CHAPTER 1
Seven walked with a
purposeful stride down the halls of SIA headquarters which made all other three-letter
intelligence agencies seem like child’s play. The sound of his footfalls as his
heavy boots struck the tile floors reverberated in his ears like the base of a
stereo. He heard it echo off the solid steel walls. As he walked deeper into
the labyrinth, he looked up at the writing over the door that led to the inner
sanctum.
We are called upon when others fail
He
placed his hand on the black glass panel next to the steel door. Like all
others in HQ, it worked by palmer recognition. A faint red line slid under his
hand. The door’s air lock disengaged. He repeated this maneuver multiple times
as he descended further into the maze, finally arriving at his destination, the
security office. Joan’s lair.
Joan,
an eclectic blend of bohemian and punk was Maddie Smith’s personal assistant
and a self-taught computer genius. Her office was nestled in the midst of SIA’s
security hub. A sea of computers and flat screen monitors filled every bit of
desk and wall space. As he entered, she sat transfixed and stared at a video
feed. The monitor she was glued to took up one entire wall and was embedded in
three feet of concrete and steel.
“How
long has he been there?” Seven asked.
Joan
turned just long enough to acknowledge his arrival. “I arrived at o-eight
hundred hours. The security clock shows he’s been there since…”
“O-five
hundred.” Seven finished her sentence.
It
had been the same pattern for the past ten days.
He
stood behind her and watched Brent in the armory. Seven, like all of those
close to Brent, was showing the signs of stress. In the past weeks, wrinkles
from age crept into his face, like dried fissures on barren land.
He
blinked the sleeplessness from his eyes. “Can you roll the tape back to when he
arrived?”
“I can,
but nothing has changed. Brent is still anal—a man of pattern.”
Seven
reached into the back pocket of his jeans and took out his tobacco tin.
Watching the screen, he tapped the lid, shook loose the tobacco, and placed it
between his lower lip and gums.
Joan
looked at him, rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Much like yourself.”
Seven
smirked and spit in his empty coffee cup. “Oblige an old man,” he drawled, “and
run the tape.”
“Yes,
sir.” Joan reached over with her left hand, nimbly fingered the keyboard, and
brought up the tape.
“Finally,
a woman who will listen to me.”
“I
hope that wasn’t meant for me.”
They
both turned and saw Maddie standing in the doorway. Maddie Smith was the
director of the SIA and Seven’s wife. As always, everyone’s eyes were glued to
her—she was stunning. A voluptuous redhead who knew how to draw attention from
both sexes. She embodied a 1950’s movie starlet.
“Good
morning, Darlin,” Seven smiled.
“Good
morning, Madam Director,” Joan said.
Her
piecing emerald green eyes focused on Joan. “Why so formal this morning?”
Joan
shrugged. “Everything seems so formal since . . .” her eyes moistened, “you
know.”
Maddie’s
voice took on a saddened tone. She stood behind Joan, lightly rubbed her
shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. “Yeah, I know, but I would feel
better if you went back to calling me Maddie, or Mom, or the ‘B’ word that you
mumble under your breath from time to time.”
Joan
wiped her tears and sniffed. “And what word would that be?”
“Beautiful,”
Maddie joked.
A
partial smile surfaced on Joan’s lips. “Oh, that ‘B’ word. Right.”
“That’s
the first time I’ve seen you smile in weeks. It feels good.” She looked at
Seven expecting a sarcastic comeback, but he was glued to the screen. The look
in her husband’s eyes made her shiver. “What is it?”
“It’s
Brent’s eyes. They’re blank. Emotionless. It’s as if he were on a squad
mission.”
“Is
that so bad?” Joan said. “Isn’t that the way you all look when you’re engaged
in training?”
Pointing
to the monitor, Seven said, “This is different. Look at his jugular veins. His
eyes may be expressionless, but the rest of him is about to snap.”
Maddie
drew in a deep breath as she watched the monitor. Blowing it out, she knew what
she had to do. “We can’t put the inevitable off any longer. Call the
directorate and the Phantom Squad to a meeting at thirteen hundred hours and
Seven,” she waited for him to acknowledge her. “Get him there.”