part0057

A nderson snorted softly when Savage poked him in the shoulder. The operative scowled at the man still sleeping like the dead. His boss had snored at one point during the flight, but thankfully, having spent a disproportionate amount of his nights bunked with his comrades, he’d learned a few tricks to keep them from waking everyone else with their ability to saw wood while dreaming.

Savage nudged the former colonel in the shoulder again, a little rougher this time. His companion woke with a cough and jerked up from the seat, which he’d leaned back as far as it would go. He’d stated firmly that he would get some much-needed sleep in before lunch. The meal came and went, and despite an admittedly half-hearted attempt to rouse him, the exhausted man had slept through the meal to the end of their four-and-a-half-hour flight. They now stood parked a short way down the airstrip of a small airfield just outside the city of Vegas.

“Have we landed?” Anderson asked. He still looked like he could have done with five or six more hours.

“Yeah.” Savage raised an eyebrow. “If you’d slept any longer, they’d charge us rent. We’d better get going. There’s a car waiting for us outside.”

The ex-colonel nodded and pushed from his seat to look around for his bags before he realized they were already gone. He turned to Savage, who patted him on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” he growled and rubbed his eyes.

“Anytime.” They made their way out and down the steps. The plane circled and headed off into another hangar as they approached the car. Anderson looked around the vehicle.

“Where’s the driver?” Anderson frowned and looked around.

“Oh, it was only the car waiting here,” Savage said with a nod. “Get in. We’ll find somewhere to spend the night in the city and can start on the investigation when you feel a little less exhausted.”

“You can’t drive,” his boss grumbled and narrowed his eyes. “You were drinking all the way here.”

“I’ll have you know that I didn’t touch a single alcoholic drink on the flight over here.” He slid into the driver’s seat. “I even had a glass of orange juice with that delicious steak and pommes frites lunch they served.”

“You’re an asshole.” Anderson sagged into the passenger seat as the engine turned. “Seriously? A steak?”

“A rib eye as thick as my fist. Medium-rare, juicy, right off the pan. Did you know the stewardess on the trip with us is actually a certified chef? Yeah. She is paid six figures a year to cook and be a stewardess for this airline company.”

“Six figures?” They rolled out through the gates and followed the single road away from the lonely airfield.

“Totally worth it,” Savage said firmly. “Seriously, you must have had a dream about the food, because while she was cooking, the whole cabin smelled of roasting meat. There was more than only that, obviously, like all the herbs and stuff she added to it. Oh, and she basted it in butter sauce. Just…fucking delicious, man. I tried to wake you for it, I really did, but you looked like you needed the rest. There really was nothing I could have done to help.”

Anderson chuckled and shook his head as he lowered the window. “Can I tell you something personal? You know, something that doesn’t leave this car?”

He glanced at the man and his right eyebrow raised. “Are we that kind of friends? The tell each other secrets kind of friends?”

“That’s what I’m asking you.”

“Then…yeah, you can tell me something that doesn’t leave this car.” He returned his attention to the road and negotiated smoothly into the traffic on the highway.

“Okay.” The man nodded as if he’d made up his mind. “I had some problems. I won’t bore you with the details but after the… You know what happened, right?”

Savage nodded. He wasn’t entirely sure, actually, what had happened with Anderson that had the man pulled from fieldwork. There had been a considerable number of deaths and most of the details had been redacted, including the location and the names of the dead. That, of course, meant black ops, but anything other than that was beyond his realm of knowledge.

Still, it didn’t mean he couldn’t let him get whatever he needed to say off his chest.

“Anyway,” Anderson continued, his voice a little cautious. “I was terrified. I would wake with nightmares. I couldn’t sleep for fear of the fucking things and I was in trouble. A car backfiring would give me a panic attack—stupid shit like that. Anyway, in the shootout in our house the other day, I had a panic attack before and after. But once it was all over, though, I found that I could sleep better. I was thinking about it earlier. I’m still nervous. Just being out here, knowing I’m on the run with a price on my head… I…get…”

Savage finally looked at him when the car shifted into the auto-drive section of the road. “I think I get what you’re saying, yeah.”

