Mark Young - Off the grid

“Easy. Take a taxi, a bus, or walk.”

Joe walked toward them, drawing a chair with him. “Let’s get started. Willie, Redneck, and I need to get back to the airport in a few hours. The faster we cover what has to be done, the faster we can be on our way.”

Joe started to sit down, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cell phone. Gerrit watched his uncle use his thumb to navigate the phone, apparently searching for a text message that just came in. As he read the message, a worried expression crossed his face.

“Another problem. Someone started checking into my background-again.”

Redneck leaned forward. “You mean the stuff back in Chicago?”

Joe shook his head. “I mean everything. They’re searching phone records, police records, the whole nine yards. Gerrit, they’re looking at the records around the time your parents were killed and comparing them to the attempt on your life this week.”

Gerrit found his throat tightened. “What are they looking for?”

Joe raised his eyes and looked directly at him. “I think they’re looking for you. Someone must think you’re still alive. And they are hunting for both of us.”

Placing the phone back into his pocket, Joe looked at each worried face in the room. “We have got to move fast. We have to make Gerrit disappear.”

Joe hunched forward, looking from one to the other. “This is primarily for Gerrit’s benefit, but the rest of you…jump in with any questions or comments.” They nodded, letting the older man speak.

He turned to Gerrit. “These people never give up, son. They’ll keep coming until they track down all of us- unless we can thwart their search. So far, Willy and I have been able to hurl digital chaff into the mix, sending their search engines off following dead ends. Where we’re vulnerable-like this search right now-is if they find physical and digital links between us and those who have helped us.”

The others silently nodded.

“If they make those connections, they’ll have a fixed location from which to launch intensified surveillance. I mean the kind of surveillance that has never been used on us before.” He pointed at Gerrit. “I’ll get into that later, or Alena will teach you. These people will torture and eliminate anyone getting in their way.”

“You mean like they tried with me last week?”

Joe nodded. “And like they did with your partner and Marilynn…and your folks seven years ago. Like they tried with me.”

Gerrit felt the old pangs of anger and loss rise to the surface again. “How do they get away with it?”

“The big three-money, power, and influence. With those tools, they believe they are impervious.”

“How do you propose to fight them?”

Joe looked at the others before answering. “One battle at a time. First, we identify those who can be identified-like Kane. We focus our attention on that person-just like they do to us-and watch and wait for him to make a mistake.”

“So how do we get to Kane?”

“We let him do that for us. Every move he makes, every communication he generates, gives us connections to follow. For example, we suspect Kane is behind the bombing of your house and the deaths of Marilynn, your partner, and Adleman in Vienna. Now, we work with others to prove it.”

“Others? Like who?”

Joe leaned back. “Hey, guys, I need to speak to Gerrit alone. About how we compartmentalize everything. You mind?”

Alena rose. “Come on. I’ll make something to snack on. Wouldn’t want Redneck to waste away to nothing.”

Willy grinned. “It’s all fat anyway. He can afford to lose a few pounds.”

Redneck smirked. “I could go without eating for a year and still have more meat on my bones than you’ll ever have on that sorry excuse of a body you carry around. Your legs are smaller than toothpicks, and your arms…what an embarrassment. How do you get any chicks with that pathetic body?”

“I attract them with my intelligence, Hillbilly. Something you’ll never have.” Their voices trailed off as they walked down the hallway toward the kitchen, bickering nonstop.

“You sure they like each other?” Gerrit asked, listening to the last of their conversation.

“Yeah, but they’ll never admit it.” Joe chuckled. “They’ve both changed. I mean, if you knew Redneck and Willy just a few years ago, they would have pulled guns on each other-not sit down and try to work together.”

“You call that working together?”

Joe’s expression seemed to shift, a look of concern in his eyes. “I needed to talk to you alone, Gerrit. In case something happens to me.”

“What are you talking about? I thought you had everything under control.”

His uncle shook his head. “Never get complacent. We’re at war. People get hurt-even die-in this type of combat. Just like your experiences in Afghanistan and Iraq. Only this is a quieter conflict, but just as deadly. Like you experienced last week. No rules. No prisoners taken-at least for very long.”

“Why are you telling me all this, Joe?”

“If they put me out of commission, I need you to take over. I need you to keep this team safe and functioning.”

“How am I supposed to do that? I haven’t even figured out how we fight this war yet.”

“It’ll come. Each of us will help you develop the tools you’ll need to lead this unit. I know you will do great. A real asset to our side. And when-or if-the time comes for you to lead, you must be prepared.”

Voices in the other room rose for a moment. Alena seemed to be trying to calm them down. Always the peacemaker.

“Beck Malloy will be your contact. I want you to follow his direction-whatever he tells you, do it! Promise me.”

“Sure, Joe. But I don’t even know the guy.”

His uncle gave him a folded-up piece of paper. “Memorize this phone number and then destroy the note. Alena is the only other person who knows about Beck right now. Don’t give his name out to anyone. If you ever need help-call it. The man on the end of that line can be trusted. With everything. He’s a true patriot. If he ever makes direct contact with you,” Joe said, clutching his hands, “it will probably mean I’m dead. It will be time for you to take over and lead the fight.”

“Let’s hope that day never comes.”

“Hey, I plan to be around awhile. Just in case, though, remember what I told you. Okay? No questions asked.”

Gerrit shrugged. “You know me, Joe. I never work well with others.”

“I’ve watched you over the years, my boy. You’re a born leader. Just remember that those working for you need to know they have your trust and respect.”

Again, he heard voices rise in the other room. Louder this time. More intense.

“Let’s join the others. The boys and I will need to leave soon.”

Gerrit followed his uncle down the hall and into the kitchen. Alena had donned an apron that captured actress Geena Davis portraying an assassin with amnesia in the movie The Long Kiss Goodnight. The apron depicted a scene where Davis hurls a long-bladed knife across her kitchen, sticking it in wood with pinpoint accuracy, after discovering she is very handy with sharp cutlery. Her boyfriend and daughter stare at her in shock. The apron quotes Davis saying, “Chefs do that.”

Alena looked across the kitchen at Gerrit, waving a knife in her hand, and caught him staring at the apron. “What can I say, I love Geena Davis.”

In the movie, he remembered that Davis was not what she appeared to be-a schoolteacher and caring mother. She turned out to be a highly trained assassin. Again, he wondered about Alena’s past.

He eyed the knife for a moment. She lowered it to the counter, watching him.