Agent Blaze- Thunderhead Read online

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  O N E

  Agent Derek Blaze hovered head-down in the sealed vault of a secret lab, suspended from the ceiling by a cable barely thicker than an electrical cord, while surrounded by a nexus of lasers. His body was tense, held taut and vertical like a blade above him; his neck angled downward, his head poised back to see what was beneath him. The cool blue light from the headlamp on his helmet cast an eerie glow on the display case below. Veins in his temples throbbed from the building pressure, but his breathing remained steady. There, beneath the clear tubular shell, was a vial made of burgundy glass, with twin golden wires winding from the rim of the stopper, twisting around the circumference of its voluptuous base. It shone like a jewel in the ominous blue haze.

  His quarry.

  Blaze inhaled slowly, meditatively as he reached carefully between the strands of ruby light with a gloved hand. Even the slightest breach of a beam would set off a series of sirens and alarms signaling the security team protecting the perimeter outside...and if the schematics he’d read were current, it would also release a continuous cloud of chlorothan, an invisible lethal gas that would render him paralyzed in the first minute. It would begin eating its way through the limited protection of his sleek Kevlar suit, which would be in shreds after the second minute. And then it would set to work doing the same to his skin.

  By minute three, he would be a sizzling, motionless mess.

  Security would arrive and watch through the transom in the main door, letting the gas do its work on their intruder. They would clear the room with an internal ventilation vacuum system that would trap every molecule of cholorothan in an underground containment system. A separate crew would clean the premises and dispose of Blaze’s body.

  Or whatever was left of it.

  He inhaled again and let the mental image of his tortured, sizzling corpse pass as he touched a fingertip to the surface of the case. A bubble of glowing green ooze appeared from the pad of the glove. He spread the circle wider and wider, listening to the gentle hiss of the substance as it ate away the glass, until a perfectly circular opening had formed, large enough for the vial to fit through without touching the edges. He removed the glove with his teeth and held it there, careful not to let the caustic sludge make contact with his chin as he produced a small, flexible snake-like tube from his utility belt and fed it through the opening. He twisted a knob; a suction cup bloomed from the far end and attached itself to the vial. He twisted it again in the opposite direction, and the vial lifted out of its prison, higher and higher until it hung before his eyes, gleaming with the reflections of the lasers and his head lamp.

  “So much trouble,” he said quietly to himself. “I hope this little prize is worth the effort.”

  He dropped it into a silk pouch and tucked the tube back into his belt—challenging maneuvers while hanging upside-down. He glanced up toward his harness and blew out a final breath, flattening and tightening his core as he readied to haul himself along the cable while keeping his form at a perfectly vertical plane.

  Then he reached for glove, and it slipped out from between his teeth.

  It fell in what seemed like very slow motion toward the case. Blaze resisted the urge to reach down and snatch it, knowing that the odds of breaking the beams and triggering the gas were far too high. He could do nothing but watch.

  The glove passed through the red light-web of the lasers and landed flatly on the case with a quiet tap, its cuff hanging over the edge.

  He smiled behind the helmet. “You lucky idiot.”

  He exhaled and began working the lever of the cable.

  Of its own volition, the remaining green ooze bubbled from the finger of the glove and slid down the glass below. It began eating through the side with chemical ease, and within seconds, the glove had slipped through the groove, passing through the laser web as it fell.

  Blaze’s head snapped downward as the alarm shrieked. He watched the glove cross every beam on the way to the floor.

  “Nope. Just an idiot.”

  He pressed a button on his helmet, and the visor slid down. The built-in filtration mechanism was already pumping clean air into his lungs to give him as much of an advantage against paralysis as possible. The enhanced vision through the visor showed him plumes of gas billowing from jets along the bottom of the wall. There was plenty of space above him to ratchet back up the cable and escape through the shifted panel in the ceiling he’d slipped through, but it wouldn’t last for long. He began working the ratchet at double-speed.

