Jacob looked at the floor. Behind him, the security screens cycled through three cameras before he responded. “I don’t know. I thought I would too, but now that I am, I feel a bit lost. It’s hard to explain. I hated being on probation, but it gave me a purpose in a weird way. Something to focus on. A goal, I guess.”
Gomez nodded. “I think I know what you mean. By the time I left corporate security, I hated it. I felt like I was trapped in a system I didn’t believe in. One I thought was doing more harm than good.”
“I can see how probation is a bit like that,” Jacob said.
“But after I finally left, I was scared. Leaving the way I did meant I would never work for a corporation again. That was scary. Our whole damn society seems to be built around the corporations and their employees. I felt lost. But I found my way. You will too.”
“I guess you’re right.”
Two-Step came in and went straight to the refrigerator. “We should have a toast,” he said.
“To what?” Gomez asked.
“To Jacob and his new life,” Two-Step said, holding a beer out in a toast.
Gomez looked at the kid for a second. He was only seven years younger, but Gomez thought of him as a kid, the little brother he never had sort of thing. He could be clumsy and was damn annoying at times, but he was good to have around. He was good people, as his mother would say. More than that, he reminded Gomez of someone lost under his command in Berlin five years before. It was part of why Gomez took him in when he found him homeless and wandering around The Galleria.
Gomez raised his bottle. “I’ll drink to that,” he said.
Chapter 5
Johnson straightened his tie and watched a pack of wild African dogs chasing down an impala on the walls surrounding him. He eyed the door to Mr. Craig’s office. The door and the secretary’s desk next to it were the only breaks in the screens that made up the walls of the waiting room. The secretary seemed immune to the images of the hunt and stared at her computer display. Throughout his visits to Mr. Craig’s office, Johnson had grown used to them also. Mr. Craig would change the video images eventually. He always did. Johnson’s favorite had been the full contact jousting videos produced by an entertainment company from Lithuania. They were brutal and to the death at times. He did not know what jousting had to do with Lithuania, but the videos were enjoyable.
The impala leaped into one side of the door and out the other before the lead dog reached its hindquarters. The impala rolled, its legs flailing, the pack piling on for the kill. The dogs began to tear at the impala’s flesh near Mr. Craig’s secretary’s head and she stood and opened the door.
“He will see you now,” she said.
Johnson glanced once more at the impala being ripped apart and stepped into Mr. Craig’s office.
Mr. Craig sat behind a large desk occupying the center of the room. Apart from a lone whiskey tumbler on a coaster, the top of the desk was clear. Behind the desk, running the length of the wall, was a backlit wet bar.
Mr. Craig gestured at the two chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Johnson.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Craig stood and stepped to the wet bar. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Whiskey, please.”
“Ice?”
“Yes, please.”
Mr. Craig poured the whiskey, returned to the desk, and handed the tumbler to Johnson, the ice cubes gently clinking against the sides of the glass.
“Thank you,” Johnson said.
Mr. Craig remained standing for a moment as if he were waiting for Johnson to take a drink. Johnson drank, and Mr. Craig sat.
“So, do we have an update on our target?” Mr. Craig began.
Johnson started to place his whiskey on the desk, but after noticing the lack of a coaster, he decided to hold it.
“He was released from probation this morning,” Johnson said. “After making a stop at a coffee shop, he took a street bus toward The Galleria. He exited the bus early, apparently in an attempt to avoid a political discussion with a fellow passenger. While he ate at an Indian restaurant in The Galleria, a known R&D subject went into overload. The target linked with the subject’s chip and coded him out of the overload. The target then reported for work at Retro Media.”
Mr. Craig nodded. “And how would you assess his mental state at the moment?”
“I believe he is vulnerable. Being released from probation with no plans for the future makes him a prime target for the job. That, and I feel he will be enticed by the prospect of revenge against his former employer.” Johnson shifted the whiskey tumbler to his other hand.
“And the possibility he is aware of our surveillance?”
“Zero.”
“Good.”
Mr. Craig looked out the windows lining the far wall and took a drink. He said, “I think it is time we started to put our plans for the target in motion. I want you to make contact tonight. Is that possible?”
“Yes, sir,” Johnson said. “His usual routine includes going to a club, DeSoto’s, after Retro Media closes. At the club, he and his friends flick code.”
Mr. Craig gave him a puzzled look.
“It’s a street term for selling illegal code,” Johnson said.
“I see. Continue.”
“After the club, he walks home. Should I contact him in the club, or after?”
“After. Does he leave the club alone?”
“On most nights. He is interested in a woman who works there, so he tends to stay longer than his friends. Some nights he stays after closing and leaves with her.”
Mr. Craig leaned back in his chair, strumming his fingers on the edge of the desk.
Johnson took the chance to have a drink.
Mr. Craig stopped strumming his
