Interesting Times (Interesting Times #1)

by Matthew Storm

  Oliver felt the knot in his stomach start to melt away. That was exactly what he had hoped to hear. Serious SEC investigations tended to be exhaustive. There was no such thing as a short meeting if criminal activity was suspected. This was probably about some paperwork mix-up. An unsigned form or a box checked where it shouldn’t have been. He might still have his job at the end of the day.

  Still, the other man made him uneasy. There was something just…off…about him. They reached the conference room and Oliver stole another glance at the man’s face as he held open the door. There was the problem, he thought. The man’s skin didn’t seem to fit quite right. It was almost as if he was wearing some Hollywood-type mask to make himself look like someone else. A disguise. Oliver recalled that there had been a string of bank robberies in Southern California recently with that as the modus operandi. Some crafty thief had been disguising himself as an old man to fool the police into looking for someone that looked nothing like him. It was a clever idea, Oliver thought. Had they ever caught that guy?

  Oliver shut the conference room door behind them. They were alone now. Mr. Teasdale looked around appraisingly. It was a simple room. There was a single rectangular wooden table surrounded by six leather chairs. A speakerphone console sat in the center of the table, and a rarely-used videoconferencing system had been pushed into the corner of the room. Oliver couldn’t remember the last time anyone had needed to use it. It had been purchased in the heady dot com days when everyone had been flush with cash, and had been gathering dust ever since.

  “Very good,” Mr. Teasdale said, looking carefully at the ceiling. “I notice no security cameras in the room. None on the walls, and none in the ceiling. Is that also your understanding, Mr. Jones?”

  Oliver frowned. “No, not in the conference rooms.” He thought about it. “Ah…there are some out front, in reception, and in the hallways. And on the trading floor, of course, but not in here.” Was that a problem? Could that be why Teasdale was here? “Do we need them?” Oliver asked. “I know the firm takes SEC regulations very seriously, so if we’re violating some rule, I’m sure we’ll fix it right away.”

  “Oh, that’s quite all right.” Mr. Teasdale sat his briefcase down on the table and opened it. “I suppose you’re wondering what all this is about?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Oliver said.

  Mr. Teasdale removed a small device the size and shape of a smartphone from his briefcase. He thumbed a switch on its side and Oliver could hear it begin to hum quietly.

  “What is that?” Oliver asked. “Did you want to record our conversation? I should probably ask Legal to join us, then.”

  “I’m not going to record anything,” Mr. Teasdale said. “The whole point is not to. Hence the question about the cameras.”

  “Then what is that thing?” Oliver gestured at the device, which was humming louder now. Wait a minute, he thought. What had Teasdale just said about not recording anything?

  “You know what a Taser is, I assume?” Mr. Teasdale asked.

  “Of course I know what a Taser is.”

  “It’s a bit like that,” Mr. Teasdale allowed. Then he pressed the end of the device firmly against Oliver’s chest and pressed the trigger.

  Chapter 3

  Oliver was thrown backward as if he had just been kicked by a horse. His skin burned. He felt like his entire body had been dunked in gasoline and then set ablaze all at once. Then, as quickly as it had come, the pain was gone. Oliver found himself lying on the floor, numb. He was unable to move; his arms and legs felt like they had the consistency of jelly.

  Mr. Teasdale was standing over him. He looked down at Oliver with a gentle expression. “I am sorry about that, Mr. Jones, but I do need you to be still for the next part.”

  “Guh,” Oliver said. His lips refused to form words and his tongue felt like it was the size of a sweatsock.

  “Yes, I suppose so,” nodded Mr. Teasdale. He went to the table and placed the Taser device, or whatever it was, back in his briefcase, then removed a small syringe.

  What on earth was going on? Oliver wanted to scream, to call out for security, or the police, or anyone at all, but the wind had been knocked out of him and he could barely make a sound.

  Mr. Teasdale returned to where Oliver lay and knelt down carefully next to his legs. He gently slipped off Oliver’s left shoe, followed by the sock. He glanced up at Oliver’s questioning face. “Heart attack,” he said, holding up the syringe so Oliver could see it. “Don’t worry, Mr. Jones. It won’t hurt.” Mr. Teasdale frowned thoughtfully. “Well, that’s not exactly true. It will hurt quite a lot. But it will be over very quickly.” He spread Oliver’s first and second toes apart and aimed the syringe carefully at the web of skin between them.

