1 Manic Monday Page 2

  "I was a little lonely."

  Gary laughed. Violet shook her head.

  "I see. And your assessment of the assignment?" Lars prompted.

  Jake sighed.

  "Flawless. Like Gary said, he never saw it coming. Most criminals don't expect to be tied to a crime they never committed. It was a classic case of assassination of character and murder of pride."

  Lars squirreled up his mouth and glanced at a terminal.

  "How do you evaluate your personal performance?" He asked, without looking at him.

  "Like the rest of the mission, it was flawless."

  "I see. Yet, you explain your dalliance with the cleaners as an attempt to assuage your loneliness. Do we need to reconsider your solitary role in future missions?"

  Jake tried to contain his irritation. This was not the first time the Director had suggested that he should be a member of a team or at least have a partner.

  "I can handle it on my own. More operatives simply multiply the chances of disaster."

  "Or provides an assurance that mission parameters have been followed," Lars suggested.

  Jake could feel a cold chill run down his spine. He fought the urge to shiver.

  "I know you do not doubt my loyalty or my efficiency," Jake threatened through clenched teeth.

  He could see Gary cringe out of the corner of his eye. Violet smirked. She was probably pleased that he was falling on his sword so effectively. Sammy seemed interested in the narrow straw in his coffee.

  "Of course not. I was merely suggesting that your talents could be concentrated to perform specific tasks while another team mate could bring different set of aptitudes to bear in conjunction with your own considerable endowments."

  Jake heard Gary conceal a snicker.

  Lars smirked. Jake watched him carefully. He could not guess his intent or his attitude. The rest of the room held their breath. Jake sensed danger.

  "I won't give in to this without a fight."

  A look passed across Lars' face and the moment was gone.

  "No one is fighting. Just consider my proposal," Lars conceded.

  And the matter was done.

  Lars consulted his screen and asked the next question. Gary seemed to be relieved to be called on. The tension in the room decreased and Jake was left wondering what had just transpired.

  The rest of the briefing was uneventful. Jake barely registered the information. He understood that the client that had hired them was pleased. Ultimately, that was the goal, but the overall performance of the team was what concerned Lars the most.

  They worked beyond the law, and therefore every move, every detail was scrutinized. No trace of their existence, let alone their intent or connections, could ever surface on a government report any where in the world.

  Jake had worked with Galbraith Alliance for almost a year now. His recruitment, promotion, and track record were undocumented yet famous within the organization. He felt like a rock-star most times. He was treated to long weekends, beautiful escorts, exotic locations, a palatial estate in Quebec, a penthouse apartment in New York, and some of the most expensive cars in production.

  Yet, at debriefings he felt as though his abilities and methods were called into question with increasing occurrence. It was not that he felt he was perfect. Jake merely found the two polar opposite attitudes to be disconcerting.

  Was he the prodigy they promoted him to be, or was he not to be trusted with even a simple assignment?

  As the meeting wrapped up, he was suffused with this question. His mouth was set and his mind elsewhere.

  "Jake. I would like a word with you for a moment, please," Lars said.

  Jake squinted. He detected a note of displeasure in the director's voice.

  "Sure."

  "Please come to my office," he said as he led the way.

  Jake glanced back at Gary. Gary shrugged and put two thumbs up as he slipped out into the brightly lit hall.

  He followed Lars down a short hall lined with expensive wood paneling. He noted the security cameras hidden in the molding at the ceiling and tucked in the corners near doorways.

  Jake would wonder sometimes if each camera was manned by a single individual or if each were hooked to a super computer that would analyze every second of footage and produce reports. Either speculation would not be too far-fetched for the size, scope, and paranoia that the Galbraith Alliance represented.

  Jake marveled at how he had arrived here. It was not the first time. It haunted him, sometimes. Not the killing. No, that seemed categorically wrong. The killing he had long ago compartmentalized and could easily put aside as outside of himself. But, his career, this organization, his superiors, he had a difficult time envisioning himself choosing this.

  He remembered the feeling he had as he had watched the coast in Ventura. It had been so peaceful watching the waves crash into the private beach. He had felt an odd pang. It was as if he had missed something in his life, longed for a past he could not recall. It was a siren's call to him. It penetrated his dreams at night and left him in a cold sweat.

  Lars never turned back. This did not reassure him.

  Jake wanted to care. He really did.

  His ambivalence to his destiny here was dangerous. Not only was each mission a potential threat to his existence, but his entire occupation represented a danger to his personal well-being.

  He considered his boss. Lars was a professional, a perfectionist. Jake had never sought to ingratiate himself to any of his employers and had maintained a personal and professional distance. The same was not true with the other members of his team. Lars had never threatened him, had never raised his voice. Despite this, Jake had always detected a note of hostility from Lars but had never pinpointed its source.

  Lars was a large man. Rumor around the office was that he used to be a professional wrestler. Jake could tell that his hands were accustomed to violence. The knuckles were swollen and the joints of his fingers were permanently bent as though Lars had been squeezing a particularly tough fruit.

