Thicker Than Blood

by James P. Sumner

  After a moment, we refocus, jumping to our feet, and rushing toward the window. There are six black Chevrolet Suburbans parked in a loose semicircle in the lot, covering the only exit. The flashing lights built into the grill just below the hood are reflecting in the glass.

  We look at each other, our eyes wide with shock and uncertainty.

  “Friends of yours?” I ask.

  Josh shakes his head. “They’re not GlobaTech.”

  “Shit.”

  I turn, and take a step toward the door, but stop as it bursts open. The room and hallway beyond is flooded with Sig Sauers, Remingtons, and dark suits. I stay where I am and slowly raise my arms. I have no urge to run, or fight, or antagonize. No desire to ask questions. These guys swept in with frightening precision, from out of nowhere, and secured the entire hotel within thirty seconds of pulling into the lot.

  I know a losing battle when I see one.

  If this was The Order, both Josh and I would be chalk outlines already. But these guys aren’t shooting on sight. They’re here to take us, not kill us, so I’m guessing whoever sent them either has questions to ask, or answers to give. Best thing right now is to go along with it.

  I glance at Josh, who’s reacting the same as I am, and nod. “I’m guessing somebody knows I’m alive…”

  One of the dark suits steps forward, holstering his gun. “Sir, I’m going to need your full cooperation.”

  I shrug. “Sure. So long as you don’t shoot me.”

  “My orders are to bring you in, but I am authorized to use lethal force if necessary.”

  I smile. “I’ll behave, promise.”

  Josh steps to my side. “I’d like to speak to the person in charge of this.”

  The guy turns to him. “That would be me, sir.”

  “Good. Do you know who I am?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Winters. My apologies, but my orders are to bring you along, and extend you no special treatment.”

  Josh sighs and glances at me. “All the promotions I’ve had lately and I still haven’t seen one benefit.”

  I smile as the guy gestures both of us out of the room. “I’m just impressed you worked the phrase, ‘Do you know who I am?’ into the conversation without expressing any shame.”

  “Please… like you haven’t said that before?”

  “I can get away with it. I talk shit for a living, and shoot the people who say ‘No’ when I ask them that.”

  “True.”

  The guy behind us shoves my shoulder. “No talking.”

  I let it slide, offering no resistance as we step out into the throng of matching suits filling the hallway. They surround the pair of us, escorting us out of the hotel via the rear entrance, and across the lot toward the group of vehicles. The guy from the room guides us both into the back seat of the nearest one and slams the doors behind us.

  We’re not restrained, which is a good sign. They clearly know who we are, but aren’t here because we’re deemed a threat.

  The front doors open and close in unison. The driver starts the engine, and the passenger shifts in his seat to look back at us. He tosses two black, cloth bags on to our laps. “Put these on.”

  Josh frowns. “Is this really necessary? I work for—”

  “We know who you are, sir. Please, put the bag over your head.”

  We exchange a glance and do as we’re asked. It’s hot and airless inside, with a claustrophobic smell of must surrounding me. We settle back in our seats, and the car drives away.

  “If you reach for those bags before you’re told to, I’m authorized to shoot you.”

  That was the passenger, his voice sounding slightly muffled from inside here. Man, I hope I don’t have to wear this for long, I can barely breathe.

  We take a right out of the lot, stay straight for a couple of minutes, then take a left, and another right. We go left again, and I feel the road get smoother. We also pick up speed. I’m not familiar with the layout of the city, but I’m guessing we’re on the freeway.

  After maybe twenty minutes, I feel us slow down as we veer right. We pass sections of noise—horns beeping, people shouting, et cetera. It comes and goes, which is weird. Are we going to a protest rally or something?

  Finally, we slow to a stop. I hear more voices, someone outside asking for ID. We set off again, slowly, and drive around for about five minutes, with seemingly no intended direction, before stopping. I hear the front doors open, and a second later, ours do, too.

  “Let’s go,” says the passenger.

  I feel his hand on my arm, guiding me as I step out of the car. I shrug it free and take a moment to stretch. Man, that feels—

  Ah!

  Sonofabitch.

