by Michael Todd
Her mood was restored, and she could see her guests now felt a little more comfortable as she moved over to one of the poolside recliners and sprawled elegantly across it to enjoy the sunlight. Everything seemed swathed in a warm, golden glow, visible through her custom-made Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses. Considerable effort went into maintaining her appearance, but it was immensely satisfying to simply sit back and let the sun do some of the work.
One of the hard-working house servants moved closer, a single champagne flute on the gleaming tray in his hand. There wasn’t any champagne in the glass, of course, although it was chilled to the point where she could already see condensation on the outside. The liquid inside was bright blue and appeared to swirl and move of its own accord. She scowled at the glass but took it in her perfectly manicured fingers. It was a necessary evil these days, and she had to admit that it had made her life of looking good a whole lot easier.
It didn’t change the fact that it tasted like death, though.
She took a sip. “Cazzo di inferno.” She scowled and shook her head. “This Zoo shit is disgusting.”
“So why do you drink it?” one of the tall, lean, and handsome male models whose name escaped her at the moment asked. He settled easily into the recliner beside her.
“You don’t look this good without a few sacrifices,” Elena replied and allowed herself a moment to appreciate the perfect form of the man beside her. “But I have to say that it’s been worth it.”
“I really didn’t want to go back to the hospital,” Savage said and glowered at his surroundings. The room was private with an appealing view of a small creek and the trees that had started to turn all kinds of colors between red, yellow, and orange. It was a pleasant place to spend time in, even if it was a hospital. “I’m serious. A couple of bruises. A concussion, maybe. A few cracked ribs, and…” He raised his right hand still bound in a couple of black wraps. “I relocated my finger badly, so they had to pull it out and put it back in again correctly. It was as painful as hell, but I should get out of here within a couple of days.”
He was lying of course and had been in a great deal of pain when they checked him into the hospital. There had also been a few complications. He had still been dealing with the problems that had put him in hospital the last time, and the beating he’d taken had made those injuries worse. All had been exacerbated by the fact that he hadn’t taken his medication for the past week.
As hard as it was to accept, he needed to stay in the hospital and get better. He wouldn’t survive if he didn’t allow himself to recover between beatings.
“So, you’re saying this is all a formality?” Jessica asked skeptically as she studied him on the hospital bed.
“Sure,” he replied with a shrug. “I would have been told to walk this off if I was still in boot camp.”
“Well, do it for me, okay?” she asked, a bite of sarcasm in her voice when she squeezed his shoulder “It’ll make me feel so much better knowing the doctors and not some drill sergeant have given you a clean bill of health. Please, do it for me, okay?”
“Will do.” He smiled a little sheepishly and she turned, made her way to the door, and gave Anderson a quick hug before she stepped out of the room.
“And now that the ladies aren’t present?” the former colonel asked and moved closer.
“Hey, what am I?” Anja asked through their earbuds.
“I would have thought you didn’t like being called a lady,” Anderson replied with a chuckle.
“True, but you should always check first.”
“How are you feeling, Savage?” The man returned to his original query. “Really feel, not that crap you fed Coleman.”
“I feel like shit,” Savage responded morosely. “The meds the doctors are using have been reduced because they don’t want me to develop a dependency on the stuff. Which means most of my recovery will be spent on the very, very edge of what can be considered tolerable pain.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I acted on emotion and did the very thing I tend to criticize others for doing. I made mistakes a lot of people don’t usually survive and with some help from you, Anja, Terry, and Sam, I managed to live long enough to be able to learn from those.”
“You would have done the same for any of us,” Anderson reminded him.
“That’s not the point,” he stated bluntly. “I’m supposed to be the one to keep you all safe, alive, and well enough to do your jobs. I’m the one who needs to keep his head on his shoulders so everyone else can afford to get emotional.”
“Like I said, you would have done the same for any one of us,” his companion repeated with a small grin.
The operative shook his head. “I swear to God I’ve started to wish this job didn’t get me beaten up so much.”
“You volunteered for it, dumbass,” the ex-colonel reminded him and punched him gently on his shoulder. Despite the lack of force in it, he still grunted in pain and scowled at the man.
“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he admitted after a moment.
“Do you want to hear some good news?” He didn’t wait for the patient to answer before he pulled his phone from his pocket and brought up a news article. “The police in Seattle are still baffled by the attack on the Devers household and more baffled by their apparent protector. Sources of an undisclosed nature shed some light on the man—one man, according to those claims—who is known as The Savage, a killer and protector for hire. The only questions that remain are who this Savage is and whether what happened at the Devers house was protection or assassination.”
Savage chuckled. “You have to love tabloid journalism. That sounds like Anja’s work to me.”
“Yes and no,” the hacker replied. “Yes, because I did plant the news about a mysterious international hitman of James Bondian proportions as a protector to the family to make sure nobody touched Banks’ contract. I wasn’t the one who leaked the name to the press, though. That has to be someone who looked into the contract and probably spread the name around to try to get more info on you.”
