The Price of Disrespect (Gray Spear Society Book 6)

by Siegel, Alex

  He drove further down the block and parked on the side of the road. They got out. The air was warm but cloud cover threatened rain. Springtime in Chicago was always volatile. It could be cold and clear one day and muggy the next.

  Building four was beside one of the many water channels that were collectively called the "Chicago River." The channels probably had individual names, but Smythe had never heard anybody use them. This one was about 150 feet wide, but he couldn't tell how deep it was because the brown water was opaque. Walls made of concrete or rusty steel formed the sides. Swimming in the water was out of the question. It was still frigid from winter, and there was no safe way to get in or out.

  Smythe and Odelia walked along a narrow path beside the river. He wanted to hold her hand, but that would look suspicious. There was probably a rule against employees of Clear Path fraternizing.

  They approached building four cautiously. All the windows were painted black and covered with burglar bars. Loops of barbed wire ran along the edges of the roof.

  "Not very inviting," Odelia said.

  Smythe pointed at a surveillance camera mounted high on a tree. They couldn't get any closer without being seen.

  "I have an idea," she said. "Instead of us going into the hornet's nest, let's poke it and see what comes out."

  "Agreed."

  They went back to the car and opened the trunk. It was packed with duffle bags full of useful items. After a little digging, Smythe found the bag of guns. There was a wide assortment, ranging from .22 caliber target pistols to sniper rifles. He selected a Barrett M98B rifle and screwed on a suppressor. The .338 Lapua Magnum bullet was a little quieter than its .50 caliber big brother, but still exceptionally accurate.

  "This will poke nicely," he said.

  He found a camera with a telephoto lens for Odelia. She frowned when he handed it to her.

  "That's right," she said. "Give the camera to the little lady while the big, strong man keeps the gun. I bet I'm a better marksman than you."

  He gave her the rifle and took the camera. "When we get back to headquarters, we'll settle this in the shooting range."

  "I look forward to smoking you." She winked.

  "We'll see. Aaron has been teaching me a few tricks."

  There was no good cover in the immediate area. They got back in the car and drove across a bridge to the other side of the river. They eventually found a dense clump of bushes that provided a good view of building four without being too far away.

  Smythe and Odelia laid down in the weeds under the bushes. He used a miniature tripod to steady the camera while she lined up her shot.

  "What will you give me if I do this in one shot?" she said.

  "A kiss," he said, "and if you miss, you have to kiss me instead."

  "Sounds fair."

  She pulled the trigger. The suppressor kept the noise down to a loud hiss. The surveillance camera near building four broke apart.

  "That shot is worth two kisses." He grabbed her head and kissed her firmly on the lips.

  "Where is my second kiss?"

  He gave her a sly look. "I want to catch you by surprise."

  She sniffed with disappointment.

  He settled down and looked through the view finder of the camera. The telephoto lens made it seem like he was only twenty feet away from his target, when the truth was more like two hundred.

  After a minute, two men came around the building and looked up at the broken video camera. They wore green technician uniforms. Both had long hair and puffy beards which made them appear barbaric.

  "I wonder which is the Handyman," Odelia said.

  Smythe snapped off several pictures. "Could be both, or maybe one is the Assistant Handyman."

  Bulges under their uniforms suggested they carried concealed guns. One man took out a phone and made a call.

  They remained outside the building, apparently waiting for something. After a minute, three blue and white vans arrived. They had flashing yellow lights on top and the word "Security" printed on the side. Smythe took more pictures, making sure he got clear shots of the license plates.

  Six guards wearing green uniforms and badges fanned out to check the area. They walked along the path by the river. Smythe and Odelia flattened their bodies in the weeds in case a guard looked their way.

  "I have an idea," Smythe said. "The Handyman will want that surveillance camera repaired right away, and we're already wearing technician costumes. We could just show up."

  "That idea is worth a kiss." Odelia grabbed his head and kissed him.

  "I'm not sure if all this kissing is recommended for a Gray Spear Society operation."

