The Devil's Due
1552 Words
The cabin in the Alps was quiet when Xander returned.
He'd left Reynolds in a safe house in Kabul, surrounded by trusted contacts who would protect him while he recovered. It had been the hardest thing he'd ever done, leaving his friend behind. But Reynolds needed time to heal, time to process what had happened to him.
Xander had work to do.
Hawthorn was waiting for him at the door, his face grim. "You made it back."
"Barely." Xander pushed past him into the cabin. "What's the situation?"
"The soldiers are getting worse. Davis is barely coherent. The others are deteriorating fast. Reyes thinks she's found a way to stabilize them, but she needs access to a medical facility."
"What kind of medical facility?"
"A hospital. A real one, with equipment that can monitor brain activity. She says the soldiers need to be weaned off the programming slowly, or their minds will shatter."
Xander closed his eyes. The weight of it all pressed down on him, crushing and suffocating. He'd saved Reynolds, but the others were still suffering. Still dying.
"Then we get them to a hospital," he said. "We find a place where they can get the help they need."
"Easier said than done. The Swiss military has put out a warrant for our arrest. Every hospital in Europe is being watched."
"Then we go somewhere else. Somewhere they won't expect."
"Where?"
Xander was silent for a long moment. Then he pulled out his phone and dialed a number he hadn't used in years.
"Cross?" The voice on the other end was gruff, familiar. "I was wondering when you'd call."
"Colonel Webb. I need your help."
---
The meeting was set for midnight.
Xander stood in the shadows of an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Geneva, his weapon ready. Hawthorn was at his side, his face grim. Reyes was behind them, her eyes scanning the darkness.
Colonel Marcus Webb arrived alone.
He was older than Xander remembered, his hair streaked with gray, his face lined with worry. He wore civilian clothes, a clear sign that he'd come in secret.
"Cross." Webb's voice was tired. "I heard about Simon."
"Your son is dead."
"I know." Webb's face was pale. "I also know what he did. The experiments. The soldiers. The Ghost Protocol. I should have stopped him. I should have done something."
"You should have." Xander's voice was hard. "But you didn't. And now we're left to clean up your mess."
Webb flinched. "I know. That's why I'm here. I want to help."
"Help us how?"
"I have access to a medical facility. A private clinic in the south of France. It's off the grid, no connections to the military. I can get your men the treatment they need."
Xander stared at him. "Why should I trust you?"
"Because I'm the only chance your men have." Webb's voice was earnest. "I know what Simon did. I know the damage he caused. I can't bring back the dead, but I can help the living."
Xander was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Fine. But if this is a trap, I'll kill you myself."
"I expect nothing less."
---
The clinic was everything Webb had promised.
It was a small facility in the French countryside, surrounded by vineyards and olive groves. The staff were discreet, professional. They asked no questions, demanded no explanations. They simply did their jobs.
Xander watched from the corner of the room as the soldiers were examined. Davis was strapped to a bed, his body trembling, his eyes wide with fear. The others were in similar states, their minds fragmenting under the strain of the programming.
"They're not going to make it," Reyes said quietly. "The damage is too severe."
"There has to be something we can do."
"There is. But it's risky."
"What kind of risk?"
Reyes pulled out a small device, a data stick that looked identical to the one they'd used before. "I found this in Thorne's files. It's a counter-agent, a way to reverse the programming. But it's never been tested on humans."
"So we test it."
"Cross, if this goes wrong, they'll die. Their minds will be wiped completely."
Xander was silent for a long moment. He looked at Davis, at the man who'd once made him laugh, who'd saved his life a dozen times over.
"Do it," he said. "We don't have a choice."
---
The procedure took hours.
Reyes worked with the clinic's staff, carefully administering the counter-agent. The soldiers thrashed and screamed, their bodies fighting the treatment. Xander stood in the corner, his hands clenched, his heart pounding.
Davis was the first to stabilize.
