The Shadow's Code

by Miles Goodson

  “OK,” he said.

  Chapter 5

  Lindon was happy to be home in Chicago.

  He had lived there for the last couple of years. His apartment on the twelfth floor had a view of other apartment blocks around him. To most people the old apartment block was an eyesore that should be torn down so a contemporary building like the ones around it could be built but to Lindon the place was home sweet home. After a short nap he stretched out on the bed and decided he would go for a workout.

  Lindon arrived at the gym in the middle of the afternoon when it was quiet and most of the equipment was free. To get to the weights room Lindon needed to go down two flights of stairs. A woman at reception smiled.

  “Haven’t seen you in a while. Have you been on holiday?” she asked.

  “Yeah, a long business trip again,” he replied with a quick smirk as he retrieved his wallet from his back pocket.

  No one at this gym went away on business. The gym was known for its less than credible clientele that occupied it most evenings. No member had their picture taken; instead everyone was issued a bar code unique to them. It was owned by a notorious crime family that had operated out of Chicago for generations. Lindon didn’t really care who owned the place or what they did. The gym was well maintained and a lot of the equipment was new. The Chicago PD stayed clear of the gym, as they didn’t need another lawsuit for harassment filed against them. The last four had cost them over $1 million; the crime family had the best lawyers in the state.

  Exits were all over the building. A crooked fire chief had been paid off to tender the appropriate paperwork for the local authority. It was the only known business in the state that needed eight escapes. The police had often seen a man of interest go in the gym and never come out as they slipped out to another street.

  Lindon liked it, as he could remain a nobody. He walked in with his hood up and a cap on and no one batted an eyelid, no one argued and egos were kept in check.

  “I need to pay for another six weeks,” Lindon said as he dropped his thin metal barcoded strip on the desk.

  “No problem, it’s a hundred and twenty,” the receptionist said as she looked directly at Lindon. She was an attractive woman in her early twenties; she had bleached blonde hair and a small selection of tattoos. He slid the cash over the desk.

  “Cash, cool, let me just scan your membership code…OK, all done. Have a good session.” She motioned to the turn stall.

  “Thanks,” Lindon smiled.

  Nothing had changed. There was always a peaceful moment on returning back to normal life. He usually found that peace standing in the changing rooms at his gym. He looked in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the far wall. His brown hair looked much tidier after having the sides shaved down at the barbers on the way to the gym. Lindon stared at himself in the mirror; he looked leaner than usual. He noticed the scar on his left shoulder. A war scar he carried proudly from his service. Thirteen stitches had held his flesh together during combat when a bullet grazed him. Compared to the injuries he had witnessed other men suffer it was nothing but a scratch. War memories always lingered in the back of his mind; he hated deserts and always remembered the exact feeling of a helmet catch chaffing against his chin.

  He checked his phone, which was a specially modified smart phone that had additional protection from hackers and had the GPS removed. No new messages. Lindon was still waiting on payment for the job. It usually took a few days; payment for this job would be enough for him to live comfortably until the end of the year. When Lindon received money for his jobs it came through an end-to-end encrypted network known as SecureNet. It was the same system that the trade agencies used to contact him. SecureNet had been created by a retired NSA code breaker. Its physical location was changed month to month and all account details were Meta Encrypted. All communications were sent via CMS, the acronym given for Cryptographic Message System. It was a fortified system that had stood up against hacks from all the major government agencies around the world.

  Lindon’s method of transferring money was much more old fashioned and low tech. He would forward some money to his mother via Western Union in a few days. He sent the money through a few international accounts under several different aliases before it made its way to his mother. His mother, Patricia, always tried to decline the money but Lindon sent it anyway. He wanted to make sure she lived a good life as his father had passed away when he was young and his mother was now alone.

  He walked over to the weights benches and could hear the clanging and banging of the metal dumbbells onto the concrete floor. Men shaped like squares sporting a bounty of tattoos and long beards had reserved the middle benches, which was where the heaviest weights were racked. Lindon put his headphones on and got a bench in the corner, out of the way, just where he liked it.

  Casper Waldridge sat in his office staring at the screensaver on his computer.

  It was 5pm and his work for the day was done. He had spoken to everyone he needed to and all his meetings had concluded. Casper stood, held his hands behind his back and enjoyed the view from his office for a moment. He decided that he should stay until late. The next two days would be spent at the golf club refining his swing and so he’d better set a good example and stay until the last few people left the office. Casper was considering which department he should stick his nose into first when the phone rang; it was his secretary, Susan. She explained that Jim Loaking wanted to see him in fifteen minutes regarding an upcoming job. Casper acted as though he was very busy and would check to see if he could make it. He clicked his mouse to clear the screen saver and stared at the background image on his computer for a moment. He then decided he would be able to make it.

  “Tell Jim I’ll be there….oh and Susan…could you get me a coffee with an Irish hint?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she replied.

