by Michael Todd
“Yeah, we’re here for the weekend so we might as well make sure that we follow up on every lead, right?” Savage agreed. “By the way, are you looking into the cars that are parked outside? I’m talking to you again, Anja.”
“Oh, right, yeah,” she said quickly. “I have the license plates and I’m already running them.”
His boss gave him a dirty look.
“Look, you’d be included in the conversation if you’d put the damn earpiece in.” He laughed as they reached the exit, skirted the two bodies and the SUVs, and continued to where they’d left their car.
Anderson didn’t answer.
Charles’ eyes snapped open as the phone on his desk rang. He scowled at it for a few seconds. He was tempted to let it go and continue with his nap. Then again, it was the private line—the one even his assistant of the past ten years didn’t have access to. It was a secure line, constantly cleaned of taps and wires. He only ever used it for emergencies, and the only people who had access to it were the people who handled his more…delicate concerns. The kind that law enforcement didn’t need to know about.
It continued to ring until he straightened in his chair again, yanked the handset out of the cradle, and pressed it to his ear. A click and buzz confirmed that the installed software quickly randomized the connection before a voice could be heard on the other side.
“What?” he snapped.
“Mr. Stafford, this is Addams, your head of security in Los Angeles.” the man on the other line said. “Is this line secure?”
“Yeah, it’s fucking secure, what is it?”
“This is concerning your orders regarding Mr. Anderson’s visit to Los Angeles, sir,” Addams continued, seemingly unaffected by his superior’s rude tone. “People were brought in to handle the situation personally, as it seemed the man was too close to one of our other operations. It would appear that not all went according to plan. There are police all over the site, so I’m not exactly sure what the situation is, but from all appearances, our assets and the local muscle they brought in are down. There is one survivor on the way to the hospital now. It would seem that Mr. Anderson had help of the professional variety.”
Well, that much was obvious, although the who of it was still unclear. He already knew Anderson and Monroe had brought in someone who specialized in this kind of work, and they were good enough to avoid any kind of detection so far.
“There aren’t any survivors, do you hear me, Addams?” Charles said and his voice approached a snarl. Rage had already started to build inside him, and he snatched something up and threw it across the room. It shattered against the wall and he scowled, mainly because it had done little to ease his fury. “And you owe me for a fucking Ming Vase. Twenty-eight grand for the vase. Now, get it fucking done. I don’t want to hear from you again until you’re ready to give me some good news, do you hear me?”
“Of course, sir,” the man said calmly before he hung up.
Chapter Seven
Anderson looked across the desk to where Jeremiah sprawled in his chair. The operative had decided that the warehouse where he’d trained Ivy was the best place to gather their newly assembled team. They’d added bits and pieces of furniture—all old and definitely the worse for wear but they would serve their purpose adequately.
There was no real reason as to why meeting there wasn’t a good idea, but the ex-colonel was a little jumpy. His innate paranoia didn’t react well to the prospect of meeting strangers whom he really didn’t trust at a fundamental level. The rational, logical side—the hard-assed Marine who knew this was necessary—reminded himself that they were like Savage, or at least enough like him that the man had green-lit them for their operation.
He’d followed his instincts when he’d hired the ex-Ranger, and the man had more than proven himself. For now, he’d trust his operative to get the job done using the best possible people. They’d hired a savage because they needed a savage—and the attack on his home and family proved that he’d done the right thing. He might not like the necessity to bring what amounted to killers on board but damned if he wouldn’t play the game by whatever sick rules they threw at him.
On some level, he despised the weakness that compelled him to hire others to do what he wouldn’t—or, rather, couldn’t—do himself. It still shocked him that he’d been able to defend himself during the attack on his home. But he also knew his scars ran deep. His rage and battle lust had been survival at a purely primal level, the instinctual response of the alpha protecting his family. He wasn’t the savage they needed, nor would he ever be. But, while he didn’t have that particular hunter-terminator ability, he sure as hell had the instincts.
That was what this recruitment was about—a team honed and hungry to enact the decisions they would be forced to make. Of course, that didn’t mean he should dismiss his reservations as only paranoia. His brain was sharp enough to see truths and factor them into the equation. These people would come in with their own reasons and expectations and he was right to be wary. Savage had been so easy because he literally had nothing better to do. His life was over, and he’d been perfectly poised for a role perfectly suited to who and what he was. The newcomers all had lives they would set aside to join their crusade and unlike Savage, they had the luxury of choice.
That, he realized, was what triggered his unease. Anything was possible when people had the power to choose.
“How many did you meet with?” Anderson asked as Savage leaned back on his office chair and propped his feet up on the desk. He shoved the inner tumult aside and focused on what he knew needed to get done.
“Five. Anja had me hiking out all over the damn place. One of the guys actually got pissed when I wouldn’t bring him in and he started a fight. Things got ugly, but I think I handled it well. I told him to cool down, and if he managed to become a little better over the next few months, we’d revisit the issue.”