  Jake tried to imagine Lars picking his nose. That brought a smile to his face. One of those digits would not fit in most human nostrils, and Jake was not certain Lars could straighten out the finger enough to get it in past the first knuckle.

  "Come in," Lars invited as he held open the door.

  His chest was massive. The suit he wore could not disguise his girth. His reading glasses had been stowed somewhere. His nose, bent and flaring, was thrust in the air. Jake noted that Lars had missed a spot on his chin shaving this morning.

  Jake smelled cigars and expensive cologne as he passed by seeking a chair.

  Lars did not sit behind his desk. Instead, he leaned back against a book shelf, his buttocks on a credenza. He reached over and poured a finger of dark caramel colored whiskey.

  He nodded to Jake, an unspoken question in his gaze.

  "No thanks," Jake declined. He was sure it was not wise to impair his thinking any more than it already was at this moment.

  Lars smiled as if he had read his thoughts.

  He sipped the whiskey and grimaced.

  Johnny Walker, the breakfast of champions, Jake thought.

  "I suppose you are wondering why I called you here."

  "You want to offer me a raise?"

  Lars did not chuckle. He scratched his forehead with the hand holding the tumbler.

  "Nah. I am not authorized to offer you a raise. Besides, I think you are compensated adequately." Lars did not look at him. He pushed off from the credenza and crossed to his desk. He put down the tumbler and picked up a file.

  "You want to assign my next mission already? I thought I would get a week or two off."

  "You are getting a month off," Lars said as he flipped through the file casually.

  Jake could not see the contents. They looked like black-and-white photos.

  "A month?"

  "Until further notice. With pay, of course. We want you to occupy a new residence."

&n
bsp; "I had plans to stay in New York through the holidays."

  Lars smiled.

  "I didn't know you were sentimental."

  Jake shrugged.

  "No particular reason. I just heard a Harry Connick, Jr. holiday album and the urge hit me."

  "I see. Well, where we are sending you will probably sate that urge."

  "Really, how?"

  "We are sending you to Russia."

  "Russia? Why? Where?"

  Lars handed him the file.

  "All the information you need is in that packet. You will meet your new team in two weeks. Your travel arrangements, identity, currency, and destination are all in there." He pointed to the file and sipped the whiskey again.

  Jake sat there in the leather seat holding the file in one hand. It was heavy, its sides drooping down threatening to spill its contents.

  "New team?"

  Lars shrugged.

  "I suppose you will know a few members of the team. Gary and Violet are being reassigned there as well."

  "Wait. Are you saying that I am no longer working alone?"

  "Your next assignment will be determined once you arrive. You will be out of the loop for one month and then you will be informed of your next assignment."

  "You aren't answering the question."

  Lars raised his eyebrows.

  "But I am, Mr. Monday. Now, you should begin making your arrangements and preparing to leave."

  Jake got to his feet and tucked the file under his arm. He paused. Several other questions bubbled to the surface.

  "Will you be directing the Russian operations?"

  Lars took another sip and sat in the large leather chair behind his massive desk. He took a deep breath.

  "I am not permitted to return to Mother Russia, comrade. And what makes you think your next operation will be in Russia?" The look in his eyes told Jake that he expected Jake to read something into what he was asking. Jake was too irritated to read between lines.

  Jake swallowed his retort. He nodded.

  "I see. It has been a pleasure to work for you, then," Jake said.

  "We have not seen the last of one another, Mr. Monday."

  Jake had no idea how to respond to that. He turned and left the office, shutting the door with a practiced civility. What he wanted to do was to slam it so hard that the hinges broke.

  Through gritted teeth he made his way to the corner office that was his daily companion. His secretary did not look up as he passed, a gloom of anger and disappointment hanging around his shoulders.

  He put the file on top of his desk, unopened. He had some calls to make and an appointment with Sergei Vissarionovich at eleven. He hoped that he could lose himself in the sweat and pain of training exercise.

  Jake tried to focus. He brought his laptop back to life and opened his contact management software. It was a proprietary, time-stamped, security-protected, and sophisticated tool. It was synced to his contact list on his cell phone. With the software, he could bring up a GPS location as well as limited satellite feed of the location of anyone on the list. It also provided him with video and audio surveillance in real time. All at the touch of a button.

  He stared at the names on the list. The name he chose would show up on an internal database and the conversation would be recorded. He knew that every thing he did was watched, recorded, and analyzed.

  When he was in the field, Jake never considered these nuances. In the office, though, he was constantly aware of the eyes and the visibility of his every move. It was daunting.

  He considered his conversation with Lars. At first, he had been almost pleased to lose Lars as a director. His demeanor was too constricting. His expectations were too demanding. Jake felt that he would never be able to completely please the man.

  Jake clicked on a name and waited while his phone began the series of beeps to indicate that the number had been dialed. He touched the speakerphone and waited.

  "Jake! Why are you calling me? I am still here in the building."

  "I hear you are being reassigned to Russia."

  Some hesitation as Gary considered his response. He was as aware of their situation as Jake was. No one was impervious to the danger. Not even the head tech specialist.

