Saturday, March 4th, 2017
Hverfi 1 – Vesturbær
Reykjavik, Iceland
19:37 GMT
It had been dark for almost an hour, allowing the young girl to go about her business, wrapped in the protection of the darkness.
It was bitterly cold, but much warmer than that very morning. The previous night, the temperatures had dropped to -8°C but it was currently a positively balmy 1°C and the evening was very clear. Owing to the cold weather, the girl was wrapped up in several layers of expensive outdoor gear including sturdy boots with decent grips for her feet to keep a solid purchase on the snowy ground. The girl had been on the run for a little over nine months and she had only been in Iceland for about two weeks. She was very much alone and that loneliness as affecting her memory. That and the drugs which had vanished from her system. Those drugs which she had taken daily for two years had kept her mind focussed but without the drugs' control, she was suffering. She had no idea what the drugs did, and she had attempted to find alternatives – to no avail.
"Ertu að leita að góðum tíma, heitt efni?"
{Author's Note: No, that is not a stuck keyboard; it is Icelandic!}
The eleven-year-old girl looked up at the three youths who were probably three years older than herself – she did look about twelve, but that was no excuse for what they were requesting. She had no time for them, either; she was on a mission and they had been annoying her for days.
"Ég ríða ekki dýrum!" she retorted without stopping.
"Fífl!" a boy yelled.
Annoyingly, for the girl, the three youths followed her, calling out crude and vulgar comments to bait her. The girl stopped – there was no way she could go on with the twats following her. She had no choice but to get violent if they did not leave her alone.
"Farðu burt!" she said pointedly but politely.
"Komdu út með okkur..." a boy said as he placed a hand on the girl's left shoulder – a big mistake!
The boy suddenly found his world spinning and then he cried out as his face struck the snow and he felt a warm liquid on his face – blood. The girl stood her ground, glaring down the remaining two youths.
"Andskoti!" the girl exclaimed.
"Tík!" one of the youths countered as they picked up their companion and ran for it.
"Fucking twats!" Tanya Swift declared as he turned back into the darkness.
..._...
Her mind felt like it was being turned upside down, constantly.
Nothing was in the same place twice. She kept forgetting things. She had long ago forgotten why she was making for Iceland. She had long ago forgotten what she was. She knew her name. She knew she had to get to Reykjavik. Only, she was unsure about her name – something felt wrong about it, like it was not her own. A single word kept popping up, before vanishing again: predator. What the hell did that word even mean? She felt alone, so alone. She had nobody to speak to. Nobody to ask. She only knew that she had to get to Reykjavik in Iceland.
She had another clue, though. As she remembered things, she scribbled words, images, anything, into a small hardbacked notebook. It was her lifeline – the only way to remember things and the only way that she could try to make sense of things. Her scribblings featured that word: Predator. However, she had been able to associate the word with the American Central Intelligence Agency. How she was involved with an American institution, she had no idea – she considered herself to be British. Unless, of course, she was wrong about that, too. She had to join the dots and hopefully identify a pattern.
That was why she was headed into a potentially dangerous part of Reykjavik – the docks – to attempt to find out more about who and what she was.
20:18 GMT
Her boots crunched over the snow as she passed beneath the varied floodlights which eerily lit the alleyways which ran between the various warehouses and wharfs.
She looked up at a large wooden warehouse, then checked out the area around her – she was in the clear with nobody following her. She walked directly up to a dark blue steel doorway, equipped with a code lock, which was built into the wood siding of the warehouse. With her gloved right hand, she banged on the door – three times. She waited half a minute before she heard bold being drawn and then the door opened outwards and a woman glared down at her.
"Hleyptu mér inn, fáviti!" Tanya said as she held four fingers over her chest.
It was the week's access challenge which had taken Tanya almost a week to identify.
"Í, litli skítur!" the woman said as she stepped back so that Tanya could pass inside.
The door was shut behind Tanya and several bolts were thrown.
..._...
The warehouse was, in fact, an old American facility dating back to the 1970s, and long abandoned.
