For a brief moment, he wished he could talk to Al about the thoughts going through his head, but… no. No, these were decisions that he had to make on his own. Jarek, and Jarek alone, got to decide what kind of man he was going to be.
“I can’t,” he heard himself say. “I can’t just give up on this operation because of one slip-up. I can help people, Rose. I can’t turn away from that.”
She looked like she’d just watched her childhood pet being hit by a truck. Her entire body quivered with the looming storm of a fresh cry, but finally, she blew out a breath and found some modicum of calmness.
“I think you should go then,” she said, “as long as that’s your answer.”
He didn’t go—not at first, at least.
They went on like that for another hour, rehashing the same sentiments over and over again in new ways—each iteration punctuated by steadily lengthening periods of painful silence. Slowly, the awful realization of finality crept into Jarek’s awareness, and finally, they said their tear-filled goodbyes—shitty and dissatisfying as they were.
Jarek lurked in the shadows outside the inn for another thirty minutes after that, stopping himself from rushing over and climbing back up to Rose’s window at least a few hundred times before he finally turned and walked off into the night.
On the walk home, he ruminated in silence.
As good as things had been going, it made a sick kind of sense that things had just crashed so spectacularly with Rose. How could he have expected anything else? Every part of his life couldn’t just always be sailing into the land of sunshine and rainbows. That wasn’t how it worked.
You took what you could get.
So the next morning, he went to find Mark.
Jarek had finally found a family when he’d joined the Iron Eagles—a family that was good and honorable—and he had no intention of letting that slip through his fingers too.
Chapter 9
“This is the place,” Mark said, powering down the SUV and stepping out to the dilapidated street somewhere on the western outskirts of Newark. “C’mon.”
“This is madness, sir,” Al said for maybe the thousandth time in the past hour, his tone pleading.
Maybe he was right, but Jarek was tired of hearing it. “For the last time, Al, it’s fine,” he said quietly as he hopped out of the SUV. “We’ll be back in a couple hours.”
“And what if you’re not, sir? What if this is exactly what Conner wanted from the start?”
Jarek turned away from Mark, pretending to look around, and whispered, “If he wanted a crack at us, he’s had chances before. Stop worrying.”
“Not until you start.”
Jarek turned back to Mark, trying to put on a smile. “Your friend, what is it that he does again?”
Mark pursed his lips. He’d been uncharacteristically somber the entire ride down. “He’s a bit of a… maybe tinkerer is the right word. Does a lot of this and that, repairing odds and ends, that kind of stuff. Also curates a little bulletin for all kinds of stuff. Keeps his ear to the ground.”
They crossed to a plain gray metal door, which Mark pulled open for Jarek.
“My hero,” Jarek said as he stepped through. He heard more than felt Mark rap a knuckle on the back of Fela’s helmet and smiled in spite of himself.
The small room they entered was clean but mostly empty, save for the large paper-and-pen bulletin board on one wall and the counter that barred the way to a gray door at the back of the room.
“Charming place,” Jarek said.
Mark wiggled his eyebrows, but his heart wasn’t in it. “He keeps all the fun stuff in the back.”
As if on cue, the door at the back of the room opened, and a man that looked a bit older than Mark said, in a high, warbling voice, “And now if anything goes missing, I’ll know who to blame it on.”
The guy looked like a mad scientist. He might’ve been in his early fifties, but his puffy hair was already well-grayed. He kind of reminded Jarek of Albert Einstein, if Einstein had been balding on the top and strapped a pair of round welding goggles across his forehead. The leather work apron he wore only added to the mad scientist look, packed to the brim as it was with a range of tools and knick-knacks.
“Pryce!” Mark said. “It’s been a while, man.”
Pryce considered them, his light brown eyes inquisitive. His gaze lingered on Fela, studying the exosuit from head to toe. There was no trace of the “What the hell is that?” reaction Jarek had grown to expect; Pryce just analyzed Fela, excitement growing in his eyes as his face pulled into a faint smile. Jarek frowned. Mad scientist, indeed.