  “I?” Oliver asked.

  “Hmm?”

  Oliver felt his skin beginning to tingle. Sensation was returning to his arms and legs, albeit slowly. He couldn’t move his fingers, but he was able to force his mouth to form one word: “Why?”

  “Oh,” Mr. Teasdale nodded. “Why.” He shrugged. “I honestly have no idea. It’s just a job, Mr. Jones.”

  Oliver desperately tried to kick his left leg away from the other man, but it was his right leg that moved. Mr. Teasdale looked at him in surprise. “Impressive,” he said. “I’ve never seen anyone recover from my stunner that quickly. It won’t be quickly enough, of course.” He moved the needle to within a hair’s breadth of the space between Oliver’s toes.

  He was about to die, Oliver thought. What a stupid thing to have happen. But an instant before Mr. Teasdale could give him the injection, the conference room door flew open. Oliver tried to turn his head. Someone must have heard him fall, he thought. He was saved! But it was the man in the Hawaiian shirt that was standing there in the doorway. He held a small pistol aimed at Mr. Teasdale’s head. “Drop it,” he said.

  Mr. Teasdale regarded the newcomer with interest. “Curiouser and curiouser,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Put the syringe down,” the man in the Hawaiian shirt said.

  “I will not.”

  “Last warning.”

  “You know that’s not going to kill me,” Mr. Teasdale said. “Leave now and I’ll…”

  “Help me!” cried Oliver, finally finding his voice.

  The man in the Hawaiian shirt gritted his teeth, and then pulled the trigger. The pistol made a noise no louder than a quiet sneeze and Mr. Teasdale was struck in the head. The impact sounded like a watermelon being hit with a baseball bat. Teasdale crumpled to the ground next to Oliver.

  It was over. “Help me,” Oliver repeated, relieved.

  The man in the Hawaiian shirt tucked his pistol into a belt holster that had been concealed under his shirt, then moved to Oliver’s side. “Can you stand?” he asked.

  Oliver wasn’t sure. The tingling in his extremities had faded, and it seemed like his body was starting to respond to him. With the other man’s help he managed to roll over and climb to his feet, but his balance was off and his legs were shaky. It was a little like being drunk, he thought. He hadn’t been drunk in years, but he was pretty sure this was what it had been like.

  The man in the Hawaiian shirt held Oliver by the arm. “Good job,” he said. “He hit you pretty good, looks like. It’ll wear off in another couple of minutes.”

  “Who are you?” Oliver asked.

  “I’m Tyler,” the man in the Hawaiian shirt said. “Nice to meet you. Well, nice to meet you again. Now come on. We have to get out of here.”

  As much as Oliver wanted to be somewhere far away from here, he knew he couldn’t leave the scene of his own attempted murder. “I can’t go,” he said. “I have to call the police.”

  Tyler shook his head. “Look, I hate to rush you before you’re ready, but we don’t have a lot of time here. He’s not going to be down long.”

  Oliver stared at him in disbelief. The would-be killer had just been shot in the head! But then out of the corner of his eye he s
aw the other man stir. Oliver took an unsteady step closer and looked down at him. Had the movement been a reflex act? He had read somewhere that bodies could keep moving on their own for a few minutes after death. It was weird and unsettling to see, but entirely natural.

  But then the assassin drew a sudden breath and moaned. Oliver jerked backwards in surprise. He was sure the man had not been breathing a moment ago. He could clearly see where the impact from the bullet had punched a hole in the man’s skull, but something about it wasn’t right. Oliver leaned closer. The wound was changing shape. “My god,” Oliver said. There was no doubt about it. The wound was getting smaller, the damaged skin and bone slowly knitting back together.

  Mr. Teasdale was healing from a bullet wound to the skull.

  Oliver gaped. “Come on,” Tyler said, pulling Oliver toward the door.

