by Chad Zunker
He cautiously opened the door and stepped inside, feeling an eerie calm. Whatever happened next, he’d at least reached the end of this journey. He’d survived two days that proved to be even more intense and treacherous that what he went through with McCallister and Redrock Security last fall.
He heard no noise coming from inside the suite. No talking. No TV. Nothing. Strangely quiet. Sam moved down a short hallway and then stepped out into a spacious living room. He stiffened, suddenly couldn’t breathe. A half dozen familiar faces stared back at him from all corners of the living room, as if they were simply waiting for him to arrive. He was stunned. Standing to his left was Desperado, the assassin from the Four Seasons in Mexico City. Right next to him stood Tom Hawkins, who was still wearing his Hawaiian shirt. Hawkins gave him a quick nod. With furrowed brow, Sam’s eyes moved left to right. Sitting in a chair was Agent Mendoza from Mexico City’s federal police building. A quick grin from Mendoza. On the end of the sofa sat Uncle Jerry, who gave him a quick two-finger salute. Right next to Uncle Jerry sat Teresa, Hawkins’s ex-wife from New Orleans. The final member was the black-haired woman in the gray trench coat, who sat in another chair. She gave him a curt smile.
Sam felt like he was having an out-of-body experience.
After what felt like an eternity of silence, an older man finally stepped into the living room from a back bedroom. Sam blinked. The gray-bearded man. Marcus Pelini, formerly of the CIA, standing there right in front of Sam, wearing all black: black sport coat, black shirt, black slacks. Sam’s mind was spinning off in all directions. He had in fact seen Pelini in New Orleans. It wasn’t just a vision he’d made up in his own mind. The man was there. Why? Sam couldn’t make sense of any of this. Tom Hawkins was dead. Sam had seen the man standing right beside Hawkins put a bullet into him, clear as day. Now, they were both standing next to each other like they were buddies? What the hell was going on?
Pelini moved to the middle of the living room, stood directly in front of Sam. “Good to see you, Sam,” he said. “I’m glad you made it.”
Sam opened his mouth, but no words came out. He didn’t know what to say.
“We have a lot to talk about,” Pelini continued. “Let’s get started.”
Pelini turned to the others, snapped his fingers. The cast of characters began making their way out of the hotel suite, but not before each one of them came up to Sam, shook his numb hand, patted him on the shoulder, and shared words like, “Good job, Sam.” “Impressive.” “Really nice work.” “Hard to believe, but you actually did it.”
When they were all gone, Pelini asked Sam to have a seat on the sofa. It was just the two of them now alone in the living room. Pelini walked over to a bar. “Can I get you some water, Sam? Coffee? Maybe something stronger?”
Sam slowly shook his head, dazed. He almost wanted to pinch himself to see if this was all real. He felt like he’d just fallen down a rabbit hole, like Alice in Wonderland. Pelini poured himself a glass of scotch and leaned against the fireplace.
“I’m sure this is very confusing,” Pelini began, taking a sip.
“You got that right,” Sam said, his first words.
“The people you saw in here all work for me.”
Sam tilted his head. “CIA?”
Pelini nodded. “Correct.”
“I thought you were retired?”
A quick grin. “You never fully retire from the Agency.”
“But . . . why?”
“I’m going to be very direct with you—I think you at least deserve that. This group of agents is part of a deep-cover special unit that I lead. We are the best of the best. But we don’t officially exist, if you know what I mean. You can’t Google us. We’re not on any CIA website. Not on any budget sheet. Only a small group of people inside the Agency with the highest level of clearance even know about us. Over the past two days, you’ve been an unwitting participant in one of the most clandestine but important operations I’ve ever led.”
Sam’s mind was clearing. “Shadow Shepherd,” he stated.
Pelini seemed genuinely surprised at that mention and quoted, “If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one who wandered off?”
Sam recognized the quote as scripture. “You a priest, too?”
Pelini smiled. “No, but I’m impressed.”