It had been used as a communications distribution centre for the various military facilities which, back then, were dotted around the island. By the 1980s, the copper wiring in the facility had been superseded and bypassed by highspeed fibre and the building had, therefore, been declared superfluous and then forgotten about. In the early years of the 21st century, a new generation of hackers and programmers had called the facility their home and they had repurposed the place as a giant hub for the grey web. The pre-existing copper cabling had been repatched to allow access to the internet from any part of Iceland, including access to the undersea communications channels and the satellite transmitters.
That night, almost three-dozen men and women spent their evening earning money by creating programs and scripts which could then be sold. Those programs and scripts were often pre-ordered and could be simple hacks for some kid in Idaho to access his school's computer network, or it could be a malicious virus which could take down an entire company's network and then ransom the decryption key to put everything right. Those in the warehouse would meet up to swap skills and scripts or simply to assist one another where required. Some were so-called white hats, hacking into governments to find out if there really was a cover up when Kennedy was assassinated, and did we really go to the moon in 1969? Others were black hats who just wanted to cause trouble, just for fun or just for money.
Tanya used her small size to find a dark corner where there was a spare terminal – itself older than she was. However, it had anonymity, which was just what Tanya needed at that moment. As the system booted up, she pulled out her notebook and began to read through what she needed to do. There was no way that she could just dive into the CIA's most protected files – that was simply bad movie shit – instead, she would need to work her way in via certain parts of the world where cyber security was slightly non-existent but where her trail could be covertly routed and thus prevent a back-trace to her location. She knew that she would be poking a sleeping tiger by invading the inner sanctum of the Central Intelligence Agency, but she had no choice if she wanted to find out who she really was. Incidentally, that was another thing; how the hell did she know what she was doing? Somehow, her fingers just typed as she executed a number of exploits to cut through firewalls and route her traffic via Brasilia, Paris, Cape Town, New Delhi, Moscow, Macau, then back to Paris and onto Toronto. From there, she was able to break into a backdoor of the Canadian Security Intelligence Service – not the main firewall at headquarters, but a small subsidiary office in Toronto which was using outdated hardware with an outdated operating system.
After two hours of work, Tanya was inside the CSIS network and trying to find a route from there into the network at Langley.
..._...
Due to her low bandwidth access, she could not make any use of a fancy interface, so she had to do things the old-fashioned way, using a database search.
There was a single word she wanted answers for: predator. However, she received quite a few results. It took her a while to thin them out. There were quite a few records pertaining to the General Atomics MQ-1 Predator drone which had to be culled to allow her to find what she needed. Why her search had also come up with the Predator movies in a closed CIA database, she had no idea! Then she found something, a thread which she began to tug on, and a few names surfaced: Jason Bourne, Lucy Ford, Leo Shepherd, Stephanie Walker. At first, none of the names meant anything to her, but then came another name: Hit Girl – she knew that name . . . who the hell didn't! It took another hour to thin things out but then at half past eleven, there came a program designator: Urban Predator.
Bingo!
That same time...
Central Intelligence Agency
Langley, United States of America
Cyber Operations
19:30 EDT
Howard Ballard was just thirty minutes into working the graveyard shift, staring at a computer for twelve hours.
The work was generally boring but reasonably well paid. As he sipped at his coffee, his eyes moved over to a set of log files and he began to sift through them, looking for anything untoward. Then an alert popped up on his screen advising him that a security breach was in progress and that a tripwire had been tripped. He dutifully clicked on the alert to identify the problem and then figure out who needed to be alerted. He was about to be decidedly popular as most of the seventh floor had gone home to their families and were probably sitting down to their evening meal at that very moment.
'Okay – that's strange,' he thought as he identified the tripwire.
The tripwire was attached to a single phrase, 'Urban Predator', whatever that was, and despite the security classification on the program being relatively low, the Deputy Director Digital Innovation (DDDI) was to be notified whenever the tripwire was tripped. That meant contacting the seventh-floor anal retentive, Dwight Earl – the man was bad news . . . an asshole! Then came another alert – apparently, a photo had been taken of the hacker and the image had been processed for facial recognition which had then demanded another notification, this time . . . oh! Ballard sent a confidential email off to the DDDI, another to his Cyber-Ops Division Head, and finally, one to DDCI Pamela Landy with the photo attached.
Once that was done, the man sat down to trace the intrusion back to its source.
..._...
Things began to happen very fast.
