The Blueprint (The Upgrade Book 1) (16 page)

“Hey, Chuck,” said Ryan in a hushed tone. “Sorry about before, but there’s a shit storm around here.”

“Oh yeah? What’s going on?”

“No one is quite sure but there are some people here in the precinct turning the place upside-down. Suits.”

“Suits, huh? What kind of suits?”

“Cheap suits,” said Bill, “the worst kind. Checking people’s stuff. Going through people’s desks. Searching for things on computers with some crazy looking gadgets. CIA kind of shit.”

“I don’t think it’s the CIA,” said Chuck. “I need you to meet someone and hear him out.”

“What’s going on, Chuck? I’m just six years away from my pension and I don’t like this shit at all.”

“Yeah, you’re going to like it even less. I’m afraid there might not be a pension for us after all.”

When Chuck left the trailer a few hours later Mike was still asleep.

The diner where they had agreed to meet was just six blocks from the junkyard, and Kowalsky opted for a walk to stretch his legs. He found Bill in the corner booth, his skinny frame hunched over a large mug of black steaming coffee that Ryan held with both hands.

“Hey,” said Chuck, sitting on the other side of the table.

“This is the shittiest coffee I’ve had all day,” said Bill, his handsome face creasing into a tired smile.

“That can’t be worse than in our break room.”

“What’s going on, Chuck? I mean, what the fuck is going on?”

“Coup-d’état,” said Kowalsky, “at least the initial phase.”

Bill Ryan blankly stared at his friend for some time.

“Our government is about to be overthrown,” explained Chuck.

“I know what it means, genius,” said Ryan. “I’m just trying to process it. No aliens then?”

“No aliens, pal.” Chuck shook his head. “No zombies either. Just good ol’ American greed.”

“Fuck, man. So what do you know?”

“A guy called me today,” said Chuck, waving the waitress off, “right after the captain suspended me. Said he wanted to meet. Sounded a little strange. I didn’t like it, but went anyway. It was someone going by the name Michael Connelly.”

“Shit man.”

“Yeah,” continued Kowalsky. “I found him in a trailer parked in a junkyard just few blocks from here. The guy is in pretty bad shape. Multiple gunshot wounds, few broken bones. But I think he’ll live. He might just be the toughest motherfucker I’ve seen.”

“Who’s he?”

“I’m not entirely clear on his story,” said Chuck. “He must’ve been some kind of black ops guy, but at some point he started working for Guardian Manufacturing. Don’t know if that was his own decision or part of the cover.”

“Guardian as in
the Guardian?
”

“Yep,” said Chuck, “the one and only. Long story short, he was recruited few years back by the ISCD, which stands for International Serious Crimes Directorate.”

“Never heard of them.”

“Neither have I, but he claims there’s a black ops division of the Interpol. He’s been gathering intelligence for them since. What he’s found is that Mr. Engel and a few other corporate executives have been building a network of shadow government. Politicians, tycoons, generals, intelligence officers, high-ranking members of the police force. They’ve been building it for years, and now the wheels are finally in motion to transition their powers from the shadows into the light. What’s worse, it seems that there’s more than one group vying for power. Connelly is aware of at least two of them. You know there’ve been a lot of skirmishes in the last few years that I thought were fought between corporations, but we were never able to prove it. I’m afraid we also might be standing on the brink of the war.”

Bill sat still for some time, gently swirling coffee in his mug.

“It’s a fascinating story,” he finally said, “shadow governments, black ops divisions of Interpol and revolutionaries. Is there a chance there’s a simpler explanation? Like the guy is in trouble and trying not to get arrested?”

“Really?” Chuck gave his partner a wounded look. “After all the stories you and I have heard over the years, you think I’m that gullible?”

“Alright, let’s say for a minute that I believe this story.” Bill held up a cautionary finger “And I’m not saying that I do. Not yet anyway. What do we do? Or, I guess a better question is, what could we do?”

“That would be tricky,” Chuck said. “I guess the first thing to do would be to find out who we can trust in the police department and who’s working for the bad guys. But most important, we’d need some powerful friends. There’s no way we can do this alone.”