  Then he saw the jets along the border of the ceiling begin billowing gas too, and he realized his spider cable was in jeopardy of being dissolved as much as the rest of him. He flipped the switch to auto-ratchet, a last-ditch effort that should have provided him a sleek, hurried ascent back to the rafters now that avoiding the laser web wasn’t a consideration. But the chlorothan was indeed working its devious science on the cable, and as Blaze approached the exposed steel I-beam above him, the cable snapped. In a well-timed leap, he used the remaining tension in the line just as it broke to hurl himself toward the beam. He latched on by the tips of his fingers. It was cold comfort knowing he had only seconds to pull himself up by his fingertips to avoid the destructive gas starting in on his suit.

  Then he hung low for the briefest of seconds before launching into a fingertip pull-up that lifted him to the top of the beam and landed him like a coiled spring on his haunches. He could hear the thundering boots of a half-dozen heavily armed security guards storming the hallway below him as he pushed the ceiling panel back in place. He felt along his utility belt for the vial, making sure it hadn’t shaken loose in the rush. It was safe and sound, even if he couldn’t say exactly the same about himself.

  He crept along the beam until he reached the utility panel that had served as his entrance into the crawl space. He cracked the hinged door to check for obstacles but found none. Then he pushed the door wide enough to fit his compact form, slid out through the space, and dropped to the floor. He was safe.

  For all of three seconds.

  He hadn’t accounted for the guards surrounding the greater hallway system that led to the lab. He watched through his helmet visor as three guards came from either end of the hall he stood in. There was a single door opposite him—not an exit, or a passage to a stairwell, but the entrance to another lab, locked with a scan pad. Blaze had fought his way through armed guards in groups before. He’d also kicked doors in; it was a standard move in his line of business. After going to such incredible lengths to retrieve the vial, the least he hoped for was an easy escape. So he turned and kicked at the door powerfully, firing a well-trained flat-soled roundhouse at it, hoping to at least breach the glass of the window. But it was reinforced, four inches thick, and didn’t budge. The shock of the impact sent Blaze back three well-balanced hops as the guards closed in around him, their semi-automatics drawn.

  His easy escape was sure to become complicated now.

  “Stay where you are and raise your hands!” the lead guard yelled.

  Blaze relaxed his posture, raised his hands to show there were no weapons present, and carefully removed the helmet. “Well,” he said calmly, “this is a fine way for us all to be ending our evening, isn’t it?”

  The lead guard held his weapon firm. “And what way is that?”

  Blaze smirked. “With you all getting knocked unconscious, and me slipping away without a scratch.”

  The guard smiled. “Taking you down will be a pleasure.”

  Blaze’s eyebrow kinked. “You’re certainly welcome to try.”

  The lead guards on either side advanced toward him, just as he droppe
d to the floor and swept a powerful 90-degree kick that knocked the guard on the left off his feet. He toppled back and landed on the two guards behind him. Then Blaze fired a stiff-legged kick to the gut of the guard opposite him, which doubled him over as the two guards behind him split off and came around from either side. Blaze came up from underneath and crushed one guard’s temple with a forceful swing of his helmet, then locked the other guard’s weapon arm under his armpit, bringing his knee up against the man’s forearm, and breaking his grip on his weapon—and likely breaking the bone as well. Then he elbowed the man twice in the chin and dropped him unconscious on the ground, next to the other two.

  The guards opposite Blaze had regained their stances, and they rushed him; he stayed low and dodged left to avoid the lead guard. Then he stood briskly, catching the one behind him under the chin with a headbutt and knocking him out instantly, toppling him against the guard next to him. Then the front guard spun as Blaze delivered a crushing front kick to the man’s knee. His leg bent backward and he cried out in pain as he tried to work his weapon. It discharged loudly, but Blaze ducked, dodging the fire as it pounded the bulletproof vest of the guard behind him. Then Blaze rushed the front guard, driving his shoulder into the man’s stomach, lifting him off of his feet as he ran underneath, flipping him over on his back and dropping him solidly on top of the guard behind him. They both hit the ground with a thud.

