Killing Game - Chapter Two

Killing Game
Chapter Two
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After returning to his two-star hotel room and checking it for bugs of the electronic kind, Brannon called Veritas. The call lasted twenty minutes, and none of it was pleasant. There was no good way to tell your employer that you were now a felon, and that crime had happened on their watch. While the bad news percolated up the command chain to his boss, Brannon headed to the closest big-box store to buy camping gear. ​

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As he shopped in the sporting-goods department, he grumbled under his breath. He had all this at home, and in much higher quality, but that was at the cabin in Kentucky. At least he’d brought his own rucksack and duffle bag on the mission. 
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Where the hell are they sending me? 

As Brannon rolled his cart toward the front of the store, he spied a man following him, and doing a piss-poor job of it. Which meant the guy was either incompetent, or he wanted Brannon to know he was there. Probably a bit of both. After he’d counted the cash, he wasn’t surprised: Clarke had given him fifty thousand dollars, currently stashed in the rucksack on his back until he could find a place to hide it in the hotel room. This was yet another test, and one that could easily bite him in the ass. 

He’d just loaded all his supplies in the back of his car when his phone pinged. The text was short and to the point: He was to meet up with Morgan Blake, one of his fellow Veritas operatives, at nine tonight. He needed to pick the location and devise the “scenario” to protect his cover. 

With a sigh, Brannon sent back the requested information, then deleted both texts. Then he dummied up a text to a buddy in Vermont, telling him that he’d be in Florida for a bit longer and that the fishing was great. He sent that to a fake account at Veritas, so if someone confiscated his phone and managed to hack the security code, it would all look legit.

Grumbling under his breath, Brannon headed back toward his hotel room. His employer didn’t send someone down from Chicago to check on an undercover operation unless things were really heating up. Whether this was because of the robbery, or something else, he didn’t know. He’d find out soon enough.​

​* * * 

​Though Brannon had been to this particular bar regularly, mostly because it was the best place to meet like-minded separatist types, he still paused just inside the door to conduct a threat assessment. It was habit. As expected, a few of the regulars appeared to be on their third or fourth beers, while the local hustler worked his mark at one of the pool tables. There were new faces, any one of which could be with the militia. Since he was holding their money, he expected to be tracked wherever he went. To his relief, neither Clarke nor the doper was here tonight.

He’d left the cash behind at the hotel because carrying a rucksack into a bar would look suspicious. Fortunately, his seedy room had a serious case of rot just below the so-called air conditioner, the kind that sat just above the floor and managed only a feeble wheeze of air. It’d taken some maneuvering, all of it on his back on the floor, but he’d managed to jam the cash into the hole, encased in a plastic bag. Someone would have to spend a lot of time hunting for it, and he suspected the kind of person who would wasn’t that smart.

The smell of spilled beer and body odor hung heavily in the air, along with perfume. Typical watering hole found in the smaller towns outside Jacksonville. Worn tables and chairs, a dartboard, a big-screen television playing some basketball game. There was an American flag on the wall, right next to a Confederate flag. Which actually wasn’t the official flag of the Confederacy, but the battle flag of the Army of Northern Virginia. But to some, that bit of history didn’t matter.

After winking at a cute server, Brannon made his way to a booth in the back and settled in. His sixth sense told him he was being watched, so he made sure not to let it show. Instead, he pressed an icon on his phone, then tapped in a passcode. A minesweeper game came up, or at least it appeared to be such. He activated the app and the little clock whirled on the screen, then blinked green. No audio bugs, at least not in this corner of the room. That was good news. 

Brannon left the game open and set the phone on the table as a server appeared in front of him, her smile genuine. He had that effect on women, and at one time had reveled in it. Not now; something that came easily wasn’t usually worth it. He ordered a beer and a plate of nachos, because the ones they served here were actually good. As he waited, he checked out the clientele. One guy in a Royals T-shirt near the bar kept watching him, but other than that, everyone seemed to be doing their own thing.

The beer arrived first and he took a long sip, thinking through his situation. Why trust him with all that cash? Why the camping gear? It made him wonder if the rumors Veritas had heard about Ellers having a base in some remote location were true. If he could locate that camp, this whole mission would be worth it.

A few minutes later his Veritas contact arrived, and as he’d anticipated Morgan Blake was an immediate hit with the testosterone crowd. Dark brown hair swinging freely around her shoulders, she was clad in a tight white T-shirt, painted-on jeans, and cowboy boots. From the male patrons’ reactions, it was as if someone had just dropped a busload of Playboy bunnies into the bar. Which was the whole point. Brannon hitting on a hot woman would be expected, and wouldn’t ring anyone’s alarm bells.

Morgan didn’t immediately head his way, but hung out at the bar, where she drank a bottled beer while chatting up the bartender. A former FBI agent, she was suited to this work. Morgan had been with Veritas for a few years now, and if Brannon was going to have someone watching his back, she was on that very short list. 

Just last fall she and her partner, Alex Parkin, had taken down a major Russian drug lord in New Orleans. Brannon had been in Calcutta during that time, but from everything he’d heard about the mission it was a miracle the two of them were still alive.

After a quick dance with a beefy biker who kept trying to grab her ass, Morgan drifted through the room, laughing and messing with the males’ heads—and the bulges behind their zippers. Brannon had always envied her ability to blend in, be it at a seedy bar or a Fifth Avenue cocktail party. 

After ten minutes or so, and after he’d received both his nachos and a second beer, she wandered into Brannon’s part of the bar. Then, as if it all hadn’t been planned ahead, he raised his beer glass at her and she cocked her head and started walking his way. 

