Tone stepped toward Nigel and stared down at him.
“Time to leave little man.”
“Hey! You assholes back off each other and get moving!”
The guard’s orders rang across the cafeteria. Nigel smiled over at Mac and nodded his head slightly.
“Until next time, Mr. Walker. You won’t die as painlessly as your friend, Mr. Williams. I went much easier on him.”
Mac sprung from the bench seat, his eyes wide with searing hot anger. He knew Nigel was baiting him, but didn’t care. His right fist smashed into the smaller man’s chin, sending him sprawling backwards onto the floor. Mac pounced on top of him and pummeled his fist into Nigel’s face two more times before three guards grabbed him from behind and pulled him off. The oldest of the guards, a white mustached man with thinning hair, pointed his finger into Mac’s chest.
“You just got yourself ten days in solitary 818! Now move your ass!”
As Mac was pushed past the still prone body of Nigel, he saw Dasha’s assassin smiling up at him.
“See you soon, Mr. Walker. Very-very soon…”
XXXIII.
“Senator, all due respect, you owe Mr. Meyer big time. You wouldn’t be sitting in that senate office of yours if not for him. Now we need you to make some things happen for us on this, calls to the Department of Justice, Department of Corrections, whoever can initiate the release of Mr. Walker. You’ve seen the video, right?”
Finn Neeson could barely contain his frustration over the Louisiana senator’s unwillingness to act quickly in helping facilitate Mac Walker’s release from Allenwood prison.
“Yes, Mr. Neeson, I’ve seen the footage. Compelling evidence. That said, I have a very full plate in front of me right now with the Midterms just months away. If we don’t take back Congress, this country is gonna be in a whole lot worse of a situation than your Mr. Walker has sitting in prison.”
The attorney was reminded of why he despised dealing with politicians. It seemed not to matter how well intentioned they were entering office, something inevitably happened to them, resulting in a near constant fear of losing the next election. It made them unbearable when dealing with a situation that simply called for equal parts common sense and fundamental courage and humanity.
“Senator, this man served his country with distinction. He is a native born of your own state of Louisiana. You owe him your full attention on this matter. I’m not asking you to break him out – I’m asking you to make some calls and insert some political pressure. How is that a problem with the Midterm Elections?”
The senator paused as Finn heard the sound of papers shuffling.
“The leadership has indicated we are to be focused on the election and the election only Mr. Neeson. The case…Mr. Walker’s case, involved a rather high profile charge of racism. That is not a cause conducive to unifying the party. There will be blowback that could harm our chances of taking back the Senate from the Democrats.”
“Senator – there is an innocent man sitting in a federal prison! We need your help! You promised that help! This request isn’t coming from me – it’s coming directly from Mr. Meyer himself. Do you understand?”
Again the senator paused before responding, making Finn wonder if the politician was conferring with someone else in his office.
“I do understand Mr. Neeson. I appreciate and admire your concern for Mr. Walker. I will be happy to help with this – but not until after the election. It can’t happen before then, I’m sorry.”
Finn Neeson ended the call, his hands clenching and unclenching on top of his desk at his home office in Florida. Outside his window he could hear his son Reese playing with his younger brother while their mother prepared lunch in the kitchen just down the hallway from Finn’s office.
Contact Alexander. Maybe he can help with this.
Finn moved his chair across the room to where a small shortwave radio sat next to the copy machine. It was the only means of reaching Alexander David Meyer these days. The attorney powered the device up and input the frequency that he knew was to signal a similar device located inside the study of the billionaire’s Alaska cabin thousands of miles away.
Alexander Meyer answered almost immediately.
“Is that you Mr. Neeson?”
Finn was pleased to hear how strong the older man’s voice sounded.
“Yes sir.”
“And what are you contacting me about?”
“It’s the senator sir. He’s uh, hesitating on assisting with the release of Mr. Walker.”
The attorney could hear Alexander Meyer take a slow, deep breath before he responded.
“I am disappointed to hear that, given what I did for the senator some years ago. He has seen the video, right?”
“Yes, I sent it to him yesterday. He confirmed he had watched it. He called it…compelling.”
The billionaire’s laughter was unexpected.
“Damnable politicians, eh Mr. Neeson? I imagine the senator expressed concern over the upcoming elections, right?”
“That is exactly what he said sir – yes.”
The tone of Alexander Meyer’s voice as it crackled over the shortwave turned more serious, transforming into a business man preparing to get down to business.
“I will speak with the senator myself Mr. Neeson. I don’t wish to use a phone, but for Mr. Walker, I shall make an exception. This impasse will be resolved soon after. Thank you for letting me know.”
The transmission ended. Finn Neeson heard the voice of his wife calling him to lunch as his teenaged son poked his head into his office.
“Were you using the shortwave dad?”
Finn nodded back at Reese.
