Flint got the impression she was also thinking about other “opportunities,” but he couldn’t be sure. Did she just lick her lips?
Doctor Malloy nodded. “She’s right, Mr. Stryker. You’ll be privy to some of the most exclusive tutelage and guidance you can imagine. Your self-defense instruction will be impeccable, your arsenal of weaponry will be unmatched, and your support network will be available 24/7. In short, you will become a weaponized version of yourself with the potential to tip the balance of security and safety in dangerous situations.”
Flint looked around the table, pausing at each face, weighing his response.
“So, you’re saying that this organization, Linchpin, wants me, Flint Stryker, sub-par student extraordinaire, frat boy party animal, and all-world underachiever, to sign on to become a super spy/killer-for-hire?”
“That’s perhaps a bit of an oversimplification, Mr. Stryker,” the professor nodded, “but yes, that’s the gist of it.”
Rising from his chair, Flint addressed the three of them, “You all must be completely out of your minds.”
Nineteen
Professor Huxley and Estebe Sebastian sat in Sebastian’s late-model Jeep Wrangler, his darkened windows preventing anyone from seeing the two men inside. “How long did you say he’s been inside?” the professor queried.
“I think it was a about two hours ago when I saw him heading towards Dr. Malloy’s residence,” Sebastian replied. “I was headed to your office, so I’m not sure exactly what time he actually went inside. Just curious, professor, why don’t we have hidden surveillance equipment inside Dr. Malloy’s residence?”
Huxley glared at Sebastian as if he’d asked why two plus two equaled four. “Because, you idiot, that house is swept for bugs of any kind at least twice daily. It would be an exercise in futility and a waste of expensive equipment. It is better if I personally keep a keen eye on his comings and goings. Nothing gets by Alastor Huxley.”
You mean nothing like knowing that Garrett Riggs was a junior asset for Linchpin, thought Sebastian, hoping the professor couldn’t imagine what he was thinking.
“No matter,” the professor asserted. “We’ll be waiting for him when he leaves and follow him. Once he gets to a place where it’s safe to confront him, we’ll abduct him. We’ll interrogate him thoroughly to see what information we can glean from him about Linchpin’s plans, and then…” He made a slicing motion across his neckline, leaving no doubt as to his meaning.
Sebastian grinned. “I’d like to handle that part, if you don’t mind professor. I can’t stand that asshole. I’d like nothing better than to interrogate him, cut out his heart and feed it to my Labrador Retriever.”
Startled, the professor glanced at Sebastian. “Why, Mr. Sebastian, you surprise me. You may make it through Assassination Protocol yet.” He turned and resumed looking out the window.
Sebastian smiled, thinking to himself, Come on out, Stryker. Your buddy Sebastian has a brand-new Ka-bar 8-inch military knife I think you’ll be dying to see.
Twenty
Ms. Ferrari, Dr. Malloy and Seven were all taken aback by Flint’s abrupt outburst. They all stared at him in disbelief.
Dr. Malloy was the first to speak, “Mr. Stryker, I know this is all rather a shock to your system, but if you’ll give us a moment, I’m sure you’ll be able to see what we’re trying to communicate to you.”
Flint held up his hand as if to silence Dr. Malloy. “Dr. Malloy, I do see exactly what you’re trying to communicate to me, and I’m not interested,”
Ferrari spoke next, “Flint, I don’t want you to make an impetuous decision here, as you’re not exactly known for your calm and steady reasoning abilities. You need to think carefully about your response. This is a marvelous opportunity. Most young men your age would kill for an opportunity like this.” She looked at him with a mixture of pure lust and pending disappointment in her gaze.
“Or be killed for an opportunity like this,” Flint added. There it was again, he thought, she’s looking at me like a piece of meat!
Seven opened his coat and shoved his Glock back into his shoulder holster. “Then I guess we have nothing else to say here. Malloy - I told you this was a waste of time! I told you, Stryker had no gumption – no ambition!”
Malloy shrugged and placed his hands flat on the table, looking squarely at the director. “This life is not for everyone, Seven. I thought Mr. Stryker had what it takes to do the job we’re talking about. It’s a shame that his considerable inherent talents will go to waste.”
