by Michael Todd
“You two,” he said as Terry and Sam continued to argue about not being an old married couple. “Drink, and drink.”
He pointed at the beer first, then the shots, as he pushed himself clear of the booth they shared and wandered to the bar. His beer didn’t need refilling. It would still be there for him when he returned once he’d been shot down. Or maybe not. In which case, Sam would be there to finish his beer for him. She seemed the type to not waste good alcohol.
It took a while to push through the crowd that now filled the small pub but he reached the bar without mishap. He wasn’t attended to immediately, so he took his time before he approached the young woman. She noticed him and offered him a tentative, invitational smile as he sat down beside her.
“Not to be cliché or anything, but can I buy you a drink?” he asked.
She was about to answer when a hand touched his shoulder. Well, grab was more appropriate. He was dragged around to face the person in question. As drunk as he was, it took him a second to realize who it was.
“Anderson!” he said, a little too loudly. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came in to try to talk you out of doing something stupid,” the man said with a grin. “And then maybe get you to avoid going into a heavily fortified bunker on your own.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked and glanced at the brunette. “By the way, meet my friend… What was your name again?”
It looked like the woman was about to answer, but Anderson cut in first. “Whatever her name is, she came in with her boyfriend who’s sitting in the corner over there.”
“Hey, thanks a lot, asshole,” the woman snapped and pushed herself up from her seat.
“You’re trying to steal drinks from gullible, drunk guys,” he retorted, his tone sharp. “Get lost, asshole bitch.”
Her eyebrows raised but she knew he was in the right in this particular situation. All she could really do was huff, act offended, and return to her boyfriend, who looked annoyed at her inability to score him free drinks.
“Well, I think I owe you one for that,” Savage said with a grin.
“There was the one in that other bar,” the former colonel reminded him as they shuffled through the crowds to the table where Terry and Sam waited.
“I paid you back for that one by saving your life a couple of hours later, so that doesn’t count,” he said and shook his head decisively.
“Well, I’m cashing in on this favor right now to get you to rethink your current strategy,” Anderson said. He slid into the booth beside Terry, which forced Savage into the opposite seat with Sam, who draped her arm over his shoulder. “It’s suicide and you know it. Suicide’s a sin, Savage. It should be me going in there.”
“Not if you’re not Catholic,” he pointed out and reclaimed his beer. “I’m not Catholic. I can do crazy shit all I want. Besides, it has to be me. Otherwise, the plan doesn’t work.”
“I disagree with that,” she said. “I like you, Jer. You shouldn’t do any crazy shit. Leave that to me. I’m the crazy one. Everyone knows that.”
“The woman has a point,” Terry said with a chuckle.
“I’ll drink to it.” He grinned, picked his beer up, and added the contents of the last shot glass that was still full before he raised it in another silent toast.
Savage staggered out of the bar, but by the time he reached the street, he had managed to straighten his steps and his clothes. He was drunk, more or less. His tolerance for alcohol was still strong, and it took him more than five or six shots and a couple of pints of beer to bring him to the strip down to his underwear and sing kind of drunk. He’d starched up, hydrated, and taken his time, and he was done with the drinking part of the night in less than an hour and a half. That was a personal record.
Of course, he’d had to sell the whole schtick of having a low tolerance Sam had hinted at or outright goaded him into, but he didn’t mind. He did his best drinking in smaller, safer locales with fewer people around. He’d never bought into the appeal of a crowded bar—too much noise and too many people he hadn’t specifically chosen to be around. Terry, Sam, and Anderson were all well and good, but the same couldn’t be said about the literally dozens of people who crowded into the place. It had reached a point where he simply hadn’t been able to enjoy himself.
He had booked a room in a hotel for the night as he didn’t want to sleep in the cot in the abandoned building where Terry and Sam were still headquartered. He was sure they had rooms elsewhere too and had only set the cots up in case they needed to hunker down there for the night or take a nap in the middle of the day.
It wasn’t the best accommodation but was within walking distance, so he didn’t need to take a cab. Besides, a brisk walk in the chilly New York evening had a shocking effect and would dispel the warm, drunken feeling he was filled with at the moment. A ten-minute walk was enough to exorcise most of it and to make his nose and ears numb before he reached the hotel.
Check-in was a quick and easy process. He used the ID Anja had provided him with earlier that day in the name of David Baker. Sam had mentioned something about a doctor, but she hadn’t actually given him an explanation so he was none the wiser. He would ask her about it later if he had the time and remembered something so inconsequential. There were other more important things, like requesting a room with a queen-sized bed.
“Of course, sir. The room was already selected in your reservation,” the night manager said with a polite smile.
Savage didn’t remember doing that, but maybe he had pressed the button and simply not noticed it.
He asked for a full mini-bar and about the kitchen. Food was a definite requirement in order to keep his stomach settled. He was informed that the room service menu was available all night long.
