part0104

Admittedly, he couldn’t describe it as absolutely terrible. There were many resorts he’d seen advertised that had fewer amenities, for one thing. It had been a golf resort, he had heard. Considerable money had gone into developing the area around it to make it a pleasant place to play during about three-quarters of the year, with enough alternatives offered in the premises to make it appealing even during the months where golfing wasn’t an option. Indoor swimming pools, tennis courts, billiard rooms, and lounges didn’t even begin to sum up the whole experience.

No drinking was allowed, of course, but there was a good supply of contraband that the guards liked to turn a blind eye to in order to enjoy it themselves. He even had his own cell, his own space that he didn’t have to share with anyone. While the room had two bunks in it, the prison wasn’t heavily populated, and a substantial amount of money had gone into a variety of accounts in exchange for making sure he had his own space in the prison.

But it still wasn’t good enough. He believed in what he had done on the outside. The world needed to be saved from itself, and thanks to the efforts of a handful of individuals, the Zoo was a treasure chest of things they could use to do exactly that.

Despite his frustrations, he still had justifiable fears about a life out in the world. Banks had assured him that the Savage problem was all but resolved but he hadn’t heard from the man in almost three weeks. He hadn’t heard from any other lawyers, either, which meant the client was starting to get antsy about their whole operation. Or at least, he hoped that was what it meant. She wasn’t the kind of person to worry unnecessarily, which meant Savage had proved more troublesome than anticipated.

People had a bad habit of underestimating the man, and Carlson hated the fact that he was the first of what appeared to be a very long line of fools.

Banks was probably dead or in hiding right now. The client would pull back and disengage. She liked to operate from the shadows and having someone like Savage on her trail would ruin that.

Ultimately, the ex-CEO was more than happy to remain precisely where he was. The bunks were a little small and a little uncomfortable. The lack of female company was also a drawback, although he was sure he could arrange conjugal visits if things became really dire. He could still engage in most of his vices, even if he did have to buy enough for himself as well as the guards who would show up unannounced at his cell, their hands extended, waiting for a payoff. He was more than willing to oblige, but it was still a gritty, dirty business.

He didn’t want to stay there for too long, but it wasn’t like it was a hellish place to be.

Right now, for instance, was evidence of the brighter side. Carlson looked around the abandoned golf course. He didn’t have a caddie with him, which meant he had to carry his own equipment, but that was good exercise—something he hadn’t had enough of since his incarceration. It was winter, which meant it was too cold for most of the regulars to play, but Carlson didn’t mind playing on his own and regarded it as a good opportunity to work on his handicap. Besides, the quiet solitude allowed him to play pretend, as if he were actually on his favorite golfing course in Florida, chatting with like-minded folks and talking big money while enjoying nature and sunshine galore.

And it was a gorgeous day. The fall made it even better, he thought. The sun shone brightly but the air was still crisp and pleasantly cool. The trees were bare of their leaves, of course, which spoiled the view a little. There had been a problem with the leaves on the course, but after enough complaints, they had brought in teams to clear the area regularly. Even then, while the autumn carpet had been a minor hassle, it wasn’t enough to remove his enjoyment of the game.

He tilted his head and eyed the ball in the grass. It still lay where he’d hit it last, about fifty yards from the hole he aimed for and he acknowledged regretfully that the quality of his game was declining. The former CEO could complain that it was due to the poor quality of balls and clubs they were provided with. There was a security risk involved in giving prisoners fully weighted golf clubs, even in minimum security facilities, since they could be used as weapons against the guards. It was one of the few perks that even all his money couldn’t buy, so instead of the fully weighted and perfectly balanced clubs he was used to, he had to make do with light aluminum replicas that were considerably less durable than what they would have been on the outside. The weight was off and he was left trying to compensate for that.

But it was a poor craftsman who blamed his tool. Carlson was the kind of man to adapt, no matter how bad the situation became, and that included his golf game. He primed himself, balanced, checked, and swung.

He scowled again as he watched the ball fly. It wasn’t a terrible shot and actually came within striking range of the hole, but it would probably take him a couple more hits to get the ball in.

This wasn’t a great game for him. He would have to talk to the warden about at least getting some secure clubs that were better quality.

Never one to give in when things didn’t go his way, he set off to where his ball had landed, his bag slung over his shoulder, and whistled cheerfully. He had another conversation planned with the FBI next week, and at that point, they might even agree to move him to a secure safehouse of his own choosing. Already, he knew of a couple of places scattered across the US that were perfect for what he had in mind. They had fewer amenities but far more luxuries to be enjoyed. There was one place in Hawaii he really looked forward to trying.

He reached his ball and tried to calculate what he needed to at least get it closer to the hole when he heard footsteps crunch the dried leaves underfoot as they approached.