“Will you revisit the issue?” He asked the question despite the obvious answer.
“Of course not,” Savage sneered. “The guy was a complete wreck. What he needed was hard-core therapy, not a job. Well, I assume he needs a job too, but not the kind that gets people killed. He needs to dispel all that rage in a healthier way—one that doesn’t involve shooting at living target.”
“So, about the two you have brought in. Mixon?”
“He was a SEAL sniper with a history of urban warfare.” Savage closed his eyes to recall the paperwork he’d read on the man. “I didn’t know it at the time, but I actually shared a battlefield with him at one point. His code doesn’t always tie in with national and international laws, but he does what’s right for the right reasons. It’s strict, too—he has a thing against swearing, for fuck’s sake. What is up with that in this day and age?”
“Some people use small obsessions to ease the guilt of what they’ve done in the past.” The ex-colonel shrugged. “But if he’s the kind of man with a code, why would he join us at all?”
“Well, I made my case as best as I could,” Savage admitted. “I liked him for the job, but between you and me, I was surprised when Anja told me he had accepted the invitation.”
Anderson smirked. “What about the other one? Samantha Davis?”
“She’s British and very against people telling her she looks nice or cleans up well.” He grinned at the memory of meeting her. “Our Sam has an interesting history with the SAS and is nuttier than a squirrel turd. All airborne types are.”
“Well, that’s not a very nice thing to say.” The clipped British voice spoke from the doorway. Her tone held a faint edge of humor but not enough to draw a smile from either man. She stepped into the brighter light and Savage noted that she was armed. In all likelihood, she’d taken time to survey the location before she’d approached. The knowledge confirmed his choice. He wouldn’t have expected anything less from a professional operative.
“I meant it as a compliment, promise,” he drawled and maintained his casual posture with his feet on the desk as
she stepped into the small space. Anderson stared at the weapon in her hands and swallowed the swift rush of panic. She was doing what he paid her to do, after all.
“I meant what you said about airborne types.” Samantha flashed the ex-colonel a small frown before she focused her attention on the other man and holstered her pistol.
“Oh, yeah, because the people who like jumping out of moving airplanes are the absolute image of sanity and self-control,” Savage retorted.
She considered this for a moment, then grinned. “He’s got me there.”
“You must be Samantha Davis. I’m James Anderson, the…uh, funding party of this little endeavor of ours.”
“Charmed, I’m sure.” Samantha shook his hand, brisk and no-nonsense. “I did a little research before coming here. You are in the middle of what appears to be a power struggle. I have nothing against that, and I don’t even need to know all the details. From my side, I tried and failed at a variety of ways to make a living. It’s miserable to survive on a government pension, especially these days. So, if you pay me, I’ll stand by you. I haven’t turned against anyone before and I don’t intend to start, so you don’t need to worry that I’ll turn mercenary. Oh, and—”
“Don’t say that you clean up well. Savage told me.” He grinned.
“Well, it’s good to know we’re all on the same page.” She summoned an almost-smile, dropped onto one of the older chairs, and leaned back. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind giving me a rundown of the paycheck schedules and what exactly you want me to do, we can get started. I was told the remuneration would be generous.”
“You don’t need to worry about that,” Anderson said. “As Savage here can tell you, we have a generous budget for our project. There are limits, of course, but we’d have to work hard to reach them.”
“Oh, definitely.” Savage sounded distracted. “I can buy my very own island, turn evil, and fight off British secret agents with prosthetic hands.”
“Oh, Bond jokes. Very classy,” Sam laughed. “So, the rundown?”
“Well, we’re waiting for our second new member to arrive, actually.” The ex-colonel glanced at his watch and shrugged. “I’d hate to have to do this twice.” He glanced toward the door, his expression a little irritated. “By the way, where is our language-averse sniper anyway?”
“I assume he had the same idea as Jaime Bond here and decided on a little recce before he moves in. Of course, he’s a sniper so he’s doing it from a much longer way out…” Savage nodded as if only half engaged in the conversation. “Give it time, he’ll be here. Trust in the tiny Russian in my ear.” He smirked at his boss. “And still not in yours, obviously.”
Anderson flipped him a middle finger but made no effort to reply verbally to the challenge. Sam pushed to her feet and prowled the area beyond the door. She seemed to prefer motion rather than potentially strained silences. The two men continued to converse in low tones, occasionally interrupted by Anja who updated them on various things while they waited.
Ten minutes later, Mixon confirmed the hacker’s report on his status and stepped into the warehouse without any effort to sneak. He also arrived without weapons. Savage assumed he’d stashed them in some nest he’d set up from which to watch the warehouse for the past couple of days. In this area, someone who didn’t want to be found wouldn’t be if they knew a couple of tricks. Considering the range Mixon might have watched them from, they could have searched for the man over a full mile radius for a week and still had an even chance of finding absolutely nothing.
“Terry Mixon, I presume?” Anderson asked as the man stepped closer to shake his proffered hand.
“That’s me. And you must be James Anderson. I’ve heard good things about you.”