“On that note,” Anderson said, “I had a quick chat with friends of mine at the Pentagon. I shared some—not all—of the details of what happened regarding your leaked information, and they made sure your file was reclassified under the National Security Act of 1947. That protects the identity of soldiers acting as liaisons to American intelligence agencies, living or dead. Admittedly, the file was already leaked, so whoever already has it still does, but it will prevent anyone else from acquiring it.”
“Speaking of that,” Savage said. “Anja, were you able to trace the call we had after Banks died?”
“That was on a landline,” Anja reminded him. “I didn’t even have access to it, and I only managed to listen in because of your earbud. I’ve tried to get voice matches, but the copy I have is a little garbled. I can’t make any promises.”
“There’s someone else who knows about who this client of Banks’ could be,” Savage said and glanced at Anderson. “That is who we’re guessing she is, even if it’s a little premature?”
“It’s the only lead that we have,” the former colonel said and shook his head dubiously.
“Who’s this lead?” the hacker asked.
“Someone who’s still in federal custody,” Savage said. “This isn’t over. You know you need me on this, right?”
“I do,” Anderson replied.
“Well, I’ll get right on that then.” He started to push himself up from his bed, only to stop when the other man placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
“You need your rest, Savage.”
“You know I can break that hand right off, right?” he asked, his eyebrow raised.
“In the condition you’re in, I’d give even odds to you not being able to break a toothpick in half,” his boss replied with a chuckle.
“I can get to Carlson in my sleep,” he protested. “With Anja’s help, of course. Minimum security prisons are a cakewalk to break out of and
even easier to break into.”
“All the more reason for you to give yourself time to recover,” Anderson insisted. “Carlson isn’t going anywhere, and Anja’s already on the case. When she has something for us, I’ll be the first to break you out of this hospital, got it?”
He leaned back on his bed. After all that talk about being stupid and putting his emotions ahead of his intellect, he was ready to jump into the deep end again. There had to be a special place in hell for people as stupid as he was right now.
Still, he had a lead on the person who had put his family in danger. It was almost torture to simply sit around and wait for his body to finally piece itself back together again.
“Yeah, I got it.” He relaxed and took a few deep breaths, resigned to the truth.
“I need to go put fires out back in Philly,” Anderson said. “Stay alive, Savage. And don’t do anything stupid.”
He nodded as the man headed out of the room.
It wasn’t all bad, he mused. He would be released in a couple of days, and from that point forward, he could probably start working again. Like he had said, breaking into a minimum-security prison would be a cakewalk and even easier if he had Anja’s technical skills on his side. There was no need to rush this. Not yet. And he had Wi-Fi in the hospital. Why would he want to leave?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Carlson couldn’t see himself living out the rest of his life in this place.
Admittedly, he couldn’t describe it as absolutely terrible. There were many resorts he’d seen advertised that had fewer amenities, for one thing. It had been a golf resort, he had heard. Considerable money had gone into developing the area around it to make it a pleasant place to play during about three-quarters of the year, with enough alternatives offered in the premises to make it appealing even during the months where golfing wasn’t an option. Indoor swimming pools, tennis courts, billiard rooms, and lounges didn’t even begin to sum up the whole experience.
No drinking was allowed, of course, but there was a good supply of contraband that the guards liked to turn a blind eye to in order to enjoy it themselves. He even had his own cell, his own space that he didn’t have to share with anyone. While the room had two bunks in it, the prison wasn’t heavily populated, and a substantial amount of money had gone into a variety of accounts in exchange for making sure he had his own space in the prison.
But it still wasn’t good enough. He believed in what he had done on the outside. The world needed to be saved from itself, and thanks to the efforts of a handful of individuals, the Zoo was a treasure chest of things they could use to do exactly that.
Despite his frustrations, he still had justifiable fears about a life out in the world. Banks had assured him that the Savage problem was all but resolved but he hadn’t heard from the man in almost three weeks. He hadn’t heard from any other lawyers, either, which meant the client was starting to get antsy about their whole operation. Or at least, he hoped that was what it meant. She wasn’t the kind of person to worry unnecessarily, which meant Savage had proved more troublesome than anticipated.
People had a bad habit of underestimating the man, and Carlson hated the fact that he was the first of what appeared to be a very long line of fools.
Banks was probably dead or in hiding right now. The client would pull back and disengage. She liked to operate from the shadows and having someone like Savage on her trail would ruin that.
Ultimately, the ex-CEO was more than happy to remain precisely where he was. The bunks were a little small and a little uncomfortable. The lack of female company was also a drawback, although he was sure he could arrange conjugal visits if things became really dire. He could still engage in most of his vices, even if he did have to buy enough for himself as well as the guards who would show up unannounced at his cell, their hands extended, waiting for a payoff. He was more than willing to oblige, but it was still a gritty, dirty business.
He didn’t want to stay there for too long, but it wasn’t like it was a hellish place to be.
