Page 29 of Garr

Inside the Colonel’s home, they reset all the lights and security systems, taking a seat in the large living room. There was already a fire burning in the fireplace, the smell of whiskey, cigars, and cheap cologne filling the space. U-Jin walked into the room, grinning.

“Everything okay?” asked Garr.

“Good. They will wake in about an hour with a terrible headache but will remember nothing. By then, we will be gone. I’ve placed them inside the gatehouse. I took these pictures,” he said, holding up his phone.

“What the fuck is that?” asked Sebastian.

“Weapons. Stacked against the walls. Again, why does a colonel need his home armed and ready for war?” U-Jin looked at his friends, their faces showing the same concern and panic as his own. Seeing the headlights of the Colonel’s car making its way down the driveway, they prepared to greet him.

“Seems strange he doesn’t mind driving himself,” said Garr.

“Strange or intentional,” said Leif. “No one to hear his conversations.”

They watched as he exited his car, stomping the snow from his shoes beneath the covered drive. He turned, looking for his security, but didn’t see anyone, then shook his head. When the door opened, he called out.

“Stuart? Miller? You here?”

“They’ve taken a nap,” said Garr. The Colonel jumped, dropping the attaché to his feet. U-Jin knelt down, carefully lifting it and handing it back to him.

“Who the fuck are you, and why are you in my home?”

“You refused to see us earlier today,” said Leif. “Considering all our connections, that seemed rude.”

“We don’t have any connections,” said the Colonel, setting his coat on the back of the chair. “I need you to leave, or I’ll call my security team. You won’t like what they do.”

“You really don’t know us, do you?” smirked Garr. “Let me introduce myself. Patrick Garr Slater. These are my former teammates and friends, Leif Frode, Sebastian Vernon, and U-Jin Park. We’re with—”

“Voodoo Guardians,” interrupted Brockman. “My apologies. I didn’t recognize the famous team. Of course, there are so many of you. How could a man keep up with all that talent? Wasted talent.”

“Wasted?” laughed Sebastian. “That’s funny. Although, when we spoke to Buzz, he told us a few things about what you’re wasting.”

Brockman froze mid-pour of a glass of Scotch, then finished. He took a sip, staring at each of the men.

“So, you’re here to kill me?”

“Kill you? Colonel, why in the world would we want to kill you? Is there something you’d like to get off your chest?” asked Garr. He didn’t answer, staring at the men again, trying to decide what his next move might be.

“We’re trying to figure out why you would be so heavily invested in weapons manufacturing, coordinating attacks on U.S. citizens, private, unprotected U.S. citizens, and then selling the same weapons you’re invested in, to our enemies. Can you explain that?” asked Leif.

“I’m afraid Buzz wasn’t himself, obviously. He’s been a bit touched in the head for a while now. How is he, anyway?”

“He’s dead. I’d have to guess by your hand, but he survived long enough to speak with us,” said Sebastian.

That brought a strange look to the Colonel’s face. How was that possible? How could he have survived two shots to the chest?

“Speak to you? And what did he say? As I told you, he hasn’t been himself lately. It wouldn’t surprise me if he were behind the shootings.”

“Oh, he was. He and two others. All dead now. But while we were entering your home, it was unlocked, by the way,” smirked Leif.

“Of course it was. I always leave my home unlocked,” grinned the Colonel.

“While we were entering your home, your security guard was in the gatehouse, and we noticed a considerable stockpile of weapons. Why would a colonel, with access to weapons of any type, have so many weapons at his own home?”

“I’m a collector. I enjoy having protection around me. It’s a fundamental right of every American. Haven’t you heard? A right to bear arms.”

“We both know that’s not what you’re doing, Colonel, and we’re going to prove it. See, we aren’t stupid. You have investments in at least four different weapons manufacturing companies. We are pleased and proud to say you don’t have one with G.R.I.P., nor will you.”

“I was actually in conversation with them recently about how we can help one another,” he smiled.

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