part0008

Jeremiah looked up and stopped toying with the ashtray. He knew for a fact that cigarettes weren’t allowed in the hospital wards. The crystal had been cleaned excessively, but there was still a light hint of ash on the outside, and the faintest smell of nicotine on the bottom told him that the ashtray had seen at least some recent use. He replaced it on the table in front of him. He’d never actually imagined that a psychiatrist’s office would have a real sofa, but hey, stereotypes had to come from somewhere, right?

“Savage, yeah,” he said with a smile. “It’s a new name. I’m getting used to it, and I like it. I think I’ll keep it.”

“Right,” the doctor said and tapped lightly on the tablet in his hands. “I’m here to sign off on your release from the hospital. Your physical therapist has said that your improvement after multiple surgeries is…well, impressive. You have made advancements in all your regimens, sometimes exceeding expectations.”

Jeremiah smiled. “What can I say? I don’t want to hang around hospitals for too long.”

“Of course. But the effects of what happened to you have left scars, not only on your body but on your mind.”

Rather than reply to the doctor immediately, he studied his right shoulder and the tear on the sleeve of his one good Polo shirt. It had been a long time since he’d actually inspected his own wardrobe and he was dismayed to find that most of his civilian clothing was nothing more than a collection of old rags. Annoyed at the doctor’s frank appraisal, he snapped, “I’m afraid that if you’re looking to do some shock therapy on me, Doc, I don’t think you can shock me any further.”

“You’d be wrong about that,” he replied. “But that treatment is used only to treat major depressive disorders, mania, or catatonia. Considering that you’ve shown none of those symptoms, I’m afraid you’ll have to rein in your enjoyment of being tied down. Another time, eh?”

Jeremiah chuckled. “I gotta admit, I like you, Doc.”

He smiled. “I appreciate the sentiment. Of course, we’re not here to talk about me, are we? Would you mind telling me why you feel you should be released from therapy?”

“Other than the fact that I can’t stand hospitals and would rather not spend any more time around here than I absolutely have to?” he asked.

“Yes,” the doctor replied. “Other than that.”

“Well, if I’m perfectly honest, I have a job waiting for me. My potential employers said they want me free to start on Monday. If I don’t make it, they’ll find someone else.”

“So, you have an outside influence driving you to leave therapy before you might actually be ready to leave?” he asked and tilted his head in what might be disapproval.

Jeremiah frowned and wondered if he had walked into some sort of psychological land mine. “Well,” he replied. “I’ve been ready to leave for a while now. I did a lot of physical therapy two or three times a week like everyone else recovering from surgery. The problem was, I didn’t actually have anywhere to go, so I simply stayed and attended therapy every day like a madman. Hence the fantastic recovery time.”

“And that’s a healthy approach, is it?”

“I’d say it is,” he said. “Getting better as quickly as possible is a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Well, there are a lot of psychological problems that come with that, but you’re not here to listen to a long list of psychological disorders men who died fifty years ago came up with,” the doctor said and tapped his tablet once more. “We’re here to see if you’re in a place to continue your therapy…out of this hospital.”

“I’m leaving one way or another,” Jeremiah said with a small grimace. “So, you can either sign off on me or not. I’m here as a favor to the people who run the hospital since they would rather not be held liable for releasing a potentially unstable former Special Forces operative into the world with a new name and a lot of money.”

“Right,” the doctor said with a frown. “Which means that I’ll be the one left liable if I release you.”

“Basically, yes,” he said with a grin. “So, are you willing to put your writing on the wall, Doc?”

The man leaned forward. He wasn’t sure what it was about Jeremiah that set him on edge. Maybe it was the man’s calm as he sat there. Psychiatrists were used to being the smartest person in the room, considering that the people who were sent their way usually came with a boatload of issues—both mental and emotional in nature. But the man who sat across from him, as cool as a cucumber and willing to engage in wordplay, seemed like he was the smarter of the two of them but didn’t know it. Plus, he didn’t seem to care.

If the truth be told, the doctor didn’t like Jeremiah Savage. He didn’t like him and didn’t know why, which was the most annoying part of it. So, why not let the powers-that-be release Savage into the world and then blame him if everything crashed and burned? This was a dark hospital, a place that would have no name even when it was inevitably shut down, so it wasn’t like they would be able to do much to ruin his career if something did happen, right?

He shook his head in annoyance, retrieved a pen off the desk behind him, and peered at the release papers. Most of the doctors who had treated Savage had already signed off on him leaving the premises. All they needed was a psych eval from him.

“I hope you don’t make me regret this, Savage.” He signed his name quickly and put the pen back on his desk.

“Savage…yeah, I still like the sound of that,” he said with a grin, pushed himself off the couch, and picked the piece of paper up off the table. “I appreciate your time, Doc.”

Savage made his way out of the room, the release paper clasped tightly in his hand as he stepped out into the hallway. He still had fifteen minutes of the hour he’d been assigned, but he disliked shrinks as much as he disliked hospitals. They made him uncomfortable. There was so much about himself that he wanted to keep hidden, and these guys were trained to look into every nook and cranny a man held deep inside to find precisely those things. The less time he spent under professional scrutiny, the better.

A man waited outside the door for him as he stepped out of the shrink’s office. He was in uniform, and from the insignia on his sleeve, he was a corporal—probably stationed around there to make sure that everyone followed the rules and that nobody tried anything dangerous. Savage assumed that there were a lot of folks who could get angry and violent after meeting with their shrink. That made all kinds of sense.

