BackTrek (3 page)

“I think we have it, sir. You yourself have
gone through a PSYOPs examination. You know how thorough they
are.”

“I’d rather forget. Not my favorite time, no
doubt.”

“Sir. I ran the profile through the existing
PSYOPs database.” Atwater looked up.

“Any matches?”

“Three so far.”

“Anyone here?”

“No, sir. Not assigned here anyway. One is
currently active in Turkey. Another is in Japan. There is one
that’s local, but he’s not active anymore.”

“Is it someone we can re-activate? Maybe in
the reserves?”

“No, sir. Not exactly. He was discharged ten
years ago.”

“Well hell, give me his number. I’ll call
him. A little God and country speech always gets them fired up.”
Ted sat down in one of the chairs at the front of the desk.

“Sir, all due respect, but I don’t think he
would take your call.” Atwater, reared back in his chair, a puzzled
look on his face.

“Do I know this guy?”

“Yes, sir, you do. It’s Jack King.” Ted
replied.

“King, King…I know that name.”

“CID.”

“CID? That King?” Recognition entered
Atwater’s face, but no smile erupted.

“That King.” Ted replied.

“You’re right. He won’t take my call.”

“Or mine either, sir. Look, he doesn’t
realize what you did for him back then. Or what I did for that
matter. I’m sure he blames us for the whole thing.”

“But we saved him.” Atwater replied.

“You did, sir. And I still appreciate what
you did. Making it so he could opt for the honorable discharge. He
might not have appreciated it, but I certainly did. You did a good
thing, sir.”

“What’s he doing now?”

“Local PD. Homicide.”

“Why don’t you look him up. See what he’s
working on. Maybe you can somehow rekindle the relationship you
guys had.”

“I doubt that’s gonna happen, sir.” Ted
replied.

“Well try it anyway. Meanwhile get someone on
those other two guys. See if you can get them re-assigned.” Ted
nodded.

“Well, get the hell out of here. You’ve got
things to do.”

He stared at the silent TV screen, as his
elongated figure sat awkwardly upright in the chair by the window.
He did not concentrate at all on the images as they flickered
across the screen, but relaxed his mind instead. He was here to do
a job for a repeat client, and patiently waited for the message to
arrive on his phone. It was a high tech smart phone, activated and
billed to a Mr. Willard Appleton, though Mr. Appleton never saw the
bill and would never know of its existence. He had helped this
client of his several times through the years. Always on a
professional level. They would never be confused as being friends,
or for that matter, even acquaintances. They had never spoken, nor
had they ever met. When the message came through to the specially
created online email account, the subject line of the email would
be the location where he would be able to find the target
information. Once the job was completed, he’d receive another
message with the location of the account number and pass code of
the offshore account where his payment had been deposited. It was
safe, secure, and little other involvement if any was ever
needed.

In the last week, he had completed another
job for this client. He had carefully and meticulously tied up a
few loose ends, as directed. Payment had been on time as always,
which was why he so patiently awaited his next contact. A local
commercial for honest used cars began to parade across the small
screen that sat on top of the hotel dresser, when the phone
suddenly chimed. Slowly, deliberately he glanced over at the phone
on the table beside him. He reached for it, triggered the unlock
sequence and read the message. A set of numbers appeared across the
screen. He immediately recognized them as Global Positioning
Satellite coordinates. He activated the navigation application, fed
in the coordinates, and clicked find. Instantly a map appeared. It
zoomed to a closeup view of the city, then as he toggled the zoom
bar, the detail became clearer frame by frame until finally it
reached street level. The coordinates indicated an intersection
downtown, one that he was familiar with as he had been there many
times. He knew that the coordinates would lead him into the bus
station, and more specifically into the men’s restroom at the north
end. In this drop location, he knew that in one of the stalls, he
would find a key taped under the tank of the toilet. A key to a
locker in the bus station. His client seemed to like this method of
assigning his targets, but to him, it mattered little. This was
just another job. He put on his coat, pocketed the phone, and
headed for the door.

In the elevator, he removed his gun from its
holster. He checked the clip, and snapped it back into place. He
pulled the slide back, as he checked the chamber, then let it pop
back into place. He engaged the safety, and then double checked
that the silencer was firmly attached to front of the barrel.
Satisfied, he slid the weapon back into the specially designed
shoulder holster. His jacket slid back into place just as the
elevator door slid open. He stepped into the lobby, nodded at the
concierge who had looked up as the door had opened, then exited the
lobby onto the busy street outside. Horns honked and cabbies yelled
at the intersection, as he crossed the street in the tide of
pedestrians at the crosswalk. It was only a few blocks to his
destination, and he knew in this sea of humanity that he would
appear to be just another citizen making his way to his
destination. Even though his appearance might be considered
unorthodox, in a city as large as this, he wouldn’t be considered
unusual or even noteworthy.

As he approached the bus station, he
activated the GPS application, and glanced at the coordinates. He
entered the building and headed straight for the north restroom,
and smiled ever so slightly as the numbers began to get closer and
closer to the coordinates that he sought. Here, occasionally a
passerby would look at him, put aside by his height, his slim build
wrapped in the long dark coat that he wore, his smooth shaven head
as it glistened in the light, or the fact that he had no eyebrows.
He paid them no mind. It was the bus station after all, he couldn’t
possibly look that out of place. He reached the door to the
restroom and glanced around. A small boy glared intently at him
from behind a bench on the opposite side of the corridor. The boy
was frozen in his stare, like a frightened animal in oncoming
headlights. He looked back at the boy harshly, but after a moment,
his expression turned warm and an ever so slight smile crept across
his face. The boy continued to stare back in fear.

