Chapter 1
“You’re smarter than you look.”
“Yeah, well, I like to manage expectations.” Frank glanced at his flavor-of-the- week date with a wry smile. “I’m just a girl looking at a guy, wondering what—”
A message from Frank’s watch blared a familiar tune as it interrupted the two at dinner and all those around them.
“Umm—sir?” A waiter passing by their table gave Frank a parental look.
“Sorry, I’m on it,” Frank said with an apologetic nod.
“What’s ‘butts’?” the ash-blonde at his right asked, scrunching together her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Why does your watch say ‘butts’ on it?”
“It’s BUTTS all in caps, like an acronym. It’s just work,” Frank said, checking the smooth, black face of the watch he wore on his left wrist. He ignored the message from his boss. “So where were we? We were talking about doing something fun after dinner, right?”
“What’s an acronym?” the blonde asked, a quizzical expression etched on her face. “Is that like two words that are the same?”
“I think you’re thinking of a synonym,” Frank said with a signature smile.
BEEP BEEP BE-DOH BEEP BEEP!
Before he could continue, his watch sounded again. Usually, it wouldn’t have been of any major concern; his Power Rangers ringtone letting him know he had a message from work was standard. However, tonight, Frank had taken his newest date to a rather exclusive, highbrow Italian cuisine experience, where the other patrons didn’t look amused by the constant juvenile sounds emanating from his latest communication tech.
“Can you turn that off?” his date asked as she looked around, her shoulders shrinking as she glanced from side to side, avoiding eye contact with the other diners. Her gaze beneath the curtain of obvious eyelash extensions landed on a table in the corner, where a quartet of brawny, well-dressed men sat glaring at them. Their bodies were tense and unnaturally still within their cashmere, fine-tailored suits. If Frank were to venture a guess, their day jobs weren’t exactly of the legal kind.
“Technically, I can. But the boss doesn’t like it when I switch her to ‘off’ or ‘mute.’ They can track all of that stuff, you know,” Frank said, eyes on the same table as Melony ... or was it Susan?
Open concept dining area of the restaurant featured low, cushioned seating around polished, olive-wood tables. A warm, orange glow from table candles and low-hung pendant lamps lit the way for the service staff. The team met their patrons’ needs in swift, unpressured movements; their timing and recommendations were as impeccable as their shirts were crisp. It was the type of place one went for a celebration, where the prices on the menu carried an extra digit and the parking was valet only. It wasn’t Frank’s usual go-to, but he was always in to try anything once.
The light chatter in the restaurant picked up again, after having been disturbed for the second time by Frank’s watch. A cellist filled the air with smooth vibrations from a corner, serenading the crowd with songs Frank could recall but couldn’t name.
“Like, what kind of watch is that, anyway?” The blonde leaned over to Frank, revealing a light pink bralette beneath a plunging neckline. “I’ve never seen a triangle one like that before.”
“Oh, it’s not really on the market,” Frank started. “It’s a—”
BOM-BOM BOM BOM-BOM
This time his watch didn’t send him a message—it rang. The theme music to Terminator thundered through the quiet of the restaurant like a war drum in a church. The interruption was too loud for Frank to ignore. A quick look down confirmed his suspicions: two messages and a call.
The first message said: Frank, report in.
The second: Frank we have an urgent matter for you. Report.
The call was from his immediate supervisor.
“Hey, muscles,” a raspy voice said from Frank’s left. “Time for you and your cell phone to make yourself scarce from my restaurant. You can leave the lady.”
Frank leaned back in his chair to look up into the bloodshot eyes of a bald man with a scar across his throat. He was one of the four who had been glaring at him from the table in the corner. Behind him stood three larger men Frank guessed were his own “muscles.”
“Listen, I’m sorry,” Frank said, shaking his head with a sigh. “I understand my watch going off can be disturbing. Trust me, the last thing I want to do is ruin
someone’s tortellini. That’s a fun word, right? Tortellini? Anyway, I’ll take the call outside, and we can all go back to enjoying our night.”
“You must not have heard me.” Baldy grabbed Frank by the collar and dragged him to his feet. “You’re done here.”