  Someone just whipped the bag off my head. I squint in the sudden influx of light. I look away, rubbing my eyes until they adjust. I look across and see Josh being escorted to my side, reacting much the same way as me. I nudge his arm with my cast. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  I gaze around. There’s a strong, cool breeze hustling around me. Lots of people standing about that look just like the guys who took us from the hotel. And there’s…

  Oh.

  In front of me is an enormous airplane, standing alone on the vast runway. It’s quite distinctive, with its blue nose, and matching stripe that runs along the side, all the way down to the tail. I sigh, and turn to Josh, who’s already looking at me, with a mixture of regret and concern on his face. Without a word, the passenger, along with two other matching suits, start walking toward the plane. We follow them without needing to be asked, and after a moment, begin climbing the steps of Air Force One.

  11

  08:02 PDT

  We’re greeted just inside the plane by a Secret Service agent, who frisks us thoroughly. Neither of us is armed. Everything happened so quickly back at the hotel, we didn’t have a chance to grab our bags. Luckily, all the guns were back in the trunk of Josh’s car, which is still parked in the lot.

  The agent finishes patting us both down, and gestures to his right, along a wide, carpeted corridor. “Follow me.”

  He leads us past some offices and seating. As we’re walking, Josh looks to me. “Maybe let me do the talking?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “Because you’re you, that’s why. This isn’t just Schultz anymore, it’s President Schultz. You need to either be nice, or be quiet.”

  “Hey, I’m always nice!”

  “No, you’re not. Right now, I have no idea how the Secret Service knew where to find us, but the fact you haven’t been shot on sight is a good thing. I think it’s safe to assume the president is aboard, and I doubt he’ll be happy to see you. Or me standing beside you, for that matter. He’ll want answers, which will make for a difficult conversation, so please try not to make matters worse by treating him like you normally do.”

  “You mean like he’s an oversized, wheezing crapsack?”

  “Yeah, like that.”

  I hold up three fingers on my left hand. “Scout’s honor.”

  “Pretty sure you have to salute with your right hand for it to count…”

  I shrug. “Whatever. So long as I’m not executed again.”

  We pass the leather seating area usually assigned to the press core, and head through a curtain, into another section of offices. The agent stops outside a light, wooden door, and raps firmly on it with his knuckles. Not waiting for a response, he opens it for us, but remains where he is. I nod a silent thank you and step inside the room. Josh follows me, and the door is closed behind us.

  It’s compact, yet feels spacious. Two windows fill the room with light. To our right, a cream leather sofa runs the full width of the room, with a coffee table in front of it. A corner desk takes up almost the entire left side, with just a narrow space beside it to walk around. Sitting behind it, staring at us through bloodshot eyes, unblinking above bloated red cheeks and a clenched jaw, is Ryan Schultz.

  Or, Mr. President, as he likes to go b
y these days.

  Josh steps forward, clearing his throat. “Sir, if I can—”

  Schultz points a finger at him. “I’ll deal with you in a moment, son.” He stands, makes his way around his desk, and stops in front of me. He tilts his head a little as he stares up at me. “Now, I’m a God-fearing man. When I was younger, I went to church each and every Sunday. Hell, I even sang in the choir. I studied my Bible, and I believe in the Lord Almighty. In all my years, I’ve only ever known one person to have risen from the dead… and son, your hair ain’t long enough for you to be Jesus. So, can someone please tell me how this is possible?”

  Josh glances at me before I can answer, probably to make sure I don’t. He looks at Schultz. “Sir, I know this is a lot to process, but—”

  “A lot to process?” He points to me. “I watched that son’bitch die with my own two eyes, after personally signing his execution order. Hardest goddamn thing I ever did, but I did it anyway, because it was the right thing to do for the people of this country. They wanted justice, and I gave it to ’em. But despite watching as he was pronounced dead by a state-appointed doctor, here he is, alive and well, standing on my goddamn airplane! A lot to process is a fucking understatement, Josh!”

  Josh sighs. “We can explain, but you need to take a moment to calm down, sir. Getting angry isn’t going to help anyone.”

  Schultz glowers at me as he pushes past to sit back down behind his desk. He leans back in his chair and gestures impatiently with his hands. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  Josh clears his throat. “To start with, sir, how did you find us?”

