Rogue Agent Read online

  ***

  Seth took one glance at the dead woman by his feet and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sure it was aspirin I took this morning,” he said with a sigh.

  He stood in an abandoned office building on the second floor in Sydney, loaded pistol by his side. He was taking no chances this time, eager to make the kill and get out before the gunshot alerted police. However, there would be no need for his pistol today.

  His female target, a Clandestine drug dealer—evident from her gaunt cheeks and thinning hair—had emerged from the portal in two pieces, severed at the waist. Her guts and other internal organs seeped into the concrete, soiling the air with a putrid stench.

  The woman’s death was most likely caused by the portal when the goons at Haroun dumped her head first as it was closing. The event was rare, but it made his job a little easier. The kill was done for him and he took the credit.

  Seth bent down and rolled the woman’s pale arm to see her tattoo. The date of death and location was correct as per his alert on his phone. As he stared at her gaping mouth frozen in a muted scream, he was grateful for her premature death. He didn’t think he could stomach another life story thrown at him. There was no time for conversations anymore. It had already cost him. The dealer was his first hit since David Bloom and he couldn’t understand why the man’s face never left his dreams.

  Seth withdrew a hog cleaver from his jacket and sliced off the woman’s index finger. It left the body with a satisfying crunch. He placed it in a plastic baggie and pocketed it.

  He turned to leave, and stopped when he noticed the bloodstained floor. He couldn’t leave the dealer’s body here. The stench of rotting flesh would arouse suspicion. He needed to call in the cleanup crew. Seth withdrew his cell from his back pocket and dialed Dawson’s number. The man answered after two rings.

  “Langdon, what do you want?”

  “Do you answer all your calls like that?” he quipped. “I need the cleaners at my site.”

  “Why?”

  Seth glanced down at the dealer’s bloody remains. “My target’s death was rather…messy. I’m in Sydney and there are people working across the street. Someone will smell ‘er.”

  “Your kills are always clean, Seth. What on Earth did you do to that body?”

  If he revealed the woman was killed by the portal, he wouldn’t be paid for the hit, so he played dumb. “Nothing as bad as what I’ve done in the past. Will you send Carmichael and his boys right away?”

  Dawson’s end went silent and Seth could hear him typing on the keyboard. “He’s currently in Iran cleaning up one of Enak’s targets. I heard it got pretty messy too, so don’t expect him for a while.”

  Seth blew out a frustrated breath. “What am I supposed to do between now and then?”

  “I can see you’re logged in at Sydney, Australia. Go sightsee, Seth. You’re in one of the most beautiful countries in the world. Go to the zoo or have lunch on the harbor.”

  “All right. Will you send me a text when Carmichael arrives?”

  “Yes, Seth.”

  He hung up and slipped the cell back into his pocket. The midafternoon sun streamed through a broken window, warming the small office. If Seth turned his head the right way, he could see the glorious harbor, shadowed by the grand Sydney Harbor Bridge. Dawson was right. When would he have another chance to explore Sydney?

  He made his way down three flights of stairs and exited the building into an alleyway, ensuring his weapons and the finger were properly concealed before entering the streets. Agents had to be elusive and slip into the crowd anonymously. He didn’t carry a passport and his agency ID wouldn’t be passable in Australia, so Seth kept a low profile and wandered the shore front like any other tourist.

  Ferries and water taxis bobbed on top of the emerald green water. Couples strolled by the esplanade hand in hand. As they passed, Trix came to his mind. They hadn’t spoken since their argument at the club and he knew he had to make it up to her. She always mentioned the need to travel and see the world outside of East of Eden. She would love it here in Sydney—the atmosphere, clean streets, pure air, and architecture.

  He wandered around until he found a souvenir store and picked up a stuffed koala toy. They certainly didn’t have these critters back in New York. As he buried the toy into the folds of his jacket, he received a text from Dawson.

  Clean up on site.

  Seth walked back to the office building and met Carmichael and his three men by the body. The little Italian greeted him with a bone shattering embrace.

  “Seth, my man. Its been too long. How have you been?”

  “Same old, Carmichael.”

  He ran a hand through his graying, thinning hair and raised an eyebrow. “Not true. I heard about your promotion. Complimenti. When do you start?”

  “Next week.”

  When the pleasantries were over, Carmichael switched to business mode. He pointed to the dealer’s body. A black mass of flies and other carnivorous insects hovered over the target, fighting for a piece of exposed intestines.

  “What happened here?” Carmichael asked. “Did you strap a grenade to her?”

  “No, she was cut in half by the portal. The goons at the agency must have thrown her as it was closing.”

  Carmichael pulled a disgusted face and motioned to his men standing behind him. Each cleaner held a box full of plastic bags, cleaning products, bottles of bleach, chemical sprays, and paper towels. One man carried a roll of plastic sheeting underneath his arm.

  “Boys, get started on this,” he barked. “I want the floor so clean I can eat off it!”

  They immediately got to work without complaint. One of them lifted the woman’s torso off the ground. As he did so, he tipped all her other organs—lungs, stomach and liver—onto the concrete. Seth bit back the taste of bile in his throat and turned away.

