by Jason Briggs
“No girl, Edith. It’s an old friend’s retirement party.”
“You look like a fancy banker, or maybe one of those models you see on the cover of GK, or GQ—I can’t ever remember the name of that magazine.”
“Thank you.”
The dog stopped sniffing at a piling long enough to look me over and offer a shake of the tail. I walked over and scratched between his ears. “Hey, Sunny.”
“Are you still on for dinner with Rich and me tomorrow night?”
“You bet I am.”
“Good,” she beamed. The Wilsons had two grown children that they no longer had the opportunity of seeing very often. Their daughter resided in the greater San Francisco area and was a floor manager with Google, where she often tipped the work scales at eighty or ninety hours each week. The Wilsons’ son worked for an overseas construction company and currently lived in Dubai. I knew that in some small way I had come to function in their lives as a child or nephew. The sense of family went both ways. “I was thinking we could try that new Mediterranean place off Rock Harbor. How does that sound?”
“You know I’m always good for Mediterranean.”
We said goodbye, and I got into my truck and tossed my overnight bag onto the seat beside me. The engine growled to life as I keyed the ignition and backed out of the space. I rolled down my windows, letting in a fresh breeze that was completely foreign to any smog-choked city and raised them again as I picked up speed and navigated onto US-1.
I connected my phone’s Bluetooth to the radio and spent the next hour and a half listening to a playlist that spanned across the decades: Pearl Jam, Johnny Cash, The Righteous Brothers, and Kings of Leon. The sun was beginning to set as I worked my way into downtown Miami. Rush hour traffic had already cleared and the city’s bars and restaurants were beginning to hum with a nightlife that was hard to beat anywhere else in the state.
I turned off Biscayne Boulevard and into the covered circular drive at the front of the Dominion Hotel, a five-star establishment that rose twenty-two stories above the Magic City. I waited for the Escalade in front of me to advance before pulling up and putting the truck in park. I grabbed my bag and my phone and stepped out. I handed the keys to the valet and after he gave me my claim stub, I headed inside to check in at the front desk.
The interior was regal: white marble flooring inlaid with elegant swirls of grays and blacks, wide crystal chandeliers, and plum-colored curtains pulled back from the windows. Sharp corners and crisp lines gave the room a modern vibe. I stepped to the front of the line and waited.
“May I help you, sir?”
I approached the counter and slid my driver’s license across the shiny granite. She glanced at it and worked her fingers over the keyboard. “Just the one night, then, Mr. Savage?”
“Yes.”
I returned her kind smile. She had Asian features, high cheekbones, and silky black hair that lay just above her shoulders. One would have to be blind to not recognize how beautiful she was. She grabbed a blank key card, ran it through the magnetic programmer and handed it over in a small paper sleeve. “You’re in room 1754. You’ll need your key to access the twenty-first floor where your party is. Just scan it on the card reader inside the elevator.”
I thanked her and stepped away from the counter. I waved down a concierge and, after handing him my bag and a ten-dollar bill, I recited my room number and asked him to place my bag on the bed. Then I located the bank of elevators and took one to the top floor.
As soon as the doors slid back, the sounds of cheery conversation, the tinkling of silverware on plates, and soft jazz playing over the speakers set the mood for what promised to be a memorable evening. I stepped out onto a massive open-air patio, which was hemmed in along the perimeter with glass paneling. An infinity pool glowed blue in the encroaching darkness and nearly a hundred guests were mingling with drinks in their hands. The wait staff was making their rounds with trays of hors d'oeuvres. On the north end of the roof was a covered bar with dim ambient lighting and a long wooden bar top. I made my way over and grabbed a whiskey sour before heading over to where most of the guests were assembled. Everyone was dressed for the occasion, men in suits and women in classy, fashionable dresses with their hair set in perfect fashion. A cool sea breeze blew across the roof and rustled the fronds of several potted palms. A perfect Miami night.
A man with close-cut silver hair was talking with a couple who had their backs to me. He seemed to lose interest in the conversation as soon as he spotted me and quickly excused himself. His smile grew larger and his cool gray eyes livened as he approached me. “Savage,” he said, “how in the hell are you, Son?”
We shook hands and exchanged one-armed hugs as we held our drinks away from us. “I’m great. It looks like someone knows how to throw you a goodbye bash.”
“That would be my daughter. Yes, she has a real knack for planning things like this.”
“I was starting to think you weren’t going to get a real retirement party,” I said.
Lieutenant Colonel William McCleary had been my battalion commander during my time with the 503rd MP Airborne. He was not only the best commander I’d ever served under, but he was also one of the best men I’d had the privilege of knowing. McCleary kept a continual focus on his men and his mission over that of furthering his own career. Sometimes that got him into trouble when he pushed back against orders from the Pentagon that he thought were imprudent or would put his men in harm's way unnecessarily. I knew it was one of the reasons he decided to turn out into the civilian world. The further you advanced in rank, the more political things became; kissing ass and courting the favor of generals and politicians often gained priority over those under your command. McCleary had never been a man to compromise his standards on the altar of success. The Army would be slightly diminished now that he had stepped away, but I knew he would have a positive influence on whatever he put his hand to.
