LITMIR.BIZ

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The dispatcher hesitated. “Ms. Lawson, are you certain there’s no emergency?”

      “I’m certain, yes.”

      “All right. You have a nice day.” The dispatcher abruptly ended the call. From beyond the shattered glass door, Maya heard sirens suddenly erupt in the distance—fading quickly.

      “What did you do?” she asked Mitch.

      “Called in a bigger emergency.”

      “Are they… alive?”

      Mitch glanced around and then shrugged one shoulder. “He’s not,” he grunted, gesturing toward the agent with his head in the wall. Maya’s stomach churned as she noticed a thin rivulet of blood running down the drywall where the agent’s head was jammed in it.

      How many people are going to die in this house? she couldn’t help but wonder.

      “Get your sister. And your phones. We’re leaving.” Mitch stepped over the Division merc’s body and over to his friend. He grabbed the man by the ankles and dragged him into the house, and then scooped up the black pistol.

      Maya hurried down the stairs to the basement. She stood in front of the camera that was mounted over the door to the panic room. “It’s just me, Sara. You can open the door.”

      The thick steel security door pushed open from the inside, and her sister’s timid face appeared. “Are we okay?”

      “For now. Come on. We’re leaving.”

      Back upstairs, Sara noted the carnage with wide eyes, but said nothing. Mitch was rummaging in the kitchen. “You got a first-aid kit?”

      “Yeah. Here.” Maya slid open a drawer and pulled out a small white metal box with a hinged lid and a red cross on the top.

      “Thanks.” Mitch pulled out an antiseptic wipe and then snapped open a razor-tipped knife. Maya took a step back at the sight of it. “I’m real sorry,” the mechanic said, “but this next part is going to be a little unpleasant. You both got trackers in your right arm. They gotta come out. It’s subcutaneous; under the skin and above the muscle. That means it’s gonna sting like hell for a minute, but I promise it won’t be too bad.”

      Maya chewed her lip nervously. She had nearly forgotten about the tracking implant. But then, much to her surprise, Sara stepped forward and tugged up her right sleeve. She reached for Maya’s hand and held it tightly. “Do it.”

*

      There was a lot of blood, but not much pain as Mitch made quick work of the two trackers. The implant was hardly the size of a grain of rice; Maya marveled at it as Mitch dabbed the half-inch long cut and pressed a bandage over it.

      “Now we can go.” Mitch took the first-aid kit, the mercenary’s gun, both of the girls’ phones, and the two tiny implants. They followed him outside and watched as he put the phones and the implants in the agents’ SUV. Then he made another call on his flip phone.

      “I need a cleanup,” he grunted. “Zero’s house on Spruce Street. Four. One car. Take it west and then vanish it.” He hung up.

      The three of them climbed into the cab of an old pickup that had “Third Street Garage” emblazoned on the side. It rumbled to life and pulled away from the curb.

      Neither of the girls looked back.

      Maya, seated in the center between Mitch and Sara, noted the mechanic’s thick knuckles, his fingertips stained in both grease and blood. “So where are we going?” she asked.

      Mitch grunted without taking his eyes off the road. “Nebraska.”

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      Zero parked the car right on the abandoned airstrip of Meadow Field. He had taken a slightly circuitous route there, sticking to back roads and avoiding the highways for fear that the CIA might have flagged his car—which he was certain they had.

      Meadow Field was comprised of just a single runway, the building and hangar long since torn down in the fifteen years of disuse. Weeds and flowers sprouted up through cracks in the tarmac and the ignored grass on either side of the runway grew tall with disregard.

      But despite its appearance, it was a gratifying and welcome sight for Zero. About thirty yards away was an old pickup truck, the side of it painted with stenciled letters that read “Third Street Garage.” The burly mechanic leaned against the driver’s side door, his trucker’s cap pulled low over his brow.

      As Zero hurried over to the truck, his daughters climbed out of the cab and ran to him. He grabbed one of them in each arm, ignoring the pain in his broken hand as he squeezed them both tight.

      “You okay?” he asked.

      “There was some trouble,” Maya admitted as she hugged him back. “But we had help.”

      Zero nodded and released them, but stayed down on his knee so that he was just about eye level with Sara. “All right, listen to me. I’m going to be straight with you.” He had been thinking about it the whole ride here, what he would say to them, and he’d decided to just lay it out. Their lives were already in danger as it was, and they deserved to know why. “There are some powerful people who want to start a war. They’ve been planning it for a long time, and it’s all for their personal gain. If they’re allowed to get away with this, it will mean a lot of innocent people dying. I’m going to talk to the president directly and alert him to what’s going on, but I can’t trust that he won’t put his faith in the wrong hands. This could very well lead to a new world war.”

      “And you can’t let that happen,” Sara said quietly.

      Maya nodded solemnly.

      “That’s right. And…” Zero breathed a heavy sigh. “And it means that things are probably going to be bad for a little while. They know that the two of you are the easiest way to get to me, so you need to disappear and hide out until this is all over. I don’t know when that will be. I don’t know…” He stopped himself again. He wanted to tell them, I don’t know that I’ll survive this, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

      He didn’t have to. They knew what he meant. Tears welled in Maya’s eyes and she looked away. Sara hugged him again, and he squeezed her tightly.

      “You’re going to go with Mitch, and you’re going to have to do whatever he says, okay?” Zero heard tremors in his own voice. He was keenly aware, now more so than ever, that this might be the last time he ever saw his girls. “He’ll keep you safe. And you watch each other’s back.”

      “We will,” Sara whispered in his ear.

      “Good. Now you stay put for a minute while I go talk to Mitch. I’ll be right back.” He let go of Sara and strode over to the pickup truck where the mechanic was waiting idly.

      “Thank you,” Zero told him. “You don’t owe me anything. I appreciate all of this, and when it’s done I’ll pay you back in whatever way I’m able.”

      “No need,” the mechanic grunted. His trucker’s cap was still pulled low, obscuring his eyes while his thick beard covered the rest of his face.

      “Where will you take them?”

      “There’s an old WITSEC house in rural Nebraska,” Mitch said. “Small cabin just outside a small town, practically middle of nowhere. Hasn’t been used in years but it’s still a government listing. I’ll take ’em there. They’ll be safe.”

      “Thank you,” Zero said again. He didn’t know what else to say. He wasn’t even sure why he was so easily able to trust this man with the two most important people in his life; it was a feeling, an instinct that transcended logic. But he had learned long ago—and relearned only hours ago—to trust his instincts.

      “So,” Mitch grunted. “It’s finally happening, isn’t it?”

      Zero blinked at him in surprise. “Yes,” he said cautiously. “You know about all this?”

      “I

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