Chapter Text
A hushed hum of excitement coursed through Lafayette Square as Stephen Murray carried his daughter on his shoulders, weaving between the thousands of people gathered there. He knew his wife would be pissed at him when she found out he’d brought Lyla with him to the protest, that she would shout and scream and tell him all over again how she was far too young to be involved in an anti-war march.
But Lyla was six and she had her father wrapped entirely round her little finger. And Stephen had been so proud of her when, after watching people gather on the news at a recent protest, she had told her parents that she wanted to go and tell the President exactly what she thought of him.
She had even insisted on making a sign for the occasion. She clutched it in her tiny, gloved hands, holding it high above her head, cheeks rosy from the cold. She beamed out at the others gathered there, giggling as Stephen bobbed up and down.
Think of the children, it said in Lyla’s scrawl. Stephen had bought her a new paint set, and she’d chosen pink and purple because they were happy colors.
At the same moment Stephen was grabbing a tissue from his pocket to dab his running nose, a white sprinter van made its way down New York Avenue. The driver’s side door and rear panels were dented and scratched, and it rocked from side to side slightly as it made its way toward Pennsylvania Avenue.
When it got to the first set of barriers, guarded by police with automatic weapons, it stopped, brakes squealing in protest. An officer made his way round to the driver’s window, gripping his AR-15 a little tighter. He motioned for the driver to roll down the window, attempting a smile against the icy wind.
The officer turned to his colleague, opened his mouth, and dropped to the ground all in one moment. A shot rang out, echoing off the surrounding buildings, and blood and brain leaked out onto the otherwise clean sidewalk.
The remaining officers exploded into action, screaming at the driver to drop his weapon, pointing their own at every inch of the van. They advanced slowly, eyes wide and focused on their target. Without warning, the van’s wheels spun against the icy road as it accelerated, smashing through the barrier in an eruption of splintered wood.
Stephen’s head whipped round at the noise, but he couldn’t see what was happening through the trees. He gripped onto Lyla’s ankles and started to lift her down to the ground. She began to whine and tried to wriggle free, but he held on to her tightly.
The van burst into the park and mowed down two dozen people within seconds, so fast that no one had time to scream. Protestors scrambled to get clear of the van, which was still accelerating through the park, straight towards Stephen and Lyla.
He pulled Lyla into his arms and held her tight, turning away in an attempt to shield her. Suddenly, the van smashed into a large American elm, coming to a standstill with a crash. Lyla began to cry, and Stephen held her even tighter, letting out a shaky breath.
He turned his head to look round at the other survivors as the van exploded with the force of two tons of TNT, obliterating them and a hundred and fifty other people in an instant.
Two Days Later.
Cruz Manuelos grit her teeth as she pushed up into another shoulder raise at the gym in Fort Bragg, sweat trickling down her back as she exhaled. Nothing better for jet lag than getting a sweat on. She couldn’t remember now who’d told her that, but she would be eternally grateful to whoever it was.
It was one a.m. in Burkina Faso, and she knew if she gave in to the pull of sleep, she’d be out of whack for days.
A screen high up on the wall in front of her showed coverage of the White House terror attack, photographers getting their shots as forensic officers picked through the debris. Cruz looked up at it and frowned.
She placed her weights back on the rack carefully and sat on the bench, wiping her face with a towel and breathing in deeply. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and her lips twitched.
How was sleeping in your own bed last night?
Things were new with Josie, new and uncomplicated and everything Cruz needed them to be. She tapped out a quick reply.
Pretty good, but wish you were there to greet me.
It was easy to flirt with Josie. She made it easy.
An aggressive buzzing signaled a phone call, and Cruz smiled wide, expecting to see Josie’s name on the screen. Maybe they’d get to arrange another meeting to not talk.
Withheld number.
She groaned; this was never a good sign.
She clicked accept and her heart sunk at the voice on the other end of the line.
“Long time no see, Cruz.”
“Yeah, funny thing that. I don’t see you and I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Now that is a shame.” Cruz closed her eyes and let out a slow, shaky breath. The door to the gym opened and she swiveled round on the bench, arms crossing her chest immediately.
It was not a surprise to see Joe standing at the door, sliding her phone back into her pocket, but it was curious to see Kaitlyn Meade a few yards behind.
“Shit must really have hit the fan if you’ve brought your minder with you,” Cruz said. Kaitlyn smirked and nodded a hello.
Joe’s eyes flickered to the screen and then back to Cruz.
“You’ve seen for yourself just how much shit we’re in.”
“We?”
Joe nodded. Kaitlyn stepped forward, resting a hand on Joe’s shoulder.
“Your country needs you, Cruz.”
“Again? Why me?”
