Previously:

Seattle PD Detective Jared Banks made a fateful decision – choosing to save the life of an innocent over keeping his cover – that got him shot, cost him his police career, and ultimately cost him his marriage. Unemployed and living on his boat, Jared was approached by Warren Tether – CEO of Tether Corp and one of the richest men on Earth – and was offered the unlikely job as Tether Corp’s head of security, a very lucrative position that offered a fresh start in his life. Tether had followed Jared’s story in the news, and felt he was the kind of man Tether wanted working for him. Jared accepted.

Eighteen months later, Jared Banks had somehow become the armored hero Seahawk. On a stormy night, months before Seahawk would meet up with three other new heroes and join the 21st century’s new Forte team, he received a radio call from Seattle’s own Captain Compass, advising him that he’d picked up a tip – a criminal Compass and Seahawk were both after, the drug kingpin Alejandro Mercado, was rumored to be back in Seattle, out from his hiding place somewhere in Mexico, for one night only. Knowing only that Mercado would be on a boat, the Captain and Seahawk both began searching the waterways of the Sound, and pulling in whatever resources they had, which for Seahawk included a mysterious man living back east that appeared to do intelligence work for Tether, as well as Jared Banks’ former police partner, FBI agent Cliff Rohm. While his two sources dug for information, Seahawk flew through the stormy night, checking pleasure boats at random for his prey. On one such boat, he didn’t find his target, but found, instead, a teenage girl in the water next to the boat, one who attached a metal box to the vessel’s hull before diving beneath the waves and disappearing.

A box that Seahawk quickly realized was a bomb.

But just over a year before this night, Jared Banks is not Seahawk, but is simply a man with a great new job, a new lease on life, and who has no idea that things are about to change for him forever…

 

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June 3, 1998
9:28 AM
Tether Corp Global Headquarters
Seattle, Washington

The elevator door slid open, and Jared Banks stepped into the main fourth floor hall. He wore midnight blue slacks, slickly-shined black Oxford shoes, a white button-down shirt (also Oxford), a red and blue silk tie, and a blazer that matched hue with his trousers, one with the Tether Corp “T” logo on the left breast. The blazer bulged slightly under his left armpit where his holster cradled his 9mm sidearm, and slightly less on the right where the holster held his mace. It also hid the taser clipped to his belt on the left, and the handcuffs clipped on the right. There were also zip-ties in his coat pocket, in the case that one pair of handcuffs wasn’t going to do the trick. Expecting the unexpected had always been one of his strengths.

He strode down the hall and passed numerous busy Tether employees going about their Wednesday morning. Most acknowledged him with a greeting or a smile.

“Morning, Jared,” Connie, a manager in Acquisitions, said brightly as she passed in her smart business suit, trailing a luggage carrier with files, a projector and a laptop on it.

“Morning, Connie,” Jared smiled as she passed. “Help you with that?”

“Oh, no, I’ve got it,” she laughed over her shoulder. “I hardly even notice its there anymore.”

“Too many meetings,” he warned. “All work and no play…”

“…Makes profits rise and pays for my kids’ braces,” she winked back at him. He grinned and kept walking.

“Oh, Jared,” a voice said as he passed an open door. He stopped and took three steps back and looked into the break room, knowing already that the voice belonged to Roger Levine. The almost totally bald executive (still keeping hope alive) was refilling his coffee travel mug.

“Mr. Levine,” Jared said, companionably.

“I meant to email you this morning,” he said, closing up his mug. “Any news yet on the background check?”

“I’ll check with my people,” Jared answered. “I think we’re almost there.”

“Oh, thank you,” Levine said, clearly relieved, approaching the door. “I’ve got to get this kid before someone else snatches him up. Kid’s a prodigy!”

Jared took a step back and let the other man exit. “Yeah, well, you didn’t see him before and after the interview. No one’s told HIM he’s a prodigy. I’m not used to seeing a kid sweat that much who’s not running up and down the floor dribbling a basketball.”

Levine laughed.

“Relax,” Jared assured. He wants to be here more than you want him here. I’ll check and get back to you after lunch. See if I can make both your days.”

“You’re a life saver, Jared,” Levine smiled. “Thanks.”

Jared nodded in response and continued down the hall as Levine headed the other way. And just as he’d expected (his timing was so good he scared himself sometimes), he saw a Chinese man about five years older than him come out of a conference room rolling a cleaning cart.

“Morning, Bao,” he said.

The man’s face brightened. “Good morning, Jared,” he said, waving, his accent thick.

Jared’s fingers went into one of his interior coat pockets.

“Your pocket feeling a little light?” Jared asked.

Bao looked confused at Jared’s words. Jared pulled his hand from his coat, and with it, half a pack of Marlboros. He tossed it to the surprised other man, who caught it with both upturned hands.

“Smoke break in the main quad again, I see,” Jared grinned. “You keep leaving those on the bench, somebody less honest than me’s going to walk away with them.”

Bao looked at the pack and made a frustrated grunt and shook his head at himself. He stuck them back in his shirt pocket and gave a Jared an embarrassed but grateful smile as the head of security passed him. “Thank you, Jared. You’re—”

“I know,” Jared grinned. “I’m a life saver. I get that a lot.” He started on his way again, but took the first few steps backward to continue speaking to the other man. “That ever happens, I’ve always got an extra pack in my desk. Tell my assistant I sent you. That’ll get you through the day. If you can put up with Winstons, that is.”

Bao laughed. “I hope it won’t come to that. Thank you.”

“If it does, you know where my office is. Have a good one, Bao.”

“You too, my friend,” Bao said, waving again, as Jared turned and left him to his cart and his duties.

He turned a corner and headed to Conference Room 4-D, checking his watch as he grabbed the door handle and doing a quick mental check of his day’s schedule. So far, right on track. Not bad for Wednesday, but the day was still young.

“How do you have room in your body for a brain and other vital organs when you’re THIS completely full of shit?” came the first voice he heard.

Ah, yes. His people. Professionalism was job one.

He stepped into the spacious conference room, one with an expansive rectangular table and oversized video screens on the walls – all of which were currently blank except one in the center of the right-hand wall with the Tether logo screensaver showing on it. The table could seat twenty in a pinch, but at the moment, four men were all that lounged there, all seated around the closest end to the door Jared was entering. One to two empty chairs separated all of them, making them seem to him like a group of high school guys seeing a movie together and not wanting to sit too close to each other and come off as ‘gay’. The chair at the end of the table, Jared’s spot, was empty, as it was reserved for the boss. Which, strangely enough (and it WAS still strange), was him.

On the left, closest to his chair, was the man whom the seemingly rhetorical question had come from. Chris Roder was early-40s, black, had his head mostly shaved to minimize the obviousness of his early balding, and was a veteran of the Baltimore police department. He’d been a homicide detective for several years before an unexpected offer from the private sector had lured him into a new, and much more lucrative, career. Chris was never one to hold back from speaking his mind, and this was one of the qualities that had ended up him up on the list of candidates Jared had had to choose from for the new home office security staff. His very impressive record of arrests and convictions was another. Chris got the job done, and liked to get it done his way. Tether was open to that kind of initiative.

The heavy-lidded, thin man he was speaking to, wearing a Tether blazer and tie just like Chris, was also just over the forty line. Tony Ritter was wearing a patient, relaxed smile, clearly not affected by Chris’s words, and Tony wasn’t affected by much. Twenty years in the CIA had given him a clear aura of “seen it all”, as well as making him good at playing mind games with people, which he was likely doing now with Chris. Jared felt he goaded Chris, sometimes, just to keep his game sharp. Due to the uncomfortably thorough file he’d gotten on Tony (making him wonder, at the time, what he was getting into, if Tether Corp could access such sensitive government information), he knew a lot about the frightening career Tony had had. It was the thought of the things that didn’t make it into the file, though, that sometimes frightened him more.

