Rogue Faction Part 2: A Cyrus Cooper Thriller: Book Three

by Xander Weaver

  “What’ll you have, honey?” the short brunette asked from behind the bar. Bright, alert eyes complimented her friendly smile. She was wearing a black tank top that was at least two sizes too small, and did little to conceal what was either the masterwork of a plastic surgeon, or a lucky seven when it came to rolling the genetic dice. The Cuban was stenciled in washed-out lettering across what was left of her intentionally threadbare top.

  “A Modello, if you have it,” Cyrus requested.

  She gave him a wink before turning and heading in the opposite direction. “Coming up!” she called over her shoulder.

  It was a cool night, but Cyrus had opted to leave his coat back at the compound. The night had proven unseasonably warm, at least relatively speaking. With the temperature in the mid-fifties, he’d simply pulled a flannel shirt over a T-shirt and exited the compound via the same secret rear escape route he’d used on his first visit to The Cuban.

  Slipping the phone from his hip pocket, Cyrus typed out a quick message and hit send.

  >How long are you going to stand in the corner? You’re creeping everyone out, old man.

  Looking squarely into the mirror for the first time, Cyrus saw Boone step fully into the light. He was shaking his head and wore a grin. He slapped Cyrus on the back and slid onto the stool to his right.

  “How’d you see me?” Boone asked. “Even the bouncer didn’t see me come in.”

  “The bouncer doesn’t know you like I do.” Cyrus grinned. He reached out and shook Boone’s hand. “It’s good to see you. I’ve been worried.”

  Boone’s appearance was disheveled. His face was drawn and emaciated. There were dark bags under his eyes and he looked both mentally and physically exhausted. Contradicting this, his clothes were clean, his hair free from oil, and he didn’t suffer from any undue body odor, so Cyrus was confident his friend had found some place comfortable and safe to hole up. Even if he wasn’t getting rest, at least he wasn’t freezing in an alley somewhere. Not that Cyrus would’ve expected anything less. Boone knew what he was doing. Still, from the strained look on his face, Cyrus could see his mentor had been through the wringer.

  “You’ve been worried? Jesus, kid—I’ve been more worried about you. Before things went all to hell, I received a report about you and Gladd getting attacked on the train outside Paris. Gladd reported in after you reached Hamburg. He said you would be completing the remainder of your trip through an alternative route, but our spotter outside Voss’s facility said you never arrived.”

  Cyrus offered an understanding nod. “Oh, I arrived alright—well, more or less. Just way behind schedule. Some improvisation was involved. You know how it goes. I’m surprised you were that concerned.”

  “I wouldn’t have been—under normal conditions. But shortly after you were attacked, my team was hit. We never had the chance to pick up Ragsdale. We were hit before we could take him into custody, like we planned.”

  “I heard that, about a week after the fact,” Cyrus admitted. He didn’t know what to say. Somehow a sad shake of his head didn’t seem like enough given the losses Boone’s team had suffered.

  “The plan was to take Ragsdale into custody and fake his injury and hospitalization,” Cyrus said. “But someone hit your team, then took Ragsdale out for real?”

  That brought only a grim nod from Boone.

  “But why?”

  Boone was silent for a long moment before finally shrugging. “I have no idea. And I wasn’t in a situation to sort it out. Hobbs and I were the only ones to make it out. I lost the entire team. We went dark in hopes of losing the obvious bulls-eye painted on our backs. I was hoping to regroup and sort things out but…things just went from bad to worse after that.”

  A different bartender arrived and set a beer bottle on the coaster in front of Cyrus. She was tall, a few years older than the last girl, and her hair was long and blonde. “One Modello,” she said with a smile. “How are you boys doing tonight?”

  “Great,” Cyrus said with a grin. He slid a ten across the counter to her. “How about you?”

  The woman laughed. “Just happy to be alive,” she smiled. She slid the money back in his direction. “Drinks are on me tonight,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’d say it’s the least I can do.”

