The Blessed Many, page 1
part #2 of The Extraordinary Series
The Blessed Many
The Extraordinary Series
Pam Eaton
Cooper Ave Press
Copyright © 2019 by Pam Eaton
Cooper Ave Press
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, businesses, events, or locales is completely coincidental.
Editor - Jana Miller
Cover Design - Molly Phipps with We Got You Covered Book Design
Created with Vellum
For my babies.
Dream big, go after those goals, and know that I love you more than I thought was possible.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Pam Eaton
One
My whole body protests as I sit up from my spot on the hard, cold floor. It’s tough trying to see in the dark, but I’m…in a kitchen? Maybe? How did I get here? My hands start to tremble and I bring them up in front of my face. They’re covered in dirt, dried blood, and who knows what else. Would you look at that. Apparently, I lost a whole fingernail. I turn my hand over and back. Shouldn’t I be rolling around in agony? I keep looking at my gruesome finger in a sort of detached fascination. It’s like someone else’s finger. How odd.
A distant noise makes me look up at the counter visible in the moonlight. Is that a phone ringing?
I gingerly stand, listing to the side as I do, and stretch my arm out until my hand touches the vibrating phone on the wall. “Hello,” I say into the receiver.
“Rebecca.” A stern male’s voice says my name.
“That’s me.”
I hear voices in the background. “Rebecca. It’s Mr. Smith.” Why does it seem like he’s straining for patience? He’s the one who called me.
“Were you successful?” he asks.
“Successful?” I don’t understand, but my body starts to break out in a sweat like it knows what he’s talking about even if my mind doesn’t.
“I need to debrief you about your mission. I need to know if it was a success. It’ll take hours for someone to come get you. Can you transport to headquarters?”
The word mission pings around in my brain.
I shake my head, trying to break up the thick fog clogging it. “What?” I ask. What’s he talking about? Why can’t I focus on anything?
“I just got off the phone with Gregory. We need you back here.”
The word traitor whispers through my mind as I register the sound of Gregory’s name on someone’s lips. And it’s like a sledgehammer to my system. Images flash behind my eyes, and I want to turn away from them but I can’t. Ania running into the throng of soldiers. My body thrown against the gate. Gregory leaning out of the SUV.
They keep going through my mind like a horror movie on repeat.
I drop the phone and sink to the floor, fisting my hands into my hair.
He left me.
He left me.
He left me.
Ania’s gone. She’s dead. Her life for mine.
Tony betrayed us.
I’m stuck in the awful hell of memories on constant loop. The smell of the fresh-turned dirt from the explosion clogs my nose. My body aches with the echo of it slamming into the metal gate. The sound of squealing tires fills my ears, and my vision fills with the image of the SUV leaving me behind. My mouth opens and I let an anguished scream rip through.
Mr. Smith keeps calling my name through the phone on the floor beside me. And it’s like one small part of my brain knows I need to answer him, but the majority of my brain won’t release me from this endless loop.
I hear the word “shock” yelled, but before I can grab on to any more words or make myself focus, the images flood again, spiraling me farther down into a nightmare I can’t escape.
“Becca.” I hear my name close by and I turn towards it.
More sounds start filtering in. Birds are singing in the distance. The scuff of shoes somewhere in the vicinity of my head. The scrape of a chair being pulled out.
“No, don’t touch her yet,” a raspy voice says.
“Rebecca. Open your eyes,” someone commands. Mr. Smith? Only he would demand I make my body do something it doesn’t want to.
I slowly open my eyes, but they feel gritty. I blink a few times. Rays of sunlight highlight brown Oxfords right next to my face. I’m on the floor? It’s morning? How long have I been here?
I go to turn my head, but everything protests. It feels like I got beat to a pulp. All my muscles scream at me. It’s like having a thousand charley horses at once. A groan manages to slip out.
“There you go. Let’s see if we can sit you up and get some water in you,” Mr. Smith says. He grabs me by my arms and forces my body up and against a cabinet. A bottle of water is shoved in my hand soon after.
I take a sip of water and let my head fall to the side. I get my first glimpse of who pulled out the chair. Guy has to been close to eighty if not older, with his white hair and loose hanging skin. Dark brown age spots cover his cheeks and his bony hands, which rest on top of a cane. With his sweater and loafers, he’d pass for a typical grandfather, except I doubt anyone at Project Lightning could be described as typical. His eyes stay trained on me, silently assessing. Probably judging.
Mr. Smith crouches down in front of me, blocking my view of the old guy. His eyes scan down my body, evaluating. “Anything broken?” he asks.