Across from Tony, wearing a (perpetually) cocky grin, was Terry Cooke, seeming to just be enjoying this latest debate. Terry was the definition of all-American – great-looking, muscular, perfect red hair, winning personality. All these attributes had made him a perfect fit for UNCLE, where he’d been an agent in the Chicago office for the past eight years. The compensation from Tether made his decision to retire from federal service at thirty-five an easy one to make. Terry had seen plenty of action during that time, and had amassed an impressive pile of commendations. He was fearless, confident, and took a lot of pride in his work, even while trying to pass himself off as laid-back and carefree.

Across from Chris was Curtis Brien, who was ignoring the exchange and using the computer in front of him to look over his email while sipping his coffee. As ever, his face was blank and focused, emotionless. Curtis was all business, a Quantico man with twelve years in the FBI pre-Tether, part of an anti-terrorist unit as his last assignment. A southerner with a drawl to prove it, he got along with his co-workers just fine, but just didn’t take an active part in their goofing around. Goofing was not one of his priorities. Laser-focus on objectives was.

The foursome comprised the inner circle of Jared’s security department, his team managers. He’d had reasons for choosing them all, and hadn’t regretted any of his choices yet. They were good men, men he trusted, men he liked. They made his job easier, which fulfilled what he called “priority one” for his people. “Priority two”, he had told them in their interviews, was not making him look bad. “Priority three” involved not getting drunk on the job.

They all turned their heads toward his entrance (Curtis first, who automatically shut down his email and put down his coffee).

“Jared,” Chris said, looking over his shoulder at the boss. “You need to find out how this man managed to forge his resume. No way he was ever involved in any ‘intelligence’ work. Not with an IQ lower than sixty.”

“And this is based on…?” Jared asked, sitting down.

“No way IN hell,” Chris said, pointing at Tony, “was Pat Burrell NOT the best first draft pick for the Phillies.”

“Tony’s suggesting,” Terry said, still grinning, “that they shouldn’t have let the A’s have Mark Mulder.”

Tony shrugged casually. “Phillies need pitching. Kid’s got two years experience in the minors. He’s a much better fit.”

“My ass,” Chris retorted. “Burrell’s younger and leaner. He was MVP in the College World Series in ‘96. Took the Golden Spikes this year. Second all-time in slugging percentage at the University of Miami. Kid’s just getting started. He’s a career player. You watch. You watch and see if he’s not still in Philly ten years from now.”

“Washing cars in Philly in ten years, maybe,” Tony said, grinning slightly.

Chris made an exasperated sound and dropped his hands on the table. “Jared,” he said, turning to his boss. “Help me out here.”

“Moot point either way,” Jared said, powering up the computer in front of him.

“How’s that?” Chris asked.

“Mariners are taking it all next season, so it really doesn’t matter what the A’s and Phillies do.”

Chris stared at him for a moment. “Let’s see YOUR resume,” he said, deadpan.

“Ah, the sad denial of the home fan,” Terry lamented, still grinning, shaking his head.

“You all need to take up watching hockey or something,” Chris said, his tone saying he was closing the subject.

“Okay,” Jared said, clearly opening another. “Let’s get this over with and get back to work. Where are we on the Zeus Project?”

Curtis answered without pause. “Transportation is all in line. We’re moving the trucks in on Friday. I’ve got all my guys synched up in a set route through the city. Which I’m going to change five minutes before the trucks leave the dock.”

“Good,” Jared nodded, pleased. “Same with reception?”

“They think it’s dock twelve. Got a team on dock twelve. It’ll unload on dock six.”

“This company is just a warm bath of trust, isn’t it?” Terry quipped.

“You know what the Zeus Project entails?” Jared asked, signing into his computer.

“No,” Terry said, stating the obvious.

“Exactly. So if a Chinese infiltration team kidnaps you and tortures you for a few days, you won’t be able to tell them. That’ll suck for you, but us keeping everyone stupid means zero leaks.”

“When they’re tearing your fingernails out,” Tony suggested to Terry, helpfully, “try to picture a happy, safe place in your mind. Like your old grade school playground or the Playboy mansion or something. It’ll help.”

“Thanks,” Terry answered, appreciatively.

“Happens to me, I’ll be picturing your mother’s house,” Chris told Tony.

“Could you clean out the rain gutters while you’re there?” Tony responded, casually. “That’ll save me a trip to Portland this weekend.”

“Mr. Levine,” Jared said, “is shaking like a monkey. How’s the background check coming on Wonderboy?”

“All the hard work is done,” Tony said, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ve got the last phone interview this morning. I want to sweat his former degree advisor a little. Didn’t like some of his political affiliations.”

“The kid’s?” Jared asked.

Tony shook his head. “No, the advisor’s.”

“Are we hiring HIM?” Chris asked, sardonically.

“The company we keep shapes our destiny, Detective Roder,” Tony said, sagely. “College students are very impressionable.”

“So his advisor might have told him to get hired here and steal all our shit?”

“Mine told me to consider work in the truck driving field,” Terry noted. A lie, of course, more of Terry keeping his slacker persona in place to lower people’s expectations and keep them off guard. As Jared knew, he’d never had less than a 4.0 in his life.

“Think he’ll have sweated enough by lunch time?” Jared asked.

Tony nodded. “I think I can make that happen.”

“Good. Call me when we’re sure. Let’s get this kid an offer. Assuming we’re confident he’s not going to build a bomb with our parts and blow up a federal building or something.”

“City building okay?” Tony asked.

Jared grinned while typing at his computer. “Police headquarters would be acceptable.”

The rest of the group laughed appreciatively. Even Curtis, in his own understated way.

“But he’s not bitter, ladies and gentlemen,” Terry said, toasting with his cup of joe in Jared’s direction.

“How today’s school tour looking?” Jared asked, getting back to business.

“All’s well,” Terry said. “I looked into their teacher’s political affiliations,” he added, in Tony’s direction. “Low percentage chance of him brining in a group of sixth grade suicide bombers.”

“Who’s the tour guide?” Jared asked.

“Karen called in sick. I’m taking it myself.”

Jared frowned. “What, no one else in PR can do it?”

“What, and miss the looks on their faces when Doc Gimmel turns on the holoprojector with the life-sized T-Rex? I’m gonna scream ‘Oh my God!’ and run like hell. Scare the crap out of ‘em. They’ll love it. Nah, I got it. My schedule’s good.”

“And the quarterly reviews?” Jared asked.

Terry flashed his famous toothy, cocky smile. “In your inbox already.”

“Somebody’s scoring points with Ka-ren,” Tony grinned.

Terry faked offense. “Hey, now. You know I’m all about the kids.”

“Yeah, you will be,” Chris said, “if you don’t wrap that rascal.”

More laughs. Just a slight grin from Curtis this time.

“How are we doing on the building H upgrades?” Jared asked Chris.

“I’m gonna shoot somebody over ‘em, that’s how we’re doing,” Chris answered, clearly not pleased. “I mean, I appreciate top of the line as much as the next guy, Jared, but these sensors ain’t even ON the line yet. That means they haven’t been real-world tested, which means WE’RE the goddamned guinea pigs. We got moths setting alarms off at three in the morning. Is there a big run on moth thievery I don’t know about?”

“So, not well, then,” Jared translated.

Chris sighed. “I got techs crawling through the walls and ceilings, trying to get it right. Slow going. The vendor’s supposed to be here from Korea on Monday. He damn well better speak English because I don’t want to have to bitch-slap a man through a translator.”

“Why aren’t we just using our own tech for this?” Terry asked.

“Always keep ‘em guessing,” was Jared’s only answer.

“No guessing about it,” Chris said. “They’re going to KNOW we bought our shit from the local Radio Shack.”

Jared smiled, patiently, but the smile was interrupted by the beeping of the Nextel in one of his jacket pockets. He pulled it out and put it to his mouth. “Go,” he said.

“Um, sir, it’s Routh. You said you wanted to know when the new landscapers got here for orientation?”

“Uh oh,” Terry said. His grinned blossomed to full-mast.

Tony chuckled. They all knew that the ‘uh oh’ had nothing to do with landscaping.

Jared sighed, shook his head, and thumbed the walkie. “What was that you just called me, Routh?”

There was a moment of silence while they all waited expectantly.

“Oh. I’m sorry, si—I mean, I’m sorry Jared—”

“’Sir’ is what you call your father,” Jared interrupted. “Do I look like your father?”

