The first rays of the sun tickled his eyelids open and Michael blinked at the view out the window…it was just past dawn. He had slept hard but only because he was comfortable in his surroundings and he was exhausted. His body ached, as much from the hard cushions of his seat as from the arduous journey he'd just made.
After a mission the Unit 4 teams were debriefed for any intelligence they might recall of the situation on the ground. It was a good time to unwind and push the stress and discomfort aside. Then they were given twenty-four hours off…time each and every one of them spent in bed.
The awareness that he was still on an Amtrak train and out in public slowly seeped back into his mind. He needed coffee and some calories so he arose from the seat and made his way to the lounge car. The smell of fresh brewed coffee hit him the moment the door opened and he made his way up the aisle to the short line of passengers.
The Amtrak employee who was serving the line was a model of efficiency and somehow he looked familiar. Michael didn't know the man but some of these guys had been working the same train for years, he could have seen him before. It was a good paying job, a career that could support a family, and this guy had all the right moves.
"Two coffees with a bacon and egg sandwich," Michael said when his turn came.
"Coming right up," the man said.
Michael took his breakfast and sat at a corner table with his back against the wall. There were several families with small children in the booths across the aisle, some single looking businessmen, and a couple of college girls. Out of habit he looked them all over, defining them, assessing them for threat value. It seemed absurd but he couldn't help himself.
He'd left the backpack covered with the parka back in his seat and that made him nervous. But he needed a shave and a haircut, although the longer hair and the beard made him look less like his old self…perhaps that was a good thing.
He doubted the authorities or Terrance would ever stop looking for him, and now he knew the latter had a lot more information. They had probably known where he was for most of the winter but the lake had been shut down without any access. They tried a helicopter the first time so they wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
Terrance had become overconfident, and sending his son had been the first sign of his impatience. There was no guessing how long Nathaniel had been waiting for him but it seems they knew about the landing strip. Didn't matter, this train was the better option.
Michael took his second coffee and returned to his seat…he needed to think ahead. They would arrive at the King Street Station which was almost in the heart of Seattle and if someone was looking for him that would be a good place to start. But there were trains arriving at all hours of the day and night so it would take a lot of time and personnel to maintain that kind of surveillance, if there was one.
He needed to become one of the anonymous people on the street, find a hotel room, and then start his own investigation of patients at the hospital. He needed access to the internet and he needed…what he really needed was Ducky. But first he needed some background on Terrance and some of the targets they had planned to eliminate in the past.
As noon approached so did the outskirts of Seattle as the train made its way past industrial zones that always surrounded the tracks and for a moment Michael got a glimpse of the tall buildings downtown. King Street Station was an ancient pile of bricks with a huge clock tower right amidst the clutter of a busy downtown.
Once he exited the train Michael went directly to the tourist stand. Fancy hotels were out of the question as were the cheap hostel places. He sorted through the brochures and decided on a small bed and breakfast on 11th Avenue. He called ahead and they had a room. When asked for a credit card he said he would only be there three nights and preferred to pay cash. They accepted that.
11th was just off Madison, north of Seattle University and south of Capitol Hill…just where he wanted to be. From there he could walk to the internet connected coffee shops for research. The University Hospital was only a short bus ride away and he might be traveling there frequently, but first things first.
The bed and breakfast was gay owned, in this part of town that was a given. The man who stood behind the desk in the front hallway seemed a little shocked at his new guest's appearance and so Michael laughed.
"I've been getting that look all morning," He said. "I'm sorry but I just spent three months in the Canadian wilderness north of Banff."
"Ah, you are starting to look like a mountain man…I'm Jeff Monroe, the owner."
"Michael Wilson."
"You called earlier and we do have a nice room for you."
Michael handed over his fake passport. "I probably only need a few days before they assign me another job," He said.
"What do you do…may I ask?"
"I work for the Canadian Journal of Scientific and Industrial Research so I'm a writer…this time it's on what acid rain is doing to our forests."
Michael had spent the winter up at the cabin reading the collection of National Geographic magazines left by the campground manager so at least he could talk about something like this.
"Well good, someone has to keep their eye on the ball," Jeff said, handing back the passport.
Michael slid three one hundred dollar bills across the desk. "I'm on an expense account and we pay cash. Just let me know what I owe you."
"Just fine with me, we'll settle the balance when you leave, but stay as long as you like. Have you been to Seattle before?"
