by Matt Rogers
‘Different how?’ he repeated.
‘Dad was ex-military. Strict as hell. Looking back on it I can see he meant well. We lived in Brooklyn. We had a good life. But he never took no for an answer. And neither did I. So we fought and fought and fought and eventually we were doing nothing other than fighting, eating, and sleeping. So I took off. Hated school, hated my friends, hated my sister. She bullied me, too. Figured I’d leave it all behind.’
‘Do you regret it?’
‘Somewhat, at the start. Not anymore. It made me what I am today.’
‘And what exactly are you today?’
‘You’re probing deep.’
He raised an eyebrow.
And smirked.
She saw it in the gloom, and gave him a condescending frown. ‘What are you, a teenager?’
‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘Don’t start.’
‘Answer my question.’
‘Now … I’m an operative.’
‘That’s what they call you?’
‘Are they not supposed to?’
‘That’s what they call me too.’
‘What were you?’
‘All kinds of things,’ Slater said, and for a moment the memories emblazoned their trauma at the forefront of his mind. He pushed them away. ‘Black Force was pioneered by a man named Lars Crawford.’
‘Was?’
‘I don’t believe it exists anymore. At least not the way it was. By the end of his tenure, Lars was … let’s just say psychologically unstable. It’s an unforgiving field.’
‘What happened?’
‘That’s quite the tale.’
‘We’ve got time.’
‘Not that much time. That’d take days.’
‘I can hang around. You’re pretty good.’
‘At talking, or…?’
‘Both.’
‘I don’t have that much time,’ Slater said.
‘Got somewhere to be?’
‘Probably. If my hunch is confirmed.’
‘What’s your hunch?’
‘Tell me about the Lynx program.’
‘First, what’s Black Force?’
He sighed. ‘A division of solo operatives. Lone wolves. Lars had a mountain of research on reaction speed and reflex capacity in the field and brought it to the Pentagon. They gave him the go ahead to start a new division. Off the books. Black funds straight from the Treasury. Basically, when Special Forces soldiers find themselves in a bad situation they have to rely on their instincts. If they test off the charts in reaction speed, they almost always win. Lars wanted to take these soldiers and hone them into something more. It was seen as taboo to send operatives out alone, until Black Force. He practically pioneered the concept of a one-man-army in something other than fiction.’
‘How long did you work for them?’
‘Nearly ten years.’
‘And you survived? The whole time?’
‘Like I said, I react fast.’
‘And that makes you invincible?’
‘Not quite.’
‘It must be a damn good advantage. If you’re still standing here. How many operations were you sent on?’
‘Over a hundred.’
‘How many people have you killed?’
‘I lost count the first year.’
‘You have bad dreams?’
‘You don’t know the half of it.’
‘I’m starting to.’
‘The Lynx program. What is it?’
‘Black operations. Off the books. Funds straight from the Treasury. Same as you. But very, very different.’
‘How so?’
‘Were there any women in Black Force?’
‘Not that I knew of. But I only ever met one other operative. There might have been.’
‘Is this other operative still around?’
Slater paused. ‘Not anymore.’
‘How’d he die?’
‘He’s not dead. He’s just … not around.’
She didn’t push it. ‘Lynx is all-female.’
‘When you started, you said you were—’
‘Twelve?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Most of us are. When we start. Some are younger.’
Fuck, Slater thought.
The perfect storm.
Where are you, Shien?
46
‘You’re sent out into the field at that age?’ he said.
‘Christ, no. But we’re trained. The kind of training you can only get during youth. The kind that hardwires it into your brain. All I’ve ever known is espionage, stealth, combat, murder.’
‘You like it?’
‘I’m doing good work. It’s the hardest job in the world, but the most satisfying. I’m doing alright.’
‘Can you walk away?’
‘I’ve never thought about it.’
‘Why not?’
‘What else would I do?’
‘You ever thought about the fact that you don’t know what a normal life is?’
‘That’s rich, coming from someone like you.’
‘I walked into a recruitment office when I was of age. I was kicked from unit to unit until they finally made me the offer. I was over eighteen. They had my official consent. Your situation is—’
She shut him up with a kiss. ‘I think you’ve had enough experience to know that the secret world doesn’t usually concern itself with anything black-and-white. We’re in the grey zone, honey. Yeah, I’ve thought about it. I’ve been thinking about it for years. And I’m happy.’
‘But if you don’t know whether you can walk away…’
‘Could you walk away? When you were employed?’
‘I never asked. When I got fed up with it, I just disappeared.’
‘You think I can’t do that?’
He recalled her face in the clearing, as distraught as anyone he’d ever seen, tears pouring out of her eyes and pure terror contorting her features.
Then it had all vanished.
In the blink of an eye.
‘I think you can,’ he said. ‘Whenever you want.’
‘Good. Then it’s settled.’
‘Your training hasn’t been the same as mine,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen anyone put on a performance like what you did.’
