“Really? Might have to come back and visit you when you’re back up and running…”
I smile.
“It still ain’t right,” says Schultz. “Drugs and whores shouldn’t be legal.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you, Ryan,” I say. “But there’s no denying the effect it’s had on the country since the president got elected.”
“Ah, horseshit,” he spits, waving his hand dismissively. “I don’t trust that prissy, silver-spoon son’ bitch any farther than I can throw him!”
“Nice to see you’re not bitter about losing your position on the National Security Council.”
Josh chuckles. “Been keeping up with your sarcasm lessons then?” he asks me.
“I learned from the best,” I say.
We round the corner and pull up outside the police station, where we’d all stood just a few hours ago.
“I’ll just be a minute,” I say as I get out of the car.
I walk across the parking lot and through the front doors into the reception area. There’s a deputy stationed on the front desk, which runs almost the entire width of the room, with just a hatch on the left to go through into the main office, spread out behind him. His name’s Thompson, and he’s a nice guy. He’s been in the bar a few times — not much of a drinker.
“Hey,” I say as I approach the counter. “The sheriff around?”
He looks up from whatever paperwork he's engrossed in. He’s got neat, short dark hair with a side parting, and is clean-shaven and fresh-faced. He’s only a rookie, and has lived in Devil’s Spring his whole life. He’s got no clue about the world beyond our modest borders, bless him.
“Yes, sir,” he replies, respectfully. “Let me call him.”
He reaches for the phone but I stop him. “Actually, d’you mind if I go back and see him? I just want a word in private.”
He hesitates. “Well… I’m not supposed to let civilians back here unescorted,” he says.
“Then escort me, I don’t care.”
“But I can’t leave my post, sir…”
I sigh. I don’t have the patience for this. “Listen, I’ve had a pretty shit couple a days. You’ve seen the state of my bar… y’know, after it got shot at by eight armed terrorists… I just gotta see the sheriff about something.”
He goes to speak but a voice at the back of the squad room beats him to it.
“It’s alright, Thompson,” shouts Raynor, who’s come out of his office. “Adrian, come on through.”
I walk through the hatch, past the other two deputies sitting at their desks, and over to Raynor. We step into his office, which is in the back right corner of the building. He offers me a seat, but I remain standing.
“I’ve not got long,” I explain. “I’m on my way to Fort Worth. I’m flying out to New York straight away.”
“You fell off the wagon then?” he asks with a half-smile.
“Something like that, yeah. You heard of GlobaTech?”
“Those big military contractors? Sure, I heard of ’em.”
“Well, an old friend works for them, and they’ve been tracking the organization that keeps sending assholes to kill me. I’m gonna go help them out, maybe put a stop to all this before it escalates.”
He nods. “I’ll keep an eye on Tori for you,” he says, not waiting for me to ask him.
“I appreciate that, thanks.” I extend my hand, which he shakes.
He moves over to his desk and picks up a folder. “Adrian… I wanted you to hear this from me, in case you speak to anyone else about it. I asked those FBI fellas to give me a copy of your file. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought it could be useful for the investigations, in case your character’s called into question or somethin’.”
I nod. I honestly don’t care either way at this stage. I’ve been upfront with him about my past, and there’s nothing in that file that he won’t already know.
“Thanks for telling me,” I say. “But I’ve no issue with it.”
“There’s, ah… there’s some pretty crazy things in here after you left the army.”
I smile. “I’ve been around, yeah.”
“San Francisco… Nevada… Pittsburgh…”
“To name a few.”
“And you say you’re going to New York to help go after these terrorist bastards who’ve been trying to kill you?”
I nod.
“Jesus… I’m glad I’m not a goddamn terrorist.”
I smile again, and he chuckles for a moment.
“I’ll take care of things here,” he says. “You go and save the world, or whatever it is you intend doing.”
“Thanks, John. You’re a good man.”
We shake hands again, and I turn and leave. I walk through the station without a word and back out front, where the afternoon sun is battering the town. I climb in the back of Josh’s sedan.
“You good?” asks Josh.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I reply. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
He drives away, and within half an hour, we’re halfway to San Antonio. I start to think about the flight, and what I’ll do when I get to New York. I can’t remember the last time I was there. If I find this Hussein guy, I’m going to do everything I can to bring him in alive, so Josh can work his magic on him. But before I do anything, I’m going to make that bastard tell me where Clara Fox is.
Her and me got a lot of catching up to do.
11
GlobaTech’s private jet is a Lear 85. I’ve never traveled like this before, and it’s a bit weird being the only passenger. There are a handful of seats inside, all large, reclining armchairs in white leather. The red carpet underfoot is thick, and looks expensive. In addition to the pilot and co-pilot, there’s a stewardess serving me drinks and food upon request.
I arrived at Fort Worth and was ushered across the runway to where the jet was waiting, fueled and ready to go. Josh had given me a laptop, advising me to research the information contained on it during the flight, as well as a comms unit for when I land. He said GlobaTech had taken care of all the private landing fees, and had secured a priority arrival slot at JFK to minimize any delays while all the big commercial airliners came and went. Someone would meet me when we landed, and take me directly to a safe house I could work out of, bypassing any of the usual processes involved in flying cross-country.
We’ve been in the air maybe twenty minutes. I see the stewardess come through and walk over to me, carrying a large, black holdall.
“Sir, this was left for you,” she announces, gesturing to the bag as she rests it next to my chair. “I was instructed to give it to you once we’d taken off.”
“Thanks,” I say, curiously.
She flashes me a smile and walks off, leaving me alone again. I reach down and bring the bag up, placing it on the table in front of me. I unzip it and look inside, seeing a treasure trove of goodies, courtesy of GlobaTech.
“Now you’re talking…” I mutter to myself.
Inside the bag is a whole host of gadgets, which I’m sure Josh would’ve had something to do with. Microphones, tracking devices, cameras, recording equipment, and various other toys… then I see the explosives — trip mines, with laser sensors and remote detonation.
I feel like a kid at Christmas!
There’s also plenty of ammunition for my Berettas, plus an FN SCAR-H assault rifle, which is a beast of a weapon. It’s a rival for the M4 Carbine, and fires over six hundred rounds per minute, at a speed of almost seven hundred and twenty meters per second. To be honest, it’s probably overkill for any confrontations I’m likely to have, but everyone knows I do enjoy making a statement.
I set the bag aside and boot up the laptop Josh gave me, looking briefly at the information on this Armageddon Initiative. There’s not really much to go on, apart from a brief dossier on confirmed and suspected members, as well as a bunch of educated guesses about what they want. I quickly tire of reading it, and load up the Internet to look at the recent news. I tend to avoid looking at what’s happening in the real world — content with my own little existence in Devil’s Spring. With Tori.