Curtis managed a thin smile and took the opportunity to go back to his email.

“No, sir,” Routh’s nervous, and obviously young, voice said, then frantically added, “No, JARED.”

“Do you want me to BE your father?”

“No. I’m sorry. It won’t…sorry.”

“Because I’m already paying enough child support. My paycheck’s not as big as you seem to think it is.”

“Give the kid a break, boss,” Tony laughed.

Jared grinned and hit the button again. “Contact Paulson. He’s taking the session and he’s expecting your call. That is all.”

“Okay,” was all Routh felt comfortable saying in response.

Terry, Chris and Tony all laughed as Jared slid the walkie back into his jacket.

“These kids today,” he lamented. “In one ear and out the other.”

“You know you missed a perfectly good chance to make a joke about his mother there,” Chris said. “You don’t just let those opportunities slip by.”

“And risk a week in sensitivity training? No thanks.”

“It’s not that bad,” Chris shrugged. “There’s free donuts.”

Before Jared could respond or—his intention—get the brief meeting back on track, the walkie beeped again. With practiced patience, he drew it out again. “Go.”

“Jared?” a clearly much older, and pleasant, voice said. “I was wondering if you’re available.”

Jared involuntarily sat up straighter in his chair at the sound of Warren Tether’s words. “Yes, sir,” he answered. “When do you need me?”

“Could you be in my office in ten minutes? If you’re not otherwise engaged,” the owner of the international conglomerate they all worked for said, politely.

“Of course, sir,” Jared answered. “I’ll be there.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you then.”

“Somebody’s going to the principal’s office,” Terry smirked.

“While you’re there, could you tell him to stop buying his shit in Korea?” Chris asked.

 

The elevator doors slid apart on the top floor of the main building. Jared stepped out into the expansive lobby, his shoes touching fine blue carpet. Up here was where the air was rare – upper management, the big bosses. The salaries of the residents of this floor combined could probably buy a small nation in the right part of the world, and that was BEFORE bonuses.

The décor in the executive lobby matched the tax bracket – fine works of art framed on the walls, marble statues, even a Greek fountain. In the center of the lobby was an enclosed desk, a square station filled with computers, monitors and, currently, two of Jared’s top security men – Simmons, with twenty years in private international security, and Daughtry, with only a couple less years’ time in the Secret Service. Neither was surprised to see him, of course, as they’d been watching him on the elevator camera his whole ride up. While one had to get through the more obvious security station downstairs to get this far – with its bullet-proof glass walls and its x-rays and metal detectors – someone with bad intentions for the brass or any of the thousand secrets kept up there would still have to make it through the executive desk and a bevy of nasty surprises for the bold and stupid. Best of luck.

“Gentlemen,” Jared nodded as he passed them and headed for what they referred to around Tether as the “golden hall”. They each nodded back and then went back to their security monitors. All business, those two. That’s why they’d been picked for this particular duty. They reserved their social niceties for the important guests, as such graces didn’t come naturally for either of them and took too much out of them to waste the effort on someone who didn’t want or need it.

Jared swiped his card across the reader at the oak double-doors and watched for the green light. When it came, he opened a door and walked into the hall, checking his watch. It was as finely dressed at the lobby, with tall plants and more paintings. More oak doors lined the walls, with engraved signs next to each of them identifying names of some of the most powerful and best paid executives on Earth. He bypassed them and went straight for the two-door set at the end of the hall, one whose sign marked it as the quarters of one Warren Tether, CEO.

He stood for a moment at the doors, not needing to bother with the intercom button next to them. He was on camera, and certainly no stranger to this office. There was an audible click, and he reached for the now-released handle and strode in.

The greeting area was opulent, and a large map of the world that identified locations of Tether holdings hung on one wall. It showed offices on nearly every part of that map. At the desk in front of Tether’s office doors sat Marcie, Tether’s receptionist, someone who spent much of her time coordinating with Amanda, Tether’s personal assistant, who had her own office in this suite (though Jared knew she was off-site this morning). Jared knew both women well by now. Marcie was mid-30s and absolutely stunning, with long black hair and what were, from what he could tell, the world’s most perfect cheekbones. The smile she gave him did its usual job of making his chest tingle – a reflex, of course, as he had no intentions with her due to his omnipresent obsession with his ex-wife that had still kept him from stepping back into dating. Marcie, however, seemed to make it clear that she wouldn’t mind being his first foray. Yeah, right. He knew she was way out of his league, even if she didn’t.

“Good morning, Jared,” she said brightly. “And right on time,” she added, with an extra helping of unnecessary appreciation in her voice.

“Can’t keep the boss waiting,” he said. “Rumor has it he’s a busy man.”

“Not at the moment,” she smiled. “He’s all yours.” She pressed an intercom button and learned toward it. “Mr. Tether, Jared Banks is here to see you.”

“Excellent,” Tether’s voice returned. “Send him in, please, Marcie, and thank you.”

Marcie looked up with another heart-skipping smile. “You can go right in.”

“Thanks,” Jared said, returning the smile trying not to be obvious with his appreciating her eyes. He passed her, turned the handle on Tether’s office door, and went in.

“Good morning,” the boss said brightly. The aging, but ever-enthusiastic, mogul sat behind his ridiculously large oak desk, typing something in at his computer. His office always felt like a miniature mansion to Jared. The paintings on his walls were all landscapes, scenes from different enviable places in various parts of the world. On his desk were numerous framed photos of his family – his wife, his children, his grandchildren, his great-grandchildren. And one very old one of his long-ago deceased parents that had died in his youth. Behind him, the entire wall was glass, giving the office a magnificent view of Seattle and of the Sound.

Jared closed the door behind him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Have a seat,” Tether said, obviously trying to finish whatever email he was writing quickly.

Jared did so, taking one of the plush chairs in front of the desk.

“How are things on the floor today?” Tether asked pleasantly, still typing.

“All is well,” Jared replied. “No major disasters to report.”

“Yes,” Tether smiled. “I’ve gotten quite used to that with you around, Jared.”

Jared shifted a little in his chair at the unexpected compliment. “Well, you can thank the team for that. We’ve got a lot of good people making that happen.” He wasn’t sure what it was, but something about the boss’s comment suddenly put him on edge, and made him think there was something more than typical involved in this meeting.

“All people you selected,” Tether pointed out. “I’m very pleased with the group.”

“Makes two of us,” Jared said back.

Tether exhaled – having just sent his email – and turned away from the computer and gave his full attention to Jared. “There, now. How’s your schedule this morning, Jared? Do you have some time?”

Interesting…

“Um, sure,” he said, thinking and nodding. “Nothing that can’t handle itself until about lunchtime.”

“Good,” Tether said, seeming pleased. And yet, after that, took a breath and seemed to get serious, seemed to be anticipating something, as he looked at Jared. Jared felt the urge to readjust himself in the chair again, but fought it off.

“I’ve been very happy with the work you’ve done since joining us, Jared. Very happy.”

“Thank you,” was all Jared could think to say, feeling suddenly tense and like there was some kind of ‘but’ waiting on the other end of that sentence.

“You’ve done remarkable things in a very short period of time. And in a job you’ve had no formal training in. I’d expected more of a learning curve, but you’ve jumped right in and mastered things as you’ve gone along. And there’s been a lot to master. I appreciate the effort. Very much. I think you’ve been here at the office more than I have since you’ve started.”

Tether laughed at the comment, and Jared politely laughed back.

“Just trying to live up to the faith you put in me, sir,” Jared said. “I’m very grateful for the opportunity here. I don’t want to let you down.”

“Far from it,” Tether said, nodding and looking at Jared with something like…pride? “In fact, you’ve exceeded all my expectations. So much so that I’ve decided to alter my timetable on something…well, something I’ve had in mind for you since I first heard about your story.”

Jared studied the older man’s face, trying to read it. “I thought this job was what you had in mind for me,” he said, curiously. He felt a strange mix of expectation and regret. Was Tether going to take him off his current job? He liked his job. He was good at it, and no one was more surprised at that than him. Was he being offered a promotion here? Already?

