Lessons Learned: The Flint Stryker Thriller Series - Book 1

by Allen Gregory

  “Hello, Morris. Did you talk to the wastrel?” Seven’s no-nonsense voice demanded.

  Malloy sighed, “He’s not a wastrel, Seven. I can assure you Mr. Stryker is a promising young candidate for our program. Linchpin will find good use for this young man in the future.”

  “IF he even gets the opportunity,” Seven interjected, impatience showing in his tone. “After looking over this goof’s transcripts, I’m not sure he’s even a good candidate for fast-food service.”

  “Seven! Lighten up and at least give the boy a chance!” Malloy heard Serafina Ferrari’s voice through his earpiece. “It wasn’t so long ago that you needed a second chance to get to where you are today!”

  Silence on the other end. Malloy waited for several beats for Seven to speak, hoping he could outlast him.

  Finally, Seven mumbled begrudgingly, “All right, it seems that I’m outnumbered here.” Malloy smiled to himself. Serafina pulls no punches.

  Seven continued, “I hope this young man has at least some of the promise you see in him, Morris. I know you’re close to him, and well, sometimes feelings cloud our judgment. It’s easy to look for the best in someone that might not live up to those expectations.”

  “I understand that, Seven. But I think if you’ll review my reports and give Mr. Stryker a chance, I think you’ll find that he has a lot of promise.

  Seven scoffed, “Well, I doubt that. But I’m at least willing to meet with him and see what he’s about. Maybe he’ll surprise me…”

  Anxious to change the subject, Malloy asked, “You’re in town, right?”

  Serafina’s exasperated voice filled his ear. “Yes, we are, Morris. And we are staying in the most dreadful Holiday Inn Express. Seven is so cheap he wouldn’t spring for two rooms. We had to share a queen double. I think our fearless leader may have prostate trouble, he was up and down all night. And Morris? Trust me – Seven in his skivvies in the morning is an unnerving sight.”

  “All right, Serafina, enough of that,” Seven harrumphed. “We can be at your place in thirty minutes. Will Stryker be there?”

  Malloy glanced at his watch. “He should be there in about an hour.” He hesitated, “Er… Seven – one more thing. About Garrett Riggs…”

  “Yes, dammit,” Seven swore softly, “I saw your text report earlier. The Scrub Team should be there now handling all the details.” There was another long pause. “Damn shame. He was a fine junior operative. He could’ve have been one of the best.”

  “He was a fine young man,” Malloy replied. “Of course, Huxley is responsible. Based on what we’ve determined he and his graduate assistant Esteban Sebastian was responsible for his death. Apparently, they were trying to extract information from him about Linchpin activities, along with the name of other operatives.”

  “Huxley is an idiot. I’d like to strangle him with my bare hands – I still might do so if we get through with the Stryker meeting early enough,” Seven said crossly.

  “Let me do it,” Serafina cut in, “after all, it’s what I do.”

  “Please be patient, both of you,” Malloy pleaded. “We’ll have plenty of time to deal with Huxley after we handle our situation with Mr. Stryker. Besides, we all know, that he’s merely a pawn for Tesar Arman, and we know what his ultimate goal is.”

  “Yes, I do know,” Seven muttered. “I should have killed that Crimean bastard when I had the chance.” He paused and sighed again. “You’re right. We’ll have time to deal with the two of them properly once we get this business with Stryker squared away.”

  “Ultimately the biggest prize is the man known as Markos,” Serafina added. “But there are too many layers between him and Arman. We’ll just have to play the long game to get him.”

  “Exactly my sentiments, Serafina. I’ve got the germ of an idea on how to find out who Markos is and how to bring him down, but it may require unusual patience and a stealthy approach to make it happen…

  … but it will happen. I can promise you that.”

  Eleven

  Estebe Sebastian scrolled through the files he’d accessed on his laptop. It wasn’t difficult for him to find most of the information he’d been searching for on Flint Stryker. Birth certificate, school records, health records, police records, DNA records (there were a few drunk and disorderlies as well as a couple of DUIs that had been purged), and other records were all available if you knew where and how to look.

