Rogue Faction Part 2: A Cyrus Cooper Thriller: Book Three

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Other Books

  - Chapter 1

  - Chapter 2

  - Chapter 3

  - Chapter 4

  - Chapter 5

  - Chapter 6

  - Chapter 7

  - Chapter 8

  - Chapter 9

  - Chapter 10

  - Chapter 11

  - Chapter 12

  - Chapter 13

  - Chapter 14

  - Chapter 15

  - Chapter 16

  - Chapter 17

  - Chapter 18

  - Chapter 19

  - Chapter 20

  - Chapter 21

  - Chapter 22

  - Chapter 23

  - Chapter 24

  - Chapter 25

  - Chapter 26

  - Chapter 27

  - Chapter 28

  - Chapter 29

  - Chapter 30

  - Chapter 31

  - Chapter 32

  - Chapter 33

  - Chapter 34

  - Chapter 35

  Review My Book

  Acknowledgments

  Join My List

  About the Author

  Other Books

  Rogue Faction Part 2

  Xander Weaver

  Rogue Faction Part 2

  Copyright © 2015 by Xander Weaver

  ISBN 978-0-9904394-6-2 (eBook)

  ISBN 978-0-9904394-5-5 (Trade Paperback)

  www.XanderWeaver.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Lee Roesner, Paradigm Graphic Design

  Image sources by alexfiodorov/bigstockphoto.com and yuran-78/bigstockphoto.com

  Release version: 1.0

  —For my readers—

  You share your valuable time with me, and I’m grateful.

  Every book is an adventure we take together, and I look forward to taking many more.

  Other books by Xander Weaver:

  Book One: Dangerous Minds

  Book Two: Rogue Faction Part 1

  For more information, please visit:

  www.XanderWeaver.com

  Chapter 1

  Rivven Rock

  1:29 am

  Natasha watched the deserted city streets pass through the window of the small four-wheel drive truck Cyrus borrowed for their escape from The Cuban. The old truck’s heater was running at full blast, but still did little to stave off the cold of night. Thanks to their rapid departure, Natasha didn’t even have time to grab her coat. She had taken her guitar, though. The base rested on the floor between her feet. The instrument’s neck was clenched in her white-knuckled grip while she watched billows of her warm breath hang in the air of the dark cabin.

  The guitar was a special keepsake that Natasha had come to treasure in recent years, despite complicated and conflicted feelings relating to its origin. After tonight, she knew the instrument would mark another such memory. The body of the guitar had taken a bullet at some point, and since it had literally been strapped to her side at the time, it was a reminder of how close she’d come to being killed.

  Though they’d driven in silence since leaving the bar, Natasha found herself casting curious glances at Cyrus from the corner of her eye. There were so many questions—she didn’t know where to begin. Somehow silence seemed like the better alternative; letting him remain focused on their escape seemed logical. They drove slowly through the city, obeying posted speed zones. She noticed how his eyes followed an ever vigilant rotation, scanning the road as well as their periphery while still keeping watch on the rear facing mirrors.

  As they took a turn at yet another intersection, Natasha was puzzled by their new direction. “Why aren’t we returning to the compound?” she finally asked.

  “We have to make a stop first,” Cyrus said. His eyes never left the road.

  After traveling several additional blocks, Cyrus took a long look at her. She was surprised by the uncertainty in his eyes. “How are you holding up?”

  She laughed at the absurdity of the question. It had been a long time since she’d been shot at. “Just like old times,” she said, with a roll of her eyes.

  He checked the road, then glanced back at her for another long second, but said nothing. In that quick look, she saw pain and disappointment painted across his face.

  They’d been shot at once before, in the middle of a mess that Cyrus—she knew him as Jon, back then—had gotten them into. It was the trouble that led to him leaving school, and ultimately brought about the end of their relationship.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  He shrugged. His eyes still followed their patterned scan of the side and rearview mirrors. “I understand. But, to be honest, it wasn’t me they were shooting at this time.”

  “Wait—. You’re saying they were after me?” she stammered. “Why would they be after me?”

  She realized, for the first time, that they were headed for the International Airfield. Cyrus had just turned onto a wide strip of road, what constituted as a highway on the island nation, leading directly to Kapros’ largest airport.

  “I told you before. We really need to talk,” Cyrus said quietly.

  She pursed her lips and glared at him. It was a withering look that spoke a thousand words, and a sentiment that would’ve been more effective if he weren’t focused on driving.

  “No kidding, I was never supposed to see you again. Wasn’t that how witness protection works? You were never allowed to see anyone from your old life? No calls; no email? Nothing?” she wanted to rage on but stopped herself, mostly because she wasn’t sure she could rein her emotions back in once she released them.

  He shot her a crooked grin with a quick glance. “Did you really think I could stay away?”

