Rogue Faction Part 1 Read online

  The set of clothes Anna had referred to surprised Cyrus. Not only were they precisely his size, but they were just his taste as well. He didn’t know what to make of that. Pondering that oddity, he walked into the bathroom where he stopped in shock. If this was the bathroom of the guest quarters, he wondered what main rooms had to offer.

  The floors were a rich textured tile, and the wide counter was made of highly polished marble that held a pair of sinks. There was an extra-large standing shower, with semi-transparent etched glass doors, in addition to a spacious Whirlpool tub. The toilet was in a small water closet, and there was a large armoire stocked with towels, toilet paper, and all sorts of miscellaneous bathroom sundries.

  Slipping from his robe, he tossed it to the floor on the other side of the room. He turned on the shower’s faucet and was impressed by the water pressure that virtually blasted from the jets. Letting the water reach temperature, he went to the tall, freestanding cabinet and retrieved a towel. Sorting through the cabinet, he found a bathmat. He was on the mend, and the last thing he needed was to slip and break his neck on his way out of the shower.

  Just before he stepped into the shower, he noticed the array of grooming supplies laid out at the end of the sink. There was an electric razor, a pair of disposable razors, a can of shaving cream, several small bottles of aftershave, as well as a toothbrush and several small tubes of toothpaste. Shaking his head in disbelief at the first-class accommodations, he stepped under the powerful water jets.

  Anna calls this being a prisoner?

  Chapter 37

  The Voss Compound

  10:16 am

  Cyrus walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He’d taken the hottest shower his body could tolerate. It would’ve been longer, but he’d been forced to cut it short; weakness in his legs and biting pain from his gunshot wound were quick to remind him that he was still on the mend. Gretchen was right, the infection was worse than he expected. Not only was he more fatigued than he would’ve imagined, but the wound wasn’t healing as it should.

  Dargo’s man, Mister Wagner, was still at his position by the door. Though, to his credit, he didn’t even look at Cyrus when he entered the room. The level of professionalism Dargo instilled in his men once again struck Cyrus as impressive. Unfortunately, that same professionalism would become a problem for him in the near future.

  Throwing the towel aside, Cyrus began dressing in the clothes that were left on the end of his bed. He couldn’t believe that all of his old stuff had been disposed of. Was that Dargo being hyper-vigilant, or was it just that the clothes were truly a total loss? Cyrus couldn’t be sure. The plan was for him to make his way from the train station in Hamburg to Voss’s compound by improvising travel and staying off the grid. It was a slow way to move, but it had made sense after what happened on the train, and because Cyrus needed Voss to believe that his life was very much in danger. Taking such precautions went a long way toward substantiating his story. Cyrus and Gladd had left the train, abandoning the dead bodies in their cabin, stacked like cordwood. There would certainly be an investigation. Even if the train line managed to keep the incident quiet, someone with Dargo’s resources would learn of it quickly enough. At some point he would link the bodies found on the Paris train to the attack Cyrus had survived.

  All of that would strengthen Cyrus’s cover story, supporting his role as a courier for Professor Richard Ragsdale, tasked with delivering the prototype imaging equipment to Doctor Voss. Voss now believed, as far as Cyrus knew, that his life was in danger. As such, Voss felt inclined to provide sanctuary for Cyrus—at least until he was healthy again and could make it on his own.

  Everything had been well planned. Even Ragsdale’s medical emergency was part of the plan—though his coma was an unexpected improvisation. In truth, the man was safe and sound in a safe house somewhere in Paris. Boone had seen to that part of the operation. Boone would stay with Ragsdale until the mission was over. That was important, because if Ragsdale ever got word to Voss, the entire mission would be blown. Boone would ensure that never happened.

  The only deviation from the plan had been the infection left by the assassin’s bullet. Cyrus had originally counted the combat wound as fortunate. The original plan had called for Paul Gladd to stab him, in addition to delivering the physical beating. Cyrus needed legitimate wounds and injuries in order to sell his situation and gain access to Voss’s secure installation. Getting shot hadn’t been part of the plan, but it worked out for the better.

