by Michael Todd
The third guard lost his balance, and if the elbow hadn’t knocked him unconscious, the tumble down the stairs would have.
That left only one more. Who the hell said that plans were bad for a fight like this? Well, he was fairly sure that nobody in history had said that, but he could still feel a hint of pride in his work.
The fourth and last man standing looked at him and the realization that he might actually now face someone who was more than he could handle finally dawned on him. Based on that knowledge, he made the smartest move—one that had eluded the three men who hadn’t been quite as astute.
He reached for the radio at his hip.
“No, no, no,” Savage snarled as he bounded up the final few steps to the top and reached him as he raised the device to his head. It was old-school like most security systems were.
The operative looped the tie around the guard’s wrist and pulled it tight. He twisted and yanked hard and the man growled and cried out in pain. A gentle crack from his hand indicated that something had broken, and Savage hauled hard to drag his target closer to him.
The radio fell, clattered down the steps, and shattered on the way. That was one problem solved, at least. He wondered if the people around there would invest a little more intelligently and give their security personnel earpieces after today. Then again, they were all hired from a third party, so he sincerely doubted it. Pegasus would most likely hire a company that equipped their people better, though.
The man roared in pain and swung a hook at Savage’s head, which he ducked to avoid. He dragged the man’s trapped hand down and the rest of him followed, and he brought his right elbow up into his adversary’s torso with as much power as he could muster. It wasn’t much, but in the end, the security officer’s momentum as he fell forward added the impetus needed. Ribs crunched and his lungs expelled his breath in a rush as he flailed and tried to pull himself in closer to avoid any further hits like that. It was a good tactic but one that required being on the losing end of the fight in the first place—and it was one the operative had trained for. You had to train to win. Everyone knew that.
Savage brushed his adversary’s good hand aside, shook him off, and released the broken wrist from the tie. In almost the same motion, he twisted on his back foot to hammer a hook behind the man’s ear. The guard’s eyes remained open, but they glazed over and gave him enough time to loop the tie around his neck and drag him toward the railing. With a grunt of exertion, he pushed him over.
A hint of guilt touched Jeremiah as the man dropped to the lower floor. He didn’t want to kill anyone there, but everything in his training had told him to push the beating to the extreme and really release his inner beast—the one he kept hidden from everyone, even Julia. He always maintained a tight hold on it and didn’t want to get used to feeling the rush that came when he handed out violence with utmost prejudice.
It was only a floor down. The guard gasped for breath as he came to again. He would have a concussion and a broken rib, and Jeremiah had to assume there were some other broken bones from the fall. But he would live. He’d seen softer people walk off with less.
Still, it was still a shitty feeling. He didn’t like it, but it was supposed to be what made him human or something like that. It was supposed to be a good thing, too.
He gritted his teeth. If he had time, he would make sure that someone brought medical help to make sure that they were all breathing. They would be able to sue their employers for their on-the-job injuries, which would pay for their medical costs and give them a good amount of money on top of that. They might retire in relative comfort on that kind of money. Any company that wanted to keep hiring people would pay out without too much fuss.
It wouldn’t make up for the injuries, but in situations like this, you had to look for the silver linings. Otherwise, the world was simply the worst kind of mess with very few redeeming qualities. He unwound his hands from the tie and gripped the railing until he was sure they had stopped shaking.
“Are you all right?” Anja asked. She sounded more subdued over the little earpiece than she’d been the last time.
He could understand why.
“Yeah,” he replied and dragged in a deep breath. “I need to let the adrenaline wash away.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re kind of scary,” she said as he moved toward the door. “That was an inventive way to get rid of four guys. I only hope they’re all right.”
“Me too,” Jeremiah admitted. “Me too.”
He eased out onto the roof and stayed low enough that he wouldn’t be sky-lined. The sun was still out, even though it was well on its way to sinking toward the horizon. It hadn’t moved enough to splash the sky with colors, but he could feel a chill as the temperature changed.
It occurred to him again that he needed to get his hands on a gun—or some kind of weapon, at least. He felt naked without anything to fight back with except for what was now a blood-stained tie.
“You’re in range of his phone,” Anja announced, and he immediately stopped. “I’m starting the cloning now.”
Savage nodded and dropped into a crouch. This wasn’t his show anymore, it was hers. Any information that would come from this whole shindig would be a result of what she was able to get from his phone, which made him the muscle and her the brains.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before. He breathed deeply and released the tension in his shoulders, his jaw, and his hands. Right now, he needed to be relaxed. The exertions of the day had begun to tell on him. He still wasn’t at his peak, he realized, and that needed to change. His position as the muscle of the organization required him to actually function as the muscle. He rubbed his ribs and grimaced at a spike of pain as he did so. His wrists and arms ached too, and his knuckles had swelled, even though he had wrapped them.
Yep, he definitely needed to up his game if he wanted to fulfill his purpose in this organization.
“I’m done with the cloning,” the hacker said. “And it looks like our boy is headed back to the door, so if you feel like making an escape, now’s the time.”