  “No,” she admitted. “I didn’t. But when I didn’t hear from you for a month, I got worried. And when one month turned into three—and three turned to six…” A tear dropped from the corner of her eye and she felt a new flash of anger, this time aimed at herself. She’d made an internal promise to never have this conversation.

  Natasha swallowed hard before speaking again. When her voice once again filled the cabin, it was little more than a hoarse whisper. “After six months, I realized you were never coming back.” Wiping tears from both cheeks, she kept her eyes forward, aimed at the dark, lonely highway.

  Realizing she was now throttling the neck of her guitar, she loosened her grip. Taking a deep breath, she let it out in a slow, silent puff of warm vapor. When that didn’t help, she followed it with another. Reliving this pain yet again had brought more anger than she would’ve guessed possible. It was one thing to have Cyrus leave three years earlier. At the time, it wasn’t as though he’d had much choice. Witness relocation was his only option. Unfortunately, it had been an option that didn’t include her. So, as with everything else in his life, she’d been left behind.

  It was only later Natasha realized that his relocation wasn’t what it seemed. It wasn’t that she couldn’t go with him. She came to find out that the U.S. Marshal Service had put the option on the table—Cyrus had simply never given her the choice. So her pain was two-fold; it was the loss of him coupled with the unanswered question of why he’d never offered to take her with him that had been so difficult to live with.

/>   Even at the time, the rational part of her mind knew they were just kids. They were both in their freshman year of college. Neither knew what it was that they didn’t know about the world. But she knew that she loved him. She loved him in a way she’d never experienced before, and it made him the single most important thing in her life. It wasn’t a logical feeling, especially since they’d been together only eight months when the bullets started flying. All she knew was that if he had asked, she would’ve relocated with him without a thought for her own safety. Natasha would’ve walked away from everyone and everything she’d ever known, just to stay by his side.

  She cast a tear-streaked look in his direction and hoped he wasn’t able to see her in the shadows of the truck. The last thing she needed was for him to know that his presence still had such a powerful effect on her. Even back then, she’d been sure—absolutely certain—that he shared her feelings. But what she never understood, the question she thought would never be answered, was how or why he could leave in such a cold manner if he really had loved her as deeply.

  Now, no matter how badly she wanted to ask that question, she couldn’t bring herself to speak the words. It was the reason she’d worked so hard to avoid him since he turned up at her home.

  “We need to talk about what happened back then,” Cyrus said finally. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I want you to understand.”

  He looked her in the eye. “I believe I owe you at least that much.”

  The truck passed through the front gates of the International Airfield and they followed the signs pointing to ‘Departures’. Natasha saw their path and immediately shot him an accusing look.

  “Don’t worry,” he said in a calming voice. “We’re not going anywhere. I’m retrieving something.”

  They drove past a series of sliding glass doors and the wide, multi-lane road that allowed for easy unloading of passengers. Beyond all of that was another small, curbside stop for a bus line which ferried passengers all over the island; the bus line had its own terminal at the airport for regularly scheduled routes.

  Pulling to the curb, Cyrus shifted the gear selector into ‘park’ and looked around carefully. Following his eyes, Natasha confirmed that they were alone. There were no flights leaving at this late hour and, though the airport was technically still open, it was virtually deserted. Still, Cyrus was looking around more carefully than she expected.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  The concern was etched on his face. After a few moments of silence, he looked her in the eye. His face was largely cloaked in shadows but that couldn’t conceal the intensity of his eyes.

  “A three man team tried hitting me on the train,” he offered. “There were only two guys back at the bar.” This mission had started on a train leaving Paris on its way to Hamburg. Cyrus had been teamed with Agent Gladd, working to identify the courier transporting prototype hardware to Natasha’s father. Three highly skilled assassins had nearly derailed the mission before it had begun.

  At first she didn’t catch his meaning. Then it clicked. “You think there might be another gunman out there somewhere?”

  He exhaled, a puff of vapor clouding the air as he considered the question. “I wasn’t able to identify the team on the train. I don’t know if they were independents or part of an organization. If they were independent, anything goes. Most likely they would’ve been hired for a one-off job. They could be working in any configuration. But if they were part of a larger outfit, they’d be more organized and there’s likely to be another man out there.”

  Natasha felt her jaw drop. His analysis of their situation was shockingly clinical and succinct. …And chilling.

  “You’ve changed.” The words shot from her mouth before she realized she’d said them aloud.

  He nodded. “A lot’s changed in the last three years. Just promise that you’ll let me explain things. I’m not saying it’ll make everything alright. I just think there are things that need to be said—things you deserve to hear.”

  “Alright,” she agreed. The truth was, she wanted to know what was going on. The subject was clearly important to him—his persistence, and the events of the last hour, had proven as much.

  “Get whatever it is you need so we can get back to the compound. I have a feeling we won’t be safe until we’re back behind those walls.”

