by S L Shelton
“Why didn't you tell me that Scott Wolfe came to see you?” Emrick said bitterly without any sort of greeting. “I had to find out from the damned visitor’s log at GGP.”
“I didn't know it was a problem,” Gallow said.
“How could the son of Hank Wolfe showing up at GGP and wanting to talk to you not be a problem?” Emrick replied incredulously.
“Calm down, Albert,” Gallow said soothingly. “He was here asking about survivor benefits.”
“What did he want?” Emrick asked nervously.
“He wanted to know about the trust that’s funding his mother’s medical care…that's all,” Gallow replied.
There was a long pause before Emrick spoke again. “Nothing about Hank's work?”
“No,” Gallow lied. “Not a word about work. The fund showed up on a routine background clearance inquiry. He didn’t bring up anything about work except to ask when he left.”
“Where does that leave us?” Emrick asked nervously.
“Nothing's changed,” Gallow said. “It had to have been a government clearance that turned up the connection because no one else would have access to GGP employee benefits information. But the fact that it was Hank’s son who showed up and only with questions about the trust makes me believe it was entirely personal in nature.”
“Did you talk to him?” Emrick asked.
“Briefly,” Gallow replied. “He might have thought it odd if I hadn't seen him. After all, his father and I were friends.”
“And you don't find it strange that just as we are ready to go to field trials on the Lance program, Hank Wolfe's son shows up asking questions about his father's death?”
“Albert, he didn't ask a single question about his father's death,” Gallow said in a bored tone. “He asked about an insurance policy and the medical trust set up for his mother. I already told you, it was related to a background check. Scott Wolfe has no way to tie his father's death to you or to GGP unless we make a big deal out of this.”
“Really?” Emrick exclaimed. “If he’s with the government, this should be easy enough to put a halt to with a National Security reprimand.”
“Perhaps,” Gallow replied. “Or perhaps it will only whet his appetite for information and draw Agency scrutiny. The last thing we need is any inter-agency exposure.”
“True,” Emrick said. “Do you see a way to derail him?”
“I don't see a need to derail him. More than likely, the information on the accounts will be the last we'll hear from him,” Gallow replied. “If he comes around asking any more questions, we can claim it’s all we have, and that, over the years, we’d lost track of anyone else who worked with him.”
“That’ll sound fishy,” Emrick said. “Maybe I should push from the DOD side as well. With the combination of a dead end and a threat of disciplinary action, he might drop it.”
“And risk tying us to Wolfe?” Gallow replied incredulously. “I’d recommend against that. Ambux is currently untraceable. It’s a dead project with all strings cut. But if the name Wolfe shows up on an official action from your office, it would tie both names to you and to your active programs. How many current and former operatives do you have in the field under those?”
“At least three dozen, if you count ex-agents,” Emrick said, and then he paused for a second. “You have a point. I can’t risk our department responding to this.”
“No. He’s no threat anyway. He doesn’t know anything about the programs,” Gallow soothed. “And if he’s already with an Agency, drawing attention to him risks exposure to you and your operation.”
There was a long pause. “Hank Wolfe’s NSA file was queried twice in the last month. Both times from CIA-NCS. I could have the NSA walk over and fire off a warning shot about that…nothing official. Just a friendly inter-agency chat.”
“That might work,” Gallow lied, knowing nothing would derail Scott Wolfe.
There was another long pause.
“Look,” Gallow pushed, trying to sooth Emrick’s concerns. “I have more to lose over this than you do. If I thought Wolfe could tie us to your program, I’d take care of him myself.”
“Okay. Okay,” Emrick conceded. “I’ll leave the judgment to you. You’ve never steered us wrong before.”
“Good,” Gallow said. “Now relax. The Jagger program modifications are complete and the Lance program is almost ready for field trials. We should focus on that and finding suitable candidates to test them on.”
“Alright,” Emrick said, sounding convinced. “I’ll get the new field data to you for refinement.”
“Excellent,” Gallow replied. “We’ll begin next phase soon. You should be more excited over that than worried about some kid looking for his father.”
“You’re right, of course,” Emrick said, sighing. “We cleaned up all the connections. There shouldn’t be anything to worry about.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Gallow said charmingly. “Take care and I’ll speak with you when we're ready for the new trials.”
“You too, Roger,” Emrick said.
Gallow hung up the phone and sat back in his chair. He closed his eyes and let the encounter with Scott flow through his mind. Hank’s son had revealed his Ambux enhancement and fracture by reacting to the unseen triggers Gallow had baited him with—but more than that, he had revealed that he was in control of the fracture—at least outwardly. That’s no small accomplishment.
“Brilliant,” Gallow exclaimed softly. “How did he maintain control?”
Asking that question will do you no good, a voice whispered in Gallow’s ear. And you owe the boy too much to even consider exposing him to Emrick.
“It was his father who caused the problem,” Gallow said defensively. “If it hadn’t been for him, Scott would be a normal kid, Hank would still be alive, and I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
You know that’s a lie, the voice hissed angrily. You were responsible for Hank Wolfe’s exposure. Had Hank not been exposed, testing would have concluded that the first generation of Ambux was unstable, and the program would not have been shut down. You are responsible for it all: the end of Ambux, the deaths of the techs, the deaths of the agents, Nance’s death, Hank’s death, Scott’s exposure, your own exposure, and his mother’s insanity.
