by Michael Todd
It wasn’t in his DNA, of course. He couldn’t do it. It would very likely get him killed, but that didn’t mean that he had to change a Goddamn thing.
Anderson sat on the desk chair they’d sent over to make his stay more comfortable. Once the orders came through that he would remain there—in this construction site that had long since been surpassed by the wall’s construction and yet had still been converted into a covert operation base—they had made sure to send in some new amenities to make his stay more comfortable. A supply of coffee, real beds, and office chairs and desks, all to make sure that the people who operated out of here and tested the new sets of armor could do so in as much comfort as was possible.
Anderson would miss his son playing in the state finals. He blamed Pegasus for that.
“Fucking bullshit,” he growled for what felt like the thousandth time since he’d landed in this infernal desert. He leaned back in his seat as the Pegasus logo spun round and round on the screen of his tablet while he waited for a call from the man who had set all this up.
Finally, the logo disappeared, replaced by the face of Carlson, the Pegasus CEO—a man with neatly combed white hair in a New York high rise.
“Colonel Anderson, nice to see you again,” the caller said with a practiced smile.
“Mr. Carlson,” he replied, his tone intentionally cool.
“I hope that all the armor testing has kept to schedule?” the man asked. He’d noted the icy greeting from Anderson but maintained his own civil tone.
“Well, as long as your bunch of thugs in armor runs through everyone that they meet with maximum prejudice, we’ll continue on your timetable,” Anderson replied. “Although there are still some problems with the Friend and Foe Recognition software.”
“Of course,” Carlson said. “I’ve read the reports at length. Our engineers will do everything that they can. They are working around the clock to fix the issue.”
“You might find that the problem is human error, not mechanical.”
“Nonsense,” the CEO cut in quickly. “Our engineers are not to blame for the malfunction. It’s a very complex coding issue. I’ve been assured that it’ll be fixed before the next battery of tests starts.”
The colonel smirked. The man knew what he was talking about. Anderson’s own report had been very vociferous as to his doubts that the errors involving the FOF software were strictly mechanical, but Carlson made sure that it wasn’t admitted to on tape. They would simply redact that when they submitted the report to the Pentagon.
“Good news, though,” the CEO went on. “The Mark-Ones of our suits are being shipped out as we speak. There’s been a lot of demand for them around the globe, mostly in jungle areas. Venezuela, Vietnam, Brazil, places like that. We were sold out before we even started production. Good work on that, by the way. We’ll make sure you get a bonus for all your hard work.”
If they really thought they could buy him off with a consulting bonus, they would have another think coming. Anderson gritted his teeth but nodded.
“We should be getting the Mark-Twos out in short order as well,” he continued. “We’re a profit-run business, after all, in a profit-friendly country, and we intend to keep it that way. I’ll update you if anything new comes across my desk. Until then, I hope you keep up the good work over there. Carlson out, as you military guys like to say.”
The screen went dead for a minute before it returned to the rotating Pegasus logo. The colonel rubbed his temples and leaned back in his seat again.
“Fucking asshole,” he finally snarled at the aluminum roof of his little hut. “When the world goes to shit and some Zoo creature is munching on your intestines, you can remember all that profit that you made for your company, you insufferable ass.”
He was fairly certain that they’d sent bugs along with the new desks and chairs to make sure they maintained a good eye on proceedings. He really hoped they’d caught what he said, he realized as he pushed to his feet and made his way outside.
Chapter Eight
Over the past couple of months, it had become easier and quicker to get transport to the Russian enclave. A couple of other places sprang up as the amount of money made attracted more and more businesses from across the globe. The Chinese were setting one up with an open port to the Red Sea, while there was a coalition from the UN starting up a few miles west of the Russians.
It would make the Zoo a lot more crowded, and Madigan wasn’t sure that it was a good thing. The reason the jungle had gone to shit in the first place was because of an unexpected arrival of fresh meat, and what people were doing seemed like much the same deal, but with extra steps. She’d seen the goop take something and twist it, and she didn’t want to see what it had in mind for the various humans who had gone missing in there.
This was all so far over her head that she wasn’t sure why she worried about it, but the thought nagged constantly in the back of her mind over the seven-hour-long drive from the Staging Area to the Russian Enclave.
Heavy Metal still had a couple of standing invitations there since their last trip had ended with Sal bailing a squad of theirs out—a squad that included the son of the enclave’s commandant. Which meant that, even though she would arrive as the sun began to set, she knew there would be a place for her to crash should she need to spend the night.
Even so, that wasn’t her first choice. If the truth be told, she would much prefer to head back to check in on how Sal was doing than spend the night in some hastily prepared apartment. She shook her head and leaned back in the seat of the truck that roared across the surprisingly smooth roads that had been built to provide easier transportation between the bases. Absently, she wondered how much the companies that had been given these building contracts had profited. She knew for a fact that labor out there was dirt cheap, so they had to know that there were upsides to building contracts out in the middle of fucking nowhere.
