The Life We Lead: Ascending (8 page)

Tariq looked coldly at James for a moment
before standing up to approach the front of the room. “Well, since
you both came back in one piece, there’s no major issue with how it
was handled. But you were careless in the operation, for sure.”

Tariq was a solid six-foot-two-inches tall
and weighed 200 pounds. He had played running back in football and
was also a very good boxer. He’d graduated high school a year early
at the top of his class and came from money. Despite his talents,
he failed to recognize the value of forward thinking and always
lived in the moment.

James had missed Tariq’s training with the
group, but knew Tariq had been warned about his attitude. It had
almost gotten him disqualified several times.

“The room should have been on the third
floor, above yours, not below. You could have heard people above
you and Daen wouldn’t have had to jump around like an idiot. It
would have limited their escape, too. You should have also had
cameras outside the main door and a slip mechanism to lock it.”
Tariq pointed at the diagram of the building.

Daen spoke up. “And the fact that we had
limited equipment because this was a gathering operation, plus the
fact that to lock the door with a slip you need to have someone
stationed near the rotating door, has that ‘slipped’ your mind,
man?”

Daen became more indignant as he spoke,
mainly because he didn’t like Tariq.

“Add in the fact that we had no idea of a
head count, or if it was going to be kids or the police or what.
Sitting with all that hindsight is fine, but you ain’t been
listening.”

Tariq jumped right back at Daen, ignoring all
he’d just heard. “Plus, you let people escape and kidnap someone
who’s supposedly a friend.” He put his hands up and used his
fingers to make quotation marks around the last word, then added,
“If you knew how to hit someone properly and put them down, you
could have stopped all that. Then James almost let someone escape
because he can’t put them down either. Sounds like I need to teach
some fighting.”

Daen stared with disbelief. He was too
seasoned to allow his emotions to go any further, but Tariq wasn’t.
He just kept going on and on. He didn’t notice that the reason
everyone’s attention was on him was that they couldn’t believe he
was still talking.

A minute into his rant, James interrupted,
walking toward him and smiling coolly at Tariq. “So you’re saying
you can put anyone down with a single body shot?”

“If they aren’t expecting it, as in I
distract them with a few shots to the head.” He punched the air,
“or just catch them right like this.”

Out of the blue, Tariq landed a vicious shot
to James’ right lower rib and abdominals.

The cheap shot hurt. As James dropped to his
right knee, he had enough focus to sweep Tariq’s knees with his
left leg, and Tariq fell onto his back with an audible escape of
air. After clearing Tariq’s feet, James’s leg slammed down on his
chest. This knocked the rest of the air out of him, and James slid
over and put his forearm to Tariq’s throat.

“You have a lot to learn. If I want to injure
someone or truly incapacitate them, I do it. I hadn’t thought the
Russian would recover as fast as he did, but he didn’t regain full
faculty use and was easily subdued. Your method has not only proven
not to be all you said it was, but it’s put you in a much worse
position than I’m in. I know you’re about to pass out, so I choose
to let you up. I suggest you bend your knees and turn over to your
left. It will help you regain your breath faster.” James spoke
calmly but clearly, even though Tariq’s blow had done some
damage.

“When you are in the moment, go with what
your logic tells you and then use your intuition. Keep in mind,
intuition is not pure emotion. It’s based on your brain putting
past experiences together to find a logical guidance that is
sometimes hard to understand the origin of. We go through these
operations as a tool …” James paused for a moment, holding his
side, to add some dramatic effect to his words.

“… A way to learn. They are not rules of
engagement; they are things that have proven successful or,” James
gestured at Tariq as he finished, “in some cases not successful. It
is why that sign is there.”

He pointed to the sign hanging over the door
that read “The Life We Lead.”

“Choices, consequences, learning and
utilizing. It is different for each of us, just like the meaning of
that sign.” He felt short of breath and when he tried to take a
deep breath found the pain increase significantly.

“Daen, please walk through the remaining
parts. I’m going to have a seat in the lounge if you need me.”