He entered the restroom just as another man
exited. A quick glance revealed only one other man bent over at the
bank of sinks. The young man at the sink had a nervous look about
him, and glanced quickly at and then away from him. He dismissed
the young man at the sink and walked up to the first urinal, and
began to relieve himself. The sounds of the running water in the
sink echoed throughout the room. He felt relief as the steady
stream of urine spattered in the urinal. Suddenly with a flash of
steel, a knife was at his throat.

“Give me your damn money, motherfucker!” The
young punk yelled. The tall man continued to relieve himself. “I
said give me your damn money, or I’m gonna slit your fucking
throat!” He pressed the blade deeper into the tall mans throat, but
still received no response. “What are you, deaf? I said give me
your fucking money!” The tall man finished, and carefully zipped
his pants. He had still not acknowledged the young punk who
nervously continued to push the knife deeper against his throat. He
reached up to push the button that would flush the urinal. “What
are you deaf and dumb. I’m gonna cut your fucking throat you
lousy-” In one swift lightning quick move, the tall man spun
around, faced the man, and slammed his hand upward into the mans
face. Bones broke as the punk’s nose was driven back into his face
and erupted with a sudden flood of blood. As the punk flew
backwards across the room, and slammed into the far wall, his knife
clattered harmlessly onto the tile floor. The tall man approached
slowly as the younger man lay in a heap. He was unconscious and
slumped against the wall where he had landed. He stopped and picked
up the knife which seconds ago had been at his throat.

“Will they never learn?” He said to himself
as he approached the crumpled figure against the wall. He grabbed
the young man by his hair, and deftly dragged him with one hand to
a large waste container that sat near the row of sinks. He let the
young man fall back to the floor as he removed the top of the
container, then grabbed him by his hair again and lifted his
unconscious body upright.

“I believe you dropped this, sir.” He said as
he plunged the knife into the punk’s throat. As blood began to ooze
from the newly created wound, he shoved him head first into the
container, folding the body slightly. He gently replaced the top to
the container. He shook his head slightly in contempt of the young
man’s actions, and thereby demise, and walked to the sink and began
to wash the blood from his hands. As he finished, another man
walked into the restroom, nodded at him and disappeared into the
first stall. The tall man dried his hands, and then looked back at
his phone. As he walked past the first stall, the numbers became
closer to those that he was looking for, and finally lined up on
the third stall. Inside, taped under the tank of the toilet he
found the key. As he removed the tape, he heard the other man flush
and exit the stall. A few seconds passed before he heard the water
began to run in the sink. He slid the key into his pocket, dropped
the wad of tape into the toilet bowl and flushed it. He exited the
stall as the other man turned off the water and reached for the
towel dispenser to dry his hands. As he reached the exit door he
looked back as the other man attempted to put his used towels into
the waste container which contained the punk’s body. He tried
several times to push the flaps at the top inward, but they banged
on the contents inside. Finally exasperated, the man laid his
crumpled towels on top of the container and he too headed for the
door.

As the tall man exited the restroom, he once
again caught the eye of the small boy that still hid behind the
bench. He smiled softly at the young boy, but his focus had shifted
now. He was on a job. He headed for the locker area, adjacent to
the restrooms. In seconds he had located the correct locker, and
opened it carefully, using the lockers themselves to shield his
body. He had lost associates through the years due to booby trapped
drop sites, but usually when payment was overdue, rarely when the
target was being assigned. Still he was too careful to allow any
mistakes. After all he had been in this business for well over ten
years, and expected to continue for some time to come. As the
locker opened, it appeared empty, except for a single small white
envelope that lay at the bottom to the rear. He carefully picked up
the envelope, shoved into his coat pocket, closed the locker and
left.

He nonchalantly exited the bus station, and
headed down the side walk towards the parking garage a block down
the road. As he walked he removed the antibacterial gel from his
pants pocket, squirted a small amount into his hand, and rubbed
them together vigorously. He hated the idea of someone’s blood on
his hands. You never knew what diseases they might have, he
thought, as he squirted more of the gel into his hand and repeated
the process. Soon he entered the pedestrian entrance to the garage,
and reached out with his elbow to activate the elevator call
button. The door in front of him opened immediately. He watched as
it slid open and revealed the empty elevator. He stepped back and
watched as the door hesitated, and then slid back shut. He reached
into his jacket, and removed his phone, and activated a small slide
switch on the battery compartment. His thumb pressed a concealed
button on the other side and an arc of blue sparks shot across the
front edge of the phone. The smell of ozone entered his nostrils.
He smiled. He waited.

Tracey sat in her car in the school parking
lot, and stared off into the distance. What she had done that
morning had been the hardest thing that she had ever had to do. She
could hardly believe that she had forced the only man that she had
ever really loved out of her house. That she had pushed away the
father of her two beautiful children. That she had created a
monstrous void between her and her best friend. She knew that she
could never love another man the way that she loved Jack, but she
just hoped that he would be able to finally understand the pain
that she felt.

She wasn’t exactly sure what she would tell
the kids about their Dad. Bella was as smart as a whip, and would
see right through any type of stall. Dad couldn’t be on vacation,
or just gone for a few weeks, because she would immediately
recognize that many of his things were gone. Brandon would be
devastated that he was gone at all. Whether this was temporary or
permanent would make no difference. In the distance, she heard the
school bell ring. She quickly checked her makeup in the rearview
mirror. She didn’t want the kids to see that she had been crying
almost constantly since Jack had left. The kids dashed across the
parking lot to Tracey’s car, opened the doors to the backseat, and
jumped in.

“Hey guys. How was school?” Tracey asked.

“I had a good day.” Bella exclaimed. “We were
out on the playground, and Mrs. Stevens said that we didn’t have to
run the race if we didn’t want to, so me and Paul played on the
monkey bars.” She said as she held up her hands and showed her
reddened palms to her mother.