“Yeah – some work with a client who lives in Alaska.”
Reese’s eyes focused on the shortwave. Finn knew his son had been fascinated by the device since he first put it into his office.
“Think you can show me how to use that?”
Finn nodded his head as he rose up from his desk to make his way to the kitchen for lunch.
“You bet Reese. Maybe later tonight. You gonna be a radio star?”
Reese glanced back at the radio from the hallway, a faint smile spreading across his face.
“Maybe.”
XXXIV.
“Senator, I have a Mr. Alexander David Meyer on line two.”
The senator looked down at the blinking light of his Washington D.C. office phone, stunned the billionaire was contacting him so soon after his conversation with the attorney.
Why are they so damned concerned over this Mac Walker?
Finally his hand picked up the receiver and connected the call, the deep, confident voice of the former Wall Street titan greeting him immediately.
“Hello again Senator – it has been a few years.”
The senator felt his stomach tighten. The billionaire had always managed to make him nervous, even with just a phone call.
“What can I do for you Mr. Meyer?”
“Ah, getting right down to business eh? That is fine. I know you spoke with an associate of mine earlier today – an attorney by the name of Mr. Finn Neeson.”
The senator shook his head as he held the phone to his ear.
“Yes, I told him I was willing to help with Mr. Walker’s case, but not until after the election. As you know, that case had certain racial elements to it that make it something that could be used against me if I were to now become personally involved in assisting Mr. Walker. I also know you are aware of how precarious the balance of power is in Washington D.C. right now Mr. Meyer. I owe it to the party to win re-election.”
Alexander David Meyer’s voice hissed through the receiver, conveying the power of a man unwilling to have things explained to him he was already quite aware of.
“What you owe is to the people of your state, and to your country senator. And you owe me as well. You speak of an election. I speak of principles. Mr. Walker is to be made a free man, do you understand? You will help to see that become a r
eality. I need not remind you of your past. How certain and unfortunate charges were circumvented on your behalf. That was my doing, as you well know. I now ask you return that favor. If you say another word about obligations to a political party, or concerns about an election, I will see to it you face a very well funded primary opponent who may find in his possession, documents linking you to an incident I am certain you would much rather see remain removed from public knowledge.”
“Are you threatening a United States Senator, Mr. Meyer?”
The billionaire’s tone managed to become even more foreboding, causing a thin sheet of sweat to form upon the senator’s forehead.
“No senator, I am reminding you of choices. Making the wrong choice threatens you. I would suggest you then make the right one.”
“Ok, Mr. Meyer, I’ll look into it. I’ll start this afternoon. Can’t promise you a quick turn-around on this, though. It involves federal authorities, and as you know, it’s getting tougher and tougher to navigate around that machine. It will take some time – maybe months. Maybe even years. We need approval from a review board, a judge we can trust to take on the appeal, perhaps some help from the Pennsylvania governor. This won’t be easy.”
Alexander Meyer’s voice returned to its normal, warm and confident tone.
“No, it won’t. That is why it is so important you get started now. I have every confidence in you, and know you won’t disappoint me in this. Good luck on your re-election senator.”
XXXV.
Mac found the initial hours in the solitary confinement cell similar to a relaxing holiday. No others to share a cell with, no shouting from other prisoners, no schedule to follow regarding meals and showers. He could simply sit inside of the six by seven concrete box and relax.
Ten days of this? That won’t be so bad.
It seemed only one meal was delivered every twenty four hour cycle, though Mac suspected the timing of the delivery was staggered to prevent him from using the meals to keep track of the passing time. After the third meal slid through the thin slot at the bottom of the blue-green metallic door of the cell, Mac wasn’t certain if it was the third day of solitary, or just the second.
Sleep was difficult due to the bright glare of the buzzing florescent lights that glared downward from the ten foot high ceiling. The lights were always on, the buzzing sound seeming to grow louder at times, but never diminishing.
By the time the fifth meal was delivered, Mac knew his mind was losing its ability to focus. The cell began to feel more like a bright and buzzing tomb, the walls somehow appearing to move closer to one another. He made certain to stretch and do a series of pushups and sit-ups between the delivered meals to keep his body from atrophying.
At one point, he found himself nodding off while seated on the cold, stainless steel toilet that sat in the back left corner of the cell. His mind found the situation so humorous he began laughing uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face.
Suddenly the lights went off, leaving the cell enclosed in inky darkness that made it impossible for Mac to see even a few inches in front of him. This darkness remained for two more meal deliveries, when just as suddenly, the lights flared back on, the buzzing returning like a swarm of angry bees intent on revenge. The pain in Mac’s eyes was enough for him to cry out, his hands moving quickly to cover his face until he could once again adjust to the light.
Mac Walker knew he needed to refocus his mind, or madness would soon follow.