Savage nodded, unsure if she could see him do it. He hadn’t seen any cameras on the roof, but he had some lasting paranoia about what satellites could see, thanks to some underrated spy films involving Gene Hackman—as well as who might be using them.
He peeled away from his cover and moved as quickly and quietly as he could toward the door. There was no doubt that he could beat Carlson there, especially since he could detect the very noticeable odor of nicotine. The man had taken advantage of his time up there to sneak a quick smoke in, which told the operative that the man was a little less settled about what was happening than one might think.
In a few moments, he made it to the door and pulled it gently closed before he jogged down to the stairwell. He paused for a moment to check that all the men were still down and alive. It took only a couple of seconds to gather their radios, just to be safe, and he threw them down the steps to break as he continued his descent.
“Could you alert someone to the fact that there are four men in the stairwell who are in need of medical assistance?” Jeremiah asked as he retrieved his jacket and pulled it on.
“Already done,” Anja said. “So long as you’re out of there in the next few minutes, our boys over there should make a full recovery. Do you think they’d be able to identify you to anyone who might ask?”
“I doubt it,” he said and increased his pace. He would have to get rid of the tie somewhere else. Obviously, he couldn’t return it to the locker that he’d taken it from. “In the heat of the moment, they won’t remember much of what they saw. They’ll recall the fact that I wore a uniform and maybe my hair color and basic features, but not much else. Especially with the concussions that some of them have, they won’t be reliable witnesses and probably wouldn’t recognize me if they encountered me on the street. Here’s where I cross my fingers that they’ll make a full recovery.”
“Cross your fi
ngers?” Anja asked.
“Oh…it’s like…knocking on wood?” he said as he reached the fifteenth floor.
“Americans are weird,” Anja muttered.
“No argument there.” He gave himself a quick once-over to make sure that nothing about his appearance would draw any attention. Other than the light sheen of sweat that covered his body, nothing seemed out of place. He had to hope that it wouldn’t be a problem because if medical professionals scoured the stairwell, he couldn’t be found. With a deep breath, he pushed the door open and closed it carefully before he stepped back into the offices that he’d left behind.
Nothing looked different. People worked at laptops or talked on phones, held meetings, and conducted the businesses that were a part of their everyday lives. He made his best attempt to look normal as he moved to the elevator.
“You’re looking up what knock on wood and crossed fingers are, aren’t you?” he said quietly out the side of his mouth as the elevator arrived—thankfully, empty.
“Yes,” she admitted. “But that’s not the point. I’m working on wiping any footage of your having been in the building. Considering the kind of crap security that these guys have protecting their local servers, it shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“I think they outsource all their security in this building,” Jeremiah observed as the elevator opened to the basement. He walked back toward the lockers and made sure to maintain an even pace, the kind that people did when they had finished a long day of work and didn’t want to be rushed yet were still in a hurry to get home.
“That’s the thing,” Anja said. “From my experience with these assholes, they’ve had everything locked up tighter than a baroness’ jewels. Yet a couple of weeks ago, everyone was moved off-site, and they brought in a bunch of cut-rate outsiders to handle it.”
“Did Carlson actually work with those guys I tussled with upstairs?” he asked as he stepped into the still-abandoned locker rooms.
“Yes, those were his personal boys,” she said softly.
“You’re not watching me change, right?” Savage asked as he yanked off the uniform that he’d sweated in.
“Sorry, Jer, no cameras in the lockers,” she responded and almost sounded disappointed. “So you’re not worried about all these changes that happened in the company just as Ceecee is taking control of it?”
“Ceecee?” he asked as he dressed in normal clothes.
“Courtney,” she replied. “As in, Monroe. As in your boss’ boss. I need to lay all this out for her. She might be walking into a trap with this whole company.”
“She’s undoubtedly walking into a trap,” Savage replied. “But that’s no reason not to spring the trap in question. She wants to know what it is that Carlson has planned. Now that she knows to be careful, it’s less likely that he’ll be able to take her by surprise.”
“And if he does anyway?” Anja asked.
“Well, that’s where I come in, right?” he replied with a small grin as he moved out of the locker rooms, now dressed in a pair of jeans and a bowling shirt. It hadn’t been necessary to change out of the heavy shoes that he’d come in wearing.
“Right. All the footage of you in the building is erased. I also went ahead and helped the folks in the security company that hired you to lose the paperwork that they had on you. There’s now no official trace of you having been in the building, and more importantly, nothing connecting you to anyone else there either.”
“A good day all around.”
“Although I would suggest that you leave the building as quickly as possible,” Anja warned him. “I received a notification from Carlson’s phone. He found the guys from your little fist party upstairs and has called someone, and it’s not the medical services.”
“What an asshole,” he said with a grin, but he increased his pace to a jog toward the exit. “Not as big an asshole as the guy who left them in that state in the first place, but still.”
Chapter Nine
Jeremiah sat in a Denny’s restaurant and stared at nothing as the day’s events spooled in his head. His ribs ached and his wrist felt as if it were sprained, at least.