His companion looked relieved. “Really?”

He nodded. “It’s like you…were afraid of getting into a situation where your life would be in danger again, but once you were in that situation, you were terrified but you got through it. You faced your fear and came out the other end intact, and while there’s still healthy fear in there, you feel like you can stand up to it again.”

“And you don’t think being in a situation where my family’s life was in danger was a bad thing?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation.

“Well, it definitely was a bad thing. But it doesn’t mean you can’t look for a silver lining here or there. And this doesn’t seem like it’s something you really need to keep secret.”

Anderson turned to stare out the window, his posture a little tense.

“That’s not the secret. Right.” He kept going, almost without missing a beat. “Anyway, carry on.”

“It’s weird, you know…” The man finally continued after a pause to gather his strength. “You move away from the whole…uh, fighting for your life, living on the edge, and trying to stay alive thing with the adrenaline and everything that goes with it. Going from that to…looking after Damon, taking him to school, taking him to soccer practice, helping him with his homework…looking out for him when he’s sick. I love him. I love Ivy, and I can’t get enough of them, but the contrast is…” He shrugged. “You probably think I’m crazy.”

Savage drew in a deep breath, his gaze focused rigidly on the road ahead, and gripped the wheel until he could feel his knuckles turning white.

“Oh…” The other man grunted apologetically and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He tried to keep his voice from trembling. “I’ve put it behind me.”

Anderson nodded, clearly sensing that it wasn’t a topic he was willing to talk about.

“Well.” The operative needed to break the silence that threatened to drag on. “I think a man on the road needs to have a little vacation. With the kind of stress you’re under, you could use a couple of days off. How about you get that corporate credit card, check yourself into one of those hotels in the Strip, and lay low for a couple of days? Just get it out there. They have all kinds of stuff a growing boy needs. Massage parlors, nice restaurants… I actually don’t know about anything else they might have, but I’m sure they have much more than that. It’s not like they can criticize you for taking some time off. You know, with the whole hit out on you situation.”

“You do know that I actually believe in what’s going on here, right?” Anderson asked with a challenging glance. “And that we have actual work to do while we’re here.”

“Well, I’m saying I can do the work and keep you updated while you take some James Anderson time, that’s all.” He grinned at his boss who stared at him with real displeasure.

“You’re benching me? And here I thought we had a moment. We were bonding, Jeremiah, and you had to go and kick me off the team. What, do you not like me anymore? Are we breaking up?”

Savage laughed. “Oh, fuck, it’s so weird to hear you call me by my first name.”

“What, you don’t like Jeremiah?” Anderson asked.

“No, I do not,” Savage chuckled. “Out of the two names I wear right now, it’s the one I didn’t actually get to pick. I chose to keep it, yes, because it was my grandfather’s name and I’m actually fond of it. But it’s a name I was given, to start with, not one I decided to give myself.”

“What first name would you choose, if you could? And a follow-up question—why didn’t you go with that one instead of keeping Jeremiah? You can go ahead and set the record straight, find a name that fits you better.”

“Hmmm… I thought of a name like…Clint. Or maybe Alex or Ian. I like Ian. It has a good ring to it. Ian Savage.”

Anderson nodded. “I can see that. Ian Savage. He’s a hard as nails investigative reporter with a steely exterior, a heart of gold that he keeps well hidden, and a dark past. His…father was killed in a car accident…or so the official story says.”

Savage nodded. “Interesting. The kind of man who would look cool while drinking alone. Usually bourbon, neat. But he possesses the kind of darkness that brings the dames in because they think they can tame it and make it into enough light to make them nicer. But not, of course, enough that the darkness is completely gone.”

