Rise: Luthecker, #2

by Keith Domingue

  Luthecker, however, was an entirely different puzzle to Howe. If what the young man was capable of was true, the reality of which Howe had his doubts, he may prove more of a liability in the long run than an asset. Howe understood the allure that the Coalition board had with the supposed soothsayer; fearful men feared secrets most of all, and he knew that in their thinking if Alex Luthecker could eliminate secrets, he could eliminate that which they feared. It was a false hope at best. Because Howe knew that, in fact, the opposite was true. Secrets were an asset that men of confidence and vision assigned great power to. And they leveraged them. Secrets were the main currency that ambition traded in. To Howe, without secrets there could be no favors. Without favors, there could be no control. And without control there could be only chaos. To James Howe, the very idea of Alex Luthecker threatened the natural order of things.

  Howe was also smart enough not to test the theories being floated in the boardroom regarding the fugitive’s abilities. He had seen the documentation of what Luthecker had done to David Lloyd, the interrogator, as well as Howe’s own predecessor, Richard Brown. Both of those men had been war-hardened veterans, and Luthecker had apparently destroyed them with relative ease. Howe was not about to take any chances himself. He’d rather leave that to someone like Parks. Howe admired Parks and considered him a brilliant mind as well as a ruthless sociopath. If there was anyone who could eliminate a variable such as Alex Luthecker, it would be the Cuban-Irish gangster. And that’s how Howe saw it—it would be one man or the other who would survive. It was the only possible outcome. And Howe could work with either result. With Luthecker gone, Howe felt that he and Parks could become partners, legitimate business and illegitimate business reaching across the aisle and working together with a synergy that hadn’t existed before. Howe believed Parks would understand the power that he himself wielded with Coalition Properties and be visionary enough to see the potential, therefore putting any past “disagreements” behind him. And then he and Parks could combine their skills and assets to become the true leaders of the New World Order. If for some reason Parks refused to partner, he would be killed. And if Luthecker somehow prevailed, something Howe viewed as the unlikely worst case scenario, Parks would be eliminated, along with the threat he posed to legitimate trade. And the danger that Luthecker presented to the interests of Coalition Properties would also be crystal clear. Any talk of preserving him as an asset could then be argued against. Taking Luthecker out at that point would be a relatively easy task. And with Luthecker gone, Howe could rest easy, knowing that the balance sheet, as both the world and Howe currently understood it, would be maintained, and the currency he valued most, the one that Howe traded with considerable expertise, would not be threatened. For Howe, a man who believed in long-term, risk-averse strategies, his assessment of the situation and calculated plan to maximize every possible potential—and at the same time minimize its downside—was by far the safest bet.

  Howe’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked the caller ID before answering. “Yes?”

  “The package arrived. Two days ago.”

  “And the delivery man?”

  “He’s made his presence known.”

  “I am aware of this. He’s not yet approached the package?”

  “No. He’s taking his time. But word on the street is that once he does acquire the package, he’s going to burn everything down. Should we step in?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Howe hung up the phone. The moment of truth, Howe thought to himself as he looked out his window at the city of Los Angeles.

  12

  Drugal

  Marco Drugal stood on a building rooftop two blocks west of 108th Street in Watts, with a set of binoculars to his eyes. He had spent the last several hours watching the Block for activity, and thus far all had been quiet. He was growing restless and was preparing to go back down to the street, when the cell phone in his coat pocket vibrated. He pulled the disposable flip phone free and checked the number. It was his contact, David Two-Good. Drugal answered. “Hello.”

  “Anything?”

  “No sign. People leave. But no one comes.”

  “Have you followed the other players?”

  “Very elusive. And the police. They watch.”

  “Don’t get tangled up with the local enforcement. You are to observe and report the on goings of the Block only.”

  “I should act. When the others come back. Pick one from the herd. Get them to talk.”

  “That would upset my boss greatly. Something neither you, nor your entire family want. Am I making myself clear?”

  Drugal grit his teeth. “Yes. But I grow tired of waiting. You tell us nothing.”

  “You know nothing for your own protection; and you are being well compensated for your patience. Be like a lion in the weeds, my friend. Do you understand what that means?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Have your people ready. If you see either Alex Luthecker or Nicole Ellis, you are not to confront them, speak to them, or interact with them at all. You are to do nothing. You are only to contact us, immediately. Tell me you understand.”

  “I understand.”

  Two-Good disconnected, and Drugal put the phone back in his pocket.

  Waiting, was something Drugal was not accustomed to. Son of a KGB agent, Drugal was ex-Russian military and trained in an environment where directness and brutality were the accepted practice. If you were looking for someone, and they couldn’t be found directly, you brutalized someone who knew them until you were told where they were. It was simple, and it worked. In the United States, however, things were done differently. There were ramifications for such methods. Thus you were forced to wait. Patience, he had been told, was one of the things he had been sent here to learn.