  Casper collected the styrofoam cup of piping hot coffee with a touch of whisky from her desk five minutes before the meeting with Jim. Casper wanted to stretch his legs before sitting to speak to Jim. Too much sitting gave him cramp in his right hip, another reason he liked to have a ‘strong’ coffee in the afternoon. Casper spoke to a few ancillary staff as the office was starting to quieten down after a busy day. People chatted and the tapping of computer keys echoed around the entire office floor as people rushed their last bit of work before going home. Casper marched purposefully across the floor to Jim’s door. He knocked, and then let himself in before an answer was forthcoming.

  Jim sat relaxed at his desk as Casper opened the door.

  “Hey Casper, I wanna run one by you,” Jim said faintly.

  “Mm, beautiful sky today, isn’t it Jim?” Casper replied, ignoring Jim’s first statement. He stared past Jim and out of the glass wall that overlooked the city. The blue sky was starting to become inky as the sun started its retreat to the horizon.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Jim said as he looked over his shoulder. It was the first time that day he had looked out of the window. A few seconds passed, the beeps of car horns and a police siren could be faintly heard from the streets below. Jim wasn’t really wasn’t interested in the outside world right now. Unlike Casper, who had begun to enjoy the beauty of the world more as he had got older, many of his colleagues hadn’t come to the same epiphany.

  “So what have we got?” Casper asked as he pulled back a seat.

  “Another high level one, Gold 714, they want the same team but the freelance has told me he’s not taking work for the next two months.”

  “When’s the job?” Casper asked as he crossed his legs and ran his hand over his knee.

  “The client won’t give an exact date until we accept the job, but it will be within a month most likely.”

  “Hey, we’re not desperate for work, are we? Susan told me we’ve taken four new contracts just this week, and we’re in the quiet season,” Casper said as stretched his legs and re-crossed them.

  “I know, we’re certainly not desperate,” Jim admitted, scratching h
is forehead.

  “Well tell them it’s a no go then, they can find someone else who isn’t as good as us.” Casper always had the same line if Dino Logging couldn’t take the job.

  “It’s just a big contract,” Jim said as he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

  “How big?” Casper asked.

  “$22 million.”

  Casper’s eyebrows darted upwards; he paused for a moment. It was a larger amount than they had taken on a contract for quite some time. “Have their accounts approved the fee?”

  “On the condition of us using the same team as the last job,” Jim said as he leaned forward. He slid a thin file across the desk but Casper didn’t look at it.

  “Well, we can guarantee our guys, will they not do it without the freelance? What if we provided two of our men for the cost of the freelance, two of our senior guys, surely they would go for that?” he said.

  Jim looked directly at Casper. “They are insisting on the freelance. Said they were most impressed by him out of the whole team.”

  Jim waited for Casper to fire back a quick jibe but none materialized. Casper looked towards his shoes that were freshly buffed; a product of his free time that day. Casper then glanced out of the window. His face looked slightly offended by the last remark about the freelance being more impressive than the men he directly employed, but he knew better than to take comments from clients too personally.

  “Have you spoken to Kirt? Maybe he could sweet talk the client into a later date?” Caper asked.

  “He’s speaking to the client right now. I just wanted you to know we might not get this one. I know you don’t like to let the big ones slip away but we can’t do much. I’ve spoken to the freelance three times.”

  “How much would we usually pay the freelance for this job?” Casper said, rubbing his chin.

  “Well it’s a security detail for a high level meeting, some top brass in intelligence gathering. I assume government level plus some dignitaries, it’s being held in Washington D.C. From what I understand, it should be light work, so as a ballpark figure, probably $250,000.”

  “Why do they need us, surely they can provide their own security?” Casper asked.

  “We would provide cyber security. Imagine an invisible wall around the outside of the building. A first layer of protection. Our guys would trace any attempts at incursion from outside the wall, and, if necessary, act upon them with force, if they are local enough. The guys at the meeting don’t want to get their hands dirty,” Jim answered.

  Casper paused for a few seconds. He didn’t understand much about the cyber world or computer security. “It’s a different world to the contracts I remember when I was your age, Jim. It used to be that we watched people, now we seem to be guarding thin air.” Casper paused. “What if we offered the freelance more money?” he said.

  “I already offered to triple the payment, he said no, the job would require him to start work in two days, he’s not interested.”

  Casper looked at the file, then he stared out of the window again. The sun was now low and would be touching the horizon soon. He exhaled deeply. “Offer him six million U.S dollars,” Casper said as he looked straight past Jim and continued to watch the sun dip lower in the sky.

  Six million dollars was a high offer for this job, but Jim had heard of higher amounts. Agencies didn’t like to pay so much that tradesmen wouldn’t need to work, but Casper hated the idea of a twenty two million dollar contract going to a competitor. They could steal a client permanently by doing a job like this. Jim lifted his pen and scribbled a quick note on the edge of another file. It read ‘6 mill!’

  “I will let you know what he says,” Jim said, trying to hide a smile.

  Patricia Svenonsson pulled into a brick paved driveway after a trip to the grocery store.