“That’s…good, I guess.” The ex-colonel seemed confused.
“I told him to do his research to convince him to join us,” Savage explained. “It was part of making my case. I’m not exactly the most trustworthy of guys at face value, but you might be the kind of person he could get behind.”
“So, you admit to manipulating me?” Mixon raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t think it was ever in doubt. I didn’t try to be subtle about it.”
“You weren’t,” the sniper agreed. “But it bodes well for our business relationship that you’re honest about it. Manipulation isn’t dishonest if it’s used honestly.”
“Well then, I’m glad we cleared that up.” Savage shrugged and removed his feet from the table to adopt a more businesslike pose.
“Moving on,” Anderson said. “Now that we’re all here, how about we get down to the brass tacks of it, yes?”
Mixon took a seat beside Davis and they exchanged names and potted resumes that provided enough to establish credibility without unnecessary details. All that mattered was that they knew what each brought to the table. The rest would follow as they worked together to forge themselves into a unit and learned what they needed to know on the ground.
The ex-colonel pulled a couple of files from the desk and gave one to each of the newcomers. He waited while they opened the folders and scanned the contents in silence, their expressions focused.
“The short version is that Pegasus is responsible for much of the money that goes into the Zoo and most of what comes out,” he said. “I’d like that to change, mainly due to the company’s complete indifference to the lives of the men and women who risk their lives. There are more details involved, of course, which you’ll find in those files. I’ve taken a calculated risk by sharing this before we have any signatures on paper, but you need to be able to make an informed decision with all the available facts at your disposal.”
The two new recruits displayed little reaction but simply waited in silence for him to continue.
“That said, I will need you to sign NDAs and contracts that will enable Pegasus to pay you without raising any eyebrows.” He directed their attention to the amount specified at the bottom of the page immediately above the dotted line.
Mixon maintained his deadpan expression, but Davis seemed suddenly thoughtful and a small frown pinched her forehead.
“If you don’t sign this document, there won’t be any repercussions. However, I expect you to pay me the professional courtesy of keeping what you’ve heard here today to yourselves,” Anderson added, his tone as hard as the look he gave them.
The two exchanged a glance, and Sam was the first one to shrug.
“Hey, this is about three times what I would consider a decent wage for this,” she said with a chuckle. “Give me a pen.”
Mixon nodded and took the pen Davis had used to sign his name briskly.
“Don’t expect me to not speak my mind regarding your methods if I don’t approve of them, though,” he said. He looked more somber than Savage would have liked, but as things stood, they were good to move onto the next phase. He’d rather work with a man with honest reservations than one who pretended enthusiasm. At least you knew where you stood.
Anderson’s part in this was finished, and it was Savage’s turn to step up to the plate.
“Well, this makes me feel all warm and fuzzy in my happy place.” He stood brusquely and gestured to the others to do the same. “Now, we have a job to do, and there are people out there who want to make sure we don’t get it done. It won’t be a Sunday picnic, so get your head in the game up front.”
He retrieved the two files and handed them back to his boss. “Mixon, you’re overwatch on Anderson. Make sure he and his family stay alive and well. Davis, you and I will track down some stolen merchandise. We don’t particularly want it back, but the bastards need to pay for it. And, of course, we’ll ask them why they bothered to steal it in the first place. I’ll run through the details with each of you individually. Welcome to Team Savage. You start your new life tomorrow.”
Chapter Eight
“So, when you said we’ll start tomorrow—”
“Yes, I meant exactly that. It’s tomorrow, and we’ve started.” Jeremiah fixed S
am with an expression that spoke exaggerated patience. “What’s the problem?”
“Don’t you think taking a gal to Mexico on the first date is moving rather quickly?” she asked and peered through the scope of her rifle at the villa they’d had under surveillance for the last hour. “Don’t get me wrong, I like your style, but I’d also like to know where this whole thing will go from here.”
“Well, the simple explanation is that we traced the money paid to some lowlifes who stole from us to this address. Usually, you would expect criminals to avoid a money trail directly to their residences, but I imagine the tax officials in Mexico are a little laxer regarding the drug money tied to a cartel boss’ home.”
“Either that or they know they’ll be fed to the guard dogs if they show up to collect,” Sam replied, still focused into the scope. “Although I’m sure the man who owns this place is a stand-up guy who made his fortune selling porcelain dolls or something.”
“No, from the electronic security, I’d say he made his fortune in IT,” he quipped.
“Yeah, because the amount of physical security around the place screams innocence.” She shifted a little to find a more comfortable position. “Seriously, I count at least fifteen patrollers with body armor and assault rifles. Wait—how the hell do you know about the electronic security in the place?”
“Let’s just say that I have a tiny—and, I assume, hot—Russian whispering all the details in my ear.” Savage grinned.
“Damn hot,” Anja said through the earpieces they were both connected to.
“Well, shoot, Savage, why didn’t you tell me you liked hot Russians?” Sam glanced at him with a smirk.