by Michael Todd
“You are breaking into my home,” Alvarez shouted.
“I didn’t say close friends,” he grumbled under his breath.
“My men are all dead,” the man countered.
“Fine, acquaintances, then. Out of simple curiosity, how much money do you have in here?”
“A couple of months’ worth,” he answered with a shrug. “Your money is all in there. You don’t need to worry.”
“I’m not worried, pal,” Savage said with a smile. “That’s fourteen million and…did we say five thousand?” He dropped another stack of bills inside before closing the safe again.
“An honest mercenary.” Alvarez looked genuinely confused. “What a delightful surprise.”
“I’ll tell you what, big guy. If I don’t take care of this Charles guy, I’ll return half this money. Not the five grand, though. I need that to cover my personal expenses. You know how these things go. So, are we agreed?”
He stepped closer and proffered one hand while the other held the assault rifle. The cartel boss looked more confused than before but shook briskly.
“Agreed, Mr… What do I call you?” he asked.
“I’m Savage,” he replied with a small grin and shook the drug boss’ hand once again to seal it.
“Well, obviously.”
He opened his mouth, a little startled by the comment, and blinked before he realized that the truth of his name had slipped right over the man’s head. Well, there was no need to correct him on it, so he smiled and released the hand he now realized was clammy with sweat.
“Consider me another sadistic, savage merc. But not one for hire. Not by you, anyway.”
The bag was a little heavier than he’d anticipated, and he grunted as he shouldered it before he made his way back toward the exit. Once he was out of eye and earshot of Alvarez, he pushed into a jog. While the conversation was civil enough, he knew the cartel lord would not easily forgive this little incident. They needed to get out of the range of his wrath—and out of the country—before a veritable army of crooked cops and angry goons initiated a manhunt.
“Are we clear for departure?” Sam asked once she saw him leave the building.
“Yep, and we should probably make it a rapid exit,” Savage replied, not quite out of breath by the time he reached the car. He bundled both weapons and cash into the back seat and slid behind the wheel to start the engine. “Pack up the nest and meet me where we were parked.”
“Copy that.” Five minutes later, Savage eased to a stop from where Samantha was visible lugging all the equipment. She added her pile to his and fell into the passenger seat, and he floored the accelerator to take the out of there before she’d even fully closed the door. A cloud of dust puffed indignantly behind them.
“I’ve cleared a route for the two of you to leave the country,” Anja said. “You might want to move the weapons and cash from the back seat and put it all somewhere less visible before you reach the border—or anywhere near civilization for that matter. Your safe window won’t last for long, so I suggest you avoid scenic roads.”
“Roger that.” Savage chuckled.
His companion covered her earpiece as she leaned over to whisper, “She’s…uh, scary.”
“I can still hear you,” Anja pointed out with a trace of amusement.
Sam pulled back and mouthed the word scary at him in a way that demanded a hearty laugh in response.
Chapter Nine
It wasn’t like he’d lived a life of excitement and danger before Savage had knocked on his door. Not literally knocked, of course. The figurative challenge or call or whatever he might call it was far more demanding.
The man had seemed…familiar. Like an old face from the past, peeking in uninvited. He hadn’t longed for action again, and perhaps action was something of a misnomer anyway. He’d always remained far back and stared at the world through the lenses of a scope—that small, perfect window—before he killed them.
And he’d gotten rather good at it too. People told him that what he did was complicated. They produced numerous numbers and papers to show him how complicated it would have been for everyone else, but for him, it simply wasn’t. He hated the fact that they all thought he was doing something spectacular when the real truth was that he did the coward’s thing. His particular brand of false heroism was to hang back and allow other people to die while he helped a lucky few to survive.
He drew in a deep, steadying breath. Of all the places in the world to work again, he’d never thought it would be Philadelphia. He’d visited the city before, of course, but never thought he would do his work this close to home. There were rules about not working on US soil, but he didn’t really think those rules applied in certain situations. People were out there killing soldiers, men and women who put their lives on the line to defend their country, and nothing was done about it. Well, until now.
At first, he’d simply read the files. They’d stirred enough interest for him to call friends who had served with various units. Most of them remembered Anderson and agreed that he’d been a man of strong determination in the field with even harder resolve to save his men when he’d been taken off. The circumstances that resulted in him being pulled from active duty were tragic, and he’d evidently made it his duty to keep anything like that from happening again.
Then he’d been forced into an operation. Mixon hadn’t been able to find any real details except that any military personnel tied to it had died and been shipped back from various locations. The process followed the predictable Pentagon response when they tried to cover something up. The paperwork on the operation was light and most of what was there had been redacted. The message was clear. It had been written, handed to the corporation in charge, and edited before they sent it back.
The sole sponsor of the operation had been a company called Pegasus which was, interestingly enough, the company Anderson had immediately quit the military to join.
He wasn’t stupid and could connect the dots. Someone with the ex-colonel’s history wouldn’t make a change like that so suddenly without a reason. Savage had told him the reason was to make sure the killing stopped. He didn’t trust the operative, but he trusted his superior to make the right call. Not only that, Mixon was there to help him save the lives of the men and women in the field. He felt this was an honorable enough cause to break him out of his retirement.
