Liberation Day - A Thorn Byrd Novel

by Dustin Stevens

The back of Thorn’s fist connected solid with the door, sending an echo through the room on the other side. He paused before raising his hand and knocking again, the sound met by the shuffling of bare feet on a hardwood floor. A moment later the door swung open as a girl with dark skin and long hair leaned against the doorjamb. Despite the hour she was still in her pajamas, tendrils of red cutting a webbed pattern across the whites of her eyes.

  “Morning, Thorn,” she managed, her voice muffled.

  “Afternoon, Angela.”

  A sleepy smile was her only response, masking a throaty chuckle as she ran a hand up the back of her head and scratched at her hair. “Guess we missed the ceremony, huh?”

  “Meh,” Thorn said, letting a smile grow on his face, waving a hand at her. ”You’re only juniors. You’ll see it all next year.”

  Again Angela laughed, one hand still using the door frame for support, her body swaying just a bit. “Yeah, we might have gotten a bit carried away last night.”

  Thorn, along with most of Cambridge, had heard them come in at a quarter past five. It was far from the first time they had woken him in the middle of the night, but he didn’t have the heart to point it out.

  “I was wondering if I might be able to snag a small favor from you.”

  The hand fell away from the back of Angela’s hair as she stared at him. “Anything you need, Sweetie.”

  “I was wondering if you could watch Abby a little while for me. She’s been a bit skittish since the storm the other night, doesn’t like to be left alone.”

  Any bit of concern faded away as a smile creased Angela’s face, her hands coming together in a silent clap in front of her. “Of course. We’d love to have Abby!”

  Deep inside the room, the sound of a second person lumbering to life could be heard. The shuffling sound of feet dragging along the floor was audible, followed by a second voice calling, “We love Abby!”

  Turning at the waist, Thorn pushed out a two-note whistle, drawing Abby out of the room and across the landing. She passed her rib cage against Thorn’s calf before presenting herself before Angela, entire body quivering.

  With a playful squeal Angela descended on the dog as Thorn excused himself down the stairs. The smile fell away as he went, content in knowing that regardless what he found at the observatory, his dog was safe.

  Setting his jaw, Thorn burst out the front door of his dorm and jogged across the quad, passing graduates and their families still littering the sidewalks. Maintaining a quick pace, he darted by a trio of university buildings sitting silent for the weekend and made his way to the Astronomy Center, any semblance of foot traffic falling away behind him.

  The sound of his feet slapping against tile echoed through the stairwell as he took the steps two and three at a time, the rubber soles of his running shoes squeaking every time he made a turn. With each flight, his nerves became sharper and a sweat formed along his brow.

  There was no way to know what lay before him. Somehow in the preceding hour, somebody had managed to enter a locked room and leave behind a message in a move that fell somewhere between clandestine and corny. In the process, they had managed to assault one of only two people in the world he truly felt protective of.

  Whatever reason these people had for wanting to speak to him, it had better be worth the wrath they had incurred to do so.

  Pulse racing, Thorn climbed the last steps and pushed his way through a set of metal double doors. His pupils dilated as a dim room materialized before him, the space stretched the length of the building, encompassing the entire top floor.

  Standing in a loose cluster in the center of it was a trio of men, all wearing suits, all middle aged. Not one said a word as he entered, their attention aimed his direction, their faces void of any surprise at his sudden appearance.

  Thorn waited a moment to let his sight adjust before stepping forward, his hands balled by his sides. Sliding a hand into his pocket, he extracted the crumpled note from his bedroom and flipped it toward them, the wadded paper landing on the floor between them. “Which one of you assholes hit my dog?”

  The three men glanced between each other before the one in the center took the lead.

  “If she’d have just let us deliver the note and be on our way, nothing would have happened to her.”

  A single sentence and Thorn knew beyond a measure of doubt the man in front of him was the one responsible for the blood on Abby’s lip. The way he carried himself - from his pompadour hair style to his overly tanned skin - relayed extreme self-importance. Even the way he spoke made it obvious how little regard he held for the man across from him.

  Feeling his heart rate quicken again, Thorn tapped his balled hands against his thighs. “I hope it was worth it.”

  The right side of the man’s mouth pulled back in a sneer, revealing teeth that had been bleached to a neon shine. “Just like that and you’re ready to fight?”

  The question was obviously meant as bait, but Thorn found it hard to care. “Not so inclined when the opponent can hit you back?”

  The sneer grew a bit larger. “You really are an arrogant little punk. There are three of us here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Thorn took a half step back, watching as the look on the man’s face grew into a full smile. He ignored it as he glanced to the men on either side of him before stepping forward again.

  “Your boy on the right favors his left side,” Thorn said, his attention aimed straight ahead. “My guess is a knee injury. One quick snap kick and he’s done.”

  The smile faded from the man’s face as Thorn continued.

  “To my left, his right hand curls into itself between the middle two knuckles, looks like a bad break that never healed properly. Since the majority of the world is right handed, I’d venture a guess that’s his dominant side, making it pretty much useless in a fight.”

