by Michael Todd
“Okay,” he said. “Were you able to stop it?”
“I can’t stop anything,” Anja grumbled. “Any action on my part would raise all kinds of red flags that would have the government databases swept for the bugs I’ve put in all over the place. In addition, it still wouldn’t stop someone from accessing the files after the sweeps have been done. No, I couldn’t fucking stop them, Jer.”
“There’s no need to get snippy. What kind of damage are we talking about? I’m supposed to be dead, right? Everyone thinks I’m dead. That was the whole point of faking my death.”
“Well, I did a little back-tracking on that, actually, and found a few problems.” She tapped her keyboard and rocked on the office chair that squeaked loudly enough for him to hear. He wasn’t sure if he missed or dreaded the sound these days. “Right, they didn’t come looking for your files—not directly, anyway. They ran a database-wide search based on a photo. I can’t tell, but it looks like a selfie with you in the background that I must have missed. I really hate the information age sometimes. Selfie cameras have a far higher res than when I was growing up.”
“Isn’t your expertise based on the information age, though?” Savage asked.
“I said sometimes,” Anja corrected herself. She sounded annoyed and frustrated, and it had been a while since he had heard her like that. “Anyway, I was able to take a peek at what they were looking for—which turns out to be basic shit about your past. They seemed to know what they were looking for, too, and selected your service record, the people you served with, where you served, the people who trained you and who you trained with, your family, place of birth… Essentially anything they could get their hands on, I suppose. It sounds like someone is working Sun Tzu’s method of knowing their enemy.”
For a second, he couldn’t hear anything she said. A ringing sound filled his ears, and he wondered briefly if it was the tinnitus he had previously been treated for. He dropped to his haunches in the middle of the alley when the reaction in his ears was joined by the suddenly erratic beating of his heart in his chest. He had a hard time breathing, and he couldn’t tell if this was a heart attack or not. The doctor had said it was one of the very rare side effects of the medication he was on. Considering that he had all but ignored their suggestion to avoid alcohol while on his painkillers, he might have increased the risk of something really bad happening.
Savage extended his free hand in front of his eyes. In the dim streetlight seeping into the alleyway, he could see it trembling. This was a new feeling and perversely, it brought a small, distant smile. He’d faced fear before and always had the faith that his training and his abilities, as well as the help of his support, would be there to give him a chance at survival. Fear wasn’t necessarily a bad thing since it did have the side effect of pumping his body full of adrenaline, which made him faster, sharper, and better overall at what he did.
But this wasn’t fear. This was something he had always been told to avoid since it was what would get him and anyone who depended on him killed.
This was panic. Pure, unadulterated, body-freezing panic. There wasn’t anything to train you in what to do when your family was suddenly in the crosshairs of killers the likes of which seemed to gather around Carlson and his goons.
“Jer? Savage, are you still there?” Anja said, her tone concerned, but he needed a moment to collect himself before he spoke again. He dragged in a deep breath and went through the effective mental techniques he’d committed to memory and which usually calmed him when he was too worked up. While he’d never quite had this situation in mind, he assumed they would have a positive effect.
After what seemed an eternity, his heart still pounded in his chest like a runaway rabbit but the shaking had ceased and he could hear again.
“Yeah, I’m still here,” Savage said and winced when he heard his voice was cracked and soft. “That part about my family—did they get all the details on them?”
“From what I can see, yes. They got everything,” she replied. “I can’t find anything specific, though. I was locked out of the ‘names’ sections of the files. Why do you ask?”
“Because it sounds like someone is coming after me,” he said and cleared his throat roughly to bring his voice to his normal pitch. “And given the history of the people we’re up against, I think they’ll try to use my family and the people I care about against me.”
A long and very tense silence ensued and he could tell she thought about asking him who it was he thought might be in danger from the information that was now out in the open. He wouldn’t talk about it if she asked because he wasn’t ready for it. His entire world seemed to have been upended and he hung onto sanity by the barest of threads. Quite simply, he didn’t know what he would do if he was pressed. It could be anything from rampaging through the restaurant or stealing the nearest car and driving all the way to Seattle. He needed a moment to collect his wits and gather himself physically. The priority was to pull himself together—for the sake of his family if not his own.
“What will you do, Savage?” Anja asked suddenly, her tone worried.
“I can’t simply charge off,” he said, more to himself than to her. “I need to know what I’m doing and take a moment to think and plan before I act. This is not the time to act impulsively.”
“That sounds about right, yes,” she affirmed.
“Can you track down where the leak came from?” Savage asked once he’d managed to slot his brain back into the cold, compartmentalized place he took so much pride in. “A name or a location—something for me to start unraveling this thread.”
“I’m working on it,” she said. “I’ll call you back when I know more.”
“Thanks, Anja, you’re the best.” His voice was satisfyingly steady and he pressed the end call button. First things first, he decided. Coleman was still in the restaurant, ordering dessert he didn’t have an appetite for anymore. He wasn’t sure how he would break the news to her.
