B
anks looked out over the city of New York as the sunlight faded from the sky and the nightlights flickered to life and repainted the tapestry before him. He wasn’t one of those men who took the job of partner in the firm only for the perks it brought. The corner office in the high rise, the assistants at his beck and call, the right to pick and choose which clients he wanted to represent, and the obscene amount of money.
Well…he certainly hadn’t taken the job for those, but they had factored into his decision.
The position had, of course, come with strings attached. He had earned every advantage of it, but his lack of traditional connections had, for years, meant others were undeservingly promoted thanks to relationships cultivated by years and years of family friends and connections. He had seen others rise in the ranks while he remained on the menial end of the task pool and was forced to watch others fuck up what he knew that he could easily accomplish.
When the offer had come with the connections to push him to the highest levels of his profession, the strings attached were clear. Certain favors would be owed to people who wanted those favors granted by someone in the positions he wanted to attain. Despite this, he hadn’t thought twice about taking the opportunity. It hadn’t been easy since then, but not
once had he ever regretted making the decision that had led him to the seat he now occupied.
The view, the help, and the pay were merely cherries on the cake. All he really wanted was excellence and recognition for his efforts.
Banks drew a deep breath. An examination of Carlson’s paperwork had revealed a wide variety of problems he would have to present to his client before too long. He doubted it was anything they didn’t already know, but that was what he was there for. To assist them to see whether or not Carlson was still with the program and then, possibly, to start the process needed to move him back into a place where he could benefit their plans better.
The videophone rang and he turned his chair to look at the desk. It was the congressman, obviously, and the man was already a little late with the call. It wasn’t like they were on a timetable or anything, but it was of the utmost importance to keep the man on his toes. Having someone in his particular capacity under their heel was something the client felt was important. Therefore, Banks thought it was important.
“Mr. Banks, nice to see you again,” the man said, his words as fake as his smile. “How’s life in the Big Apple?”
“I can’t complain,” he said and did a decent job of masking his contempt. “I have a great view of the sun setting over the city, which reminds me that you’re taking your time in getting me the information. Have you made any progress on that?”
“Actually, yes. I was able to get my hands on the file of one of the special forces members who matched the facial recognition on your Savage character,” Jenkins said, and Banks watched as a selection of files appeared in his inbox. “Here’s the thing, though. He’s been listed as killed in action for months now.”
The lawyer didn’t respond initially. He wasn’t sure how the government treated their retired special forces members, but
he did have a feeling that Savage—or Sergeant Jeremiah Johnson, as was on his file—would be one of those who hadn’t actually died. It was a hunch and thus not guaranteed to help, but it was very obviously the same man as the one in the picture provided to him by his client’s contacts. He didn’t trust the US government to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help them God. He did trust his client’s contacts to provide him with good information, though.
It would require thorough validation, of course, but he wouldn’t be at all surprised it if turned out that Johnson was alive and well.
“Thank you, Congressman. You have been most helpful,” Banks said and returned to his call.
“We’re even now, right?” the man asked and leaned forward, the small hopeful smile on his lips no longer fake. “You will destroy the…uh, embarrassing pictures of me minding my own business?”
“Is that what you call it?” he mocked with a chuckle.
“Please,” his caller pleaded.
“To answer your question, no, we are not even, not by the proverbial long shot, Congressman.” He smiled again and actually meant it this time. “But it is good to know you’re on board with the program, and I think this is the start of a very long, very profitable relationship for both of us. Tomorrow, I think you’ll find a handful of small-time celebrities will endorse your re-election campaign, as well as a sudden influx of anonymous donations to that same campaign.”
Jenkins narrowed his eyes and blinked a few times as if he didn’t know what he should do. The lawyer could understand. The rumor was that the congressman had difficulty with his campaign as another younger and more vital candidate had presented herself. It really was a fairly common occurrence, or so it appeared.
“You can thank me later after you verify that everything I
told you is the truth,” he said. He tilted his head in what he knew was a superior and even arrogant challenge and merely waited for him to hang up. Jenkins didn’t appear to get the message, though, so he sighed and resisted a cutting comment. “You have a nice evening, Congressman. We’ll be in touch.”
The idiot still didn’t hang up, so Banks obliged and cut the communication. He could understand the man’s trepidation over the whole situation. Understandably, he’d want to try to keep himself off the hook for prostitution charges with the possibility of statutory rape thrown in as well. All these would culminate in the end of his marriage and political career.
While a part of him wanted to feel bad for the man, he simply couldn’t manage to actually manifest the emotion. He disliked politicians in general, and Jenkins was one of the worst as far as he was concerned.
Savage—or Johnson, rather—had been a busy bee during his time in the special forces. He’d been all around the world based on the contents of his file. It fit with much of what they had described of his actions. The man was a professional fixer with substantial experience under his belt, which made actually getting to him a difficult prospect.
