May 28, 2020 - New York City
Nate arrived at Flatiron Five Fitness a couple of minutes early for his appointment. He was too excited about the chance to risk being late. What did Pierce Aston want, and why couldn’t it be discussed over the phone? Nate had no idea, but he was curious enough to make the trip.
His card key to the club worked on the last door in the row of doors on the side street, just as Pierce had said it would. The street was quiet and there weren’t any pedestrians or cars. In a way, Manhattan had become a ghost town during the pandemic. It was eerie to find it so quiet.
It was even more strange to be alone in Flatiron Five Fitness. The club had always been busy with members coming and going, but Nate hadn’t been back since the club had closed for the pandemic. Now, his footsteps echoed on the stone floor of the deserted club. The lobby was lit by late afternoon sunlight and every step made it more clear that Nate was alone. The rock-climbing wall was empty and the phone at the reception desk was silent. The big screens on the wall behind the desk were dark and the building seemed to be sleeping.
He took the stairs to the men’s weight room on the floor below but it was in darkness, too. Nate paused on the threshold, wondering where Pierce was. He had the sense that he wasn’t alone.
“Pierce?” he asked, his voice sounding unnaturally loud.
There was no answer.
He thought he heard a click and flattened himself instinctively against the wall in the corridor. Old training died hard, apparently. But nothing exploded and no one jumped him.
Where was Pierce?
Maybe the older man was running late.
That was hard to believe. Pierce was never late.
Nate peered around the door frame, noticing that there was a cardboard box on the table where members usually signed in to the weight room. He turned on the lights for a better look. The room was empty and there was a bit of dust on the weights.
What was the box? There was no dust on it. Nate took a cautious step into the weight room and then another.
It was addressed to him.
The box had no postage. No markings. No return address, just P. Aston in the top left corner and N. Buchanan as the recipient.
What was going on? The hair prickled on the back of Nate’s neck.
The box was sealed but only with a piece of tape. It was like a shoebox, with a lid that covered the whole box and was attached on one long side. The box was oriented so that the other long side was closest to Nate.
He considered the possibilities, then used the tip of his prosthesis to break the tape. He’d been issued two prostheses when he’d lost his right hand, one that looked more like a hand but was pretty much useless otherwise, and the one he called the Hook, which got shit done. He opened the lid with the Hook, only to find a burner phone inside.
He turned on the phone and heard Pierce’s recorded voice.
“I’m looking for a few good team members for Silver Fox Security,” the former SEAL said in his usual measured tones. “I understand you successfully completed the preliminary training for the Marine Raiders.”
That had been the worst part of losing his hand—Nate hadn’t been eligible to continue that training, which was what he had wanted more than anything.
How had Pierce found out?
The older man’s voice continued softly. “Release the captive in room 702 if you’re interested in picking up where you left off.”
Damn straight Nate was interested.
“You have five minutes,” Pierce said and the phone went silent.
There was also a paint gun in the box, loaded with eight cartridges of lime green ink. Nate took both, shoved the phone in his pocket and gripped the paint gun. His heart was already pounding, his adrenaline surging.
This was his mission and he’d chosen to accept it.
There was no way he’d be able to get to 702 without being challenged. He had a good look before leaving the weight room, then moved silently.
The first attacker emerged in the hall behind him from around the far corner. Nate heard the faintest brush of a footstep, spun and took him down with a double-tap. His attacker was dressed all in black like a ninja and the sight made Nate grin. He was at a disadvantage in his street clothes but he’d deal.
That would be part of the challenge.
The game was on.
The elevators would be too obvious as a way to get to the seventh floor. They’d be waiting in one staircase or both. How many of them would there be? Pierce would make it tough but not impossible. Four. Five?
He’d gotten one and had used two shots. He’d have to be more careful of his ammo.