“I’m almost finished with my game,” he said and turned, expecting to see a guard who would inevitably ask him why he played the holes farthest from the prison. He’d had to explain it a couple of times. It helped him live in his fantasy of actually being a free man again.

But it wasn’t a guard. The man who approached wore what looked like camouflage. He wasn’t overly tall or powerfully built, but the keen green eyes that stared at him were enough to make sure he would recognize him anywhere in the world.

“Savage,” he gasped.

“What’s up, doc?” the operative replied with a small smile and stepped close as he tried to raise his club to defend himself. The man mostly ignored his attempts and simply pounded his fist into the prisoner’s jaw hard enough that he literally saw stars by the time he realized he was already on the ground.

“Nice to see you again, Carlson,” Savage said and rubbed his knuckles. It appeared he’d hit Carlson a little too hard and wasn’t wearing any punching gloves. “It’s been a while. What have you been up to?”

“You can’t be here,” he protested, shaking his head vehemently as if that would dispel the illusion.

“Sure I can,” he responded with a small grin. He retrieved the club his quarry had dropped with a lazy movement.

“There are cameras out here,” he explained and pushed himself onto his hands and knees. He shook his still woozy head in an attempt to clear it. “They’ll see you and they’ll come running.”

“Damn, I hadn’t thought of that.” The twinkle in his eye belied his apparent regret and concern. “If only I had a technically gifted computer wizard working on keeping the cameras in a loop feed so the guards at the prison only see footage of the last time you came out here to golf on your own. Oh, and I wouldn’t bother to scream for help, either. While sound carries out here, you know that everyone inside is busy with movie day, right? Seriously, what the fuck kind of prison has a movie theater? With actual popcorn handed out to the inmates?”

Savage had a point. The movie theater had been one of the reasons why Carlson had selected this particular facility.

The man’s expression turned a little less delighted when he hefted the club again and brought it down hard on Carlson’s back. The ex-CEO uttered a scream of pain. The poor quality of the clubs meant it didn’t hurt as much as it could have, but damn it, the pain was still real.

His attacker scowled, tossed the ruined club away, and chose another from the golf bag. “I warned you.”

“I had…nothing to do with them targeting your family.” He tried hastily to justify himself. “I swear, I even tried to talk them out of it, but Banks and—”

“Banks and…who?” he asked, picking up on Carlson’s error immediately. The inmate’s eyes widened when he realized what he’d done.

“See, I’m not here to kill you, Carlson.” Savage dropped to his haunches and pressed the club’s head to Carlson’s cheek. “I know about the client. I know it’s a woman, and I know she’s the one behind all this crazy shit I’ve dealt with since I took a day job. The only thing I don’t know is anything about her, and that’s where you’ll fill me in.”

“And why would I do that?” he challenged and made a reasonable attempt to appear brave, although his racing heart contradicted it.

“Because you know who I am and what I’m capable of. I don’t give a shit about you, but you know that if you don’t change your situation quickly, you’ll be caught in the crossfire when I finally eliminate your precious client. I’ll give you the option to change your situation. You’re clear to leave here and the FBI will set you up in a nice little safe house far away. Better yet, your client will be so busy with me she won’t have the time to worry about you.”

Carlson eyed the club in the operative’s hands. He knew the man was right, but a sinking feeling still lurked in his gut when he looked into the man’s icy, expressionless green eyes.

“That’s not good enough,” he said finally. “If I’m ruin everything I built my life around for this, you need to offer me something better.”

“Well, I’m not in the most generous of moods,” Savage responded coldly. “Besides, I am offering to spare your life in this deal. But name it and I’ll see if I can do it.”

“That’s what I mean,” the man stated with almost unnatural calm. “You, Anderson, and Monroe ruined everything. I’ve been left with nothing but bullseyes on my back, and I want an end to it. I’ll tell you everything I know about the client, but I need you to kill me when I’m finished.”

“Hell,” the man said with a small grin. “I would do that for free. But start talking.”

The ex-CEO pulled himself up to sit on the grass. “Her name is Elena Molina. She’s a billionaire heiress to a huge casino fortune out of Monaco. In addition, she’s worked toward saving the world using the tools pulled out of the Zoo. She’s a little crazy like that. Honestly, she’s a fucking psychopath who doesn’t care who she hurts in the process. And that is all I know, I swear to God.”

Savage stared at him for a few seconds and looked like he tried to decide if he believed him or not. A second later, though, he tilted his head and his gaze shifted skyward. Carlson realized he was talking to someone else.

“It looks like what you’ve said adds up, Carlson,” the operative said and stood.

“Your side of the bargain,” he demanded when it seemed his nemesis was about to walk away.

“Oh…right, I almost forgot.” He casually drew what looked like an elongated, technologically advanced revolver from a holster under his arm. With little ceremony, he leveled the weapon at Carlson, who only had time to close his eyes before Savage pulled the trigger.