by Michael Todd
The vehicle eased to a stop and a few seconds later, his new driver stood outside and held the door open for him. Carlson sighed and really hoped the jet had a fully stocked bar. He didn’t remember if his request had included the fact that he was on a cleanse. If it had, he would be miserable all the way to Bern.
He stepped out and buttoned the top of his jacket before he strolled casually to the plane. He wasn’t sure he liked the fact that whoever had made the arrangements didn’t think to add a security team to ensure that the short walk across an open area was made without any attempts on his life. While he knew he was in the right, people tended to react poorly when large numbers of armed men were sent to kill them.
His momentary concern proved unfounded and he made his way up the steps and paused to look around and enjoy the last touch of the morning breeze that drifted by before he stepped into the cabin.
No flight attendant greeted him. A quick glance confirmed that even the pilots seemed absent. Carlson couldn’t help the alarm bells that now rang loudly in his head, all made worse by the fact that when he stepped onto the passenger deck, a stranger waited for him. The man sipped from a glass filled with an amber liquid and a couple of ice cubes.
Well, at least there was a stocked bar there. Unfortunately, his moment of relief was quickly dashed when he realized that there was a gun in the visitor’s other hand.
The intruder didn’t look like much, really. His brown hair was slicked back, and he wore a black suit with no tie that looked new and rather expensive. A cut on his eyebrow and another on his lip as well as some bruising on his knuckles was ample evidence that he wasn’t there to talk. It seemed logical that he was most likely the man responsible for the lack of reception by security, stewardess, or pilots.
Carlson took a deep breath to calm the nerves that suddenly stirred as he walked over to sit across from the stranger. He had to admit, the man knew how to make an impression. The slick, clean-cut appearance and the all-black suit gave a sense of a civilized man that contrasted sharply with the bruises and cuts.
“I assume you’re the one whom I have to thank for all the misfortune that has crossed my path over the last week or so,” the executive said with a pleasant smile.
He took a moment to pour himself a glass of scotch and dropped a couple of ice cubes in it before he leaned back in his seat. “Between you and me, I didn’t think that Anderson and Monroe had the balls to come after me like that but damned if they didn’t come through. My first time conducting an aggressive company takeover was actually very similar, believe it or not. For one thing, it was Pegasus that I took over after my father passed away. Of course, back then, I had the help of my friend Linus, the man who—”
“The man whom I killed in the hotel. I remember,” the intruder in black replied and took another sip from his glass. Even his voice wasn’t that impressive—not too thick, for one thing, and not the kind of gravel that most men tried to pass off as a growl. He wasn’t there to talk to the man he had thwarted for the past week and a half. Instead, he gave the impression that he was simply there to have a chat over a drink. Linus had told him there wasn’t anything about the man that stood out and that he wouldn’t recognize him if he came across him on the street. Carlson hadn’t believed him, but he did now.
Poor Linus. He would send his family a gift basket for the funeral since he wouldn’t be able to attend in person.
“Well,” he said after the silence hung between them for a little longer than he was comfortable with. “I don’t suppose I could ask you for a name. I respect what Monroe and Anderson have been able to do, but you’re the one who painted the canvas they’re selling.”
He shrugged in response. “Call me Savage.”
Savage. Huh. He liked that. He tilted his head and smiled. It wasn’t a real name, obviously, but rather a title the man had given himself. Normally, he wasn’t a fan of people giving themselves mean or edgy names, but in this case, it fit. He’d seen the results of the man’s work.
“Well, I’m afraid I’m on a tight schedule,” he said when things went a little too quiet for his taste again. “Playing hardball isn’t the kind of thing I would usually associate with moralists like Anderson and Monroe, but hey, I don’t mind being wrong once in a while. It keeps me on my toes and fills me with hope that the world does indeed have the capacity to surprise me. So, what do you want? I assume Anderson and Monroe want my time at Pegasus to come to an end, and while they have no idea of the consequences of their actions, I won’t put my life on the line to keep them from making the biggest mistakes of their lives.”
Savage remained silent and simply stared at him while he sipped casually from his drink. Carlson couldn’t help but feel annoyed. There was hardball and there was hardball, but you had to play for it to work, right?
“Look, what do they want, hmm?” he asked and made to take another sip from his drink before he realized there was nothing but ice left. “Do they want me to sign over my shares in the company? I’ll expect to be generously compensated for them, of course, but that’s nothing that a quick meeting with some numbers and checks won’t solve.”
His visitor remained silent and the executive let his frustration show as Savage calmly finished his drink and put the glass on the table beside him before he leaned forward.
“Well, you have one thing right, Carlson,” he said with a small smile. The man’s weapon was aimed directly at his stomach. “Your time at Pegasus is at an end, although probably not the kind of end you wanted.”
“I don’t understand,” he mumbled and tried to shift out of the way of the gun in as subtle a way as possible. Did this man intend to kill him? More importantly, did he think he would get away with it?
