ASSET - an Action Thriller: a Brill Winger Thriller

by Chris Lowry

  ACCLAIM for the SHADOWBOXER Series

  ASSET

  A Brill Winger Thriller

  By

  Chris Lowry

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Grand Ozarks Media

  Copyright @2016 by Chris Lowry

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  Can I send you SHADOWBOXER for Free?

  Brill Winger is an assassin selling his gun to the highest bidder. After a clean assignment in Mexico someone takes a shot at him. Wounded and confused, he needs answers as the man who taught him how to kill hunts him across the Yucatan jungle. Who put out the contract on him? Why is a simple grad student helping a blood drenched stranger? And why is the man who was like a father to him ready to have him die?

  CHAPTER ONE

  His first thought was the man wasn't wearing any socks.

  Brill Winger stepped through the double doors into the mansion tucked away on a ridge above the city that looked over the River. Floor to ceiling glass windows made up the far wall with elegant plush furnishings scattered through the long living room arranged to maximize the view.

  A long legged man with short curly hair lounged on one of the couches, feet crossed at the ankle as he smiled at Brill.

  “So, this is him?” he stood up and extended his hand.

  Brill shook it and couldn't help but smile back.

  “Sir,” said the man who answered the door. “This is Brill Winger.”

  “Brill huh?” the smiling man said in a husky voice. “Like Brillo pad?”

  “Short for Brilliant,” Brill answered. “My mother was from Brilliant Alabama and she married one of the Winger boys. So Brill Winger.”

  The man laughed and pulled Brill further into the house.

  “Shelby why don't you grab us a couple of iced teas,” he said.

  Shelby Johnson excused himself with a nod and went into what Brill presumed was the kitchen. He could hear ice tinkling into glasses.

  “Brill,” the man sat him down on a sofa. He was the governor of the State, and was taller in person than he looked on television.

  “Sir?”

  Brill had never been in such august company before.

  His normal circles were his factory working stepfather, or paycheck to paycheck living mother, both alcoholics and mild drug addicts, so that finding himself in the presence of a Governor in one of the richest men's homes in the capitol was like a passage from a book.

  “Shelby told me you scored pretty high on some tests,” the Governor's eyes twinkled.

  “I suppose so.”

  “I'm going to let you in on a little secret,” said the man as Shelby entered with three glasses on a tray.

  He offered one to Brill first, then the Governor and took one from himself. Shelby sat to one side of Brill and sipped the sweating glass.

  “We've been looking for someone like you,” the Governor finished.

  “Me?”

  “High School is tough, isn't it Brill?” asked Shelby.

  “It can be, yes sir,” Brill chugged the tea.

  “There are a lot of tests, both social and intellectual. Some of them we have administered on our behalf,” Shelby continued.

  Brill wasn't sure if he should respond so he didn't. He just sipped the tea again.

  “You took a series of tests and of all the students in your high school, you were the only one that scored how we thought across the board.”

  Brill set his tea glass down.

  “How was that sir?” he asked the Governor.

  The man glanced at Shelby and stared at Brill with intense ice blue eyes.

  “It's not about being the smartest, though you have plenty of smarts. It's not about being the most intelligent, but I'm glad to tell you your IQ is pretty darn high. Maybe higher than mine,” the man laughed. “But it was the combination of results we were looking for, and I'm very proud to say, you're our man.”

  Brill let his eyes roam over the room. It was difficult to hold the Governor's stare for too long.

  The man was intense even as he tried to look relaxed in faded jeans and boat shoes with no socks.

  Brill knew that was for effect, just as he knew they men brought him here to impress him with wealth.

  He wasn't sure how he knew, maybe it was the way they hemmed him in against the wall, the Governor in front of him, Shelby on one side and a low bookshelf on the other with well worn copies of The Art of War and Marcus Aurelius.

  “Man for what?”

  Shelby raised an eyebrow toward the Governor.

  “Told you he was smart,” he smirked.

