Recruited (Rayna Tan Action Thrillers)

by Wesley Robert Lowe

  Rayna’s perched over him like a predator, eyes glowing in fury at the assassin. Where did a kid like this get money for drugs and over-priced, military-grade weapons? How could no one notice that this boy needed help? Someone must have. Why didn’t they do anything about it? How the hell did this fall through the cracks?

  On a hunch, Rayna tore off his shirt. Her face turned to ice. In the same part of the arm as Tanner, was the same tattoo: a red snake with the word Serpiente.

  By now, the campus was full of police and federal agents. They would leave no stone unturned in their search for answers to this human disaster.

  Rayna did a quick self-assessment. She had plenty of questions of her own.

  How did she escape this carnage without a scratch? It took only a moment for the answer to come to her. It came from a passage her father often recited when there was an issue he found difficult to deal with. “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal… a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.”

  ***

  Rayna was taken in for interrogation by the Indianapolis PD. However, twenty minutes in, they reluctantly decided she wasn’t a threat, but a hero. If they had asked her what she knew about “Serpiente,” they would have come to a different conclusion, but they didn’t ask and she didn’t offer.

  After the police returned her to Hope, the first thing she did was give her father a call. “Now’s not my time here, Dad,” she told him.

  For what may have been the first time since she entered puberty, her father agreed.

  The second thing she did was to go to visit Dr. Barlow, Hope University’s shell-shocked dean. “Thanks, Dr. Barlow but an orientation like that sent a strong message that this is not the place for me.” She thought she could hear a sigh of relief after she told him.

  Stepping back into the schoolyard, she shook her head at the lost innocence around her. The whole place was still a crime scene, with investigators still crawling everywhere.

  She made a third call to phone the only person who might be able to give some kind of meaning to the madness that was engulfing her.

  “Mr. Rogers, is your offer still good?”

  “Of course.”

  “Someone just tried to kill me. The same group that killed my fiancée last night.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At a small college just outside of Indianapolis.”

  “Do you know how to hotwire a car?”

  “I’ve seen Jason Statham do it in a movie… and I tried it. It works.”

  “Good. What I want you to do is turn off your cell phone. Stomp on it, crush it and leave it there. Grab a car, drive to a mall at least half an hour away. Leave it there and call me from a payphone. I’m leaving now to pick you up and will be there in five hours. There may be some kind of tracking mechanism on you so leave all your belongings, including all ID and passports. Don’t forget to swap clothes with someone.”

  “Okay.”

  “And Rayna?”

  “Yes, Mr. Rogers?”

  “Call me Barry from now on.”

  “Okay, Barry.”

  They hung up. Barry scrolled through his phone and hit “play” on an audio message. He’d played it a hundred times since Jon sent it just before he went on his final mission—it was the last time he heard Jon speak. “Hey Dad, finally got someone you might like to consider. Her name’s Rayna Tan.”

  Barry put the phone back in his pocket.

  Chapter 6

  The Mall

  Rayna was rattled. Death followed her. Not in a random, roll-of-the-dice way like in Iraq, but as if the Grim Reaper had a personal vendetta. She definitely wasn’t going to hang around in case someone else from Serpiente showed up. How did they find me?

  She entered the women’s dorm on high alert. No one was around. They’d all left, so Rayna quickly rummaged through a few rooms and found new changes of clothing: a pair of clean jeans, a blouse, a navy blue hoodie and a pair of sneakers, purposely two sizes too big.

  A secret phobia of Rayna’s was that she hated driving. Not driving wasn’t a big deal when she was in general forces. However, when she joined JTF2, part of the training was a special high level rally driving course. Unfortunately, somehow Rayna accidentally-on-purpose sprained her ankle just before the program began. In other words, she wasn’t much of a driver.

