Who would he be picking up just a few blocks from his office building—? Rox was just beginning to move forward again when the Bentley exploded into one massive, white-hot flash.
The solid steel frame was propelled up into the air more than twenty feet, the power of the blast blowing everything out of its radius by at least thirty yards, pulverizing bodies, windows, store fronts, food trucks, street lights—
The Fiat’s air bag deployed, slamming into Rox’s face, nearly breaking her nose as the cars in front of her crushed the rental backward from the force of the blast. The world hovered in surreal balance as thick smoke plumed from the wreckage. She could see the destruction, the shredded chassis, screaming people smeared in blood, orange flames and black soot marring the landscape in front of her, but she could hear nothing as she teetered on the edge of consciousness.
The last thing Rox saw before she blacked out was her blonde wig lying next to the charred remains of a disembodied hand, strangely bloodless, as if it had been cauterized on impact.
Then… nothing.
*
Dec 21st—2:31pm
Leviathan Risk International Headquarters, London
J A C K
“In Lucien Lightner’s absence, we have no choice but to accede to your wishes, Mr. Roman,” Nigel Loxley, Chairman of Leviathan’s Board of Directors, told him in a stiff voice.
Jack stood at the sweeping bank of windows overlooking the Thames, his back to the boardroom as he considered the dreary winter weather blanketing the city like a shroud.
“Excellent,” Mitch responded when Jack didn’t acknowledge the Chairman. “We’ll be appointing an interim head to replace Lightner in absentia. The selection and changes will be effective January 1st.”
“Mr. Roman,” Nigel began, ignoring Mitch. “May I ask why you, a property developer based solely in the United States, decided to acquire a British security agency?”
“Mr. Roman’s business interests are fairly extensive—” Mitch began to say before Jack silenced him by turning around.
Jack slid his hands in his pockets as he considered the group of people in front of him. Leviathan’s Board of Directors was an interesting, if not savvy, set of individuals: some ex-military or ex-intelligence officers, businessmen, and solicitors. They would know of his connection to Samantha. They would likely already have an inkling of what had occurred in Rio, with or without their acknowledgment or even tacit agreement. And though no one said so outright, everyone suspected Jack had only really come for Lightner, wanting to see the man brought to his knees in his own offices, forced to step down like a fallen king.
How short-sighted, Jack mused. It was small-ball thinking to imagine Jack had only come for the pleasure of watching a man grovel.
“Leviathan Risk has an extensive client portfolio in Western Asia, Russia, the Middle East, and North Africa,” Jack acknowledged after a moment. “And while the company has done an admirable job in the business of asset protection and retrieval, I’d like to see an expansion into a more strategic direction.”
Nigel raised a brow. “We’re the largest private security company in the world. I’d say we’ve done more than an admirable job thus far.”
Jack smiled briefly, though it wasn’t friendly. “Yes, let’s examine where the growth in your business has been coming from, shall we?” He moved away from the windows and placed his hands on the polished oak table as he stared Nigel down. “You’ve basically rubber-stamped every decision Lucien Lightner has made, essentially becoming the private militia group to some of the world’s most repugnant human beings.”
“We are a security firm, not an international tribunal—” Nigel sputtered, indignant.
“You’re a security firm that trades on the extremely-underhanded dealings of some of the most wanted criminals in the world,” Jack corrected, silencing him. “Tomorrow you will see an announcement of a joint venture between Leviathan Risk International, now a subsidiary of Roman Industries, and Roman Technologies.”
“Your brother’s company?” Nigel asked in surprise as the rest of the board looked alternately shocked and curious, wondering where Jack was taking them.
“That’s correct,” Jack nodded. “Leviathan will move away from private security of individuals and into high-tech security of businesses, companies, and naturally, given my own background, into private security of high-value buildings.”
“But—but that leaves the field of play wide open—” Nigel argued.
