Maelstrom Page 3

  “Please,” Yamako urged. “He’s the only one who can help. Go to him. Secure his armies, and let me take care of the tech. I have Japan on my side. I am more powerful than you give me credit for. If we play our cards right, we can take America down in a concentrated three day span of calculated attacks.”

  “Leviathan,” Visola repeated thoughtfully. Then she spat in disgust. “Leviathan! Honestly, I would rather die than ask Taranis Evenor for help. After what that man did to me? Fuck him. And fuck you, Princess Yamako, for underestimating me. Do you even know who I am? Do you know what I’m capable of? If you did, you wouldn’t be here interfering with my shit. Get the fuck out of my face, and take your newfangled technology. She was my sister. I am doing this the old fashioned way...”

  A security guard rounded the corner, pointing his weapon at the two women. “Freeze! Don’t m—”

  He had not finished speaking before Visola had shifted her weapon and unloaded a round of ammunition into his chest. It knocked the man off his feet instantly. The redhead moved to his side and crouched down, turning to the Japanese princess with a grave look on her face. Pulling a dagger out of her boot, Visola slammed the knife into the man’s throat. She sliced directly across his neck, in a tantalizingly slow manner, as though she intended to make a point. Wiping the knife on her thigh, Visola returned it to its sheath. With fingers that were sticky, wet, and still dripping with blood, she pointed at the dead man. “You see? I like working with my bare hands. I don’t need technology. And I will wreck anyone who steps in my path. Including you, Princess.”

  With that, Visola was gone. Yamako was left standing in the hallway, grinding her teeth together in frustration. “Damn her,” Yamako swore. “She’s a lunatic. She is impossible. She is so…” The Japanese woman let her hands fall to her sides in defeat. “She is so fucking hot.”

  Chapter 3: She is Death

  “It’s a crisis,” said the man projected on the large screen at the front of the conference room. “The whole Eastern Seaboard, in darkness. Do you have any idea what this is doing to the country? If we can’t turn the lights on in a few days, we’ll need to declare martial law. Do you people have any idea who is behind this?”

  Agent Karen Kilham rubbed her temples. “No, sir. There was absolutely no warning; no chatter on the airways. Thank God for our backup generators, or we’d be out of commission too. We’ve shut the compound down, and no one has gone in or out in three days, just as a measure of precaution. We were completely in the dark about this—please excuse the terrible pun.”

  “The army is getting into position,” the man on the teleconference said with a frown. “But we’re having difficulty. All the roads are blocked. Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington D.C.. It’s up to you, men. Similar things have happened in the past, due to human error—but if someone is behind this, I need you to figure out why, and what their plans are, before it’s too late.”

  Agent Jackson Poole spun a pen around idly on his desk. “I know who it is,” he mumbled quietly.

  “Agent Poole? Did you have something to contribute?” asked his superior.

  “Yes. Isn’t it obvious, sir?” Agent Poole shifted uncomfortably in his chair, glancing around at his colleagues. “Just a few weeks ago, we had Dr. Sionna Ramaris assassinated.”

  “And you did an excellent job, Agent Poole,” said the Director of National Intelligence. “Taking care of the Ramaris woman, and delivering that press release… it was precisely what we needed you to do. It will definitely keep Adlivun in line from now on. But that has absolutely zero relevance to the matter at hand, which is the blackout and crisis at home…”

  “It has everything to do with this,” said Jackson Poole angrily. Then, realizing he was being rude, he cleared his throat. “Mr. Director, I’m always honored to be of service, sir. I’m just not sure… I’m not sure our information was correct. I think we made a mistake in calculation…”

  “You followed our orders, Agent. No mistake was made. Obviously, we still need to keep a careful eye on Oceanus, especially this ‘Leviathan’ situation, but for the moment, we need to focus on our own country. We need to spend all our resources figuring out the source of this catastrophe, and protecting our citizens…”

  “That’s just it,” Agent Poole said. “What if this blackout is just a distraction? What if the real threat is already closer than we think?”

