“Beats watching the mice over there scurry back and forth across the floor in search of food.”
“In that case, let me back up and start about two months before I was born,” Black said. “My father was deployed overseas, flying A-10s in the Gulf War, while my mother was pregnant with me and living in Tucson. He got caught up in some ground fire on a mission over Iraq and had to parachute out when he lost both engines. Unfortunately, he was captured by some members of Saddam Hussein’s Republican Guard and dragged through the streets before dying.”
Alex winced as Black continued his story.
“That left me without a father for the first six years of my life. My mother eventually remarried a man from my father's squadron, but he was messed up. He drank a lot and beat my mother nightly. One night when I was twelve years old, he came home drunk and reeking of perfume. My mother confronted him about his whereabouts, and they got into a huge argument. The next thing I knew, he pulled out a gun and shot my mother before killing himself.”
“That’s more than any person should have to endure,” she said, fighting back tears.
“I’m not done yet,” Black said, shaking his head. “I was placed into the foster care system when my grandparents declined to take me. But that wasn’t a great experience for me either as my foster father beat me and verbally abused me quite often. Needless to say, I had a lot of pent up anger, which I figured out that I needed to express in a way that didn’t result in me getting into fights weekly at school. So I started playing football.”
“Running back?” she asked.
“Linebacker. I loved obliterating receivers across the middle of the field. My nickname was ‘The Hit Man’.”
“And now you are one,” she said.
“It didn’t start out that way,” Black continued. “I was offered a college scholarship to play at Notre Dame, but my grades weren’t good enough. So I went to junior college and had every intention of getting my transcript in order and earning an associate’s degree so I could transfer and play again, but then life happened again. I was attending a school in Kansas in the middle of nowhere and was at our local Walmart one night with my girlfriend Lana when a deranged lunatic walked in with a gun. He started shooting anyone that moved. I wanted to get out of there, so we ran toward the back, but it was locked. The shooter was a disgruntled employee who had planned out his massacre. As I was searching for another way out, he came up behind us and gave me this sadistic grin before pulling the trigger. I stepped in front of Lana and pulled her close to me as we dove to the side. However, he sprinted after us and shot her in the head first before turning his gun on me. I shoved the barrel away and kicked him backward before scrambling down the aisle. He fired a shot that hit me in my shoulder blade, but I kept running. I went for the gun section and grabbed a rifle off the shelf and started loading. The only good thing my foster father ever did was to teach me how to shoot a gun. I pulled out a nearby ladder used to retrieve items stored high behind the counter and climbed up so I could see almost the entire floor. Once I saw where that lunatic was, I scoped him in and picked him off. That scumbag still had several rounds of ammunition draped over his neck. He only killed eight people including Lana, but there’s no telling how many more would’ve died if he hadn’t been stopped. The next day, a man from the CIA paid me a visit—and here I am.”
“Whoa,” Alex said. “That’s heavy. I’m so sorry you had to go through all that.”
Black sighed. “It wasn’t the ideal childhood, but it did help shape me into the man that I am today.”
“I just can’t believe you’re so well adjusted.”
Black laughed softly. “Looks can be deceiving.”
“Hawk, are you still there?” Alex asked.
“I’m about five minutes out,” Hawk said. “Any change in your status?”
“We’re still down here in the dungeon and alone at the moment.”
“Roger that.”
The door at the end of the corridor creaked as it flung open. A quartet of guards entered and strode toward them.
“Check that,” Alex said. “We have company. Four of them.”
“Roger that,” Hawk said.
Once the men reached the front of Alex’s and Black’s cell, a guard hastily unlocked it and yanked the gate open. The other men stormed inside and began beating both Alex and Black. The punching and kicking lasted no more than a minute, brought to an end by the entrance of Dr. Becker into the room.
“That’s enough,” Becker said.
Alex was on her hands and knees, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. She wiped it with the back of her hand as she rose to her feet.
“I didn’t tell you to stand, did I?” Becker said before sweeping his leg behind Alex and sending back to the floor.
He circled them in silence with his arms crossed. Alex wanted to give him a piece of her mind, but she was aching all over and preferred to avoid any more physical combat.
I wish I had a gun about now.
* * *
DR. BECKER WASN'T USED to having his home descended upon by foreign agents, though it had happened before—once. Becker was beaten and nearly left for dead during a scrappy fight in the great hall. The fracas came to an abrupt end when he was being pinned down near the