"Several times…best gay scene in the northwest."
"It certainly is, glad you could stay with us." Jeff looked at the backpack. "Is that all the luggage you have?"
Michael nodded. "For the moment. My stuff is in Calgary but I hitched a ride and this is where we ended up. I'll probably have to purchase some new things…that's on the expense account as well."
"Macys, Nordstrom, Target, they're all right down off Madison towards the water. Come on and let me show you to your room."
"I don't suppose there's a hair salon around here somewhere," Michael asked.
Jeff grinned. "This is the gay community…we have lots of those nearby."
The room would do, a queen sized bed with a bathroom across the hall. There was a welcome basket on the dresser in his room and Michael was happy to see a sample of shampoo and hair conditioner along with several bars of fragrant soap. Jeff had been kind but he was certain to notice Michael had that outdoorsy odor about him.
He had one clean khaki shirt and a pair of BDU pants in his pack. Those would have to do until he went shopping. The shower felt good as did the fresh clothing, and Michael cleaned up the bathroom after himself before returning to the front desk.
"Off already?" Jeff asked.
"Haircut…clothing…I didn't realize what a mess I am until I looked in the mirror."
"Well you've been sleeping with the bears in the woods, I understand. You can catch a taxi down on Madison but it's only about a mile or so down to the department stores, maybe you should take the bus."
"I will, thank you," Michael said.
"Cocktail hour starts at five, we run a cash bar if you’re interested," Jeff said.
"Sounds good," Michael said knowing he would not be socializing with these people.
He caught the number 12 bus heading downtown and picked up a route map while he was at it. There were half a dozen buses that left the downtown area heading north into the University campus. But first he needed a lot of information and a means to find Nathaniel…if they had brought him here.
For his wounds the first stage would be triage to stem the blood flow and stabilize the patient, all that could be done locally in Eureka. After the course of antibiotics they would begin to think about surgery and would move Nathaniel to Seattle. How did he know this? The information had come from Terrance several years ago.
It seems Terrance had been in the assassination business before he hired Michael, only back then it was crude bombs that often failed. Case in point was some guy named Roger Terrance had mentioned…an erstwhile bomb maker. One of his creations went off accidentally filling the man with shrapnel and causing severe damage to his hands.
Roger never worked again but Terrance mentioned that the University Hospital had saved one of his hands and he figured they were the best in the business. That would be on his mind when he was faced with his son's injuries.
The Madison Street bus dropped him off at Fourth Avenue and Michael started walking. The Macys was only six blocks up and they had a better line of clothing. To blend in he could not look like he shopped at a discount store…gay men noticed the details.
Crossing Union Street he saw the sign for a hair salon and just hoped they were up for the task. The girl behind the counter looked shocked but a man quickly approached and gave Michael the once over.
"Forgive the looks, I've been wilderness camping," Michael said.
The man nodded. "I'm Jonathan…well, you came to the right place…looks like we have some work to do."
Michael decided to keep the beard and moustache, Jonathan agreed. "I adore bears of all kinds and a well-shaped a beard can make the man more desirable."
And so he was trimmed and pampered with Jonathan fawning all over as he snipped away. The hair was short but fashionable when he was done, and all for a hundred and twenty dollars. Michael left Jonathan a good tip and rolled out the door, he wasn't ready for this kind of gay challenge.
A short walk up the street and he came to Macys, a well-known name but a place Michael had never shopped before. He bought a single rolling suitcase and four of everything he needed to wear, except shoes. He preferred leather since that gave his feet more support, but he also bought some running shoes since he planned on doing a lot of walking.
He looked at jackets and decided he didn't need another parka unless he headed back to Montana. He chose a brown leather jacket with a quilted lining and interior pockets, warm enough for the spring weather in Seattle and still loose enough to hide the Glock. Everything fit in the suitcase and he rolled it outside to find a taxi.
Jeff was not behind the desk when he arrived so Michael carried his things up to the room and changed. He searched the yellow pages and found what he was looking for about ten blocks away so he set out to begin his chores.
The first stop was a drugstore up the street where he bought several legal pads and a good pen. The Army had taught him how to do research on a subject and taking notes was part of the tradecraft. The information he would get at Cyber Dogs down on Pike Street.