He made sure to turn on the charm as she reached the table. “Hi there, babe.”

“Hi. You on your own?”

“Not anymore,” he said. Lame, but expected.

“Oh no,” she said, waggling a finger at him. “You have to answer a question, or I won’t waste my time with you.”

“So that’s why you’re not sitting with anyone else?” She nodded. “Okay, what’s the question?”

“Which musician has won the most Grammys in one night?” she asked.
They’d set this up in advance, too. If he answered incorrectly he was telling her the situation wasn’t secure. At that point she’d wander away and eventually leave the bar. No one would ever know she was his contact.

“Shit, that’s not easy. You sure you’re worth it?”

She grinned. “Answer correctly and you’ll find out.”

“Ah . . . Grammys, huh. Was it that Black guy? Jackson?”

“Michael Jackson. You win.” 

“Damn!” he said, grinning back.

When Morgan slipped onto the bench seat next to him, Brannon didn’t need to check the crowd to know there were at least a dozen guys who would have cheerfully castrated him at that moment.

“You’re a hunk,” she said, running a finger down his cheek. He smiled back, though Morgan was way off limits. He’d thought about hitting on her when he’d first come to work for Veritas, but quickly found out he liked her more as a friend. Most times, dating where you work didn’t pan out. 

But in her case, it had. She and Alex Parkin were a couple, a seriously into-each-other couple likely headed to the altar. Parkin had worked for the DEA, but he’d also been in federal prison. He could hold his own. Brannon knew that crossing the line with this woman was asking to have his nuts cut off. The only question was whether it’d be Morgan or Alex doing the cutting.

“So . . . ” she whispered, nuzzling his ear. “What the hell have you got yourself into?”
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In between playing with her hair and acting like he was seducing her, Brannon filled in the missing pieces from his report, mindful to keep his mouth angled toward her so no one could read his lips. He felt her tense when he told her about the dead FBI agent.

“There’s been no word of that from any of our contacts,” she said. 

“They might have been lying to me, but it didn’t feel that way.”

“We’ll check it out. I can’t believe they gave you that much money.”

“It’s a test, like the robbery. Has to be.”

She sighed. “The boss isn’t happy with the way things are playing out.”

“Hell, if there had been any other way,” Brannon replied, keeping his voice low.

“He knows that. The D.C. office is acting hinky right now. Something is going on, and they’re not sharing intel.”

He sighed, then laid his arm over her shoulder as if claiming her. “Let the boss know I’ll try to keep in touch, but if I’m out in the middle of nowhere it’s going to be hard.”

She nodded, then leaned forward and ran her hand up the outside of his thigh, pausing at his pocket. He felt her tuck something into it, and then her hand drifted upward onto his chest. “Plant the tracker in with the cash. We need to know where you are twenty-four seven.” 

“I will.” 

Picking up a nacho, Morgan dropped a hot pepper ring onto it. Popping it into her mouth, she licked her full lips, tempting Brannon to rethink his promise to keep his distance. 

“You’re a tease,” he said. No wonder Alex loved her.

She laughed. “You need to get laid, my friend.”

“Yeah, I know. But not until this is all over.”

Morgan leaned closer now. “There’s another problem that might be related to the mission. A significant number of explosives went missing from an Army base in Texas. We think Ellers was behind the theft.”

“What’d they steal?” he asked.

“C-4. Enough to do a helluva lot of damage.” 

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Anything else you need from us?” Morgan asked. He shook his head. “Then it’s time for Act Two.”

Puzzled, he watched as she sent a text message, then tucked her phone into her pocket. She scooped up another nacho, smiling the entire time.

“You’re not down here on your own?” Brannon asked, and she shook her head. “But Alex is still in Hungary, right?”

“Nope,” she said with a grin.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the door open and her lover glaring around the bar. The moment Alex saw her, he stomped toward the booth, pushing people out of the way. 

“Incoming,” she murmured. 

To play to the crowd, Brannon leaned over to collect a kiss from her. He never got the chance, as a hand grabbed Morgan, yanking her from the booth.

“You tramp! What the hell are you doing?” Alex bellowed. He was in a dirty T-shirt and stained jeans, his hair a mess. Just the opposite of the man Brannon knew. 

“Just getting what I can’t get at home,” Morgan said, pulling free of his arm.

“The hell you can’t. You just got to put out, that’s the only problem.”

“Well, it helps if I’ve got something worth playing with, you know?”

Brannon whistled under his breath. These two were good. If he didn’t know them, know how much they were in love, he’d believe every word. 

“Who’s this bastard?” Alex demanded, his eyes flashing.

He slowly raised his hands. “Hey, no problem, man. I didn’t know she was spoken for.”

“Yeah, damned right,” Alex snarled. “I see you with her again and I’ll kill you.”

“She’s all yours. I don’t need the drama.”

As Alex towed Morgan out of the bar, catcalls followed them. The server returned to Brannon’s table, watching the door slam.

“Wow. That was something,” she said. “Another beer?” 

“Nah, I’m done. It’s not my night.” He handed her enough cash for the meal and a good tip, then headed out. 

As he strode across the parking lot, he could hear Alex and Morgan arguing. Then suddenly, they were leaning up against a car, making out.

“Get a room!” he called out, fighting to keep the smile off his face.
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He was working with a team of solid professionals who would watch his back, no matter how bad it got. Since he might be headed into the devil’s backyard, that was a damned good thing. 

Chapter Three

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​​​Killing Game
​Veritas Book 2
(c) 2016 Jana G. Oliver
 All Rights Reserved.

Available on Amazon