by Nick Thacker
“Morrison, step back from the cloud; you’re too close.”
“The smoke is going straight up, sir,” Morrison said. “There’s no —”
“It’s not worth it, Morrison,” The Hawk barked. “Get back.”
The Hawk watched as Morrison backed two steps away. Two small steps. Morrison had always known how to push his buttons, and if he wasn’t a brutally efficient soldier that consistently brought out the best in his men, he might have been inclined to introduce Morrison to the chair instead.
But right now it was Jenkins’ turn.
Morrison waited another minute. The man holding Velacruz in place stepped back from the thick cloud of acrid smoke, both their eyes widened. Velacruz took an involuntary step backwards, but ran into the barrel of the man’s rifle.
“Jenkins,” Morrison began. “You have taken the vows of service to this organization, given a mission, and you have been found wanting.”
Jenkins’ nodded, his head lolling left and right, as if on a swivel.
“And for that, your punishment shall ensue.”
Jenkins hadn’t stopped nodding. “Y — yes sir, Morrison. Sir.”
“Do you wish to recount your mistakes?”
Again, a nod. Jenkins’ head seemed as if it were about to fall off his neck. His eyes opened and closed, the smoke surrounding his entire body now. The fans had been placed strategically, turned on low, so they would blow the smoke up into a single column, directly at the swamp cooler air filter fans on the ceiling, which would funnel the smoke safely out of the building.
This ‘traditional’ method was still modernized; for one, the traditionalists who’d discovered the method had no fans or electricity, and therefore they had simply smoked the chemical inside a handmade pipe.
The Hawk had been tweaking the method a bit, according to Daris’ orders. He wanted a way to use the smoke without needing to cut into the small cache of the next-generation version of the drug. The intravenous supply was still in testing, but The Hawk knew it worked. The side-effects had been lessened somewhat, but otherwise the drug was the same chemical as what Jenkins was inhaling now.
And unfortunately for Jenkins, the side effects of the inhaled version would be far more potent with this much smoke.
Jenkins started talking, mumbling. “I… I can… we tried — but then we…”
Morrison and the other men laughed, their chuckles reaching The Hawk’s ears. The Hawk, however, wasn’t amused. Watching a man get punished was nothing to laugh at.
It was leadership, and leadership wasn’t always fun.
He sighed, knowing the strength of his team in the short-term would be diminished.
But in the long-term…
He would find new recruits, he always had. They had already lined up in droves; they were already on his list of candidates. They were well-trained soldiers who were either disgruntled or underpaid, or both. Most of them had already begged to be a part of his tiny elite team, knowing it was a unit of men so perfectly adept at killing they would do almost anything to be a part of it.
And they knew the perks — the pay, the travel benefits, the stretches of non-deployment time that allowed them the financial means to do almost whatever they wanted. It was like being in the Army, without as many rules, no government oversight, and only the parts they enjoyed.
It was a perfect fit for the type of men The Hawk needed. He knew it would take all of five minutes to call up five or six of these men on his list and have them ready to go in a few hours. They wouldn’t immediately fill Velacruz’ and Jenkins’ shoes, but they would give him more breathing room with this current assignment. They would, ideally, also help him get closer to accomplishing the task at hand without losing any more members of his unit.
His three-month training program had so far successfully weeded out those who weren’t completely serious about the team, leaving him with the current lineup of candidates, and from those he had chosen his ‘working unit,’ the men he had on payroll. Jenkins and Velacruz would be missed, but such was the nature of perfection.
Jenkins was mumbling to himself, slowly growing more agitated as he tried to reconcile the fact that his mouth was not doing what his mind was telling him to do.
The Hawk remembered those feelings. He knew all too well how the debilitating effects of the drug made him woozy, drunk. A feeling of helplessness had washed over him, and that part alone made him swear to never be under its influence again. It was enough to know what it could do to other people; he regretted that he had tried it on himself. He had done it upon Daris’ request, agreeing that he should understand what the drug was capable of from a firsthand standpoint.
He had likened it to training programs that required its participants to undergo gassing, to experience what it would be like to be hit with a stream of pepper spray.
But this drug was worse.
He watched as Jenkins’ faculties deteriorated. With the newer serum, this part would be a temporary — albeit stronger — phase. Jenkins could still move slightly, a feeling similar to having all of one’s limbs asleep. But everything would be feeling heavy, and would cause pain to force into action. The internal switch that governed one’s voluntary function would start to malfunction, and Jenkins would be unable to control his movements.
His head fell forward, and The Hawk stepped a few feet closer, intrigued.
Velacruz was standing just outside the perimeter of the fans, the smoke column narrowly missing him. But he could see Jenkins, and The Hawk could only imagine what his second-newest recruit was thinking.
Morrison stepped forward again, and The Hawk could hear him through his comm system, his voice low and controlled. ‘Jenkins,’ he said, ‘please draw your sidearm.’
Jenkins responded immediately, the pain he was feeling now manifesting on his face. His lips curled downward, his eyes pleading to Morrison to make it stop.
‘Thank you, Jenkins. Please raise the weapon and disable the safety.’
Again, Jenkins complied.