  "We'll start a new trend."

  When it seemed safe, they crept back to their car. Smythe drove across the bridge and parked in the same spot he had used before. They got out and buckled on tool belts that were part of their costume.

  "We should grab some bugs," Odelia said.

  They retrieved an assortment of tracking and listening devices from the trunk. The small items went into the many pockets on their costumes.

  They walked boldly towards building four. Security guards were still wandering around, but the presence of two technicians in corporate uniforms didn't interest them.

  Smythe and Odelia stopped and looked up at the broken camera. The bullet had taken out the lens.

  "Nice shot," he whispered.

  "Thank you," she replied. "How would I do in a shooting contest with Aaron?"

  "He'd still kick your ass."

  One of the "Handymen" was still outside the building. He hurried over and said, "Who are you guys?"

  Smythe faced him. "Security sent us to fix the camera. What the hell happened? Did somebody hit it with a rock?"

  "Get out of here. I'll fix the camera myself."

  "No. We have our orders. We'll fix the camera."

  "Go away!" The Handyman pointed towards the street.

  Smythe crossed his arms. "You can't tell us what to do. Who are you? Why don't you have a name tag?"

  "I'm the Handyman. Do you get it now?"

  "No." Smythe shook his head. "Is that some kind of nickname? Like on a video game?"

  "I swear, if you and your girlfriend don't leave now..."

  "Take it up with management. Do you have a ladder in there?"

  Smythe shoved the Handyman and knocked him down. Smythe walked quickly around the building to the front door. He heard rapid footsteps coming up from behind. He stepped aside at the last instant, and the Handyman crashed face-first into a wall. Smythe kicked him in the back of the head hard enough to send him to the ground.

  "Are you OK?" Odelia cried. "Did you hurt yourself? Let me help you." She knelt down beside the fallen man.

  Smythe smiled. That's my girl.

  He used the opportunity to enter the building. The interior was crowded with electronic equipment of all shapes and sizes. A brightly lit workbench occupied the center of the room. Some large devices were similar to the broadband amplifier he had chopped up last night.

  The other Handyman was working at the bench. He looked up and appeared shocked when he saw Smythe.

  "Who are you?"

  "I'm looking for a ladder," Smythe said. "I came to fix the broken camera."

  The Handyman drew a gun and pointed it at Smythe's chest. "You shouldn't be in here."

  Smythe ducked behind a tall stack of hardware. "Hey! Take it easy! I just want a ladder."

  He took a listening device out of his pocket, turned it on, and hid it deep inside the stack.

  The Handyman came around with the gun still out. Smythe stood up slowly. He kept his arms raised and tried to shiver as if afraid.

  "What's your name?"

  "My name?" Smythe squeaked. "Uh, what's that?" He looked to his right.

  The Handyman instinctively glanced in the same direction. Smythe slapped the gun out of his hand and swept his feet in a single swift move. The Handyman caught his head on the corner of a table as he fell. He was imme
diately knocked out.

  Smythe quickly searched the body until he found a wallet. He copied down identifying information onto a notepad. He put the wallet back exactly where he had found it. Finally, he planted several bugs on the man's clothes.

  Smythe went back outside. Odelia was still attending the first man, and she had a deeply concerned expression. She was a fabulous actress.

  "Just stay down," she said softly. "You could have a head injury."

  The security guards were converging on her. Smythe whistled softly and nodded towards the car with his head.

  Odelia immediately stood up. The two of them walked back to the car at a brisk pace.

  "What happened inside?" she said.

  "I knocked the guy out and bugged him," he said. "I got his name and driver's license number. I didn't see anything interesting. Just a lot of equipment. What about you?"

  "I planted two listening devices and two trackers."

  "I love working with you. We make a great team. I wish it happened more often."

  They reached the car. Odelia opened the trunk and started digging out the radio receivers for all the bugs they had planted.

  Smythe called Aaron.

  Aaron answered quickly, "Yes?"

  "We found the building, sir." Smythe gave a quick summary of what had happened.

