by Slaton Smith
Inside the cab, Sean was sending a text.
SEAN: The physical about killed me.
BRIAN: Not surprised. You yak?
SEAN: No. Close though. I had to take a nap afterwards.
BRIAN: Living the dream. That’s you dummy.
SEAN: I am heading down to the Garden to try and score a seat to see the “B’s”.
BRIAN: As a law enforcement officer, I need to remind you that scalping is a crime.
SEAN: Noted. Bailey OK?
BRIAN: Still looking out the window for you. She’s fine.
Sean put the phone back in his pocket. It always made him sad to think about Bailey just sitting at the window, watching for him.
Behind Sean’s cab, Sandy was checking her iPhone. She saw everything Sean typed or received on his phone.
“He’s going to the Garden. Stay close to the cab,” she instructed Bill and Bob. Both nodded but didn’t say anything. Waters had assigned them to Sandy, both to support her and to keep an eye on her for him. She was one of his best, but he did not trust her completely. After all, working for him had not been her first choice.
Sean’s cab dropped him off in front of the Garden. The puck would drop in forty-five minutes. Sean knew the guys with tickets would be getting antsy the closer it got to game time. He walked towards the ticket office and saw scores of people at will call. A couple people approached him and offered seats for over $100. Sean declined. He had set a price in his mind of $60, which he knew was a long shot. The worst that could happen was he would watch the game in a bar.
The Tahoe dropped Sandy off right behind Sean’s cab. Like Sean, she had on jeans and comfortable shoes. She also had on a tight fitting, scooped neck Bruins t-shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She confidently strode twenty yards behind Sean. He had no clue she was there. There were hundreds of people out in front of the Garden. She watched him talking to people who were trying to sell him tickets. She was hoping he would not find one. Getting into the game and watching him inside would be complicated.
Sean wandered around for another twenty minutes without success. He decided to head over to a nearby bar, the Sport Grille on Canal Street, to catch the first period. It was packed with people, but it also had TVs everywhere, all of them tuned to the B’s game. Some folks were trying to get in that last beer before heading over to the Garden, while others were in the bar for the duration. Nearly everyone had on some sort of B’s regalia. An old 3 Doors Down song was playing way too loud.
Sean pushed his way to the bar. He felt he had a gift when it came to managing crowds and getting the bartender’s attention - too bad he could not make a career out of it. He got the bartenders attention and ordered a Guinness. He pulled out his money clip and handed the bartender $10 and told the guy to keep the change. Nice gesture, but a couple guys noticed Sean’s money clip and the amount he had in it. Normally, he carried little cash, but since he was travelling, he had some big bills. Sandy just arrived in the bar. She saw Sean, but also noticed the two men watching him. They were just local trash - both had hair that was closely cropped and were wearing Bruin’s jerseys with Cam Neely’s old number on them. One of them had a shamrock tattoo on his neck. Sandy didn’t like them. She moved up to the bar and ordered a Stella.
The Sports Grille had an oval-shaped, copper topped bar so she was able to see Sean across the room with ease, while also watching the two guys eyeing Sean. Sean was leaning on the bar, staring at one of the screens across the room. Sandy sipped her beer and watched the puck drop to start the first period. It was shoulder to shoulder in the bar. The music went down and the sounds of the game went up.
Down the street, Bill and Bob sat in the truck with the radio on listening to the game, waiting for Sandy.
“What do you think of her?” Bill asked.
“She won’t last. I don’t know what Waters sees in her,” Bob replied.
“I know what he sees in her,” Bill said, laughing.
“Just do your job. Waters told me she is one of the best. I also did some digging on my own. She’s trained with Special Ops. There’s also a rumor floating around that she killed some guy with her shoe - jammed a stiletto heel right through his eye.”
“She has flats on tonight. We should be safe,” Bill replied with a chuckle.
Bob did not respond.
Sean finished his beer and ordered a second as the guy with the shamrock tattoo moved up behind Sean.
“Hey, friend! Why don’t you buy a round for me and my buddy?” the guy said with a thick Southie accent. It was a request with the unmistakable flavor of violence attached. Sean looked over his shoulder. He was a couple inches taller than the two guys, but they were, no doubt, a whole lot tougher.
“I don’t think so,” Sean replied and turned to his beer.
“Don’t be a dick.”
Sean turned around to face them.
“Just watch the game and get your own beer,” he answered. Sean could feel the anger coming off the two guys and decided this was a bad place to be. This would be his last beer.
“Maybe we should just take that cash then,” the guy said, moving closer to Sean and nodding at his pocket. Sean could smell the stale beer on his breath and could tell these guys had been drinking all day. He was also certain they could still give him the ass kicking of a lifetime.
Sean turned away from them, took a long drink of his Guinness and placed the glass back on the bar, still half full, which is a crime in certain parts of the world. He decided his hotel room was the best place to watch the rest of the game.
