Hidden Demon, page 4
part #1 of Altered Demons Series
"I understand. What do you need from me?"
"I need you to protect that Senate candidate. She could be president someday, but first I need her to push through legislation favorable to these initiatives. Can't save the world without a little help."
Dee considered the request from the president with the highest regard. She admired him and the respect seemed mutual, although similar sentiments between her and Butler had mattered little recently. Requesting her via this method meant plausible deniability for him and more risks for her. She sipped her coffee, wiping the acrid beverage from her lips before continuing.
"Honored at the request, sir, but I assume you are aware of my current situation? I mean, the service fired me when I got back to the States."
"I'm aware."
"Okay, so where do I fit on her protection team?"
"You don't. I need the mission off-book."
Her tiny arm hairs straightened as her heart skipped a beat. She knew what that meant. Covert missions happened for a couple of reasons—responding to imminent national security threats or executing officially authorized misdeeds. If those operations rolled wrong, she would get more than a dismissal.
"Miss Johnson, your team will provide operational oversight of the candidate from a distance and without her team's knowledge. The team watching the team. There will be technology and tactical support, and payment of course. We could arrange a spot on my protection team once I leave office. How does that sound? We can wipe the slate clean. And you get a cushy job protecting the best President ever."
Dee considered the offer as another presidential chuckle faded. From her little townhome with the spilled beer and awful coffee, it didn't sound bad. She did not want to appear ungrateful. Interrogating POTUS as he extended these opportunities was not her goal, but she inquired anyway.
"Sir, respectfully, I need to know. If you can tell me." She took a brief pause as her morning cup met her lips. "Why is the mission dark?"
She waited for more information. Her face toughened and furrowed as her concerns hit dead air. The call had turned silent again.
"President Freeman, are you there?"
As another moment passed, it seemed he had moved on—had she blown the opportunity?
"Yes, I understand your concern, Dee. All I can say is that a little extra security never hurts. Regardless, my associates can send over a car presuming your team is in?"
Her instincts screamed at her to walk away. She had gotten clear of the mess despite a slight hangover and bullet wound on the mend. Half-pension, sure, but she could always move somewhere cheaper and live off that. She peered once again at her wall of awards. As if speaking, they told her she had done enough. This call from the President should instill pride, but her fear bloomed from the grave unease his request inspired. Despite her concerns, this was not a glorified managing director asking for a favor. It was the President appealing to her directly, and she simply could not refuse his invitation. She decided to serve her country despite it serving her poorly in the past.
"Of course, Mr. President, but what do you mean by 'my team'?"
"A two-person team. We can assign someone."
"No, you trusted me. I need someone I can trust by my side. I'll pick my partner, agreed?"
"Sounds reasonable. Who do you have in mind?"
Dee smirked. Hope they're not allergic to peanuts.
Chapter 6
K
o and Dee rode in the rear seat of a black, self-driving SUV. The bulletproof glass insulated the interior from the sounds of a crowded stretch of 18th Street in Crystal City, Virginia. An undisclosed location awaited them with the tactical support the President had promised for protecting the senator.
"You may have a medal, but you don't own judo. You know that right, Hashimoto-san?"
Ko scoffed.
"You going to show me some fancy moves, Johnson?"
"This ain't no circus," Dee said, eyeballing a five-foot-long sword propped against his door. "You got your katana back? Looks different from what I remember. Didn't want to say anything."
"It's not a katana, but a Nodachi. Ten ninety-five folded carbon steel with a kiriha zukuri tip and copper tsuba. The red samegawa is ray skin, wrapped for battle in katate-maki style," Ko said, caressing the crimson handle.
"Another family heirloom?"
"No, I always wanted one, so I bought it. My supervisors demanded I carry the old katana, passed down through centuries in my household. They believed it carried ancestral spirits. Although rare, it was nothing special—just metal, not magic. When they took it, I realized an opportunity to embrace my future. A future holding my own sword."
"Bet you paid well for it."
"Well, I'm not getting any younger. One hundred thousand yen for a custom build was a small price. I am pleased and the maker was grateful."
"Nice. Is it wrong that I want one, too?" Dee said, exchanging a fist bump with him.
The SUV threaded itself through other autonomous vehicles, turning down South Bell. A picturesque and grandiose building reminiscent of an Egyptian temple displayed holographic advertisements for concerts and musicals.
"What is this strange place?" Ko said, pointing to it.
Dee leaned over to his side and looked out the window.
"That's Synetic Theater. They made it more distinctive over the years—purple leather chairs, sandstone columns, covered the ceiling in fake stars to suggest a cloudless sky. The champagne is excellent if you enjoy that sort of thing. I went there once with some college friends."
"What did you see?"
"Shakespeare. I don't remember which play, but I never want to be that bored again."
"Speaking of bored. Wouldn't it be more interesting if we added one or two members to bulk up our team?" Ko said.
"Who? Your smart mouth friend back in Tokyo?"
"Ah, Captain Aoki? Yeah, he only thinks he is my friend. But he cross-trained with your special forces for over a decade for weapons and medical. Good in a firefight."
