In His Sights

Daniel gave him a look of complete disbelief. He opened his mouth and shut it a few times before finally speaking. “I…I don’t know about any of that. And I sure as hell didn’t sell anything to North Korea.” Strangely, his gaze kept slipping to Agent Arthur as though he feared the man.

“If that is the truth, then I think everything should go well here today.” Jarrod sat down in the chair across from Daniel. He put his knee between the man’s knees, just close enough to be inside of his personal space, but not so close as to make him clam up.

“So, you believe me?” Daniel asked.

He didn’t believe the guy any further than he could throw him, but he wasn’t there to be judge and jury—he was only there to find out exactly what this detainee knew. “Unless you give me a reason to mistrust you, I think we can be friends. I believe in the American system of justice—innocent until proven guilty.”

In reality, almost everyone who worked in law enforcement felt exactly the opposite. Everyone was guilty of something. Maybe not for the crime they were investigating, but there wasn’t a single soul out there who wasn’t guilty of some wrongdoing—and it was his job to find out exactly what.

The man let out a long exhale. “But what about him?” He paused, pointing in the direction of Arthur with his chin. “I wish I knew what you are doing here.” There was an odd strangled sound to Daniel’s tone.

“Don’t worry about him,” Jarrod said, waving him off.

“How do you work with all these meatheads and not lose your mind?”

Jarrod chuckled. “I know you met us on a crap day, but some of them aren’t so bad. I’m sure you’ve got employees at Heinrich and Kohl who are about the same way—duller than a butter knife.”

The man laughed, loosening up. “You know it. There are days where I swear some of my employees ate paint chips as kids.”

Good, he was establishing camaraderie.

“Any of those employees at H&K got it out for you?”

The man shrugged, staring down at the floor. “If you’re a giraffe, there’s always going to be hyenas nipping at your ankles.”

“You think any of these hyenas could be behind this leak?”

Agent Arthur shuffled his feet like he was growing bored with the interrogation. No doubt, he wanted to handle it differently, but Jarrod didn’t care. What he really wanted to do was send the rookie out, but the CIA had made it clear that he needed a guard with him at all times. They should’ve known by now that he could take care of himself, and yet that kind of hubris made him more like the rookie Arthur than he cared to admit.

Daniel looked over at the offending agent and then back to him, weighing them both in a glance. “There’s always someone gunning for me. I’m sure that whatever it is you think I did, it was done by someone else. I have no interest in implicating myself in some political nonsense. I already have more than enough to keep me busy.”

“You’re not hurting for money or resources?” Jarrod asked.

“No, I make a really good salary. Our stocks are running high, and the long-term forecast looks great.”

Though the man was nearly the picture of innocence, Jarrod didn’t buy everything Daniel was saying. The CIA wouldn’t have brought him here if Daniel didn’t have some strong motivation to sell secrets about his weaponry and government contracts.

“Let’s go back to this idea of your hyenas,” Jarrod said. “Is there anyone you suspect might have set you up?”

Daniel looked torn, like there was something he wanted to say. He looked at Agent Arthur and then back to Jarrod. “For starters…” He stood up.

Agent Arthur took a step toward him, the action unnecessarily aggressive. “You need to sit down,” Agent Arthur ordered.

Daniel ignored the man, instead reaching in his pocket.

“Get your hands out of your pockets, now!” Agent Arthur roared.

“Agent, take a step back,” Jarrod said, trying to regain control. They didn’t need this getting out of hand when they were just starting to get somewhere.

Daniel pulled what looked like a pen from his pocket. As he moved, a picture fell down, drifting to the floor. The team must have frisked the man, and he had gone through a metal detector.

“Where did you get—” Jarrod started.

“Put down the weapon!” Agent Arthur yelled, pulling his gun and pointing it straight at the man’s center mass.

If Jarrod hadn’t been shocked, it would have made him laugh to have the agent call a pen a weapon.

Daniel clicked the pen, and as he did, a shot rang out. The percussive blast roared through the room, momentarily deafening him. Instinctively, Jarrod’s hand went to his gun.

Daniel crumpled to his knees and dropped the pen. His hands moved to his chest. Blood seeped from a tiny hole directly over his heart. He looked at Arthur, then down at his hands. Blood collected at the creases of his fingers and dripped downward. “Arthur, you two-faced bastard.”