  “Clued in, I believe you said,” the Governor smiled again. “Brill, we want you to do some work for us.”

  “A job?”

  “Sort of a job, yes, but more like a duty. I'm going to appeal to your patriotism here Brill, but your country needs you.”

  “Me?”

  “Men like you. You're a very rare type,” said Shelby. “Should we give him some background Sir?”

  “Brill I'm going to be President one day,” the Governor said. “My team is laying the groundwork now, and this isn't just a childhood dream where someone says what they hope to be when they grow up. I'm getting the nomination, I'm running and I think the American people are going to vote for me, for what I can do.”

  “What can you do?”

  The Governor took a sip of tea and set his glass down.

  Shelby shifted up and moved it to a coaster on the wooden table.

  “That's the right question to ask. It's what you should be asking of yourself. What can you do?”

  “Yes Sir,” Brill answered. “You told me I was special or did well on some tests, but I don't feel special.”

  “You have a friend at school,” said Shelby. “From South Africa.”

  Brill nodded and blushed.

  Laurette was more than a friend, she was the love of his life.

  “Your friend is scheduled to go back at the end of the year,” said the Governor.

  It was one of the things on the horizon they dreaded.

  Her term as an exchange student would end, and she would return home.

  They had discussed marriage as a way for her to stay, had even talked of running away together to explore California and the West Coast.

  Those were fancies of youth and Laurette wouldn't do that to her father, a cabinet minister in the So
uth African government.

  “Would you like to go with her?” Shelby asked.

  Brill stared at the two men who surrounded him.

  They had an angle and he wasn't sure what their agenda was, but if it gave him the chance to be with Laurette, to go with her, meet her parents and see her home, it might be worth a trade.

  “I'm listening,” he said.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Can he be trusted?” the silver haired man with no socks watched the huge oak door shut as the boy left the two men alone in the house.

  “Trusted? I don’t know if that’s the right word.”

  “What is the right word?”

  “Controlled,” grinned Shelby.

  The silver haired man shivered. Shelby’s smile looked like a skeleton head, dark eyes hidden under thick brows.

  “Can we control him?”

  Shelby settled in one of the leather chairs opposite the couch and placed his feet up on the coffee table. He took a sip of iced tea, condensation slipping off the glass to dribble on his expensive Oxford cloth shirt.

  “I know this boy,” Shelby explained. “I know his type. He’s poor. Not like you were growing up with your Momma. You had neighbors to help, and a garden for food if things got tight. This boy spent some time not knowing where his next meal was coming from.”

  He leaned forward and tipped the file folder on the table to the other man.

  “The same boys that did the work up on you did one on him.”

  The man reached for the file and thumbed through it. There were only a few sheets of paper, but he was a speed reader, had been since college and Law School, so he was able to absorb the text fast.

  “That doesn’t answer my question about control.”

  Shelby shrugged.

  “It’s a tough question to answer, Mr. President.”

  The man smiled and shook his head.

  “I’m not yet,” he said in a self deprecating way.

  Both men knew it was an act. His election was a foregone conclusion. Not only due to a shoddy economy and a population tired of the status quo, but the man who would be President was young, and dynamic, a poster boy for his generation.

  He looked like a man who could change the world.

  “We’re sending him into the world with a zero baseline of training. All we have to go on are his reports, which he’ll consider a journalism assignment,” said Shelby. “He’ll do what he’s told because it’s in his nature.”

  “Following orders?”

  “Getting the job done. That little son of a bitch has the most willpower of anyone you’ll ever meet.”

  The man who might be President closed the file and set it on the coffee table, avoiding the ring of moisture from the sweating glass.

  “It shows in here,” he tapped a manicured nail on the file.

  “It will show out there too,” said Shelby. “We do our part, and he’ll do his.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Laurette Van Housen knocked on the door of the bedroom he was using in her parent’s home on the outskirts of Johannesburg.

  She sneaked in and crawled beside him in the oversized bed, snuggled against him.

