The Shadow's Code

by Miles Goodson

  Lindon dated Stephanie for two months, then the military exercise ended. Stephanie liked Lindon because his accent reminded her of her childhood and Lindon’s confidence reminded her of her grandfather. Lindon visited Sweden several times over the years and he always met Stephanie, but it had been years since he had been able to see her for longer than a few hours over coffee. Lindon wondered if Stephanie had tired of meeting an American man who dipped in and out of her life without contacting her for months or years. She was beautiful, kind, intelligent, she could choose any man she wanted. Lindon doubted whether he remained in her thoughts, but he remained hopeful.

  Lindon sat on the end of his bed, undoing the laces on his shoes and pulling his sweater off. He quickly changed into sweatpants and slumped onto the couch. This was his chance to think about the next few months and his options. The thought of retiring after one big job was tempting but he was still bruised and exhausted from the last job. The pay was tempting but in his line of work he could end up dead if he made a mistake. Money couldn’t drive him to make a stupid decision. His mind wandered back to Sweden and his cabin. He should visit Sweden; maybe Stephanie would still talk to him, maybe he would be happier there, he thought.

  As Lindon walked slowly from his bedroom to the living area he stared at his phone screen. He had received a secure message from another agency he worked with. They had a well paying job coming up in London, a security detail for a Saudi oil prince who was staying in his Knightsbridge apartment for a few days. The security would be light, just him and a woman he had worked with before; she was efficient and easy to work with. The job paid $15,000; transport to London would be arranged. The oil prince had offered his own Learjet to pick up Lindon and his colleague.

  Lindon couldn’t fly on commercial planes and was suspicious of government ones. Remaining a ghost was too important. Private jets were his preferred method of long distance transport. To get to Sweden he would have to cross the Atlantic, if he took the job in London he could then get a cruise ship from England to Sweden. Once in the UK it would be easier to travel across Europe. Lindon’s eyes began to light up with a plan.

  As he lay back on the sofa, running his left hand through his hair he began to feel a headache. He re-positioned himself to sit upright, and then stood up and walked over to the dimmer switch by the front door of the apartment. Dimming the lights didn’t help. He walked over to the kitchen and ran the tap whilst opening a cupboard to retrieve a glass. The cold water had little effect as well.

  Headaches had been a constant annoyance for Lindon over the past seven years. When he was in the military he had reported them to a commanding officer and been given leave for several months. Lindon remembered the day they started, he had met a Professor David Ebton in the morning. He couldn’t remember much of the meeting. His mind had gone blank, the professor had explained something about some high-level security project that he was working on and that Lindon, or Ben as he was called then, had been selected to help him. Lindon couldn’t remember anything else; he had spent years trying to unravel the events of the day. His mind always returned a blank.

  After being given leave from the military, he was followed. It was subtle but he noticed it, men in suits, black SUVs, they quickly disappeared but he still felt their presence. Old sedans would park up near where he lived and delivery vans would pass by his street every ten minutes. Joggers would run past and look at him, homeless men would stare at him. After a few months he felt as if he was under surveillance but didn’t know from whom. Ever since then Lindon has lived as a ghost, hiding in the shadows.

  Lindon tried to force himself to drink more water; he took a few headache pills to numb the headache. ‘I’m just tired’ he mumbled to himself. He decided he would put off making a decision about his next job until morning. He flicked the light switch and the room went dark. It had begun to rain outside and Lindon could hear it softly hitting the window, a nice background noise to send him to sleep. By morning the headache would pass. He set the alarm for 5am and closed his eyes.

  Jim stared out of his office window on the 62nd floor of the Sagaris building.

  It was late and only a few people were left in the office. A storm had rolled into Toronto at 9pm and it was now sending thick hail to the ground below from the dark clouds. Hail pelted the Sagaris tower and made a loud tapping sound against the windows. Jim stood frozen, staring at the storm. A small glass was clasped in his left hand, and a few droplets of rum remained tilted to one side of the glass. The sky was dark and black clouds circled, lightning created streaks of bright light in the dark sky. There was a knock at the office door that broke Jim out of his trance.

  “Come in.” He looked over his left shoulder as the door opened. Kirt walked through the door.

  “How are you, Jim, another late one?” Jim began to pour himself some more rum.

  “Rum?” he gestured toward Kirt.

  “No thanks,” he replied.

  “Suit yourself, yeah, another late one, just some paperwork for some recent jobs, nothing interesting,” Jim said as he returned to his office chair and ignored the storm behind him. He shoved his finger across the mouse pad of his computer to stop the graphic bouncing around his screen.

  “Any news on our Christmas bonus job?” Kirt asked with a grin.

  “Is that what we’re calling it now?” Jim asked.

  “Well it’s what I’m calling it, there’s no way the company would secure a job this lucrative shortly before Christmas and not give us all a little Christmas boost.” Kirt smiled as he spoke, clear excitement on his face showed. Kirt wanted to get his wife a new BMW for Christmas. She had a four year old car that was running fine, but it was now a previous generation model and they had recently seen a brand new one pass them on the highway. They had talked about it several times; Kirt liked his wife to have something to brag about to the other wives at the gym, country club or any other social activity she went to. Jim could see that Kirt’s mind had wandered slightly and so sipped at his rum.

