Trained by Sansa Rayne

Chapter 27

No one says anything when we enter the jet’s command center; I head straight for the tactical monitors. Real-time satellite footage has given us a clear view of everything on the ground. Little red boxes hover over every man and vehicle, tracking their movements and feeding targeting data to our missile launchers.

“Anton’s been busy,” Eyal says, pointing at the overview. “Hardened emplacements along the northern shore. More guards than usual. Numerous vehicles — including several parked on the landing strip. We won’t be able to land until they move.”

“Well, let’s give them a reason,” I say.

Before now, the Enclave never had reason to build fortifications. We never faced military threats. Our security forces were largely there to keep the courtesans in line. Most of their job was theater: to provide a presence and ensure that disagreements between Masters were settled through discussion, rather than fighting.

I’m pretty sure those days are over.

As far as I can tell from the information at hand, we shouldn’t have any trouble with the new measures. Unless those new vehicles include a tank, they won’t hold us off.

An alarm sounds, and a fast-moving, red exclamation mark appears on the radar.

“Missile lock! They’ve fired on us,” says Eyal. “Everyone, strap in — prepare for evasive maneuvers.”

I drag Kate to a seat and buckle her in. There’s no fear on her face; only grim determination. I run back over to the command center and strap in by the console.

“Deploy flares,” I say. “Give them what they expect for now.”

“Yes, sir.”

A buzzing sound alerts us to the firing stream of burning magnesium, drawing away the missile until it bursts harmlessly in the air.

I knew Anton couldn’t resist taking a shot at me. What does he have to lose? If it succeeds, he wins — at least for today. If it fails, he’s not in any worse of a position. His compliance at this point won’t save him from us.

The alarms go off once more.

“Another missile inbound,” Eyal warns.

“Use an interceptor this time,” I say.

“Understood.”

Right now Anton is probably watching the missile on radar heading toward our jet. Is he smiling, seeing that we’re not using flares again? Is he suspicious? He’s about to know why in a moment.

Once we get in range, one of our own missiles fires. It moves so fast we can barely track it. Like a dart thrown at an egg, the interceptor punctures Anton’s missile and explodes, eliminating the threat.

How long will it take Anton to realize we used one of Hamza’s rockets, now adapted to work as a countermeasure? Is it dawning on him that he could fire every missile in his arsenal, all at the same time and they won’t stand a chance? We’ll pluck them out of the sky like a swamp full of frogs devouring flies.

I turn to Kate; her face has paled to an ashy gray.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She nods, replying, “That was close.”

“It’s under control. We’re going to be fine. Just relax.”

“We’re almost in range of the island,” says Eyal.

No more warm-up. Now the real show begins.

I open a channel to the Masters’ com center and activate my voice scrambler.

“Clear the landing strip. You have one minute.”

I set a timer on the screen, then watch the vehicles. Infrared detects heat signatures from the engines — they’re running and could move at any second. They stay put, though.

“He needs some encouragement,” says Eyal.

“Agreed. Are any of the vehicles not blocking your landing?”

“Yes, these two SUVs at the southern end. I can land well short of their position.”

“Good,” I say. “Target both of them. Fire when the counter reaches zero.”

Eyal nods.

“Affirmative.”

I keep hoping Anton will give the order as the time ticks down, but he doesn’t; the vehicles don’t budge, and the minute expires.

“Firing,” Eyal says.

Two conventional air-to-surface missiles launch from under the jet’s wing, streaking toward the SUVs. We follow their flight on the radar as they weave in the air, then slice through the cars’ windshields. Two white-hot signatures appear on the satellite infrared image, explosions decimating the vehicles. Men standing nearby run for cover — not realizing there’s nowhere they can go.

“Move the rest,” I say into the communications channel, “or I’ll keep firing on your personnel. Trust me, we have more rockets than you have people.”

To Eyal, I say, “How far are we from landing?”

“Three minutes.”

“Break off the approach. Set us on a path to strafe the island within rocket range.”

Eyal nods.

“Understood.”

Our jet ascends, banking to the east.

There’s no movement on the landing strip, so I select ten of the targets on the satellite. Once we’re close, rockets shoot from their launchers. A second later, ten of the hardened weapon emplacements blast apart, spraying chunks of concrete and belching smoke. I don’t know how many of the emplacements were occupied by Anton’s men, but I’m not going to waste much time on sympathy. They made their choice.

“Eyal, take us around for another pass.”

