The Blueprint (The Upgrade Book 1)

by Wesley Cross

  “Alpha Two? So he’s not even the one in charge?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Mike. “We think there might be another player, but Alexander surely seems to be the top guy, so the name might be just a decoy, in case there was a leak. But like I said, I don’t really know.”

  “What happened when you were driving Jason from the airport?”

  “We were hit by Engel’s rivals,” said Connelly, “There’s another powerful group backed by General Armaments whose bosses don’t share Engel’s vision. Working for Engel provided me a perfect cover to dig into his network while actively trying to sabotage GA’s plans. I didn’t recognize who Jason was, initially. Not even when he said his name. A bit of extra weight and that long hair threw me off. It only dawned on me much later. I should’ve guessed when I was dropping them off. He was cool and collected after such a stressful situation, and for a moment he looked like his old man.”

  “You knew his father?”

  “Andrew recruited me to the Unit,” said Mike, smiling, “and while there were numerous times when I regretted that decision. I am who I am today because of him. Now.” He looked Max in the eye. “Let’s find Jason Hunt.”

  CHAPTER 42

  “Daddy, daddy, daddy,” Lily chanted as she banged her spoon on the table. “Can I please watch some cartoons?”

  “Laura, where are you? I need Lily’s jacket,” Latham Watkins yelled toward the back of the house, then turned back to the girl and patted her shoulder. “C’mon, honey, put on your shoes. We are going to be late for school. We’ll watch cartoons in the evening.”

  “I’m coming.” A large woman in her mid-thirties appeared at the kitchen carrying a bright pink jacket with faux fur. She helped Latham get the girl dressed.

  “You’re good to go, little bunny,” she said, kissing Lily on the cheek. “Please listen to daddy, will you?”

  As Latham drove his daughter to school, he thought about the meeting scheduled for this afternoon. The plan that he’d set in motion after he met the police captain had been working so far. Whatever lie Brennan told his contact it must have been convincing enough for them to agree to a meeting. Watkins didn’t expect the man, who was so far only known as Alpha One, to show up himself, of course, but whoever was coming instead of him would be higher on the totem pole.

  “What are you selling today, Daddy?” Lily interrupted his chain of thought.

  To everyone outside of his actual employment, Latham Watkins was a successful pharmaceutical salesman. It was a good cover that explained an ever changing schedule and frequent corporate trips.

  “There’s this new drug, honey,” he said patiently, “that helps people who have dementia.”

  “What’s a dementia?”

  “That’s a terrible disease,” he said, thinking of his mother, who suffered from it for the past twenty years. “It makes you forget things.”

  “What kind of things?” Lily asked. “Like math tables?”

  “Among other things,” he said absent-mindedly.

  He dropped her off at the entrance of the school, a posh four-story building with bas-reliefs adorning its façade. Lily gave him a quick kiss and ran toward the group of teachers.

  “Remember, your mother is picking you up today,” he shouted as he watched her run.

  She waved her hand, letting him know she’d heard.

  He watched her go, then put the car into drive. There was some prep work he needed to do before today’s meeting.

  When Latham arrived to his office, he went through the same routine he always had before a potentially hostile encounter. He sat at his desk and neatly wrote down threats that he could anticipate in a meeting like that. Following Latham’s directives, Brennan had set it up in front of Bryant Park. In such a public place Watkins wasn’t too concerned about being shot or kidnapped, although he didn’t rule out the possibility of either completely. There was a danger of being stabbed or simply beaten to death.

  After some consideration Watkins decided to put on a protective mesh. While not as robust as a bulletproof vest, it would be good enough to stop a blade or a kick.

  He dove into the multiple drawers that lined the walls of his office and dug out the biofilters for his nostrils as well as a pair of fake skin gloves with micro pins at his fingerprints. A small can of aerosol and two bottles of clear liquid completed his preparations.