"Being good at a job doesn't excuse one from being a constant prick. It only makes their edge dull."
"You don't like many people, do you?"
"Well, I called you in, didn't I?" Dee held back a smile. "Anyway, you can tell a lot about folks by what they say when they believe no one hears them. He thought my Japanese was bad enough that I wouldn't catch his dull jab."
"Then you brought the sharp tongue. Maybe he wasn't the only prick?"
"I'm sharp because I'm more selective, and middle fingers aren't professional," she said, her broad grin breaking through as she glanced over at Ko. "Next time we meet, I bet he doesn't try me. Anyway, we own enough specialty training right here in this back seat and Freeman wanted to keep a smaller team."
"Did he say why?"
"No, but I've been thinking about that conversation—what he said—and what he didn't. An off-book mission on American soil run from a big-time NGO. We must be mole hunting."
The autonomous SUV turned into a parking lot off South Clark Street. A monolithic building with repeating lines of vertical concrete and windows overwhelmed the tiny blacktop. Along the exterior, hundreds of exterior plants dotted the towering veneer. As the vehicle arrived at the vacant motor pool, it stopped and opened the rear doors. A glass entry awaited them.
"Guess this is it," Ko said, slinging his sword on his back as he jumped out.
Dee followed, her eyes instinctively darting around as she studied her surroundings. Trees and bushes placed inside too large concrete and metal planters dotted the place. As they strolled toward the entrance, she recognized it as one of the coworking spaces businesspeople had used in the 2010s.
She whispered to Ko, "Did you see what I saw?"
He scanned the area before whispering, "Automated defense weapons?"
"Yep, camouflaged by the greenery. They want visitors to believe they are bioorganic carbon dioxide scrubbers."
"The place is a fortress," Ko said.
"Be alert," she muttered, patting her thigh holster.
He nodded as the glass doors parted, allowing them entry. The scent of disinfectant and oranges wafted through a spartan lobby. A single six-foot-tall translucent screen in the center of the space flashed. As they approached, a video of an older man in a blue three-piece suit greeted them with a pleasantly authoritative voice as tacky music emanated from hidden speakers.
"Hello friends."-flicker-"Dee Johnson and Ko Hashimoto."-flicker-"First Lady Stacy Freeman welcomes you to the Freeman Foundation. A global, fact-based initiative committed to reversing climate demise. My records show you have been pre-authorized for entry. Congratulations! As you know, your participation today is under a strict NDA enhanced for our safety. Public disclosure in any format regarding what you learn is punishable by special tribunal. Please verbally confirm your understanding of these pre-arranged conditions by saying yes."
"Who are we going to tell, anyway?" Dee said.
Ko shrugged as the man on the screen interrupted.
"I did not register your response, please try again."
"Yes," Dee blurted, and Ko mirrored her response.
A metal box large enough for ten people rose from the marble floor as the video man continued.
"Thank you for your response. Please enter the elevator and enjoy a fantastic day."
The screen powered down as they entered the substantial machine. Dee placed a hand on her weapon as the doors closed. Ko cracking his knuckles echoed inside the descending steel box. Seconds later it stopped, and the doors slid open. A thin blonde man in business casual attire grinned from a head too big for his body.
"Welcome to the playground," he said, gawking at Ko for a moment. "A sword. Fabulous. I'm Reggie. Follow me."
He turned and sauntered briskly down the hallway as they shadowed him.
"The playground?" Dee called out.
"Yes, where the fun happens, friends. Let me show you."
He badged into a door. Moving along the new corridor, they walked by a glass wall behind which a woman with frizzy hair and enormous glasses swiveled in her chair between computer monitors. In front of her, a massive computing cluster glowed through the bubbling liquid surrounding it. Dee slowed down as Reggie answered her unspoken question.
"That's the data science room. We don't let them out much, just keep them fed and watered. But you two don't care about that. We're headed to the armory. Come on."
He paused in front of another door as lines of blue light scanned his face. "Reggie Freeman," a computerized voice announced as the hidden locks released. Ko and Dee shot each other a glance as the heavy entrance swung open. An expansive room with modern weapons and broad silver tables greeted them. He advanced to one already covered in deadly metal.
"You're related to POTUS?" Ko asked.
"Nephew," he said, stroking his chin. "Adopted. Obviously."
"Where does a charity get all this armament?" Dee asked.
"When it's run by FLOTUS?" Reggie said as he snatched a unique rifle and racked the bolt. "Legislation."
She grabbed the weapon as he held it out to her and explained. "The new Variable Alpha Rifle prototype, VAR-1 for short. Military wishes they had those already. Electromagnetic projectile delivery. Quiet without a suppressor and with less recoil."
She shouldered the rifle, eyeballing the sights.
"The adjustable iris barrel adapts to nearly any caliber of ammunition. One charge will last you over a thousand rounds."
"Why did y'all give a magnetic gun a bolt action?" Dee asked.
"Because the user understands the bolt's purpose, even if the functionality is unnecessary. Familiarity translates into ease of use and a shorter learning period. We could have easily put a switch or a button. But weapons should evolve slowly, exactly as soldiers must."
