“Oh, sure. I’m a big girl. Maybe you could leave the shotgun with me?”
“It’s probably not necessary, but sure.”
“What do you mean probably?”
“I mean you don’t need it, but I don’t want to treat you like a child. I’ll unlock the safe, and you can get it out if you feel afraid.”
Marc thought about the things he needed to do tomorrow: plant more seeds about the affair, email tip lines and reporters, and also get the raw photos to a Photoshop pro, a friend of his who owed him a few favors.
“I’m going to send the pictures to Jim. I think you met him once. He’s great at finding the best shots, cropping, fixing, and you know, Photoshop magic. You okay with that?”
“Sure, I trust you completely. You know that, I hope. I think you’re my only real friend, besides Julie, of course. You’re the only guy in my life that’s not trying to get in my pants or use me to advance his career.”
“Thanks.”
“Wait a fucking minute! You just got me naked today, and now you are capitalizing on my body! Goddamn it, you snake.” She couldn’t hold in her laughter. She hit him on the shoulder and then leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “I trust you.”
Marc smiled. It wasn’t “I love you,” but it was probably more meaningful. He didn’t want to do anything to lose that trust. “I won’t let you down, Drew.”
“I know.” She pulled him towards herself.
After making love, Marc fell into a deep sleep that was only interrupted once when Drew had a nightmare.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Rules are for children. This is war, and in war the only crime is to lose.
~ Joe Abercrombie
Ever wonder what the odds are of humanity surviving? I have. It’s the reason I vacation twice a year without compromise. If the next world war comes during my lifetime, I’m going to be tempted to… Never mind, it’s ugly.
~ Jacob Matthews
Marc Chase woke up first. He slid out from behind Drew, trying not to wake her. They’d slept together all night on the sofa. The room had stayed warm throughout the night, but it was chilly now. He didn’t know the time, but he sensed it was early. He moved without waking Drew and built a fire. He started coffee and wondered if he should wake her before he left. He decided she would not like to wake up alone, so he’d give her another half hour and wake her before he headed into town.
Marc went to the shower and started the hot water. He undressed and noticed her scent still present on his body. He remembered how they made love before they fell asleep. It was tender, soft, and passionate, much different from what they’d shared earlier in the day. His body felt sore, his muscles and joints stiff from sleeping on the sofa and holding Drew all night.
These aches in his body felt good because they testified to what had happened between him and Drew. She had been his friend, and now she was his lover.
Marc watched her sleeping as he drank his coffee.
He went to the bedroom and unlocked the gun safe. He hoped she’d leave the guns untouched, but he’d promised her access, so he opened the safe. If having a gun out helped her feel calmer and relaxed, that was a good thing. Nobody was coming up here. She’d have no reason to actually use a gun.
He put another log on the fire, put his empty cup in the sink, and walked over to Drew. “Drew.” She stirred a little. “Drew, I’m heading out. I wanted you to know, so, you know, you don’t wake up alone and wonder where I am.”
Drew sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Oh, I slept well. That fire feels so good. Is there coffee?”
“I’ll make more.”
Marc sat with her and had another cup. They chatted about the day ahead. An hour passed.
“I’d better get a move on it.” Time flew by when he was with her, talking to her, listening to her.
Marc hugged her and said goodbye. He said that he planned to be back sometime in the late afternoon or evening. Not to worry. He had a lot of work to do online and people to call. He was going to work on the pictures from their photo shoot, and he knew that once he started working, he’d lose track of time. “I’ll be back before dark. I promise.”
He drove into town. He went to the coffee shop and logged into his email. He read through his business emails, made a few notes, and replied to a few of the important emails. Normal stuff.
Next he created a zip file of all the photos and sent them to himself, uploaded them to his cloud storage, and then emailed them to his friend Jim Aguilar. Jim was a Photoshop pro, an editor who had worked on Marc’s stuff for years. He was also a friend and someone Marc trusted. He sent him an email.
Jim,
Could you go through these pics and come up with a complete set of the best shots? I’m looking for about twenty. Come up with a theme, or maybe a couple variations.
I have some things in mind, but I want to see your ideas without influencing you.
Friendly rate on this, okay?
When they sell, I’ll take care of you on the back end. OH…Yes, it’s Drew.
Please, keep this under wraps. I mean NOBODY can know. We have some plans about how we are going to use these and total secrecy is important.
Don’t mention them to a soul. Thanks.
Marc
P.S. Drew might end up being in the news. Reported missing. It’s a ruse, but don’t tell ANYONE. I’ll explain it all later, but it’s very important that nobody knows where she is. She might be in danger. Just keep it to yourself. I know I can count on you. Thanks.
