Crossfire

by James P. Sumner

  The three of them were regarded among the very best GlobaTech employed. When the incident involving President Cunningham was over, Josh Winters was forced to terminate their employment due to political pressures. The climate at the time called for a scapegoat, and these three were it.

  Buchanan had worked closely with Fisher and Collins on many occasions over the years, and Jericho had made quite the impact too, when he was recruited straight out of the CIA. His first act as CEO was to reinstate the three of them, reforming the unit that had seen many successes in the past.

  He eyed each of them individually before speaking. “Well?”

  Jericho took a small step forward, distancing himself slightly from the others. He was a mountain of a man, standing at six-five, with a body that looked chiseled out of granite. His muscles were natural, toned over many years of military service and combat missions, and bulging against the fabric of his clothes. His arms were adorned with tattoos.

  He cleared his throat. “Mr. Buchanan, Ray and myself received intel on the location of the girl from one of our contacts in Mexico. We approached the building and counted six hostiles inside, all armed. The girl was in the back room.”

  “I went around back,” added Collins. “Took out the two bastards guardin’ her.”

  “I got the four at the front,” continued Jericho. “And a seventh who was hiding in a back room.”

  Collins nodded. “Yeah, and then we went outside and saw two trucks heading our way. Could’ve been anywhere up to eight more bad guys heading for us. It’s as if they knew we were there, man.”

  Jericho gestured at Julie with his thumb. “And then Fisher appeared in the Range Rover, said she hit some trouble on the way up from the coast.”

  Julie nodded. “A Jeep full of assholes appeared out of nowhere, boss, shooting at me, trying to run me off the road. Thankfully, I managed to shake them without too much fuss.”

  Collins said, “So, we hightailed it out of there, yeah, and then bam!” He smacked his fist into his palm. “We got T-boned by another car full of gun-toting dick-bags.”

  “We took them out,” explained Jericho, “but our ride was a wreck, so we walked the last half-mile back to the coast and hopped on the boat home.”

  “That’s eleven men,” said Julie. “And potentially eight more, all for one little girl. Something doesn’t add up. Whatever our client is doing, there’s more to it than he’s letting on. I can’t shake the feeling that whoever took her knew we were coming.”

  Buchanan stroked the coarse stubble along his jawline thoughtfully, staring for a moment at the surface of his desk. He didn’t doubt a word they were saying, and the soldier in him was proud of their actions.

  Finally, he looked at each of them in turn. “I agree—there’s more to this than our client’s telling us, but that’s not our concern. Our job was to protect that girl at all costs, and despite what we’ve been up against, we’ve done an exceptional job. If I were to guess, I would say there’s no underlying conspiracy here. What you experienced was simply how things work when you deal with the cartels. They’re organized, and they have more manpower and influence than most governments. You did an excellent job of getting out of there. Just… try not to kill so many people next time, okay? I’ve got a phone call later with the Chief of Federal Police, who’s spent most of the early hours of today processing a shit-ton of dead bodies in his country. That’s not the kind of publicity this company needs, no matter how justified it might have been. Non-lethal takedowns aren’t anything to be ashamed of, clear?”

  They all nodded and muttered their understanding. The room fell silent for a moment, and Collins opened his mouth to speak but caught his words. Buchanan spotted it.

  “What is it, Ray?” he asked.

  Collins smiled sheepishly, embarrassed his hesitation hadn’t gone unnoticed. “How’s she doing, boss? Jessie…”

  “She’s doing fine,” he replied. “A little dehydrated and very tired, but she’s okay. A tough young lady, by all accounts.”

  Collins nodded. “Aye, she kicked ass, Mr. B.”

  Buchanan smiled. “The way I hear it, she made a new friend out there.”

  Collins cast a glance sideways at Julie, who winked back at him.

  “I have two people with her now,” Buchanan continued. “As soon as she’s been given the all clear by our medical personnel, they’re going to take her to a safe house we’re borrowing from WITSEC until this whole thing blows over.”

