Black Flagged Apex

Chapter 3





9:25 AM

Acassuso Barrio

Buenos Aires, Argentina



Jessica leaned into the vanity mirror and gently applied the concealer stick to the remaining dark purple areas under her left eye. She held the stick between her index finger and thumb, patting the application lightly with her pinky finger to blend it into the foundation. She had spent the better half of an hour applying makeup to her bruised and battered face. The process was taking her twice as long without the use of her left hand, which sat uselessly in a tight gauze wrap on the brown-speckled granite countertop.

Concealing signs of physical abuse surfaced deep, distant emotions that Jessica had spent the last ten years pushing further and further into her subconscious. She was no stranger to "making herself look pretty again" after silently enduring repeated beatings at the hand of Srecko Hadzic's associates in Serbia.

The physical abuse hadn't been the worst part. In fact, it had barely bothered her at all. She had a built-in tolerance for physical pain. One of the many "gifts" she had acquired living under the constant threat of her father's wildly unpredictable, alcohol-fueled rampages. Taking a closed fist high on the cheekbone or a backhand to the mouth was something she had learned to live with.

She had thought all of that would change when she reported to Langley. Ironically, she couldn't have been further mistaken. Instead, they would turn her into one of the most lethal operatives in recent CIA history and put her into a situation where she was forbidden to use those skills to defend herself. She had developed dozens of coping mechanisms as a helpless child, none of which could help her deal with the fact that she had become a predator, but she would still be abused nonetheless. This burden had slowly unraveled her in Belgrade, nearly killing her.

Finding Daniel in that hellhole had certainly saved her from herself. Daniel insisted that they had saved each other, but she knew better. That was something he said to ease her emotional pain. She had no doubt that Daniel would have survived his "tour of duty" in Serbia. He was one of life's guaranteed survivors, and staying close to him would always be her best chance to survive too.

She touched up the last remaining evidence of the desperate struggle that had almost ended her life and leaned back to take in her handiwork. She had to give them credit; even Daniel might not recognize her at first glance. Thanks to a discreet team of beauty consultants, who specialized in hiding wealthy victims of abuse within plain sight, she could effortlessly walk into Ministro Pistarini International Airport and board a plane headed anywhere in the world.

Her long, lustrous jet-black hair had been replaced by a dark brown, short pixie-cropped style that accentuated the strong, angular contours of her face and freshly lifted eyebrows. She had changed her eye color from dark brown to deep blue, with the help of custom vanity contact lenses that also hid the temporary damage to the blood vessels in her left eye. Balanced collagen injections helped her lips appear normal against the persistent swelling on the left side of her face. She had changed her appearance as much as possible without plastic surgery or Hollywood-level special effects makeup. Only a close examination by a seasoned social services caseworker could detect her secret. Even her bandaged hand would be disguised in a sleek, medical grade plastic hand splint that would require little more than a quick explanation about a recent "tennis" accident.

In a few minutes she would complete the transformation with a dark gray, Ralph Lauren sleeveless turtleneck dress that would cover the extensive abrasions and cuts from the piano wire that had nearly severed her carotid artery five days earlier. She had to hand it to the small group of stylists that took over her bedroom for several hours yesterday. They may have cost a fortune, but they didn't mess around. She felt "pretty" again.

Her cellphone rang from somewhere deeper in the house, most likely from the kitchen where she had prepared an espresso earlier. She had carried the phone around with her, hoping to hear from Daniel before he became too involved in his next job for Sanderson. She didn't have many details regarding his next operation in Germany, but he had made it sound like routine work. She was certain that there would be nothing routine about his day, but at least it wouldn't involve penetrating a "rabid zombie" infested city to retrieve a human head, or driving full speed into a Spetznaz crossfire. Whatever the mission, she knew it wasn't a good idea to distract him, but she needed more than a call every two or three days while he was away. Especially after what almost happened in their Buenos Aires high-rise. She needed to talk to him every hour if possible, but would settle for once a day.

She started to form the words to call her two unwilling manservants, Munoz and Melendez, but quickly remembered they had departed soon after she treated them to the most expensive dinner she could import into the safe house. It was the smallest token of gratitude she could offer the two men that had saved her from Srecko's beasts. The duo had even started to lighten up a little, which probably had less to do with her charming personality and everything to do with the availability of an exquisitely smooth Malbec vintage, and the dawning realization that they would be taking the next available private flight back to Sanderson's mountain hideaway. Either way, she enjoyed seeing them let their guard down just a little and finally relax. She owed them everything.

