Briggs nods slowly. “Yeah, I’m Jonas. What do you want?”
I smile. “In my experience, the answer to that question usually requires a couple of beers… ”
Briggs checks his watch. “Fine… get dressed. I know a place.”
“At this time?”
He stands and makes for the door. “Yup… open all night.”
It turns out the place he knows is a strip club. Should have guessed, really. What else would be open at this time?
We’re sitting on either side of a small, round table just in front of a low stage with a pole connected to the ceiling in the middle. We’re both sipping a whiskey, straight up on the rocks. The chairs are a cream-colored leather and deceptively comfortable.
The girl strutting around on the stage is naked apart from a barely there thong and a pair of heels. The place is pretty busy, despite the hour, and the men sitting nearby waving their dollar bills around are transfixed by the dancer, looking like a pack of hungry wolves circling their prey.
The place isn’t far from my motel, and we’ve been here about fifteen minutes. I’m getting pretty good at condensing the shit I’m caught up in, so I had given Briggs the lowdown as we drank.
“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” he says, his voice rough. “I’ve never liked the CIA. And Cunningham? Well… credit where it’s due — it’s one helluva stunt he’s pulled.”
I flick my eyebrows up in silent acknowledgement. “Yeah, that’s one way of looking at it… But I’m not letting it stand. He needs taking down, and I’m hoping you’ll agree to help me do it.”
He stares at the dancer momentarily, but I don’t think he’s paying attention to her. His eyes are too glazed over. “That’s a big ask… What’s in it for me?”
“What? Besides literally saving the world?”
He shrugs. “I ain’t here for the glory, unlike some people.”
I frown. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well… look at you. You’ve carved yourself out a nice little corner of this game, haven’t you? Adrian Hell, living legend, et cetera. You’re practically a household name. You trying to tell me you’re not doing this, on some level, to further your image?”
I finish my drink and put the glass down a little harder than was necessary. I’m starting to dislike Mr. Briggs…
I fight to keep my voice calm and courteous. “I didn’t create this image for my own benefit, alright? Other people created it for me, simply because I’m so fucking good at what I do. My reputation is justified, unlike most in our line of work. But I don’t do this for the thrill or to satisfy some sick perversion — I do it because I’m good at it, and it pays well. And on this occasion because it’s the right fucking thing to do.”
Briggs is silent for a moment. “Whatever. Like I said… what’s in it for me?”
I sigh. “Twenty million dollars.”
He chokes on the mouthful of whiskey he’s just taken, dribbling some down his chin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and puts his glass down, his eyes wide.
“Are you shitting me? Twenty million?”
I nod.
“Who’s funding your little war on the White House, exactly?”
“Does it matter?”
“Hey, if I do this, I want to know everything.”
That’s a fair enough request…
“Okay. I am.”
“You?”
“Yup.”
“How the hell can you afford that?”
“Because I’m a very wealthy man. And because I’m not doing this to make money. Like I said, I’m doing this mostly because it’s the right thing to do.”
“Mostly?”
“There’s a small part of me looking for revenge, I’ll admit. I had to watch someone I knew and respected die as the president executed his grand plan to reset the world. And the sonofabitch he hired to be the front man for it all killed my dog.”
“The bastard…”
The sarcasm wasn’t hard to miss — a result of years of training by Josh.
“Hey, I loved that dog, Jonas. You have no idea.”
He sighs, looking at the dancer again as she hangs upside down on the pole, gyrating. He turns back to me, holding my gaze. “So, for twenty million dollars you want my help killing the president?”
I nod. “That pretty much sums it up, yeah.”
“Have you given any thought as to how exactly you want to go after the impossible shot?”
“Honestly? Not really. I had one idea, but I don’t think it’ll work. I want to get the team together first and then look at how we’re going to pull this off.”
“Team? So, wait… I’ve gotta share my payout?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s twenty million each. Don’t worry.”
“Fuck me… how rich are you, man?”
I smile. “I get by. So, are you in?”
He sighs and, after a moment, shrugs. “Why not… I’d be crazy to turn down that kinda money, whatever the job. But if you try to screw me on this, I’ll put you to sleep, we clear?”
I nod. Usually, I wouldn’t respond well to threats like that, but these are desperate times, and I can understand where he’s coming from.
“This is on the level, Jonas. No strings. We pull it off, you get your money. If anyone needs to take the fall for it, I’ll make sure it’s me.”
“Huh… that’s mighty noble of you.”
“Well, I’ve got a lot I need to answer for, I guess. As long as Cunningham is stopped, and the people I care about stay safe, I’m not that bothered what happens to me.”
“Fair enough. So what now?”
“Now? Make your peace with whoever you’ve got to make your peace with. It’s gonna be a long road, and it’s a journey we might not come back from. Understand the moment you’re seen with me, the CIA will target you with everything they have.”
Briggs smiles. “Sounds kinda fun!”
“And that’s why I came to you. We’ll meet in the bar at Caesar’s in Atlantic City three days from now. You don’t show, you’re out. You breathe a word of this to anyone, you’re dead. Clear?”
I see him trying to suppress a smile. “Clear.”
“You got a smartphone and an e-mail address?”
He frowns. “Yeah, why?”
“Calls and texts can be traced, but if we both log into the same e-mail account, we can save messages as drafts so we both see them without transmitting the data.”
I know, I know — that’s very technical for me, right? Well, I can’t take all the credit — it’s something Josh told me about once. Despite what he thinks, I’m not a complete caveman when it comes to all things high-tech, and I always listened when he started telling me things that sounded smart.
Briggs raises an eyebrow. “Very covert. Okay.” He grabs a napkin and borrows a pen from a passing waitress, writes down his log-in details and passes it to me.
I fold it up and tuck it into my jacket pocket. “Check it regularly. I’ll keep in touch.”
I stand, throwing a twenty on the table to pay for the drinks, and nod a silent goodbye to my new colleague. I walk out of the club without looking back.
That’s one name off my list. Now for the other three.
6
I managed another couple hours of rest after leaving the strip club before hitting the road shortly after five. I made the six-hour drive to Baltimore without incident. I drove sensibly, taking side roads where possible, just to be safe, and kept to the speed limits at all times.
I say that, but in this piece-of-shit truck it’s not as if I could go any faster even if I wanted to…