by A J Blanc
“He’s fine; misses his dad though. I’d put him on but he’s in his homework groove at the moment. Who knows how long it would take to get him back there if I were to interrupt now. You two be careful, starting with not pissing off Sonya,” she concluded sternly.”
After their goodbyes, Will switched his tablet back off, returning the car to its early evening lighting in the process. A few minutes passed with him beaming a content grin. Then, like an afterthought, he snapped his head toward Milo to finally ask if he minded making a slight detour. Milo shook his head piteously.
“I was wondering if you were going to ask, or just assume I’d be ok with a backseat driver. Well lucky for you the answer is I don’t mind. It’d be pretty stupid of us not to meet with her… but there’s just one caveat.”
Will gave him a confused look. “Ok,” he droned suspiciously.
“Tell me your real name, and who you really work for so I don’t have to waste time looking it up myself.”
Will’s mien changed from one of confusion to wide-eyed panic. He turned and looked out the window in a robotic manner. “I believe that’s actually two caveats,” came the pithy rejoinder, eventually.
“I saw your wife’s uniform; who looks lovely in camo by the way. Her rank, service patch, and name tape were clearly visible. It wouldn’t be much of a job to find info on a Lieutenant Colonel Dune of the Marine Corps, a son named Sean, with a husband named…?”
Several seconds passed with Will remaining steadfast to the passenger window. After a full minute of Milo’s bewildering stare, Will sighed and slumped in his plush seat some. After a few more moments of processing his options, he decided on the path of most resistance.
“My name is Harold Dune, but you can call me Hal… in private that is, until this mission is over. Or better yet, until I say it’s ok,” he finished with a bland smirk.
“That wouldn’t be doctor Dune, would it? The man who helped expose Omnium Corps’ less-than-scrupulous business practices? Who then pulled a Houdini trick shortly thereafter?”
Will mechanically turned his head back to face Milo. In what seemed to be outrage tempered by skepticism he asked, “you know about that? I thought my name was kept out of the media! The Bureau said they’d bury it after I made my statement to special counsel.”
“That would be a first. Couldn’t say if it was on the official documents shared with the public, but having just left active duty to work with the Marshals there’s little chance a story about such egregious violations against veterans would escape my notice. I did some digging on the whole thing in my off hours. The Justice Department may not play well with others at times, but we do tend to impart well to each other internally when the need arises, and under optimal circumstances of course.”
“Well, I guess Defense Intelligence isn’t as thorough with their cover-ups as they claim,” Hal conceded cynically. “That’s who I work for by the way… to fulfill your second stipulation. I’ve been assigned to a highly exclusive team of three; me, some Department of Corrections trainer, and a handler of sorts. We specialize in criminal exploitation of military assets; both alive and inanimate.”
“Alive and inanimate huh. That seems like a strange slogan,” Milo bantered slyly. “How were you able to infiltrate Omnium so effectively? They’re only now getting back on their feet from what I hear. There’s no way they’ll reach their pre-scandal reputation at this point though, or surpass their biggest competitor in Seattle.”
“Oh, well, that was sheer dumb luck. I was an employee of theirs, legitimately. No infiltration required. A colleague tipped me off about some shady affairs, but by then I already had suspicions of my own. I had begun some rudimentary research on the company when I was approached by a pair of cops. That’s when I got in a bit too deep. They recruited me, in a manner of speaking, and the whole event caught the eye of DIA. I suppose if I didn’t have bad luck with that whole affair, I’d have no luck at all.”
“And here you are again; doing the legwork without any arrest authority. That’s why you need me, or someone with DOJ at least. Do I have that about right?”
“Oh come off it! This wasn’t some grand scheme I put together. There really was a prison break, and there’s a genuine search going on co-opted by the Marshals and CID. The escape is the only thing that’s been orchestrated here, and I’d like to think you’re starting to see that.”