Tether smiled. “Certainly, certainly, yes. That was part of it. And,” he added, seeming to read Jared’s thoughts, “one that I now can’t imagine anyone else doing for me. I think the rest of my employees here would run around like headless chickens without you doing it.”

That news made him relax a little. And yet, there was still a ‘but’…

Tether leaned forward, and really focused on Jared’s eyes - so much so that it made Jared nervous, but he held his employer’s gaze and waited.

“I’ve kept a close watch on you,” Tether said. “Giving you this job was more than just an obvious use of your skills. It was a test. I needed to know that I could trust you. We’ve known each other for only months, and I’ve trusted you with all the keys to my kingdom. You’ve done nothing but prove my instincts sound again.

“That being said…there is one more key.”

Tether paused, looking down at his hands, seeming to collect his words. Jared waited, and yes, was now waiting tensely. He had no idea what the hell was going on.

“When we met,” Tether finally said, “I said that I felt we see the world the same way. Based on the actions you took that ended your police career. We both seem to believe in the bigger picture. That doing right sometimes calls for more than doing…what is expected.”

Jared nodded carefully, feeling that this was a question. “I think we both agree on that, yes.”

“Considering this, can I count on you to keep an open mind?”

This WAS a question – and despite a sudden gut urge to get up and walk out of the room, Jared studied Tether’s eyes, tried to read the enigmatic look on his face, and decided that he did trust this man. Trusted him, and owed him.

“Yes.”

Tether smiled tiredly and nodded. He took a breath, sighed it out, and rose to his feet. Jared reflexively rose with him. He assumed they were taking a walk somewhere. But instead of coming around the desk, Tether put his hand on it, and touched a spot on it that seemed to be nothing more than just another part of the oak.

It became clear that it wasn’t when a small panel slid open next to it. One with a keypad beneath it. Jared’s eyes narrowed in curiosity.

Tether’s fingers tapped in a series of numbers. A light below the keys turned to green. A second later, the bookcase to Jared’s left, filled with first edition writings and numerous plaques and framed awards, started to slide. Now Jared’s eyebrows raised.

The shelf finished its slide and revealed not a wall behind it, but a set of sliding metal doors. They quickly separated and slid apart, opening to a small elevator.

Jared stared at it for a moment before turning his head to Tether, who stood there, watching him. “That’s not in the building schematics,” Jared said.

Tether made a small smile. “It doesn’t surprise me that you’d know that.”

Jared considered the other man, then looked back at the waiting elevator, the gears in his mind turning.

“Please,” Tether said, gesturing with his hand toward it, inviting Jared to step into it first. After a moment’s pause, Jared did so. Tether followed right with him. It was a cramped enclosure, with room for maybe four passengers, six if they knew each other well, and was simple in its metallic blandness. Jared spotted the controls – not much more than an up and a down button – and he stepped to the left to allow Tether to take the spot in front of it. Tether did, and instead of just hitting the button, pressed his thumb onto a seemingly blank rectangle above the controls. It illuminated, dimly, and after a moment the up and down buttons illuminated as well. Tether hit the down button and the car began to descend.

They stood next to each other in silence, and Tether crossed his hands behind him.

“If you ever got stuck in this thing, I never would have known where to find you,” Jared said, mainly just to break the quiet that was making him edgy. Tether laughed lightly at the joke, but said no more.

Their descent continued, and didn’t end when Jared had expected it to, leading him to be pretty sure they’d just dropped below the ground floor. It felt like about two stories more passed before the elevator finally slowed and came to a stop. Jared found himself holding his breath as the doors slid quietly open.

At first, and for just a couple of seconds, the room ahead was dark – dark except for occasional lights that indicated computers were there. But quickly, and apparently in response to the elevator doors opening, overhead fluorescents in the room began flickering to life, showing him the room in detail as it started waking up.

It wasn’t an overly large room, maybe a thousand square feet but probably less. It had a large desk in it that faced the north wall, and that desk had three computers and several monitors on it, along with three fax machines and four phones – yet only one rolling leather chair. There were other tables behind it with other computers. At the back wall, Jared noted stacks of servers – high-end ones, from the look of them – along with a number of file cabinets. The fancy trappings of the upstairs offices were not to be found here. The floors were linoleum, no paintings accessorized the blank, white walls. But the north wall, he noted quickly, did have its own fairly dramatic adornments.

The wall was covered in video monitor screens – one large, widescreen one in the center, two medium-sized ones on either side of it, and multiple smaller ones filling up the rest of the wall. Soon after the lights had all come on, those screens had started coming to life. There was nothing on them at the moment but the familiar red Tether “T” logo on a whitish background. They made the room look like a TV station control room, or maybe the room at Houston that NASA used. His mind slipped back to his childhood and remembered the big room at NORAD in the film “War Games”.

“After you,” Tether said, pleasantly, after Jared had taken it all in. Cautiously – though not really sure why – Jared stepped out of the elevator. As he did, he took notice of a couple of other doors on the wall opposite him, both closed. Tether exited behind him, and the elevators doors quietly closed.

“Is this a bomb shelter?” Jared asked. He’d planned on letting Tether do the talking, but found himself thinking out loud.

“It could serve as one,” Tether laughed. “Though beyond some water and some snacks in that refrigerator—” Jared now noticed the fridge in the corner. “—there’s not much in the way of supplies. I wouldn’t be around for much of the apocalypse.”

Still looking around, Jared let Tether walk past him and take a seat at the leather chair at the desk.

“Please,” Tether said. “Pull up a chair.”

Jared looked around and spotted the closest rolling chair at one of the tables, grabbed it, and pushed it over to where Tether sat. As Tether wasn’t making any move to turn around toward the screens, Jared placed the chair in front of his employer and sat in it.

Tether looked around the room. “I call this my command center,” he said, grinning shyly. “If you’ll pardon the indulgence. You’re one of only a handful of people who know it exists. And the only one working in this office, to be sure.”

“Not even Amanda?” Jared asked. Amanda knew everything about the boss’ life. Or so Jared had believed.

“Not even Amanda. Nor Marcie. Which is why I try not to come down here during her working hours. Though the intercom does go off down here if she calls. I simply tell her I’ll be with her, or whomever is waiting for me, in a moment, and she assumes I’m in the middle of something. It gives me time to ride my way back up. But I try not to put myself in that position if I can avoid it.”

“So not a bomb shelter,” Jared said. “More like a panic room? Which is great, by the way, since it gives me somewhere to get you to if there’s ever some kind of large-scale threat to the grounds.”

“If Microsoft or Questar finally attack, eh?” Tether smiled.

“Don’t think I don’t see them as a viable threat,” Jared joked back.

“Well, if it came to that,” Tether said, still smiling, but there was something forced and nervous behind the smile, “then yes, this room could serve that function as well. But it’s not what it was designed for.”

Okay. Jared waited the right answer.

Tether laced his fingers together and seemed to study them, but his gaze was unfocused, as he was in his head, thinking and calculating.

He spoke.

“As you know, Jared, I have been blessed with a fortune…well, beyond imagining.”

Jared nodded. Most people in the world knew that.

“I wasn’t born into it, as you also know. I came from less than nothing. I had to make my own way in this world after my parents were lost. Having survived Hitler and his friends, I had an appreciation of life and its fragile nature that few today seem to grasp. And I knew I wanted my life to be about something. Passing through such a crucible only to merely exist and get by in the world was unthinkable to me. I told myself I would live each day with gratitude and passion, that I would accept nothing less of myself than the best I was capable of. I would take this gift, this gift of survival, and become all the man I could be, and make the world a better place for my being allowed to remain in it.”

Jared listened carefully. He knew his boss’ history, of course. It was very much public record. But hearing him speak about it made it so much more real, and made him all the more remarkable.

“So I built this fortune, this…empire, if you will,” he said, looking around and upward, indicating the company as a whole. “And, as I had promised God so long ago, I did my best to help others with it. Our charities, you know. Our foundations.”

