Becca XXX - Hard Time Ch. 15

Author's note: - This is a follow on to the previous chapter of Becca XXX Hard Time. Please read it before reading this or you will not understand the plot or characters.

Becca XXX. Hard Time. Ch 15.

Sometimes my dreams were so vivid that they felt like they were real. It was difficult to know if I was awake or asleep. It was like being in a trance, but I was consciously thinking about what I'd seen and heard since I'd met Charles Hamilton and arrived on his island. My subconscious was working overtime to figure out what the hell was going on here. Certain words were echoing around my head like a ringing bell, over and over.

'American terrorists... The Patriots... The Generals... Hamilton... Missiles.'

Initially, it felt like my mind was trying to get an overview of what was happening, but it needed to dig deeper. My thoughts became more focused.

'The Patriots... Four men... Whitehouse... Pentagon... Capitol... Liberty... Code names... American landmarks.'

There was a clue here - I was sure of it. The four terrorists didn't want to use their real names for obvious reasons, but I couldn't help thinking that they'd selected American landmarks as their code names for a reason. The Whitehouse, The Pentagon, The Capitol Building and The Statue of Liberty were all viable targets if they wanted to make a statement. Even if they managed to launch just one missile at those landmarks, the message would be very loud and very clear. It would show the world that the great superpower of the United States wasn't as secure as they made out.

If my theory was correct, it explained what they were going to do and how they were going to do it, but it didn't explain why. It wouldn't kill a huge number of people and it would certainly turn public opinion against The Patriots which made the whole exercise pointless. With Hamilton being involved there was no way he would supply these weapons unless he got something out of it. I had no idea what was in the silver briefcase, but that felt more like a token gesture rather than the real payment. Hamilton wanted The Patriots to attack those landmarks with his weapons for a reason, so I kept my eyes closed and went over what I'd seen last night in the warehouse.

'Stinger missiles... Strela missiles... Russian missiles... Russian missiles... Russian Missiles.'

My eyes snapped open and I lay in bed staring at the ceiling.

"Holy shit," I murmured. "They can't be; can they?"

I thought back to what Whitehouse had said after he'd fucked me. He'd mentioned that the US had become a soft touch and that it needed a wake up call to make America great again. Launching missiles at key American landmarks would certainly make a statement, but it would be a one shot deal and it would be short-lived. I then thought about why they would be buying Russian Strelas instead of American Stingers and the answer became glaringly obvious. This wasn't about The Patriots argument with their government, it was about making it look like someone else had attacked America.

After the attack, an immediate investigation would take place to find out who had carried it out. One of their first ports of call would be to analyse the remains of the missiles to find out what had been used for such an atrocity.

If they did that - what would they find?

Russian weaponry.

Russian weaponry used on American soil.

Everything would point to a Russian attack rather than home grown terrorists. The implications didn't bear thinking about. If the yanks thought that Russia had attacked them, it could kick off World War Three.

I sat up in bed feeling sick.

Had I got this wrong?

Had I added two and two together and made six?

Was I being paranoid?

It was perfectly feasible that Charles would use The Patriots to do his dirty work, but why would The Generals want to start a war between America and Russia? That part didn't make any sense.

I didn't know the answer to that one, but I couldn't deny the facts. If The Patriots left this island with Russian weapons and attacked those targets, it wasn't going to end well for anybody. I needed help with this and the only person I remotely trusted was Sasha. She seemed to have the same morals as me, and she had certainly been shocked when she found out that her father was selling weapons to terrorists. If I told her who I really was, maybe she could help me to contact Lexa and we could warn the Americans of the incoming flight. I could also tell Lexa where I was and get a team in to give me some backup. They wanted Charles dead after all.

It was going to be a long shot, but at this stage, it looked like my only option. I just hoped that she wouldn't go running to daddy, telling him who I was and why I was there.

I kicked the thin bed sheet off to air my naked body. My night-time excursion had left me sweaty and sticky and I hadn't had a shower for fear of waking everyone up. It would have seemed strange for me to be showering at two in the morning so I'd just gone to bed.

