Agent out of Time (The Agents for Good) Read online

  “I think we should start your education into how bad it is to cross me with a little rape, followed by a lot more rape. Rip her clothes off and hold her down. No point in not getting started with her education is there?”

  The man’s minions obeyed willingly enough, as they knew that they would be next in line to take their pleasure. Deshavi’s screams rent the air, but there was no one to hear that cared.

  Something wasn’t right. Deshavi had promised to call me the day after she had gotten back to the city and this was now the third day since she had left. I had tried calling her, but the call had gone straight to voicemail. I knew the alias the Deshavi went by and the city and I began to call around.

  It took several hours to locate a hotel with someone on record with that name. I was transferred by the receptionist to another line. A woman’s voice came on the phone.

  “Sir might I ask what your interest in this person may be?”

  “She’s my granddaughter. She was supposed to call me when she got in, but it’s been a few days and she hasn’t called me yet. I was wondering if you could check for me whether she arrived safely?”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line before the woman’s voice slowly responded with a note of bad news to her tone that had me gripping the phone hard before even her words came through clearly, “Sir I regret to have to inform you of this, but the door of your granddaughters room was broken open. We have surveillance footage of your granddaughter arriving, but not departing. We also have footage of three men leaving the area with a large suitcase. We’ve turned over our surveillance data to the police and are cooperating with them fully on the investigation, as to your granddaughter’s disappearance. Are you still there Sir?”

  I heard her last words, but the phone was already falling from my listless grasp to shatter on the floor. I stumbled my way out onto my front porch that overlooked my mountain valley home. First it had been my wife, then my son, then my good friend, and now all that I had dear left to me was gone into the unknown. A shout of war filled rage swept out of me in a cry that echoed down the valley temporarily silencing the sounds of nature for a long moment. Such a cry hadn’t been heard in these mountains for many generations.

  I caught myself against the railing from falling, as my heart thundered away inside of me. My hands shook, as they supported me on the wooden railing of the porch, as grief swept through me.

  “No!” My hands clenched into fists. Deshavi might yet still be alive. I owed her enough to find out.

  A voice whispered, “You’re too old.”

  “That may well be, but you’re going to pay to find that out!” I gritted out in denunciation of the disparaging spirit that was assailing me in my moment of despair and grief.

  I turned back toward the house. The sudden resolve that I felt course through me helped to still the fluttering of my heart. Now was no time to be weak or old. It was a time to be strong and I willed my body to be so accordingly.

  Strength returned to my fingers and with the rising fury that I felt at the near hopelessness of my situation I grabbed an ax from off the hearth that I used for chopping kindling. I jerked an ornately woven area rug away from the middle of the living room floor and lifting the axe high with two hands I brought it crashing down towards the polished wood plank floor.

  The axe’s blade bit deeply into the wood and I worked away savagely at the floor. Chunks of wood splintered off to the side, as the floor grudgingly gave way to the sharpened steel and the trauma wrecked by the axe.

  I had hoped that this day would never come again, but trouble had a way of finding me. The way made clear I lifted the heavy case out from beneath the floor. I undid the locks and the case opened. There was money in several currencies. Several passports, but they were all hopelessly outdated now. I’d have to get them redone if I needed them. The top side of the case held a collection of odd looking knives, two 40 caliber automatic pistols, and a small derringer. There were also a couple of grenades.

  I looked at the evidence of the bloody and brutal past laid out before me. It was time to be Agent Shalako once again. I had sworn to the death of the agent character from ever rising again. Once my agent status had cost me the life of my son, now I only hoped that it could save the life of my granddaughter. That is, if there was still a life to be saved.

  The evening sounds were in full rigor of effort this evening, mused Chantry to himself, as he sipped from his wine glass. He always came to visit his Virginia estate in the early autumn. This was his favorite time of the day to just enjoy the peace of the countryside. There was not a single sound amiss in the nightly array of insect chirping, but suddenly Chantry felt himself on the edge, at the presence of some unknown danger.

  Surreptitiously under the guise of sipping his wine he scanned the grounds around the expansive patio. His guards were all in place, as well as the blinking indicator lights of his security feeds. He set the glass of wine down before glancing at his watch. There were no security updates. His breathing stilled and ever so slowly he let his gaze rise to trace the outline of the man that now sat across from him in the evening gloom at the table. There had only ever been one man Chantry had known so gifted with this level of silent stealth. His first recruit to the program, Agent Shalako.

  This man had single-handedly helped him hold the Agency for Good together in the early traumatic years of its conception. Few of the current agents on the roster could appreciate how tough it had been to just survive during the height of the Cold War. Shalako had survived though and he had paved the path washed in blood, so that others may follow, but it had all stopped, when he’d lost someone he had valued more than his own life.

  “It is good to see you old friend. You’ve lost nothing of your skill over the years, whereas I can do little better than sit here, as a sacrificial lamb ripe for the taking.”

  His silent visitor said nothing and Chantry began to sense the deep level of the other man’s complete apathy of spirit. Chantry leaned forward his eyes searching his former partners implacably stoic controlled features.

