Brett Battles - The Destroyed

“We’ve already met them. They won’t be a problem.”

Green started to look nervous for the first time. “Who the hell are you?”

Quinn held a hand out to Nate. His former apprentice gave him an empty black cloth bag and a pair of handcuffs. While Quinn put the cuffs on Mygatt, Nate did the same with Green.

Then they both opened the bags.

“Mr. Mygatt, Mr. Green, I believe you are both familiar with the term extraordinary rendition. Consider this yours.”

As he and Nate pulled the bags over the men’s heads, Orlando administered the needles.

Peter and Olsen were in the private room at the back of the second plane. Mila was sitting in the chair in front of them while her suited escort stood quietly against the wall near the door.

As Peter knew would happen, when they were in the middle of taking Mila’s photos and the necessary samples to verify her ID, Olsen had started asking her questions. Playing her part, Mila refused to respond. This only made the agent more determined, which was why he didn’t seem to hear the car driving up outside.

Several seconds later, feet pounded through the plane, then someone knocked rapidly against the door. When Daeng opened it, the man named Howard was standing there.

“Yes?” Peter said.

“Sir, a car just drove up with a group of armed men,” Howard said.

“Who are they?”

“I don’t know, sir, but they’re not our people.”

Peter glanced at the man who’d escorted Mila into the plane. “Go with him. Figure out who these people are. If they’re a problem, subdue them.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said, heading for the door.

“And tell the pilot to get ready to leave.”

The man went with Howard.

When Peter turned back around, he saw that Olsen had his phone to his hear. Olsen frowned, pulled it down, and hit another button. “They’re not answering.”

“Who?” Peter asked.

“The senator and Mr. Green.”

“They’re safe at the trailer. The team will protect them.”

Olsen shoved his phone into his pocket. “I need to go check on them.”

“You’re not getting off right now.”

“They might be in trouble!”

“Perhaps, but you’re not going to be much help if you’re dead.”

Right on cue, the sound of the plane’s idling engines began to increase. At almost the same moment, shouts came from the cabin. This was followed by what sounded like muted gunfire. Then something slammed into the outside wall of the room.

“Please tell me you’re armed!” Olsen said.

Peter nodded, and pulled a pistol from his shoulder holster. “I’m going to go see if I can help.”

“No! Stay in here.”

“If I stay here, we’re dead for sure. Out there, I might be able to do something to stop this.”

Not waiting for a response, he ran out the door, making sure to shut it behind him.

Quinn was waiting five feet away when Peter exited the room at the back of the plane. He motioned for his former client to run past him. Once Peter was clear, Nate threw himself against the wall again, this time letting out a loud groan.

Quinn aimed the gun that was loaded with blanks at one of the empty seats, and pulled the trigger twice. As soon as the echoes of the shots died down, he motioned for everyone to stop making any sounds.

He gave it ten seconds, then walked to the door and threw it open. What he’d expected to find was either Olsen cowering in the corner, or perhaps using Mila as a shield. Instead, Olsen was on the floor and Mila was straddling his chest, one leg pressed down on each of his arm.

“Hope you don’t mind,” she said, looking back at Quinn.

He shook his head, and removed a syringe from the case on his belt. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Please.”

Quinn released her from her cuffs, and handed her the syringe.

“Goodnight, Mr. Olsen,” she said as she stuck the needle in the man’s arm.

Brett Battles

Mygatt, Green, and Olsen were propped next to each other against the wall of the back room, black bags over their heads, their hands and legs restrained. The amount of Beta-Somnol they’d been given had been carefully measured so that they’d only be out for approximately thirty minutes.

Right on schedule, Nate exited the room and said, “Two of them are waking up.”

“Good,” Quinn said.

He rose from his seat, walked into the room, and closed the door behind him. There was only one chair inside now. He pulled it as far from the three men as possible, and sat down.

It was another five minutes before the first one was fully alert.

“Hello?” Olsen said, his voice at first tentative, but quickly growing in strength. “Hello? Is anybody there? Hey, anyone!”

Quinn remained silent.

“Hello? Somebody! Anybody!” As Olsen tipped to the side, his shoulder knocked against Mygatt. “Who’s that? Hey, who are you?”

Mygatt groaned.

“Shit,” Olsen said.

A few seconds later, Green moaned and said, “What the hell? Take this thing off my head!”

“Mr. Green?” Olsen said.

A pause. “Olsen? What are you doing? Get this off my head!”

“Sir, I can’t. I’m tied up and my head’s covered, too.”

“Have you tried to get free?”

“I’ve only been awake a minute or so, sir.”

“Dammit,” Green said, his tone even more urgent than before. “Is the senator here, too?”

“I don’t know.”

“Senator Mygatt?” Green called out. When there was no reply, he said, “Olsen, what the hell happened at the plane?”

“We were attacked. I’m pretty sure they killed the other men. Peter, too. He went to see what he could do, but I heard gunshots right after. Then a man came into the room who seemed to know Voss. They shot me up with something. That’s all I remember.”

“Same thing happened to us. Hit us in the trailer. Goddammit! Any clue where we might be?”

“Sir?” Olsen said. “Don’t you hear it?”

“Hear what?”

“The drone? We’re on the plane, sir. Or a plane, anyway.”

Quinn decided this was as good a time as any to give them something else to think about. He shifted in his chair, intentionally causing it to creak.

The two men’s heads jerked toward the sound.

“Who’s there?” Green asked. “Senator Mygatt? Is that you?”

Quinn said nothing.

“Who’s there? I can hear you! I know you’re there!”

For several more minutes, Green and Olsen took turns trying to get Quinn to talk. Finally, as Mygatt was waking, Quinn stood up, and noisily left the room.

Peter watched the plane until it disappeared into the night. Not that he would have, but there were points during the last twenty minutes when he could have turned the tables, and stayed in the good graces of Mygatt and Green. Now, there was absolutely no turning back.

He headed to his car. He’d been able to set up most everything before he drove to the airfield with Olsen, but there were still a few things that were incomplete and one very important phone call he had to make.

Despite Helen Cho’s stated desire not to discuss the Gorman matter any further, Peter had called her three hours earlier as he was helping to put Quinn’s plan in motion. Now, as he drove back toward DC, he punched in her number again.

“What?” she said as she came on the line.

“Do you have it?”

“I swear to God, Peter, I should just-”

“Do you have it?”

She was silent for several seconds. “Yes.”

“Is it enough?”

“More than enough. But…”

“But what?” he asked. “Helen, you know who Mygatt really is. You know what he and Green have done. What’s going to happen to you and your little group there if Mygatt becomes the director of the CIA?”