“Go right in,” she said, hanging up.
Heskith walked in, and Matthews followed. He’d been inside the Oval Office many times before, but the sense of wonder and excitement never completely went away.
He closed the door behind him and turned to face the room. President Cunningham was alone, sitting behind the Resolute desk, pen in hand, signing some papers. He looked up as the men entered, smiled a politician’s smile, and stood.
“Tom, thanks for coming,” he said; his voice smooth and commanding.
He walked around the desk to greet Matthews, shaking his hand.
“Of course, Mr. President,” replied the CIA director.
“Take a seat, please,” said Cunningham, gesturing to one of the two cream, leather sofas positioned either side of the eagle on the navy carpet. He looked at Heskith. “That’ll be all, Gerry, thanks.”
Heskith nodded. “Thank you, Mr. President.” He turned and walked out of a door on the opposite side, closing it behind him.
“Can I get you a drink?” asked Cunningham. “Tea? Coffee? Something stronger? It’s never too early for friends, right?”
“Maybe a glass of water,” replied Matthews with little hesitation.
The president retrieved two crystal tumblers from the table next to him, and filled them from the matching decanter stood with them. He handed one to Matthews, and took a seat facing him.
“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” he began. “I appreciate you’ve got a lot on your plate.”
“Of course, Mr. President,” replied Matthews. “Is everything alright?”
Cunningham took a sip of his drink before resting it on the table. He nodded and smiled. “Everything’s on track, yes. I think the initial shock of what’s happened is wearing off now, and the American people—indeed, people all around the world—are starting to look for answers. Look for what’s next.”
Matthews nodded, but remained silent. The president continued.
“You’ve done the cause a fantastic service these last twelve months, Tom. I know it’s not been easy—hell, in spite of everything, I think even I would’ve struggled actually pushing the button, y’know?” He smiled. “But you did a good job. The next phase is already underway. Work has begun to recalibrate Cerberus, and I’m working with the Joint Chiefs to prepare all branches of the armed forces for the transition.”
“That’s great news, Mr. President. So far, everything’s going according to plan.”
“Exactly. There’s a long way to go, but I’m confident we can all go down in history as the people who fixed the world. We just need to make sure everyone’s doing what they should be doing, and not what they shouldn’t.” He picked up his drink, taking another sip. “So let me ask you, Tom... what the fuck do you think you’re doing, exactly?”
Matthews was visibly taken aback by the president’s candidness. “Sir?”
“Maybe you’re tired... you’ve been through a lot recently, after all. Maybe that’s affecting your judgment?”
“I... I don’t understand, sir.”
“You need to let Julius handle any cleaning up exercises, Tom. Do you understand what I’m saying to you? Keep your distance—don’t put yourself in the spotlight. You can’t risk being linked to anything. Your involvement would raise questions that we don’t want asking.”
Matthews nodded slowly, taking a sip of his own. “I understand, Mr. President, I just wanted to ensure everything was done smoothly. There are—”
Cunningham held his hand up, smiling. “Tom, will you calm down... I’m in touch with Julius regarding this Adrian Hell fiasco, and apart from Jericho Stone, there’s nothing else tying any of us to what’s happened. Tell me, how is he even still alive, anyway?”
Matthews shook his head. “I honestly don’t know, Mr. President. I authorized Alpha Protocol, and his second in command put a bullet through his head.”
Cunningham nodded. “Sending a retrieval team after him was sloppy, and it backfired. Is Stone going to be a problem?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Good.” He stood, placing his drink on the table between them. “For now, I’m happy letting GlobaTech do the heavy lifting for us with regard to providing foreign aid. Even if Stone is with them, they can’t do anything without us knowing.”
He stepped away, prompting Matthews to put his drink down and stand, sensing the meeting was over.
“Mr. President, anything I can do to help, I’m at your service,” he said.
“I know, Tom, thank you. For now, I need you to take a back seat, stay out of the limelight, and let other people handle things for us. Just for the time being.”
Matthews nodded. “Thank you, Mr. President.”
They shook hands, and Cunningham showed him to the door, holding it for him as he left, and shutting it behind him.
Standing in the reception area, Matthews let out a heavy sigh, composing himself. He then strode out of the room and headed back to his car.
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA, USA
April 20th, 2017
10:15 EDT
Director Matthews’ car pulled up outside the entrance to the CIA headquarters. As it stopped, his door was opened, and he stepped out to find Julius Jones waiting for him.
“How did it go with the president?” asked Jones.
Matthews was in no mood for small talk. “It was fine,” he replied, sharply. “What are you doing here?”
Jones hesitated, sensing the director’s mood, but knew he had to update Matthews urgently, no matter the reaction.
“We... ah... have a couple of updates that you should be aware of,” he said, eventually.
Matthews grunted and set off walking through the entrance without so much as looking at him. Jones followed by his side. They passed through the security checkpoint and headed up to Matthews’ office in silence. Only when the door was closed and the Director was behind his desk, did he acknowledge what had been said.
“Are these updates good?” he asked. “Because I’m in no mood for anything else to go wrong.”