“For Lennox Chase?” Jack asked casually, stepping back. “Perhaps, but that’s not our concern anymore.”
“I think you should seriously consider—”
“Leviathan will come to be associated with the best in security for hotels, banks, museums, office buildings, and skyscrapers globally,” Jack continued. “If it’s a reputable landmark or a well-known building, I want Leviathan associated with its security. We will leverage all existing and new personnel toward that revised interest.” Jack paused as he scanned the faces of the board members, noting those who appeared to be on board and pleased with the change in direction and those who looked apoplectic. Nigel blinked, preparing to mount an offense.
“Oh, and Nigel?” Jack continued silkily before the man could get a word in edgewise. “You’re relieved of duty as Chairman of this board, effective immediately,” he nodded toward Ian McCall. “Security will escort you and your consort out,” he said, pointing to a couple of Nigel’s obvious cronies.
Ian and his team stepped forward.
A sudden massive sonic boom sounded from below, rocking the glass and as the room tremored. Jack spun to look out the window just as Ian yanked him back.
“Evac protocol!” Ian said as he pushed Jack and Mitch toward the conference room door. “That was definitely a bomb.” He pointed at one of his men. “Get Nigel out of here and find out what’s going on. The rest come with me.”
The office was equally chaotic, people running to the windows to look down at the streets below, others on phones and computers trying to see what was going on as several Leviathan guards and employees rushed toward the elevator banks with them.
“Stairs!” Ian said, glancing at his team. One guard slid in front, leading the way, the second rounded up the rear as Jack and Mitch found themselves pushed into the concrete-and-metal stairwell of the twenty-fourth floor.
“Good thing I didn’t get my cardio in yet,” Mitch muttered, glancing at Jack wryly as they sprinted down the stairs.
“Whoever said corporate takeovers weren’t exciting?” Jack responded as an uneasy feeling wound its way through his gut.
When was the last time an explosion went off in the middle of London? He wondered.
They were joined by several others from different offices during their descent, people nervous and chattering about some car bomb going off a few blocks away. Jack followed Ian down silently, his mind whirring at the implications.
Separatists?
A protest gone wrong?
Some kind of violent message to the world?
A drastic method to drive volatility in global financial markets?
They burst into the underground parking garage, the first guard heading for one of two fortified Range Rovers they’d arrived in from the airport. The guard made it within five yards of the vehicle before he was shot dead, two hits to the chest, one to the head, Mozambique-style.
Ian went down next as he reached for his gun. The suppressed ping of the shot that took him sounded incredibly loud to Jack as he watched Ian crumple beside him in stunned horror. Jack and Mitch swung around, backs to each other as they looked around wildly, trying to spot the shooter even as their third guard took a bullet to the head.
“What the fuck—” Mitch sputtered.
Jack looked back at the stairwell doors, wondering if they’d be able to make it before they got shot, not liking their odds.
“I don’t think you’ll be able to outrun me, Mr. Roman,” a man said as he stepped out from behind a utili
ty van, gun raised.
“Lightner,” Jack breathed as he met the man’s eyes for the first time. “And here I thought you wouldn’t show up to your own funeral,” he heard himself saying, wondering where the hell the sarcasm was coming from, given the three dead men laying before him.
Lightner laughed as he stepped forward. Three more men, dressed in plain clothes, moved from behind other vehicles, each with the build and demeanor of men who knew how to handle themselves in a fight. In the space of less than twenty seconds, the playing field had completely tilted in Lightner’s favor. Jack struggled against the instinct to attack, calming his fight reaction in favor of staying level-headed.
“I must commend you, Jack. If I may call you Jack?” Lightner asked politely as he moved toward them, gun pointed at his chest.
“Sure, why not?” Jack shrugged a little, though he could feel Mitch breathing rapidly against his back, trying to stay calm. “I’m not exactly in a position to argue,” he pointed out wryly.