There was something in there that might be a passport, though. Savage had left the service early and indications were that the reason had something to do with a wife and a kid. A divorce was mentioned too, and the soldier had thrown himself deeply into his work again. It wasn’t unheard of, naturally. Men who wanted to avoid problems at home often did so by signing up for a couple more tours, so that wasn’t entirely unusual.
An ex-wife wouldn’t draw much of an emotional response, but a daughter? This little treasure of information was all he really needed. Banks lifted his phone from where it was still connected to his computer and dialed his client to confirm that he had a green light to get the ball rolling on what he had
learned.
Savage finally reached his apartment after what felt like an interminable trip, but the comforting simplicity of it wasn’t enough to calm him. He went to the fridge for a beer and reconciled himself to the knowledge that he would work through the night. Sleep definitely wouldn’t be an option, so he might as well get something done that didn’t involve tossing and turning in his bed until the sun finally rose.
Fuck that. Fuck all of it. He would track the sons of bitches and turn the best defense into a good offense, as it were.
It wasn’t his family’s fault. They hadn’t been a part of his life for years, and someone now targeted them for something he had done? It wasn’t a fair or honorable way to go about things. Then again, they wouldn’t have a fair playing field either with him in the mix.
Why did he even try to rationalize their behavior? They had set their sights on his family and he intended to kill the sons of bitches and about three or four generations of their family in response. While that might seem a little hypocritical and counter-productive, his instinct was to go on a rampage at this point. No one would be spared.
He dropped to his knees beside his bed to retrieve a locked suitcase he’d stored under it. It wasn’t necessarily the right thing to keep a small arsenal for himself when Anderson and Monroe provided enough weapons for his work, but the need was instinctual. Always being prepared for a rainy day something hard-wired into him.
The stash contained his pistol—the one they’d given him and he had simply refused to return. He’d managed to acquire a couple more strips of the needles it fired, so he had more than enough ammo to tear through the equivalent of most military
installations. In addition, he had the shotgun, of course. The remainder was comprised of a small rifle he probably wouldn’t use, a knife, another pistol in case of emergencies, and a couple of the 1911s, still with their suppressors attached.
Savage used almost an hour to clean the weapons. The ritual of it was rather soothing, he had to admit, and it put him in the mindset he needed to be in. The calm, collected killer who wouldn’t be ruffled by anything, even the knowledge that his family was on the line.
His hands still shook a little as he placed the weapons into the duffel bag along with the fake IDs, credit cards, and cash that wasn’t fake. The silence was deafening as he slipped out into the living room of his apartment. He drew the pistol from the underarm holster and checked it one last time while he ran his gaze along the comforting lines and grooves in the weapon.
When his phone buzzed, he answered quickly and didn’t bother to check the caller ID in case it was Anja. Anderson was the one who greeted him, however.
“Hey, Savage,” the former colonel said and sounded like he had been woken from a deep sleep. “Anja called me to let me know what’s happening.”
“Yeah.” His tone was almost a growl and he scowled at his weapon. “I think I’ll have to take time off work. I know I just got off medical leave, but I think I’m about to have something of a family emergency I need to deal with urgently.”
“Yeah, like I said, Anja filled me in,” Anderson responded, and he sounded concerned. “What will you do, Savage?”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said and deliberately kept his tone even and also tried not to let anything slip. Giving Anderson and Monroe some plausible deniability was still essential, even when he wasn’t on the clock.
“I understand that,” the man replied softly. “You do what you have to do, okay? And let me know if you need any help. Anything you need, it’s yours.”
“Thanks.” His voice, cold and distant, almost startled him. “I think I might take you up on that.”
“Stay alive, you hear me?” the ex-colonel ordered. At least he’d kept his expectations a little more realistic than Coleman’s. “We still need you here.”
“Will do, boss. I’ll call you.” Savage ended the connection and made another cursory inspection of the weapon in his hands before he slid it into his holster and pulled his leather jacket over it and made his way to the door. He was careful to lock and secure everything before leaving too. The chances were high that he wouldn’t be back for a while.
He shouldered the duffel bag full of shit to kill people with and made his way to the elevator, but he didn’t go to the garage of the building. He went to the lobby instead and nodded peremptorily at the guard who was too interested in what was showing on his TV to really pay attention to anything happening around him. Anja had told him what the poor man earned. He wouldn’t pay much attention to his job either if he was paid so little.
There were certain things he needed to do and didn’t want them tied to his Savage name. He liked it and had already begun to build a life around it, which meant he wouldn’t waste it on this. Of course, he would if he had to, but that wasn’t plan A by any means. This clarity was what he needed, yes—to think straight and make the smart decisions that would keep him and everyone else alive. The alternative of charging in half-cocked against people who were better armed, better prepared and, more importantly, working with cooler heads was not an option.
He fully intended to survive this shit and make it out the other end with the blood of those responsible on his hands.
Which was why he had purchased a car. Not his hybrid, of course. That was in his Savage name. The one he’d managed to acquire had papers under one of the names on an ID he had
stored in his duffel bag. It had been purchased in cash, second-hand from someone who had wanted to unload a perfectly functional car because it was simply a little outdated. Old enough, in fact, that it lacked any of the standard tracking and GPS devices other cars had and that could have activated by someone with a computer and Anja’s level of skill.