  “Please excuse him, sir,” said Agent Kilham quickly. “He’s received several personal threats since the press conference.”

  “Personal threats? Well, that’s expected after a high-profile assassination. After everything quiets down, you should take a vacation, Agent Poole. I know this job can be very stressful. Don’t worry, I’m sure that none of the threats were serious.”

  “They were serious,” Agent Poole said, adjusting his tie nervously. “The Oceanic Minister of Defense has gone missing. She was the target’s twin sister. We’ve been monitoring her husband’s phone and internet activity, and there has been no contact between this woman and her family since her sister’s death. Vachlan Suchos advised me to ‘run.’ He said his wife would be coming after me.”

  “Don’t pay any attention to those petty intimidation attempts,” said the director, with a small roll of his eyes. “We’re on perfectly good terms with Oceanus, Adlivun, and all the other sea-dweller nations. What can one woman really do? We need to turn our attention back to the matter at hand.”

  “If Visola Ramaris is anything like her sister, she might actually be a concern,” Agent Kilham said timidly, sending a fleeting glance to her partner.

  The director shuffled around some papers on his desk, and adjusted his glasses in annoyance. “Fine. If you really think she’s going to be an issue, you can assign a small team to monitoring the situation. Find her and bring her in.”

  “Thank you, sir. Please excuse me,” Agent Poole said tiredly, rising to his feet. “I need to use the facilities.” Moving away from the conference room, he navigated through the heavily-guarded halls toward the men’s room. Upon entering the room, he went to the sink and turned it on. He stared at the cold running water, and gathered a small bowlful in his two cupped hands. He splashed it on his face to try to refresh himself. Staring at his face in the mirror, he swallowed. “Get it together, Jack,” he told himself quietly. “You’re just doing your job. You need to protect America and her interests, at any cost.”

  Grabbing a few sheets of paper towel, he patted his face dry. Breathing deeply, he moved over to the urinals. Hearing the door open, he glanced over his shoulder to see a fellow colleague entering the room. “Hey, Roy. How’s it going?”

  “Can’t complain, Jackson,” said the other agent, moving over to the urinals and unbuckling his belt. “Crazy about this blackout, right? But hey, at least something interesting is finally happening.”

  “I think it’s the first time everyone’s been on edge like this since 2001,” Agent Poole mused as he began to relieve himself. He stared down thoughtfully. “We haven’t been holed up in this place, pulling all-nighters in a while.”

  “It’s pretty exciting, isn’t it?” Roy asked cheerfully. “I was still in school back then, and I always fantasized of being part of this. Now here we are, making a difference.”

  “Living the dream,” Agent Poole said weakly.

  “Yeah! That reminds me, man. Later on, do you want to grab lunch together in the cafeteria? I’m on a low-carb diet to try to look good in my swimsuit when I take the wife on vacation. I saw they have this new chicken Caesar salad on special, and I was craving…”

  Agent Poole froze when the shiny white urinal in front of him was sprayed with bright, red blood. He stared at the crimson droplets, unable to blink. His stream of urine stopped abruptly. Roy had been cut off mid-sentence, and Jackson Poole feared to find out why. Turning to the side, he saw that his friend’s head had been detached from his body. Roy’s torso and legs seemed to sway for a moment, as if they had not noticed the decapitatio
n. Agent Poole noticed the few extra pounds on his friend’s potbelly that the man would never get a chance to trim off through eating low-carb, chicken Caesar salads. Finally, the body seemed to crumple to the ground in slow motion. A woman was revealed, who had been standing behind Roy and holding an extremely sharp weapon in her hand.

  “Hi,” the redhead said casually. “Is this a bad time?”

  Agent Poole swallowed, realizing that he was still holding his penis in his hand.

  “Were you in the middle of something you wanted to finish?” she asked sweetly.

  “No,” said the agent, shoving it back into his pants and zipping up quickly. “Madam Minister…”

  “I’m not the Minister of Defense anymore,” Visola corrected.

  “General Ramaris…”

  “No, no, no. None of that. I’m not acting in any official capacity.” She stepped over Roy’s body, closing the distance between herself and Agent Poole. “If you must call me something… call me Death.”