The man remained quietly polite, but the operative wondered if he could tell he was halfway to drunk—or maybe a little more than half. It seemed likely that he could, if only from his breath. He liked to think he would have been able to tell if someone as drunk as he was approached. Besides, these guys dealt with drunk patrons all the time, right?
With check-in complete, he located the room and unlocked it with the key that had been handed to him. Too late, he realized he should have noticed that the light inside was already on. His hand instantly found the pistol under his jacket. It might not have been the best idea to bring a gun to a bar, but he hadn’t really thought all that much tonight.
Compared to most of his life, the night had lacked uncomfortable surprises. That alone meant he should have seen this one coming.
“You can put the gun away,” Dr. Jessica Coleman said with a smile, still seated on the single chair in the room which had been pushed into the corner beside the night light.
Savage realized he’d drawn the piece halfway out of his holster, his thumb already on the safety, ready for a fight.
“Sorry,” he said and shook his head as he shoved the piece away and covered it with his coat. “I’m still a little jumpy. It’s been one of those…weeks.”
“So I’ve heard,” Jessica said with a chuckle.
“How did you hear that?” he asked and narrowed his eyes. “Actually, how are you here in my roo— Damn it, Anja!”
“What? I said I liked her,” the hacker said over the comm link he still had in his ear. “You might want to take the earbud out, though, if you don’t want me listening in.”
“You’ll simply hack into my phone,” he reminded her.
“Well, I’m curious, but I’m not that curious,” she protested. “You kids deserve some privacy. Have fun!”
He took her advice and removed the device from his ear and placed it on the bedside table before he sat on the bed. “Kids. Yeah, right. I’m reasonably sure I’m older than she is.”
“I don’t think that’s what she meant,” Jessica said softly, her gaze assessing but not challenging.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked with a little more heat in his tone than he’d inten
ded.
“Anderson filled me in on what you were doing, and…well, I assumed everyone would tell you to reconsider.”
“And you won’t?” His question was a little curt as he removed his jacket and placed it on the bed.
“No, I’m here to wish you good luck.” She grinned cheerfully. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you it’s that once you settle on the course of action you think is right, you’re the only one who can convince you to change it. That and the fact that fortune tends to bend herself over backward to accommodate your schemes.”
“Fortune, huh?” He snorted derisively. “Is that what you call me getting shot and beat up in that hotel in Charlotte?”
“Not that specifically, but me being there to bail you out and help you out with your injuries was fortunate, wouldn’t you say?”
Savage nodded. “What happened later that night of course was…” He didn’t know how to finish that sentence, mainly because he wasn’t at all sure what it was. It continued to elude his attempts to explain it.
“We both needed each other that night,” she said. “It was a moment of crisis and danger, and we found comfort in each other. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“It did make things complicated, you have to admit that,” he pointed out.
“Sure,” she responded but her small shrug was almost dismissive. “But complicated doesn’t always mean worse. It was an enjoyable evening for us both, but that doesn’t mean anything needs to come of it. We’re both adults, we should be able to move on and keep things in context.”
He needed a moment to compose himself as there was still a little too much alcohol in his system for him to trust whatever came to his mind first. “I’ll be honest, I really did want something to come of it. It’s been tough, and being with you was one of the best things I’ve had in this short new life I’ve lived. The only problem I see is that…well, I don’t think it’ll be what you’re looking for. I won’t be able to engage myself fully if that makes sense. There’s too much baggage on my end. Too much Savage, and not enough Jeremiah left—I suppose that would be the best way to explain it.”
She nodded and pushed up from her seat. He stood as well and assumed that as she hadn’t heard the answer she’d wanted, she would therefore take her leave. It was entirely understandable, and he didn’t blame her. He wasn’t the family man he’d been before—or at least someone who tried to be—and the truth was that he had moved way past normal or even halfway committed relationships.
“I understand,” she said softly, but instead of making her way to the door, she moved closer to him. There was a moment where he thought she might want a goodbye hug or something. While he wasn’t much of a hugger, he could make an exception for her in this instance. She had made it worth it, he thought.
It seemed he had completely misinterpreted her intentions. She hesitated for only a moment, then draped her arms over his shoulders and pulled him in. He didn’t resist when she pressed her lips to his with a warm, tender touch. The kiss was soft at first, but the longer it lasted, the more intense it became. He realized that she used the opportunity to push him slowly into the bed behind him.
Savage landed roughly and it creaked loudly beneath him. Jessica clambered after him and straddled his hips in a smooth motion. She pressed her lips onto his neck and ran her hands under his shirt to find and trace his hard-planed torso.
“I thought you said—” He tried to voice a protest but his words were cut off by a sudden and almost electric shiver up his spine.
“Well,” she replied to his unfinished question, her lips still close enough to his bare skin that he could feel her lips move and the vibration of her voice and the heat of her breath on his neck. “I decided that I’d come all this way, so I might as well have something to remember you by, right? And I don’t mean something from the JFK Airport souvenir shop.”