“I’m supposed to be the lost sheep?”
Pelini smiled again. “In many ways, yes, we all hope so.”
Sam was getting pissed off at all the gray-bearded man’s coy smiling. “I don’t understand,” he said. “What the hell are you even talking about?”
“Operation Shadow Shepherd was uniquely designed just for you, custom-fit to test your unique abilities to the absolute max. I already knew you were an incredibly gifted individual—you proved that to me in every way last fall. However, I had to go above and beyond to prove it to my boss. He needed to know exactly what you were capable of in the direst of situations, where we controlled all the variables.”
“You’re telling me this was all some sick game?”
“Not a game. More like an assignment, if you will.”
“An assignment for what?”
“We want you to join us. We need an outsider like you for a critical mission.”
Sam’s jaw dropped open, like Pelini had just used a foreign language. “I think I will have that drink, after all.”
Pelini poured a glass of scotch, handed it to him. Sam stood, downed it in one gulp, and began to slowly pace the room. “So you’re telling me all of this was not real? It was just a test? The entire story about a corrupt back-room Mexican oil deal gone bad between Francisco Zapata and Lex Hester? The connection to Senator Liddell and Hebbard and Hawkins? All concocted? All orchestrated by you?”
Pelini nodded. “Correct. Senator Liddell exists, of course—we needed to use an actual politician to make it believable. But all of the other characters were fabricated.”
“How is that even possible? We found all kinds of information out there. There are pictures, articles, travel records, you name it.”
“All created and planted by us,” Pelini confirmed.
Sam thought of Tommy and what he’d said about feeling like his system had been controlled and manipulated from the very beginning. “So you fed it all to Tommy.”
“Brilliant kid, by the way. That was maybe our toughest challenge.”
“You sent men to his apartment?”
Another nod. “Like I said, the kid is way too smart for his own good. We needed to shake things up for him, or the operation might have been blown early.”
“But you kidnapped Natalie!” cried Sam, getting really pissed, taking an aggressive step toward Pelini. “How the hell could you do that to her?”
“We never harmed her,” Pelini said, trying to reassure him. “Any scratches on Natalie were at her own doing. She’s one tough girl. A few of my guys have the injuries to prove it.”
“Does Liddell know you used him as a pawn in your game?”
“No, he doesn’t. And he’ll never know. We’ll make sure of that.”
Sam felt like his head was going to explode. The alcohol wasn’t helping. He quickly ran every scene from the past two days through his mind. “I almost killed myself jumping from a hotel balcony,” he declared, glaring hard at Pelini.
“But you didn’t,” Pelini countered, as if that should matter to Sam.
Sam sat on the sofa again, feeling nauseated.
Pelini jumped back in, using his most grandfatherly voice. “Look, Sam, you handled the past two days brilliantly. Just like I knew you would. You’re more naturally gifted than any highly trained special agent I’ve ever had on my team in over thirty years of doing this job. I knew you’d make it through unscathed. I knew you’d succeed, even in the face of every obscene obstacle we put in your path. I just needed the opportunity to prove it to my boss—and to you.”
Sam looked up at h
im with wild eyes. “Are you a lunatic, Marcus? You really think I’m going to join you and the CIA?”
“I understand your frustration.”
“Frustration? Frustration is how you feel when someone cuts you off in traffic. What I’m feeling right now can’t be described with words. If I had my way, I’d like nothing more than to put my hands around your neck and squeeze until your life is gone—just like you’ve done to me the past two days. That’s how I feel.”
Pelini didn’t respond to that. He grabbed Sam’s empty glass, refilled it, put it back on the coffee table in front of Sam. Sam picked it up, took another sip. More and more scenes flooded his mind.
“You’re telling me the bullets were all fake?” Sam asked.
Pelini shook his head. “Some but not all. Intended to miss you at every turn, of course.”
“Some of them came very close, Marcus.”
“Yes, I know.”
