Liberation Day - A Thorn Byrd Novel

by Dustin Stevens

It was the second last-minute flight Thorn had been on in less than twelve hours. It too was a small private craft, arranged from an airfield outside of Boston near his condo. Ingram was waiting for him on the opposite end as he climbed off the plane and jogged straight to the car.

  No briefcase. No luggage.

  He wasn’t staying long.

  Thorn hoisted himself into Ingram’s SUV and they made their way to company headquarters. They’d spent the afternoon scouring through options and despite their best efforts, came up with nothing short of going to the board and asking for help.

  The situation before them was just too sprawling, their own resources simply too meager.

  “How receptive were they to the meeting?” Thorn asked as they pulled up in front of the building. It was the first time Thorn had ever seen the place, or even given much thought to the look of his employer, though it fit with what we would have surmised. Multi-storied and done in entirely in black marble with tinted windows, the place held an imposing vibe that was unmistakable. Despite it being after eight o’clock in the evening, most of the lot was still filled with cars, many lights on in windows.

  “Mixed reactions,” Ingram said. “Nobody’s ever happy about being told they’re not going to make it home for dinner.”

  “Was Birkwood an ass?” Thorn asked.

  “Birkwood’s always an ass,” Ingram said as they climbed out and walked inside.

  A receptionist in a crisp business suit greeted them both by name at the door and showed them to the conference room. There was no other business on the docket, the gathering an emergency meeting Ingram had arranged hours before. All small talk died away upon their arrival, every gaze fixed on them as they moved into position.

  Much like the previous time Ingram had appeared before them, the board was seated at a long table perpendicular to the main entrance. In front of them was a much smaller table with two chairs, a clear power dynamic at play.

  “Gentlemen, please be seated,” Bryce Stepoli opened, extending a hand.

  Both did as they were asked.

  “You two requested this meeting, so I shall let you have the floor. Mr. Ingram, if you’d please.”

  Ingram leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “I haven’t been here long enough to know proper protocol on this sort of thing, so I apologize in advance if we’ve stepped out of line or breached etiquette in coming here tonight. Given what we were facing, Mr. Byrd and I didn’t see any other option.”

  “And what is it you’re facing?” John Lewis asked.

  It was clear from the looks of them and the direct questions they were posing that they weren’t quite overtly hostile at the meeting, but were conducting things in a straightforward manner. There was no pretense of the gathering being for frivolous matters, not even a hint that there was a social component to the evening.

  Ingram exhaled and glanced to Thorn. “It turns out the assignment we were given is much, much larger than some trouble at the Boston docks.”

  As expected, the remark brought a reaction from Birkwood. He leaned back in his seat, his customary smirk in place, and said, “A week into his first assignment and already he’s here begging for help?”

  The familiar pangs of animosity Thorn already felt for the man rose inside, though he remained silent.

  For his part, Ingram ignored the comment. “The man who’s been tormenting the Boston docks has been doing so in an effort to gain control of them. He hopes to use that control as a launching point for an all-out assault on the United States.”

  “Many of the projects we take on here have national security implications,” Birkwood said. “What’s the matter? Kid’s not good enough to take care of this one?”

  Thorn leaned forward beside Ingram and said, “This one? Yes. Good enough to be in seven cities on three continents at the same time? I dare say not even someone with an ego the size of yours is that good.”

  The words were gone before Thorn even realized it, vocalizing his inner monologue. Beside him, he could hear Ingram draw in a short breath, his body going stiff.

  The air sucked out of the room as a few of the board members glanced down toward Birkwood. His face grew red and he started to respond, but Stepoli cut him off.

  “Seven cities on three continents?”

  Ingram deferred to Thorn, who ticked off the cities for the board in succession. He then explained how each of them bore a prominent role in the Second World War and how Yuri Chekov had tied them all together for him. When he finished, many of the board members eyebrows were raised and they were exchanging glances with one another.

  Several moments of silence passed, many of the men fidgeting or scribbling notes. Sideways glances were cast, nobody sure of the next move.

  “I guess we did hand you a big one for your first time out, didn’t we?” Stepoli finally offered.

  Thorn raised one shoulder in a shrug, the rest of him remaining motionless. “No way of knowing. I just found out this morning.”

  “What are your plans for the docks?” Stepoli asked.

  “Have you ever heard of a substance called Brugmansia?” Thorn said, a bit of his earlier ire fading away, focusing in on Stepoli.

  “Let’s pretend I haven’t.”

  “It’s a plant found in the South American mountains. If ingested, it can produce serious side effects. If breathed, it is fatal. Best we can tell, it has been weaponized and will soon be shipped to every major city in the country.”

  More notes were taken as Lewis looked up at him. “How reliable is your information on this?”

  “Last night we seized several men affiliated with the undertaking. None of them were aware of the entire scope of the project, but taken together it was enough for us to request this meeting.”

  There were large swaths of the story Thorn was leaving out, from the smoldering crater along the Massachusetts coast to the man with his blowtorch in a garage at Turner’s. On the plane ride down he had decided to strip away every detail that wasn’t absolutely necessary, stressing the importance that he was acting largely alone, that assistance was needed.

  “When is this attack expected to be launched?” Stepoli asked.

  “Tomorrow,” Thorn said. “Teams have already been spotted on site in each of the target cities.”

  For a few moments, nobody in the room said a thing. Thorn and Ingram both sat and stared at the board as they jotted final notes, casting looks from one to another.

  Once content they had everything documented, Stepoli leaned forward in his chair, the item squeaking a tiny bit beneath his weight.

  “Normally an undertaking like this would have to be fully vetted and voted upon, but given the circumstances I don’t think that is possible or even necessary.”

  He looked from one end of the table to the other, met by several nodding heads and the steadfast glare of Birkwood.

  “You’ll be taking Boston?” Stepoli asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Thorn said.

  “We’ll see to the rest.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight