Incursion

Chapter 11: Priorities

Not half an hour after the base scrambled to locate and neutralize the lone intruder and failed to do so, the highest ranking United States Army officer on site ascended to the third floor of the defunct Currie Barracks.

The stale, cold air within the building made thirty-year old Sergeant First Class Roland Trent shudder, but to him it wasn’t just because the surroundings were chilly. He hated this assignment given to him: to facilitate and keep things moving smoothly here in the abandoned Canadian Army base. Now that the base had been penetrated by an unknown intruder who had gotten away to boot, Trent was bound to hear from his superiors soon. He wasn’t counting on them being pleased.

Trent emerged from the stairwell and stepped into the third floor hallway. He took his time, deliberately dragging his steps to delay his arrival at the room near the far end. He hated having to go up here, much less converse with that man.

Trent had been given orders to see to the needs of the man in the long coat and hood, the so-called ‘Hornet’. At first, he obeyed the order without question. As each batch of prisoners came to and went through the base however, he began to distance himself from the ‘guest’ who had taken a particular liking to this dreary, dilapidated building for some reason – one that the sergeant was more than happy not knowing.

Regardless of his slowed place, he eventually reached the doorway he was looking for. It was hard to miss, as it was the only one through which the soft, orange glow of a kerosene lamp shone. Trent hovered behind the partially closed door and took a deep breath before rapping his knuckles on the door without pushing it open further.

“Sir?” he began, “It’s Sergeant First Class Roland Trent.”

“Ah, Rollie! Come in, come in!”

The man’s twisted mockery of friendliness came floating through the door. Trent had heard this invitation several times before.

“I appreciate—” He disdained the word he chose, because nothing could be farther from the truth. “—the invitation sir, but if it’s all the same to you I’ll stay out here. I’m only checking in and giving a sitrep.”

He waited tensely as several soft footfalls from within the room approached the door. When the door finally swung open fully thanks to the man on the other side, Trent deliberately kept his eyes from the prisoner strapped to the bedframe behind the man in the doorway.

Looking straight into the long-haired man’s eyes was no better an option, either. Trent compromised by looking at the top of his head instead, much like he would a drill sergeant when he was in training.

“Rollie, what do you have for me?”

“Just a sitrep, sir.”

“Oh? Well, let’s have it.”

Trent cleared his throat uncomfortably. “We’re still investigating how the intruder managed to breach the perimeter. Of course, the defenses we have here aren’t… optimal, so it’s not hard to imagine our perimeter being penetrated.”

“Yes.” The man brought out a slender knife, and for a split second every nerve in Trent’s body screamed at him to recoil for fear that this man in the overcoat would brandish and lash out at him with the bloodstained blade.

“We lost nine men,” Trent continued quickly, wanting this conversation to be over as soon as possible. “It appears the intruder was working with someone else who provided them with sniper support to help them escape.”

The long-haired man nodded, seeming almost inattentive to the sergeant’s report. He absently turned the switchblade over in his hand as if to admire the bloody steel from multiple angles.

Trent personally didn’t care for this man. He was merely acting under the orders he was given, which was to cooperate with this man in transferring prisoners from US Army jurisdiction to whoever this man represented. The sergeant hardly trusted him; he’d never put his faith or security in a person whose ideals came down to how much he was paid for a service. Even now as he himself had silent doubts about what the Army was doing here in another country, Trent held on to beliefs that ran deeper than money.

However, what Trent did care for were the soldiers under his command, nine of whom were killed in action trying to safeguard this strange man. He stifled a flash of anger at the sight of his guest not seeming to take him seriously.

“We’ve also deployed a scouting party and investigated the area where we believe the sniper was posted.” He gritted his teeth momentarily as he went on. “No traces or clues as to who attacked us.”

The long-haired man nodded again, his gaze never leaving his blade.

Trent clenched a fist at his side but contained his frustration. “Do you have any information that can help the Army track down the intruder?”

This time, he got a prompt – albeit lazy – response.

“I’m afraid not, Sergeant. I was taken by surprise as well.”

“Understood. In any case, we’ll step up security here. That’s all I have to report.”

“Very well. If I have anything further, I’ll let you know. Thanks, Rollie.”

Trent bristled at being given that nickname by a person he hardly knew or cared to know. Upsetting the man would do him no good however, so he merely retreated and resigned himself to answering his superiors next for what took place here tonight.

“I appreciate your cooperation, sir. I’ll be leaving now.”