Jared knew well. There wasn’t a relief effort in any corner of the world without a fleet of Tether trucks somewhere in the middle of it. Tether built hospitals. Clinics. Libraries. Parks. Schools. Tether was the number one provider of scholarships in the private sector. If people were in need, all Warren Tether had to do was hear about it. How he managed to coordinate all that and still keep a business – many, many businesses – running was a mystery to Jared, but he pulled it off, year in and year out.

“When you know what it’s like to need,” Tether said, “to truly need, your heart can’t allow you to ignore it when you see need in others. And there are many kinds of need. Hunger, yes. Shelter. Healing. Opportunity. Hope.”

He paused, then added, “Justice.”

Jared, again, nodded.

“There are many in the world, and many in this nation, who are denied justice. In some countries, the concept is all but lost. In others, like our own, it can be twisted, thanks to the quagmire that our legal system has become, and the people of power who can exploit its weaknesses. This, I don’t need to tell you. I know you experienced it time after time in your police work.”

It was still strange to consider his police career in the past tense, even now. But yes, he’d experienced that plenty. All cops did. Deals were made. Technicalities were embraced and twisted. Bad guys walked. Victims were left stunned and empty in the wake. Welcome to America.

“And who speaks for the innocent?” Tether asked, with genuine pain in his voice. “For those betrayed by the law? For those abandoned by a system infected by greed and apathy? People without power, without a voice? For them, there is no justice. There is no hope.”

“It’s an old story,” Jared said. “Old as history. Them that has the gold is them that make the rules.”

“Ah!” Tether said, holding up a finger, pleased with that answer. “Exactly. Therein lies the heart of the disease. Money and power oppress those without. There are rules in place in societies, but those with the gold can break the rules. And those actions become rules unto themselves.”

He leaned forward, and nearly whispered. “But what if someone with the gold…broke THOSE rules?”

The tone of ‘secret’ in his voice, coupled with the fact that they were in a secret room a good couple of stories beneath the earth, made the hairs on the back of Jared’s neck rise.

“Broke the bad rules,” Jared said, clarifying and cautiously patient. “The invisible rules.”

“The invisible rules,” Tether nodded, smiling and appreciative. “Exactly. Well-said. They can’t be found in any law book or document. And though we see the results of them all around us, we cannot, or choose not to, see them. Be it ignorance, fear, complacency, collusion, the results are the same. They are the secret and exclusive laws gifted to and enforced by men of power. When a man or woman of good conscience sees these laws at work and says, ‘but that’s not right’, and the man or woman next to them says simply, ‘that’s how the world works’, the status quo remains. Few can see the possibility of affecting change. The few that do lack the power to do so.”

He started to say something else, but, instead, swiveled in his chair, moved the mouse next to the computer, and made the main screen on the wall before them activate. After a few clicks, a map of South America appeared. Tether did something else, and the map zoomed in on Bolivia.

“Bolivia,” he said (though the legend on the map spelled that out). “There’s a village in the south, outside of Laguna Verde. It’s called Arbol Roja. In 1994 it was the home of drug lord Esteban Vela and his organization. His operation ran from there. The locals were terrorized by him and his people. Many were forced into labor. His people ran the town. Young girls were raped. Men were murdered for speaking out, or simply for looking at one of his thugs the wrong way. And Vela was untouchable. His vast wealth and strength assured this. The local police were helpless. Some were corrupt and paid off, but most were good men. But they knew that if they took any action against Vela, their families would all be killed. Those living there lived in fear, and without hope.”

It was a story that Jared, having been in narcotics with the SPD, had heard many times in the regular intell briefings, about many such towns around the world.

“But something changed that year,” Tether said, turning all the way back around, the map of Bolivia now behind him, visible to Jared over the man’s shoulder. “One night, while the town slept, the families of the police force all disappeared. Whole families, in-laws, newborns, all of them. They were simply gone when the sun rose.”

Tether’s lips smiled, lightly.

“But it was not Vela who had taken them.”

One of Jared’s eyebrows rose, slightly.

“In reality, those families were no longer even in Bolivia. Or South America, for that matter. They were all living, now, in temporary homes on a lovely Caribbean island—living better, in fact, than their imaginations could ever had dreamed. No one knew that they were there, where they had gone to. But suddenly, the local police no longer had the fear of retaliation against their loved ones.

“And more than this, they found themselves with resources. A unit of professional soldiers for hire, well-trained and experienced in such matters, infiltrated the area and coordinated with the police. Together, they staged a raid on Vela’s fortress. It was surgical in its execution. The Vela empire fell in one night. Most of Vela’s men were killed fighting back against the incursion. Those that weren’t, including Vela himself, were taken into custody. And Vela found, quickly, that those he’d bought off to keep him safe from prosecution were nowhere to be found in his time of need. It seemed that they had found more lucrative arrangements. And he now sits in a prison cell, waiting out his three hundred year sentence.”

Jared swallowed. And was pretty sure he had gone pale.

Tether saw his face and looked down, almost looked apologetic, not for the story he was telling but for Jared’s having to absorb it. “The families of the police returned. The town knew peace and safety again. And even prosperity, as a new factory for a canned goods subsidiary made Arbol Roja its home. For the first time in its history, it’s a thriving place. A place of peace, where children can grow up without fear. The kind of place all people deserve.”

“A subsidiary,” Jared said, quietly, verbalizing the now obvious. “Of Tether Corp.”

Tether looked into his eyes. “Yes.”

“And the families…”

“My island. And my plane that took them there. A beautiful place, really.”

“And the soldiers?” Jared asked, bluntly.

Tether nodded. “In my employ. Part of a good number of people in my employ around the world that you’ll never see on any payroll printout. People who do…clandestine work for me.”

Jared studied his employer’s face, suddenly feeling like he was seeing it for the first time. Tether held his gaze.

“This shocks you,” Tether stated, quietly and kindly.

“It…surprises me,” Jared said, measuring his words.

Tether nodded. “I understand. But it…makes sense to you, does it not? What happened at that village? Why it had to be done?”

Jared thought carefully, and nodded slowly. “Yes. I can understand it. The people there had no way to help themselves. They needed someone’s help.”

“Yes.”

“How did you find out about this? About this village, their situation?”

“I make it my business to know such things. I have…many eyes.”

He turned and did something else with the mouse on the desk. Suddenly, all the screens lost their screensavers, and a mass of different images replaced them. Some were internet screens with information on them, or scrolling down them – news feeds, intelligence reports (and clearly from established intelligence agencies), videos showing news feeds around the world…and, most disturbingly, a few camera feeds that looked like security monitors. Some looked out over different yards or installations. Some looked into meeting rooms. One looked to be at some country’s border crossing. None of them appeared to originating from any Tether camera.

“I have people looking for such needs. Scanning news, obscure Interpol reports, talking to contacts. The information, and their analysis, all comes here, to this room.”

Jared stared at the wall of screens, dumbly. “How many people?”

“Not enough. But enough to make a difference.” Tether looked back at Jared. “Yes,” he said. “Much of this is very illegal.”

Jared swallowed again.

“There is a higher law,” Tether said, quietly. “My life has taught me this, has given me a respect for the rights of all human beings. My life has also given me the opportunity to do something about it when those basics rights of survival, of safety, of justice are denied. My life is not about amassing more wealth. It’s about using this wealth to enforce this higher law. To help the helpless. Free the enslaved. To make right the wrongs of this world.

“This is who I am, Jared.”

Jared leaned his head back, raising his face to the ceiling, and put both his hands behind his head. This is not how he had seen his morning going.

“I apologize,” Tether said. “For burdening you with this knowledge.”

“It’s a lot to process,” Jared said, closing his eyes. “How am I supposed to feel?”

“Overwhelmed,” Tether said. “I wouldn’t expect otherwise.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say here.”

Tether nodded. “I understand. You were a police officer. I’ve just told you that your new employer is breaking more laws than you can probably count. You’re conflicted. How could you not be?

“But I hope,” he added, turning all the way back around, “that the man that saved that girl’s life at the cost of everything he’d worked for would see the sense of it. The need for it. That’s the man I hired. That’s the man I trust.”

Jared opened his eyes – now that he’d stopped feeling dizzy – and faced Tether. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I want you to be a part of it,” Tether said, plainly.

