The Hit (Will Robie 2)

“It was my job. My old job.”

“I checked into your new job. You run your own militia.”

West snorted. “We’re not a militia. We’re freedom fighters.”

“Who are you fighting for freedom from?”

“If you have to ask you wouldn’t understand the answer.”

Reel frowned. “The big bad government? You live in the middle of nowhere. You have your guns. You’ve got your own place. You’re off

the grid. No one’s bothering you that I can see. So what’s the problem?”

“It’s only a matter of time before they come for us. And believe me, we’ll be ready.”

“You know what your paper said. Do you believe it?”

“Of course.”

“You think it could actually happen?” she asked.

“I know it could. Because we’re so lackadaisical about security. Only they didn’t have the balls in D.C. to admit that. It seemed to me that the higher-ups wanted the assholes to attack us. One of the reasons I quit. I was disgusted.”

“So you think this is the path to a peaceful future?”

“I never said a peaceful future was the goal. Our having a future is the goal. You lead by force. You kick the shit out of them. You don’t just sit around and wait for them to attack you. Clusters of powder, we called them. They think security is impenetrable. Well, my paper showed them how impenetrable it was. It was bullshit.”

“So you were tasked to do doomsday scenarios?” asked Reel.

“We had a whole office doing nothing but. Most of the others did the same old crap. Nothing outside the box. They were worried about ruffling feathers. Not me. You give me a job, I do it. I don’t give a shit about consequences.”

“Who did you submit the white paper to?”

“That’s classified,” retorted West.

“You’re not with the government anymore,” countered Reel.

“Still classified.”

“I thought the government was the enemy.”

“Right now, you’re the enemy. And if you think you’re going to get away from here alive, you’re beyond stupid.”

“You the law out here? You and your freedom fighters?”

“Pretty much. Why do you think I moved here?”

“Who did you submit it to?” she asked again.

“What are you going to do, torture me?” he sneered.

“I don’t have time to torture you. Although you would find it memorable. If you don’t tell me I’ll just shoot you.”

“In cold blood,” he scoffed. “You’re a woman.”

“That should tell you all you need to know to be afraid.”

West laughed. “You think a lot of your gender, don’t you?”

“You were a desk jockey your whole career. You never fired a shot and never had a shot fired at you. The closest you ever got to danger was watching the video feed from a thousand miles away. Did that make you feel like a real man instead of the ball-less punk you really are?”

He started to jump up, but Reel placed a round an inch from his right ear, so close that bits of the hard dirt kicked up and struck his ear, which started bleeding.

He screamed, “You stupid bitch, you shot me!”

“Dirt, not metal. You’d feel the difference. Now spread your legs wider.”

“What?”

“Spread your legs wider.”

“Why?”

“Do it or I promise dirt will not be the next thing you feel.”

West spread his legs wider.

Reel moved behind him and lined up her shot with her Glock.

“What the hell are you doing?” he cried out, panicked.

“Which testicle do you want to keep? But I have to tell you, at this angle, there’s no guarantee I won’t nail both of them with the one shot.”

He immediately snapped his legs together.

“Then you’ll get it right up the ass,” she said. “I don’t think it’ll feel any better.”

“Why the hell are you doing this?” he screamed.

“It’s pretty simple. I asked for a name. You didn’t give me one.”

“I didn’t officially submit it to anyone.”

“Unofficially, then,” said Reel.

“What does it matter?”

“Because it seems that some folks took you at your word and are going to try to do it.”

“Really?”

“Don’t sound so happy. It’s insane. Now the name. I won’t ask again.”

“It was only a code name,” said West.

“Bullshit.”

“I swear to God.”

“Why submit unofficially to a code name? And your answer better make sense or you’re going to need a new way to evacuate your bowels.”

“The person came to me.”

“What person?” she asked.

“I meant electronically they came to me. They somehow found out I had written a comprehensive, groundbreaking scenario. It was vindication.”

It disgusted Reel to see how animated he suddenly was in talking about his “accomplishments.”

“When did this happen?”

“About two years ago.” He added, “Are they really doing it? I mean who?”

“What was the code name?”

He didn’t answer.

“You have one second. Now!”

“Roger the Dodger,” he shouted.

“And why submit to Roger the Dodger?” she asked calmly, keeping her finger on the Glock’s trigger guard.

“His electronic signature showed he had top-top-secret clearance and was at least three levels above me. He wanted to know what I had come up with. He said the scuttlebutt was my plan was revolutionary.”

“How would he have known that if you hadn’t even submitted it to anyone yet?”

The man hesitated and said sheepishly, “Maybe I talked a bit about it at the bar we would go to for drinks after work.”

“No wonder the government kicked your ass out. You’re an idiot.”

“I would have quit anyway,” he snapped.

“Right. To come to a little cabin in the middle of this craphole.”

“This is real America, bitch!”

“Your doomsday paper was pretty specific.”