Sam almost didn’t want to ask the next question, it pained him so much. “The whole entire story about Rich Hebbard being my real father—all fabricated and manipulated by you?”
“Yes,” Pelini admitted.
Sam cursed, felt like throwing his glass at Pelini. “Damn, Marcus, that’s cruel and cold. Even for someone like you.”
Pelini sighed. “I’m sorry, Sam. We had to test every part of you. We needed to know the full scope of your physical, emotional, and mental makeup. We also knew we had to pull certain emotional strings to get you to fully engage in the operation. Natalie was, of course, part of that. Dangling your real father out there was the second part.”
Sam could feel the brutal weight of disappointment collapse on top of him, like a tidal wave tearing him to pieces. Although he’d wanted to punch Rich Hebbard upon meeting him for the first time, Sam had still desperately wanted to meet him. He wanted to come face-to-face with his real father. The truth felt devastating.
“And the Gray Wolf?” Sam sighed, trying to occupy his mind with something else. “Gerlach wasn’t a real assassin, either?”
Pelini exhaled. “Well, that’s where things got a little tricky for me.”
Sam stared at him. “Tricky?”
Pelini finished his glass of scotch. “Alger Gerlach is a real assassin. The best in the world, as a matter of fact. However, he was not part of my script for this operation. Gerlach was brought in unbeknownst to me as an outside player.”
“Brought in by whom?”
“My boss.”
Sam cursed, again stunned. “Wait, you’re telling me that the CIA hired a notorious assassin to try to kill me?”
“Yes.” Pelini moved to a brown leather chair, rested his elbows on his knees. He stared over at Sam. “Apparently, my boss didn’t fully trust that I would pull out all the stops. He doubted that I would put you through the complete wringer without a safety net. And in order for this next mission to succeed, the one for which I’m recruiting you—an operation that is absolutely critical to the safety of America, mind you—my boss wanted to know that you were the real deal. Someone truly capable of the most extraordinary feats.”
“And your boss figured the only way to know that is for me to go head-to-head with the most lethal assassin in the world?”
Pelini slowly nodded, sipped his scotch.
Sam shook his head. “Your boss sounds like a swell guy.”
“Once we found out about Gerlach, I removed the remaining obstacles from our end. We knew Gerlach was more than enough challenge for you.”
“Gee, thanks. That was really nice of you. So, you’re the one who sent the message to Tommy to warn me inside Jackson Square?”
“Correct.”
Sam put his elbows on his knees, face in hands. Again, he felt nauseated.
“You survived him, Sam,” Pelini mentioned. “You beat the Gray Wolf.”
Sam looked up. “You act like I should be happy about that. Like I should somehow be pleased with myself about all of this. Surviving your sick game. Outlasting an assassin on three separate occasions. Surviving a balcony fall, a car chase through Mexico City, running for my life through a drug tunnel while being hunted by cartel members, whom I highly doubt were on your payroll. Well, guess what? I’m pissed, Marcus! I didn’t sign up for any of this. Hell, what I really want to do right now is turn you in to the police, get you and all your friends thrown in jail. But I know that is futile—you are the damn police! You guys can clearly do whatever the hell you want, even to an innocent civilian like me. What choice do I really have here?”
“I’m giving you a choice now.”
“So, what, you actually think I’m going to sign up to help you with some super-secret CIA mission after all of this? Go serve my country simply because you say it’s going to make America safer? Nice try, Marcus. If I really have a choice here, you can go screw yourself!”
Pelini didn’t respond. He just let Sam sit there for a moment and stew.
Sam leaned back, stared out the balcony window. He could see the Capitol Building. Something dawned on him. “Why didn’t your boss fully trust you?”
“What’s that?”
“You said your boss wasn’t sure you’d put me through the full wringer.”
“They felt I was too close to the situation.”
“Why? Because of our direct involvement last fall?”
Pelini shook his head. “No, other reasons.”