Jared stared at him. Tether looked calm, but very serious.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Why me? I’m not a cop anymore. If you wanted a cop to help you with—all this—then you put me on your payroll too late. I’m just an ex-cop who watches your building, screens your employees and plans your itinerary. I’m not some kind of spy.”

“What you are is a man of conviction, a man who takes action when his heart tells him it’s right. You have skills. But more, you have courage. You see the world for what it is, and you want to change it. I’m the man who can give you the chance to do that.”

“How?” he asked, almost laughing. “What am I supposed to do?”

“For starters,” Tether said, “how about taking down the Ribisi organization?”

Jared’s muscles all seemed to freeze at once.

“Completely,” Tether went on. “And permanently. My interests aren’t just global. They’re local. The Ribisi family has used Seattle as their playground for years. They have an army of lawyers. They have politicians and law enforcement in their pockets. You spent years trying to change this, and in the end, made no difference at all. I’m offering you the chance to finish what you started and end them. Forever. Put every one of them behind bars, from the lowest soldier to the untouchable princes.”

Jared couldn’t help but snort an incredulous laugh, whether he feared offending his boss or not. “And that’s going to happen how?”

“With your help,” Tether said, undaunted. “With the knowledge you have of their people, their methods, their secrets. With my resources behind you.”

“And how does that,” Jared asked, feeling his blood growing warmer, his old rage at everything that happened in his dealings with the family suddenly rising back to the surface, “get around the law? Get around the walls they’ve built around themselves? A lot of good people have tried.”

“Where they failed, we will succeed.” Tether sounded like he didn’t doubt it a bit. And that, along with this ridiculous idea, and with all the crap that Tether had just thrown at his feet and purposely made him a party to, was making him even angrier.

“Right,” he said, shaking his head. “And how is it we’re going to do that?”

Tether smiled. It was a patient, sympathetic smile, but there was an almost mischievous twinkle in his in his eyes.

“With this,” he said.

He turned around and moved the mouse again. With a few clicks through a file management system, he brought up an image that filled the large screen in the wall’s center.

Jared’s anger drained off, replaced by look of blinking bewilderment.

“What,” he asked, staring, “the hell is THAT?”

---

September 28, 1999
11:14 P.M.
Seattle, Washington

Seahawk’s body wasn’t quite ready to catch up with all the things going through his mind, and he stood there, looking over the rail of the high-end yacht, at the small, metal box now attached to its lower hull. The girl he had seen—and he was now convinced he really HAD seen her—had disappeared below the storm-tossed waves and was gone…leaving him to stare at the bomb she had left behind.

His body got with the program, though, adrenaline racing through it and into his heart, and his instincts finally kicked in. He threw himself over the rail, releasing one of his armor’s steel-mesh grappling hooks as he did, and the hook caught on the rail and its line fed out as he fell. He controlled its extraction, and while he dropped quickly, it caught tight and lowered him down. A quick ‘what the hell are you doing?’ shouted in his head. There was a bomb down there and he was going down to introduce himself to it.

But his instinctual concern for his own safety—and his desire to stay in one piece instead of being blown into many—was overridden by the thought of the group of Japanese businessmen onboard the craft that had no idea what was about to happen.

His legs hit the water and dragged, but the tether held him there in front of the device. Though he was flying around in a suit of cutting-edge armor, knew pretty much dick about technology. Just because he’d been trained to wear, use and fly the suit didn’t mean he knew anything about how it worked. This meant he also was laughably incapable of defusing a bomb.

It was a metal box with a timer on it – that was as much as he could fathom. But while his knowledge of electronics was lacking, he had managed to learn how to count in his schooling years, and the timer’s red numerals told him he had about forty seconds to make up his mind on what came next.

There were buttons, but they weren’t marked. Did any of them constitute an off switch? He knew people on the bomb squad in the department. He also knew a lot of very tech-savvy people at Tether Corp. He could try phoning either, using his communication gear. If he had that kind of time.

“Screw it,” he said aloud into his transparent mouth cover.

He grabbed the box with his free hand, took and held a breath, and fired his boot jets. He shot upward, and the box came off the hull easily, and thankfully without exploding. He flew past the rail, ungrappling his hook in one deft move, and the line fed back into his arm as the railing, and quickly the craft itself, disappeared below him.

He blasted into the rain-filled sky, holding the box away from him. He couldn’t get his wings pulled out with his hand occupied as it was, so up was his only option. He tried to get as far above the boat as he could, gritting his teeth tensely, and turned the box to where he could see the timer.

7…6…5…

He twisted his body, thought of Randy Johnson (though Johnson was a lefty, and Jared would be pitching right-handed), wound up, and threw the box as hard and as far as he could. He threw high, and in a direction that a quick look had told him—hopefully—was free of any other boats below.

It tumbled through the air and quickly veered left with a heavy gust of wind. He cut his jets and threw his hands behind him, and his gauntlets caught on his wing housing, and the steel wings drew out as he threw his arms outward.

Boom.

The bomb exploded, lighting up the sky and filling his ears with a roar. As bombs went, it wasn’t apocalyptic, but the blast still hit him and sent him tumbling back through the air and falling toward the Sound below. And it was enough to stun him into an inability to get his limbs working. He hit the water hard, with his head and shoulders, and sank.

Had his mask not already been in place, the presence of water would have automatically brought it down and purged any seawater from his helmet. But down it was, and he was breathing fine, if not too heavily. He quickly got over the shock and got his arms and legs moving again. He went ahead and retracted his wings again, for now, as they were for the sky and he was in the drink. His aquatic boosters fired in response to his command, and they carried him quickly back up to the surface as he shook off the effects of the thankfully tame blast.

His helmet broke the surface, and he immediately looked around, using his ultraviolets and radar to find the yacht he’d just saved. He found it, and it was still in one piece, though he could imagine the businessmen inside running around in confusion, trying to figure out what the huge bang outside had been. Better scared than scrambling for the lifeboat, he figured.

He floated there for a moment, rising and falling with the waves, getting his breathing back to normal and his head straight. It had all happened too fast. How his night had just turned from looking for Mexican drug lords to throwing bombs around was still something his brain was trying to piece together.

As it tried, he spotted something else through his visor. He zoomed in on it. It was a head, one with long blond hair, attached to a body that, like his, was floating in the sound. And with his high zoom, he was looking right into the angry blue eyes set in that head. She was looking right at him.

They stared at each other for a few moments, silently, both bobbing in the sea, about fifty yards apart. He could see that his first guess was probably right – she was about sixteen years-old, certainly not much more. A teenage girl, and a pretty one. He could make out her shoulders and see them covered by that same blue wet-suit thing he’s seen earlier. A wetsuit, he suddenly wondered…or a costume?

She glared at him, as if she could see his face just as well as he was now seeing hers. Her look was a chillingly hateful one.

She suddenly dived into the waves, and was gone.

“No chance,” he said, suddenly very pissed off.

Seahawk threw himself into a dive and went under, too, and kicked his propulsion system in. His arms ahead of him, he rocketed through the water, in the general direction of where he’d seen the girl. It took him about thirty seconds to find her, and when he did, he found that she was about twenty feet below his level, about eighty yards out, and was swimming.

Swimming faster than nature said she should be able to.

Her legs were kicking fiercely, with occasional strokes of her arms. He couldn’t gauge how fast she was going, but whatever speed it was, it was impossible. No one swam that fast. He kicked his jets up a notch and set after her as he tried to process this sight, gauging the angle right to overtake her. He was soon gaining on her, but only barely, something else that seemed impossible.

In the middle of this, something else occurred to him. Unlike him, she wore no mask. She would had to have needed a breath by now. And yet, she just kept on swimming, not heading to the surface but going even deeper. No one could hold their breath that long.

Unless…

She WAS breathing?

She suddenly looked back, and she spotted him. With a venomous glare at him, she started swimming even harder. And, impossibly, started pulling away from him.

Who the hell WAS this girl?

He boosted his jets again, and followed her as she suddenly took a hard left and started swimming east. He locked her in with sonar so he wouldn’t have to count on visual confirmation. His view screen placed her on a map grid for him, and he stayed on her. Though she wasn’t making that easy.