“This ... this is just escalating so fast.” Frank sighed. Although he was being lifted from his seat, his tiptoes barely touching the ground underneath him, Frank kept his cool. “We’re really going to do this right here? Right now?”
“You have brain damage or something?” Baldy leered down at him.
“Probably. All that time in corps couldn’t have been good for me.” Frank placed both his hands on top of the man’s who was holding him up. He looked over to his date. “I’m really sorry about this.”
The blonde’s mouth was wide open as she watched the scene unfolding in front of her. She wasn’t capable of saying anything, though she did manage to grab her phone and begin to record the scene. The entire restaurant had gone quiet; from the cellist playing in the corner, to the chattering people at the other tables, everyone looked on, unwilling to intervene.
“Last chance,” Frank said to the gorilla-sized restaurateur still holding him. “Let me go now, or things are going to get ... painful, up in here.”
“You idiot,” Baldy said. “You’re—ahhhhh!”
Frank had kept his temper in check for as long as he was able. A long time ago, he had been taught the lesson that someone’s grip could be stronger than your own, but a single finger of theirs was never as strong as your entire hand.
In one quick move, Frank had grabbed the man’s left pinky finger and twisted it backwards past its normal range of motion.
SNAP!
The phalange cracked with a sickening noise. And Frank didn’t stop. It was his turn to grab the hefty man, who was a few inches taller than his own six-foot frame, by the pressed broadcloth collar. Frank slammed the crown of his own head into the man’s crooked nose—once, twice, three times.
There was another crunch as a shower of blood cascaded over the two combatants, as well as the table Frank had been sitting at with his date. Frank’s chambray shirt was a bloody mess. The front of Baldy’s shirt was white no more.
“Damn. I’m going to need another new shirt,” Frank said, considering himself for a brief moment, rolling his eyes.
Everyone was stunned as the bald man moaned and sunk to his knees. Like some spell had been lifted, the three goons behind their downed leader charged at Frank.
Frank’s plan was simple. When dealing with multiple targets, the best idea was to always put down each enemy as fast as possible, with as few strikes as possible, in order to move on to the next target. Not like in the movies, where the hero fights five different bad guys at once.
The first attacker came at Frank with a wide swing. Frank leaned back, letting the blow glance past his face. The strike was so close, a brief gust of wind rushed past his nose.
Frank struck out with his right fist, which landed across the bearded man’s jaw. Then he slammed into the man with his right shoulder, driving him back into his two counterparts who were trying to get around their comrade and join the fight. Frank grabbed the dazed man behind the head with both of his hands, and at once, he drove the man’s head down and his right knee up into his skull.
The man toppled just as pain exploded across Frank’s eyes. Bright dots played in front of him. Another strike from the dark-suited man on his right split the right side of Frank’s lip.
Recovering, Frank caught the third blow intended for him, twisting the man’s arm completely around by his wrist. The attacker fell to his knees in a scream of pain. As though in one single, fluid motion, Frank slammed his right fist into the back of the man’s exposed arm. His blow landed right over the man’s elbow, shattering his arm in multiple locations.
But it had taken too much time. Frank’s final attacker grabbed a dinner knife from the table and lunged for his head. Frank moved out of the way, but too late. A shallow cut opened at his dark hairline on the left side of his face.
Frank knocked into a table behind him, trying to get out of the path of the man swiping his knife through the air like a crazed orchestra conductor.
Frank reached behind him, feeling at the edge of the table and grabbing a utensil he hoped was a knife of his own. It was a spoon.
“Of course I would grab a spoon,” Frank muttered.
The two men circled one another. Frank’s enemy smiled at him with malicious intent. Without warning, the man charged again.
Inverting the spoon so the handle now pointed up, Frank batted the incoming knife to the side and plunged the handle of his spoon into the man’s left eye.
A collective gasp rose up from the restaurant’s clientele. The man screamed, clawing at the spoon coming out of his eye as he fell to the ground.
“Someone should call an ambulance ... or two.” Frank looked down at the carnage at his feet. “They’re going to need some help getting up from this one, and a lot of pain meds.”
Frank looked over at his date. The woman’s mouth hadn’t closed since the fight began. Nor had her phone been put down. A spray of crimson blood from the bald man’s nose speckled her cream dress.