  Estebe knew where and how to look and was very good at it.

  He popped another handful of nuts into his mouth. Professor Huxley had been completely out of his mind with pain when he left him. Fortunately, Estebe had scored some Hydrocodone from a buddy who had a pretty serious opiate addiction. The half-bottle he’d given the professor should last until he convinced him to go to the emergency room.

  Estebe let out a low whistle. The number of times this lowlife Stryker had been arrested for public drunkenness was pretty amazing. How could anyone drink that much and still have a functioning liver?

  Estebe scanned the documents carefully. Stryker’s family history was somewhat intriguing. His father was former military who went into police work. He experienced a meteoric rise as a patrolman and sat for his detective boards in short order. He had a brief career in law enforcement, however, dying of cancer after ten years on the force at age forty-one. Stryker was in high school. “Sucks to be you, Stryker,” Estebe muttered.

  Stryker had no siblings, and when his father died, his mother went off the deep-end, indulging in her own enthusiastic foray into the wonderful world of alcoholism. Her own arrest records made Stryker look like an underachiever. After two years of particularly bad parenting while honing her already impressive drinking skills, she disappeared one night. She’d gone out for “groceries” (if only booze counts as groceries) and never came back. Stryker’s junior year in high school. Man, it really sucks to be you, Stryker.

  His eyes narrowed as he clicked on page after page in the folder. There was some interesting stuff in here, really absorbing. The more he read, though, the less some of it made sense. How did–?

  “Hel-lo!” he murmured. “What’s this?”

  Using the enlargement feature in the PDF viewer gave Estebe a closer look at the files as he clicked through them. He speed-read through all of them and clucked his tongue. “Well, well, well, you have been a very busy person since high school, Mr. Stryker. And you have been equally busy, Dr. Morris Malloy…

  “I think Professor Huxley needs to see this right away!”

  Twelve

  Tesar Arman sipped his espresso appreciatively. Whatever else one said about the brute Savchenko, one had to admire his ability to prepare such an exquisite cup. It was hard to imagine his ogre-like hands handling this dainty china cup with the required delicate touch, but here it was.

  “Excellent expresso, Mr. Savchenko,” Arman purred. “You have once again outdone yourself.”

  The big man nodded, “Thanks, boss. Savchenko glad you are pleased. Is not too bitter?’

  “Not at all, my friend,” he replied shaking his head, “It is perfect.”

  His Cro-Magnon features twisted into what could only pass for a smile in a slasher film. He stood expectantly, awaiting further instruction.

  Arman’s mobile twittered faintly. He glanced at the screen and tensed visibly.

  “Something is wrong, boss?’

  Arman narrowed his eyes. “It is Markos. Please, excuse yourself while I take this call.” Arman tapped the answer button and said pleasantly, “Hello, Markos. It is so good to hear from you.”

  “Do not waste my time with pleasantries. Have you handled the situation with the junior Linchpin operative?”

  “If you mean Garrett Riggs, sir – yes, he has been dealt with.”

  “Were you able to obtain any further information regarding our mutual adversary, Linchpin?”

  Arman paused briefly, weighing how best to present the information. “Er… no, sir. Unfortunately, Riggs died during the interrogation, be
fore he could divulge anything we didn’t already know. Professor Huxley…”

  “You let that idiot Huxley handle the interrogation? What were you thinking? He is less than worthless! I could have sent my sainted mother to handle the interrogation and she could have gotten the information and had Riggs pleading for her to kill him afterward.”

  Arman reddened as he listened to the backhanded insult casting doubt on his ability to manage the situation. “Riggs died of alcohol poisoning, sir. I believe Huxley’s assistant, Estebe Sebastian was a little too enthusiastic with his methods.”

  Markos scoffed. “Again, too heavy-handed for the mission at hand. Riggs was but a boy! He should have been easy to break. But it sounds like he had real balls. Unlike others involved in this operation.”