“That’s quite an assumption coming from someone directing me from the passenger seat of my car, so he couldn’t be tracked from his government issued National. Keeping me in the dark the whole way through I might add. You don’t know me at all Will… or Hal… or whatever you want to call yourself. You don’t want to be straight with me, fine. But it’s a long walk back to civilization.”
Hal opened his mouth to protest, until he saw the smirk creeping across Milo’s face and shook his head exasperatedly. “Dammit man! Are you ever serious?”
Milo couldn’t help chuckling. “Maybe I was wrong. Perhaps you do know me after all. Now what do you say we get back to it, and go meet the deadly serious Sonya at… do we have a location yet mister Bond?”
Hal ignored the joke and checked his messages. He was surprised to see one waiting for him that had eluded his notice when it came through. “We’re to rendezvous with her at the Nevada Club. It seems she has a private table in the high-rollers lounge.”
“Nothing like staying incognito at a busy casino, with cameras every square meter and dozens of security personnel,” Milo quipped.
“Rosen probably keeps a close eye on her most of the time. She’s the epitome of a loose cannon, I imagine. How do you want to play this?”
“That’s more like it! Finally creating a partnership here,” he replied with a pseudo-zeal. “She’s not wanted on anything I can do anything about, or I don’t think she is at least. I’ll follow your lead, secret agent man.”
Hal gave him a furtive look, but softened when he noticed Milo almost straining himself trying to keep a straight face. “I suppose the whole ‘good cop, bad cop’ routine might come in handy with her… as long as she’s not armed.”
“But, wouldn’t I have to play both roles then, since I’m the actual cop?”
“She doesn’t know that, unless she’s exceptionally perceptive.”
“Eh, no matter. I prefer the Colombo routine anyway. It tends to disarm people most of the time.”
Chapter Eleven: Double Down
Former Petty Officer First Class Raymus Watson stood motionless in the shower within his hotel room at the Atlantis Casino in Reno. He had hoped the cold water would help numb him from the immense guilt he was feeling, but after thirty minutes of being chilled to the bone, he realized it was time to try something else.
In his particular predicament, many might consider staying in a busy hotel and casino to be an amateur move. Watson would tell those people that there are significant differences between hiding and blending in. He was a noted expert at hiding in plain sight, and his dark complexion made it easy for him to alternate between black, Latino, Indian, and Persian with a simple change in garment or grooming.
There was a more strategic reason he chose to stay at the Atlantis however; it was adjacent to the Rosen Network headquarters. He had only been in Reno a few hours, after four transfers on the train to be sure he had lost his pursuers, and he had already tested Rosen’s perimeter security. The best money could buy; and as much security as a small country. Lucky for Watson, he had bested security to rival the most impressive of many medium-sized countries.
Accepting the futility of washing away his sins, Watson shut off the water and watched as it rushed past the blue tile and down the chromed drain cover. He dried and dressed as efficiently as if he were still on active duty. Once done, he stood and stared at his empty room. While it had the standard hotel faire: two full beds, single desk and chair, entertainment cabinet, and lounge chair, it depressed Raymus to admit that places such as these were more of a home to him than where his kin still l
ived since he was a child. He did a quick inspection of the room and was satisfied with what he concluded. To anyone who happened onto the room, it would appear that no one had been there.
When he checked in, he provided two names: Frank Jansen; an alias he’d used only one other time, and Bria Calpamos, who he introduced as a colleague. It’s far less suspicious for two people to be traveling together than one, and even less so when they pay with what would appear to be a business account. While physical money was still available, the near universal acceptance of a few forms of crypto currency made hiding and accessing money practically effortless, and safe from prying eyes.
Although quite adept at hacking into mini-bars so he wouldn’t be charged, Watson opted to make himself a cocktail with liquor from the room assigned to his phony co-worker, Bria, to keep up the charade. After just a few sips he felt incredibly tired. It had been a long and exhausting day. He checked the time and saw there was still about eight hours until the hunt, so he decided to indulge himself a little with some rest before the next phase of his mission.
