“What can you tell me about him?” Arman’s clipped tone indicated impatience precariously near its limit.
“Him? He’s an idiot. Seriously. He is a waste of time. He’s a hard-partying frat boy whose academics career can best be described as pitifully anemic. Half the time he’s in class he reeks of the previous night’s beer bust.”
Arman snapped the photo back and replaced it in his coat pocket. “Then perhaps you can tell me why he of all people should be so carefully cultivated by Linchpin? If he is truly, as you say, a waste of time”.
Glancing nervously at Savchenko, the professor ran his jacket sleeve over his face, attempting to compose himself, “I-I can’t imagine why they would even be remotely interested in Stryker. Surely they have higher standards than that?”
“Oh, their standards are quite high, professor.” He paused, keeping his eyes riveted on the professor’s face. “They have a knack for procuring the most exceptionally talented assets imaginable. That also leads me to question why Linchpin would be interested in him. Perhaps he has some attributes that you are unaware of, although that would be hard to imagine, as you are so… discerning and perceptive, as demonstrated by your analysis of Mr. Riggs.”
Professor Huxley swallowed hard, his throat constricted, making it hard to breathe. His words strangled, he choked, “I-I swear I will do better… P-please, give me another chance!”
Another long pause. This time it seemed as though the silence was interminable. Finally, Arman pursed his lips and blew out a deep breath. “Professor, against my better nature, I think I will give you another chance. Savchenko?”
With that, Savchenko stepped into the light, and with one lightning move, grabbed the professor’s right hand again, bending his fingers until the snap of breaking bones popped in the room’s silence.
“YEAAGGGH!” The professor’s guttural scream echoed off the walls of the water facility. His face went mime-white, and he clutched his finger to his chest with his good hand, beginning a fresh new series of mewling sounds and tears.
Rising from his chair and brushing his coat sleeves as though he were wiping the dust from them, Arman, turned to leave. Savchenko stepped aside, giving Arman room to preceded him to the exit. Pausing, Arman turned to once again face Professor Huxley. “And… professor? I would suggest that you make it your business to know everything there is to know about Mr. Stryker and provide that information to me frequently. Do you understand?”
Huxley sniveled and nodded rapidly, making sure that Arman saw it. “Y-yes! Of course! I will, sir!”
With that, Arman and Savchenko turned to leave, passing from the edge of light into the cool semi-darkness. They paused at the door before moving once again into the brightness of the day.
Savchenko reached into his coat pocket and tossed a pen that landed at the professor’s feet. He sneered, “You might use this pen to write your reports, professor…” Smirking, he continued, “Oh, forgive me, how thoughtless of me. Perhaps you can learn to write with your left hand.”
Seven
Flint sat cradling the now cold coffee cup in his hands. He looked at Doctor Malloy’s pensive face, appearing more lined than he remembered. Stress, he was sure.
“So, you’re telling me that Garrett Riggs worked for you – well not for you, but this mysterious Linchpin, as, what, a spy?”
Dr. Malloy shifted wearily in his seat. “Not exactly as a spy, Flint. More like a… well, an apprentice spy.”
“And as an apprentice spy, he was doing undercover work here at the university, ferreting out subversive student groups and assessing who might be dangerous and who were simply crackpots or attention-seekers.” Flint frowned at the thought.
Dr. Malloy nodded, “Yes. That’s oversimplifying it a bit, but yes, that’s the gist of it.”
Flint tutted and looked out the professor’s office window watching the few students that were awake this early walking through the quad. “In addition to that, Garrett provided information to you about those who he considered dangerous so you could report their activities to Linchpin. In doing so, he obviously placed himself in enough danger to get himself killed.”
Dr. Malloy sighed. “Yes, regrettably so. Mr. Riggs was an outstanding young man and a very valuable asset. He will be sorely missed.”
Flint snapped his head back toward Dr. Malloy, glaring at him angrily, and hissed, “Asset? Is that all you considered Garrett to be – an asset? A young guy with his whole life ahead of him, and lots to live for? That’s all he was to you – an asset?”
