Generation Lost (Gray Wolf Security #17)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“Why did Xi leave the country?” asked DiBenedetto.

“I don’t know,” said St. Pierre. “He went to meet with those men at the housing site, came back, and said we needed to leave them alone. Then he packed his bags and said he was needed in Beijing for a while.”

“So, it’s just the three of us now?” asked Varovski.

“Looks that way,” nodded DiBenedetto. “Although I did hear some disturbing news. Sources tell me Seamus and Conor Laughlin, and James Scarlutti are all in town. Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know, but that’s not a good thing. Do you think the government is turning on us already? We always suspected that they would. Bastards can’t be trusted for anything.”

“We knew who we were getting into bed with when we agreed to all of this. We’ve kept all the communications and evidence. Just in case.”

“They’ll find a way out of it,” said St. Pierre. “They always do. I think we need to consider moving on. Let them figure something else out. I’m not even sure that these so-called terrorists are terrorists. That last group had four people in it who were here on work visas as professors. No one can find that they did a damn thing wrong.”

“That’s not our business,” said Varovski.

“It is our business if they decide to suddenly turn and come after all of us.” None of the men said anything as they stared into the fire. They were at DiBenedetto’s home, seated in the massive front living area overlooking the lake.

You could always count on the man to have good cigars and liquor, and they were enjoying both. Occasionally, they’d have a few women there, but not as often as when they were younger.

“Sir? There are two men here to see you.”

“What two men?” frowned DiBenedetto.

“Former President Bodwick and a man named Nine.”

“Fuck me,” muttered DiBenedetto. He looked at the other two men, who seemed as bothered and frightened by this as he was. “Show them in.”

The three men stood, straightening their suit jackets as if they were meeting royalty. And maybe, in some ways, they were.

“President Bodwick, or do I say Mr. Former President?” frowned DiBenedetto.

“Michael. That’s my name. I believe you’re familiar with my friend, Nine.” Nine said nothing, just staring at the men he’d met in passing over the years.

“We know of one another,” frowned St. Pierre.

“What can we do for you?” asked Varovski.

“I believe it’s what we can do for you,” said Michael. DiBenedetto waved toward an empty seat, and they sat down, carefully watching the men.

“I must say, you’re very brave coming here alone, just the two of you.”

“Now, you know we’re not alone,” smirked Nine. “You have eleven men in this house. I have twenty-three outside right now.”

DiBenedetto frowned at him, turning slightly to look out the window. Except the window was blocked by a massive body who was blowing fog on his glass, then wiping it with his elbow.

“Hey, Nine! Hey, y’all! This is sure a pretty house. Hey, your guard is takin’ a nap. He ain’t hurt, but he’s gonna have a headache,” smiled Tailor, waving like an excited child.

“That fucker is crazy,” said St. Pierre.

“Maybe. But he’s a great warrior,” grinned Nine.

“What do you want? Why are you here?” asked DiBenedetto.

“We know what you’ve been doing. We know what Rizzoli was doing. Of course, we ended that little scam, but we knew what she was doing. We know why you’re doing it. You provide the funds for the U.S. government to look like choir boys catching the armed terrorists, and they look the other way while you build casinos that traffic women, drugs, and counterfeit money.”

The three men said nothing, just staring at Michael and Nine.

“It’s alright,” said Michael, “no need to verify it. We know it’s true. Here’s what we want to know. What do you get out of this deal? See, we know that they’re getting billions and looking like saints catching all the nasty, bad-guy terrorists. But what do you get other than being left alone?”

“Sometimes being left alone is a good thing,” said St. Pierre.

“And what do you think they’re going to do if a light is shined on them? Who do you think they’re going to point the finger at for all of this if the hammer comes down on them and they’re exposed?” asked Michael.

“What are you asking us to do?”

“I didn’t ask you to do shit, yet,” smirked Michael. “I’m asking what your grand plan is in all this?”

“There is no grand plan,” said Varovski. “We are businessmen. We are here to make money and expand our business.”

“Do you really think the government will let you do that?” asked Michael. “They won’t. Believe me, I know they won’t. The current president’s rating has been hurting lately. The little stunt he pulled last week helped, but it will slowly go back down again, and he’ll need something else to boost it. He’ll use you all as scapegoats.”

“What do you want from us?” asked DiBenedetto. “What did you do with Xi?”

“Xi?” smirked Nine. “We didn’t do anything with him. It’s my understanding that he decided to leave the country, return home, and take care of some things.”

“And we’re supposed to believe that?”

“I don’t give a shit what you believe,” said Nine, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.

The men recognized a warrior when they saw one, and this man had killed without guilt many, many times. His arms were thick and sinewy with muscle, his face marred by age, experience, and war. But he was solid, and they knew enough to not push too hard.

“Alright. We’ll buy that Xi might have left of his own accord. What is it you want from us?” asked St. Pierre.

“Nothing,” smiled Michael. “We’re just letting you know that the government will soon be using you as their scapegoats. The world will believe them, and you’re going to be stuck inside a country that hates you, despises you.”

“How do you know this?” asked DiBenedetto.

“Oh, I have a few really smart friends who are able to figure things out. I’m telling you to heed my words. Stop helping them, get out of the fucking country, or you’ll be the ones on the terrorist list,” said Michael.

“And if we don’t?”

Nine and Michael stood, forcing the others to stand so that they weren’t straining their necks looking up at them.

“If you don’t, I’ll be forced to use my specialty. And my specialty is terrorist hunting,” said Nine. “And I always get what I’m hunting.”

They turned and left the room, the three men just staring at them as they walked out the front door. St. Pierre held up his finger, waiting to be sure that they were out the door and gone before they spoke.

Before they could say anything, someone banged on the window, waving at them like an idiot.

“See y’all later! Have a good day now.”