Thicker Than Blood

by James P. Sumner

  “I know, and don’t think I don’t appreciate it. Look, I didn’t like it, but I knew my only option was to leave no trace I was ever there, in the hope you wouldn’t find out. I figured The Order would wipe the video footage from the hotel as part of their clean-up procedure.”

  “They did,” he replies with a short tone. “The footage I have is from our own security feed, which we installed ourselves once we knew our client was staying there. It wasn’t on the same network as the hotel’s own feed, so The Order wouldn’t have known to look for it.”

  “Oh.”

  “You do realize I’m the one who has to contact the families of those people? I’m the one who has to tell wives and children their husband or father is dead.”

  I look away, feeling ashamed. Not so much for the fact I killed those men, but more for the fact I never once considered the implications. I mean, I’ve never thought about the people my targets leave behind. They’re usually all scumbags of some kind. But now Josh is in the position he’s in, it’s showing me a different point of view.

  “I’m… I’m sorry, man. I didn’t think. I—”

  He holds up a hand. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have put that on you. You’re a professional killer by nature and you were in an impossible situation. It’s not your problem to worry about, it’s mine. Just…” He sighs. “Anyway, did bin Mawal give you anything?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. Not a damn thing. Don’t get me wrong, there was something off about him that I couldn’t put my finger on, but from what I read about him, and from what he said, he seemed like a rich guy just trying to help out.”

  Josh frowns. “Help out?”

  “Yeah, y’know, by selling cheap oil to people who needed it. I figured The Order was involved with one, or many of the people who were losing money because of bin Mawal’s business, and they wanted him gone because of the financial implications.”

  He suddenly sits forward, jumping slightly in his chair. He opens the laptop and starts typing again.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Fuelex,” he replies, without looking up.

  “The company bin Mawal owned?”

  “Correct. Maybe it wasn’t about what they were doing. Maybe it’s about what they would do if he was dead.”

  I scratch my forehead. “Josh, I appreciate you’re probably out of practice, but you do remember I’m not as smart as you, right? You need to say things slowly, in Adrian language.”

  He rolls his eyes. “The guy was rich, right?”

  I shrug. “Yeah.”

  “And his companies are worth billions because of him.”

  “I guess…”

  “So, do you know what happens to public companies that suddenly lose their majority shareholder?”

  I shake my head.

  He theatrically taps a key and spins the laptop around for me to look at. There’s a news article displayed on-screen.

  Josh points to it. “Their stocks crash.”

  I lean forward and start reading, skimming over the page to pick out the key words I need to get the story.

  …

  …

  …

  Okay, it says here that when bin Mawal died, Fuelex’s stock prices hit the floor, resulting in the company being dramatically devalued, costing its remaining shareholders millions of dollars.

  I look at Josh. “So, by killing the prince I essentially killed his company, too?”

  He nods. “That’s right. Maybe that’s why The Order wanted him dead? Not because of something he himself was doing, but because of the consequences his death would trigger.”

  I get to my feet and begin pacing around the spacious office. I stop in front of the window to look out. In the distance, I can see the outline of the mountain I was sitting on this morning. Below me, GlobaTech’s massive compound is alive with activity. It’s an impressive sight. Hard to believe my best friend is in charge of it all.

  I turn around to face him. “So, we look at who benefitted from Fuelex crashing, and maybe we find a link to someone in The Order?”

  His head is buried in the laptop again. “That’s what I’m hoping.”

  I walk back over to him, move around to his side, and lean on the desk. “Maybe that’s why they want you dead, too? To send GlobaTech down the same way? Can you cross-reference that to see if there’s anyone who would benefit from both companies going belly up?”

  He glances up at me with a raised eyebrow. “Your research skills are improving, I’m impressed.”

  I smile. “Not through choice. I’ve had to do it all myself lately. I tell you, I have a newfound respect for you, man—all this fact-finding is boring as shit.”

  He chuckles as his fingers dance over the keyboard, and then claps his hands after a few minutes of silence. “I think we have a winner.”