Marc felt like he was forgetting something. Drew. He decided he should email the entire file to her just for safe keeping. Normally, he wouldn’t send hundreds of shots to a model or an agency. There were bound to be a ton of shitty pictures in there. It wasn’t good for business to give people access to pictures that sucked. The last thing a photographer wanted was for someone to start sending around a photo that was really bad. If stuff was going to float around the internet, it had better be the good stuff. But he sensed that it was just good judgement to give Drew copies of everything.
After he had worked for another hour, he received an email from Jim.
Dude.
You got Drew to change her mind?
Good for you. The photos look great, I mean, for an old school setting. WTF? I thought you were sticking to cyberpunk. What’s up? I’ll get to this in a couple days, I’ve got a backlog.
Ttyl. You bang her?
Marc logged out of his email account and then checked online for stories about the Congressman. Nothing new. No email from Cindy either, apparently nothing new had developed. Across the street from the restaurant there was a country market and deli. He headed towards the market thinking about what to buy for a romantic dinner and reminded himself to pick out a bouquet of flowers too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The nine most terrifying words in the English language are: “I’m from the government and I'm here to help.”
~ Ronald Reagan
Some people just don’t understand what it is they really want.
~ Congressman Lance Boyd
Brandon Hull knocked. Julie Brown answered the door and said, “Can I help you?”
“I’m from the government, and I need to talk to your roommate. It’s important.” He showed her a badge. “I just need to ask her some questions.” He made up a bullshit story about doing a security clearance check. He dropped Congressman Boyd’s name. It was common knowledge Drew’s father worked with him and that she had known the Congressman since she was a kid. It sounded plausible and that’s all Hull needed.
“I don’t know where she is.”
It sounded like she was being honest, that Drew had not told her where she was headed. Boyd was good at detecting lies. “Do you know who she might be with?”
“She was here with Marc Chase. He’s an old friend of hers, a photographer. They work together, but I don’t know if she’s still with him.”
Th
at was enough information for Hull to track him down. Marc had a website, his domain was registered to him, and it had his business address. Hull asked around, offered a couple bucks to a few people, but it wasn’t hard to figure out that they’d left Drew’s place and gone somewhere together. They had probably gone to Marc’s place, but they weren’t there when Hull had located it. He surmised they’d had a reason to hide and not return phone calls. It was apparent they’d looked at the files that were on the thumb drive.
Eventually, Hull got one of Marc’s aunts on the phone. She was living in California, and she was married to one of Marc Chase’s deceased mother’s brothers. She had no idea where Marc was. Hull told her it was an emergency, that it was extremely important. “Where do you think he might go?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you just call him?”
“I have been calling him. Really. I’ve tried calling him,” Hull said. Which was the truth. He’d convinced Julie to give him Marc’s cell number, but it was just the same number listed on his website. “It just goes to voicemail.”
“Maybe his phone is dead. He’ll get back to you soon, I’m sure. He’s a good businessman. If that’s all?”
“Sure. Must be his phone is dead. Can I give you my number? In case you think of something else.”
“The mountain cabin, that place, it doesn’t have cell service. I just thought of that because a couple years back, I had to get ahold of… Anyway, not important. If he’s up there, no service.”
“Where is ‘up there’?”
“Oh, the family cabin. It’s an old place up by Glenley. No electricity, no phone, no cable, no dish, no pizza delivery, and no cell service. No, thank you,” she said and laughed at her own joke.
Hull pressed her for more information, but as it turned out, she didn’t have an address. She wasn’t even sure if the cabin had an address. She told him it was in the mountains near Glenley. She’d never been there, but she’d heard it was nice. If you like that sort of thing.
He ended the call and headed towards the freeway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
In times of war, the law falls silent.
~ Marcus Tullius Cicer
I do have nightmares. So what? I wouldn’t trade places with any of the fuckers I killed. Am I afraid of Hell? No. I’ve been. It’s worse than advertised but not as bad as imagined.
~Brandon Hull
Brandon Hull killed for the first time when he was only eighteen years old. He didn’t wait to get drafted. His father was a Marine. His grandfather was a Marine. The fact that a war was raging in Vietnam played no part in his decision. Hull knew he was born to be a Marine from the time he was five.
A third generation career Marine was something special, even in his family. All his close male relatives, even those that later moved into the civilian world, had enlisted into one of the four branches of service after high school. The Hull family worshipped the military.
Protect America. Protect her from Nazis, Communists, Islamic terrorists, the Cold War Russians, Saddam Hussein, the Taliban, South American Communists, and anyone or anything that threatened her. Protect the American way of life from active and potential enemies. Foreign and domestic. That’s the job of a Marine.
A Marine served America by being a Marine. It was a brotherhood not understood by those outside. Following orders didn’t create an honorable Marine. A Marine followed orders. It wasn’t what Hull did. It was what he was.
Hull worried more about displeasing his father than he did about dying when he landed in Vietnam in 1974. From the moment he set foot in-country, Hull felt confident that he would not die there. He would make the other guy die for his country. He would kill for his. In the following spring, American troops left Vietnam to the Vietnamese. But Hull had tasted war and he longed for the next conflict.
