by Michael Todd
“Deterrence, eh?” Savage asked, a little intrigued despite his ill humor. “My, my, Anja, are you secretly a powerhouse?”
“Nothing secret about it, Jer,” she said with gay assurance. “Sure, not all of us can beat security goons up on a flight of stairs, but there are other ways to make people fear you. Knowing as much as I do about the people I encounter makes them think of me as something of a modern-day deity. They usually forget that I’m only a girl behind a keyboard.”
“Right,” he acknowledged with a sigh and decided not to get into what she might be able to find out about him if she put her mind to it. “Well, I do appreciate that. In the meanwhile…” He looked around him and tried to follow the signs that were placed specifically to help navigate the hellhole that was the Charleston airport.
It took him a few minutes and a great deal of patience to get a feel for how the place was laid out before he finally located the car-rental agencies. As things stood, he realized that he would definitely need to keep his presence there as quiet as possible. When he was asked to present a driver’s license and credit card to rent the car, he gave them the cards that were associated with the name that Anderson had given him.
When given an option of which vehicle to hire, he knew he couldn’t go for anything flashy or large. While he needed to be mobile, he also needed to be inconspicuous, which in turn meant that he needed something American.
A Ford Taurus was his final selection. It was a ten-year-old model but still in reasonable shape, although some of the red paint peeled away from an obviously puttied dent on the left fender. Still, he’d deliberately chosen the smaller rental company over the big names so could hardly expect the latest models. Discretion, at this point, was the order of the day.
“There’s a reason why people in my line of business like to use rental cars over actually buying something, you know,” Jeremiah said as he strolled through the parking lot until he reached the car that matched the keys he was given at the desk.
“And what business is that?” Anja asked. She sounded a little more curious than he would have given her credit for.
“Killing people in a clandestine manner,” he answered matter-of-factly. “People rent cars all around the world. People need killing all around the world too.”
“And you’ve been all around the world?” she asked. “Killing people?”
“On Uncle Sam’s dime,” he said bluntly. “Where do you think I got all these skills that have us working together? Anyway, the reason why people like me prefer rental cars instead of driving our own is simple. Every time you’re finished with one of these cars, you turn it in, and they have to clean it. It doesn’t mean they always do, of course, but if you mess the inside of the car up enough, they have to go at it with all the cleaning ingredients they can find.”
“Which conveniently wipes away any trace of the fact that you were in the car in the first place,” Anja replied, and he could hear a soft creak of what he assumed was a chair. He could picture her as she leaned back in her office. “That’s actually smart.”
“That, added to the fact that there’s a fake name and social in the registry of the rental company and you have yourself a vehicle that nobody could ever trace back to you.” He slipped in behind the wheel.
“How did you learn all this?” she asked as he started the vehicle and eased slowly out of the parking garage. “I mean, I doubt there’s a textbook for international assassins somewhere. And I can’t imagine that you learned about this through experience.”
“Well, a little of both, if I’m honest. There are tricks you can pick up from people who have done it a lot longer than you have, which counts as a textbook, I guess. And the rest, you simply learn from common sense and trial and error. Or, in the case of a business where you don’t get to survive most of your mistakes, the errors of others. You know what they say, right? Success is earned by learning from the mistakes of others.”
“And would you say that you’re successful?” she asked as he pulled the Taurus onto the street and joined the traffic.
“Beware an old man in a profession where men usually die young,” Jeremiah said with a small smile.
“Aren’t you full of folksy wisdom today?” She laughed, and it lent a light quality to her that was almost appealing.
“What can I say?” His smile disappeared and his expression sobered. “I get maudlin when talking about my past. You should know that about old soldiers.”
Chapter Twelve
He didn’t much care for the location he was in. Anja had given him an update about what Carlson was up to before she went dark herself. Her vanishing act had irritated him for a moment before he reminded himself that she had a life as well. She needed to eat and sleep like the rest of the human race, and he didn’t need to be there for that. He was lucky that she was around as much as she was.
Carlson was, apparently, playing the part of the company man. He shook hands, gave pay raises, and generally convinced people to like him. All things considered, Jeremiah could understand why the man wanted people to have a good impression of him. He wanted control of his company back, and that wouldn’t happen if he didn’t have the support of the people in it.
From the way people seemed to react to his presence, his efforts were working. While he didn’t actually say it outright, from what the Russian was able to pick up, he had planted the seeds of doubt in the new leadership. He knew that something would go wrong soon, and he knew that someone would have to be around to pick up the pieces when the shit hit the proverbial fan. And that person, without a doubt, would be Carlson.
Jeremiah had been driving for most of the afternoon, and he didn’t really mind it. Some people were bored after hours and hours spent in the car, but for him, sitting in a car allowed him to simply stew in his own thoughts. He had learned from a young age that it was important to learn how to enjoy your own company, and he had taken that advice. He’d hung out with himself with some tunes on the radio and a good supply of junk food that could be found at the various stops on the road between Charleston and his destination. He made sure to drop as much trash in the car as possible so that when he returned the car, they would be forced to deep-clean it thoroughly.
