Headhunters (7 page)

First thing in the morning, I began making phone calls. It’s
incredibly easy to want to put off making phone calls, so I did it right away.
I put on my headset and began dialing, calling managers first, catching them at
their desk before the work day began. Then as the morning wore on, I switched
to calling candidates on home phones and if nothing worked there I’d switch to
emails.

Max waved to me as he walked past my office, then doubled
back and dropped a contract on my desk and mouthed the words “Talk to you
later” and continued out of the office. I kept working until I saw Jessica. She
smiled at me, saw that I was on the phone, kept walking. I wrapped up and disconnected
and ran after her.

“Good morning,” I said.

Jess checked her watch and made a face at me.

“It’s nearly noon,” she said with a smile.

“Oh, well… sorry I didn’t see you sooner,” I said.

“You apologize too much.”

“I do,” I replied. “And I feel badly about that.”

Jess laughed and I liked the sound of it.

“Care to join me for a coffee?” I asked.

“It’s nearly noon,” she repeated.

“Iced tea, then,” I offered. “To go with lunch?”

“Lunch, hunh?”

Jess and I had lunch together and as much as she put on the
pretext that I had to ask her out on a date every time I offered lunch, we’d
become a regular thing. We had lunch together nearly every day and talked until
we nearly lost track of time and had to run to get back to the office.

It was the same today and we found a little deep dish pizza
place around the corner from the office. It was the kind of place that made
Chicago legendary and yet was unlikely to be found be someone who wasn’t a
denizen of the city.

We ate and talked about nothing. TV, music, movies… I’d
learned that Jess was a hell of a cook. If there’s anything that’s a waste,
it’s a woman who knows how to cook who lives alone. I didn’t think anything
about Jessica was a waste, though. We finished lunch and returned to the
office. For once we caught the elevator and were alone for a moment. I was
hyper-paranoid about security cameras but I allowed my hand to find hers while
we rode up together, alone for the moment. Our fingers intertwined and we held
hands.

“I’ve missed you,” I said.

“You see me every day,” she replied.

“No, I miss you.”

“Oh…” she understood now.

“We’ll need to find some time together.”

“Yes…” I replied but then the doors opened and our hands
dropped before I could finish the thought. “Find me later.”

“I will. Miss you too, Simon.”

And then she was gone.

I walked back to my office and sat in my chair, staring at
my monitor but not really seeing what was in front of me. I shook my head and
blew out a deep sigh. Work… work… think about work, I told myself.

I picked up my headset and began dialing the phone.

***

I’d set the reminder in my Outlook
calendar to pop up fifteen minutes before I needed to leave. I’d come to
realize that if I didn’t set the reminder, I’d lose track of time and find
myself running late. I never wanted to be late for my family again. It was like
a pain point. Don’t be late. The promise of coming home early that I’d made to
Alaina had not been made lightly, so when the reminder popped up, I began to wrap
up my business for the day.

I dialed the number of the Chinese restaurant that was on my
way home. I ordered sweet and sour chicken, beef with broccoli, shrimp egg foo
young, steamed dumplings and crab rangoon. They had my credit card number on
file.

I finished my last email and hit ‘send’. I closed out my
screen and grabbed my briefcase. The office had settled into its quiet
afternoon hum. Max was out at a client visit. Christine had her office door
closed and Ellis was chatting up a woman in Business Intelligence who didn’t
look like she’d give him the time of day, but he was wearing her down. God
bless him for trying.

Walking toward the door, I saw no one else in my path. I was
home free. Then I heard the voice.

“Simon, wait a second.”

I turned to see Jess approaching quickly, a stack of files
in her arms.

“Hi, what’s up?” I asked.

“I was just going through the DHS files,” she said,
mentioning the Department of Homeland Security project. We’d placed five more
people in there since Chris Swenson on my first day.

“Sure, but I’ve got to get going,” I said.

“Totally understand. It’s just this one thing.”

Jess pulled a file out of her stack and opened it.

“I had been showing Max some of our work on the DHS
project,” she said. “He wanted to see what progress had been made…”

“What’s the word from Chris?” I asked.

“Very positive. He’s done a number of tests, a couple of
trial hacks, exposed some flaws and now is going through the data to ensure
that the proper controls are in place to prevent fraud, misuse or loss of the
DHS data,” Jess said.

“Good, so what’s the problem?”

“More of a question than a problem. I was entering my notes
in the system and was reading back through the files that Max had returned to
me and I found this. He must have accidentally included it in my file instead
of his.”

Jess handed me a single sheet of paper.

