The Blueprint (The Upgrade Book 1) (17 page)

After a while he left them in the giant bedroom, put a housecoat on, and went down to the study.

A pair of sunny side up eggs, a thick slice of bacon, and a large mug of steaming coffee were on his desk.

Alexander took a few sips of coffee and opened a secure computer terminal. He scanned the news first, mostly updates on the economy and competition, then he opened the management program monitoring his vast empire. The main view looked like a three-dimensional family tree, with Guardian Manufacturing cube at the top, a multitude of branches snaking away from it, blossoming into other companies along the way.

Most of the cubes were green, signifying their profitability, a small number flashed yellow, giving a warning about their economic situation. There were also a number of gray cubes. Those were the companies that on paper didn’t have any connection to Guardian. He clicked on the gray cube at the very top, Asclepius Inc. The cube exploded into diagrams, interactive charts, contracts, spreadsheets, and other company information.

Alexander read through the latest reports, noting the progress on some projects, then he switched to the economics. The company was profitable enough to pay the bills and appear healthy. Unbeknownst to most shareholders, however, its most lucrative projects were siphoned away to the Guardian’s R&D Department, where his main company could capitalize on them.

Alexander wasn’t too happy about having to keep Asclepius as a shadow entity. There were few advantages in that, mainly the ability to keep some of the projects out of the public eye, considering the relatively low profile of the smaller company, but he couldn’t use it to the full extent either without alarming the shareholders and regulators. When Guardian had gained control of the company it was already publicly traded, and taking it private at that stage was impossible without raising a few eyebrows, but the change was coming.

He moved economic data blocks back into the company’s gray cube and went back to the research reports. There was some remarkable progress in the past few weeks. Alexander carefully read the findings and finally leaned back in his chair. The breakfast was still on his desk, now cold and untouched. He stared into the distance for some time, contemplating. Finally, he pushed the intercom button.

“Good morning, Mr. Engel,” said his assistant, sounding as crisp as if it were noon and not five o’clock in the morning.

“Good morning, Susan,” he said. “Please set up an emergency meeting for my finance committee for eight o’clock.”

“Sure thing. Should I put an agenda on the calendar?”

“Hostile takeover of Asclepius Inc. It’s about time we bring it into the fold.”

•     •     •

Chuck and Ryan walked in silence for some time. No more gunshots were heard in the distance, and the dark neighborhood seemed abandoned at this hour. They turned the corner to the block where a junkyard was located when Ryan tugged on Chuck’s elbow bringing him to a halt and forcing him to squat.

“What the—” started Chuck, but Ryan silenced him bringing a cautionary finger to his lips.

“Look,” he whispered, squatting next to him and pointing in the direction of the yard. About a dozen shadowy figures were crawling around the perimeter of the property. A soft rattling of the barbwire could be heard as they cut through it on both sides of the street.

“Shit,” said Chuck. “They’re not here to take him into custody.”

“No, they’re not.”

They watched in silence as the figures started to crawl through the holes in the fence.

“Fuck this,” said Chuck pulling out the monstrous Chiappa. “I’m not gonna stand here watching them murder him.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” Ryan whispered, grabbing his hand “They have assault rifles and we have two fart guns.”

“I have to,” Chuck said, pushing Bill’s hand away. “We have to.”

Ryan looked at his partner for a moment and pulled out the standard issue Glock without saying another word.

“Let’s try to take down the guys going for the trailer,” said Chuck. He watched one of the figures approach Mike’s car parked in front of the trailer. He aimed for the chest and exhaled slowly, steadying himself to pull the trigger.

A dry cough of automatic fire broke the silence of the night. The two assailants already in the yard dropped on their stomachs, their rifle muzzles spitting fire. The rest scrambled around the fence taking defensive positions. The Chiappa barked in Chuck’s hands, sending one of the figures by the fence tumbling. Ryan’s Glock fired twice, just missing the man by the main gate. By now the goons realized they were fired upon from two sides. Four dark figures smoothly rolled out and hid behind the cars parked on the side of the road. Chuck and Bill were forced to fall behind the parked cars as the lead started to fall all around them.