  Cyrus nodded again. “Keep the engine running. If you see anything suspicious, just honk. I’ll be through those doors.” He pointed to a set of double sliding glass partitions a few yards down the sidewalk, marking the entrance of the small bus depot.

  Chapter 2

  Rivven Rock Airport

  1:38 am

  Passing through the automatic doors, Cyrus was grateful there were no metal detectors. He was still armed with the semiautomatic he’d taken off one of the shooters at the bar, and he didn’t want to leave it in the truck.

  The bus station was deserted. There was a small section of rowed seating near the door. Maybe three dozen utilitarian plastic chairs were lined up, waiting for a surge of traffic that Cyrus doubted the station would see, even at rush hour on a holiday. There was a ticket counter along the wall to the right, complete with a short series of switch back paths marked by vertical poles linked by retractable bands. They formed an orderly approach to three ticket windows, only one of which had a light on, even though it was empty. The other two windows were blocked by drawn shades.

  At the back of the room stood a series of seven-foot tall lockers of varied shapes, and split into different sizes. Renting a locker was a simple matter. Anyone could rent a locker by simply dropping a series of coins through a slot in the locker door and pulling the key from the lock.

  Cyrus walked around one row and found what he was looking for. Locker 211 was on the bottom; three feet by three feet square. After confirming the door was undamaged, he stood up and went to the small emergency light on the rear wall. Standing on the tip of his toes, he could just reach the top edge of the small wall-mounted light box. Running his fingers through the dust atop the box, he felt the key right where it was supposed to be. At least his support team had made good on the fallback plan. He would have to thank Luke Reid for that.

  A moment later he used the key and pulled open the door to locker 211. It was a relief to find a small, black backpack—yet again, right where it was supposed to be. Removing it, he closed the locker as quietly as possible. Kneeling, he unzipped one of the pack’s side compartments and retrieved a mobile phone. Though the phone looked like an off-the-shelf smartphone, the device had a state-of-the-art satellite uplink, ideal for field use because it couldn’t be traced across local phone networks.

  Tapping out a number from memory, the call was answered after the first ring.

  “United Global,” the voice greeted.

  “Authentication: oscar bravo seven foxtrot,” Cyrus said without pretense. “Put me through to Stalking Horse.”

  There was a hesitation on the part of the operator that wasn’t lost on Cyrus.

  “Please hold,” the operator responded after only a second’s delay.

  Stalking Horse was Boone’s code name. With all that had happened, Cyrus was overdue to check in. It was to be expected with an operation of this nature, but it was time to confirm that the mission was still on track. There was a barely perceptible click in the line before he heard the phone being picked up on the other end.

  “Please authenticate, Livewire,” a female voice requested from the other end of the line. Cyrus was almost certain he was talking to the Red Queen. That prospect was troubling.

  “You first,” he countered.

  “Sierra victor two four four,” the voice grumbled. “Please authenticate.”

  “Oscar bravo seven foxtrot,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “What the hell is going on over there, Monica? They were supposed to connect me to Boone.”

  He heard the Red Queen exhale a lung full of air and knew something was wrong. “Boone’s team was attacked i
n transit. There were casualties. Most of the team was wiped out. Two members are still missing and unaccounted for—Boone and Agent Hobbs.” The Red Queen, aka Monica Fichtner, called the shots for the Coalition. For better or worse, she was the boss. Boone was Cyrus’s immediate supervisor. Boone had been his training officer when he joined the group; he was also head of Field Operations. Hobbs was one of the agents teamed with Boone on the latest operation.

  His mind spinning, Cyrus struggled to reconcile the unexpected information with what had just happened to him. Of the two of them, maybe Natasha hadn’t been the one targeted at the bar, after all. “What the hell happened? Just tell me what you know.”

  “Boone’s team was heading to intercept his target, Professor Ragsdale, at the University of Paris. Apparently they were ambushed along the way and the team sustained casualties.”

  “Wait—. You’re saying that Boone never staged Ragsdale’s injuries? He didn’t fake his hospitalization?” Cyrus couldn’t make sense of what he was hearing. Based on what he’d been told by Voss, Ragsdale was in the hospital, which would indicate that everything had gone according to plan.

  “He never had the chance. But it looks like whoever ambushed Agent Boone’s team attacked Ragsdale the same night. Ragsdale was hospitalized in the end, but we have no idea if he will recover. His surgeons are not optimistic.”

  Cyrus clenched his eyes tight and tried to factor this new information into the larger picture. No matter how hard he worked the facts, he couldn’t force them into a logical scenario. He had a puzzle with a bunch of pieces that suddenly didn’t fit.

  “To be honest,” the Red Queen continued. “We didn’t think you were still operational. After Agent Gladd’s report of what happened on the train out of Paris, we’ve been operating under the assumption that you were eliminated prior to reaching the Voss compound.