The Life We Lead: Ascending

by George Nagle

  “Thanks for the help. See ya soon,” James said.

  “Aye.” With a click, Calum hung up.

  Right. Now it was just sorting out the trip, getting through exams, and securing a good cover while getting into a new line of work. Well, some of that was just a phone call, so time to focus on school. Almost a mini-vacation, James thought wryly.

  Later that night, when he finally got into bed, James wondered if it was all worth it. He could just leave this behind and get a job and move on. At least he’d be paid more and live a slightly easier life. Having access to money and not being able to use it because of the need to keep up appearances was as wearing as anything else, not to mention what a drag it was hiding a large part of his time and life.

  But this was the life you had to lead to be in the group. Or at least the life he led, as he held himself to an extreme rigid standard of discipline. He could use funds he had access to any way he wanted, but it would raise questions, given his family situation.

  He was in the group mainly for the challenge of being the best, helping other people, and knowing that at a moment’s whim, he could do literally anything he wanted. To him, that was real power, and the truest of freedoms. Most people couldn’t handle that reality, but James craved it.

  “Hey, my mom said she thought she saw you at work during break. She tried to say hi, but you didn’t answer her,” Mark said into the dark.

  “Oh, sorry. I must not have seen or heard her,” James said quickly from his bed.

  “That’s what she said. She said to say hi, so hi. But you don’t miss much,” Mark said reflectively.

  “I don’t know, it was a long week. I was running on little sleep and must have just missed her, sorry. Please tell her hello back,” James said.

  “Yeah, no prob.” Mark rolled over at a burst from downstairs. “Odd Job!”

  Both James and Mark snickered, knowing what had just happened without seeing it. The guys were playing the game again.

  ***

  The next few weeks progressed as normally as they ever could for James, mostly work and school until the week before finals. The group had an opportunity to get together, and James, with Daen’s help, reviewed the Russian trip as a training tool for others.

  Throughout the session, through their body language, two individuals in the group kept signaling their skepticism. It went unnoticed by others, but James and Daen saw it.

  “Tariq and Vic, how would you have handled this?” James finally asked, having just explained the incident at the hotel and the capture of Nikolias.

  James knew Vic would clam up if directly called out; he’d actually been fairly bored by the story. Tariq, on the other hand, always had something to say.

  Tariq looked coldly at James for a moment before standing up to approach the front of the room. “Well, since you both came back in one piece, there’s no major issue with how it was handled. But you were careless in the operation, for sure.”

  Tariq was a solid six-foot-two-inches tall and weighed 200 pounds. He had played running back in football and was also a very good boxer. He’d graduated high school a year early at the top of his class and came from money. Despite his talents, he failed to recognize the value of forward thinking and always lived in the moment.

  James had missed Tariq’s training with the group, but knew Tariq had been warned about his attitude. It had almost gotten him disqualified several times.

  “The room should have been on the third floor, above yours, not below. You could have heard people above you and Daen wouldn’t have had to jump around like an idiot. It would have limited their escape, too. You should have also had cameras outside the main door and a slip mechanism to lock it.” Tariq pointed at the diagram of the building.

  Daen spoke up. “And the fact that we had limited equipment because this was a gathering operation, plus the fact that to lock the door with a slip you need to have someone stationed near the rotating door, has that ‘slipped’ your mind, man?”

  Daen became more indignant as he spoke, mainly because he didn’t like Tariq.

  “Add in the fact that we had no idea of a head count, or if it was going to be kids or the police or what. Sitting with all that hindsight is fine, but you ain’t been listening.”

  Tariq jumped right back at Daen, ignoring all he’d just heard. “Plus, you let people escape and kidnap someone who’s supposedly a friend.” He put his hands up and used his fingers to make quotation marks around the last word, then added, “If you knew how to hit someone properly and put them down, you could have stopped all that. Then James almost let someone escape because he can’t put them down either. Sounds like I need to teach some fighting.”

  Daen stared with disbelief. He was too seasoned to allow his emotions to go any further, but Tariq wasn’t. He just kept going on and on. He didn’t notice that the reason everyone’s attention was on him was that they couldn’t believe he was still talking.

  A minute into his rant, James interrupted, walking toward him and smiling coolly at Tariq. “So you’re saying you can put anyone down with a single body shot?”

  “If they aren’t expecting it, as in I distract them with a few shots to the head.” He punched the air, “or just catch them right like this.”

  Out of the blue, Tariq landed a vicious shot to James’ right lower rib and abdominals.

  The cheap shot hurt. As James dropped to his right knee, he had enough focus to sweep Tariq’s knees with his left leg, and Tariq fell onto his back with an audible escape of air. After clearing Tariq’s feet, James’s leg slammed down on his chest. This knocked the rest of the air out of him, and James slid over and put his forearm to Tariq’s throat.

  “You have a lot to learn. If I want to injure someone or truly incapacitate them, I do it. I hadn’t thought the Russian would recover as fast as he did, but he didn’t regain full faculty use and was easily subdued. Your method has not only proven not to be all you said it was, but it’s put you in a much worse position than I’m in. I know you’re about to pass out, so I choose to let you up. I suggest you bend your knees and turn over to your left. It will help you regain your breath faster.” James spoke calmly but clearly, even though Tariq’s blow had done some damage.