“You don’t strike me as an empathetic character. However, your boss was right. You warned me in Jackson Square. I’d be dead if you hadn’t. So why’d you do it?”
Pelini seemed to consider his next words for a long moment. “Although Rich Hebbard was a made-up figure, I know your real father, Sam.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed in on Pelini. Was the man again playing games with him?
Pelini reached into his sport-coat pocket, pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He held it for a moment, almost like he was unsure what he wanted to do with it. Then he handed it over. Sam unfolded the paper, stared at it. A copy of laboratory results from a medical DNA-testing service. There was a chart with various letters and numbers in boxes under two columns, one for Child and the other for Alleged Father.
Sam’s eyes settled in on three lines at the top.
Child: Samuel Weldon Callahan
Alleged Father: Marcus Eugene Pelini
Probability of Paternity: 99.9999%
Sam’s eyes widened, his mouth parting. What? He read it all again. The man sitting across from him was his real father? Was that possible? He couldn’t speak. He just kept staring a hole through the test results, the paper practically shaking in his fingers.
Pelini began to explain. “I met your mother in Denver in my early days with the Agency while on a training assignment there. We had a brief fling when I first arrived, until I found out she wasn’t actually a college student like she’d claimed. She was much younger than that. By then, she was already pregnant. I tried to get her to terminate the pregnancy, even offered her money. Your mother refused—even after I told her she would never see me again. I was set to leave the following week on assignment in Turkey with no clear plans to return to the States.”
Sam couldn’t even look directly at the man; he just kept staring at the test results. “After all I’ve been through the past two days, how am I supposed to believe this is actually true? And not just another one of your sick ways to manipulate me?”
“We can go get a second test tomorrow, confirm it, if you want.”
Sam stood on weak legs, walked over to the window. “Did my mother know it was you last fall? When you took her away from her facility?”
“Not at first, but she figured it out. I convinced her that it was for your own safety to never reveal my true identity. That my life with the CIA would only make your life hell, if you ever knew.”
Sam again thought about his mom and the hours right before her death, where she’d wanted to share some hard truths about his past. He had a feeling he now knew what she was going to say. She was finally goin
g to tell him the whole truth. He let out a deep breath, stared out at the city lights. He had so many questions; however, at the moment, he felt emotionally wrecked and unable to handle any more surprises or damaging truths.
“How much time do I have to decide?” Sam asked.
“Decide what?” Pelini asked. “About the second paternity test?”
“Whether or not to join you on this mission.”
Pelini seemed pleased at his question. “I need to know by tomorrow.”
Sam glanced over, frowned. “You can’t be serious.”
Pelini said, “We don’t have the luxury of time here. You’ll understand if you choose to join us. Until then, I can’t tell you anything more.”
“If I say no, I go back to my normal life? You never bother me again?”
“Correct.”
Sam’s eyes went back to the window, and he studied himself in the reflection. He was beat up to hell. His whole body had hurt from head to toe before this meeting. Now it was nearly indescribable how he felt. Like being dragged behind an eighteen-wheeler for two straight days, somehow surviving that brutal carnage, only to stand up in the road, dust himself off, and suddenly be swept away at the last moment by an F5 tornado.
“One more thing,” Pelini added. “You can’t tell a soul about this.”
Sam turned, his eyes saying everything.
Pelini shook his head. “Not even Natalie.”
SIXTY-SEVEN
Sam took a deep breath, collected himself. He was all tied up in emotional knots—way beyond anything he’d ever experienced in his life, which was saying quite a lot considering his arduous past. What came next for him only would make him feel much worse. He had no choice. Reaching up, he knocked on the hotel-room door, felt a lump in his throat the size of a baseball. Natalie yanked the door fully open, nearly tackled him to the carpet. They hadn’t communicated since she’d left for her meeting with Liddell’s chief of staff more than two hours ago. Tommy stood up from his laptop at the hotel desk, also looking quite pleased to see Sam safely return. There had clearly been some heightened tension in the room while they both waited for him.