4. Lincoln #2
As we walked down the main corridor I scanned the large office space, and, not for the first time, I thought how proud I was of my older brother.
We walked up a flight of stairs to the loft area where Zane’s office sat high above the main floor.
I walked over to the glass wall that allowed Zane to oversee the battalion of commandos he employed.
Down below, there were several doors open to private offices and a large command room enclosed in smart glass.
This room housed all the surveillance monitors and was supervised 24/7.
In the middle was a maze of cubicles with high tech work stations.
Zane had spared no expense. All clean lines with gray walls and chrome accents.
Not bad for a boy who grew up in a trailer park in the backwoods of West Virginia.
Zane walked directly to the liquor cabinet, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and held it out for me to inspect.
“This ok?” he asked.
I couldn’t help but laugh. He was a multi-millionaire who owned his own jet, for shit sakes, but he pulled out another bottle of cheap ass Knob Creek.
“You know me, brother. I am just a simple country boy. Cheap whiskey, fast women, and American made pick-up trucks,” I replied in a thick West Virginia accent.
Zane poured two glasses and walked to the sitting area of his office. He motioned me to follow and sat down. I carefully slid my pack off and joined him.
“How’s your shoulder? Blue called and said it was a through and through. Just a little patch job,” Zane inquired.
He didn’t need to; I knew he already had all the information. Hell, he probably already had my medical records. My brother is such a control freak; I sometimes wondered if the CIA actually let him plan my missions.
“I’ll live. How’s business?” I tried to deflect, moving the conversation around to him.
“Fuck, man, I have more cases than I know what to do with. I am thinking about bringing in another team, but it is damn hard pulling in six new men,” Zane answered thoughtfully.
“Or women…” I shot back with a wink.
“Jasmin Smith is an anomaly. She is the only woman I have ever met that can handle herself in combat and outperform most men in the company. Hell, you know she saved my ass in Russia. Jasmin has earned her place on this team. Never underestimate that woman. She is smart as shit and as tough as any man I ever served with in the teams. She will slice your dick off with a sweet sexy smile still on her face. You need to handle her with care.” Well, that sounded like a warning if I ever heard one.
“Speaking of which, how do you want to handle the Black Dolphin issue?” I asked. It was his team and ultimately his call.
“We hold off as long as we can. I will not flat out lie to her, but I will put her on ice as long as I can. I told you, she is smart as hell. She will not be put off for long. I would not be surprised if she is already pestering the hell out of Eric. I am already worried about him. He puts on this joker of the team front, but he is still hurting. He bears scars for me and for Jasmin. Something he does not want her to know, by the way,” Zane responded. He looked as tired as I felt.
“I hear that. We all have memories that are better left buried.” I set my empty glass on the glass table in front of me.
“Some more than others.” I heard Zane mutter under his breath. I knew my brother had a thick layer of scar tissue built up around him like a fortress. No one walks away from what he has done unscathed.
“I’m gonna bounce, big brother. I haven’t slept much in the last seventy-two hours. Thanks for… well, ev erything.” I stood and grabbed my pack. Zane did the same to walk me to the door.
“One more thing before I go. I was thinking about Deepweb336. The Russians are too obvious. I have a bad feeling we are being led around by our dicks with this one. It is too much of a coincidence that the Russians were freed from The Black Dolphin and two weeks later they are in on a CIA hack. Something smells like shit with that.” I had been thinking over this case on my long ten hour flight home from Russia.
“Shit, I don’t believe in coincidences, and I don’t trust those spooks. They’ll screw you to save their own asses. I am pleased as fuck you are out.” The look of relief was obvious on Zane’s face.
“Copy that. I am outta here; get some rest, big brother. You look like hell,” I joked as I made my way out the door. Zane flipped me the finger for my efforts.
“Welcome home.” Zane always had to get in the last word.
I chuckled, and with a hand over my shoulder, I waved and made my way to the double doors in the main office.
I stopped at the biometric scanner, placing four fingers on the screen.
When the high tech lock beeped, telling me it had accepted my fingerprint scan, I entered in my eight digit code.
The door’s lock opened with a click and I exited into the hallway.
Once again I stopped to engage another security effort and placed my face inches away from the retinal scanner to gain access to the elevator.
Damn, Zane is an overzealous security freak.
I knew I would have to engage one more biometric fingerprint scanner once I exited off the elevator downstairs to enter the back room of Z Corps’ public reception area.
No one gained access to the inner sanctum of headquarters without an escort through the secured areas.
Damn, I just want to get home, have a cold beer, and get some rest. If I was lucky, I might get a few hours of sleep before I had to come back for Deepweb336 briefing. Something was not sitting right with me about the Russians involvement, it was just too convenient. My gut was screaming, “Set up!”
After driving around the city trying to clear my head, exhaustion won out over the excitement of being back stateside.
I pulled into the driveway of my new home and found a kick ass Honda Cbr1000 Superbike, matte black with a kick ass red pin stripe graphics kit, parked in front of the house.
Damn, I forgot to ask Zane who lived on the other side of the old Victorian duplex he owns.
I pulled my bike up next to my new neighbor’s and parked.
Hopefully, he’d be a cool cat and we could go riding together sometime.
Rolling my sore shoulder, I fixed my pack and headed toward the house.
I fumbled with the old lock of my front door when I heard a faint footstep.
I stopped, standing stock still, and listened.
I silently slid my right hand to my holster, palming my sidearm.
I heard the noise again, only closer this time, in one smooth fluid movement I slid my HK45 out of its holster.
With practiced ease my thumb pressed the safety off and I turned, leveling my HK, ready to take out whatever crazy fuck was trying to sneak up behind me.
At the exact moment my HK pressed into the fucker’s face, I had a Sig shoved in mine.
“Make one more move, mother fucker, and I will shoot your ass and burn your body. What the fuck are you doing on my porch?” I heard the sexiest voice I have ever heard growl.
Fuck me, she was turning me on while she had a gun to my head.
This might not have been the best time to get a hard on, but, damn, the woman was fine as hell.
“God damn, woman, you are sexy as shit when you are handling that piece.” That evidently was not the right answer.
The gun was lowered, and the round kick to the back of my knee made me stumble forward in an effort to regain my balance.
Not a particularly imaginative maneuver and something that would not have been successful had all my blood not been rushing to my dick.
“You must be shit dumb! What in the ever-loving fuck are you doing lurking around my house in the middle of the night? You lookin’ to get a bullet in your other shoulder? You want a matching set? I’d be happy to oblige.” Jasmin was spitting mad. Damn.
“Anyone ever tell you that you cuss a lot? Shit, woman, you say “fuck” more than most the men I was in combat with.” I knew I should just stop now and explain why I was on the porch, but for some perverse reason I could not stop pissing her off.
I liked the fire she got in her eyes when she was ready to do battle.
I looked Jasmin over from her crazy ass messy bun that held her silky whiskey colored hair haphazardly on her head, down to a white cotton wife beater tank top. Down further to the pair of men’s boxers she had rolled over at the waist, making them sit low on her tiny hips. Hot damn.
“Eyes up here, fucker! As for my vocabulary, if you don’t fucking like it, eat shit.
Now I know you have a hard time answering direct questions in English, perhaps a different language would suit you better.
Unfortunately for you, I am too tired to fuck around trying to find one.
What are you doing on my porch?” she said through gritted teeth.
The girl was going to need a dentist by the time we were done the way she was grinding her teeth.
“I live here. You are actually on my porch. I believe yours is about ten feet to the right,” I said simply. Then I flashed my best thousand megawatt smile. The one I knew had most women dropping their panties at the sight of it.