“That was a bad idea,” said Chuck, trying to look around the old Buick and ducking right back as the salvo of bullets tore into the side of the vehicle.

The shooting intensified as the remaining crew concentrated their efforts on the trailer, moving deeper into the yard.

Chuck dropped onto his stomach trying to see from under the car. He was just in time to see a pair of legs moving and squeezed the trigger, hitting the man in the foot. The man stumbled to the ground, and Chuck shot him twice in the chest. The shooting stopped for a few seconds, each side trying to evaluate the situation.

A loud hiss came from the top of the trailer, startling Chuck. He watched the assailants freeze in place, their guns gently swaying back and forth, accessing the danger, then there was a whooshing sound, and the bright orange river of fire poured into the yard from somewhere above the trailer. The night turned into day, the horrifying screams of people burning alive filled the streets. The three men who fought Chuck and Bill quickly fell back, jumped into the black SUV parked nearby and drove off.

Chuck climbed from under the car and stood upright, looking in horror at the scene unfolding in front of him.

“Holy shit,” said Ryan, standing next to him and smelling the air. “This is napalm.” He cringed, as the car in the front of the junkyard exploded, sending pieces of hot metal flying through the air.

The screams quietened down and were consumed by the roar of the fire, then the blaze died out as well. The blackened door of the trailer slowly opened, and a lonely figure warily went down the stairs. The man walked around the few remaining flames and through the broken gate. He limped as he approached Chuck and Ryan, and one of his arms was secured in a sling.

“Mike Connelly, I assume,” said Ryan, pointing the gun at the man’s chest.

“At your service.” The man flashed a quick smile. “I’m afraid we’re going to need another safe house.”

Johnny woke up with a hangover. He looked around for a few seconds trying to get his bearings. The large bed was empty, the crumpled bed sheets a total mess. The girl he’d picked up in a bar last night was gone. There was a lingering smell of jasmine from her cheap perfume.
It’s a shame,
Johnny thought, feeling the morning urge and replaying last night’s images in his head.

The phone rang interrupting his fantasy.

“Hey, boss, this is Danny. Sorry to bother you so early.”

“What’s up?” Johnny sat up in his bed. “You sound funny.”

“You better come here, boss,” said Danny. “We have a bit of a situation.”

“Spit it up, Danny. You know I hate this cryptic shit,” he said, raising his voice.

“Um, the Elders are here,” Danny said, then audibly swallowed. “They’re asking questions. I think you should come here.”

“Shit,” Johnny stood, looking around for his clothes. “I’ll be there in five minutes. And Danny?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Keep your mouth shut until I get there, you hear me?”

Johnny got dressed and picked up his machete. After a bit of consideration he added a small pistol in an ankle holster.

Although the warehouse was only ten blocks away, Johnny opted to drive. Conveying the right impression was important, especially with the Elders. He revved the midnight black Range Rover and smoothly pulled out from the parking lot.

There could be a number of reasons the Elders were in his warehouse, and Johnny struggled to find a good one. There was a remote possibility they were there to give him some praise. After all, he ran one of the most profitable cells of the gang, but if praise had been their intention he would have been summoned, not visited.

As he approached the warehouse he noticed a stretch limo parked on the opposite side of the road. The vanity plate read
DRGN 1
.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Johnny muttered, recognizing the vehicle. The Master of the Red Dragon Gang, Mr. Victor Ye was here himself. The hair on his neck stood up. A visit like that probably meant one of the two things. It could be a big promotion, or, it could be death.

Johnny parked the car close to the warehouse and left it unlocked. The armored vehicle with bulletproof glass could mean the difference between life and death. If he could make it to the car.

The warehouse was crawling with Mr. Ye’s people. Advisers, enforces, and of course, the mountain of a man, seven foot tall Victor Ye’s personal bodyguard. Nobody knew his name as the man never talked to anyone. Some people called him “the Mute.”

Victor Ye was standing in the middle of the warehouse talking to Danny. He was a small muscular man with a big mane of jet black hair. Some people jokingly called him
Bruce Lee
. Never to his face, of course. Educated in Oxford and with a tendency to wear suits delivered to him from the finest shops of Seville Row, the man looked more like a banker than a mobster.