Dr. Malloy chewed his lip before replying. “Mr. Stryker, before you go so far as to say something you will ultimately regret, please understand I cared about Mr. Riggs a great deal. I have known him since he was a child. His family and I were very close.”
He paused to hand Stryker one of the photos in Riggs’ folder. It was a family photo of Riggs, his mother and father and an older brother. The doctor sighed. “Living in Washington state, they didn’t get to visit him much here on the East Coast, so I kept an eye on him. Seeing his natural talents were a great fit for our organization, I also cultivated an interest in him professionally, as well. He has been working with me for the last five years, and since our … ah… professional relationship is a secret, he was well-aware of the dangers it presented. I feel very certain that he did not divulge anything that was asked of him, and that is why Mr. Riggs is dead.”
Stryker blurted, “And you think that makes it okay? That he died protecting some all-important information that this Linchpin didn’t want to be divulged? If you ask me, what could possibly make this information so important that it was worth Garrett Riggs dying in a swimming pool?”
There was a tap at the office door, and Dr. Malloy shushed Flint, holding a finger to his lips. “Yes?”
“Uh… Dr. Malloy? This is Adi Subhari. You asked that I come by this morning to go over my transcripts with you?”
Dr. Malloy glanced at his watch, “Confound it!” he muttered under his breath. “Yes, I’m sorry, Mr. Subhari, I will only be a moment more. I’m just now finishing another appointment. Let me wrap this up and I’ll be right with you. Please take a seat in the hallway there.”
Dr. Malloy listened carefully until he heard Subahri sit heavily in the chair outside. He whispered to Flint, who glared at him defiantly. “Flint, this is not a good place for us to carry on this conversation. Too many ears about. I’ll be meeting with Mr. Subhari for about 30-45 minutes.” He glanced again at his watch. “Can we continue this at my residence in about an hour? You look terrible. I’ll make both of us breakfast.”
Just then, Flint’s stomach gurgled and growled loudly. He did need some solid food in his stomach, and as angry as he was right now, he was dying to know the rest of the story about Garrett Riggs, Dr. Malloy, and this mysterious organization called Linchpin.
Trying to ignore the sounds coming from his rumbling stomach, Flint nodded. “Sure, I’ll see you about 10:30 then?” He rose to let himself out.
Dr. Malloy smiled reassuringly and nodded as well. “That would be excellent, Mr. Stryker. And if I might make a suggestion?”
Flint turned to face the doctor. “Yes?”
“I’d suggest a shower. You smell a great deal like an overripe cat box.”
Eight
Professor Huxley gritted his teeth as beads of sweat popped out of the ridges on his forehead. “YOW! Be careful, Mr. Sebastian! Are you a licensed butcher? Your ham-fisted efforts at splinting my fingers are worse than the original break! AGH!”
Estebe Sebastian patiently waited while Huxley shook his hand gingerly before placing it back in Sebastian’s hands. “I’m sorry, professor. I know this hurts, but I think you need to go to either the university clinic or the emergency room. I’m afraid that Savchenko has broken the two middle fingers on your right hand.” He paused. “And I seriously doubt I’m hurting you worse than he did.”
Huxley huffed. “I’m acutely aware that that Neanderthal Savchenko has broken thos
e fingers. More than you could possibly imagine. The pain is excruciating, but I must press on.”
“I know sir, but the splints are only a temporary fix. They need to be re-set and properly splinted, or otherwise, your fingers will be permanently disfigured.”
Huxley gave Estebe a baleful glower. “I know that, you moron. But it’s urgent that I handle the assignment Tesar Arman gave me at the campus’ sewage treatment plant.” He licked his lips carefully as Estebe carefully taped his fingers together with the splints he had made of plastic knives appropriated from the cafeteria. “I’ll have ample time to deal with these fingers after I deal with Mr. Stryker.”
Sebastian’s eyes widened. “Stryker? Flint Stryker? Why on earth do you need to deal with that loser?”
“Loser? You think Mr. Stryker is a loser, do you, Mr. Sebastian?”