  “When you are in the moment, go with what your logic tells you and then use your intuition. Keep in mind, intuition is not pure emotion. It’s based on your brain putting past experiences together to find a logical guidance that is sometimes hard to understand the origin of. We go through these operations as a tool …” James paused for a moment, holding his side, to add some dramatic effect to his words.

  “… A way to learn. They are not rules of engagement; they are things that have proven successful or,” James gestured at Tariq as he finished, “in some cases not successful. It is why that sign is there.”

  He pointed to the sign hanging over the door that read “The Life We Lead.”

  “Choices, consequences, learning and utilizing. It is different for each of us, just like the meaning of that sign.” He felt short of breath and when he tried to take a deep breath found the pain increase significantly.

  “Daen, please walk through the remaining parts. I’m going to have a seat in the lounge if you need me.”

  As James walked out of the room, he could hear Tariq beginning to gain full control of his breathing again.

  Tom, the group’s director, walked out behind James and followed him to the lounge.

  “That was a hard hit you just took. Anything broken?”

  “No, but it feels like the punch penetrated deep with a shockwave,” groaned James, lying down as softly as he could on a couch.

  “Anything I can get you?” Tom pulled up a seat next to him.

  “New organs would be nice, but short of that, not much can be done. I’ll make sure I don’t bruise irregularly or urinate blood, and I might try some salt baths,” James muttered.

  Tom was a seasoned director. He had been one of the “old school” style trainees before the r
eformation had taken place four years earlier. He was in his early thirties, with black hair and brown eyes. He looked healthy and often spoke in a manner that showed his concern for the well-being of others.

  “I spoke with Andy about the write up,” Tom said, referring to the regional leader of the group. “He asked what resources you need for next steps.”

  Though the group did have members and the like, it was a loosely based hierarchy of structure. It had to be to operate in the shadows the way they did. Tom guided the day-to-day business, while Andy more or less controlled the collective funds. Andy and Tom had influence on individual group members, but they weren’t directly bosses over most of them. In fact, only a few people were technically employees of the group, such as Andy, Tom, and the administrative assistant, Korey.

  “I’ve already made contact. I need to get to Aberdeen this summer and work on a cover. I was going to get ahold of Melissa and see what contacts she has to get me into a full-time position in marketing related to oil and gas, so support there would be great,” James said through gritted teeth. The pressure was starting to build at the injury site.

  “What happened to the medical field?” Tom asked.

  “Too long-term for the travel needed to do this. Can you help with all that?” James asked in return.

  “Yes,” Tom replied.

  “Good. Thanks. Now I need to convince my roommates to do some boxing. This is going to hurt, but I need to have a cover story so they don’t ask questions about me walking like I’m half dead. They won’t refuse some friendly fighting.”

  James winced as he rolled to the floor. He’d thought getting up from the floor would be easier than the couch. He was wrong.

  “Tom,” he said, but Tom was already there, lifting him.

  “You sure you’re okay? Do you want a pain killer?”

  “Can’t. Need to make sure there’s no internal bleeding. Really just need to chill and sleep. I’m going back to campus and to bed. Please tell Daen thanks for finishing the briefing. Good night, Tom.”

  “James, call me when you get back. Just to make sure you don’t pass out and all.” James gave him a thumbs up and shuffled out, saying, “I will, but it’s only twelve miles away. I’ll be okay.”

  Chapter Four

  Getting back to his room went smoother than James could have hoped. He wanted to grab an ice pack, but he was happy just to make it back to his room without being stopped. He was swinging his legs into bed when Edgar came in.

  “You had a call from Tammy. She asked if you’d like to meet and go over physical chemistry tomorrow.” Edgar sat down on Mark’s bed.

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll see her in the morning. I’m beat and calling it a night.” Edgar ignored the obvious hint that James didn’t want to talk.

  “Tammy huh? ‘Physical’ chemistry, huh? Getting a little one-on-one time?” Edgar teased.

  “Don’t be all jealous just because even your hand rejects you,” James coolly replied. He wanted Edgar to leave.

  “Whatever,” Edgar said, his classic line when he had no better response. He got up to leave, which was also predictable. He was through the door and almost had it shut when he popped his head back in. “Can I see what you did on the take-home portion of the accounting final?”

  “I turned that in yesterday.” James tried to get comfortable without showing he was hurt.

  “What? Why?” Edgar asked indignantly. “It’s not due ‘til tomorrow.”

  “I told you Sunday I was turning it in early, for the bonus. You were like, ‘Oh yeah, me, too.’ You went upstairs, and I figured you did it,” James replied.

  “You were serious? Shit!” Edgar left, shutting the door, and James shook his head.

  It took him a while to get comfortable enough to go to sleep, and he was greatly annoyed when, at 3 a.m., he woke up because he needed to go to the bathroom.

  His first movement to get out of bed made him gasp in pain. He slowed down and figured out how to raise himself using the wall and steel beams of the bed that made the footing, then lifted himself to a vertical position as gently as possible. This took a minute. When you need to go to the bathroom, that’s a long time.