The clock on the wall told me it was now eight and I'd only had six hours of restless sleep. Although I was exhausted, I couldn't waste any more time so I jumped out of bed and went into the bathroom. After a quick shower, I left my hair damp and put on a small amount of eye makeup. I needed to look the same as I had the day before, as though I was just going to enjoy another day on the beach.

I left the bathroom and walked back out into the bedroom to find Sasha waiting for me. She had literally just walked through the door as I appeared.

"Becca... great, you're awake," she said quietly, glancing down the corridor to make sure we were alone.

She seemed nervous, but excited, like a child who had a secret to tell.

"Morning Sasha, I'm glad you're here," I said, making no effort to cover my nakedness. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Great, because I need to talk to you too," she said, closing the door behind her and sitting on the edge of the bed.

She patted the mattress as an invite for me to join her so I sat next to her wondering what she was up to.

"I've not got long," she murmured. "Maurice is here and he's talking to daddy in his office. I thought I'd seize the opportunity before he comes back."

"Seize the opportunity for what?" I quizzed.

"The opportunity to borrow this," she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small glass vial. It was identical to the one I'd seen Charles examining at the plane when The Patriots had arrived.

"Holy shit. You got into the silver case?" I gasped. "What the hell is it?"

She passed me the vial carefully and I held it up to the light. It was about the size of a lipstick and completely sealed apart from a rubber membrane over one end. Inside there was a translucent light-blue liquid.

"I don't know, but that case is full of them. There're at least fifty more like that."

"Shit. Is there any paperwork with them or something that might tell us what it is?"

"No, but there's a chemical symbol on the bottom of the vial," she pointed out. "I think it might be some sort of iron compound."

I turned the vial upside down and saw what she meant. The initials F.E. were etched onto the glass with a circle around them.

"Fe is the chemical symbol for iron," she said. "I remember it from school."

"It is, but not when it's written like that," I explained. "It should be a capital 'F' followed by a lowercase 'e'. This looks more like a company logo."

"Shit, you might be right," she replied. "What the hell does F.E. stand for. Do you think it's military?"

"It could be, but I'm sure I've seen those initials before, I just can't think where."

"Well, if it's military we better not drop it. It might be a nerve agent or a biological virus," she said, suddenly realising the seriousness of what we were holding.

She was right. Charles was an arms dealer and it would make sense that he'd trade missiles for chemical warfare. He'd already stolen nuclear waste for dirty bombs in the past so I wouldn't put anything past him.

"Was there anything else in the case?" I asked.

She was about to answer when we heard footsteps coming down the corridor. Whoever it was sounded like they were coming our way so I quickly passed the vial back to Sasha who put it back in her pocket. There was a brief knock on the door and then it burst open. I knew it wasn't going to be Charles, he never knocked. As the door opened, a huge shadow appeared blocking out the light. Any chance of me telling Sasha about my true identity and my theory about The Patriots would have to wait.

The hulking mass in the doorway was Maurice.

"Ms Sloan, Mr Hamilton requires your presence immediately," he bellowed, making no attempt to avoid looking at my naked body.

"What does he want to see me about?" I asked with a little sass in my voice. "We're in the middle of something."

"Now, please," he gestured towards the door.

"Can I at least put some clothes on?" I said, standing up to give him a full frontal. "Or does your boss want me naked?"

He thought about it for a moment, but Sasha butted in before he could respond.

"For fuck's sake, Maurice, get out and give her some privacy," she snapped, getting up and charging towards him. "She'll be out in two minutes, you fucking pervert."

Maurice looked like a scalded cat and backed out of the room.

"I'm sorry, Ms Hamilton," he apologised. "Please be quick. Your father doesn't like to be kept waiting."

She practically pushed him out of the room and I realised the power that Sasha had over such a huge guy. The last thing he wanted to do was upset his boss's daughter. She quickly closed the door and turned back to face me.

"You'd better get dressed," she said. "Maurice is right, daddy hates to be kept waiting."

I nodded and started to rummage around in the wardrobe for something to wear.

"Make sure that you put that thing back where you found it," I said. "We don't know what it is or how your father will react if he finds out it's missing."

"I will," she replied as I threw on some clothes.

