by Michael Todd
When his phone buzzed, he answered quickly and didn’t bother to check the caller ID in case it was Anja. Anderson was the one who greeted him, however.
“Hey, Savage,” the former colonel said and sounded like he had been woken from a deep sleep. “Anja called me to let me know what’s happening.”
“Yeah.” His tone was almost a growl and he scowled at his weapon. “I think I’ll have to take time off work. I know I just got off medical leave, but I think I’m about to have something of a family emergency I need to deal with urgently.”
“Yeah, like I said, Anja filled me in,” Anderson responded, and he sounded concerned. “What will you do, Savage?”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said and deliberately kept his tone even and also tried not to let anything slip. Giving Anderson and Monroe some plausible deniability was still essential, even when he wasn’t on the clock.
“I understand that,” the man replied softly. “You do what you have to do, okay? And let me know if you need any help. Anything you need, it’s yours.”
“Thanks.” His voice, cold and distant, almost startled him. “I think I might take you up on that.”
“Stay alive, you hear me?” the ex-colonel ordered. At least he’d kept his expectations a little more realistic than Coleman’s. “We still need you here.”
“Will do, boss. I’ll call you.” Savage ended the connection and made another cursory inspection of the weapon in his hands before he slid it into his holster and pulled his leather jacket over it and made his way to the door. He was careful to lock and secure everything before leaving too. The chances were high that he wouldn’t be back for a while.
He shouldered the duffel bag full of shit to kill people with and made his way to the elevator, but he didn’t go to the garage of the building. He went to the lobby instead and nodded peremptorily at the guard who was too interested in what was showing on his TV to really pay attention to anything happening around him. Anja had told him what the poor man earned. He wouldn’t pay much attention to his job either if he was paid so little.
There were certain things he needed to do and didn’t want them tied to his Savage name. He liked it and had already begun to build a life around it, which meant he wouldn’t waste it on this. Of course, he would if he had to, but that wasn’t plan A by any means. This clarity was what he needed, yes—to think straight and make the smart decisions that would keep him and everyone else alive. The alternative of charging in half-cocked against people who were better armed, better prepared and, more importantly, working with cooler heads was not an option.
He fully intended to survive this shit and make it out the other end with the blood of those responsible on his hands.
Which was why he had purchased a car. Not his hybrid, of course. That was in his Savage name. The one he’d managed to acquire had papers under one of the names on an ID he had stored in his duffel bag. It had been purchased in cash, second-hand from someone who had wanted to unload a perfectly functional car because it was simply a little outdated. Old enough, in fact, that it lacked any of the standard tracking and GPS devices other cars had and that could have activated by someone with a computer and Anja’s level of skill.
It meant he had to walk a couple of blocks to reach the parking complex where he’d put it, but the activity helped him cool off further. He let the relative peace seep into his inner tension while he wandered through the streets that were almost abandoned by now. The quiet was no surprise, really. It was almost midnight, after all, and it was still a work week, although it would be cut short by Thanksgiving for some if not all.
He showed his fake ID to the guard, who nodded and allowed him through before he turned back to his TV. Savage wondered what was on that had so many people interested, but he thought it was better not to ask. He was quite content to let them watch if it meant he would be ignored.
The steel-gray Subaru was parked in a corner where it wouldn’t easily be noticed but which also afforded a hasty exit if needed. Like the hybrid, it was merely a tool to get him from point A to point B and was still common enough on the country roads that it wouldn’t turn any heads. He made sure there were no witnesses and he flipped his bag quickly into the trunk and slipped into the driver’s seat. Before he started the engine, though, he removed an earbud from his pocket, pressed the button on the end to activate it, and eased it gingerly into his ear.
“Good evening, Jer.” The familiar voice with a Russian accent was comforting by now.
“Evening, Anja,” Savage replied, started the car, and eased out of the parking space into the lane that would take him out of the garage. “How is this evening treating you?”
“It’s actually almost morning here,” Anja replied. “And small talk? Really?”
“Well, I thought I would give it a try,” he said. “I’ve needed to simply talk. To let my lips move without really giving much thought to what I actually say is like a white noise machine I create myself. It doesn’t work as well without someone to bounce it off, though, or you come off as that crazy person who talks to himself.”
“Are you doing it right now?”
“A little, yeah, and it is working.” He reached the crossbar and waited impatiently for the guard to open it.
“Do you want to know what I found out?” she asked as he pulled out of the building.
“Lay it on me,” he said and deliberately focused on the road and on controlling his breathing.
“Well, I’m still working on digging for actual details of whoever leaked your information, but I do have some news if you’re already on the move. And I can see you are. Anyway, you can head to the I-95 because I can see the leak came directly from the Pentagon, so it has to be someone who’s physically in Washington. I have a couple of names I’m tracking down, but they’re all merely aides and assistants, so I have nothing solid yet. I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Anja.” Savage circled and redirected the vehicle based on the signs which told him how to access the I-95 heading south. “I really appreciate what you’re doing for me.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Jer,” she said and he could hear the smile in her voice. “I like to think we’re friends, and when it comes to family, there’s nothing I won’t do to help you. So…from what I can see, we’re in for another fun road trip, eh, Jer?”