As James walked out of the room, he could
hear Tariq beginning to gain full control of his breathing
again.

Tom, the group’s director, walked out behind
James and followed him to the lounge.

“That was a hard hit you just took. Anything
broken?”

“No, but it feels like the punch penetrated
deep with a shockwave,” groaned James, lying down as softly as he
could on a couch.

“Anything I can get you?” Tom pulled up a
seat next to him.

“New organs would be nice, but short of that,
not much can be done. I’ll make sure I don’t bruise irregularly or
urinate blood, and I might try some salt baths,” James
muttered.

Tom was a seasoned director. He had been one
of the “old school” style trainees before the reformation had taken
place four years earlier. He was in his early thirties, with black
hair and brown eyes. He looked healthy and often spoke in a manner
that showed his concern for the well-being of others.

“I spoke with Andy about the write up,” Tom
said, referring to the regional leader of the group. “He asked what
resources you need for next steps.”

Though the group did have members and the
like, it was a loosely based hierarchy of structure. It had to be
to operate in the shadows the way they did. Tom guided the
day-to-day business, while Andy more or less controlled the
collective funds. Andy and Tom had influence on individual group
members, but they weren’t directly bosses over most of them. In
fact, only a few people were technically employees of the group,
such as Andy, Tom, and the administrative assistant, Korey.

“I’ve already made contact. I need to get to
Aberdeen this summer and work on a cover. I was going to get ahold
of Melissa and see what contacts she has to get me into a full-time
position in marketing related to oil and gas, so support there
would be great,” James said through gritted teeth. The pressure was
starting to build at the injury site.

“What happened to the medical field?” Tom
asked.

“Too long-term for the travel needed to do
this. Can you help with all that?” James asked in return.

“Yes,” Tom replied.

“Good. Thanks. Now I need to convince my
roommates to do some boxing. This is going to hurt, but I need to
have a cover story so they don’t ask questions about me walking
like I’m half dead. They won’t refuse some friendly fighting.”

James winced as he rolled to the floor. He’d
thought getting up from the floor would be easier than the couch.
He was wrong.

“Tom,” he said, but Tom was already there,
lifting him.

“You sure you’re okay? Do you want a pain
killer?”

“Can’t. Need to make sure there’s no internal
bleeding. Really just need to chill and sleep. I’m going back to
campus and to bed. Please tell Daen thanks for finishing the
briefing. Good night, Tom.”

“James, call me when you get back. Just to
make sure you don’t pass out and all.” James gave him a thumbs up
and shuffled out, saying, “I will, but it’s only twelve miles away.
I’ll be okay.”

Getting back to his room went smoother than
James could have hoped. He wanted to grab an ice pack, but he was
happy just to make it back to his room without being stopped. He
was swinging his legs into bed when Edgar came in.

“You had a call from Tammy. She asked if
you’d like to meet and go over physical chemistry tomorrow.” Edgar
sat down on Mark’s bed.

“Okay, thanks. I’ll see her in the morning.
I’m beat and calling it a night.” Edgar ignored the obvious hint
that James didn’t want to talk.

“Tammy huh? ‘Physical’ chemistry, huh?
Getting a little one-on-one time?” Edgar teased.

“Don’t be all jealous just because even your
hand rejects you,” James coolly replied. He wanted Edgar to
leave.

“Whatever,” Edgar said, his classic line when
he had no better response. He got up to leave, which was also
predictable. He was through the door and almost had it shut when he
popped his head back in. “Can I see what you did on the take-home
portion of the accounting final?”

“I turned that in yesterday.” James tried to
get comfortable without showing he was hurt.

“What? Why?” Edgar asked indignantly. “It’s
not due ‘til tomorrow.”

“I told you Sunday I was turning it in early,
for the bonus. You were like, ‘Oh yeah, me, too.’ You went
upstairs, and I figured you did it,” James replied.

“You were serious? Shit!” Edgar left,
shutting the door, and James shook his head.

It took him a while to get comfortable enough
to go to sleep, and he was greatly annoyed when, at 3 a.m., he woke
up because he needed to go to the bathroom.

