Precipice (16 page)

Clapping his phone shut and turning back toward the people sitting in front of him, the man at the front of the room gave a rare grin. It’d only be a few hours until their well-laid plans were set in motion, at first light. The big show wouldn’t be until later that day, but once tomorrow morning began, there was no turning back.

He’d raised capital from unknowing “boosters,” but the real prize made that look like pocket change and it was coming his way soon. Ever since youth, he knew he would, one day, be fabulously wealthy. The name his birth parents gave him as a baby screamed that destiny. And now, it was almost his time.

“Gentlemen! And lady…” The phone call had interrupted him, but he’d reached the crux of his speech. Sitting at a low conference table were three of the top people on his team. There were four at one point, but Grant had proved to be a liability.

Such a tragedy,
he mused, chuckling to himself as he did so. But these three were very capable…
scratch that...mostly capable...
of getting the job done
.

In the last hour, he’d pored over every detail of the plan with them, double and triple checking everything meticulously. It all needed to be perfect. No mistakes could be made. Not one. That was how he did things. As he spoke, he studied each of his lackeys.

Sean Lynch, his right hand man. Needy, but organized and thorough. He got the job done, using whatever means necessary, not afraid to get his hands dirty in the process. Expendable if it came to that, but so far, he was proving useful. His professional demeanor and appearance were crafted at Harvard Business School. It was nice having a lackey willing to wallow in the mud.

Seated next to Lynch was Roscoe Nichols, the muscle with the stupid teardrop tattoo inscribed beneath his left eye. He went by Ross, and contrary to what a bland name like Ross might suggest, he was a thug. Big and bulky, he’d pursued a collegiate career in sports until he flunked his way out of three different schools, each more lowly than the last. His intelligence was lacking, but was kept around because of a size and musculature professional football players envied. He jumpstarted his career as a bodyguard in a friend’s “posse,” but quickly gained a reputation and graduated to the big time.

And then there was Jillian Roth. Mostly a gun for hire, a sniper of sorts, and pleasing to his eye. He always did have a thing for dangerous girls with guns. She operated, in a sense, as a black widow, a concept he always found tantalizing. With her ability to keep everyone else in line, she was unafraid to use firepower and remained loyal only to the job. Everyone had a bullet with their name on it if things went wrong, as they had with Ramirez. It was unfortunate, but she took charge of the situation and did what needed to be done. She was also smart and independent. No hand-holding necessary and he liked that.

Finally, there was him. He hadn’t always ruled at the top though. A long time ago, he battled for respect as the low man on the totem pole. A rich, old man named Samuel Lee ran the organization. Not his real name, of course…but as far as anyone was concerned, he possessed none other. He was owed a great debt of gratitude for getting this scam on its feet, but Lee’s vision for the group was small, concentrating on minor arms deals or other simplistic activity. And true, those operations made the group a good deal of money. But a year ago, a plan began to hatch in the mind of a low-level employee from Africa, one that would make them much, much wealthier.

After pitching the idea to Samuel and getting turned down, he took matters into his own hands. The mysterious death of Lee resulted in a coup, a takeover and a lot of “house-cleaning.” Within a few months, he held a stranglehold on all operations, daring anyone to defy him and brutally eliminating anyone who did. He continued buying up arms, using those boosters to finance everything, but instead of selling them as Lee had done, he began to stockpile.

“For the last hour,” he continued. “We’ve crossed every ‘T’ and dotted every ‘i’ so we’re one hundred percent prepared for this weekend. In only a few short hours, everything gets under way and at that point, there will be no turnin’ back. If you want out, now’s the time to do so, but understand, should you choose that route, there will be consequences.” An evil smile crept across his face, making a joke only he found funny. “I need you three to understand your roles for the next two days.”

“Yes sir!”

He shook his head. That quick, goody-two-shoes answer spurted from Lynch, overzealous and quick to please, like a puppy, yet to mature into his own identity, instead gaining pleasure from making his master happy. Secretly though, he knew Lynch was terrified of him, and that pleased him.

“Okay, Lynch. You’re in charge of security and all movements. As soon as the parade has begun, we need everyone in place. Our window of opportunity will only be open for a minute or two. You understand what you need to do?”

“I understand, sir. Everything should be great, sir. Our man inside assures me everything’s a go.” The idiot nodded furiously, as if that bobbing head added special emphasis to his vapid speech.

“Should be isn’t good enough. It better be,” he snarled in return. You can never let your help get too comfortable. “What about the others? You will make sure everyone knows their place?”

“Yes sir. We should be good to go…er…we will be good to go. I’ll make sure everyone is ready.” If Lynch didn’t stop that nodding, his head would fly right off his neck and go rolling across the room.

Smiling, the boss nodded. “Excellent.” He turned away from Lynch and rounded on the person next to him. “Roth. You’re in charge of the weapons cache. You remember everything we just went over? I trust you can handle that?”

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it.” She waved her hand dismissively. Her attitude was more ambivalent than Lynch’s, but he liked that. She’d get the job done without trying to please him in the process. No reason to worry with her in charge. He might actually try to keep her around after all was said and done. There must be a further use for her. “I’ve got it under control.”

“Good. And after you’ve finished there, you will be with us at the capitol?”

“Of course.”

“Fantastic. Lynch, I want you at that cache tomorrow morning as well, but only after you’ve made your other stop. When you get there, help Roth with anything she tells you. Then get down to the parade.”

Lynch nodded assent, though a frown showed he was peeved at being under her authority.

“Nichols!” The last person to be addressed at the table was the muscleman. “I already told you this, but we went over it quickly and I’m sure your pea brain has forgotten by now. You are to be at my side at all times, from this moment on. Make sure no one gets too…close…” He stared at his bodyguard. “Do… you… understand… me?” Slower speech was often needed to get his point across to this idiot.