Raymus had rarely found hotel beds comfortable, or acceptably hygienic, so he grabbed a pillow and lay down between them, with his arms crossed like a mummy. He doubted he would sleep long, but just in case he set an alarm for four in the morning; giving him one hour to infiltrate Rosen until the game resumed.
~
Milo’s Studebaker landed at the auto valet for the Stateline Resort and Casino on the Nevada side of Lake Tahoe. Milo watched anxiously as the mechanical arms and platforms of the computerized parking system efficiently shelved his car as if it were packaged produce being put into storage. He couldn’t recall the last time one of the automated parking systems had failed, resulting in damage to vehicles, but he remained skeptical of the lack of human touch nonetheless.
They walked through a maze of hallways on their way to the club, all of which had different themes from the casino’s various incarnations. For just over a hundred years, Harvey’s and Harrah’s stood as gateway pillars at the border of California and Nevada. Since both casinos were owned by the same company for much of that time, the two properties merged in 2059 to become the Stateline Gateway Resort as a retro way to return to their roots.
The Nevada Club was in one of the underground tunnels connecting the casinos, and also where some of the more private shows took place. Hal and Milo entered the club and were met with dubious stares. They scanned the area but didn’t see anyone resembling Sonya. Fortunately, the maitre’d approached them, and after a few moments of convincing her that they were in the right place, and that Sonya was expecting them, they were led to a quiet corner obscured from the entrance by some astonishing architecture.
They entered the space and were taken aback at how it felt as if they’d stepped into an entirely different area. While still part of the open club, with full visibility of the stage and most of the bar, the room was slightly elevated and noticeably brighter. The furniture was of a higher quality with a more homely feel to them, and there were service call panels within arm’s length from every position in the quaint yet cozy den.
“It’s plastoid-composite glass under mimetic holographic shadowing,” Sonya said, noting their awe. She looked them over for a couple seconds and sized them up thoroughly. “You boys look like you’ve worn a uniform not too long ago. What are we working with here?”
Milo and Hal traded impressed looks and sat down on the soft, coffee-colored leather settee. “Army, retired,” Milo offered. “Ended my service as a TRADOC instructor. Before that, I was 31 Bravo.”
Hal paused a moment, considering what and how much he should reveal about himself. Then he remembered that Sonya had served with his wife. Not knowing what Lindsey had shared with her, he decided to be honest but as succinct as Milo had been.
“Navy, corpsman. I was actually with your sister company, the Crazy 88s, for most of Operation Errant Hunt, until you moved on to bigger and better things that is,” Hal finished with a derisive glare.
Sonya matched his steely gaze for a brief moment before responding. “Bigger, maybe. Better, definitely not; at least not for a while. You’re captain… pardon me, Colonel Dune’s husband? I pictured you… I dunno, more like him I guess,” she rebuked gesturing toward Milo.
Hal redirected his disdain toward his beaming partner, but felt a response was still warranted. “I’m the lucky one in the relationship, no argument from me there.”
Following an extended awkward pause, Sonya ordered a drink, and the other two followed suit. Her blood-red Manhattan, and their Sierra Nevada beers, seemed to arrive almost instantly, prompting her to reopen their dialog.
“Sorry for the brush-off boys, but it’s been a long time since I’ve met with someone outside the company, alone anyway.”
“No need to be bashful,” Milo assured, “this is a chance meeting for us as well. You may find that we have very similar concerns as yours.”
“Oh? And what might those concerns be?” She countered, with a defensive edge.
“For starters,” Hal cut in after a large swig of his beer, “that you’re beginning to wonder how your company is recruiting its contestants. Ones whose skills seem to be getting uncomfortably close to being on par with your own.”
She looked wide-eyed at the both of them for several seconds. “How could you possibly know that? I haven’t mentioned that suspicion to anyone.”