  “Why have you come Shalako? You swore to never visit this life again.”

  I studied Chantry carefully not sure how much had changed about him and whether I could still trust him. Chantry’s hand came across the table and settled over mine, “What has happened old friend?”

  “I need to redeem a favor Chantry.”

  Chantry leaned back in his chair his face showing surprise, because I had never asked for anything before let alone a favor.

  “As I recall I owe you two favors, but beyond that you know there’s nothing I wouldn’t help you with.”

  I nodded, feeling grateful that at least he hadn’t seemed to change. Everything else had though.

  I slid the folder I had comprised on everything that I knew of Deshavi across the table to him. He picked it up and glanced inside curiously, his eyes flickered back to mine.

  “She’s my granddaughter. She’s been taken. I don’t know by whom. I don’t even know if she’s alive or not. I need you to find her. I have no contacts or resources anymore. I’ve been out of the game too long.”

  “I know what you mean Shalako. This digital age we live in has quite left me behind as well. I rely quite heavily on younger minds to solve the world’s digital pathways and decipher its riddles.” Chantry said as he stood up.

  I stood up to.

  Chantry lifted the folder, “I’ll have my people work through the night on this, if any things to be learned of her I will know by tomorrow morning. Meet me here at six.”

  I nodded and faded away into the darkness.

  Chantry watched me go before turning briskly and making for the mansion. Soon he was striding down the illuminated hall of the Soviet era bomb shelter that had been constructed in the basement of the Georgia style mansion.

  Temple Boone looked up at his approach and with concern noted the highly flushed face of his mentor. Chantry sat down heavily be
side him and dumped the folder in his lap. Temple briefly glanced at it and gave Chantry a clueless look.

  “This is a favor for a friend. The girl’s been kidnapped. I need to know who did it and if she’s still alive.”

  Agent Temple Boone nodded his head affirmatively.

  “Wake up whoever you need to help you.” Chantry said, as he got more comfortable in his chair and prepared himself mentally for an all-nighter.

  He watched, as his technological virtuoso went to work. The big screens at the head of the room came alive, as Temple began to put together the pieces. Chantry watched with interest for several hours, but age got the best of him and he unwillingly nodded off into sleep.

  Temple glanced at him and got up and left the room, but was soon back with a blanket. He covered Chantry up, careful not to wake the old man. That done he grimly turned back to his displays. He wasn’t liking what he was finding out at all.

  Chantry gripped the table’s edge as he stared at the morning glass of wine before him. He needed something stronger, but with age the ability to handle strong drink had gone from him to. He picked the glass up and swigged the wine down. Setting the glass down only proved to the fact that he was no longer alone at the table.

  Chantry glared moodily at me, “I intentionally put my security detail on high alert, because I wanted to brag just once that I had caught you and here you are sitting at my table, while my guard dogs sniff at each other’s rears.”His words were slurred and he didn’t have his usual mask of control in place.

  I knew that I was one of the only people Chantry trusted to be seen like this by. Chantry was drunk and that wasn’t a good sign at all, not that I had been expecting a good one.

  “Is she dead?” I asked softly.

  Chantry shook his head and looked up at me his eyes full of raw sympathetic pain, “No, but I wish to God that she was! It would be more merciful.” He pushed the folder reluctantly across the table to me.

  “His name is Ivan Zannar. A thoroughly all around bad character. Deshavi had the misfortune to steal a necklace of some worth from him. He’s recovered the necklace and no doubt would’ve ended it at that, but for one thing.”

  “His son died chasing her.” I said woodenly, as I read the file.

  Chantry nodded, “You know what these Slavic crime lords are like Shalako. I….I… My heart goes out to you Shalako.”

  The report I was reading of this Ivan read more like a rap sheet of a demon than it seemed possible of a mere man. “Where is he now Chantry?”

  “We don’t know, but at the end of the week we know he expects to be in Las Vegas for a high-stakes poker game.”

  “Where’s Deshavi?”

  Chantry seemed to fold down upon himself and I reached across the table and shook him hard, “Where’s my granddaughter?”

  Chantry gathered himself. “Ivan sent off a wooden crate, special delivery yesterday, by plane to Russia. The plane landed in Siberia. We don’t know what became of the crate after that. My suspicion is that he sent her to some secret hellhole prison located somewhere in the vastness of Siberia. Such places are known to exist. They’ll keep her alive, as long as possible, to make the torture of her continued existence last.”

  I nodded.

  In a way I was appalled inside. I truly had been out of the game for far too long. I’d forgotten what evil could be like. I stood up and turned to go.

  “You can’t rescue her on your own, you know that! It’s already autumn and winter is early in Siberia. You’ll have to wait for spring.” Chantry said.

  “There won’t be anything left of her by spring and you know it!” I said bitterly.

  “It’s suicide to go after her Shalako! The Russians won’t let you in, let alone help you find her and it will take too long to try to pull strings and grease pockets in order to secure her release, but I’ll try if you want me to Shalako.”

  “If it was your granddaughter what would you do?”