He couldn’t really argue with that as she already busied herself with removing his holster, followed quickly by his shirt. She added her own to create a growing pile of discarded clothes and shifted a little over his hips to compensate for the disparity in their heights. He drifted his hands down her sides and she grinned at him from her perch.
It would be a long night, as Sam had predicted. Still, as long nights went, this was far more enjoyable than he had expected.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The day before, his teammates and Anderson had told him constantly how dangerous and ill-conceived his plan was, but it was the only one that had presented itself. He had his own doubts about how well it would work or the unseen variables they might encounter. There were many risks, mostly for him, but Banks had made it quite clear that Savage was the target of his vendetta when he accessed his file and threatened his family specifically.
The logic behind it was indisputable. They wanted to eliminate the man who worked as an enforcer for Anderson and Monroe’s team. Given the history, they obviously realized they wouldn’t effectively be able to remove either of them while they had him to throw wrench after wrench into their works, and they targeted him directly.
Which meant he was the one who had to pull this off in order for it to work. He needed to get into that bunker himself and make sure people were distracted long enough in their attempt to either entrap or kill him to allow the rest of the plan to unfold effectively.
Most of the day had been spent running surveillance from a distance. Savage, Sam, Terry, and Anderson alternated who was in their hide on the crane that was still unused. Work continued along the docks during the weekend, but it took place on the far side and so left their location all but abandoned, for the most part. The lack of traffic and activity was probably why their adversaries had chosen this bunker to build their secure location in. If he were someone rich who wanted a safe hideaway that would enable them to keep potential attackers at bay, he would have wanted somewhere that wasn’t used until the peak seasons.
The light had begun to fade and his phone vibrated in his pocket to notify him that it was almost time. He moved his car closer to the target in a slow crawl and inched toward the fences before he finally stopped about half a klick from the bunker.
It was all too easy to slip into an overthinking mindset—the kind that made him wonder about the hundreds of different ways in which all this could go wrong. He was acutely aware of the possibilities if not the probabilities. His death was one of the worst ways in which it could go wrong. He would essentially go in there blind, with maps created from the bunker plans that were at least a decade old as his only reference for orientation once he entered.
A half-hour remained before he could move toward the bunker itself on foot. The operative took the time to enter the dark, cold place within, the place where the plan was irrevocably settled and cast in stone. Questions would only come along when he was in a position where he had to deal with them in the moment and only had a split second to make choices. It didn’t guarantee that he would make the best decision, of course, but it certainly meant he wouldn’t have too much time to overthink the problem and probably revert to his original decision anyway.
“Savage, are you good to go?” Anderson asked from his position on the crane where he functioned as a spotter for Terry. “Fifteen minutes and counting. Run a quick weapons check.”
It had been a while since the former colonel had conducted a field operation, but he still knew how to do it. He assumed Savage would be in his car, stewing over his own possible demise. At this point, it was too late to call the operation off, which meant they were all in this together. Part of his role was to be there to help and give the man on the ground something to do with his hands to keep his mind off of the bad shit that very likely lay ahead.
Savage actually did run a quick check on the weapons he’d brought with him. His Glock was fitted with a suppressor Terry had somehow acquired, although he hadn’t explained the details. The shotgun was essential too—close quarters, up close and personal, was what he aimed for and anticipated. From
the plans he’d seen of the bunker, there was little in the way of open spaces. In other words, the fortress was the kind of place where he wanted to have as much lead spewing downrange as possible.
“Locked and loaded, boss,” he said. He wore a vest of body armor but would have felt more comfortable with one of the full helmets they issued as standard gear to the Marines these days. They’d provided him with a ski-mask laced with some light shit they’d pulled out of the Zoo that apparently worked almost like body armor. Still, the fact remained that if he took a headshot, the bullet might not punch through but it would be a kill shot, nine times out of ten. Of course, it was better than going in there with nothing.
He was dressed in dark camo to help him remain unseen as much as possible. Anja and Anderson had explained that the light tech in it allowed him to be more difficult to see in weak light or dim situations. There had been far too much science involved for him to really assimilate, and all he had really come away with had been the fact that Pegasus actually developed these kinds of things. What government would want some kind of active camo?
Savage didn’t really want to know the answer to that.
“You’re good to go in three…two…one,” Anderson said, already patched into the earbud comm system Anja had set up for them.
A second after one, the operative stepped out of his vehicle and didn’t bother to shut it behind him before he moved on. The faint sound of cars approaching on the road created a steady background hum. He stayed low and remained close to the mostly abandoned warehouses around his target. Headlights lit the area well enough, but any noises he might have made were covered by the two engines of the security vehicles and wheels on tarmac. He had sufficient time to continue his advance as the group of men seemed in no particular hurry once they’d arrived. They stood around and exchanged pleasantries that he could hear from the position he’d managed to reach at the fence.
As a group, they stepped into the elevator and the door closed. He hefted his pistol in readiness and hugged the ground.