“You see, Carlson…” The way he said the name sent chills up the executive’s spine. “You made two mistakes. The first was to assassinate the people who worked for you—and after you’d already fired them, no less.”
The grim expression darkened and triggered a responsive shiver that Carlson couldn’t control. “The second was to go after a man’s family. In normal circumstances, I would be here with papers and a check and tell you not to return to the country for a couple of years. But you crossed a line and made it personal.
“See, between you and me, I’m not that great when it comes to morals. Call it an abusive stepfather and an absentee mother or something, but either way, I’ve always needed to be around people who laid out what was expected of me by society when it comes to right and wrong. It doesn’t always make sense, but honestly, it doesn’t always have to. One thing I learned is that you don’t go after the innocent or the families until you’re ready to put everything on the line and you don’t care about the consequences.”
Carlson gulped, his mouth suddenly dry, and his gaze flickered to the decanter of scotch on the table. He really needed another drink.
“I can tell that you’re like me in that way,” Savage continued. “You don’t really have your own set of morals, so you abide by those given to you by others. You don’t care about your own family, so it wouldn’t make sense for me to go after them either. So, to hurt you in a way that warns you to stay away from Monroe, Anderson, and their families if you are ever in the mood for revenge, I’ll need to take something else away from you—something you really do care about. Like, for instance, the ability to walk without a cane for the rest of your life.”
“What?” he asked but rather than answer, the man lowered the sights on the suppressed Colt in his hand and pulled the trigger. The pop was louder than Carlson had anticipated, and pain radiated through his leg as the bullet shattered his kneecap and sliced through the joint to tear the tendons inside.
“Fuck!” he screamed as he fell from his seat and clutched his right knee. He jolted and shrieked in agony as he tried to drag himself along the floor and away from the madman.
“They told me not to kill you,” Savage said coldly. “But I felt that a warning was in order. You don’t fuck my employers or those who
can’t fight back.”
“It…was only business,” Carlson hissed through clenched teeth. He’d never been shot before, and this was easily the worst pain that he’d ever felt in his life.
His attacker stood with casual ease and took the time to close the top button of his jacket before he towered over the wounded man.
“Of course. This is also only business. Here’s what’s gonna happen. The first thing you’ll do is surrender your Pegasus shares. The board will either buy them or sell them, but don’t expect the best price. The value is bound to plummet when word gets out that the ex-CEO has been arrested.”
“Arrested?” Despite the pain, Carlson managed to voice his scorn and indignation in equal measure. “You have no proof—at least nothing that can be used in court.”
Savage laughed, and the sound burrowed a cold coil of dread in the executive’s stomach. “You forgot the file,” he responded. “You know—the one you inadvertently left in your office?”
“Fuck.”
“Don’t ever underestimate me, Carlson. I know everything there is to know about you—like how your fireteams were destroyed when you sent them against Anderson and how no one out there is willing to sign on to replace them. I know who they were and where they came from. Oh yes, we tracked every last one of those sonsofbitches so I could be sure they paid for what they did. Now, it’s your turn.”
Savage crouched beside him and despite his suffering and his fear, he could do nothing but stare at the calm, unassuming green eyes of the man who held his life in his hands.
“The FBI has all they need to prosecute you and put you away for a long time. But don’t think I’ll forget about you. If you want me to stay away, you’ll forget everything about me when they question you. And, should you ever be tempted to make a comeback against me or my employers, remember this.” His attacker patted his cheek, then made a face when he felt the cold sweat that now sheened his skin. “Remember me. And remember the lengths that I will go to and that I can reach you wherever you are, even in jail. Do not push me.”
He straightened and tucked the pistol into the holster under his arm, then retrieved the glass he’d used, shook the last few drops out, and slipped it in his pocket. “Your escorts should arrive soon. Enjoy your extended jailcation.”
Without a backward glance, he strolled out of the plane.
“Fuck,” Carlson snapped. He’d been outplayed. He had no doubt that his assailant had covered his tracks. Even if he’d left the gun, it wouldn’t have traced back to him. How the hell had he been so blindsided?
He would have time to think about the answer, Carlson realized, as the shrill wail of sirens intruded through his rampant thoughts. Too much time, given what that fucking file had contained.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Jeremiah sighed and shifted as unobtrusively as he could to ease his stiffness. He had been running and gunning during the past two weeks and had risked his life and put himself in the middle of a corporate battle that he really had no place being involved in. He had lived a dangerous life ever since he’d started his so-called new beginning as Jeremiah Savage.
Which made it all the more annoying that he would probably die of boredom in a conference room while a group of lawyers went over all the legal ramifications that resulted when one of the former CEOs resigned their shares from a company due to, quote, “personal issues.”
He’d smirked when they’d said that. Anja had told him that an FBI team had been brought onto the plane to stabilize Carlson for transport, and he’d been moved directly to a high-security medical facility. His condition was reported to be stable, which meant he’d be able to stand trial. He knew that he’d enjoyed his meeting with the executive a little too much, but the results were what mattered, right? He was off their backs for good—hopefully, anyway—and now, they continue to run the operation of…well, of whatever it was that Monroe and Anderson wanted for Pegasus, without anyone to interfere.