“Sir?”
He blinked and dragged his gaze from its million-mile stare to the young woman who stood beside him. She wore a waitress’ uniform and carried a pot of what was hopefully freshly brewed coffee. Although she was small, she had the look of someone who carried herself and others through the sheer force of her good mood. She also seemed to be the kind of person who didn’t mind being that kind of person.
“I’m sorry, I must have zoned out,” he said and managed a sheepish smile. “What were you saying?”
“Well, I asked if you needed a top-up,” she replied with a smile that seemed both natural and practiced. “And when you didn’t answer, I asked if you felt all right. And that’s when you came back to us.”
Jeremiah chuckled. “I could do with a top-up, yeah.”
She smiled again and poured the steaming black stuff into his mug. “Are you having a rough day?”
He shook his head. “Not rough. Merely long. Well, maybe a little rough, but I’ve had rougher.”
“So have we all, mister,” she replied and despite the humor in her tone, he somehow believed she meant it. “It don’t take away from the toughness, though. I hope your day gets better.”
“Thanks,” he replied and sipped the brew appreciatively. He had mostly demolished the steak and was halfway through the fries. Actually, he even toyed with the idea of eating the salad. This was supposed to be a cheat day, after all, but he didn’t feel very hungry at the moment. It was common in soldiers right after combat. The adrenaline wore off and they developed jitters in their hands and experienced a loss of appetite and drowsiness. He knew the effects of it almost too well, and it never stopped sucking balls.
Jeremiah selected one of the fries, dipped it in ketchup, and took a bite. It tasted like ash, tomatoes, and sugar, with a hint of potato mixed in. Potatoes didn’t have much of a taste, anyway.
He threw the unfinished fry down on his plate and sighed. This was what he hated. He detested the whole downer feeling that he experienced every time he went into combat. At a rough guess, it was most likely his body acclimating to the heightened state of focus and prowess that came with an overdose of adrenaline pumping through his veins. When it faded, something that felt very much like a hangover inevitably took its place.
After a deep breath, he finished his coffee and left half of the fries and the salad for someone else to finish or throw out, as people did around there. He had to furtively check the other diners to see what the acceptable tip amount was, and he tipped precisely that, no more and no less. There was no need to make anyone any more aware of him than they already were.
It was funny, he supposed. Jeremiah Johnson was dead, and from that point onward, he needed to act the part. He would have to be a ghost, whether he liked it or not.
The thought rattled around in his head as he made his way out of the diner and pulled his jacket on. This shit wasn’t acceptable. He had a new life, wasn’t paying alimony anymore, and had a lot of money to fall back on and many skills that would be in high demand if he wanted to market them. He was free and clear if he wanted to be.
And yet…something about this whole situation didn’t appeal to him. What was he supposed to do with his life now? For so long, it had been all about serving his country first, getting his boys in and out of their hardcore missions alive and well—for the most part—and then helping to raise his baby girl into troublesome adulthood.
Before the divorce, his priorities had been a little different. He had spent more time at home, taken his daughter to school, and…hell, was she still going to soccer practice?
After he and Jules had parted ways, she had told him that he could be as involved as he liked. Over the first few months, he’d tried, he really had. Then, she started dating Andy, and Mr. I’m-a-lawyer-and-I-have-regular-hours was actually a decent person and genuinely cared fo
r both Jules and Abigail.
No, Jeremiah didn’t hate Andy, and for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why. But as it turned out, he was the jealous type, and watching the love of his life fall in love with another man had made him regress into the kind of person the US government had invested millions into making him be. He’d picked up another tour and gotten the hell out of Dodge. While he’d made it back a couple of times for Abigail’s bigger moments, other than that, he’d avoided going home.
Abby seemed to understand. He hated that, but she was happy when he visited, sad when he had to leave, and never once tried to play the guilt card to push him away or bring him closer. She simply wasn’t the manipulative type. As it turned out, Andy was a good influence on her life. That rat bastard.
He pulled the Toyota up to his dingy motel room and stared at the aquamarine-colored door. “Fuck,” he growled as he reached the door of his room and patted his jacket for his keys. “I need to get laid.”
“Well, I don’t think I can help you with that,” Anja said through the earpiece. “Although I can direct you to some of the best places where you can find someone who takes cash and doesn’t ask questions on short notice.”
“Yeah, that would be great,” he said with a chuckle. “I don’t think I’m in any kind of shape to get laid, though.”
“How are you feeling?” she asked and sounded a little less playful than she had all day. “You doled out a real beating, but I can’t imagine that you didn’t take some punishment yourself.”
Jeremiah sighed as he moved into his room, locked the door behind him, and removed his jacket. He groaned softly and probed his side tentatively.
“Bruised ribs,” he said and hauled his shirt off to inspect the place where one of the men had actually landed a punch. He winced as he leaned to the side and grimaced at the dark-purple bruising that definitely explained the pain. “My arm and wrist are a little sore, my knuckles are bruised, and my muscles feel like shit. Fuck, I’m out of shape.”