“Classified. Until we get to where we’re going,” Joe said, her eyes narrowing.
“How the fuck am I supposed to help if I don’t know what the mission is?” She stood up and threw her towel in the laundry bin in the corner. It landed with a thud, direct hit.
“You should know by now how this works.”
Cruz rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms in front of her, lips pursed in a defiant pout.
Joe sighed, dragged a plastic chair in front of Cruz, and sat down slowly, holding her side.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed the increase in terror attacks across the country. In the UK, Germany, France. And it’s spreading further. We haven’t been able to get a grasp on who they are or what they stand for, but we were able to trace the plates of the van involved in the latest attack in DC. We’ve discovered a common thread.”
Joe’s jaw tightened.
“Two days ago, we captured an individual from a compound just outside of Abha. We believe they have knowledge of, and are directly involved in, the recent rise in terrorist activity. We need to extract information before another attack happens.”
“Bring back a souvenir?” Cruz nodded at Joe’s side. Joe chuckled mirthlessly.
“Insurgent decided to body tackle me when he ran out of ammo.”
“Say what you will about them, but they’re a dedicated bunch of fuckers.” Cruz leaned in. “Why me?”
Joe looked up at Kaitlyn, who stepped forward from her position against the wall of the gym, where she’d been leaning, studying the scene like a hawk.
“Your most recent mission gives you useful context.”
Cruz quirked her eyebrows. “Really? That’s the best you got?”
Joe paused for a moment, wrestling with something.
“Fine, I trust you, Cruz. I know you. I know how you work, and I know you’ll do exactly what’s asked of you, whatever the cost.”
Cruz felt a shiver jolt up her spine. She looked up at the television; the President was stepping through the wreckage carefully towards a podium where he’d be leading the next press conference.
“Fuck it. When do we leave?”
____________________________________________________________________
Cruz’s hair whipped about her face in a particularly violent gust of wind as she tapped out a familiar number on her phone. The smell of jet fuel burned her throat and she could barely hear herself think over the sound of the engines, but she didn’t know when she might have another chance to make this call.
The phone rang, and rang, and rang some more, before she hit voicemail.
“Hey, it’s me. Obviously. I’m sorry our dinner keeps getting postponed, but I’ll make it up to you when we finally get to see each other. Okay, talk to you soon. Bye.”
She plodded up the steps, feeling the familiar dull throb of anxiety in her chest. Joe and Kaitlyn sat across from each other at the small table. Kaitlyn’s fingers were interlocked in front of her, and she glanced up when she noticed Cruz board the plane.
“Do I get to know where we’re going yet?”
Kaitlyn continued looking at her but said nothing. Cruz shoved her bag in the aisle seat and dropped down into the seat next to the window.
“Do I at least get to know if I have enough time for a nap?”
“That won’t help your jet lag, Cruz.” Joe said, pushing her glasses up her nose.
For what felt like the hundredth time already that day, Cruz rolled her eyes. As the plane sped down the runway and lifted up into the air, Cruz wondered what the hell she’d gotten herself into this time.
As they emerged over the Atlantic, Cruz stretched her arms above her head with a satisfying crack.
“Got any educational videos for me to watch this time?”
Joe smiled and breathed in deeply.
“No, not this time. You know it actually might be a good idea for you to get some rest. We have a long day of travel ahead of us.”
“You’ve just given me a clue.”
“I know.”
“And you just want me to go to sleep so I’ll shut up.”
“Correct.”
Seven hours later, when her ears began to pop, Cruz knew they were descending. Her eyes fluttered open; the darkness outside discombobulated her. Looking out the window, she recognized the familiar sight of the German countryside below.
“Why am I slightly disappointed that we’re going to Germany?” She looked across the aisle. Kaitlyn was straightening out the sleeves of her suit jacket. Joe pulled her glasses off and slid them in the front pocket of her shirt.
“We’re just fueling up. You want anything to eat?”
Cruz pouted.
“Why, you gonna cook something up for me?”
Joe narrowed her eyes. Kaitlyn chuckled, and leaned towards Cruz.
“There are some freezer meals in the back. Help yourself.”
“Sounds delightful,” Cruz mumbled as she stood, flexing her shoulders and cracking her neck.
The ground crew refueled them quickly, and they were up in the air again within the hour. Cruz chugged a bottle of water, her leg bouncing up and down against the carpeted floor. Joe stepped out of the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She made her way slowly toward Cruz and sat down opposite her.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Ready to get this done, whatever it is.”
“I wouldn’t have brought you in if I didn’t think you were the right person for this mission, Cruz.” Her eyes softened, and she leaned back into her chair. “It’s going to be a tough one.” She looked out of the window at the clouds.