  Arman gritted his teeth and placed the cup on his armrest. There was a long pause as he took a deep breath, attempting to steady his nerves and control his response. “However, we have discovered quite a bit of information on the young man that Linchpin seems to be spending so much time and energy on – a young man named Flint Stryker.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. Arman was determined to wait Markos out.

  “Go on.”

  Arman smiled thinly. “Yes. Based on our information Linchpin has invested considerable resources of time and money testing and developing Mr. Stryker. There seems to be some conviction that Stryker is an Acquired Savant.” He paused, allowing this to sink in. “Acquired Savant Syndrome refers to cases in which savant-level skills emerge after a brain injury or disease in previously healthy individuals where no such prodigious skills were evident beforehand.”

  Another lengthy pause. “Continue.”

  Arman cleared his throat. “According to what we’ve discovered, Stryker has a remarkable propensity for advance prescience. Prescience is…”

  Markos cut him off, “I know what prescience is, you fool. It’s the foreknowledge of something before it takes place. Like a fortune teller – only real.” Arman heard him click his tongue as he pondered this latest piece of information. “How advanced is this ability in Stryker?” he asked icily.

  “Tests administered by Malloy seem to indicate that at present, Stryker’s precognitive ability is rudimentary at best. But testing seems to indicate with the right development and enhancements, including the inducement of certain chemicals, Stryker could be a very valuable asset to have. That’s the reason that Linchpin is pursuing him so hard.”

  “Can Stryker be turned to become an asset for our organization? I can think of many uses for someone with a skillset like that.”

  “I can assure you, that I am already working on that, sir. I have given instructions for Huxley and Esteban to facilitate such an endeavor post-haste.’

  Another long pause. Arman waited expectantly. “Sir?’

  “See that you do not fail in procuring Stryker’s talents. I would be most disappointed if your plan falls through.” The connection went dead as Markos clicked off.

  Arman clenched his teeth as he muttered, “Arrogant bastard.”

  Thirteen

  Tesar Arman closed his eyes and breathed deeply, willing himself to calm down. His stomach was churning, and his throat was filled with bile as he heard Savchenko ask, “All right, boss? Can Savchenko get you anything?”

  Arman shook his head and opened his eyes, exhaling a deep, cleansing breath. “It is all right, Savchenko. A conversation with Markos is always an… experience.”

  He set his cup on the adjacent table and clapped his hands together. “Now – on to more pleasant things. Please bring me my tablet. It’s time for me to look at our accounts to review how they are doing.”

  The bodyguard retrieved Arman’s tablet, the device dwarfed in his massive paw. As Arman took the tablet, Savchenko cleared away the cup and saucer, surprisingly gentle with the delicate china. After Savchenko exited his office, Arman went through the multi-level encryption sequence to access the accounts which housed the funds for Markos’ global criminal empire. All of the money was safely tucked away in offshore accounts around the world. For any law enforcement officials to find it would be as close to impossible as it gets.

  Arman smiled to himself. Things were good, very good. As he tabbed through the various cells of the spreadsheet detailing the funds from the many streams of illicit income, he murmured, “A very good week, indeed.”

  Clicking another link, and entering a password that only he knew, Arman was presented with another series of screens showing columns of figures outlining his portion of the ill-gotten gains from Markos’ financial empire. Chuckling softly to himself, he thought, “If only Markos knew how much more I am making than we agreed upon. He always says, ‘The big dogs always get the most to eat.’ How true! And before long, Tesar Arman will be the biggest dog, and Markos will soon be just another dog in the kennel, barking and whining, begging for more scraps.” He closed the tab on his personal account and grunted contentedly. If I do the work, I should get the reward.

  Arman logged out of the site and closed his browser. Savchenko entered with a fresh espresso, in another equally fragile cup. “Here you go, boss. Savchenko thought you could use a fresh cup after the call with Markos.”

  Sipping the blissfully rich espresso, Arman nodded appreciatively. “Thank you, Mr. Savchenko. You are truly a wizard bringing just the right tonic after a trying morning. Let us prepare for our next encounter with Professor Huxley, shall we?”

