by Alex Howell
If there was anything Mason had hated about the military from day one up to the present moment, it was that men who had never served—typically presidents—could make decisions that overrode the military’s best knowledge.
“We would want you for your on-the-ground tactical genius, and I’m not using that word to flatter you, Mason.”
Mason gave a one-laugh chuckle, meant more to acknowledge what Luke had said than to actually agree with it.
“A genius is someone like Einstein. I’m no genius. I’m just a man who’s good at killing.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Even Luke could be taken aback sometimes by the bluntness of Mason’s words, but if that was supposed to encourage him to be softer, it sure as hell didn’t work.
“But anyways… tell you what. I’m not going to say I’m happy about this. Any man whose greatest skill is murder and is happy about it is a man that should be dead himself. But if I go back to that insurance job, I’ll be just as dead. I’ll be a man without a purpose, a man just counting down the days to his grave by wasting my time on a job that I hate. So, you say you got a job for me? I’ll take it. You tell me what needs to be done and I’ll do it. As long as I can pay my bills, count me in.”
He said the words before he could change his mind, and when he finished, there was nothing about him that regretted agreeing to the job. But, on the other hand, it was somewhat odd that he had accepted it so easily.
Perhaps, he silently feared, perhaps he was someone who was happy to murder. Maybe happy wasn’t the right word, but maybe he was someone who was satisfied and thrilled by the prospect of killing the enemy, by the prospect of violently crushing evil. What did that say about him?
“Excellent,” Luke said, obviously oblivious to the internal monologue going on in Mason’s head. “I will send you a welcome package of sorts. It’s not quite the pamphlets and such that you’d get at a normal job, but I think you’ll like it more.”
“Never was a fan of filling out so many social security and HSA forms,” Mason said. “I suppose this welcome package might include things that I don’t have to write on?”
“Nope, much more interactive,” Luke said.
Intriguing. Let’s hope these interactive items are things I can shoot and what not.
“Good. What’s next?”
“For now? Nothing,” Luke said, leaving Mason a little relieved with his daughter set to depart in just a few days. The last thing he wanted was to go overseas or go somewhere she wasn’t right as she needed him the most. “There’s no active missions for Onyx to handle right now, and, sometimes, it’s impossible to predict. We’ve had to split the team in three before to handle everything, and, sometimes, there’s nothing at all. I think the world’s enemies are a bit on edge and cautious after what happened with General Jones. They know we’re being extra vigilant and aren’t going to miss anything.”
“Makes sense.”
It was pretty much the best case scenario. Mason would get to take Clara to Stanford, he’d get to quit his insurance job, and he’d get to stay ready for the next mission. The only concern he had was that this freedom might wind up leading to him changing his mind, but he couldn’t see such a thing happening now that he’d given Luke his word.
“So, for now, just train and be ready. This isn’t going to be a desk job, Mason.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I signed up for it.”
And because it’s the only thing I’m good at. If it’s in my blood, I might as well keep going at it. I might as well protect the world if I don’t need to protect my family much longer.
“Any questions, Mason?”
None that you could answer.
The questions that Mason had begun this evening with still remained. What did it say about him that he’d gone back to this life? How much had he really left behind in the soldier’s life? How would Clara really feel about this when she found out he’d not only gotten back into the lifestyle, he’d gone into a private ops mission instead of a government-sponsored one?
But if not even Mason could answer those questions for himself, what part of him made him believe that Luke would do any better at answering them? Luke was many things, but a military therapist was not one of them. Luke could guide and persuade with a calm hand, use his connections to help others, and always had a way of playing good cop when the world seemed hellbent on playing bad cop.
Right now, though, there wasn’t anything either of them could do. So just as when Mason got a mission with scant details or little ammo or some other factor that would limit almost all of the entire military, he did what he always did in such spots. He trusted that his instincts and his experience would guide him through and that he’d figure a way through it. The answers, he imagined, would come in time.
And, if they didn’t, well, so long as they didn’t prevent him from carrying out his mission, he could live with them.
“Nope,” Mason said.
“Perfect. You know how to contact me if anything is needed. If you don’t get that welcome package by noon tomorrow, you give me a call, understood?”
“You got it, boss.”
“Please not that again.”
Mason grunted a laugh before bidding farewell to Luke. When he hung up the phone, he stared back at the screen on which he’d first seen Clara gagged and bounded. Just as it had before the phone call, the memory enraged him, left him feeling furious with himself and with his trust in General Jones.
But what calmed him down this time was the knowledge that now, he had a team at his side. He was back in the game. He was not going to have to rely on cold connections he hadn’t spoken to in decades. And Clara now had the training she needed to defend herself in desperate situations.
He and his family would be as prepared as they ever could be.
3
August 18th, 2028
8:28 a.m.
Baltimore, Maryland
As it turned out, Mason didn’t even have to wait until noon.
Up at 6 a.m. for his morning run, he’d gone a little further than normal, about eight miles, using the extra time and distance to contemplate what getting back into the teams meant for him. It wasn’t really the teams, no, but it might as well have been the proper teams, given the number of Navy SEALs and other special elite forces who’d be helping out—not to mention he’d be back working for Luke Simon once again.
