the receptionist, not trying to hide his suspicion.
“No.” Kowalsky decided to tread carefully. “But I certainly know of him, and I was hoping to ask him a few questions. So, naturally, I’m glad that he happens to be in the city.”
“As I said, they left yesterday for the hospital, Mrs. Hunt fainted, I believe, and they haven’t been back since.”
“Do you know what hospital they went to?” asked Ryan.
“I believe they went to Mount Ida, but I can’t be too sure.”
• • •
His hands were numb and slippery from blood when Jeremy finally cut his bonds. He threw the rusty knife to the floor and slowly stood, trying not to moan. His muscles protested, and his back was hot and sore where the bullet had hit the armor, but the bigger problem was his left foot where the slug had grazed the bone itself. It also didn’t help that his entire body still continued to throb after the pressure point torture it was subjected to. Fighting the shivers, he collected his clothes from a dirty pile and put them on. After thinking for a moment, Jeremy picked up the rusty knife as well and slid it into his back pocket for the time being.
Limping and cursing under his breath, he walked to the door and cautiously peeked out of the room.
The room where he had been held turned out to be one of the offices in an abandoned office building. Shards of broken glass and pieces of drop ceiling tiles littered the floor. A bright blue plastic chair sat next to a door frame that was only partially attached to the ceiling. Jeremy hobbled to the row of dirty, but surprisingly unbroken windows and looked outside. He was on the second floor of a building overlooking an empty parking lot, a small fast food restaurant, and a Dominican beauty salon. Jeremy turned away from the window and, following the direction of a broken “Exit” sign, went downstairs and outside.
“What city is this?” he asked a middle-aged woman walking by with a cigarette, chatting loudly with someone on the phone.
“Newark,” she said without slowing down, not fazed by his question.
“Can I borrow your phone for five seconds?” he asked as she continued to walk away.
“Hell no,” she said and quickened her pace.
Jeremy looked around and saw a rusty Ford Focus parked in the lot behind the fast food restaurant. Staggering, he crossed the street and squatted behind the car, watching for the door of the food joint. After a few short minutes an Asian man stepped outside and walked to the car, his hands full with bags. Jeremy crouched around the car and, before the man knew what was happening, Sykes grabbed him from behind and pressed the knife to his throat.
“Don’t move. Give me the keys and your phone.”
After the man complied, Jeremy put him into a sleeper hold and held the struggling body until it went limp.
When the car’s GPS took him to interstate I-280 he relaxed in a warm seat and dialed his boss.
“This is Brian,” he heard when the line answered, “who is this?”
“Hey, Brian, Jeremy Sykes here.”
“Where the hell have you been?”
“I’m like everybody else, need some time off once in a while. Change a pace, get shot at, tortured a bit, this kind of thing, you know?”
The line went quiet for some time.
“Were you compromised?”
“No, and I’m fine, thank you for asking.”
“Do you have any idea who was behind it?”
“Yes, it was a charming fella from Guardian. But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is that he knew about Martin somehow.”
“Don’t say his fucking name. Where are you now?”
“Newark.” Jeremy glanced at his GPS. “About half an hour from the city.”
“Alright, get your ass over here and we’ll assemble a team.”
The line went dead. Sykes looked at the phone for a few seconds, then threw it onto the passenger’s seat.
“Get your ass over here,” he repeated, imitating Brian’s voice, then flipped a middle finger to the phone.
The office of covert
“No.” Kowalsky decided to tread carefully. “But I certainly know of him, and I was hoping to ask him a few questions. So, naturally, I’m glad that he happens to be in the city.”
“As I said, they left yesterday for the hospital, Mrs. Hunt fainted, I believe, and they haven’t been back since.”
“Do you know what hospital they went to?” asked Ryan.
“I believe they went to Mount Ida, but I can’t be too sure.”
• • •
His hands were numb and slippery from blood when Jeremy finally cut his bonds. He threw the rusty knife to the floor and slowly stood, trying not to moan. His muscles protested, and his back was hot and sore where the bullet had hit the armor, but the bigger problem was his left foot where the slug had grazed the bone itself. It also didn’t help that his entire body still continued to throb after the pressure point torture it was subjected to. Fighting the shivers, he collected his clothes from a dirty pile and put them on. After thinking for a moment, Jeremy picked up the rusty knife as well and slid it into his back pocket for the time being.
Limping and cursing under his breath, he walked to the door and cautiously peeked out of the room.
The room where he had been held turned out to be one of the offices in an abandoned office building. Shards of broken glass and pieces of drop ceiling tiles littered the floor. A bright blue plastic chair sat next to a door frame that was only partially attached to the ceiling. Jeremy hobbled to the row of dirty, but surprisingly unbroken windows and looked outside. He was on the second floor of a building overlooking an empty parking lot, a small fast food restaurant, and a Dominican beauty salon. Jeremy turned away from the window and, following the direction of a broken “Exit” sign, went downstairs and outside.
“What city is this?” he asked a middle-aged woman walking by with a cigarette, chatting loudly with someone on the phone.
“Newark,” she said without slowing down, not fazed by his question.
“Can I borrow your phone for five seconds?” he asked as she continued to walk away.
“Hell no,” she said and quickened her pace.
Jeremy looked around and saw a rusty Ford Focus parked in the lot behind the fast food restaurant. Staggering, he crossed the street and squatted behind the car, watching for the door of the food joint. After a few short minutes an Asian man stepped outside and walked to the car, his hands full with bags. Jeremy crouched around the car and, before the man knew what was happening, Sykes grabbed him from behind and pressed the knife to his throat.
“Don’t move. Give me the keys and your phone.”
After the man complied, Jeremy put him into a sleeper hold and held the struggling body until it went limp.
When the car’s GPS took him to interstate I-280 he relaxed in a warm seat and dialed his boss.
“This is Brian,” he heard when the line answered, “who is this?”
“Hey, Brian, Jeremy Sykes here.”
“Where the hell have you been?”
“I’m like everybody else, need some time off once in a while. Change a pace, get shot at, tortured a bit, this kind of thing, you know?”
The line went quiet for some time.
“Were you compromised?”
“No, and I’m fine, thank you for asking.”
“Do you have any idea who was behind it?”
“Yes, it was a charming fella from Guardian. But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is that he knew about Martin somehow.”
“Don’t say his fucking name. Where are you now?”
“Newark.” Jeremy glanced at his GPS. “About half an hour from the city.”
“Alright, get your ass over here and we’ll assemble a team.”
The line went dead. Sykes looked at the phone for a few seconds, then threw it onto the passenger’s seat.
“Get your ass over here,” he repeated, imitating Brian’s voice, then flipped a middle finger to the phone.
The office of covert
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