“I most certainly do, professor. He’s irregular at best in his classwork, and he’s incredibly lax in his work ethic as well as every other aspect of his life. He spends more time partying than studying. Even though he’s on track to graduate, I’m sure it’s by the slimmest of margins. He’s a complete waste of time.”
The professor brightened, “Those were exactly my words, Mr. Sebastian. I told Arman that Flint Stryker was an absolute waste of time. Why would he have any interest in someone as pedestrian as him?”
Sebastian stuck his tongue out while he finished taping the professor’s fingers. “There! That’s the best I can do, sir. I still think you should go to the emergency room as soon as possible.”
Huxley slammed his injured hand hard on his desk. He shrieked as tears sprang to his eyes, and he snatched his hand back quickly from the desk. “Uggggh! See what you made me do, you idiot?” He grimaced as he attempted to soothe his throbbing hand, “Can’t you get it through that thick skull of yours? If I don’t figure out why Linchpin is so interested in our Mr. Stryker, I won’t be going to the emergency room, I’ll be going to the morgue!”
Sebastian cast his eyes downward. “I’m sorry, professor. What can I do?”
Huxley stroked his swollen, twisted hand as he looked vacantly at Sebastian, “You and I, Mr. Sebastian, are going to find out everything there is to know about Flint Stryker … and deal with him.”
Nine
Flint stood in the shower, letting the hot water cascade over him, sending his body funk spiraling into the drain with the rest of the grime from his long night of drinking and carousing. As he watched the water swirl with the bubbling body wash that was 98% pheromones and 2% soap, he ran his conversation with Dr. Malloy through his internal mp3 player.
He called Garrett an asset. I know he cared about him, but he called him an asset, like he was just something to be traded or used on a whim, only when it benefitted him. Ugh!
He squinted as the stinging shampoo ran into his eyes. He turned his face to the shower head and rubbed his head briskly, then splashed clean water into his face, to clear his eyes. I wonder what this Linchpin thing is all about? Is it some government-sanctioned espionage consortium that operated on the fringes of government, giving then plausible deniability? Was it a splinter faction to the CIA, the NSA, the FBI, Homeland Security?
Flint turned off the shower and shook his head briskly, shaking the water from his hair. He reached for the cleanest towel among the five that hung from the towel rack just as the doorbell rang. “Crap! Who could that be?”
He wrapped his towel around his waist, threw another around his neck and stepped carefully over the remaining bodies lying on his living room floor. More and more of them were beginning to stir as their bladders and stomachs began to rouse them from their state of hibernation.
Opening the door slowly, it still took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the brightness outside. As his eyes focused, he recognized his lovely visitor. “Amber? What are you doing here?”
The striking redhead stepped through the door and stood close to Flint. He got a delightful whiff of her body spray, light and delicate, not at all like the porno-actor stuff he used. “Excuse me,” she said as she accidentally stepped on one of the hungover sleep-overs from the previous evening. The girl turned away from Amber, smacking her lips and adjusting her hands under her head.
“Who are all these people?” Amber hissed. “It looks like the aftermath of a Jim Beam convention.”
Stryker laughed uncomfortably. “I just had a few friends over this weekend for a little party. You know, to celebrate the last few days of college.”
“A few friends?” Amber surveyed the remnants of the weekend’s carnage. “I’ve seen fewer bodies in World War II newsreels, Flint.” She sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose. “And God, it stinks in here! Did you lose anyone during this all-out drunk-fest?”
Amber Lakeman cut to the chase, there was no doubt about it. Maybe that was why Flint was so crazy about her. Well, that and her incredible kisses. And her smoking hot body. Flint could feel that the locomotive was about to peek out of the wheelhouse, so he thought he’d better switch tracks.
“Ahem. Amber, so… back to my original question – what are you doing here?” Flint took his other towel from around his neck and held it in front of himself.
Amber glanced at Flint’s midriff. A brief smile curled on her lips. “Flint, you are such a horndog! Is that all you ever think about?” She looked around the room. “Well, that and drinking.”
