by Brian Parker
“You’re the only person I know in the city who’s awake right now and I’m falling asleep,” she admitted.
He grinned, glad that she just needed to talk instead of being pissed off at him for some reason. “Yeah, it was a long day,” he said, glancing into his rearview mirror where her car followed his.
“It sure as hell was. I’m exhausted. I feel like I just finished a marathon.”
“Shoothouses are stressful,” he told her. “Training with live ammo makes every nerve in your body go on high alert. Getting that adrenaline dump for twelve consecutive hours makes you tired once it’s removed. It’s normal.”
“Are you tired?”
“I’m old,” he chuckled. “Remember?”
“I was just giving you shit, Grady,” she replied, sounding apologetic. “To be honest, besides the gray in your beard, you don’t look like you’re as old as you say you are.” She paused and then said, “You’re only about ten years older than me.”
“Try sixteen.”
“Oh?” Her voice sounded full of disbelief. “You been reading my personnel file?”
“Of course,” he stated. “I’ve read everyone’s file in the team. I know as much about you as The Havoc Group does—which is a lot.”
“Just what I’ve supplied, and maybe some background investigation stuff. All of that could be faked or I could have hidden my real personality.”
Grady smiled. It took a while for new hires to learn the truth about the company, maybe he should go ahead and tell her now—not the mundane stuff like family and financial information, the stuff that could only be pulled by long-term, real world observations.
“You have a dog, a Pomeranian named Chi-Chi. You walk him in the morning like clockwork at 6 a.m. and in the evenings, usually around 6:30, maybe a little earlier if you get home before then—you really should vary your routine more. You shop almost exclusively at Whole Foods, even though there’s a Harris Teeter on the first floor of your apartment. You like chicken—a lot. You usually buy two packages of chicken breasts a week. You are not a heavy drinker, but you do have one, on occasion two, glasses of red wine after dinner while you watch television at night. Which reminds me, you’re fairly religious about going to bed at eleven. Your parents live in Falls Church—your dad’s a retired Navy captain and your mom worked on the Hill for thirty-four years, choosing to remain in DC with you and your younger brother when your father went to sea. You don’t have a boyfriend and haven’t been out with any friends since you moved back here. Your Tinder profile is HannahBanana78923, and you really should update your profile picture, it’s too blurry, plus you might come off as a bit too masculine for most guys.” He let that information sink in. “Want me to go on?”
“Uh…” Her voice trailed off and Grady imagined that she was making a visible effort to close her mouth before asking the inevitable question. “Have you been spying on me?”
“No,” he replied. “But Havoc has. They do it on all new hires for the first ninety days or so. Then, they periodically check back in on their employees at random and unknown intervals, but the best I’ve been able to figure out, it’s every six months. This is a multi-billion dollar company that relies on both private and government contracts, Hannah. They want to make sure that their employees are not going to cause them problems.”
“Wow, that’s…”
“If we were drinking, I’d say it was sobering,” Grady finished for her. “But since you’re tired, maybe eye-opening would be better?”
“Okay, that joke makes you sound like my dad.”
He cringed at the analogy. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. Do you—” Hannah stopped and he let her collect her thoughts. “Do you think I’m the right person for this mission?”
“Absolutely,” he lied. In truth, he’d rather have taken anyone except her. She was too new to the company and regardless of what her file said, she was an unknown.
“I hand-picked you for this job,” he assured her. “Your skills with both fixed-wing and rotary aircraft are impressive.”
“You’ve never been in my bird.”
He resisted the urge to make a crude joke that he wouldn’t have hesitated to do if he’d known her better. The fact that he didn’t even know her enough to joke around with made him cringe that he was taking her on such an important mission. “They don’t let shit pilots into the 160th. I trust your flying ability.”
“But not my weapons handling.” It was a statement, not a question.
“That’s not it,” he sighed, knowing that he would have to talk to her about her misgivings; otherwise, she would be a liability. Sometimes, he really did feel like a dad. “Do you want to stop somewhere for a drink? We’re only a few blocks apart.”
“Uh oh. One of those kind of talks, huh?”
“No. Not one of those, it’s just that I need a drink to help relax after today.”
“Uh… Sure. Why don’t you follow me to my apartment? I’ll park and change real quick. Then we can ride together.”
“Okay, what do you—” He stopped as her Jeep sped past him and she disconnected the phone.
“Dammit,” he sighed again, turning on his blinker to change lanes, and then follow his teammate to her place.
WASHINGTON, DC
Her assurance that she’d only be a minute stretched into fifteen before Hannah stepped out of the elevator into the grocery store parking garage where Grady waited. She waived and made her way to his G-wagon.
Her hair, he noticed, was wet, and stringy, poking out from under her knit cap. She wore a pair of black yoga pants under a thick, red coat that did little to hide her shapely body. Goddamn it, asshole, Grady chastised himself. She’s a member of your team. She’s off limits.