Congratulations, he told himself. Your first super-villain. And she turns out to be Britney Spears.

He changed heading as she did, shadowing her, trying madly to close the distance between them. She would at times plunge dramatically, taking them closer to the sea bed. Then take near-90-degree turns and shoot off left or right, and rise up again. He started feeling like Tom Cruise in a fighter jet. She could try all she wanted (and she was), he told himself. But nothing was going to keep him from catching up with her.

His visor flashed letters and numbers at him.

Incoming call.

Damnit.

He answered it, knowing, from the number, who it was. “Yes,” he said, simply, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. Not annoyance at the caller, but at the timing, and at the fact that he’d just been reminded he was on a clock, and he was being diverted.

“Sandoval,” the man from the east said in his ear, not bothering with a greeting. “He’s cozy with Mercado right now. Their interests are aligning. He’s his strongest ally south of the border. Good bet that he’s provided the transportation.”

“But we don’t know,” Jared said, changing his course again to follow the girl, trying to focus on her and this conversation at the same time.

“It’s the best I could get without causing ripples. I think it’s solid.”

If this man thought it was solid, that carried weight. He wasn’t a man that banked on guessing. Jared knew that much.

“Can we expect more?”

“Not without cost. Other operations will suffer if we push any further. It has to end there. Unless this is worth tanking the rest.”

Jared fought the urge to swear. As much as he wanted Mercado, he knew it wasn’t worth that, and that Tether would not approve.

“No,” he said. “You’re right. That’ll have to do. Thanks for the work.”

The ‘call ended’ notice popped into his view. Not much for the pleasantries, that one. That was true on a couple of different levels.

The fish girl took another dive, and he dove with her. She kept shooting hateful looks back at him, perturbed, likely, that there was someone who could follow her, probably something she hadn’t experienced before. He took the chance to lose full concentration just long enough to place a call.

“Yeah,” Rohmy’s voice said in his ear.

“Sandoval,” Jared said back. “It’ll be one of his boats. Don’t know which one, don’t have any ID for you.”

“Sandoval?” Jared’s former partner asked, and Jared could hear him typing at whatever computer he was sitting at there at the FBI office. “Really? Landscape changes fast down Mexico way.”

“Can you do something with that?”

“Not without calling in some favors. I’ve got to wake some people up in D.C. This’ll be AWESOME for my career.”

“It will if you catch him.”

“You mean when I let the Coast Guard catch him,” Rohmy snarked, clearly not happy with that arrangement. “This would go down easier if we could get the good ink for it.”

“Call me when you have something. I gotta go.”

“Why? What are you on?”

Jared sighed. “I’m trying to catch a mermaid.”

“Huh?” was all Rohmy had time to say before Jared abruptly ended the call.

The girl suddenly shot almost straight up. Seahawk twisted and did his best to adjust and follow. He still couldn’t get his brain around how fast she was, with no gadgets to aid her. He knew one other person who, in theory, could do the same thing, but he’d never actually witnessed him doing it. That guy was in L.A., and Jared found himself wishing he was up here right now helping out. He wondered if this guy knew about this girl, and resolved to call him about it as soon as he was able. As soon as he caught the little fishbait jailbait.

Above them, he could see the mammoth underside of a ConRo cargo ship, a hybrid vessel somewhere between a RoRo and a regular hauler. It was a good seven-hundred feet long. Its lower decks, he knew, were used for automobile transport, while the upper deck held lines of massive cargo pallets. She was clearly heading right for it.

Her furious kicking was leaving him behind. She seemed to really be pouring it on, not stopping. He compensated, speeding up and staying on her. Just as he was starting to gain, he saw her break the surface right next to the ship’s starboard side, and then vanish. Since, as far has he had seen, the girl couldn’t fly, he figured out quickly what she was doing.

With a final blast of propulsion, he shot out of the water and into the storm. His aquatic jets shut down, and momentum kept him climbing. The faded green of the slick bulkhead slid past his face, as he was almost right up against it. And he had to time this out just right…

The momentum was just enough. It gave out just as he lost bulkhead and saw cargo. When he dropped, it was only for about a foot and a half, and his boots hit deck. The vessel rose and swayed below him, and the wind had the rain going by almost sideways.

He looked quickly around and started moving. He was cautious, but anxious, knowing that she was up here, but not knowing for how long. With this weather, there were no crew on deck to get in the way. He started his way past rows of red, rain-soaked cargo containers, looking down the lanes between them.

“Come on,” he whispered harshly into his mask. “Come on…”

He picked up the pace, his real quest for this evening constantly poking at the back of his mind, reminding him that he didn’t have time for this. He felt the telltale signs of the old anger issues that he’d worked so hard to get a handle on the past couple of years. Whoever this girl was, she was doing her best to—

Wham!

He never saw the punch coming, but could assume it came from the lane he was about to turn the corner on. A light flashed briefly and brilliantly behind his eyes, and he felt the sensation of weightlessness. It didn’t last long. First his ass, then his (thankfully helmeted) head hit the metal deck.

He lay there blinking for a moment, trying to shake off the effects of what he’d just felt. He raised his head, carefully, maybe just to make sure it was still attached. He saw the girl, maybe fifteen feet ahead of him, standing there in the wind with her hands at her sides, fists clenched. Her long blond hair was flapping in the storm like a flag. The costume she wore was form-fitting, had long sleeves, a high neck, and ended just below her knees. There were no boots or shoes. She was barefoot. The suit was a couple shades of blue, something of a tiger shark pattern, sort of an undersea camouflage. She wasn’t particularly tall, nor as muscular as someone with that kind of swimming – or punching – strength should be.

That’s when he pieced together why he was a couple dozen feet from her now. She had punched him. He’d been wearing the Seahawk suit for some time, and had done his share of fighting on it. But that was against thugs. Mobsters. One particularly badass assassin. But this was the first time he’d ever thrown down with someone with super-powers.

And his first time? He’d gotten clocked by a cheerleader.

He sat up. The girl didn’t flinch, and stood her ground defiantly.

“Stop following me,” she growled at him, and loudly, to be heard over the storm.

“Stop blowing shit up,” he called back, after retracting his lower mask. They were the first words that came to him. Not very heroic, were they?

“This is none of your business.”

“Making it my business,” he said. His ego told him that he now needed to show off a little to salvage a bit of his pride, so he did a backward roll, pushed off with his hands, flipped, and landed on his feet. Thankfully, his legs didn’t buckle. The punch was wearing off some. Good.

“I can hurt you,” she scowled.

“No, you can sucker punch,” he countered. “You’re not going to get that chance again.”

They stood there, both leaning with the roll of the deck, both sure on their footing. And they glared. His muscles tensed, ready for any sign that she was going to make a break for it. He was having trouble reading what he was supposed to do here. Part of his mind told him, from appearance, that this was harmless teenage girl, and he had never had any reason to imagine the idea of fighting with one. There was a very ingrained streak of chivalry in him – something both his father and his grandfather had planted there. It wasn’t like he hadn’t sparred with a few in his martial arts classes all those years. But he was a grown man, and this girl in front of him was reminding him—and way too much—of the babysitter he and Stephanie used to use for Gabriel. But this babysitter could breathe under water, out-swim a speedboat and punch like a freight train.

“How ‘bout we talk about it?” he asked, figuring he’d try diplomacy.

“How ‘bout you kiss my ass?” she retorted.

Diplomacy, scratched off list.

“Okay, how ‘bout I drag your soggy ass down to UNCLE and throw you in a cell?” He’d never been to UNCLE, but he assumed they had cells. Right? Isn’t that where Forte used to take all their bad guys? Or did they have their own cell?

The girl ran.

Unfortunately, she ran AT him.

She charged him, letting out a scream that probably was meant to be scary, but it was still coming from a girl that looked to him like she belonged in a Hot Dog On A Stick uniform in the mall, and that image almost made him snicker. However, her speed WAS scary, and kept him serious, and yes, a touch panicked. A super-villain was coming at him. This was new ground. Armor aside, he knew that he was no super-hero. This was Dr. Jackal stuff, not Jared stuff.