  It was only the third time she had driven her new car, a Ford Mustang. The car was dark blue with black racing stripes from front to rear. It was exactly as her late husband would have had it. The Mustang had every upgrade available including an upgraded sports exhaust. Patricia’s interest in cars started when she met the man of her dreams aged 17; he was 22 and she was sure petrol ran through his veins. Patricia’s interest grew over time; her boyfriend would spend hours boring her with details on the rust bucket projects he would buy from scrap heaps. By the time of her wedding day, aged 20, Patricia had become a car lover; her wedding car was a blue Mustang that her husband had just purchased with a loan from his parents. Ever since then the couple had owned several blue Ford Mustangs, some were old and some were new but all were cherished.

  Patricia had two sons. Benjamin was the oldest and Tom was several years younger. Benjamin had joined the army aged 18. Tom had become an accountant at a local firm after graduating from college and now lived a few miles away from her on the other side of town. Tom was married but so far no kids. Patricia had dropped hints several times about the possibility of grandchildren but Tom wanted another promotion and, at only 28, he was willing to wait another year or so. His wife was five years younger. Patricia knew that Tom was the one to rely on for grandchildren. Benjamin was much more of a free spirit who struggled with being tied down.

  Patricia carried the groceries to the porch and locked the car, then made a mental note to have the local dealer check out a rumble she had noticed from the front suspension on the drive back from the store. After unpacking the groceries in the kitchen Patricia checked her cell phone. A message from her older son spread across the centre of the screen.

  ‘Hey mum, it’s Lindon, can you give me a call when you get the chance? Tried you earlier but no answer’. She sat on the kitchen high chair by the breakfast table and called her son. He answered after two rings.

  “Hey Ben, how are you honey, it’s mom,” she said. Patricia was one of the only people that called him Ben. Lindon had asked his mum to call him by his new name several times but she refused. To her he would always be Ben. He had assumed the name Lindon shortly after leaving the military but had never had it legally changed. Instead he had acquired a forged passport and driving license with the new name. Ben didn’t want to use his real name when he became a mercenary; several tradesmen had warned him that it was too dangerous.

  “Hey mom, I’m good, you?” Lindon had just got out the shower at the gym. “Yes, I haven’t heard from you in a little while. Is this a new number again?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’ve been on operation in the middle east again. I lost my phone out there,” Lindon lied.

  “OK, well things here are fine. I’ve been spending a little time in the garden. Hopefully it should look nice for next summer.” Patricia flicked a pen in between the fingers on her free hand.

  “The guy is still coming around to do all the maintenance though, right? I paid him to turn up all year round,” Lindon said.

  “You mean Sam. Yeah, he’s been coming by every week but now we’re in the fall. He still keeps everything looking good though. I had him paint the fence as well.”

  “OK, anyway, if he starts slacking let me know and I will call him. Mom I’m going to send a transfer to you. I got a good operational bonus so I’ve sent you $15,000,” Lindon said.

  “Ben, you don’t have to send so much. I have my own savings and your dad’s pension and my own pen-“

  Lindon cut her off, his mom always tried to turn down his money, but it was getting sent whether she liked it or not. “Mom, don’t give me this again, gas isn’t getting cheaper and I’ve seen how you drive,” he said.

  Patricia smiled; she could keep up with her son any day of the week, on any road in any car. “Well only if you’re sure,” she conceded.

  “Just do me a favor and make sure Tom’s birthday and Christmas presents and cards are sorted, please,” he said.

  “He knows I write them, have you thought of sending him your own cards, I’m happy to buy the present but-“

  “Mom, you know it's difficult, I’m working on some highly classified stuff, I barely leave the
base.”

  “Oh, speaking of the base can I have the address now so I can send you a care package?” Patricia quickly grabbed her notebook and poised the pen nib an inch over the paper.

  “We haven’t got a forwarding mail address at the moment, mom. Look, I will call soon and I promise I will have an address for you. I gotta go but the money will be with you via Western Union as usual and I know I don’t have to tell you mom but if anyone asks for me please stick with the Europe story. As I said this is really classified stuff and I’m bound to step on a few toes…take care, mom.”

  “Come visit soon, son; please, we all miss you,” she said.

  “I will do the best I can, love ya.”

  “I love you too son, take care.”

  The line went dead. Patricia sat for a moment on the stool. A single tear trickled down her left cheek as she tried to remember the last time she had seen her son’s face.

  Lindon sat on the bench in the changing rooms at the gym. No one had been in or out while he was on the phone. His birth name was Ben Svenonsson. Lindon didn’t like anyone to know his real name. The only people that called him Ben were his brother and his mother, and he rarely spoke to either of them. He hadn’t seen his mom in four years. It was one of the reasons he was thinking of leaving mercenary work, he was beginning to want his life back. A few more years and he would have enough to move back home and buy a house and start a small business. He used to think he wanted fast cars and faster women but now he wasn’t so sure.

  Chapter 6

  Lindon awoke from his second power nap of the day.

  He had only slept four hours the night before, causing his skin to look tired and the whites of his eyes were bloodshot. Lindon uncurled himself from his bed and yawned. The same dream haunted him, it recurred so often that it barely scared him anymore. Three men in a room, that was all, strapping him to a gurney. He looks into the room at himself like a fly on the wall. He body is calm but he can feel his heart race, as one of the men walks towards him his fists clenched, one of the men says “Ben” and leans over him; then he wakes up. The dream never continues and he is left not knowing what happens to him.