First, Ballard received a phone call from the Deputy Director Central Intelligence – nobody liked receiving a direct phone call from the seventh floor.
"Ballard!"
"This is DDCI Landy, tell me more about the intercept."
"Yes, ma'am. The trace is bouncing all over the place, but we believe it to be coming from Africa . . . no, Eastern Europe . . . no, Iceland? It's coming form Iceland . . . Reykjavik, near the docks, ma'am."
"Iceland?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Almost the moment Ballard put the phone down, his department head appeared.
"We have an active alert?" the woman asked as she headed over to the computer technician.
"Someone has searched for a flagged phrase – they tripped a tripwire."
"What phrase?"
"It's 'Urban Predator', ma'am – it's a low classification, but for some reason, it's eyes only."
"Who can access it?"
"DDCI Landy is the name on the file, ma'am, but the alert had me notify the DDDI."
"Does the DDCI know?"
"Yes, ma'am, she just called – I sent her a photo taken by the tripwire program of the hacker."
"Okay, keep me posted – this has all the earmarks of going to hell and back," the Cyber-Ops Division Head Jenna Collins directed.
..._...
High up on the seventh floor, DDCI Pamela Landy walked over to a cupboard which she unlocked with her thumbprint.
Inside, she opened up a small metal cage and withdrew a cell phone from inside, disconnecting the charging cable as she did so. She returned to her desk and she powered up the cell phone. After logging in with her fingerprint, she dialled a number from memory.
"We have another one," she said without preamble once the call was connected. "Iceland – Reykjavik."
"Always wanted to go see Reykjavik – I might even take the family," a familiar voice replied.
"Have fun!"
Landy disconnected the call, turned off the phone, and returned it to the Faraday cage.
..._...
Four offices down from Landy, a pompous arrogant looking man glared at the email on his computer screen.
Deputy Director Digital Innovation Dwight Earl was crowding sixty and he was a grumpy bastard. His career in the Central Intelligence Agency had gone sideways just a year before and he had been dumped into Digital Innovation as a direct result. However, the sideways move had resulted in him having direct access to the vast majority of the data held electronically by the CIA. That, in turn, had enabled him to add himself to certain tripwires and alerts attached to the electronic data under his control.
As he had sifted through that evening's emails, the man had sipped at his coffee. He hated working late, but a management meeting had gone on all afternoon and thus he had a lot to catch up on before he could head home to his wife and young daughter. After perusing the usual classified emails advising him of the status of various operations in which he was a stakeholder, he had moved onto some more mundane emails with lower classifications. The third email in that batch had been the current email which had changed his otherwise even mood. Dwight Earl had joined the CIA at the same time as a good friend, many years before. That good friend had lost his life, a year earlier, during a savage battle in Toulouse, France. Doctor Albert Hirsch had been a valuable friend, and both had risen within the Central Intelligence Agency together. In fact, both had worked on the same scheme which had ultimately seen the downfall of Hirsch and Deputy Director Noah Vosen.
Dwight Earl was a man to hold a grudge. He did his best to act politely when that damn Landy woman was in the same room, but he was determined to undermine her and take her place, enhancing his chances of climbing to the very top of the Central Intelligence Agency. Seeing that damn woman fall by the wayside would be icing on the cake of his promotion to Deputy Director Central Intelligence. He knew that she was part of what was happening to him; his descent into obscurity within the agency. He knew that she was assisting those mangy Predators. They all needed to die – if he had his way, they would have all been carted off and discretely – he laughed as he thought about it – put down, like the rabid dogs they were. As his mind worked overtime, he got up from his seat and he stepped over to his wall safe. After opening the secure container, he withdrew a thick stack of files before returning to his desk.
The top three files, he fanned out on his desk. They were all almost identical and white. Above the symbol denoting the Central Intelligence Agency, was a single word in large black type: BLACKBRIAR. Each file was liberally stamped with red TOP SECRET and EYES ONLY warnings. Earl flipped through each file before making a few notations on a yellow pad beside him.
Then he grinned – a fiendish grin.
..._...
It was not unusual, but it was annoying.
Cyber-Ops Division Head Jenna Collins grimaced as her ageing boss appeared in the door to her office. He was not smiling – not that he ever did – but there was something about his mood that told Collins she was about to be given an unwanted tasking.
