by David Yates
Peripherally, Braden watched as a young man walked up on the girl's blind side. He grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. “Something wrong with your phone?” he yelled.
The girl began circling around in an attempt to evade the newcomer. As she moved she said, “Clay, wait..."
Clay cut her off. “I been waiting but I guess you forgot my phone number!” He advanced on the girl, who kept circling away from him. Now Clay's back was to Braden and he could see the girl's face straight-on. She was obviously terrified. She began backing in a straight line, hands out in front of her, palms splayed.
"Clay, please... we've been over this... it's not going to work out..."
"I say if it's gonna work out, not you!” Clay roared, and dealt her a terrific backhand. She staggered backward and fell down, still holding her open hands out in front of her. Clay began to advance on her again.
Now Braden found the ability to move.
He slid up behind Clay as silent as a snake. As Clay was beginning to bend over the girl, presumably to administer more punishment, Braden grabbed the back of his coat at the collar and yanked with all his strength. Although Braden was giving up at least 60 pounds, he still sent Clay flying across open space. Clay came back to earth with a crash, knocking over a candy rack and a DVD display advertising Movies for Sale! Only $5.99! Two for $10.00! Clay came to rest on his back, partially buried under Goobers, Whoppers, and Jujubes.
Braden extended his hand to the girl still lying on the floor (Sam her name is Sam it's on her name tag). She took his hand and he helped her up. She had an angry red welt on the side of her face. He smiled at her briefly (Jeezy Pete look at her eyes her emerald green eyes), then turned and placed himself between her and her antagonist.
That young gentleman was just managing to extract himself from the mess on the floor and rise to his feet. A box of Goobers fell from his lap as he did so. “Boy, you just bought yourself a boatload of trouble.” He began to move slowly toward Braden, fists clenched.
Braden said in a low, dangerous voice, “I wouldn't do that if I were you."
It didn't deter Clay in the least. He continued to advance on Braden, crazed eyes wide open, a fierce grin on his face. Braden stood calmly, waiting for him. When he got within striking distance of Braden, he swung a swooping right hand at Braden's head. Braden caught the punch easily, turned it, and broke Clay's wrist with an audible snap. All the fight drained out of Clay immediately. He sank to his knees with an almost comical whimper and held his injured wrist to his body.
Braden turned back to Sam, an expectant smile already starting on his face... and looked right into the eyes of Charlie Archer. Braden noticed for the first time that a small crowd had gathered. “Find anything you like?” Archer asked with just a hint of a smile.
In the end, the cops were never called. Clay was apparently an infamous character in Drake, and most people knew what kind of person he was. Certainly Kenny, the store manager, did. He hustled Clay out the door with an admonishment to “never set foot in my store again!"
Braden and Archer helped clean up the mess and set things to rights. As they were about to leave, Sam approached Braden and said, “Thank you for what you did."
Braden replied, “I'm sorry about the mess. You're not in any trouble, are you?” gesturing toward Kenny, who was still lurking in the area.
She laughed. It was like a soothing balm to Braden's ears. Her green eyes sparkled. “No, I can handle Kenny. He understands what I've been going through with Clay.” She extended her hand. “I'm Sam. Samantha Sadler."
"Braden.” He took her hand and held it for a moment, then released it.
There followed one of those uncomfortable, yet oddly pleasant, silences when two people who have just met and who find each other attractive have trouble finding anything to say. There was, however, plenty of eye contact during this silence. Perhaps they said everything that needed to be said, after all.
It was Archer who saved the day. He walked up to Braden and put his arm around him. “Ready?"
"Uh, yeah, sure,” Braden stammered, and took one last look into those gorgeous green eyes. “Well, good-bye."
"Bye,” she said softly.
When Braden and Archer arrived back at the cabin, the younger man was still talking nonstop about her. He had worn the same goofy grin for the entire ride back, jabbering away about her hair, her eyes, her smile...the kid's practically gushing, Archer thought, amused. Archer had never seen him so alive and animated before. None of them had.
