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Damien doubted very seriously that the Omega SWAT team sharpshooter had murdered anyone in cold blood, but he knew not to say as much. “Indeed. And he deserves to pay.”
“I should just grab my .45 and blow his brains out.”
If Harper had the backbone to do that, he would’ve done it in the four years since his father had died. Damien just squeezed the man’s shoulder. “You could, of course. I know you’ve got the guts. But why don’t you make Fitzgerald suffer a little beforehand? The way you’ve had to suffer.”
Curtis Harper lived every day of his life—before and after his father’s death—with a victim’s mentality. That’s how Damien had found him. How he’d been able to draw him into his scheme.
It was how he would use Harper to chip away at a little piece of Omega Sector. To kill off just one member, that, when it was said and done, would seem like an isolated event from a lone redneck bent on revenge.
Damien wondered how many isolated events Omega Sector would endure before they realized the events weren’t isolated at all, but carefully orchestrated by a great puppet master.
And now who was waxing poetic?
“Curtis, you go on home now and get ready.” Damien put just a bit of a Southern accent—totally fake—into his words. He wanted Harper to think they were cut from the same cloth. “I’ll be in touch soon with a plan I’ve got in place that will make Ashton Fitzgerald pay. It involves hurting Ashton Fitzgerald not only physically, but through the people he cares about as well. The worst kind of pain.”
Harper wasn’t worthy of knowing Damien’s entire design, his blueprint. Harper wouldn’t comprehend its enormity even if Damien told him. But Harper didn’t need to grasp or appreciate it in order to be useful.
Curtis Harper wouldn’t understand the plan, but he would help make the members of Omega Sector understand it.
Harper nodded. “Okay, Damien. Thanks.”
The man turned and spit to the side. By the time he looked back at Damien, Damien had managed to wipe the sneer from his face.
Curtis Harper was a means to an end, nothing more. Omega Sector agent Ashton Fitzgerald wouldn’t survive the next week, but then again, neither would Harper.
They shook hands and Harper left. Damien turned and walked back into the building.
“Curtis Harper is not the type of person we’re looking for to further the revolution,” Red Tie said. “He’s filthy and sloppy.”
Damien shrugged. “Not everybody can be a general in the war. You need foot soldiers also. Expendable foot soldiers.”
That seemed to appease the other man.
“Attacking one person isn’t going to bring Omega down.” Red Tie began his pacing again. “It’s not going to change the status quo within law enforcement. I’ve got no beef with Fitzgerald in particular.”
“No.” Damien held himself perfectly still in direct opposition to the other man’s pacing. “But attacking one person will split Omega’s focus. Then the next hit will split their focus more. And the one after that, et cetera, et cetera.”
Red Tie stopped his pacing. “But eventually we have to hit them hard. Not little hits. One giant strike with great force. I’ve already got something in the beginning stages.”
Damien smiled, showing just the right amount of teeth to make it look authentic. “To begin the revolution.”
“Exactly.”
“Be patient. We’ll make our most deadly strike once everything is in place. Until then, we just continue to wound them—both people inside Omega and those connected to them—without them realizing how much they’re bleeding out. Omega will limp along until it’s time for you to make your move. Bring the whole organization down for good.”
A huge grin spread over Red Tie’s face. “They’ve always underestimated me. They’ll never see it coming.”
So Red Tie wasn’t truly about the revolution after all. He’d been slighted and wanted personal revenge. Of course, he probably couldn’t see that in himself, had convinced himself of his visionary status.
Damien didn’t care either way. He would use whatever tools became available to him in his fight to take apart Omega Sector. Whether they thought of themselves as visionaries or just wanted payback, Damien didn’t care.
He would use them all. And when they were no longer useful to him, he would discard them all.
“Are you going to tell me your name?” Damien finally asked the man.
He tilted his head in suspicion. “I don’t think so. I’m not sure I can trust you.”
The first intelligent thing that had been said all day.
“Shall I just address you as ‘hey you’?” Damien crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t really need the man’s name. Honestly, at this point he didn’t care.
“You can call me Fawkes.”
Damien gave a short bark of laughter. “As in, Guy Fawkes, the man who tried to blow up the British Parliament? Okay, Mr. Fawkes, let me know when you want to meet again.” Damien turned to leave.
“Wait, that’s it? What about planning the attack? The big one.”