  In spite of himself, the best Cyrus could offer was a questioning look that must’ve bordered on a scowl.

  She offered him a conspiratorial wink and leaned across the counter. “I might not know your name, honey, but I remember you just the same. You’re the reason I still have this bar, and a way to support my mother. Hell, if it weren’t for you, Josie down there wouldn’t have a job and half the people in this place probably wouldn’t have their lives.”

  While Cyrus recognized the bartender from his first visit to The Cuban, he hadn’t expected anyone to recognize him. Not after everything that had happened.

  Cyrus smiled. “This is your place? You own the bar?”

  She grinned and offered a proud nod. “I’m Lucy,” she said and shook his hand. Then she took a loving look at the surrounding bar. “Yeah, she ain’t much, but she’s my pride and joy. Does your friend here know what you did the other night?”

  Boone had been watching the conversation with mirth in his eyes. While Cyrus had been caught off guard by the conversation, Boone was entirely unprepared.

  “Ah, no. He’s been out of town. To be honest, I’m surprised you recognized me. A lot happened that night. How did you know I was involved?”

  Lucy pointed to a camera lens recessed into the dark crown molding behind the bar. With the low light and the way the camera had been camouflaged, someone had to know it was there in order to have any chance of spotting it. “I’ve got a dozen of them mounted all around this place. The night those guys started shooting, I got the whole thing recorded in gory high definition. If I didn’t know for a fact that it really happened, I would’ve bet it was some kind of crazy Hollywood stunt.”

  Cyrus shook his head. “I wish that had been the case.”

  He wanted to let the subject drop. He didn’t care for the attention. But one question was nagging at him. “It really was a bad scene, Lucy. I’m glad to see the violence didn’t turn people off coming here.”

  The pained expression on Lucy’s face was certainly that of a business owner. “No kidding,” she admitted. “I had the same worry. I was afraid the authorities would shut me down—or that people would be too afraid to come back after what happened.”

  “What happened with the authorities?” Boone asked, speaking for the first time.

  Lucy shrugged. “Damned if I know. There were cops in and out of here for two days, asking questions, digging bullets out of the walls, the whole nine yards. It was just like you see on TV. I was sure I’d be shut down. Or lose my liquor license—you know, something. The police chief was leaning on me and threatening the whole works!”

  Cyrus waited for Lucy to continue, but she’d concluded the story—at least in her mind.

  “So what happened?” Boone finally insisted.

  “I don’t know,” Lucy said at last. “The chief was on me something fierce, making all kinds of threats. The next day he comes back and tells me that the investigation is closed and that I’m free to reopen whenever I see fit!”

  Cyrus could read the confusion on Boone’s face. “Just like that?” he asked.

  Lucy nodded.

  Cyrus understood. Voss had said he would do something about the bar. He’d obviously spoken with King Borden and the matter had been swept under the rug. Not that he expected Voss to own up to it.

  Cyrus knew that Lucy would benefit from the peace of mind that came from understanding what had happened to suddenly right her problems, but at the same time he didn’t want to add to a story that was sure to be making its way around the bar, and would continue to for years to come.

  “At least folks aren’t afraid of the place,” Cyrus said in hopes of moving the subject along.

  “Ain’t that the tru
th,” Lucy blustered. “Once the trouble with the authorities went away, that was the next worry that cost me sleep. But it turns out, what they say is true: there’s no such thing as bad press. People I’ve never seen before started coming in just to check us out. I guess it was inevitable. We were all over the paper and the news for days. People love a good train wreck. Between you and me, since we’ve reopened, revenue is actually up 44%!”

  Cyrus laughed. There was no doubt Lucy was a ‘dyed in the wool’ entrepreneur. “Will you get back to having live music?” he asked.

  A wide smile spread across her face. “Will we ever! Hell, yes—and I can’t wait. I have some equipment to replace—and a stage to rebuild before we’re ready for that, but it’s at the top of my list.