She had oddly come to terms with her own death at the apartment. On some level, she had felt relieved that her struggle was finally finished. At least she had convinced herself that she had accepted her death. All she had to do was relax her muscles and take a little weight off her tensed midsection. The thin piano wire would have cut a few more millimeters into her neck, effectively opening her carotid artery. It might have been a bad decision given the Celox Munoz had found in Josef Hadzic's torture kit, but she somehow doubted they could have kept her alive for more than a minute or two jamming hemostatic powder into her neck. What they had planned to do to her corpse afterward, on camera for their boss, hadn't mattered to her either, so she thought.

Ultimately, all of those thoughts proved false. When Melendez's bullet removed her captor's head, she sprang into action with no hesitation, leaving little doubt about her decision to live or die.

She put down the concealer stick and walked across the cool, gray marble tile to the kitchen. She hadn't expected to hear from Daniel until later in the afternoon. His group had an operation planned for the evening, which always shut him down externally. She read the caller ID, not recognizing the number, which could only mean one thing. The last person she really wanted to talk to right now. Three people had the number for this throw-away phone. Daniel, Munoz, and her least favorite person in the world. She accepted the call.

"Do I need to get a restraining order?" she said by way of greeting.

"I highly doubt that would be possible, since you officially no longer exist as an Argentinian citizen," General Sanderson said.

"That was fast. Can I pick up the new paperwork this morning? There's room on a flight leaving at 12:15," Jessica said.

"So now you're happy to hear from me? Your passport will be delivered within the hour by a trusted member of the U.S. Embassy. One of Karl Berg's friends. That might give you enough time to book that flight."

"I'm impressed," she said.

"I'll take that as a compliment, though I must admit that having a little leverage over the White House helps work wonders with the State Department. The passport has been issued in the name Jessica Petrovich and will contain an entry stamp for your vacation to Argentina. Once you get out of Argentina, you're home free. Your names have been removed from every U.S.-generated international and domestic watch list. The Petroviches are free and clear as far as the U.S. government is concerned."

"Do you trust them?"

"For now, but I'd recommend having a backup plan ready at all times. I'll help you get a second set of papers, just in case. Have Daniel pass on the details when the two of you have talked about it."

"We'll be sure to get in touch," Jessica said.

"Why do I get the feeling the two of you already have a plan to disappear?"

"Because you know us too well? Who knows, we might sign on with you as a Mr. and Mrs. Smith freelance team. No promises, but all options are still on the table."

"Now that is a pleasant surprise coming from you. Even hearing you mention the possibility gives me hope. I was utterly convinced that I'd never see the two of you again."

"You might not…" she said and paused, "but sometimes life makes the choices for you."

"In my experience, it's most of the time. The two of you will always be welcome here. Don't ever forget that," Sanderson said.

"Somehow, I don't think you'll let us forget."

"We all know each other too well. Enjoy your time together. The two of you have earned it. I expect to hear from Daniel early this evening. Sounds like they are close to wrapping up their work in Germany. Of course, it all depends on his ability to get some very stubborn people to talk."

"I'm sure Daniel will be on one of the first flights out of Germany tomorrow."

"A lot of highly placed, extremely anxious government officials in D.C. are counting on that very same assessment."

"Daniel never disappoints."

"No. He doesn't. Good luck, Jessica," Sanderson said, and the call disconnected.

She placed the phone on the cold granite countertop and glanced at a two-thirds empty bottle of last night's Malbec standing next to the sink. Was nine-thirty in the morning too early for a glass of wine? Probably. Plus, she needed something stronger to deal with the anxiety stirred up from talking to Sanderson. He'd ruined their lives for his own selfish gain, though the entire situation was certainly more complex. Without the general's new initiative, who knows what the world might have faced in the upcoming weeks. The limited reports streaming out of Russia painted an extremely bleak picture. Without Daniel, the world may never have discovered the truth about what happened in Monchegorsk. She felt her mind spinning again and glanced at the bottle of wine. Still not a good idea. Maybe a little closer to eleven o'clock.