  “But…”

  “Questions later.” Tyler pushed Oliver out of the conference room, where he promptly fell to the ground, his legs numb and twitching again. “God damn it,” said Tyler. “Come on, buddy.” He pulled the shaky Oliver to his feet.

  The two men lumbered down the hallway together as awkwardly as children in a three-legged race. Behind them Oliver could hear Teasdale moan again, but this time he sounded stronger. Or maybe angrier? He sounded like someone who had just woken up with the world’s worst hangover. Maybe that was what being shot in the head felt like.

  They reached the lobby and Oliver promptly fell down again. He saw Donna was now standing behind her desk, her phone’s handset pressed tightly to her ear. No doubt calling the police, Oliver thought. Thank goodness.

  Two of the firm’s senior partners were also in the lobby. “What’s going on here?” one of them demanded. It was Mr. Peters, Oliver realized, a man who rarely left his office unless it was to fire someone. That was a task he had always seemed to enjoy.

  “I don’t know,” Oliver said truthfully. He tried to get to his feet, but suddenly found he’d forgotten how to stand. What was that thing Mr. Teasdale had used on him?

  Tyler pressed the elevator call button. “There’s a man back there with a gun!” he said to Donna, pointing back down the hall. “I think he’s crazy or something!”

  “He’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt,” Donna said into the phone. “He has a hostage, and he says he has a gun.”

  “Oh, come on,” Tyler complained. “I’m the good guy here!”

  The elevator chimed as its doors slid open. Tyler took Oliver by the wrist and dragged him into the elevator, hitting the button for the parking garage with his elbow.

  “Stop right there!” Mr. Peters commanded, stepping forward threateningly.

  Tyler took the pistol from his waistband and showed it to everyone. Nobody moved as the elevator doors slid shut.

  Tyler helped Oliver to his feet once more. “You doing all right, buddy?’

  Oliver’s legs felt more solid under him now. He pushed Tyler away. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Tyler Jacobsen. Nice to meet you, Ollie.”

  Nobody ever called Oliver “Ollie,” but pointing that out to Tyler didn’t seem all that important right now. “Okay, Tyler. Who was that up there? What’s happening?”

  Tyler sighed. “Look, it’s a really long story. Short version: Mr. Teasdale was sent to kill you. I was sent to keep you alive. I had planned to watch you for a while but when I saw he was making a move I had to step in.” He mulled that over for a moment. “Huh. You know, that was most of it, actually. I guess it wasn’t that long a story after all.”

  “I’m calling the police,” Oliver said. He reached in his front pocket but his cell phone was gone. Had someone taken it? No, it was back in his office. He’d forgotten to take it along when he left for lunch. Well, he wasn’t going back upstairs to get it now. Not until Mr. Teasdale was long gone.

  “Call the police and you’ll be dead in an hour,” Tyler said. “Mr. Teasdale can walk into a police station as easily as he walked into your office.”

  Oliver shook his head. “This has to be a mistake. Assassins don’t just walk into the financial district and kill people.”

  “One just tried to,” Tyler pointed out.

  “And why would anyone want to kill me?” Oliver asked. “I’m…well, I’m me.”

  “That I don’t know. My orders are to take you back to my boss. She wants to talk to you. We’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

  Oliver doubted he wanted to meet this man’s boss, but they were nearly to the garage now. Oliver resolved to make a break for it once the doors opened. If his legs held up he could probably get away, or at least cause enough commotion to scare this lunatic away from him. But when the elevator stopped and the doors slid open a woman was waiting for them. She had shoulder-length red hair the color of a sunset and sharp, angular features. Oliver thought she would have been quite pretty if she smiled, but at the moment she was scowling fiercely. And scowling at him, Oliver noted. What had he done to deserve that?

  The woman glared at Tyler, her emerald green eyes accusing. “Why is he still conscious?” she asked, jerking her head in Oliver’s direction.

  “It’s fine,” Tyler said. “There’s no need to…”

  “I don’t have time for this,” the woman cut him off. She took a small canister of what looked like breath spray from inside her black leather jacket and pointed it at Oliver. “Ssh,” she said, pressing the trigger.