Honestly, he didn’t even know if he would.
His numb fingers fumbled to shove his phone back in his pocket but he finally succeeded on the third try and made his way into the restaurant again. He ignored the noise and the other patrons as he walked over to where she was still seated.
“Jer, there you are. I couldn’t decide on the chocolate lava cake or the mousse, so I ordered both and thought we could share and see which one was better,” she said and turned to face him. She quickly realized that sharing a dessert was the last thing on his mind when she saw his face. “Hey…is everything okay?”
Savage opened his mouth and actually considered simply telling her the truth. My ex-wife, her new fiancé, and my kid have had their connection to me revealed to the kinds of people who actually attack families to get at the people they want out of the way.
He shut his mouth again and stood silently behind his chair.
“What happened, Savage?” Coleman asked and pushed up from her seat. “What did Anja want?”
“Something’s come up,” he said softly and gripped the back of his chair firmly enough that the whites of his knuckles were visible. “I…can’t say what it is exactly, but the fact remains that I need to leave right away to take care of it. I know we didn’t get around to talking about what we scheduled this dinner for, so I’ll have to rain check you on that one. And I won’t be able to take you up on that dessert either.”
She nodded and touched his shoulder gently. “I understand, Jer, and that’s fine. I think we both know I can wolf down anything made of chocolate in no time flat.”
He smirked, which was all the mirth he really had time for as he located his wallet in his pocket and withdrew the necessary bills to cover his half of the check, a generous tip included.
“Let me know if you need my help,” Coleman said, her voice laced with real concern. “Believe it or not, my time working for Monroe has brought me a fair number of contacts in all kinds of walks of life.”
Savage nodded. “Thanks, I might actually
take you up on that.”
“Be safe, Jer,” she whispered and he turned to make his way outside. He knew he wouldn’t really enlist her help or be safe, so there was no real point in pretending otherwise. His was a very dangerous line of work, and if he had to do what needed to be done to keep his family safe, he had to put himself in harm’s way.
Being safe wasn’t really an option.
He stepped into his car and stared at the steering wheel for a second before he yelled as loudly and as hard as he could into it. His vocal protest continued until his lungs were empty and he leaned his head into the horn, gently enough that it didn’t sound off. He needed the release, even if only for a few seconds, before he could regain his focus, start the car, and head home to pack.
Chapter Six
Banks looked out over the city of New York as the sunlight faded from the sky and the nightlights flickered to life and repainted the tapestry before him. He wasn’t one of those men who took the job of partner in the firm only for the perks it brought. The corner office in the high rise, the assistants at his beck and call, the right to pick and choose which clients he wanted to represent, and the obscene amount of money.
Well…he certainly hadn’t taken the job for those, but they had factored into his decision.
The position had, of course, come with strings attached. He had earned every advantage of it, but his lack of traditional connections had, for years, meant others were undeservingly promoted thanks to relationships cultivated by years and years of family friends and connections. He had seen others rise in the ranks while he remained on the menial end of the task pool and was forced to watch others fuck up what he knew that he could easily accomplish.
When the offer had come with the connections to push him to the highest levels of his profession, the strings attached were clear. Certain favors would be owed to people who wanted those favors granted by someone in the positions he wanted to attain. Despite this, he hadn’t thought twice about taking the opportunity. It hadn’t been easy since then, but not once had he ever regretted making the decision that had led him to the seat he now occupied.
The view, the help, and the pay were merely cherries on the cake. All he really wanted was excellence and recognition for his efforts.
Banks drew a deep breath. An examination of Carlson’s paperwork had revealed a wide variety of problems he would have to present to his client before too long. He doubted it was anything they didn’t already know, but that was what he was there for. To assist them to see whether or not Carlson was still with the program and then, possibly, to start the process needed to move him back into a place where he could benefit their plans better.
The videophone rang and he turned his chair to look at the desk. It was the congressman, obviously, and the man was already a little late with the call. It wasn’t like they were on a timetable or anything, but it was of the utmost importance to keep the man on his toes. Having someone in his particular capacity under their heel was something the client felt was important. Therefore, Banks thought it was important.
“Mr. Banks, nice to see you again,” the man said, his words as fake as his smile. “How’s life in the Big Apple?”
“I can’t complain,” he said and did a decent job of masking his contempt. “I have a great view of the sun setting over the city, which reminds me that you’re taking your time in getting me the information. Have you made any progress on that?”
“Actually, yes. I was able to get my hands on the file of one of the special forces members who matched the facial recognition on your Savage character,” Jenkins said, and Banks watched as a selection of files appeared in his inbox. “Here’s the thing, though. He’s been listed as killed in action for months now.”
The lawyer didn’t respond initially. He wasn’t sure how the government treated their retired special forces members, but he did have a feeling that Savage—or Sergeant Jeremiah Johnson, as was on his file—would be one of those who hadn’t actually died. It was a hunch and thus not guaranteed to help, but it was very obviously the same man as the one in the picture provided to him by his client’s contacts. He didn’t trust the US government to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help them God. He did trust his client’s contacts to provide him with good information, though.
