by Michael Todd
“I’m not a big fan of shopping, actually.”
“Thank God. Neither am I.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “What do you like to do?”
“You’ll laugh,” Ivy grinned despite her residual irritation.
“I…can’t promise that I won’t, I suppose.”
“Well, I happen to be a big football fan,” she explained. “And there just so happens to be a football game happening tomorrow. Vikings and Eagles, right here in Philadelphia.”
“Wait, you’re talking about Handegg, aren’t you?” Sam asked. “Because I grew up playing real football. You know, where you kick an actual ball around with your feet?”
“Well, Jim isn’t that big a fan, but he got me some season tickets. I’m going to the game. You can come along, if you like, and see how a real sport is played—or to babysit.”
Sam rolled her eyes. “Ugh, fine, if you insist. But I can’t promise I’ll enjoy it.”
“Hey, if you’re only doing your job, who says you have to enjoy it, right?” Ivy flashed her a challenging look.
“So long as you’re paying for the food, I think I can find some way to enjoy myself. Handegg is the one where the blokes wear big padded armor and really tight trousers, yeah?”
“I…think so,” Ivy said and narrowed her eyes.
“Like I said, I’m sure I’ll find some way to enjoy myself.” Sam grinned. “Now, try the target one more time and we’ll give you some knife practice.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Savage looked around the plane with a sense of real bemusement. He still couldn’t wrap his head around people flying on planes they had rented for themselves. It was such an odd, weird strata above his usual station. He could see the appeal of it, of course. He’d flown coach more times than he could count, and it wasn’t a picnic. You got to your seat—that was only wide enough to hold someone his size while severely lacking in leg space—and were stuck with one and sometimes two people. It was like the weirdest kind of lottery since that person or those people were randomly selected and would be who he would share that ridiculous space smaller than most beds for the duration of the flight.
Not here, though. Here, he shared a space larger than most New York Apartments with only one other person. Well, technically, it was with four other people if he counted the pilot, co-pilot, and stewardess, but was he really supposed to count staff in the number?
Staff? He felt a little disgusted at the thought. It was such a bourgeois way to think about people. How sickening was that?
Anderson stepped out of the cockpit and strolled to the passenger seats. He settled comfortably on the one across from him.
“Well, we should land in a couple of hours,” the former colonel said as he shifted a little and stretched his legs. “I explained that we had to take a couple of detours. The pilot said he didn’t need to know why, winked at me, and added that ‘bitches be crazy.’”
“He thinks you’re cheating on your wife and you’re flicking around the country to throw her off your trail,” Savage said with a nod. “I assume these pilots have to deal with more than a few promiscuous husbands.”
“Fuck, that’s what I thought,” his companion agreed.
“Come on. It’s not like he’ll go over to Ivy’s place to have a little chat about what you’ve done or anything,” he pointed out.
“It still pisses me off that people take one look at me and assume I’m some sort of high-baller businessman.” The man shook his head with real disgust. “Especially not the kind that flies around the country to tag with his various mistresses.”
“Not to play devil’s advocate or anything,” Savage said but sounded like that was exactly what he would do. “But you are the CEO of a Fortune Five-hundred company with government connections and all, and you fly around on a private jet. So you are, technically, the kind of high-baller businessman kind of man they think you are. Just saying.”
Anderson shook his head and leaned forward. “What do you know about the Research Triangle?” he asked and changed the subject.
“Absolutely nothing.” He made a face. “Army Rangers don’t actually have much connection with the scientific side of the military spectrum. Even the ones working with special forces. The only one I ever heard of was the area in North Carolina—which is what I imagine most people will think of when they hear the name.”
“That’s the beauty of it.” Anderson nodded but his expression was unusually grim. “Aside from the obvious play on the research theme and the actual shape of the building, the name itself is what guarantees its continued secrecy. No one who isn’t actually in the know would even suspect that it was either a building or located in DC.”
Savage smirked. “I can buy that. It has all the makings of governmental conspiracy. So okay, Mr. Former Colonel, sir, what do you know about this damned Research Triangle?”
“Well, considering I had a much higher security clearance than yours, I’ll say a fucking lot more than you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up,” Savage rumbled. “What do you know about the place?”
“It’s the research building that’s officially tied to the Pentagon,” Anderson explained. “It has a really long name officially, but it’s known as the Research Triangle as we’ve already explained.”
“Sure,” Savage agreed. People who nicknamed government buildings weren’t exactly known for their creativity, after all, even if they had certain nefarious purposes that their pretense actually served very well.
“Right. Anyway, that’s where they send all their internalized research,” Anderson continued. “They keep most of their staff there too, which means that if anyone reports to someone there, they report to someone who works directly for the Department of Defense.”
“Okay, so let me get this straight.” The operative raised his hand, his frown evidence of his deep thought. “Our target—the person who is working for this Charles guy or who could give us what we need to eliminate him—will be working inside a government facility, yeah?”
“Correct.”