“It sounds like it,” he replied and managed a small smirk. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and felt the old leather groan under the strain. “Do you mind if I get real for a second here, Anja? This isn’t white noise talking.”
“This is a safe space, so talk away.”
“The thing is,” he began, then paused for a moment before he spoke slowly and deliberately since he had practiced this speech in his mind. It was a way he had been taught to calm himself by rationalizing the emotions rushing through his head. “The thing is, I’ve taken this whole job—and most of my life, if I’m honest about it, which includes even personal relationships, I guess—at a half-assed setting. I’ve put too much effort into something that wouldn’t net me much more than a little money. Getting some assholes votes back home has never been much of a priority for me. The only time I actually gave a crap was when my brothers and sisters in uniform counted on me, and…”
Anja had seen his file by now, he assumed. She would have known what happened the last time his brothers and sisters in uniform had trusted him to get them in and out of a dangerous mission alive. He squeezed the wheel again and allowed his body to relax after a few seconds.
“To find out some pencil pusher in Washington has put my whole family in danger and in the crosshairs of people who won’t hesitate to use them to get to me—and all for something that has everything to do with me and nothing to do with them…” He paused again and found it hard to stay focused on the road as he accessed the traffic on the highway. “It’s like a giant hand from heaven came down to earth and turned an invisible knob inside me to push me from half-assed to quadruple-assed.”
&
nbsp; “Wow,” Anja said and chuckled. “That’s like eight times the ass. And you’ll simply leave that invisible knob comment hanging out in the open like that?”
“You know it.” He grunted derisively and leaned back in his seat as the car settled into the speed limit and he put it into cruise control. “Let me know when you have someone for me to punch until my fists bleed.”
“Will do, Jer,” she replied. “You know I have your back in this, right?”
Savage nodded. “Yep, I know. And I know you have my front too since that’s where all the fun stuff usually happens.”
“Is that where you had your kidney punched out of you?” the Russian asked, and he laughed aloud.
“Touché.” He grinned. “Also, it’s a low blow. You know that punch landed me in the hospital for three weeks, right?”
“Well, maybe avoid giving him your back, then.” She sounded more cheerful than usual, and he wondered if she did it for his benefit in an attempt to raise his spirits. If so, he could appreciate that.
“You can bet on it,” he said softly and watched the odometer as the miles were slowly eaten up by the old yet still very efficient vehicle.
Chapter Seven
He hadn’t liked it much the first time around and Banks wasn’t at all happy to be back. Visiting prisons was never a pleasant experience, no matter how light the security was. The fact that Carlson still refused to be released into open custody—which would allow Banks to meet with him at a house arranged by the FBI—was something that annoyed him immensely.
It annoyed the client too, Banks thought, but for different reasons. Carlson used prison to hide from this Savage character, and despite the news that they were working on eliminating him, the ex-CEO had insisted that his lawyer bring him the evidence of what he claimed. He’d stated unequivocally that he wouldn’t leave the prison until he did. Every time someone arrived to transfer him, he claimed he had more information to share and wouldn’t do so if he was removed from the prison.
Annoying rich prick. Banks couldn’t help the thought as he slammed the door to his car and marched over to the guard who already waited for him. He’d called ahead as he wanted to do this as quickly as possible. In addition, he’d notified the FBI handlers to inform them their prize pony would leave the prison in short order and be moved somewhere more civilized.
He stepped into the prison and went through all the same motions he had on his previous visit. For some reason, he felt more on edge than he had then as they stepped through the doors. This was the first time he’d done something like this for his client. He knew, of course, that this kind of thing wasn’t unusual and assumed he would be called upon to do it eventually. While he had prepared for this eventuality, he was still nervous. To initiate an attack on someone as directly and as violently as he now did against Savage was new. It was exciting too. Like a chess game for keeps.
When he entered the room with the tables and chairs, he noted the cameras were already off and the security guards huddled on the other side of the room. There was only one topic to be discussed in this conversation, and nobody wanted it to be heard.
Banks didn’t have time to organize all his paperwork on the table before the prisoner was led into the room. The manacles around his wrists and ankles were removed quickly. The man limped to the table and still used that ridiculously expensive ivory and mahogany cane he had seen him with before. Carlson looked wired and anxious as well, which bit into the calm and aloof air he usually wore to set everyone around him on edge. The lawyer assumed the man hadn’t felt like this in a long time, and he still couldn’t find it in his heart to feel bad for him. He was the one who had forced him to make the trip all the way out there, driving to Pennsylvania from New York and then having to drive all the fucking way back.
Let him feel bad.