The jet turns, preparing to circle the island. That should give Anton a few minutes to consider what happens next.

“Ingram,” says Kate.

“Yes?”

“What if Anton won’t move the cars?”

“He will,” I reply. “He knows we’re not bluffing.”

She nods, though I don’t think she’s convinced.

It doesn’t help that on the next pass, Anton hasn’t budged. I fire off twenty rockets this time; they all hit their marks: security guards posted around the island.

I can imagine the ensuing panic; most of it plays out on the satellite view, as men run for the vehicles parked on the landing strip and drive them off, clearing our path.

“Eyal, put us on a landing vector and take us in,” I say.

“Affirmative.”

A few cheers and whistles sound off throughout the command center. When I turn to Kate, she’s smiling and nodding at everyone.

Into the com channel I say, “Gather every man and woman outside at the landing strip, seated on the ground. Anyone we detect not complying will be targeted and killed. Have all security staff relinquish their guns in a pile on the beach. Everyone will be searched upon our arrival.”

To my people I add, “Stay strapped in everyone; take nothing for granted until we land. This is going according to plan. Keep your weapons hot and senses sharp. We’ve got this.”

—

Seeing Anton sitting on the ground, his face a mask of rage, fills me with a joy so pure, only being with Kate can bring me greater happiness.

Led by Baptiste, my soldiers march out of the jet like a SWAT team. Faces hidden by thick, dark helmets, they point rifles and shout orders at the collected Masters, courtesans and staff. One unit breaks off to secure the pile of weapons and keep guard over them, while the rest search every last man and woman for weapons.

Kate and I watch Anton through our operatives’ body cameras.

“He looks like he’s having a bad day,” she says, a smile in her voice.

“If he thinks it’s bad now…”

She laughs.

Eyal signals us when the area’s secure, so we make our grand entrance.

Kate looks incredible in her black combat suit, holding a rifle — like Lady Death, here to leave a swath of bodies in her wake. I can forgive the Masters for staring at her; I did give them the impression she was my prisoner. They probably expected her to be naked and bound like usual, not a valkyrie at my side.

However, all eyes turn to me when I slide back my helmet’s visor. It’s not every day one sees a dead man risen from a watery grave.

Jamison somehow manages to fake a surprised reaction; his knack for deception has served him well the past nine months. Colette, however, smiles at us as we approach.

Anger shows through Anton’s dark, slanted brows and sneering lips. Yet, he doesn’t appear shocked. Maybe on some level he knew it was me.

Despite my orders, he rises to his feet and walks toward me.

“Hold,” I say to my teams. “I’ll handle him.”

I keep my M16 pointed, though. The night he shot me and I lost Kate still plays in my head.

“How did you escape?” Anton asks when he gets close.

“Luck.”

There’s no need to tell him I had help — not when he could kill Jamison and Colette with a word.

“You should have shot me in the head,” I add. “Just like I should have shot you once I figured out who you are, Simon.”

“Fuck you,” he growls. “Don’t call me that. You don’t have the right.”

“No, fuck you, Simon. You’re lucky I’m not kicking in your face.”

“Just try it,” Anton says, lunging forward and taking a swing.

I duck his fist, catch his arm and throw him to the ground in one motion. Five of my soldiers turn to point their guns at him.

“Hold,” I tell them. “I’ve got this. Stick to your duties.” I turn to Anton and say, “Go ahead. Try that again.”

He gets up, raises his fists and advances.

Judging by his footwork and stance, he’s taken a few boxing lessons in his day. He’s not really a fighter, though. Like any young, successful CEO with a home gym, he’s in shape and even slightly muscular, but he’s not built for combat. His movement lacks finesse, and he telegraphs his attacks with a slight pull-back before striking.

I let him get me with his next swing, a punch to the abdomen that looks like it hurts his fist more than anything else. Anton grunts and tries for an uppercut to my jaw. I dodge it with ease, then sweep his legs, knocking him on his back. The sandy beach cushions the fall; the real damage is to his pride. Snarling, he clumsily rises to his feet. In the time it takes, I could end this fight in a hundred different ways, but I’m happy to let it continue a bit longer.

However, Anton senses the futility as well. He throws everything he’s got into one final flurry of punches, swinging with lightning-fast, well-practiced moves. It’s a smart sequence, mixing in jabs, crosses and feints, but he’s too slow. The sand throws off his timing, and there’s a hitch in his movement: doubt.

