//------------------------------//
// Chapter 2-- Driving and Deals 
// Story: Splashdown 
// by Cyanblackstone 
//------------------------------//

Charlie’s mind blanked as he stared down the barrel of the gun pointed at his head. “Get in the car,” its wielder ordered.
The other man, eyes wide in surprise, screeched, “What are you doing?”
Charlie slowly moved towards the car. “Getting in the car,” he said shakily. Obviously, these guys weren’t official.
Then, screeching tires rounded the corner of the alley, and the thin man dropped, cursing, as a bullet tore through his thigh and pinged off the car. As the thin man crawled behind his car, Charlie dove to the ground and stayed there as chaos blossomed around him.
A second car, of the same make and model, screamed to a halt, and three men poured out of the open doors. One died instantly as the big man sent a slug through his head. However, the other two pulled their guns—strangely, the same weapons the first two men had—and riddled him with bullets. As he fell, a convulsive trigger pull shot a clean hole straight through a second man’s bicep.
He hissed and muttered something in a foreign language, wrapping a bandage produced from a pocket around it, as Charlie inched away from the firefight. His compatriot walked over to the cowering thug and calmly double-tapped him, the shots echoing off the alley’s walls, and then began dragging the bodies into the first car.
“Come with me if you want to live,” the other man said, pain lacing his voice as he finished tying the bandage off, red already beginning to seep through the white gauze.
Charlie didn’t think; he just followed his savior to the car. The other man drove off using the other, corpse-filled, car as the man gingerly entered the driver’s side. “Where’s he going?” Charlie asked stupidly, still reeling.
“To dispose of the bodies,” the man said calmly. “I’m terribly sorry about the inconvenience. As payment for this error, I am going to tell you something.” As he started the car, he turned around and fixed Charlie with a cold glare. “But you must tell absolutely no one about what I am about to say, or we’ll be forced to terminate you as well. And trust me; we’ll know if you say anything.”
Charlie gulped.
“I belong to an agency,” the man began, giving absolutely no doubt what agency he was speaking of. “You may call me Jan.” Giving Charlie no time to reply, he bulled on. “The attempted kidnapping you just were a victim of was an unfortunate misunderstanding. The second-in-command of our station was hasty and foolish. He has since been informed of the error of his ways.” Jan’s voice was cool and dry, belying the violence his words hinted at. “Unfortunately, this has caused a few more problems. He was a member of ‘the new guard,’ and ‘the old guard’ was rather more cautious. Relations are, let’s say, rather frosty between the two.” He smiled humorlessly. “And because of you, Mr. Duke, they’ve begun to heat up unpleasantly. There are already rumors of a schism forming.”
He pulled out into traffic, spot on the speed limit. “I am not an enemy, Mr. Duke, but I am certainly no friend. But those fools have probably exposed the entire office. I’m rather torn whether to appease them by killing you, like they would wish, or to spite them by letting you go. Convince me.”
Charlie blinked terrified sweat out of his eyes as Jan, who had just saved his life, contemplated ending it anyway. “Well... um...” he stammered. “I’m expected by the President and the Secret Service, I think. So if I go missing, they’ll investigate, right?” He swallowed convulsively. “And I’m sure that wouldn’t help... your agency’s cause. And I’ve already promised to tell no one, right? So—so if you let me go, and I say nothing of what you’ve told me, it’s probably safest for you,” he babbled.
Jan hummed. “Mr. Duke, you make a fair argument,” he said jovially. “Almost enough to persuade me not to kill you.” Charlie flinched.
“Let me offer you a deal,” Jan said, never taking his eyes off the road in front of him. “I will let you live—in fact, I’ll even drive you to the airport!—and let you go. But,” he said flatly, fixing Charlie in his seat, “If you renege on the deal, I’ll make sure you remember it. Tell me, how is Dottie doing? Or Charles and little Timmy?”
Charlie’s heart froze at that sentence, and he hurriedly agreed. “Right, deal, yes, sure, great,” Charlie gabbled. It was a terrible idea, agreeing to a deal with someone of Jan’s ilk—it might even be considered treason. But he couldn’t see any other options besides allowing his corpse—and Dottie’s— to be dumped in some ditch.
Jan grinned, this time with real feeling behind it. “Good, I thought so. Here is a number.” He handed Charlie a strip of paper with a telephone number penciled on it. “When you get to Hawaii and find out what ship you’ll be embarking on,” and he barked a laugh at Charlie’s flinch of surprise and fear at the information he really shouldn’t have known, “You’ll call this number. It will direct you to your mother, yes? Simply talk to her like you would normally, but tell her what ship you’ll be embarking on. We’ll do the rest.”
“Got it,” Charlie said quickly.
“I hope so, Mr. Duke.” He turned his attention back to the road. “Oh, and one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“The old guard won’t be chasing you, Mr. Duke, but there are no such guarantees for the new. If this becomes a matter of prestige, of honor, they will hunt you to the ends of the earth, and spend every penny to find you. I would advise prudence. And we will make no further efforts to intervene on your part—we’ve risked enough already as it is.”
Charlie nodded slightly, but remained silent. “Good. We’ll arrive at the airport shortly.”
The rest of the drive was spent in tense silence, laden with unspoken threats and promises.
As they rolled to a smooth stop outside the airport terminal, Jan parted with, “I’m glad we could do business, Mr. Duke,” in a darkly humorous tone. “I’ll be seeing you.” The car pulled away, and as Charlie checked to see the license plate numbers, there were no plates on the car.
He swallowed, before walking into the airport doors. How was he ever going to explain this to the President—Sweet mercy, to the Secret Service—without arousing suspicion, slipping up, or making any mistake in his cover story?
It was essential that he be perfect on the details. Not one mistake could be made—not even the slightest error. Frantically, he began to make up a cover story, the most realistic and detailed one he could, within his mind as he slowed his steps towards the plane. Consciously, he wiped the sweat off his brow, stopped the frantic, fearful darting of his eyes, and slowed his breathing. ‘They had to believe nothing happened,’ Charlie told himself. ‘Nothing happened at all. I’m perfectly fine, and nothing out of the ordinary happened. They have to believe everything is fine.’
The lives of his family depended on it, after all.