  I look at the screen. “Grant Sterling?”

  “Uh-huh. Chairman and CEO of The Sterling Group.”

  “And they are…?”

  “An international conglomerate with headquarters up in Seattle. They have rather large fingers in a great number of pies. They proposed a takeover to Fuelex two days ago, for only a fraction of what the company was worth when bin Mawal was still alive. That’s fast, man. Like, impossibly fast. Corporate mergers aren’t put together overnight, and given you only took out bin Mawal three days ago…”

  I nod. “…this has Horizon and The Order written all over it.”

  “Looks that way. The shareholders will likely agree to sell, as it’s the only way they’ll recoup anything close to the losses they will have suffered, which leaves Sterling with a huge piece of the global oil business. Not a bad industry to dominate nowadays.”

  “Jesus. So, what does this have to do with us? Or you?”

  “I don’t know. The conglomerate is big, but they’re not in GlobaTech’s league. I doubt the hit on me is for the same reason they took out bin Mawal. But one thing at a time. From what you’ve told me about this Horizon guy, he likes to play the long game, right? So, we need to look at why Fuelex is so important to them.”

  I stand straight. “What say we pay this Sterling prick a visit?”

  Josh gets to his feet. “Not so fast, Adrian. We need to keep a low profile, remember? Which, for a start, means we’re driving, not flying. Seattle’s almost a day away on the road, and I can’t just up and leave. I’ve got things I need to take care of here first.”

  I nod. “That’s fine. Do what you gotta do.”

  He closes the laptop and presses a button on his desk phone. It buzzes and clicks. “Yes, Mr. Winters?”

  “Linda, can you arrange a management meeting please?”

  “When for?”

  He checks his watch. “Now.”

  “And which department heads do you require to attend?”

  He sighs. “All of ’em.”

  The phone buzzes again, ending the call.

  I smile. “Mr. Winters, eh? Very fancy.”

  He smiles back weakly. “Yeah, you get used to it. Listen, everyone who’s coming to this meeting, Schultz and I vetted personally when we took over. I trust them all with this company’s secrets. I’m going to tell them what’s happening, in a roundabout kind of way.”

  I frown. “How are you possibly going to explain this shit to anyone?”

  “Hey, if I managed to sell the fact Cunningham was a glorified terrorist, I can convince them I suspect large-scale corporate espionage. Don’t worry about it. I’ll gloss over your involvement, obviously. I just need to make sure this company stays strong and focused while I’m gone. Big picture and all that.”

  “Okay.” I look around the spacious office, feeling a little awkward, and suddenly out of my depth. “So, what should I do now?”

  He smiles. “Just wait here and try to stay out of trouble. I won’t be long.”

  He leaves the office, closing the door behind him. I walk over to the window and stare out. The first shades of pink tinge the sky, as the sun thinks about calling it a day.
Spread out below is a sea of organized chaos. I mean, this place never stops. It isn’t your typical nine-to-five gig—there are groups of soldiers, dozens of vehicles in various sizes, even helicopters, all buzzing around here twenty-four-seven. It puts New York to shame.

  For the first time in a few weeks, though, I’m feeling like myself again. A lot of the things that happened recently still feel raw, but I’m putting them to one side for now. I’m not dismissing them, or burying them without dealing with them, like I used to. Kaitlyn had a bigger effect on me than I think even she realized. I just know that now isn’t the time to start arguing with myself about guilt, or grieving over the people I’ve lost.

  In the few hours since I called him, Josh and I have made good progress. There’s still nothing solid on The Order, but this Sterling Group looks as if it’s a good place to start. Once he’s finished doing whatever he’s doing, we’ll hit the road, just like old times.

  I feel terrible. Look at everything Josh has accomplished without me. He was always destined for great things, and I always felt as if I was holding him back. I know he would never look at it that way, but that doesn’t mean I’m not right. It’s as if I’m making a son move back home with his parents after living alone for twenty years—I’m restricting him, cramping his style. That said, his life’s in danger. We’re in for the biggest fight of our lives with this thing, and all this technology and firepower he’s surrounded by can’t protect him.