He knows he can’t beat me in a fight. Anger drove him this far, but it’s not enough to win.

His attack ends with a punch meant for my mouth; I evade and drive a fist into his side. Anton grimaces. He tries to step back and reset, but it’s my turn for a barrage. My hands move so fast, he can’t keep up. His dodges don’t take him far enough to avoid getting hit. Each swing lands harder, until I’m bashing his face.

No one says a word; all we hear are the waves washing along the shore and the slaps of my fists pummeling Anton. When I’m done, he lands on his ass, gasping for breath as blood drips from his broken nose.

He turns to the Masters, who aren’t hiding their glee.

“Help me, you cowards,” he says.

“What exactly do you expect us to do?” says Jamison, gesturing at my soldiers.

“Get up and fight!” Anton shouts. “All of you!”

“They’ll kill us, you fucking idiot,” says Franco Silvestri.

“Kingfisher,” Anton spits.

Silvestri’s neck pulses, and he collapses. When his lips open, blood pours out.

“I’ll kill you!” says Anton. “Fight! Now!”

They obey, rising to their feet.

“Detain the Masters!” I shout at my soldiers. “Kill anyone else who resists!”

The Masters, clearly believing Anton’s threat, try to attack, but some can’t even get to their feet with ease, let alone attack a trained fighter half their age. My soldiers subdue them with fists, their rifle stocks and tripping moves.

The guards attempt to charge my men; gunshots ring out, putting them down, but some manage to tackle the soldiers, forcing a fight. I turn to Kate, who rushes for Colette and the courtesans, shielding them, rifle pointed and ready.

Anton takes advantage of my distraction to sucker punch me, staggering me back. Growling, I fend off his next swing and backhand him in the cheek, knocking him to the ground again.

“Enough!” shouts Jamison, cutting through the noise. “This is pointless! Anton, tell them to stop!”

“Do it,” I add, twisting Anton’s arm.

“Fine!” he shouts. “Stop, just stop!”

“This has to end,” Jamison says, standing up and projecting his voice. “Anton, step down from leading the Masters. Ingram, offer Anton clemency. We don’t have to murder each other. There’s nothing to be gained. We have to find a way to coexist before everything we’ve worked to build is gone forever.”

“No!” shouts Kate. “What you’ve built is gone. You’re finished! All of you! No more imprisoning women like me! No more exploiting people and murdering to get your way. Your time is over!”

Anton laughs.

“I’m not stepping down,” he says. “I’d rather be dead.”

“You will be dead,” Kate snaps.

“Ingram, is this what you want?” Jamison asks. “After all these years, to just throw out everything we’ve built? Settle your differences with Anton. That’s our way.”

“Ingram!” Kate cries. “Don’t listen to him!”

“She’s right, Jamison,” I say. “Anton’s not going to be a member of this or any organization ever again. He’s going to confess his crimes to the world, and then he’s going to die. The rest of you are all going to confess, and then you’re all going to jail.”

A silence falls over the beach; Merwin Locke, Evo Griekin and several others stare at Franco’s cooling, paling body.

“You swore loyalty to us,” says Jamison. “You can’t do this.”

“He won’t have to,” Anton interrupts. “If I’m going to die, you’re all coming with me. Carolina Reaper.”

The Masters flinch, reaching for their necks, but nothing happens.

“Ingram, you have five minutes to surrender, or they all die,” Anton adds.

“Don’t do it!” Kate says. “You can’t let him win!”

“It’s not going to happen,” I tell Anton. “You may as well kill them now if you’re going to. You’re not weaseling your way out of this.”

Jamison races to Colette, hugging her tightly. Tears already stream from his eyes.

“Please, Ingram!” he cries. “We can figure this out!”

Colette sobs.

I look at Kate. There’s no mercy in her scowl. When she sees me staring at her, she shakes her head.

“Ingram, you’re a traitorous piece of shit!” says Merwin Locke. “I’ll see you in fucking hell!”

He charges, racing toward Anton faster than a man his age should. Before I can react, Locke lands on top of Anton, crushing him into the sand.

“When I die, you die, fuckface,” Locke growls.

In his position, I would do the exact same thing — but I can’t let him.

“None of this would have happened if you’d listened to me about Anton!” I shout, pulling Locke away and pushing him back. “I warned you not to trust him!”

Anton laughs.

“He sure did. You should’ve listened.”

Standing firm, I block Locke from lunging at Anton again.