“Mr. Marvin Gould,” he exclaimed, noticing Johnny, his posh British accent sounding out of place in a dim dirty warehouse. “Here you are.”

Johnny cringed, hearing his real name. Victor was the only person who called him that.

“It’s nice to see you, Mr. Ye,” he said, bowing slightly. “How’s your family?”

“Why, they are fine, thank you. Could we talk in private? Your office perhaps?”

Johnny nodded and started toward the office in the corner of the warehouse, but the Mute blocked his way.

Johnny put his machete in the giant’s hand and started to walk again, only to be stopped by the massive hand squeezing his shoulder.

“What is this?” said Johnny, smiling at the big man. The giant clicked his tongue in disapproval and pointed at his ankle.

“Oh, sorry about that,” Johnny said and smiled his most charming smile. “Force of habit.”

He took out the small gun from the holster and handed it to the Mute, handle first.

They squeezed into Johnny’s tiny office. The bodyguard first, then Johnny, and finally Mr. Ye. Johnny watched as Victor walked around the desk and sat in his old leather chair.

“It’s quite an operation you’re running here, Mr. Gould. Impressive,” he said, putting his feet on the table. The red leather soles of his thousand dollars a pair shoes were stained in melting snow.

“Thank you, sir.” Johnny bowed slightly. “We are loyal to the family.”

“Of course.” Victor’s lips stretched into a polite smile. “But I can’t help but wonder how a lowly crazy punk such as yourself could become the most profitable cell in my organization?”

Before Johnny could answer, he felt as the giant hands squeezed his shoulders with brutal strength, forcing him to his knees. He struggled, but it was all in vain. Victor’s bodyguard held him like he would a child. One hand grabbed Johnny’s wrists and pulled them back to his heels, forcing him into a painful bow position, while the other hand grabbed his, hair pulling it back and exposing his neck.

Victor got off the chair and slowly walked around the desk. A small, sharp blade gleamed in his hand.

“So, Mr. Gould.” Victor leaned in close enough for Johnny to smell his expensive cologne. “Is there something I need to know?”

“No, sir,” managed Johnny. “We are loyal to the family.”

“I see,” Victor said, calmly bringing the small blade close to Johnny’s neck, then moving it up until it reached the corner of his eye. “And who does the planning of your operations?”

“It’s me, sir, I swear. I use a lot of informants, but we plan all operations in-house.”

Victor nodded to his bodyguard and stood straight. Johnny felt the giant hands let him go and gratefully straightened his spine.

“Mr. Gould,” Victor said, opening the door. “From now on your cut from the profits is sixty percent.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ye,” Johnny said and bowed, deeply this time.

“However.” Victor held up a cautionary finger. “I want you to be careful with your
informants
. Last cell leader who got the family in trouble took six days to die.”

Johnny watched Mr. Ye turn on his heels and walk outside the door. The hulking mountain of a man followed him close.

Johnny stood up stretching his sore back. His hand was aching for the hilt of a machete. Johnny was going to have to kill someone soon.

•     •     •

Jason got into the car and buckled his seatbelt. He expected Max to ride shotgun, but his friend climbed into the back of the SUV.

“Seriously,” Jason said, “you’re going to sit in the back now?”

He waited for his friend to answer, but Max remained quiet. Instead, he pulled out a tablet and leaned back in his seat, his face a mask of concentration.

“Alright then,” said Jason and started the car. “We don’t have to talk.”

The car accelerated out of the underground garage and into the bright afternoon sun. Jason concentrated on the road, trying to block out the manic rush of thoughts going through his head.

The traffic was light, and Jason navigated to the West Side Highway with ease. First, he considered taking the Brooklyn Bridge, but decided against it. He stepped on the gas and the Range Rover picked up speed, eating up grime-covered road.

Right before the entrance to the tunnel he had to slow down. The newly installed barrier, went up letting them through as the gates’ scanner read the smart tag on their car, charging a fee.

Charon has been bribed
, thought Jason as the SUV dove into the darkness of the tunnel. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.