The interior dome light came on when Hannah opened the door and stayed illuminated for a few seconds after she stepped up into the SUV and closed the door, giving him a glimpse of her pretty face. He wondered about her heritage, but without asking her directly, it was generic enough that he’d likely never guess correctly. Her perfume filled the small space with a pleasant smell that made him smile in spite of his annoyance at waiting in the garage like a creeper looking for his next victim.
“Sorry,” she said as a way of greeting while she buckled her seatbelt. “When I took my shirt off, I realized how much I smelled, so I took a quick shower.”
Grady shifted into drive and began the slow, winding exit from the garage down to street level.
“It’s okay,” he replied. “You look great.” Stupid.
“Thanks,” Hannah said. “So, where are we getting this drink? I could sure use one.”
They decided on a pub with decent food not far from Hannah’s apartment. As usual, parking in the city was an issue. After circling the block three times, they went back to the garage in her building to park, and then walked the five blocks to the bar.
“I don’t like eating this late,” Hannah said, checking the time on her cell phone. “But my boss is a jerk who doesn’t let people go home.”
He smiled back at her. “Well, I happen to know the guy pretty well and he has his reasons.” He dropped the smile and leaned in close. She followed suit and to anyone watching, it looked like they were simply two people out on a date who wanted to speak quietly to one another. “Hannah, this is some major-league shit we’re being asked to do. When we pull it off, it could change the face of the global political climate.”
She nodded and leaned back, smiling at the waitress when she brought the drinks. After they ordered their food, Hannah said, “You seem confident that we’ll succeed.”
Grady shrugged “I have to be, otherwise we’re dead.” He took a long pull from his glass of beer. “The biggest problem for me is the site. We have no idea what it looks like after the first hundred and fifty feet or of what’s actually been going on there. I know we’ve been given carte blanche in the field, but I’m not in the habit of killing innocent people.”
“So, you have morals then
?”
“You’re goddamned right I do,” Grady answered. The three Chinese journalists that he’d killed at the embassy and the 27 other people he’d injured—including children—always hovered just below the surface in his mind. “I made the mistake of following the company’s orders blindly before. I won’t do that ever again.”
She ducked her chin and remained silent. Hannah obviously wanted him to elaborate, but when it became apparent that he wouldn’t, she leaned away with her wine glass in hand.
“So, here’s to success then,” she stated, raising the glass.
He raised his and took a sip. Changing the topic, he asked, “So, how long are you planning to be with Havoc?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, wiping her upper lip with the palm of her hand.
“Is contracting a long-term thing for you or are you with us until you can secure a government job?”
“Hmm… I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“Bullshit,” Grady barked. “There’s not a contractor in the world who doesn’t have their plans laid out in advance. If this one goes sour, you go to blah-blah-blah corporation, then on to the next, until that cushy GS position opens up down at the Pentagon or on some military base near where you want to settle down. Only the truly crazy stay contractors their entire life.”
“Like you?” she asked.
“Like me.”
“How long have you been with Havoc?”
He thought about it for a moment. “Shit. I guess twenty-one years.”
“That’s a long time to be running without a safety net,” she observed.
She was right. Military contractors—contractors in general—didn’t have company-provided insurance plans, and most didn’t have money funneled into a 401(k) retirement account by the company they worked for. But, worst of all in most contractors’ minds was the fact that they could be let go immediately if there were a contract change. That lack of long-term stability was why contractors were notoriously always networking, looking for their next gig. Over the years, there had been few long-term, stable contractors at The Havoc Group. Out of current employees, Pete and Grady had been there the longest, and five years ago, Pete had accepted the operations officer position, which was a salaried, full-time position in the corporate structure. So that left Grady as the senior contractor, the only man who was dumb enough to ‘run without a safety net’ as Hannah called it for so long.
“I’m okay with it,” Grady answered. “I’ve done very well for myself, have my own investments and retirement accounts set up through a buddy who works at Morgan Stanley.” He took a swig from his beer. “We weren’t talking about me, though. I’m an anomaly in the contracting world. Our average contractor stays with us for about three years. I wanted to know about your plans.”
She seemed to consider his words for a moment before answering. “I just started with Havoc, Grady. I haven’t even had an opportunity to be immersed in the corporate culture, or—”
He barked out a laugh that caused a few of the other patrons to glance their way. “Corporate culture? Scratch yourself, spit on the floor, go to the range, and make inappropriate jokes about everyday life, that’s your corporate culture.”
Hannah grinned back. “Yeah, okay. But I mean, I don’t even know if I like working for the Group yet. How can I let you know my plans if I don’t even know them myself?”
He nodded and said, “Fair enough. I know you’re new to the world of contracting, just… Just don’t think that anyone will be loyal to you if it comes down to it.”
“You mean like in a firefight?”
“No— God no. The guys will fight harder than a fat kid trying to get the last jelly doughnut. I’m talking about back here, after the mission when the politics start. Technically, you’re not on Havoc’s payroll anymore. They’re covering your expenses right now through a separate account, but if it’s between you and say, Chris McCormick, the company will keep him since he’s a known entity—and he’d cut your throat to stay.” Grady paused and then added, “Until he found a better gig and jumped contracts.”