  He got to his feet and walked around his desk, standing in front of his employees. He was average height, marginally taller than Julie and marginally shorter than Collins. Jericho towered over him, as he did with most people.

  “So, our client has asked for an additional service,” he told them. “He has a business deal nearing completion, which he hopes will put an end to whatever he’s involved in that’s been endangering his family. He’s asked for some personal protection. I’ve told him it’s a two-person job. Who wants it?”

  “Where’s the gig?” asked Julie.

  “Montreal. The plane leaves in a few hours. Hotel will be booked en route, and you’ll be there for a couple of days. Maybe three, at the most.”

  Collins raised his hand. “If, ah… if it’s all right with the two of ya,” he nodded to Julie and Jericho, “I wouldn’t mind sitting this one out. I’ve got some vacation time due, and I could use a few days of not being shot at.” He turned to Buchanan. “If that’s okay, boss?”

  Buchanan shrugged. “If you say you need a few days, you won’t hear any arguments from me.”

  Collins subtly punched the air. “Yes! You’re the best, boss man.”

  Buchanan turned to the others. “Is that okay with the pair of you?”

  Jericho and Julie exchanged a glance and nodded to each other.

  “Fine by us,” said Julie. “I’ve always wanted to go to Canada anyway.”

  Jericho looked at her, frowning. “Really?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, why not?”

  “I mean, you’ve never been?”

  She shook her head. “South Dakota, born and raised. If I ever left the States, it was to go much farther afield than Canada—and usually to shoot people.”

  He smiled. “Fair enough.”

  Buchanan clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Operating money will be wired to your accounts. See Kim on your way out for flight details.”

  The two of them thanked him, bumped fists with Collins, and left the office.

  Buchanan moved back around his desk and sat back down again. He looked up at Collins. “So, what do you intend to do with your free time, Ray?”

  Collins thought about it for a moment. “Not figured that out yet. I might head over to Florida, soak up some sun. I just need to recharge the batteries, y’know?”

  “Of course. Go, have fun. Call me in a few days, and let me know where you’re at.”

  Collins saluted him. “No problem, Chief.”

  He turned on his heels and left the office, closing the door behind him. To the left of it was Kim Mitchell’s desk. Jericho and Julie were nowhere to be seen. Kim was staring at her keyboard, typing away feverishly. She looked up as Collins passed and smiled.

  “Everything okay, Ray?” she asked.

  Collins smiled. He had always had a soft spot for her. She was in her early-fifties, divorced, no kids, with bottle-blonde hair that rested on her shoulders and a body most thirty-year-olds would kill for.

  “All good, Miss Mitchell,” he replied with a nod. “Don’t suppose ya fancy a few days away in Florida, do ya?”

  Kim’s cheeks flushed red and she looked away, giggling. She took a lock of her hair between two fingers, twisting it around as she rested on her desk, pushing her keyboard away. She went to say something, but before she had chance, the door behind her opened. Buchanan’s frame appeared in the doorway. He looked at them both in turn. Kim quickly composed herself and resumed her typing.

  He shook his head and fixed Collins with a
hard, semi-serious stare. “How many times do I have to tell you not to hit on my secretary?”

  Collins saluted again. “One more time, apparently. I’m outta here, boss.”

  He walked along the hall and down the stairs at the end. Kim watched him go, and when she re-focused, she found Buchanan staring at her. He raised an eyebrow. “And you need to stop encouraging him.”

  They both smiled, and he disappeared back inside his office, closing the door quietly behind him.

  2.

  A few hours later, Julie and Jericho were sitting on either side of the aisle on a Delta flight, bound for Montreal. The pilot had just announced they were due to land in the next half-hour. They had spent the first part of the journey in virtual silence. Any conversation they attempted to have was almost continually interrupted by passengers or flight attendants walking between them, so they resigned themselves to reading through the briefing on their client that Buchanan’s secretary had prepared for them.