  "Well done. The twins are still asleep, and I want them to stay that way for another hour. They'll work on this later. In the meantime, you're on stakeout duty. Listen and follow."

  "Yes, sir."

  Chapter Twelve

  The Handyman rubbed his sore head. He felt like he had been hit by a truck. With help from the security guards, he got to his feet.

  He looked around for the two mysterious technicians who had caused the trouble. They were gone, of course. He checked himself. He still had his gun and his wallet. Aside from a ringing headache, he didn't seem to be injured.

  He told the security guards to leave him alone and went into his workshop. His assistant was lying on the floor with his eyes closed, but he was still breathing. There was a bloody cut on the side of his head.

  "Fuck," the Handyman said.

  He quickly checked the room. It didn't appear as if anything had been taken or disturbed. All the precious control modules were still on the shelves. The alarms on the windows and the back door were still active. He rubbed his sore head again. Lingering dizziness was making it hard to think clearly.

  There were two white phones on the wall. Both were hardwired to the same location. The Handyman's instructions were to use the left one for normal communication and the right one for emergencies. He picked up the right one.

  The call went through automatically, and he listened to the ringing at the other end.

  "Yes?" a familiar but nameless voice said. "What's wrong?"

  The Handyman only knew that his employer was a highly placed executive. They had never met in person. The Handyman was fiercely loyal though. The boss not only paid well, but he had helped the Handyman deal with an annoying ex-wife.

  "We just had more trouble, sir." The Handyman described the incident.

  "Damn," the boss said. "You're sure nothing was taken?"

  "Pretty sure. I'll check again. The troublemakers were here for only a minute."

  "How is your man doing?"

  "Still unconscious," the Handyman said. "Looks like he took a nasty hit to the head. I should get him to the hospital."

  "This is very troubling. There must be a mole. How else could anybody know about you? Your location is a secret, and our systems have the best security."

  "Did you make your calls, sir?"

  "Yes," the boss said. "I have people checking on people checking on people. If necessary, I'll turn my entire organization upside-down to get to the bottom of this. Everything was going so well until last night, and now I can't even trust my own employees. It's so frustrating."

  "We are anarchists, sir."

  "That's an interesting point."

  "I need to call an ambulance." The Handyman looked at his assistant and frowned.

  "Go ahead. Take care of your man. Then get back to work."

  "Actually, sir, I might have a concussion. Maybe I should see a doctor, too."

  "No," the boss said. "No breaks. We have to push forward. We can't let our enemies slow us down at this critical juncture."

  The Handyman rubbed his head and felt nauseous. "Yes, sir. Of course."

  "Good bye." The call ended.

  * * *

  Tawni was astonished as she watched Aaron and Norbert spar. Their moves were so quick and fluid they reminded her of a well rehearsed dance, but dancers didn't hit this hard. She could hear fists and feet pounding flesh. Both men seemed happy to push the boundary between training and actual combat. They would certainly walk away from this match with bruises. This was how God's warriors practiced.

  Aaron performed a flipping spinning kick that should've been physically impossible for such a big man. Norbert evaded by dropping into a full split and punching upwards. Aaron grabbed his opponent's arm while still in mid-air. An instant later, the master had his student in a brutal arm lock.

  Norbert slapped the mat.

  Aaron released him and stood up. "You're getting good. Maybe you'll beat me some day."

  "I'm not holding my breath, sir," Norbert said.

  Tawni sighed with frustration. Witnessing them spar reminded her how much training she needed. All the other legionnaires were so much quicker and stronger than her.

  "Tawni," Aaron said, "spar with Wesley."

  She looked at the boy and his amazing blue eyes. She was more than a foot taller and fifty pounds heavier than him. It didn't seem fair.

  "Sir?" she said. "Really?"

  "You're sure you can beat him?" Aaron said.

  "He's just a kid."

  "Think about it. Who is this child? What sort of people does he hang out with?"

  She looked at Wesley again. He smiled innocently at her.

