The next corridor over were small rooms where detailed training for the advanced operatives happened. Demolitions, archery, knife skills, hand-to-hand combat, chemicals, drone piloting, mechanical triggering, and so many more skilled instructions happened down here and above in the vastness of the desert. Every person who was brought to this facility was an expert at something. The students became the teacher when their expertise was on deck to be trained. Each person fed the next. The process was genius, and Joseph King ran the place flawlessly.
The trainees bunked with their new partners in the corridor past that. They were videotaped, with their knowledge, and the interactions between the two new partners were dissected and examined. Several pairings had been severed and realigned, and there were two men, that he was aware of, who failed to make the transition into a team. They were singular operatives before being brought to The Rose and they remained singular after being released from training, at least that is what he assumed. He didn't know anything about what happened to the people once they passed the gates of the complex.
The corridor to the left led to staff housing. He was at the end of that hall. He tapped his code into the pad, and the door clicked open. His one bedroom, living room, kitchen and a small office, was sparsely furnished and completely sufficient for his needs. The bathroom was adequate, a shower that he could turn around in, a sink and toilet. Nothing like the grandeur he'd grown up in, but then again, nothing in this life was even vaguely similar to the way he'd lived.
His shower was quick on purpose. Water in the desert was conserved. They preached it and they lived it. He padded to the kitchen wearing nothing. No one ever came to his apartment, and without the code they couldn't get in. He popped the top off his blender and glugged in some orange juice, threw in some blueberries, shoved in two handfuls of kale and a scoop of protein powder. After he pulverized that, he added a cup of ice and spun the blades again. The noise of the blender shattered the silence of his apartment but did nothing to abate the vast void that Joseph's words had opened in his mind.
Out of habit, he poured the drink into a tumbler and rinsed the blender. Staring sightlessly at the green-blue smoothie, he heard his father's baseless accusations again. He closed his eyes against the stop-action flashes of memory. The surgery, the feeling of betrayal not only from his father, but also the compounding heartache from the silence from the operating room staff, spoke volumes. His gut rolled. He set the glass down on the counter. Why were his parents looking for him? His father had severed their relationship, and his mother? Well, she'd done nothing at the time to stop his father's lies. They'd both let him walk away. Hell, they'd pushed him away. Why now? What had changed? He knew his father. There was no way the old man would apologize. An apology was considered an admission of weakness, and weakness wasn't permitted in the Boswell household. His father's strict adherence to his code of conduct had hobbled his family to the point of dysfunction. Only he hadn't realized it until he moved away. Hell, his mother was so far under his father's thumb, she wouldn't contact him and suffer the backlash of his father's anger. No, there was something brewing, something that altered the reality he remembered.
He padded back into the bedroom and fished around in the pockets of his training uniform before stuffing the filthy material into his clothes hamper. He pulled on a pair of boxers. Somehow, calling a man he didn't know while free balling it seemed… awkward. The leather on the couch was cold to his exposed skin, but he settled in and grabbed the land line phone that sat beside him. Cell phones were not authorized at The Rose. Being buried underground shit-canned reception, and the training facility was hidden for a reason.
"Outside line. Authorization code 29847." Mal spoke the words and numbers that the AI needed to hear in order to access a shielded, outside line. There were several clicks before he heard the dial tone he needed. He punched the numbers off the paper into the phone and leaned back, closing his eyes.
"Who is this?" The man's voice was calm and collected.
"Someone who wants to know why you are looking for who I used to be." Maliki wasn't about to make this guy's life easy.
"My connections have hooked me up with software that can ID any caller. At a minimum, I can identify the number you're calling from, and yet, my phone says caller unknown. I'd say Doctor Harrison M. Boswell, VI is working for the government. A very exclusive branch of the government."
Maliki chuckled. "You know what they say about assumptions."
"They make an ass of you and me, but in this case, I'm not assuming."
The confidence from this guy impressed him. Either he was damn good, or he was a cocky son of a bitch, but his parents would only hire the best, so he was hedging his bets to the “damn good” side of that coin. "Indeed. Why are you looking for me?"
"I'm being paid to do it. I must confess, you've confounded me. I've called in several favors, but you've disappeared off the face of the planet. Are you calling from lunar orbit? That's about the only way I wouldn't be able to find you."
"I will tell you that I am currently not on the face of the earth. Will that appease your wounded sense of pride?"
"Holy shit, no. Now I have to know where the fuck you are because, damn it, nobody has successfully hidden from me." The guy laughed at his own admission.
"Why are they looking for me? If you took the case, you know the background."
"Don't know why they are looking, and that's the God's honest truth. I was paid to find you and deliver a message."
"Well, I'm here. What do they want?"
"Hold on, I'll open the envelope. I wasn't supposed to open it unless I contacted you."
Maliki rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Rather cloak and dagger of them."
He heard the sound of the man opening an envelope.
"Fuck." The guy cleared his throat.
"Just read it."
"Okay, you asked me to, so here it goes. Harrison, I am requesting your presence due to a matter of great concern which is causing untoward distress. Please be so kind as to return to assist me in this moment of need. I appreciate the effort this request requires. I am in residence in the Virginia summer house. It's signed, Mother."