“Mr. Adams,” Pryce finally said. “What can I do for you?”
Mark glanced at Jarek. “My friend here needs a place to store something. Shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”
“I see,” Pryce said, finally tearing his gaze away from Fela to focus on Mark. “And you don’t trust your Iron Eagles to keep an eye on this ‘something’?”
“It’s not like that,” Mark said. “We just want it out of sight while we meet a contact.”
Pryce arched an eyebrow. “Ah.” His eyes flicked back to Fela. “And would I be right in assuming the item in question is humanoid and in plain sight right now?”
Jarek gave a weak grin. “You must be killer at twenty questions.”
Pryce smiled, holding Jarek’s gaze. “Speaking of questions,” he said, “why on Earth would you want to leave such a precious piece of hardware with a…” Pryce’s eyes drifted away for a second, then he huffed, “Ha! Hard-wear… Sorry. With a complete stranger, I was saying. Why?
Jarek shifted his weight. “I, uh—”
“You’re hardly a stranger, Pryce,” Mark said, rolling his eyes.
Pryce gave him a dubious look, then nodded toward Jarek. “To him, though.” He turned his gaze back to Fela and started tapping at his chin with a single finger. “You know… it reminds me a bit of that exosuit they were prototyping over at MIT back before the world went boom—”
Jarek’s heart beat faster.
“—The one everyone was raving about,” Pryce said. “What were they calling it, again?”
“Say something, sir,” Al said in his ear.
Jarek pulled his slack jaw closed. Something told him Pryce knew exactly what they’d called it. Jarek glanced at Mark. Maybe this had been a bad idea.
“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “I was too young to be reading Science Weekly back then.”
“Back then?” Pryce said, his eyes twinkling. “No worries. Just thought you might be a fellow enthusiast. Speaking of which,” he said, wiping his hands off and extending one to Jarek, “I’m officially Jay Pryce.”
Jarek took his hand. “Officially Jarek Slater.”
“Right then.” Pryce turned for the back room. “I’ll show you where you can leave it, if you so choose.”
Jarek traded a look with Mark, who shrugged and followed Pryce. The guy was a little kooky, and he’d lightly brushed against a few warning bells in Jarek’s mind, but he also didn’t strike Jarek as untrustworthy. Of course, talented con men never did… but the fact that Al expressed a similar sentiment made Jarek feel a bit better. Al didn’t really trust anyone, after all, aside from Jarek himself.
The back room was much larger than the one they’d come through, and it was fairly overflowing with stuff. It had the immediate feel of a workshop, but as eclectic as the room’s contents were, it took Jarek a few seconds to move beyond the universal label of stuff and begin sorting things out.
The front of the room boasted an impressive collection of conventional hand and power tools, all neatly arranged on wall racks or under the workbench that spanned the wall to the right and wrapped around to the next wall in an L shape. Two large wooden tables occupied the floor space ahead of them, hosting several half-finished projects ranging from wood carvings to half-assembled (or disassembled) electronic gadgets.
Behind the tables stood several metal shelves, loaded with
everything from batteries, wires, and breakout boards to garden fertilizers and bulk chemical supplies. Next to the shelves, a staircase wound in a tight spiral to another room above. Behind the shelves, a workbench sat at the back wall, loaded with scales, some fancy-looking machines that Jarek could only guess at the function of, and enough glass tubes and flasks for any respectable mad scientist.
Jarek stared at it all, mouth agape. Who the hell was this guy? And what did he do with all this stuff?
“Intriguing…” Al said in his ear.
Pryce was watching Jarek with an amused smile. “So this is my humble work space,” he said, holding his arms out and looking around with loving pride in his eyes.
He looked back at Jarek and shrugged. “Personally, I wouldn’t be hasty to ditch armor like this if I were on my way to meet someone in your line of work, but if it’ll help, you’re welcome to leave it here.”
It wasn’t anything he and Al hadn’t already been over a million times. Leaving Fela behind was a risk in more ways than one, but probably not a terrible one. It was just a meeting, after all, and Conner needed to know he was willing to play ball. Besides, he’d have Mark to watch his back if anything went wrong.