  A wet cloud of mist engulfed Oliver’s face. It smelled like flowers, he thought. Lilacs. Was it her perfume? Then his legs felt weak again and he was falling, the world around him fading into blackness.

  Chapter 4

  Oliver woke up in a hospital bed, his mouth dry and the faint smell of lilacs still lingering in the back of his nose. He was surrounded by medical equipment, but the room was strangely quiet. Sitting up, he realized that he was not actually connected to any of the monitoring equipment, nor were any of the machines even turned on.

  This wasn’t even a real hospital room, for that matter. The bed itself and the machines looked authentic enough, but they were set up inside an ordinary bedroom. A few chairs and a small square table had been arranged next to the bed, but this room was definitely in someone’s house, not in a hospital.

  There was a small window next to the bed. In the distance Oliver could see the Golden Gate Bridge, barely visible through the fog. From the angle of the view he guessed that he must be somewhere in Russian Hill. Tyler and that angry woman with him must have brought him here while he was unconscious. What had been in the little canister the woman had carried? Gas? Anesthetic?

  It was still daylight outside. He couldn’t have been knocked out for more than a few hours. Would that have been enough time for the police to start looking for him? They might still be taking witness statements back at his office.

  Oliver got out of the bed and stood up carefully. His legs were steady under him, but he found that he felt a little groggy. Whether that was from sleeping or a side effect of whatever he’d been sprayed with, he didn’t know.

  He wondered what he should do next. Look for the front door? Look for the back door? What were the odds that he was alone in this house?

  That question was quickly answered for him when the bedroom door swung open and Tyler entered. He was carrying two cans of diet soda and looked genuinely pleased to see Oliver. “Oh good, you’re up.”

  “I am,” Oliver admitted.

  Tyler handed Oliver one of the soda cans. Oliver noted that it had not been opened, but he had no intention of drinking it anyway. Who knew what they might have done to it?

  “How are you feeling?” Tyler asked.

  “I’m all right,” Oliver replied, placing the can on the bedside table. “What did you do to me? Where am I?”

  “You’ve had a rough day.” Tyler looked sympathetic.

  Oliver shook his head. He’d been hoping for something a little more straightforward. “Okay, look, I’m not sure who all of you think I am, but I’m not. If you’re thinking of hold
ing me for ransom you’ve got the wrong idea here. I don’t have money. This is a mistake.”

  “It’s complicated,” Tyler allowed. “This could all be a mistake, actually, but Mr. Teasdale was about ten seconds away from killing you this morning, and he will definitely try again. There’s no mistake about that.”

  Another encounter with the assassin was the last thing Oliver wanted, but he definitely needed to get away from this place before someone else reached for a spray can and knocked him out again. “Thanks for your help, then, but I think it’s time for me to go.”

  “No,” Tyler shook his head. “Bad idea. You’re safe here.”

  “I’m safe?” Oliver nearly laughed. “You drugged me!”

  Tyler sighed. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Sally can be a little...impatient. She’s very good at what she does, though.”

  “And what does she do?”

  “Well, mostly she shoots things,” Tyler admitted.

  Oliver didn’t find that particularly reassuring. He decided to try a different tack. “Where are we?” he asked, motioning at the view out the window.

  “Someplace safe, like I said. Artemis will explain everything.”

  “Who?”

  “Is he up yet?” a female voice called. Oliver winced. He recognized that voice. He’d been hoping she was somewhere far away, but the woman who had gassed him earlier entered the room a moment later, still wearing the leather jacket she’d had on the first time he’d seen her. She looked him over appraisingly. “Good. Let’s go. Artemis is waiting for you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” Oliver told them both. “You kidnapped me! And you drugged me!” he said to Sally.

  “Is that all?” asked the woman, barely suppressing a laugh.

  Oliver took a step toward Tyler. He seemed the more reasonable of the two of them. “Look,” he said calmly, “just let me go now and I won’t tell the police about you. Not your names, not about this house. I promise.” Oliver hoped the man couldn’t tell that he was lying. He fully intended to call the police, the FBI, and anyone else he could think of. He’d start making calls as soon as he could find a pay phone.