“And we assume he knows who we are—or who you are, anyway, by probably me as well by now—and has been tasked with killing us. Given that, walking in with Anja’d-up papers is probably out of the picture, right?” His frown slid into a deeper scowl. “Oh, and let’s not forget that the building houses top-level clearance research. I assume—since they’re downsizing and leaving some of the secret research to the companies that have lobbyists in all the right places—they’ll have the dual security threat of both top-level corporations and the worst of the most paranoid government officials?”
“I…” Anderson looked a little startled but tried to follow Savage’s logic. “Sure…yeah, that sounds about right.”
“Awesome.” Savage laughed. “And we’ll still break into this top-of-the-top-of-the-line secure building without any open means of ingress and with our target waiting for us and knowing at least one of our faces. That’s no biggie, I guess.”
“I can see you don’t have much confidence in this plan of ours,” his boss challenged. It was fairly obvious that he had a few doubts of his own as well.
“So, what are we thinking in terms of solutions for our problems? The whole situation is just begging for an underdog story.”
“We are the underdogs in this story, right?” Anderson asked.
“Obviously.”
“Well, not to toot my own horn here, but you underdogs have one hell of a secret weapon,” Anja piped up.
“She’s talking about her, isn’t she?” the ex-colonel asked.
“Yeah.”
“Shut it,” the hacker said crisply. “Unless the two of you think you can charge into the Triangle by yourselves?”
“No, we obviously don’t think that, Control.” Savage shifted in his seat and smiled. She liked the nickname and considering that she had been there for him more consistently than anyone else in the world, he liked to reward her now and then. If they were in a face-to-face kind of relationship,
he would have suggested they go out for a drink and maybe catch a football game. But with their parameters being what they were, he had to get the small things in when he could.
And from her tone of voice, he could tell his nickname had the effect he’d intended.
“Well, considering you two couldn’t get in there without my help anyway, I think it’s smart of you to admit it.”
“So, do you have a way for us to get in?” Anderson asked. He really needed to move on to something concrete—and doable, hopefully. “Can you get us through all the hardware they have around the building?”
“Yes,” she replied with far more confidence than Savage thought she should have. “Although it’ll be a little unorthodox and less pleasant as ways of entry generally go.”
“Is it worse than trekking through hours of blinding sunlight out in the middle of the Nevada desert?” Savage asked. “Because been there and done that. I don’t want to do it again, but I’m perfectly willing.”
“Considering they don’t have deserts in the Washington DC area, I think having the two of you trekking through the desert, as you say, is off the table. Unfortunately, that’s the good news in the good-news, bad-news tandem.”
“What’s the bad news?” He was almost afraid to ask.
“Well, a host of old sewer tunnels run beneath the building,” the hacker said cheerfully. “I’ll send you the precise maps, but given the size of that building and the fact that they haven’t built anything beyond chemical vats to contain the hazardous waste coming from that place, you can assume the sewers will be in use. While they should be large enough for you to walk through, you will be walking through…well, you know, sewage.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic.” Savage rolled his eyes. It wouldn’t be his first time to infiltrate a building via the sewer system—and in some of the countries where he’d done it, the sewer systems didn’t have any of the guidelines they had in the US. That had inevitably meant he’d spent hours crawling through duct-size tunnels of gross. He’d needed scuba gear to get through it, but he’d done it. Never let it be said that Jeremiah Savage couldn’t handle getting his hands dirty.
“It can’t be worse than the Nevada desert, right?” Anderson asked stoically.
“That’s a seriously weird choice of last words, but okay.” The operative grinned and pressed the button that lowered his seat into a prone position. He intended to get a nap in. The new painkillers were hell on his body clock.
There was an old saying—it never rains, but it pours. Charles couldn’t help but feel it applied in this particular situation. He didn’t usually like to base his business practices on anecdotes but, as with most things, they seemed to have their place and their time.
Anderson was a slippery bastard. He was only now coming to realize how slippery. Word about the man breaking into one of the Nevada facilities had been cast aside, initially, until other information about recovered property finding its way into a Pegasus location had reached his ears through various sources. The attempts to retrieve it—or at least slow its acquisition down—had failed miserably. Ultimately, it had ended with the man whom he’d sent to take care of it in jail after a brawl and his asset in the wind.
News about how the attempt on Anderson’s life in New Orleans had also ended badly had left Charles wondering if the entire proposition wasn’t merely cursed from the beginning. He was a dyed-in-the-wool skeptic who didn’t believe in ridiculous things like curses. But when things went this bad so often, it was difficult to resist the impulse to think that some kind of higher power had interfered in his business.
Of course, resist it he would. And well, too. Covington had been arrogant when she’d tried to handle Courtney on her own. Carlson had been too engaged in saving his legacy in the company to be able to enforce his will properly. Charles lacked the encumbrances and distractions of his predecessors. He had underestimated Anderson too, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again. Tying the attack back to Haynes had been a mistake, but it wasn’t a complete loss. The man at least knew well enough to hire from the outside.