“I told you from the get-go that he doesn’t have what it takes, Malloy. I appreciate your desire to maximize opportunities as they arise, but let’s face it, this is just one wasted opportunity in a lifetime of wasted opportunities ahead for Stryker.” He rose to leave. “Good luck, Stryker – you’ll need it!”
Stryker extended his hand to Seven, the latter choosing to ignore it. Ferrari rose quickly and took his proffered hand. Again, she felt the unmistakable electricity as their hands touched. Flint looked at her, baffled by her noticeable reaction. Catching her breath, she spoke in a low whisper, “Goodbye, Flint. I’m sorry we couldn’t work things out.” She discreetly palmed her card into his hand and mouthed, “Call me.” Flint shivered as he watched her walk out, obviously sending pretty clear signals his way through her shimmying behind.
As the door closed behind them, Flint turned to face Dr. Malloy, his face flushed. “I’m sorry, Doc. I know you must be disappointed, and after all you’ve done for me.”
Dr. Malloy put his hand on Flint’s shoulder and shook his head, “No, son, not at all. It just wasn’t meant to be. As Malvolio said in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, ‘Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em.’” He looked at Flint wistfully and added, “Perhaps you may yet have it thrust upon you.”
Twenty-One
Dumping another drawerful of clothes on the bed, Amber continued the grind of packing her boxes to return home. Fuming, she was long past the tears that overrode her common sense after leaving Flint’s apartment. She had driven aimlessly for a half hour before deciding she needed a caffeine/sugar bomb from Starbucks.
She spent the better part of an hour snuffling and blubbering, causing three female baristas to check on her during the course of her visit. The downside of her visit? Everyone in the shop got to see her “ugly crying.” The upside? She was the recipient of two free iced white chocolate mochas with extra cinnamon dolce syrup.
Finally composing herself, she returned to her apartment to begin the arduous task of packing her things for her trip home and then to Nashville. Now she was in Full Righteous Anger mode. Wadding her clothes into cardboard boxes, her vision was no longer clouded by tears. It was instead blurred by outright fury.
“That worthless piece of crap! I gave him the better part of three years of my life, and he has nothing to say to me when I dump him?” she asked herself aloud, startling her cat Josie, sunning herself by the window. “So, I’m nothing but a good-time girl who’s great to have around when you need a little fun, but it’s perfectly okay for me to just walk out of your life? You absolute… total … turd!”
As she screamed the last sentence, she hurled a stack of summer shorts at the window, causing the blinds to fall to the floor and sending Josie bolting from the room. Josie turned to look back into the room, sniffed the air, and turned and walked away, her tail straight up.
Amber leaned on the bed, breathing hard, feverish with pure loathing. As her breathing slowed, and she regained a level of equilibrium, she began to pack her things more slowly. I should have known better. I should have seen the signals, she thought. He really is a good person, he just lacks… motivation. She stooped to pick up the clothes she’d tossed, then re-folded them to place in the box. I think he cares about me, but he’s afraid of commitment. I mean, damn! His dad dies and then his mother runs off to God-only-knows-where, leaving him to totally fend for himself. Who wouldn’t be screwed
up after that?
NO! I’m doing it again! she thought. I can’t always justify his bad behavior by making excuses for him…
She busied herself with the pile of clothing, debating silently in her head.
But he DID come and get her at three in the morning that time when she was too drunk to drive after that girl party with her friends. And he DID loan her $1,000 that time to get her car fixed so she wouldn’t have to tell her dad about it after she’d driven too long with no water in the radiator. And where did he get that money anyway?
She sagged on the bed, huffing and blowing her bangs. She took the rubber band from her wrist and pulled her hair into a ponytail, pondering her relationship with Flint. Maybe he is irresponsible, she considered, but I’ve done some irresponsible things as well. He just seems to do it so much more!
Maybe it doesn’t have to end here, she reasoned. Maybe instead of an absolute break, she could just leave the poor slob dangling, giving him a taste of his own medicine, until she decided what to do with him. She’d tell him that she had cooled down and was willing to give him one more chance. Maybe, just maybe, if he straightened up and got his act together, they could make it work. Maybe.
