by Matt Rogers
For the first time in months, he hadn’t dreamed at all.
He didn’t know what that meant.
He’d slept sound.
He threw the covers off and looked down at himself. He’d slept in the same clothes — the athletic shorts, and the compression shirt. He climbed out of bed and headed straight for the phone. It was a slim black smartphone, brand new, top of the line. He could afford it.
The screen said, No Caller ID.
He swiped a finger across the touch screen, and lifted it to his ear.
He didn’t say a word.
A male voice said, ‘Don’t hang up.’
‘I probably should if that’s what you’re leading with,’ Slater said.
‘Give me one minute to explain myself.’
Slater cast a paranoid glance through the giant windows. The New York City skyline sparkled around the dark abyss of Central Park.
He said, ‘I shouldn’t.’
‘But you will. Because you’re curious.’
It sounded like the guy was deliberately trying to disguise his voice.
Slater said, ‘Alright. One minute.’
‘Promise you will give me the full minute.’
‘Okay.’
The man slipped back into his regular tone and said, ‘It’s Russell Williams.’
He didn’t even have to say the name.
Slater recognised the voice immediately.
He said, ‘Holy shit.’
There was dead silence.
Russell Williams was one of Slater’s old government handlers, and the two hadn’t exactly parted ways amicably. In Macau, nearly two years ago, Slater had rescued a nine-year-old girl named Shien from a sadistic underground sex trafficking ring. Aware that she couldn’t be a part of his turbulent life, he’d handed her over to Williams with the reassurance that he’d find a suitable foster home for her so she could have some semblance of a normal childhood.
Instead, Williams had inducted Shien into the Lynx program against her will — a clandestine U.S. government operation that raised young girls and shaped them into barbaric assassins. These women were taught to seduce and deceive, and were used to slaughter dictators and corrupt businessmen that regularly hired prostitutes and models to parade around in their entourage. Slater had met a fully grown graduate of the Lynx program — a woman named Ruby Nazarian — and she’d been one of the most alluring and vicious people he’d ever met.
Slater had righted the wrongs, and destroyed the program, and eventually Ruby had seen the light and confronted her old handler for what he’d done to her.
For brainwashing her, and stripping her of her free will, and butchering her childhood.
That was the last time Slater had seen Williams — alone with Ruby in the North Maine Woods, with a knife blade pressed under his chin.
He figured there was a ninety-nine percent chance she’d slashed his throat.
Now, Slater said, ‘You’ve got some fucking nerve calling me.’
‘I know. But I’m doing it anyway.’
‘Why?’
‘I need my minute first.’
‘You’re already halfway through it. The clock’s ticking.’
‘Come on, Will.’
‘Oh, you’re going to act like that with me? That’s the route you want to go down? You’re hard done by, are you? You want me to give you a break?’
‘I won’t try to apologise for what I did to Shien, because there aren’t words that would suffice.’
‘You’re damn right.’
‘I’ve changed.’
‘Like a crack addict changes, right? For about two days, and then they fall right back into the same routine.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘I’d be willing to show you if you’d give me the opportunity.’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘But I can’t right now. There are more important issues at hand.’
‘Shut the fuck up, Williams. Nice talking to you.’
‘Wait.’
He practically screamed the word, and Slater realised he’d never heard desperation like that come from the ordinarily stoic government handler.
So he hesitated with his finger hovering over the End Call button.
‘Your one minute starts now,’ Slater said. ‘Make it count.’
‘I’m back with the government,’ Williams said.
Of course you are, Slater thought. Corruption never dies.
‘But it’s not what you think,’ Williams continued.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I’ve genuinely changed. Ruby spoke to me for a long time in those woods, and it tore me up inside. I realised everything I’d done. I saw it all in a new light. I thought of the family I’d taken her away from. She could tell she’d broken me, and she left me there to kill myself, because she could see I was about to do it. And I almost did. I picked up the gun she’d left me and put it in my mouth and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. Then I passed out from the fear, and when I woke up I stumbled back to my superiors and pleaded with them to let me clean up the mess.’
‘And they did?’
‘Reluctantly. I’d fucked up the Lynx program about as badly as you can fuck up anything. But I laid it all out for them, and told them where I’d gone wrong, and how I thought things could change.’
‘And?’
‘And now I’m paving the way toward sweeping change in the secret world. With a focus on ethics.’
‘Not much chance of that happening.’
‘It’s an uphill battle. But we’re being taken seriously. And that’s all I care about at this point.’
‘Who’s “we?”’
‘Myself and a few key players. We’ve formed a union of sorts. We’re enacting change.’
‘What the hell do you want from me, then?’
‘I need to speak to you and King in person.’
‘Why?’
‘I can’t tell you over the phone.’
‘You just shared all that information with me.’
‘This line is encrypted with the best tech money can buy, but that’s not enough. Not when I tell you what I need you for.’
