Badge of the Death Game

Chapter 054

The convoy made it through without incident, pulling into a gated enclave of luxury villas as the afternoon light slanted gold across manicured hedges and pale stone walls. Soren stepped out and scanned the grounds with the practiced calm of someone cataloguing exits before he'd even looked at the view.

He watched Graham escort Alden and a cluster of local government officials through the front entrance, the heavy doors swinging shut behind them. No invitation was extended to the security detail. That was fine. That was expected.

Soren and the others spread out across the courtyard, keeping loose formation while they mapped the space. There were sightlines to consider, choke points to note, blind corners that would need coverage after dark. He was still running the mental geometry when a flatbed truck rolled up to the front gate and killed its engine.

The rear cargo door swung open.

"Now that," Evan said, letting out a low whistle, "is professional."

He wasn't wrong. The truck bed was packed floor-to-ceiling with hardware. Assault rifles, submachine guns, a transparent rack of handguns arranged by frame size, their steel catching the light like a jewelry display designed by someone with very different hobbies. Ballistic vests, night vision rigs, compact drones still in their cases. If it had ever appeared on a military requisition form, it was probably in that truck.

The four-man personal security team was already climbing up into the cargo bed before the dust had settled, moving through the inventory with the ease of men who'd done this a hundred times. They pulled weapons, checked actions, slung rifles, and traded quiet commentary in the shorthand of professionals who'd worked together long enough to stop explaining things.

Then one of them, a broad-shouldered Black man with a grin that suggested he enjoyed himself a little too much, turned toward Soren's group and called out across the courtyard.

"Hey, circus crew. You want to trade in those antiques while you've got the chance?"

The other three laughed. One of them leaned against the truck bed and shook his head in mock sympathy.

"Don't be like that, Smith. They dressed up real nice. That's not for you."

"Circus crew," Smith repeated, clearly pleased with himself. "Ha. That's good. That's actually good."

The fourth one, a heavyset man with a shaved head, glanced over with mild amusement. "Is the security situation here really that bad? Full kit just to step outside? Look at them."

Soren stood still, expression flat, trying to figure out what exactly had set these four off. There hadn't been a provocation. There hadn't been anything. They'd just decided.

Beside him, Cody's face had gone cold. One hand had already dropped to the grip of his MP5, not drawing, just resting there. Hank said nothing at all. And Evan, predictably, was already past the point of patience.

"The hell are you saying?!" he snapped.

Smith dropped out of the truck bed, boots hitting the gravel with a heavy thud. He had a HK416 assault rifle hanging loose in one hand, and at something over six feet three, he filled the space between himself and Evan like a wall that had decided to become a person.

"Talking about you," he said pleasantly. "What about it, clown?"

"You—"

"What is going on out here?"

Graham came through the front door at a near-jog, his composure intact but only just. His eyes swept the courtyard, read the situation in about a second, and landed on Soren.

Evan started to speak. Soren cut him off with a raised hand, smooth and unhurried, and turned to Graham with an easy shrug.

"Nothing. Just getting acquainted. Got a little loud. Sorry about that."

Smith made a quiet sound in his throat, something between a laugh and a dismissal. He held Soren's gaze for a moment, found nothing to push against, and turned back to the truck without another word.

Graham exhaled through his nose. He pulled Soren aside, a few steps away from the others, and kept his voice low.

"Those four are Alden's personal security detail. The ones from the file. When Alden decided to bring in local contractors for this trip, they took it personally. Felt like a vote of no confidence." He glanced back toward the truck, where Smith was now loading a magazine with the focused energy of someone who needed something to do with his hands. "Keep your team clear of them for the next few days. When their tempers are up, they don't always respect the chain of command. Including mine."

"Understood," Soren said. He offered a calm nod. "Go back inside. Alden's meeting is more important."

Graham gave him a look that might have been gratitude, then turned and went back through the door.

Soren watched him go. Then he watched the four contractors pull surveillance equipment out of the truck's secondary storage, cameras and junction boxes and coiled cable, beginning the process of wiring the villa's perimeter.

Cody drifted over to his side. His hand was no longer on his weapon, but his eyes hadn't warmed up any.

"How do you want to handle them?" he asked, voice low.

Soren considered the question without urgency. Cody had changed since the hotel. The recklessness was still there, but it had edges now, direction. He'd learned to wait for the answer before he moved.

"Leave it for now," Soren said. "VIP protection is their specialty. Let them work. We've got time." He paused. "Plenty of it."

Cody nodded once and let it go.

Across the courtyard, the four contractors were talking among themselves in the low, clipped tones of a team that had worked enough jobs to develop their own shorthand. Henry, the bald one, was running cable along the base of the perimeter wall and speaking without looking up.

"The skinny one and the bald one look civilian. But the other two are different. Especially the tall one. He's killed people. Look at how he's mounted the accessories on that MCX. That's a special operations pattern."

Smith scoffed. "Henry, who here hasn't killed people? Roy used to be SAS. Right, Roy?"

Roy was younger than the others, blond, and had the unhurried manner of someone who'd stopped needing to prove things a long time ago. He glanced up at the mention of his name, huffed once, and rolled his shoulders.

"Don't look at me. You know I hate that kind of measuring contest."

Garrett, who had the build of a retired offensive lineman and a beard that had long since stopped being a style choice, spoke without inflection. "Those two still smell like blood. Either of you catch that story about the Crownline Royal Hotel shootout? Ten days ago, late night, downtown. Dozens of hotel security dead. Witnesses said it was two men in black. MCX and MP5."

He let his eyes drift, briefly, toward Soren and Cody in their dark tactical gear.

"The story got buried fast. But..."

Smith stared at him, then started laughing. "Come on. Those two? Look at them. I'd bet money they've never been through a proper military training program in their lives."

Garrett spread his hands. "I'm not saying it was them. Just saying."

"All right, enough." Roy set down the spool of cable he'd been holding. "Get the cameras up. Then walk the perimeter, get a feel for the ground. Smith, pull the drone case down and run a test flight."

"Yeah, yeah."

The sun dropped behind the treeline, and the villa grounds shifted into the amber-and-shadow of early evening.

Graham arranged accommodations in the two adjacent villas, splitting the detail into rotating pairs for round-the-clock coverage. Soren and Evan drew the first pairing. Cody and Hank took the other slot. On the contractors' side, Henry and Garrett formed one team, Smith and Roy the other. The breakdown was obvious to anyone who'd spent time around security work: both sides had quietly sorted by capability and put their best where it counted.

The days settled into a rhythm. Visitors arrived each morning and left by evening. Alden and Graham never once stepped outside the villa. Soren didn't ask why. He ran his shifts, rotated his coverage, kept his team sharp, and waited.

On the afternoon of the fifth day, he climbed to the villa rooftop and found a comfortable position near the parapet, back against the low wall, legs stretched out in front of him. The city hummed somewhere beyond the treeline. The air smelled like cut grass and distant rain.

He glanced at his HUD.

The countdown in the corner of his vision was down to its final minutes.

He keyed his radio. "Evan, this is Soren. Put the drone up and run a sweep of the perimeter. Report anything that moves."

"Copy that."

He set the radio down across his knee, closed his eyes, and watched the numbers fall.

Three. Two. One.

Zero.

His awareness dropped like a stone into deep water.

[Career Instance 3 is now active!]