She looked down to see Josie twirling her way around her legs, mewing loudly. “I know, I know, sugar, you’re hungry. What else is new? Let’s get you some Friskies and me another cup of coffee and think about what we are going to do about little ol’ Flint Stryker.”
Josie led the way into the kitchen, Amber trailing behind, chewing her lip. Yes. I think Mr. Stryker is in for a little bit of a surprise when I see him a little later.
Twenty-Two
Sweat pouring from his face and running down his bare chest, Flint did another quick sweep, squat and kick maneuver, sending the practice bag spinning on its chain like a five-year-old after consuming a dozen juice boxes. He’d been pounding this bag for the last 30 minutes, steadily increasing his intensity as a good way of working out his sadness, frustration, and anger. Sadness, because he’d lost Amber for good; frustration because he’d let down Dr. Malloy – again, and anger because he couldn’t figure out what he needed to do to get his life back on track.
He stood with his forehead resting on the bag, panting, slowly allowing his body to cool down. The sweat stung his eyes, mingling with the tears of frustration he was fighting to hold back. “Dammit!” he shouted. “Why can’t I figure out what I need to do?”
Flint heard mirthless, bitter laughter behind him. “Maybe it’s because your life is one never-ending train wreck, Stryker.” He pivoted to see Estebe Sebastian striding slowly toward him. “Maybe it’s because you’re an even bigger loser than you appear – although that’s hard to imagine.” He continued moving toward Stryker as he spoke.
Stryker ground his teeth as he spoke. “Oh, hi, Sebastian. I almost didn’t recognize you without your head up Huxley’s ass. Did you run out of Chapstick?”
As Sebastian moved in a circle around Stryker, he chuckled. “Always with the smart-mouth, right, Stryker? We’ll see how clever you think you are when you’re working in the local auto parts store after graduation, ringing up car batteries and air fresheners.”
Palmed in his right hand, Sebastian held an open vial of “The Devil’s Breath,” a rare, powdery concoction made from the seeds of the Brugmansia tree in Colombia. The professor had given it to him just before he came in. He hoped to get close enough to throw the stuff in Stryker’s face, rendering him helpless within minutes. With any luck, Stryker would be quickly incapacitated, incoherent, his vision screwed up, and hallucinating like a gibbering idiot. He should then be able to use the zip ties in his back pocket to truss him up. He and the professor would then while away the rest of the afternoon extracting information, and whatever body parts they wanted, from this loser.
But the way to get close enough to use it was not by antagonizing Stryker. This required a more sophisticated approach, using deceit to gain a measure of trust. Hopefully, Stryker was stupid enough to buy into it. “Seriously, Stryker,” he began, “I just wanted to come in and have a chat with you. I saw you come in here earlier on my way to Professor Huxley’s office, and I felt bad about the way I had talked to you earlier. You can’t help it if you’re destined for mediocrity…”
Stryker interrupted him. “You know, I used to think you were just a stuck-up prick. But I was wrong. You’re an arrogant, stuck-up prick!”
Sebastian held up his left hand, “You’re right, Stryker. That was an asshole-ish thing to say, and I’m sorry. I did come in here to apologize for my behavior and see if we could go our separate ways as friends – or at least not enemies. You never know where life will lead us. We could be working together somewhere together one day.”
Flint looked warily at Sebastian, who had stopped about three feet in front of him. “Huh. That’s funny. You act like a prick every time I see you for the whole time we’ve known each other and NOW you want to be friends?”
Sebastian fidgeted with the vial in his right hand. Should he fling it now and step back or step a little closer to ensure its effectiveness? This stuff was extremely potent, Professor Huxley had warned, but you had to get it right in his face. As close to his nose and eyes as possible. Maybe just a step more…
As he stepped forward, Flint took a step back. Sebastian thought, Dammit Stryker, stand still!
Irked, Sebastian stopped. “Stryker! What the hell is it with you? I just want to try to establish some sort of communication between us! Can’t you see I’m reaching out?”