“I’m sorry, Merwin,” I say. “Walk away, or I’ll shoot you now.”

Locke sneers, then turns and heads for the sea. He doesn’t stop, walking into the water.

“Anton, I have billions hidden in accounts around the world!” yells Roderick Picot. “It’s yours if you call this off! I’ll make the transfers, I swear!”

“A dead man can’t spend much money,” Anton replies, shrugging. “Get Ingram to surrender! That’s the only way to save yourselves.”

“Fuck,” mutters Picot. He takes a metal flask from his pocket, pops the top and drinks deeply, angling the container straight up in the air.

Lewis Croft pulls a cigar from his pocket and unwraps it.

“Anyone have a light?” he asks.

I nod at one of my soldiers, who goes and sparks up the cigar. Once Lewis has it smoking, he takes a puff.

“Thanks, Ingram,” he says. “Gentlemen, it’s been an honor.”

Kicking off his shoes, he digs his toes into the sand and walks down the beach.

Umberto Diaz runs. He says nothing, he just races away, as if a few hundred yards could stop what’s coming.

Sighing, Evo Griekin takes off his tie, then his shirt and shoes. Staring at Anton, he strips down completely, then walks down the beach and dives into the water.

“Anton, don’t do this!” Jamison begs.

Colette shakes in his arms, her head buried against his chest.

“Please, Anton!” she moans. “I have nothing without him! Don’t take him from me! We’ve done everything you’ve asked!”

“Oh, you sure?” Anton snarls. “Because someone helped Ingram escape the Enclave after I shot him. I’m guessing it was the two of you. Fuck off. You’re getting what you deserve.”

Howling, Colette pulls Jamison tight to her body. He rubs her back, his lips trembling as tears wet his cheeks. He shakes his head.

“Please, disable the chips,” he says. “We’ll get through to Ingram, I promise.”

“No, you won’t,” Anton replies. “His mind is made up, and you know it.”

He’s not wrong. Anton has to pay for what he’s done. I won’t bend on this. I’ll let all the Masters die if that’s the cost of stopping him. But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing I can do.

I grab Anton and punch him hard in the stomach. He doubles over, a hollow gasp escaping his lips.

“Disable the implants,” I say. “Now.”

He laughs.

“Make me.”

I take his hand and bend back his pinkie until I feel it snap. Anton screams.

“Say it.”

“No.”

His ring finger breaks with an audible crack. He howls.

“Say it!”

Anton cackles, shaking his head.

“Not a chance.”

I punch him in his already bruised face.

“I will make your death very fucking painful, Anton.”

“You’re going to do that anyway, aren’t you?” he replies.

Sneering, I pound his kidneys until his eyes water.

“Are you… keeping track… of the time?” he asks.

I turn to Jamison and Colette. They hug, whispering in each other’s ears. Both shed tears. Jamison smiles sadly, and I can read the word okay on his lips.

Jamison has no doubt known the end was near for him, once Anton implanted that chip. He’s had time to make peace. For decades he enjoyed a life few could even imagine, with the love of his life at his side. We should all be so lucky.

“I’m sorry, Jamison,” I say. “I wanted to help you. But Anton has to die.”

He flicks his eyes to me, a fury in them asking for retribution. However, he doesn’t speak, his last words reserved for Colette’s ears only.

“I love you,” she says to him. “I love you, I love you, I-”

Then it happens.

Some of the Masters slump over, foaming at the mouth. A few necks rupture, like Sidney Traves’ did, spraying blood everywhere. In the distance, Lewis Croft collapses. I watch Jamison, hoping Anton gave him a painless death. However, nothing happens to him. He stands there, waiting. He watches, confused, as his colleagues die — then Colette’s feet give out from under her, and she nearly falls out of his grasp.

“No!” Jamison says, pulling her back up. “No, no no!”

He shakes her as if it could wake her up, but her limp body doesn’t respond.

Fuck.

“Why?” Jamison weeps. “Why just her?”

Anton laughs.

“So you’d have to watch. But now you can join her. Conquista-”

I punch Anton one more time, knocking him out before he can finish.

“All units, secure the prisoners,” I say, lifting Anton over my back. “Stanislaw and Henrik, go building to building and make sure no one’s hiding. Eyal, get Dr. Grenoble to work removing any un-detonated implants. Kate, you’re with me.”

“Where are we going?” she asks, eyeing Anton’s unconscious form.

“The dungeon. It’s time Anton suffered.”