As they were removing the groceries from the car, Hollingsworth ran out the front door of the cabin so fast that the outer door banged against the wall. He pounded down the front steps and ran toward them. His cheeks were flushed and he had a tense, excited look on his face.
"Manny found one of ‘em,” he said breathlessly.
Archer looked at Braden. The smile had evaporated from the young man's face. “Which one?” he said coldly.
Hollingsworth glanced at Archer, and then said to Braden, “Miller."
Without another word, Braden handed his arm load of groceries to Hollingsworth and strode purposefully through the front door of the cabin. Archer and Hollingsworth exchanged another glance and hurried inside.
Braden went directly to the little space where Manny had set up his office. Manny sat in his wheelchair at the computer. He looked up at Braden with an expression that was half-triumph, half-anticipation.
"Where is he?” Braden said as Archer and Hollingsworth came up behind him. They hadn't even bothered to put down the groceries.
"Oakland, California. He's got a combination office-suite in a high-rise. A place called the Guyer Building. He's got the entire top floor to himself. Here's the address.” He tore of the top sheet from a steno pad and handed it to Braden.
Braden glanced at the paper, memorizing the address instantly, and handed it back to Manny. “Did you see any sign of the others there"?
"No,” Manny replied, “but I don't think they would all be in one place. Would they?” he added uncertainly.
Braden chewed his lower lip, thinking. Finally he said, “No, they've got to know I'm coming after them, and they certainly know I can pop in on them anywhere we find them. I think they'll play it safe and stay separated. I'm going to suit up."
As he was leaving the room, Manny stopped him. “Braden.” The young man turned back and looked at Manny. “If they're being that cautious, you know they're bound to have a bodyguard. Probably several, since they all know what you're capable of."
Braden raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Yes? And?"
Manny sighed. “Just be careful. That's all."
Braden favored Manny with a tight, hard smile. He turned and left the room.
Miller had just finished his shower. He walked out of the master bathroom to the bedroom, wrapped in a towel at the waist. The room was dim, lit only by the light spilling from the open bathroom door. He crossed the room and was reaching for the lamp atop the dresser when, from the darkened corner behind him, he heard a low voice say, “Hello, Miller."
Miller froze. He knew instantly who it was. Moving only his eyes, he glanced at the closed and locked bedroom door to his left. On the other side of that door were his six bodyguards, but they weren't doing him any good out there. He lowered his hand from the lamp and said, “Hello, Braden."
He turned slowly and looked into the corner of the room. There was an antique wardrobe standing between the bathroom door and the corner where the figure stood. As a result, much of the light coming from the bathroom was blocked, and Miller could only make out a vague, man-like figure. The intruder looked to be at least six feet tall, and was wearing what appeared to be either a long cloak or a cape.
Neither man said anything for a few moments, both silently appraising each other. Then Braden strode slowly out of the shadows. The light from the bathroom gradually lit up the right side of his face. Braden came to a stop at the foot of the bed, about eight feet from Miller.
Braden smiled. “Don't worry about me. I'm okay. It's you who should be worried."
At least one of the bodyguards must have heard their voices, because there was a knock on the door. “Mr. Miller? Are you all right in there?"
Braden's draw was like hot lightning on a summer evening. “Be careful what you say,” he whispered.
Miller hesitated. There was another knock on the door. “Mr. Miller?” A little more urgency in the voice now.
"It's okay, Todd. I'm just on the phone."
No response from the other side of the door. Braden could feel the uncertainty seeping in around its cracks. Braden glanced down at the crack under the door. He saw the twin shadows of Todd's feet standing there for a few seconds. Then they were gone.
Braden and Miller just stood and stared at each other momentarily. Finally Braden said, “I'd just like to know why. I'd like to know why you made me into who I am, and I'd like to know why M...why Dr. Wiley and Colonel Bemis had to die. That wasn't necessary."