“Chris is a sweet guy—” Hannah began.
“With a wife and four kids, a house payment, and a large car note. Those things will come before you. I’m just telling you beforehand so you don’t get blindsided by something down the road. You’re not in the military anymore, regardless of how much it seems like we are. Contracting is a cutthroat business and I’ve seen plenty of people get railroaded by their friends when the job was on the line.”
She took a sip, and then replied, “Well it’s good that the payday is so big on this job, then.”
Grady let out a breath that he didn’t know he’d held. He needed the woman’s expertise on this mission—and given her skillset, he’d probably need her many times over before he was through with The Havoc Group.
“That’s the spirit,” he chuckled as he mockingly swung his fist across his body.
He dropped the smile and got deadly serious. “Now, let’s drink and make bad decisions.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Only the ones who are willing to put their life on the line for mine,” he replied, raising his hand to signal the waitress.
ELEVEN
* * *
WASHINGTON, DC
TWO WEEKS BEFORE THE OUTBREAK
“You can kick higher than that! Let me see it. Show me you want it! I want to see you get the ball of your foot to at least the same height as your chin.”
The man at the front of the class looked like a bad parody of an 80s yoga instructor—except Mateo thought he looked good. He wore an honest to goodness black leotard top with seafoam green spandex pants that did little to hide his admittedly large package. He looked simultaneously hideous and absolutely fabulous. The kickboxing instructor’s muscles rippled as he worked his way through the next series of movements in demonstration before encouraging his class to follow him.
“That’s it!” he yelled through the headset microphone he wore. “One and two. One and two. Right side kick, followed by a left roundhouse. Make sure you plant your right foot after the side kick and pivot on the balls of your feet. Safety first!”
Sidney Wagner followed through Mateo’s routine, buoyed along by his enthusiasm. She’d been taking his class at the local Lifetime Fitness Center for over a year, three times a week, and could follow his movements with little difficulty, although every once in a while he’d still throw her for a loop. She executed a heel kick followed by a forty-five seconds of rapid punches at stomach level. For this speed portion, form didn’t really matter when it came to the punches. The most important part was rotating her wrists as she performed the motions.
When the speedwork was done, Mateo whooped loudly into the microphone and told everyone to get a drink and wipe away their sweat because they’d be going into Tabata drills to finish out the last fifteen minutes of class. Sidney sipped her water and swished it around her mouth before swallowing. She was already regretting that double cheeseburger at lunch. All that grease made her stomach feel like she was about to explode.
“You doing okay, Sweetie?” her friend, Jimmie, asked.
“That Bareburger is getting to me,” she replied, laying her open hand across her stomach.
He tsked at her. “I told you,” he said, wiping his brow with a light purple towel. Even though he was two times her size with cannonballs for shoulders from years of collegiate athletics, she often thought that he was more of a girl than she was. “A double cheeseburger three hours before Mateo’s class? You’re gonna be lucky if you don’t get sick and vomit all over the place.”
“Ugh,” Sidney groaned. “Don’t. Just don’t.”
“Okay!” Mateo’s voice interrupted them. “Are we ready? Doesn’t matter. Put your stuff away and get ready to go into high knees in three, two, one, and go!”
The next fifteen minutes were agonizing as movement after movement threatened to bring Sidney’s lunch back up for an encor
e. When it was over, she sat down on her mat, ignoring Mateo’s orders to clean up the room so the next class could get ready to start in five minutes.
“You look green,” Jimmie stated.
“It’s the reflection from Mateo’s pants,” she replied with a grin.
He sat down across from her, cross-legged, and reached an arm across his body to stretch out his shoulder. “You give any thoughts to my invite?”
“I don’t know, Jimmie. It’s just—”
“Bullshit,” he said, stopping her. He held out a finger and pulled it down with his opposite hand. “I know you’re not on your period. That was a week and a half ago.” He added another finger to his list. “You’re between boyfriends at the moment. Three months if I remember correctly.” Another finger. “You don’t have any big tests coming up next week and your big research paper for the end of the semester is already finished.”
“You’ve certainly been keeping close tabs on my life,” Sidney said with a grunt as she pushed herself up to her feet. Mateo hovered a respectful distance away for now, but he wouldn’t hesitate to walk over and stand annoyingly over her to remind her to clear the studio. Given Mateo’s outfit, she was sure Jimmie would like that, or maybe not since they’d dated for a while and broke up on “mutual terms.”
“I’m trying a new approach,” Jimmie said, standing with her. “I’ve always asked you to go on a full-on blind date with Lincoln without taking into account anything else. I think you two will hit it off well and you’ve always got an excuse, so I started keeping track of everything you’ve used as justification for avoiding the date in the past. This new baby celebration is like the eye of calm in your storm of usual excuses.”
They walked to the locker rooms and Jimmie placed a hand on her elbow. “It’s low threat, Sidney. Not even a date. Just stop by next Friday night at the 1776 Tavern. I’ll act surprised to see you and invite you to join us in the bar. Easy as pie.”