Jones frowned at the comment, but ignored it. “The first is good news,” he began. “We’ve located Daniel Vincent. He’s in Prague.”
“That is good news,” said Matthews, his expression changing; his tone lighter. “Send the D.E.A.D. unit at once to retrieve whatever information he’s got. And dispose of the body... properly, this time.”
“I will, but there’s another matter that needs addressing before that.” He took a seat opposite Matthews, crossing his legs and clasping his hands on his lap. “Chris Black made contact yesterday, voicing concerns he has regarding a member of his unit—Rick Santiago.”
“So?”
“Black suspected Santiago was up to something, and asked us to pull his system logs, which we did. It turns out, he hacked his way onto our secure network and played back the audio recording of the conversation where you introduce yourself and give Black the order to kill Jericho.”
Matthews froze for a moment, his jaw hanging loose with disbelief. Then he snapped out of it and slammed his fist on his desk. “How the fuck did he do that? That was a classified file.”
“Yes, director, I know it was. And the fact he was listening to it adds further weight to Black’s concerns about him. I think it might be wise to... re-evaluate his position on the team before we dispatch them to Prague.”
The room fell silent, and Matthews leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms and bridging his fingers, lost in thought. After a few minutes of debating, he nodded his head.
“Kill him,” he said. “I want the sonofabitch deleted from history, do you understand me? I can’t afford to have anything else go wrong. Not now.”
Jones nodded back. “Of course, director. I’ll give the order.” He stood and left the room.
Once the door was closed, Matthews leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, sighing heavily. After a moment of silent reflection, he sat forward, opening the bottom drawer of his desk,
by his right leg. He took out a bottle of scotch and a glass, and poured himself a generous measure. He held the glass in his hand, regarding the amber fluid with a mixture of lust and contempt.
“Goddammit.”
He emptied the glass in one deep mouthful, and then filled it again. He put the bottle away before opening another drawer on his left and taking out a file. He rested it in front of him and opened the cover, revealing a structural diagram of the Cerberus satellite, accompanied by a detailed, Eyes Only briefing on the next stage of the president’s plans, which outlined how he intended to reshape the world in the aftermath of 4/17.
SANTA CLARITA, CALIFORNIA, USA
April 20th, 2017
20:37 PDT
The day had passed by quickly. Jericho and Julie had gone to a local bar that was a half mile east of the base, just before the gas station they’d both stopped at the day before, during their staged escape. She’d told him the place was a regular haunt of many GlobaTech employees, given it was the only option for miles if they lived on base and wanted a drink.
They drank, ate, and drank some more. They had spent the first few hours discussing the 4/17 terrorist attack, before moving on to slightly more light-hearted topics of conversation.
Jericho had just returned to his seat, having gone to the bar for two more beers. He slid across the seat opposite Julie, in the booth they’d occupied since arriving there several hours earlier, and passed her a beer across the table, which she took with a gracious nod.
He regarded Julie silently for a moment, then asked, “So why GlobaTech?”
“What d’you mean?” she asked, taking a long pull on the bottle.
“I’ve seen you in action—I’m guessing you were military before this? What made you go private?”
Julie shrugged. “Better money, better benefits... I know it ain’t exactly patriotic, but whether people like to admit it or not, money makes the world go round. Back home, my mom got sick, and we had medical bills that needed paying. Even with all the special allowances, military pay isn’t the greatest. Plus, I had to leave her for weeks, sometimes months, at a time and risk my life... and for what? Here, I earn five times what I used to.”
Jericho nodded, understanding completely where she was coming from. Back when he was military, before he joined the CIA, he knew plenty of men and women in similar situations. “What happened?” he asked, delicately. “With your mom...”
Julie gave a taut smile. “She passed away a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” said Jericho, genuinely.
“Don’t be—you didn’t give her cancer.” She smiled, warmer this time, to lighten the mood. “So, come on, what’s your story?”
Jericho shrugged. “Not much of a story... I was a Captain in the army, and then I was recruited by a guy called Julius Jones to join the D.E.A.D. unit over seven years ago. If it wasn’t for the last couple of weeks, I’d still be there, probably.”
“Takes a bit of getting used to, doesn’t it—this whole not having to salute thing.”
Jericho smiled. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Still, forgetting the financial benefits for a second, we’re in an incredible position to help people here. We’re more than just a private army and a bunch of glorified guns-for-hire.”
He smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I know I had my doubts—and maybe I still do, to an extent—but I’m inclined to agree that GlobaTech are as close as you can get to the good guys at the moment.”
Julie smiled again, and then stood and stretched at the side of their table. She was wearing a tight-fitting black vest top and cargo pants. Her brown hair was in a ponytail. She cracked her knuckles and looked at him. “Wanna shoot some pool?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Sure. As long as you don’t mind getting your ass kicked...”
She grabbed her drink and walked backward away from him, pointing her finger. “Oh, it’s on, big guy!” she said, before turning and strolling over to the vacant table, situated in the back corner of the bar. She racked up while Jericho chose his cue from the selection resting against the near wall.
“My break,” she said, standing and taking the cue off him.