Damien turned back around. “It’s not time yet. If we strike now, we’ll fail. We weaken Omega Sector one little piece at a time. And when they’re hollowed out? That’s when we strike.”
Damien was nothing if not a master planner. He’d always excelled at chess because he played four moves ahead of where the pieces currently sat on the table.
Fawkes didn’t looked pleased. “Maybe you’re afraid. Maybe I’ve come to the wrong person.”
Damien didn’t rise to the bait. Wasn’t even tempted. He walked closer to Fawkes and touched his tie, waiting to see if the action would spur Fawkes to violence. Fawkes tensed but didn’t do anything.
Good. More self-control than Damien had given him credit for. Fawkes would need it in the weeks ahead.
“You’ll have your revolution when the time is right, Mr. Fawkes. Be patient. Continue gathering your intel, both on those inside the organization and those connected to it. Finding vulnerable spots we can stab quickly, retreating before they know they’re wounded. Never knowing the largest wound is yet to come.”
The younger man still didn’t like it. But he nodded. Damien smiled and slapped him on his shoulder. “Good. Then, until we meet again, Mr. Fawkes.”
He turned to leave but then stopped at Fawkes’ final words.
“You know, you’re awfully trusting with who you give your name to. I know who you are. Even Harper knows who you are. Aren’t you afraid Omega Sector is going to find out about you?”
Damien didn’t turn back around. “Not worried at all. Omega Sector already knows about me. They’re the ones who created me in the first place.”
“When they stopped you from blowing up yourself and all those people in that bank nearly five years ago?”
Now Damien turned around, eyebrow raised. “You’ve done your homework, Mr. Fawkes.”
“I always check every possible angle.”
Damien doubted this man could even see every possible angle, much less check them. “If Omega hadn’t interfered, I would’ve been long dead by now. But they did. Thankfully, I must say.”
And what Fawkes didn’t know—what Damien himself hadn’t even known until recently—was that Omega Sector had created him long before they stopped him from blowing up that bank. Long before they’d thrown him in that prison.
They’d created him when they’d killed his precious Natalie seven years ago.
And now they would pay. Would know the agony he’d known at her death.
Damien took a few steps toward Fawkes. “I have no doubt Omega Sector will eventually figure out it’s me behind the little attacks. Honestly, I hope it’s sooner rather than later. You are the one we’ve got to keep hidden.”
“Don’t worry, they’ll never suspect me.”
“Make sure, Fawkes. Because your revolution will never get off the ground at all if they do.”
“You worry about your part, I’ll worry about mine. I’ve already got something in the works that will start shaking them up.”
Damien raised an eyebrow. “Anything I should know about?”
The other man smiled. “No. Just an extra little something to splinter their focus. Like you said.”
Damien fought a grimace. The problem with working with someone like Fawkes was that the man was just smart enough, just ambitious enough, to have plans of his own. Plans Damien hadn’t created and therefore didn’t control. But Damien knew when to back off. This was one of those times.
“Okay, then. Just be careful. Don’t lose the war just to win one battle.”
Fawkes shrugged. “I won’t. I know the endgame.”
Fawkes thought he knew the endgame. He didn’t. But Damien just nodded at him. “I’ll look forward to our next meeting.”
He turned again and walked out the door of the warehouse, putting on sunglasses as he stepped into the bright sun shining over the Rockies framing Denver. He’d be in his car in two minutes. Five minutes after that, he would change his appearance enough that he’d be able to walk right by Fawkes or Curtis Harper and neither of them would ever recognize Damien.
It was just one of Damien’s skills and one of the reasons he’d been able to avoid capture by Omega Sector for the last ten months since he broke out of prison. They were looking for someone who didn’t match Damien’s description at all.
Damien Freihof was the greatest criminal mastermind Omega Sector had ever battled. He didn’t care if he was waxing poetic now. Truth was truth. Omega was at war, they just didn’t know it yet.
They’d targeted him for years. Now it was their turn to become the target.
Chapter Three (#u9c6b789b-f83c-56ec-8300-d90dd93a0220)
“All I’m saying is that she thinks you’re the janitor,” Roman Weber said as he ran at Ashton.
Ashton grimaced as Roman’s boot hit his linked fingers. He used his leg and arm strength to boost his teammate up onto the fifteen foot wooden wall, part of the obstacle course the SWAT team regularly completed.