Nate ran lightly to the west staircase, mentally reviewing what he knew of the building’s plan. It would be empty, except for Pierce’s team and the tenants who lived in the apartments over the club. Those floors would be off-limits and could only be reached by the dedicated pair of elevators on the far side of the building. He was secured in this part with his opponents.
The second guy in ninja black was behind the door. They struggled and the guy had some fearsome moves. Finally, Nate got him in the jewels, grinning as his opponent rolled to his back and gave Nate a thumbs-up. His challengers had to be the people already on Pierce’s team.
That was two guys and three shots.
Nate ran up four flights, raced across the darkened floor with the empty meditation rooms, hitting the elevator call button on his way past. He heard the elevator respond and was glad it was working. He sprang into the other staircase. Number three was waiting for him there, but Nate was ready. He got him right between the eyes and the guy fell back against the wall with a curse.
Even a paintball bullet could hurt.
Actually, number three was a woman.
Three opponents and four bullets.
Nate leapt up the stairs, listening for sounds of pursuit. He lunged into the corridor on the next floor, went back to the elevator and forced open the doors. The elevator was on the floor below. He jumped down to land silently on the top of it and opened the hatch when he heard the doors close. No one had summoned it so he dropped down to the floor, pushed seven and rode to his destination.
They obviously weren’t expecting him to get off the elevator, because the hallway was deserted—and there was nowhere to hide. He was outside the door of the unit in question before the hair prickled on the back of his neck. He heard a click and ducked. A paintball hit the wall beside him and Nate spun and shot back. This one was in the unit across the hall. His shot hit the door and the guy retreated. Nate kicked down the door and had a glimpse of the guy’s leg as he fled. He fired one shot and wasn’t sure whether it hit or not. There was only silence. If he followed, it could be a trap. He chose to continue to 702 since time was ticking away.
Six shots.
Nate went back to the door of 702 which was closed and locked. It had an old tumbler lock but he had no key. He had his wallet, though, and a credit card. When he started to pick the lock, a dog growled from the other side of the door, which was an unexpected complication—but this business was all about unexpected complications.
The lock surrendered and Nate eased inside, scooping up the small dog smoothly. There was a pet carrier near the door and the dog was inside it in a heartbeat, a handful of biscuits from the nearby box keeping the small canine happily crunching.
Nate leaned back against the wall, heart racing, and surveyed the room. This suite had two rooms, the larger one he occupied and the smaller adjoining one with the safe. The larger room had a conference table and a coffee bar, while the other room had an executive desk and chair. The chair was spun around so its back was toward him and it looked like someone was seated in it. The windows were covered and there was only a glimmer of light in the rooms, from the late afternoon sunlight that crept around the edges of the shades.
It couldn’t be this easy.
This was a test, after all.
There had to be an alarm, likely more than one. There could be beams across the doorway to the office that would sound an alert if disrupted. And that mat, just inside the other room, was thick. It could have a weight sensor in it. If there were motion detectors, he was already toast. He scanned the corners of the ceiling and spotted nothing.
The dog chewed the biscuits noisily and then Nate knew. The dog had free run of the place and hadn’t set off the alarm. Any sensors were high enough that the dog could walk beneath them. He dropped to his belly and crawled to the door of the smaller room, keeping as low as he could. He slithered across the threshold on his belly, twisting so that he avoided making any contact with the mat—because he weighed a lot more than the dog—and was almost surprised by the big guy crouched behind the desk. Nate spun to his feet and got his opponent in the forehead of his black balaclava. The guy gave him a thumbs-up, then sat back against the wall to watch.
Which meant there was something else.
Seven shots.
