Free To The Lions - 02 by Chuck Driskell

Glaives.”
    Now
it was Gage’s turn to take in a sharp breath.   He’d been promised that all animosity between him and the Glaives had
been quashed.   And, while Navarro seemed
genuine, it unnerved Gage somewhat that the Glaives still had him on their
minds.
    “Please
don’t concern yourself,” Navarro said, reading Gage’s expression.   “The man I spoke to is a friend.   He said he knew you…said you made peace.”
    Gage
nodded, realizing Navarro was speaking of Marcel Cherbourg.
    “How
is he?” Gage asked.
    “He’s
drastically reduced the Glaives’ size and, with it, their exposure.”
    “Despite
his choice of vocation, he seemed level-headed.”
    Navarro
took the slight insult with no reaction.   “I could have offered this job to any number of qualified men,” the
older man said distantly, speaking downward as if there were a person under the
table.   “I chose you because, in all my
inquiries, you were rumored to possess a degree of compassion.”
    “The
others didn’t?”
    “Mercenaries,
the whole lot of them.   Only in your game
for themselves.”
    “What
is the job, Señor Navarro?”
    “It
involves my son—he’s in grave danger.”   Navarro crushed out the cigarette and straightened in his chair.   He smoothed the brim of the fedora before
lowering it to the empty chair to his left.   “He’s in a situation that may soon cost him his life.”
    “What
situation?”
    “I’ve
done everything in my power to protect him.   But, here in Spain, even someone like me is limited in the resources I
can provide.   Especially now.”   Navarro’s lips twisted in a sour
expression.   “Through the years, I’ve
amassed far more enemies than I’ve accumulated friends or money.   And, unfortunately, I can no longer shield
him from what he is enduring.”
    “I
don’t fully understand.”
    “I
need you to protect my son.”
    Ten grand to listen.   Well, I listened .
    Gage
leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table.   “Señor, I’m afraid there has been a bit of confusion.”
    “Confusion?”
    “I
am not in the protection business.   I’m
not a bodyguard or anything of the sort.   My specialty is surveillance and, on occasion, tactical insertion.   There are thousands, maybe millions, of men
and women better suited for straight security than—”
    “If
you’ll allow me to finish,” Navarro said patiently, cutting Gage off.   “What I’m referring to is not a traditional
protection job. In fact, you mentioned tactical insertion.   Well, in essence, that’s what we’re talking
about tonight.   You see, Mister Harris , my son is currently—”
    The
disjointed conversation was again interrupted, this time by the waiter carrying
a massive black bowl loaded with mussels in marinara sauce.   Navarro slid his chair forward, shaking out
his napkin and tucking it into his shirt.   He made another request of the waiter who hustled away.
    Gage
grabbed the silverware from the setting next to him.   He shook out the napkin and placed it in his lap,
not really hungry but placing a few of the mussels on his plate.   After eating one—it was superior—he sipped
water and continued the conversation, surprised that his curiosity over this
job was mildly piqued.  
    “You
were about to tell me about your son, Señor Navarro.”
    Navarro
shoveled two dripping mussels into his mouth, shaking his head.   Once he swallowed the mollusks he dabbed his
mouth.   “We will dine first; then we will
discuss business.”
    The
two men ate two entire bowls of mussels along with a plate of buttered bread.   Their only conversation involved the food,
with Navarro exalting Gage’s choice of restaurants and, as he swallowed his
last bite, proclaiming Il Dipinto’s mussels marinara as the best on the entire
Costa Brava.   Gage, who hadn’t been
hungry prior to eating the first mussel, counted thirty-three empty shells on
his plate.   He pushed the plate away while
Navarro lit