That sentiment still applied, even if the job so far had been merely overwatch for Anderson. He’d make sure the man survived long enough to fulfill his intentions, while Savage and Davis were sent off to find something or…someone. They hadn’t really filled him in on the details.
His mission was boring, obviously, but a pleasant kind of boring. He was able to let his mind drift freely while it effortlessly did what everyone thought was so amazing and difficult. He studied the world around him—without a scope this time—but with the single-minded purpose to locate and identify possible danger.
Anderson had told him that any threats he saw should be handled with extreme prejudice. In retrospect, that was a good thing since extreme prejudice was really the only way he knew how to deal with this particular kind of problem.
Mixon tilted his seat back a couple of degrees in response to his body’s need for occasional movement. Undistracted, his mind continued to work like a sponge and absorbed anything and everything as his eyes sifted and studied every inch of his surroundings. No threats had made themselves apparent as he watched Anderson take his wife and kid out to a nice dinner. He wasn’t sure what kind of restaurant it was, but whoever called their place Interlude deserved the prize for most pretentious restaurant name ever. With a plaque, he decided, like when someone became a Guinness world record holder.
“Who takes their kid out for a date night, anyway?” Mixon asked while he chewed on the beef jerky he’d brought along for the trip.
“Well, I suppose it makes sense,” he mused aloud when he felt the need to answer himself. “The man thinks his family is in danger—with
good reason—and he wants to make sure they’re safe. He’s hired someone to keep him safe so it would make sense to let that person protect the rest of his family too. It’s like someone sharing their Netflix account, except I’m the account in this situation.”
Yes, he was talking to himself. He’d learned the habit in the various dull moments of watching over a city while he waited for his second of an opening. It was important to be able to enjoy his own company since SpecOps rarely teamed him up with a spotter on those missions. He’d needed to learn to enjoy his own company and did so mostly in silence. Sometimes, though, this included being able to hold a debate, argument, or conversation with himself to help pass the time.
He took the last bite of the spicy jerky and tucked the packaging into the plastic bag he’d brought for precisely that reason. It was a company car, not his own, and it was good manners to return a vehicle in as good a condition as you got it, if not better.
Mixon’s gaze drifted to the inside of the restaurant as Anderson leaned in to kiss his wife. The young son made a face and his parents laughed and continued the kiss despite his exaggerated protest.
They seemed a nice family. He had thought of having one himself and even met a few girls who fit the criteria. There weren’t many out there who could tolerate a man of his particular eccentricities for too long, however, and they ended up leaving.
It was for the best, really. He’d had a hard time enduring their eccentricities as well. But he’d been willing to try, at least.
Anderson seemed similarly eccentric, and he’d found someone. Of course, whether he’d found her before he’d turned eccentric was up for debate, really.
Mixon took a sip of water. He’d put himself on a timer to stay hydrated but avoid overindulging. There were aspects of keeping someone under surveillance that he really felt were a last resort. Once they had finished their day out and headed back to the apartment building, he would be able to relax and get some sleep.
He could tell why Anderson didn’t always have his family locked up in the place they called home. Honestly, gold depositories were less secure. The ex-colonel might have used himself as bait, but he didn’t seem the type to use his family as bait too.
Then again, his wife had a career of her own to pursue. His superior hadn’t enlightened the sniper as to what that was exactly, but she had a job that kept her busy. And the young one needed school, which meant that lives needed to continue despite the threats.
Which, of course, was why he was there.
He’d followed the tyke to school, returned, and tailed Anderson to fetch the kid again and the mom from the firm where she worked, and directly to dinner from there.
Ah, that was why they’d brought the boy along for date night.
He shifted in his seat and squinted sharply at an SUV that pulled up outside the restaurant. That particular parking space had to be paid for, but nobody left the vehicle to do so. The windows were tinted so it would be impossible to see inside at this hour. There were always ways around that if one made the effort. He looked around to confirm that only one car had arrived.
If the police would show up, that would be fantastic. He could see if the new arrivals would move to avoid a ticket. Unfortunately, another hasty sweep of the area confirmed that he’d have no such luck.
He stepped out of his car, a nondescript blue sedan, and retrieved his phone from his pocket as he strolled casually toward the car. His one-sided heated debate would hopefully allay any suspicions the occupants might have.
“No, Amber, you said I could have him this weekend,” Mixon said to nobody in particular. “I have the whole weekend planned. Come on. You can’t change the schedule like that.”
People avoided conversations like the one he faked like the damned plague. Anyone who heard him would immediately pretend they hadn’t. Those who noticed him would instantly forget him—including the group of men inside the car, hopefully.
While the tint provided little more than shadows, he could discern five people inside, bulky and pressed together. Weapons too, he acknowledged if the barrel aimed at the roof of the SUV was any indication. This was another group of people keeping an eye on the family but for very different purposes. His role was as a protective detail, and you didn’t need five people with guns for that.