  Latham arrived at the rendezvous point ten minutes too early. The bench in front of the park where Brennan’s contact would be sitting was still empty, and Watkins walked by it without slowing down. It was cold and the flow of office workers on their lunch break and tourists wandering around was too light to his liking, but it would have to do. He stopped by a food cart on the corner of 42nd Street and bought himself a hot dog and a can of soda and started slowly walking back to the bench.

  The bench wasn’t empty anymore. A small well-toned Asian man in an expensive looking coat was sitting there, watching the traffic crawl on 6th Avenue. He looked relaxed, both hands resting on the back of the bench, his jet-black hair flowing in the cold wind.

  Latham slowed even more, biting into the hot dog and watching the man with a corner of his eye. Something was wrong. The man didn’t look like a low-level agent who came here to meet another nobody. Watkins felt scared. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk for a moment, making a show of cleaning up ketchup from his lips, trying to decide what to do.

  Screw this, he thought. Let Brennan figure out how to explain why he stood up this guy.

  He turned around to walk away and bumped into a seven-foot tall man who grabbed his shoulder in a bone-crushing grip.

  “What the fuck,” he cried out, trying to free himself, and punched the big man in the gut. It was like hitting a bulldozer. The man didn’t say anything and started dragging Latham toward the bench.

  Watkins fished out the small aerosol and sprayed the mountain of a man in the face. The big man stopped for a moment, wrenched the can out of Latham’s hands, and threw it away, then lazily hit him across the face with the back of his hand. By the time Latham stopped seeing stars, the man shoved him down onto the bench next to the Asian man.

  “We’re quite aware of your fascination with chemical compounds, Mr. Watkins,” said the man with a strong British accent, “so please forgive me for ruining your little plan.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” said Latham, rubbing his face. It still stung.

  “My name is Victor Ye. Some people know me as Alpha One. Isn’t it what you wanted to know?”

  “Well.” Latham sat up straight and looked Victor in the eye. “What I really want to know is if you’re playing us.”

  “By us, you mean Mr. Engle?”

  “Not just him,” said Watkins, “the entire Organization.”

  “We live in a complicated world, Mr. Watkins,” Victor said. “Do you play chess?”

  “No.”

  “But I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept. One must think a few moves ahead to win the game. Sometimes masters make moves that seem weak, or strange, to a neophyte. They sacrifice pieces and get their opponents excited at the thought of catching the master making a crucial mistake. Then, poof.” He waved his hand. “Their dreams evaporate. Checkmate.”

  “You haven’t actually answered my question,” Latham said.

  “Okay,” Victor said, tilting his head to one side that made him look like a bird. “I’ll be as forthright with you as I can. It’s not me who’s trying to play the Organization, but your very employer. Surely, it doesn’t come to me as a surprise that the man of his stature and ambition won’t be happy as the second in command.”

  “Are you saying,” started Latham.

  “All I’m saying is this is not the time to challenge my authority,” said Victor fiercely, “and I won’t allow Alex to jeopardize years of work just because his ego is too fucking large. The coup has just failed. We’re hunted by the international off-the-books agency called the Unit, which has the authority to kill our members. I
’d say it’s a wrong time to try to weaken the organization from within.”

  “Why don’t you talk to him then?” asked Latham. “Why all this secrecy? Mr. Engel is a practical man, and if you appeal to his logic I’m sure he’ll listen.”

  “Oh, I tried, Mr. Watkins. My father and I have done more for Mr. Engel and his father than anyone else. We helped them build their empire; we eliminated their enemies, including the man who founded the Unit. You ever heard of Andrew Hunt? No? No matter. Oh, I’ve tried plenty.”

  “Maybe I could talk to him,” Latham said, feeling sheer terror start to settle in.

  “Oh yes, you will,” said Victor, nodding to the giant and standing. “You’ll send him a message on my behalf.”

  Massive hands grabbed Watkins and half dragged, half carried him toward 6th Avenue. Just now he noticed a limousine parked on the other side of the road.

