Rogue

CHAPTER 1





The next morning, there were two men waiting when I opened. They were clean cut, well-dressed, and didn’t register as a threat.

“Gentlemen,” I nodded.

One replied, “Hello. You are Andre?”

“I am.”

He brought out ID and I choked.

Naumann, Alan D., Marshal, Freehold Military Forces. Image. Code.

I looked up, and he said, “I’m discreetly trying to locate a certain veteran, going by the name of Dan, who was here yesterday.”

I took a deep breath.

“Well, sir,” I said, “with respect to you, that’s not something I’m at liberty to discuss.”

I waited for a nuke.

Instead, he said, “Fair enough. May we purchase food, and wait?”

“By all means,” I said, completely blindsided.

Okay, so the number one man in our military, who was responsible for us surviving and winning the war, wanted to talk to a friend of mine, who apparently was the reason half of Earth blew up, who had then disappeared for a decade. For some reason, I didn’t want to be in the middle of this meeting.

Naumann and the man I presumed was his bodyguard sat down in a booth where they could see the door but not be seen easily, selected easy-to-prepare stuff—a grilled salami sandwich and an anchovy focaccia—and sat. They ate slowly and seemed completely at ease.

They talked little. They were there when the lunch crowd started filling the place, and requested juice shakes after a while.

I clicked my phone on, and I know they saw me do it, but they didn’t seem disposed to any kind of action. Dan answered on the second buzz.

“Dan’s Machine and Tool.”

“This is Andre. There’s someone waiting here to meet you.”

“. . . yes?”

“The Marshal.”

I heard him sigh, before he said, “Thanks.” He disconnected before I could say anything.

I was pretty sure he didn’t want to make this meeting.

***



I really didn’t want to make that meeting.

It had been a decade since I came home, as much home as any place could be, and I wanted nothing to do with the military at all. Especially not with that rat-faced dogfucker who’d used me as a lead pipe.

But, my good deed of yesterday, if it could be called that, had left three dumb bastards dead, and my cover fragmented into orbit.

It was my fault. If Chelsea hadn’t been there, I’d probably have sat back and ignored it. Andre has insurance, and it’s not as if they’d have made it far anyway. But when that gun swept my daughter, I went into combat mode.

Still, there wasn’t much else to do, except go face Naumann and tell him what I thought. It’s not as if he could actually do anything to me.

I’d be damned if I was going to dress up, though. I did the courtesy of washing the assorted coolant, solvent and grease off my hands, and headed across the street in work pants and a shirt. I did check my gun first. Not that I thought it would do me any good.

Traffic control in this area is supposed to be managed by the city’s system. They’ve set it to stop-and-go traffic, to improve stop-by business, so the theory goes. No one really wants to stop in an industrial area near the port, unless they already have business. But it meant I was across the street fast, just under some clown who decided to go airborne in lieu of waiting for a signal.

I hadn’t formulated any kind of response before I was walking into Andre’s place. The usual lunch crowd was there. A couple of them nodded to me, and I nodded back, perfectly relaxed on the outside. Acting is part of my job. Was.

I stepped over and slid into the booth. Yes, it was Naumann. A little older, but remarkably well kept. Killing billions of people didn’t really bother someone like him.

“You wanted to see me,” I said.

“I’d prefer to discuss business in private.”

Well, that was direct.

“Follow me,” I said.

I stood, faced them and started talking about nothing. I turned, indicated the door, and walked ahead. Outside, we spread slightly, and they followed me across traffic. I glanced about for any obvious tails, and noticed they did the same.

Then I gritted my teeth. It was frightening how automatic that training was. I kept situational awareness for myself, certainly, but here I was falling back into team mentality, for someone I despised beyond loathing.

The door recognized me and opened, and the sign blinked from “LUNCH” to “OPERATING.” I left it like that, not that I expected a lot of traffic on a Berday afternoon.

I knew the bastard wanted something military. If he wanted my remaining contract time he could get pronged. I didn’t think he’d make a public issue of it, for security reasons. If he wanted debriefed, I’d done that via post, and had nothing more to add. Whatever he was here for, I wanted to get it over with. That part of my life wasn’t one I cared for.