  She chose a nondescript, eight-year-old Chevrolet Aveo to “borrow” and was on the move in minutes. It was only half an hour but seemed like an eternity with her ultra-cautious driving to avoid attention and her being suspicious of every vehicle on the road. By the time she hit Kokomo, (not the Kokomo in the Beach Boys song), she was drenched in sweat. She spotted a shopping center and parked a few blocks from it. Trading the hoodie for a sweater from a homeless person, she strolled back to the mall and called Barry.

  “I’m at the Markland Mall,” Rayna reported over the background din of what must be Barry’s jet.

  “I’ll be there in three hours. At the Starbucks.”

  ***

  It was the longest three hours of Rayna’s life. It only took eight minutes to explore every shop she was interested in. Rayna had never enjoyed shopping. She soon gave up pretending and headed to the coffee shop early. Checking every person that spent more than a second peering into the window and every patron who entered the coffee emporium, she was completely frazzled by the time Barry arrived.

  “You look like hell.” Barry grinned, sitting down at her table.

  “I feel even worse,” said Rayna. “Can we go now?”

  “Sure.” Barry led Rayna out to his rented Ford sedan.

  “I don’t know if you were serious, but when you said to call if I was ever in any trouble… I didn’t know whom to call. My family would be useless. The platoon is half a world away but… but I trusted Jon and I figured he had good genes.”

  “Well, I hope I can live up to your judgment.”

  “I don’t even know you.

  “Your instincts. You have an instinct for survival. You have an instinct for judging people.”

  “Well, my instincts tell me there’s something else on your mind. It’s not because of my friendship with Jon. You’re a businessman, first and foremost, so sentimentality is not you. It’s not sex. You’re not stupid enough to give me your phone number in front of your wife. And judging people? That’s a joke. I picked a guy to fall in love who was a drug dealer who got in over his head and almost got me killed… So what is it?”

  “You told me that you have a knack for making money.”

  Rayna laughed. “That was just monopoly money I played with. I can’t even balance my checkbook.”

  “You’re not doing a very good job of getting me to hire you for a job.”

  “I didn’t know I applied.”

  “You didn’t… I was going to get Jon but then… things happened…”

  Rayna splayed out her hands. “Jon told me he was going into investments.”

  “That’s part of the job, sure.”

  Rayna narrowed her eyes at the sudden ice in his voice. “What’s the rest of it?”

  His gaze never wavered as he bored into her soul.

  “We kill people… very bad people. And lots of them.”

  Rayna sat in silence until they arrived at a private airstrip and pulled next to a small jet on the tarmac.

  “Is that yours?”

  “One of them, yes. We don’t operate on regular timetables. We’ll talk more when we get on. It’s going to be a long flight.”

  Chapter 7

  Hong Kong

  Arthur Yang pried his eyes off the gorgeous Hong Kong skyline twenty stories below. He spun his chair around at the only light left on in his sprawling corner office. He peered deep into the soft glow from the secure computer on his desk, pouring over the unexpected and unusual dossier one more time.

>   RAYNA TAN - BRIEF PROFILE

  AGE 26, born Golden Corner, China. Parents unknown. Adopted at birth by Henry and Vivian Chang.

  Citizenships: Canadian and American. (Father was an international businessman based in Seattle before becoming a pastor in Vancouver. No known ties to PRC Communist Party.)

  Marital Status: Single

  Education:

  Pacific Elementary, Seattle. (Straight As)

  George Washington High School, Seattle (Straight As)

  Grover University, Ottawa (4.0 GPA)

  Work Experience:

  Three Years, General Forces, Canadian Army, Rank: Captain

  Three Years, Special Operations, Joint Task Force2 (19 direct kills. 147 more with team)

  Languages Spoken:

  English, Mandarin, Cantonese, Pashto, Spanish, French, Arabic

  Special Skills

  Black Belts in Judo, Wushu & Tae Kwan Do

  Music Lover & Singer

  Captain, Math Team, Canadian High School Finalist for two years.

  Miscellaneous Notes:

  High tolerance to alcohol

  Absolutely gorgeous

  Three photos of Rayna were attached. One in her combat uniform rappelling from a helicopter. Another in business attire addressing a conference. The third was her in a yellow bikini pointing an AK-47 directly at the camera.