“What in the hell did you do, Agent? It was a goddamned pen!” He rushed to Daniel’s side just as he slumped to the ground.

“He was drawing a weapon. I thought he was a threat,” Agent Arthur said, waving his hand at the offending man like his choice to shoot was obvious. “My actions were completely justified.”

Applying pressure, Jarrod tried to stop the bleeding even though he knew his efforts were in vain. The blood soaked through the man’s clothing and spread over the ground, wetting Jarrod’s knees. So much blood.

He looked to the pen. There was something off about it, and as he picked it up, he noticed that it had a tiny pill-like plastic piece filled with powder instead of a nib. He could only guess what was inside, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been cyanide.

Beside the pen was a picture of a young woman. She had long brown hair and a playful, confident smile. He flipped the photo over with the tip of his fingernail, careful not to disturb the evidence. On the back it read: “She will be next.”

This time, death had won, but if he acted fast, and found the woman in the picture, perhaps he could stop another person from falling victim to life’s fickle master.

Chapter Two (#u063db92f-43d5-5d89-a60a-888c5ab3905f)

She hated this, being stuck in yet another stupid meeting. Sometimes she could have sworn her job was to do nothing more than listen to the mindless ramblings of the H&K board and their endless stream of guests.

Mindy Kohl looked down at her watch, trying to subtly check the time without making the members of the Swedish parliament, the Riksdag, think she was being rude. She had to follow the rules of etiquette or risk offending the leaders who would determine the fate of her company’s expansion, but it didn’t make her any less squirmy.

She hated this job. Pandering was best left to those who enjoyed the thrill of the hunt and the glory that came from winning. It was really no wonder her half brother had loved it, right up until he had become CEO of Heinrich and Kohl. Even in his new role, he’d still hovered, constantly reminding her that she was to do her best, as they had much to lose.

Then again, not everything was terrible about her new position: it afforded her a great deal of travel and leisure—though this time she got to stay home in the heart of NYC. She was relieved that after this brutally long and drawn-out meeting, she could go home.

There was a man standing to her left beside the table. His name badge said Jarrod Martin. She didn’t recognize the man, but he appeared to be in his early thirties and comprised entirely of muscle. He’d come in with the entourage that accompanied the parliament members, and was likely acting as a guard. But, instead of bringing her comfort, every time she looked at him, she felt an unwelcome warmth cascade through her.

If only it were a year ago, when her life had been focused on nothing more than giving in to the whims of her heart, she would have easily made the man her lover. She caught herself glancing down, hoping to see if his back was as scrumptious as his front. She wasn’t disappointed.

Her contact, and lead ambassador for the Riksdag, Hans Anders, cleared his throat as he took the floor. He was sitting three down from her at the conference table. His fingers were tented in front of him as he spoke, a look of distaste forming when he addressed Mindy directly. He clearly thought a woman in gun manufacturing was some kind of farce. She’d always thought that the Swedish were more progressive when it came to empowering women, but clearly there were some men in every culture who thought it best for a woman to stay in the kitchen.

Needless to say, she hated the bastard.

“Furthermore,” Hans continued, “it is not in our best interest to allow a machining plant in our countryside. While we welcome international businesses with open arms, by bringing in a gun manufacturer, it could be misconstrued as our implied consent and role in the international gunrunning trade.”

“Sir, while I appreciate your thoughts and hear what you are saying, I humbly disagree,” she said, forcing herself to remain seated even though all she wanted to do was stand, face him down and put an end to this argument. “My company is in no way an advocate for international violence. We pride ourselves on our stellar record within the global market. While we cannot control where or how our guns are used, the same can be said about many other incredibly lucrative businesses—such as pharmaceuticals. Would you deny a person access to a lifesaving medication because you are afraid of the medication being misused?”

Hans opened his mouth, no doubt wishing to rebut, but she didn’t give him the chance to speak. She had the floor, and no matter what some man thought, she was going to keep it.

“What you are talking about is a what-if, while you—and the entire Riksdag—should be focused on the bottom line of our proposal. This year alone, our plants in the United States have brought in $7.2 billion in taxable income. We believe, should you allow us to open our plant, we will either match or exceed this figure every year for your country.”