Once she reached the enclave, it was quick work to find where most of the men there hung out. Russians had a reputation for drinking, and while it wasn’t unwarranted, she wondered if people thought that excessive drinking was an exclusively Russian thing. Many other people liked to drink, but perhaps the Russians were simply better at it than the rest of the world.
She found herself at the bar, which was a more rustic place than the one at the Staging Area, which was surrounded by a ridiculous amount of hype based on its claim to be a gastro-pub or something of the like. This one had a bar, a bartender, and as much space as could be made for as many patrons as possible.
Which suited Kennedy fine, she realized, as she quickly found herself at a table with a glass of something frothy in front of her. Across from her sat Gregor, the man they’d found stranded in the Zoo about a month before. He owed his life to her, Sal, and Courtney, so he was always happy to help. For a price, of course, but the price was always with the friends and family discount.
“So, what can Gregor do for the mighty Sergeant Kennedy on this night?” he asked, clearly happy to be on the giving end of a favor this time.
She smirked. “Well, the sergeant who isn’t a sergeant anymore might have need of your help to find a certain someone with a certain set of skills. The kind that aren’t in high demand around here.”
“So, I would guess you don’t need someone who can use a gun?” Gregor asked with a grin.
“Well, it’s never a bad talent to have,” Kennedy replied with a smirk. “But I’d prefer that their talents be more centered around computers and technology.”
“Ah, you need IT guy to handle computer security, is that it?” he asked with a knowing tap to the nose.
“In a way.” She took a quick sip of her drink to think about how she could word this. “Although I’d like to think that his defense was more along the lines of offense. You know what I’m talking about?”
The Russian raised an eyebrow and nodded slowly. “I think I know what you mean. And more importantly, I think I know someone who is exactly what you will need
.”
“Oh?” she asked and leaned forward, all ears.
“Yes, this…person, who shall remain nameless,” Gregor said to emphasize that their conversation might not be as private as they might like. “They might be in need of disappearing, if you take my meaning?”
Kennedy raised an eyebrow. “I won’t kill anyone, if that’s what you think.”
“What?” Gregor leaned away. “It hurts that you think me capable to ask such a thing. No, I mean that this person might need to get away from certain problems that might have come during a time when they might have worked for the FSB.”
She tried not to roll her eyes. To get a straight answer out of these guys would be damn near impossible, but she still needed their help. She wasn’t sure whom she could trust with someone from the States, and with people like Gregor who owed her their lives, she might have felt safer. Still, with the implications of his beating around the proverbial bush, she might have been wrong to think that. Besides, it was probably not the best idea to get on the bad side of the Russian secret service.
Kennedy took a deep breath. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? She didn’t want to have to resort to bullshit like this, but if he left her no other choice, she might as well make the most of it.
“What kind of trouble would this…hypothetical person need to escape from?” she asked with a sigh.
“The kind that would require them to disappear,” Gregor continued. “New name, new location, somewhere with place to live and good Internet connection where they can lie low until the heat dies down, yes?”
Well, hot damn, Sal was right. All they had to do was find a place where people could live cheaply and they would come. Maybe a hacker in trouble with the Russian government wasn’t quite what she’d had in mind at the time, but things changed.
“I don’t suppose that you’d have any clue what kind of mess this guy is in, right?” She assumed it was a guy. They generally were.
“I was left unaware of details,” Gregor said and shrugged his shoulders. “But as I heard it told, you are as good as those you worked for. This one’s handler in the FSB had…how do you say it? Gotten handsy with the wrong person and when it came to light, the hacker was burned as well. So as long as you, me, or him do not admit to anything, nobody would contest if word were to come out that he died in the Zoo, yes?”
Kennedy nodded and sipped slowly from her glass. “Very risky, I think.”
“Life in the Zoo lacks guarantees,” he said with a shrug. “You could die tomorrow, and this wouldn’t be your problem anymore, yes? He’s a typical hacker—sleeps on computers and has wet dreams of hacking the NSA, but he never screwed his employers over. For someone of his qualities, that has to mean something. Test him and see for yourself.”
She shook her head and put down her glass. “Well, I suppose I can give this guy a chance. Email me the pick-up details, and we’ll handle him once he’s appropriately dead.”
Her phone rang and interrupted the conversation. She retrieved it and glanced at the screen. It was Sal.
“I have to take this,” she said, stood, and moved quickly away for a couple of minutes. When she returned, she looked rather concerned.
“I need to head on back.” She frowned. “Sorry to cut this visit short.”
“When boss calls, you must answer,” Gregor said with a grin. He stood and hugged her tightly. “Everyone understands this.”
“You still owe me, Gregor,” she said and patted him on the cheek as she moved away. “Remember that. Hooking me up with a potential employee doesn’t cover saving your life.”
“That depends on what I must do to hook you up with this employee,” Gregor said. “But this can be discussed later. Have safe trip.”
With most of the night spent either waiting for another van to the Staging Area or riding in it, Kennedy didn’t get much sleep. Sure, the smooth roads and the dull roar of engines could lull anyone to sleep, but she spent most of the time anxious about what Sal had called to talk to her about.
