Free Three Minutes to Midnight by A. J Tata

had always been higher up the food chain and had never had more than a passing interest in Mahegan, who respected Blackmon. He had heard Blackmon’s retirement had led to a position as CEO of a private security company. He guessed it was the one owned by Throckmorton. Mahegan could envision Blackmon getting a late-night call to come to the scene of a crime to help sweep up the shattered glass of the evening.
    Mahegan eased through the expansive side yard, using tall holly bushes to block his exit. He registered that Blackmon might be someone he wanted to contact about the case, should he need inside information on Throckmorton. He reached his car without detection, and as he fired up the engine, Nathan Daniels’s face was hovering outside the passenger-side window. Mahegan pressed the button to lower the glass.
    â€œBy the way, dude, I think you’re on the video.”
    Indeed, Mahegan thought, he was.
    â€œYou like living?” he asked Nathan.
    â€œYeah, man.”
    â€œThen keep your mouth shut.”
    He handed the kid back his GoPro. Pulling away in his Cherokee, Mahegan thought about what he had learned inside the Throckmortons’ house on his previous visit. Those memories both fueled his drive to find Gunther and emptied his soul.
    It wasn’t good.

CHAPTER 7
    O N HIS RETURN FROM THE THROCKMORTON CRIME SCENE IN Raleigh, Mahegan stopped at a grocery store and purchased a burner cell phone. Next, he met with Savage’s gopher in a late-model, four-door sedan at the Wallaby gas station where he had waited for the black pickup truck that morning. He gave this man the blood sample Griffyn had provided him and outlined the high-level details of Cassidy’s disappearance. Afterward, he watched the gopher’s taillights disappear down Route 1, toward Fort Bragg, diminishing red specks in the blackness. Then he drove the wooded back way to his apartment.
    Sitting in his leased above-barn apartment, he plugged in the burner smartphone, let it charge, and then followed the directions to activate it. Rarely did he deviate from standard procedures, which did not allow communications augmentation, but as he drove, he had stared at the phone number Grace Kagami had written on his hand, hoping not to smudge any of the numbers.
    Once he had the phone powered up, he looked at the clock. It was almost midnight. He was tired, but he had a body to find and a nemesis to kill. Lots to do. He shook off his fatigue and followed his instinct, typing out a text and sending it to the number she had given him.
    Good to meet you. Any update? H.
    Within seconds, a reply appeared on his screen.
    Just want info from me, “H”? ;)
    Mahegan studied the phone, almost a foreign object to him. The reply was instant, as if she had been staring at the phone, awaiting his, or someone else’s, text. His months in and out of combat had dulled his social media skills, but he knew how to communicate rapidly in an operational environment. He recalled himself on one knee, body armor hanging on his shoulders, radio handset in his hand, with decisions to make.
    Short timeline. You seemed most competent on location.
    Flattery will get you everywhere.
    So that means there’s something new?
    You’re bad at this, you know?
    I know. Trying.
    Try harder ;)
    Mahegan paused, thinking. What was she asking for? He visualized her full lips, framing perfect white teeth; her small hand writing her number on his large palm; and the lightness of her touch as she steadied his wrist with her right hand while she wrote with her left. He had felt energy flow like a current. Perhaps she had, also.
    Grab a beer?
    Bingo. Where r u?
    Not in Raleigh.
    That narrows it down. Let’s quit wasting time. Meet at Irish Pub in Cary. I’ll be in the date booth. Not there in twenty minutes, I’m gone. Peace out.
    Roger.
    Whatev.
    Mahegan deleted the conversation, hit the map function on the phone, and located the pub Grace had