His eyes opened, clear and focused for the first time in weeks. He looked around the room, his face a mask of confusion.
"Cross?" His voice was hoarse. "What happened? Where am I?"
"You're safe," Xander said. "You're going to be okay."
Davis's eyes filled with tears. "I remember. I remember everything. The pain. The darkness. The things they made me do."
"It's over now. You're free."
Davis sobbed, his body shaking with the release of years of trauma. Xander moved to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"You're going to get through this," Xander said. "We all are."
---
The others recovered more slowly.
Each soldier had their own demons to face, their own memories to process. But with time and care, they began to heal. The programming faded, replaced by the fragile hope of recovery.
Xander spent his days at the clinic, watching over his men. He didn't sleep much, didn't eat much. His body was a network of pain and exhaustion, but he couldn't rest. Not when there was still work to be done.
Hawthorn found him in the garden one evening, staring at the sunset.
"You're killing yourself, Cross."
"Probably." Xander's voice was flat. "But I can't stop. Not until this is over."
"This will never be over. There will always be another fight, another enemy, another war. You can't save everyone."
"I know." Xander turned to him. "But I can save the ones I love. That's all that matters."
Hawthorn was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Then I'll be with you. Until the end."
---
The weeks passed. The soldiers recovered. The clinic became a haven, a place of healing and hope.
But Xander couldn't rest.
The copies of the Ghost Protocol were still out there, waiting to be destroyed. Webb's legacy was still alive, still spreading its poison across the globe. And somewhere out there, a new enemy was rising.
Reyes found him in the garden, her face pale. "Cross. We have a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
"The data stick. The one I used to destroy the Swiss copy. It's been compromised."
"Compromised how?"
"There's a tracker embedded in the code. Someone's been monitoring our movements. They know where we are."
Xander's blood ran cold. "Who?"
"I don't know. But they're closing in."
---
The attack came at midnight.
Xander was awake, his senses on edge. He heard the footsteps, the whisper of movement in the darkness. He grabbed his weapon and moved to the door.
The clinic was surrounded. Dozens of figures, their faces hidden by masks, their weapons ready. They moved with military precision, taking up positions around the building.
"Cross!" Reyes's voice was urgent. "They're here!"
Xander moved to the window, his weapon ready. The figures were advancing, their movements fluid and precise. They were professionals, trained killers.
"Get the soldiers to the basement," Xander said. "Now!"
Reyes moved, herding the soldiers toward the stairs. Hawthorn was at Xander's side, his face grim.
"We're outnumbered," Hawthorn said. "We need to retreat."
"No." Xander's voice was hard. "We stand and fight."
The first figure reached the door. Xander fired, the bullet taking him in the chest. The figure went down, but more took his place.
The battle was brutal, chaotic. Xander moved through the darkness, his weapon blazing. He took down one figure, then another. But there were too many.
And then he saw their leader.
She was tall, athletic, her face hidden by a mask. She moved like a predator, her movements fluid and precise. She was heading straight for him.
Xander raised his weapon, but she was faster. She grabbed his wrist and twisted, sending the weapon clattering to the floor. She drove her knee into his stomach, sending him to his knees.
"Sergeant Cross." Her voice was cold, familiar. "I've been looking for you."
Xander looked up, his vision swimming. "Who are you?"
The woman pulled off her mask.
It was Maya Reyes.
Or rather, someone who looked exactly like Maya Reyes.
"I'm what happens when the Ghost Protocol is perfected," she said. "I'm the future."
Xander stared at her. The duplicate. The copy. The weapon.
"Where's the real Reyes?" he asked.
"She's dead. I killed her myself." The duplicate's smile was cold. "She was weak. Sentimental. She couldn't see the bigger picture."
Xander lunged for her, but she was too fast. She grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall.
"I'm going to enjoy this," she said. "I'm going to take everything you love. Everyone you care about. And then I'm going to watch you suffer."
She raised her weapon.
And then the clinic exploded.
- Writer
