The Gauntlet Assassin

At home, he warmed a large can of soup, took another MetaboSlim, and sat down at the NetCom. He was too worked up to read and felt eager to start his second mission. He’d become obsessed with getting a chin implant as soon as possible. Having a sex life some day depended on it. Paul composed his thoughts first, then keyed his message into a text file, so he could read it out loud and make modifications.

After ten minutes and several cuts, he’d refined the message to say: I thought you would be interested to know that an important C–Level position may come open soon in the Department of Energy. If you could be guaranteed the job, what would it be worth to you? For the right price, I can arrange it.

Paul grabbed the prepaid device and pulled on a heavy coat. Lilly ran up to him, excited to go out.

“It’s too cold, sweetie. You don’t like the snow, remember?”

She whined when he left and Paul felt guilty. Dark clouds covered the sky and threatened more snow. Eight inches had piled up the night before, but at least it hadn’t frozen over yet. Not wanting to conduct the arrangements from his apartment, he walked a mile to an empty park and sat on a bench. He was fairly certain law enforcement could track approximate locations of where messages were sent from, so he shivered in the cold wind to be safe.

He keyed in the number for his first target, James Olbert, and spoke his message. Paul said, “Send text,” then did the same for the next two: Karina Simmons and Marus Dalks.

On the walk home, his iCom beeped and Paul was surprised to see Karina Simmons had responded to him already. He hadn’t expected to hear from her at all. He tapped open the message: I’m interested. Can you give me a guideline for how much money you want? How can you guarantee the position?

Snow started falling so Paul hurried indoors to a nearby cafe and found a booth in the corner. “Green tea, if you have it,” he said to the waitress.

The cafe was crowded and noisy, so Paul keyed in his response: Thebidding starts at $20,000. But I’m not telling you my secrets. You have to trust me. He wanted to brag that he’d successfully completed such a mission before, but he resisted the urge.

Karina came right back to him: What’s the position?

Paul keyed: deputy inspector general.

She was silent after that. Paul imagined her surfing the net to learn more about the position. Maybe she’d find out Robert Morales was under investigation. Then she might think she could save her money and just wait for him to be fired. Damn. Had he blown it? Was Morales the wrong pick?

The waitress brought his tea and he sipped it slowly, reading a new thriller on his Dock and waiting. Finally, Karina got back to him: Morales is going down anyway. Am I on his replacement list?

She knew about the database! Paul’s mind whirled with possible scenarios. If he told her she was on the list, then she would know she had a one in three chance anyway and might not pay for a vague guarantee. If he told her she wasn’t on the list but that he could get her an interview, would that give her more motivation to pay?

He finally keyed in: I can guarantee the job. Make me an offer.

She came back with: I’ll think about it.

Paul hurried out of the coffee shop and started for home. He still had to complete a workout and finish sorting through Isabel’s folders. She was the last of the generation who still kept paper copies of everything, and he was trying to wrap up her affairs. He held a tiny hope that he would come across some stock certificates or something of value. He’d felt guilty the first time he’d thought it, then forgave himself. Her cremation had been expensive and he’d paid for it himself, because Isabel had died with only $758 in a checking account.

Paul did an hour with his virtual exerciser, showered, and sat down with a stack of Isabel’s file folders. He fed most of the paper into a shredder as he went along. He was engrossed in his task when his iCom beeped at 8:46. He recognized James Olbert’s number and quickly tapped open the text: If you’re soliciting a bribe, it’s illegal and I plan to report you.

Chapter 21

Paul’s heart missed a beat. He dropped the iCom as though it had burned him and jumped from his reading chair. Could they track Olbert’s message to his apartment? Paul shoved the device in his pants pocket, grabbed a coat, and hurried out with only a few comforting words to Lilly. He had to throw away the iCom and abandon the mission. The thought of being investigated filled him with dread. Sweat seeped out of his pores under his heavy winter clothes.

In the hallway, Mrs. Olson stepped out of her apartment. “Hi Paul. Are you going out for a walk?”

“I’m running an errand and I’m late.” He spun away and made a dash for the stairs. He hadn’t meant to be rude, but his brain was scrambling with worst-case scenarios and he couldn’t focus on anything else. What if they could track the message to his apartment? Why had he opened it there? He’d been careful the first time to send and receive the texts in public places. Would it even matter where the device ended up now? Had he already blown it?

Paul pounded down the stairs, his pulse accelerating with every step. He rushed out into the snow and headed for the bus stop. He tried to reassure himself that iCom technology could only track where a message was sent from, because of the ping on the tower that relayed it, but he suspected AmGo had put a GPS in every device. If authorities investigated James Olbert’s complaint, they probably would find the iCom, but maybe not the location of where it had last been used. Wearing winter gloves, Paul wiped his prints off the unit and prayed for everything to turn out okay.

He jumped on a bus and rode it south to a shopping center five miles away. Paul tossed the unit in a trashcan just outside the entrance and hurried back to the bus stop. As he rode away from the incriminating evidence, relief settled in. By the time he reached home, he felt confident he was safe. Olbert probably wouldn’t even report the incident. No one with a good job willingly brought negative attention to themselves.

At home, Paul made hot tea and snuggled with Lilly for a few minutes. Afterward, he sat down with his iCom and pressed the quick key to connect with Isabel. A second later, he remembered she was gone and would never answer his messages again. Paul burst into tears and sobbed uncontrollably. Startled by his volatile emotions, he trotted to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face until he felt calmer. He dried off and stared at his beautiful new nose, reminding himself that he had a date with Camille soon. He would not be alone for long, he promised.

The next morning at work, he tapped on his NetCom to see his message blinking, meaning he’d received a video marked priority. Paul opened the message and Stacia appeared. “Come to my office as soon as you get in.”

Anxiety flooded him. Was this about his arrangement activities? How could it be? He grabbed his Dock for taking notes and rushed down the hall to the corner office. Stacia’s door was open so he stepped in. “You wanted to see me?”

“Have a seat.”

Paul sat on the edge of the visitor chair and willed himself to be calm. It was just a meeting with his boss. Why was his heart racing so?

“I’ve had some complaints about your modification of the new payroll system. People say data disappears and their access is intermittent. What happened?”

Paul was taken aback. “I don’t know. I’ll look at the code.”

“I need it fixed, not just looked at.” Her stare matched her tone.

“I’ll get it done immediately.”

“Good.” She softened a little. “I know you’ve had a personal loss recently, but you need to either take some time off and let us bring in a temporary tech replacement, or you need to keep your work up to standard.”

Rage blew through his veins, threatening to consume him. “I don’t need time off. I’ll be a hundred percent going forward.” He choked back three other things he wanted to say.