by Peter Hartz
But now, he was suddenly liberated from the role that had been the purpose for most of his entire life. And while David was certain that Giltreas was overjoyed at no longer being forced to kill people, his life now had no direction, no responsibilities, nothing to focus his entire being on. In the days immediately after the monumental happenings in the Elven court, he had wandered around, not really engaged in what was happening around him.
David recognized much the same state of mind in Giltreas that he saw in combat veterans after discharge from the military. Their entire life was regimented, and there was always someone or something there to tell you what to do. You didn’t have to think about what came next – the military provided that. Go where you are told, do what you are told, come back and tell someone how it went and what happened.
For returning veterans, there were some resources to help military personnel transition to civilian life. For Giltreas, there was nothing. The team was helping a lot, but none of them were trained to deal with this situation. They kept Giltreas from getting down, gave him things to learn, and challenged him to teach them magic skills and his own style of combat with the ‘medieval’ weapons that he carried and were used throughout every other plane he had been to except this one.
Giltreas gave every indication of a man without a cause or purpose. He even went to a nearby bar from time to time to have a drink and contemplate what was happening to his life. Usually one of the team went with him, to make sure he was ok. More often than not, it was Jill, a former Army sergeant who was more than a little jaded about life in general, but seemed to take to the former assassin.
Nate had decided to teach Giltreas about firearms, which David had wished he had been there for. But Nate was a qualified marksman and instructor, and Gil had been in good hands. Nate even commended Gil to the team on how quickly he had picked up the skills necessary to load, fire, unload, and clean pistols and rifles, not to mention his marksmanship skills. While not great the first few times, Gil was a fast learner, and his range scores had climbed quickly to an acceptable level, in Nate’s estimation. He didn’t seem to be able to get much better than above average, but that was ok with Nate and Giltreas both.
The phone on the secretary’s desk rang, and he picked it up. After a brief conversation, he had stood and waved David over.
“The congresswoman will see you now, sir. Thank you for your patience.”
Inside the woman’s office, David was glad they decided not to attempt the snatch this time, mainly because there were three other men in the office, two in the uniform of the Capital Police, and one dressed like an FBI agent. David wondered if his cover had been blown, but then discarded that idea. Giltreas had assured him the illusion spell he had cast would hold for at least two days.
He stepped forward to the huge desk in the office where the woman he was there to see was sitting, and held out his hand.
“Thank you for taking the time to see me, Congresswoman. I hope I’m not interrupting anything important?” he said with a pleasant smile as he shook hands with the person in the world he most wanted to kill at the moment.
“Well, I’m a busy woman, so cut to the point.” She stepped back and sat down in her chair, waving him into one of the chairs in front of her oaken monstrosity. Then she waved the three other men out of the office.
“These gentlemen just finished briefing me on a security concern.” The law enforcement officers took the sign that this was not the man the Congresswoman had briefed them about, and left the office, closing the door behind them. Once outside, they compared the man they’d just saw to the pictures, and all three agreed it was not David Wilhelm, before heading off to wherever they were needed next.
The congresswoman retook her seat as David found his chair and sat down.
“My secretary told me you are a lobbyist with the Donovan firm? I don’t believe I have heard of…”
She paused as she felt something, a tingle or a chill that swept up her arm and through her entire body for a brief moment, then shook her head as if to clear it.
“What were we talking about again?”
“We were talking about that company up in Minnesota you are trying to acquire; MDST Inc., I believe.” David got it out calmly enough, given that his nerves were almost vibrating with the tension he was feeling inside. He kept his hands carefully in his lap under the view of the woman across the desk for fear that she would see them shaking. “Why are you trying to get control of it again? I am not quite clear on the reason for that.”
Rose considered the person sitting across from her for a moment, then shrugged. “There’s really not much to tell, actually. The owner of the company was a nasty bitch who was hoarding a new cryptographic technology that my contacts in the NSA say is a game-changer. We need to bring that technology into the control of the NSA so it can’t be used against us. She refused repeated requests to get on board, so we needed to take more direct actions to protect our national interests.”
“I see. What did those ‘direct actions’ include?” It was getting harder to talk about this calmly while simultaneously sitting on the urge to leap over the desk and choke the life out of the woman sitting across from him.
“Well, the plan was pretty simple, actually. Not sure what went wrong with it, but it happens. I’m just glad that we have enough cutouts to keep the trail from leading back to me and the head of the NSA. What we did was…”
◆◆◆
“Borysko, thank you for coming.” Kyrylo Yakimchuk waved his subordinate into his office and indicated that he preferred the door to be closed then offered his hand to the man that had made his job so much easier over the years.
“I live to serve, sir.” Borysko Yevtukh smiled, shaking his boss’s hand. This was the man that let him, and supported him, in the pursuit of his daughter in those moments and days after Svetlana was taken by those men. “What can I do for you today?”