  His phone rang. Not his cell nor the landline, but a secure satellite phone locked in the desk. A Parisian accent filled his ear.

  “I think I know which picture you prefer, Arthur.” Paulina cooed and waited.

  “She’s young enough to be my granddaughter.”

  “Which makes her all the more dangerous. I like that.”

  ***

  As Rayna and Barry settled back into their chairs, a six-foot screen lowered in front of them. Moments later, the screen split and displayed two people in different locations. On one screen was a sixtyish Chinese man. On the other, a woman of about ten years older.

  “Rayna, meet Arthur Yang and Paulina Rossini. The three of us will be having a little chat, but before we start, can you open my briefcase, please?”

  Rayna reached over and opened the bag. Inside was a bottle of eighteen-year-old Glenlivet, Rayna’s poison of choice. She cut her eyes at Barry. “If you’re going to interrogate me, I have to pass.”

  “Relax, Rayna. This is not an interview but a chance to discuss if we have a fit.”

  A very fit steward in his late thirties appeared with two Glencairn crystal whiskey glasses. He poured two healthy shots into them before disappearing as catlike as he had arrived.

  ***

  “Allow me to introduce who we are and what we do. The three of us are the current board members of an organization called Fidelitas. Have you heard of us?”

  Rayna shook her head. “Not at all.”

  Barry smiled. “That’s good. We do try to keep a low profile. Arthur Yang is from Hong Kong and Paulina Rossini is from Paris. Fidelitas was founded by Paulina’s great-grandfather, Paolo, when he was looking for help in stemming the influence of Benito Mussolini. He saw what no one else could see—the popular ex-journalist was directing Italy on a path of self-destruction. He realized he couldn’t do anything on his own, so he fled to Paris with his family fortune almost intact. He devoted the rest of his life to a new cause: taking down the highest levels of unbeatable evil, the seemingly untouchable. He code-named this initiative Fidelitas, meaning faithful.”

  Paulina took over. “My great-grandfather was a visionary. He visited over thirty countries, looking to expand his empire. When he interviewed candidates or companies for business cooperation, he was always evaluating whether those individuals might be possibilities for inclusion into his covert philanthropy. He was surprised at how many rich people there were who wanted to make a genuine difference. Wanting to have a global influence, he chose individuals from the United States and Asia to work with. Each was glad to contribute either expertise or funds—the 1940’s equivalent of two million dollars annually—to the fledgling clandestine group.”

  Rayna rolled her eyes while letting the whiskey roll around her tongue. “So what? Lots of people have money. Bill Gates gave away more than twenty-five billion. Li Ka-shing, Warren Buffet and Michael Bloomberg and a host of others, more than a billion.”

  “Good for you, Rayna. Barry was right about your BS filters,” said Arthur. “But money was not the only criteria for joining Fidelitas. Candidates also had to be willing to back up their funds with personal involvement, to provide strategic leadership and to get their hands dirty to help rid the world of “strategic scum.” Not bound by political agendas, bureaucratic nonsense or hand-tying regulations, they will use any means necessary to achieve their goal.”

  “But don’t think that it’s just big shots we go after now. There were now people of strategic influence,” said Barry. “Like a president of a pharmaceutical company who held back new research that lowered the cost of cholesterol medicine by eighty percent. He withheld it because it was his company that was the largest manufacturer of the standard cholesterol-reducing meds. Another time, it was the chief fundraiser for a major symphony orchestra—she was laundering Yakuza funds, so which was the greater evil? Laundering a criminal organization’s money or letting an international orchestra fall into insolvency. We made our own judgment and the fundraiser quietly disappeared before a major gala.”