“Oh, oh. Maybe he’s in love with an incorrigible femme fatale,” Anderson added quickly. “You know, the kind who’s really in love with him but betrayal is simply in her nature. She keeps going to him, and he keeps falling for her, and she keeps on breaking his heart. His steadfast and loyal sidekick…”

“Steve,” the operative said as he struggled for a name.

“Right, Steve. He always asks him why he makes the same mistakes over and over again.” The man nodded and grinned like he was actually enjoying himself.

“‘Well, Steve…’” His voice took on the gravelly quality of someone who smoked a pack a day. “He says as he puts his glass of bourbon down and takes a long drag from his cigarette. ‘Some dames are worth making a mistake over.’”

Anderson couldn’t help a laugh as his head fell forward to tap lightly against the glove box. “It sounds like we have a screenplay. We should hop over to Los Angeles when we’re finished here and try to get some money on this idea while we still can. We could make a fucking mint.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

“So why didn’t you?” the other man persisted. “Ian is a good enough name. Why did you stick to Jeremiah?”

He shrugged. “My mom named me after her father, and that old man was way more than only a name for me. Back at the hospital, it seemed like I had to drop everything in my life to start anew. Keeping the first name my folks gave me seemed like the right thing to do. I couldn’t hold onto anything else, but this was something that had heart.”

The ex-colonel nodded. “I get it. Still, you should think about it. Maybe keep Jeremiah as a middle name. Though maybe not Ian, not anymore. I won’t be able to think about that without my mind going to a black-and-white TV show from the fifties.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“What do you mean, he left the city?” Charles demanded and leaned into his phone. He’d thought that leaving the office for the day would be enough to stem the tide of bad news, but as it turned out, he was wrong. Of course, he’d known it was a bad move to give his professional fixer his personal cell phone number, but sometimes, he needed to be accessible to all members of his staff. He scowled and shook his head in an attempt to clear some of the rising frustration. Getting good help was such a fucking problem these days.

“Anderson and Monroe are both out of the city,” replied the soft, civilized voice he never would have associated with the man he’d met. Bruisers like Kelly usually had thick, gruff voices. Even if they didn’t start with it, they would work on honing it to make them appear rougher and tougher. It was part of how they played the fear game well enough to make sure nobody doubted how many cans of whoop-ass they could crack open.

And yet the soft voice worked for him. He’d met the man, who simply knew he could beat almost any living being into dust but didn’t need to advertise it.

“I know that.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and dragged in a slow breath. “Is there any indication of where Anderson went? Can we still make the hit on him in time?”

“That depends, Mr. Stafford,” Kelly said. “The information I was able to acquire from our extremely limited access to the Pegasus database indicates that Anderson chartered a private plane with corporate funds to fly to Nevada. If that can be confirmed, we can continue with the hit, but we’ll need to be able to make it national with all the fees that might be incurred.”

Nevada? Why would Anderson go to Nevada? Oh…right. They had moved many of Carlson’s projects to facilities in the Nevada desert, which made it easier to continue testing while they were waiting for clear direction for the future. As yet, the ex-CEO was still recovering from numerous surgeries and every indication was that he would make no effort to actively fight the charges against him. That inevitably meant a long time behind bars.

Yet the man had painstakingly set up an efficient machine that continued to work and flourish, even without word or direction. Had Carlson rolled over, or was this simply part of some long-range plan that required him to allay suspicions while he somehow masterminding his purposes without visibly doing so?

“Shit,” Charles growled under his breath. “Make the call and get it done. Double the contract price. I don’t care what fees I need to pay. We have to finish this now. And inform our assets in the area to expect trouble, since I assume Anderson chartered the flight for two people?”

“That would be correct, Mr. Stafford,” Kelly confirmed crisply. “I’ll have it done by the morning.”

“Be sure that you do,” he snapped and hung up. He didn’t need to be that sharp with the single competent member of his team, but there was too much pressure at present to stress about the niceties. Of course, nobody really dared raise their voice against him these days—not even his wife or his kids, estranged though they were—but if he didn’t get to let his frustrations out from time to time, things tended to build up and explode like a volcano. And nobody wanted that.