“The general threw me an on-base party before I left,” he said, “but my daughter wanted to make sure I got to see as many people from over the years as I could.”
“I’m glad she did,” I said. “You’ve been out for, what, four months now?”
“Four months tomorrow.” He wagged his finger at me. “You know, you left a gaping hole in your unit when you decided to get out. I never was able to find another officer the enlisted men respected as much as you.”
I looked into my glass and swirled my whiskey. “I hated to leave. It felt like I was abandoning my family.”
“Well, you weren’t. You did the right thing by being there for your grandmother. There aren’t too many men who would have made such an honorable decision.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Two years ago, when my grandmother was dying of cancer, I made the choice to leave the Army so I could take care of her. Never knowing when I might deploy again, or for how long, left me wondering if she might die while I was gone. And that was not an option. From the time I was five years old she had raised me alone, and now, in her old age, she had no one else to take care of her. I missed the hell out of the Army, especially the tight-knit brotherhood, but not once did I ever find myself regretting my decision.
“You keep that ‘sir’ stuff up with me and I’ll deck you before the night is over,” McCleary said.
“Yes, sir,” I grinned.
“Have you started dating again?” he asked.
I shook my head. “It doesn’t feel right yet. Too soon. Some mornings I wake up and it still feels like Michelle and I are still married. Like maybe she’s gone to the grocery store and I’m just waiting for her to get back.” As if I had done something to anger the gods, my wife of nine years died in a car accident just five days after my grandmother passed. Within the span of a week I’d lost the two most important people in my life.
“It will come in time, Savage. But you can’t rush the process of moving on. You’ll know when you’re ready.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. He would know. H
e had lost his wife to cancer three years ago. I attended her funeral and saw how it completely wrecked the colonel.
“So,” he said, “you’re working with Homeland now?”
“Their newest division, the Federal Intelligence Directorate.”
“Anything fun?”
“Possibly,” I smirked. “Rico Gallardo.”
Rico Gallardo had been the most notorious counterfeiter in modern history, floating hundreds of millions of U.S. dollars around the world’s economies. A few months ago, I had been sent down to Guatemala, along with the Secret Service, to take down his organization. I had been the one to send the final shots into the criminal’s body, so ending his life.
“No kidding,” McCleary said. “Impressive.”
“So what’s your next step?” I asked him. “I may have heard a rumor or two that you’ve started your own company.”
“I have. It’s a niche investigative agency. We only serve clients within the government. We’re working alongside NCIS and DoD to advise on procedures and to assist in high-level or stalled investigations.”
NCIS is the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, the Navy’s primary law enforcement agency. To work with both them and the Department of Defense in any kind of advisory role would have taken some serious relational and political clout. With over twenty-five years of investigative experience within the military and a character of stone, McCleary was the perfect man to take on such a contract.
I said, “So you’re functioning as fresh eyes from the outside?”
“Basically, yes. As you well know corruption within the Armed Services can go pretty deep. Their investigators often run into political backlash if they start nosing around in the wrong places. Since we don’t have to worry about that we can charge ahead and get the right heads to roll.”
McCleary was visibly enthused. He was a good man, and I was glad to see that he was able to continue doing what he loved. “I’m happy for you, sir.”
He leaned in and lowered his voice. “We landed a sensitive contract from the Pentagon a couple weeks ago. If you ever want to join my team, look me up. I’d hire you in a heartbeat.”
I arched an eyebrow. It was one hell of an offer. “I appreciate the vote of confidence,” I said. “Right now I’m happy with my work at the FID. If something happens to change that, I’ll certainly give you a call.”
McCleary looked beyond me and a frown creased his brow. He extended his hand to me. “Great to see you, Savage. Look me up next time you’re in Virginia. I’ll take you to lunch and we can catch up a little more. These kinds of gatherings just don’t lend enough time.”
We shook hands. “Certainly will, sir.”
“Go Hard or Go Home,” he said.
I smiled at hearing the 503rd’s motto. “Always.”
He gave me a final nod and as he stepped past, I saw his smile fade, replaced quickly by the frown that had begun to appear before he shook my hand. I turned to see two men in suits standing near the elevator. The first man wore a custom-fitted suit with a royal blue tie. He was my height—six foot three—and looked like either a light-skinned Italian or a dark-skinned Frenchman. His black hair had a wet look, hung loosely over his ears and stopped before it reached his shoulders. His sharp nose seemed too long for his face.
The second man was short and stockier, and his thick brown hair was wavy and uncombed. He wore an unimaginative suit that was clearly off the rack. It hung limply over him and his pant cuffs gathered loosely at his ankles. He tugged uncomfortably at his tie; a man used to camping out in an office where he didn’t interface regularly with the public. Donning a suit to make an appearance at a formal party was clearly out his wheelhouse and beyond his expertise.