Right now, for instance, was evidence of the brighter side. Carlson looked around the abandoned golf course. He didn’t have a caddie with him, which meant he had to carry his own equipment, but that was good exercise—something he hadn’t had enough of since his incarceration. It was winter, which meant it was too cold for most of the regulars to play, but Carlson didn’t mind playing on his own and regarded it as a good opportunity to work on his handicap. Besides, the quiet solitude allowed him to play pretend, as if he were actually on his favorite golfing course in Florida, chatting with like-minded folks and talking big money while enjoying nature and sunshine galore.
And it was a gorgeous day. The fall made it even better, he thought. The sun shone brightly but the air was still crisp and pleasantly cool. The trees were bare of their leaves, of course, which spoiled the view a little. There had been a problem with the leaves on the course, but after enough complaints, they had brought in teams to clear the area regularly. Even then, while the autumn carpet had been a minor hassle, it wasn’t enough to remove his enjoyment of the game.
He tilted his head and eyed the ball in the grass. It still lay where he’d hit it last, about fifty yards from the hole he aimed for and he acknowledged regretfully that the quality of his game was declining. The former CEO could complain that it was due to the poor quality of balls and clubs they were provided with. There was a security risk involved in giving prisoners fully weighted golf clubs, even in minimum security facilities, since they could be used as weapons against the guards. It was one of the few perks that even all his money couldn’t buy, so instead of the fully weighted and perfectly balanced clubs he was used to, he had to make do with light aluminum replicas that were considerably less durable than what they would have been on the outside. The weight was off and he was left trying to compensate for that.
But it was a poor craftsman who blamed his tool. Carlson was the kind of man to adapt, no matter how bad the situation became, and that included his golf game. He primed himself, balanced, checked, and swung.
He scowled again as he watched the ball fly. It wasn’t a terrible shot and actually came within striking range of the hole, but it would probably take him a couple more hits to get the ball in.
This wasn’t a great game for him. He would have to talk to the warden about at least getting some secure clubs that were better quality.
Never one to give in when things didn’t go his way, he set off to where his ball had landed, his bag slung over his shoulder, and whistled cheerfully. He had another conversation planned with the FBI next week, and at that point, they might even agree to move him to a secure safehouse of his own choosing. Already, he knew of a couple of places scattered across the US that were perfect for what he had in mind. They had fewer amenities but far more luxuries to be enjoyed. There was one place in Hawaii he really looked forward to trying.
He reached his ball and tried to calculate what he needed to at least get it closer to the hole when he heard footsteps crunch the dried leaves underfoot as they approached.
“I’m almost finished with my game,” he said and turned, expecting to see a guard who would inevitably ask him why he played the holes farthest from the prison. He’d had to explain it a couple of times. It helped him live in his fantasy of actually being a free man again.
But it wasn’t a guard. The man who approached wore what looked like camouflage. He wasn’t overly tall or powerfully built, but the keen green eyes that stared at him were enough to make sure he would recognize him anywhere in the world.
“Savage,” he gasped.
“What’s up, doc?” the operative replied with a small smile and stepped close as he tried to raise his club to defend himself. The man mostly ignored his attempts and simply pounded his fist into the prisoner’s jaw hard enough that he literally saw stars by the time he realized he was already on the ground.
“Nice to see you again, Carlson,” Savage said and rubbed his knuckles. It appeared he’d
hit Carlson a little too hard and wasn’t wearing any punching gloves. “It’s been a while. What have you been up to?”
“You can’t be here,” he protested, shaking his head vehemently as if that would dispel the illusion.
“Sure I can,” he responded with a small grin. He retrieved the club his quarry had dropped with a lazy movement.
“There are cameras out here,” he explained and pushed himself onto his hands and knees. He shook his still woozy head in an attempt to clear it. “They’ll see you and they’ll come running.”
“Damn, I hadn’t thought of that.” The twinkle in his eye belied his apparent regret and concern. “If only I had a technically gifted computer wizard working on keeping the cameras in a loop feed so the guards at the prison only see footage of the last time you came out here to golf on your own. Oh, and I wouldn’t bother to scream for help, either. While sound carries out here, you know that everyone inside is busy with movie day, right? Seriously, what the fuck kind of prison has a movie theater? With actual popcorn handed out to the inmates?”
Savage had a point. The movie theater had been one of the reasons why Carlson had selected this particular facility.
The man’s expression turned a little less delighted when he hefted the club again and brought it down hard on Carlson’s back. The ex-CEO uttered a scream of pain. The poor quality of the clubs meant it didn’t hurt as much as it could have, but damn it, the pain was still real.
His attacker scowled, tossed the ruined club away, and chose another from the golf bag. “I warned you.”
“I had…nothing to do with them targeting your family.” He tried hastily to justify himself. “I swear, I even tried to talk them out of it, but Banks and—”
“Banks and…who?” he asked, picking up on Carlson’s error immediately. The inmate’s eyes widened when he realized what he’d done.
“See, I’m not here to kill you, Carlson.” Savage dropped to his haunches and pressed the club’s head to Carlson’s cheek. “I know about the client. I know it’s a woman, and I know she’s the one behind all this crazy shit I’ve dealt with since I took a day job. The only thing I don’t know is anything about her, and that’s where you’ll fill me in.”