"Actually, it was necessary. It's a matter of national secur..."
Braden took two quick steps toward Miller and placed the muzzle of the gun against the older man's forehead. “Don't tell me it's a matter of national security!” Braden hissed. “I know that's a lie as well as you do. The five of you do not represent any government agencies, and we both know it. You were all working to better yourselves. You were all working out of greed. Tell me I'm wrong."
Miller looked into the cool, blue eyes of the young gun. “All right. You're not wrong. But you're not right either."
Braden glared at Miller for perhaps five seconds, then backed away a step. He lowered the gun to his side and said, “Explain."
Miller took a deep breath. He said, “You're right about us not being affiliated with the government. But our intentions were not motivated by greed. We are already very wealthy men.” He paused and added, “Well, Anson isn't quite as wealthy as he used to be. By the way, congratulations on being 50 million dollars richer.” When Braden made no reply, Miller continued.
"We saw an opportunity to place ourselves in a better position. We needed a way to help certain allies, eliminate certain enemies...place certain people in positions of power..."
"What positions of power?” Braden asked. Miller shrugged but made no reply.
"You wouldn't go to all this trouble just to have me assassinate the CEO of some powerful corporation. Unless the corporation was so powerful...” Braden's eyes narrowed as his mind moved at warp speed. “A world leader? Maybe more than one world leader? Maybe even the President of the United States? Exactly what were you up to?"
Miller didn't reply. Braden slowly holstered his gun, and then quickly drew the knife strapped to his thigh and rushed at Miller. Before Miller knew what was happening, Braden had reached around and grabbed a handful of Miller's gray hair and pulled his head back viciously, exposing his throat. Braden pressed the razor-sharp blade against Miller's throat, hard enough to draw blood. Miller's eyes widened and he gave out a small yelp.
Braden pressed his lips into the cup of Miller's ear like a lover. “What were you up to?” he rasped.
"All right, all right, I'll tell you,” Miller breathed. Braden released him and stepped back. Miller inhaled a shaky breath and let it out.
"You're right. We wanted to get rid of certain world leaders whose policies and politics didn't agree with ours. We were then going to install our own people in these positions. Heads of state in key countries in Europe, Asia, the Middle East..."
"And in the U.S.?” Braden pressed.
After a brief pause, Miller said, “Yes, including the President and certain key members of Congress and the Cabinet."
"I can see how you could have carried out the assassinations, but how did you propose to insert the people you wanted? I couldn't have done anything about that."
Miller replied, “Money. Money can buy anything, even elections. Especially elections. And in the countries where democracy is absent, such as in the case of a dictatorship, we would have simply financed a coup to overthrow the current government. By the time we were finished, we would have controlled..."
Todd was back, and this time there was no gentle rap at the door. This time he pounded. Braden filled his hands in a flash.
"Mr. Miller, open the door, please."
"I told you I'm on the phone,” Miller replied.
"No, sir, you're not. I know there's not a landline in there, and I found your cell phone out here."
Miller looked at Braden, who shook his head in the negative. The silence was broken by the sound of the door crashing in. Todd charged into the room with a short-barreled automatic rifle in his hand. Unfortunately for him, he charged right into two bullets fired from Braden's guns. One round plowed a hole through the center of Todd's chest, and the other found its target in his head. He flew backward out the door.
Braden caught a quick glimpse of the other five men approaching the room, all armed. He delivered a spinning back kick to the door, slamming it closed again, then rolled quickly to his left in the still-dimly-lit bedroom. The door wouldn't latch because it had broken when Todd had kicked it, and when it met the door jamb, it rebounded back into the room.
Three of the five remaining men apparently didn't take the lesson they should have learned from the death of their colleague, because they charged right into the room, guns blazing. The only two things they succeeded in accomplishing were the death of their employer, who they cut to ribbons in their mad shooting spree, and dying themselves. Braden mowed them down.