  Chantry looked down at his lap before somberly speaking, “If rescue wasn’t an option, which in my opinion it’s not in this case, than I would blow the prison sky high and at least end her torment.”

  That thought had occurred to me, but I shook my head no. “I’m not ready for that option yet Chantry. If I fail could you make sure that option takes place, as one last favor to me?”

  Chantry nodded grimly and I turned away.

  “God go with you old friend.”

  I lifted a hand before disappearing into the shrubbery.

  Chapter Nine

  Way of the Desert

  The black sedan roared along the desert road doing 100mph easy. The driver had no time to swerve to miss the tack strip bumper laid out on the road, before he was on top of it. The car swerved off the road and flipped over in a ditch.

  Shock at the experience of the crash had all four men within the car acting dazed. The upside down car door was opened and a man was hauled out into the sunlight. His cry of protest was abruptly ended by a sharp crack to his head. The process of removing the occupants of the car continued much the same finishing with a weakly protesting Ivan.

  It was hot. In fact it was so hot that it felt like fire upon their skin. The four men became roughly conscious all around the same moment. It was a moment of complete disorientation for all them, as they twisted their necks about trying to figure out what was going on. The scene immediately became clear to them. They were in the desert buried up to their necks in the sand and it was hot!

  The sun beating off their faces had already burned a deep red into their pale skinned features. They couldn’t move at all except for their heads. It was a thing of panic to realize yourself in such a predicament.

  Then they saw me leaning back against a rock in the shade of a rocky spire. They didn’t know me from Adam, but I knew them. I knew all about them.

  I tossed the water canteen out at them but it came up short of the nearest one of them by several feet. They began to scream and curse at me in Russian, but it soon turned into begging. I got up reluctant to leave my sparse shade, as the temperature was well over 100 degrees. I walked up to the canteen and bent down to scoop it up. I took a long drink from it letting excess water spill down my front. They cursed me even louder than before. I pulled back from the drink then and capped the canteen off. I rattled it to show that there was still water sloshing inside of it.

  “I’ll give a drink of water to the first one of you, who can tell me the destination point of the crate sent to Siberia earlier this week.”

  There was dead silence, as they blinked up at me, all of their expressions suddenly watchful and cautious. They may not want to admit it, but they were all scared. They knew what they’d done and here they were defenseless with someone, who was interested in the subject of their crime. Such men as them are rarely, if ever, brought to true justice and they didn’t like knowing that their time had come. Their only defense was silence at the moment.

  “Who wants to know?”It had been Ivan at the end of the row of four heads that had spoken.

  “Her grandfather.” Was all I said, but it was enough.

  No one would say anything now for fear of revealing too much of their part in what had happened. I got a stick and rigged it in the sand so that the canteen hung upside down from it. I then cracked the lid and the water inside began to slowly drip out onto the sand. There was a collective moan from all them, as they watched the water run away. I went back to my spot in the shade and waited. It didn’t take long.

  “I’ll talk! I’ll tell you where she is; just let me have a drink!”

  It was the youngest of them that had broken first, even as the others were roundly cursing him out now for it.

  I went to him and spread out a map of Siberia, “Show me.”

  I followed his directions with my finger. Somehow I doubted the spot he was indicating. It was too close to inhabited areas for the type of hell hole prison I was looking for. I pulled out my cell and called C
hantry, even as I watched the young man’s face blanch with fear. Oh he had lied to me all right, but I waited for Chantry to confirm it.

  I hung up.

  “No water for you.” The young man started sniveling like a crying baby.

  An older man spoke up, “I’ll show you the first time.”

  I glanced at the speaker. This one was more calculating.

  He spoke again, “I’ll tell you, if you let me go. I don’t care about the others.”

  I moved over to him and blocked out the sun for a moment so that he could meet my eyes with his. “Do you think that it is because you are in America that you plea bargain with me? This land may be part of America, but once it was the land of the Apache, the Kiowa, and many others. You Russians think you have the market cornered, when it comes to savage intimidation practices, but it was not always so. If you’d come to this land but 170 years ago you would have learned, what the meaning of true savagery was all about, from experts. My ancestors didn’t torture for the sake of causing pain like you however. They tortured in order to see how brave a man was so that they might know whether or not to respect him. How brave are you? Want to find out?”

  The calculated look of guile had fled from the man’s eyes and he quickly directed me to a spot on the map. The spot he chose seemed more like it and minutes later I confirmed it was Chantry. I went to the canteen and removed it from its pedestal. I held it, as the Russian drank what was left of it. Pulling it away empty I tossed it into the desert.

  “Congratulations, you’ll last longer than the others now.”

  He stared up at me in disbelief at what he’d just done to prolong his own torment.

  I walked over to Ivan. He looked at me with hatred in his eyes.

  I spoke slowly, “You know I don’t like men like you. You get a little power and by your strength gain some measure of authority. Respect if you will. Then you take that power and you use it to feed upon the insecurities and weaknesses of others. You’re no better than a cannibal the way you feed upon your own kind for your own ambition and selfish desires.”