Guardian (21 page)

Authors: Erik Williams

BOOK: Guardian

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G
lenn drove and Mike rode without saying a word. When his boss picked him up at the airport, Mike told him all about what happened in Israel. Told him every implausible detail. And Glenn had nodded, without a snide comment or insult. Mike didn't think he was starting to believe any of it, but he did think that Glenn was beginning to accept it. Once he finished the tale, Glenn offered no questions or comments. He drove in silence, and Mike decided to oblige him.

They headed west, first through northern Virginia and then into West Virginia. They moved off the interstate onto a county road. The headlights of the car illuminated twisting two-Âlane blacktop lined with walnut and yellow poplar trees. Every once in a while Glenn would slow to keep from hitting a critter crossing the road.

About an hour and a half outside of DC, Glenn pulled off the road onto a private serpentine driveway. Another half mile later the headlights reflected off the windows of a darkened farmhouse. Across from it, a big red barn.

“What is this place?” Mike asked.

“We used to bring spies and moles we caught during the Cold War out here. It was usually the guys we or the FBI nabbed on our soil. Nice and isolated, huh?”

“Sure. And a tad creepy.”

“Let's go.”

Mike opened the door and stepped into the humid night. A cloudless sky above twinkled with hundreds of perfectly clear stars. In the trees, the crickets sang.

Glenn headed toward the barn. Mike shut the door and followed. As he neared, he realized the red of the barn was quite faded. Most of the wood looked riddled with termites. He was surprised the place was still standing.

“Anyone else here?” he asked.

“Just your boy.”

Glenn unlocked a padlock and slid one of the barn doors open. He reached in and flicked on a light. A Âcouple of fluorescent lights flickered on and a concrete block passageway came into view. At the other end of the passageway, about ten feet away, was a steel door. To the right of it, a security pad.

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“I guess so,” Mike said.

Glenn walked down the passageway to the other door and punched a code into the pad. The red light turned green. Hidden gears creaked and the distinctive sound of bolts sliding home echoed off the concrete block. Then the door opened.

On the other side, handcuffed to a welded chair, sat Mayyat Sadat. His head drooped forward, chin against his chest. He wore a gray set of sweats, his feet bare.

Mike stepped in. Mayyat appeared well fed and unblemished. A healing cut here and there on his face but nothing fresh. Glenn had gone easy on him.

“How'd you get the info out of him?” Mike asked. “He looks like he's in pretty good shape other than the broken nose, which I seem to remember giving him.”

“Tricks of the trade.” Glenn held up a fist. “The old knuckles meet ball sack routine.”

“Ah. That explains the baggy sweatpants.”

Glenn shrugged. “It worked.”

It sure did.
Mike turned back to Mayyat. The man's head was nearly bald, with the exception of stubble, and reflected the overhead fluorescent, giving the illusion of a soft halo floating over his scalp.
But you're no angel, buddy.

Mike stepped forward, swung his open right hand and slapped Mayyat's left cheek. Spit flew and splattered the wall. Mayyat groaned and his head lifted and his eyes opened, settling on Mike. He smirked and shifted to Glenn. His eyes grew and his smirk turned into a genuine smile.

“Nice to see you again,” Mayyat said.

“I wish I could say likewise.” Glenn leaned against the opposite wall and crossed his arms.

Mike snapped his fingers in front of Mayyat's face. “Focus on me.”

Mayyat shifted back to Mike and his smile disappeared. “Mr. Caldwell. Last time I saw you, you were being arrested.”

Now Mike smirked. “That's right. And you got away. Got away to Yuma. Where you killed Francis Greengrass and his entire family. Cut his legs off. And sent a personal message to me in his blood.”

Mayyat nodded. “It worked, then.”

“It worked as far as getting me to find Kharija. But guess what? He's dead.”

“So he is dead. I succeeded in my mission regardless of what happened to him.”

“True. But Nassir Fahd is still alive. That must mean something to you since he's the reason you took the job in the first place.”

Mayyat straightened up but said nothing.

“He can't hear you.”

“You never know,” Mayyat said. “Besides, I do not think I will have to worry about him much longer.”

