Sheepdog by Orlando A Sanchez

Author:Orlando A Sanchez [Sanchez, Orlando A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bitten Peaches Publishing
Published: 2019-10-02T04:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

A few hours later, I called Bullock.

“CITADEL wants your head on a platter,” Bullock said. “Lydia especially, would like to inflict some extreme pain.”

I took a long pull from my second mug of Deathwish coffee and bit into an industrial-sized bagel nearly as big as my head.

“What she needs,” I said around a mouthful of bagel, “is a vacation. Some time in the sun, on a beach.”

“I’ll make sure to let her know your suggestion the next time she’s destroying my eardrums,” he said. “She came to HALO—personally—to accuse us of creating earthquakes in her city.”

“Surprised you let her past security. Let me guess. Adams sent you to run interference, again.”

“Yes, he was conveniently unavailable.”

“We need to talk,” I said, taking another sip. “Somewhere secure.”

“I thought that’s what we were doing?”

“Face-to-face.”

“Where?” Bullock asked hesitantly. “It’s not like you could wander the streets. Lydia wants you found…yesterday.”

“You ever been to Liverpool?”

“Liverpool? Are you insane? You want me to fly across the Atlantic? For a conversation?”

“There’s a small part of Liverpool right here in the city. Meet you there at noon.”

“Small part of Liverpool? What are you talking about?”

“Five minutes past noon, I’m gone. Don’t be late and don’t bring friends.”

I ended the call. I sat in one of the dim, small multi-purpose offices just off the Hub, and considered if I had been too obtuse, when Anvil walked in. She grabbed the other half of my bagel and took an enormous bite.

“Do you think he’ll figure it out?” she asked.

“Yes, of course you can have half my food, please…help yourself.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I was starving.”

I observed her slight frame and shook my head.

“Where does all the food you eat, go, anyway?” I asked. “You consume more than I do, and I outweigh you by a hundred pounds, easy.”

“My body is an efficient fighting machine and utilizes the food I eat properly.” She pointed to herself—“Lamborghini”—she pointed at me—“dump truck.”

“Dump truck?”

“Emphasis on the ‘dump’ part,” she said, taking another bite. “Your clue wasn’t exactly clear.”

“How did you—?”

She tapped her ear. “Our proximity channel is on. “You didn’t give him much to go on.”

“He has options. He can ask Adams or he can do some research. Google is your friend.”

“You’re assuming he’s intelligent enough to ask for help,” she answered, finishing the bagel, unsheathing her blades, and placing them on the table next to a small bag. “Or do the research required.”

“He wouldn’t be working for Adams if he wasn’t intelligent. If he can’t figure it out, then I’ll be doing Adams a favor by having him removed from the payroll before he gets anyone else killed.”

“He nearly did with that pointless audition,” she said. “Natural selection would have dictated you left him in the SWAT control truck to meet his end.”

“He wasn’t ready for Victor,” I said. “Besides, Adams would hold me personally responsible if I let him get erased while auditioning us.”

“Survival of the fittest—if he couldn’t deal with Victor—”

“Few can,” I said. “I don’t base my actions on natural selection.

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