  “We’ll strip your flesh and shorten your limbs, which might take a few days,” said Victor, “then return you to Alex while you’re still breathing. Maybe that would penetrate that thick egotistical skull of his.”

  As Latham struggled in the giant’s hands, all he could think of was Lily as she was walking away and waving her little hand.

  CHAPTER 43

  When Chuck woke up it was still dark. It was just after six, which meant he slept for almost sixteen hours. He stayed immobile for a few moments, enjoying the silence. It was nice to be in bed and not worry about anything. Even for a short while.

  The first thing he did after leaving Jesse Klein’s house was visit his safe deposit box in midtown. While it carried some risk of being seen, he didn’t think it was too dangerous. He didn’t think anybody knew about this account, and he also didn’t have any choice. Chuck needed to lay low, which meant he couldn’t use his credit cards, and the box had twelve thousand dollars in cash, another Chiappa Rhino revolver, and four boxes of ammo. Once he retrieved the box, Chuck bought a cheap tablet, checked into a motel in the grimy Alphabet City, ordered some pizza and beer, then went straight to bed.

  It was time to get moving, though. He took a quick shower, grabbed his tablet, and headed out looking for the nearest coffee shop with an Internet connection. He found one just a block from the hotel, squeezed between a laundry place and a pawn shop. An old Asian lady took his money without saying a word, made him a cup of coffee and a bagel, and waved her hand in the direction of a few dirty tables in the back.

  He sat in the farthest corner, positioning himself so whoever was in the little café couldn’t see the screen of his tablet. Chuck brought up the login screen of the police department and stared at it for a few seconds.

  What now? he mused to himself, weighing his options. Chuck couldn’t log in as himself, that was clear. First off, his access was probably suspended, and even if it wasn’t, it would immediately set off bells somewhere in the police department. Of course, he could use Ryan’s login information. It was against regulations, but most partners knew each other’s passwords. It was inevitable.

  The problem with that approach was that it couldn’t work simultaneously from two locations. If he tried to log in at the same time as Ryan was logged in himself, the system would automatically lock both points of entry and notify the IT department of a possible breach.

  Chuck took a sip of coffee and considered his options. Finally, he typed in Ryan’s badge number and a password. He stared at the screen for a few moments and hit “Enter.”

  The screen blinked, and a second later he was looking at the homepage of the internal website. He needed to work quickly. Fumbling with the touchscreen keyboard, he typed JASON HUNT into the query system.

  What the hell, he said out loud, looking at Jason’s mugshot, conspiracy, insider trading, cyber terrorism.

  He leaned in, reading the brief description of the charges in Jason’s file, then clicked on the Evidence tab. It was empty. Chuck frowned and clicked on the Witness Accounts tab to find it empty as well.

  It doesn’t smell right, he thought, doing a quick search of known associates. He read a quick note of Jason’s wife passing. It surely seemed the guy had hit a treasure trove of bad luck.

  Chuck continued to dig. The name of Maximilian Schlager kept coming up, and when Kowalsky ran his phone records there were dozens of calls between him and Jason.

  They must be friends, he thought, looking at the frequency and length of conversations between the two.

  He reached for the corner of the page to log out of the system, but then decided to check Jason’s profile one more time. He re-read the brief description of the charges, then noticed that the tab titled “Misc” had a small number (1) on it, indicating that there was a file attached to it. Chuck clicked on the tab, opened the one-page attachment, and stared at the document for a few moments.

  Shit, he finally said, then he logged out.

  • • •

  “How much does Helen know?” Mike asked as he watched the security feed from Christopher Toro’s building.

  “Pretty much everything.” Max shrugged. “Without her code we wouldn’t be able to pull it off, so I had to tell her. Alex had some black hats doing exactly what we were doing.”

  “But they were caught by surprise,” said Mike.

  “Yes,” Max said, “and there aren’t a lot of people as good as she is. So what’s the verdict with the building?”

  “It’s an easy lock to pick,” Mike said, switching the view between the cameras. “I’m just trying to make sure there are no other surprises there, that’s all.”