As if he’d been reading Jarek’s mind, Mark said, “I’ve got the kid’s back. We’ll make sure he gets back here in one piece.” He shrugged. “It’s just a meeting—should be fine.”
“Should be,” Pryce echoed, his eyes far away for a second. “Well,” he said, snapping out of it with a clap of his hands, “there’s nothing to worry about then!”
Five minutes later, Jarek had swapped Fela’s secure embrace for the lightly armored pants and shirt he’d brought along. On Al’s demand (though Jarek didn’t hate the idea himself), he left a line on his wrist comm open with Fela’s comms so that Al would be able to hear Jarek and speak to him through his earpiece if need be.
Mark had gone to use the bathroom when Pryce turned to Jarek with a serious look and said, “Son, I don’t know what you two have gotten yourselves into, but I hope you’ll be careful and trust that little voice in your head if it tells you to get out.”
Jarek’s heart beat faster as he met Pryce’s gaze, but he managed to keep his expression neutral. He wasn’t talking about Al, was he? There was no way he could have deduced the AI’s presence…
Mark returned before Jarek could think of anything to say.
It was time.
“I’ll be fine here, sir,” Al said softly in his ear as Jarek gave Fela one last long look. “Just promise me you’ll listen to him.”
They said bye to Pryce and turned to leave.
Chapter 10
Several of the Iron Eagles eyed Jarek curiously as he and Mark climbed out of their SUV and approached their huddle. Most of his brothers had rarely if ever seen him outside of Fela. They probably thought he looked like a damn child.
Conner turned to glance between them. “It’s taken care of?”
Mark nodded. “Secure enough for now.”
“Good,” Conner said, handing Jarek an old SIG handgun—already loaded, judging from the weight. “Gear up then.”
Jarek and Mark went to grab their vests from the back of the SUV. Next to Fela’s embrace, the armor left Jarek somehow feeling both naked and restricted simultaneously.
“Christ,” Mark said, studying Jarek with a dark scowl. “It’s a lot easier to realize you’re a child soldier when you’re not in that exosuit.”
As much time as they’d spent together, Mark rarely saw Jarek outside of Fela either. Rose had pretty much been the only one.
Jarek swallowed against the aching that formed in the back of his throat at the thought of Rose. Now wasn’t the time.
He shrugged. “Feel free to alert child services.”
Mark’s mouth drew into a tight line. He turned to close the SUV hatch and then motioned that they should rejoin the group. Jarek followed him, frowning at whatever bug had crawled its way up Mark’s ass. Did his age really bother Mark that much?
As they waited for Conner and Stetson to wrap up their own private discussion, five of the Iron Eagles passed the time with a titillating conversation about the sixth’s mother. Neither Mark nor Jarek saw fit to interject themselves into the fun.
Finally, Conner and Stetson wrapped up and came to join them.
Conner clapped Jarek on the shoulder. “Let’s hit it, people. No reason to expect any trouble, but keep your eyes open. Smitty, Rogers, Gomez—you guys are on ride duty when we get there.”
The Iron Eagles acknowledged their order, and everyone loaded into their respective vehicles. A low, steady growl rumbled through the lot as the old gas-guzzling semi they’d brought along to carry munitions back to Boston wheezed to life. Conner’s go-ahead crackled through the comms, and the Iron Eagles rolled out.
Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up outside of a dingy-looking joint with a sign that read “Rakrath” in sloppy scarlet letters. Inside, the place was a rat’s nest parading as a pub. It wasn’t the kind of place Jarek would’ve chosen to spend his leisure time, but the locale also wasn’t particularly surprising, considering. Those who’d managed to survive the Catastrophe and maintain business as arms dealers didn’t exactly belong to the tribe of shiny happy people. That tribe had gone extinct when the bombs fell.