The man in the black overcoat lifted his gaze and watched the Army sergeant retreat down the hallway. Once the soldier was out of sight, he closed the door and turned back to the naked man strung up to the bedframe.

Rhodes strode back to his prey, closely observing each incision he’d made on the man’s skin so far. He’d originally intended to cover every centimetre of the captive’s body with careful cuts and watch him bleed until the wounds clotted, at which he’d reopen them and watch the blood once more.

But, he thought, business beckons.

He put his knife away, stowing it in one of his coat pockets and instead pulling out a small, military-grade radio. He fiddled with a couple of its dials to set the correct frequency, then initiated a transmission to the frequency’s user.

Rhodes waited for the comm link to be established. When the miniature screen on the device lit up with the text ‘Link Stable’, he brought the radio close to his face.

“This is Hornet. Lancer? Are you there?”

The radio crackled with some static before a gravelly, monotone voice came through on the speakers.

“Lancer.”

“I have news.”

The man on the other end, Lancer, did not reply for a moment. When he eventually did, there was a subtle trace of surprise in his voice.

“What ‘news’?”

Rhodes paused for a moment, considering how to break this to him.

“The collection point was attacked.”

“By whom?”

“I’m still trying to ascertain that.”

“I thought you said you’d stamped out the ones who attacked the last prisoner convoy.”

“Apologies. I took care of four mysteries, but it appears there are more of them in the city.”

“I see.” Lancer seemed to grow increasingly terse, which was usually a harbinger for the man’s displeasure.

“Don’t worry, I’ll do some investigating here. I’ll find out who they are,” Rhodes said insistently.

“Hornet,” Lancer said, his tone subtly hardening with stern but collected impatience, “Your job is to oversee the prisoner transfers. We have a contract with Doctor Hayden. Surely you know we can’t afford to come up short with our end of the deal.”

“We won’t, Lancer.”

“See to it that we don’t. Your job there takes priority but do what you have to to make sure things continue smoothly.”

“Understood,” Rhodes replied immediately, then asked, “Am I clear to chase these shadows?”

“Only as far as to make sure what happened doesn’t happen again.”

Rhodes stifled a cluck of annoyance. He wanted to argue, but Lancer wasn’t someone to oppose or irritate. Instead, he changed subject slightly, hoping to turn the conversation in his favour.

“There is one other thing,” he went on.

Lancer at least seemed patient enough not to dismiss him this time. “What would that be?”

“The identity of the one intruder who breached the base.”

“What about it?”

“Do you remember Christina?”

Lancer didn’t reply immediately. Rhodes knew though, that what he just said had piqued his superior’s interest. At the very least, Lancer’s attention had to have been drawn to what he had just said.

“Valentine?” Lancer asked eventually.

“Yes. She was here not an hour ago.”

“What is she doing there?”

“That’s what I wanted to find out.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

“Your job.”

“What about the girl?”

“I doubt she poses any real threat to us, but… she knows too much.”

Rhodes fought back a giddy smile. “So, then…”

“The prisoner transfers remain your primary objective. But the next time you see Valentine, terminate her. With this war having gone as far as it already has, I can’t see how she can cause us major problems now, but nonetheless she’s a loose end.”

“Understood, Lancer.”

“Don’t misunderstand, Hornet. I’m not telling you to chase after every lead of her. If it comes down to it, fill our quota first, then you can hunt Valentine as much as you please.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Is there anything else?”

“None.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it. Remember, no more mistakes.”

Lancer severed the comm link, leaving Rhodes with a budding grin on his face.

For a moment, he remained motionless. He visualized Valentine’s face in his mind, then briefly moved his imagination south. It had been too long since he’d last seen her. With silent glee he imagined running the tip of his blade down the skin of that slender, taut body of hers, and it was all he could do to keep himself from succumbing to blissful fantasies.

Rhodes would have her. His orders were to eliminate Christina Valentine, so naturally he had a reason to go looking for her.

Lancer didn’t order him not to enjoy himself, however.

With an exciting warmth kindling in his belly, Rhodes glanced at the man named Sebastian whom he’d been playing with for most of the last day.

Suddenly, he found this man sorely wanting. Inadequate. Forgettable.

He fumbled in his coat pocket for the switchblade again, producing it in his right hand and turning back to Sebastian. He pressed the edge of the blade on the unbroken skin of the man’s neck.

Rhodes dug the blade into the delicate skin, the blade parting it as easily as it would have a strip of paper. He dragged the blade sideways and sighed. Even as a strong flow of blood gushed out, he felt little satisfaction in the display anymore.