Badge of the Death Game

Chapter 053

Ten days passed quickly.

The equipment locker swung open and Cody pulled out two tactical backpacks, setting them on the table. Beside him, Hank was working the straps on his ballistic vest, adjusting the fit with the unhurried patience of someone who had learned not to rush that particular step. Across the room, Evan had the drone on the table in front of him, running through a final systems check with his eyes close to the screen.

Soren came down from upstairs in full kit, tactical vest buckled, drop-leg holster strapped to his thigh. "Wilson just called. He says we wait outside the terminal. Take both cars today, it's our first time meeting the principal in person, and showing up properly doesn't hurt."

Today was the day Scott Voss arrived in Grayhaven City.

Soren had decided the whole team would deploy in full gear for the pickup. Not because the airport required it, but because two hundred thousand dollars a day was a number that deserved to be taken seriously, and showing up looking the part was the minimum. Even Hank and Evan were in kit, though their loadouts were modest: a tactical knife each and a sidearm. Neither of them had any real business handling a rifle or submachine g*n, and everyone in the room understood that without it needing to be said.

Hank finished with his vest and looked up. "Mark called a little while ago. He says he's sorry he can't be here today, and asked us to pass his apologies along to Mr. Scott."

Evan glanced over. "His daughter still fighting him on it?"

Hank nodded without elaborating.

Ten days ago, when Mark's daughter had arrived at the Kingfisher Medical Center and found her father unconscious in a hospital bed with a broken arm and a stab wound, she had made her position clear within the first hour. She was against him continuing this line of work, against the people he'd been working with, and not particularly shy about saying so. From where she stood, Soren's group had put her father in that bed, and no amount of context was going to change that reading.

She'd stopped going to school. She was at the hospital every day, and every time Soren or the others came to visit, they could count on at least one sharp remark and a look that communicated the rest. There wasn't much to be done about it. They covered the medical bills, kept their visits short, and gave her the space she was clearly asking for.

"Sounds like Mark might be done with this kind of work," Evan said, with something that wasn't quite a sigh. "I just hope he's managed to save enough to live on."

Hank shook his head slowly. "Unlikely."

Mark was good with people and better with connections, but he had one weakness that had followed him for years, and it was the kind that emptied accounts. When Soren's group had first arrived in Sunvale, Mark had already gambled away everything he owned and was sitting on a debt that had people threatening him. Soren had cleared the debt, and dealt with the creditor in a more permanent way, but that didn't put money back in Mark's pocket. Whatever he'd earned since then, the Voss Capital contract payout included, hadn't had time to accumulate into anything resembling security.

"It's a shame," Hank said, his tone genuinely regretful. "Even if he can't fight anymore, a man with his experience and his contacts would be worth having around for logistics and training alone. That kind of institutional knowledge doesn't grow on trees."

"We don't push it," Soren said. "That's not a decision we get to make for him, and his family's opinion counts for something. Give it time."

He moved to the g*n locker and retrieved the MCX Rattler. The police had returned all of their confiscated equipment several days after the incident, every magazine intact, every round accounted for. The officer who'd processed the return had made a dry remark about being more careful with personal belongings on future evening walks. Soren had thanked him politely and left before the man could think too hard about what he'd just handed back.

He seated the magazine, drew the charging handle, and chambered a round. "Enough talk. Hank, Evan, you're driving. Let's move."

________________________________________

The two cars reached the designated position outside the Grayhaven City airport with a few minutes to spare. Soren checked his watch, then looked out through the windshield at the terminal entrance, where a steady flow of travelers moved in and out under the morning light.

A motorcade appeared from further down the approach road, long and unhurried, and pulled in behind their two vehicles. At the same time, several figures in suits emerged from the terminal doors.

Soren spotted Wilson among them immediately. He keyed his earpiece. "Cody, stay back and watch the perimeter. Hank and I are going out to meet them."

"Copy."

He left the MCX Rattler on the seat, confirmed that the SIG P226 in his quick-draw holster was chambered, and stepped out of the car. Hank came around from the driver's side and fell into step beside him.

The airport crowd parted around them without being asked, people glancing at the gear and moving aside with the instinct of civilians who had decided, correctly, that these were not people to brush past. Soren noted the reaction without comment.

Wilson had seen them coming. His expression shifted into something that was difficult to read precisely, somewhere between amusement and mild alarm, but he raised a hand in greeting and leaned toward the man beside him to say something quietly.

Soren had studied the photo Wilson had sent. The man beside him was Scott Voss, and the resemblance to the image was exact: a trim, composed figure in his fifties with the kind of unhurried bearing that came from decades of being the most important person in any room he entered.

He also clocked the four people flanking Scott and Wilson on either side. All four were in suits. All four were something else underneath the suits. The way they stood, the way their arms hung, the subtle positioning that kept their hands always within reach of where a weapon would sit. Two of them had a military texture to them, the kind of stillness that came from having been in situations where stillness kept you alive. They'd killed people. More than once, Soren judged. The other two were harder to read, less overtly aggressive, but they put him on notice in a different way, the way a thing does when you can't immediately identify what makes it dangerous.

All four of them had noticed Soren and Hank approaching and adjusted their positions without making it obvious. Professional.

Soren opened his mouth to speak.

A group of people swept in from the side before he could get a word out, moving with the coordinated energy of an official welcoming party. At the front was a heavyset man in his fifties, moving at something close to a jog, his broad face arranged into a wide and practiced smile. He reached Scott first and extended both hands.

"Welcome, welcome! Mr. Scott, we've been looking forward to your arrival. On behalf of the city, allow me to say how honored we are."

Scott accepted the handshake with an easy smile. "Mayor Charles Hartman, you're far too generous. A man with your responsibilities taking the time to come to the airport in person, I'm genuinely flattered."

Mayor Charles. Soren took a quiet second look at the man. The same mayor whose office had called the Goldport Police Department on the morning he and Cody had been released from their cells.

Mayor Charles laughed warmly. "Mr. Scott, you're the one who deserves the credit. Coming all this way personally to evaluate an investment, it's no wonder Voss Capital has grown to what it is today. But please, we can talk properly in the car. I've arranged accommodation for all of you."

"Of course." Scott nodded, then turned and looked directly at Soren. "Soren. It's good to finally meet you in person. I'm Scott Voss." He extended his hand.

Soren shook it. "Mr. Scott. Good to meet you."

Scott shifted his attention to Hank with the ease of someone who made a point of acknowledging everyone in the room. "And you must be Mr. Mercer. I've heard good things. I'm counting on all of you."

Hank met the handshake without any sign of being impressed or intimidated, which Soren noted with quiet approval. "The pleasure is ours, Mr. Scott. We'll take good care of you."

"Mayor Charles is taking us to our accommodations in the city," Scott said, glancing between them. "I see you drove. Would it be easier for you to follow behind?"

"No problem at all," Soren said. "We'll be right behind you."