The man in the shadows . . . I had only spoken to him for a moment, but from what he said, and the steel in his eyes, I knew exactly what he was. I had dealt with his kind before. They were my antithesis.
A black Suburban with red and blue wig-wag lights flashing inside its windshield passed me as I left the subdivision. I turned onto the main road and headed for the highway. I left no trace that I had been in my brother’s home, so the road south should be clear. I had only slept a couple of hours in the last two days, and I was a long way from Mexico.
My thoughts returned to the man in the dark. I’d spent most of my career in countries that didn’t have much in the way of professional law enforcement, and men like that always appeared eventually. They were the ones who took care of problems society couldn’t, protecting innocents and their valuables from men like me, and usually disregarding the laws to do it. They weren’t organized, but the sorts that drifted into that line of work inevitably knew each other, and shared information about my kind. That fellow with no name had probably dealt with a lot of people like me, and more than likely left them in shallow graves.
Majestic would never find that family. Bob had chosen well.
LORENZO
Santa Vasquez, Mexico
February 16th
The sun was approaching its high point as I rolled into the Santa Vasquez airport. At this point I was running on nothing but energy drinks, and my brain was twitchy from fatigue and caffeine. The trip across the border had been uneventful, and the only people that had seen me take a cow trail across were a couple dozen illegals. The last time I had been through those hills, I had ended up running into some Chechens. Heading south was a lot easier than heading north.
Airport was a generous term for an asphalt strip surrounded by corrugated tin shacks. It didn’t look like much, but I knew there were probably a good thirty to fifty flights landing here every day, and I was willing to bet that almost all of them were somehow drug related. Mexico had calmed down a bit since the revolution, but it had been business as usual here the whole time.
My nose was assaulted with the burning chemical stench of Santa Vasquez as soon as I stepped out of the Jeep. It was winter, so it was only in the nineties. Good old Mexico.
I spotted the Exodus Cessna parked in one of the sheds, and started toward it, still holding the garbage can under one arm. I saw the hulking form of Antoine first. A broad smile split his face when he saw me.
“Glad to see you, my friend,” he shouted.
“Let’s go home,” I said simply.
Chapter 9: House Guests
VALENTINE
Location Unknown
Date/Time Unknown
When my eyes opened next, I was staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. I was lying in a clean, soft four-poster bed. A ceiling fan lazily rotated above me. It was a much more pleasant setting than the last place I’d woken up in. My head began to spin as soon as I sat up. As I waited for the dizzy spell to pass, the sounds of water running, or rain, resonated in the background.
The last thing I remembered was being in the snow. I’d been in pain. I remembered fear, then rage, then violence. I’d been trying to escape from . . . where had I been? I rubbed my face and tried to think. My head throbbed. My body ached. I had gaps in my memory and thinking hurt. It was like the worst hangover ever.
Had I really escaped? Gone were the cold cinder block walls and concrete floors. There was no hint of chill in the air. Instead I found myself in a cozy wooden bungalow with nice furniture. The windows were open, but covered by screens, and shaded from the sun by low hanging eaves. There was a screen door at one end of the room. Beyond it was a wooden deck and a cluster of tree trunks.
Where the hell am I? Is this another one of Dr. Silvers’ tricks? Pain shot through my leg as I stood up. It had been bandaged, and my clothes had been changed. Instead of my blue sweats, white T-shirt, and shoes with no laces, I was wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of gaudy swim trunks. I had no idea where my shoes were. My body protested with each movement as I hobbled toward the door. The pain in my right leg calmed to a dull throb after the initial shock, nothing I couldn’t deal with. Barefoot and confused, I quietly pulled the door open and stepped onto the deck. What lay beyond took my breath away.
White sand stretched out in front of me until it met clear blue water. The sound of gently rolling waves filled the air, and I could hear the cries of seagulls. I stepped off the deck and onto the sand; where the deck had been rough and cool, the sand was warm and soft. I kept limping forward, out from under the shade of a clump of palm trees, toward the water.