He straightened his shirt and sipped his bourbon before he returned to his lounge where a woman waited for him.

She was tall and statuesque like a model but with a mind that had put her squarely among his top three contenders for the position of the future CEO of Pegasus. Of that list, she was the only one whom some might consider non-American by virtue of her mixed heritage. To him, it made absolutely no difference—he wasn’t so patriotic that he refused to think someone who hadn’t been born in the country wouldn’t be able to take care of Pegasus’ legacy. But because Pegasus’ growth relied on government contracts, the perception of foreigners could be a sensitive issue for some.

She was certainly different, and for a number of reasons. For one thing, she was already the head of numerous boards that handled government contracts, including a handful from NATO and INTERPOL. Secondly—and this was his trump card—her father was actually a retired admiral in the US Navy, and her mother being from South Korea was enough to make her seem friendly.

Thirdly… Well, he really, really liked her. Having to deal with her on a daily basis while she worked to bring Pegasus into the modern world would be a pleasure.

“Was that anything important, Mr. Stafford?” she asked, and her long, delicate fingers toyed with the edge of the glass of scotch Charles had poured for her. Her accent was exotic but lacked any of the defining characteristics that would have allowed him to pinpoint anything in particular. For the duration of any particular phrase, she could sound vaguely French, British, Italian, or even American.

“Nothing particularly important,” he replied with a smile and dropped into his seat with a grunt. “A little personal business that needed to be decided before the morning. I apologize for the interruption.”

“Worry not, Mr. Stafford.” She tilted her head graciously. “I think it was an opportune interruption. You told me what you wanted me to hear, and I was given time to digest your words—and numbers, I should add.”

“Of course.” He chuckled. “And please, call me Charles.”

“Charles, certainly,” she murmured and let the name roll over her tongue with a hint of an Oxford accent. “I was given time to think on your offer, and I believe I have an answer for you.”

“Please, there’s no need for pressure,” he replied and shook his head cautiously. “We still have issues that need to be resolved—a vacuum to create before any offers can be seriously considered on either side of the conversation.”

“Naturally,” she replied equably. “Former Colonel James Anderson and Dr. Courtney Monroe still have a firm grip on Pegasus, which makes it difficult to initiate any kind of transition. Of course, we were given time to inspect the histories of the two, and we were surprised to find that Dr. Monroe is actually a founding member of the Zoo company named Heavy Metal, yes?”

Charles nodded and leaned forward expectantly. “Yes…a small startup that specializes in retrieving items of value. They are profitable but small. I don’t see how it’s relevant to our negotiations here today, though.”

“Well, your ignorance would be permitted if various members of Pegasus hadn’t thoroughly underestimated this small startup at various times,” she replied, and a hint of steel entered her voice. “Those whom I represent have actually done business with them in the past, and from the words of those who interacted with them, I think you can discern our answer—never bet against Heavy Metal.”

He opened his mouth to reply but she raised her hand, rose smoothly from her seat, and adjusted her pantsuit more comfortably on her trim frame.

“I apologize for wasting your time, Mr. Stafford, but your own ineptitude in dealing with Anderson and Monroe has only reinforced our lack of faith in your ability to bring us anything of worth from Pegasus. Your own position is in peril. How on earth can you believe that you can help us?”

With her words still ringing in his ears, she smiled and bowed her head gently in deference before she turned and walked toward the door, apparently in the mood to show herself out.

Frustration writhed and clawed into his chest when he realized he could do nothing but watch her leave. A couple of men in suits waited for her and one of them opened the door for her to step out before they followed her to the car.

Charles set his glass on the table with a trembling hand since he felt an overwhelming need to throw it across the room. It was crystal and expensive, and while he knew he could eat the costs, the vivid memory of a shattered Ming vase lurked as a temporary deterrent to his need to vent his rage.