  “I thought you would be desensitized to the smell by now,” Carmichael commented.

  “I can never get rid of that stench. It’s infused in everything.”

  Carmichael snorted and waved his hand in the air. “Oh, you get used it. After thirty years on the job, the stench of a rotting body doesn’t bother you anymore.”

  “I really hope I’m not doing this for another thirty years,” Seth said.

  Carmichael’s men rolled the victim into two separate sheets of plastic. It reminded Seth of a fleshy burrito.

  “You wish to retire soon?”

  He let out a breath and felt the outline of his pistol in his jacket. He’d been taking lives for ten years, working for a secretive agency, unknown to the American authorities. The last few days had tested his beliefs and loyalties to the job, particularly when he took David Bloom’s life. How much longer could he do it?

  “I would like to retire but this new promotion will help set me and Trix up for life. I can’t let her down.”

  Carmichael barked an order in Italian over his shoulder and turned back to Seth. “Have a place in mind for retirement? When I’m done, I’m moving to Santorini. Unlimited wine, babes, and beach.”

  “I’m thinking more East,” Seth said. “My dream retirement is a lakeside timber cottage in Bolu, Turkey. I put a deposit down on a place five years ago, hoping to retire there. Still gathering dust.”

  “Bolu? My crew and I were sent there two years ago for a job. Nice place.”

  Carmichael’s men finished tidying up the crime scene, bleaching the concrete and throwing the bloody paper towels into black plastic bags. There was no evidence a body had ever bled onto the floor. Every little piece of evidence was removed and disposed of.

  “Looks like we’re done,” Carmichael said, picking up a bucket left behind from his men. “We’ll take the body back to the agency and throw it into the incinerator. It’s good to see you again, Seth.”

  The men shook hands.

  “I appreciate you coming at short notice. I’m usually never around for the clean-up.”

  Carmichael smiled and started walking
toward the door. “I hope when you retire, you get that cottage in Bolu.”

  “Me too.”

  Chapter Five

  Seth returned to the agency with the dealer’s finger burning a hole in his pocket. He was eager to rid of it, get paid, and see his father for dinner at seven. The line for administration was short so he didn’t have to wait long. When he reached the office, he scanned his wrist into the matchbox reader and his face appeared on the holographic screen. He dumped the finger onto the desk as Dawson appeared, holding a handful of files.

  “Evening, Langdon,” he said. “I assume Carmichael cleaned up your mess.”

  “Yes, he did a great job as usual.” He pointed to the finger between them. “Here’s the proof I did my job. Can I please get paid so I can get the fuck out of here?”

  “Okay, okay. You’re not the only one who’s worked a thirteen hour shift.” Dawson scanned the finger, inspected the target’s ID, and wandered over to a safe in the corner of the room. He returned with a small wad of credit notes.

  Seth looked at it with derision. “That’s it? How much is there?”

  “Eight grand. Your target didn’t have a lot of assets,” Dawson replied. “Why should that bother you? I heard about your promotion.”

  “Word travels fast,” Seth said dryly, pocketing the credits.

  “Be grateful. I get paid pennies compared to agents.”

  Seth turned to leave. “Thanks anyway, man.”

  He wandered to the elevator and followed it down to the car park. His Manu was waiting for him in its usual isolated spot. He slipped into the bucket seats and started the engine.

  “Where would you like to go?” the car chimed.

  Seth checked the digital clock on the dashboard. It was 6:45 p.m. He knew his father would be waiting by the door even if he was a minute late, and traffic was bumper to bumper at this time of day. “Find me the quickest route to 32nd Street, Astoria.”

  “Processing.”

  The car displayed a route which would get him to Queens in twenty minutes. Seth took it. His father would just have to wait. The old man had his alcohol cabinet to keep him company until dinner.

  After picking up Chinese takeaway, Seth arrived at his father’s apartment building at 7:30 p.m. As predicted, seventy-eight-year-old Donald Langdon stood on the stoop, dressed in a black and white nightgown, the street lamps bathing him in a ghostly wash.

  Instead of embracing his son, Donald greeted him with a frown. “You’re late. I had to eat a bread roll I was so hungry.”

  Seth sidestepped his father and entered the lobby. “Traffic was a bitch and I had to get dinner. You wanted Chinese food, remember?”

  Donald unlocked his apartment door. “Oh, yes, I remember now. Come and get warm.”

  Seth followed him inside and held his breath. His father’s apartment hadn’t changed since the day his mother died ten years ago. Caroline’s murder, committed by a Briton named Sonny Day, created a void they were yet to fill.

  The blinds were drawn, dumping the flat into darkness, and an underlying stench of cigarette smoke infused every nook and crevice.

  “I see the place looks the same,” Seth observed. “What happened to the cleaner I booked to come once a fortnight?”

  “I fired her.”

  “Why? She wasn’t cheap.”

  “I caught her stealing your mom’s jewelry.”

  Seth glanced at Donald’s open bedroom door. The bed was unmade, clothes strewn across the floor helter-skelter. He knew from his last visit his father had stripped every little piece of Caroline from the apartment. His mother’s spirit no longer existed here.