Of course, she was sorry to hear that Courtney’s father had passed away, and she knew that, as the woman’s only friends out there, it was the least that they could do to fly back to the States for the funeral. And it wasn’t like Kennedy didn’t want to be back in civilization again.
She simply wasn’t sure how well she would handle being back. She’d been stationed in Afghanistan before her transfer to the Zoo and hadn’t been home in almost five years now. She’d butted heads before she’d shipped out and so much preferred to be out there and risk her life for money instead of going back home.
Then again, she wouldn’t actually return home, since her family all considered California to be the geographical equivalent of blasphemy.
Still, it was close enough to bring all those feelings of anxiety and unworthiness to the forefront of her mind, and they wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard she tried.
Which meant that when they finally pulled into the Staging Area less than an hour after sunrise, she was pissed, tired, and hungry. There was no way she would get any sleep now unless she got fucked, and with Sal still in the hospital, that wouldn’t happen.
A distant second choice, then, would be to have a drink, some food, and try to sleep a little of this anxiety off before she attempted to find a plane that would get them halfway across the world in time for the funeral.
She stepped out of the vehicle and made sure to tell the men that the money for the ride had already been transferred. Technically, they were supposed to be free, but it was always a good idea to be sure they were well compensated for their efforts. It never hurt to try to make more friends in a place where enemies weren’t hard to find.
Kennedy scowled at the sun as it began to climb in the sky as she walked the terrifying three blocks to where the bar was still open, even though most of its usual clientele would be absent.
She strolled in, shook her head, and blinked rapidly to adapt to the darkness inside. A waitress who looked as tired as she felt came up and asked what she needed for the morning.
“Steak, dirty rice, fries, and a beer,” she replied, her tone a little surly. “And put it on the corporate bill.”
The waitress smiled, winked, and tapped the stylus on the pad she used to take orders. The corporate bill was something she’d come up with although Sal had been a part of it. She’d argued that since they spent so much time at the bar to find work, it was only fair that she could put her drinks on the company’s bill. He’d agreed, although he’d been drunk at the time, and they’d set it up. It was technically billable hours which were deductible according to US tax law, so he created the account for her to use while she conducted business there. Anything that he couldn’t deduct month to month was deducted away from her salary.
Was it an honest arrangement? Probably not, and there were likely a horde of lawyers who would jump them for fraud if they were in the US. Thankfully, very few lawyers were out there, and the ones who were fished for a much bigger catch than low-level tax evasion.
They would have to clean their act up when they returned to the States, though, Kennedy realized as she sat down. The beer arrived well in advance of her meal and more than half was already gone before the food arrived.
She had almost finished her meal when someone sat across the table from her. Madigan didn’t look up. She hadn’t had much to eat all night and the whole day yesterday, so damned if she would look up from her food to talk someone out of even an attempt at conversation.
“Seat’s taken, pal,” she snarled around a mouthful of fries as she dug into the medium-rare slab of meat of suspicious origin.
“I have a bone to pick with you,” a man’s voice said.
She looked up briefly from her food but continued to eat and spoke around her current mouthful. “Yeah, well, get in fucking line, pal. I’m not drunk enough to deal with any bones that need picking. Who the fuck are you supposed to be, anyway?”
“Brandon.”
“You say that li
ke it’s supposed to mean something,” Madigan said. She shook her head and took a sip of her beer. “Brandon. You sound like a fucking jock who gets defeated by a nerd in some made-for-TV movie.”
“Corporal Brandon,” the man said belligerently as he leaned forward, “and I was the one you and your little boytoy embarrassed right here in the bar not that long ago.”
Kennedy smirked. “Oh, right, now I remember. You got in deeper than you could swim, passed out, and pissed yourself. I wasn’t around for that last part, so I’m assuming, of course.”
Brandon smirked. “Well, I hear that you guys like to cheat people out of their hard-earned money and that you try to poach the best for cheap labor at your new company. Now normally, I wouldn’t bother with someone with your rep, but seeing how you operate, I think I should be bothered. Your boy is simply some kid in over his head who thinks that he can game the system. I almost don’t blame him, since you’re clearly the dumbass who likes to hide behind kids to do your dirty work.”
She looked at him now and narrowed her eyes. It was difficult to tell in the lighting how drunk he was, but she had to assume that he’d been there all night. Most likely, he’d been unable to return to his unit after the stories about how he’d lost a drinking match to a twenty-two-year-old specialist had made the rounds.
“I don’t have to explain jack or fucking shit to a dumbass who can’t hold his booze,” she said with a chuckle. “Get off my table, or there’ll be trouble.”
A couple of the guys who sat at tables in the back stood when they heard the altercation. She was there regularly enough to know that they were usually bouncers and were supposed to be off duty. Of course, that didn’t mean they would sit around while a fight brewed.
“What’s the matter, honey?” Brandon asked, reached arrogantly across the table to pick up one of the fries from her plate, and ate it with a smug expression. “You’re not so tough without your boy around to back up your big talk, huh?”