I picked out a black bikini and the daisy-dukes from the previous day and quickly got dressed.

"What did you want to tell me?" Sasha quizzed, moving closer. "How did you get on entertaining his clients?"

"It went as expected. I think they are bad people, but I'll tell you about it later. Now's not the time," I said quietly, nodding in the direction of the door.

I didn't know if Maurice was listening so my confession to Sasha would have to wait. I fluffed my hair up which was now practically dry and had a last check in the mirror like I always do before I left the room.

"Ok. Let's go and see what daddy wants me for," I sighed, feeling a little worried.

"I bet he wants to know how it went last night," she shrugged.

"Let's hope so."

We opened the door and walked out into the corridor. Maurice was waiting for us, dressed in a black suit which looked completely unsuitable for the climate. It was hardly surprising that he was wearing the same clothes he'd arrived in, I doubted that Charles would have anything that would fit him. The guy was even bigger than I remembered, towering above me and filling half the width of the corridor.

"This way please," he gestured towards the stairs.

We both followed along behind him like a couple of puppies. I had a feeling of dread about seeing Hamilton, something about this didn't feel right. We walked up the stairs and stopped outside the office I'd seen the night before. Maurice knocked on the door and waited for it to be answered.

"Enter," boomed Charles from the other side.

Maurice opened the door and moved aside to let us pass. He was polite and chivalrous even if he was intimidating. I entered the spacious office with Sasha following along behind me.

"Hi daddy," she beamed. "Did you want to see us about something?"

"No Munchkin, I need to see Becca... alone," he replied sternly. "I will need to talk to you after.

The guy was in business mode again and wasn't in the mood for Sasha's playfulness. That made me even more nervous.

"Oh... right... ok," she stammered, sounding surprised. "I'll see you later then, Becca. I'll be at the pool."

"Yes babe," I replied, feeling increasingly concerned about what this was all about.

Without another word, Sasha left and skipped off down the stairs. At least it would give her time to return the vial she'd taken. I felt a huge shadow behind me as Maurice entered the room and closed the door behind him.

"Please sit," he said, pointing at the chair in front of Charles' desk.

I sat down in the plush leather chair feeling underdressed for whatever this was. Maurice stood directly behind me like a brick wall, letting me know he was there. Charles was seated behind his desk with his back to the window and his elbows resting on the table. His fingers were steepled in his power pose and he was staring right through me.

"You wanted to see me, Mr Hamilton?" I said.

On the desk between us was one of the large brown envelopes I'd see Maurice arrive with the previous night.

"How did it go with my clients last night?" he was straight down to business.

"As expected. They seemed pretty satisfied by the time I'd finished with them. So was I to be honest," I giggled.

I thought my naughty comment might lighten the mood, but it didn't.

"Did they tell you anything?"

"Like what?"

"Like who they are and what they're doing here," he replied.

"Only that they are The Patriots and they want to make America great again."

"Did they say how?"

"No, why?"

"Did they tell you why they are here or what I'm selling to them?" he ignored my question.

"No. Should they have?"

"Did they mention how they're paying me?"

"Paying you for what? I don't know what you're looking for here."

He leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh as though he had the world's problems on his shoulders.

"Tell me again how you ended up in prison with my daughter," he said, changing the subject

"I already told you. I was working for a government agency as an undercover operative. I killed someone who happened to be the son of an influential business man. He was friends with a police chief and they wanted someone to serve time for it. I was disavowed by my agency and thrown in prison."

There was a silence for a few seconds and it felt like the air was thick with suspicion. Charles was phishing for something here and I didn't like his line of questioning.

"Who were you working for? What agency was it?" he asked.

"I told you, it didn't have a name. Are you going somewhere with this?" I asked. "Have I done something wrong?"

He still ignored my questions and leaned forwards onto the desk. He extended one hand and pushed the envelope towards me.

"Open it," he ordered.

My heart was pounding by now and my palms were sweating. I tried to calm myself down with deep breaths, hoping that I'd just find my new identity in the envelope. I told myself that I was just being paranoid and that this was just another one of his games to show me who was in charge.