Flint coughed and looked at the ceiling. “I thought you went home this weekend to take some of your stuff. I figured since I was here all by my lonesome, I had to entertain myself somehow.”
Amber snorted derisively. “Oh yeah, exactly. Poor little Flinty, left all alone has to drink himself blind during finals with just a few dozen of his closest friends.” She huffed and glared at him. “Anyway, I didn’t come here to fight.” She paused, licking her lips. “I came here to say, goodbye.”
Flint froze. “Goodbye? What do you mean goodbye?”
Amber looked past him. “Goodbye, so long, auf wiedersehen, sayonara, hasta la vista, arrivederci. Flint, I’m breaking up with you. This has to be it. I’m going home after my last final tomorrow morning and we probably won’t see each other again.”
Flint felt a tightness in his chest. His worst suspicions were confirmed. He looked at Amber steadily, determined not to let her see him flustered, angry, or worse, crying. His jaw set, he asked, “What brought this on? I thought you and I were going to be together forever.”
Amber’s head dropped, and she paused for what seemed like hours before she spoke. “Maybe when we started seeing each other, I thought that’s the way it’d be, too, Flint. But you never talked about anything serious – ever. You were always about having a good time, and true, we had some wonderful times together, but that’s got to end eventually. Seriously, sugar, all you’re about is working out, kickboxing, and partying. You have very little focus time left when it comes to our relationship.”
Flint shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. She reached for his left hand. He let her take it.
“Flint, sugar, I care about you a whole lot. More than you could ever imagine. But there comes a time when you have to grow up, get on with it, get started with your life.” She looked at him earnestly. “I start my job in two weeks, Flint. I’ll be moving to Nashville.”
Flint jolted back from her – just a few inches, but back nonetheless. “Nashville? I didn’t know you are moving to Nashville. You can’t be serious!”
Amber sighed. “That’s it exactly, Flint. You didn’t know. And yes, sugar, I AM serious. I’ve never been more serious in my life. I’ve tried to get you zeroed in on some sort of life plan together over the last two months, but you were always too knee-deep in a quart bottle of Jim Beam or a keg of Budweiser to hear me.” She paused, searching his face. “Well, you may have heard me, but you didn’t hear me.”
Flint reddened as he acknowledged the truth of what she said. Amber was right – she was constantly trying to have serious conversations with him, but he always manag
ed to change the subject, deflect her comments with feeble attempts at sophomoric humor, or switch it to a heated make-out session.
“You’re a good-looking guy, and as sweet a boy as any gal could ever want, but a woman’s got to have something more. A woman wants someone who’s responsible and willing to walk beside her all the way, Flint. I can’t have that with you. I’m afraid I’d be carrying your drunk butt up the steps to our trailer every night.”
Flint recoiled. Trailer? Surely she didn’t believe that!
“I don’t mean that, sugar. I just meant that you’re just not responsible enough to have a truly serious partnership relationship with anybody.” She blew out her cheeks. “Flint, I love you dearly, but we just can’t be together. I’m not the right girl for you. I’m not sure who she is, but I’m pretty sure she isn’t me.”
Flint saw the tears glistening in her eyes as she blinked them away. He could feel the tight knot in his throat, the burning behind his eyes, but he couldn’t think of anything to say.
She looked at him expectantly. Waiting. Silence.
She cleared her throat. “Well, I’d better be going. I’ve got some things to finish up. I guess I can cross this one off my list now.” She looked at him, tears streaming down her face. “Goodbye, Flint, I’ll always remember you. I hope you have a happy life.” She stood on her tiptoes, kissed him lightly on the cheek, turned and walked out.
And just like that, she was gone.
Flint felt movement at his feet, and the girl who Amber stepped on raised her head and slurred, “Damn, dude. That was harsh!”
Ten
Dr. Morris Malloy sat reflectively, twiddling his thumbs and staring at nothing, at everything, his mind a boiling kettle of thoughts. Well, no time like the present.
He keyed in a phone number on his mobile and listened on speakerphone as the phone chirruped loudly.
Lessons Learned: The Flint Stryker Thriller Series - Book 1 Page 3