  His eighteen-year-old body responded in the way men were designed and she giggled as he pressed against her.

  “No time silly,” she whispered and kissed his neck. “My father is waiting to take us to the airport.”

  He persisted, wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her throat.

  “Don’t get me started,” she moaned, her body warm as she rubbed against him too.

  “We have time,” he said softly.

  She shoved him away and jumped out of bed.

  “No we don’t,” but she was smiling and he smiled back at her.

  “Later then.”

  He jumped up and she stared at his muscular body clad only in boxer shorts.

  “Yes, later. I’m sure of it.”

  She sauntered over to him again, kissed him lightly on the lips and ran her hands down his chest.

  “Come down quickly,” she pulled away. “There’s breakfast and father is waiting.”

  He watched her walk out of the room and grabbed a pair of pants off of a Victorian bench at the end of the bed.

  He ran fingers through his short hair and pulled a shirt on with the pants.

  The faint patter of her barefeet on the tile floor faded as she went down the stairs.

  He waited until he couldn’t hear them any more, then rooted around in his bag for the small case he had been given.

  Brill padded down the hallway to the closed door to the Master bedroom. He wasn’t sure if Mr. Van Housen was the type of man to talk in his sleep, or if what he even discussed in the bedroom, but he knew how to follow instructions.

  He slipped inside and hurried to the nightstand beside the bed. He checked the electrical cord to the lamp and tilted it forward. He had to wiggle his thumbnail into the felt that covered the bottom, being careful like he was told, but it came loose after a few short moments of working against the adhesive.

  Brill slipped the bug inside the lap and used his thumb to press the felt back against the rim of the base.

  The door to the master bath creaked as someone turned the knob.

  Brill dropped to the floor and wedged under the bed, scooting to drag his feet and legs in as the maid left the bathroom carrying cleaning supplies.

  He let out a sigh of relief as she moved toward the door.

  It caught as she stopped and turned back toward the bed. He watched her shoes creep across the carpet toward him, stop by the bedside table.

  She rustled the lamp back in place and whisked a rag across the tabletop. Brill could see dust motes filter in the air in a beam of sunlight that lanced through the blinds.

  The maid began to whistle as she walked out of the door. He let go of the breath he was holding and scooted out from under the bed.

  He sneaked across the carpet and peeked into the empty hallway, then walked toward the stairs.

  He could feel a slick sheen of nervous sweat coating the small of his back and wiped a hand across his forehead just in case there was more there.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Downstairs Mr. Van Housen sat at a giant wooden table.

  The polished top reflected his graying hair and sour visage, but Brill knew it was an act.

  The man was warm and generous and had welcomed the American boy into his home like a prodigal son.

  This due more to the four daughters and wife that occupied the domicile and he was vastly outnumbered by women in the home.

  “Good morning Sir.”

  “Good morning Brill. Sleep well?”

  “Very well Sir.”

  “Good. Break your fast and let’s be on, shall we?”

  Brill grabbed some fruit and a cup of coffee and sat across from Mr. Van Housen.

  “Are you ready to see your first refugee camp?” Van Housen asked.

  “I think so.”

  “It’s good that you and Laurette are choosing to help. Dreadful what’s happening up there.”

  Brill nodded. He wasn’t exactly sure what was going on up there but knew that it was bad.

  In America, he was far removed from the affairs of the world, especially in the continent of Africa.

  He knew the government was dealing with apartheid, and that changes were underway, but hadn’t bothered to research it.

  He was young, and stupid in love with the girl who ran into the room.

  “Are you ready?” she said breathlessly.

  Her blue eyes glowed with excitement and her sun kissed skin sparkled under an unruly mop of auburn hair.

  Brill finished off the cup of coffee and followed after.

  CHAPTER

  "I don't want to do this," he leaned in and whispered into her neck.

  Goosebumps popped up along her skin and she shivered with a giggle.

  "Oh," she whispered back. "And what would you rather do?"