  Damn it, she thought. She had already sparred with Aaron and Norbert, and those experiences had been completely humiliating. Now the little twerp was going to teach her a lesson, too.

  "Go on," Aaron said. "This is how we get better."

  Tawni nodded sadly. "Yes, sir."

  She got into the best stance she could manage.

  Everybody wore white karate uniforms and gray belts, even Aaron. The outfit looked cute on Wesley's little body. When he stepped into a perfect fighting stance and tightened his fists, it was less cute.

  He came at her all at once. He wasn't tall enough to hit her face, but he could certainly reach her body. His little feet smacked her ribs, chest, and stomach with enough force to hurt. She tried to fight back, but she was always a step too slow.

  "Think," Aaron said. "Analyze your opponent. He's very skilled but he has weaknesses."

  Tawni didn't see any weakness. All she saw was a short, white whirlwind with perfect technique and the quick twitch reflexes of a child.

  She was a lot bigger than him though. No amount of training could change that fact. He was also too aggressive. He was fighting as if he had something to prove, and that gave her an idea.

  The next time he kicked her stomach, she froze instead of trying to block or evade. She made her stomach muscles as tight as possible. He wasn't expecting such a rigid target, and the impact knocked him off balance. Before he could recover, she gave him a hard shove backwards. He fell onto his butt awkwardly.

  "Good," Aaron said. "Your best weapon is always your brain. Don't forget that lesson."

  Tawni smiled. It was a minor victory, but it meant a lot to her. She wasn't a total loser.

  Wesley jumped to his feet. "This is stupid! What am I doing here?"

  "What do you mean?" Aaron said.

  "I should be out on the battlefield. I should be meeting the enemy. Why am I just practicing when I could be fighting for real?"

  "If Smythe needs help, he'll call, and he hasn't."

  "Th
is is so boring!" Wesley yelled.

  There was no sympathy on Aaron's handsome face. "We have a video game system attached to the television. Do you want to play with that?"

  "I can't. Video games aren't truth. They don't make sense to me."

  That comment caught Tawni by surprise. She hadn't realized Wesley's gift could also be a disability.

  "Then work on your math problems," Aaron said. "That seems to keep you quiet. I noticed you were doing calculus."

  Wesley growled and stalked off. Aaron watched him go.

  "Are you trying to drive the kid away?" Tawni said.

  "I'm trying to help him grow up. I feel bad for him. He has greater responsibilities than any of us can imagine, and there is nothing we can do to help him. He has to wrestle with his destiny on his own. We're done sparring. Let's move to the shooting range. Tawni, it's time for you to learn how to shoot a gun correctly."

  "Yes, sir." She was looking forward to the lesson. She couldn't ask for a better instructor.

  * * *

  Wesley was simmering. He hated being treated like a child, and even worse, like a prisoner. He was stuck in a concrete box with adults who didn't understand his needs. His dream of living the exciting and glorious life of a legionnaire was crumbling, and nobody cared.

  Before his death, Wesley's father had often told him to never give up on dreams. Wesley decided he would force the issue. He would show Aaron that he was just as capable and competent as the others. Wesley would help destroy the Nonsectarians even if it meant defying Aaron's orders.

  First, Wesley needed a way to escape headquarters. He didn't doubt Aaron would physically restrain him to keep him out of harm's way. Charles and his protection team were just as obnoxious. To get away, Wesley would have to sneak past some of the best security and most observant people in the world.

  He smiled. It was a challenge worthy of a legionnaire, and it would make Aaron look like a fool.

  The obvious place to start was the security booth. Wesley was hoping to find a gap in the security there. He went down the hall and knocked on the door.

  "Hello!" he called. "It's me! Can I come in?"

  The door opened. Jack ushered Wesley into the darkened room and closed the door.

  The security control console was very impressive to Wesley. Hundreds of buttons, switches, and small displays were packed together on the broad surface. A bank of monitors showed live surveillance video. The images changed every few seconds as the system continuously scanned the interior and the exterior of the hotel.