  Julie loved flying and was always promising herself she would make more time to travel for leisure, although she hardly ever did. She accepted the fact her job afforded her the opportunity to see the world and felt content with that middle ground. She simply tried to make the most of the experience, despite the work.

  She relaxed back in her seat, sipping the iced water she had ordered. She glanced sideways at Jericho, failing to suppress a smile as she watched him still struggling to get comfortable in the coach seats. His colossal frame used every millimeter of the seat, and his legs were bent so much that his knees were almost level with his shoulders.

  He turned and saw her staring. His expression was deadpan as he rolled his eyes.

  “I hate flying,” he announced.

  Julie burst out laughing, and after a moment, even Jericho had to smile.

  He twisted in his seat, accidentally knocking the woman next to him with his elbow. He apologized before talking to Julie. “So, what do you think of this Hyatt guy?”

  She shrugged. “Do you want my opinion based on what was written in the report or what wasn’t?”

  Jericho smiled. “Either.”

  “Well, it says he’s worked for Caterham Financial Services for over fifteen years, as some kind of asset manager. Now I’m not an accountant, but I’m guessing you don’t have your daughter kidnapped by a Mexican cartel if you’re a boring, straight-as-an-arrow number-cruncher.”

  Jericho nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I figured. Bottom line, I’m not judging. I haven’t exactly been a boy scout in the past either. I just don’t want any surprises when we get there, y’know?”

  She glanced over at the passenger beside her, checking he still had his earphones in. Then she looked back at Jericho, leaned into the aisle and, in a low voice, said, “You mean like random gunfire and car crashes?”

  He chuckled, matching her body language and tone. “Exactly.”

  “At the risk of jinxing it, I can’t see us running into too much trouble. If he’s conducting business, he’s likely to be public and visible, which immediately reduces the risk of a threat. The Mexicans will undoubtedly know by now that their attempt at kidnapping and blackmail has failed, so they won’t want to expose themselves by trying something else so soon. We just need to stick by his side until he’s done whatever he’s doing, and we’re golden.”

  Jericho adjusted his position for the hundredth time, feeling unavoidable irritation that comfort still eluded him. “I hope you’re right. Let’s not forget, you were the one who said we wouldn’t run into too much trouble on the trip to Mexico, and we all remember how that worked out.”

  Julie stuck her tongue out. “I’m just trying to remain optimistic. You should try it.”

  “It’s hard to remain optimistic when you’re being shot at. I’m a realist—it doesn’t hurt as much.”

  “Whatever. You’re just cranky because you can’t fit in your seat.”

  She made a point of stretching her legs, letting out a low groan of comfort.

  Jericho arched his brow. “That’s just showing off. Anyway, I’m not cranky. Cranky is what kids are when they wake up for school. I’m pissed off to the point where I want to rip the wings off this goddamn plane just so we can land faster and I can get out of this stupid-ass seat.”

  Julie laughed, settled back in her seat, and closed her eyes. A few moments later, the pilot announced over the PA they were beginning their final approach. Jericho breathed a sigh of relief, knowing his discomfort was almost over.

  They landed smoothly, taxiing to a stop twenty minutes later. As they only had one overnight bag each, they avoided the hour-long horror of baggage claim, instead sailing straight through Passport Control at Pierre Elliott Trudeau International Airport. They made their way to Arrivals, shuffling at a frustrating pace among the masses of people doing the same, and scanned the barrier near the exit. Julie nudged Jericho’s arm and nodded toward a man holding a sign that said GlobaTech Industries. He wore a black suit with red trim and a matching hat. They exchanged a glance before heading over.

  “We’re with GlobaTech,” announced Jericho, gesturing to the sign as they reached their chauffeur.

  The man smiled courteously. “If you would follow me, please.”

  He turned and strode toward the doors. The pair of them followed. Jericho leaned close to Julie and whispered, “He’d better have a limo waiting for us. There’s no way I’m sitting down for another half-hour with no leg room.”