‘Honey, that was nothing. You should see me at my best.’
‘You get acting training?’
‘Years of it. Relentlessly. We all do in Lynx.’
‘Why?’
‘You ever seen a lynx?’
‘Pictures. Nature documentaries. Not in the flesh.’
‘They’re stunning. Flawless. Beautiful and graceful and feminine. And then they snap, and their prey doesn’t even know what the fuck hit them until it’s far, far too late.’
‘That’s you?’
‘That’s us.’
Slater stared at the outline of her face in the gloom. He couldn’t help but admit she was beautiful. She had the high cheekbones and pronounced jawline of an international model.
‘Is that a criteria?’ he said.
‘We usually function for very specific purposes. We need to look good.’
‘Dictators?’ Slater said. ‘Gangsters and bent billionaires and the shadow elite?’
She nodded. ‘You’re getting it.’
‘The guys who throw cash at models like window dressing for their mega yachts? The models that are probably onboard when atrocities are being discussed? When slave trafficking and drug dealing and prostitution rings are being openly talked about? Because who’s listening? Besides you.’
She nodded again. ‘You got it.’
‘That’d be efficient.’
‘We go places no-one is allowed. We hear things no-one is supposed to hear. We look good and act drunk and act high and act oblivious. And then Command dissects what we overheard and we make the move. I’ve only been operational for three years and I’ve lost count of the human filth I’ve killed.’
‘How do
you get away with it?’
‘Planning. Good preparation. And then most of the time it all goes to shit and I need to remove every witness anyway. And I never feel bad about it. Because everyone on those boats and in those villas and at those private parties knows what’s going on. They know how their masters got their billions. They don’t care.’
‘How long has the program been running?’
‘For years before I got there. And I imagine it’ll continue long after I’m gone.’
‘Williams has been running it the whole time?’
‘It’s his project. He dreamed it up like your guy dreamed up Black Force.’
‘It’s effective?’
‘It’s one of the most powerful programs in the United States government. I’ve been told that many times. I’m their best agent.’
‘How many are there?’
‘I don’t know. Same deal as what you got. It’s all kept very hush-hush.’
‘You know the people you’re killing are bad people?’
‘The worst. Human scum. The things I’ve heard…’
‘Do you have dreams?’
‘Like I said, they’re starting.’
‘They’ll get worse.’
‘You get them?’
‘It’s an inevitable byproduct of the business.’
‘I suppose you want to know what I was doing out here.’
Slater paused. ‘There’s too much on my mind. I hadn’t even thought about it.’
‘So you want the answer?’
‘Keep it short. I have a few more questions.’
‘Santiago Porras Zamora got some bad habits. The cartels are entrenched so deep in society and infrastructure out here that it’s almost impossible for the government to go up against them. But this guy in particular just didn’t know when to quit. He took five American girls in the last four months. Made a pattern out of it. We noticed, so they sent me into the hotspots to look good and play the role of the dumb bitch and wait to get abducted.’
‘It worked?’
‘They took me three days in.’
‘They could have killed you long before you had the chance to retaliate.’
‘Not immediately. That would be pointless. I knew they’d draw it out. Especially if I acted terrified. They like that. They seem to get off on it. I knew I only needed a narrow window and I took it when you showed up.’
‘Now that’s a coincidence.’
‘A happy coincidence.’
‘Don’t know if I’d call it that.’
‘I’m having a good time right now. That’s all that matters, really, isn’t it?’
‘You’ve sure got your priorities sorted.’
‘I know what I want from life.’
They settled into a steady rhythm, silent, both wrapped up in their own thoughts. They each had a lot to process. They let the physicality take over and descended into pleasure.
When it was over, the crack of dawn filtered through the curtains outside. They lay side by side, not shy about it, completely at ease with each other’s presence. Slater sensed something in the atmosphere he hadn’t felt in quite some time.
Camaraderie.
It wasn’t just physical. It wasn’t just sexual attraction. There was some undercurrent of connection between the two of them at a deeper level. Two people who knew what it was like to murder so freely, to put a blunt instrument through someone’s head and strip them of everything that made them human. Who knew what it was like to watch that light go out, over and over and over again, and come away satisfied with what they’d done.
He lay there, thought about it for a couple of minutes, and then the fatigue overwhelmed him and he fell straight asleep.
47
When he came back, crawling out of the confusion that comes in the aftermath of a deep and undisturbed sleep, it took him some time to realise what had woken him up.
Ruby was dressed, wearing a simple floral shirt tucked into faded denim jeans that hung off her frame just right. She looked good. Better than good. Slater eyed her up and down, rubbed his eyes, cleared his head, and swung off the bed. Still naked.
He said, ‘Where’d you get clothes from?’
‘I went downstairs in the robe and convinced the receptionist to run and get supplies. He was more than happy to help.’
‘I’m sure he was.’
‘I got some for you, too.’
‘You did?’
‘Right here.’