The questions remained the same as the night before, and the answers were just as murky. Mason began to accept that he wouldn’t truly know what this all meant until he took on his first mission—would it be as “easy” as the ones he had while as a SEAL? Would rust lead to untimely death? Or would, despite everything Luke had said, this job actually involve Mason never coming face-to-face with enemy fire?
Just because it wasn’t a desk job didn’t mean that Mason had to come face the enemy’s weapons. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he became just a little paranoid that what he had signed up for was nothing more than a diplomatic role, an honorary title that could be used to negotiate and to threaten as need be. At his age, there were almost certainly going to be people younger than him who could better do his job of being boots on the ground, or at least they could be more expendable. Given that, who wouldn’t put a legend like Mason in a diplomatic role and the troops in an on-the-ground role?
Not that I’m a legend. But, heaven knows what they think of me.
Luke knew the level of knowledge and skill Mason had. Why would Luke risk that knowledge and insight into something as inconsequential as a single battle or combat mission?
That’s not what I signed up for, Luke. I didn’t sign up to be you.
Having now started his walk back home, his cool-down from his long run, Mason also tried to cool the harsh thoughts in his mind. He reminded himself that it didn’t do any good to think this critically about something that he had not yet encountered—who was to say that his first mission wouldn’t involve gunfire and danger so st
rong that even it would frighten Mason? There was no reason to believe that any one scenario was more implausible than the other. Onyx did not exist for the sake of talking, but for the sake of taking on missions that the SEALs either needed time and/or permission to do.
In fact, the lack of red tape for Onyx almost certainly meant that they could undergo far more dangerous tasks than anything the SEALs would. The SEALs might need approval from the secretary of defense or even the president. Onyx could just go in on Luke’s orders and blow up everything they needed to and recover everyone they needed.
Still, Mason knew he was going to be a mess of sorts in the days ahead until he got his first mission and met his team. Whatever hopes he had had from the night before about the delay being the “best case scenario” had vanished under the weight of his morning thoughts. Hopefully, he thought, he’d know a few of them from his days in the SEALs. But, given his age, it was far more likely that he was about to bring in a few young guns—relative to him, at least.
He got back to his house just after 8 a.m. to see an automatic truck pulling up. He didn’t see anyone inside the vehicle, which he knew meant that a delivery had come. He couldn’t believe that it might actually be what Luke had promised—he’d spoken to him just about twelve hours ago, and, already, the package had arrived?
The hell is in there? And why was it so important to rush over to me?
A drone flew out of the back, dropping the package in front of Mason’s front door, then waited for him to arrive. When Mason got there, he stood before the drone, allowing it to scan his face for verification. Once it had succeeded, it then headed back to the truck, which went in reverse from the way it came. Mason waited until the truck had completely disappeared from view before grabbing the box and taking it to the living room.
The box was heavy, and Mason suspected that, by the way things moved there might have been some weapons. He thought about taking it to the basement, to his armory, but it wasn’t like he had to hide anything from Clara anymore. And with her going to Stanford soon, he would have the benefit of repurposing the space to be a little bit more… combative, perhaps, as needed.
He tried to look for a spot to open the box as best as he could, but he didn’t see anything—no tape, no sealant, nothing. It was obvious that there were things inside and it had to be opened somehow, but…
Mason flipped over the box when he saw something that confirmed this was most certainly no ordinary delivery from Clara’s online shopping habits.
There was a handprint ID recognition device on there, waiting for Mason to put his hand on there for registration and confirmation. It was a far cry from the days of signatures or just simply leaving the box on the front porch.
“Not messing around, huh, Luke,” Mason grumbled, knowing such a device must have cost a fortune to put on such a box. “You better have put some good toys in here.”
And as soon as Mason placed his hand to open the box, he discovered why.
The box opened slowly, and as Mason took in all of the gear that appeared, he felt like a kid on Christmas. No, he felt better than that—he felt like a kid who had gotten nothing for Christmas for three years straight, only to finally get the dream toy that he’d wanted since he was a kid.
First, he saw an M18 rifle. But this was no ordinary rifle. Mason recognized that it had an automatic lock-on scope that would help him hone in on enemies. It also had a spot to launch grenades from, a laser pointer, and, as many black ops had now, unlimited ammo in the form of the laster. Grenades hadn’t yet been perfected for unlimited, but that was fine.
Then he saw what looked like night vision goggles, but, when he looked more closely, he saw they also had infrared, X-Ray, and something called “Augmented”. Mason couldn’t decide if he wanted to just call Luke right there for information on everything, or if he wanted to test everything out himself.
As it turns out, he got a third option.
“Looks like someone got new toys, huh?”
Mason looked up with a grin—a rarity in his world—as Clara walked in the room, looking like she’d slept like a baby the night before despite having probably had a few drinks.
“Compliments of Luke Simon and his company,” Mason said, holding up the multi-vision goggles for her to see.