  “I haven’t heard from Lindon, I know he’s hesitant about the job, even with the big money,” Jim said. He then leaned in towards Kirt and lowered his tone slightly. “The tradesmen, they put their ass on the line, money isn’t everything for these guys, if it’s too much risk or they don’t feel up to the job, no amount of money would change their mind, at least not the good ones.”

  Kirt listened intently but had little to say, he knew what Jim was saying was true and valid but he still hoped that this guy wasn’t one of the good ones and was going to take the job. Once he took the job, Lindon would be the target and easy bait for the men around him, then the bonus would roll in and Kirt could roll out of the BMW showroom in a shiny new X5 and get an oversized novelty bow to put on the bonnet to present it as a gift to his wife. Jim didn’t want to talk to Kirt anymore, he had pestered him a few times over the past couple of days and Jim needed a break from the pressure of this one big job.

  “Kirt, I’ve got a few things I gotta finish up here, do you mind?” Jim raised his eyebrows and looked towards the door. Kirt took a step towards the door.

  “OK, let me know if you hear anything on my bonus.” Kirt flashed a smile as he spoke and headed for the door. Jim gave an unenthusiastic grunt as he raised the glass of rum to his mouth.

  Chapter 11

  Lindon awoke early; the sun hadn’t risen when he stepped in the shower.

  He hoped to get to the gym before the morning crowd arrived. It was Friday and so people were eager to get to work on time, no one wanted to be making up time on Friday afternoon. Lindon put some oatmeal in the microwave; he threw a few bits in his gym bag while the timer on the microwave counted down. Ding! He popped open the microwave door and left his breakfast to cool for a few seconds. Lindon leaned on the counter in the kitchen with his phone in one hand; he had made a decision to take the London job. It was simple and would give him a safe passage into Europe. Three days in London would be a nice break. He checked ferry times to Sweden
from England on his phone. There wasn’t many going at this time of year but he had a backup plan.

  Lindon had purchased an old fishing boat from a man in Edinburgh who was retiring several years ago; the boat was old but sea worthy. It smelt a bit inside due to its years of service and everything in it was worn down, but he had managed to get it for a steal as he had cash and the man wanted a quick sale. Lindon replaced the lower deck bunk bed with a new one and purchased an updated navigation system, but left the rest of it as it was. Apart from the new bed and GPS the only cost of owning the boat was mooring. The old man had a permit for another year when he sold Lindon the boat. Lindon met the local harbormaster the same day and extended the permit to fifteen years, with cash. The boat was still docked in Scotland, he had paid a local guy on retainer to keep it sea worthy and inspect it every few months. The man made a tidy living from just wandering on and off boats that were moored by owners from the city.

  The boat docked in Scotland would be plan B. If he couldn’t get a ferry then he may take the old fishing boat for a run. Although Lindon had never intended to ever take the boat too far from shore, he purchased it so that he could travel to Ireland at the time. Volcanic ash had spread over Europe stopping planes flying, he needed to get from Scotland to Ireland and so decided to buy the boat and he had only every traveled in it once. It was worth it at the time as the job he had in Ireland was reconnaissance and had paid $20,000 to retrieve sensitive documents for a global company about the tax affairs of a rival organization.

  The oatmeal cooled down and Lindon ate quickly. Lindon would contact Dino Logging later, Carón wouldn’t be too happy about him turning down the work but that was his problem. Lindon would head to London in a few days and then go on to Sweden; a much needed break sat next to his log fire was waiting. A dossier of the oil prince’s movements and security needs would be sent to Lindon that afternoon from the agency he had procured the work from. The agency, Rycon Connected, or RC as many knew them, was dependable and a stickler for details. Lindon knew they were dependable and so he began to feel more confident in his decision.

  Jim’s drinking had become heavier and his visits to bars more frequent over the past week. He struggled with the idea of betraying one of his men. He quietly hoped that Lindon would turn him down.

  Jim sat at the bar feeling sorry for himself, ignoring everyone else. The mid-week crowd meant the bar was only half full at 9.30pm. Students would arrive later and bring the numbers up, the bar had a happy hour that brought them flocking despite the reports of cold weather. The mercury would dip to negative in the early hours. Jim didn’t plan to stay past 10pm; he was knocking back his seventh straight shot of tequila and didn’t want to reach double figures. Jim had been sipping Cools light beer since lunch and had gone through 6 bottles before going to the bar for shots.

  The bartender approached as he raised his head and the shot glass. Had Jim come on a Monday or Tuesday night when the music was quiet then he would have stopped to have the usual chat about sports or world affairs but the loud tunes of a Wednesday night made it impossible to make small talk and so instead he nodded at Jim and refilled the glass and then attended to the next customer. Jim always settled up for drinks but not always on the night, he had been a regular since his college days and knew the owner, Carl James, reasonably well. Carl knew Jim was good for money and just left a tab open, usually Jim would settle up every few weeks. When he didn’t Carl would send him a short text telling him that it was time to settle the tab. Jim always did, but knew that even if he forgot Carl wouldn’t mind too much.