‘Thank you again, Jenkins. Now, please turn the weapon and place the end of the barrel on the side of your head.’
The Hawk grimaced, surprised at Morrison’s ruthlessness. Apparently Jenkins would not have to deal with the side effects.
He sighed again. The price of leadership.
Through his comm, he heard Morrison give the kid his final order. ‘Thank you, Jenkins. I’m sorry your recruitment did not work out. Please pull the trigger.’
Chapter THIRTY-ONE
AS A BOY, YOUNG HARVEY and his kid brother, ten years his junior, would spend their summers traveling with their parents around to different national parks. They visited Glacier, Yellowstone, and Yosemite, and stayed in dozens of campsites and state parks to and from each. Many of the smaller sites kept swimming pools that looked barely safe enough to swim in, and his parents would have preferred their boys to jump into a nearby pond instead.
It was impossible to keep Ben and his brother Zachary out of the water, however, and Ben’s love for soaking and splashing grew as he did. On rare occasion a cheap hotel offered a better deal than a campsite, and his family would share a room together for the night. On such nights, when there was a hot tub on the premises, Ben would race his brother through the halls to find it and jump in.
In his adult years Ben began to prefer more ‘soaking’ to ‘splashing,’ and he considered a soak in a hot tub a well-deserved treat whenever he got the chance. As of yet he hadn’t asked anyone — even Julie — about the plans for the remodel and addition to his small cabin, and if there would be room for a hot tub. He made a mental note to ask the builder when they returned if there was money in the budget to get him a nice tub on the porch.
Ben slid into the hot water after dropping his room key and shirt onto the floor, then brought his drink up to his lips as he waited for Julie to join him. He closed his eyes and leaned back, sighing.
The steam rose around him, immediately and thoroughly relaxing him, and he
let his feet and legs rise to just below the surface as the jets and bubbles turned on, their fifteen-minute cycle starting.
“You look like you’re having a good time,” Julie’s voice called out from the doorway of the bathroom.
Ben had been shocked and dismayed to discover the Rittenhouse didn’t have a hot tub on the premises, but he regrouped and set his sights on the next-best thing: the jacuzzi tub in his and Julie’s bathroom.
She walked in, her eyebrow rising off her forehead.
“What?” he asked.
“At least you kept your swim trunks on.”
“Out of respect,” he said, grinning. “But there’s enough room in here for you.”
She scoffed. “Yeah, you wish. I need to get in there to actually clean, not just soak the dirt back in like you. You’re hogging it all up — when will you be done?”
Ben let his eyes roll up to meet Julie’s. “Depends. What’s on the agenda next?”
She dodged the question and moved to the mirror stretching along two walls of the bathroom. She started checking her makeup, then her teeth.
“Well, enjoy yourself.”
He closed his eyes again, smiling. “I’ve had worse days.”
“Well soak it up,” she said. “Tomorrow’s a different day.”
He sat up a bit and opened his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked. “You think we’re heading into something rough?”
She made a face, then looked back to him through the reflection in the mirror. “Well I don’t know, it’s just that Mr. E and this new guy, Derrick, seem awfully serious about catching up with Daris.”
“Do they?” Ben asked. “I mean, Derrick didn’t seem terribly interested in chasing after her once we got down to the basement. And E doesn’t get riled up about anything. Why would he care about some nut-job conspiracy theorist?”
“That’s true,” Julie said. “But Derrick took the time to bring us in, like he really wants our help. If he’s FBI, like he says he is, he’s working alone and could use a team.”
“He could use some pawns, you mean.”
“Whatever we are to him, he’s not the enemy.”
“No one is,” Ben said. “That’s the thing. Daris tried to shoot at you — but it seemed like it was out of primal fear or something. Like she was looking around trying to figure what had happened, and that gun happened to be in her hand so she used it.”
“Yeah,” Julie said. “I guess. She’s definitely strange, but she doesn’t seem like a killer.”
“So that brings me back to my point. Who is the enemy? Daris is crazy, but she’s running a pseudo-secret philosophical organization, not the US Army. How dangerous can she possibly be?”
Julie shook her head. “That’s why it seems weird that Roger Derrick would just show up, claiming he’s been watching her for some time, and that only now were those artifacts and the journal stolen.”
Ben slipped back down beneath the surface of the water so his broad shoulders could relax, and he found he had to put his feet up on the wall on the opposite side of the bathtub. He stretched, feeling the tension of flying for hours on end, cramped into a corner seat, wearing off. The drink next to him looked even colder and more inviting than it had a moment ago, so he downed it and placed the heavy glass back on the rim of the tub.
For a moment he considered asking Julie to order another drink, but decided against it. He was settled, at ease, and he was enjoying the time with Julie. In the craziness of the last few months and the many visitors and builders they’d had up to the cabin, he and Julie hadn’t had much time to be alone together.
He shifted, trying to get comfortable, then noticed Julie looking at him.
“What?” he asked. “You think of something else?”
She shook her head once again. “No,” she said. “Not related to the mission, anyway. I’m just thinking about you.”
“Me?”
“You look hot in there. Your workouts have been working.”