I felt the sun on my neck for the first time that I could recall. I looked up into the deep blue sky, squinting in the light as puffy white clouds drifted overhead. I looked back at the bungalow, and then again toward the water.
This isn’t real, my mind protested. Scattered memories came back to me; I’d been deceived before, by Dr. Silvers’ machines, her mind games, her tricks. But the sand was warm between my toes and the wind was gentle on my face. I could smell the salt in the air. It certainly seemed real.
I wandered across the beach, not at all sure where I was going. No one else was around. I hadn’t gotten very far before exhaustion caught up with me. I had no idea how long I’d been in that bed, and it was obvious that I was in bad shape. I focused on a clump of palm trees ahead of me and made my way toward them. My head still ached and I wanted to get out of the sun.
In the shade, the sand was much cooler. I sat down, facing the water, and just stared into the distance. I’m not sure just how long I stayed there, listening to the waves, trying to clear my head.
“Michael!” someone cried. The woman had a clear soprano voice. I rolled my head and saw a woman standing on the beach, holding something in her hand. I couldn’t tell who she was, but she turned in my direction and began to run toward me. “Michael!” she repeated as she got closer. I rubbed my eyes. When I looked up again, the woman was kneeling next to me.
“Ling?” I croaked. It couldn’t be real. I refused to accept it. Yet I was looking into the dark, almond eyes of someone I never imagined I’d see again. She threw her arms around me and pulled me against her. The last time I’d seen her, we were on a different beach, and she certainly hadn’t given me a hug. “Is it really you?” My voice was a hoarse whisper. Her neck was smooth and soft against my cheek; her hair was wet and smelled nice. She squeezed me tighter and rubbed her hand up and down on my back.
“It’s really me,” she said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up. I was in the shower.”
“Can I have some water? I’m . . . I’m really thirsty.”
“Here, drink,” she said, handing me a plastic bottle. I lifted it to my lips and reveled in its icy coldness. I downed the whole thing, coughing when it was empty.
“Jesus,” I said, my voice clearer now. “That’s good. What happened? How . . . where are we?”
“Someplace safe. Our host would prefer I not tell you the name of this place.”
“You helped me escape from . . . from . . .”
“North Gap. The place you were held is called North Gap. It’s in America, in Montana. We got you out.” The concern was apparent on her face. Ling gently placed a hand on the left side of my face. I recoiled slightly as she touched me, but fought the urge to pull away. “Are you all right?”
I tried to speak, tried to answer her, but I didn’t have the words. “Thank you,” I said. It was all I could manage. I was suddenly too emotional to say much more.
“You are safe now. It is a long story, and you need to rest.”
Ling and I sat there, looking out over the water, for a long time. The waves rolled in and out. A sailboat slowly moved across the horizon. Part of me was still expecting to wake up any time, to find myself attached to one of Dr. Silvers’ infernal machines. I’d been so far gone that I’d been talking to the dead. The rational part of my mind never expected to actually escape. I was just trying to give them a re
ason to kill me, to end it all.
A seagull landed nearby and studied us greedily with its beady little eyes. I was free. I was alive. Ling, like a guardian angel, had come to my rescue. The gull was soon joined by one of his friends, then another, then another.
“Are you ready to go?” Ling asked.
I was free. Tears welled up in my eyes.
“No.”
LORENZO
St. Carl Island
February 17th
“Looks like sleeping beauty’s awake.” I put my bare feet up on the banister and leaned back in the wicker chair. The ocean breeze was cool, and the palm trees around the front of my house swayed gently.
“Really? Oh good,” Jill said as she came out of the house, drying her hands on a towel. “He’s even walking? Good for him.”
I gestured with my drink toward the beach. “Yeah, I think he’s lost, but Ling found him.” Valentine and Ling were sitting under one of the trees, facing away from us, and looking out over the gentle waves. The ocean was a brilliant blue beyond them, and they appeared to be deep in conversation. Some seagulls had surrounded them, preparing to attack. St. Carl had some aggressive seagulls.