Kyrylo Yakimchuk thought carefully before speaking. “There are reports that your daughter may have certain abilities that certain people in larger offices than this would be very interested to have in our employ.” He held up his hand to forestall the outburst he expected, but Borysko simply waited, his guts churning. This was what he was afraid of happening.
“While I disagree with employing a minor in any capacity in our organization, or any other similar place, it is not my opinion that seems to matter here. Certain happenings recently in a nearby country have been whispered into certain ears of the people above us, and those ears are connected to... less than honorable brains, if you understand.”
Borysko nodded. “Yes, I understand, my friend. You have children of your own, and I know this kind of thing is offensive to you. How much latitude do I have in this?”
Kyrylo was relieved that he didn’t have to deal with an enraged father because of the distasteful thing he was ordered to do. “You have all the latitude in the world. She is a minor, and she is your daughter. In my mind, there is no way that you should be forced to do anything that might put your family at risk. But, if we know about it, you can expect that others with less than good intentions know about it as well. And they may attempt to get control of her and her abilities. It is for that reason that I have been ordered to approach you about this situation.”
Borysko nodded. That made sense. While he would never refer to anyone, let alone his daughter, as nothing more than an asset, others would not hesitate to categorize and limit her to nothing more than a tool. And the criminal side of the line would certainly view her as a tool or worse, a weapon to be used until it was broken. When they had their use of her, they would dispose of her and move on. The problem with that was that his daughter was not really just a simple tool. He had seen what she can do, and he was certain that she would never submit. Not now. There was quite a bit different about her. She was confident, calm, and focused. And she was, to put it mildly, imbued with incredible power and abilities.
“I don’t think that anyone who tries to force he
r to work with them would really like the result, regardless of how wrong would be to try that with a fifteen year old girl. Has anyone really taken a moment to think about what they know about her?”
“I don’t think they really have done that. I mean, is it true? What they said she can do?” Kyrylo asked the question in an almost breathless fashion.
Borysko paused before answering. “You must understand something first, right? She is my daughter. I don’t want any information about what she can do getting back to certain people. We don’t want...”
Kyrylo sat back and nodded. “I will not discuss what you tell me with anyone else. But, perhaps it would be better if we didn’t have this conversation. That way, if anyone asks, I can honestly say I don’t know anything more than what they have told me.”
Borysko nodded in relief. “I think that would be best, as well.”
“In that case, I need to make sure you understand that no matter what else you or I might want, there are others that desire control of her. She needs to protect herself. And you should make sure she understands that they will try to get to her through her family.”
“I understand.”
◆◆◆
Craig Sanderson had spent the last two months all but begging his defense attorney to come out to the prison and see him. It was only after he threatened to have family members start calling the media to tell them that he refused to see his client that the lawyer promised to show up when he had free time in his calendar. As it was, it took another eight days before the sergeant of the guard showed up at his cell and informed him he had a visitor.
The sergeant was, by this time, fully on his side, he believed. While the guard would not, in any way, help him so much as jay-walk, he was more than happy to do whatever he could legally, as were the rest of the guard force.
By now, every one of the guards, even the ones that hadn’t been working when it happened, had seen the footage of the security cameras from that day. For the most part, Craig had begged the sergeant to keep it out of the news, and leave it locked inside the prison walls. It looked so far like it had stayed that way, too.
The warden had shown up at his cell the next day, with four guards armed with shotguns for an escort. He had stood outside the cell, and talked to Craig through the peep hole, trying to gauge the threat to the other prisoners and the guards, and had left not really satisfied with the answers. Craig had refrained from providing another demonstration of his new abilities, but did mention that there was virtually no way the prison could hold him inside anymore. However, when pressed on whether or not anyone else was in danger, Craig only promised to not be the instigator of trouble, and would as much show restraint as possible in defending himself. He tried, and was convinced he failed, to assured the warden that retaliation was not in his nature.
As the weeks had gone by, and there were no more incidents, the abject fear on the face of most of the guards had faded into something else, a wary sense of truce, which Craig went out of his way to promote. He had no more desire to hurt anyone than the guards themselves wanted to hurt him (for the most part).
His biggest supporter was, by far, the sergeant.
Now, as Craig waited in the interview room for his lawyer, he looked up at the video cameras, and nodded. By prior agreement, he knew the cameras would continue to record what happened when Harold Jameson, Esquire, came to talk to his client, something that generally was never agreed to by the prisoners of virtually every facility across the country.
The door opened, and the handsome man Craig remembered so well entered the room and made his way to the table, the same familiar briefcase in his left hand.
Harold didn’t bother holding out his hand to the scumbag in front of him. He only made the trip after the senior partner in the firm told him he was going to go, or be demoted to petty crime and parking tickets. The firm took a dim view of actions that harmed the image of their business, and having the family of an inmate go to the news and tell them that one of their leading criminal defense attorneys refused to see a client in prison after losing the case so spectacularly could be an embarrassment, and the impact of which they didn’t want to have to evaluate in the cold light of modern social media and the Internet.