  He smiles humorlessly. “Are you kidding me? First of all, a gunship tears up a stretch of interstate lined with security cameras. Next, you break into a small-town power station in California, and leave five dead bodies behind you—one of which was mutilated beyond recognition, I might add. I’m assuming one of the others was the pilot, too, because we found the gunship abandoned on a school football field a half mile away. Believe it or not, people tend to notice those sorta things. Local PD got the call about the bodies, and the FBI analyzed the security footage. You weren’t exactly hard to spot in that ridiculous car of yours. Thankfully, the director of the FBI contacted me personally, and we had it all locked down before word got out that the most infamous assassin who ever lived had come back from the grave. I wanted to speak with you both myself before deciding what the hell I’m going to do.”

  Josh nods. “Okay, fair enough. So, here’s the thing, Mr. President. And, please, bear with me on this, alright? There’s a myth in certain unsavory circles about an organization of assassins known as The Order of Sabbah. Most people in the business know the story—someone disappears while on a job, never to be heard from again, or a contract has mysteriously been carried out before you arrive. It’s basically a campfire tale for professional killers.”

  Schultz takes a deep breath. “What in the blue hell does that have to do with anything, Josh?”

  “Well, it turns out, it’s not a myth. The Order actually exists, and they’ve been using their near-unlimited resources for God-knows-how-long to infiltrate every aspect of our society. They recruit the best assassins in the world, and use them to kill whomever they deem necessary, to further their own cause.”

  “Are you being serious?”

  “I am, sir.”

  “Josh, this sounds… far-fetched at best. You make them sound like the goddamn Freemasons.”

  “They’re along those lines, I guess, but is it more far-fetched than a sitting president being at the center of a terrorist plot to wipe out half the planet?”

  There’s a slight pause.

  “Touché. Okay, I’ll play along. What evidence do you have to back this up?”

  “Right now? Not much. We’re still piecing it together, but we know for sure they were behind the assassination of Sayed bin Mawal a few days ago.”

  “The Saudi Prince who owned Fuelex?”

  “That’s him. Twenty-four hours after he was killed, Fuelex’s stocks crashed. Twenty-four hours after that, The Sterling Group announced their takeover bid.”

  “The Sterling Group is one of the largest conglomerates in the United States. It’s hardly front page news that they’re buying up another company, Josh.”

  “You haven’t been away from GlobaTech that long, sir. Mergers and takeovers involving companies the size of Fuelex don’t happen overnight, you know that.”

  “Well, no…”

  “Except this one did, and it was conveniently announced the day after Fuelex’s value dropped by eighty percent. We know, with absolute certainty, The Order had bin Mawal assassinated. We also have it on good authority that Grant Sterling, CEO of The Sterling Group, is a member of The Order’s Committee—an inner circle consisting of five people who oversee everything. We believe he could have information critical to stopping them.”

  Schultz frowns. “And how can you be so sure bin Mawal was killed by this Order?”

  I step forward. “Because I was the one who killed him.”

  He shifts his gaze to me. “Of course you were. I was wondering where you fit in to this shit-show.”

  Josh shoots me a glance, which I recognize as a plea to keep my mouth shut. I nod once, and he addresses Schultz again. “Unbeknownst to him at the time, Adrian was recruited to The Order while awaiting execution. They subsequently helped fake his death, so he could start a new life working for them. As with most situations where Adrian’s required to follow someone else’s rules, it didn’t really take, but, at first, he felt he had no other choice, so he went along with it. He killed bin Mawal, as per The Order’s instruction. But a couple of days ago, everything changed.”

  “How so?”

  Josh takes a breath. “Because they sent him to kill me.”

  “Jesus H. Christ…” He spins counterclockwise in his chair to stare out the window and rubs a hand over his face. After a moment, he turns back to face us. “Well, I guess that explains why you two are on the road leaving bodies behind you.”

  “They need to be stopped,” says Josh.

  Schultz looks at me as if he didn’t hear what Josh had said. “I sat and watched you die…”

  I smile. “Was it a good show? I’m waiting for the DVD.”

