In the Shadow of Men

by Darren Swart

  Digger responded, cheerfully, “Oh yeah.”

  Walking to the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator like a game show presenter. Marty was surprised to see a ridiculous selection of his favorite foods. Barbecued chicken, smoked pork chops, potato salad, green bean salad, banana pudding—even his favorite cold beer. He could get used to this. He nodded at Digger. “Dude, that’s enough food to feed an army. Were you expecting a NFL football team to drop by, or something?”

  Digger grinned. “I never know from one minute to the next who might be coming by or when. I always keep it stocked. I rotate the stock every three days and take it down to the Christian Ministries where they feed the homeless. Those guys down at the homeless shelter will miss me when I’m gone. They eat like kings down there.”

  “No doubt. This is awesome,” Marty said, as he was digging out items. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Nah. You go ahead and eat. I’ll catch something later.”

  He sat at the 1970’s era bar with an avocado green counter top and commenced to devour a plate of potato salad, chicken and green beans. They watched a Braves game on a flat screen TV in the living room.

  Between mouthfuls, Marty looked at Digger and asked, “Can I ask you something?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Have you been watching me the whole time you’ve been here?”

  Digger leaned against the counter and nodded. “Yes.”

  “How did you know I would be at that bar?”

  “I used trend data. You normally play the course every third Friday afternoon. During the subsequent two Fridays, you go straight to the Club house for beers with the work crowd. My data was skewed, though. You were the only one there. We knew your company was getting ready to perform a structured cost cutting to improve their debt position to avoid a hostile takeover. Since we knew the plan was to cut cost before the close of the second quarter, they would have to make the changes three weeks before closing to absorb the restructuring costs into second quarter financials. Since most employers choose to perform layoffs of this nature at the end of a pay period, and Friday ended your pay period for this month, I guessed it would happen that day and toward the end of the business day.”

  Marty shook his head. “Man, that’s just freaky.”

  Digger smiled, ignoring the statement, and continued. “I obtained a job as a bartender and scheduled myself for a Friday afternoon. There you were. I watched as McPherson drugged you, put you into his station wagon and then took off to follow you. I’ve been watching you one-on-one ever since.”

  Marty felt the back of his neck getting warm. He dropped a chicken bone on the plate, annoyed. “If you were watching me, why didn’t you get me out of that flipping basement?”

  Digger shrugged, apologetically. “Sorry, Dude. That’s not my area. I’m strictly a surveillance geek. I would have gotten us both killed, if I had tried to go up against someone like McPherson.”

  Marty took a long swig of beer and tried to calm himself. He shook his head. “Man, you guys are scary.”

  Digger shrugged his shoulders. “That’s why I called it in a week ago. That’s why they sent Gillian. She really is the best at what she does.”

  Marty stared back at the plate of food and shook his head again.

  They were silent for a while before Marty asked, “So, are you guys the NSA, CIA, FBI…what?”

  Digger looked at him without smiling and said, “We’re the ESF.”

  Marty’s brow furrowed. “Okay. I’ll bite. What is the ESF?”

  “The European Scholarship Foundation.”

  Marty nearly spit out a piece of chicken. He coughed to the point that Digger feared that he was choking, and he began to move into position to perform a Heimlich maneuver.

  Marty waved him off and finished clearing his throat. When he was able to speak, he asked, “You mean there’s a school for this?”

  “Not exactly. We’re a private international agency that’s focused on the preservation of historic artifacts. We don’t answer to governments, though we do ally ourselves with strategic agencies, so we can get support when we need it. We don’t seek to overthrow any political system, just to identify certain key artifacts and get them into credible hands where they can be preserved and protected. Eventually, they end up in museums or places where they’re available to all people.”

  Marty shook his head. This just kept getting stranger. “So, why are you guys called a scholarship group?”

  “It’s a good cover. We can travel all over the world. We’re listed as being non-profit. Most of our agents are students, so airport security doesn’t give us a second look. It’s the perfect setup. Besides, they pay college tuitions to whatever college you get into.”