It meant he had to walk a couple of blocks to reach the parking complex where he’d put it, but the activity helped him cool off further. He let the relative peace seep into his inner tension while he wandered through the streets that were almost abandoned by now. The quiet was no surprise, really. It was almost midnight, after all, and it was still a work week, although it would be cut short by Thanksgiving for some if not all.
He showed his fake ID to the guard, who nodded and allowed him through before he turned back to his TV. Savage wondered what was on that had so many people interested, but he thought it was better not to ask. He was quite content to let them watch if it meant he would be ignored.
The steel-gray Subaru was parked in a corner where it wouldn’t easily be noticed but which also afforded a hasty exit if needed. Like the hybrid, it was merely a tool to get him from point A to point B and was still common enough on the country roads that it wouldn’t turn any heads. He made sure there were no witnesses and he flipped his bag quickly into the trunk and slipped into the driver’s seat. Before he started the engine, though, he removed an earbud from his pocket, pressed the button on the end to activate it, and eased it gingerly into his ear.
“Good evening, Jer.” The familiar voice with a Russian accent was comforting by now.
“Evening, Anja,” Savage replied, started the car, and eased out of the parking space into the lane that would take him out of the garage. “How is this evening treating you?”
“It’s actually almost morning here,” Anja replied. “And small talk? Really?”
“Well, I thought I would give it a try,” he said. “I’ve needed to simply talk. To let my lips move without really giving much thought to what I actually say is like a white noise machine I create myself. It doesn’t work as well without someone to bounce it off, though, or you come off as that crazy person who talks to himself.”
“Are you doing it right now?”
“A little, yeah, and it is working.” He reached the crossbar and waited impatiently for the guard to open it.
“Do you want to know what I found out?” she asked as he pulled out of the building.
“Lay it on me,” he said and deliberately focused on the road and on controlling his breathing.
“Well, I’m still working on digging for actual details of whoever leaked your information, but I do have some news if you’re already on the move. And I can see you are. Anyway, you can head to the I-95 because I can see the leak came directly from the Pentagon, so it has to be someone who’s physically in Washington. I have a couple of names I’m tracking down, but they’re all merely aides and assistants, so I have nothing solid yet. I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Anja.” Savage circled and redirected the vehicle based on the signs which told him how to access the I-95 heading south. “I really appreciate what you’re doing for me.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Jer,” she said and he could hear the smile in her voice. “I like to think we’re friends, and when it comes to family, there’s nothing I won’t do to help you. So…from what I can see, we’re in for another fun road trip, eh, Jer?”
“It sounds like it,” he replied and managed a small smirk. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and felt the old leather groan under the strain. “Do you mind if I get real for a second
here, Anja? This isn’t white noise talking.”
“This is a safe space, so talk away.”
“The thing is,” he began, then paused for a moment before he spoke slowly and deliberately since he had practiced this speech in his mind. It was a way he had been taught to calm himself by rationalizing the emotions rushing through his head. “The thing is, I’ve taken this whole job—and most of my life, if I’m honest about it, which includes even personal relationships, I guess—at a half-assed setting. I’ve put too much effort into something that wouldn’t net me much more than a little money. Getting some assholes votes back home has never been much of a priority for me. The only time I actually gave a crap was when my brothers and sisters in uniform counted on me, and…”
Anja had seen his file by now, he assumed. She would have known what happened the last time his brothers and sisters in uniform had trusted him to get them in and out of a dangerous mission alive. He squeezed the wheel again and allowed his body to relax after a few seconds.
“To find out some pencil pusher in Washington has put my whole family in danger and in the crosshairs of people who won’t hesitate to use them to get to me—and all for something that has everything to do with me and nothing to do with them…” He paused again and found it hard to stay focused on the road as he accessed the traffic on the highway. “It’s like a giant hand from heaven came down to earth and turned an invisible knob inside me to push me from half-assed to quadruple-assed.”
“Wow,” Anja said and chuckled. “That’s like eight times the ass. And you’ll simply leave that invisible knob comment hanging out in the open like that?”
“You know it.” He grunted derisively and leaned back in his seat as the car settled into the speed limit and he put it into cruise control. “Let me know when you have someone for me
to punch until my fists bleed.”
“Will do, Jer,” she replied. “You know I have your back in this, right?”
Savage nodded. “Yep, I know. And I know you have my front too since that’s where all the fun stuff usually happens.”
“Is that where you had your kidney punched out of you?” the Russian asked, and he laughed aloud.
“Touché.” He grinned. “Also, it’s a low blow. You know that punch landed me in the hospital for three weeks, right?”
“Well, maybe avoid giving him your back, then.” She sounded more cheerful than usual, and he wondered if she did it for his benefit in an attempt to raise his spirits. If so, he could appreciate that.
“You can bet on it,” he said softly and watched the odometer as the miles were slowly eaten up by the old yet still very efficient vehicle.