  I look down at my cast and sigh.

  I just hope to God that I can.

  7

  19:56 PDT

  We’re doing ninety along I-5. The burnt-orange sun is sinking slowly behind us, and the road ahead is clear. Josh’s car is a convertible and it’s still pleasant enough to justify having the top down. I lean back, close my eyes, and enjoy the wind on my face.

  I still haven’t been able to shake this feeling of freedom.

  Josh and I haven’t spoken much in the twenty minutes or so we’ve been on the road. He looked stressed after his meeting, and I think he’s struggling with the idea of stepping away from his work, entrusting it to others while he’s with me. I’ve not been able to come up with any words of comfort, either. The silence isn’t awkward, but I still feel I should say something, and I’m annoyed at myself because I can’t find the words.

  It’s a straightforward run to Seattle. I think we’re hoping to make it as far as Sacramento before stopping for the night, which is roughly four hours away. Josh insisted on doing all the driving. He said he wouldn’t trust me behind the wheel of his car with two good hands, let alone one.

  Asshole.

  I glance sideways. He’s relaxed, staring almost absently ahead. He looks at me quickly, then double-takes and stares at me. “What?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing. Just… I dunno, checking you’re alright.”

  He raises his eyebrow and turns back to the road. “I’m fine. Just trying not to think about all the things I hope other people don’t screw up for me while I’m gone.”

  “You didn’t have to come, y’know. I know you have a lot going on right now.”

  “Yeah, I did, Adrian, because all that stuff I’ve got going on… all the important work GlobaTech is doing around the world that I oversee… it’s hard to manage all that if I’m dead. Besides, you’re useless without me. I mean, look how royally screwed we are right now. And why? Because you were left to your own devices, that’s why. You’re like a kid left home alone while his parents are away, trying to clean up after a party he was expressly told not to have.”

  I burst out laughing. “Kiss my ass!”

  He laughs with me. “Seriously, you’re like a dog off its lead that just runs around, sniffing other dogs’ shit, maybe nibbling it a little until its owner shouts at it and makes it heel.”

  My cheeks ache. “How d’you figure that?”

  “Well, look at your track record when I’m not with you. You pissed off a terrorist network, and then the U. S. Government, which resulted in you being hunted by the CIA. Then you managed to piss off a secret organization comprised of the best assassins in history, resulting in us both being marked for death.”

  I shake my head. “And how would any of those situations have been different if you were there?”

  He shrugs. “I dunno, exactly. But I know I wouldn’t have let things get as bad as they did. You’re like a planet, and your gravitational pull just gathers all the shit in the universe in one place, with you at the center.”

  “Okay, seriously, have you been working on all these metaphors for a while? Storing them up in case the day of my resurrection ever came?”

  He laughs again. “No, they’re just coming to me. You make it very easy to do.”

  “Alright, d’you know what…” I unfasten the cast on my right arm, and gently slide it off, being careful not to move my hand. I raise my arm, showing Josh the tattoo on my inner forearm. “You see this?”

  He glances at me and frowns. “Since when did you get a tattoo? Or find religion?”

  “WWJD doesn’t stand for What Would Jesus Do, man—it stands for What Would Josh Do.”

  He’s silent for a moment. “Are you serious?”

  I nod. “I got it soon after starting over with my new life, courtesy of The Order. I needed something to keep me grounded, to keep me sane. I needed you, Josh, as my guide and my voice of reason. But you weren’t around, so this was the best I could do. I would ask myself the question all the time, to help me make the right decision.”

  He falls silent for a few moments. “That’s… ah… damn, Adrian, that’s made me feel bad about all those metaphors.”

  I smile. “Sorry.”

  “I’m actually honored you would do something like that.”

  “What can I say? I agree with you. I usually am screwed when you’re not around. It was scary as hell being on my own.”

