A glass of whiskey in his hand, Smith paced nervously in the living room of his house, which overlooked the Potomac. Beyond it, the lights of the city twinkled, but he was in no mood to admire their beauty. He had problems that needed to be addressed. He knew he couldn’t delay the call he had to make any longer, or Jones would find out from other sources that the warehouse in Manassas was no more.
By the time the Stargate agents had blown the place and all its contents to smithereens, Smith had been well on his way to safety. He’d seen the explosion from a high point several miles away. It left him without a doubt that nothing in the building could have survived.
He’d recognized two of the agents, Ace and Fox, from their photos in Henry Sheppard’s old file. But he had no idea who the third man who’d helped them was. He’d also recognized Michelle Andrews, the hacker who’d once done his bidding, but who’d switched to the other camp without delivering Fox to him. He’d pretty much suspected that she’d shacked up with Fox, and that their paths would cross again.
The biggest surprise had been Lilly Davis. It irked him to no end that she was still alive. She’d caused him enough trouble by digging into River’s death. The news earlier in the day that Deja Lashae had been killed before sending Lilly Davis to her maker, had pissed him off. Could nobody do their job? Did he have to do everything himself? Three assassins were dead, one killed in the pursuit of Ace, the other while trying to silence Michelle Andrews, and the third one while trying to take care of Lilly Davis. Not to speak of the seven men—four scientists and three security guards— who’d died in Manassas, although they were replaceable.
Smith emptied the glass and set it down. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and clicked on the only contact saved on the burner. It rang twice, before the call was answered.
“What is it?”
“Mr. Jones, there’s been an… incident.”
There was a short pause, in which Smith only heard Jones’s breathing. What mood was he in tonight? It probably didn’t matter, because once Smith confessed what had happened, he’d be in a bad mood for sure.
“What happened?” Jones ground out.
Smith imagined Jones clenching his jaw while trying to maintain a pleasant facial expression so that whoever looked at him couldn’t tell that he was annoyed.
“We lost the agent, Tiger.”
“What the fuck? Didn’t I tell you to go slow this time? Don’t you learn from your mistakes? River could have lasted longer and given us more, if you hadn’t been in a rush.”
“We never even got a chance at tapping Tiger’s brain. There was an ambush,” he said, bracing for another outburst from the man he served.
“Who?”
“At least two other Stargate agents, possibly a third one, but he wasn’t on Sheppard’s list. And two civilians.” He decided not to mention that the civilians were women. It would make him look even more incompetent in Jones’s eyes.
“And your people, they couldn’t handle them? Last I checked you had seven people there plus yourself!”
“They knew exactly where to attack.”
“How many of our people did we lose?”
“All of them.”
“Fuck! And the Stargate agents? Tell me you got at least one of them.”
Smith swallowed hard. “No. There was no opportunity for it. I had to—”
“Run away with your tail tucked between your legs?” Jones asked sarcastically.
“I got the backup drives. I saved the data. We have all the data we’ve already collected from the precognitives. I managed to get out before the place blew up.”
That seemed to pacify Jones a little bit, because his voice sounded calmer when he said, “This will delay things.”
“I know, sir, but we can be up and running at a new location in a month.”
There was a brief pause of silence.
“Do it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And, Smith…”
Smith held his breath.
“Don’t disappoint me again. Or I’ll have to replace you.”
There was a click in the line signaling that Jones had hung up. Smith wiped the sweat from his brow. He poured himself another glass of whiskey. Next time he’d have to do his dirty work himself. No more contract killers. They’d been naught for three. And he couldn’t afford another mistake, because Jones’s threat to replace him wasn’t an idle one, and it didn’t mean he’d have to find a new job.
It meant a bullet in the head. That’s how Jones dealt with people who became a liability.