  Paulina snorted lightly. “My grandfather and his original group of Fidelitas have long passed but his original vision remains intact. Stay small but build the most effective team possible, equipping them with whatever it takes to do the job. At any given time, there are only fifty to seventy staff throughout the world. With technology today, most of the damage Fidelitas inflicts is through cyber or electronic warfare. Discreet, talented and anonymous, we have inflicted damage on some of the world’s most dangerous individuals and organizations. Field operatives are no longer our only method of action but are still necessary—nothing replaces boots on the ground.”

  Rayna’s eyes brightened as she took another sip of the amber liquid. She turned to Barry. “Jon. I’m not Jon, not even close.”

  “Yes, you are,” said Barry softly. “We checked you out after we talked at our place. You have the basic qualities we need in a field agent. Your ability to diagnose personalities and situations with limited data. Your ability to defend yourself. Your street smarts with scum. Your innate sexuality… and your willingness to kill without hesitation.”

  How the hell did he know all that? I couldn’t have summarized that as well as he just did. Not knowing how to respond, Rayna mumbled, “I’m not a natural killer.”

  “If you were, I wouldn’t be interested in you,” said Arthur. “To take someone’s life requires a damned good reason. Otherwise, you’ve lost your humanity.”

  While Arthur spoke, Barry excused himself and got up, ostensibly to go to the bathroom. But, before he got there, Barry whipped a gun out of his pocket and fired directly at Rayna.

  With no time to duck, Rayna grabbed at the speeding missile but with less than eight feet separating her and her late friend’s father, the bullet had already hit her heart. Fortunately, there was no penetration—Barry fired a blank.

  Barry’s eyes lasered into Rayna. “If you join us, you must remember that no one anywhere is your friend. You’re fantastic as a warrior, but it’s not technique you need to work on. It’s instinct. Complete awareness of your surroundings. You’ve got to admit your lack of judgment.”

  Barry took off his shirt. Old bullet wounds and knife scars littered his torso. “I speak from personal experience. Your experience, Rayna, is that overseas, you always knew when you were going into a danger zone. You can prepare for that. Even Jon. Yes, we all hurt because of that. God, do I hurt but we also knew there was a possibility of this happening because those are part of the outcomes of that universe. The world I’m asking you to enter has no rules; there is no such thing as normal.”

&nbs
p; “You’re doing a great job of convincing me to join,” said Rayna with thinly veiled sarcasm.

  “I have to. I can’t have you buckle under any conditions. A soldier who kills the enemy is celebrated as a hero. A civilian who kills the worst criminal will get thrown into jail. Us? Nobody knew anything? No glory, no medal for valor, no public commendation. But I’m happy because I know I’ve made a difference.”

  Barry put his shirt back on. “My time is over. My reflexes are a shade slower, I take half a second longer to make an analysis… those fractions are enough for someone to suss you out and snuff you out.”

  Barry motioned to the monitor. Arthur and Paulina had taken their tops off—similar scars covered their bodies.

  Barry poked at the spot where the dummy bullet hit Rayna. “So are you in or out? If you say ‘out,’ I’ll arrange for you to go wherever you want to go and give you a hundred thousand dollars to get started and keep your mouth shut about this meeting. If you say ‘in,’ well… there’s a lot to do. I’ll set you up with a trading account and put a million dollars into it.”

  “You can’t buy me.”

  “It’s not about buying you. It’s about locking into the mindset of people we’re after. A lot of them aren’t driven by religion or causes. They are after money. Wealth. Riches. Yeah, there will be times when you will be an assassin but that’s not enough. Any kid with a corner store gun can be a killer just as anybody with a black belt can cripple and maim… ”

  Barry made a temple by touching his fingertips to each other. He pressed down hard. “Fidelitas needs people who are not just highly skilled in the physical mechanics of death. They’ve got to be extremely adept in understanding financial markets, both legal and illegal. This is a twofold use. Extra dough never hurts but the main thing is it opens doors to finding out who really to go after. To get into their minds, you’ve got to play their game. We’re not going to put a badge on you and say, “‘Hire this killer.’ Your cover is going to be as a top investment advisor.”