by Michael Todd
“Huh. You learn something new every day.”
He nodded and made the sound effect of a rainbow coming across a TV screen as he entered the elevator.
“What the hell was that sound?” the hacker asked.
“It’s the The More You Know rainbow,” he explained. “Didn’t you see the PSAs while you were growing up?”
“I grew up in St. Petersburg, remember?” she reminded him. “I…well, there’s probably some kind of joke about how the PSA’s saw us, but I didn’t grow up in Soviet Russia. Things were tough but not really that different for regular folk like my parents while I was growing up than it would have been for the people in most of Eastern Europe.”
“Fair enough. And that’s an opportunity for another The More You Know rainbow right there.”
“I know about that. I didn’t know what the hell that sound was. I’ve only ever seen the visuals.”
“Oh, right.” The elevator opened to let him out at the lobby, and he made his way to the front desk to check himself out.
It had been a long night—not the first one he’d spent in the office this week, and he doubted it would be the last. Having to keep track of what was happening in Seattle had been stressful enough and realizing there were fires that needed to be put out on that front had been annoying. The entire debacle had left him to make calls and try to obtain action reports from people who weren’t exactly careful in their note-taking, another added stress he could do without. A combination of pills and coffee were the only things keeping Banks awake at this point, and as he watched the situation devolve on the news and online, he knew he needed to cut his losses.
He didn’t really need to worry about the fact that it appeared some members of the team had survived. That was what he had thought at first. Everything had been done away from his location by a third party, courtesy of the client, which allowed him to keep his hands clean and clear of the whole process. For all anyone who could run online tracking knew, his IP was simply one that had viewed the details of the contract which had been cleverly disguised as an antique nobody would think to actually buy.
The problems started a couple of hours after the mission had effectively failed. It had been all over the local news, but the story seemed to be focused on the involvement of gang ties, something that had been on the rise in the country over the past few months. The failure was annoying, of course, but the fact that nothing about it led back to him wasn’t a bad thing. They could simply find another team that could get it done and perhaps add a little extra cash to gain access to those that didn’t mind going through a couple of levels of police to reach the targets. The whole situation could be solved relatively easily.
His complacency faltered when one of the surviving team members had added a comment to ask about the security surrounding the family. It was well-masked enough to make sure anyone who wasn’t directly involved in the operation wouldn’t know what was discussed. On its own, it was a minor detail. But less than five minutes later, someone with the screen name of PainDianaJones entered the conversation and asked outright why the first attempt failed so spectacularly. They also gave anyone who had questions about the kind of security assigned to the family knowledge about someone called The Savage.
Banks immediately followed up on the link. He couldn’t verify the man’s resume, but he remembered some of the jobs listed as being in the file the congressman had sent, which meant that at least some of the kills and operations were true. He had no idea if all were, but at this point, it didn’t really matter. No comments followed the link, but the lack of responses during the night—even though he upped the price on the contract three times to the tune of seven figures—clearly indicated that nothing was happening. He could always bring a foreign team in, a group of real pros. There were special forces belonging to some despot in central America or another that could be flown in, but it would take them too long to get there.
The contract obviously would no longer get any nibbles. That harsh truth effectively meant his plan to use the family to draw the operative into a trap was dead in the water. That plus the fact that the man now knew his name and probably everything else about him was a worrying thought. In fact, it had caused a handful of panic attacks as the night wore on and turned into morning, and all Banks could really think about doing was telling the client he’d failed in his task.
He was starting to realize what Carlson had meant when he said he was more afraid of Savage than he was of the client. At the time, he had thought the man foolish but that hasty judgment had definitely been amended.
There really was no other option, he realized. He picked his phone up, punched in a number he had found during one of his panic attacks during the night, and closed his eyes and rubbed some sensation back into them as the line started ringing.
“Hello?” The voice wasn’t one he was familiar with, even though he knew the name of the man behind it.
“James Anderson?” Banks asked.
“Speaking,” the man replied.
“This is Mason Banks,” he said. A slightly uncomfortable pause ensued, although the sound of breathing on the other end told him the line was still open. “I take it you know who I am.”
“The name does ring a couple of bells, yeah,” Anderson said, a hint of tension in his voice.
“I’d like to open discussions,” the lawyer said. “A parley, if you will. I’m working at the behest of someone who has targeted you and Dr. Monroe and I can tell you everything you need to know about them. In exchange for this information, I want an assurance that Savage will not act on any plans he might have to seek revenge against me.”
An odd sound was the only response. It took him a couple of seconds to realize it was Anderson laughing—an angry, disbelieving kind of laugh that did little to build confidence.
“You’ve gone and fucked yourself,” the man said once he was capable of speech again. “Do you think you can go after someone like Savage and try to talk your way out of it? Like some kind of witness protection deal?”
“It worked for Carlson,” Banks said and immediately regretted it.
