The Measure of a Man [The Exceptionals Book 1]

by Jerry Kokich, Teel James Glenn

  Suddenly, the door opened, and four men in unmarked military fatigues entered. One walked up to Ursa Major, spoke briefly to him in rapid Russian. The giant blond turned to the team, and particularly to Skorpion and nodded a curt goodbye.

  Skorpion gave him a wan smile back and a thumbs-up. The Russian returned the gesture and he and the uniformed non-entity left the room.

  Another of the men talked to Sunray who nodded. She walked over to Firststrike and, much to his surprise, kissed him passionately on the lips. “Imjun Moe Tae, never retreat from anyone,” she said to him with a smile. He looked truly startled.

  Even Skorpion had a hard time keeping a little laugh from escaping her. The Korean bowed to Temper formally and waved at Skorpion, then left with her ‘handler'.

  The two remaining men stood at the front of the room and addressed the Exceptionals as if it were a mission briefing.

  "My Name is Mr. Smith. I will only say this once,” the taller of the men said. “You did not see Conner Le'Schott, aka: Lastshot, die."

  "What?” Skorpion said.

  "Be quiet,” the shorter one snapped.

  "You will not volunteer information about this to anyone,” the first speaker continued, “When asked, you are to say that Lastshot is recovering from serious wounds. You don't know anything else.” The two men stared down the disbelieving Exceptionals and then turned and headed for the door.

  "Hey! Wait just a godammed minute!” Skorpion erupted, standing up. She grabbed ‘Smith’ by the arm.

  "Skorpion!” Firststrike exclaimed.

  "You can't let them tell us what to do!"

  "Yes, we can,” the man said, staring her down and looking with distaste at her hand on his arm. “You are contracted agents of the United States government. You will do as you're told."

  "Or what?"

  "Skorpion, stand down,” Firststrike ordered.

  "What?"

  "Revette,” he said quietly. “...please."

  She released the man's arm and the two men left. When they were gone, she turned her fury on her teammate, ready for a fight.

  "Jason, what the hell—” He just looked at her and shook his head.

  "Let's go home.” He walked out the door without looking back at her, leaving her with no target for her anger. Skorpion and Temper looked at each other without comment, then followed their new team leader.

  * * * *

  Goldstrike, Echo, and The Veteran were sitting in the ready room of The Bodyguard headquarters two days later. They'd had no contact with their team members, just the relayed information that they were on the way home.

  Goldstrike was on the edge of his chair listening to The Veteran.

  "—and Agostini asked me if I wanted to ride it. And I said not without a saddle!” the older Exceptional said. The three of them burst out laughing.

  Just then, Firststrike, Temper, and Skorpion entered the room. Goldstrike jumped up.

  "Hey! Welcome home, guys! The Vet here's been telling some bang-up bike stories; he's a hoot! Hey, where's Con? He's—"

  "Sit down, Matthew,” Firststrike said.

  "What? Geez you guys look dead!” They all glared at him. “What'd I say? Jase ... Temp ... what is it?” Temper looked at Firststrike; he nodded.

  She came forward and put her hand on Goldstrike's arm and looked him straight in the eye.

  "Matthew,” she said. “Conner is dead."

  Matthew looked at her, still smiling for a moment, then the color drained from his face. Matthew's knees almost buckled. He sat down hard.

  "What? No ... he—"

  "He gave his life to save the team,” Firststrike said.

  Matthew started to cry. “No, no, no, man ... he can't be ... no ... he's gonna..."

  The Veteran came over to Goldstrike and put an arm around his shoulder as the gold-clad Exceptional cried until there were no more tears.

  The End of Book One

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Part Two: The Measure of a Man

  Chapter 27

  "Be A Galaxy Ranger!” the space suited figure on the Tri v screen proclaimed. “The excitement of the future is yours now, just step through these doors and join the Galaxy Rangers for adventures unlimited."

  There were few people in the mall that early on a Saturday morning and fewer still that stopped to watch the Tri v display above the chrome and glass doors of the Galaxy Ranger franchise on the second floor. Most of them were children whose mothers or fathers or even older siblings would patiently wait while the space ranger in the Tri v loop touted the game. Then they would shake their heads with a little smile sometimes remarking “how lucky you kids are.” and then drag junior along to Z mart.