She came at him swinging, but even with his nerves, he was ready. The good news was that while she was fast and strong, she was not disciplined. She was no trained fighter, just rage and power. He ducked both her initial punches and slipped past her defenses, grabbing her arm and tugging it up behind her, spinning her. He used his own not-unimpressive strength, augmented by his armor, and shoved her hard. She kept her footing but stumbled ten feet before catching herself and spinning around. He fell casually (he hoped) into martial pose, confident that he’d redeemed some of his cred, and faced her.

“I don’t want to fight you,” he said, and didn’t have to bend the truth THERE at all. “Let’s not do this.”

She screamed again. It was less funny this time.

She dove at him again, throwing more punches. He blocked them, one after the other, barely managing each time. His armored arms were taking the hits okay, but they still hurt. He’d been playing super-hero, but now suddenly knew what the real thing felt like, facing off against a human being who could probably punch through brick walls. It was actually pretty terrifying—particularly with an opponent who was so clearly nuts—but he tried to push that down and focus, and remember all his training.

He did not want to hit a girl, but he was running out of options. Hoping she’d just keep swinging at him until she tired out, laid down and took a nap probably wasn’t a safe bet. She really looked like she wanted to take his head off. And he was pretty fond of his head.

He caught her wrist when she over-punched, spun her around again, and threw his other arm around her neck. Maybe choking her out was his only option, as distasteful as the idea was to him. But he hadn’t accounted for her strength. She grabbed the back of his helmet, threw her body down, and flipped him right over her, sending him flying. His back slammed loudly against a cargo container and he dropped, landing on his shoulder. He started to rise quickly, but not quickly enough, and she was on him, throwing a massive kick with her bare foot into his armored stomach, throwing him off the deck and back into the container. His breath left him. With a scream, she threw a hard punch down and slammed her fist into the side of his helmet. His head rocked and he dropped. She nailed him with another one. It was like being hit by a miniature wrecking ball.

His survival instincts managed to make him duck the third, and her fist slammed into the container inches from him, denting it. Those same instincts made him grab the neck of her suit and yank her toward him, and he head-butted her hard, helmet to forehead. She staggered back a few steps, and while he felt relieved, he also felt an urge to apologize. He threw his legs up, rolled forward, and flipped up onto his feet, shaking off the daze from the pummeling.

She lunged at him again, even angrier, if such a thing were possible. She tried for a tackle, and he barely sidestepped and got his hands on her back, throwing some strength behind her momentum and sending her smashing into the container wall. He jumped a couple of steps back to get some room between them, but she was back on him, coming with a telegraphed punch. He dodged it and, no longer seeing much choice, countered with a punch of his own, striking her across the face. But his nature kept him from doing so with much force, pictures of one of this young girl’s teeth flying out playing in his head. She looked like she hardly felt it, and took advantage of his hesitation to throw a punch back. His head snapped around and he twisted, stumbling several steps but keeping his footing. He turned back just in time to see her fist coming at him again, and it filled his field of vision. This one staggered him, and he back-stepped, barely able to keep standing. She charged him again, this time grabbing his arm, and before he knew what had happened, she’d spun around, yanking him off his feet, and thrown him across the deck. He hit another container, bounced off it, and fell to the floor. He coughed, getting an arm beneath him and raising up a bit.

“Had enough?” she yelled, huffing.

Playtime?

Over.

He turned over and threw his arm out toward her. His grappling hook fired, the tow line feeding out behind it. It wrapped itself around her lower legs. She had time to look down in confusion before he gave the line a harsh yank. Her legs came out from under her and she flew backward, falling flat on her back.

He jumped to his feet and ran at her. She was quickly out of the binding and rising herself. He dove at her and fired his boot jets, just as she got completely vertical. He slammed into her midsection and doubled her over, and he flew with her over his shoulder, across the rain-flooded deck. He rammed her back into a container, and her head flew back and hit it as well. They dropped down to the deck, him landing on his feet, her landing on her rump.

He grabbed her arms and flipped her over on her stomach, yanking her wrists together and holding them there with one of his gloved hands. With his other arm, he yanked at his tow line and pulled its slack length to him. He started wrapping is quickly around her wrists, experiencing a sudden flashback to his police days on the back streets of Seattle.

“Stay down!” he yelled harshly at her.

Well, she did. But…

She kicked her powerful legs up and hit his hip, throwing him off balance and over. He rolled with it and came up on his feet, just in time to see her flip over and work herself out of the loose binding.

And yank.

She tugged hard on his line, pulling him off his feet and toward her. As he got over her, she kicked up with both legs, driving both her feet into his chest. He flew back the other direction, feeling like he’d just driven into a brick wall without a seatbelt and hit the steering wheel, and landed hard on his back in a large puddle, splashing rainwater up around him. He lay there trying to get his breath, raising his head slightly to see her as she got to her feet. He had the presence of mind, at least, to retract his grapple line, and it whizzed back into its gauntlet housing.

Incoming call.

God DAMNIT!

He watched her, standing there, breathing hard, almost shaking with rage and glaring at him, as the call indicator pulsed in the visor next to her.

He answered it.

“Not NOW,” he breathed harshly.

“Banks!” Rohmy shouted. “I think we found him, partner!”

“Oh, RIGHT now,” the girl growled, now waiting, daring him to get up.

“This is not a good time,” Jared said.

“Banks, I FOUND him,” Cliff repeated, sounding annoyed.

“Oh, this is the PERFECT time,” the girl said.

Oh, for God’s sake…

“Call me back,” Jared said.

“What?” Rohmy said, dumbstruck.

“What?” the girl said, shaking her head at him like he was nuts.

He ended the call and climbed back to his feet.

“I don’t have time for this,” he told the girl, trying not to pant.

They started slowly circling each other, at a distance, both waiting for the other to make a move, not taking their eyes off each other.

“Fine,” she said. “Then leave. Stop following me.”

“I can’t,” he said, regretfully (because that’s what he really, really wanted to do). “You’re a bad guy. You tried to blow up a boat. I have to take you in.”

“Oh, I’M the bad guy,” she laughed, cruelly. “Guess you don’t know a whole lot about that boat, Captain Galahad.”

What?

And…’Captain Galahad’?

“You need to give up,” he said. “I have other places to be.”

“You need to—“

“Yeah, yeah,” he said tiredly. “Kiss your ass. I know. I’m taking you in, Britney.” See how SHE liked the name-calling.

“Not doing a very good job at it so far, old man,” she said.

Okay, THAT was uncalled for…

They both stopped and stared at each other as the rain showered down on them. Her hair rose and fell in the wind. She clearly had no intention of going, quietly or otherwise. It hadn’t hurt to ask, he figured.

“Last chance,” he said.

“I was going to say the same thing,” she said back.

Shit.

He lowered into marital readiness, craning his neck slowly, raising his hands. The girl smiled a bitter, wicked and violent smile back at him and ran her hands back through her long, wet hair, then dropped her hands back down to her sides.

After you, Gidget, he thought, taking a breath.

Wham!

He was flying across the deck again, his head ringing, his limbs limp. Unable to brace himself, he hit the floor hard and rolled three times.

Moaning, he rolled carefully, and painfully, over, looking back toward the girl.

Standing between them, now, was a boy about her age. ‘Boy’ was probably not the best word. While didn’t look much older than her, he was as tall as Jared, and rippling with muscle. The muscles were easy to see, since he was only wearing some kind of loincloth. This lack of apparel made it easy to see—as little as this made sense—that his skin was entirely blue. It was a deep, but not too dark, blue, but was covered in some kind of spotting, like tattoos or birthmarks, of a darker azure, down his arms, his legs, and across his shoulders and upper chest. Above the chest spots, he wore what looked like a necklace of shark’s teeth. Like her, he was barefoot. And his hair, the darkest blue yet, was maybe even a little longer than hers.

And, whoever he was? He was pissed.

He pointed at Jared, murderous rage written all over his face.

“Don’t you TOUCH her!” he shouted.

Son of a BITCH…

TO BE CONTINUED

 

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