No way I let these assholes break me.
The former Navy SEAL expanded his workout routine, pushing his body to remain combat ready. Hours were spent shadow boxing, Mac’s mind replaying confrontations with previous opponents during his years in the military and as a government gun for hire. The sweat pouring from him cleared his mind, and gave his thoughts and movement purpose.
When the eighth meal was sent sliding into his cell, Mac Walker felt himself renewed, and more than capable of finishing up his time in solitary with all his faculties intact. This sense of renewal remained as the ninth meal was presented, and then the tenth.
Getting out of here soon now. Any minute…
The lights were turned off again. Mac returned into total darkness. He wasn’t certain how long he slept after that, only knowing that it was the sound of his cell door sliding open that awakened him, the light from the outside hallway momentarily blinding him.
He could make out the outline of a small man standing inside the cell entrance, and then the cell descended into darkness again as the door closed and locked. This darkness lasted for only a few seconds before the ceiling lights came on once again and Mac Walker looked back at a smiling Nigel holding a twelve inch blade in his right hand.
Mac Walker appeared calm as he stood up slowly from his cell cot and faced the assassin. He didn’t care how Nigel came to be in the same solitary confinement cell as him – the only thing that mattered is that he was. Two men with significant training, skills, and experience killing other human beings, were now locked in a space smaller than many people’s walk in closet.
Nigel will be the one left dead in here – not me.
“I told you I would be seeing you again soon Mr. Walker, and soon has turned into now.”
Mac made certain his body remained relaxed, his mind focused intently on any movement coming from Nigel.
“You’re insane Nigel. I don’t know who paid who to get your ass put in here, but you’ve lost your mind letting yourself be used like this. You’re a dead man. You know that, right? No way you leave this cell alive. Not gonna happen. I’ll be walking out of here though – you won’t be able to stop me. Not even with that knife of yours.”
Nigel’s face broke into a wide smile as he held up the large and deadly looking hunting knife.
“This? Oh, this wasn’t my idea. This thing was meant as an insurance policy by the ones who put me in here. They weren’t convinced I could handle you myself. Look! I don’t need this knife to kill you Mr. Walker! See?”
Mac watched as Nigel leaned down and opened the food slot at the bottom of the metal cell door, and kicked the knife through to the hallway outside before standing back up and staring back at Mac Walker.
“See, just you and me Mr. Walker. No weapons – just us now.”
It was Mac’s turn to smile back at Nigel, his eyes flaring like a just-ignited fire. The look was enough to cause Nigel a half moment of doubt.
Perhaps I should have kept that knife…
And then Mac Walker attacked.
XXXVI.
Nigel had been killing people for most of his life. As a teenage boy, he fired his first bullet into the back of a Yemeni soldier’s head during that country’s ongoing civil war. Nigel found that chaos allowed sin to reproduce unfettered by the kind of morality that was only practiced during times of peace. It was that chaos that he grew to crave.
His reputation for dealing out death to others caught the attention of a Saudi operative in the area who took Nigel in, and educated him both in the ways of everyday modern society as well as weaponry and combat. The man, nearly thirty years older, was a homosexual, and expected Nigel to repay him with sex, which Nigel did. They lived together in an upscale London suburb when Nigel attended university there in his early 20’s.
As his benefactor grew older, and unable to perform the assignment tasks being sent to him by the Saudi government, Nigel began to take on some of those assignments himself. He enjoyed the danger, the tactical planning, and most of all, the execution. In a little over a year, he had completely taken over for the man who had brought him into the world of the House of Saud. A decade later, he found himself being assigned as the personal detail for one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in the Middle East, Dasha Al Marri.
His remaining years were spent watching over Dasha, doing everything and anything she requested, from bringing her a glass of water, to cutting the throat of a perceived enemy. Nigel’s attention to detail in everything he did had no equal.
&nb
sp; As the years with Dasha passed, he found himself enthralled both by her beauty as well as her cold, unflinching demands that the world bend to her will. She fascinated Nigel, until finally he admitted quietly to himself he had fallen in love with her. He watched as she bedded other men and women as a means of promoting and expanding her own power, and though the encounters likely meant nothing to her, Nigel would sit outside her door, his jaw clenched, wishing it was him who warmed her bed.
And then came Mac Walker and his failure in Benghazi. It was a failure that endangered Dasha, making her decisions more rash, desperate, and eventually, fatal to her continued existence. Nigel was made to be the weapon of Dasha’s demise. He had used the image of her with the American Walker a motivation to do what he once would have never believed possible – kill the woman he loved. He convinced himself of his own importance in a far greater cause than himself, the downfall of the United States and the emergence of a new global power where he would find himself elevated beyond anything he could possibly imagine.
Military Fiction: THE MAC WALKER COLLECTION: A special ops military fiction collection... Page 62