  "Yeah. Cold snap, too. We better pack warm. I hear the Slavic girls really know how to party."

  "We can only hope. I just wanted you to know I was glad we will be working together again."

  Jake listened for the telltale signs of Gary's lies.

  "Yeah. Me too. Yeah. There should be some time for us to get into some trouble, I think. I know some guys I went to school with that live in Moscow. Maybe they can get us some access to some parties."

  "Sounds great, Gary. See you in two weeks."

  "Yeah. Super. See ya," Gary said. His voice sounded genuine, but Jake knew he was nervous.

  Gary was always nervous when he lied.

  "See ya," Jake said.

  It was all he really needed to know. Gary was not going to Russia. And neither was he.

  Jake reached across to the file and finally opened it.

  Chapter 4

  Let's Get Physical

  The first five minutes of every training session were the worst. Jake hated stretching. He felt so vulnerable. He was on his back with his right knee pulled to his nose.

  He could feel the stretch, which was good. As soon as he released, he could feel the blood in his head and the feeling that if someone would come up to him right now and administer a swift kick in his ribs, he would be a dead man.

  He rolled to his side and he was staring right at Violet's tight bottom. He looked away, embarrassed. Violet was interesting. Complicated. Ambitious. Calculating. He imagined that she had taken that very place on the floor on purpose. He had almost fallen for the trap.

  Jake was still trying to wrap his mind around the contents of the file. Why had Lars lied? Was his office tapped? Were they being pursued by the government?

  He had been assured that the nightly cleaning by the janitors included a thorough de-bugging. In addition, it was his understanding that the walls and windows of the Galbraith Tower were practically soundproof.

  Normally, it would not seem odd, all this secrecy. They were, after all, an organization that was committed to terror and assassination, white collar crimes and embezzlement, money laundering and protection of criminal assets. Secrecy and clandestine behavior was the norm.

  However, his conversation with the Director this morning had been odd in that there seemed to be no overt reasons to conceal the nature of his assignment. He could only speculate.

  Perhaps it was client-related. Sometimes they were hired by entities larger than themselves. Once, a small African nation had come to them wanting arms consultation and the assassination of a tribal leader. It had taken them weeks to discern that every communication and meeting they had held was merely an attempt to infiltrate their organization and recruit individual talent. To the chagrin of the Deputy Director, Lynn Smith, the entire computer network had been hacked, and a malicious worm embedded.

  When dealing with criminals, it was wise to ensure your friends were vetted.

  Sergei stalked around the room, pacing the perimeter with his hands behind his back as various Galbraith employees stretched, grunted, and complained. His regimen was famous throughout the company. It was a mixture of Krav Magra, Spetznaz Systema, Russian military Sambo, and several other forms of close quarter combat methods and movements. The focus was on using the environment, employing no-nonsense tactics designed for survival, and performing with a high level of aggression. There was little room for spins, kicks, and fancy leaps. This was not Hollywood, it was life-and-death.

  The gym was crowded today. There was barely room to do the next stretch. Sergei called out the movement. Each of the students pulled their torsos up to sitting upon their knees and put their right leg straight back behind them, knee down. Their left feet were planted under their backsides. Sergei instructed them to move the foot b
ack until it was under their other knee.

  It was an awkward movement, but effective at stretching the hip flexors, hips, and glutes. These were typically some of the tightest muscles in the body and with muscle tightness came slowness of movement.

  The stretch required that they tilt their pelvis outward slowly just a few inches on the fulcrum of their foot placed under the knee of the right leg. They repeated the same procedure by tilting to the inside and then did the same stretch with the other leg.

  Jake glanced ahead of him at his fellow employees. They all were lost in the exercise. Soon, they would be paired up and throwing each other all over the room, pounding each other with training sticks and attacking each other with rubber knives.

  Jake enjoyed this part of his day almost as much as the sauna time after the workout. Mostly, it was because he excelled at martial arts and so success at defeating his opponent was as satisfying as the relaxation he felt winding down in the heat and steam.

  He caught Violet glancing at him as they transitioned to the final stretching move. He tried to ignore her. She was likely just trying to distract him. She had been trying to get paired with him during training for almost a month now. She was determined to beat him and prove her skills and prowess. Perhaps it was simpler than that. Maybe she just wanted a chance to seduce him by demonstrating her physicality.

  He was not unaware at how he was viewed by the female employees. He was sought after as if he was a prize to be won, a land to be conquered, a mountain to be climbed, or a bridge to be crossed. It was not an uncomfortable position to which to be subjected, but he honestly found it more amusing than alluring.

  He supposed that sexual exploitation was a two-way street and that women were as welcome to flex their considerable prowess as men were. As the object of these attempts, though, he found that he was progressively astounded at the brazen and shameless methods being employed by women that he normally found demure, professional, or quite independent.

  Of course, the normal man's pursuit of the opposite sex was rarely a sophisticated, low-key, or classy example of courtship or allurement. Men were such klutzes at seduction, it was almost embarrassing. Women on the other hand were more creative, had more control of their own position, and, frankly, had more to offer in the long run than their male counterparts.