  Blaze kept crouched, his feet spread and anchored staunchly, swiveling until he saw that all the guards had been incapacitated. Then he stood briskly, checked once again for the vial to find it safely tucked away in the pouch on his belt, and collected his helmet from where it lay.

  “The pleasure was all mine, guys,” he said to the guards as they lay scattered on the floor.

  Blaze slunk down the empty hallway as quickly and quietly as he could, watching the rest of the guards cover the other side of the lab. He found a passage behind them that led him toward the outer wings of the building, slid his helmet back on to avoid detection on the security cameras, and dashed through the back exit to his waiting escape vehicle: the Sliver, a high-powered, low-noise, magnetic engine cycle shaped like a blade. He removed his helmet, touched the communicator sensor on his wristband, and reported back to his unseen superiors, “Vessel acquired. Not without a little trouble.” He caught a glimpse of himself in the review mirror; his eyes showed more weariness than he was comfortable with, a result of years of this sort of danger. An on-the-job hazard, he decided. He turned his head and noticed the slice on his cheek, just beneath his eye, a gash that leaked crimson onto his skin. He touched it, pulled his fingers away, and examined the blood streaked across his fingertips. “Damn,” he said. “And I thought I’d slip away without a scratch.” The damage was minimal. He would stitch it up himself as soon as he was home. The scar would hardly show at all.

  He revved the cycle, which didn’t blare like an ordinary engine; it hummed, thanks to the mag-lev technology at its heart. Then he leaned forward and opened the throttle, and the machine tore through the night like a dagger.

  T W O

  “Six guards received your punishment this time?”

  Minerva Syre held the vial in her white-gloved hand. She lifted it, letting the ocher beam of the examination lamp penetrate its glossy burgundy surface. At the center, unseen without the aid of this special lighting, was a pearl of amber suspended in protective gel. She studied it with a careful eye, as though she could discern its secret core if she looked hard enough.

  Derek Blaze sat comfortably in the chair opposite her, on the supplicant side of her artful mahogany desk. In his more comfortable non-mission attire of black jeans and black hoodie with a grey V-neck tee showing below the collar, he could have easily passed for a graduate student, or a first-year world history professor at a casual West Coast university. Being at the far edge of thirty-one years old, he was well past both of those opportunities. “I wasn’t counting, really,” he said nonchalantly, buffing a streak of mud from the edge of his high-end runners. “But yes, it was six. Large ones. Three from either side. Armed to the nines.”

  Minerva’s eye broke from the vial to pierce Blaze’s casually haughty gaze. “But you weren’t counting.”

  Blaze’s steely, tight-lipped pout slid into an all-too-familiar smirk, one that accented the stitched gash on his left cheekbone. “I may have counted a little.”

  Minerva was hardly impressed. “It would be unadvisable not to.” Her gaze returned to the vial as she turned it over, mesmerized by the fiery glow emanating from its translucent skin. “And have you any idea what sort of risk your careless brutality might have caused for the House?”

  Blaze cocked an eyebrow. “I’m fine, thanks. Except for the gash. No residual damage from chlorothan exposure, if you were wondering.”

  “I was not,” she said coolly. “If you had been seriously injured, I would have heard about it already, in the report.”

  Derek found her sympathy for his well-being underwhelming.

  Satisfied that she’d seen enough to gage its legitimacy, Minerva laid the vial gently into the soft foam casing that would protect it from jostling. Then she lowered the lid on the black attaché, fastened the latches, and handed it to the suited attendant standing at her side for proper locking and carriage to its secured storage place. “The real exposure you imperiled us to was the near-capture of a House agent whose tendency to...improvise, let’s say...is a real nuisance.” She removed her gloves with great expediency, turning them inside-out and rolling them into a single unit in one precise motion, as if she were practiced in the art of evidence disposal.