‘I’m not going to meet with you. I don’t want to see your face.’
‘Will, I told you—’
‘You think that makes a difference? Saying you’re all of a sudden a decent person? You wouldn’t have changed one iota if I hadn’t interfered. Don’t tell me you would have.’
‘I’m not pretending I’m a good person,’ Williams said. ‘I’m not. But I’m trying to become better. Isn’t that all anyone can ask? I’m doing the best I can to turn my life around.’
‘I still think you’re a disgusting piece of shit.’
‘And I want you to think that. Because you can be damn sure I deserve every morsel of hate. But all I need to do is convince you that I’m respectable enough to meet with. You will be safe. There will be no ambush—’
Slater scoffed.
‘What?’ Williams said.
‘You didn’t need to tell me that.’
‘Tell you what?’
‘That there won’t be an ambush.’
‘Ah—’
‘And if there is one, then all I can say is good luck. Especially if you want King to come along, too.’
‘He has to.’
‘I’ve told him about you.’
‘I assume that was a pleasant conversation.’
‘He might punch your nose into the back of your skull when he sees you.’
‘I sincerely hope not.’
‘Where do you want to meet?’
17
King was two hours into a non-stop flow-rolling jiu-jitsu session at a revered New York City BJJ gym when his phone rang from the corner of the mats.
Dressed in his traditional gi, he transitioned into full mount by swinging his left leg over his rolling partner’s stomach. The guy squirmed, and King tightened the position, wrapping around hi
s torso like a boa constrictor. The guy was a second degree black belt, but he rolled over all the same in a last-ditch attempt to escape the position before the inevitable occurred.
He didn’t get the chance.
King slipped an arm around the guy’s throat, and it took barely any effort whatsoever. To a bystander, their sparring would seem like the stuff of magicians, like anacondas that had mastered the ability to mirror the movements of the human body. It was the result of painstaking discipline and relentless dedication to the craft, but it meant that if King encountered anyone in combat without a jiu-jitsu base, he could take them down and strangle the life out of them before they had the opportunity to throw a single punch. They wouldn’t know what had hit them.
One instant they’d be pumped full of adrenaline, ready for the fight of their lives, and the next they would be on the ground with a two hundred and twenty pound deadweight on top of them and an arm like a tree trunk crushing the air out of their windpipe. They’d see nothing but darkness.
A smooth transition to the great beyond.
You only had to squeeze for ten or fifteen seconds past the point of unconsciousness to cause irreversible damage.
With someone of King’s size and strength, it was more like five seconds.
The second degree black belt tapped out, and King rolled off the guy with the sort of satisfaction you could only earn by pushing yourself to an extreme limit over and over and over again until you earned your reward.
There was no feeling like it on earth.
Which was probably why he’d come out of retirement. He could chalk it up to Klara’s death, but deep down he was the same warrior he’d always been.
Nothing else sufficed.
He heard his phone shrilling, and he knew it could only mean one thing. He’d set it to silent for anyone but a single individual. Which meant it was important.
He crossed the mats, his gi damp with perspiration, and lifted the phone to his ear.
‘What is it?’ he said.
Slater said, ‘I got a phone call.’
‘Good for you. Moving on up in the world. What’s it like to be a socialite?’
‘I’m serious.’
Usually Slater was the wisecracking one, so King stiffened. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Remember everything I told you about the Lynx program?’
‘For the most part.’
‘Russell Williams called.’
‘Your old handler?’
‘The one and only.’
‘He’s alive?’
‘Apparently so.’
‘I thought you were sure he was dead.’
‘That’s what I suspected. Ruby Nazarian wanted to kill him. I could see it in her eyes. She must have had a change of heart.’
‘Why do you think that? I assume he’s blackmailing you.’
‘No. Quite the contrary.’
‘The way you spoke about him … he’s got some nerve making the call if it wasn’t hostile in nature.’
‘That’s exactly what I told him.’
‘Then what did he say?’
‘He wants to meet.’
‘With you?’
‘With both of us.’
‘He knows about me?’
‘He was a Black Force handler once upon a time. That shouldn’t come as a surprise.’
‘What does he want?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Then that’s that.’
‘I want to do it.’
King sat down on the bench running along the far wall, and watched the black belts struggle and writhe and fight for position on the mats. He said, ‘Why would you give him the time of day?’
‘Because I believe what he told me.’
King let the silence drag out.
Slater said, ‘Ruby spared him, and he says it changed him. He gave me some spiel about how he’s guiding the secret world in a new, ethical direction. I’m not sure if I buy that, but he did seem different.’
‘Probably because he killed Ruby before she could kill him, and now he wants to clean up the loose ends.’
‘He’s a pen pusher. He’s never done a hard day’s work in his life — I mean, in comparison to what we used to do. And she had a knife to his throat when I saw them. He didn’t do a thing.’