  Having made successful use of the toilet without blood coming out, he checked his side in the mirror.

  Marvelous.

  The bruises were already a lovely blue, yellow, and black mix, with a center that had yet to completely darken. He knew it was just getting started.

  He made his way down to the kitchen and got two zip bags and ice to create a double sealed ice pack. He was getting ready to turn off the light when he noticed a note by the phone.

  “James, the Fishermen called at 11:31 p.m. for you. E”

  Flicking the overhead lights off in the kitchen, James made his way back upstairs to Edgar, John, and Dylan’s room. He walked in and bent over to wake up Edgar, then stopped short. Too awkward. It could wait till morning. James retreated to his own bed.

  The unwritten rule in the house was minimal talking in the morning until 10 a.m., with the emphasis on minimal. Pointing and grunts worked just fine in most cases.

  Edgar was the last one to slosh into the kitchen the next morning. While he grabbed a toaster pastry, James asked about the message, which got everyone’s unwanted and semi-disgruntled attention.

  “Hey, what else did the caller say last night?” James asked.

  “I told you what she said,” barked Edgar.

  “Not Tammy, ass, that.” James pointed to the note.

  “Oh, yeah, what the hell is going on? This douche made a point of saying the time like three times and made sure I spelled ‘fishermen,’ not ‘fisherman.’ He wouldn’t give me anything else. It was messed up. I didn’t want to come get you when he first called, but after he hung up, I almost did.” Edgar’s voice was semi-rising in volume. “You in trouble or something? This is some shit like out of a bad spy movie.”

  This caused a rumble as all eyes turned to James.

  “Everything’s fine. It’s a group that fishes, and apparently they wanted to be clear who was calling. You know, being plural for a group and not just someone calling themselves a fisherman and sounding like a tool.” James knew that sounded weak.

  None of the guys were convinced, but Edgar spoke up. “Two things wrong with that. One, you don’t fish, and two, why would he call at 11:30, I mean 11:31, at night? And why insist on saying the time three times?”

  James thought, Because he’s a dip shit recruit that didn’t know what he was doing.

  Out loud, James replied, “I’m going with my dad and uncle out West to where this group is, so there’s a time difference. As far as being so specific, I can only guess.”

  It still sounded weak, so James began building a more elaborate version in his head. His friends weren’t complete morons, but they knew nothing about the group, or most of what James did, or what skills he really had for that matter.

  “If you’re in trouble, man, say so,” came John’s hoarse voice.

  “We got your back, bro,” said Dylan, and Mark nodded over his cereal.

  James deliberately took a deep breath, and the others knew what was coming. He was about to unleash a string of logic on them that would explain the story he’d just built.

  “The group probably isn’t a full-time professional organization. The person who called did it after normal work hours, when he had the chance. I suspect he realized after you answered what time it was on the East Coast, but he had you on the phone so he wanted to give you the message. It would also stand to reason that the caller is rather anal retentive and an introvert. He referred to the fishing group in the plural to make sure he got your attention. The group is evidently important to him. Since most individuals who fish have limited friends and move in small groups, thus the introvert, they place a high value on what social time they have with others. The time was more than likely his way of acknowledging the lateness but also the anal part to make sure you took a message, as was the spelling of ‘fis
hermen.’ I would venture to say he started off with “May I speak with James?” and not “Hi, is James there?”

  Edgar nodded. The rest of the room stared for a second before moving to get out the door.

  “If I were in trouble, I would come to you guys, no doubt.” James said this to give finality to the conversation. He, of course, knew what the message really was about. Something had come up with the police, and the group was letting him know he needed to be in touch.

  “Still weird, man, but whatever.” Edgar grabbed his food out of the toaster and set off to class.

  ***

  The day was horrible. The seats did not help James’s side, nor did the note taking in the review sessions for finals. His injury was killing him, but he knew nothing was broken and he wasn’t hemorrhaging. He also wasn’t looking forward to that night and getting hit. The anticipation of more pain made everything worse. Anticipation always made things worse.

  In his second class of the day, James found Tammy. She had a soft, youthful face with pale green eyes. She was very quiet and didn’t mix with a lot of people, but she was very smart. She also had a big heart that her boyfriend sometimes abused.

  “Hi, Tam,” James said, taking the seat to her right.

  “Hey,” she returned.

  “Sorry I didn’t call you back last night. I was beat by the time I got the message, but if you’d still like to study together for P-Chem, that’s cool,” said James.

  “Yeah, sure. I won’t be able to stay too late. I have to go see ...” Tammy said.

  “See Brody, yeah.” James gave her a weak smile.

  She can do so much better than him, dumb rock that he is.

  “He wants to go see a movie tonight,” Tammy said, opening her bag.

  “A movie? Tonight? Doesn’t he know finals are starting?”

  “Yeah, but he doesn’t usually like to go out too much, and he wants to see this movie. He’s been having a rough time at work and is stressed,” she said.

  “Tammy, you work thirty hours a week, have a great GPA in a science major, and help with your sick grandma. He works forty hours a week running a fork lift and that’s it.” James had other things he wanted to say, but refrained.