“It’s an email detailing logins and passwords for the DHS
site that were sent from Chris back here to Max,” Jess said. “As well as a
project timeline.”

“Is this part of the security protocol?” I asked. “Are these
passwords supposed to be kept offsite? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I don’t know,” Jess confessed. “But here’s the other
thing…”

She produced a second sheet of paper. Another email.

“Max removed the logins and passwords when he forwarded the
email, but he reported the status of the project to someone outside of this
company,” Jess explained. “And outside of the DHS…”

“Who?” I asked, fearing the answer before it came.

Jessica searched the printout.

“Someone named Randall Kendrick from a company called
Blackthorn, Inc…”

I felt like I had been punched in the gut. I couldn’t
breathe. I needed to sit down. My legs felt as if they would buckle at any
moment. My mind flashed through the scenarios of what had happened.

Randall Kendrick hadn’t introduced me to Max Donovan to help
me get away from Blackthorn business. He’d introduced me to Max so that I
continued to do Blackthorn business… whether I knew it or not. Max must have
known if he’d kept it from me. Known how I’d react. Known what I’d do. I’d been
a fool. I’d recruited Chris to the project on my first day, showing off like a
complete jackass, trying to impress the boss and in reality only digging the
hole deeper for myself.

Chris had been the only person who could enter into the
Department of Homeland Security under the guise of a legitimate organization
and hack into the DHS files. But why? Why would Kendrick want to lay bare all
those secrets? Or was it Max working independently? I just didn’t know.

I’d thought I was out of Blackthorn for good, but now, I was
only in the heart of the darkness.

And worst of all, I was going to be late for dinner…

Chapter Seven

The smells of the Chinese food
mingled together and wafted through the Volvo as I drove home. Miles Davis was
still playing over the speakers so I killed the radio, more irritated at myself
than at him. There are times I needed the news, times I needed jazz, times I
needed what Jess always called “angry music” and times that I needed peace.
Nothing more than quiet to let my thoughts rattle around in my head and time to
let the pieces fall into place.

I accelerated through the rain and passed a driver on the
expressway. I checked my speed and backed off a little. No need to break the
law, just get home, get safe and get my thoughts together.

Max Donovan.

Randall Kendrick.

Blackthorn…

Like some algebraic nightmare the planes of existence in my
worlds were intersecting where they had no business intersecting. I struggled
to see what they had in common. I knew Kendrick’s angle most of the time. His
endgame had always been plain to me, regardless of whether his methods were
obvious or not. And what was Max Donovan doing —

My phone rang, interrupting my train of thought. I grabbed
the earbud attached to my cell and put it in place before answering the phone.

“Simon Parks.”

“Hi! It’s Alaina.”

“Hi there. I’m on my way home.”

“Great!” Alaina said, her voice upbeat. “There’s someone
here who stopped by to see you…”

“Oh?” I asked. Years in the business as a headhunter, I’d
learned to control my reactions, to temper what I allowed to escape into my
voice and my expressions. I didn’t see any reason to alarm Alaina with
speculations.

“It’s your friend from Virginia. Randall…” she said, then
her voice trailed off as if looking to someone in the room with her. I heard a
man’s voice, muffled, but close. “Kendrick… Randall Kendrick stopped over to
see you.”

I swallowed hard and forced myself to laugh.

“He’s there now?” I asked.

“Yeah, he’s right here. Do you want to talk to him?” Alaina
asked.

“No, that’s okay… I’ll be home soon.”

“OK, see you soon!” “Bye...” I hung up.

Kendrick was in my home. Then, a moment later, I realized
that he’d probably not come alone.

I steered the car off the expressway and slipped through a
yellow light at the bottom of the ramp before accelerating down the road toward
home. I passed my neighbor, Carl, who was always outside mowing his lawn on a
battered green John Deere lawn tractor. He was outside today and I gave him a
quick wave before I turned down his street. I lived on the next road up, but I
didn’t want to pull up to the front door. I stopped in Carl’s driveway and
pulled up close to his garage so my Volvo wouldn’t be seen.

I jumped out of the car and nearly slammed the door before
realizing I’d left my briefcase and the bag of Chinese food inside. I grabbed
the Chinese and left the briefcase, making a mental note to double back for it
later. I closed the car door and began to look around for the best path to get
to my house.

“Hey!” I heard the yell from over my shoulder.

The voice startled me and I spun, fist cocked. Carl was
standing behind me in the driveway. Carl stumbled back, realizing he’d taken me
by surprise. His Chicago Bears T-shirt was worn and ringed with sweat. His
round glasses almost fell from his face as he tried to dodge away.