  Napoleon Suarez never stopped to look at the Tri-V anymore, because he was always at the doors when the Tri v went on and his eyes were fixed straight ahead of him on his portal to paradise.

  Napoleon was a Galaxy Ranger Junkie.

  He stood five feet six inches tall, weighed one hundred and twenty pounds, had very bad acne, straight black hair, that even freshly washed somehow looked greasy, and wore glasses with lenses like coke bottle bottoms. And he was just one hundred space credits shy of being The Master Ranger.

  "Hey, Napoleon,” Max the manager of the franchise said as he unlocked the door and slid it back. “How was your week?"

  "Uh-like, Okay, man,” Napoleon said, already walking past the man to the recruiting desk. The room looked like a set out of the old Star Wars Tri v series. The pretty girl behind the Lucite and chrome desk was dressed in silver lame and spandex. Her name was Lu Ann, but Napoleon didn't know it or care. He was only vaguely aware that she was pretty or, for that matter, a woman. At seventeen, his urges in that direction were still only vaguely shaped and his opinion of himself as to what the fairer sex might think of him was not clearly defined; just vaguely disturbing.

  "Uh, like-uh Duration ticket, please,” he said almost formally handing the girl a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. It was his weekly ritual, observed with more punctuality than most church visits, and with more excitement.

  "Thank you, Napoleon,” Lu Ann said with a smile, then realizing that, as usual, he was already in his ‘Ranger Mind’ she added as dramatically as possible, “Punch in your Ranger Name on the bulletin board, please, and then suit up for takeoff."

  Napoleon tingled when she said the words. His eyes went to the L.E.D. board at the ready station by the sliding doors to the launch chamber and he felt his pulse quicken. And his anger flair.

  Yojimbo's name was still next to the spot that proclaimed him Master Ranger. Then came Napoleon Solo—Napoleon's ‘Ranger’ name—followed by Robin Hood, Superman, Princess Leia, Fred Flintstone and twenty others from across the country. All the other rankings changed periodically, but Napoleon was almost always in number two and Yojimbo was always in Number one.

  That changes today, Napoleon thought at his phantom rival, wherever he or she was. Today's the day I get you, Yojimbo.

  It was a thought Napoleon had often, and it was his last thought, for at that moment two young hoodlums emerged from the jewelry store across the mall, after having pistol whipped the owner and robbing the store. Both bandits fired their cheap handguns randomly into the air and one of the random bullets flew through the open door of the Ranger Base and straight into the brain of Napoleon Suares, killing him instantly. He was dead even before he had the chance to think I'm dead and certainly before he hit the plastic floor.

  The bandits got away.

  * * * *

  Each of The Bodyguard team members dealt with the loss of their tall soft-spoken leader in a different way.

  Firststrike, who always kept his own council, seemed to fold inward and pull further way from the group, assuming all of Lastshot's leadership duties as if the mantel of command was made of sackcloth.

  Matthew went into total denial, immersing himself in as many temporary liaisons as possible.

  Echo and Temper seemed to absorb it with an inner nod
as if to say ‘Sorry, I miss you, but it might be me next time, so I'll just carry on.'

  Skorpion, of the entire group, evidenced no outward effect. She remained efficient, cheerful and pursued her duties as before.

  Only at night, in the quiet of her room, was her routine different. Before bed she would take out the note that Lastshot had received from Billy Dent and salute it with two fingers of one hundred year old double malt whiskey.

  "Miss you, hero,” she muttered then folded it, tucked it away with her grief.

  All of them continued to spend their off time at the Trench. It was there a month after the death of Conner LeSchott, on a dreary Saturday night, that they were ‘killing’ some time after a hard day of drills and small arms practice.

  "I'm not saying Savate is better,” Matthew Stryker, said with an emphatic wave of his hand which all but overturned his glass of soda. “I'm just saying that it's comparable to say—Muay Thai boxing.” Matthew sipped his soda and did a quick check of the Trench pub, seeing of any of his ‘regular girls’ had come into the bar yet.