  A doorbell rang, its melodic tones echoing through the penthouse.

  “Waiting for anyone?” Mike whispered, pulling out a gun.

  “No,” Max whispered back and looked at his watch. “Helen shouldn’t be here for another couple of hours.”

  “Ok, let’s go.” Mike started walking toward the door, trying not to make any noise. “Stand by the door where the hinges are and ask who this is, but do not look through the peephole, understand?”

  “Sure.”

  The doorbell rang again, longer this time. Connelly took a position by the kitchen, aiming his gun at the door.

  “Who is it?” Max said, positioning himself in the corner.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Schlager,” said the voice.

  “You can open the door,” said Mike loudly, startling Max.

  Detective Chuck Kowalsky was standing in the doorway, incredulously looking Mike up and down.

  “I guess after everything I’ve seen, I shouldn’t be surprised,” he finally said. “May I come in?”

  “Who is this guy?” said Max, still suspicious.

  “I’m the guy who saved his ass,” said Chuck pointing at Mike, “and I’m also the guy who knows how to find Jason Hunt.”

  “Ryan?” asked Mike.

  “Dirty,” said Chuck with disgust, “so can I come in or what?”

  “Sure,” said Max, as Mike nodded his approval.

  “On second thought…” Chuck remained standing at the door. “It would be best if we shared stories on our way to get Jason. Can we drive?”

  • • •

  Mike listened to Chuck’s story in the back of Max’s car as they made their way uptown. He quietly cursed when Kowalsky got to the part where he’d found Jesse’s body.

  “Jesse was a good guy,” he said. “It’s a shame.”

  “So how are we getting Jason out?” said Max, “I’m still unclear on this. Is he still under arrest?”

  “I don’t believe so,” Mike heard Chuck say. “I think they dropped the charges today, so for now he’s in the hospital. I don’t know the details, but sounds like he got into a fight when he was getting processed.”

  “Why didn’t he contact Max?” said Connelly. “Let’s be careful here.”

  “Agreed.”

  They parked a block away from the clinic and walked the rest of the way. Max talked to the receptionist and got back to the party.

  “He’s on the second floor, room 216,” he
said. “Let’s go.”

  Mike limped behind the group, trying to keep up as they walked up the stairs. The room was at the end of the wing, its windows facing the river.

  They knocked on the door, but there was no answer, and Max opened the door and walked in. Kowalsky was next, and Mike entered the room last. The room had three beds, the two by the wall empty, and on the third bed, facing the window, laid a skinny one-armed man, a bloody bandage covering the stump where his right arm had been.

  “She gave us the wrong room,” Mike heard Max say, “let’s go back.”

  “I don’t think she did,” he said, grabbing Max’s arm and stopping him.

  The man on the bed moved and slowly turned around. Blood-shot eyes looked at the three men from the gaunt face.

  “Hey, Max,” the man said. “It’s good to see you again.”

  CHAPTER 44

  “What’d I miss?” asked Jason, awkwardly maneuvering the fork with his left hand. He and Max stayed in the kitchen after everyone else retired for the night.

  “Well, besides the coup and global conspiracies?” Max tried to sound light, but it wasn’t working.

  “How’s the firm?”

  “In dire straits,” He saw Max making an effort not to look at his stump. “At this rate we’ll be bankrupt in less than two months. Guardian has been taking away our contracts one by one.”

  “How?”

  “They just undercut our prices, and I mean by a large margin. I’m certain they’re losing money on what they take from us, but they’re so cash rich, they don’t care. They just want to suffocate us. The losses they incur in the process don’t even move the meter for their bottom line.”

  “I was afraid he might do something like that.” Jason finally gave up on the fork and picked up a glass of scotch. At least holding glasses wasn’t too difficult.

  “What should we do?”

  “Complete reorg,” he said. “I’ve had some time to think since I landed in the hospital, so I have a plan. First, we need to take the company private.”