  He ignores me. “How did they even do it?”

  I absently stroke the gristle lining my jaw. “They substituted whatever shit I was supposed to have injected into me with some other shit that makes you look dead, called TTX.”

  He shakes his head. “Well, I’ll be damned. So, where the hell have you been for the past six weeks?”

  I shrug. “The Middle East, mostly. Look, I’ll tell you about it over a beer sometime, maybe put on a slideshow or something, whatever. But right now, we all have bigger problems. The Order want the pair of us dead.” I say, gesturing to myself and Josh. “They sent someone to kill us. One of their best. We survived, this time, but it’s only gonna get worse.”

  Schultz looks at each of us impassively. “Tell me why I should care. Tell me why I shouldn’t just have both of you thrown into a goddamn hole somewhere, never to be seen again. I’m the president, I know where all the holes are now. It’d be easy.”

  Josh steps closer to the desk. “Sir, if you wanted to do that, you wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of tracking us down and bringing us here. I think you saw me with Adrian on that security footage, and when the shock wore off, your instinct was to get some answers. We could’ve easily fought off the Secret Service agents you sent for us, but we came along willingly. Please, hear us out. What if The Order want me dead because they have plans for GlobaTech? When you think about all the things we’re doing right now, this could be the biggest threat we’ve ever faced.” He pauses to glance at me. “I guess, seeing as the cat’s out of the bag now anyway, we could use your help…”

  I look at him questioningly, but he ignores me.

  Schultz gets to his feet and leans forward on his desk. “And why should I help you
?” He points to me. “He got you into this mess by shooting Cunningham, instead of allowing him to be arrested and put on trial. I already gave you GlobaTech, Josh. I don’t owe you a goddamn thing.”

  I shake my head and smile with a scoff. “Some things never change. You’re still the same stubborn, narrow-minded asshole.”

  He returns the gesture. “And you’re still the same arrogant son’bitch who thinks the rules don’t apply to him.”

  I take a deep breath, trying to subdue the rising fire inside me, but it’s not working. I roll my eyes. “This isn’t about rules, you piece of—”

  Josh puts his hand on my arm. “Adrian…”

  I shrug him off. “No, Josh. Helping us is the least he can do, but this prick wants to turn his back on me again, and I won’t stand for it. Not when there’s so much at stake.”

  “Again?” Schultz looks pissed. He’s scowling at me, and his cheeks are so red, they’re almost glowing. He points his finger angrily. “I bent over backwards trying to help you, you ungrateful bastard. I did everything I could to protect your ass while you went on a goddamn killing spree to get to Cunningham. After all those NSA agents you took out, how dare you—”

  I frown. “Sit down, Ryan, before you collapse beneath the weight of your own bullshit.”

  He shakes with rage, his eyes glaring at me as he leans closer over the desk. “You better start showing me some goddamn respect, son. You’re addressing the President of the United States.”

  I nod. “I know. I got you elected, remember?”

  He goes to speak but stops himself.

  I don’t move an inch. I just hold his gaze. “Everyone who came after me was working for Cunningham, so as far as I’m concerned, they were just as guilty as he was. But after everything that happened, you knew the reasons why I did what I did better than most. You stood beside me in what was left of my bar, back in Texas. I know you stuck your neck out for me, for all of us, after Atlanta. I’m not saying you weren’t there for me in the days before and after 4/17, Mr. President, and I understand you felt your only option was to give the American people justice, to maintain the cover story you fed them, pinning everything on me. What I’m pissed off about is the fact you could’ve quite easily done what The Order did. You could’ve helped me disappear, given me a new life. You could’ve shown a little fucking gratitude for me stopping this country tearing itself apart, and for getting you a promotion. But you didn’t. You played by the rules dictated to you and left me to die. But, like a wise man once said, it’s better to be pissed off than pissed on, I guess. So, here I am, telling you that the people who saved me are trying to steer civilization in a direction we probably don’t want to go in, and they’re doing it by sitting in the shadows, killing everyone who disagrees with them, and pulling the strings of people in positions of power. And d’you know what? Just once, it’d be nice if I didn’t have my own government as an enemy while I’m trying to do something to help.”