But as of right now, he needed someone on the inside. He needed a professional.
Charles took another sip of his bourbon and scowled when he noticed the ice inside had already begun to melt. He hated that because it diluted the burn as it rushed down his throat. With an exaggerated sigh of irritation, he picked up his encrypted phone and quickly punched in a number that he’d dialed a lot over the past couple of weeks.
The tone twisted and whirred as it settled into the encrypted channels he always used to handle this kind of sordid business, and after a few seconds, it dialed the number.
He actually startled when he heard a phone ring directly outside his office. A man stood over his secretary but spun aside and now walked toward the semi-transparent glass doors of his office.
His secretary complained and protested vociferously, but the visitor simply ignored her.
Finally, she decided to get a jump on the situation, stormed toward the office herself, and opened the door.
She looked flushed and frustrated—not her best look, he realized—as she stepped inside and barely moved out of the way as the behemoth maintained his direct path into the office.
“I’m sorry Mr. Stafford—he insisted,” she said, her frustration rampant. “Do you want me to call security?”
Charles honestly pitied the men who would try to throw the man out of a building.
“That’s quite all right, Alicia,” he said. He shrugged and replaced his phone in its cradle. “I was actually calling Mr. Kelly for a conversation. Why don’t you take an early day? Get a jump start on the long weekend?”
“Are you sure, Mr. Stafford?” She glanced hesitantly from her boss to the giant who regarded her with a faintly amused expression.
“Of course. Have a nice weekend, dear.” He smiled as she made her exit.
“You called?” Kelly asked once the door had shut behind her.
“I’m sorry about that.” Charles gestured for his visitor to take a seat. “She’s a good girl and a good worker, and has an ass that won’t quit, but she’s a little difficult to handle sometimes.”
The other man smiled, looked around, and decided against taking a seat. It was probably a wise decision as it was actually doubtful that the small chairs in the office could support his weight. As he moved in closer, though, the evidence that he’d taken something of a beating became very clear. Bruising had barely begun to recede in his cheek, and a bandage covered what looked like a broken nose.
“You don’t need to apologize to me, Mr. Stafford,” Kelly said in response with that unnervingly calm and quiet voice. “Shall we get to business? I assume you called me for a reason, so I’ll let you speak first.”
Charles smiled and set the very natural questions about the man’s face aside for the moment. “Anderson has proved to be a bigger and more annoying problem than I thought he would, and that’s a conservative deduction. I think we need to update the contract on him. Expand it and put more money on it. I want as many bodies on this as possible.”
“Of course, Mr. Stafford,” Kelly said. “I agree that an update would have been necessary—as well raising the price—regardless of what problems Anderson might cause you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I think you know by now, but I’ve had a run in with the muscle Anderson has brought into his fold.” He touched his bruised face lightly. “Knowing what I know now, I think I understand why Carlson had such trouble handling your man.”
“The muscle?” Charles asked and frowned as he considered this. “He did that to you?”
“I can assure you that I gave better than I got, Mr. Stafford, but that’s not the point.” He still sounded like nothing would ever force him to raise his voice. “The point is that the man Anderson brought in to keep him safe is smart. He’s reliable and well-trained—former military, obviously—and might be one of his friends from the Marine Corps, although I have some doub
ts considering his particular fighting style. Army, I’d say. Upper-tier, though. Green Berets, at least, but most likely a Ranger.”
“You could tell where he’s trained from his fighting style?” He quirked an eyebrow, not quite sure whether to believe this.
“It’s a very distinctive style,” Kelly replied with a small smile. “With that in mind and considering that the two appear to work in tandem, I’d say you would have to pay better to get the kind of personnel with the necessary skills interested in the mission. Either that or simply have the sheer number of people that might enable you to get lucky.”
Charles nodded. He took another sip of his drink before he sighed softly. “Fine. Double the price on Anderson’s head—and maybe add a little extra if they manage to eliminate the muscle as well. I want to know more about this guy, but Anderson is still the priority. I don’t care about the fees. Get this shit done today. I’m tired of it.”
Kelly nodded and tweaked his suit nonchalantly to straighten its perfect lines. “Consider it done, Mr. Stafford.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was quiet—too quiet, almost. He studied the very confined space and made a face. The sewer tunnels weren’t as cramped as he’d thought they would be, but the decision to bring masks was a good one. It had been Anderson’s idea, of course. Savage had thought he could cope without too much trouble.
He’d been proven wrong and damned if he didn’t know when to admit it. Even with the masks on, the place was a terrifyingly inhuman place to be. They both wore plastic suits that were supposed to keep the sewage and the smell away from them. They helped a little, obviously, but he still felt like he would never be clean again.
Behind him, Anderson muttered a curse when he slipped but managed to regain his balance. A fall was the only thing worse than having to walk through the nightmare.
“I bet you didn’t think you would do any climbing through sewers when you were offered that CEO job, huh?” Savage grinned.