happened all the time. Sometimes, beyond his control, his ability to predict future events would extend out two minutes or more. Or maybe months, if Monica carried a boy in her womb.
Mr. Jowly-guy continued. "What about this interrogation, then?"
Finally .
Jeff folded his hands on the tabletop. "The prisoners were recalcitrant. We were able to ascertain that they are a part of Dawkins's cartel and that they knew we were coming."
The gray-haired Dutchman leaned toward his screen. "How did they know this?"
"They claim to have been tipped off an hour before we touched down."
"Tipped off by whom? Do we have a leak?"
"We have no idea. Dawkins told them, and gave them a choice: evacuate, or stay behind and earn a bonus. Most of them left."
"What was this bonus for, Mr. Hannes?"
"Killing us," Conor said.
Jeff cleared his throat and leaned forward, blocking Conor from the screen. "The survivors would split a bonus of one million euros for every ICAP agent killed." Blood gushed down the walls, and Jeff's face melted off his skull. Whispers gibbered and clawed at the empty sockets. Matt blinked, and the hallucination disappeared. What the hell? " — send a message that further incursions into his business will not be tolerated."
Jowls flushed with rage. "This drug dealer seeks to threaten us? Is he stupid?"
"Dumb as dumb," Conor muttered. Jeff shushed him.
The Frenchman rolled his eyes. "By all indications he is not. One does not run a multibillion-dollar criminal enterprise if one is stupid."
His phone buzzed. Akash's message read, Is Flynn trying to get fired?
Matt replied, Dunno.
Brian Frahm, Jeff’s immediate supervisor, a baby-faced American in his forties who didn’t look a day over twenty, lifted a hand from his thigh. They stopped and looked at him. "Debating Dawkins's mental acuity won’t do us any good. The question now is what to do about him."
Brian dropped his hand, and the room erupted in raised voices. Matt tuned out their squabbling and looked out the window, where a few leaves on the deciduous trees showed signs of color. He jerked back to the conversation when Jeff said his name. "Sergeant Rowley has the combat experience, the investigative experience, the training, and the — well, the augs necessary to bring the entire enterprise down. He's the perfect man for the job."
"What do you say, Sergeant?" Brian asked. Everyone waited for his response.
"Yeah. That is, I'll think about it."
Jeff smiled. Akash texted, Grats.
Matt grunted. Did I just get promoted, or fed to the wolves?
* * *
A week later, Jeff sat on Matt's couch and cradled a cup of coffee in his hands. Conor sprawled over the recliner, and Akash perched on the loveseat. Monica puttered in the kitchen making sticky buns, a transparent pretext to eavesdrop, and the house smelled of gooey brown sugar and sweet bread. Matt leaned against the mantle, running his hand over the hearth. He'd hand-selected every stone and built it with his dad. Hard to believe they'd laid the last stone only five years ago, harder still that he'd been only twenty-two at the time.
"It's downright cold up here," Jeff said.
"It's the West Highlands in August," Matt said. "Nights get chilly sometimes."
"I wasn't expecting frost."
Conor chuckled. "Not a Boy Scout, then?"
Jeff ran his tongue over his teeth and looked out the window at the towering pines. "Not too prepared, I guess. So why's the town called White Spruce when there aren't any White Spruce?"
Matt shrugged. "I guess they planted a ring of them way back in eighteen twenty-something, right on the village green, but none of them survived the climate. Every couple of years the high and mighties talk about planting another, then cost and maintenance comes up and they drop the whole thing." He plopped down next to Akash, tired of small talk. "So I'm getting a command, an operations suite, and an 'as-needed' budget? That's a hell of a reward for just surviving. I don't know that I'm
Mr. Jowly-guy continued. "What about this interrogation, then?"
Finally .
Jeff folded his hands on the tabletop. "The prisoners were recalcitrant. We were able to ascertain that they are a part of Dawkins's cartel and that they knew we were coming."
The gray-haired Dutchman leaned toward his screen. "How did they know this?"
"They claim to have been tipped off an hour before we touched down."
"Tipped off by whom? Do we have a leak?"
"We have no idea. Dawkins told them, and gave them a choice: evacuate, or stay behind and earn a bonus. Most of them left."
"What was this bonus for, Mr. Hannes?"
"Killing us," Conor said.
Jeff cleared his throat and leaned forward, blocking Conor from the screen. "The survivors would split a bonus of one million euros for every ICAP agent killed." Blood gushed down the walls, and Jeff's face melted off his skull. Whispers gibbered and clawed at the empty sockets. Matt blinked, and the hallucination disappeared. What the hell? " — send a message that further incursions into his business will not be tolerated."
Jowls flushed with rage. "This drug dealer seeks to threaten us? Is he stupid?"
"Dumb as dumb," Conor muttered. Jeff shushed him.
The Frenchman rolled his eyes. "By all indications he is not. One does not run a multibillion-dollar criminal enterprise if one is stupid."
His phone buzzed. Akash's message read, Is Flynn trying to get fired?
Matt replied, Dunno.
Brian Frahm, Jeff’s immediate supervisor, a baby-faced American in his forties who didn’t look a day over twenty, lifted a hand from his thigh. They stopped and looked at him. "Debating Dawkins's mental acuity won’t do us any good. The question now is what to do about him."
Brian dropped his hand, and the room erupted in raised voices. Matt tuned out their squabbling and looked out the window, where a few leaves on the deciduous trees showed signs of color. He jerked back to the conversation when Jeff said his name. "Sergeant Rowley has the combat experience, the investigative experience, the training, and the — well, the augs necessary to bring the entire enterprise down. He's the perfect man for the job."
"What do you say, Sergeant?" Brian asked. Everyone waited for his response.
"Yeah. That is, I'll think about it."
Jeff smiled. Akash texted, Grats.
Matt grunted. Did I just get promoted, or fed to the wolves?
* * *
A week later, Jeff sat on Matt's couch and cradled a cup of coffee in his hands. Conor sprawled over the recliner, and Akash perched on the loveseat. Monica puttered in the kitchen making sticky buns, a transparent pretext to eavesdrop, and the house smelled of gooey brown sugar and sweet bread. Matt leaned against the mantle, running his hand over the hearth. He'd hand-selected every stone and built it with his dad. Hard to believe they'd laid the last stone only five years ago, harder still that he'd been only twenty-two at the time.
"It's downright cold up here," Jeff said.
"It's the West Highlands in August," Matt said. "Nights get chilly sometimes."
"I wasn't expecting frost."
Conor chuckled. "Not a Boy Scout, then?"
Jeff ran his tongue over his teeth and looked out the window at the towering pines. "Not too prepared, I guess. So why's the town called White Spruce when there aren't any White Spruce?"
Matt shrugged. "I guess they planted a ring of them way back in eighteen twenty-something, right on the village green, but none of them survived the climate. Every couple of years the high and mighties talk about planting another, then cost and maintenance comes up and they drop the whole thing." He plopped down next to Akash, tired of small talk. "So I'm getting a command, an operations suite, and an 'as-needed' budget? That's a hell of a reward for just surviving. I don't know that I'm
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