A roomful of rough-looking faces turned to inspect the Iron Eagles as they walked in. The air was hazy with smoke, and an archaic jukebox warbled out a tune from the past century. Several eyes lingered on Jarek in particular. He wiped his suddenly sweaty palms off and focused on Conner. The attention was probably little more than curiosity. There weren’t exactly gaggles of teenagers running around in there.
Ahead, a gorilla of a man with a buzzed head and a tattered maroon suit rose to greet Conner and Stetson.
“Tom,” Conner said, nodding at the burly man.
“Mr. Conner,” Tom said in a thick English accent. “You’ll wanna be seein’ them then?”
Conner gestured for Tom to lead the way, and they followed the big guy through the gauntlet of stares, smokes, and unpleasant odors to a small, slightly-less-dingy back room. An assortment of non-perishables and various alcohols lined a few dusty shelves, and a door in the corner of the room looked to lead out to the back alley.
Tom opened another door to reveal a descending stairway. Conner waved them through, and Jarek followed the Iron Eagles down to the Rakrath’s basement.
If the back room had been a step above the bar room on the cleanliness scale, the basement was unquestionably several steps below. Scents of mildew and stagnant wetness came to Jarek in unpleasant wafts as he descended to the plain concrete floor at the bottom of the stairs. Most of the basement was shrouded in darkness.
Jarek nearly jumped out of his skin when a rattling sound jangled out of the darkness. He brought his breathing under control. There was another sound. Were those chains jangling in the dark? His stomach turned uneasily. Something was wrong here.
Ahead, Stetson continued into the darkness, unperturbed by the sounds. Jarek tensed as a muffled but unmistakably human whimper drifted out of the darkness. What the hell was going on here?
“The lights, please, Tom,” Conner said from behind Jarek.
“O’course, sir,” Tom said, shambling through the dark to the closest wall.
Click.
Fluorescent lights snapped to life in the dank space, casting shaky illumination onto moist, mold-streaked walls and the assorted clutter of the Rakrath’s basement—crates and shelves of this and that, some spare stools and a table, and… Jarek’s breath caught in his throat.
A dozen women huddled against the back wall, each gagged and bound in chains.
Most of them must have been in their mid twenties or early thirties, but a few looked as young as Jarek.
His stomach lurched at the way they cowered against the sudden light. Most of them sported sickly purple bruises on their cuffed ankles and wrists. A few carried bruises on their faces as well. Their clothes were in
humanely dirty, and in several cases shredded to undignified tatters.
Jarek’s heart raced, every muscle in his body tensed. He’d already taken several unconscious steps toward the ragged prisoners when the unmistakable sound of a gun hammer being cocked clicked through the silence behind him, cold and crisp. Only then did he realize that, despite the abhorrent sight in front of them, every man in the room was watching him.
He turned slowly to face the gun he imagined he’d find pointed at his face, but it wasn’t—not yet, at least.
“What is this?” Jarek said, his voice barely a whisper.
Conner’s expression was carved from a glacial formation as he slowly raised his weapon.
“It’s decision time, kid.”
Chapter 11
What is this? In retrospect, it had been a stupid question.
“What is it, sir?” Al said quietly in Jarek’s earpiece, his voice tense. “Do you need me?”
The sound of the gun hammer being cocked brought it all crashing down on Jarek—a sudden, inescapable truth that had been there all along.
This was Al being right and Jarek being wrong. This was him learning his lesson for putting his trust in Conner and the Iron Eagles.
This was Jarek about to die for his mistake.
And he did need Al, more than ever.
He looked at Mark, who avoided meeting his eyes, his expression tense and anxious and, above all, guilty.
Icy cold crept through Jarek’s stomach. He was going to be sick.
“So what?” Jarek said, turning to meet Conner’s stony gaze. “You’re into human trafficking now?” His voice sounded flat to his own ears.
Conner’s impassive expression finally gave way to a cold, predatory grin. “We’re”—he waved his gun, searching for the words—“expanding the scope of the operation. We need to know if you’re in.”
“And you wanted my answer when I wasn’t bulletproof…”
Conner only shrugged, his grin not wavering.
Soldier of Charity: A Prequel to the Harvesters Series Page 5