“No,” Gallow moaned weakly.
Yes, the voice insisted. You must not harm the boy, and you must not allow harm to come to him. He is the only one left you can make amends to. The guilt will destroy you if you do not.
Gallow knew that last statement wasn’t a warning—it was a threat. He was very familiar with how easily his shadow self, as he called it, could inflict pain on him when he resisted its demands.
“I won’t harm the boy,” Gallow repeated nervously. “Of course. No harm will come to him. It’s just that it seems dangerous to have him poking around.”
You must protect Hank Wolfe’s son at all costs, the other voice insisted, crushing the last of Gallow's resistance.
“Yes,” Gallow blurted. “Yes, I will. Of course I will.”
**
Wednesday, September 8th 5:25 a.m.—Fayetteville, North Carolina, two days after the loss of the warheads
HEINRICH BRAUN was livid. His sedan skidded to a halt in front of the warehouse in Fayetteville and he got out before Brian had put it in park. The man had to jog to catch up to the old ghoul.
Braun burst through the side door of the building, prompting the eight men inside to whip around and level weapons at him. He ignored them and stomped over to Harbinger who was sitting on a stack of ammunition boxes, changing a bandage on a nasty-looking burn to his leg.
Harbinger didn’t even look up as Braun came to a halt in front of him, Brian arriving a second later.
He calmed himself once he was in close proximity to the giant, reminded of the man’s size and reputation.
“Do you mind explaining how you botched a prepaid, pre-arranged hand off?” he asked, referring to the loss of the nuclear warheads in Sy
ria, venom dripping from his voice.
Harbinger continued tending to his burned leg without bothering to look up at Braun—this infuriated Braun.
“We were responsible for arriving, picking up the weapons, and then transporting them,” Harbinger replied calmly as he placed a fresh bandage on his wounded calf and thigh. “The arrangements—as you say—were made ahead of time. There was no mention to me of the presence of US Armed Forces seeking to obtain the weapons as well.”
He smoothed the new bandages over his leg and then stood in front of Braun, slowly rising to his full seven-feet three-inch height. Out of the corner of his eye, Braun saw his bodyguard shift his weight away from the big man.
Coward, Braun thought, though he suddenly felt a trace of insecurity race through his body as well.
“If I had been properly briefed on the situation, I would have planned for the contingency and had the proper equipment and more than just a security team to handle it,” Harbinger continued. “Since the intelligence for the mission was clearly in…other hands, I can hardly be blamed for the failure.”
Braun knew he was right, but he couldn’t just let them get away with letting the nuclear warheads slip through his fingers.
Braun drew back his hand to strike Harbinger across the face.
“I would think very carefully about how deep my allegiance is to your cause,” Harbinger warned calmly. “It would be a pity if you misjudged your level of sway over me.”
As keenly aware as he was of Harbinger’s flare for violence and revenge, he also knew that the man rarely failed to complete a task—and that his payment and his reputation hung in the balance.
Braun let fly his hand and struck the giant across the cheek—in fact he had just passed on to Harbinger the slap that William Spryte had delivered to Braun’s face only a day earlier. Harbinger’s face was as hard as marble and left Braun’s hand stinging—the slap, however, did little more to Harbinger than deposit a pink mark on his cheek.
Braun watched as violence surged in Harbinger’s face and blood dots began blooming in the whites of his eyes. The giant remained motionless otherwise.
“You have one opportunity to redeem yourself,” Braun blurted angrily, keeping the fire in his gut alive through sheer willpower—though he immediately regretted striking the giant. “When Gaines is transferred, you are to acquire him.”
It took several long seconds for Harbinger to place his anger in check. When he did, he turned his back on Braun, walked from the warehouse floor into the office. There, he stood and waited for Braun to join him. Braun followed, his bodyguard on his heels.
Before entering the office, he turned to the guard. “Stay. I’ll handle it,” he said.
The bodyguard seemed relieved, though confused, by the command and turned his back to the wall outside the office.
Braun went in and closed the door behind him.
“When is the transfer to occur?” Harbinger asked as he ejected the magazines from his two big handguns before pushing bullets into them.
Braun knew it would be safe for him to follow Harbinger into the office. If the giant had wanted to kill him, he would have done it in front of his men, not in private.
“We don’t know that yet,” Braun replied. “Judging by the fight the Justice Department is waging over him, it may be months. We need to know how much information he possesses concerning our finances and how much he has relayed to the CIA.”
“How much notice will we have?” Harbinger asked.
“Not much. Perhaps as little as twelve hours,” Braun replied, a small amount of calm settling over his chest. “US Marshals will be arranged for transportation once they receive the court order…if DOJ gets their way. But if rendition is permitted, you will have more notice and greater access.”
Harbinger nodded. “Is that all?” He asked dismissively as he finished reloading the magazines and then popped them back into the .50 caliber hand cannons.
“That’s all for now,” Braun said.