  Nation-One Security, a Coalition Properties subsidy, was not purposed to be a mercenary group like its larger, more sophisticated bigger brother, Coalition Assurance. Instead, its corporate charter designated its employees for low-level security work only, and the group provided minimum wage guards for nominal risk private businesses and homeowners groups. Ironically, it was because this employee classification was not subject to as much regulation as its larger and much better armed counterpart, it allowed for less stringent background checks on its workers. This in turn allowed the likes of Drugal, an ex-Russian soldier and heavily trained enforcer, to slip through the cracks with minimal manipulation of the system.

  Drugal’s true employer was the Russian arms dealer and Oligarch Ivan Barbolin, whose reputation earned him the nickname the Barbarian. The Barbarian, a long time business partner and weapons supplier to Lucas Parks, had sent Drugal, along with a small group of associates to the United States a year earlier, in order to look out for his interests in the region, which included human trafficking. When the Barbarian received word that Parks had been unexpectedly freed from prison, he had offered Drugal’s services as a professional courtesy.

  “We must continue to do nothing.” Drugal said to an approaching Andre Vasilevich, another ex-KGB hire by Nation-One and Drugal’s partner. Vasilevich, a tall, barrel-chested, twenty-four year old, sporting a military style haircut, carried a sandwich in each hand. He handed one to Drugal before he spit over the edge of the building in response.

  “We are, what they say?” Vasilevich asked, in broken English. “Mall cops?”

  “No.” Drugal set his sandwich down before pulling his Glock 9mm from his waistband and checking the slide of the weapon, an act of frustrated aggression. He looked at Vasilevich. “No. We are, as I believe they say, a sleeper cell.”

  13

  Confrontation

  “So what’s the play?” Chris Aldrich asked, looking back and forth between Winn and Officer Rodriguez, while purposefully standing between the young officer and Alex Luthecker. Even though Safe Block enjoyed the support of the LAPD, and Rodriguez’s help in particular, the group was instinctively protective of Alex, and Rodriguez, despite his good inten
tions, had proven to be a bit abrasive. Alex’s presence within the group had become less and less as of late, and an introduction of Alex to the young officer had been deemed potentially complicated and unnecessary. This decision by the group was made, not to protect Alex but the young officer.

  But when Alex and Nikki returned from Tibet, they knew that a meeting between he and the young officer who supported Safe Block would be inevitable. Chris and Winn watched as Alex stepped past the others and approached Officer Rodriguez. Alex knew of the man and his contributions to Winn’s cause, but since the two had never met, Alex also knew that he could read the officer clearly and accurately; whatever future this man’s life held could provide a key advantage to the group as a whole, an understanding of available options.

  “I’m Alex Luthecker. It’s about time you and I met.”

  “Agreed. I’ve heard about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet.”

  Alex held out his hand and Rodriguez shook it. Alex then locked eyes on the young officer, his eyes quickly moving with REM-like motion, reading every detail of Rodriguez, the rapid-fire absorption of all the patterns that made the man. The analysis was over nearly as soon as it started.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Rodriguez said stepping back, breaking away as he reacted to Alex’s gaze.

  Alex turned to the group. He could see that they had been caught off guard. Alex had always been reluctant to engage his abilities, and the swift, direct nature of his actions took them by surprise.

  “We empty the Block. We bring them all here,” Alex told them all.

  The others looked at Alex, unsure what to say, a mixture of awe and discomfort on their faces. They knew that Alex had read Rodriguez’s fate, that he now had the knowledge of how and when this man would die. And even though Alex’s capabilities were common knowledge among them, they had never actually witnessed him enact his abilities.

  “What are you saying? What did you…see?” Nikki finally asked. It dawned on her what Alex had done and why. The fate of Safe Block was potentially tied to the young officer, and Alex had read Rodriguez in order to gather some sort of intelligence in order to understand what dangers lay ahead. Nikki recognized the tactical need for this knowledge, but couldn’t help but feel spooked by the aggressive nature of Alex’s tactics.

  “I’m saying it’s over.” Alex looked at Winn as the martial arts instructor approached him.“I’m sorry. This is all because of me.”

  “No. It is not because of you. You serve a much larger purpose.” Winn put his hand on Alex’s shoulder.“And it’s not over. It’s never over. We’ll regroup.”

  “I know you will. But I’m telling you; the Block, as we know it, is done. And if we don’t get the people out, now, they’ll die.”Alex winced from a sharp pain in his head, and his right hand started to tremor. The pain faded as soon as it had arrived, and Alex quickly composed himself, putting his hand in his pocket to hide the shaking. The move was subtle and near instantaneous, but it did not escape Nikki. She was at his side in an instant.

  “I’m fine,” Alex answered before she could ask.

  “What the hell is he talking about?” Rodriguez interrupted, his voice echoing loudly throughout the abandoned subway terminal. The young officer got directly in front of Alex. His stance was confrontational, but he was leery, careful not to touch Alex. The way Alex had looked at him—had looked right through him—was unlike anything he had experienced before, and it sent chills down his spine. “What did you do to me?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Fuck you…I’m sorry. What the hell did you do?”

  “I’ve done nothing to you. Nothing’s changed.”