It was supposed to not only build fitness, but promote teamwork. Right now, Ashton just wanted to push his teammates over the wall, then run the other way.
“That’s about as firmly parked in the friend zone as you can get. Janitor.” Lillian Muir, Omega’s only female SWAT agent, snickered. Being the lightest, she would be the last up the wall, since any of the other team members could pretty much hoist her up one-handed.
Derek Waterman, SWAT team leader, stood beside Ashton to boost other members up the wall and shook his head. “Let’s focus, people. Plus, we have a guest.”
Tyrone Marcus, not yet a full-fledged member of the SWAT team, had joined them for this morning’s training and was next over the wall. The younger man smiled at the banter as he flew toward Derek and Ashton, jumped into their waiting hands and pulled himself the rest of the way up. But he didn’t say anything.
Ashton knew he liked that kid for a reason.
Derek nodded his head up, indicating it was Ashton’s turn. Ashton jogged back about ten feet from the wall, then burst forward in a sprint. As he jumped onto Derek’s waiting hands, Derek’s push upward helped propel Ashton to the top. From there, the other team members helped him climb over.
Ashton immediately turned and reached his arm down, along with Roman. Derek was already running toward the wall, using his huge size to propel himself up and catch their arms. Ashton and Roman pulled Derek, then reached back down so they could do the same with Lillian.
She was much lighter and faster and soon the whole team was over the wall, the final obstacle on the course. Everyone sat, catching their breath.
“I don’t know that he’s in the friend zone,” Liam Goetz, hostage rescue specialist, said. “She did make him muffins.”
Ashton shook his head. “You guys give it a rest, will you?”
“Uh, she made muffins for the janitor who came over to fix her sink,” Roman argued, blatantly ignoring Ashton.
Lillian reached over and high-fived him. “That just means Fitzy is parked in the VIP section of the friend zone. Still the friend zone.”
Ashton closed his eyes, wishing that would make them all go away. Even the new kid was grinning, although he still hadn’t said anything about it.
Not that anything anyone had said was untrue. How he’d let this situation with Summer, the only woman he’d had real feelings for in years, get so out of hand he didn’t know.
“She doesn’t think I’m the janitor. She thinks I’m the building’s maintenance man. There’s a difference,” he muttered.
Mistake.
Everyone burst out laughing, now arguing the difference between maintenance man and janitor. They all jumped down from the wall and walked back toward the building, except for Ashton and Derek.
“Hey, we’re hitting the new gas and airborne substances simulator in an hour,” Derek yelled out after them. “But not you this time, Tyrone. Sorry. Everyone else, be ready.”
They all nodded and responded, slapping Tyrone on the back. He’d make a good team member after another few months of training.
Ashton just leaned back against the wall, enjoying the quiet.
“You need to tell Summer who you really are,” Derek finally said. “Not telling her is going to bite you in the ass eventually.”
Derek wasn’t one to run his mouth like the rest of the team. He didn’t share his opinion for no reason or generally participate in the teasing. So when Derek spoke, people listened.
Ashton opened his eyes. “I know.” He grimaced. “Although I’m so concerned about saying the wrong thing around her, I can barely get a sentence out. She must think I’m a moron.”
Derek chuckled. “I doubt it. Maybe a little shy or something.”
Ashton rolled his eyes. “If my mother could hear someone calling me shy. The one of her three kids who never shut up. She would have a field day.”
“Everybody likes Summer. And you have too many mutual friends for her not to find out who you are eventually. It’ll be better coming from you.”
Ashton hit the back of his head against the wooden wall. “If it was just about her thinking I was the maintenance guy, I would tell her.”
“But you’re worried about the situation on the day her husband died.”
As always, the bile pooled in his stomach at the thought. “I had the shot, Derek. I could’ve taken that hostage-taker out. Tyler Worrall and those others would still be alive. Summer would still have a husband and Chloe would still have a father.”
“We’ve all been over the footage, Ash. Us as a team. Steve Drackett and the review board. Taking the shot that early would’ve been a mistake. Joe thought he could talk the guy down. We all thought he could talk the guy down.”
But there had been a second, right before the man pulled out the hand grenade that killed nearly everyone in the room, that Ashton could’ve done something. He’d been on the building across the street with his sniper rifle.
He should’ve taken the shot. His gut had told him to take the shot. But he’d ignored it.