Michael had never had the taste for vegetarian food but the smells in Cyber Dogs seemed to wrap themselves around his nose, and now he was hungry. The menu was eclectic but the hot dogs, although meatless, were simply wonderful. He got some of this and that as sides for his meal along with a twenty-five dollar ticket to use a computer for the rest of the afternoon.
The names of the last six targets were imprinted on his brain, as were the pertinent details of their lives. He pulled out a legal pad and went to work constructing the list. He was sure that since each man had been prominent enough that the internet would give him the facts he wanted, and perhaps something he had not accessed before.
The choice of targets had always been Terrance's job. In their communications and meetings Michael was given a briefing sheet from which he extrapolated the mission parameters. He knew Terrance's preference to make the death look like an accident and so that had been the main focus.
At first it had seemed odd that Terrance allowed him to do the planning but assigned the kill to someone else, at least in the beginning. Of course he had the Unit 4 background that Terrance did not. It was like being an administrative assistant, writing a mission book and passing it along to the boss. He had never met with anyone else but it didn't make him suspicious until now.
The coffee shop was not crowded in the middle of a work day and so he quickly found an open terminal at a corner booth. He logged into the Yahoo account he'd been using with Ducky and immediately went to a search engine.
The first target he recalled was Richard Camden, the CEO of a startup computer firm outside of Bakersfield, California. Camden and his business partner, John Parker, who was also president of the company, called it Teachworks and claimed their software would revolutionize education in underdeveloped countries.
Paired with new developments in simple computers that operated off of solar power, their programs were designed to teach basic language and math skills to young students. The science component of their catalog taught basic skills in agriculture and hygiene aimed specifically at the poorest of African nations.
The venture failed, according to the article Michael read, because even as Camden was gathering millions to distribute the product he committed suicide after a ten story fall from the balcony of his apartment building. The authorities found a note on the man's laptop saying he was afraid of failure and was going to end it all.
But the article went on to say that Camden's partner was distraught…what the hell? "Steven Meyers told authorities that Camden had been his partner for almost eight years…" If Parker was the business partner then Meyers would be…? Fuck, Michael thought. He had no idea Camden was gay and Terrance had never mentioned it.
He quickly moved on to target number two, Arthur Beale. Twice married and divorced, Beale was the father of three children an article revealed. At fifty-six he was on the board of a multi-national construction company that had managed to gain several lucrative government contracts…and then he died in a horrible highway accident.
Michael had spent several weeks investigating Beale's life and discovered the man had an attraction for fancy sports cars. A minimal background check revealed the man had been to court several times on DUI and speeding charges…that was a plus.
The remote controlled device Michael had specified set off the emergency airbags, knocking the driver's hands off the wheel, blocking his view of the road, and putting the car into a spin at over ninety miles per hour where it flipped over a half dozen times.
An article in the Los Angeles Times spoke about the family's grief. A photo of the children, all in their early twenties, dressed in black while attending the funeral. And then the tabloid link gave Michael the sleazy view of Beale as a playboy who spent his money on fancy cars and neglected the children.
What caught Michael's eye were the photos this particular tabloid chose to run. Beale standing beside a classic convertible Jaguar XKE with three other men in the picture. The giveaway was that one of those men wore a T-shirt with the Lambda symbol on it. It was significant but didn't mean Beale was gay.
The car "accident" was in the family Mercedes nearly six years ago, a very safe car. But now the time frame made it difficult to obtain information. On a chance, Michael Googled car clubs in the Los Angeles area and hit a gold mine. Orange County, Great Autos of Yesteryear, was a gay and lesbian car club and six months before they had run an article on the safety of older cars. There in the lineup was a photo of Beale and his Jaguar.
So far two of the assassination assignments had been of gay men…what were the odds of that being a coincidence? Was this some kind of sick joke on Terrance's part? He knew Michael was gay…but why were the targets?
By the time Michael had sat in Cyber Dogs for about five hours he had the glimmer of an answer to his questions and it made him sick to his stomach. All six of the targets had some kind of an association with the gay community. Half of them were gay and fortunately two of them had been botched attempts.
The last one, the politician and his wife, had been conservatives, at least until their daughter came out as lesbian. They had embraced her life as responsible and loving parents which meant their political affiliations were changing. That was evident by their support of the local gay candidates in an election and by helping to fund PFLAG, joining other parents in support of their gay and lesbian children.