Clara smiled, arched her eyebrows, and folded her arms, her smile one of “I told you so.”
“So I guess you’re back in it, huh?” she said, more of a teasing probe than an accusatory one.
I wonder what else she’s going to predict about me in the days and years ahead. Though, let’s be fair, this was probably a little bit easier than not to see coming.
“Figured it beat the hell out of selling insurance for something people didn’t need,” Mason grumbled.
“Did you tell them you were resigning?”
“I suppose I should, shouldn’t I,” Mason said with a short chuckle. “You know how I tell you to keep people informed of your decision if it affects them? This is one of those do as I say, not as I do, moments.”
Clara just laughed and waved her hand dismissively.
“Don’t worry, dad, I wouldn’t be telling them in your spot either.”
I’ll tell them eventually. But now’s not the time to spend all of three seconds thinking about that slog of a career.
Mason snorted, invited Clara to sit next to him, and went through everything else in the box. Mason found a watch that could expand or contract in size, making it easy to hide from the enemy, all while acting as the equivalent of the mobile internet watches from about a decade and a half earlier—except with much more power and security. He found some gadgets that he decided were better left untouched, such as what looked like rockets to be strapped on to a person’s back. He even found a new tablet, one likely so securely protected that it would be impossible for even Tessa to hack. There was more in there, but Clara wanted to spend some time going through each item one-by-one.
“You feel good about this,” Clara said.
It was more of a statement than a question. Mason turned to Clara and nodded.
“I suppose the grin on my face kind of gives it away, huh?”
“I wouldn’t want you to lie,” she said, patting his shoulder. “It’s good to see you like this. You were so on edge the past few months… I know ever since mom died, you’ve been a bit recluse. But it hit you especially hard. I just wanted you to be happy.”
That got heavy in a hurry. But she’s not wrong.
“Well, happy’s a relative term,” Mason said, having not quite expected the conversation to suddenly become so emotional. “But you could say I am much more satisfied and pleased with having this in my arsenal than not. Like I said, beats the hell out of calling and emailing people about their so-called insurance needs.”
“I’ll say,” she said, grabbing the modified M18. “Are you going to teach me how to shoot this?”
“You kidding me?” Mason said, almost laughing. “I’m not even sure Luke wants me to shoot that until he shows me. I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait to play with the toys.”
“Aww.”
“I know, I know. But I don’t think Luke will want me to wait too long.”
And then, as if on cue, Mason’s phone rang. Sure enough, it was his friend from the day before, come to hopefully bestow permission upon the Walkers to test out the equipment.
“Thanks, Santa,” Mason gruffed, in stunned disbelief that he was in a good enough mood to be cracking jokes like that with Luke Simon.
“I thought you might like that,” he said. “What you don’t see is that I’ve upgraded your home security even more. Oh, and your daughter’s too.”
“Wait, what?” Mason said, turning to look at Clara, who was admiring the modified rifle before her.
“Your home system now has better anti-virus protection. Clara, meanwhile, now has it so that we can monitor her vitals through all of her devices. So if someone steals her watch, her phone can still sense her. It’s not quite as good
as nanomachines, but I know you’re not quite ready for that.”
“Probably never will be,” Mason said, terrified of the idea of the very government that had tried to kill her now suddenly having full access to her behavior and actions on a round-the-clock basis. Still, at least it was Luke watching her, and not the actual government. “But anyways, yeah, it’s all come. Thanks so much for this.”
“My pleasure, Mason, but I didn’t call you to ask if you got the package. I know you did, your face scan came through when you sent it.”
Oh… does he have…
“I’m calling you because you have your first mission, Mason. Or rather, you have your first mission briefing, followed by your actual first mission. The secretary of state has called the entire Onyx team in for a briefing. There’s been an abduction of some kind. I don’t have any further details at the moment.”
That tugged at Mason’s heart as he swelled with sorrow for the loved ones of whoever had been kidnapped and vengeful fury at whoever had done the kidnapping. He’d done many rescue missions in his day, but because of what had happened with Clara, he had become especially angry at whoever had perpetrated this.
Just don’t let your anger get in the way, Mason. Even if they do deserve to die a goddamn horrible, painful, miserable death.
If Onyx was involved, though, it wasn’t hard to imagine that it was a high-ranking family who had been abducted—precisely the kind of kidnapping that could result in some serious media coverage. They had to act quickly if they wanted to prevent things from spreading too fast and too quickly.
“We’ve got a government Series S automated vehicle outside waiting for you. This is a vehicle you’re going to be riding on with much more frequency with us, Mason. It carries up to six people, has sleeping quarters, a refreshment center, restrooms, luxury and high-tech gear, and is bulletproof and resistant to explosives. Oh, and it also travels four times the speed of a typical vehicle.”
“Got it,” Mason said, though he was much more impressed than his tone of voice let on. It just felt inappropriate to make a crack about the vehicle’s luxury given the urgency of the upcoming mission. “I suppose that you’ll want me to come alone.”