  Fourteen

  Estebe Sebastian knocked timidly on Professor Huxley’s office door. He hoped he was in a better mood than when he’d left him, but he wasn’t optimistic.

  “Come in,” the professor grunted. Sebastian entered to see the professor, his wounded arm placed carefully on two overstuffed pillows on his desk, sipping scotch from a tumbler with an acrimonious look. “Well?” he said curtly. “What do you have for me?”

  Sebastian entered and closed the door behind him. In a measured stage whisper, Sebastian opened the folder he was carrying and said, “I think you’ll be interested to see this, sir.”

  The professor snatched the folder from Sebastian’s grasp and began thumbing through it. “What am I looking at here? This looks like the movie script from Animal House.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sebastian said patiently. “I printed out several sheets of my finds while researching Flint Stryker as you requested. If you’ll let me explain what we have here, you’ll see that it’s so much more than it appears on the surface.”

  Huxley rolled his chair back slightly, allowing room for Sebastian to flip through the pages on his desk. “As you requested sir, I spent quite a bit of time after I left your office this morning using our online sources to cull information about Stryker. In short order, I was able to discover quite a bit about Mr. Stryker and some rather interesting acquaintances. Additionally, some activities which appear harmless on the surface have greater meaning when examined more closely.”

  His attention piqued, the professor shifted in his seat, careful not to jar his injured hand. The damned thing had finally stopped throbbing so badly after ten 800mg of Ibuprofen and half a bottle of scotch... Although the overhead lights did appear to be pulsating and fluttering quite a bit. “And…?”

  “You’ll note here,” Sebastian continued, “that Stryker has been arrested numerous times for drunk and disorderlies, public drunkenness, disorderly conduct, driving under the influence, etc., etc. He has yet to be charged a single time for any of those many offenses. Each time, the charges were dropped after some visit to law enforcement officials from your esteemed faculty colleague, one Doctor Morris Malloy.

  Huxley huffed. “Malloy? Don’t make me laugh! That low-level research whore couldn’t carry my slide rule. He thinks he’s some big-shot Geneticist and DNA phenom that deserves the spotlight while a brilliant Chair of the Task Force on Cryptozoology such as myself languishes in relative obscurity on the faculty.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sebastian monotoned. “It’s truly a shame, sir, t
hat your brilliance and dedication often go overlooked. I’m sure someday soon you’ll get the ultimate recognition that you so richly deserve.” Mentally, he rolled his eyes, careful not to betray the slightest hint of sarcasm.

  Momentarily mollified, the professor urged Sebastian to continue. “Go on. I can’t wait to see where this is headed.”

  “As you can see,” at every turn Doctor Malloy intervened on Stryker’s behalf and somehow mysteriously gets every single charge dropped.”

  “So? I still can’t see how Linchpin would be interested in someone who gets a lot of misdemeanors expunged from his record, no matter how many there are.” The professor was losing interest.

  “It gets better, sir. Look at these lab entries here from the university. For the last two and a half years, Doctor Malloy has been doing some tests on Stryker. Some very interesting and unusual tests.”

  Grasping the sheets and letting his eyes run over the printed text, Huxley let out an audible gasp as he moved down the listed trials, result and analysis data, and evaluation models and graphs in each case study.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. That sneaky bastard…”

  Fifteen

  The morning sun was beginning to heat up the day, steadily burning away the early morning coolness. Flint walked steadily towards Dr. Malloy’s residence. His underlying anger at Dr. Malloy had been somewhat diffused by his conversation (lecture/break-up, gut-punch) with Amber. He couldn’t believe it – she had walked right out of his life! Actually, he could believe it. He was totally irresponsible and could completely get why she did it. If it hadn’t been for the ever-present care and intervention of Dr. Malloy, he’d have flunked out after his first semester of school. Malloy always seemed to do just enough to help him pass his most troubling subjects. He was at the very least smart enough to pass them on his own, but obviously not focused enough. Dammit! Why was he so undisciplined?