“That’s what they all say.” Cruz huffed out a laugh. Joe looked at Cruz carefully, at the lines across her forehead, the scars she’d picked up since they’d last seen each other. At the dark circles under her eyes.
“Can I at least know who my mark is?”
“It’s not going to be like that this time.” Joe studied Cruz with a steely expression.
Before Cruz could open her mouth to complain, Kaitlyn piped in, without looking up from her laptop.
“Think of it more as an interview. You find out the information we need, and that’s it.” She looked up. “You can come straight back home.”
“No offense, but that’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard.”
Kaitlyn looked at her for a moment longer, lips twitching into an almost imperceptible smile, before she looked back down at her screen.
“That’s why I like you, Cruz. You say it how it is. We need more people like you at Langley.”
Cruz grimaced. “As tempting as that is, I think my place is out in the field. I don’t play well with others who piss me off.”
Kaitlyn closed her laptop and rested her hands on top of it.
“That’s exactly why you’d be perfect.” Cruz shrugged, but smiled in spite of herself. She leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes.
____________________________________________________________________
They touched down on Diego Garcia almost an entire day after taking off from North Carolina. This wasn’t Cruz’s first time on the island. She had spent three months here a year into her training, always the first to volunteer for the most far flung, out-of-the-way deployments. The sound of the ocean crashing against the shore less than a hundred yards from the runway transported her back.
She had been so naive then, so unaware of what was going to happen, and who she was going to become.
The bright morning sun burned her face and made her eyes water as she descended the steps. The air shimmered with the heat, and she wrenched off her sweater, enjoying the sea breeze on her bare arms.
She felt Joe approach behind her.
“You need anything before we get started?”
“Nah, I’m good. Let’s just get this over with.”
They were met by two British Army soldiers in khakis, who drove them in an open-top Jeep to a building on the outskirts of the base. It was shabby, walls stained by the weather.
Inside, it was stiflingly hot. The air was so warm that Cruz could feel it flowing all the way down her throat. It was as if her lungs were being seared from the inside. Sweat immediately gathered around her hairline and dripped down the back of her neck.
One of the soldiers told them they could leave their bags in the office round the corner. Kaitlyn stared at the young man, and he looked back at her awkwardly.
“You’re excused.” Kaitlyn smiled a wicked smile. Once the soldier had saluted and fumbled his way out of the room, Kaitlyn turned to Joe and nodded, before sitting down at a desk and placing headphones over her ears.
“Let’s go, Cruz.” They meandered their way through gloomy corridors, past offices and storage rooms, until they reached a heavy, metal door. Joe turned to Cruz and looked her straight in the eye.
“Do what you can to get them to open up. For now, I only want to know your opinion on whether you think we can get what we need.” Cruz frowned, but dipped her head in understanding.
Joe nudged the door open with her foot and nodded her head, an order for Cruz to obey. Cruz raised her eyebrows and moved forward into the room.
Her nose crinkled as the smell of damp and mould hit her. A single light swung gently from the ceiling, though the bulb was purposefully dull and Cruz had to squint as her eyes continued to adjust from the harsh light outside.
The room was completely empty except for the rickety wooden chair in the center, and the person sitting on it, tied with rope at the wrists and ankles, head covered by a black hood and lolling to the side. A tattered, grey jumpsuit swamped them.
As Joe pushed the door closed, it became so dark that Cruz couldn’t see much, but she could tell the figure was a woman. Petite. Arms thin and sinewy, and covered in scratches and bruises.
Fragile, trembling hands gripped the arms of the chair she was strapped to, and Cruz recognized then that she had held those hands between hers, had kissed each fingertip, one after the other. These were hands that had given her the greatest pleasure of her life. Tears pricked her eyes and her throat tightened.
She stepped closer, compelled by some unseen force while a voice in her head screamed at her to stop. When she was so close that she could see the pulse in the woman’s neck, she sucked in a ragged breath, and tore the hood away to reveal the face beneath. Cruz felt her stomach drop and then lurch up into her throat.
The woman squinted, her hair a wild mess. A cut above her eyebrow had bled down her cheek and stained her skin. She looked around frantically, animalistic, trying to make sense of where she was and how she’d got there.
And while Cruz willed the woman to continue looking anywhere but at her, she knew it was inevitable, that she would see her and understand exactly what was happening.
And then, far too soon, she looked directly at Cruz, her eyes shining with rage as realization swept through her. Her mouth twisted into a cruel, cynical smile.
Cruz’s breath came out in ragged gasps as she looked back, heart pounding and vision blurring as Aaliyah spoke.
“So, you must be Cruz Manuelos. The Marine.”
Well then. Let me know what you think.