Jack Mars - File Zero

She found Sara in the same position she had been in for the last half hour, seated on the sofa in the living room with her legs drawn up beneath her. There was a sitcom on TV, but the volume was so low she could barely hear it, and she wasn’t looking directly at it anyway.

Maya could tell that her sister had been suffering in silence ever since they had been taken by Rais and the Slavic traffickers. But Sara wouldn’t open up, wouldn’t talk about it.

“Hey, Squeak, how about something to eat?” Maya prodded. “I could make grilled cheese? With tomato. And bacon…” She smacked her lips, hoping to amuse her little sister.

But Sara merely shook her head. “Not hungry.”

“Okay. Do you want to talk about anything?”

“No.”

A wave of frustration rolled over her, but Maya swallowed it. She had to be patient. She too was affected by the events they had experienced, but her reaction had been anger and a desire for retribution. She had told her dad that her plan was to become a CIA agent herself, and it wasn’t simply teenage angst talking. She was very serious about it.

“I’m here,” she told her sister. “If you ever feel like talking. You know that, right?”

Sara glanced over at her. A smile very nearly passed her lips—but then her eyes widened and she sat up suddenly. “Do you hear that?”

Maya listened intently. She did hear it; the sound of a powerful engine rumbling nearby. Then it stopped abruptly.

“Stay here.” She hurried back to the foyer and once again parted the blinds. A silver SUV had pulled into their driveway. Her pulse quickened as four men got out. Two of them wore suits; the other two wore all black, with tactical vests and combat boots.

Even from this distance Maya could see the insignia emblazoned on their sleeves. The two black-clad men were from the same organization that had attempted to kidnap them in Switzerland. Watson had called them the Division.

Maya rushed to the kitchen, sliding in her socks, and pulled a steak knife from the bamboo block on the counter. Sara had risen from the couch and hurried to join her.

“Go downstairs.” Maya held the knife out, handle first, to her sister. “Get in the panic room. I’ll be right behind you.”

The doorbell rang.

“Don’t answer it,” Sara pleaded. “Just come with me.”

“I’m not going to open the door,” Maya promised. “I’m just going to see what they want. Go. Close the door. Don’t wait for me.”

Sara took the knife and hurried down the basement steps. Maya crept carefully to the front door and peeked through the peephole. The two men in suits stood right outside.

Where did the other two go? she wondered. Back door, most likely.

Maya jumped a little as one of the two men knocked briskly on the door. Then he spoke, his voice loud enough to hear from outside. “Maya Lawson?” He held up a badge in a leather ID holder as she peered through the peephole. “Agent Coulter, FBI. We need to ask you some questions about your father.”

Her mind raced. She was certain that she was not going to answer the door for them. But would they try to force their way in? Should she say something, or pretend they weren’t home?

“Ms. Lawson?” the agent said again. “We would really prefer to do this the easy way.”

Long shadows danced against the floor of the foyer in the setting sun. She glanced up quickly to see two shapes passing by the rear entrance, a sliding glass door that led to a small deck and patio. It was the other two men, the ones from the Division, stalking around behind the house.

“Ms. Lawson,” the man called out again. “This is your last warning. Please open the door.”

Maya took a deep breath. “My father isn’t here,” she called out. “And I’m a minor. You’re going to have to come back.”

She peered through the peephole again to see the FBI agent grinning. “Ms. Lawson, I think you’re misunderstanding the situation.” He turned to his partner, a taller and burlier man. “Kick it in.”

Maya sucked in a breath and backpedaled several steps. The doorjamb cracked, splinters of wood hurtling through the air, and the front door flew open.

The two agents took one step into the foyer. Maya felt frozen to the spot. She wondered if she could make a run for the basement and get to the panic room in time. But if Sara had done as Maya had told her and closed the door, they’d never get it shut again before the agents caught up to her.

Her gaze must have flitted toward the basement door, because the closer of the two agents smirked. “How about you stay right there, little lady?” The agent that had spoken through the door had sandy hair and a face that might have been friendly and boyish if they hadn’t just kicked their way in. He put his empty hands up. “We’re not armed. We don’t want to hurt you or your sister.”

“I don’t believe you,” Maya said. She glanced over her shoulder quickly, just for a half second, to see the shadows of the two black-clad men still stalking outside on the deck.

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! A siren suddenly blared out through the house, an earsplitting klaxon that had all three of them looking around in bewilderment. It took Maya a moment to realize that it was their alarm system, activated when the door was kicked in and set to go off in sixty seconds if the code wasn’t punched in.

The police , she thought hopefully. The police will come.

“Shut it off!” the agent shouted at her. But she didn’t move.

Then—glass shattered behind her. Maya jumped and spun instinctively at the sound as the sliding patio door exploded inward. One of the black-clad men stepped through.

She didn’t stop to think, but a memory flashed through her mind in an instant: the hotel in Engelberg, Switzerland. The Division man posing as CIA, forcing his way in, attacking her.

Maya spun again quickly to face the FBI agents. One of them was near the panel, but he was facing her as the alarm continued to blare wildly. The eyes of the other agent, the boyish one, were wide and his hands were slightly in the air. His mouth was moving, but his words were drowned out by the screaming alarm.

Strong arms grabbed her from behind and she yelped. She struggled against her assailant, but he was strong. She smelled sour breath as the man wrapped her tightly, immobilizing her.

He hauled her off her feet and held her there, legs kicking and arm forced upward at a painful angle. She wasn’t strong enough to fight him off.

Relax , her brain instructed. Don’t struggle. She had taken self-defense classes at the university with a former Marine who had put her in this exact scenario—a larger, heavier assailant grabbing her from behind.

Maya tucked her chin down, almost touching her clavicle.

Then she slammed her head backward as hard as she could.

The Division man holding her cried out in pain as the back of her skull connected with his nose. His grip fell slack, and her feet touched the floor again. As soon as they did, she twisted her body, ducked her head low to get out of his arms, and then dropped her weight in a crouch.

She was all of a hundred and five pounds. But as she dropped, the man’s arm still looped in her elbow, he was suddenly a hundred and five pounds heavier, and his balance was thrown by the sharp blow to his face.

He teetered and sprawled onto the tile of the foyer. Maya jumped backward, away from him, as he fell. She glanced over her shoulder to see the second Division man standing in the broken doorway, seemingly hesitant to make a swift move now that she’d dropped his pal.

She was only a few feet from the basement door. She could make a run for it, get to the panic room until the police arrived…