Brass Ring Chapter 2: When A Good Man Meets His Destiny

[Link to Chapter One]

In the present, with ten minutes to go….

The old man went around the office making sure that things were in order. He was expecting company, the last guest he would ever have. he wanted things to be ready for when his relatives descended upon his house like vultures.

Nine minutes to go….

He had already decided where his body would fall, and kept returning to the spot. He knew it was morbid, but he couldn't help it.

Eight minutes to go….

He checked the failsafes. When he died the files on his computer would fly to their destinations. Some would be sent via email, others via traditional mail, and a few by personal messenger. The missives would cause chaos in a lot of lives, possibly ending others either by the hand of others or themselves. He owed it to those who would suffer to make sure that they would go where they needed to go. There would be chaos for a few days, then things would settle. Even he could not predict what would happen; too many possibilities intersecting in too short a time.

Seven minutes to go….

Telemachus cleared his browser history, smiling as he knew how many wished they could do that before they were otherwise unable to do so. He logged out one last time and slid the laptop under the desktop. He knew it was safe; his visitor wanted the missives to go to their appointed targets. It just felt necessary.

Six minutes to go….

He combed his hair. He may as well leave a good-looking corpse. He smiled; his emaciated bones and wrinkled skin may not look good on a morgue table but they would have enabled him to scare so many children the coming Halloween.

Five minutes to go….

He realized that the security was still online. "Alice, turn off security."

"Security is offline."

He paused, feeling that he had forgotten some detail, and today no detail should be forgotten. He put his hand to his chest to grab his notebook and stopped as he felt the portable heart monitor. He smiled. "Alice, turn on the medical monitors."

 "Medical monitors online."

Fate should not have to deal with something as banal as a security system.

Four minutes to go….

He moved a chair and its accompanying ice bucket and two tulip glasses to his spot. The ice bucket was just to carry the bottle; there was no actual ice in it. That would be improper, after all.

Three minutes to go….

He poured himself a wonderfully fruity Côte do Provence rosé from 1920, his year of birth. It had been a wonderfully long run. He hoped his successor would have as long a run.

Two minutes to go….

He allowed himself to enjoy the rosé for a moment.

One minute to go….

He put the glass down and poured another. This second glass was for his guest. He then relaxed in his chair.

His door burst open and Don Peligrine walked in. He tipped his hat to the clairvoyant. "Glad to finally meet you, Telemachus."

"And you as well, Don Pelegrine. Finally, I can see you in the flesh." He motioned to the glass of wine.

"Thank you." He gingerly grasped the wine glass, watched it in the sunlight as he swirled it around, and smiled as he brought it to his lips. "The bouquet is extraordinary." He sipped it. He put the glass down. "The wine is magnificent."

"You can grab the bottle as you leave."

"Mille grazie It is a beautiful day to die."

 Telemachus looked out the window. "Yes, yes, it is."

He pulled his Smith & Wesson Number 10 from its holster and sent three bullets into Telemachus' chest. The blood sprayed across the room, but none of the blood hit anything but the floor due to the placement of his chair. Don Pelegrine holstered his weapon. The made man took a final sip of his wine and nodded appreciatively. He poured the rest out and bowed. "Per la morte." He returned the glass to the table, grabbed the bottle, and left.

Within moments, his heart monitor would register the lack of a heartbeat and send out a signal. The laptop would receive the signal and begin sending out its missives. One of those missives would be sent to his funeral director.

* * * * *

Cass dove under the water to avoid the fish being tossed at her. Oliver was smiling as he grabbed fish and tossed them in her general direction. Cass held her breath as long as she could before surfacing. She panicked as she she saw the fish floating above her. She had one heartbeat to realize the mess she was in before being hit by a good dozen fish. Having a telekinetic boyfriend wasn't always a good kettle of fish.

She glared at Oliver, who was motioning at her like the evil martial artist from a bad Hong Kong movie, his wiriness just added to it. She adjusted her bikini top and started walking toward him, then walking really fast, then just diving and swimming toward him. She managed to get right next to him and he leaped up. Before he could leave the water, she grabbed a leg and pulled. He hit the water with a large, satisfying splash.

She decided that now was a good time to go in for a good, hard grapple. She embraced him, her arms holding him as she moved in for the kill. She closed her eyes as she planted a kiss on his lips. He reciprocated the hug and kiss. She felt like she was floating on air and chalked it up to the intensity of the kiss, allowing her to get even more into it. As she got more into it, she could feel him getting more into it.

And then she accidentally opened an eye. They were a good twenty feet above the surface of the pond.