“So…Banks, right?” the man asked as he lowered himself into his seat slowly and thoughtfully. He very noticeably spared his bad knee any weight as he settled in.
“Mason Banks, yes,” he responded with a small, annoyed quirk of the lips. It wasn’t quite a smile or a scowl but a chilling mixture of both. He continued to set his papers out.
“You said you had my Savage situation handled,” Carlson said and leaned forward with a frown, obviously unused to having anyone give their paperwork more attention than him. “I look forward to seeing what you have to show me.”
“You won’t take any calls, Mr. Carlson,” Banks replied and still made no effort to look at the man. “You won’t accept electronic messages, and you won’t help me help you get out of this place.”
“As I’ve told the FBI, the people who have targeted me—Savage included—have significant resources.” He slapped his open palm on the metal table between them. “I don’t pretend to understand how any of it works, but if you want me to survive my time in here and my time out there, you need to assure me that you have my situation under control.”
Banks sighed. He’d completed his meticulous arrangement of documents but still wasn’t comfortable enough to look the other man in the eye. “I have to ask something here. I can handle the likes of Savage, as you call him. He’s a tough cookie, make no mistake, but he’s not invincible and certainly not immortal. More importantly, he has weaknesses that can be exploited. But what makes you think Anderson and Monroe won’t simply find someone else to do their dirty work for them?”
“Well, I’m sure they will find someone else.” Carlson shrugged as if he found the question irrelevant. “You have to understand, Banks. I’ve been around military people my whole life. I’ve dealt with military defense contracts since before I entered the world of business. I know these people. They’re all tough fuckers, reliable, and can get the job done. I actually have nothing against them. But once or twice in a generation, you have someone with exactly the right mixture of will and remorselessness that makes them the perfect killers. It might be something genetic, I don’t know. But they become the best killers of their time. Of course, they’re not always celebrated as such.”
Banks had to resist the urge to roll his eyes while the prisoner went through what had to be a rehearsed speech. He rationalized why he would rather play golf with his older friends instead of taking his place in the world again and making a difference. The lawyer liked this side of the man even less than the other arrogant asshole persona. Let him be afraid in private all he wanted as long as he had the balls to keep himself in the game.
This Savage seemed to have really knocked the fight out of him.
“So please tell me you actually have the means to get Savage out of the way and for me to get my ass out of this fucking place,” Carlson finished belligerently. He leaned back and watched his attorney closely.
“We were able to locate some evidence of him,” he said. He drew the picture of Savage out, placed it in front of the man, and watched his reaction closely.
It wasn’t quite what he had expected. The ex-CEO avoided touching the picture, a look of anger and disgust in his eyes, and the way that his nostrils flared indicated clearly that he still wasn’t over being shot in the knee.
“That’s him.” His voice was a little hoarse.
“You’re right, if it’s any consolation,” Banks continued. “He does appear to have some help in keeping his record—legal and online—clean as a whistle, so it took a fair amount of digging before the client found a picture our friend’s friend missed. Using that, we were able to obtain his file in the Pentagon. This is it.”
Carlson was more willing to touch that than the picture and rapidly read the various details of Savage—or Johnson’s—life during his time in the military. He looked a little more relaxed as he did so. The lawyer wondered if this was merely a result of now knowing what he faced and not having to deal with the unknown of it. It could also be that he had started to feel better, knowing what had beaten him and feeling more at peace with that.
He didn’t know much about the man’s psyche, so he wasn’t sure which was more likely. It could
even have been a combination of both.
“Well, that was some interesting reading.” The prisoner smirked and placed the file on the table. He watched Banks return it studiously to its place in his little organized pile. “Knowing that Savage, or Johnson, is an actual human being is something of a relief, but I still don’t know how we can eliminate him. You told me the situation was handled. This is progress, not handled.”
“You didn’t read the full file,” Banks said and opened it to the section he had in mind. “He has a family—an ex-wife and a kid his pension was sent to after his alleged death. I assume it means he still cares about them and thus, they can be used as leverage to bring him into a position for our maximum opportunity.”
Banks’ confidence dropped suddenly when Carlson’s face paled dramatically and his usually confident demeanor completely vanished. He seemed to recoil with each word.
“Are you fucking crazy?” the prisoner demanded and shoved his chair back a little farther.
“I don’t understand your response. You’re talking to me like this, but I know you’ve done this kind of thing in the past—used your enemies’ loved ones as leverage—and not too long ago, either.”
“Yes, and do you know what happened to me the last time I tried it?” Carlson asked and somehow managed to speak through clenched teeth. “I was shot in the knee and ended up arrested for fraud and a shithouse full of other charges. Savage entered my plane and he told me very clearly that my decision to target Anderson’s family made it personal. Then, he shot me in the knee and left me to be arrested. And that was what he did when I attacked someone else’s family and he wanted to teach me a lesson. What kind of shit show do you think we’ll be in for when he finds out we have targeted his? I’m warning you, don’t do this. Find another way.”