Hayut led him to a set of double doors he opened for Nico. Nico walked past him into a room with two desks. Neither was occupied. He noticed a camera mounted in one corner of the room at the ceiling level. It was pointed at another door in the office. He waited as Hayut shut the door to the hallway behind them. He walked to an intercom on the wall and pressed a button. When a man’s voice came over the intercom, Nico waited as Hayut identified himself and told him that he had Josiah Flynn to see him.
“Send him in. That’s all, Hayut,” the voice said. Nico realized it must be Drake Archer. He glanced at the dark-haired man who smiled pleasantly and then an alarm on the door buzzed loudly as a locking mechanism clicked. Nico nodded at the man and then broke eye contact, reluctantly turning away, feeling the weight of the note in his pocket as if it were burning through him. Whoever the man was, he’d taken a massive risk by passing the note to him. If he’d been found out already, Nico knew he very well might be walking into a trap.
****
At 11:00 a.m. sharp, Mac walked into Stryker-Dunn’s offices for his interview as a mercenary wearing a small camera on his lapel. If noticed at all, the small American flag, worn right over his heart, shouldn’t give anyone pause. Just knowing that Nico was also somewhere in the building hadn’t helped, especially when he’d gotten a look at the security close up. His photo ID—California driver’s license and passport—that had been supplied by the FBI, had been scrutinized with a fine-toothed comb by the men dressed in all-black fatigues at the lobby desk. They’d taken both documents and scanned them without saying a word once Mac had given his name as Michael Black, there to see Nelson Strange.
Mac was certain the documents would pass scrutiny. The Bureau’s cyber division was skilled at making false IDs for undercovers and the passport he’d been provided showed that Michael Black had been to a dozen countries since it had been issued. Those visits—mostly to Eastern Asia—had been in addition to the C-130 Hercules transports he would have taken to his assignments by the other military contractors who’d employed him. Mac was told to wait and he walked over to a row of black leather chairs, taking one, and facing the elevator doors where the camera he wore could pick up the comings and goings and get a good image of Nelson Strange. He let his gaze wander upward to the ceiling high above. He wished the camera could pick up the vista he was seeing but he knew it was limited.
A massive American flag had been painted on the ceiling with fuzzy smudged outlines. As Mac squinted his eyes, looking harder, he realized that the smudges were actually the small handprints of children, making up the stars and stripes. A banner circled the wall at the ceiling level and on it were printed the words to the Star-Spangled Banner, the country’s national anthem. He absently wondered how Francis Scott Key would have felt if he’d known how the poem he’d written in 1814 was being bastardized by a defense contractor who by all intents and purposes had probably murdered thousands of people all in the name of greed. Mac found it highly offensive. He’d known good men who’d died serving that flag and he still got teary at ball games when anyone sang the national anthem.
The doors slid open and a short stocky man stepped out. He was in his mid to late forties with graying stubble at the temples and a massive gray handlebar mustache. He was wearing the same all-black fatigues and boots the men at the front desk were wearing, but he’d added a black piss-cutter on top of a military buzz cut. The bars he wore identified him as a captain. Mac was dressed in jeans and a sport coat over a white polo shirt but the moment he saw the newcomer, he stood up and at attention. He saluted sharply as he walked up. The man returned his salute and his harsh features softened.
“At ease, soldier,” he said.
Mac relaxed, feeling an uncommon anger burn through him at having to behave as a subordinate to this mercenary captain when his own captain had given his life shortly before Mac was discharged.
“Thank you, sir.” Mac said, unable to stop the ticking in his cheek from clenching the hell out of his teeth. He did feel a wave of satisfaction as the mercenary stepped up and had to crane his head all the way up to meet Mac’s eyes. He took hold of the man’s hand as he held it out. “Michael Black, sir.”
“Yes, Lieutenant. I have your file. I’m Captain Strange. Let’s go upstairs where we can talk.”
“Sure thing, Captain,” Mac said.
The man spun on his heel and Mac followed him to the far wall where Strange called the elevator. The doors swished open and they stepped in. Strange pushed the button for the fourth floor and they rode it up. When the doors opened again, they stepped out not into a hallway, but a bustling office filled with hundreds of cubicles. Men and women were on the phones, all talking at once. It reminded Mac of those scenes in the movies at Wall Street firms where everyone was running around like chickens with their heads cut off, only these chickens all wore the same black fatigues.