“I’ll need to recruit. Do you envision any of this happening in the next two weeks?” Harbinger asked, a sneer forming on his lips.
“Unlikely,” Braun said. “Why would you need to recruit? What’s wrong with these men?”
Harbinger abruptly rose. “You just killed the remainder of my team here,” he said and opened the door before walking back onto the warehouse floor.
The comment startled Braun—it wasn’t clear to him what Harbinger meant until he heard the gunfire. Braun ran to the door and watched as the eight-man team tried in vain to take cover and return fire at Harbinger. One after another, he targeted, fired, and then targeted the next—he had taken them completely by surprise.
Braun’s bodyguard had moved behind Harbinger, his gun drawn on the giant and a look of confusion on his face. He looked at Braun with a frantic questioning expression, looking for guidance, but Braun had been taken completely off guard as well.
When Harbinger had finished slaughtering his eight soldiers, he turned and walked back toward the office as if he had just taken out the garbage—no sign of stress or regret on his face. Brian looked at Braun again and lowered his weapon when Braun shook his head not to interfere.
As soon as the weapon was lowered, Harbinger whipped his big Desert Eagle .50 caliber up and shot the bodyguard, effectively removing the man’s brain through the back of his head.
Braun had a sudden flash of panic. Perhaps he had signed his own death warrant after all—the man seemed to be insane. Braun tensed himself for the inevitable death blow. But when Harbinger pushed past him, confusion and relief flooded his body.
“Why?!” Braun asked incredulously as he turned and followed Harbinger into the office.
“You killed them when you struck me, knowing I couldn’t kill you and still get paid,” he said calmly, matter-of-factly. “You showed them a weakness in their commander. They could no longer be effective under my command.”
“But why kill them?” Braun asked angrily. “And my bodyguard?”
“It’s a small community. We can’t have them talking to others I might recruit, now can we?” he said. “And I killed your bodyguard because you struck me.”
“Insane!” Braun said.
“Not at all,” Harbinger explained. “A bodyguard is hired to protect you, even from yourself if necessary. He allowed you to strike a man who would most assuredly kill you for such an offense. He failed to do his job. Plus—he was your man. Consider his life a trade for your own.”
“How dare you speak—” Braun was cut off when the monster's hand reached out and lifted his old frame from the ground by the throat.
“I warned you once,” Harbinger said, drawing the man’s face closer to his own. “Do not misjudge your level of sway over me.”
Braun fumbled for his gun, but Harbinger simply and easily stripped it from his hand as soon as his fingers closed around the butt.
“We have a business arrangement that I find agreeable,” Harbinger said calmly. “Do not confuse patronage with ownership.”
He released Braun, gently, lowering him to the ground.
“Notify me at the earliest opportunity regarding Gaines’s transfer,” Harbinger said as he turned his back on Braun. “And try to be more thorough in ascertaining the threat level than you were with Syria.”
Braun walked unsteadily over to his gun, which Harbinger had dropped to the floor. He bent and picked it up slowly, debating about shooting the giant in the back.
Harbinger turned his head to the side, listening for the response.
Braun abruptly decided that it would be best to simply leave and holstered his weapon. He saw Harbinger smile as he turned to exit.
He walked unsteadily to his car and got in, breathing heavily while trying to regain calm. It was several long moments before he realized he had no keys—they were still on the body of Brian, his driver. He looked up to see Harbinger walking toward him, filling his chest with renewed tension.
Harbinger arrived at the d
river's side before knocking on the window with his knuckle. Braun thought the glass might break, such was the force transmitted through a single finger. He lowered the window and Harbinger reached his gigantic hand through the opening, dropping the car keys into Braun’s lap. The keychain was spotted with gore.
“Don’t bother with providing a list of replacements,” Harbinger said. “I’ll recruit my own team this time.”
Braun nodded, afraid that if he made a sound it might somehow result in his sudden destruction.
“Drive carefully,” Harbinger said, smiling, before turning and walking back into the warehouse.
**
8:45 a.m. –Reston, Virginia
I was so excited I could barely stand it. In just a few days, I’d be starting my training as an Agent for the Central Intelligence Agency—now all I had to do was convince my TravTech team they could run the operation without me for a year.
“What do you mean you’re leaving?” Bonbon exclaimed with tears in her eyes. “We just started the section. What are we going to do without you?”
“Bon,” I said calmly, trying to deflate some of her drama. “I’m just going away to be trained.”
“Why are we just hearing about this now?” she pleaded. “A year?! That’s not training. That’s a tour of duty!”
I sighed deeply and looked at Storc, pleading for him to help me with Bonbon.
“Don’t look at me,” he said dismissively. “I'm no happier about it than she is.”
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Storc asked softly after a brief moment of silence. “You aren’t being pressured to do it, are you?”
“No,” I said reassuringly, smiling at his concern. “I volunteered.”
Storc looked at Bonbon for a beat, and she returned his stare with a short and determined shake of her head—basically ordering him not to support me. He took a deep breath and looked back at me.
“If it’s what you want, then I’m behind you,” he said finally.
Bonbon abruptly stood and slapped him on the shoulder as she stormed out of my office.