She shoved Oliver and almost instantly fell into the water below. She allowed herself to sink, annoyed that she had fallen and even more annoyed that she was the cause of the fall. She rose to the surface of the water while paddling for shore. When she was standing, she noticed the wicked grin.

"You may be grinning now, Mr. Barrett, but you won't be for much longer."

She let loose with a barrage of water as she moved closer to him. He was forced to cover himself. She knew that their battle was going to end in only one way. While he was distracted, she dove at him, pulled at the top button of his cut-offs, ducked down below the surface, and pulled. By the time he realized what had happened, she was halfway to shore, waving his shorts. Momentarily surprised, he looked down to confirm that he was naked, and started swimming to shore after her. She made it to shore, and then struggled the final steps to the truck. She turned around and caught her breath.

He stopped just short of shore, not sure if he should keep going. "You do not play fair, Ms. Haimberg."

She motioned to him like a Hong Kong martial artist. "If you think you have what it takes, bring it on."

He shrugged and walked forward, hands at his side. "Guess we'll find out."

She smiled appreciatively. "I guess you do."

In moments, there were in the back of the pick-up on a thick blanket, enjoying the warm sunlight as only a couple, young and in love, could.

* * * * *

Don Pelegrine entered his office, wearing the smile of a fox that had just eaten the flesh of a hen that he had had to face down the rooster and the dog in order to acquire. He crossed to his desk, put the bottle o his desk, and sat down, allowing himself to relax for a moment. His secretary buzzed to let him know his next appointment had just shown up.

"Fine." He looked at the bottle on his desk. "Miss Florence, could you find two wine glasses? Thank you."

In walked a man who was more metal than flesh. He wore the dress uniform of an infantryman, the green providing a nice contrast to the silver covering the left side of his head. The sensor panel, invisible to his guest, showed that his arm and both legs were also chromed, as well as various systems throughout his trunk. The survivor of a powerful IED during his tour in Iraq, the military had obviously had little left to recover. Before him stood millions in taxpayer money.

This was Boaz Barrett, the man who operated under the nom de guerre Psyborg.

He tossed the gun he had just used on Telemachus at Psyborg. "Dispose of that, would you?"

He caught it in one hand, crushed it into a small ball, and then tossed it into the trash. "Sure."

Don Pelegrine smiled as he invited the man to sit down. He reached into his desk for a thick folder. As the cyborg sat down, Don Pelegrine spread the contents of the folder on the desk so that the cyborg could see the papers as they were spread out. Each paper represented a mercenary, with about a solid third having some sort of paranormal ability granted them by a mutation, a quirk of fate still little understood by doctors. Another sixth were cyborgs with enhanced capabilities granted them by their chrome.

"Guess we should whittle this packet down to a more sizable number."

Miss Florence walked in and put a pair of wine glasses down next to the bottle. Don Pelegrine tipped his head at her and she scuttled out of the office. He then poured each of them a glass. He smiled at the cyborg; "This should make the time a little more enjoyable."

"Thanks." He grabbed the glass and took a gulp. "Good stuff."

The made man smiled at his friend as he sipped his own glass. The two men went through each resume, looking for the best possible team for a planned heist. Don Pelegrine already had the leader of the group in front of him; he needed another five to form a team that could easily infiltrate a bank, secure the valuable prize, and then exit.

"So I just need to worry about the heist itself?"

"Correct. I already have vehicles that will arrive once the break in has started. I just need to break in and then distract any defenders until the vehicles have fled the area."

Psyborg continued to look through the pile. "Okay. Too bad you had to wait until the clairvoyant was dead before you could hire any help."

He put his glass down. "True, but if I did otherwise it would have sent ripples into play."

Psyborg emptied his glass. "So we need people who can move quickly, can distract any defenders without further collateral damage, and then quickly disappear."

Don Pelegrine moved to fill the other's glass, but Psyborg held a hand up. The older man relaxed. "Essentially. This eliminates the barbaric Horde and that sadist Die Eiserne Hand. Especially after that mess in Brussels last year."

Psyborg smiled. "Definitely. The Crimson Tornado and the Green Blizzard are also off the list; they're both good for shows of force but they would more likely destroy the bank and whatever is in it than anything else."

"Definitely."

Over the next three hours, they would go through over a hundred files before finally arriving at the team they would be summoning. Psyborg motioned at his empty glass and motioned for another pour. Don Pelegrine smiled as he emptied his own glass and filled both glasses.

Psyborg lifted his glass. "To success!" The other man lifted his own glass and the two began to drink in earnest.

[Chapter 1 is here. Chapter 3 is here.]