  I carefully slide the cast back in place and fasten it securely.

  Josh looks over again. “Listen, Adrian, I gotta ask. You haven’t got my name tattooed anywhere else, have you?”

  I laugh.

  “It’s just… y’know… it’s a nice thought, and I know you were lonely, but if you have my initials on your ass-cheeks or something, I’m not sure I’m okay with that, mate.”

  “Screw you, Josh.”

  We bump fists, and he reaches for the stereo. He presses a few buttons and turns the volume dial all the way up. Straight away, the opening riff of Thunderstruck by AC/DC blasts out. I smile, and think about the last time it was just me, Josh, and the open road. It’s been way too long.

  We both look at each other.

  “Thunder!” we say in unison.

  Josh starts tapping on the steering wheel.

  “Thunder!” we say again.

  I pat his shoulder, laughing. “I’m telling you, Josh, with the dream team back together, those bastards don’t stand a chance.”

  He doesn’t respond. Instead, he frowns and leans forward, turning off the music. “You hear that?”

  I listen intently. There’s a noise. It’s faint, but it must be close if we can hear it over the rush of the wind, and AC/DC.

  I nod. “Yeah, what is that?”

  “I dunno. It kinda sounds like…”

  “A helicopter gunship?”

  He looks at me. “That was worryingly specific…”

  I’ve turned slightly in my seat, looking back along the interstate. “That’s because there’s a flying tank about a half mile behind us.”

  In the distance, and closing fast, is a large, black helicopter, with rotary cannons attached to the underside of each wing. He quickly looks over his shoulder and his eyes go wide. “Holy shit!”

  “I’ve seen it before. In Abu Dhabi, after I killed the prince.”

  “Wait, that thing is what made the news by destroying the top floor of the Etihad Tower?”

  I nod. “That’s the one.”

  “Bollocks!” He looks ahead. “Adrian, we have no cover.” />
  I turn to stare at the road. Straight as an arrow.

  Shit.

  “Well, at least there’s no—”

  Shit!

  The lightning-fast stutter of automatic gunfire erupts behind us, the noise deafening. I slide down in my seat and glance back, as a thick line of fire moves toward us like a laser, tearing up the surface of the road.

  “Josh!”

  He swerves instinctively, keeping the car under control as he fishtails away to the left, trying to avoid being ripped apart by the chopper’s impressive arsenal. I look around again. The stream of bullets strafes left, following us, tracing its mark across the interstate.

  I tap his arm. “Go right!”

  He slides back across, the sound of the screeching tires barely audible over the hail of bullets chasing us. I glance through the windshield. Thankfully, there aren’t any other vehicles close to us, but that’s a small comfort right now. We need to—

  Wait… there’s a sign.

  Without thinking, I point to it. “Turn off here.”

  He yanks the wheel to the right, and we slide around the bend at speed. We shoot past a small-town fire station, and follow the road around as it takes us along the overpass, back across I-5. I look back at the road, the way we came. The chopper is close, but at least it’s stopped firing for the moment.

  I sit straight again. If that’s the same helicopter as back in Abu Dhabi that means Pierce might be on board.

  I owe that sonofabitch big time.

  I take a deep breath, subduing the instant thirst for vengeance. It’s not the time. Not yet. If it is him, then I know he won’t care about any of these innocent people driving around here. The thing with The Order is they’re only secretive about the shadowy, behind-the-scenes string-pulling they do. When it comes to front-line shit, like taking people out, or cleaning up after one of their pet assassins, they’re brazen to the point of arrogant, because they can cover up anything they want.

  We need to distract him.

  The overpass leads us to a junction, which splits left and right. Tall, thin trees line the near edge, separating it from the interstate.

  I point, and say, “Go right.”

  He guns the engine and makes the turn. I look over, through the trees, and see the chopper flying parallel to us, a good distance above the road. It doesn’t appear to be looking for an opportunity to re-engage, it’s just keeping pace with—