brandt could see in his eyes the weight of all he knew. "Tell me there's another way," he said softly.
And suddenly they were back there again, the hot bite of desert air on his skin. And again Brandt felt the horrible, undeniable grip of reality– that there was no other way. And Ethan knew it.
Yet somehow, this time, it was worse. The world didn't hang in the balance now, and yet, this was worse.
Brandt reached out and gripped Ethan's wrist. He pitched his voice low enough that he hoped the others could not hear.
"You come back," he said, looking Ethan dead in the eye, cradling that heavy certainty between them. "You find a way. Come back to us."
Ethan looked back at him. And then he nodded slow. "I will," he said. "I promise."
Brandt released him.
Ethan straightened. "Untie Jane and Walter," he said. "Let the boy go. Let them pass. You will show me their safe release into the city. You will deliver them to the address they provide. I will watch all this on a body camera on one of your men. Only then will I come with you. If not, everyone will come away from here bloody, on the low chance they come away at all. Are we clear?"
There was a beat of silence. Then: "Release the prisoners. Do as he has said."
The masked men threw Logan to the ground. He sprang up and ran toward them. Brandt released Casper, who ran forward and grabbed his brother. Something loosened in Brandt's chest, despite their situation.
Walter went next. As soon as his hands were free, he reached up and ripped off the duct tape over his mouth. A low curse followed. He stood, throwing off the lingering hands of his captors in disgust.
"You all need to be taught a lesson about how to treat your elders," he spat, kneeling and undoing Jane's bonds. She shifted at that, glassy brown eyes sliding open and widening slightly when they fixed on the figures across the room. Walter helped her stand slowly. Benji rushed forward and helped them both across the room.
"We are waiting, Agent Hunt."
Ethan turned to them. "Go to Obsidian Site. Protocol Cicada."
Benji nodded once, sharply. "Ethan…"
"Make sure the brothers get taken care of," he continued. "Then rendezvous at 23 hundred tonight. Location Shakespeare." He dropped his voice. "I have a hunch. Let me see it through. Benji, Brandt, get Jane, Walter, and the boys safe. Take care of each other." He gave them all a quick grin, and Brandt could almost ignore the knot of utter dread in his gut. "See you guys later."
Then Ethan turned away from them, and crossed the room. The masked men flanked him and led him away into the dark.
000
The captors kept their word. Brandt and the others were led out of the Catacombs by another side tunnel, then up through a series of stairs and into the interior of a church. The smell of candles and old wood punched the reek of mold out of Brandt's head. Judging by the light coming through the stained glass, it was nearing sunset.
The black-clad men left them at the door, where a tint-windowed SUV was waiting. Only one joined them, to keep the promise of the body camera, presumably. The driver was also masked. They wound through the rush-hour streets of London to the Obsidian Site, a safehouse Brandt knew of but had never himself seen. Like with most IMF outposts, it was simple and subtle and fronted, in this case, a functioning laundry.
They emerged from the SUV, and the car disappeared into the traffic. Brandt took Jane's arm around his shoulders as she started to sway.
He released a breath, then looked to Benji. "You followed Cicada protocol, right?"
Benji smirked tiredly. "Driver, car and the guard that came with us are all bugged. Already transmitting to the screens inside and Yusef at headquarters."
Brandt nodded. They made their way through the laundry to the back stock room, where Benji tripped the access housing and entered his information and retinal scan. A false wall in the stockroom slid open, revealing the safehouse. It was standard-issue, a mission field house with provisions, medical supplies, and a series of bunks.
They settled in. Casper squeezed his brother's shoulders, then disappeared into the bathroom. Benji pulled up the live feed of the bugged car, driver and guard. The bugs were new tech, untraceable by any known scanner but provided full audio and a 360 view around itself. Three grainy feeds came up: the back of the SUV, the driver's view of the SUV, and the inside of a catacomb. The catacomb view was swaying like the wearer was walking. Brandt scanned the view, but the tunnel was empty.
"Keep an eye on it, Benji," Brandt said. "I'm running medical."
"Will do."
Brandt sat Walter, Jane, and Logan down on one of the bunks. "Are any of you critically injured?" Jane was the only one who looked visibly hurt, but he could have missed a concealed injury.
"I got a bit roughed up, but nothing new," Walter answered. "They let me keep my leg, which was quite considerate, despite it all. A bit of ice for my head would be appreciated, though." Brandt started rifling through the medical kit and removed an instant freeze pack, which he handed to Walter. His own head still twinged from getting knocked out, and every muscle in his body hurt from being shocked, but he pushed the pain away.
"Logan?" he asked, as he kept sorting through the kit. "Are you hurt?"
No answer. Brandt glanced up in concern to see Logan staring hard at the ground. Casper had said he was seventeen, but to Brandt he looked so much younger, too young to be involved in all this.
Jane noticed, and looked over at Logan. She pressed her shoulder against his, and he seemed to relax some. "I'm okay," he murmured. Brandt glanced at Jane for confirmation. She nodded, her eyes opening and closing slowly.
"All right, Walter, Logan, you two go and keep watch with Benji. When Casper gets out of the bathroom, tell him to monitor the security cameras." Walter rose and went to join his nephew. Logan didn't move until Jane nudged him gently. He walked off without a word.
"All right, Sweet Jane," Brandt said, dragging the kit closer to the bunk and taking the space Walter had just vacated. "Let's take a look at you."
Jane smiled softly at the nickname. Benji had coined it, after the Velvet Underground song. It came out sometimes.