Although his military training went deep as far as tidiness went, he didn’t mind making a colossal mess in the vehicle. He shrugged as he tossed a half-full bag of Doritos onto the rear floor. He told himself that everyone on earth had an inner pigpen, and it wasn’t often that they were able to let it loose without consequences.
He pulled the car to a halt at a small gas station outside Raleigh, the lights of which he could see glittering in the distance. Since that was where Carlson was schmoozing with the executives of Pegasus, he wouldn’t have to drive for a couple more hours into the night to reach it. Anja would undoubtedly keep Anderson and Monroe informed about the man’s movements, which meant that they knew what he was doing and were apparently more than happy to simply allow him to keep doing it.
Of course, Jeremiah would have felt more comfortable if he had an inkling of what their master plan was, but at the moment, he didn’t really need to know. His job was to keep tabs on Carlson, discover what his plan was, and make it as difficult to accomplish as possible. He was a regular wrecking ball.
Or would be, once he got his hands on some weapons. Hopefully, Anja’s friends would be able to help him with that, but in case they weren’t in an agreeable mood, he didn’t want to leave himself without a way out. He needed to plan ahead for essentially anything. It wasn’t like anyone else would do it for him.
He stepped out of the car and caught the fragrance of magnolia blossoms and the faint tang of gasoline in the warm evening breeze. After a cursory glance around the area, he closed the car door and locked it, leaving the duffle bag behind but bringing the cash that would be required for this. He wasn’t there for gas or snacks, so he circled to the back of the station. Anja’s directions indicated that the path would lead to what looked like a warehouse and he
had to admit, that was exactly what he found.
Train tracks still existed in front of the long, low building that hadn’t been used in at least a century, and the warehouse next to them would have been where the goods were unloaded. He wasn’t sure what would have justified a shop this big. Who knew? Maybe, considering where he was, the big building had once housed bales of cotton or even tobacco.
That said, the place wasn’t quite as deserted as some might believe. A man stood outside the front doors. He was big, tall, and dark-skinned, and from the bulge that showed under his heavy leather jacket, he was also heavily armed and very likely expecting trouble.
He evidently saw that possible trouble approaching in the form of an unknown stranger by way of the gas station. The jacket fell away to reveal a semi-automatic, sawed-off shotgun. The large weapon rose smoothly and aimed at Jeremiah as he moved closer.
“You’re lost, dickwad,” the man said belligerently and gestured with the weapon before he resumed his aim. “Get back in your piece of crap car and drive away.”
“I’ll have you know that the Ford Taurus is an American icon, my friend,” he said. “It’s right up there with the Mustang, the Camaro, and other such classics. Just because it doesn’t make the same sexy grunts doesn’t mean that it doesn’t have a strong history in American culture. Oh, and it’s not actually my piece of crap car.”
“Whatever, man,” he growled. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“I would if I could, Popeye, but unfortunately, I’m here on business,” he said with an easy smile and made no effort to back down as the man stepped closer.
“Are you a cop?” he demanded, and the thick voice grew more menacing.
“And if I was, would that be any kind of deterrent against killing me?” Savage tilted his head in silent challenge. “I’m asking for a friend—well, an acquaintance. I don’t really like him.”
“Not fucking likely,” the thug replied and shifted the shotgun closer.
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not a cop then.” He raised his hands. “I’ll let my friend-slash-acquaintance know. He’ll be crushed. Anyway, I actually am here on business, both for myself and your boss. You can tell him that Artemis sent me.”
The man looked rather nonplussed by his response. He kept the shotgun trained on him, but there was a hint of hesitation in the guard’s eyes as he leaned in closer and pulled a radio from his pocket.
“Yo, Max, are you expecting anyone from someone named Artemis?” he asked.
“Why are you holding them up, Dee?” a man’s voice crackled from the other side of the connection. “Send them the fuck in.”
“It’s only the one guy, though,” Dee replied.
“Then send him the fuck in,” Max ordered.
“I guess I’m going in,” Jeremiah said with a smile. “Should I bring something out for you to drink? Maybe a snack?”
“Fuck you,” Dee growled, but he shoved the shotgun under his jacket once more and turned away. Savage grinned and moved past the huge, muscular man and into the warehouse. Most of it looked like it had been left to fall into disrepair, but one small section had been cleaned and equipped with lights and furniture. A small generator in the corner provided electricity and, from the look of the tech that was set up, also an internet connection. This place was completely off the grid, at least from what he could see, but had everything someone might need to keep a criminal enterprise running without garnering the attention of the local law enforcement.
One of the men working there drew away from the group and walked toward him. He was tall, wore a Bulls jersey, and looked like he had actually played basketball in his day. Well, not that Savage would really know. He wasn’t a fan of that sport, but still.
“Artemis sent you?” the man asked and extended a hand, which he took and shook firmly.
“That would be me,” he replied with a smile. “You must be Max.”
“That’s right. And who are you?”
“I was told that names and IDs wouldn’t be necessary for this transaction,” he responded and folded his arms.
“I like to know who I’m dealing with,” the other man replied. “I mean, a word from Artemis does go a long way, but I don’t like strangers walking around with my weapons, you understand?”