Black SUVs were the kind of vehicle usually chosen because they were big and, while obtrusive, common enough that people wouldn’t give them a second glance while on a busy street. They were large enough to disguise a large motor and armor and the tinted windows could be used to conceal bullet-proof glass.
All these benefits added to a significant advantage when you sent a hit squad to eliminate a troublesome former colonel.
He maintained what he felt was an Oscar-worthy conversation while he swung away and returned to his car. It included threats of lawyers, a little making up, and more anger to embarrass people into not looking while he armed himself with the weapon given to him by Pegasus. Well, Savage, technically. There wasn’t much he could carry across state lines without drawing the police and all the other alphabeticals onto his tail.
The operative had, it seemed, something of an armory, all with the serial numbers filed off. It seemed pointless to worry about the problems that would arise from that if the police got involved.
All these disconcerting truths meant it was best not to use a gun unless absolutely necessary. Not only would it attract all the wrong kinds of attention, but he also didn’t want to have to jettison the only weapon he had.
“No, I can’t tag along with you,” he shouted into the phone and strode in the direction of the vehicle once more. A plan began to take shape in his head. “I have my parents coming over for Thanksgiving, that’s why. It’s the last weekend before the holidays—which you’ve made all about you, I don’t need to remind you—and I deserve to spend some time with my son. Ow! Fudge.”
He stumbled against the SUV, banged his shin painfully into the protruding bumper, and finished the maneuver with a trip and roll alongside until he reached the door.
“There’s a darn fudging car in the way, parked all the way up on the fudging sidewalk,” Mixon yelled belligerently. He swung a hard kick at the bumper, followed by another at the tire. With the phone still held close to his head, he released a string of his almost-curses and vented his frustrations on the vehicle in a way that would both annoy occupants inside and make the passersby look elsewhere.
“Hey,” a man shouted as he finally slid out of the SUV and fixed him with a hard glare. He was dressed in what looked like an expensive suit with a holster hidden under the jacket. That little nugget confirmed Mixon’s instincts as to their weaponry and purpose. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Watch your language,” he snapped in response.
“What?” Confusion was immediately followed by alarm and shock as he staggered and clutched his throat. Blood squeezed between his fingers from the cut Mixon had inflicted with the knife he’d hidden with his phone. He shoved him back into the passenger seat of the vehicle and thrust in behind him.
“I said watch your language,” he muttered as he scrambled over his sagging victim and drove his knife toward his next target.
Cars were tricky places to stage a fight, but it was always easier when surprise was on your side. It was the one place where no one wanted to take advantage of superior numbers to use firearms.
The driver jerked his head up from his phone and surprise registered briefly on his face.
“Sorry about this.” The operative stabbed his blade into the broad chest before the man even registered the extent of the danger. It sliced smoothly through the Kevlar lining in the suit and plunged easily into his heart. One twist brought instant death. Mixon grunted his satisfaction. At least, with the driver eliminated, he had a reasonably captive audience.
He yanked the passenger door shut to keep the curious at bay. The sound seemed to snap the three gunmen in the back from their shock but before they could ful
ly react, he plunged his torso through the gap between the seats.
The SUV shook as two of his adversaries punched wildly at him and the third tried to club him with the stock of the submachine gun that was obviously his weapon of choice. One of the fists landed a sliding blow on the operative’s cheek, but the heavy weapon missed and connected with a dull thunk against the cheek of the lucky assailant. His luck immediately ran out, of course, when Mixon shoved his blade with the full force of his scramble behind it. There was no resistance as it plunged into his stomach, then yanked it out and thrust it into the man’s groin and twisted to sever the femoral artery.
The man in the passenger seat hadn’t yet succumbed to his wound although his groans suggested he wouldn’t last long. Still, he flailed wildly with one hand as if to help his teammates despite the blood that seeped and gurgled around his labored breathing. All he managed to do was turn the radio on as his fingers fumbled on the dashboard. The loud, heavy beat provided an intense but almost incongruous counterpoint to the life-and-death struggle.
Mixon grimaced and wiped the sticky handle of his knife on his victim’s thigh and hefted it more firmly. The man’s hands clawed at his wounds, but a quick glance confirmed that he’d be dead in a few minutes based on his rapid blood loss.
Two men remained, but the one on the right seemed momentarily distracted by his teammate’s imminent demise. Their partner jostled the wounded man in an effort to free up a little elbow room as he started to draw a combat knife from a sheath on his belt. The operative moved quickly but awkwardly. With his legs half in the front of the car and the difficult angle, he wouldn’t risk a strike that would either miss or do little damage. For now, he struggled to keep the knife in its sheath while he tried to wrestle his body through and into a better position.
He grunted softly when the man to his right punched him hard in the ribs and forced the breath out of his lungs in a rush. His body contracted and his weapon slid from his hand, but he used the impetus to drag his legs through into the back seat area and drive his knee into the man’s nose. It was made so much easier by the fact that he had ended up all but on his adversary’s lap