“We know where Carlson is,” the former colonel retorted. “Savage gave him a warning, and so far, there’s been no real evidence to suggest he’s ignored it. Until now, of course.”
He nodded and took some comfort in knowing that if he went down, he would take the ex-CEO with him.
“Do you want my suggestion?” Anderson asked, and Banks nodded, although he gave no verbal indication. “I would suggest a nightcap of .45s to the head. Now you know what it will take for you to avoid having Savage come over and ruin every facet of your life before he kills you. You were dead the moment you targeted his family.”
The line went dead, but he kept the device pressed to his ear for a few more seconds before he placed it carefully on his desk with shaking hands.
“Well, fuck,” he muttered as he ran his hand over the stubble that had started to grow on his cheek. What the hell could he do now?
Chapter Nineteen
He was awake this time when the plane started its descent but kept his eyes closed as he felt himself return from the temporary haven the flight had provided. Savage brought himself slowly back to the topic of what he was there to do. It was pleasant to take the plane across the country. The seats were comfortable, entertainment was available in the form of conversation with Anja—with whom he still had a connection thanks to the woman’s genius—as well as a couple of films, series, and Internet access. It was an enjoyable little isolated paradise up in the clouds, and now he had to come back to earth. He needed to return to the mindset of the man who would kick ass and chew bubblegum while forgetting to bring bubblegum.
Compartmentalization. He had to put everything else behind him. He needed to be…well, to use the character Anja had more or less pulled out her ass, The Savage.
He actually rather liked that. There was a reason why he had chosen it as a last name to begin with and having it as a moniker wasn’t
a terrible thing. There were worse nicknames to be saddled with. He remembered one man on a team he’d been on called Chucky thanks to his face being scarred from an encounter with a landmine. Imagine being lucky enough to walk away from a landmine exploding, only to be nicknamed for a killer doll thanks to the scars the encounter had left?
The landing was a little rougher than he was used to and he gripped the arms of his seat as they touched down. The pressure against his seatbelt left him uncomfortable. He didn’t like that. It felt like he was going soft. Memories surfaced of the massive carriers used to ferry troops from one place to another, the kind that felt like earthquakes when they touched down. The pilots would always laugh and mock the newcomers who had the gall to complain about the roughness involved.
Savage shook his head, unbuckled, and stood up from his seat. He collected his bag on his way out. The stewardess hoped he had a great flight, and he nodded with a small smile because he didn’t want to have to make small talk. He wasn’t in the best of moods thanks to the odd sense of nostalgia that persisted. There was a reason for it, of course. Having been around his family would inevitably have consequences, even under the best of circumstances. He simply didn’t have the kind of mental power to keep it from affecting him. While that irked him as much as the emotions, he reminded himself he was only human, after all.
When he disembarked, a car was already waiting for him. It was a BMW, one of the newer M models with a powerful engine and powered by gas, unlike the Audi he had left to be delivered to the rental agency.
Sam sat on the hood and looked like she enjoyed a little sun out in the open a few miles away from the city of New York, which he could see in the distance. Terry stood outside the driver’s seat as if to claim the driving rights for himself and make sure his British counterpart wouldn’t try to steal his thunder.
“Hey, it’s the boss man,” Sam called when she saw him. She tilted her sunglasses down a little when she saw him move down the stairs toward her and grinned at him. “Coming off a private plane, no less. What do I have to do to get that kind of cheese coming my way?”
“Have your family put in danger,” he retorted but he chuckled when she jogged over to him and wrapped him in a hug.
“Hell, my family live in the darker, meaner parts of London, so I expect they’re in some kind of life-threatening danger at least once a week,” she replied with a grin, released him, and brushed her hand over his jacket. “Now can I use the private jet?”
“Would you use it to head over to help get them out of the life-threatening danger?” he asked as they strode to the car.
“Probably,” she replied. “You know, eventually. First, I need a vacation somewhere sunny with numerous beaches and where the gents are all shirtless, sweaty, and in possession of abs I can wash clothes on.”
“You’d need to talk to Anderson about that,” Savage said. “Although I can assure you he’ll respond with a very emphatic no.”
“What kind of boss man are you anyway?” she protested as he reached Terry and shook the man’s hand.
“The kind whose paychecks still need Anderson’s signature,” he replied with a cheeky smirk.
“Holy shit, she’s sassy, right?” Anja said into his earpiece. “I like her.”
He didn’t bother to give her a response.
“It’s good to see you again, Savage,” Terry said. “We heard about what’s happening to your family, and we’re here to help, whatever you need. Within reason, of course.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to do anything more demanding than risk your life, Terry,” he replied with a small smile, and the sniper nodded.
“I think I can live with that.” A rare smile touched his lips as he indicated for Savage to take his place in the back seat of the monster of a car they had gotten their hands on.