Mac followed Nelson Strange down a hallway to a private office with his name and rank on the door. Once inside, Strange told him to take a seat and closed the door before stepping around behind the desk. He sat down, picked up a file folder, and opened it. Inside, Mac recognized the photo IDs he’d provided to the front desk had already been printed and put into the folder. This organization was nothing if not efficient. Strange flipped the pages quickly, giving them a quick eyeballing, and then sat back in his chair, pursing his lips and steepling his fingers as he rested the tips of them against his lips. He didn’t say anything, he just seemed to be watching him… no… observing him. Mac suddenly realized what was going on and instantly flattened his affect to fool the behaviometrics Strange was seeing.
Behaviometrics worked like biometrics in the study of an individual’s unique characteristics but it was the behavioral half, rather than the physiological half, which was more commonly referred to as biometrics. Biometrics was considered the technical term for the measure of a body’s characteristics such as fingerprints, DNA, hand geometry including palm veins, hand shape, and retinal or iris recognition. Behaviometrics referred to behavioral characteristics such as gait, voice, and even typing rhythm among other behavioral characteristics. Strange was making these observations the same way an excellent salesman realizes his customer has just taken the bait, marking the time to reel him in and close the deal. Strange huffed.
“Relax, Black,” Strange said, glancing back down at Michael Black’s file before looking up. “So, I see you have extensive experience in the field.”
“Yes, sir,” Mac said.
“Okay, why don’t you begin with telling me who referred you to Stryker-Dunn, Black?”
“Originally, Dave Reese, sir,” Mac said, keeping his answers straight and to the point the way any good Army man would expect him to speak to a superior. “Then, I saw your ad in Soldier of Fortune and remembered that Reese had mentioned the company.”
“Yes, how is Reese?” the captain asked.
Mac frowned. “Well, he’s dead, sir. Dave Reese died last month somewhere in South America, sir, but I believe you know that. He was working for Stryker-Dunn at that time.”
Strange pressed his lips together tightly and nodded slowly, staring right at Mac. “Yes, that’s right,” he said. “He was a good soldier. We miss him here.”
“He was a Marine, sir, not a soldier,” Mac replied quickly, tiring already of Strange’s half-assed attempts at tripping him up.
“Yes. Yes, he was,” Strange said. The phone on his desk suddenly rang and Mac watched him lean over to pick it up. “Strange.”
Mac listened as someone spoke to him for a minute. He hung up the phone without saying a thing, focusing his attention on Mac.
“You are who you say you are. We’ve confirmed that, Lieutenant Black,” Strange told him.
Mac evened out his heart-rate and took slow even breaths. He knew whoever was running biometrics on him remotely was looking for changes in heart rate or breathing, probably taking his temperature remotely, hell, they could be giving him a colonoscopy for all Mac knew. He w
as about ready to drop his pants and give these assholes better access.
“We’re prepared to offer you a job, Black,” Strange said. “I think you’ll find the pay is better than what you were probably making at your last company.”
“I was making a lot of money at my last company, sir,” Mac said, trying to keep the revulsion he felt for this man and this company out of his voice. He had to keep reminding himself that they were monitoring him remotely.
“Yes, well, we ask a lot of our employees, Black.” The captain sat back. “I’m wondering. Is there anything you won’t do in the field?”
Any of it. Mac shook his head. “You have my service record in front of you, sir. I love my country.” He strengthened his voice and pinned Strange with a pointed look. “I will not recoil or hesitate a second to follow a direct order. I believe my service record bears that out. I go where I’m told and do what I’m told, sir. I am more than capable of carrying out any mission I am given. I hope that answers your question, sir.”
Strange nodded, looking Mac over and meeting his eyes with a serious look of his own.
“Okay.” The man’s face relaxed for the first time since he’d sat down across from Mac. He nodded slowly. “Okay, then. I’m ready to make you an offer.” He picked up the handset on the phone and pushed a couple numbers. “Bring Lieutenant Black’s paperwork into my office,” he barked into the phone.