Nate jumped to the top of the desk, landing lightly on the balls of his feet. He could see a trip wire just barely catching the light down to the right. There could be more of them hidden in the shadows. He gave the chair a little push, spinning it. There was a woman seated in it, her mouth clamped shut like she was gagged and her hands bound to her sides. Her eyes lit as if she was relieved to see him and Nate leaned down to untie her from the chair
The only trouble was that Nate had to use his good hand to loosen the knot, which meant he had to hold the paint gun with his prosthesis. He wouldn’t be as good of a shot that way, but with any luck, he’d make quick work of the knot. He got the knot undone and was helping the woman onto the desk to retrace his steps when the air seemed to charge with tension. The woman didn’t seem to notice anything, but Nate felt the downed guy go still as if he was watching something. Nate pretended not to have noticed.
The last opponent sprang.
Nate pivoted, switching the paint gun to his good hand and blew the guy away.
Well, at least he covered his chest with green paint. His shot made a mess of that black ninja outfit. The guy fell back with a laugh that sounded familiar and pulled off his hood.
It was Pierce, his short silver hair slightly tousled and his eyes glinting.
“Four minutes and forty,” said the guy on the floor.
“Close doesn’t count,” Pierce said softly and sat down beside the other guy, watching.
Nate urged the woman to the carpet and indicated that she had to crawl through the door. She did so, but she was slow. He wanted to give her a shove, but she was pretending to be hurt to add to the challenge. She got through the doorway and he was following when he saw a reflection in the window glass.
The guy from across the hall.
Nate twisted and fired, but he’d used all of his shots. The paint gun just clicked. He rolled into the main room, and the other guy’s shot hit the carpet in a smear of orange paint. Nate tackled him then, the two of them tumbling over each other and hitting the wall. Nate flipped the guy, grabbed his paint gun and shot him in the back with his own weapon. He added a second tap in the back of the guy’s head, just for insurance.
“Hot shot,” the woman said with a laugh. “You won’t forget that in a while, Sam.”
The last attacker stood up, wincing as he ran his hand over the back of his head and his fingers were smeared with orange paint. He then gave the woman a hand. He nodded to Nate. “Good job.”
Pierce and the other guy in the smaller room gave Nate a round of applause. Two more people came to the door and clapped, too. Nate realized from the green splotches on their black clothes that they were the challengers he’d defeated, although now they were unmasked. They were all older than Nate and fit: he guessed that they had served with Pierce at some point in the older man’s military career. He assessed them in the order they’d confronted him. The first guy was shorter and Asian; the second guy was blond, really big and ripped; the woman had curly ginger hair and a twinkle in her eyes; the third guy—Sam—was tall but sleek, with dark hair and blue eyes.
“I’m glad you were interested, Nate. Welcome aboard.” Pierce stepped closer, offering his hand.
Nate had to shake with the Hook, but Pierce didn’t seem troubled by that.
“Simon Ferguson,” said the other guy from the small office, his voice gruff. “But call me Troll.” He gave the Hook a good shake. He had brown hair and dark eyes and the watchfulness that Nate associated with SEALs and pilots.
Nate couldn’t help but grin because the nickname suited him in a way. “Hey, Troll. Good to meet you.”
“Left or right-handed?” Troll asked, looking down at the Hook.
“Formerly right, now left.”
The big guy’s brows lifted. “Impressive.”
“Imperative,” Nate said firmly.
“You know about Silver Fox Security, of course,” Pierce said.
“Bodyguards and security to the rich and famous,” Nate agreed.
“More than that. We’ll probably get into some covert ops, too, given my connections.”
That was music to Nate’s ears. “I hoped so when I applied. It sounds great.”
Pierce gestured to the others. “Meet Jimmy Wong, Jared Peters, Regan Winslow and Sam O’Leary.” Nate shook hands with each of them in turn. “And our damsel in distress was Lisa MacAvoy, also known as Mack. I’m collecting the best.”
And Nate had made the cut.
Hot damn.
“How soon can you start?” Pierce asked.
“Yesterday,” Nate said with such enthusiasm that they all laughed. “And by the way, this place needs better locks.”
Pierce smiled. “I wondered whether that rumor was true. Good. We can put that experience to good use.”
Nate was thrilled. This was his dream come true and he was going to hold on tight.