“That's correct.” Mike reached inside his jacket, pulled the Beretta from his shoulder holster and held it up for Mayyat to see. Then he pulled a silencer from his pocket and screwed it on the barrel. “Don't want to deafen myself or my boss with these concrete walls and all. You understand.”

“Of course.” Mayyat lifted his chest, as if swelling with pride. “Do it quickly.”

Mike leveled the gun, looked down the sight and aimed at Mayyat's forehead. He thought about Semyaza, and afterward how afraid he had been about killing Âpeople. How he'd known for sure his soul was damned. He thought about Katherine and Temms and Greengrass and the others.
This piece of shit murdered them to provoke him.
He thought about Uriel and his Just War Theory and the sheepdog protecting the flock from wolves.

“Are you sorry for what you've done?” he asked.

Mayyat's eyes narrowed momentarily. He shook his head. “No.”

Mike looked into those eyes and thought about Nassir. He felt Malthus stirring within. The darkness surged up his arm. The mark fought it back until he was in control again. Then he pulled the trigger.

Phut.

The back of Mayyat's head blew out and sprayed the back wall with blood and brain. His open, lifeless eyes rolled and crossed. His neck rocked to the side, and his head canted over with it.

You're a killer,
Mike thought.
It's what you're good at.

But you're also the sheepdog and this motherfucker was a wolf. Malthus didn't kill him. You did.

Not an ounce of guilt or regret crept into Mike's chest. Instead, he felt calm and empty. Not because he didn't care. It was because he knew there were whole packs of wolves out there, working for Nassir and others like him, trying to destroy humanity however they could. It wasn't about countries anymore for him. It was about guarding the light against the darkness, even as he fought the darkness within.

“Don't worry about clean-Âup,” Glenn said from his position on the wall. “We've got a disposal team who comes out here and takes care of it.”

Mike nodded and unscrewed the hot silencer and holstered his weapon. “Now what?”

Glenn pushed off the wall and unfolded his arms. “I've got work for you.”

“Who?”

“Frederick Gottlieb.”

“The name is familiar.”

“He's a gunrunner. Moves a lot of shit to Hamas and Hezbollah and warlords down in sub-ÂSaharan Africa. Joseph was about to punch his ticket when I called him off to rescue you. So, we owe him one.”

Mike nodded and turned away from Mayyat's corpse. He looked at Glenn, and for the first time since he took the job as rogue killer, he didn't feel a single bit of hate.

“I'll do it. But after this score is evened, I'm moving on to other things.”

“Like what?”

“I'm going to find Nassir Fahd. Then I'm going to find a way to kill him.”

“Find a way. You make it sound impossible.”

“It may be.”

“Mind explaining?”

“You wouldn't believe me.”

Glenn rubbed his chin. “I think I can support that. As would Joseph. Found out he's going to be the head of Mossad.”

Mike nodded, not really surprised. “He's a good guy.”

“That he is.”

“So we're agreed. I find Gottlieb and take him out. Then I move on to Nassir.”

“I don't believe half the shit you've told me, but I accept the fact that the world isn't what it appears. That requires special attention. And Nassir's up to his eyebrows in it. May you find him and end his life mercilessly.”

Mike couldn't help but chuckle. Then he turned and looked at Mayyat's body one more time. The blood now dripped every Âcouple of seconds from the hole in his skull into a lake on the floor.

Time to hunt some wolves,
he thought.

About the Author

ERIK WILLIAMS is a former naval officer and current defense contractor (but he's not allowed to talk about it). He is the author of the novel
Demon
,
Guardian
, and numerous other small press works and short stories. He currently lives in San Diego with his wife and three daughters. Follow him on Twitter: @TheErikWilliams.

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.

Also by Erik Williams

Demon

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

GUARDIAN
. Copyright Â© 2015 by Erik Williams. All rights reserved under International and Pan-ÂAmerican Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-Âbook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-Âengineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperÂCollins e-Âbooks.

EPub Edition JANUARY 2015 ISBN: 9780062359070

Print Edition ISBN: 9780062359087

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