Page 11 of The Hijack

“I’m sorry,” I stammered, falling back on my British upbringing. “Clark never told me that you were sisters.”

“It’s not something we like to advertise,” Z said. “Sensitive missions and all that.”

“Does the agency know?” I asked.

“It does not,” Z admitted. “And I would like to keep it that way. Our foster father, Hector Abernathy, was clear about one thing in particular.”

“Never sabotage the mission,” Lukas finished for her.

They gave each other a look that said many lives had been lost over that particular bit of advice. I could read all kinds of things into the simple, four-word ultimatum, not all of them friendly. Would rescuing Clark sabotage the mission? Would helping me?

They’d all grown up together, Lukas, Clark and Z, and they all held influential positions in covert operations, although not necessarily on the same side of the law. I hoped that their bond would transcend whatever harsh objectives had been implanted by their so-called father. It sounded like there was a lot more to that story, and I was eager to hear it all. But I wanted to hear it from the only person I truly trusted. For the time being, I would shelve my curiosity. The most important thing was to find Clark. That trumped every government agenda, mission, and pet project that anyone had going. As long as we were all on board with those parameters, the Abernathy children and I would get along just fine.

Chapter 6

Theo

––––––––

“COME ON,” Z SAID, POINTING to her Jeep.

I shook my head. I was in it now, and there was no turning back. Whether they meant to betray me or not, I had to comply. It was the only way back to Clark, and that was worth the risk. I climbed into the back, leaving the shotgun seat open for Lukas.

The two mysterious agents piled in, and Z gunned it, sliding out from beneath the shadow of the plane. I saw the pilot investigating his ride, presumably for a swift takeoff. He had delivered his passengers and was on to his next port. I assumed he knew next to nothing about me or Lukas. Compartmentalization was just the nature of our work.

We drove in silence, but we didn’t drive for very long. After about fifteen minutes, Z turned off the main road and down a private drive that didn’t seem to end. I expected to come upon some kind of ramshackle hut in the middle of nowhere, another “safehouse” designed to be inconspicuous. But the building that revealed itself at the top of the next hill beyond the tree line was something out of a superhero fantasy.

Turrets spiked the evening sky, at least seven of them mounted atop a house that was more castle than mansion. Impenetrable stone formed the basis of the walls, occasionally fortified with brick and mortar. It appeared as if the original designer had been some kind of colonial lord but that halfway into the construction, he was displaced by a criminal mastermind.

I thought I could see machine guns mounted in some of the windows, barely concealed by ancient curtains. There wasn’t a moat, but there should have been. I could imagine alligators and sharks circling the grounds, tearing into the flesh of anyone who was unlucky enough to attempt to break in.

The driveway extended to the front door and then circled around to the side where presumably the chauffeur would move all approaching vehicles to safekeeping in a garage. A massive roof stretched all the way out into the lawn, every bit as auspicious as any British country home.

The only thing that was missing, besides the moat, was the presence of any life. I spotted an electronic keypad at the front gate and laser beams that crossed the property but no dogs. No butler or caretaker came out to greet us. No orphaned children circled our Jeep as we parked beside the front door. It was like a ghost ship, quiet and unmoored in the dark of night.

“Is the house empty?” I asked.

“It is,” Z confirmed. “I live here alone.”

“In this mansion?” I questioned, surprised that so much real estate was necessary to support a single person.

“This was Abernathy’s estate,” Lukas informed me.

“Where is he now?” I asked.

That set off a flurry of clandestine looks between the two spies who had grown up on the grounds. Either they knew and they didn’t want to tell me, or they actually didn’t know where their foster father was. I could tell that there was a story behind Abernathy’s disappearance and made a mental note to ask Clark about it when I saw her next.

“Let me make you something to eat,” Lukas offered.

I followed them inside, my eyes peeled for any threats. The opening foyer was equipped with only dim lights. There was an ancient rug on the floor that looked like it had once been decadent but was now threadbare from too much traffic. Three doorways branched off into different directions, and a staircase led up to a second floor and then a third. The ceiling hovered nearly four stories over our heads, making me feel small in comparison.

I tried to imagine the place full of children. When Clark lived here, she was presumably very young. It didn’t seem overly friendly. Even the color pallet on the walls was restrained. There was very little artwork. I expected to see some dowdy duchess peering out of a gold picture frame or a hunting scene complete with hounds and shotguns, but there was nothing. It was as if the owner of the place wasn’t concerned with decoration. There was a different utility to the place, and that was spycraft.

“How old is this house?” I asked.

“Abernathy bought it off a family who had been in the area for generations,” Lukas answered, pointing the way to the kitchen. “He had the whole thing gutted and installed new floors and ceilings. There are hidden rooms in here with super computers and places I don’t even like to talk about.”

“Why?” I asked.