‘There are other alternatives,’ King said. ‘Alternatives that are more likely than her letting him go.’
‘Such as?’
‘Did you leave any guards alive in the woods that could have rescued him?’
‘No.’
‘Are you absolutely certain?’
A pause.
Then, ‘No.’
‘That might be something to consider before you show up out of goodwill.’
‘I think I’m going to do it.’
‘Why?’
‘Many reasons. I need closure on that chapter of my life, I’m not sure what the hell we’re doing acting like vigilantes, and I guess I need to shake things up and see what happens.’
‘That was our first night taking matters into our own hands,’ King snarled. ‘And you’re getting cold feet already?’
‘Come with me. If you do, then I stand at least half a chance.’
‘If this goes wrong, I’ll never forgive you.’
‘Won’t matter,’ Slater said. ‘We’ll both be dead.’
King stewed restlessly on the bench. He bowed his head. He said, ‘I’m only doing this because I can tell you’re torn up inside and you desperately need something new. Any other reason, and it’d be a firm no.’
‘And because you owe me,’ Slater said. ‘Because we owe each other. Forever.’
‘That, too.’
It was true. They’d pulled each other out of hell too many times to count. King remembered an abandoned gold mine on the Kamchatka Peninsula, many years ago. If Slater hadn’t dropped everything and put his life on the line, King wouldn’t be sitting here today.
King said, ‘I hope your judgment is right.’
‘I’m telling you it is.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘A hunch.’
‘Great,’ King said, and hung up.
18
Slater had the instructions.
But despite his talk with King, he wasn’t sure whether he was going to follow them or not. He’d convinced King to come along, but the final decision rested on his shoulders.
He sat in the darkness of his penthouse, hunched over in an armchair, cradling a drink.
This time, it was a tumbler.
This time, there was whiskey in it.
He had to admit it felt good. Better than good. Like sweet nectar, and he knew how badly he’d struggled to suppress the urge to drink. The truth was, in the midst of the most successful years of his career, he’d been a raging alcoholic with a drug dependency. He could go cold turkey on a whim, and always sobered up when an operation arose, but in the downtime he’d tested the limits of his tolerance with each passing day.
Now, it was threatening to come roaring back.
He’d never experienced turmoil like this.
He drained the warm liquid, and it burned its way down his throat, and he picked up the phone and dialled a number Williams had given him.
It went straight to a burner phone.
Williams said, ‘Getting cold feet?’
‘I don’t know yet. I’m weighing the consequences.’
‘I need this, Slater. The government needs this. Trust me when I tell you how important it is.’
‘I suggested a public place. Why the need for a car?’
‘I can’t meet you in a public place. I’ll be there in the town car. It’ll pull up, you two will get in, and we’ll talk. That way I know it’s secure, and we can constantly stay on the move. Look — bring guns if you want. We won’t search you. Arm yourself to the teeth if it makes you feel better. But please don’t no-show.’
‘Okay,’ Slater said. ‘One hour?’
‘One hour.’
‘We’ll be there.’
Slater ended the call and tossed the phone at the sofa cushions on the other side of the room. He ran a hand across his bare scalp, and reached instinctively for the tumbler. When he touched the glass, he remembered it was empty.
He glanced longingly at the full decanter sitting on the bar shelf.
The amber liquid glowed in the ambient light.
He got up to refill his glass.
There was a knock at the door.
He grumbled and went to open it. King stood there, his brown hair damp from a recent shower, his clothes fresh. He wore denim jeans, a plain T-shirt and an expensive leather jacket. All the garments clung to his frame like they’d been tailored to the inch, but Slater knew the man had the optimal physique for any style of clothing.
He knew, because he had the same build.
He ushered King inside, unaware that he was still clutching the empty glass.
King looked down at it on the way past. ‘Calming the nerves?’
Slater followed his gaze, and noticed it resting there between his fingers. ‘Oh. Forgot I was still holding that.’
‘Don’t overdo it,’ King muttered.
‘You drink, too,’ Slater said.
He poured a splash more into the tumbler.
King eyed him warily as he sat down on the sofa across from the armchair. ‘Not like you.’
Slater lowered himself into the armchair. ‘You have in the past.’
‘Occasionally. Then I got it under control. That was years ago.’
‘I’ve been sober for months.’
‘Which is why this worries me.’
‘Don’t know if you were aware, but things are tense right now.’
‘I’m about to accompany you to meet a man who, if he had any sense, would try to kill us. I know things are tense.’
‘There we go,’ Slater said.
He tipped the rim of the tumbler in King’s direction and took a sip.
‘What if we need to be on our A-game for this?’ King said.
‘Then I’ll be on my A-game. I’ll compartmentalise. As I’ve always done.’
‘You can fight drunk?’
Slater smirked. ‘If you’d seen me consume substances in the past, you’d know I can do almost anything drunk.’
King glanced uncomfortably to the side.