  Blaze couldn’t help being a bit torqued at the implication that he’d put the organization in jeopardy. But he played it cool. “Like you said: exposure is an occupational hazard.”

  Minerva leaned forward and rested her elbows on the desk. “Did I say that? I don’t recall that I did.”

  “Just a minute ago,” Blaze reminded her cheekily, with a coy smile. “I could’ve sworn you said—”

  “Stop, Agent Blaze,” she interrupted, her hand raised to halt him. Her words snapped like ice. “In a cocktail bar on the west end of the city, with one of your conquests who can be easily swayed by a man with manipulative eyes and scars on his face buying them a drink, your brand of juvenile charm might work in your favor. However, you sound preposterous trying to dazzle me with it. So don’t. It insults the intelligence of us both.” A high-ranking official like Minerva Syre—a main player in the Directorate of a shadow agency as significant as the House—could hardly be influenced by the persuasion of the agents who reported to her. Not even the slickest of them, like Blaze.

  Blaze knew when not to push his luck. “Understood, ma’am.”

  Minerva was older than him, but not enough for the high formality. She glared across the desk. “You don’t have to speak to me like I’m your mother, either.”

  “I’m not going to win this, am I?”

  “You will if you keep your mouth shut while I explain to you what you’ve done, and why it must never happen again.” She stood, looming over the desk in her precise suit and her elevated heels. Her uncompromising shadow reached Blaze’s upturned gaze. “You set off a series of alarms that not only launched a chlorothan display that most certainly could have killed you—which would leave your body in the midst of premises where you were strictly requested to leave no trace—but you also signaled the proprietors of Halex InteliGen that there had been a breach in their core.” She walked slowly around the desk, her footsteps in sync with the pacing of her words. “An occurrence like this has put them on high alert for potential infiltrators, such as a newly-hired technician named Corbin Hardy who doesn’t seem to work there anymore...now that he’s broken cover by pummeling six of the security guards and stealing a lacquer vial containing a bead of amber resin called the Humanity Pearl—a natural artifact that holds the mummified corpse of a primordial insect related to the modern mosquito.”

  “You had me ste
al a bug in a jar?” Blaze asked.

  She wasn’t amused. “Within that ‘bug’ lies the oldest-known human DNA ever recovered by man. The key to what might be humanity’s primary ancestor.”

  “Oh...well, then,” Blaze said. Knowing now how critical his mission had been, and that he’d been hand-selected by the Directorate for it, he was too arrogant to be properly contrite. “All this time, I thought I was stealing a bottle of perfume.”

  “Agent Blaze!” Minerva barked, her posture stiffening. “You removed your helmet during your little throw-down, which revealed your face, which was detected by the security cameras stationed throughout the hallway, which launched an immediate database-wide scan through the Halex personnel records...which tied you directly to your security credentials as Corbin Hardy—your cover identity!”

  Blaze blushed a bit. “I see why you’re so angry now.”

  Minerva wasn’t in the mood for more of his banter. “I don’t think you do. When you were recruited into the House, it was exactly because of your ability to blend in—to transform from someone who looks like a spy to someone who can’t be seen, simply by dropping your posture and keeping your mouth incredibly shut during a deployment.”

  Blaze was growing indignant at the description. He sat forward, resting his forearms on his knees as his gaze became keen. “Interesting, how you describe it. When your representative approached me, she told me I was hired for my advanced training in myriad self-defense disciplines, my background in ghost-intel gathering, my facility with weapons, my agile mind...and my impeccable fashion choices.”

  Minerva’s jaw clenched. “Tread lightly, Derek. You have an inflated sense of your own importance here.”

  Blaze breathed and sat back. “I could always go back to freelancing.”

  “She’s right, Derek.” A new voice joined the conversation, one that was every bit as concerned as Minerva’s, and every bit as relaxed as Blaze’s. “You think too highly of yourself.”