“See ya, guys,” Sean said. They tried to block his path, but Sean pushed past them. Sandy had been watching the exchange and started moving when Sean walked by her. She moved towards the two locals, who were behind Sean. She met both of them half way through the crowd. She raised her hand and gently placed it in the middle of the chest of biggest guy. He stopped and instantly forgot about Sean and his money clip.
“Where are you guys going?” she said, leaning in towards the guy, and running her hand up and around his neck. He had definitely forgotten about Sean now.
Unfortunately, Sean had not left the bar. The B’s had just scored and he stopped near the door to continue watching the game.
“No where now,” the guy said, putting his hand around Sandy’s waist and pulling her closer. She could smell the beer and the pungent odor of sweat coming off of him. She hated this part of the job and always had. The second guy started to squeeze past Sandy, towards Sean. She reached out and touched his shoulder with her left hand.
“Oh, you’re not getting away from me,” she stammered, effectively stopping him. Both men were looking at her.
Sean was still standing there watching the game. Sandy needed for him to leave.
“Shit! I am wicked buzzed!” she shouted, giving the Boston accent her all. They didn’t have a class on Southie accents at Yale, but she did her best.
“Yeah?” one of them answered.
“Yeah. My girlfriends are having a party. You guys should come. It will be fun.”
“They look like you?” the other asked.
“No, they are a bunch of fuckin’ pigs!” she said, with a drunken laugh.
Both guys laughed.
“Let’s go,” they said at the same time. Sean was way back in their rearview mirror now and they were focused on Sandy with plans of getting laid.
Sean finally decided to leave. He stepped out of the bar and onto the curb and hailed a cab. The sidewalk was full of people. Sandy and the Southies followed a couple of seconds later. Bill and Bob saw her with her arms around two locals.
“What is she doing?” Bob asked. Bill shrugged.
Sandy waited for Sean to get into the cab and pull away before extricating herself from the two.
“Guys. I changed my mind,” she said without an accent, easing away from them.
“What the fuck?” one of them yelled at her.
“Sorry, but I don’t care for Southie tra
sh,” she added, turning and walking towards the Tahoe parked down the street. Bill and Bob saw her coming.
“You fuckin’ bitch! Come back here!” the guy with the shamrock yelled and began following her.
They were about ten steps behind her.
“Bob. It looks like you might get the chance to pound on some local trash,” Bill said, opening the passenger side door and getting out. Bob got out of the other side and walked around to the front of the truck as Sandy passed him. Bill opened the rear passenger door for Sandy and she got into the truck. Bill shut the door. The two guys were still yelling at her when Bill stepped in front of them.
“Whoa! What’s the problem here?” Bill said, holding up both hands. Bob circled behind the two. Bill and Bob could have passed for brothers. Both were 5’11” and roughly two hundred pounds. Not the flabby two hundred pounds the locals were carrying around, two hundred pounds forged from boot camp, Recon school, Iraq and two tours in Afghanistan. They were mean, loved to fight and never lost.
“She’s a fuckin’ tease! Get her ass over here!” one of the locals screamed. Clearly his anger had clouded his judgment.
“Listen. That’s our sister. I suggest you go back to your Southie shit hole, wherever that is, before something bad happens,” Bill replied. He wanted to scare them off, but he had the opposite effect. Bob now had circled around to the left side of the second guy. He was ready for the impending confrontation.
The two men sized Bill and Bob up – they looked like Chestnut Hill preppies. They loved to kick rich kid ass. Always had. They had been fighting their whole lives and had the philosophy of “when in doubt, swing”. The first guy cocked his fist, but it didn’t get far. Bill sent a quick jab into the man’s throat. He dropped to his knees, clutching his neck. At the same instant, Bob thrust the heel of his hand into the jaw of the second man, who dropped as well.
Bill and Bob stood motionless for a moment, surveying the damage they had caused.
Sandy rolled down her window.
“OK. Let’s go.”
Bill and Bob got into the truck and pulled out onto Canal Street. Nobody said a word about the altercation. Sandy had allowed the exchange on the street. Once she sensed a potential confrontation, she wanted to see how her team would react. They did OK. But again, it was a couple drunks. The real question was how they could handle someone much tougher, someone with the flawless skills of a brutal, merciless, manufactured killer, someone with no exploitable weakness, someone with speed they had never seen before. That was the real question.
Oh, and Sandy was sure she could kill both of them if she had to. Good info to have in your back pocket.
XII
I think I got a bad wing
Boston Park Plaza Hotel – Same Night – May 14, 2011
Sean arrived back at the hotel and headed up to his room, turned on the TV and flipped over to the game. He had missed part of the second period. After a few minutes he realized he was really starting to get hungry as he had not eaten since breakfast. Picking up the room service menu, flipping over to the dinner section, he landed on an order of wings, a cheeseburger and an ice water. The total was nearly $50, which bothered him.
Of course, he was being watched, and those watching him began the process of getting him into the lab. One of McFarland’s men picked up a phone and called an agent stationed in the hotel. The agent walked into the kitchen undetected and checked the trays and found Sean’s order. He injected a chemical into the burger patty, turned and left. The second call was to an ambulance service, positioned nearby.