A moment later, a woman in black fatigues opened the door of the office, carrying a plain manila folder. She approached the desk and held it out to Nelson Strange.
“Here you are, Captain.”
“Thank you, McNulty,” he replied, taking the folder. “That is all.”
“Yes, sir.” She retreated and shut the door.
Strange opened the folder and seemed to read over the single sheet of typewritten paper inside. “This is our offer to you. All of our employees are put on a twelve-month contract, after which you will receive a bump in paygrade and rank if it’s merited. I believe it goes without saying that what we do here and overseas is to remain in the strictest of confidence.” He lifted and eyebrow as he stared at Mac.
“Of course, sir.”
“Good.” Strange tapped a finger on the paper and then passed it across the barren desk to Mac. “This is your starting pay, Black. I think you’ll find employment at Stryker-Dunn satisfying and this pay commensurate for a man with your skills. Sign there and I’ll have one of my people give you a quick tour and get you set up with uniforms. I’ve decided your first assignment will be a protection detail for Colonel Drake Archer, Stryker-Dunn’s director.” He seemed to look Mac over critically. “His last bodyguard was killed on the job. It is a dangerous job, Black.” He sighed, seeming to want to say more but he thinned his lips and went on. “Truthfully, I wasn’t expecting to find a replacement so easily, but a man of your stature and skill set fills the bill admirably. You’ll start immediately. I’ll have Sergeant McNulty introduce you to the colonel right away.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Mac couldn’t believe his luck. He’d hoped to get assigned somewhere in the building rather than sent on a mission somewhere. At least this way, he could keep track of Nico’s whereabouts; he’d never thought he’d be lucky enough to get assigned to Drake Archer. At his side, he would be able to listen to everything that went on around the man. That included being close to Nico since Josiah Flynn was there to meet with Archer.
He reached for the pen on the desk and briefly read over the contract, trying desperately not to gape at the ridiculously high salary, and signing Michael Black’s name at the bottom. He passed it back to Strange and the man took it, slipping it back into the file folder before standing up.
“Welcome to Stryker-Dunn.” Strange reached across the desk and shook Mac’s hand offering the first smile Mac had seen on him since they’d walked into the room. Mac resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his pants, feeling like he’d just been slimed. He let go and clicked his heels together, saluting the captain. Strange saluted back and walked past Mac, opening the door and walking out of his office.
He motioned to the same woman who’d brought the contract into the office and handed her back the file. He told her to get Mac a couple uniforms, take him to the armory, and other important places in the building then introduce him to Colonel Archer right away.
“Good luck, Black. I think you’ll fit right in here.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He shook Strange’s hand one final time and then followed McNulty back to the elevators.
Chapter Eight
“Is that…?” Lincoln’s voice came over the microphone in the SCIF. Jarrett knew Snow and Galvez were seeing the same thing on the screen that he and Thayne were seeing. The image from Devecchio’s body cam was crisp and clear as he stood to greet the tall, curly-haired man who’d just walked out of the elevator at Stryker-Dunn. Jarrett recognized him instantly. He had to blink twice before leaning down and pressing the talk button on his microphone which rose from the control panel where he and Thayne sat.
“Fuckin’ Adael Dayan!” Jarrett almost choked on the words. He hadn’t seen the Israeli Mossad operative since going undercover to retrieve the tabun nerve agent from Mills Lang nearly a year ago. Not that he ever expected to see him again. The mission had gone well, and they’d recovered the tabun but he hadn’t heard from his ex-lover since then. In fact, for a while there, Jarrett had thought that Dayan and Mills Lang were a thing. They’d certainly had their hands all over each other at the Minotaur Club, LA’s answer to decadence and depravity of every kind. But, in the end, when all hell had broken loose, Adael had come through and helped the team save the day. Jarrett just figured Mossad had called him back to Israel where he belonged. But now, like a bad shekel, the man was back.
“How is it he keeps turning up smack-dab in the middle of our cases?” Thayne asked with disgust.
“The last case I remember seeing him on was the tabun case, right?” Galvez asked through the speaker.
Jarrett growled. “Yeah, which means Devecchio and Mac have no idea who he is since they both joined the team after that case.”