“We should make a list of people who could be helpful and figure out how to approach them,” suggested Ryan.

“Agreed,” said Chuck, “but the first and most obvious step is to reach out to Connelly’s handlers at Interpol.”

“Let me use the loo,” said Bill, “and let’s go see your James Bond.”

Ryan paid for his coffee and they left the diner. The night has taken its hold of the city and the temperatures dropped. It was one of the coldest winters that Chuck could remember. He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets as they walked back to the junkyard, the silence only disturbed by the crunch of snow under their boots.

The lights in the buildings on both sides of the street blinked a few times, then went out, plunging the neighborhood into complete darkness.

“That’s gonna suck,” said Chuck without breaking the stride.

“Yeah, I bet that you can use the calendar of scheduled brown-outs to predict the coldest days of the year,” said Ryan, “but you can’t beat the view.”

Chuck looked up and whistled with appreciation. The clouds dissipated over the day, and now, not blocked by the light pollution of the big city, the winter sky was revealed in all its glory. He kept on glancing up as they walked along, marveling at the sight.

“It looked like this before we came here, and it’ll look like this long after we’re gone,” he said in a quiet voice.

Somewhere in the distance a man screamed. A few seconds later there was a quick rattle of gunfire.

“We might be gone sooner than you think,” said Ryan. The two men kept on walking.

Jason poured himself another glass of scotch and looked at his watch. Max should have come back by now. The whole operation was supposed to take less than fifteen minutes. He downed the drink and put the glass on the countertop. His thoughts were a jumbled mess.

Jason went to the bathroom, put the phone on the marble counter, and opened a faucet of cold water. He closed the drain and, when the sink was full dunked his head in. It was as painful as it was refreshing. He stayed under for a few seconds and finally pulled his head out gasping for air. A strange man with a pair of bloodshot eyes and long wet hair looked back at him from the large mirror above the sink. He studied himself for a few seconds, touching his prominent second chin and brushing long wet hair out of his eyes.

The phone rang, making him jump.

“Hey, buddy,” he heard Max’s voice.

“What the hell took you so long?”

“Ran into some complications, that’s all. First, Davis left the building later than we’d agreed, and second, a couple of IT guys walked into the room just as I was about to split.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, it was intense,” Max said, chuckling, “but luckily they were there just for a minute and left without wandering around. I’m going to meet some lady friends, so I’ll see you tonight. Just wanted to give you an update.”

After he hung up, Jason stared at himself in the mirror again. The chubby hipster with bloodshot eyes and long messy hair defiantly stared back.

“Disgusting,” he murmured and started looking for clothes. A few minutes later he was outside, the hood of his parka protecting him from gusts of cold wind, hands deep in his pockets.

The little hair saloon at the end of the block was empty at this time of the day, and he took a chair in the back, away from the windows. The barber, a thin Italian man in his sixties, politely smiled at him.

“How would you like it, young man?”

“Crew cut,” said Jason, letting the man drape the cloth around his neck, “and a shave.”

“Yes, sir,” the man smiled and went to work.

When Jason got up from the chair forty minutes later he felt like a new man. He looked like a new man, too. His face pleasantly stung after the close shave, and his head barely covered by the short spiky hair felt cool and clear.

He generously tipped the barber and went outside. The sun was high and he stood on the sidewalk for a few minutes soaking up the light. A woman walked by, glancing at him as he stood there with his face facing the sun. Jason lowered his head and smiled at her, prompting a smile back. He watched her go, confidently striding forth in a smart business suit and sensible shoes.

He suddenly felt ashamed. His fists clenched and the muscles in his back and neck tensed as the horrible shame overcame him. He was too reckless, too carefree his entire life, and now, after all that happened, instead of pulling himself together and doing what had to be done, he almost fell apart. The whining, drinking, self-pity. He growled in dismay.

“Never again,” he said out loud. He laughed, hearing his own voice. An elderly couple looked at him funny as they walked by. He knew he sounded crazy, but he did not care. For the first time in what seemed to be a long time Jason felt sane.