Maliki closed his eyes. "You can tell them you contacted me and read the note to me. Thank you."
"Damn, dude, she spoke to me this way, but..."
"My parents believe in a decorum that is..."
"Archaic?"
Maliki laughed. "Basically." They should have been born in a different time. If his father hadn’t tried to ruin him, he might have turned out the same way. Now? He glanced down at the scars that littered his body. Would they even recognize him? If he passed them on the street dressed in his typical jeans and a Henley, no... only because they wouldn't look at him. They wouldn't see him. But that was the thing, wasn't it? They never had actually seen him. He drew a breath and finished, "Thanks for the info."
"No problem. Just so you know, someday I'm going to discover where you're at."
He chuckled. "Good luck with that."
The guy spoke as he started to disconnect the call. "Are you going to come back?"
He paused before he responded, "How is that your business?"
"It isn't. I've dispatched my duties. I'm going to get paid, but they're going to ask. Rather, she's going to ask. I've never actually spoken to your old man."
"You haven't missed anything. Believe me."
"I have a strong feeling you're right on that account."
Maliki opened his eyes long enough to put the receiver down and end the call before he closed them again.
His mother wanted him to come home. He recalled the words the private detective had read. She'd engaged the private investigator, not his father. She wanted him to come home. That bastard wasn't reaching out, his mother was. He scrubbed his face and ran his fingers through his beard. He wasn't the boy they'd raised. He no longer required his parents. His new family, Guardian, had supported him through shit his parents couldn't imagine or understand
. Maybe it was time to close the door to his past, forever.
The air conditioner kicked on with an almost imperceptible hiss of air. He opened his eyes and stared at the tiny apartment he lived in. Not one picture. Not one person from his past, no happy memories, or frozen moments in time. A memory of his and Clarissa's engagement picture placed in a gold frame in his mother's sitting room flashed through his mind. No, those moments that had been saved no longer mattered.
Glancing around his small personal space, he realized he'd been transient since his father pushed him away, and somehow, even that fluid life had been put on pause. He'd felt stuck in a stasis, a holding pattern, and he'd felt that way for a long time now.
Was it time to sever his ties to the past and allow himself to build something permanent? His eyes roamed the tiny space again. Ember could hold the fort here with one hand tied behind her back. Maybe it was time to step away and gain perspective about a lot of things.
Fifteen minutes later, dressed, and firmly committed to his plan, he exited his apartment and headed to Joseph's office. Blake was at his miniature desk, which sat beside his father's larger model. The little guy worked with his head down as he wrote on a piece of paper. Joseph looked up when he stopped in the doorway and lifted a finger, halting any conversation. "Blake, recess time."
The little boy's head popped up and a wide smile split his face. "Can I go play with Liberty?"
"Ask Eve. If she says it’s okay, you can, but stay where she can see both of you."
"Okay. Thanks, Daddy. Hey, Doctor Blue."
"Hi, Blake." He waited for the little guy to skip down the hall before he went into the office. "Sorry for interrupting his school time."
"He's homeschooled. He can have a break. What can I do for you?” Joseph tossed a pen onto his desk blotter and leaned back in his chair.
"I'm going to go back."
"Why?"
He blinked and then laughed. "None of your fucking business."
The corner of Joseph's mouth tugged up in an 'almost' smile. "Fair enough. I'm sure you have a year or two of vacation time built up."
"No, I used up everything after..." He let the sentence die. After that night, when his team had been decimated, he'd used all his vacation getting and staying drunk and recovering from yet another epic clusterfuck in his life.
Joseph leaned forward. "Hear my words. You are on paid vacation until you come back."
Mal leaned back and cocked his head. "You realize I don't need money, right?"
"You realize I'm not severing any connection you have to Guardian in any way, right? We have your back on this. Period."
"So, no other choices, huh? Take paid vacation or stay here?"
"Yep." Joseph picked up his pen. "The next flight from our hanger in Phoenix is the day after tomorrow. Will that work for you, or do I need to get transport in place sooner?"
"Where is the flight going?"
"D.C."
"Close enough."
"Are you returning as Maliki or Harrison?"
"Harrison no longer exists. I'm going as myself."
"Then you need to be cognizant of your exposure. Stratus isn't considered a threat against you, but if your name hits some computer system, they could tweak to your location."
"I'm not worried about Stratus. They got the drop on me once. They won't again."
"I know they won't get the drop on you again. I've seen you fight. You're elite, but I'll call Jewell if you think there is a chance you've been exposed. She can sanitize the systems."
"Noted."
"Good."
He got up to leave, but Joseph stopped him when he stood. "If it becomes a shitshow back there and you need help, you pick up that phone and call. This may not be an op, but damn it, we'll do whatever it takes. I'll do whatever it takes."
Maliki reached his hand to his brother, and they clasped palms. "As long as it takes, my friend."