“Oh, they make a cute couple. I like Ling, she seems really nice. A little intense, but nice.” Jill said as she sat down next to me. She had pulled her hair up into a bun while she had been cleaning and organizing gear. I couldn’t help but smile when I saw the grease smudge on her cheek.
“He’s a schizo mercenary, riddled with PTSD, and she’s a terrorist with ice water for blood. Cute isn’t the first word that comes to mind. I’m sure they’ll have a bunch of beautiful little sociopathic killing machines someday.”
“Like you have any room to talk,” Jill said curtly. “How many countries are you wanted in again?”
“Fifteen. Well, sixteen, but I don’t think Somalia is technically a country right now.” She had me there. Jill was the most normal person currently residing at Casa De Lorenzo, but that wasn’t saying a whole lot. She’d been dragged into my world against her will, just a witness who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Jill was a survivor, and she’d taken to it well enough. Though it pained me to admit it, if it hadn’t been for that kid lying down there on my beach right now, Jill would certainly be in a shallow grave in Quagmire, Nevada.
“You know, you don’t need to be so pissy about this. I really like Val. You did a good thing getting him out of that horrible place.”
“I didn’t do it for him,” I said sullenly. “He better be worth it.”
Jill laughed at me. Her dark eyes twinkled when she laughed. “You know, you can actually admit to doing a good deed once in a while. It won’t ruin your image.”
I didn’t respond to that. Jill was an honest-to-goodness decent person. She saw the best in everyone, even me. Of course, she was wrong about me. I wasn’t a good person. I certainly wasn’t worthy of her, but she seemed to disagree. I made a show of finishing my drink, sat the glass down, and stood. “Well, I’m going to have a few words with Mr. Valentine.”
Jill’s hand clamped down on my wrist. She was not a very big person, but she had the iron grip of someone who had grown up in a martial arts studio. When most little girls were playing with dolls, Jill’s dad had her punching speed bags. “No,” her voice was firm.
“Jill. I just killed like a dozen people. He owes me, and the son of a bitch is gonna talk.”
She didn’t let go. “Sit . . .”
“Honey . . .”
“. . . down.”
She wasn’t going to budge on this one. I could tell. I flopped back into the chair with a pensive grunt. “Let’s not fight in front of the terrorists.”
Jill didn’t take the bait. “First off, if those men in Montana were anything like the ones that had me in Nevada, they don’t count as people. Second, you’re going to leave him alone. Val’s been through a lot of trauma. They need some time, and the last thing they need is you going in there and being your usual pushy self. You’re not exactly in touch with your emotions.”
“I’ve got plenty of emotions.” I started to count on my fingers. “Anger, hate, revenge—”
“Revenge is not an emotion.”
“You’ve been watching those relationship shows on cable again, haven’t you?” From the look on her face, my attempt at evasion was going down in flames.
“I’m serious, Lorenzo. Leave them alone. You can harass him later, and when you do, you’d better be nice.”
I sighed. “I’m not good at nice.”
“You’re nice to me. Besides, we have a few days before Reaper completes our covers anyway.”
I bit my lip and watched a seagull land on the porch railing. It looked at me with its evil little rat eyes, contemplating where to poop. “On our covers . . . The Crossroads is one of the most dangerous places in the world.”
“We’ve been over this,” Jill said sharply. Meaning that we’d already had a fight once. “I’m going with you. You need somebody you can trust. And besides, I do okay at this stuff, remember?” She stood, kissed me gently on the forehead, and headed back into the house. “End of discussion.”
This domestication thing certainly had its ups and downs. With few exceptions, I had spent most of my life only looking after myself. It was hard to deal with having to protect somebody else who was just as bullheaded as I was. Half of me was proud of her, wanting to help save my brother, to watch my back, and though she wouldn’t admit it, I knew she wanted revenge on Majestic for shattering her life. The other half of me was kind of pissed that she wouldn’t just agree to stay home where it was safe.
In the distance, Ling snuggled closer against Valentine. I wanted nothing more than to go down there and get an answer as to just what in the hell made him so damned special. The seagull cocked its head at me.