  “Is that why you joined?”

  “Me? No, their leader recruited me. I don’t need the tuition. It was just something to do.”

  Marty smiled, wryly. “Must be nice.” He went back to the chicken.

  Gillian walked into the room. Her hair was still damp. She looked at Digger and asked, “Have you got your usual toys with you?”

  Digger rolled his eyes. “Of course.” He tried to sound exasperated, but it came out comical. Even Marty smiled, although he didn’t know what he was smiling for.

  It was Gillian’s turn to look exasperated. “Well, turn them on, will you. What are you waiting for?”

  “I was hoping for a gratuitous shower scene out of the deal, silly.”

  Gillian glared at him.

  With that, he hopped off the bar stool and walked past her into a small pantry. From Marty’s vantage, he could see Digger slide a can of pasta sauce forward, causing the shelf to open like a hinged door and revealing an electronic touch screen behind it.

  After logging in on the interactive screen, Digger began to flip through the menu to find the correct program. Finally, he touched one icon, which caused an almost imperceptible hiss to fill the room.

  After the noise began to sound, Gillian spoke. “Okay, now we can speak freely.”

  Marty looked at her, curiously. “You mean—the house is bugged?”

  “No, they just sit across the street with a parabolic and listen to us, as though they were in the room. The hiss you hear is white noise. It screws with their listening devices, so they can’t hear us.”

  Marty nodded, clearly impressed.

  Gillian looked at Digger and then at Marty. “Well, everything is set. The arrangements have been made.”

  Marty asked, “So, what time do we need to be there?”

  “Six o’clock a.m.”

  “What do we do tonight?”

  “We sleep. Everything should be fine. They won’t make a move on us until they’re sure we have something.”

  “Well, I guess I can take some measure of comfort in that.”

  “Digger, do we have any eyes outside?”

  Digger brightened at this “Of course.” He left the kitchen, beckoning Gillian to follow him to the bedroom. Once in the bedroom, he tapped the notebook out of sleep mode. Chicken leg still in hand, Marty watched from behind, as the screen brought up a series of cameras in a grid which monitored the outside. One was focused across the street.

  Gillian remarked, “That’s odd. The Albanians are gone. They don’t normally fly the coop on a surveillance job.”

  Digger looked somewhat aghast. “How did you know they were watching? I didn’t see anything. I scanned everything, I swear.”

  Gillian took a soothing tone, while patting him on the cheek, reassuringly. “It’s okay, Sweetie. It’s all part of the game. I spotted them, as we were coming in. It concerns me more that their gone now. That’s not what I would expect. Digger, can these pan and tilt?”

  He nodded and began to work the controls.

  “Pan up the street until I tell you to stop.”

  Using a small joy stick, he began to move the camera up the street.

  Gillian suddenly told him to stop. Pointing, she said, “Bring this camera to full screen and zoom in o
n that…”

  All the other cameras went away, while the camera in question showed up in full color on the screen in front of them. “Can you see that van?”

  Digger replied, “Uh huh.”

  “There’s a pole in front of it. Follow that pole up.”

  The camera tracked up the pole until it stopped. She could see a pair of gleaming combat boots on the pole in front of them. Gillian furrowed her brow.

  “I’ll be back,” she said abruptly and hurried out of the room.

  Within moments she returned from the garage with a compact rifle and a banana clip. Marty’s eyes grew wide. He gulped. The color suddenly washed out of Digger’s dark complexion. She looked at them and said, “Relax, guys. I just need a better look.”

  Removing the scope from the mount of the Ruger Mini-14, she moved over to the window facing the front of the house. Easing up one edge of the mini-blind, she verified she could see the van from this vantage. She eased the scope into position and began to survey the person on the pole. She looked for a long time before quietly turning around and sitting down heavily on the couch beside the window. She looked up at Digger and said flatly, “It’s Bernard.” She sat back, silently thinking. Digger tugged at Marty’s sleeve and motioned him back to the bedroom.