She fetched a small bundle of neatly folded garments off the polished wooden table by the door and tossed them to him. Underwear, a short-sleeved tee — size XL — and faded denim jeans of his own. He pulled them on. They fit perfectly, the arms tight around his biceps, the abdominal region loose, the jeans snug on his bulky leg muscles. He stretched and moved around the hotel room for a minute or two, getting used to the fit, and then nodded his satisfaction.
‘Perfect,’ he said.
‘Where did you put your belongings?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Your stuff. Are they keeping it downstairs for you?’
Slater pointed to the phone, wallet, and passport he’d fished out of his pockets the night before. He’d already tossed his keys in the trash. They served no purpose anymore. ‘That’s my stuff.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘Am I supposed to have anything else?’
‘If you’re travelling around Colombia, it’s usually advisable to bring a suitcase. I guess this clothing incident has happened a few times, then? How do you change your clothes?’
‘Like everyone else does. I have a wardrobe. Well, had.’
She paused. ‘You live out here?’
‘I did. Had a compound on the banks of a river. Right near that encampment you were taken to. Then the same cartel stormed the place because I pissed them off. I’ll never be able to go back there. It won’t be safe. And I’ve got bigger things on my mind than constantly feuding with the cartels for the rest of my existence.’
‘Such as?’
‘I met a girl,’ Slater said, ruminating, trying to pick his words carefully, unsure how to put it.
‘Am I supposed to be jealous?’ Ruby said.
‘She’s nine years old. I saved her from a horrifying situation. I was in Macau. Eight or nine months ago. I stuck my nose where I shouldn’t have. As I usually do. And I pulled her out of that filth and … I guess I formed a connection with her. Maybe in another life I could have been her father.’
‘Where was her own father?’
‘Not around.’
‘What happened to her?’
Slater paused again. Now deep in thought. Now wrenched back and forth with the possibility of what was to come. Because if he went through with it there would be no going back.
Not for a long time, at least.
He would have to do things that could be considered unconstitutional. Of course, most of his career fit in that category, but that had all been with the direct approval of the United States government. Under the table, of course. Now he would be going deep into that same labyrinth to save someone that meant everything to him. For the second time.
‘Come back to bed,’ he said. ‘I need to talk to you about … a lot.’
She shook her head. ‘I was just leaving.’
He froze. ‘What?’
‘I can’t stay. They think I’m still in the jungle, and I have to say this was a pleasant release from all the usual tension, but I need to go back stateside.’
‘Let me come with you.’
‘Not a chance. I’ve connected the dots. I see where this is headed. You’re on your own.’
‘Ruby…’
‘I’m not some damsel in distress who’s going to stay with you for no reason. I’ve got no reason to be here. I need to go.’
‘I’m not going to force you to do anything.’
‘Did I suggest you were going to?’ she said, a spark in her eyes. The amber glowing hot. ‘Besides, if you tried anything, I’d cut your throat
.’
‘You could try.’
‘Let’s not go down that path.’
He nodded. ‘Suits me.’
‘Then this is goodbye.’
‘Wait.’
‘I’m not helping you with this. Not a chance. In fact I should try and kill you right here. Because I know what you’re going to do.’
‘You don’t even—’
‘The answer is — I don’t know.’
‘What?’
‘I’m a few steps ahead. You gave this little girl to Russell Williams. You thought he was the one point of normalcy in your life. You trusted him to find her a home and make sure she had a normal life because all you do is attract trouble and now you’re worried he put her straight in the Lynx program. Because no-one would ever know otherwise. You gave him free reign to do what he wanted with her and you’re just starting to realise you don’t know him well enough to trust him.’
‘Yeah.’
‘And the answer is — I don’t know. I don’t know if she’s in the program. I don’t visit the facility anymore. I aged out of it. I’m operational now.’
‘Is there any way you can—?’
‘You know what I’m going to say.’
‘I shouldn’t bother asking?’
‘I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now. But you seem like you’ve got your head screwed on straight and I’m feeling generous after last night…’
‘What time is it, by the way?’
‘Almost midday.’
He nodded. ‘That’s enough sleep.’
‘Yeah, well, I shouldn’t saying a fucking thing. Because if it turns out she’s in the program you’ll probably raise hell to get her out of it. And I happen to hold that program dear to me. It forged me into what I am. Now I take no shit, I kill whoever I think is scum, and I love my life. And I’m not about to jeopardise the government’s chance for other girls to do the same.’
In his head, Slater thought, You’re kids. You’re all kids. It doesn’t matter if it’s girls or boys. You’re raised not to know any better. I’m all for black operations but you have to choose to ingratiate yourself in this mad world when you’ve got a developed brain. If Shien’s in this program, I’ll tear the world apart to get her out of it. If she wants to be an operative when she turns eighteen, she can do it. But she’s nine fucking years old. She doesn’t know what’s right and what’s wrong. How dare you be complicit in your handler brainwashing her to be a hardened killer? You’re brainwashed yourself.