He started carding gently through her hair, looking for the source of the blood.
"Ethan was there," she murmured, her eyes shut.
"Yeah," Brandt said, swallowing the fear in his throat. There– a wide gash on the back of her head, swollen with infection. "Yeah, he was."
"How…?"
"Honestly, I don't even know." He started irrigating the wound.
"Why did he stay behind?"
"They bargained," Brandt said. "You, Walter, and Logan for him. They want him for something."
"What's the plan?" She hissed as he hit a particularly bad spot.
Brandt paused. "I don't know. He said he had a hunch."
Jane bit her lip. "It won't be enough." The fear in Brandt's stomach deepened at that. Usually Ethan's hunches were better than most plans, and Jane knew that.
"Did you ever see these guys, Jane?" Brandt started applying antiseptic.
"No. They just kept me in the cell with Logan the whole time. We were just bait. They want Ethan, not us. I never saw their faces or heard their real voices."
Brandt swallowed hard. He hated this. He hated everything about this. They should be in there, with Ethan, backing him up on this. He'd been alone on this mission long enough. But now they had no choice but to trust him to figure it out on his own.
He's made it this far. He'll be fine. We'll all be fine.
He taped off the cut on Jane's head, trying to keep the adhesive from getting in her hair too much. Then he fished out the bottle of heavyweight painkillers and shook a pill into her hand. He chased it with an anti-inflammatory. "Stay hydrated. You're concussed, and you're running a fever from that infection, too. We're in a holding pattern until the rendezvous, so try to grab some sleep. I'll wake you up in two hours if nothing happens."
Jane nodded, her eyes already sliding shut. "Sounds good. Keep me posted."
Brandt nodded. He helped her lie down and situated the thin pillows to cradle her head. Then he turned to go.
A slender, powerful hand slid around his. Brandt stopped. Jane had thrown her other arm over her eyes, but she murmured, "Thanks, Brandt. Glad you guys are safe. Don't scare me like that." The exhaustion– and relief– in her soft words was palpable, and Brandt felt some of the taught anxiety in his gut ease. He squeezed her hand back in response, then left her to her sleep.
Benji was hunched over the monitors, Walter beside him. Brandt ran a gentle hand over his shoulder as he sat down. "Anything?"
"Nothing yet," Benji replied. "The ones in the car are just waiting outside the church. The third is still walking."
"Mmm." Brandt scanned the monitors and saw Benji was right.
"How's Jane?"
"She'll be fine." Brandt ran a hand over his hair. "She's resting."
"And the lads?"
"They'll both be okay. When this is all over I'll pull some strings at HQ. Make sure they get treated better than after their mom died. At the very least they'll both need a lifetime of therapy after all this."
Benji nodded. They watched the monitors in silence for a little while, until Brandt started to feel the weight of the last wild few days weigh on him. This was strangely familiar, this scene– he and Benji looking at screens, Jane asleep, Ethan absent but in their thoughts. In some twisted way, it reminded him of home.
He was beginning to zone out when Benji tensed next to him. "Brandt. Look."
Brandt looked up. There– the third screen. The walking agent had entered a dimly lit, small room. Three other men, all wearing black masks, stood around a chair in the center of it.
Zip-tied to the chair was Ethan.
Brandt's breath caught in his throat. Even in the grainy feed, he could see the blood on Ethan's face and shirt, the way his already strained arm hung limp at his side. Worst was the knife that pinned his left foot to the floor.
Brandt's stomach rolled.
"We have eyes on Ethan," Benji called. Seconds later, Jane was kneeling next to Brandt. He doubted she'd slept at all.
Casper appeared. "Casper," Jane said sharply, "you and your brother go into the other room. Don't let him see this."
Casper paled a little, but obeyed.
They stared at the screens.
For a few long moments, there was silence. Then:
"Thieves must be punished, Agent Hunt."
Ethan glared at the ceiling. Even through the feed, Brandt could see the classic cocky petulance in his friend's face. If he could still get pissed off, maybe they had hope.
"Generally, when several people hear a disembodied voice, they say they're being haunted." Ethan spat blood onto the floor. "Good thing I don't believe in ghosts."
"Oh, don't you? You yourself have been one. I have been one. That's how we were trained."
Brandt knew he should be telling Benji to try to run voice decrypting on the speaker. He should be looking for leads. But he couldn't move. They all watched, riveted.
"Oh, so another agent, are you?" Ethan rolled his eyes. "What is this, a turncoat gig? You're going to torture the IMF codes out of me?"
"No need. I know them already. That's not why you're here."
"Interesting. Then why am I here?"
"That's quite simple, Agent Hunt."
One of the black-masked people stood behind Ethan. Something glinted in his hand.
"No," muttered Brandt.
"The IMF took what I love. They killed her and cast her aside. Yet every time you died, you came back. They took you back. They love you. They love you."
The masked man held a long knife to Ethan's throat. Benji and Jane stood up and cried out.
"So I take what they love. Their golden boy. And from your team– whom I know are watching– I take their leader. And with him, their hope."
What happened next transpired too quickly for any of them to fully process.
The masked man drew the knife across Ethan's throat in a quick, savage yank. Blood flared.
Just as he did, Ethan threw his body backward in the chair against the man holding the knife.
Through the audio feed, a distant explosion, then a deep rumble. Frightened shouts.
On the driver's screen, they could see a plume of dust and smoke coming from inside the church. Then, fire.
The last thing they saw before the feed on the third agent's screen went to static was the room caving in.
Screams cut through the dust.
Then, silence.