  “I really hope Natasha’s willing to come back and play again. She really fills the house like nobody’s business. I’m not kidding, we’re talking standing room only, every time!”

  Cyrus felt his jaw drop. He’d been under the impression that Natasha was making her debut appearance on stage that night. “No kidding?” he asked. “How often does she play here?”

  The smile disappeared from Lucy’s face and she shook her head. “It’s hard to say. Its real hit and miss with that girl. I never know for sure if or when she’ll show. The girl’s a hell of a talent—but I get the sense that playing is largely therapeutic for her. She comes and plays when she wants. I might see her once a month, or I might not see her for three.

  “She’s a damn pretty girl with a whole truckload of skill,” Lucy continued. “But she’s odd, too. She won’t let me pay her, and while every live act I’ve ever put on that stage would sell their baby sisters into slavery for a recording deal, she’s never once been willing to talk with one of the bigwigs we get passing through.”

  Lucy thanked Cyrus once more and finally went on with her nightly business. But before she left, she made sure to reiterate the fact that their drinks were taken care of. Cyrus guessed that Lucy didn’t realize he knew Natasha, which was just as well.

  “The crazy lady behind the bar sure has a lot of nice things to say about your girl,” Boone said after a few short minutes of silence. They’d both been nursing their beers and pondering personal thoughts.

  Taking one more pull from his beer bottle, Cyrus cast a sideways glance at Boone. “My girl?”

  Boone’s lips stretched in a knowing grin. “Come on, you really think I didn’t know why you wanted this assignment—why you had to have this operation? Hell, we dropped three cases in your lap. You solved one of them while sitting right there at the table, then delegated the other one to an outside agency so fast that no one could turn you down for this mission. You insinuated yourself into this operation right there on the spot. God only knows what you might’ve come up with if you’d had time to plan something prior to that meeting.”

  Cyrus said nothing. His eyes were making a mental study of his mentor. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised that Boone was onto him. Boone had been the one to recruit him into the Coalition, after all. Of course Boone knew everything there was to know about him by now. His knowledge would certainly have extended to the woman he’d been dating at the time.

  “Alright,” Cyrus conceded. “You got me. But tell me how that was wrong in any way. The Coalition still needed someone inside Voss’s compound, and I made that happen. I just happened to have a personal stake I wasn’t willing to share with the group.”

  Boone’s eyebrows arched as he considered Cyrus’s logic. “That personal stake you’re referring to could’ve worked against you just as easily as it worked for you,” he reminded. “And we’re talking about a connection to your prior life—your prior identity.”

  Boone continued, growing more animated as he went. “Furthermore, how’d you know she would keep your secret? You were showing up at her home—out of the blue—fully equipped with an entirely different name and a falsified personal history. How’d you know she would roll with that? Nobody’s that good!”

  Cyrus drained the last of his beer and pushed the bottle across the counter. He refused to meet Boone’s eye. “I didn’t know,” he answered finally. “I had no idea.”

  Boone sputtered. An exasperated sigh was apparently all he could manage. He slammed his bottle down on the counter and stared at Cyrus. Everyone at the counter cast looks in their direction. Boone quickly realized the attention he’d garnered by losing his cool and responded with a sheepish look, silently mouthing the word “sorry” in the direction of the staring faces.

  “What about you?” Cyrus countered after an awkward silence.

  “What about me?”

  “Don’t give me that,” he snarled. “You knew exactly what I was doing. You just admitted it. If what I was doing was so dangerous—and potentially detrimental, why did you let me do it?”

  It was Boone’s turn to take a long, appraising look at the situation. It seemed like forever before he finally spoke. “Because I trained you,” Boone said quietly. “I trained you, and I’ve seen you do some of the damnedest things. I mean it, just the damnedest. I’ve literally watched you turn a failed operation into a successful mission more times than I care to admit.

