by Alex Howell
And even then, Hawkeye…
No, you know the deal with that.
Mason sighed. He had so much running through his head, so many unknowns, so much difficulty… keeping track of it all was just a giant pain in the butt, and good luck to the soul who would have the capacity to figure this all out.
In fact, Mason didn’t even know his destination. He was told a phone call would come, but so far, the only type of calls he’d gotten were from the machine calling him out for not taking a self-driving car. He went into his phone to look for the call back number, but when he tried to call it, the call could not connect and the line went dead, despite the fact that Mason had perfect cellular reception.
So, feeling like he was left with no other option, Mason enrolled the services of the only other person who might have an idea of where to go.
“Remind me where we’re going, Mr. Abdi?” Mason asked. “I seem to be having a very bad day and cannot recall our location. I do apologize, but…”
But Mr. Abdi had seemingly suddenly decided to take a nap—a nap that was so obviously faked that it would not have fooled a child. Mason deduced that the odds of him going anywhere other than Manhattan were slim to none, and while that would not make for the most pleasant of driving experiences, even with all of the self-driving vehicles around, it would at least mean when he got further—
His phone rang. Finally.
Mason looked at Harnad, who still pretended to be asleep. He tried to recall if Mr. Abdi had sent any messages in the time since Mason had grabbed him, but he could not recall anything. Perhaps he had done so while Mason was procuring the vehicle?
“You can answer that,” Mr. Abdi said.
I should answer that is what he means. At least it’s nice to see that he’s decided to still continue his fake nap. I guess this means I don’t have to keep my voice in check while I talk to him.
Mason opened his phone, saw the blocked number, and knew that he had his next steps.
Better not be sending me back to Baltimore.
“Congratulations,” the voice said on the other line, this time with a different pitch and intonation—as if wanting to cover its tracks and prevent Mason from guessing who it was. In fact, this time, it sounded more feminine than before. “We knew you’d be able to complete this step with ease.”
“We might have a difference of opinion on that one,” Mason said. “But it’s done.”
“Indeed. But it will only get more difficult from here.”
Of course. What would the mission be without some challenges and difficulties along the way?
“You need to go to the 8th floor of the Mayor’s Office. By the United Nations. You will escort your guest up when you arrive. From there, you will be set. You will know where to go when you get there.”
“How can—”
But before Mason could add anything more, the line hung up. Mason let out a long sigh through his nostrils, trying to steady himself. It had been too long since he’d been on a mission like this, but his skills had not left him.
The problem, however, was that with his daughter being held captive, his emotional demeanor had suffered a bit. Instead of having to rescue a third party that he had either only seen through news articles or from the friends of friends, he now had his own flesh and blood.
Still, as long as Mason had a target to move to, even if that target was vague and unclear, he could check his emotional turbulence. It was when there was nothing to move to, when there was nothing but chaos, madness, and uncertainty, that his regulation and thus focus on the mission faltered.
“Sounds like we’re going to the mayor’s office,” Mason said, looking ahead before shooting a dagger of a look at Mr. Abdi. “Do you know anything about that?”
Amazingly, almost like he had narcolepsy, Mr. Abdi had chosen to fall back asleep. Mason almost thought it was like a damn miracle how easily the diplomat managed to fall asleep. How he ever got any work done seemed like a giant mystery.
“Well, sure hope I don’t take you to the wrong place,” Mason said, loudly enough that he knew Mr. Abdi had heard him. “Off we go, Harnad.”
He was not sure if using the diplomat’s first name would annoy him, but it was good enough for Mason.
He crossed over into Manhattan, marveling at how much calmer the city had become over the past two decades. The rise of self-driving cars, the move to cheaper housing, and a variety of other factors meant that the city that once never slept now had a tendency to take a few more naps, less honk-infested than before. Although Mason had not spent much time in the city before, the shows he saw, the environment that he knew of, and the few visits he had made had supported the stereotype of Manhattan as a 24 hour enterprise.
Not so much anymore.
Times are changing. ‘Bout the only thing I can claim that hasn’t changed is how I feel about my family.
Mason arrived at the building, finding a parking spot with ease. He snorted at the sight, thought of cracking a joke about how 2028 parking in New York was easier than 2008 parking in Concord, but got annoyed by seeing Mr. Abdi facing away. Can’t even look at me. Should’ve known I was dealing with cowards.
At the building, Mason instructed Mr. Abdi to wait inside, and walked forward to the sign on the front of the building. By the accounts of most people, everything would have seemed normal.
But Mason was no ordinary person. And, from his experience in the Navy and deep within its hidden cores, he recognized the first problem immediately.
These types of buildings also doubled as black ops hideouts, with the first two or three floors given to public-facing business, while the rest were for operations, only a single hallway providing any sort of non-military business. He could tell because of the way, of all things, the “Authorized Personnel Only” sign had been created.
