“Forget about it — you have every right to be angry. That’s the only reason we handled you leaving the way we did. So go easy on Julie as well, alright?”
Jericho looked across at her and smiled. “You are pretty bad ass, I’ll give you that.”
Julie smiled back sheepishly. “You have no idea,” she said. “But we’re good.” She held her fist out, which Jericho bumped — the universal gesture of camaraderie among soldiers.
The three of them huddled together in silence for a moment, as Jericho put the eye patch on and adjusted it for comfort. He cracked his neck and looked around, getting use to the sensation of it covering his eye. It was made of leather with a hardened outer surface, and consequently he was more aware of it than he had been about the bandages.
“So here’s the pitch,” said Josh. “All cards on the table. The coming days and weeks are going to be hard. The CIA is unofficially dedicating practically all of their resources to finding Adrian. And now they know you’re alive, they’ll be coming for you too. Whether you like it or not, Jericho, the president of the United States, with the CIA director’s help, orchestrated a terrorist attack on the entire world, covering it up and framing someone else beautifully. Adrian has all the evidence implicating them, which is why he’s a target. He’s working on a plan, but he needs our help running interference to buy him some time.”
Jericho paced away, resting again on the edge of the nearby table and crossing his arms. After speaking with Julius Jones, and having had CIA operatives come after him already, he was inclined to believe, no matter how difficult it might be, what Josh was telling him.
“How can I help?” he asked.
Josh took a step forward, standing next to Julie. “There’s a lot of work to be done,” he said. “Obviously, GlobaTech as a company is doing… well, everything, in an effort to help the people and the countries affected. We’re doing that publicly, and with President Cunningham’s official blessing — for what that’s worth. He hasn’t authorized foreign aid of any kind to assist our efforts, he’s simply playing the savior and saying the U.S. has the best resources, meaning us. Behind closed doors, however, we’re launching our own investigation into what El Presidente is doing in the aftermath of all this — how he intends to capitalize on his grand scheme coming to fruition. Whatever he’s got up his sleeve, I doubt we’re going to like it all that much, and the more we know, the better our chances of stopping him. That’s where you come in.”
“You want me to help investigate the president?” he asked.
Josh shook his head. “My plan is to put together a small team of exceptional soldiers, operating… quietly, shall we say, whose sole purpose is to stop any attempts the president makes to do whatever it is he’s trying to do.”
Jericho stood to his full height, tall and proud. “Count me in,” he said.
Josh smiled. “Excellent. Now, you need to remember something, Jericho: you’re not a soldier anymore. You’re not a CIA asset, you’re not in charge of the D.E.A.D. unit, and you’re not a member of the U.S. Armed Forces. Are we clear? You’re now an independent contractor. You don’t answer to anyone except me and Ryan Schultz. You’re a GlobaTech employee, and we’re a company, not an army. The sooner you realize that, the better off we’ll be, alright?”
Jericho nodded. He’d been a soldier of some kind his whole life. He’d always thought the private sector was for people who either couldn’t make it, or had retired. But looking around, listening to Josh, seeing what the world had become… GlobaTech was more than just a private military contractor — they were keeping the planet together, and were the only ones in a position to protect innocent people from what was coming — whatever that might be. How could he not want to be a part of that?
“When do we start, Josh?” he asked, smiling.
“Right now,” he replied. He stepped to one side, nodding to Julie. “Meet the other member of the team — Julie Fisher.”
She smiled and Jericho nodded once. “Figures,” he said. “Who else?”
“There’s another guy en route,” said Josh. “You’ll like him. For now, it’ll just be the three of you. I’ll be providing support from here for the time being, while I can.” He glanced at Julie. “Would you be so kind as to show Mr. Stone to his quarters?” He turned back to Jericho. “You can stay on base for now, if that suits?”
Jericho nodded. “Works for me. I don’t have a permanent residential address. I stayed on base with D.E.A.D, and before that I moved around different army bases ever since I was a kid, so I’ve never needed one.”
“Perfect. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a meeting with Schultz. I’ll leave you both to it.” He flashed a smile at Julie as he left the room.
Julie watched him leave, and then turned to Jericho. “So, do you wanna buy a drink?”
He frowned. “It’s not even lunchtime…” he said.
She shook her head and laughed. “What’s your point?”
He thought for a moment, and then shrugged. “No point, I guess. But I think after everything, you owe me at least one beer!”
She laughed. “Dream on, big guy. First round’s on you.” She poked his shoulder and then walked off, leaving him standing alone in the room.
He looked around for a moment, and then headed for the door. He shook his head and smiled to himself. “Hope you know what you’re doing…” he whispered, walking out of the room and down the corridor, after Julie.
WASHINGTON, D.C, USA
April 20th, 2017
The black stretched limousine slowed to a stop outside the front doors of the White House. The driver got out and opened the rear door, holding it as Director Matthews climbed out, standing tall and straightening his military uniform, absently dusting his shoulders and feeling the four stars beneath his fingers.
He strode through the entrance, past security, and down the hall to the left, heading toward the West Wing. He had been summoned to a meeting with the president less than an hour ago, and he’d headed straight there from Langley.
The corridors were bustling with noise and activity, and as he walked through the building, almost everyone he passed stopped and stared.
He entered the West Wing, and was greeted by Gerald Heskith, the White House chief of staff. He was a short man, who looked older than he was — the wrong side of forty with some excess baggage on the waist. He’d been Cunningham’s main advisor throughout the campaign, and many would argue he was the main reason they won. Consequently, he was the obvious choice for the position.
“Tom, good of you to come so quickly,” said Heskith, extending his hand.
“Of course,” replied Matthews, shaking it firmly.
“Come on, he’s waiting for you.”
Matthews followed Heskith through the offices and into the waiting area outside the Oval Office.
“Can you please tell the president that CIA Director Matthews is here for him?” Heskith said to the receptionist. She nodded and picked up the phone, dialing an extension and briefly relaying the message.
“Go right in,” she said, hanging up.
Heskith walked in, and Matthews followed. He’d been inside the Oval Office many times before, but the sense of wonder and excitement never completely went away.
He closed the door behind him and turned to face the room. President Cunningham was alone, sitting behind the Resolute desk, pen in hand, signing some papers. He looked up as the men entered, smiled a politician’s smile, and stood.