  All except for the infection. As unlikely as it seemed, the assassins must’ve coated their ammunition with some sort of toxin. That was unusual. He planned to look into the practice as soon as he could get access to a secure internet terminal; or even better, access to the Coalition’s network.

  After crudely taping a couple of large gauze pads over the wounds on his abdomen, Cyrus pulled on a t-shirt and headed for the door.

  “I’m all set,” he said to Mister Wagner. “I guess you’re supposed to take me to medical now.”

  Chapter 38

  The Voss Compound

  10:48 am

  Wagner led Cyrus to the infirmary, one floor below. Along the way, Cyrus marveled at the scope of Voss’s operation. It was one thing to read about it on paper and quite another to see the facility in person. The installation was impressive. Each floor ended at a wide balcony that overlooked the building’s entrance and the common area on the first floor. Each balcony also offered a breathtaking view overlooking the city beyond the wall of the compound.

  The building’s front face was a glass and steel facade stretching from ground level to the fifth floor high above. The glass was treated with a high-tech anti-glare semi-opaque solution, Cyrus knew. The morning sun shone through, filling the surrounding area with a pleasant warm radiance. But there was no harsh glare. And as clouds passed overhead, the tint of the glass seemed to shift in accordance with the strength of the sunlight. Recalling surveillance photos shot from street level, Cyrus thought about the way the glass appeared to have a mirror finish when viewed from the outside. It was likely that the adaptive window tinting worked in conjunction with the external mirror finish that kept the building’s interior safe from prying eyes. Such technology didn’t come cheap. Certainly not when it covered the entire face of such a massive structure.

  Cyrus also knew that the glass was resistant to not only small arms fire, but it had also been designed to repel more aggressive attacks, such as explosives from smaller rockets and RPGs. There was no doubt about it, Voss’s work had to be profitable. His home was proof of it.

  Before stepping away from the second floor railing, Cyrus looked down into the common area. It was unoccupied for the moment, but Anna had asked him to meet her there later for lunch. She hinted that they would have something to discuss by that time.

  The way she’d said it had seemed odd. Something about the statement still concerned him.

  Mister Wagner cleared his throat, drawing Cyrus’s attention back to the moment. “Yeah, I’m coming,” he muttered, following him to their destination.

  Still giving Anna’s statement thought, Cyrus followed Wagner into the medical area. The morning was passing quickly and, since they were meeting for lunch, he figured it was only a matter of time before he found out what she was up to.

  Cyrus was expecting to see Gretchen, but when Wagner stepped out of the way, Cyrus was stopped cold in his tracks. Natasha was arranging a series of medical supplies on the wheeled cart beside the bed. He watched silently as she continued.

  After a few moments, her actions slowed, as she became aware of the new presence in the room. Her eyes rose and met Cyrus’s stare. With a silent sputter, Cyrus released the breath he was holding.

  This was it, the moment of truth.

  He’d reached the point where his mission could still come crashing down around his ears. It was all up to Natasha and how she reacted to his surprise appearance.

  The silence be
tween them seemed to stretch forever. It was uncomfortable and refreshing, all at the same time. He hadn’t seen her in almost three years, but in that time she hadn’t changed a bit. She was every bit as breathtaking as she’d been the first time they’d met. Seeing her again brought back every sensation he’d experienced that first time, and he was shocked at how quickly his mind jumped back in time; the memories he’d walled away came rushing back.

  She looked just like she had the first time they’d met. The thought kept running through his mind and left him speechless.

  No, he thought, it was more than that…

  She looked just like she had the first time they met! Exactly the same. How could that be a coincidence? Her long blonde hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and she wore the same short-lensed, black-framed glasses that she’d been wearing that spring day. He recalled them distinctly, because his first thought was that they made her look both smart and sexy.