  Marty felt confused. “So, what’s up?”

  Digger looked at him, somberly. “Gillian’s pretty sure that he’s the man who killed her father. If they’ve sent him, we’re in serious trouble.”

  Marty looked at Digger. “So, what do we do?”

  They were both startled by Gillian standing in the doorway. Quietly, she said, “We stick to the plan. Digger, you have first watch. Let’s get some rest.”

  At three forty-three am a young man and woman quietly ran across the back property of the old farm. They monitored the house until they were sure that there was no one else in the house. They moved carefully to the house and removed their dew wet shoes, so no trace would be evident. Slipping up the steps, the man removed a lock pick set from his pocket and worked on the back door. To his amazement, it was open. The woman kept her back to him, watching the surrounding landscape for movement. The Star finder Night Goggles gave her visibility up to a hundred yards.

  She watched the foliage move behind them. She zoomed in on the long ugly tail of an opossum, as it slid through the undergrowth and was gone. The night was silent, save the noise of crickets. They slipped into the house and moved quietly upstairs. The girl sat on the floor and checked the rounds in her automatic. It wouldn’t be long before Marty and Gillian arrived.

  Chapter 11

  There was a small knock at the door. Natalie looked up, as her assistant poked her head in the door. “Sorry to bother you. The patient has arrived.”

  Natalie gave Chou Mae a smile. “Thanks. I’ll be right there.”

  There was far too much to do with FDA trials coming up, but if the CEO considered it important enough to make the call himself and he wanted her to take personal charge of this patient, then she wasn’t going to argue. She pushed her glasses revealing large chocolate eyes.

  She limped past the dual PhD’s in biochemistry and medicine on the wall. She hardly noticed them anymore, which was odd considering all that she had struggled through to get them. Her education had been the simple part. Avoiding the death squads in South Africa had been the trick. But then, Natalie didn’t dwell in the past. Her work was too important to waste her time on personal baggage. Or so it seemed…

  She entered the small sterile room to find two assistants and a heavily bandaged muscular man. She didn’t really look at his face, but went straight to the chart. She carefully reviewed the list of findings compiled by her associates. She had tested her treatment on gunshot wounds. All had been remarkably successful. This one didn’t seem nearly as complex as others she had worked on, so she wondered why this particular case needed her attention. The unspoken question nagged her: What makes this man so important?

  It was then that she looked at her patient. His face hadn’t changed all that much. She couldn’t recall how many years it had been, but it hadn’t been so many that she wouldn’t remember the face of the man who’d killed her parents. The sudden pounding in her ears made her realize just how real it still was for her. She had thought she’d been able to stifle that one single horrific moment but at the sight of him, it all came flooding back. A pit of nausea edged its way up her throat despite her will to push it back.

  Once again, she was peering through the slit in the wall, bathed in a clammy sweat, she watched helpless as he used a long thin blade to toy with her mother. Her mother strained against the leather straps so tight it looked like they would cut her in two. The heap of her father’s lifeless body lay like trash at their feet. She could not imagine the will her mother must have had not to look in her direction and give her away. He had dragged the blade playfully up her arm, asking “Where are the others?”

  Her mother shook her head, refusing to speak.

  Again, ever so softly he asked. “Where are the others?”

  This time, his blade pierced her skin ever so slightly at the wrist. A small ribbon of blood streamed down to the armrest and dropped to the floor, landing with a splat.

  Tears of pain and fear streamed down her mother’s cheeks, but she still refused to speak. The blade slowly moved up her mother’s arm, this time splitting the skin like an overripe grape. Her mother’s jaw tightened. Still, she refused to utter a whimper. Natalie watched through her tears, as he methodically fileted her mother, each cut slightly worse than the previous. She had clinched her teeth so hard, she thought they would shatter until he mercifully thrust the blade deep into her mother’s heart ending it all. The woman had slumped forward, free of the torture at last. Now, that same man sat before her.