He knew that for drop-in visitors, only the first couple of floors would be given access. Everything above required either pre-written authorization or a position high enough up to ignore customary rules—which pretty much meant the President, the Secretary of Defense, and generals, and nothing else.
In short, Mason’s alibi could get him to the fifth floor of this building, but he would need something more for the eighth floor. He would need to use his ingenuity and his tricks—and he would need to figure things out quickly if he wanted to see Clara.
Mason walked back to the vehicle and instructed Mr. Abdi to join him. They would have to figure it out on the fly. He just had to hope that Mr. Abdi had as much quick thinking as Mason did.
“Do you know what’s up there, anyways?” Mason asked casually, as if they were going to meet a business partner.
“International criminal holding cells,” Harnad said with almost too much ease, as if he had hoped the question would come and delighted in saying it.
Mason shot a look, but, once more, Mr. Abdi did not look him in the eye. Who is this guy that he can say that with such ease?
And what in the hell is this mission leading to?
7
Date: May 12th, 2028
Time: 1:16 p.m.
Location: New York City, NY
* * *
Mason stepped inside the building and, as he always did, immediately took in the surroundings, doing reconnaissance of the area as he maintained the appearance of a man arriving on official, important business.
One thing was obvious immediately.
Mason was not going to just ride up to the eighth floor with ease. Even though Mason had suspected that from the outside, there was always the chance that he was making a big brouhaha over nothing. But, unfortunately, several factors conspired against Mason in this spot.
For one, there were no stairs, so they couldn’t circumvent the elevators. Well, that wasn’t quite true—but what was almost certainly true, Mason could tell by the numbering on the doors, was that the stairs only went up to the fifth floor. There wasn’t going to be a way to get higher up without going through the heavily monitored top floors.
And while there was going to be a human he’d have to get past, he had little doubt that he would also have to evade a technological barrier of sorts. Perhaps not one stopping him in his tracks, but one that would not let him get to the desired floor all the same.
But, unlike baseball, this wasn’t three strikes and he was out. This was three obstacles and three chances to overcome those obstacles.
But first things first, he had to just get to the elevator. Fortunately, between the battle of humans and technology, humans were by far the easiest to manipulate and control.
And that meant working a little bit of charm.
“You’re Middle Eastern, right?”
Though Mr. Abdi did not answer the question, the momentarily pull on his lips told Mason what he needed to know—such inadvertent body language would never hold up in the court of law, but it was good enough in the court of “we need to get things done now”. It was also something of an obvious question, but Mason had learned long ago to never assume anything—if Mr. Abdi was actually French or African, that was a good way to wind up causing trouble upon inquisition.
Mason walked in, held the door for Harnad, and then smiled at the blonde woman typing away at a computer at the front. The woman’s eyes lifted up to a polite smile, but her hands remained down, as if close to a weapon in the event of an emergency.
“Hi there,” Mason said, putting on a harsh, thick accent that had a whiff of Egyptian. Mason was never going to convince anyone he was actually Egyptian, for his fair white skin and colored eyes showed him more likely to be from Georgia the state than Georgia the country, but he could get the ball rolling at least. “I have a client of mine, very important business, needs to go to the fifth floor. Sleeper cell. You know how it is.”
Mason hated how rusty he sounded. He would need to produce a much healthier story than that. What good did he think a cliche story like that would do? It sounded like something that a teenager trying to pull a prank would say.
The woman eyed him for a couple of seconds, trying to perhaps break him with her gaze, before nodding slowly.
“Head to the elevators on the right,” the woman said, pointing down the hallway around the corner. “You’ll have to provide identification once you get on.”
That was too easy, Mason thought. She should have inquired more. Either they trust the automated system more, or I was given this one.
Maybe the computer voice is trying to expedite things.
Or maybe if the computer identifies us for the worse, some very bad things are going to happen very soon.
“Thank you,” Mason said with a nod.
To his surprise, he heard Harnad say the same thing behind him. At least I got the accent right.
But still… whoever is sending me on this goose chase…
Was this a test? Or is the woman sending me into a trap she knows I won’t get past?
Either way…
Better remain on my toes.
Mason pressed the button to the elevator. Cognizant of the fact that he was likely now under heavy surveillance—which was probably true from the moment he stepped out of his vehicle—he put on a casual smile, like that of a man trying to look cheerful to his boss, but was secretly dying at his job inside. The elevator dinged and slowly opened, revealing a sleek, futuristic, mostly white-lit elevator that changed the level of reflection as Mason walked in.
“Ready to go up?” the voice on the ride said.
Mason motioned for Harnad to come inside. Mason, with a smile, stood as close as he could to the camera, the better to keep his hands in a blind spot. Harnad looked at Mason with some level of hesitation, perhaps aware of the risk of this little maneuver, but one that he really had no choice but to make.