I slowly move my legs and stretch my arms. Everything feels like it’s being stabbed by a blunt knife, but it seems like I’m in one piece, at least physically. Mentally is another story. My brain still feels like it’s stuck in a fog. And the last twenty-four hours keep looping in my mind, but they don’t feel like my memories, more like a bad movie I watched.
“I don’t think so,” I tell him, my voice hoarse.
He doesn’t question me, since I can’t lie to him, but his eyes still scan me, maybe seeing something I can’t. He shifts to the side a little, making the old guy visible again. “This is Mr. Rivers, my old boss, the previous director of Project Lightning. When this mission went to hell, I called him in. Last thing we need is the North Korean government trying to track you down.” His words are cautious, slow.
My eyes lock on Mr. Rivers. He gives me a gentle nod but doesn’t say anything. They’re both treating me like a wounded animal.
“Do you know what you kept saying into the phone?” Mr. Smith asks carefully.
“No.” I have no clue. The last thing I remember is a phone ringing.
“You kept saying ‘Tony betrayed us,’ over and over again,” he tells me.
Tony’s name is a shot of adrenaline to my system. My whole body jerks, and both men put their hands out like they could hold me back.
“What happened with Tony?” Mr. Smith asks.
My hands start to shake as I reach out and grip Mr. Smith’s shirt sleeve, bringing him closer. I need to get the words out. Someone needs to know. Ania’s death can’t be in vain. “He was our eyes.” The words rush past my lips, and I know my eyes are wild. “And when it was time for us to leave, Ania asked if the coast was clear and he said it was. He. Said. It. Was.”
I swallow down the emotion trying to choke me. “He led us into the hands of hundreds of soldiers. The line went dead. It was his voice in our ears, and he led us into a trap. Ania ran into the throng of soldiers without a second thought…all so I could escape.” His shoulders slump, but only for an instant. If I hadn’t been watching him, I would have missed it.
He pries my fingers back from the death grip on his arm and I slump back down. “Are you sure?” he asks.
“It was his voice,” I tell him, desperate for him to understand.
“Are all your agents accounted for?” Mr. Rivers asks.
Mr. Smith runs a hand roughly over his hair. “No.”
“Sariah?” Mr. Rivers asks.
What does she have to do with anything?
“I’m working on tracking her down,” Mr. Smith tells him, his voice tense.
Mr. Rivers makes a sound of disappointment. And I’m still sitting here not able to follow their conversation. Mr. Smith turns his face away and I watch as he focuses on something to my right. I follow his eyes and see my backpack, a black box half hanging out. He reaches for it, opens the box, and his whole body slumps after he peeks inside of it. He quickly closes it and h
That box causes pictures to flash in my mind, and this time it’s like the movie is skipping. A room filled with computers. My hand grabbing the box. Ania telling me to finish the mission.
Ania.
“You need to call Ania’s dad,” I tell the room.
“They’ll already know, dear,” Mr. Rivers says. His voice takes on a soft note.
My body deflates. “Of course,” I say. That means Ania’s daughter, Bronia, now has the strength of a hundred men. Geez, that poor kid.
The ring of a cell breaks through the tension in the air.
Mr. Smith reaches into his suit coat and pulls out his phone. “Hello,” he says.
His eyes flick to me briefly. “She’s all right. Coming out of her shock.”
Is that what I am? In shock? I shake my head, trying to focus more on his one-sided conversation. “No. I need you there. Something isn’t adding up.” He pauses. “Yes. I’m going to see if I can get her to go there tomorrow. I’ll call you later to let you know.”
He ends the call and Mr. Rivers looks at him with raised brows. “Gregory,” Mr. Smith says in answer to the unasked question.
My heart stutters at the mention of that name. But soon the anger comes with a shot of adrenaline. And it feels so good to be able to feel anything through this fog. So I latch on to it and let the fury race through me, waking up all my nerve endings. I slowly rise to me feet, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. I feel like I could breathe fire right now. “He left me there. He let that SUV pull away. He should have known Tony was going to double-cross us.”
“Calm down,” Mr. Smith says, trying to force something that isn’t going to happen anytime soon.
Seriously? “Why aren’t you questioning him? How do you know he didn’t betray us as well?” I shout the questions.
“What is my power?” he asks me, his voice calm, controlled.
Why is he asking that? Why isn’t he demanding more information? Why isn’t he as furious as I am?
“Becca, he can’t lie to me,” Mr. Smith says, his voice taking on a sharp tone.
“Right,” I say, some of my anger lessening. And Gregory might not be able to lie to Mr. Smith, but Gregory had no problem lying to me.
“We need to get back to headquarters and have the doctor check you out. Make sure nothing happened during the blast.”