  Taking her in, he realized she was now wearing a white lab coat, just as she’d been that day in the university chemistry lab. The sense of déjà vu was unmistakable, and more off-putting than he could’ve anticipated. But as he moved past his shock, he saw her expression change too.

  There was indecision in her eyes rather than the surprise that he’d expected. Of course, he realized there was some logic to that. He’d been laid up in the infirmary for more than a week. It was entirely likely that she already knew he was here.

  So the real questions became: Who had she told about him…and what had she said? The fact that there was only one guard with them, and that he’d just been given private quarters were telling. He hadn’t been locked up or kicked out of the installation entirely.

  There was no question that Natasha knew enough to compromise his operation.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Cyrus looked at Mister Wagner. He’d taken up a position at the entrance to the infirmary. He wasn’t within immediate earshot, but he was close enough to overhear them if they weren’t discrete.

  Meeting her eye again, Cyrus looked for some hint of Natasha’s intentions. He was troubled by the cool detachment he saw there. It wasn’t what he expected from someone he’d once been intimate with. Then again, that was a large part of the problem.

  The seconds ticked by; it seemed like an eternity while he waited for her to make her intentions known. He was sure that she didn’t know why he was here, but she seemed to grasp the fact that they stood at an impasse. She now had the power to burn him, or play it cool and see how things worked out.

  Cyrus could only wonder how much of the Natasha he once knew was still there. Would she give him a chance to explain, or would she shut him down and turn him away? She’d always been a passionate and headstrong woman, and he knew with absolute certainty that her decision could easily go either way.

  Cyrus opened his mouth to speak but stopped short when her look sharpened almost imperceptibly. She shook her head ever so slightly, warning him off. It was as if she’d made a last minute decision of her own.

  Finally, she offered a halfhearted smile. “I’m Natasha,” she said quietly. “And, you are?”

  It was all Cyrus could do not to wheeze a sigh of relief.

  “Cyrus—Cyrus Cooper,” he managed to say. She hadn’t offered her hand at the introduction, so he offered his. He could see reluctance in her eyes. Her decision to give him this reprieve had been a tough call, and she wasn’t entirely confident in her choice.

  “Cyrus Cooper? That’s an interesting name. You don’t strike me as a Cyrus.”

  Very subtle, he thought.

  “You’re not the first person to say that,” he offered with a sincere smile. “I’ve been told that a more common name, like John, would fit me better.”

  She made no reply for several seconds, nor did her expression change. Finally, a small smile turned up the corner of her lips. “Maybe Jonny,” she offered. “I could see you with a name like Jonny.”

  “Jonny Cooper?”

  “Ugg, no,” she decided, with a sour expression. “You’re right. That doesn’t work at all. I guess you’re better off with Cyrus.”

  He smiled. That sounded more like the Natasha he’d once known. It was the first sense so far that he might be breaking the ice. It felt as though she’d thrown him a lifeline. He hoped that was the case.

  “Gretchen tells me you’ve got a nasty infection that needs some attention. Why don’t you have a seat and let me take a look at it?”

  Pulling himself up onto the side of the raised bed, Cyrus slid his shirt off over his head. Natasha looked at the crude bandage over his abdomen and then glared at him. “Is this a joke?” she protested.

  He shrugged. “I just needed to keep my shirt clean long enough to come down here.”

  She shook her head. Then, without any attempt at gentleness, she ripped the bandage from his flesh. The fresh tape tore at his sensitive skin. When he yipped at the unexpected move, her glare only intensified.

  Rolling her eyes, Natasha looked to Mister Wagner. “Would you mind giving us some privacy?” she asked. “If he’s going to carry on like this, it’s going to be embarrassing.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Wagner said flatly. “My orders are to stay in the room with him at all times.”

  Natasha blew out a breath and thought for a moment. “Does that include trips to the restroom?” she asked.