“Hey, Faith.” Frank winced, hoping that was her name. “You okay?”
“My name’s not Faith, Frank!” The woman finally recovered from her shock, looking down at her blood-spattered dress. “And no, I’m not okay!”
“Why was I thinking Faith? Amber? It’s Amber, right?” The blonde shot daggers at him from her blue eyes. “Nikki?”
“I’m going to kill you myself!” the woman screamed. Frank’s watch went off again.
“Well, I gotta run, but ... raincheck?” Frank grinned at the woman, his split lip still bleeding. “We should really do this again sometime soon.”
Chapter 2
Instructions always came the same way: a location destination and a time. Nothing more, nothing less. Transportation arrangements were made for him. All Frank had to do was show up where he was told to and introduce the buyers to the weapons and/or equipment.
B.U.T.T.S. stood for Ballistics United Tactical and Tech Systems. His employer was a technology and weapons manufacturer that primarily sold to the United States government. The company, founded by two Marines who had served in Desert Shield and were originally backed by some smart investors, had earned the leading name in the business of everything from body armor that could stop a high- caliber bullet at point-blank range, to the latest and greatest in gauss powered rifles. Not to mention, they developed and launched items most people have only heard of in futuristic and sci-fi cinemas. They credited part of their continued success to employing Marines who had been in the field, who knew their stuff, and who knew how to execute orders.
A quick flight, and Frank found himself in Nevada. An armed escort picked him up from McCarran airport. Frank wasn’t given details on who the buyer was, but when the soldier approached him, he was pretty sure he knew.
“Frank Wolffe?” asked an attractive, middle-aged woman with shoulder- length chestnut hair and clad in military fatigues. “Are you Frank Wolffe?”
“You already know the answer to that.” Frank smiled with a wince. The act had brought on a stinging sensation to the corner of his lip, which was still recovering from the previous night. “I heard you needed some ... goods.”
The woman’s astute gaze darted around the small airport to see whether anyone had overheard Frank’s remarks. “Yes, we can discuss the details later. The products have arrived ahead of you and are waiting for us. Follow me.”
She wasted no time on pleasantries. Simply completing an about-face, she walked away.
Frank was used to the military type. He had served his own obligation as soon as he could enlist. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he had been contracted with the United States Marine Corps. As soon as he had completed his stint, he had been hired by B.U.T.T.S. During his decade or so with the weapons manufacturer, he had worked his way up the ranks to be a salesman of sorts for the company. His amiable personality and ability to magnify the effectiveness of their product made him a perfect fit for the job.
“I’m Major Lucy Lopez,” the woman said, still walking briskly to exit the airport terminal. She extended a hand while she walked, making the handshake awkward.
Frank took it anyway. “Glad to meet you.”
That was it. Frank and the woman strode to the terminal exit, where a desert Humvee awaited, with two more Marines riding in front.
Major Lopez opened the door for Frank, and the two ducked into the back of the Humvee.
A pile of paperwork sat in a bulky, foliage-green seat. The familiar B.U.T.T.S. logo stamped on the envelope was enough to tell Frank the paperwork was for him.
“This came for you a few hours ago with the rest of the equipment,” Major Lopez said, taking a seat opposite Frank and slamming the heavy door shut behind her.
The chill morning air of the Nevada desert was just cold enough to create light puffs of mist from Frank’s breath. He pulled his wool peacoat tighter around him, wishing he had worn long underwear or something other than denim jeans. Though the arid desert climate didn’t cut to the bone like the winds of Chicago, it penetrated clothing layers with a slow, still creep.
“Not used to the cold?” Major Lopez looked amused as the Humvee jerked into motion. “Don’t worry, we’ll be there soon.”
“I’m great, take your time,” Frank said grabbing the manila envelope resting on the seat beside him. Embossed at the top of the otherwise nondescript enclosure was the logo of his employer—a pyramid with the back of a bullet in the center filled the triangle-shaped emblem. A circle surrounded the pyramid.
Frank took the next few minutes to peruse the itemization of equipment and weaponry he would be unpacking and presenting to the United States Marine Corps. The list was extensive; beyond extensive. Frank saw items on the inventory he had previously thought were still in the conceptual stages of development. This order would have totaled in the billions of dollars.
