Page 2 of Lethal Game

Sometimes other people just made things worse.

He sighed, strode back to his bag, checked his room number again, and discovered he was next door to the blonde.

At least he wouldn’t have to go far if Moron came back.

***

So much for gettingsome sleep. He’d lain awake, alert for any noise that might indicate a problem in the room next door, but it had been church-quiet. He got up at 0700 base time, then went in search of his new commanding officer, Colonel Maximillian. The man had an interesting reputation, but he trusted what his buddy, Jacob “Sharp” Foster, a Special Forces soldier, had to say about him.

Everyone else said the colonel was one bullet shy of a magazine. Sharp had warned him that the colonel wasn’t exactly regular army, but he gave a shit about his people, and that was number one for Con. If your CO had your six, at least you didn’t have to take your attention off what was coming at you. You could trust him to cover your back and support your decisions.

The colonel had a fancy lab that didn’t exist on the base, according to official records. Officially, the lab that did exist on paper was rated for level two containment. Good enough to run the sort of tests any big city hospital conducted. In reality, the lab was capable of level four containment testing. The stuff you needed to wear a bio-suit for and breathe your own oxygen supply.

Con had to pass through two internal checkpoints to gain entry to the nondescript building that was his destination. Colonel Maximillian’s office was the first one inside the prefab rectangle that housed the lab and offices. A soldier who didn’t look a day over sixteen sat typing on a computer facing the entrance to the building.

The kid’s gaze darted over Con’s uniform, then he stood and saluted. “Private Eugene Walsh.”

“Sergeant Connor Button, Special Forces.”

“Yes, sir. Colonel Maximillian is expecting you.” Walsh extended his hand in the direction of the first office. “Go right in.”

Con gave him a nod, then walked into the office.

He saluted the dark-haired man, who stood and saluted back. “Sir, Sergeant Button reporting for duty.”

“Welcome, Sergeant.” The colonel came around his desk and offered his hand.

Con shook it once, twice, then released a hand that hadn’t tested him beyond what would be considered polite.

“Take a seat,” the colonel said, gesturing at one of the chairs facing his desk. “I’d like to go over your assignment and answer any questions you might have.”

“Thank you, sir.” Con sat and adopted a neutral body posture, back straight and hands resting lightly on his thighs. It was harder than it should have been.

The last time he’d been in the Middle East he’d been deployed with his unit, attempting to ascertain the military strength of two groups of extremists in Northern Iraq and Syria. Both groups had threatened multiple American and allied targets, as well as calling for sympathetic citizens to carry out terrorist acts inside their own countries.

During that time, he’d also been the only survivor of an improvised explosive device. The IED had taken out their vehicle, but fortune had smiled on him that day. He’d been thrown clear.

More and more often, he wished he hadn’t been so lucky.

Colonel Maximillian continued to stare at him and seemed content to not say anything for several moments.

Con waited with the patience of a man who’d waited days for just the right moment to take a shot at his target.

Finally, the colonel asked, “How much do you know about your mission here?”

Sharp had told him Maximillian had a very low tolerance for bullshit, so he’d be as honest as he could be. “Probably not enough.”

“You were recommended for this position by another soldier, someone you served with, Jacob ‘Sharp’ Foster. He now works for me.” Maximillian’s face didn’t change. “Sharp said you were smart. Are you, Sergeant Button?”

“That would depend on your definition ofsmart.”

“Observant, creative, organized, able to see unusual relationships between people and information.”

Con almost snorted. “Sir, you’re looking for Sherlock Holmes. He’s a fictional character.”

A brief smile crossed the colonel’s face. “How would you describe yourself?”

“Flexible, determined, fuck the box.”

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