  In the month since Lastshot's death, Firststrike had shouldered the responsibilities of team leader and Skorpion had settled in as his informal number two. It should have been Matthew, but Goldstrike chose to ignore his actual status in the order of things and no one bothered to remind him.

  "Only if you don't go by modern tournament rules, Matthew,” Skorpion said.

  "In which case,” Firststrike added, “they'll make hamburger out of anyone using the old techniques.” Jason Stryker never looked up from the notebook sized computer on the table before him. He was all but overwhelmed by the sheer volume of paperwork his leadership role involved. Scheduling, permit clearances and requisition forms seemed to occupy his entire day.

  "That is the rub, big brother” Matthew said, “This new Exceptional Tournament announcement is very sketchy on what rules they'll follow.” His gold-flecked eyes would have been more suited to Peter Pan or Dennis the Menace, but he did his best to live up to them.

  He sipped his drink. “What the hell,” he said reflectively. “It'll be fun any way they call it."

  "Your idea of fun always involves someone getting bruises,” Echo said.

  The four Exceptionals had just returned from a training mission at Fort Dix. Temper had stayed behind to help train a Delta Force special squad in infiltration techniques. Steel Patriot, from the Chicago Exceptional team, Amber Wave, was on temporary assignment to the New York group and was back at headquarters on monitor duty.

  "At least they don't show as much on you as on my fair skin,” Matthew noted.

  Echo grimaced. “Low blow,” he said, and then added, “Even as a child, Daddy told me white bread wasn't good for me.” Now Matthew grimaced.

  "Isn't it about time you found something useful to do somewhere else?” Jason suggested. “I'd like to concentrate enough to finish these after-action reports tonight. Ask Trudy to send over a coffee on your way out."

  "Coffee,” Matthew said as he walked away from the booth toward the dance floor and bar. “And it's not even ten o'clock on a Saturday. Gonna be a long night."

  "Aren't you pushing it a little hard,” Skorpion asked Firststrike. “You haven't given yourself a break for—"

  "Go ahead and say it,” Jason said. “Since Conner was killed.” He turned his computer off and rubbed his good eye. “I just feel like I have to work twice as hard because of him—” He pointed at his twin.

  "You are not your brother's keeper,” Echo said.

  "Really?” Firststrike asked. “How do you figure that?"

  "If you were,” Echo said, “you would have been equipped with a chair and a whip."

  * * * *

  Max Divergilio was the manager of the King's Plaza Galaxy Ranger franchise. He liked his job, enjoyed playing a game now and then himself and was on profit sharing, so he felt he really was working toward building a solid future. All of which is why it hurt him to close the doors on a Saturday night early and put a call in to the owner.

  "Mr. Stryker?” Max said to Goldstrike, trying not to look at the disappointed faces outside the closed glass doors. “Max Divergilio."

  "What's up, Max?"

  "I want to shut down,” Max said. “We're having problems in the game grid again."

  "I thought you did a full diagnostic last month?"

  "I did, but it's been screwy since that freak accident with that kid Napoleon a week ago. Another player has gotten mild shocks: it feels wrong."

  "You're the man on the spot, Max,” Matthew said. “If you think it's a safety issue, pull the plug and do what you have to."

  "Thanks, boss.” Max hung up and turned to Lu Ann at the desk beside him. “I'm gonna go into the maze to shut the system down at the program room.” He started through the entry port into the play area.

  "Okay, Max,” she said. “I'll lower the gates."

  Neither Lu Ann nor Max noticed the computer board flash “Penalty = player out of uniform."

  Lu Ann was almost at the front gate when the lights dimmed and she heard Max scream.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 28

  "How long have you owned this Galaxy Ranger franchise?” Firststrike asked Matthew as they exited the car in the parking lot of the shopping mall in Brooklyn. Matthew was attired in a gold lame jacket and dress slacks. His brother wore a black turtleneck and black military battle dress slacks with loafers.