  The look fell completely away from the man’s face as Thorn took another step forward, mere inches separating the two. “Which leaves just me and you. I have to say, from where I’m standing, I like my odds.”

  The man stood in complete silence a moment, his mouth working up and down, searching for the right words. Before any came to him a familiar voice interrupted, calling out to Thorn, stopping the scene before it escalated any further.

  “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

  It took a moment for Thorn to place it, fighting to push aside the acrimony within him and focus on the sound he’d heard.

  “Coach Ingram?” Thorn asked, the right side of his face twisted up in surprise, his body rotating at the waist to ensure he was hearing correctly.

  “We’re not on the field anymore, Thorn,” Ingram said, emerging from the darkened corner of the room, his footfalls landing soft across the floor. “It’s just Jeff.”

  “What’s all this about, Coach?” Thorn asked, ignoring the directive.

  Ingram came to stop a few feet out, closing the circle around Thorn. “These men and I are here to offer you a job.”

  The hostility within faded a bit more, replaced by open confusion. Thorn kept his features impassive and waited a long moment before allowing his surprise to show. “What?”

  Raising the back of his hand, Ingram curled his fingers toward himself, motioning for Thorn to follow. Without waiting for any outward sign he took off for a metal staircase in the corner and began climbing, the rungs ringing out beneath his weight.

  Thorn paused until Ingram was halfway up before turning to scowl at the three men behind him. Not one gave any reaction as he left them standing in the center of the room and walked on, taking the stairs two at a time.

  A single steel door painted red pushed open onto the roof, the midday light washing over him as he stepped out onto the roof. Thorn took just two steps before pulling to a stop, allowing the door to swing shut behind him.

  “So, you’re wondering what the hell’s going on right now?” Ingram opened, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning to stare at Thorn.

&
nbsp; ”Let me see here,” Thorn said, making no effort to mask the disdain in his voice. “In the last hour I have graduated college, discovered my dog was assaulted, found a note lying on my bed, and am now having a conversation with my football coach on the roof of the observatory.

  “I’d say your assessment might be a bit of an understatement.”

  Just mentioning everything that had taken place, seeing the face of the man downstairs in his mind, brought back a fresh flood of anger to Thorn.

  “First of all, I didn’t have anything to do with your dog,” Ingram said. “That was Birkwood, the prick you threatened downstairs a minute ago. Second, I’m not your coach anymore. Never really was.”

  “Sure seemed like it,” Thorn said, his eyes narrowed, head twisting a bit at the neck.

  Turning on the ball of his foot, Ingram walked toward the edge of the building, a waist-high brick wall encompassing everything. “More of a scout than a coach actually.”

  “For?” Thorn asked, his attention tracking Ingram as he moved, his feet remaining planted.

  Ingram paused, pushing out a long sigh. “I was hoping I’d have a chance to do a little massaging before we got right down to it like this.”

  “No such luck, I guess.”

  Coming to the edge of the roof, Ingram turned and rested his backside against the dark red brick, his hands still deep in the front of his slacks. “I work for a company that specializes in selecting and training covert operatives. I’m offering you the chance to join.”

  Thorn’s reaction betrayed nothing, though a large handful of responses running the gamut from shock to ridicule sprang to mind. “Right.”

  A hint of a smile pulled at Ingram’s mouth. “I thought that might get your interest.”

  “Disbelief, not interest.”

  The mirth fell from Ingram as he nodded. “Like I said, I was hoping I’d have a little more time to set this up.”

  Dropping his attention to the ground, Ingram nudged a pebble with the toe of his shoe, sending it skittering across the rubber membrane covering the top of the building.

  “Alright, here’s the official pitch. The people I work for employ scads of young men such as you to perform a wide array of tasks the world over.”

  “Right,” Thorn repeated, a look of skepticism still on his face. “Such as?”

  “Honestly? Whatever needs doing. We have people that specialize in everything from computer science to corporate espionage.”

  “I can’t help with either one,” Thorn said, his voice still relaying his thoughts on the matter.

  “Nor do we want you to,” Ingram replied. “We don’t want finished products, we want talent.”

  Thorn waited a moment, expecting there to be more to the pitch. When none came, he shifted his body a quarter turn to face Ingram head-on, folding his arms across his chest. “So that’s it? One day I get a note and find out I’m being recruited to some off-the-books government agency?”

  “No,” Ingram said, shaking his head, “because we’re not government. We do a lot of business with them, but we are privately owned and funded.”

  “Not what I meant.”

  “I know,” Ingram said, bobbing his head, again dropping his attention to the ground.

  There he remained, the only sounds the ambient noises of the city around them, the errant dins of traffic in the distance. Thorn waited as the man across from him wrestled with the words he was looking for, pushing down the myriad of questions deep within.

  “Here’s the deal,” Ingram said, raising his attention to Thorn. “I know how it sounds, I thought the same thing when I was first brought on. Believe me when I tell you though, this thing is legit.”

  “And that’s all I have to go on?” Thorn asked.

