Albany, New York
Joseph Medina sat across from the targets’ residence, awaiting confirmation from his Assembly contact. Apparently, a former agent, Nadja Katz, had interfered with Assembly plans. He had worked with her once before. She was efficient and brutal, precisely the type of agent the Assembly went for. In fact, he considered himself efficient and brutal as well, though he never saw her take any pleasure in carrying out her missions, whereas he did.
To excess.
Nothing gave him a surge of exquisite pleasure like shooting someone, or better yet, beating the living shit out of them. There was something about hearing a victim cry out in pain, begging for their life, offering their soul to avoid any further blows or cuts or ripped flesh.
Torture was fun.
He enjoyed inflicting pain in a methodical, deliberate way. He didn’t indiscriminately beat someone—he targeted specific areas repeatedly until he achieved the desired result, whether a broken bone, a collapsed lung, or a damaged kidney. Pain was what he desired, pain delivered by him.
He just hoped he would be given a chance tonight.
His phone rang and he swiped his thumb. “Yes.”
“It’s been confirmed. Katz has the targets. You’re a go.”
He turned to the others in the vehicle and smiled. “Let’s go to work.” He climbed out of the SUV and closed the door, walking across the street toward their target’s humble home.
The home CIA Special Agent Dylan Kane had grown up in.
Rick Kane sat in his La-Z-Boy chair with his feet up. By his side, sat three fingers of Glen Breton Rare, worked down to one. His head lolled to the side as he battled to stay awake, the built in massagers indecently kneading his entire body.
It was exquisite.
“Why don’t you go to bed?”
He opened his eyes and gazed at his wife, Jenn, through his ecstasy, his body melted butter, a delicious numbness coursing through his veins. “I’m too comfortable.”
“I swear half our electrical bill goes to that chair. You’re going to wear it out.”
“Then I’ll buy another.”
“You already had to buy that one on layaway.”
Rick grunted. “Don’t harsh my mellow.”
Jenn stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“Isn’t that what the kids say nowadays?”
“Maybe the kids do, but a grown man old enough to be a grandfather should never say those words. You sound ridiculous.”
He grunted again. “I don’t think I’ll ever be a grandfather, so don’t worry about it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You’ve met our son, haven’t you?”
“Rick! That’s not fair!”
“Isn’t it? He quit a perfectly good career in the military to become an enforcer for the big companies, gallivanting around the globe, never settling down.” His chest tightened as his greatest regret resurfaced.
“That’s your son you’re talking about.”
He frowned, downing the rest of his scotch. “Yes, it is. My son, the biggest disappointment of my life.”
“I will not sit here and listen to you say such horrible things! He loves you! What would he think if he heard talk like that?”
“If he loves me, why is he never here? He knows how proud I was when he joined the Army. Hell, I even supported him dropping out of college to do it. But to work for an insurance company as an investigator? There’s only one reason he did that—to spite me!”
“Hogwash! It’s an excellent job. He makes good money, he’s secured his future, and he’s still young. He’ll settle down eventually and give you those grandkids you want.”
A burst of air erupted from his lips. “He spends most of his time outside the country, and almost never comes home for vacation. You know he’s probably got a piece of ass in every port of call. A boy like that will never settle down.”
“I can’t believe—”
A loud banging sound from the front door ended the conversation. The echo of heavy footfalls rushing down the hallway had Rick struggling to get out of his chair as his wife leaped to her feet.
He pointed at the phone. “Call 9-1-1!”
Four men rushed into the room, guns drawn.
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”
Rick, his hands half raised, glared at the man. “What the hell do you want?”
“Take anything you want, just don’t hurt us!” cried Jenn.
The man who had spoken, darkly tanned with a pansy-assed bleach blonde hairdo, sneered. “We’re not here for your things, we’re here for you.”
Rick’s eyes narrowed. “I think you’ve got the wrong house. We’re nobody.”
Blondie chuckled. “Yes, you are nobody. But your son isn’t.”
Rick’s chin dropped. “Dylan? What the hell are you talking about? He’s an insurance investigator for Shaws of London.” Rick stopped, his head beginning to shake. “That sonofabitch! This is about one of his claims, isn’t it! Did he turn you down? That’s what they do, you know. They find any excuse not to pay, to stick it to the little guy while they continue to rake in the premiums.” He lowered his hands. “I’m with you! Screw Shaw—”
“Your son doesn’t work for Shaws of London.”
Rick stared at him. “Umm, yes he does.”
Blondie shook his head. “No, your son is one of the CIA’s top operatives.”
Rick laughed, relief sweeping over him as he realized they definitely had the wrong house, and this should soon be over. Even Jenn giggled. “Oh, our son is a lot of things, but he’s no spy.”
Blondie stepped closer. “Your son, Special Agent Dylan Kane, is a spy, who has killed countless people for your country. And unfortunately for you, he has become an annoyance to my employer. You will be coming with us”—he held up several zip ties—“the easy way”—he held up his gun—“or the hard way.”
But Rick wasn’t listening anymore.
Dylan, a spy?
It couldn’t be true, yet it had to be. These men knew his name, had guns, and wouldn’t be here if it weren’t true. Mistakes like that weren’t made. His jaw dropped as nearly ten years of his son’s life were rewritten. He hadn’t quit the military, he had merely changed professions, to something he couldn’t tell them about. It explained so much. He could never understand why his son had left the Army, left something he had loved so much.
His chest ached. What must it have been like for the poor boy to lie about what he did for all these years? What must it have been like for his son to hear the horrible things his own father had said about his profession, a profession that was only a cover, a cover meant to protect them from the dangers his new career could expose them to.
I’m so sorry!
He turned to his wife, her eyes filled with tears of pride and confusion and fear. She smiled at him and he returned it. Then glared at their captors. “We won’t cooperate. We won’t let you use us against our son.”
Blondie laughed. “You’re operating under the mistaken impression that you have a choice.” He stepped closer. “I’m going to enjoy this.”