He hadn’t shared the specifics of what happened on that jet. All they knew was that he’d threatened and intimidated the man enough that he’d surrendered all his shares in the company for sale. He would be paid for them based on their sale value, which was currently an ongoing process.
The details on that weren’t exactly clear, at least not to him. They talked numbers and percentages that mostly went over his head if he was completely honest. He was only there for the part of the meeting that would follow after the lawyers left the room. While the legal team was bound by all kinds of attorney-client privileges, that didn’t change the fact that the fewer people who knew about his role in all this, the better. For the record, he was merely a security consultant who was there to help restructure the personnel who would join them in the building.
He liked that—security consultant. He could start a business and be a private eye with a drinking problem and an obsession with fedoras. He’d always been a fan of Humphrey Bogart and his hunt for the Maltese Falcon. Of course, what was displayed wasn’t the reality of the private eye business, especially these days, but that didn’t alter the fact that it was an interesting line of work.
Plus, he knew he looked good in a fedora.
He leaned back in his seat as most of the people left, engrossed in conversation. The day was winding down in Philly, and most of those involved would head home to enjoy the weekend with their families. A couple of folks would burn the midnight oil in the building, but for the most part, they had the place to themselves.
Jeremiah, Jessica, Anderson, and Monroe sat around the table and Anja joined them over the speakers.
“Well,” Monroe said as the room fell silent for the first time in what felt like forever. “This has been a long couple of weeks for everyone here. We’re under no illusions that it’s over. What we want to do with this company won’t be accomplished without a lot of obstacles. However, I do think we can safely say that this has been a successful first step on a very long road.”
He could agree with that, although he didn’t know what it was about this woman that made him curious. A PhD suffix at the end of her name explained why everyone called her Doctor Monroe and told him that much of her life had been spent in the sacred halls of academia. Then, she became the specialist who had survived the most hours in the Zoo of all time. There had to be something wrong with her by that standard alone.
Jeremiah shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It had been only three days since he’d walked away from Anderson’s country house. His ribs still bothered him, and the stitches in his arm itched the way they did when the wound was on the way toward healing. He had to resist the urge to scratch, though. It wouldn’t do to open anything and stain the expensive suit Pegasus had shelled out for him so that he wouldn’t stand out in this meeting.
That meant any more than he already did, of course. He didn’t look like any of the law and economy buffs who had been in the room before. Anyone with even a smidgeon of observational skill could tell that he looked a lot more like Anderson than any of them.
“Do you have anything you’d like to add to this conversation, Savage?” Monroe asked and focused on him.
The operative blinked and realized that he’d let his concentration slip. He peered at the other three people in the room with him. “How does Dr. Coleman’s situation look at the moment?” he asked and raised the topic that had been on his mind up to cover the fact that he hadn’t paid attention.
“Well, we’ll have her make her deposition on what Carlson was up to in that facility of his,” she said and adjusted her glasses to look at the papers on the table in front of her. “But it doesn’t seem like the Pentagon will push for an investigation until he has completed his recovery. Until then, all we can do is make sure that all our ducks are in a row and keep an eye on what he’s doing while he’s incarcerated.”
He nodded. “In that case, I have nothing else to add.”
“Excellent.” She smiled and fixed him with a frank and open gaze. “Your work with us has been invaluable in
the success we’ve enjoyed thus far, but I don’t think it’s over yet. We would like to keep you on retainer for future work.”
“I don’t have anywhere else to be. Literally.” He shrugged to make that truth seem unimportant.
“Well, your check will be mailed to your apartment.” Monroe packed the papers into a file. “As well as a little extra to secure your retainer. If there’s nothing else?”
He shook his head and eased himself out of his seat with a soft grunt.
“Then this meeting is adjourned,” she said.
“Yeah, yeah, I have places to be on this end,” Anja added before she signed off. Jeremiah couldn’t help a small smile as he moved away from the table and made sure to shake Anderson and Monroe’s hands before he left the conference room.
It still seemed odd that he had broken into this place ten or so days before and now, he walked around like he actually worked here.
He did work there now, right? That was what he understood being on retainer to mean. They wouldn’t give him an office or a cubicle or anything, but he did report to his bosses—or benevolent overlords—in this building, and that meant he worked there.
That apartment of his was a nice little place and certainly better than the motel rooms he’d had to endure since he’d left the hospital. Still, the one-room, one-bathroom unit didn’t really feel like home. It was a place to crash and store his things but not much else.
Jessica joined him as the elevator dinged to announce its arrival. They stepped in without saying a word and spent most of the ride to the ground floor in silence.
“What do you think of Dr. Monroe?” she asked as the numbers on the display wound down to single digits.
“Anderson gave me her file before the meeting today,” he replied honestly, careful with his words. “Apparently, she’s something of a force to be reckoned with whom Carlson has been after for a while. But I don’t know… There’s something about her that’s a little…”