Prologue

It was a confrontation several months later...

Persona non Grata

Prologue

 

                The familiar annoyance of the watch alerted her to the clock’s striking midnight.  It was time to put an end to this.  Sliding against the smooth surface of a wall, the agent chanced a glance into the hall.  Nothing, with the exception of the noisy equivalent of a rowdy bar coming from one of the rooms.  She frowned.  The person she was looking for was at the end of this hall, probably holed up in his room, unaware that he was about to be killed.  A twinge of guilt flickered in her mind for a second before it was shaken loose.

                ‘He’s a fugitive…’ Aya Reyes told herself, brushing strands of her dark hair behind her ear.  She reached behind and grazed her finger against the silver-barrel handgun tucked awkwardly in her hem.  The fourth floor of the hotel seemed to dim as she moved away from her cover as if realizing that something terrible was about to occur.  The noise level rose higher as she strolled past it " the drunkards inside were shouted obscenities over some game; one head popped out of a nearby door and caught sight of her.

                The young man looked perturbed from the noise; his expression changed once he caught a look at her.  She shot him an understanding glance as she continued on, ignoring his gawking gaze.  She appreciated the look, thanking her half-Japanese heritage for her good looks, but then turned her attention back to the door sitting at the end of the hall.  As if warning her, that particular end of the hall was dimmer than the rest of the floor, and more isolated.  A stairwell sat adjacent to it; in case the man behind that door had to make a quick escape, she guessed.  She found it odd, but purged the thought from her mind as she moved forward.  The confrontation was inevitable; that wasn’t the part that had Aya worried " it was the unknown that kept her from running down to the room and banging down the door.

                The man she stalked was a high value target, though none of the government agencies would acknowledge that just yet.  The tension was still at a high, and she doubted that her bosses would be welcoming her back after this unauthorized leave.  She needed to do this, however.  For the sanity of her mind, Aya knew that this was a confrontation she could not avoid.  She wasn’t going back without him, dead or alive.

                She reached the last door on the left: room 410, as the bored receptionist had told her.  By then, the young man returned to his room, leaving her alone.

                Aya took in a breath.  This was it.  She braced herself for the next part " her nimble fingers slid through the thin pockets of her pants, producing a room key, also conveniently provided to her by the receptionist.  She grasped the handgun in the other " this, she had stolen from the Armory.  She gently slid the keycard in the slot.  A gasp escaped her breath.

                Blood!

                Red covered the tan handle.

                He was injured!  A memory of a smile slipped through her thoughts, momentarily causing a pause.  He told her that everything would be fine, that they would have each other to rely on.  That was the promise he made.  She frowned.  ‘That life is over,’ she thought bitterly, shaking away any affection she may have had.  Whatever it was that had been between them, it was over.

                Aya pulled the card out as a small green LED flashed and a beep sounded.  Ignoring the fresh blood that had come with the card, she turned the handle and burst into the room, handgun already searching for his head.  She cared little for causing an alarm in the hotel " let the cops come, she told herself.  Immediately, a blast of cold air rushed to her face, almost surprising her.

                The room appeared empty; a single lamp provided adequate illumination.  The bathroom at her right was open, but no light was on " she skipped past it, eyeing the rest of the room as the entrance shut.  With the exception of the couch laid against the corner of the room, it didn’t look as though anybody had been here " with the exception of the bed.  The covers were thrown all over.  Drips of blood stained them.

                He was here!

                She cursed herself as she spun back on her heel, but it was already too late.  Immediately, a cold, wet hand fell upon her wrist, another set of fingers prying the gun from her grip.  Fighting a worried gasp, Aya tried to kick at his ribs.  With only minimal success, she threw a jab.  She felt flesh and bone.  A burst slammed into her chest, knocking the wind from her lungs.  She hit the wall with a thud before dropping to the bed, face first into the bloody sheets.

                “Stay there!” he warned as she tried to stand.  He didn’t c**k the gun like so many other people had done when they had their opponent at their mercy.  His free hand trembled at his side " the blood from a wound on his arm splintered into rivers, dripping at the finger tips.

                Aya narrowed her eyes at the gun barrel.  “Go ahead, shoot.  It’s not like you let anything else stop you.”

                She saw the anger that flared up in his eyes.  That was a cold statement, but she didn’t care.  Let him hurt and feel just an inkling of what he had put her through.

                “I told you, that wasn’t my fault,” he spoke in a pained voice.  “I was set up.”

                “Set up?  You ran as soon as the mission was over.  You botched it and got all those people killed.  I read the mission reports over and over…this was your op!”

                “It was never my op.  Everything was screwed as soon as I went undercover.”

                Aya shook her head.  By then, she had thrown the bloody sheets on the floor.  She growled with anger.  “Is that why you still have the gun pointed at me?  Because if you say your innocent, you having been doing a good job at it.”

                “Who are you working for, really?”

                “My country,” Aya bitterly spat out.  “Apparently, not all of us have love for America.”

                “It was a mistake.”

                “And you know what?  That mistake killed people, Derrick.”

                Derrick sighed.  “You need to let me explain.”

                “I don’t have a choice at gunpoint,” she remarked.  She was probably pushing her luck with him " so be it.

                Aya was so sure that he would shoot her or tie her up or something, until he relaxed his grip on the gun.  “I’ll explain from the beginning.  If you don’t believe me, then fine,” said Derrick, letting go of the gun, but kept his palm open.  He guided the loaded firearm towards her, until she pulled it from the invisible force suspending it in midair.

                She examined the gun for a moment, debating on whether to give me another moment of her life.  It couldn’t have done more harm than now, so she lowered it.  “Fine...”

                He seemed to relax, as if a heavy burden was taken off his shoulders.  He sat down at the edge of the bed.  “But first, you’re going to bandage me up.  You’re not going to get the truth if I pass out.”

                Aya scowled.  “I could sew your mouth shut,” she said, rising from the bed.  “Where’s your kit at?”

                “In the drawer…under the TV…”

                “Start talking, superman,” she frowned, moving to the drawer.  “Don’t make me regret this.”