Jameson knew the man was guilty the moment he had set eyes on the guy. There was no other way to explain the feeling he got when he looked at the man, and when the prosecutor had called him for a meeting, he had gone to see what was up.
The prosecutor told Harold over drinks that his client was guilty as sin. The evidence didn’t really show it, but he just knew Craig was the one that did it, which brought a silent nod from Harold. He listened as the prosecutor outlined a plan that would put Craig in prison, possibly for life, and allow another of Harold’s clients up on a domestic assault charge to plead out to a misdemeanor, and get out of jail with time served.
Harold had agreed to the plan, knowing that if word of it got out, he would be lucky if he only got disbarred. But it was worth it to put Sanderson behind bars. Besides, his other client had a family, and the man was the only source of income for his wife and three kids. They would be homeless if he didn’t take the deal.
In retrospect, it wasn’t his finest hour. Harold had went and all but threatened the man who thought it was acceptable in the twenty-first century to hit his wife when she got out of line, that if he heard of even one bruise on his wife that couldn’t be explained, he knew people that would gladly cut the guy’s hands and dick off, and leave him to his own devices. There was no way this was going to come back on him, and the moron had better fly right, or else. Harold had been glad that his visit some weeks later to the man’s home had indicated the man was no longer drinking, was holding a job, and the wife had gone all that time without her beloved husband and the father of her children so much as yelling at her. Not that everything stayed that way after Harold stopped coming by. What a waste of space that one turned out to be.
Now he found his seat, and that same uncomfortable feeling inside, shuddered through him again. What was it about this loser that made him feel this way? There was no accounting for it. He sat there and looked at his former client, convinced that he would never represent the man again in court.
“I told you that you are no longer my client. I have nothing more to say to you. But since you got me here, go ahead and have your say.” The tone of voice conveyed all the contempt and disgust he felt inside at the crime the man had committed.
Craig sat there for a while, not saying a thing. He just observed the man sitting across from him, waiting.
Harold snorted in disgust, then stood to go, turning towards the door. That was when he heard the voice behind him.
“I have been wondering, ever since everything blew up so completely, what happened and why I am in here. Can you answer that for me?” Craig was calm. He had found that he had no problems controlling his emotions now, not with the new abilities that he knew could get him free almost at will.
“I mean, I had an airtight alibi,” he continued. “I had witnesses for my alibi. I had an open and shut case. Even the parents of that murdered boy told the court at my sentencing that they believed that I did not do it. And yet, somehow, you blew that all to hell. I don’t remember you even trying to counter the lies the prosecutor told. And he told a lot of them. You didn’t even object when the prosecutor moved to have the DNA test results tossed. He will have to answer for what he did, but he’s not here right now. You are. So, are you going to answer me?”
Harold ignored Craig, instead walking to the door, and knocked on it sharply. “Guard! I am ready to leave. Guard!”
The sound seemed hollow, and a sinking feeling seemed to slowly build in his gut. He tried again. “Guard!” His briefcase banged into the door this time, making a louder booming sound, but still the door didn’t open.
“What the fuck is going on here…” he mumbled to himself.
“I know what is going on here. You sold me out. What did you buy with your thirty
pieces of silver, Judas?” The biting tone of his former client lashed at him, and he turned back in fury.
“You fucking loser! I don’t know what lies you have been telling people, or yourself, but you are exactly where you are supposed to be. You raped and killed that kid. Everyone knew it. And since everyone knew it, the details didn’t matter. All that mattered was justice. And justice is you, in this prison, for the rest of your miserable fucking life. I don’t know how you convinced the parents of the victim that you were innocent, but it doesn’t matter. I have nothing more to say to you. Goodbye, loser.”
Craig didn’t even blink at the revelation of how his attorney really felt about him. Time to ratchet things up a bit.
“I know I’m not guilty. I know I didn’t kill that kid.”
“Well, that makes exactly one person in the entire universe that knows that. Everyone else knows you did it.”
“Not everyone. The parents of that boy knew I didn’t do it. And, I had an alibi. Heck, anyone with more than two brain cells to rub together for warmth knows I didn’t do it. Especially if they look at the evidence objectively. If you hadn’t fucked up my case, and then refused to file any appeals for me, I would have never seen the inside of this, or any other, prison.”
“You think anyone cares that I didn’t file an appeal for you? Who fucking cares?!?” Harold exploded at last, moving forward, and nearly hit the seated prisoner in front of him. At the last minute, his hand slammed down into the table separating them.
“I care. I care about what happened to me. You, obviously, didn’t care, and still don’t. You had a different agenda. What was it?” A sudden flash of insight hit him, and he spoke before even thinking about it. “What kind of deal did you make to send me to prison? Something with the prosecutor?”
Harold flushed as the accusation hit home. “That’s absurd! That doesn’t happen! You’re out of your mind!” It sounded weak to Harold’s ears, though.