  “No,” Ingram said, twisting his head side to side and extracting his hands from his pockets, folding his arms over his chest. “What you have to go on is I am staking my entire career on you.”

  The words narrowed Thorn’s eyes, his only visible response. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning this is my last shot,” Ingram said. “If you choose to come onboard, I become your handler and we go to work. If not, we both go our separate ways.”

  “If I choose?”

  “It’s a job offer, not a sentence.”

  Keeping his attention aimed at Ingram, Thorn slowly crossed over to the wall and matched his pose, leaning back against the brick. He could feel the cool temperature passing through his shirt as he settled against it, working to process what he’d just been told.

  “You realize how outrageous this all sounds, right?”

  Ingram nodded his head. “I do.”

  “And what makes you think I’m best suited for any of this?”

  “Right now, you’re not,” Ingram responded. “Your time in the military will put you ahead of most new recruits, but the learning curve will be steep for both of us.”

  Thorn shifted his gaze away from Ingram, letting his focus settle on the distance. He allowed his eyes to glaze over as he tried to make sense of what he’d been told, the sum total of it sounding nothing short of preposterous. “Let me guess, I’m not allowed to say a word to my pop about this when he calls later?”

  “No, you can,” Ingram replied. “Again, it’s an offer, not a sentence. I don’t know that I’d give him all the details, but it’s still easier than a fully falsified life.”

  Thorn nodded slightly, his head rising no more than an inch.

  “We’ll provide you with whatever back story you need, most likely involving - ironically enough - government work,” Ingram said before tacking on, “It’s broad enough to be easily manipulated.”

  Despite everything Ingram had just told him, it was obvious there was still a great deal that was being withheld. Thorn stood in silence and tried to determine what that might be, though at the moment there was still too much he didn’t know to be able to pinpoint what was missing.

  Given the situation, he took the only course available to him.

  “So, what’s the catch?”

  Pushing his hips back against the wall, Ingram rose to full height and turned to face in the opposite direction, his forearms resting on the wall. “The catch is, this line of work isn’t easy, it isn’t always safe, and it damned sure isn’t for everyone. At the same time, many of the projects we take on are of the highest priority. You’ll be working with cutting edge stuff and you’ll be well compensated for it.”

  The answer wasn’t everything Thorn was hoping for, but at the moment he conceded it was probably the best he’d get. “So that’s it?”

  “That’s it,” Ingram said.

  Silence again fell as the two men stared in contradictory directions, neither glancing at the other.

  “You realize this isn’t a very compelling offer.”

  Ingram pushed out a sigh. “Yeah.”

  Thorn paused again, thinking about everything he’d just been told. When he had been recruited to the navy, and again later to college football, he’d been filled with promises of grandeur.

  At the very least these guys had the decency to shoot straight with him.

  “When do you need my answer?”

  “Offer stands for six hours.”

  “How will I find you?”

  “I’ll find you.”

  The sound of heavy steps coming up the stairs drew both their attentions toward the door, each watching as Birkwood emerged and strode across the roof.

  “So, can we stop kissing this little punk’s ass and get to work?” he asked, not waiting for acknowledgment from either person. “Lord knows he’s got a long way to go.”

  Once more vitriol rose in the back of Thorn’s throat, rising like bile, tasting bitter in his mouth. “Don’t pretend you know a damn thing about me.”

  “Ha!” Birkwood snapped, the same smug expression returning to his face. “Boy, I know everything there is to know about you. I know where you’re from, your service record, your GPA, where you like to get your late night piz
za.”

  He took a step closer to Thorn, his sneer growing in size as he leaned forward, lowering his voice just a bit. “I even know what happened to your mother on the day you were born.”

  Fire flashed behind Thorn’s eyes as Ingram pushed himself up from the wall to stand between them. He kept his own glare focused on Birkwood and asked, “So what do you say, Thorn?”

  Thorn could feel his pulse hammering through his temples as he stared at the man across from him. In less than an hour he had had the gall to attack his dog and mention his mother.

  It took everything Thorn had not to fly across at him.

  Swallowing his body’s inclination down the best he could, Thorn pushed away from the wall and circled around Ingram. He leveled a penetrating stare on Birkwood and stepped past him, headed for the stairwell.

  “That’s what I thought,” Birkwood muttered as he went, amusement obvious in the tone.

  In one fluid movement Thorn pivoted on the ball of his foot and unfurled an overhand right that caught Birkwood across the bridge of his nose. Like a piston he drove his arm through his target, pushing it forward until it was fully extended from his body.

  The impact of the blow lifted Birkwood from the ground, depositing him in a heap at the base of the concrete wall. His eyes rolled back in his head as bright red blood droplets dripped from his nose and off his chin, speckling the front of his shirt.

  Thorn stood there over his opponent, his body poised, before the tension within him receded, his focus rising back to Ingram.

  “I say, before I can even consider this thing, we have to be on the level. He hit my dog and he insulted my mother.”

  Ingram glanced between Thorn and Birkwood’s inert form. “I understand.”

  Thorn nodded and turned for the stairs. “I’ll let you know.”

  Chapter Six