“You all right?” Major Lopez asked across from Frank as the Humvee barreled out of Sin City and into the vast Mojave desert’s rocky red-browns with patches of cactus and grasses. “You look like you’re surprised.”
“What? Oh.” Frank kept his head tilted down, but moved his eyes up to meet the Major’s gaze. “What are you jarheads doing out here in the Mojave? I’ve never seen an order like this before.”
“You know the rules: don’t ask don’t tell,” Major Lopez said with a twitch of her own eyebrows. It was clear she was aware of her flawless skin and attractive disposition. “Eyes only.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Frank said, shaking his head from side to side as he finished pouring over the manifest. “I’m breaking my own rule. The less I know, the better. I’m going to introduce you and your CO to the goodies then I’ll be off.”
“Sounds good to me,” Major Lopez said.
But the truth was Frank couldn’t shake curiosity that easily. “But seriously, like it’s aliens or something, right?”
“What’s that?”
“I mean out here in the desert, you found aliens. Like Area 51. Don’t try to lie to me about that one. I’ve been there.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny.” Major Lopez actually smiled. Frank leaned back with a sigh. “You’ve told me everything already.”
“I’ve told you nothing.” Major Lopez rolled her eyes.
“Exactly,” Frank said, putting his hands into the pockets of his peacoat. “That’s my point.”
“You’re a nut.”
“Oh, I’m a lot more than that,” Frank said as his mind ran over the vast inventory once more. The Marines had spared no cost. Everything on the list would equip a small army. The only thing missing was the large hyper-beam weapons Frank had seen in development at B.U.T.T.S. headquarters. He wouldn’t doubt that it was only on backorder.
The Humvee rode the rest of the way in silence. Frank caught signs on the road to their destination outside the city of Las Vegas, and it was soon clear where the Humvee was headed. The Hoover Dam was getting closer and closer.
Mile markers counting down the span to the man-made structure popped up every few minutes as they approached. Frank’s mind was working on overdrive. To his knowledge, there was no working military branch stationed at the Hoover Dam.
A sixth sense Frank had grown to trust during his own time in the military tickled the back of his neck.
Easy there, hombre, Frank thought. You’re not in the military anymore. This isn’t different than any other job. Get in, play Santa, give the kids their shiny new toys, and get out. Don’t ask any more questions or show more interest than you have to. This is just a job. Tonight, you’ll be back taking Lisa, or Deborah, or whatever her name was, out on a make-up date. Or if not her, someone else.
Despite his own internal pep talk, Frank couldn’t help noticing when the Humvee pulled off the main road. Major Lopez produced a black hood from her back pocket and handed it to Frank.
“Really?” Frank accepted the hood. “It’s not like I don’t know where we are. And the hood’s still warm from your butt cheek.”
“Oh, I know you know where we are, but you don’t know how we get in.” Major Lopez pointed to the hood. “I’m going to have to insist. And I warmed it up for you on purpose. You looked cold.”
“That’s borderline disgusting.” Frank sighed as he placed the hood over his head, covering his espresso brown hair down to his muscular neck, the end resting on his broad shoulders. The cloth was coarse and irritated the cut on his hairline where the steak knife had scratched him the night before. “I’m going to tack on hazard pay for this one.”
Frank felt the Humvee lurch to life again and bounce down an unmarked road.
“I’m going to have to ask you for your phone, smartwatch, and any other pieces of communication you have on your person,” Major Lopez said, her voice drifting past the hood. “It won’t work where we’re going anyway but just to be sure. They’ll be returned when you’re done.”
Frank had been expecting this new development, but he moved slowly anyway. “Rules, rules, rules. Makes me miss my time in the corps.”
“I’m sure we could find you the right paperwork if you want to re-enlist,” the Major said, accepting Frank’s phone and watch. “Maybe even speed up the process for you and get you back in basic by week’s end.”
“I’m going to have to take a hard pass on that.” Frank was going to say more, when the thundering of water—a lot of water—picked up the conversation for him.
Frank resisted the urge to take off the hood and see for himself. It sounded like millions, maybe trillions, of gallons of water escaping somewhere around or below him.
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