“This is a nice car,” he said and ran his hands over the leather seat as his teammates joined him in the vehicle. Terry started the vehicle and headed toward the entrance of the airfield. “How did you two get your hands on it again?”
“Anderson essentially gave us a blank check on everything we needed to keep tabs on Banks,” the other man replied. “Sam here said the area where we would track the man would be thick with cars like these, which I suppose she was right about.”
“The idea was to be able to blend in,” Sam explained and glanced at Savage in the back seat as they approached the bridge that would lead them to the heart of Manhattan. “We wouldn’t be able to do that in a Prius or anything like that. Besides, the BMW has a sturdier engine than most of the cars they have around there these days. The German make will ensure that it will be able to endure almost anything in case of a chase.”
He nodded. Anderson had shelled out to get him a good car in Seattle, so he doubted the man would make any noise about the rental the two had selected for themselves. Monroe might have something to say about it, of course. Anderson was leading with his heart a little on this one, but Monroe would be the one who actually had to sign off on all the expenditures.
She wouldn’t be too harsh about it, though, he thought. She seemed like the kind of person who realized that, while this was very personal for Savage, it was also a part of the overall reason why they were there in the first place—to clean out the rot in Pegasus caused by Carlson and his ilk. It had been problematic so far but not impossible. They were taking all the right steps and definitely moved in the right direction.
Savage let his gaze soak in the view of New York that drew ever closer to him as they crossed the bridge. It was a fantastic city, one he hadn’t actually had the opportunity to spend any time in until now. One hell of a time to visit the place, but it was bound to happen eventually, right? He’d been all over the rest of the world, why not end up here?
His gaze flickered to two cars that pulled in behind them. Every city had its own individual kind of traffic and flows were unique to the various cities. Sometimes, even cities had different patterns between one section and another.
Either way, the fact remained that two cars of the same make and model—dark-blue sedans—now drove behind them.
“Hey, Control, do you have a visual on us right now?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.
Anja took a few moments to answer. “Oh, Control. That’s me. What’s up, Savage?”
“I asked if you have a visual on us,” he repeated. Terry and Sam looked at him and followed his gaze to the two cars that maintained a steady pace. “Maybe camera access?”
“Give me a sec.” She returned after a few seconds. “Okay, what am I looking for here?”
“There are a couple of sedans following us,” he said. “Or…I think they’re following us. I feel like I’m in something of a paranoid state of mind. Two cars behind, same make and model, and keeping the same kind of distance. Do you think you can run the plates?”
“I’m already working on it,” she grumbled. “Yeah, they’re both rentals from the same agency and rented by the same people. That’s not uncommon, though. It’s a corporate rental, so it could basically be any corporation that has sent people into the city.”
Savage nodded, still unable to shake the feeling in the back of his mind. Maybe he was a little too paranoid in this case, but he’d learned to listen to this instinct. In the past, it had meant the difference between death and survival.
“Could they be following us?” he asked.
“I’ll keep an eye on them,” Anja said.
He nodded. It was all he could really expect from her at this point, but he reached surreptitiously over to the duffle bag on the seat beside him, unzipped it, and checked that the weapons inside were loaded and ready. He made sure they were easy to retrieve from the bag in an emergency. The shotgun, rifle, and pistol were ready for action, and he pulled the knife clear, slipped it into his right pocket, and checked to ensure that the clasp that kept his pistol in place was loosened too.
“Do you really think we’re being followed, boss?” Terry asked. He held Savage’s gaze t
hrough the rearview mirror.
“I’m in a paranoid mood at the moment, so let’s leave it at that,” he responded loudly enough for the two of them to hear. He had learned to trust his instincts, but the fact remained that he hadn’t exactly been at the top of his game lately. His recovery had been slow, and he was barely out of the hospital, not to mention a little rattled over the recent events. He hated feeling like this. His job had always required him to be absolutely certain on his calls and to be able to act on them at a moment’s notice without any hesitation.
And, dammit, he now felt hesitation.
They left the bridge and proceeded into the city where the afternoon traffic wasn’t quite as heavy as it would be come rush hour. The two sedans still followed them, which didn’t help his feeling of suspicion. He faced his two teammates in the front of the car.
“There’s no harm in coming up with a game plan in case we are ambushed, right?” he asked, and neither of them voiced any complaints. “No offense, Terry, but Sam is the specialist behind the wheel and we’ll need you to cover any potential long-distance problems we might have to face. If something happens and we’re forced into a stop, you two change places. What do you guys have in terms of weapons?”
“Pistols,” Sam said. “Both of us. We left most of our hardware back at the base.”
“Shit. It’s a good thing I brought enough to share. Terry, I have a small hunting rifle here. Can you make it work?”
The man shrugged to indicate that if they were in a situation where someone took shots at them from a distance, there wouldn’t be much of a choice, now would there?