By the mid-eighties, Hull was approaching his thirtieth year. Thirty years old and still single. Still a Marine. An active Marine.
A real Marine was a Marine for life, but not all Marines put in twenty years. When 1984 came Hull knew he’d already decided to become a lifer. He’d put in his ten years. Doing another ten made sense. It was possible to retire after twenty years.
Instead of being employed by Congressman Boyd, Hull could be retired right now, if he had wanted to be. He could have lived like a king in a third world country. Married a native. Raised a couple of kids. Played golf. Drank cheap beer with expats. He knew a few people that had done this. They retired after twenty years, collected their monthly checks, and lived easy lives.
But that life did not appeal to Hull. He was a Marine right down to his bones and marrow. After the Reagan years, Hull spent a lot of time doing busy work. He trained others, filled out paperwork, and did things that made him restless.
He wanted to retire a few times after Clinton took office. But what would he do? He loved being a Marine. He’d gone overseas during the first Bush presidency, but the Gulf War was over too quickly. When Clinton left office, he’d hoped that America could regain her prestige in the world. He wanted a chance to fight again.
Hull got that chance after the second Gulf War. Because of the repercussions of 9/11 and the War on Terror, new opportunities developed for good military men. He was offered a chance of a lifetime. Or at least, that’s what he’d been sold on.
It was 2004, and he’d been in the Marines for thirty years. They told him his record was honorable and he was a true American hero. A valuable American hero. Because he’d done work that required certain confidential clearances that were difficult to obtain, and he had the right recommendations from his superiors, he was recruited into the CIA. A spook.
He thought they were crazy. He was looking at fifty in a few years. Fifty fucking years old. He’d given his life to his country. He’d never married. He’d never wavered in his support of his country. He never regretted killing. He was a Marine. He was a hero.
And that was exactly why the CIA wanted him.
He retired from the Marines. The medals and honors were nice, but when his father told him that he was proud, and that he loved him, that was Hull’s finest moment.
“I’m going to do some contract work,” he said to his father. “Things I can’t tell you about. I’ll be traveling a lot.”
“Really? They recruited you? Got you to leave the Marines?”
“I’m always a Marine, Old Man. Never forget that. I’m just like you.”
“But they convinced you that you could do some good, didn’t they, working as a spy?”
“Can’t say I’ll be a spy. But yes. Yes, sir. They convinced me. I believe I can do the most good for our country working for them. That’s what I feel. Not that I can talk to you about it, but trust me on this, I’m always a Marine. I vow to you, Dad, sir, anything I do, I put America first.”
“Son, I’m proud of you. You have a lot of honor and integrity to step down from being what you are best at to do a job, probably a thankless job, for your country.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m proud of you, Son. And I’m glad to call you my son. I love you, boy. Always did. Probably never said it much. Different times today. I wish your mother was still with us. She’d be proud too.”
Hull served his country faithfully for another ten years in the CIA. He traveled. He collected information. He never killed anyone during this time. He came close a few times, but never did. He didn’t want to admit to himself that he missed the danger because that might imply he missed the killing. He didn’t like to think of himself as a killer, just someone that was called on by his country to kill from time to time.
When his last contract was approaching its termination, and he was seriously considering retirement, he was approached by a retired US Army Lt. Colonel. He had a job offer. Something outside any official agency, Hull was told, but work that served the country.
“You can still serve the country here,” the Lt. Colonel said. “The job requires working for a few select politic
ians that have authority and power in military matters. Funding research, working on strategic missions, things that can’t be advertised or talked about on the nightly news.”
“I’m not sure I understand. It sounds like I’ll be working on political campaigns, digging up dirt, and threatening lobbyists. Tell me more. Convince me.”
The Lt. Colonel convinced him, but not by himself. It was Congressman Boyd. Boyd was a huge supporter of all things military. He had a solid record of funding everything and anything that seemed like it would be good at killing and destroying America’s enemies. Boyd had his district locked down and his record was spotless.
Boyd had an unspoken dream of advancement into the Senate. He sought power, but for the good of the nation, of course. His dreams were obvious ones. He wanted to continue rising in power and influence. To ensure his advancement he needed a man like Brandon Hull. A man that loved America. A man with an exemplary record. A man that had killed enemies and considered it part of the job.
“I need a man like you, Hull,” Congressman Boyd had told him in their first off-the-record meeting. “Someone I can trust. Someone I can count on. Someone I can tell my secrets to. I need someone that isn’t afraid to stand up to me and give me the news straight, good or bad, the way a good lawyer protects his clients, sometimes even from their own bad decisions. I need someone that can take a statement I make, something like ‘I need this fucked up situation dealt with’ and then deal with it.”
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