Free The Temporary Agent by Daniel Judson

Reports you’re going to e-mail to me.”
    “The way you lived these past five years sent up some red flags. An intelligent man choosing to live some Jack-Kerouac- On-the-Road -thing could just as easily be another homeless vet struggling to cope with what he’d seen and done. And the fact that you’re working a job that is, well, beneath you—that concerned us, too. We needed to meet you in person so we could determine whether or not you were up to this.”
    “Up to what?”
    “We’re all in agreement that when and if we do locate Cahill, you should be the one to approach him.”
    “Why?”
    “People who have almost died together in combat share a bond that can never be broken. Trust me, I know.”
    Tom glanced down at her only ring.
    He wondered if beneath her silk blouse she had scars similar to his own.
    “Cahill is likely to react better to you showing up than anyone else we could send. Considering his current state of mind, anyone else would be at risk of being shot dead on sight.”
    “What do you mean by ‘his current state of mind’?”
    “Cahill wasn’t alone last night. He was with a woman. Two witnesses saw the shooting from their rooms. According to them, she was shot, too.”
    “Shot by whom?”
    “Seven men came after them initially. A hit team. The police reports identify them as Chechen. Cahill killed every one of them. Before he and the woman could get away, though, an eighth man appeared. He wounded Cahill and shot the woman in the chest.”
    A bright light suddenly filled the interior of the sedan.
    Headlights, approaching rapidly from behind.
    The driver flipped on the indicator and steered the sedan into the right lane.
    A white box truck passed in the left lane, traveling at a high rate of speed. That, combined with the November wind coming off the East River, caused their vehicle to waver as the truck pulled ahead.
    Swerving into the left lane, it sped onward.
    “Where’s he going in such a hurry?” the driver said.
    Tom saw that she was wearing the same earpiece setup as Raveis’s men.
    He turned his attention back to Savelle. “Why would a Chechen hit team be after Cahill?”
    “That’s one of the things we’d like to know.”
    Tom thought about that for a moment, then said, “Chest wounds aren’t necessarily fatal. The woman could still be alive.”
    Savelle shook her head. “Two spent shell casings were found at the scene. Their locations suggest they came from the firearm used to shoot both Cahill and his girlfriend. The rounds were Remington Golden Sabers. Nine millimeter, 135 grain hollow points, plus-P load, to be exact. It’s difficult to imagine she could have survived the devastation caused by such a round, especially at such close range.” She took a breath, then said, “I’ve read your service record, Tom. You’ve seen chest wounds. They’re a fucking paradox, aren’t they? There’s only so much you can do when you’re out in the field, and yet it can still take time for your man to die.”
    Tom thought of the fragility—the startling fragility—of the human body.
    He’d seen flesh torn and burned, faces and torsos mutilated, limbs severed, missing hands and feet that were never again found.
    Men in agony, lost to fear, the course of their lives in a single instant forever altered.
    It had taken him years to even consider being with a woman again.
    Years before he knew he could lie naked in the dark and touch soft flesh for pleasure without seeing in his mind the things he’d witnessed and wished he could forget.
    To imagine Stella’s body torn in any way was unbearable.
    “Will you help us?” Savelle said. “Help us find your friend before he does something that can’t be undone.”
    Tom almost felt compelled to point out once more that he and Cahill weren’t friends.
    Not back then—and not now.
    Instead he said, “What is it you’re afraid he’ll do?”
    “Take his revenge. And throw what’s left of his life away. Wouldn’t