His first movement to get out of bed made him
gasp in pain. He slowed down and figured out how to raise himself
using the wall and steel beams of the bed that made the footing,
then lifted himself to a vertical position as gently as possible.
This took a minute. When you need to go to the bathroom, that’s a
long time.

Having made successful use of the toilet
without blood coming out, he checked his side in the mirror.

Marvelous.

The bruises were already a lovely blue,
yellow, and black mix, with a center that had yet to completely
darken. He knew it was just getting started.

He made his way down to the kitchen and got
two zip bags and ice to create a double sealed ice pack. He was
getting ready to turn off the light when he noticed a note by the
phone.

“James, the Fishermen called at 11:31 p.m.
for you. E”

Flicking the overhead lights off in the
kitchen, James made his way back upstairs to Edgar, John, and
Dylan’s room. He walked in and bent over to wake up Edgar, then
stopped short. Too awkward. It could wait till morning. James
retreated to his own bed.

The unwritten rule in the house was minimal
talking in the morning until 10 a.m., with the emphasis on minimal.
Pointing and grunts worked just fine in most cases.

Edgar was the last one to slosh into the
kitchen the next morning. While he grabbed a toaster pastry, James
asked about the message, which got everyone’s unwanted and
semi-disgruntled attention.

“Hey, what else did the caller say last
night?” James asked.

“I told you what she said,” barked Edgar.

“Not Tammy, ass, that.” James pointed to the
note.

“Oh, yeah, what the hell is going on? This
douche made a point of saying the time like three times and made
sure I spelled ‘fishermen,’ not ‘fisherman.’ He wouldn’t give me
anything else. It was messed up. I didn’t want to come get you when
he first called, but after he hung up, I almost did.” Edgar’s voice
was semi-rising in volume. “You in trouble or something? This is
some shit like out of a bad spy movie.”

This caused a rumble as all eyes turned to
James.

“Everything’s fine. It’s a group that fishes,
and apparently they wanted to be clear who was calling. You know,
being plural for a group and not just someone calling themselves a
fisherman and sounding like a tool.” James knew that sounded
weak.

None of the guys were convinced, but Edgar
spoke up. “Two things wrong with that. One, you don’t fish, and
two, why would he call at 11:30, I mean 11:31, at night? And why
insist on saying the time three times?”

James thought,
Because he’s a dip shit
recruit that didn’t know what he was doing
.

Out loud, James replied, “I’m going with my
dad and uncle out West to where this group is, so there’s a time
difference. As far as being so specific, I can only guess.”

It still sounded weak, so James began
building a more elaborate version in his head. His friends weren’t
complete morons, but they knew nothing about the group, or most of
what James did, or what skills he really had for that matter.

“If you’re in trouble, man, say so,” came
John’s hoarse voice.

“We got your back, bro,” said Dylan, and Mark
nodded over his cereal.

James deliberately took a deep breath, and
the others knew what was coming. He was about to unleash a string
of logic on them that would explain the story he’d just built.

“The group probably isn’t a full-time
professional organization. The person who called did it after
normal work hours, when he had the chance. I suspect he realized
after you answered what time it was on the East Coast, but he had
you on the phone so he wanted to give you the message. It would
also stand to reason that the caller is rather anal retentive and
an introvert. He referred to the fishing group in the plural to
make sure he got your attention. The group is evidently important
to him. Since most individuals who fish have limited friends and
move in small groups, thus the introvert, they place a high value
on what social time they have with others. The time was more than
likely his way of acknowledging the lateness but also the anal part
to make sure you took a message, as was the spelling of
‘fishermen.’ I would venture to say he started off with “May I
speak with James?” and not “Hi, is James there?”

Edgar nodded. The rest of the room stared for
a second before moving to get out the door.

“If I were in trouble, I would come to you
guys, no doubt.” James said this to give finality to the
conversation. He, of course, knew what the message really was
about. Something had come up with the police, and the group was
letting him know he needed to be in touch.