  He gulped again. “Madam Death. You’re looking sharp in that armor.”

  “Thank you,” she said, reaching down to pat her abdomen. “I don’t always break into the Pentagon. But when I do… I wear leather.”

  Agent Poole considered his options. He lowered his chin and stared at his friend’s body on the ground. He fought back the urge to wail in grief or curse in anger. Instead, he looked into the green fire of Visola’s eyes. He found himself fighting back tears and lowering his body to his knees.

  “I just gathered information,” he told her. “I have the utmost respect for you and your husband. I never authorized any of this. I just did what they asked of me.”

  “Agent Jackson Poole,” she said, flexing her wrist as though she were about to slice his head off next. “It looks like you’ve made a grave mistake.”

  “I have,” he said, staring at her calves. They were shapely and muscled as the black armor clung to them. “I have made so many mistakes.” He felt sharp metal under his chin, forcing him to lift his face.

  “You thought my sister was the most dangerous woman in the world,” Visola said softly. She moved her foot to the side sharply, kicking Roy’s head away from them. The head went rolling across the floor of the men’s room. “You were wrong.”

  “I realize that,” he said, struggling to breathe over his hyperventilation. “I’m sorry.”

  Visola smiled, almost mercifully. She reached under her armor, and pulled out a few photographs. She tossed them to the ground, where they fell into the puddle of Roy’s blood. “That’s your wife. That’s your son. That’s your daughter. That’s your sister. That’s your brother. That’s your dog.”

  Agent Poole stared at the photos in horror. All of his family members were held in various hostage situations. “Oh god,” he whispered. “Oh my god. Please. It’s not my fault. I swear to you, it’s not my fault. There are bigger forces at work here. The president… he gave our director instructions to demonstrate ‘a show of power’ to scare Adlivun and Oceanus, so we could get back our oil drilling rights. It’s the oil companies. America runs on oil. If we don’t…”

  “I don’t really care,” Visola said with a shrug. She tossed a USB key down into the puddle of blood. “Follow the instructions in the file marked ‘Vengeance.doc.’ Meet me at the specified location, at the specified time, with the specified people. Or don’t. But if I were you, I wouldn’t want to make any more mistakes.” Visola turned to leave, but she was interrupted by the Agent’s whimpering plea.

  “Please, Visola. Is there any chance you’ll let my family live?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Did you let my family live?”

  With that, she disappeared. Her movements were so ghostlike that he did not bother trying to figure out how she had broken into the compound, or how she would escape. She was unreal. Agent Poole stared down at the photographs of the people he loved most in the world. Roy’s blood was spreading over the frightened faces of his wife and children. He looked at the beautiful blonde woman who was chained to metal pipes. It was his sister, Judith—an early childcare education specialist, and a mother of five. She was one of the kindest people he knew. Picking up the USB key, he stuck it in his pocket.

  “I deserve this,” Jackson Poole said morosely. He tried to drag himself to his feet, and stumble back to his meeting. “We all deserve this.”

  “She was at the Pentagon?” Vachlan said into the phone receiver. “How long ago?” He waited for a response and nodded. “Thank you for telling me this. Yes, Visola has gone rogue. I haven’t heard from her—I had no idea what she was doing.” Vachlan sighed as the information filtered through the phone line. “We’ve promoted Major Mardöll to General of Adlivun’s armies, and Colonel Namaka in Africa will be serving as the new Minister of Defense. Visola is not part of our governance anymore and her actions are in no way connected with us.”

  Vachlan stared at the frozen shelves of the library as he waited for more information. “I couldn’t take her role. I’m not a war leader. I’m not a hero. I just give really good advice.” He listened again. “I know she’s my wife, but we haven’t always gotten along. She doesn’t always consult me before taking action, and I don’t always consult her. We’re quite independent of each other.” He listened again. “Look, I will put out my feelers for her, and I’ll let you know if there’s any sign of her—but I don’t think she’ll be coming home or contacting me anytime soon. If ever again.”