  Carl was easy-going, his parents were both African-American from the deep South and had moved to Canada when Carl was six. His dad taught him as much about business as he could but Carl prided himself in being self-made. His father was a different generation that wouldn’t have been so forgiving about tabs running too long, had he ever let a customer have one, which he would not and strongly advised Carl against it.

  Jim stood up from the stall and took a moment to gather himself. Eight shots of tequila and 6 beers had the desired effect and his troubles were numbed for now. Jim looked over at the bartender to signal he was leaving and would settle up another time but he was busy with a group of attractive women. The bartender’s high cheekbones and lean tall frame had obviously caught their eye. Jim decided to leave anyway.

  As he turned he caught sight of Carl who had just arrived. Carl gestured Jim over to him and the two shook hands by the rear staircase the led up to Carl’s office.

  “Jim… Whiskey?” Carl asked as he pointed toward his office.

  “I’ve been on tequila tonight, not sure I would want to mix.” Jim had to raise his voice for Carl to hear over the music.

  “I can smell that, I’ve got tequila as well, come on up,” Carl replied without having to raise his tone as his deep voice carried well. Carl turned and walked up the stairs and Jim followed. They both settled on a shot of tequila each and looked out of the club from the large window in the office.

  “How’s life treating you then, Jim? I’m guessing not so well if you’re running your tab up with shots of tequila, not that I’m complaining,” Carl said.

  “Ah just work, difficult decisions, you know how it is Carl,” Jim said as he threw back the tequila and hit the back of his tongue.

  “Hmm, I know how it is in the business world I work in, not so much about your world though, Jim.”

  Jim had told Carl years ago that he worked for Dino Logging Brothers, just a few office blocks away. At first that’s as far as he went but when a rival bar had begun behaving aggressively towards Carl’s club, Jim had enlightened Carl about some of the services that Dino Logging offered on floor 62. Jim had been very careful how much he told Carl, although as he may be a customer he could be a little more open. There were no guidelines about what you could and couldn’t tell prospective clients about the true activities of Dino Logging but 90% of the clients had been referred to them and so already had a good idea. Carl knew that Jim worked with men who lived in shadows and that for a fee; information, intimidation and interrogation were all options.

  Carl had been hesitant to do anything; he was a squeaky clean businessman, he didn’t want to get involved in criminal activity and prided himself on being a model citizen. The racism his father had faced when he was young had been drilled into Carl. He was very aware that his father had got used to being treated as a criminal even though he wasn’t one. Carl had experienced little of this. When he was younger he had 20’’ chrome wheels on his car but after having the police pull him over twice in a month he decided he didn’t want to stand out as much. Yes there were probably still some issues he faced solely because of the color of his skin but nothing compared to what his father had been through.

  Toronto was liberal and the police force had done more good than bad for Carl. They had led a successful manhunt four years earlier when his father didn’t return home one night. They found him in an alleyway before 11pm beaten and bruised after a mugging, but fortunately the wounds were superficial and the police caught the perpetrators the next morning. To Carl’s father’s disgust both the muggers were black.

  Despite this model citizenship that Carl prided himself on, he had turned to Jim when two of his doormen were beaten up by people working for a rival club. One suffered a non life-threatening stab wound. Jim had rushed through a client number for Carl and got Kirt to arrange a small team to gather intelligence and start a few problems. Sure enough the tradesmen collected some paperwork from the management office proving that half the staff were illegal workers. Two days after the revelation the bar area caught fire just after closing. It appeared the gas in the kitchen had been left on and caught fire. The fire marshal explained how lucky it was that it happened an hour after everyone had finished partying on a Friday night. Carl knew better than to believe a faulty gas pipe was to blame. Carl always had time for Jim after that.

  Jim sat in a chair by Carl’s office desk.

  �
��You know when you want something to happen because it will be good for you but you don’t want it to happen because it will end badly for someone you know,” Jim said. Carl looked over at Jim who looked fairly resigned.

  “Yeah, a bit like wanting others to fail so you can get ahead, it’s a dog eat dog world among bars and clubs. I’ve been there, hoping another place closes down, because it will be good for me but at the same time there are some really good guys who work there, and the people that started it were good people that put their whole life into it. You don’t wanna wish harm on them but you see the numbers in your club drop and you hope to yourself that they close down. Even though you like them and respect them, you want them to fail,” Carl said as he slumped into his office chair. Jim looked at his shot glass.

  “Yeah, kinda the same.” Jim raised his chin as he spoke and continued. “But if I do what the guys at Dino want, I’ve gotta turn my back on someone who trusts me, there will be a big pay day, possibly a promotion but I don’t think that will help my conscience.”

  “A conscience, I didn’t know such as thing existed in your line of work,” Carl said with a wide smile.