He smiled at the man and nodded. Neither felt the need to make any kind of uncomfortable small talk as they wandered down to the lobby. There weren’t that many people around. The hospital was full, but the patients they put in a black site like this made sure that there wouldn’t be much use for a revolving door. Well, damned if he would make use of it himself before too long.

A young, attractive nurse manned the front desk and he moved out into the lobby and handed her his papers. She smiled prettily, but there wasn’t much in the way of sentiment behind her expression as he placed the rest of the paperwork needed for his release on the counter. Once that was done, he was given a package. He knew what was inside without having to check. A passport, a driver’s license, and the paperwork that went into opening a bank account that had a little over two hundred thousand dollars in it. It would have been deposited in increments, matching the pay that he’d received over the past few years, which had gone to his ex-wife and his daughter’s college fund.

There was one hell of a bonus included. The Army liked to make sure that the men they allowed to walk free from black ops were well paid for their efforts. That, of course, came with the silent threat of what would happen if they decided to talk, as if the concept of massive political upheaval wasn’t enough to keep them in line.

Savage didn’t think that he would need the cash right away. Anderson had told him—or rather implied—that there would be a lot of money involved in his work to keep bad people off his boss’s back. A white envelope was taped to the top of the military-issued box. He frowned at it and wondered what lurked inside those crisp white folds of paper.

There was a list of things that he needed to do before he could join Anderson and his battle against the evils in Pegasus. Most of his earthly possessions were lost, thanks to the fact that he was dead to the world, and there were more than a few things that he needed to acquire. He had a couple of sets of clothes in the pack that he’d brought with him to the base, but he might as well throw those in the nearest dumpster. Besides a few small keepsakes, he didn’t have a damn thing to his name. While he had a decent amount of money, his car had been sold, and he’d lost whatever claim he had on his house after the divorce.

He would make sure that the military ponied up on those losses too, eventually. For now, he merely needed to get himself settled into this brave new world. A military car would arrive soon to take him off base, so he sat on a low, cement bench and opened the letter taped to the lid of the box. The envelope felt over-stuffed, and Savage grinned at a large wad of cash tucked inside a sheet of stationery. He read the note scrawled on the paper from his new boss.

Savage, enclosed is enough cash to set you up with a new wardrobe. Normally, I wouldn’t presume, but there are a few items that you will need, and I doubt you’d think of them on your own. First, I want you to buy a good suit. A summer suit, please, with three white dress shirts, black socks, and a good pair of dress shoes. I recommend Stone Brothers on 33rd St. They will know what you need. In addition, please pick up some light khaki slacks, an assortment of short-sleeved Polo shirts, and perhaps a pair or two of sturdy shorts. We will head into the tropics and time is of the essence.

Savage fanned the money and saw that there were five crisp thousand-dollar bills in his hand. Well, at least my new employer has some cash to spare. He shook his head and tucked it into his pocket as he sensed someone standing beside him. He immediately recognized the man who wore a suit and tie instead of the uniform Jeremiah had seen him wearing however long ago it had been.

“LC,” he said with a smile and stood to take the man’s proffered hand. “I would have assumed that you were long gone by now. There’s so much more you can do in bases all around the world instead of in some black site hospital in…where are we again?”

“Somewhere in West Virginia,” LC said with a chuckle. “Sorry, I can’t get any more specific than that. There’s a ride coming to pick you up and drop you off where Anderson can help you out, but you’ll have a bag over your head for most of the trip. I know that for guys like you, that’s barely a handicap, but still, the bosses don’t want to make it too easy.”

“How about you?” Savage asked and folded his arms when he saw a black SUV pull up close to the hospital. “Where will you go after this?”

“I would feed you some bullshit about how if I told you, I’d have to kill you,” the man said, “but if the truth be told, they haven’t told me yet. Military Intelligence isn’t a clean-cut job, you know. My superiors told me to keep an eye on you and make sure you made it out of the hospital all right. They didn’t exactly lay out what I would do afterward.”

Savage nodded. “Well, I’m not sure if I needed to be babysat like that, but…I appreciate it.”

LC chuckled. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’ve worked with Anderson before. You know, back when he was still a colonel, and a couple of times back when he was an operative in MARSOC too. He’s a good person. I’m not saying you should trust him, but he has the best interests of our fellow men in uniform at heart.”

The two men shook again. “Go out there and do dark deeds to darker people,” LC said with a smile. “And know that there are some of us who’ll sleep better knowing about it.”

Savage chuckled. “You take care of yourself, LC.”

The driver of the SUV stepped out of the car, a black bag in his hands. He handed it to Savage, who stepped into the vehicle and pulled it over his head without protest. He had expected something like this, and while LC seemed to think that he could probably find his way back, there wasn’t much in the world that would make him want to return to this place. It was best to simply comply and leave this whole chapter of his life behind him.

LC smiled and watched the SUV pull away down the single road that led away from the facility before he turned and walked back inside. He was curious as to where he would go next. It wasn’t like he’d had the time of his life stuck there looking after wounded veterans. It wasn’t a terrible job but not the most inspiring either.

Then again, he was curious as to what the newly-minted Jeremiah Savage would do with his old friend Anderson calling the very literal shots.