“Yes,” Nichols snarled.

“Fantastic,” he responded, elongating each syllable as he spoke. “I need everything to go off without a hitch.” He glanced at the clock. It was getting late. He placed both hands palm-down on the desk and a snide grin crept across his face. “Now before you go…” He smirked. “One more thing needs to be taken care of tonight. A very…interesting…and unexpected opportunity…just arose.”              

***

Jacob Sloan loved the rain, everything from the pitter-patter of a drizzle to the muffled roar of a thunderstorm. The sound calmed him, easing his stresses even during the most ferocious of downpours.

As a child, he and his mother would sit on the porch swing for hours, with him falling asleep on her shoulder as they listened to the rain fall. When his mother entered an assisted living facility, he loved to visit her during storms and relive those memories. And during his married years, he and his wife had spent many evenings on their covered porch, enjoying the storms.

Lighting and thunder were a bonus. Once, they’d been lucky enough to witness a lighting strike. The tree in the backyard that absorbed the electric blow still stood, a living testament to its strength.

Of course, that tree stood at his ex-wife’s house in the midst of one of the most family-friendly neighborhoods in Greenlake, while he ground out a meager life in a run-down apartment on the south side. Still, the rain was nice, reminding him of the good life that once was.

He had a small porch now, barely able to fit a chair and end table, but he lived a simple life and that was all he needed. His view could be nicer, but he didn’t mind. The 11
th
floor apartment allowed him to remain above the clutter of cars and shops and people below. Closer to the office, it saved both time and gas money. He could commute to work from his new home in eighteen minutes, even with moderate traffic flow, just long enough to listen to his daily podcast,
Recon: The Military Channel
.

Other than the hushed patter of the drizzling rain on his balcony railing and on the drainpipe that ran down the building to his left, the night was quiet. Periodically a car would pass below, but the weather drove the usual activities of the half-domestic woodland creatures back into their nests and holes. It was during these times of solitude on the porch that he did most of his thinking.

Lately, those thoughts had turned toward his daughter. His only daughter, and the female half of a set of fraternal twins, she lived most of her life without him.

When he and his then-wife became parents, he excitedly worked many of the extra shifts at the office that no one wanted, in hopes of making enough money to provide his children with anything they ever desired. He assumed he’d always be able to make up for lost time later.

But years flew by, and before he knew it, they grew into independent young adults who wanted nothing to do with a father who’d never attended their school plays, sporting events, or recitals. And by the time the divorce papers finalized, the kids blamed him for the rift between their parents.

Not a day went by he didn’t curse himself for those mistakes. He kept trying, but it was only within the last few years they’d even consented to meet and spend a small modicum of time with him. He greatly treasured every one of those moments. Attempting to atone for the past now would never cut it in their eyes, but he needed to give it a shot.

His annual ballgame with Tracy was next weekend. Those tickets had finally arrived that afternoon, hand delivered from upstairs. He wanted to make this particular moment special, for both of them.

This was her senior year and come next August, she would leave home for the exciting life of a college student. And whether she chose to attend the state school on a volleyball scholarship or an Ivy League university for its academic prowess and exemplary reputation, she’d be living at least four hours away, too far to feasibly spend much time together.

Secretly, he hoped she’d follow in his footsteps and attend Cornell, but expressing his opinion would only result in the opposite effect. Teenagers have a way of bucking their parents’ wishes and when they aren’t fond of that parent, their rebellious nature magnifies. When she left for school, his role in her life would decrease even further and he wanted to make the most of this ballgame.

              His son Ben was a different story. For all the smarts Tracy inherited from him, Ben had gotten just as much of his mother’s good looks and little else. He was a sweet kid and made lifelong friends with everyone he met, but a university wasn’t on the horizon for him. He’d enter a trade school or go straight to the workforce. He was a momma’s boy and a homebody, so there was little chance of him moving away. Plenty of opportunities would exist in the coming years for the two of them to spend time together.

He sighed. His refusal to let anyone see him cry may have hardened his tear ducts, but his eyes still misted when he reflected on his kids and on his mistakes. He rubbed his temples with one hand and took a swig from the crystal glass of whiskey that had been resting on the small table beside him. He glanced down at his watch. It was well past his bedtime.

As he hefted himself upward, his slippered feet disturbed a few pinecones and needles gathered on the ledge, knocking one cone over the lip and sending it careening downwards. He leaned over the railing and watched it fall, buffeted in the breeze as it plummeted the eleven stories to the cracked, worn pavement below.

That was how he felt much of the time, unable to stop his descent, knocked about by the winds of life. The pinecone hit the ground a few measly seconds after it took flight, cracking and coming to rest in pieces, scattered on the sidewalk.

Another sigh. He turned to head inside and work his way to bed, but a set of headlights from the road distracted his attention again. During the day, cars and trucks flew by on the main road that ran down below his window, but tonight’s traffic was sparse, so this vehicle stood out.

It traveled quickly, speeding past his building faster than was safe on these wet roads. The driver had a place to be, a purpose for the journey. Probably a young couple looking for a secluded place among the warehouses. Or maybe a group of kids seeking a hangout spot, far from the watchful eyes of the police, to enjoy a good time with whatever liquor they’d managed to get their grubby hands on.

For a brief moment, he closed his eyes and wished he was with them, wished he was young again. But then he shook the image from his head. Those days were long gone. He needed to concentrate on the here and now before he lost these days too. Gazing one last time after the vehicle racing away, he averted his eyes and moved indoors, shutting the glass door behind him.