  Natalie could barely remember putting the chart back, as she moved slowly from the room. The two assistants stared after her, somewhat perplexed. She walked into the hall and slumped down the wall into a squatting position. It was Chou Mae that found her wrapped in a fetal position, rocking back and forth. The small Asian hissed at two orderlies, who lifted her and shuttled her into a vacant room. Chou Mae then shooed the burly men out like hens in the barnyard. She gently took Natalie’s hand and sat silently for a while. “Nat?”

  She stared at Chou Mae, vacantly.

  “You’re scaring me, Nat. I don’t like that.” Chou Mae gave her an impish grin. “My whole future relies on me riding on your coat tails when this system hits the open market. You can’t shut down on me now. Tell me, what’s the matter?”

  The last question filtered through the shock. She blinked at Chou Mae, trying to focus. A tiny voice eked forth. “That m-man in the other room k-killed my parents.”

  Chou Mae’s almond eyes turned very round. “Oh, my God. We have to call the cops.”

  Natalie grasped her arm so tightly it almost made Chou Mae wince. She shook her head, vehemently. “No. We can’t.”

  Chou Mae looked confused. “For heaven’s sake, why not?”

  Natalie’s brilliant mind was at work. “That happened twelve years ago in South Africa.” She released her grip and moved her hand gently to Chou Mae’s shoulder. “Think about it. The CEO called about this man. He has a gunshot wound, so he must be working for someone very important. If I try to have this guy arrested, they’ll kill us and this project. Think of the lives that will be lost. Think of the cost in human misery that can be avoided.”

  “But Nat, they were your parents.”

  With conviction, Natalie looked at her. “Yes, and as my parents, they didn’t give up on what they believed in. I can’t change what happened to them, but I can honor them by doing something where they will be remembered. If I go back in there and finish this, we will finish the project and chances are I will save someone else’s parents.”

  Chou Mae shook her head. There was no arguing her logic “You’re a better person than me. That’s all I have to say.”

  She gave her a tight smile. �
�That remains to be seen. Let’s get through this first and you can tell me again how great I am over drinks. Maybe then I’ll believe you.”

  Chou Mae shook her head. “Should I assist?”

  Natalie’s head was high and she smiled, more convincing this time. “By all means, Doctor Chun.”

  The pair entered the room, walked straight to McPherson and began to probe the wounded arm.

  “Hello, Mr. McPherson. I’m Dr. Vergeef. I will be performing the procedure today with the help of Dr. Chun. I assume my team has explained to you the experimental nature of this procedure?”

  He winced, as she probed. Sweat beads began to form on his forehead. “That’s right, Luv. Some kind of super tonic from what I gather.” He looked at her strangely. “Where are you from, Luv?”

  She raised an eyebrow and looked coldly at him over her glasses. “Canada. Why?”

  “No reason, you just seem familiar.”

  Natalie pushed back the raw fear with all her might. “We’re going to use an experimental procedure called Programmable Protoplasm. We call it PP for short.” She smiled. The mention of a body function usually got a snicker from most patients. McPherson didn’t smile. He studied her like a lab rat. She steeled herself against the rising tide of panic.

  As she spoke, she continued to probe the wound. “Fundamentally, PP uses tiny programmable particles to focus your body’s normal healing process. It supplies targeted nutrients and flushes scar tissue at an accelerated rate.”

  Seemingly unimpressed, he studied a text message on his phone before looking up. “How long will it take?”

  “Three hours, including recovery from the anesthesia.”

  His eyes cut toward her. “No anesthesia.”

  She was somewhat taken aback by his response, but tried not to show it. She blinked. “Excuse me?”

  He looked directly at her again. “I said no bloody anesthesia.”

  “But the procedure can be very painful, as the nerve endings are reconnected.”

  “So give me a local.”