  “Dad, you don’t have any more of mom’s belongings. You sold them.”

  “Oh, right.” Donald paused for a moment as if processing Seth’s revelation and then pointed to the takeout. “Wanna eat?”

  When they sat down on the moth-eaten couch, Seth noticed a pile of retirement home brochures on the coffee table. “Have you made a decision about Chelsea Hall yet, Dad? I gave you those brochures five months ago.”

  “I’m not moving into a place where they grope you while you sleep, steal your stuff, and pump you full of pills. It’s more beneficial if I stay here.”

  “Dad, I got a promotion at work so I won’t be able to come by as much,” Seth said. “I’m happy to pay for you to stay at Chelsea Hall.”

  Donald waved his hand in the air. “No son of mine will pay for that rat trap. What’s this new promotion? Your law firm finally seeing your full potential?”

  “I guess they have.”

  “What’s your new role?”

  Seth’s job at Haroun was kept secret from his loved ones for many reasons, but mostly to protect them from his enemies. He cleared his throat. “I’ll be assisting management with more high profile cases. I’m on training starting tomorrow.”

  Donald reached over and patted his shoulder lovingly. “That’s my boy. After dinner, do you think you’ll be able to help me set up this new television? I bought it off a neighbor down the hall and I have no idea how to use the damned thing.”

  Seth looked at the flat screen TV opposite them and bit back a smile. It was ancient, probably manufactured thirty years ago. His father had never accepted new technology into his life, remaining stubborn and reliant on old smart phones and tablet devices.

  “Does the TV work? You’ve been duped in the past.”

  “Yes, yes. Eric assured me it worked.”

  “How much did you pay for it?”

  “Two hundred credits, I think.”

  “Dad!” Seth blew out a frustrated breath and retrieved his wallet from his back pocket. He threw the exact money onto the coffee table. “Before you object, take it and bank it. If you need new things, please ask me first. You can’t go out and buy dodgy TV sets, okay?”

  Donald stared at him, unblinking. “Okay, son.” He popped a piece of squid into his mouth and chewed. “How’s Trix these days?” he said. “I haven’t seen her in a long time. Still working at the modeling agency?”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “When will you come to me with a ring on that girl’s finger? She’s a real catch, reminds me of your mother.”

  Seth stabbed his fork into a piece of chicken. Donald had no idea what Trix did for a living and he was never going to find out. “One day, Dad. Our lives are too busy to think about marriage.”

  “What about grandchildren?”

  “One day. Now finish your meal.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to police sirens descend down the road. Seth missed visiting his father, and hated the shell he’d become. Even though Donald may deny it, he lost his true self when Caroline died.

  “Listen, tomorrow I’m going to call that cleaning agency and get your place booked in again,” Seth said. “Your place is a pigsty. Will it hurt to let some light in?”

  Donald scraped back his chair and wandered into the kitchen, returning with a bottle of scotch and two glasses. “Care for a drink?”

  Seth checked the time on his cell phone. It was 8:30 p.m. already. By the time he battled traffic over the bridge, he would get into bed by 10 p.m. Additionally, seeing how low his father had fallen depressed him.

  “I’m going to have to go, Dad. I have to be at work early for my training. Will you be all right?”

  “What about my TV?”

  Seth reached for the scotch and poured himself a drink. “All right, give me a minute and I’ll see if that heap of crap was worth two hundred credits.”

  ***

  Terra downed another shot of whiskey, grimacing as the alcohol burned down her throat. Her father’s funeral left a bitter taste in her mouth and she yearned to block it out. It was hard enough to see both her parents lying side by side in the ground, but the countless side body hugs and emotionless condolences only made things worse. To numb the pain, her first stop in New York was Crest Bar.

  It was busy for a Sunday night and she must’ve been sitting in an obvious spo
t because a few men had already approached looking for a hook-up. She declined every single one of them, wishing she’d bought her Smith and Wesson. It would come in handy tonight.

  Terra stared into the empty shot glass and thought of her father’s casket being lowered into the ground. She was surprised by the lack of attendance. A few men in black suits and sunglasses hovered in the shadows and some questionable women she didn’t recognize faux cried into handkerchiefs. Where were David’s work colleagues or other family members? She realized she never knew her father at all.

  Terra ordered another whiskey and tossed it back, her mind swimming with a million thoughts of her father. She opened her purse and withdrew a photo of Jack Winchester. Peter had sent his DMV license through the mail and it arrived right before she left California. She wanted closure, and still hadn’t decided how she was going to get it.

  Jack’s smug mugshot ignited a fire in the pit of her belly. She wanted him to suffer, to experience the horrible exit her father did. Most of all she wanted to know why. What did David do so wrong to this man to warrant his death?

  She realized her questions were going to be answered tonight when Jack Winchester entered the room. He walked in alone and headed straight for the bar. Terra bit back a triumphant laugh. She knew from doing a character background check that Jack frequented most establishments, but Crest Bar was the only bar in the city that allowed illegal drug use. If he was a common user like Peter said, then he’d be here for his Clandestine hit.