  "Two years or so,” Matthew said. “I helped develop it, back when I was training for the Pentathlon, before I got my Olympic shooting medal. We needed a better shooting course than the old F.B.I.'s Hogan's alley.” Matthew smiled. “We improved on it a bit, though. Now it's the standard shooting range for the government. They gave me major stock in exchange for my personal endorsements in ads."

  Jason shook his head. “I've been your brother since before you were born,” he was fifteen seconds older and never let Matthew forget it, “and I still have no fix on you.” The two men had passed from the bay-damp coolness of the parking lot to the artificial cold air of the mall.

  "Why did you come with me, then,” Matthew asked. “Skorpion or Caesar could have come to keep me company, but it's not like I'm going against the Four Horsemen, or Chechen Wasteland rebel or Dr. Death?"

  "I just didn't feel like letting you out of my sight tonight."

  "Come on then, big brother,” Matthew said. “You just wanted an excuse to not do paperwork for a night.” When he saw that Jason would have died rather than admit he was right, Matthew laughed. “Well, just watch how a pro works."

  The brothers took the stairs to the second floor. When they came in sight of the Galaxy Ranger Base, they stopped abruptly, Jason all but colliding with Matthew's back.

  "Oh, hell,” Matthew said with a premonition of dread. Police had yellow crime scene tape in front of the franchise. The whites of E.S.U. uniforms were visible moving through a crunch of onlookers like gothic spirits. “Not twice in two weeks."

  They made their way through the crowd until a patrolman who barely came up to Matthew's chest stopped them.

  "Hold it, fella,” the officer commanded.

  "I own this store,” Matthew stated, pointing at the larger than life-sized image of him in one of the Ranger uniforms standing by the front door. “I'm Goldstrike.” He pushed past the startled cop who decided not to tangle with the determined Matthew.

  Jason, however, was another matter. The officer blocked the one-eyed brother's passage. “I suppose you're an owner, too?"

  Jason resisted the urge to punch the officer's lights out and merely flashed a smile and his government credentials. The officer almost tripped over himself in his rush to get out of Jason's way.

  Nice to know not everybody watches Tri v, Jason thought.

  Inside were more uniformed officers, two detectives, ambulance personnel, and a hysterical Lu Ann.

  "Oh, Mr. Matthew!” the girl cried. She all but threw herself into Matthew's arms and sobbed
. “It's worse than when Napoleon got shot. Max went to shut off the maze and then I heard him scream. But I couldn't get to him.” She became incoherent, so Matthew let her sob it out before turning to one of the plain-clothes officers.

  "I'm the owner, Matthew Stryker, officer...” he paused to read the name on the plainclothesman's badge. “...Bronowitz. What happened?"

  "Like she says, Mr. Stryker,” the cop said in a tired voice. “Mr. Divergilio entered the game area and apparently received a severe electric shock. No one was able to get to him because anyone who entered the room was also shocked, though less severely."

  Bronowitz lit a bent cigarette from a crushed pack he pulled from a pocket, blatently ignoring a ‘No Smoking’ sign above his head. He continued in a bored tone. “The E.S.U.'s finally pulled Mr. Divergilio out with boat hooks."

  Just then, one of the two E.S.U.'s who were administering CPR in relay to Divergilio cried out in triumph: “I got a pulse!” This started Lu Ann on a new round of sobs that quickly passed.

  "Hang on to her, Jason,” Matthew said as he stepped behind the control console. “I can't shut the system off from here,” he said to no one in particular as he began to push buttons on the board. “Wish to hell Skorpion had come with us.” He thought for second. “I'll take it out of game mode.” He looked oddly at the readings he was getting. “At least, I should be able to."

  "I called the power company to cut the juice to the store off,” Bronowitz said, “but they said you have your own source."

  "Yeah, the computers pull so much and cost so much if they go down that we have our own back up. Damn! Hey, Jason, take a look at this."

  Lu Ann was passed off to an Emergency Services officer as Matthew's brother rounded the consol. “See this,” Matthew said, pushing a command sequence. The monitor flashed back “Command refused."

  "That's not so unusual,” Jason said. “You know, ‘Garbage in, Garbage out'."