There was a brief standoff where neither side made a move. The two men in the living room waited, and Braden let them wait. He crouched behind the bed, guns aimed at the door. Even in the murky ambient light of the bedroom, Braden could see gunsmoke hanging in the air.
"Come on, kid, give it up,” one of the men said. The voice came from just outside the bedroom to the left of the open door. Braden could imagine him crouched there against the living room wall. “We're fourteen floors up. There's nowhere to go."
Braden waited patiently. Finally the one on the right side of the door peeked into the bedroom. There was only about an inch of his head visible, but it was all Braden needed. He fired one shot and the man flopped over, dead.
Braden calmly stood and walked toward the door. He stopped while still inside the bedroom, just to the left of the door. He raised both guns and fired directly into the wall. He heard the muffled thump of a body falling to the carpeted floor. He walked through the door, guns raised, but the battle was over.
Braden holstered his weapons and surveyed the scene, bleary-eyed. So tired, he thought. He walked back into the bedroom and looked down at Miller's body. He reached into the deep pocket of the duster and removed two items. One was a silver metal eagle pin, the insignia of a military colonel. The other was a wallet-sized photograph of Gwen Wiley. He laid these items gently on Miller's chest, then turned and left the room.
He staggered back into the living area and fell onto the couch. There he slept for nine hours. There were no dreams.
When he awoke the next morning, he didn't know where he was at first. Then it came back to him in a rush. He sat up and looked across the room at the stiffened bodies. Then he rose and went to Miller's office.
He sat down at Miller's desk and turned on the computer. He tried for more than an hour to access Miller's files, but they were heavily encrypted. He downloaded all the files to a flash drive and stuck the drive in his pocket.
He walked back into the living room and was about to leave when Miller's cell phone rang. The phone was lying on the floor amid the bodies. Braden bent and picked it up. He looked at the little window on the phone and saw the name of
the incoming caller. Anson.
Braden opened the phone and placed it to his ear. “Yes?"
There was a short hesitation on the other end. Then Anson said, “Todd?"
"Yes,” Braden said.
"Put him on the phone,” Anson ordered.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Anson,” Braden replied, “but Mr. Miller isn't available right now. He's... lying down.” Braden smiled and added, “He gave me specific instructions not to disturb him under any circumstances. May I take a message?"
"No, you may put him on the phone!" Anson screeched.
Braden said calmly, “With all due respect, sir, I don't work for you. I work for Mr. Miller. Now may I take a message?"
An angry silence oozed through the phone's speaker. Braden waited. Finally Anson expelled a melodramatic sigh and said, “All right. Tell him Morrison has died. Tell him the financial arrangements will be handled in the same manner as when Kobrig... oh, never mind. Just tell him to call me right away!"
Braden said, “Kobriger is dead, then?"
Annoyed, Anson replied, “Of course he is! You already know...” Anson cut off in mid-sentence. There was a sharp intake of breath from the other end. Braden almost heard the audible sound as the truth clicked into place for Anson. Tentatively, Anson said, “Braden?"
Braden said, “Well, with Kobriger and Morrison dead, that makes three down and two to go.” Braden paused for effect, and then said in a low, conspiratorial voice, “Where are you, Anson?"
There was another gasp from Anson, and the line went dead. Braden checked the Incoming Calls menu on the phone, but there was no number attached to Anson's name. He broke the phone open and removed the SIM card, placing it in his pocket with the flash drive. He tossed the phone aside and traveled back home.
* * * *
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Chapter 5
Nearly three weeks later, they were sitting in the cabin's back yard around an evening campfire. Manny had his laptop and was still working on the flash drive that Braden had brought back from Miller's office. So far he had had little success. (The SIM card had turned out to be a bust. Manny had been able to pull some phone numbers from it, and he had followed the leads far enough to realize that he was just chasing ghosts.) They had taken advantage of the mild evening by grilling burgers on the fire pit. Archer and Hollingsworth were nursing post-dinner beers. Manny drank a Pepsi and looked approvingly at Braden and Sam.
