an asshole. Basically, he spent all of my money, ran up my credit cards, stuff like that. He got into drugs. I tried to help him. Before it was over, my credit was ruined. The cops arrested him, found his cocaine in my apartment. I lost my security clearance. My career was over. I got out last year. There’s plenty of work out there for people with my background. Almost none for people who can’t get a clearance, though.”
“So how’d you end up here?”
“I was living in a crappy apartment, working a crappy job, when I was contacted with this offer. How could I refuse? A chance to go do something again, to use the skills I learned.”
“And make a pile of money while you’re at it,” I suggested.
“Obviously,” she said, smiling again. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. You’re easy to talk to. So, where’d you get the tattoo?”
“What? Oh. I got it in Nevada.” I turned toward her and rolled up my left sleeve, showing her the tattoo on my shoulder. It was a skull clutching a switchblade knife in its teeth. It had the words “Abandon All Hope” written around it. “It was after we got back from Bosnia. This is the Switchblade logo.”
“Switchblade?” Sarah asked. “Didn’t you just say you worked for Vanguard?”
“Vanguard Strategic Solutions International,” I said. “But the Switchblade teams were the best the company had. We were the lifers. Most guys worked short-term contracts, six months to two years. A few of us stayed full- time. We got better training, better benefits, better equipment, and much better pay.”
“Sounds good,” Sarah said, sounding unconvinced.
“It was dangerous as hell,” I said honestly. “But my team was lucky. We did really well. Then Mexico happened.”
“You were there?” Sarah asked. “During the fighting, I mean?”
“You could say that. Our last mission was an absolute clusterfuck. We lost . . .” I trailed off for a second. “Well, we lost damn near everybody. Our chopper was shot down in Cancun, and the UN came after us.”
“Wait, what? Why?”
I paused for a moment. “It’s . . . complicated.”
It must have been obvious I didn’t want to talk about it. “I’m sorry,” Sarah said. “How are you feeling? You had a pretty rough night tonight.” She lightly placed her hand on my leg.
“I’m . . . fine,” I said, my heart rate suddenly increasing.
“I was worried about you.” She didn’t break eye contact.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve been shot. I got lucky. This will heal up okay. It’ll just be another scar,” I answered, obviously full of shit.
“Whatever you say, Mr. Tough Guy,” she said, that devilish grin appearing on her face again. A moment later, the smile faded. She stared into my eyes for what seemed like a long time, her mouth open slightly. “Hi,” she said, leaning in a little bit closer. The tone in her voice was ever-so-slightly different now. Then she leaned forward and kissed me,
“Sarah, I—”
“Just relax,” she whispered, her mouth inches from mine. “It’ll be fun. I promise.” This had all come out of nowhere. I was so dense about stuff like this and was never much of a ladies’ man. I wasn’t sure what to do. But as Sarah pushed me back onto the couch and climbed on top of me, it became pretty clear what
LORENZO
March 26
Reaper was clicking away madly, his Rob Zombie T-shirt stained with energy drink, head bobbing back and forth rhythmically to whatever was on his iPod as he glared at the gibberish on Falah’s laptop screen.
“He looks kinda like a
“He does have that chicken vibe going on,” I replied as I moved the ice pack to a different spot on my face. That airbag had really clocked me. As soon as the swelling went down enough, I was going to go shave. The police were already looking to question Khalid about today’s events. Too bad he no longer existed.
“I can still hear you guys,” Reaper said without looking up from his multiple screens. He had been engrossed in those since we had gotten back.
“How?” I asked incredulously. I could hear the metal coming out of his earpieces from across the room. That mystery was going to go unanswered as Reaper suddenly pumped his fist in the air.
“Cracked it!”
Reaper yanked out the earpieces. “I’m in. I’ve got everything. His password protection was pathetic. I own you, punk-ass bitch! Ha!” he shouted like he had just won a multiplayer death match rather than broken into a terrorist financier’s personal files.
I approached and stood over Reaper’s shoulder. “Look for anything on Adar. We need his contact info. If it isn’t under Adar, look for the Butcher. It’s time for Al Falah to call his pet psycho home.”
I called the Fat Man at the number provided in the folder from Thailand. I’d already had Reaper take a shot at figuring out where it originated, but it was even more secure than my personal communications, bounced off of who knew how many satellites and scrambled in every way imaginable.
The Fat Man knew who it was before I even spoke. “Hello, Mr. Lorenzo. How goes it?”
“Phase One is complete. We’ve implemented Phase Two,” I said.
“I shall pass that on to our employer. We had heard that there had been a few complications.” His voice was without inflection. He wouldn’t even give me a clue if he had just woken up or if it was late at night. Nobody even knew what time zone Big Eddie was in. “Nothing you couldn’t handle, I assume.”
“Of course not.”
“By the way, some of our men attended your niece’s dance recital. Rachel, I believe her name was. Let’s see, she belongs to your brother, Robert. They recorded the recital for Big Eddie. He commented that she is very graceful and talented for such a young girl.”
“I told you. I’ll
“Of course you will. Eddie just likes to keep track of his employees. It is what makes him such an effective leader. Keep up the good work.” Then he hung up. I carefully put my phone away before smashing my fist into the wall.
Chapter 6:
