Cruce
Jameson Force Security hides in plain sight. Housed within a dilapidated old brick warehouse in the decaying Hill District of Pittsburgh, no one in a million years would guess hundreds of thousands of dollars of advanced computer equipment and servers were inside.
Or an indoor, soundproofed gun range.
Or some of the most highly trained military and law enforcement specialists in the world.
Or a research and development division that produces some of the most high-speed tech gadgets that would make James Bondās Q die from jealousy. That particular area is housed in a sub-basement level of the building I didnāt even know about until a week ago. The owner, Kynan McGrath, loves his surprises.
I have to sayā¦ I love everything about my move to Pittsburgh so far. Iāve been here for almost six weeks, and Iāve had no problems settling into this place as my new home.
Thatās right.
I actually live at the headquarters on the fourth floor where Kynan built five small but luxurious apartments along with other communal-living areas like a gym, media and entertainment room, and a commercial-sized kitchen.
A few minutes late for a mandatory meeting Kynan had scheduled, I quickly leave my apartment. I donāt bother locking my door as no one here would dare enter without my permission. It goes without saying I have implicit trust in everyone Kynan employs at Jameson because I have implicit trust in him.
I donāt bother with the slow-as-molasses freight elevator at the north end of the hall. Itās always faster to take the stairs. Plus, I think theyāre an architectural wonder in and of themselves. I have no clue what type of money Kynan spent renovating this dump, but the floating staircase spiraling upward from the first to fourth floors is a myriad of reclaimed wood and steel support cables that make the damn thing appear to float in thin air.
I take the steps two at a time down to the second floor where the offices and conference rooms are located along the perimeter. The interior walls are glass and a quick head count into the largest conference room shows Iām the last to arrive.
The huge table that takes up the middle is a work of art. It seats twenty, and the base is made of twisted, rusted beams of steel with a thick cement slab on top. Almost every plush leather chair around the table is filled.
Kynan cuts his eyes to me as I enter, then mutters, āGlad you could take the time from your busy schedule to join us.ā
āSorry,ā I reply with a smirk as I take an empty chair next to Bebe. āWas answering an email to the president.ā
Everyone whips their heads my way, but Iāve only got eyes for Kynan, who cocks an eyebrow. Not in skepticism, because I do indeed know the president of the United States, but more in annoyance I would just casually drop that name to excuse my tardiness.
So I appease him a bit. āHe says he needs to talk to me about something important.ā
Kynanās expression smooths, and he sits a little straighter. āPerhaps this meeting isnāt as important as talking to the president,ā he suggests.
Laughing, I shake my head. āHe wants me to come to D.C. Asked you to come along as well. Tomorrow if we can.ā
Iāll give Kynan credit. Heās the coolest of cucumbers, and doesnāt so much as flinch or blink in surprise. Instead, he just gives a curt nod. āWeāll talk after this meeting.ā
I nod back, giving some thought as to what could be so important that Jonathan Alexander, president of the United States, wants to see Kynan and me tomorrow in D.C. But thatās going to have to wait a bit since Kynan stands from his chair to begin the meeting.
He sweeps his arm around the room. āAs you can see, our conference table is getting full and weāve got some fresh faces here today. Iāll start off by introducing the new folks.ā
I look around the room, briefly glancing at each person. Since I was the first hire Kynan had made, I actually know everyone, especially since heās had me sit in on all subsequent interviews with the exception of the man sitting across the table from me, Saint Bellinger. He was hired just days after I was, but I was on an assignment watching over Kynanās fiancĆ©e the day Saint had been interviewed.
Of course, itās amazing to think I still have a job after that day, seeing as Iād managed to let Joslyn get kidnapped by a psycho stalker while she was on my watch.
On the flip side, and in fairness to me, Kynan understands Joslyn gave me the slip and doesnāt fault me for losing her.
Thank fuck.
āIām just going to go around the table to make quick introductions. I expect members who have been here longer to step up and offer guidance to the newbies.ā
To Kynanās immediate right sits a young black man with a bald head and freakish bluish-gray eyes. Heās sporting diamond studs in his ears, and heās impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, which is expertly cut and stitched around an impressive array of muscles. Iād peg him as a professional athlete or something, but I know thatās not the case as itās not the nature of our business.
Jameson Force Security is a private agency that contracts military and security specialists for any host of reasons from recovering kidnap victims to coordinating black-op strikes against foreign enemies.
āThis is Dozer,ā Kynan says as he points at the man. āI havenāt come up with a title for him yet, but heās officially the smartest man employed by Jameson. He has an IQ of one hundred and seventy, and he turned down a very lucrative job at NASA to come join us as our head of strategy and planning as well as working with Bebe in tech. Dozer has been known to see things no one else can, which can be an invaluable resource in our line of work.ā
All heads now whip toward Dozer, who has suddenly become the most interesting man in the world.
He merely grins, bright white teeth flashing against his black skin, and says, āPlusā¦ Kynan promised me Iād get to learn how to blow shit up.ā
This dude has it going on. Dresses like a damn movie star, has the good looks to go along with it, brains that make Stephen Hawking look stupid, and he wants to blow shit up. I cannot wait to have a beer with him.
My gaze moves from Dozer over to Saint, who is smirking at me. Heās thinking the same thing as I amā¦ that weāre going to pull Dozer into the bromance weāve had going since we started working here. We came on at the same time, and we werenāt part of the original Jameson crew that moved here from Vegas. While those guys are all amazing and Iād trust with them with my life, Saint and I bonded since we were the newbies at the time.
Kynan then points to the stunning brunette sitting on the other side of Bebe. āAll of you know Dr. Corinne Ellery as she did each of your psych evaluations before you were offered employment here. Iām pleased to announce sheās going to be coming on board permanently with Jameson starting next month. For now, sheās winding up her psychiatric practice in D.C.ā
āAnd what will the beautiful Dr. Ellery be doing, exactly?ā Cage Murdock asks with a charming smile thrown her way, which she ignores. Heās one of the Vegas transplants.
āSheās going to be making sure all of you stay in top mental health, especially given some of the traumatic shit weāre going to be getting ourselves into.ā
At the solid reminder we do dangerous missions, the mischievous grin slides off Cageās face.
āCorinne will have regular visitation hours and an office on this floor. Utilize her services freely, and donāt make me send you.ā
Nervous laughter sounds around the table.
āThe guy on the end with the āhigh and tightā is going to be joining us in a few weeks,ā Kynan continues as he points to a man whoās clearly active duty. āThatās Malik Fournier, and he just got out of the Marine Corpsā2nd Recon. Heās going to spend a few weeks with family before starting here at Jameson.ā
I study the man. Late twenties, Iād guess, with dark hair and hazel eyes. Heās special forces, and I can tell by the look in his eyes heās seen some pretty sketchy shit. He catches my gaze and gives me a slight nod, which I return.
Welcome aboard, dude. Weāll do beers, too.
āSome of you might know Malikās famous hockey brothers,ā Kynan continues in his crisp, British accent.
āFournier?ā Cage drawls in hesitant but hopeful surprise. āAs in Max and Lucas Fournier?ā
Malik grins as he nods at Cage.
āHoly fucking shit,ā Cage explodes, giving a Southern holler of glee as he bangs his fist on the table. Corinne Ellery about jumps out of her seat. āThe Carolina Cold Fury is my hockey team. Mine! Two-time Stanley Cup Champions, baby.ā
Kynan shrugs. āI wouldnāt know about that shit. We donāt have bloody hockey where Iām from.ā
Everyone laughs because Kynanās been in the States long enough to know what ice hockey is, and he sure as hell should have heard about the Cold Fury. Theyāre looking good for a three-peat championship this year, but they might just get upset by the new franchise team in the league, the Arizona Vengeance.
In fact, that seems to be what everyoneās chattering about now. Kynan only lets it go on for about three seconds before heās banging his hand on the table to get quiet again.
āYou can talk hockey with Malik later,ā he grumbles, then gives his attention to the dark-haired woman sitting next to me. āBut for now, weāve got some new tech to discuss, so Iāll turn it over to Bebe.ā
All eyes go to our favorite hacker.
Well, our only hacker, but if there were others, none would be as beloved as Bebe. Sheās actually a convicted felon, but Kynan sprung her from a thirty-five-year prison sentence early. Sheād been rightfully convicted of stealing sensitive military codes to launch nuclear weapons, but her reasons for doing it were understandable. Her sonās life was at stake, and there wasnāt anything Bebe wouldnāt do for Aaron. But she loved her country, too, so she fucked over the group forcing her to steal the codes and made sure she was caught so the codes remained safe.
Our country was safe, her son was safe, and Bebe went to prison.
Until Kynan brought her aboard Jameson.
Bebe is officially one of the coolest people I know, and she launches into some new security feature she just installed that requires retinal scans to get into the building.
I tune her out. Apparently, Iām going to have to get my eyeballs scanned over in her lab soon, so she can fill me in then.
Instead, I fish my phone out of my pocket, then pull up the email Iād received a little bit ago.
Itās not the official presidential email from the White House. No, this is a private email sent through an encrypted server.
The email address alone told me it was from President Alexander.
[email protected]
āCavalierā was Jonathan Alexanderās Secret Service code name when heād been vice president and I was assigned to his protection detail.
The email was precise, but I recognized it as coming from him. Iād worked closely with him too long not to.
Cruce,
I know Iām the one who owes you the favor, but I really need your help. This is off the books.
You saved my life once. This time, I need you to save someone whom I love deeply.
Iāll send Marine One for you and Kynan McGrath in the morning.
It wasnāt signed, but I knew it was from Jonathan Alexander, former vice president and current president of the United States. This wasnāt a request but a command.
Heād said he was sending one of the presidential helicopters tomorrow for Kynan and me. Heās equating his need to when I saved his life last year, so I know itās beyond important to him.
Of course, I never even thought about declining. One simply didnāt do that when the president demanded their presence.
So I merely emailed back, Yes, sir. See you tomorrow.
And it looks like Jameson is going to have its first big, off-the-books contract straight from the most powerful man in the world.