“Oh, son of a bitch,” Snow said.
Jarrett watched as Adael led Nico into the elevator and then faced him. The quick downward glance and the fake shit-eating grin he was giving Nico told him that something was happening that the pin-camera Nico was wearing wasn’t picking up. The way Dayan held Nico’s gaze told Jarrett that he couldn’t tell him what it was he was trying to communicate. Somehow, Nico must have realized that they were being monitored by camera and audio in the elevator.
“Did you see that?” Thayne asked. “Dayan’s gaze flicked downward but he kept eye contact with him.”
“Yeah, I saw it,” Snow said. “You think he gave Devecchio something?”
“Makes sense but what?” Galvez asked.
“Dunno but whatever it was, he couldn’t tell Devecchio,” Jarrett drawled. “He must have given him a message but how the fuck is he at Stryker-Dunn? He’s workin’ undercover again?”
“I’m calling SAC Diaz,” Galvez said. “She needs to get in touch with Israeli intelligence and find out what the fuck Mossad is doing in the middle of our case—again. They’re not allowed to operate on American soil.”
“Goddammit!” Jarrett exclaimed. He glanced over at Thayne who looked like he could spit nails. There was no good way to deal with this. He’d known Thayne was jealous of Adael from the get-go. When he’d walked in on the Israeli kissing Jarrett in the hospital two summers ago, it had been excruciating for him. Their own relationship hadn’t been defined at that time although they were exclusive to each other. Neither one of them had admitted how much they already loved each other and it had put unnecessary stress on their relationship. When Adael and Jarrett were forced to sideline Thayne during the nerve agent undercover, that had been just another test to their relationship.
Jarrett didn’t really know why Thayne was jealous of Adael. He’d spent two unbeliev
ably passionate weeks with the Israeli while on a highly classified mission in Gaza but after it had gone bad, they’d separated and not seen each other for a couple of years until the fireworks case in San Diego. Jarrett had known it was a sore spot with Thayne so he’d not dared to breathe how Adael had come on to him again during the nerve agent case months later. When Jarrett had bluntly refused him and shut him down, Adael had insisted that gay men were never monogamous and laughed at him. Jarrett reached up and absently rubbed over the tattoo of the skeleton key over his heart. The matching one of the lock on Thayne’s chest would always be there to symbolize their love and devotion for each other. To his surprise, Thayne reached over and patted him on the back. He glanced over to find his husband smiling at him.
“We’ll deal with this, Jarrett,” Thayne said. “Just like we deal with everything else. These big cases always come with complications.”
“Not fuckin’ Mossad complications!” Jarrett growled.
“I’m calling Diaz and Stanger to update them with this situation,” Jose repeated.
“Yeah, okay, Galvez. Let us know what you find out,” Thayne said, still looking at Jarrett as he continued to stroke him between the shoulder blades.
Galvez clicked off and Jarrett reached for Thayne’s hand. “This don’t change anything between us, Thayne. You know that, right?”
Thayne smiled. “I’m so proud of you, Jarrett. Nothing could make me love you more. We’re fine, baby. Just fine.”
Jarrett hoped things would stay that way.
****
Nico stepped into Drake Archer’s office and got his first look at the man who’d summoned Josiah Flynn to their headquarters. He was on his guard, still missing his gun like crazy, and feeling even more vulnerable with the folded-up piece of paper in his pants pocket. He was dying to take it out and read it but there would be time for that. He didn’t like the fact that he’d been surprised. Nico was a planner. He’d always been a planner. Whoever the dark-haired man who’d brought him into Archer’s office was, he wasn’t one of theirs. He guessed he might be Mossad by his name and accent but for all Nico knew, those were false and he was after the same thing they were. Why an Israeli would be working in the US was a whole other question. He really wanted to know who the handsome man was but knowing he was being monitored, he didn’t dare ask. He knew his friends could see what he was seeing even if he couldn’t say anything the earwig would pick up. His friends certainly weren’t saying anything into his ear but maybe they’d recognize the dark stranger. If he was someone important, they’d let him know by talking to him through the earwig but for now, he was pretty sure they didn’t want to distract him.
Endings and Beginnings (Death and Destruction Book 8) Page 12