The delay made Mason wonder what sort of checkered past Harnad had that he was hesitating to go into such a place. But if that were the case, why was he heading to the top floor if he knew that it was an international holding cell?There had to be something more that Mason wasn’t aware of. But the time for questions was later. Right now, Mason just wanted to get his target to the necessary destination and then, maybe then, he could start playing hardball to figure out his daughter’s location.
“Fifth floor?” Mason asked, continuing his facade.
And, then, in what would only be visible for the smallest fraction of a second on camera, Mason jammed a knife into the security system, rendering it useless. Just as quickly, he pulled open the computer system behind the numbers, hurriedly reworking the wires to reconnect the wire for the fifth floor to a different button and then the eighth button to the fifth floor.
The whole process reminded Mason of some work he had done on the tail end of his black ops missions, when he would rewire connections to confuse enemy targets, making it easier for them to walk into traps. Funny how it seems like I’m the one probably walking into a trap this time.
A trap that has already swallowed up my daughter.
Despite his concerns and doubts, he continued with the process, valuing his daughter’s life over his own safety. The whole process to rig the equipment in his favor took him less than ten seconds. He reattached the frame, smiled as the system came back online, and pressed the button for the “fifth” floor.
While technology had advanced quite a bit since his days as a SEAL, not every system had upgraded to truly intelligent AI. In fact, thanks to government red tape, most of the systems remained simple commands, something along the lines of “if X is requested, then Y is produced.” As far as the camera would see—or, perhaps rather, sense from Mason’s fingers—the inhabitant, after some downtime, had pushed for the fifth floor.
That’s the best case scenario, that is. We’ll see what actually happens.
It wasn’t the security footage’s fault that, by pushing “5” on the board, Mason actually went to eighth floor. Not one bit—nope, Mason was certainly not looking for someone to blame in this spot.
He was just looking for action.
“Now arriving,” the voice said, slightly garbled thanks to Mason’s action. “Fifth floor.”
Except it wasn’t actually the fifth floor.
The doors opened slowly, revealing a single man at a black desk, followed by an air-tight black door. Most notably, there was a neon sign of digital display that said “International Holdings” as well. Right floor. Good start. Now… the fun part.
“Can I help you?” the guard said.
He did not look dead inside like the secretary on the first floor had. In fact, he looked very much invested in why the hell he had visitors. If Mason had a guess, he would say that no one had asked to meet him today, making the appearance of two unexpected strangers cause for being on guard. He tried to see if the guard was reaching for a gun, but it didn’t seem that way—possibly because the man was already armed, or because there were guns all around him, prepared to shoot at a moment’s notice.
“Yes, I have a man here I need to admit,” Mason said, careful not to give away any information until pressed.
“That’s odd, we haven’t gotten any requests from the main floor,” the man said, scanning through a few different windows on his computer. After a few seconds, he shrugged, looked at Mason in annoyance, and sighed. “I am not sure why Wendy let you up here, but you need to process that downstairs first.”
Damn. We need to get past this guy.
“Are you sure? I could have sworn that she gave the heads up to you. Maybe she sent it and you just haven’t gotten it yet?”
The man went through a few things on his computer. Mason looked at Mr. Abdi, but got no indication of a reaction or conce
rn from him. He was a true blank slate as far as facial expressions went.
“Nope. No one.”
The man turned to Mason, rising out of his chair. Mason had the size on him, but it was quite obvious the man was willing to fight if need be.
“How did you get up here, anyways?” the man growled. “It’s invite only to these floors.”
Mason, pretending to be the unassuming fool, just shrugged as casually as he could.
“I just pressed the button and it took me up here. I’m, uhh, sorry if it didn’t do it’s job?”
“I see,” the man said, although his eyes told Mason something very different.
They seemed to say “I see that you’re full of it.”
“Yeah, sorry, thanks,” Mason said, stepping back as he scrambled for a solution to his current predicament.
Mason always knew things never went according to plan, but, just once, he wanted something to go right. Just once, he wanted…
But then he realized the truth. Things were going according to plan—just not for him, but for the mastermind behind everything.
And what has that left you?
Paranoid and suspicious?
Just keep going. Navy SEAL completes his mission without question? You need to do the same. You want to see Clara? Just keep going.
So eliminate the obstacle.
You know what you have to do.
Mason looked at Mr. Abdi, who moved silently and seemingly obedient to Mason’s every move. Of course, that was only because of the presence of the guard here, but it meant that, at least, he didn’t have to budget for some unexpected, surprise move on Mr. Abdi’s part. Still, ideas weren’t coming.
Mason walked casually to the elevator, trying to take in his surroundings, prepared to reconvene downstairs, when he had an idea. Admittedly, it felt overly simplistic, but left with the option of trying his luck again with the front desk and the computer system, he felt the odds best favored him this way.
He pressed his body in front of the elevator and pretended to push a few buttons. He pretended to punch it a few more times before putting his hands up in a display of fake anger, muttering a few obscenities like a businessman frustrated at being late for an important acquisition meeting.