  When threats began to flow through the phone line, Vachlan sighed. “There is no need for that. Our political and military leaders would give themselves up to you willingly. We’re all friends here. We are not—I repeat—we are not acting with Visola. We are not sanctioning any of her actions. She is doing this completely on her own.” Vachlan waited for another response. “Yes, I would be willing to fight against her. If she comes into my custody, I will give her up to you. Yes.” Vachlan held his breath as the voice on the other end of the line made impossible demands. “My wife—she’s a military genius, but she is not of sound mind. When your people killed her sister, it caused her to have a psychotic break. You must understand that there’s nothing I can do about this anymore. It’s out of my hands. Yes. Yes, I will try my best.” Vachlan sighed again.

  “You have my full cooperation, Mr. President.”

  When Vachlan hung up the phone. He found himself gazing out of the window thoughtfully. He licked his lips, which had become very dry. He inhaled deeply, and exhaled even more deeply, as he tried to sort through the information he had been given. He tried to search for the answers deep inside his brain, for clues to Visola’s next move. Did he not know her better than anyone? Yet, after all this time, she was a mystery. He knew that he could not stop her. He did not want to stop her. He just missed her so much he could not breathe.

  The dark-haired man continued to stare out of the window until a noise in the room alerted him to someone else’s presence. It was Dr. Dylan Rosenberg, clearing his throat.

  “Sorry to bother you, Vachlan,” said the doctor, adjusting his glasses, “but do you realize that you’ve been standing in that spot and staring out of that window for over five hours?”

  Vachlan’s eyes widened in surprise. He glanced down at his Rolex, and indeed, it had been several hours since his call with the American president. “I’ve been… thinking about my wife,” he explained awkwardly, giving the doctor an embarrassed shrug. His eyes lingered on his watch for a moment longer. The Oyster Perpetual Rolex had been a birthday gift from Visola a few years ago—along with an extraordinary round of hand-to-hand combat that had quickly led to…

  “What exactly have you been thinking of?” Dylan asked, moving to stand at Vachlan’s side. He joined the dark-haired man in staring out the window, at the cityscape of Romanova below.

  Vachlan was snapped out of his pleasant memory, back into the unpleasant present. “I’ve been thinking that this is the first time in my life, that I can’t see a way out,” he responded honestly. �
�This really is the end of everything. All my life, I’ve been able to find that escape route. That narrow sliver of light in the pitch black cave. When no one else could see it, it was plain as day to me. When no one else could figure out how to get through the tiny window, I could find a way to wriggle through it, and drag whomever I fancied at the time to safety.”

  “Maybe you’re just overwhelmed by your recent loss, Vachlan,” Dylan said, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Maybe if you give it some time, you will see the light.”

  “Do you actually believe that codswallop?” Vachlan asked.

  “Not really,” Dylan answered. “I was just spewing fake therapist bullshit.”

  “Good. I thought you were a smart man.” Vachlan moved over to the crystal decanter, which held a generous amount of scotch. He began pouring. “Fancy a drink with me, chap?”

  “Sure,” Dylan said, moving over to take the glass that was extended to him.

  “It’s too late for the USA to play nice,” Vachlan mused as he poured his own glass. “They think they can do some sort of damage control now—or make us think that they’re trying. It’s hogwash.”

  “So what’s going to happen?” Dylan inquired.

  “The USA isn’t going to back down. Visola isn’t going to back down. Adlivun isn’t going to back down. NATO isn’t going to back down… and Oceanus isn’t going to back down.” Vachlan clinked his glass against the doctor’s. “Cheers. To global warfare.”

  “Oh.” Dylan considered this for a moment and poured the entire contents of his glass down his throat. “Well, that’s swell. Maybe I’ll get a chance to do something to avenge Sionna.”

  “Yes,” Vachlan agreed. “The only wildcard in all this is Leviathan. I don’t know enough about him to judge—but it seems to me, if he’s anything like the other men in Visola’s life… he might be powerful enough to swing this thing either way.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?” Dylan asked.