"I want you to head up the hunt for this hacker, Jenna."
"On the ground, sir?"
"Yes, on the ground."
"Yes, sir."
"A jet is standing by at Andrews."
"Yes, sir."
Jenna Collins jumped up from her chair almost the moment Earl had vanished. She quickly began to collate the documents she would require, calling Ballard to bring several printouts and filed. Finally, she drew a secure laptop from the stores, and she made for the entrance to the facility where a car was waiting for her.
Ahead of her, she had a five-hour, 2,936-mile flight.
A few hours later...
Sunday, March 5th
Somewhere south of Greenland
The United States Air Force C-37B (a Gulfstream G550) was comfortable and there were attendants aboard to keep the coffee flowing.
Jenna Collins had spent the time reading through the limited documents she had available. She also had a photo and a name – nothing much else; no personal details, not even an age or a date of birth. The girl looked to be no more than twelve, but more like eleven. The image captured by the camera had not been brilliant, but the girl appeared to be dark haired with brown eyes. Jenna had already called Ballard who had reported that the girl did have a CIA file, but that he could not access it. Jenna studied the image and she wondered why the girl had been hacking into the CIA and what the hell Urban Predator was, and why the girl had wanted to find such a seemingly innocuous file.
The girl's name was Tanya Swift.
..._...
About ninety minutes out from Reykjavik, Collins received a phone call.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Miss Collins, this is Pamela Landy, DDCI."
Christ!
"Yes, ma'am!"
"I'm calling about your current tasking. I understand that your directorate head has sent you after one Tanya Swift who is currently in Reykjavik, Iceland. She is to be arrested for cybercrimes against the CIA. Am I on track, Miss Collins?"
"Yes, ma'am. Are you wanting to change my tasking?"
"Yes. I am concerned for Miss Swift's safety and I want you to find her, then protect her until we can get her to safety. I have my reasons not to trust the DDDI and I feel that he has an ulterior motive for going after Miss Swift. I authorise you to take whatever steps you deem necessary to protect that young girl. Are you carrying?"
"Yes, ma'am, and I'll take a weapon's pack from the jet when I land."
"Check your inbox. I have sent you the girl's file and a package about the file she was seeking. Stay safe, Jenna."
"Yes, ma'am!"
Jenna Collins had no loyalty to her boss and the DDCI trumped the DDDI on any day of the week.
..._...
As instructed, Jenna checked her inbox and she found two large documents which she downloaded and then printed out via the aircraft's colour laser printer.
As the dozens of pages erupted out of the printer, Jenna sat down in the closest seat and she began to read. The first few pages showed photos of a young girl of about eight years old. There were a few more photos taken as the girl grew older. The girl always wore the same clothing; a grey jogging top. In the very first image, the girl's hair had been cropped short and she was almost bald. However, her hair had grown back by the time the next photo had been taken. The rest of the document was a decidedly harrowing read when combined with the next document which explained exactly what the girl had been doing for almost two years of her life. However, there was nothing after 11th May 2016 to the current date. Where had the girl been for the past ten months?
As Jenna read through the girl's qualifications and skills, she was stunned: weapon's training, explosives, martial arts, close quarter combat, computing and communication – at least that explained the girl's hacking skills. As for the rest of them, the girl was a genuine assassin! Jenna could not believe that her government had actually setup a training program to produce pre-teen assassins – it was inconceivable! Well, to a point; she knew that the Central Intelligence Agency rarely put human rights before end results, but still...
By the time she had finished both files, it was almost five in the morning, local time, and it was time to land.
Almost two hours earlier...
Reykjavik, Iceland
03:44 GMT
Tanya Swift was very tired.
She had been reading through files for hours and hours. None of them had made much sense, except for the one which she had been unable to open, despite her skills. Her skills – that was another thing. Where on earth had she learnt to hack, Tanya had wondered on more than one occasion during the night's activities. With lots more noted down in her notebook, she decided to call it a night and head back to her hostel for some sleep. Despite her tiredness, she found herself carefully deleting all trace of her activities from the computer she had been using before she wandered out of the facility, pulling her woolly hat down around her ears. As she walked along a dark street called Mýrargata something made her speed up her pace and she crossed the street. Yet again, like so many times over the past months, she was on autopilot. She headed south, up Ægisgata, before she sensed someone coming up fast behind her. She could hear feet crunching on the snow. The crunching became louder as the feet closed on her. Automatically, she felt her body tensing up, her fingers bent at the second knuckles forming fists as her eyes closed. She focussed on the approaching sound without altering her pace. Then it came; she heard the feet shifting in the snow as the owner of the feet shifted their weight prior to...