“Well, I must commend you, Jack,” Lightner reiterated, regarding him with a disconcerting combination of cool contempt and begrudging admiration. “When you burn a man, you go all the way, don’t you?” he continued, head cocked as he circled Jack. “You didn’t just take my company. You took my accounts, my wife, my reputation—”
Jack struggled to maintain his poker face as confusion washed over him. “I can only be accused of one of those things, Lightner. But I did leave you Nigel,” he added in mock conciliation. “I’m sure he’d love to help you rebuild your brand.”
“He’s a right shit, that bloke. Isn’t he?” Lightner smirked. “Well, you’re correct in that I came to my own funeral. Had to blow up my favorite car just to do it, I’m remiss to say.”
Jack blinked. “That bomb was you?”
Lightner shrugged. “For all intents and purposes. You know what they say…”
“You’ll have to remind me,” Jack replied, watching Lightner and his guards tighten their circle.
“‘Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end,’” Lightner replied.
“That’s Seneca, you unoriginal motherfucker,” Mitch muttered, his back stiffening as a guard pointed a gun at his head.
Jack knew what Mitch was thinking. That this was the end. So why not go down defiant?
“I’ve heard of men committing suicide over losing their life’s work, but this is a bit much, don’t you think?”
Lightner didn’t respond, but something about his assessing demeanor told Jack he wanted to play; to draw this out. After all, if Lightner had wanted them dead, he would have done it already.
He wants something else, Jack realized. And Jack wanted to live to fight another day. So he raised his hands slowly, showing his acquiescence, however temporary.
“So let’s talk, Lightner,” he said, forcing his voice to remain casual. “Tell me what you need from me in order to get that new beginning.”
Lightner smiled slowly, enjoying watching Jack dangle at the end of the hook. “I want Samantha Wyatt.”
Jack let out a soft, involuntary laugh, shaking his head at the irony. “Then that makes the two of us.”
Chapter 28
Dec 21st—2:47pm
Three blocks from Leviathan Risk International Headquarters, London
R O X A N N E
She heard sounds first. Cries of agony, frantic yelling, sirens… seemingly endless sirens…
“She’s moving—Oye! Over here! She’s awake!”
Rox opened her eyes.
Met the frantic gaze of… a skinhead?
She struggled to sit up, wincing at the stab of pain that came with her quick inhale.
“Hey, whoa—don’t move yet, right?” the skinhead was saying, his voice shockingly soothing underneath the thick cockney accent. “The medics are coming for ya, ain’t they?”
What the fuck was going on? Where was she? Her mind spun as she tried to assess her injuries.
Had she been kicked in the chest?
God, her face hurt.
“You have a name, yeah?” the skinhead asked.
Rox opened her mouth, but only a puff of dry air came out of her swollen throat. It felt like she’d inhaled smoke. Rox blinked, trying to take in her surroundings as the skinhead waved someone over, her head in his lap.
She spread her fingers beside her. She was lying on wet asphalt—the sidewalk. Rox shifted slightly to look at the rubble of cars stacked beside her on the road. She saw the open flames engulfing nearby businesses as the crying and screaming became more distinct in the chaos that surrounded them. She realized she was propped up on the skinhead’s lap, staring vacantly at his facial piercings and the tattoos decorating his pale skin like they were abstract art.
Rox swallowed, and then tried to speak again. “Where am I?” she croaked.
“You’re a Yank?” he asked, looking down at her, his eyes worried. “You’re in London, love. There was an explosion—”
Lightner.
… Shit!
Rox sat up abruptly, “How long was I out?” she asked, her voice hoarse but stronger.
“Dunno. I pulled you out of that car—” he began, pointing at the wreckage behind her.
“Where was the bomb?” she asked just as a medic reached her.
The man held up a penlight, grabbed her chin. “Look at this light,” he said, moving it back and forth.
“Did you see the explosion?” Rox asked instead, pulling away.
“No,” the man checking her eyes responded. “Just got here. Just hold still and look at me, alright?”