McCleary shook both men’s hands. They followed him to an area of the rooftop where fewer guests were assembled. Once there, they stepped in close and spoke in quiet tones.
I spent the next couple of hours catching up with several buddies from my old unit, most of whom were still on active duty. We discussed their recent deployments, some of my work with the FID, and developments in the Middle East since I’d gotten out. Seeing them again reminded me just how much I missed the military, the brotherhood it offered and the bond that resulted from participating in a unified mission. I had gone to war with several of the men on this rooftop. There were a few who should have been here, fallen brothers who didn’t make it back.
I finally returned to the bar and ordered another whiskey. Before I knew it, a stunning woman was at my elbow.
“Mind if I join you?” Her voice was sultry, and she had a body to match. A long blue dress clung to her shapely form and wavy blonde locks cascaded around her back and shoulders.
I answered with an indifferent shrug.
“Having a good time?” she asked.
Having a beautiful lady to make conversation with was always welcome. But I wasn’t interested in being hit on tonight. Having my wife come up in conversation with McCleary had been hard enough. I wasn’t in the mood for flirting.
“Look,” I said, “if you were looking to go home with someone then you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
Her eyes narrowed on me. When she spoke again her voice was cool and measured. “I’m actually Lieutenant Colonel McCleary’s daughter. And he didn’t raise a floozy.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the fool. I looked back at her. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know—”
“Don’t worry about it.” She waved me off. “This is Miami. I’m sure it’s easy to get the wrong impression. Get me a drink and I’ll forget about it.”
I motioned to the bartender. “What will you have?” I asked her.
“Vodka cranberry.”
I relayed her request. “Your dad was telling me you planned all this,” I said.
“Yes.” She looked around at the guests and a smile formed on her lips. “We had a much larger turnout than I thought.”
“A lot of people love your father. I’m one of them.”
She turned back to me. Her eyes were stunning, their vibrant blue piercing even inside the low lighting. “How do you know him?”
I took a healthy sip of whiskey before replying. “He was my last commander. The best man I ever had the pleasure of working under. You’re lucky to have him as a father.”
“Yes,” she said. “I am.” She looked past the length of the bar and back outside, where her father was still standing off to the side wrapped up in a conversation with several men that I knew to still be on active duty. “The military was his life for so long. It’s been nice having him around more.”
“Are you working with him in his new company?”
“I am,” she said. “Although it’s Dad who has the quizzical mind. He’s brilliant. I mostly keep the business end of things running.”
“He seems to like his new line of work.”
“He really does. More than I think either of us expected. The military was such a large part of his life for so long he wasn’t sure how well he would manage the transition. But he’s doing more fieldwork again like he was as a junior officer. It suits him.”
“He was telling me he’s scored a couple of solid contracts with the Defense Department.”
“Yes,” she smiled. “He’s hit the ground running.”
Someone caught her eye from across the bar and they motioned for her to come over. She grabbed her drink and extended a hand. “I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Savage. Ryan Savage.” I shook her hand.
“Well, Ryan Savage, I’m Charlotte. It was a pleasure meeting you. Perhaps we’ll meet again one day.”
I watched as she moved easily across the floor in her high heels to where a party of several other ladies were mingling. One of them, a young brunette, shot me a flirtatious wave. I smiled back and then returned my attention to my drink. I finally left the bar area and walked to the edge of the roof and looked out onto the waterfront and took in the view of Biscayne Bay. The city twinkled beneath me, and out o
n the water yachts were moored in place, many of them hosting parties of their own.
I wasn’t old by any means—just thirty-four—but I had come to realize that what really matters in life are the people you know and love. Anything can be bought with money, but the relationships are the true gold in life. Of all the parties buzzing in Miami tonight, I was proud to be at this one.
I finished my drink and, after saying goodbye to those still remaining at the party, I returned to the elevator. I couldn’t find the man of the hour but did make a mental note to shoot McCleary an email later this week and wish him luck on his new career.
I took the elevator five floors down and located my room. It wasn’t a waterfront view. It looked over the tower across the street and the cars and pedestrians below. But I didn’t mind. I was tired. Brad had called me at 4 AM and roused me out of bed in what ended up being a very long day of locating, and then finally chasing down, Travis Harker. I could have easily driven back to Key Largo tonight, but I wanted to wake up feeling rested after sleeping in late. I slipped off my shoes, hung my suit, shirt, and tie on a hanger in the closet and then brushed my teeth before slipping in between the sheets.
I closed my eyes and soon drifted into sleep.
Until an urgent knock on my door woke me just two hours later.
Chapter Four
Psychologists say that we dream every time we sleep, that it’s just a matter of remembering them or not.
I rarely remember mine. But that night I dreamt of my wife. We were on a sailboat, just her and me, cruising over crystal blue waters and talking about where we wanted to visit next after we left Aruba. Her belly was beautifully rounded—she was pregnant. She slid next to me and had just pressed her lips to mine when I was jolted awake by a loud succession of knocks on my bedroom door.