“Sorry… sorry, Carl,” I said.

Carl was the pediatrician for my kids. He was a great
doctor. I’d found him through a round-about route. I worked on a job order for
a Chicago law firm and found a Network Engineer for their corporate office. In
my discussions with the office manager, I’d mentioned that I had kids and, what
do you know, so did she. We bonded in that client/recruiter way and then I
sprang the question on her that I was new in town, who did she take her kids to
when they needed to go to the doctor. Since her firm was in the business of
suing doctors for malpractice, the people in the firm went to the doctor with
the best record, Carl Cohen, my neighbor.

“Geez oh Pete’s!” Carl huffed. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m sorry, Carl. Rough day at the office.”

“Why are you parked in the drive?” Carl asked, then eyeing
my food,”Did you bring me dinner?”

Carl and I watched football together on Sundays during the
regular season. He was a Bears fan. Being born in Wisconsin, I rooted for the
Packers. We’d razz each other all season and usually alternated who brought
over the game food. Carl’s wife, Barbara, could burn pasta, I swear to God.

“No, I didn’t bring you dinner,” I said. “I’m trying to
surprise someone.”

“Mission accomplished. You surprised the hell out of me.”

“Very funny. I’m trying to surprise someone at my house,”
then after a moment. “Relatives… visiting.”

“Well, to do that, you’d need to be at your house…”

I shot Carl a look and he relented.

“Go on back by the shed,” he said. “Stay low. Follow the
lilac bushes. If you cut through the hedge… be careful. Barb will be upset you
mess with her lilacs…”

“Carl…”

“Sorry, cheesehead,” he shot back. “Cut through the hedge
and you should be able to come out by your wood pile next to the house.”

I pictured it in my head. The woodpile was on the back
corner of the house. Close enough to the back door, but far enough away to not
be seen approaching.

“You’re the best, man,” I said and headed off in the
direction he’d indicated.

I walked along the side of Carl’s garage. At the corner, I
peeked toward my front drive. There was an agent standing in the driveway,
looking up the road. He was waiting for me. I kept my eyes on him and jogged
toward the shed. Carl’s shed was painted to look like a barn, red with white
trim. It was where he kept the lawn mower and other yard tools.

The agent hadn’t seen me so I crouched down and followed the
lilac bushes toward the back end of Carl’s property. So far, so good. I was
about to push my way through the bushes when I heard an evil sounding
mechanical growl. It took me a moment but I realized it to be Carl’s lawn
mower. He was back at work again. This was good, I convinced myself, it would
cover the sound of my approach.

I leaned into the space between the bushes and felt the
branches give under my weight. I slipped through and immediately saw the second
agent at the rear of my house. He was facing away from me, his head hunched,
concentrating on something. He was trying to communicate to the agent in the
front lot by radio and the mower noise was making it difficult. I broke into a
low jog for the woodpile. He might come over to investigate the noise and I
wanted to be ready.

I got to the woodpile safely. I looked to the back lot, then
the front. No voices were raised. No one was coming running. They hadn’t seen
me so far.

I put the bag of Chinese food on the woodpile and carefully
reached inside. The thing about Ming’s Palace is that while the food is
excellent, they always sent along a container of gravy whether I ordered one or
not. On any normal day, I’d gripe about it. But today was far from a normal
day.

I pulled the Styrofoam container of steaming gravy from the
bag and loosened the lid. It still held on by one side, but it would come loose
when I wanted. I picked up the bag again in my left hand and walked to the
corner of the house. The agent was still there, facing away but no longer on
his radio. I inhaled deeply, then tried to control my breathing, my heart rate.
Tried to focus. Tried to remember my training.

When Kendrick had started Blackthorn, he had made a deal
that his key personnel be trained in a customized training program only for us.
We were to operate as ghosts, invisible, trained to get in and do our jobs and
disappear. Having said that, if things ever went south for us, we needed to be
trained to deal with it. I was never trained to be a field agent. I was no
James Bond. But I was trained in  escape and evasion techniques, specifically
in urban environments. I could run. I could drive a car. I was trained to fire
a gun. And I was trained in unarmed combat.

The intention was never to make me or anyone else in the
program martial arts experts. What we did was simple and brutal. We were
trained in Krav Maga, the fighting system used by the Israeli Defense Forces.
But unlike the civilians that practice Krav Maga, we were trained in lethal
techniques. We knew exactly what it would take to bring about the swift,
painful death of anyone that got between us and the exit.

I took a deep breath and walked around the corner of the
house and directly for the agent in front of me. I kept my eyes off of him,
looking just over his shoulder. There is something about one trained person
being stalked by another… they can sense when someone is getting close, holding
them in their sights.