Tanya span, her fist jabbing into the semi-darkness of the streetlighting, catching the arm coming around her neck and pushing it aside. The other fist took the attacker in the upper chest. The attacker was a woman, and she was surprised by the brazen attack from a supposedly benign target. Tanya continued the attack, punching hard and striking the woman three times before the woman was able to gather her wits and return the strikes. It did not take long for Tanya to find herself on the receiving end of some nasty skills which soon put the eleven-year-old down hard. However, Tanya was saved by a passing four-wheel-drive. The girl simply rolled under the vehicle as it slowed to take a left turn and she grabbed on tightly as it pulled down the next street.
A few hundred yards further on, Tanya released her grip and she laid flat on the road as the vehicle continued on its way. Rapidly, she rolled to the side of the street and then scrambled to her feet, vanishing down an alleyway which led to her hostel which was little more than a boarding house in downtown Reykjavik.
With relief, she let herself in and moments later, she unlocked the door to the tiny room with space for a bed, a chair, and not much else which she had rented for a month.
Hilton Reykyavik Nordica
07:00
Jenna Collins had arrived at the hotel a little over two hours previously.
In that time, she had slept for a little over an hour before showering and dressing ready for the day ahead. She had arranged for the hotel to procure her some suitable winter clothing and footwear which should allow her to blend in some once she was out on the streets. As she had sat down for breakfast, she found a tall man strolling in her direction. Annoyingly, the man sat down directly across from her.
"Jason Bourne," the man said as he offered his right hand in introduction. "Landy sent me."
"She said as much," Jenna replied as she took note of the CIA identity card which the man held covertly in his left hand. "Jenna Collins."
"I am here to assist you in protecting a young girl."
"Sit, let's talk."
The name was familiar to the girl, however, she never thought she would actually be eating breakfast with the man who was a living legend within the Central Intelligence Agency. She was also very aware that he was deemed unpredictable, a loose cannon, if you will. However, if Landy had vouched for him, then having that form of backup was not to be shrugged off.
"I assume you are fully aware of the situation," Jason stated.
Jenna nodded as she ate her breakfast.
"I assume the file Landy sent me about what the girl's been doing is true?"
"Unfortunately, it is," Jason responded, his expression dark. "However, I can assure you that the perpetrators are no longer breathing.
"I'm very pleased to hear it," Jenna replied. "I was horrified by what I read."
"It is critical that we find this girl. We have no idea of her mental state which may not be brilliant. They were fed drugs to accelerate their learning and their physical attributes. Those drugs will have passed out of her system a long time ago and we have noticed that others of her kind have shown varying reactions to coming off the drugs – destruction of property and the like. These kids have been trained to kill and they trust nobody. This girl will not readily hand herself over to anyone. If she starts killing, then the entire matter may be taken out of our hands by the Icelandic authorities. I assume you are aware of what I am capable of; what I have done?"
"Yes – you were trained to be the perfect assassin."
"That girl can do everything that I can. She could kill you where you sit without anybody in this room knowing until they tidy up after breakfast. To you and me she will look like any other young girl her age, but whatever you do, do not underestimate the girl's intelligence or her abilities. If this turns into a bloodbath, the streets of Reykjavik will run with blood, that I can promise you. That girl will not stop if she feels herself threatened and that extends to any who get in her way."
"I understand."
Jenna was struggling to process everything, and she had no idea how she was going to talk down a trained assassin who would see her as the enemy and could kill her in a blink of an eye with zero thought.
Three hours later...
Downtown Reykjavik
10:00
Jenna was out on the streets with Jason.
"The girl could be anywhere," Jenna complained. "Not to mention that she'll be wrapped up just like everyone else in this freezing hellhole."
"True and true," Jason conceded. "Only, we are not on our own. My wife and our children are also searching for the girl."