"Why is that? You think we're too dumb to keep up?"
Reggie snapped his fingers and pointed.
"Glad you mentioned it. Saves me the trouble. Now, here you'll find M203 smart rounds. You'll need a 40mm under-barrel mount."
"We're protecting a candidate, not fighting a war," Ko said.
"You sure about that?"
Ko glanced at Reggie, expecting another jovial grin, but found a dead serious expression.
"I'll take a couple phosphorous rounds," Ko answered.
"Agent Johnson, your file highlighted your fondness for being prepared. As armorer, that's my job, and based on the equipment you're holding, I hope you agree I've done that well."
Dee nodded.
"For those who prefer a little jazz, Agent Hashimoto, we commissioned Overwatch drones from the Japanese air defense partnership. I hear you're familiar."
"Wait a second," Dee interjected. "Drones. Grenades. You need to tell us more about this mission. Details have been scarce, and I prefer to be—what word did you use—prepared?"
"You have the requisite information. The autonomous SUV will take you to the candidate's hotel, set up outside from an elevated position. Standard reconnaissance and surveillance, followed by any response needed. Scan this room, you'll see common equipment requiring no explanation. But here… take these first."
Reggie held out two shiny shields inside open leather wallets. Dee and Ko looked at the badges. Then at each other. Finally, turning to him.
"Ko and I aren't FBI."
"That's your cover."
They grabbed the wallets from his outstretched hands, inspecting the gold shields inside.
"Quality fakes," Ko said.
"Yeah, until someone verifies us," Dee said.
Reggie shook his head.
"Who does that? Anyway, we put you in the database coming out of the FBI office in DC. Flash the badge to gain information access or shut down local police as needed. Easy, yeah? Well, that's what I've got. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may."
As he walked away, Dee called out to him.
"Yo, how do we get in touch? Or get back in here?"
He turned back.
"You don't. Still carrying that flip phone, aren't you? That's the direct line to the only person you require. But he will call you if needed."
Reggie winked as he exited.
Dee took a deep breath, twisting back to Ko as he rustled his hand inside an almost empty bag of peanuts. Grabbing one, he cracked it and ate it as the shells fell to the ground.
"Seriously, man, what is up with the nuts?"
Ko sneered as he chewed.
"My family has a peanut farm in Chiba."
"Oh yeah? You going to grow up and be a farmer some day?"
"Already grew up there," Ko said. "I may be the only son, but I won't take over the family business. I enjoy American nuts."
"More than me, it seems," Dee quipped in a low tone as she placed a communication device in her ear. "The mission brief they gave us. Did you notice anything odd?"
Ko snatched a handgun, racking the slide and peering into the barrel.
"Yes, light on both origins and parameters. Another mess in the making. Give me that one."
He pointed to a loaded magazine. After he caught Dee's toss, he slapped it into the pistol, thumbed the slide release, and holstered it.
"This job is our way back into our careers," Dee said, inspecting a rifle. "With all his faults, my dad called moments such as this the brass ring, like when I got into college down the road. It gave me more than an education. It gave me access to resources and people I would have never met."
"Better together," Ko added.
She stopped prepping the rifle and raised an eyebrow at his effortless summary. He had mimicked her earlier words at the hospital, yet they captured how she felt.
"Better together," she said, clicking a magazine into the VAR-1.
"We do this job, get Freeman's pet candidate through her campaign, and we might take our lives back. Now," Dee said, snapping the side bolt of the rifle. "Let's do what we do best."
Chapter 7
T
he Atlantic salt water sprayed Butler as the Coast Guard Patrol Boat hit a swell off the coast of Virginia. Two guards stood on each side of him. Flag patches on their uniform differed from the stars and stripes, their dark blue background displayed a single red star outlined in white. As they gazed into the distance across the rolling ocean, a converted oil rig stood as a monument to federal government persistence. Constructed after seismic testing hinted that the Norfolk Canyon site held great oil reserves, the energy company had abandoned it after pumping it dry in two years. Now a United States protectorate, New Norfolk had become the world's smallest country once the USA, China, and Britain tendered a rare, unified vote in the UN. With all three countries building islands in international waters, their modification to The Law of the Sea Convention provided artificial islands official state status.
As the boat cozied up to the pier, a ramp descended and an immigration official approached Butler.
"Welcome to New Norfolk. Passport?"
Butler handed it over. The official reviewed it briefly before handing it back.
"Sorry about the rough trip, sir. Our no-fly zone takes precedence. The guards will escort you to the meeting."
Butler and the entourage exited the vessel, and the ramp raised from the pier as it sped away. The glass elevator from ocean level ferried them upward to the main platform where the doors parted. As one guard led him across the concrete and metal edifice, another followed. Butler glanced around the platform. Military helicopters plated in stealth armor tied to the deck offset the civilian contractors moving between apartment buildings and the towering central facade.
Another elevator trip took them to the top of that main tower. As the metal car stopped, the doors opened, and they entered a room of copper and marble. An older white man looked up from his reading, a smile acknowledging Butler's arrival. He pressed a button on his liver-spotted wrist.
