Chương 90: Bardo’s Audible (07/18/1989 | 04:30 PM)

DATE: Tuesday, July 18, 1989 LOCATION: Interstate 5 North | Unmarked Fleet Vehicle LOCAL TIME: 04: 30 PM PST My name is Richard Marcinko. You might know me as the Rogue Warrior, the guy who built SEAL Team Six, and the man who currently runs global security for Archstone Capital and Fractal Systems. I've killed bad guys, dismantled governments, and spent my life cleaning up messes that would turn a normal man's hair white. I thought I knew exactly how the world worked—bullets, blood, and bad intel.

But then I met this kid. The air in the Crown Vic was thick with the smell of cheap coffee and the ozone scent that clung to every piece of hardware we pushed hard. My hands were at ten and two, steady as a rock, but my brain was churning. I'd volunteered to drive the kid home to Carlsbad. It was a favor, sure, but it was mostly a reconnaissance mission. Forty-five minutes of undivided attention to see what made this particular "friend of the family" tick.

Even sitting in the passenger seat, the kid was a strange study. Most thirteen-year-olds are twitchy, loud, or busy staring at their own reflection. This one just occupied space. He had a stillness that didn't belong in a suburban neighborhood. I kept my eyes on the I-5, letting the engine hum do the heavy lifting, but I watched him in the periphery. He was wired tight.

"So," I rumbled, testing the waters.

"Jackie Chan movies." He looked out at the palm trees.

"He does his own stunts." I let out a short, dry chuckle.

"Right." I decided to drop the bomb.

"Well, while you were finishing your pepperoni, I made a few calls. The Sheriff's Department let me listen in on the hostile's holding cell interview. Robert John Bardo. Drifter out of Tucson. Had a map of the neighborhood and a letter addressed to Heather in his pocket." I watched him like a hawk. The name hit him. Just for a heartbeat, his pupils dilated, and his breathing hitched. It was a microscopic reflex, but it was there. I'd seen the same reaction in hard-nosed intelligence officers getting burned. Gotcha.

"Right there," I said, my voice dropping into that quiet register that usually makes men start talking.

"You know that name." This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. He didn't twitch, but the air around him shifted. He was thinking, fast. When he finally looked at me, the "kid" act was slipping.

"I don't know the name," he lied, flat as a pancake.

"But I know the type." I didn't buy it for a second.

"Sure you don't. Tell me this, then: Bardo is claiming he didn't even get to pull his gun. Claims he was ambushed on the porch by Christian Bale." I watched his reaction. Genuine confusion. That was interesting.

"The kid from Empire of the Sun," I explained, steering the cruiser around a slow-moving semi.

"The one starring as Dick Grayson on that Shadow of the Bat show. Bardo claims the kid stepped inside his guard, disabled him, and dragged him into the house. Says the kid and Heather started doing a Batman comedy routine while the kid choked him unconscious. He's babbling about getting his teeth kicked in by 'Robin the Boy Wonder.'" I pulled out a hand-rolled cigar and clamped it between my teeth, unlit. Time to put the screws in.

"Now, I show up to a Level-One Asset distress signal. I find a thirteen-year-old holding a. 357 Magnum in a paper bag. He's using an encrypted frequency that only Fractal Systems possesses. And when I check his name? Classified." I locked eyes with him. I wanted to see if he'd blink.

"I am the Director of Global Security for a transnational arcology network, kid. Who are you, and how are you connected to Fractal Systems?" He didn't flinch. He didn't even look like a kid anymore. He straightened his spine, and suddenly, the "teenage slouch" was gone. He looked at me with the cold, surgical detachment of a CEO—or a combat commander.

"My name is Chad," he said. The tone was absolute.

"And as for my connection to Fractal Systems... John Patterson works for the same architecture I do." I felt the grip on my steering wheel tighten until my knuckles went bloodless. Patterson. The phantom.

"I don't care if Bardo thinks I'm Robin," the kid continued. His voice was ice.

"What I care about is the perimeter. I want a two-man rotation on the O'Rourke house, twenty-four-seven. Unmarked. Phones tapped, mail screened. I want you to personally vet the security detail for her table read on Monday. Tell Patterson to authorize whatever budget you need." I drove in silence for three miles. I searched for the bluff, for the crack in the armor, but there was nothing. He didn't know what I was, and he didn't care. He knew exactly what he was doing.

I exhaled, feeling the tension in my shoulders finally break. I keyed the mic on my radio.

"Control, this is Rogue. Priority alpha," I growled.

"Shift assets. I want a two-man perimeter on the O'Rourke residence. Full stealth, continuous rotation. Treat the site as a restricted asset. Authorize the move under 'Patterson-Delta' protocols. I want eyes on the target by 18: 00 hours." I clicked the radio off. I wasn't just following orders; I was dealing with a new kind of chain of command.

"You've got your detail. But don't think this makes us friends. If you're a liability, you're gone." He didn't look at me.

"One more thing. The deputy who handled the Bardo intake? The one who leaked the audio to you?"

"Yeah?"

"Transfer him. He's going to be a loose thread, and I can't afford him being reachable." I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. A professional, even if he was in a kid's suit.

"Consider it done." I kept my eyes on the road, but I knew one thing for sure: the mission had just changed. This wasn't a protection detail anymore. This was a war for the architecture of the future, and I was just the man holding the line.