“But what about Tony?” I ask.
“I’m hoping I can get you to transport back to the spot where you dropped off Tony and scope the area out. I’ve also got some agents en route that should be able to help. First, let’s make sure you’re okay, get some food into you and have you rest. Tomorrow we’ll see what we can do.”
I pick my coat up off the floor and the letter Ania wrote for Bronia pokes out a bit. That’s another thing I’m going to have to tackle, but not right now. I promised her I would deliver it, and I won’t break my word.
I follow the two men out of the cabin and into a waiting black town car. My eyes stay glued on the cabin as we pull away. We spent such a short time there, but the memories slam into me with such force my stomach cramps. Lying on the roof with Tony. Working in the woods with Ania. Sitting on that front porch with Gregory. I make myself face forward, and I work to build the walls I’ll need to keep myself sane. Because not only do we need to figure out what happened with Tony, but I have to prepare myself to face Gregory. And if I want to survive that, I’ll need to guard my heart.
This place changed my life, but as we drive away, I wish I had a match the burn it all down.
Two
I stand in front of the door to the cafeteria, debating. While my stomach is making itself perfectly clear that it wants me to go in there, everything else rebels. Everyone will be in there eating dinner, and I don’t think I can handle the stares. Scratch that—I know I can’t handle them. If the doctor hadn’t ordered me to get food after he examined me, I’d be back in my room. I know I need to eat; my stomach is howling like a sad husky. But what about all the questions they’re going to ask me? I have no clue how to answer them, but at least the good doctor shot me up with some anxiety meds, so I’m basically coasting right now.
All right. I can do this. And maybe if I keep telling myself that, it’ll make it easier.
I open the double doors and walk in. I wait for a moment—for what, I have no clue. It’s not like they’re going to tackle me. Hopefully.
My eyes zero in on the buffet line. Maybe I can just grab some food and take it back to my room.
I move towards it and a hand clamps on my shoulder, causing me to do a whole body flinch. I spin to see Mike, one of the other trainees who started here at Project Lightning with Tony and me, standing behind me. He’s still as big as an ox, but I swear he’s gotten bigger. And judging by the confusion on his face, I might have flickered when I flinched. He shakes his head and refocuses on my face. “You’re back again?” he asks, seeming genuinely curious.
I shrug off his hand. “I just got here.”
I don’t know what I can tell him, but I have a feeling that I need to keep my lips sealed. “Is Tony with you?” he asks, looking towards the doors.
My whole body stiffens. “No, it’s only me.”
His body slumps forward and he loses a few inches in height, if that’s even possible. Even though Tony and I were only here a short time before going to the cabin, I know those two bonded.
“Is he coming back soon?” he asks. His voice is flat. Not cocky and sure like before.
“I don’t know.” I can’t believe I’m about to ask this, but… “Are you all right?” This is not the guy I met back in orientation, the one who couldn’t stop bragging about what an amazing athlete he is. Now he looks like someone kicked his dog.
He shrugs his shoulders.
“Umm, do you want to eat with me?” I ask, surprising myself and him. But the guy looks so dejected.
He nods his head and shuffles his feet behind me as we grab some food and head towards a table.
“Is Sariah out on a mission or something?” I ask him. I remember Mr. Smith and Rivers talking about her, but I can’t remember what they said exactly.
Without Sariah here reigning over everything, the room feels different. People still look at me, shocked I’m back, but their stares don’t feel like daggers. That negative energy must have left when she did. “I think they sent her out on a mission or something. One day she was here and the next she was gone, just like you guys,” he tells me, and it’s not hard to miss the jealousy in his voice.
“So, how’s it been going?” I try to find something to ease the awkwardness.
“Same old same old, basically like being in prison.”
It’s probably sucked being stuck here for weeks on end. I got to go to the cabin and breathe the fresh air; everyone else got stuck here. Are they even allowed outside? Maybe that’s a dumb question.
We sit for a few more minutes in silence. Waves of depression are crashing off of him; this is so weird. Between the two of us, I would have thought I’d be the more depressed one. But it’s as if all the confidence and bravado has been sucked out of him by these sterile white walls.
I take a bite of salad, but the sound of glass shattering at the next table over makes everything seize within me. Suddenly I’m not sitting with Mike anymore, but running through that compound in North Korea. Shouts and screams echo around me. I slap my hands over my ears, desperately trying to block out the sound. Trying to hide from it.
Hands grab my shoulders as someone shouts my name, but the pressure is gone within an instant. Silence reigns. I open my eyes to see I’m back in the cafeteria, not North Korea, but everyone is staring at me. “You—you just—disappeared.” Mike stammers out the words.