“We didn’t. You just told us,” Milo answered for them both. “But it was a logical conclusion considering you reached out to your former company commander as a means of exploring options you hadn’t tried before. Questioning authority can be a healthy thing on occasion, if it’s done right and with appropriate intentions.”
“Fair enough,” she said staring down into her drink as if it held some prophetic message. “So how bad is it? It seems like they keep magically finding criminals who were also part of a special military or law enforcement group.” She paused a moment to look up at them. “They are criminals, aren’t they?”
Milo sat back and stayed quiet. He knew this was Hal’s area of expertise. He then reached the nearest call panel and ordered everyone another drink, since he figured there would be plenty of time, and Sonya was likely comped or had an ongoing tab.
“What you might consider ‘criminals’ is somewhat of a subjective term in this case,” Hal began after a large inhale. “But it was hardly magical in how your latest… opponents, for lack of a better term, were chosen. Your employers, and the Department of Corrections, have had an under-the-table partnership for nearly as long as you’ve been a hunter. I can’t say for sure when or how this partnership turned ugly, but there’s evidence that your current competitor, Marcus Hyde is his name, and at least the two contestants before him were recruited through fabricated criminal charges. These men were specifically targeted due to their military experience and training.”
Hal paused when the second round of drinks arrived, which prompted him to quickly down the remainder of his first as if someone were going to take it away from him. Sonya didn’t seem to notice, continuing to hold her crystal tumbler with slowly diluting spirits. Hal opened his mouth to continue his tirade when she spoke up first.
“So prisoner 74… I mean Hyde, has false charges? I was told he’s been accused of rape. And the guy before him, the one they called Jean, he was part of a prescription drug scheme.”
Hal saw that Sonya was becoming very uneasy. Although it pained him as a doctor, he conceded that a little discomfort on her part was the least of his concerns right now. “As I suspect was the intention, those were half-truths, and I’d wager there have been more. Marcus was accused of statutory rape, of the consenting 17-year-old daughter of a prominent Air Force General. While that doesn’t make him innocent per se, it certainly doesn’t mean he deserves to go to Leavenworth, or to be forced into participating in your blood-sport. All before he sees some semblance of due process I might add. He was actually in our custody barely twelve hours ago, until Rosen goons
took him away like someone reclaiming property that was stolen.”
Sonya was as still as a statue for a long moment. Suddenly, she gulped the rest of the drink she held in her hand, then took a large swig of the second. She sat back in a slouch, as if trying to hide in the soft, dark cushions. Hal was expecting a response from her, but when none came he resumed.
“Julius Archer, the man referred to as Jean, was actually arrested for attempting to purchase cheaper medication for his sick wife, from an illegal source, due to their insurance not covering some of the care of her illness. Again, not technically innocent, but I think we can agree that that’s hardly death penalty territory. Now, it seems pretty clear that this situation doesn’t sit well with you. I don’t know what real authority you have with Rosen, but I’d wager it’s more than you might think.”
Another awkward pause. The two agents took a few more drinks of their beer, in between expectant stares at Sonya, but they waited for her to respond. The background music began to fade and Milo turned to see a lone guitarist take the stage.
“So,” she finally blurted out after several minutes, “you think I have more authority than none? How does that work? I know full well that I’m little more than a commodity. I’m on ice so thin that if I move I get wet.”
“I can’t say I’m a fan of what you do,” Milo interjected, ignoring the looks from the others who appeared to forget he was there, “or know much about it either. But don’t you always tag in during the third bout?”
“As the Chief Hunter, yes I do… Usually. What are you suggesting? That I somehow throw the match? Assuming he even makes it past the second hunter?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. There are a number of ways to do that: non-lethal rounds, finding a way to communicate with him covertly, appearing to be bested by him, et cetera. Judging by my few minutes with him and viewing his first match, I don’t believe he’ll kill you unless he has no choice.”