The summit is political. That means it’s stuffy, dry, and there’s far more talking than needs to be. Different levels of clearance, invitations to meetings, and closed door set-ups are made and handed out. Half of what is said at this summit is never actually said, and definitely is never written down. Deals are made verbally and sealed with handshakes. Paperwork and contracts are for heads of state. These deals are based on honor and reputation, which is how Banks received his invitation.
It is not clear to him, nor has it ever been, who exactly knows what he does for a living and who doesn’t. He walks a fine line between revealing his services, and ousting himself from that very profession. You would think it would be unseemly for an assassin to be walking the halls of an international political summit, but he’s killed far less than many others also in attendance. Heads of major cartels, such as El Bandido are also invited, not to mention kingpins, mob bosses, militia leaders, gangsters, and terrorists. The summit is filled with people heads of state can’t be seen with, but in the real world, these people can’t be ignored. They are the shakers and movers. They are the action takers. They matter, whether the public likes it or not.
This is the company Banks finds himself in, and despite the company it is, he knows he couldn’t be safer. Not because of any bullshit sense of honor or code of conduct, but simply because of the risk they all bear in just being there. At the drop of a hat, things could turn sideways. The outcome would not be good for anyone, but for some, worse than others. Obviously, no weapons are allowed. Yet, the most dangerous weapon at the summit is a phone. A single call could reach a world power. Drones, missiles, militaries, all accessible. Some of the most dangerous people in the world are there, and they aren’t the criminals.
The world of backdoor deals and underground agreements is far more influential than the public knows. Events like this can stave off wars, or create rifts that send nations into turmoil. It’s the side of politics only those in it can ever truly know, and it’s the side that truly matters.
Phone calls are the most powerful weapon in the world, and now, because of that technology, Banks walks the outdoor courtyard of this building knowing both his employer and his target are in here somewhere with him. The only question is…which one is which?
“Banks, right?”
He turns, keeping in the shadow of the large tree beside him. Standing before him is a young man in his early twenties, though he hardly looks over sixteen. A zip-up hoody hangs loose over a t-shirt and jeans. Flip flops and messy dirty blonde hair that falls in front of his eyes, round out his look. It looks like some kid took a wrong turn at homeroom and ended up here. He’s just missing a backpack full of textbooks.
“Yes,” Banks responds.
“I thought so.”
“Do I know you?”
“Personally? No. But you must recognize me,” the kid says, striking a smile.
Banks doesn’t smile back. He doesn’t react at all.
“Seriously? Have you been living under a rock? You own a phone, right? Perhaps even a computer?”
“Yes.”
“You know what social media is, right? Talking with friends and family. Posting pictures and comments.”
“Of course.”
The kid smiles again and throws his arms out, but Banks still shows no reaction.
“Braden Gilbert. I invented ConnectU, ring any bells? It’s only the largest social media conglomerate in the world.”
The name, of course he recognizes. The kid himself, however, looks like he should be at prom, instead of this soiree.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Banks only continues to stare at the kid, who seems to be expecting something more.
“What can I do for you?”
“It’s not what you can do. It’s what you have done,” the cocky kid says with a grin. “We need to talk.”
“We are.”
“Privately,” Braden adds.
“Then whisper,” Banks says, without a hint of sarcasm.
“Are you serious? What do you want me to whisper in your ear? We dating? You coming home with me tonight? I don’t think so.”
“Sorry, this is how business is done here.”
Banks is tired of this conversation and tired of the kid who thinks too much of himself. He has bigger things to worry about than entertaining some rich prick with too much time, who thinks he can come down here and play secret agent. But after only one quick step, he feels a hand wrap around his wrist. The kid has balls, Banks will give him that.
He stops and turns back to the freshman looking pimple popper. Braden’s lost his grin, and though he may be going for a tough guy look, Banks can’t help but wonder if he’s about to go full temper tantrum.
“You know what you’re doing kid?”
“I’m actually one of the few people in this world who does.”
The confidence is striking, and Banks suddenly wishes he knew more about ConnectU and this kid who invented it. Of course he knows the general story of how he founded the media conglomerate, but outside the public eye, Banks also knows there’s more to this kid.
A moment passes and neither of them say a word. Braden stares, not backing down, showing how he made it in such a tough industry. A billionaire’s glare may strike fear in some, but to Banks, he’s just a kid, just as lost and confused as the rest of them. He can’t help wondering what secrets this young man holds, why he is tangled in this world, and how to get the truth out of him. He knows he gets paid to kill, not question the motives or figure out why, but this time, it’s not that simple. He always does his research on a target before accepting the job. Anyone is killable, though not everyone deserves such a fate.
The Reyes cartel, they deserve their ending. The job was clear, and it had been going smoothly. He was eliminating the Reyes cartel one by one, working his way up the hierarchy. It was all going to plan, until…Amber. The thought of her reminds him why he’s doing what he’s doing. Why he’s jeopardizing his career and his life. Why this is more important than anything else. Why it has to be done.
“The job’s off,” Banks says, finally giving Braden the recognition he so desperately wanted. “I’m walking away.”
Looking from the kid’s hand on his arm, back up to his eyes, Braden sees the danger and releases his grip, but doesn’t back down.
“You were hired for a job and I expect you to complete it.”
“There are others who will take the contract.”
“I was assured you are the best at what you do.”
“I am.”
“So am I. So realize that the best only works with the best, and the best expects only the best from the best, that’s why the best only works with the best.”
Banks waits, expecting the young man to laugh or giggle, or do whatever it is pre-pubescent kids do when they tell a joke. But he’s not laughing. Apparently that ramble of gibberish wasn’t a joke. Either way, he’s heard enough. Banks turns and walks away.
“I was told you could do anything, but clearly they were wrong.”
He keeps walking as the voice raises.
“You can and will be replaced. And I don’t just mean on this job.”
Others are looking now, and Banks has to yawn away a slight smile. This is exactly what he wanted. One down, one to go.