Free Super by Ernie Lindsey Page A

do.
    “And,” Deke adds, “it was your idea to let him speak to the suits anyway.”
    This turns her cheeks flame red. Agent Kelly goes on another tirade, and something she says catches my attention. “Patriotman was never supposed to be a part of this.”
    “What does that mean?” I ask.
    She turns her attention back to the front window and spits out, “Nothing.”
    “No, that’s something. What’re you talking about?”
    “You don’t feel like sharing what Silver said, well neither do I, so let’s just leave it at that.”
    Agent Kelly has a point, and I’m not willing to share what I know in order to hear her secrets. Or am I?
    What would be the significance of it? What did she mean that Patriotman was never supposed to be a part of this…this what ?
    Tirade over, the car has gone silent. I stare out the window as we drive, watching the trees and cars pass in a blur, taking a trip through my memory and trying to recall every detail she gave me.
    Okay, so, we were at that country-western joint… The Blazers were on. Deke was up at the bar, drinking a beer. She was sitting across from me and said, what was it… ‘We have reason to believe that one of your friends is a traitor.’
    And then I said something about not having any friends…
    ‘Acquaintances, then. Somebody you likely know.’
    I told her I don’t make a habit of rubbing elbows with the bad guys. I mean, hell, I guess you could say that I am the villain, in a way.
    What was it she said next? She had a drink of her beer, and then…
    ‘You call yourselves S.A.’s, right? Superhero assassins?
    ‘Yeah. But that’s always kind of misleading because we’re not assassins that are superheroes. It’s just easier to say.’
    ‘Right. And you’re familiar with most everyone working in this field?’
    ‘To a point. I know codenames, real names, faces. That’s it. It’s not like we get together for wine tasting once a month.’
    ‘Did you know that a group of your colleagues have a support group?’
    I remember being shocked by that. We’re all such hard-asses. Then I remember saying… ‘News to me. What’s it for?’
    ‘Anxiety. Depression. Their psych profiles suggest they’re having a difficult time performing. Over time, eliminating a perceived hero, no matter how much their deaths are justified, really puts a strain on them. Enough that there’s been underground chatter about taking out the President and ending this crusade. Problem is, we have no idea who.’
    ‘No shit?’
    ‘And that’s why you’re here, Leo. All signs indicate you’re a heartless bastard who’ll kill anything as long as there are some extra zeroes on the paycheck. Betray one of your own, and we’ll make it worth your while.’
    That’s how it went down, and as I sit here in the back of this sedan that smells like Deke’s aftershave, what really bothers me about the situation is not killing one of my own—a lot of them probably deserve to be pushing up daisies—it’s the fact that she called me a heartless bastard.
    Come on. That’s a bit harsh. I’m just digging the ditches that need to be dug.

Chapter Nine

Present Day
    P oint blank , George Silver lied to me that day in the cabin, and I knew that he did, but, damn, he was trying hard to be convincing with all those tears. That bit about how Patriotman had killed the American dream of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness by switching sides, by hating President Palmer and SALCON so much that he joined forces with the North Koreans and “became a commie bastard” sounded so persuasive, so real, that he almost had me convinced.
    It’s not often you get the Secretary of Defense bawling about how America is going to shit—and that it’s already gone to shit enough for the All-American Hero to shake hands with the devil.
    The rest of his story went like this: someone under the President’s command had already tried to recruit one of the assassins to take out Patriotman before he could go