“Did you see a body?” she asked, not cooperating. “Did you find the driver?”
“What’s she going on about?” the medic asked the skinhead, frustrated.
“Dunno, mate. Just prattling on, I guess,” the skinhead shrugged. “She probably took a hit to the head, didn’t she?”
The medic fit a stethoscope to his ears, pressing the cold tip to her chest.
“Did you see the driver?” she asked again.
“Take a deep breath, love,” the medic replied. “I’m trying to help—”
Rox shook her head. “I’m fine. Go help someone who needs it more. I can find my way—”
She pushed away from both men, stumbling back and feeling disembodied.
“Where’s my bag?” she asked no one in particular, starting for her car.
“Hey—love, don’t—”
She ignored the protests, getting on her knees and reaching into the window of the upended Fiat. She yanked her bag out, checked her phone. The screen was cracked but it still worked. She crawled back out, wobbling to a stand as she tried to recall the last things she saw.
Lightner’s car.
Past the red light.
Parked to the side of the road.
Why?
Rox touched her brow, felt a cut there; her fingers came away sticky.
The brake lights weren’t on.
He’d been parked.
Why?
Rox’s head pounded as she struggled to remember, the dissonance of shouting people and blaring sirens exacerbating the throb.
Why had he parked the car?
Why?
Rox turned, her balance off as she looked toward the smoking crater where the Bentley had been.
“Look, miss—”
She shook off her skinhead savior and the irritated medic. “Did you see the explosion?” she asked urgently. “I mean did you see it happen?”
“No—I was just coming out of the Tube,” the skinhead said. “I think I saw a bloke get in the car, but I ain’t sure. Happened so fast, didn’t it?”
Rox recalled Lightner parking the car and picking someone up; just before the car exploded. Her head spun through the smoke and delirium. Everything felt hard and painful. She pressed her hand to her head.
“Think, think,” Rox muttered to herself. “What are you missing? What are you missing?”
“I can’t be sure, can I?” the sk
inhead was saying as he wiped the blood from her face with a sooty hand. “I only noticed ’cause he had light blonde hair and he was tall. Like some kind of Viking-looking bloke, right?”
The pieces snicked into place. It was a wild, intuitive leap, but she knew it was true even though she couldn’t prove it.
Rox looked up at him, “Thank you. Thank you for helping me—” she told him gratefully, squeezing his hands before she spun and launched into a painful trot, ignoring the worried calls of her rescuer.
Lightner had faked his death.
Of course he would. She’d burned his identity in this life beyond repair. That’s what she would have done. That’s what she had done to start fresh, to begin anew. The charred remains they’d find in that car wouldn’t be his.
But he’d want a few things first, she realized. His ego and his vanity wouldn’t let him leave without them—
Rox moved faster as the pain receded. Past ambulances and firemen, British Bobbies, and civilians trying to help.
He’d start fresh after a sleight of hand.
But first, he’d take full advantage of the distraction.
Rox limped toward the office building that housed Leviathan headquarters. The police were already cordoning off the roads, setting up checkpoints at every turn while everyone fled downtown, trying to get home or just get away.
There’d be no better place to hide than in plain sight.
*
Dec 21st—Late Afternoon
Shindand Air Base, Afghanistan
S A M A N T H A
“You’re fucking kidding me!” Carey howled, laughing in his hand over the video feed on her laptop. “I mean I knew Wes had a set of balls on him, but never in my wildest dreams did I think he’d just show up in the middle of Nazar’s backyard!”
“I don’t know if it’s balls or if he’s just lost his damn mind, Bear,” Sam shook her head. “I’m putting Wes on the next jet out of here; I mean it.”
“Awww… come on, Sammy,” Carey chuckled as he leaned toward his camera. “At least he’s provided you with viable intel. It’s not like he’s some average Joe who’ll only get in the way.”
Complicated Creatures: Part Two Page 29