Damnation Code (William Massa) - William Massa Page 0,38

Michelle’s email accounts. He quickly located her correspondence with Talon. It painted a pretty clear picture of their intense relationship and also provided clues as to what sort of man Omicron was up against.

Fisher’s eyes lit up at the mention of Delta. This wasn’t some cowboy with a death wish but one of the best-trained military men in the world. A true challenge.

Fisher loved a challenge.

Perusing the emails, another name kept popping up. Erik. A friend of Talon’s who lived in Oakland. Was Talon holing up with his old war buddy? Only one way to know for sure… Fisher palmed his phone and alerted the security team. There was work to be done.

The next day, he pulled up to Erik’s rundown Oakland home. He told the three members of his crew to stay in the car while he scoped out the property. Erik’s freshly washed car was still drying in the early afternoon sun as he snuck into the yard. Unbeknownst to him, he’d missed Talon by just thirty minutes.

He scanned the weed-infested backyard and spotted a shadowy shape flitting past the window. Someone appeared to be home. Good. He hugged the side of the house. Advancing with caution, he located the guesthouse in the back.

An instant later Fisher was picking the guesthouse door’s lock. It opened with a rasped and he breached Talon’s makeshift command center. One glance at the occult literature splayed out on the wooden desk convinced him that he’d come to the right place.

Curiosity piqued, he checked the laptop and scanned its history. Articles on Omicron abounded. There were also a few stories about a Silicon Valley billionaire by the name of Simon Casca. Interesting. He would have to review this information more carefully and let Zagan know about Casca. First though they would deal with the man in the house.

He drew his cell and contacted the team. “We’re going in.”

***

The bottle was calling him.

Erik’s promise of sobriety was crumbling. Everywhere he turned, reminders of his addiction screamed out at him. Crushed beer cans. Empty whiskey bottles. He had wisely poured out all the booze in the house… Except for the flask he kept stashed in his parents’ bedroom. He had spared it for a moment like this.

A moment when the overpowering thirst would come.

As he climbed the stairs, Erik’s tongue flicked over his lips in growing anticipation. He could already taste the liquid’s warming sting.

One drink.

One drink wouldn’t hurt anyone.

He thought that helping Talon would defeat his demons. But Talon wasn’t involving him in his new mission in any substantial way. Talon might claim he was being protective, but Erik knew the truth. Talon didn’t trust him. The soldier he once was now buried under too much booze and bad food.

I’m useless. Dead weight. And Talon knows it.

The thought brought back all the old feelings of guilt and self-hatred. His somber mood weighed on him. But it was nothing a stiff drink (or two) couldn’t cure. It would clear out the bad wiring. Get him back on track.

Erik was about to climb the stairs and give in to his addiction when he heard a noise from outside. It sounded like someone was at his back entrance. Was someone attempting to burglarize his place?

He stole a quick glance through the bedroom window and spotted two men picking the lock outside. In their suits and shades, the two would-be intruders reminded him more of Feds than any of the local neighborhood punks.

A dark realization edged into his awareness. Talon’s new enemies had found them.

Erik ran through his options.

His first instinct was to go for his Glock. Unfortunately, Talon had his gun. Calling the cops would be the next logical move, but his cell was downstairs in the living room. Probably buried on his couch somewhere. Shit.

He could wait for these guys to break into his house, or he could make a run for the phone. He might even have enough time to snatch a knife from the kitchen cupboard.

Storming down the stairs, he realized he wasn’t afraid and his thirst was gone. A different Erik was in the driver’s seat now. This Erik had fought off six armed Iraqis with only a bare knife. He had commanded the respect of his unit. This Erik had been a man Talon was proud to call his friend.

Welcome back, brother.

He had barely reached the foot of the stairs when the front door swung open and two men stormed into his home. In his mind, Erik felt like a soldier again,