  “I’ve heard about what you can do,” Rodriguez started, a touch of nervousness in his voice. “Alex Luthecker, the guy who talked a torture expert into killing himself, and took down the head of Coalition Properties by driving him insane. There were rumors floating around the department about all this stuff, that you can tell things about people by just looking at them, about their lives. That you can know their every secret. That you can even see exactly how and when they are going to die. Is that what you did to me? Is that what you know? I’m not afraid, motherfucker. I got nothing to hide. So if what they say is true. give it straight; what the hell did you see?” Rodriguez looked at Winn, his partner, and then Alex. “What’s going to happen to me? Am I gonna die today?” Panic began to creep into Rodriguez voice. He stepped back, and unsnapped the strap on his 9mm sidearm.

  Everyone reacted.

  “Take it easy, partner,” Coleman reassured, putting a hand on Rodriguez’s shoulder.

  “Stay off me,” Rodriguez said, as he pushed his partner’s hand aside and took a step backwards.

  “Nothing’s going to happen to you. I promise,” Alex stated, keeping his hands visible, his voice steady.

  “I’ll tell you what I saw. I saw a man of honor. I saw a man who understands the purpose behind the Block and will fight to his last breath to protect the refugees we will bring here.”

  Rodriguez froze. He could feel himself getting hot under his uniform, his forehead beading with nervous sweat. His hand instinctively fell on his Glock 9mm. He felt faint, a strong bit of déjà vu that made him dizzy, his mind circling back to this moment as somehow familiar, but only one question ran through his mind, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer. On impulse he asked. “And…?”

  “That last breath will not come any time soon. You will not die today. But make no mistake; you will make a stand here. It will not be easy. And afterwards, you will never be the same.”

  Alex’s words, and their oracle-like clarity, their unwavering sense of truth, sent a chill down everyone’s spine.

  Rodriguez turned away from the others and tried to clear his head. It wasn’t just the words that Alex Luthecker spoke, but the way he spoke them, the cadence, the calm certainty, that had rattled him. Rodriguez felt as if the shadow of his own death had just walked past.

  He took a deep breath, and shook it off. In his mind, he was a warrior, and there was work to be done. He re-snapped the strap on his sidearm and turned back to the others. “If I gotta make a stand, you damn well better believe no one’s getting by.”

  Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I’m with you,” Officer Coleman offered in support.

  Alex briefly looked at Officer Coleman, and then just as quickly looked away. He then looked over the faces of his friends, before settling on Nikki’s. He approached her and put his hand on her cheek. He then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, whispering in her ear. “Is this what you want me to share with you? The knowledge of someone’s life or death? And the shockwaves it sends through their lives? Through the momentum?”

  Nikki pulled away and looked at Alex. She was too stunned to answer.

  Alex turned toward the others. “We don’t have much time.”

  “How’ we gonna do this, brother?” Yaw asked Alex as Winn carefully watched.

  “What they want is me; we all know this.”

  “Well they can’t have ya,” Yaw said.

  Alex smiled at Yaw’s words. “You are a true friend. And I agree. They can’t. But I can provide a distraction. Give you time to move the people.”

  “Alex, no…” Nikki protested, knowing what it meant.

  “It’s the only way.”

  Alex looked at Winn. “How many?”

  “Thirty-eight. Eleven are children.”

  “It would be best if we do this at night. This night.” Alex locked eyes with his instructor. “Did you know? Is this why you chose this place to train?”

  Winn studied Alex a long moment before responding. “The impermanence of all things also means to always be prepared for change. The best preparation for change is to incorporate it from the beginning,” Winn told his top student. He turned to the others. “Alex is correct on this. We need to move quickly.”

  Lucas Parks stood looking out his office window, mesmerized by the be
auty of the Southern California sunset. He took in every detail of the cityscape and distant ocean, as the orange-red sun slipped below the horizon. He wanted to commit its magnificence to memory before he left the United States forever.

  Although the United States, the country he came of age in, was a place he loved, the United States, the corporate-controlled empire, was something else entirely. Those who controlled the empire were no less ruthless than he, and they saw him as a threat. Because of this, at some point, they would want him dead. Parks had little concern for this, as the global system of government was strictly monetary, and his wealth and power were formidable, allowing him several homes all over the globe to choose from, with little worry of interference or retribution. Borders, along with government, religion, and even basic human needs, all meant nothing, given you had enough wealth. And because of this worship of wealth, profit was the only motive, the only reason to be. It was the only engine left in the world, and those who controlled the destiny of the United States would not hesitate to cannibalize the nation’s future or its people in order to simply have more, now. In Parks’ mind it was this desperation, this addiction, which was the empire’s biggest weakness. He also knew that this addiction, like all addictions, had a blinding effect. And because they were blinded of all else, if Parks were viewed as a profit source, the empire would allow him to survive, at least in the short term, no matter how much of an immediate threat to them he may pose. Their instinct would be to want to own him. Profit from him. And only when they realized they could not do this, then they would seek to kill him. It was this delay that was his advantage. The Coalition and their kind were still unquestionably dangerous to Parks, but theirs was a shortsighted strategy. It was this singular mindset, this one and only goal of profit at all costs, that would allow him to beat them. This was because he was patient, and they were desperate. And their desperation was built in—in order for their system to work, they had to be true believers in the premise that there was not enough.