  “Ah…no, ma’am,”

  “So you’ll concede that he needs to be offered some minimal level of personal space, then?”

  “Ah…I suppose that’s the case.”

  She nodded with satisfaction. “Then please consider this one such situation. Besides, I want the privacy because I’m the one who’s embarrassed—even if he’s not.”

  Cyrus felt his brow furrow as he considered her comment. He wasn’t sure how to interpret the statement. She had either defended him or slighted him, and he wasn’t sure which.

  The guard pondered her argument.

  “Fine. I’ll be just outside,” he agreed.

  As soon as Wagner was gone, Natasha looked Cyrus in the eye. “Keep your voice down,” she warned. “There are still security cameras.”

  “Got it,” he whispered.

  She took a long look, then broke away and went to the wheeled cart. Pulling on a pair of surgical gloves, she poured hydrogen peroxide on a thick cotton pad. A work light was attached to the cart by an articulated arm. Taking the pad in a pair of forceps, she lowered the light and shined it on Cyrus’s wound. Slowly and meticulously, she began cleaning away the clotted blood and questionable tissue.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered while she worked.

  “It’s a long story,” he mumbled. “But it’s important. Is there someplace where we can talk without having to do it like this?”

  She stopped and glared at him. “What makes you think I even want to talk with you?”

  Ouch.

  “Come on, Tash, this is important,” he insisted.

  She stared at him.

  “This entire place is wired,” she said finally, turning her attention back to his wound. “And Dargo’s got his eye on you. He’s suspicious of everyone, but he seems to have taken a particular dislike to you. Talk about being under the spotlight. I don’t see any way around that.”

  Natasha repositioned the light at a different angle and studied her work. “It looks like this is healing well enough,” she observed. “But this is deep. You’re going to have a nasty scar.”

  She applied antibacterial gel to a sterile cotton pad and then taped it in place. “Gretchen said you had a second wound on your back?” she said absently, as she motioned for him to turn.

  Cyrus complied and braced himself for the moment when she tore the second improvised bandage away. To his surprise, she peeled it away gently and with great care.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw her toss the sticky pad into the nearby trash can that was marked with a biohazard symbol. He heard the creaking arm of the articulated lamp as she swun
g it to take a closer look at his back. She began scraping at his tender flesh with a clean hydrogen peroxide soaked pad. “Yeah, this one looks nasty too,” she observed. “Really deep…”

  Abruptly, she stopped poking and prodding at his flesh. Cyrus heard the creaking of the light’s arm as she adjusted it several times in rapid succession. Finally, she stepped back and glared at him.

  “Cyrus!” she stammered. “Have you been shot?”

  He offered her a weak smile. “I told you it was complicated,” he whispered. “Find us a way to talk in private. Please?”

  Chapter 39

  The Voss Compound

  4:23 pm

  Cyrus was sitting on a sofa reading a paperback novel in the common area when Rutger Voss seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Cyrus looked up in surprise, the quick movement sending a shot a pain blasting through his side.

  “I’m sorry to startle you,” Voss said. “Do you mind if I sit?”

  “Please,” Cyrus encouraged, setting the book aside.

  Voss took a seat in one of the adjacent over-stuffed armchairs. After a long, contemplative look, he spoke, “Natasha tells me that you’re not taking the pain medication. Are you alright?”

  “Absolutely,” Cyrus responded without hesitation. “I’m just not a fan of drugs—prescription or otherwise. A little pain now and then, doesn’t hurt.” He smiled at his own play on words. “And anything is better than veterinary drugs.”

  It brought a chuckle from Voss. “Under normal circumstances that would be commendable, but I would like to remind you of the fact that you’ve been shot. I think that, under the circumstances, the use of prescription pain relief is understandable.”

  “You’re right. And if the pain becomes too unpleasant, I’ll talk to Natasha about it. Probably before bed, if I’m going to have any chance at a good night’s sleep.”