I was six steps away when he cocked his head at the sound of
my footfalls. At four steps, he was turning, his eyes finding mine, first going
wide in shock, then narrowing in anger. He reached for the radio in the collar
of his jacket. At two steps away, he realized my intent and tried to reach for
his pistol but never made it. I flicked the top off the pint of hot gravy and
threw it at his face.

To his credit, he ducked and for a split second I thought I
was screwed and about to be shot in my own backyard, but then I heard his howl
of pain. The gravy had clung to his skin and burned his ear. His hands went to
the scalded skin. I didn’t break stride, dropping the bag of Chinese food and
kicked him as hard as I could in the ribs. I heard a sickening crack and hoped
I’d done some damage. He grunted in pain and tried to grab me with his right
hand, his left still clawing at his ear. I ducked back, sidestepped and whipped
a low kick at the back of his leg. He dropped to one knee and I swung my right
fist in a short arc and broke his nose. Blood erupted and he covered it with
both hands, falling backwards onto the ground.

I lifted the tail of his suit coat on his right side and
found his sidearm. It was a Glock 19, similar to my own, but larger and carried
more ammunition in the magazine. I jerked it from its holster and quickly
turned in a tight circle. No one was coming. No third guard. I was still okay.
I looked back at the agent. He was still writhing in pain, but starting to
compose himself. I couldn’t have that. I kneeled on his ribs where I’d kicked
him a moment before and his eyes went wide with pain. I wasn’t sure if he knew
that I had taken his sidearm so I held the muzzle of the gun over his right eye
socket.

“I have no reason not to kill you,” I said. “Give me a
reason not to kill you.”

“Okay…”

“Where’s Kendrick?”

“Inside… inside the house.”

“Where are my kids?”

“Inside the house… with him.”

I looked around. Still clear.

“How many of you are there?”

Suddenly, he stopped answering my questions. I didn’t have
time to waste.

“I bet you were a good shot at the Farm, hunh?” I prompted
him. “I bet you were just the “eagle eye” out there, right?”

“Damn right,” he growled.

I jammed the muzzle into his eye a little harder, making him
wince.

“Not anymore,” I said. “Kiss it good-bye, you son of a
bitch.”

“Wait! Wait!” the agent pleaded. I let up on my pressure and
he started breathing again.

“How many?”

“Two,” he said. “Just me and Vaughn… in the front.”

“And who are you?” I asked.

“Special Agent Roger Brock,” he replied.

“Well, Special Agent Brock… I recognize you and your
partner. From the cemetery… from the funeral… So, let me just tell you one
thing. If I ever see you around me again… I’ll be giving your wife an American
flag over your casket.”

Brock’s eyes flared, but before he could move, I clubbed him
with the Glock. He’d have a nasty bruise, but he was still alive if only
unconscious. I stood, took another look around and picked up my Chinese food. I
dropped the Glock into my coat pocket and entered through the back door of my
house.

The house was quiet, still, and it disturbed me. Then I
heard a voice, his voice. Randall Kendrick. He was in the front room, talking
in a way that seemed different from normal conversation. I pushed opened the
door from the kitchen to the dining room then entered the living room. And
there he was.

Randall Kendrick was sitting in my chair beside the
fireplace. On his left knee was Melissa. On his right knee was David. And he
looked ever the part of the doting grandfather. He had his arms around them and
was holding a book in front of them, reading it to them in his bearlike voice.
When he saw me, he did not stop reading the children’s book, but continued on
as if he knew this part from memory.

“Little pig, little pig, let me in,” Kendrick recited, his
eyes focused on mine. “Or I’ll huff… and I’ll puff… and I’ll blow your house
in…”

The bastard was staring at me, threatening me in my own
home, from my own chair, holding my children hostage in his little charade of
civility

“Randall!” I said and forced a welcoming tone into my voice.
“How are you?”

Randall lips spread into a tight grin.

“Good, son. I’ve been good,” he replied, watching me. “Here
you go now, children…” Randall encouraged the kids to get down and they ran to
Alaina, none the wiser, asking her to read the book. He stood then and extended
his hand to me. I took it and we shook hands like the friends we had been.

“How’s Rose?” I asked, inquiring about Randall’s deceased
wife. He betrayed only a glint in his eye when I verbally attacked him. He’d
keep things civil in front of my family. I presumed that at least and hoped
that I wasn’t wrong. But I also had to think that he was doing this for his
benefit as well. He wanted to talk to me about something he knew I’d react to.
That’s why he’d come to the house.