Jericho stared at his empty hand, and then up at her. “Are you always such a pain in the ass?”
She leaned forward, bending over the table and lining up her shot. Jericho stared at her toned legs and hips. She turned and winked at him, seemingly oblivious to his gaze, and then hit the white ball into the pack, scattering them and sinking three. “Yeah... get use to it.”
Jericho shook his head and looked on as she continued clearing the table.
He took another pull on his beer and glanced around the bar, letting out a heavy sigh and allowing himself to relax. He was feeling almost human again, after everything that had happened to him recently. It felt good to unwind for once, and not worry about being in charge; being responsible for anyone.
“Head’s up,” said Julie, appearing next to him and distracting him from his thoughts.
“What?” he asked.
Julie gestured over to the bar with the neck of her bottle, at three guys who had just walked in and congregated there. One of them distracted the barmaid, while the other two shared a joke.
“These three assholes work for our internal security,” she explained. “Everywhere they go, they cause trouble—either hitting on women, starting fights... they give our company a bad name.”
Jericho looked over as three surly-looking men in tight-fitting T-shirts and combat pants walked in, quickly surveying the place before moving over to the bar. They were talking loudly and laughing.
Despite the last day or so being evidence to the contrary, Jericho still prided himself on being a good judge of character, based on first impressions. And he had no doubt about the three security guys.
“Pricks,” he replied, with a shake of his head. “This is supposed to be like a regular job, right? Can they not just discipline them, or sack them or something?”
Julie shrugged. “No one will rat them out—too afraid. The internal security team is a close group. You get your schoolyard bullies everywhere, I guess. But they could make your life hell, given half a chance.”
“Huh, and here’s me thinking I’d signed up to help protect the world. Turns out we are just like everyone else.”
“Come on, ignore those douchebags,” she said, leaning over to take her shot and potting the black ball to win the game. “Rack ‘em up, bitch!”
He shook his head and smiled, moving back over to the table and setting it up for another round. He looked over as he heard the doors open again, and another man walked in. He was wearing an impossibly bad Hawaiian shirt and Aviator sunglasses. He headed over to the bar, standing next to the three security guys. He gestured to the barmaid, and Jericho could see quite clearly, even from where he was standing, how her eyes lit up as she saw the man. The place wasn’t too busy, and there was no music playing, so he could just about hear the conversation.
“Hey, sweetheart,” the man said, in a gravelly, Irish accent. “Can I grab a beer from ya?”
“Sure you can,” replied the barmaid, excitedly. “First one’s on me.”
“Ah, you’re somethin’ else, darlin’, ya really are.”
Jericho rolled his eyes at the man’s transparent charm.
“Hey, you shooting pool or checking out the customers?” asked Julie, distracting him.
Jericho leaned forward to line up his shot. He looked down the table at the triangle of balls. Julie was standing in his eye line, one hand on her hip. He smiled to himself, determined not to be put off by her. He took aim and slammed the cue into the white ball, scattering the triangle and sinking five balls.
“Can’t I do both?” he asked as he stood up and smiled at her.
She shook her head and laughed. “Fucking asshole!”
They continued playing pool for another ten minutes before trouble erupted in the bar.
“Hey, dickhea
d,” shouted one of the security guys to the Irishman in the Hawaiian shirt. “You honestly think you got a shot with her?”
Jericho and Julie looked over to see him gesturing to the barmaid.
The Irish guy turned and stared at him. “With Jess here?” he asked. “Oh, me and Jess go way back,” he glanced at her and smiled, “don’t we, darlin’?”
She returned the smile, her cheeks flushing red. He looked back at the security guy. “Now if you could do me a favor and leave me your sister’s phone number before you fuck off, that’d be grand.”
Jericho smiled to himself. “Brave sonofabitch, I’ll give him that,” he whispered.
“Or stupid,” countered Julie.
He shrugged. “In my experience, it’s a pretty thin line between the two.”
They stood transfixed, along with the few other people in the bar. The Irishman appeared unaware of the attention. And the security men probably didn’t care.
“What the fuck did you say?” the guy replied, leaning in close and getting in his face.
The Irishman turned away from him. “You heard. Now piss off, would ya? I’m tryin’ to appreciate a well-earned drink here.”
Another security guy stepped forward, tapping his friend on the shoulder. “Hey, I know this guy,” he said. “This is Ray Collins. The loud-mouthed, womanizing drunk with a gambling problem. Typical fucking Irish prick. You’re a disgrace, Collins!”
Collins stood, knocking his stool over. He pointed his finger at the man who spoke. “Hey! I resent that,” he said. “I’m not a fuckin’ drunk!”
Jericho smiled and placed his cue down on the table, crossing his arms across his chest.
Julie looked at him. “What are you doing?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing. Just watching.”
Collins stood his ground, keeping his right hand raised. “Back the fuck off,” he said. “Walk away now, the lot of ya.”
The three men formed a line in front of him and spread out. The first guy who spoke took a step forward. “Or what?”
D.E.A.D. Till I Die: An Action Thriller (GlobaTech Book 1) Page 10