Jason was browsing Max’s extensive library when his friend got home.

“Hey, bud,” he called out, “you look like a cat who just stole something.”

“I didn’t steal it; she gave it to me,” Max quipped, “and holy crap.
Who is this guy?
”

“That’s me,” said Jason. “Jason 2.0.”

“Wow.” Max tilted his head looking his friend up and down, his face serious. “It’s about time.”

“I know,” Jason said quietly. “Better late than never I guess. So let’s talk business then. How is it going to work?”

Max sat in a plush chair and thought for a moment before answering.

“The report that our friend Davis so kindly agreed to author will come out next Monday. He’ll need to approve it before it gets published, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“The stock will be halted,” chimed in Jason.

“Yes.” Max chewed on his lip for a moment. “That’s where it gets tricky. Davis thinks it will re-open somewhere around ten to twenty cents per share. So to buy a controlling stake, we would need somewhere between two and a half to five million dollars, so it should be manageable. I guess if the stock doesn’t go down as much as we hope, I can lend you some money.”

“I don’t have five million dollars,” said Jason quietly.

“But the main difficulty would be to spread the orders around the market because we won’t be able to buy the entire float in one transaction. Not to mention we might not be the only ones who would try to buy the shares, wait, what?”

“I don’t have five million dollars,” said Jason.

“What the hell do you mean?”

“I don’t have five million dollars,” he repeated.

“I don’t understand. You just sold your place for seven, which by the way was ridiculous.”

“I know,” said Jason, “but I don’t have five million anymore. I only have about three and a half. So if you want to abandon the plan, I’ll understand.”

Max got up and walked to the windows. He stood there for a while, hands in pockets, looking outside.

“What we’re about to do is dangerous,” he said finally, “and I’m prepared to go with you as far as it takes, but I can’t do it unless you’re 100% transparent with me.”

“I understand, and I apologize,” said Jason quietly. “I should have told you this earlier, but I wasn’t ready to tell you the entire story. And I didn’t think you were ready to hear the story either. I’m not even sure where to start.”

“Start anywhere you like, pal, but you and I better be on the same page before this goes any further.”

“Alright then,” said Jason. “First, I had a contract with the building. They always liked the penthouse and wanted to combine the top two floors, so there was a clause that allowed me to transfer the ownership to the building pretty much at any moment.”

“I’m guessing you exercised the clause after Rachel died? That’s why you got stiffed on the price?”

“Well.” Jason looked at his fingers. “I didn’t get stiffed on the price. The way it was written, the price was set in stone. I guess to incentivize me to sell it faster, as if the real estate continued to go up, at some point I wouldn’t be able to get a fair price.”

“So how much did you get?”

Jason kept quiet for some time, looking at his hands.

“Jason? How much did you get for the apartment?”

“Twenty-one million.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You said you only got seven?”

“I know,” said Jason, still not meeting his friend’s stare, “and I’m sorry. But like I said, I wasn’t ready to tell you then, and I didn’t think you were ready to hear me out.”

“But here we are,” said Max.

“Yes, here we are,” said Jason finally looking up at his friend, “and this is where it gets tricky.”

When Alexander woke up it was still dark. The glowing hands on his Flying Tourbillon were showing ten after four. He stayed still for a few seconds, letting his eyes get used to the darkness, then threw the blanket aside. It fell onto the floor exposing the naked bodies next to his. The blonde by his side stirred, turning on her back, facing him.

“Are you up, baby? It’s too early,” she said sleepily, yet her hand wandered up his legs until it rested between his thighs.

“I have to work,” he said, but didn’t move away, feeling as her hand started to move up and down.

“You always have to work,” she murmured, pushing him onto his back and straddling his thighs.

He moaned as she started to slowly ride him, her perfect breasts swaying from side to side. The other girls started to wake up, their sleep disturbed by their motion. A slim brunette leaned in, kissing his chest, then turned to the girl riding him. Their lips locked, and the brunette swung her leg around, then slowly lowered herself onto his face. Alexander closed his eyes, letting the lust envelope him, feeling the touches of other girls all over his body as they joined in.