Jenna had a thought.
"Your children..."
"They are both Predators," Jason confirmed. "They think like Tanya which may help. They have the exact same training. Actually, my son, Tim, he knows Tanya which may be of use once we track her down – a friendly face if you will. My daughter, Natalie; she is very experienced, as is my wife, Nicky."
"Still, it will not be easy to find her."
"On the other hand," Jason mused as his eyes focussed on a face he had not seen in a few years.
"What?"
"Your boss is a bastard!"
"What's new?"
"You heard of Operation Blackbriar?"
"That's classified, but I have heard the name. Why?"
"Operation Blackbriar was the successor to Operation Treadstone which created me. Blackbriar ultimately led to Operation Urban Predator which created child assassins. That man in the dark blue jacket with the light blue ski pants is a Blackbriar assassin. I should know because I almost killed him three years ago when he tried to take me down."
"He's making for somewhere," Jenna said as she studied the man's body language.
"You think he has friends here who are also searching for Tanya, maybe?"
"Shit!"
Jason's cell phone rang as they both moved after Brandon Foreman.
Hljómskálagarður
The large open space with a lake was renowned for its birds, sculptures, and serenity; however, it was not a place of serenity that morning.
"Dad, we've found her," Natalie Bourne said over her cell phone. "She's at Hljómskálagarður – horrible place to pronounce – and she's in trouble. Timmy's confirmed its Tanya Swift."
"Stay safe, kids – the CIA has sent Blackbriar to go after Tanya."
"What!?" Natalie exclaimed. "They'll kill her!"
"Do not engage – just distract the bastards and help her to escape, okay?"
"Yes, Dad."
"Timmy, those men are Blackbriar."
Timothy Bourne's mouth dropped open before a dark expression crossed the thirteen-year-old boy's face and he looked up at his fourteen-year-old sister.
"What can we do?"
"We interfere but do not engage," Natalie replied. "Dad's on his way with the CIA woman."
The two Predators moved off towards where the girl they knew as Tanya Swift was backing away from two men who were moving into a position where the girl could not escape without swimming.
..._...
Tanya Swift had instinctively known she was in trouble – how, she had no idea – and she was desperately trying to figure out an escape plan.
She had always been safe when out in daylight – something had changed; two attacks in less than twelve hours? She was in trouble and very much alone. Something deep inside her was reacting just like earlier that morning. She knew that she was able to just react to events without knowing why. She did not know why the two men were a threat but something inside of her did. The man on her left produced a wicked-looking knife which he held down by his right thigh to prevent anyone but her from seeing it. The man was grinning as he locked his eyes on the girl. Tanya felt fear but she ignored it. She knew that if she tried to run then the men would hunt her down and they could probably both run a lot faster than she could. She also figured that being out in public was not about to stop them from hurting her . . . or worse.
To make things worse, her eyes saw two youths heading in her direction and she figured that they were with the two men and there to help prevent her escape.
..._...
As Tanya faced off against the two men, she kept watch on the two youths who, her mind told her, were acting very suspiciously.
Her mind was troubling her; so much information was vying for space and most of the information meant very little to her. She had no idea what to do, only, her mind had a plan. The plan might as well have been in Korean, for it meant nothing to her. Then, out of nowhere, she found her body reacting to what her eyes were seeing. It was like she was no longer in control of her body; like she was possessed. As she attacked the closest man, she reacted to movement coming in from her right. It was one of the youths; a boy, who cannoned into the other man, knocking him to the ground.
"Run!" the boy yelled as the other youth, a girl, fell to the ground and she knocked the first man's legs out from under him.
Tanya bolted, taking advantage of the distraction, even as a small voice, far in the back of her mind told her that she recognised the voice which had shouted at her, only, like so many other things, she had no idea why the voice was familiar. She kept running, cutting across the grass and then onto the street, dodging vehicles as she went, searching for danger, and identifying safe routes back to her room. She did not stop until she had gone around at least three corners. Only then, did she slowdown and dodge behind a dark-coloured panel van. As usual, her mind filled with unbidden information. The panel van was a Ford. The left front tyre was slightly bald. The age meant it might be easy to steal. The chances of the panel van containing a firearm, or a viable weapon, were low. Where did the information come from? How did she know such things? Then she saw a reflection in the glass windows at the rear of the panel van, set into the rear doors – it was a man and a woman.