I slid the envelope off of the desk and unfolded the flap which hadn't been stuck down. I then stuffed my hand in and gripped a small cardboard book.

It was a passport.

I felt slightly relieved, but I wasn't out of the woods yet. I opened the passport and thumbed through it to find my new identity. It was on the second page, showing my mug shot, correct date of birth and my new name.

My heart stopped for a split second when I saw the name they'd picked for me.

Rebecca Mansfield.

It was my real name.

'Holy fucking shit. They know who I am," I thought to myself. 'How?'

My mind raced at light speed, but I showed no reaction. Maybe it was just a coincidence that he'd picked that name. Keeping my first name the same was always a good idea as it was a natural instinct to reply if someone called it out. Maybe the surname had been picked out randomly.

"Do you have anything to say to me?" Charles asked, looking into my eyes for a reaction.

I paused for a second as though I was confused.

"Thank you?" I shrugged.

Charles glanced up at the giant behind me and then back to me. The atmosphere could have been cut with a knife. If he wanted to, Charles could have just nodded at Maurice and he would snap my neck like a twig, but he didn't.

"What do you think to the name we picked for you?" he quizzed.

"It seems ok. I'm just grateful to leave my old life behind and move forwards with a new one. Thank you," I said again.

He eyed me suspiciously. This wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting and it seemed to throw him off guard a little. He glanced at Maurice again and then back to me. He seemed to be in a quandary about what to do with me.

If he knew who I was, it made me wonder what else he knew about me. Maybe he knew about my previous missions or even about who I worked for. It was looking like I might have to fight my way out of the room and bring my escape plan into action earlier than I thought. I was unarmed, but my weapons were only a couple of hundred metres away. If I could make it to the beach, I would have a fighting chance, but I would have to kill Charles and Maurice before that could happen. I looked on his desk for anything I could use. There were pens lined up next to his keyboard and a letter opener to my left. Any of those pointed objects would do the job, but I would have to be quick. If Maurice got a hold of me, I'd be dead.

"Are you really wanting to leave your old life behind or are you here for a different reason?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

He paused again and then produced a second envelope from his drawer. Instead of passing it to me, he dipped his hand inside and pulled out a large photograph.

Slap.

He threw it onto the table in front of me. After one glance at it, I knew I was in serious trouble. It was a photo of Ethan, my boss from The Facility. It had been taken from a distance using a zoom lens by the look of how it was focused.

"Do you know this man?" Charles asked, as monotone and calm as usual.

There was no aggression in his voice. It felt more like a job interview than an interrogation. I didn't want to commit to an answer at this stage so I just asked a question back.

"Should I?" I asked.

He produced another photo and slapped it on the desk facing me. This one was another picture of Ethan, but he was talking to a woman in the photo.

My heart sank even further.

The woman was me.

"What about now? Do you recognise anyone?" he raised his eyebrows at me.

I stayed silent, trying to figure out a way out of this. I couldn't deny the evidence he'd presented me with, but I could still stick to my story.

"He's my old boss," I admitted.

"Finally, we're getting somewhere," he said. "My good friend Maurice here has been doing some digging into who you are and it turns out that you work for Ethan Green of all people."

It sounded like Charles knew my boss and that worried me even more.

"I used to," I replied. "He's the one who made me take the fall for killing the drug dealer. He's the one who disavowed me."

"Really? And you just happened to finish up in the same prison as my daughter? I find that a very big coincidence. He sent you here, didn't he?" he said it as a statement rather than a question. "What's your mission?"

He was still calm and collected. Lack of anger in his voice made him seem even more threatening.

"There is no mission. I had no idea who she was or who you were until I got into Bronzefield," I lied.

"Don't lie to me, Agent Becca. I know who you are and who you work for, just as you know all about me. You're Rebecca Mansfield just as your passport states. You work for a black ops group ran by Ethan. Your handler's name is Lexa. Maurice has found out all we needed to know. You've been a real pain in my ass for the last couple of years, getting in the way of my objectives. Ethan's been after me for a long time, but I have to say, he's excelled himself this time. None of his team have ever gotten this close to me. I congratulate you... and him... bravo."