Terrance was a monster and this meant his Principals group must be laughing their asses off at how their assassin had been planning the destruction of his own people. Michael shut down the computer and made his way out the door. He was furious and if Terrance had suddenly appeared on the sidewalk Michael would have strangled him to death no matter the consequences.
He walked for blocks up Pike Street and then up Broadway into Capitol Hill, siphoning off the anger and replacing it with a cold hard mindset that he usually developed before each kill. Terrance had manipulated him, pure and simple, knowing Michael would respond to command authority and the payoff after each assignment.
Terrance had paid well, a lot of money for only planning the hits. Maybe he thought Michael would no longer have access to those funds since revealing his identity would alert the authorities…but he was wrong. There were four small suitcases stashed in storage lockers across California all paid up and awaiting his return.
It was probably too soon to catch up with Terrance at the hospital but he had to try. Surgery on Nathaniel would take some time and then there would be a long recovery period that included rehabilitation. He hailed a taxi on the corner of Broadway and Mercer and asked to be taken to the University Medical Center.
The surgical center was off Montlake on Pacific Street. There by the entrance was a small gift shop which sold flowers and Michael bought a bouquet before he approached the visitor's desk.
"Hello, young man," the lady volunteer said with a smile. "How can I help you?"
"My cousin just had surgery and I wanted to see if she's allowed visitors yet."
"Her name?"
"Anita Bolton."
The lady typed the name into her computer and frowned. "I have no Anita Bolton in the patient registry."
"No Anita Bolton…well she's young, perhaps she's registered under her father's name."
"No, dear…we would use her name and I have no Bolton at all on the list."
"This is the only University Hospital, isn't it?" Michael asked.
"We have another facility up on Roosevelt, but that's not a surgical clinic. Perhaps she's at another hospital…you could try the Swedish Hospital down on Jefferson?"
"No, they told me University Hospital…perhaps she hasn't been admitted yet."
"That's possible," the lady said and handed him a card. "Why don't you call tomorrow morning and we can check again."
"Thank you, that's very kind," Michael said and headed for the door. He dumped the flowers in the nearest trash can and walked across the parking lot to the bus stop.
Would they bring Nathaniel in under another name? Probably not since they had no idea Michael would have followed them here. Terrance was cautious to a fault, always had been, so there would still be someone out there looking. So far Michael had detected no surveillance, there was no itch.
The bus took him south, across the bridge and down 24th Avenue. The houses in this part of town were pretty upscale and with the advent of spring there was lots of green. There would still be snow on the lower slopes of Glacier Park back in Montana…he still considered that home.
Michael had last spoken to his parents two months before the arrest, and not a word since. His father assumed he was still in the Army and when they last spoke Michael had said nothing to dissuade him of that opinion. They knew he had gone to sniper school but little else, they knew nothing about Unit 4.
His younger sisters were still in their twenties, married with a few kids, but he didn't know the details. Growing up he had seen very little news about things in California and so perhaps they didn't know about the arrest and conviction. He figured if they had that the FBI would have known who he was. Essex was a blissfully ignorant rural town.
He got off the bus at Madison and looked at his watch. It was nearly cocktail time back at the Inn according to Jeff but he wasn't in the mood for more questions. The street was lined with low key businesses and apartment buildings so he walked until he finally reached Pike Street.
Several of the businesses here had rainbow flags in the window and as he traversed the blocks he saw several gay bars, none of which he recalled from the past. The Eagle was about six blocks down he remembered, a leather bar that Timothy seemed to favor in years past.
One of the galleries which showed some of his work and those of other young Seattle artists was across the street from the bar. But Timothy had this thing for older guys when he was still a teenager and Michael didn't get it. Perhaps he still went in there, but this was not a good time to renew that acquaintance.
He crossed 11th Avenue and knew the Inn was several blocks north but he kept walking. Lunch had been pleasant but he was getting hungry again when he spotted the Thai place across the street. He could eat a light meal there and perhaps have a Singha beer. Ducky had been much more of a world traveler and introduced Michael to the pleasures of foreign cuisine.
Michael entered the glass fronted restaurant and asked for a seat along the wall towards the back. Windows made him uncomfortable and large ones made him a target…old habits were hard to break. There were few other patrons in the place this early so he ordered his beer while he looked over the menu. Something with noodles and hibachi cooked chicken sounded good, and then the front door opened and he looked up.
The waiter brought his beer and set it on the table as the man at the door glanced around and then slowly walked down the aisle between the tables and pulled out the chair opposite Michael.