With that, Sebastian quickly flung his right arm toward Stryker, hoping for the best. Flint reacted almost instantaneously, thrusting both hands up in a scissor motion, forcing Sebastian’s right hand directly back at his face. Sebastian gulped, inhaling almost the full vial of “The Devil’s Breath.”
Flint stepped back and assumed a defensive stance. He quickly executed a low roundhouse kick, buckling Sebastian’s knees, sending him hard on his back to the floor. Sebastian landed with a grunt and with the impact, took another deep breath, inhaling another mouthful of the powder.
Sebastian flopped like a hooked walleye, gasping and clutching his throat, tears streaming down his face. Flint stepped back, looking at the spent vial lying on the floor. What the hell was that about? he thought.
“Agggghh! Get help, you idiot!” Sebastian screamed, struggling to breathe.
Flint stepped back, eying Sebastian suspiciously. He kicked the vial away from Sebastian’s grasping hands, careful, lest he try to grab his foot. However, Sebastian had his own problems. Gagging and choking, he clutched at his throat, trying to force clean air into his windpipe. Instead, all he got was a clump of coagulated “Devil’s Breath.”
“Oh God,” Sebastian wailed. “Agh!” he hacked, sputtering in an attempt to speak. “I c-can’t breathe! Stryker, you’ve g-got to help me!”
Stryker stood over Sebastian, watching him twist spasmodically on the floor, his eyes wide with terror. In a flat monotone, Stryker said, “I really should, y’know, Estebe? I mean, you never know, we could be working together somewhere one day…”
He stooped to pick up his workout towel and t-shirt. “But again, my life is one never-ending train wreck and I’m an even bigger loser than I appear.” He stared at Sebastian, flinching and squirming like a worm on hot pavement. “Sucks to be you, Estebe.”
As Sebastian thrashed on the floor, he began to see invisible horrors, causing his face to contort in fear. “Oh God. What’s that? It’s horrible! Help me, Stryker, help me!”
Flint turned and walked out of the gym, swinging wide the heavy oak door. He rushed past a timorous Professor Huxley, trying hard to appear interested in something high above them in the clouds.
Twenty-Three
Bursting through the gym door in blind panic, Professor Huxley fell to his knees beside Sebastian. “Sebastian! Are you all right?” he blubbered, cradling the young man’s head in his arms. Sebastian jerked uncontrollably, smacking the professor’s still ten
der right hand, causing him to jerk back, dropping the graduate assistant’s head on the hard gym floor.
“Buh!” Sebastian exclaimed as his head bounced off the hardwood. His eyes were crossed and had a look of pure terror in them.
Flustered and in considerable pain, the professor tried to lower his face closer to Sebastian’s. Spotting the empty vial, the professor deduced what had happened, and he knew Sebastian was in for a very, very bad afternoon. “I’m sorry, boy, but I can’t help you. I’ve got to figure out what to do about Stryker. You do understand, don’t you?”
As if to reply, Sebastian’s face turned a bright red and the tendons stood out in his neck as if he were undergoing tremendous G-force pressure. He began to jerk and twitch as if he were being electrocuted.
“Good. I’m glad you understand. I’ll have to go and handle Stryker before Arman finds out about the meeting with Malloy, Seven, and that woman, Serafina Ferrari. Unless I deal with this right away, I’ll wind up stuffed in a dumpster somewhere with my eyes gouged out, and my testicles tied in a knot.”
Sebastian winced, but was now staring somewhere over Professor Huxley’s left shoulder, transfixed, his eyes almost as big as saucers. He was staring at whatever terrors only he could see.
“You’ll be all right, my boy. The effects of The Devil’s Breath should wear off in about four hours, unless of course you took in too large a dose, which could be lethal. Let’s hope that’s not the case, hmmm?” The professor patted Sebastian on the forehead as he let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Alarmed at Sebastian’s unearthly shriek, Huxley leapt to his feet. Backing away, he whispered, “Don’t worry, boy, I’ll be back. I’m sure you’ll be just fine. Just try to get some rest.”
Lessons Learned: The Flint Stryker Thriller Series - Book 1 Page 6