Jon Merz - Raider X

Hewitt stood about a hundred yards away, dressed as if he was out for a brief holiday in the countryside. He had a pipe in his mouth which Thatcher thought fit him rather well, although he felt certain Hewitt would have preferred a stiff measure of brandy rather than a smoking pipe.

Thatcher slowed to a trot aware that he no longer sweated profusely as he did upon first arriving here. The runs were not as taxing now that his body had grown accustomed to the physical training. He had also packed on some decent muscles which he did not mind seeing reflected back when he looked in the mirror.

“Looking rather fit, aren’t you?”

Thatcher slowed to a walk now and shook hands with Hewitt. “Thanks. The training seems to suit me.”

“Indeed,” said Hewitt. “I’ve heard good things about you from all the DS here, including the doctors who have been probing those inner recesses of your mind to see if they could discover whether you have the sort of stuff that we like in our agents.”

“They were wondering if I carried any guilt from what I did,” said Thatcher. “And the truth is, I don’t. It was a matter of priorities, I guess. Plus, I didn’t want to allow you the satisfaction of having me die on the operation. I figured the least I could do was survive and make your life miserable for a little while longer.”

Hewitt chuckled. “I probably deserved that, didn’t I?”

“You always like rescuing the condemned and sending them off on suicide missions?”

Hewitt shrugged. “The Department of Sacrificial Lambs. What do you think of the name?”

“Sounds horrible,” said Thatcher. “Is that what we are?”

“Until I find some more wayward souls with nothing else to lose,” said Hewitt. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any friends about to be executed that I could offer a job to, have you?”

“I appear to be fresh out,” said Thatcher. “Besides, this job has crap for perks. And the pay isn’t much, either.”

Hewitt held up his hand. “Now, now, that’s not entirely fair.” He handed Thatcher an envelope.

Thatcher took it and opened it. Inside was a bank note showing a very sizable deposit had been made at a bank in London in his name. Thatcher looked up at Hewitt. “Is that really mine?”

Hewitt nodded. “Indeed it is. From a grateful Crown for your service. With Raider X out of the way, you’ve saved countless tonnes of shipping. It was felt that appropriate renumeration was definitely in order. Plus, the extra intelligence you were able to supply was also deemed invaluable to our war effort.”

“Thank you,” said Thatcher. He paused as they started walking along the gravel foot path. “Did you know?”

“About what?”

“Adamson. That he was a Nazi spy?”

Hewitt smiled. “I wasn’t running him, if that’s what you mean. He was an SIS agent. He’d been instrumental in sending disinformation to the Nazis. His loss will be felt dearly. We have no idea what Schwarzwalder would have done if he’d been able to connect with him. There’s some thought that we might have been able to turn him as well, but I’m not so sure.”

“Neither am I,” said Thatcher. “Schwarzwalder was a principled man. He cared more for his family than whatever government he worked for. But he would have tried to find a way down the middle where he could help Adamson without sacrificing his family.”

Hewitt shook his head. “That way never works, unfortunately. You can’t walk a fine line in the middle when you’re caught between opposing forces. Only fools and cowards think that is the best way. Sooner or later, you’ll have to take a side.” Hewitt stopped walking and looked up at Thatcher. “Speaking of which: have you decided yet?”

“Decided what?”

“On whether you’ll take a side or not?” Hewitt lit a match to his pipe and breathed in, stoking the tobacco within the bowl until it glowed red and a halo of smoke issued out of it.

“I would have thought it was readily apparent by now,” said Thatcher. “I didn’t vanish when I had the chance to.”

It was true. After being picked up by the fishing boat in Tenerife, Thatcher could have easily made his way back to the mainland and ended up in either Portugal or Spain. He evaded the Gestapo waiting at the harbor and managed to secrete himself aboard a merchant ship plying the waters under a neutral flag between the Canary Islands and the African mainland. Once in Morocco, he snuck aboard another ship bound for Lisbon and there, he headed right for the British Embassy who tucked him away on a plane and flew him back to England at first light.

Hewitt puffed on his pipe. “If it makes any difference, I never would have kidnapped your aunt.”

Thatcher nodded. “It does, actually. Thank you.”

Hewitt started walking again, his feet crunching the gravel underneath. Thatcher fell into step beside him. “So… what’s next?”

“What’s next is you finish your training here. That’s imperative. I can’t send you out again unless you have the prerequisite skills needed by someone in the field. If Schwarzwalder hadn’t aided you in demolishing Raider X, I don’t know that you would have been able to do it with your makeshift skills.”

“But I now have the skills,” said Thatcher.

“They need refinement,” said Hewitt. “You nearly obliterated that poor pine tree a while back.”

“You saw that?”

Hewitt said nothing but just chuckled as he puffed some more. Finally, he took the pipe out of his mouth. “After much debate, it has been decided that your next outing should be to confirm the existence of what Cyra told you. Namely the laboratory that seems to be modifying people and turning them into some sort of super soldier.”

“Poland,” said Thatcher.

“Indeed,” said Hewitt.

“How long do I have?”

Hewitt checked his watch. “A few days. No more. Time is of the essence. We can’t have super soldiers running around decimating our boys on the battlefield. That simply will not do.”

“It’s going to be dangerous,” said Thatcher.

“Extremely so,” agreed Hewitt.

“The Department of Sacrificial Lambs, huh?”

Hewitt shrugged. “It’s just a name. So try not to live up to it will you?”

And with that, he spun on his heel and started back toward the mansion house. Thatcher stood there for another moment with a smile on his face before following after him.

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Jon F. Merz is the author of over 50 novels ranging from urban fantasy to espionage and sword & sorcery fantasy. Prior to becoming a full-time writer Jon served in the United States Air Force, protected a variety of Fortune 500 executives, and taught defensive tactics to government agencies like the State Department, Bureau of Prisons, and others. He is an active CrossFitter, a 5th degree black belt in Togakure-ryu Ninjutsu, enjoys doing GORUCK challenges, and in 2014 started acting (starring in The Cars That Made America on History Channel and in the new scifi feature film MOTHER/ANDROID) He lives each and every day by the motto, “Who Dares Lives.” He and his wife Joyce (who runs the hugely popular food blog The Tasty Page ) live with their two sons in suburban Boston.

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