"Hello, Mikey…"
"Colonel…I hear you were promoted…congratulations."
Saunders smiled. "Rank in my job is about as useless as tits on a bull…I don't need the clout."
"Don't imagine you do," Michael said. "So…what brings you to Seattle?"
"You already know the answer to that…you do."
"Didn't take you long to find me."
"Oh don't worry…I'm the only one with any authority who knows you're here." Saunders said and tapped his watch. "Your watch told us where to find you."
"So I've been under surveillance…"
"I had a man at the train station since I was pretty sure you were coming here," Saunders said.
"Now you have me concerned. Is Ducky involved in this?"
"Lieutenant Ducko has been a perfect gentleman in regards to you. I just happen to be privy to all Unit 4 communications so imagine my surprise when the two of you started sharing. I thought you were gone, off the grid. Disappearing is one of your specialties but this time you allowed Bolton to trip you up."
"Let me guess…Terrance is one of yours," Michael said.
Saunders didn't answer right away, he was thinking about what to reveal. Michael understood how the man's mind worked…Saunders had a decision to make.
"He is not one of ours but we have had past association. You need to walk away from this one, Mikey…let it go. Yes, he played you…and if you must know he played me as well. I suppose we should both be royally pissed and want him dead, but that will mess up an ongoing operation I can't talk about."
"He tried to kill me, Colonel, and everyone else in this life who has tried that is a dead man. He's a danger to me and I don't like looking over my shoulder. As for your association with him…I could have killed that boy of his and you probably could not have stopped it."
Saunders sighed. "But you didn't. Look, there are things I can't tell you about Bolton…but he has eyes looking at him all the way from the very top. I came to warn you off this little revenge mission because if you get too close those same eyes will see you and you'll be back to square one."
The waiter came to the table and asked if he could get them anything but Saunders waved him off.
"Why?" Michael asked.
The word held a lot of meaning between them. As a team leader he had never been allowed to ask that question before going on a mission…but their relationship had changed.
"I feel responsible," Saunders said. "I…aw hell…I owe you some kind of an explanation. Terrance was in Army intelligence…psych ops before he went CIA. My boss foisted him off on me for pre-mission analysis although I never thought the psychological profile of a target was ever that necessary.
"He got a foot in the door, got to see the team personnel files and that's why he chose you. By now I guess you know the gay issue was part of his decision and why he hid the profiles of the targets from you. He's a very sick man, Mikey, and he is…I really shouldn't tell you anything more…it's classified."
Michael nodded. "Unit 4 doesn't operate in-country so let me guess. He's up to something bigger and you’re waiting for his plans to develop. He can't be easy to pin down so I guess my wounding his son was a gift…although from what I saw the boy is not his ace assassin, is he?"
"No…he has someone far more dangerous on his team. You were clever in thinking you might find him through the hospital but I'm sure he won't show up there."
Michael finished his beer and set the bottle down on the table. "So if I find him you don't want me to kill him."
Saunders smiled. "I know you’d like to…but we need him alive and talking. You need to stop stalking him and take deep cover…they're still after you."
"And you used me to try and find him. This Principals group…you know who they are?"
"Can't tell you that but perhaps a clue would help…they were originally Russian. Lots of money and power…they have a long reach."
"Russian mafia…former KGB assassins? It sounds like the Cold War is heating up again," Michael said.
"You don't know the half of it," Saunders said. "I've already disclosed too much."
"But then these guys are international…why kill these local characters?"
"I told you Terrance is a sicko. But all your targets were developing competing interests with these Russians. They don't buy out and merge companies, they eliminate them. This whole mess is stretching our resources to the limits."
"And don't you wish you still had me in Unit 4?"
"You ready to come back?" Saunders laughed.
Michael laughed with him. "I'm still gay."
And the Colonel switched off the humor in a heartbeat. "That was never my decision and now the policy has changed once again. Fucking generals…"
"You forget, Colonel. I'm a major criminal…double life for murder and all that jazz."
"And if I could get you a pardon from the very top?" Saunders said.
"An undercover pardon…I didn't know you could do that?"
"There are a lot of things you don't know, thank goodness. I can't blame the shooter when someone else gave him the bullets. He deceived you about the targets, Mikey. Coming back with us will be your best revenge."
"When do you have to know?" Michael asked.
"Now…things are moving fast."
"Okay…what have I got to lose?"