  Julie shook her head. “Quit whining, you big baby.”

  Jericho shrugged. “I’m just saying…”

  As they stepped outside, the cold wind hit them. They both shuddered involuntarily as the persistent, icy blast burrowed under their skin, gripping their nerve endings and reminding them a Canadian fall is a far cry from California’s version.

  It was late afternoon, and with daylight fading, a crimson hue had mixed with the gray clouds, creating a menacing yet picturesque backdrop for the Montreal skyline. The temperature was a severe departure from what they were used to, and neither of them had dressed for the change in climate. Julie wore a thin jacket, open, over a sleeveless top, with fitted jeans and knee-length brown boots. Jericho had a thin, white T-shirt stretched over his enormous frame, making it look smaller than it was. He wore dark jeans and work boots.

  “Goddamn… it’s freezing,” he said.

  Julie rolled her eyes. “Great, something else for you to moan about.”

  Jericho sighed. “Give me a break, would you? I just like space and warmth, and so far, this trip has offered me neither.”

  “Really? You haven’t mentioned it…”

  Jericho smiled and fell silent. They followed the man across the short-stay parking lot toward a black stretch limousine. He stopped by the rear door and opened it ceremoniously. Jericho reached the car first but side-stepped, so Julie could climb in before him. He followed, and the driver shut the door behind them. Inside was spacious, with seats running almost the full length of both sides and a generous walkway between them.

  Jericho sat with his back to the trunk. He leaned into the soft leather and stretched his legs out with a satisfying sigh. He slouched, resting his arms above his head and clasping his hands behind him.

  “This is more like it,” he said, smiling.

  Julie had moved to the side, resting her feet on the seating opposite. “Finally! Maybe you’ll shut up now?”

  Jericho laughed. “Yeah, maybe.”

  Julie huffed and folded her arms. The driver climbed in behind the wheel, started the engine, and drove out of the parking lot. He made his way onto Route Transcanadienne and followed it for twenty kilometers, all the way into the business district of Montreal city. He navigated the steady stream of traffic with an expertise only honed through experience.

  Julie moved beside Jericho and buzzed her tinted window down halfway, taking in the sights of a new city while keeping the unfriendly temperature at bay. Skyscrapers peaked and troughed against the clouds. Sidewalks bustled
with the constant pulse of humanity. It was a busy city, but it felt like a different kind of busy from what she was used to.

  The driver guided the limo to a stop in the parking bay outside a towering building. A moment later, the door closest to the curb opened. Julie climbed out, and Jericho shuffled across the seat, joining her a moment later.

  The driver retrieved their bags from the trunk, handing each one to them in turn. “If you would please head inside and speak to the gentleman at the security desk, he will issue you with temporary passes that grant you access to the building. You will find Mr. Hyatt on the fourteenth floor.”

  “Thank you,” said Julie.

  The driver nodded once before returning to his car, pulling away and disappearing into the flow of traffic a minute later.

  Jericho looked at her. “Shall we?”

  She nodded. “Lead the way.”

  They walked side by side up the short flight of steps leading to the main entrance. Jericho pushed the door open, holding it for Julie before following her inside. The reception area resembled a high-class hotel more than an office. The front desk was in the center of the lobby. It was a circular enclosure, with a counter running waist-high all the way around. Computer stations were set up on the main compass points, with two women and two men visible, either talking on the phone or typing at the keyboard.

  They approached one of the men, smiling professionally. They both reached into their pockets and pulled out their ID badges, flashing them as the man looked up.

  “We’re here to see Mr. Hyatt,” explained Jericho. “He’s expecting us.”

  The man nodded silently and fumbled on the desk in front of him, just out of sight. A moment later, he produced two security badges with VISITOR printed across them, inside plastic holders attached to green lanyards.

  “You’re required to wear these at all times while on the premises,” he advised, handing them over. “Take the elevator to the fourteenth.”

  They each took one and placed it over their heads.