Tanya bolted, crossing the street and dodging down a small side street.
..._...
From a hundred yards away, Jenna witnessed the brief altercation.
She was impressed by the benign deception and distraction which allowed the girl, whom they believed to be Tanya, to make her escape. They had run down the adjacent streets to try and intercept the girl and they had found her taking temporary refuge behind a panel van. However, the girl had caught sight of them and then bolted across the street before she had then vanished down a small side street.
"We lost her!" Jenna declared.
"We'll find her again, don't worry," Jason said.
Jenna made to respond, but she was cut off by her cell phone.
"Oh, crap!" she exclaimed as she saw who was calling. "Sir?"
"What the fuck are you playing at in Iceland?!"
"Sir?"
"I have a photo of you sitting down to breakfast with Jason fucking Bourne!"
"He joined me, sir – there was nothing I could do."
"Well, I'm taking over; I'll be landing in about three hours. You had better have made some progress by then, Miss Collins!"
With that, the connection was broken.
Three hours later...
Reykjavik Airport
The man and the woman stood a discrete distance away, screened by a parked jet.
"Who's the old man?" Jason asked as he studied the man stepping down from the USAF C-37B.
"That's my boss – Dwight Earl, DDDI."
"He looks like a classic CIA upper echelon twat."
"He is that . . . and more," Jenna confirmed dryly as they both observed other men following Earl out of the jet.
"And he's brought some more friends from the CIA back catalogue of failed operations."
"We need to find Tanya before they do," Jenna stated.
"Yes, we do."
That was when Jenna's cell rang.
Skeiðarvogur
Eastern Reykjavik
15:35
Nicky Bourne was searching places where she thought a terrified kid with advanced training might hide out.
Beside her, her children were providing information which related to their training and which was helping to chip away at potential locations. Natalie was also concerned – Tanya was not behaving like a trained Predator should. Tim had confirmed that Tanya was much more highly skilled than many her age and that she should have reacted better during the Hljómskálagarður incident. The three had decided that Tanya could be suffering what their father liked to jokingly call 'The Bourne Identity' meaning that Tanya probably had no idea who or what she was but that she was able to do some scary shit without the slightest idea of how. They had also been informed that there were some more men who had appeared, and it was becoming scarily obvious that Tanya was not about to be 'taken in' . . . she was to be 'taken out'. It was a mission for which Natalie and Tim had been trained, so they had a lot of knowledge about how to run their target to ground. However, Tanya had been in the very same classes and she knew what she had to do to prevent herself from being run to ground.
Then they had found something nasty which had swiftly changed everything.
"Mom!" Timothy Bourne called out.
"What've you found?" Nicky asked as she ran over to where her son was crouched down, looking at something. "Oh, shit!" she exclaimed as she crouched down next to Tim and saw what he was staring at.
"Is that blood?" Natalie asked.
"It is – fresh too," Tim replied. "You can see where somebody staggered – oval drops indicating they were moving as the blood dripped."
Nicky was on the phone to her husband almost immediately.
..._...
Twenty minutes later, they had their answer.
Jason and Jenna had caught up with Nicky and the children just as the police had found a body. Jenna stepped out of the shadows and approached the scene. She kept away from the actual police, observing from a distance. With trepidation building, she edged closer without attracting attention to herself. Then, she finally saw the scene. The deceased was not a young girl – the body under the tarpaulin was too big and appeared to be that of a grown man. There was a lot of blood in evidence, indicating that it was the murder scene – a small black pistol lay partially in the pool of blood. Jenna could not help but smile as she pushed back through the crowd.
"It isn't Tanya," she stated to the waiting Bourne family.
"Then the blood is hers – the drops indicated she was heading in a different direction," Tim stated. "She's hurt."
Jenna was unhappy. She had already received a second roasting from her boss for not having anything to show and now, telling him that one of his men was dead would not help the situation. At least she assumed that it was one of his men – or else Reykjavik was in the middle of a murder frenzy. If the girl was injured, then they had to find her – and soon. It appeared that the blood drops led toward the port – somewhere not easily searched.
The other problem was the darkness which was closing in along with the cold.