“Little fucker,” I said as I pulled my STI with my right hand and my Silencerco Osprey suppressor with my left. I started to screw them together while the seagull stared stupidly at its coming demise.
“No killing gulls on the porch!” Jill shouted from inside.
Shit. “Yes, dear,” I answered as I stuck my gun back in its holster. “It’s your lucky day, punk.” The gull emptied its bowels all over my porch, squawked at me, and flew off. It’s a sad day when a man gets no respect in his own house.
VALENTINE
St. Carl Island
February 18th
It was all a lot to take in. The thing that really boggled my mind was the fact that it was February. Between not having any way to keep track of time and Dr. Silvers’ mind games, I had no idea I’d been in North Gap for so long. And now I was on Lorenzo’s island. According to Ling, he owned most of it. That was just weird.
The first time I’d actually met Lorenzo was in Zubara. I put a bullet through an arms dealer named Jalal Hosani, and that same slug hit Lorenzo . . . who unfortunately had been wearing a vest. The night that Fort Saradia fell to the Zubarans, Lorenzo had broken into my room, trying to steal an old Arabian puzzle box that I’d taken on one of my operations with Dead Six. I closed my eyes as that memory came back to me. That was the night Sarah died. I would’ve died with her if he hadn’t dragged me out. We’d met one last time, this time as reluctant allies to get Jill back from Gordon. We parted ways when I’d gone after Gordon. I’d never known much about him, hadn’t wanted to, and figured I’d never see him again.
The snarky thief had done quite well for himself. Somehow he now basically owned an island and lived a life of leisure and luxury. Meanwhile I was getting mind-fucked by a mad scientist working for a shadow government organization. It hardly seemed fair, all things considered.
Returning my attention to what I was doing, I clicked through the files on Ling’s laptop. I was alone in the bungalow, but before Ling left she showed me all of the information that they’d recovered from North Gap. Much of it was about me. It was unsettling, to say the least. Dr. Olivia Silvers had taken me on as a pet project. Originally, they were intere
sted in me because of Project Blue. Once they realized I’d told them everything I knew, Silvers opted to keep me there for her own purposes, stringing her superiors along that I might still be useful. I suspected that her doing so was the only reason they hadn’t just taken me out back and shot me. I basically owed her my life.
I wasn’t going to send her a thank-you card.
I had barely been able to sleep the night before. I’d been drugged, sedated, restrained, exhausted, and unconscious for so long that I just didn’t want to lie in bed anymore. Then there were the dreams. They weren’t nightmares, exactly. These dreams were different. There were numbers that didn’t mean anything to me, places I wasn’t familiar with, and people I mostly didn’t recognize, voices, overlapping and contradictory, some familiar, some not. They had to be subconscious leftovers from my time in Silvers’ tank.
One person I did recognize from the bizarre dreams was Lorenzo’s brother, the other Lorenzo, Bob. Probably because I had given him up. He was the one I’d given Colonel Hunter’s flash drive to, and he’d dumped that information onto the internet. From what I’d heard from Ling, Project Heartbreaker was now a well-known government scandal. From what I’d heard today, it turned out that Bob had been trying to expose them for years. I regretted not trusting him more when we’d last spoken. I wanted to find him. We needed to compare notes.
Ling’s rescue had retrieved a box with all the things that had been in my possession when I had been captured. My custom Smith & Wesson 629 Performance Center Classic .44 Magnum revolver was returned to me, complete with holster, the couple boxes of ammo I had in the car when they took me, and speed loaders. I’d meticulously cleaned and function-checked the heavy, stainless-steel firearm. It felt good in my hand. My arm felt more whole when I held it. Having it on my hip again was a welcome comfort. It wasn’t just my gun, though. My clothes were in there, loose-fitting now, since I’d lost weight in captivity, as well as my shoes. I found my Benchmade Infidel automatic knife, too, which I was happy to have back. More important than that was my father’s harmonica. I’d been carrying it everywhere since Afghanistan and was happy I didn’t lose it.
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