“Jack,” he said with a forced smile. “Jack T. Ripper. Do you need a social with that?”
“You know I can simply have my boys kill you and find out from the license in your wallet, right?” Max asked.
“Yep, I’m well aware of that. Are you aware of the fact that should your boys make that move, you won’t survive long enough to be privy to the details that they find out about me? So, if you’re done with the dick-measuring, can we maybe get back to business?”
“Sure,” he said after a couple of seconds. “If you’ll follow me?”
They moved to the back of the operation and a table that held a collection of revolvers and hunting rifles.
“Consider these classic beauties,” the man said with a smile.
“No.” Savage shook his head firmly. “If I wanted cheap and legal, I’d go to Walmart, not you. Stop trying to unload your old stock and show me the good stuff. Come on, I have five grand in small, untraceable bills burning holes in my pocket.”
“Five grand, huh?” Max moved farther back. A blanket hung over the wall, and when he pulled it back, Savage saw a wide selection of pistols, rifles, and shotguns. “Five grand gets you enough to arm a small army. Nothing automatic, though. The ATF cracks down on dealers that push that military shit a lot harder than the small timers like me.”
“If it was shit, the military wouldn’t use it,” Savage said with a small grin. “But I don’t need to arm a small army. I do need enough to kill a small army, though. Something to keep in mind.”
He removed a shotgun—semi-automatic and sawed off like the one Dee had outside—and a Glock 17 from the wall, as well as a small yet sturdy rifle with a scope.
“I don’t suppose you guys have any knives in stock, do you?” he asked once he had finished inspecting the merchandise. It was used, likely stolen from police stock or something like that, but it would more than do in a pinch. He wasn’t sure why it was that Max didn’t mind selling his best stock to a friend of Anja’s, but he wasn’t afraid to press the issue if needed. Versatility was everything in this business, and he needed as much of it as he could get.
“Our stock is limited,” the man admitted, but he withdrew a small case from under the table and opened it to reveal a selection of military knives of varying lengths and origins. “But I think you’ll be satisfied with what we have.”
He wasn’t wrong. Most were some variation of the Ka-bar, which Savage quickly passed on as his eyes found what looked like an eight-inch variation of the KM2000. He picked it up immediately, ignored the rest, and took a moment to inspect the steel and the edge before he added it to the pile he’d already selected.
“All that, plus as much ammo as I can afford with what’s left of my money.” He took the cash from his pocket and placed it on the table. Max picked it up, smiled, and handed it to one of his men who quickly put it through a counter. A few seconds later, the man nodded.
“For five thousand, three hundred, and twenty-five dollars,” Max said and turned to face him. “I think we can add enough ammo for you to kill an army and a bag for you to carry it in, free of charge.”
“Can you make it a duffel bag?” he asked. “I love duffel bags.”
“Duffel bag, coming right up,” the man said and chuckled darkly. “You know, not many people I know are as trusting as you are.”
“I’m not trusting, not really.” He tilted his head as he watched the men load the weapons in a large bag. “You know that this weaponry here isn’t for me, it’s for Artemis, and whatever she’s holding over your head is enough for you to do business with someone whom you don’t know. That kind of trust needs to be reciprocated.”
Max glanced quickly at him with a smirk. “That’s s
ome solid thinking. I wouldn’t expect it from someone like you.”
“Someone like me?” Savage asked.
“Military. You can cover it up all you want, but truth be told, I could tell you were fresh out of the service from a mile away. Nothing smells quite like the military bullshit. Were you Army?”
“Rangers,” he said.
“Which makes me wonder how a man newly out the service like you finds himself working for someone like Artemis.” The men had all but completed the load up and the duffle bag bulged almost to bursting. “How does a man like you get tangled up with someone like that?”
“I could ask you the same question, Max,” Jeremiah responded and took the bag that was handed to him. He paused to adjust the strap and used both hands to drag it over his shoulder. “But I think the answer from the both of us will be spookily similar.”
“None of your beeswax, it’s personal?” Max asked and grinned.
“Like I said, spooky.” He shrugged and returned the grin. “Now, if I manage to kill that army and avoid it killing me, I think that there is definitely business that could be done between us in the future. What do you say about that, Max?”
The man shrugged. “So long as you don’t mind paying in cash and up front like you did here, I see nothing but benefits for everyone involved.”
“Look at that. We have something of a like mind. Take it easy, Max.”
The two men shook hands and Savage headed casually toward the door. He couldn’t help but feel that he would be shot in the back with every step on his way to the exit, and he didn’t doubt that there were at least three weapons aimed at the back of his head in case he decided he wanted his money back and planned to use their weapons to get it.
But, if nothing else, he was a man of his word. In this respect, anyway. He knew that the likelihood of him needing weapons in the future was high, and should that day come, he wanted to make sure that he parted ways with everyone on the best possible footing. People didn’t like to be violent for violence’s own sake, even among criminals. If you wanted to do business and were willing to pay without any trouble, they were more than happy to help. It was a lawless kind of capitalism.