It would require thorough validation, of course, but he wouldn’t be at all surprised it if turned out that Johnson was alive and well.
“Thank you, Congressman. You have been most helpful,” Banks said and returned to his call.
“We’re even now, right?” the man asked and leaned forward, the small hopeful smile on his lips no longer fake. “You will destroy the…uh, embarrassing pictures of me minding my own business?”
“Is that what you call it?” he mocked with a chuckle.
“Please,” his caller pleaded.
“To answer your question, no, we are not even, not by the proverbial long shot, Congressman.” He smiled again and actually meant it this time. “But it is good to know you’re on board with the program, and I think this is the start of a very long, very profitable relationship for both of us. Tomorrow, I think you’ll find a handful of small-time celebrities will endorse your re-election campaign, as well as a sudden influx of anonymous donations to that same campaign.”
Jenkins narrowed his eyes and blinked a few times as if he didn’t know what he should do. The lawyer could understand. The rumor was that the congressman had difficulty with his campaign as another younger and more vital candidate had presented herself. It really was a fairly common occurrence, or so it appeared.
“You can thank me later after you verify that everything I told you is the truth,” he said. He tilted his head in what he knew was a superior and even arrogant challenge and merely waited for him to hang up. Jenkins didn’t appear to get the message, though, so he sighed and resisted a cutting comment. “You have a nice evening, Congressman. We’ll be in touch.”
The idiot still didn’t hang up, so Banks obliged and cut the communication. He could understand the man’s trepidation over the whole situation. Understandably, he’d want to try to keep himself off the hook for prostitution charges with the possibility of statutory rape thrown in as well. All these would culminate in the end of his marriage and political career.
While a part of him wanted to feel bad for the man, he simply couldn’t manage to actually manifest the emotion. He disliked politicians in general, and Jenkins was one of the worst as far as he was concerned.
Savage—or Johnson, rather—had been a busy bee during his time in the special forces. He’d been all around the world based on the contents of his file. It fit with much of what they had described of his actions. The man was a professional fixer with substantial experience under his belt, which made actually getting to him a difficult prospect.
There was something in there that might be a passport, though. Savage had left the service early and indications were that the reason had something to do with a wife and a kid. A divorce was mentioned too, and the soldier had thrown himself deeply into his work again. It wasn’t unheard of, naturally. Men who wanted to avoid problems at home often did so by signing up for a couple more tours, so that wasn’t entirely unusual.
An ex-wife wouldn’t draw much of an emotional response, but a daughter? This little treasure of information was all he really needed. Banks lifted his phone from where it was still connected to his computer and dialed his client to confirm that he had a green light to get the ball rolling on what he had learned.
Savage finally reached his apartment after what felt like an interminable trip, but the comforting simplicity of it wasn’t enough to calm him. He went to the fridge for a beer and reconciled himself to the knowledge that he would work through the night. Sleep definitely wouldn’t be an option, so he might as well get something done that didn’t involve tossing and turning in his bed until the sun finally rose.
Fuck that. Fuck all of it. He would track the sons of bitches and turn the bes
t defense into a good offense, as it were.
It wasn’t his family’s fault. They hadn’t been a part of his life for years, and someone now targeted them for something he had done? It wasn’t a fair or honorable way to go about things. Then again, they wouldn’t have a fair playing field either with him in the mix.
Why did he even try to rationalize their behavior? They had set their sights on his family and he intended to kill the sons of bitches and about three or four generations of their family in response. While that might seem a little hypocritical and counter-productive, his instinct was to go on a rampage at this point. No one would be spared.
He dropped to his knees beside his bed to retrieve a locked suitcase he’d stored under it. It wasn’t necessarily the right thing to keep a small arsenal for himself when Anderson and Monroe provided enough weapons for his work, but the need was instinctual. Always being prepared for a rainy day something hard-wired into him.
The stash contained his pistol—the one they’d given him and he had simply refused to return. He’d managed to acquire a couple more strips of the needles it fired, so he had more than enough ammo to tear through the equivalent of most military installations. In addition, he had the shotgun, of course. The remainder was comprised of a small rifle he probably wouldn’t use, a knife, another pistol in case of emergencies, and a couple of the 1911s, still with their suppressors attached.
Savage used almost an hour to clean the weapons. The ritual of it was rather soothing, he had to admit, and it put him in the mindset he needed to be in. The calm, collected killer who wouldn’t be ruffled by anything, even the knowledge that his family was on the line.
His hands still shook a little as he placed the weapons into the duffel bag along with the fake IDs, credit cards, and cash that wasn’t fake. The silence was deafening as he slipped out into the living room of his apartment. He drew the pistol from the underarm holster and checked it one last time while he ran his gaze along the comforting lines and grooves in the weapon.