Sean’s food was delivered within thirty minutes. The waiter placed the tray on the desk and left. Sean lifted the silver cover off of the plate of wings and dug in. Halfway through the wings, he tried the burger. The team monitoring Sean was anxiously watching. In short order, Sean finished the burger and sat munching on fries. Suddenly, he felt very tired.
“That run must have taken it out of me,” he said to himself.
He walked over to the bed and sat down. Then he collapsed.
The team sprang into action. The ambulance pulled up to the loading area and two men took a gurney and headed to the service elevator. Simultaneously, the hotel’s security system was compromised. Every camera malfunctioned. The agent from the lobby was at Sean’s door, which he quickly breeched. He stepped into the room and over to Sean. He felt his pulse and gave a thumbs-up to one of the cameras. He searched the room and stood in front of the TV. He was a B’s fan. The gurney and EMTs arrived in short order, hooked-up IVs and wheeled Sean out of the room.
Sandy watched from her room. She had time to relax. The tough part of her job would start when he woke up, if he woke up. Following him into the bar was easy and actually a little fun; what came next would not be. Her life would be on the line. She flipped through the room service menu, ordered a salad and a glass of chardonnay. Unlike Sean, she didn’t care what it cost.
The ambulance made good time over to Hanover Street and pulled into the garage. Dr. McFarland was waiting at the elevator. The ambulance rolled to a stop and the gurney was removed. Dr. McFarland checked Sean’s pulse, then placed his hand on the young man’s head.
“Sean, we have something special for you, my boy.”
The EMTs rolled him into the elevator and up to the 5th floor. Everyone on the floor was flying around. Robert Waters was standing near the nurse’s station, just watching. His fun was still a couple of weeks away.
Clothes removed, Sean was rolled into a room containing a CAT Scan - the machine scanned his skull and a program that Dr. McFarland had developed began mapping Sean’s brain. The map was then relayed to a massive drill that was located in another room. No human hands ever touched the drill once the procedure began, the computer controlled the operation. The procedure required absolute precision, precision that the human hand was not capable of. There was zero tolerance for deviation. If they were off by a fraction of a millimeter during the procedure, they would effectively turn the patient into a vegetable. The drill was actually a very powerful laser, powerful enough to bore through the thickest skull. Once inside the brain, the machine efficiently injected an implant into the brain tissue. The scar the laser and the implant left was, for all intents and purposes, invisible. As the laser was extracted, it actually fused the entry point. If the mapping were correct, the drill would place the implant where it needed to be with 99.99% accuracy.
The implant was a work of genius. It was all organic and would dissolve into brain tissue. It was filled with data that the brain would recognize and accept as its own. The implant fooled the brain into believing it had actually experienced and mastered all of the competencies enclosed in the implant. The result was instant muscle memory. Instant language skills. The top five candidates would receive a second implant, which provided knowledge of weapons, aircraft and advanced hand-to-hand combat skills. Based on the projected shelf life of the candidates, most would not utilize a quarter of what was implanted. McFarland did not care. He was a scientist and scientists experiment. At least that’s what he told himself.
The whole procedure was based on organic nanotechnology. The implant manipulated matter at two nanometers on a scale of one to two hundred nanometers. Only a handful of the most advanced scanners in the world could pick up any trace of the procedure. The data that was contained in each implant originated from a massive computer and a cutting edge program that distilled memories down to their very essence, thus allowing the implant to impart vast amounts of information into the human brain instantly. It had taken McFarland and a research partner at MIT ten years to perfect it. His partner, sadly, died in a nasty hit and run accident several years ago, leaving McFarland in sole possession of the technology. The crime was never solved.
McFarland planned for Sean to receive two implants. All of his tests suggested that he was a perfect candidate for the additional data.
As monitors were being attached, an anesthesiologist rolled in his cart and began to administer the chemica
ls that would keep Sean out during the thirty-minute procedure. Sean would remain in a coma like state for twelve hours. Sean was then moved into the room containing the machine that would change his life. His torso was elevated into a seated position and rolled into the entry of the large machine. The machine resembled an open MRI, but had a rather sinister looking laser drill affixed to an arm protruding from one side. Once the procedure began, the machine would rotate around the patient’s head based on what the mapping program instructed.
A nurse shaved two tiny areas on Sean’s head. He probably wouldn’t notice. The rest of his hair was taped down. McFarland was checking the mapping program. Satisfied, he turned to the group.
“People, we are ready!” he said to the team with a huge smile. He leaned over the terminal in the rear of the machine and clicked the “yes” prompt. The machine began powering up, making an ominous hum. The floor vibrated despite the fact that the machine was bolted to the floor with a dozen 14” screws. The arm rapidly spun around Sean’s head and the procedure began. Sean sat motionless. Two men observed the machine from the rear of the terminal. Two others monitored Sean’s vital signs. There was a sight increase in blood pressure, but not anything significant. The entire procedure lasted nearly thirty minutes. A slight burning smell was noticeable in the room after the machine shut down.