He brushed off the compliment. “‘Bout time they started to do anything for me. I feel like I’ve been busting my butt for Reggie just to almost keep up with him, and I’ve got nothing to show for it.”
“Well,” Julie said, stepping up to the edge of the tub. She reached a hand up and began undoing the buttons on her shirt. “Let me remind you of who you’re really busting your butt for.”
Chapter THIRTY-TWO
JULIE TOUSLED HER HAIR AND waited for it fall down into place. ‘Into place,’ in her hair’s case, meant ‘haphazardly falling around her shoulders.’ It didn’t look bad, but it was far from the elegant ‘purposeful’ look she was going for. Her hair, deep brown and kept to just below shoulder-length, had always been an annoyance to her.
Ben loved it, but she knew that he was obligated to tell her that. Her classmates at school told her that as well, but she knew they were just playing the role of competitive girlfriend and trying to befriend her.
She sprayed a bit more of the product into it, remembering her mother teaching her how to treat it so many years ago. Her hair was the only thing that hadn’t changed since then. She styled it as she always had: straight, flipped up just a touch at the bottom, and slipped her bangs sideways and clipped them down.
Examining herself in the mirror for the hundredth time that morning, she wondered if Ben was awake yet. He liked his sleep, and after last night she knew he’d be reveling in it as long as possible. The combination of fun, traveling, and a perfect bed made up with a couple selections from the hotel’s ‘pillow menu’ would be enough to allow Ben to sleep well into the next day, but they had work to do.
“Ben,” she called out, moving now to her eyelashes. “You up?”
An affirmative-sounding groan echoed into the bathroom, and she focused in on her eyes. She was a simple woman, girlish face with a well-kept body, but she wasn’t proud. She knew she was beautiful, but it never went to her head. She was happy with her appearance — minus her hair, of course — and refused to let vanity get in the way of the natural beauty she’d been given.
Not a knockout, but certainly better-than-average, Juliette Richardson had always had an easy time with boys. Growing up she’d had her fair share of boyfriends, but none had been serious. She’d realized early on that they were into something besides her brilliant mind and knack for computers.
The funny thing was, Ben initially struck Julie as exactly the sort of man she’d dated — and dumped — numerous times before. Brawny, muscular, and somewhat oafish, at first she’d written him off as a reclusive bear of a man with daddy issues. She’d been right about the daddy issues, and mostly right about the reclusiveness of Harvey, but after their chance encounter at Yellowstone National Park, they were forced together for a time, and only then did Julie recognize something in him she liked.
In fact, she’d really liked it. Ben’s personality was raw, open, and transparent. He said what was on his mind, but usually only after prodded. He was quiet, sure, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking, processing. Julie recognized in Ben an intelligence that burned deep — different from her bookish technical knowledge and hands-on experience in IT, but very much useful. Ben had a resiliency to him that made her proud. On more than one occasion, that resiliency had saved her life, and the lives of everyone else on their team.
She fell in love with him at some point during their escapades after their first meeting at Yellowstone, and they’d moved in together into Ben’s cabin in Alaska shortly after that. He was funny, strong-willed, and had a heart larger than himself, and they made a good team. They’d had their difficulties, but they were nothing remarkable. Both were stubborn, but it meant that they were each too stubborn to walk away from a fight, and they inevitably worked things out quickly.
“Ben,” she called again. “Seriously. Show starts in five. You ready?”
Another groan, this one longer and more pronounced.
Man loves his sleep, she thought. Ben could out-drink, out-eat, and out-sleep
just about anyone she knew, and she often wondered if he thought there was some secret competition he was competing in.
She walked out of the bathroom after twenty minutes of getting ready. She’d set her alarm early enough to give her time to herself to think and get ready. She wasn’t sure what the day would bring, but a few minutes in the morning did wonders for her confidence.
He rolled over, apparently sensing that she was there. His large, brown eyes danced up and down her body, and she frowned back at him.
He pulled himself up to a sitting position on the bed, then rubbed his eyes. “Damn, you look hot this morning. How do you girls do that? Roll out of bed looking great?”
“I don’t look great,” she joked back, “but I stand next to you most of the time, so it just looks like I look great.” She started back to the bathroom to finish the last bit of preparation — looking once again at her hair and wishing it was different. “Come on, you’re out of time.”
Chapter THIRTY-THREE
BEN STROLLED INTO DERRICK’S HOTEL room next door thirty seconds later, but already the last one to arrive. Julie’s shocked expression told him that she was either impressed with how quickly he’d gotten out of bed and dressed, or that he was bleeding from his face. He hadn’t bothered to check.
She walked over and started fixing his hair, but he swatted her hand away. “Stop it, Mom,” he said.
She made a tsk sound and resumed her position behind the couch, facing the TV.
“Good thing you’re not the one on TV this morning, pal,” Reggie said from the couch. “You look like you had a rough night.”
“I bet I had a better night than you,” Ben shot back. “How was spooning with Joshua?”
Joshua and Reggie had bunked together the previous night — they hadn’t planned to stay at the hotel, and the place was full. Every room booked, they were forced to sleep in the room next on the opposite side of Derrick’s, sharing the king bed.