  “Why did I let you do it? Because on more than one occasion, you’ve made the impossible, possible. So when you have the bright idea of taking on a fake identity, and then knocking on the door of the fortress where your ex-girlfriend’s father lives and works, who the hell am I to tell you that it can’t be done?”

  Boone’s deadpan delivery was so convincing that Cyrus bought it. A great relief flooded him when a smile finally cracked Boone’s stony countenance. A moment later, they both broke out laughing.

  “Well, when you put it that way,” Cyrus said quietly. “You can make anything sound like a foolish idea.”

  Boone laughed. He laughed harder than Cyrus had heard him laugh in a very long time. “Seriously, kid,” he said as he tried to regain his breath. “I really don’t know how you do it. You are, hands down, the best I ever trained. Without a doubt, the best agent we’ve got.”

  Cyrus shook his head. He waved at the distant bartender for another round of drinks. “First you’re busting my balls, then you’re giving me compliments. That tells me two things. The first is that I haven’t had enough to drink.”

  Boone grinned and took the bait. “What’s the second?”

  “That you’ve recently suffered a concussion,” he smiled.

  It wasn’t long before the conversation moved on to more serious matters. Cyrus felt a cold sensation in his gut before he changed the subject, but he forged ahead just the same.

  “What happened on your side of things,” he asked Boone. “Only you and Hobbs made it out alive?”

  Boone took a deep breath and released it slowly. His eyes had dropped to the surface of the bar. He seemed to be staring somewhere deep inside the top of the countertop. Finally, his chin rose and he took a long pull from his beer.

  “Hobbs was nearly my last mistake,” Boone said cryptically. He took his time, as if considering how to explain something not easy to understand.

  “I’m still not entirely sure what happened,” he said at last. “As you know, I was taking a six-man team to collect Richard Ragsdale as part of your operation. It should’ve been a cakewalk. I figured I was easily taking twice the number of guys I needed. But after what happened on the Woo-jin Kang operation, I was making sure my bases were covered. It should’ve been enough. No one knew we were moving on the guy. No one knew we’d be there.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I really don’t know,” Boone said with a sad shake of his head. “But we walked into a nightmare. We pulled onto the street outside Ragsdale’s apartment and, before I knew it, we were taking automatic fire from every direction. It was a bloodbath.”

  “But you and Hobbs made it out,” Cyrus persisted. “How?”

  Boone shrugged. “I should’ve been asking myself that question. I didn’t until it was almost too late. I watched my team get
mowed down right there in front of me. I’m talking in the literal sense—these guys were just cut down by automatic crossfire. They never stood a chance. Hobbs was standing beside me at the time. We moved for cover behind one of the two armored SUV’s we took. Everything happened so fast—the next thing I knew, we were in the truck and tearing ass to get out of there.”

  “Were you pursued?”

  Boone offered a slow shake of his head. “No. That should’ve been another warning sign. I just didn’t see it.”

  “What do you mean, warning sign?” Cyrus insisted. “What happened?”

  “Hobbs drove us to a boathouse along the river. We knew we couldn’t use our planned safe house. After what happened, we had every reason to think the rest of the mission was compromised.”

  Cyrus nodded. It was a safe bet.

  “But as soon as we stepped out of the truck, Hobbs pulled his gun on me,” Boone explained. “He was with them. He was behind what happened to the team. He must’ve been with the guys who tried to hit you on the train, too.”

  “Did you question Hobbs and find out what he knew?” That Boone had somehow gotten the upper hand on Hobbs seemed obvious since he was sitting there.

  Another disappointed shake of the head came from Boone. “He took my gun. But once he did, he let his guard down, just like I trained him not to. So I made my move. It went smooth, too. I took him down quick. Unfortunately, I was in the process of restraining him when his partner showed up. We got into a shootout and both Hobbs and the other guy ended up dead.”

  Cyrus considered Boone’s story. “So you set up the other guy to look like you when you burned the truck and dumped it in the river?”