Chapter 2
The drive from the D.C. airfield through the rolling hills in Virginia should have been pleasant. As the sun was setting, the expanses of greens that folded between the tree lined hills gave glimpses of access roads. Roads that were lined with a variety of fences. The closer he got to his parents’ country home, the more elaborate the fences that lined the driveways became. He slowed his Guardian SUV as he approached the turn to his childhood home. Red brick columns supported cross hatched wooden rails, which were, as always, painted a pristine white. Gas lighting illuminated the roadway to the closed gate. Hand sculpted bronze horses, rearing ten feet tall, stood as sentinels on either side of the closed, wrought-iron gates, and they were elevated by the ten-foot-high brick platforms under them. The ornate 'HMB' that weaved through the gate's iron lace branded the home. His father's initials, and once upon a time, his.
He slowed the vehicle to a stop and stared down the blacktop drive. About two miles up that road stood over nine thousand square feet of mansion. Seven bedrooms, eleven bathrooms and a partridge in a fucking pear tree. He glanced at his watch. 8:00 p.m. He was fucking hungry, had a headache, and really didn't want to deal with the shitshow that would inevitably ensue when he punched his code into that keypad. Hell, his code might not even work anymore. He'd be reduced to calling the staff to gain access. Whatever.
Putting his foot down on the accelerator, he pointed the truck to the nearest small town, Paintville. The town had been a blip in the road when he was last here. Of course, that was because after graduating from high school, he rarely ventured past the summer residence. It had been many years since he'd driven this direction. Not surprisingly, the small town had grown. He slowed and took in the changes. A new hotel was off the road to the right. That took care of a place to stay. He parked the SUV. Exiting, he stretched his back and rolled his shoulders before he locked his ride and entered the establishment.
"Hi, Welcome to the Paintville Inn, my name is Paul. Do you have a reservation?" The perky guy behind the counter pounced as soon as Mal opened the door.
"No, no reservation. Do you have any rooms available?"
"We have a few. How long will you be staying?" The young man started clicking on the keys of the inn's computer system. "I'll need an ID, and a form of payment, please."
"If you can arrange it, I'd like a room for the week." He wouldn't be staying with his parents, that was for damn sure. Mal retrieved his wallet and dropped his black Visa on the counter with his ID. The card was registered to a fictitious business so he wouldn't ping in any systems when he paid. He'd set that up when he joined the Air Force. The bank account attached to the card was in Grand Cayman. No one could tie it to him or to his past.
"Excellent. Thank you, Mr. Blue." The young man handed back Mal’s ID then grabbed two plastic card blanks and shoved them into the key maker.
"Can you tell me if there is anything open this time of night where I can get a meal and maybe a drink?"
The guy glanced up at the clock on the wall and narrowed his eyes. "Well, there's the typical fast food. If you want a sit-down meal, there’s Carmichael’s, a diner down the road. Great pies. They may be closing soon. If you want a good steak and a drink, there's Shorty's. It's on the edge of town, but it's been known to get rowdy sometimes."
"Rowdy?" Mal had to ask, because there was nothing in his memory that ever disturbed the quiet of the very affluent area.
"Yes, sir. It is frequented by some of the blue-collar workers in the area."
"Is the area building up?"
"No, not really. Our community exists to support some of the estates around here. Most of the staff members for those residences live here. We have a couple construction companies that are employed year-round, what with building and upgrading and such. I'd ask if you were looking for a job, but..." The clerk lifted the black credit card from where he'd placed it and swiped it through the point of sale terminal.
"Thanks, and no, I'm not looking for a job. It was nice meeting you, Paul." He took his card and the keycard for his room and headed back to the truck.
He wanted a drink, to unwind from the day, and to eat a steak the size of his head.
Mal glanced up at the sign as he parked. It appeared that Shorty's was now “orty's”. The neon pink sign had been damaged and half of it no longer worked. A mix of old trucks, older cars, and a few motorcycles filled the small gravel lot outside the pub. He parked the SUV and locked it, pocketing the key fob. He could smell the deliciousness of grilled meat as he opened the door. A massive wood bar stretched down the entire side of the building. There were pool tables, big screen TVs and dartboards scattered through the place. Several groups had formed around the tables, so he headed for the bar.
"What can I get you?" A coaster landed in front of him as soon as his ass hit the stool.
"Domestic draft. Don't care what kind. Can I look at a menu?" Mal glanced at the man behind the bar.
"Menu is up there." He pointed to a chalk board above the bottles of liquor and turned to pull him a draft. Simple enough. There were about ten options, five of which were bar food, five were steaks.
A tall, frosty glass with a perfectly poured beer landed in front of him. "See anything you like?"
"The ribeye. Medium rare."
"Good stuff. I'll let the wife know. Holler if you want that refilled."
Mal didn't respond because the man had already turned and headed to what he assumed was the kitchen. He took a sip of the beer and damn near groaned. There was no alcohol at The Rose, and that was decreed with a purpose in mind. The focus for personnel was on physical training and learning new techniques and methodology of warfare while blending two people into a cohesive team, not socializing. It had been... well, since he'd flown to D.C. last summer… since he'd had an adult beverage. That trip had had an exciting ending and brought both Thanatos and Tempest to The Rose.
Maliki (Guardian Defenders Book 2) Page 2