CHAPTER ELEVEN

The brisk morning air had the runners at the start of the race jumping up and down, shaking their arms and legs to get the blood flowing. Filtered into the first group of runners were seven men standing still, just observing those around them.

“Great day for a run, huh?” said a young man staring at Clay. “Cool leg.”

“Yeah. Cool,” frowned Clay.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I just think it’s cool that you’re still doing what you love,” said the man.

“It’s fine,” said Clay. “It happened a lifetime ago. I don’t even know it’s not attached any longer.” Clay was lying. He knew every damn day that it wasn’t attached. He just didn’t mind it so much any longer. The technology from G.R.I.P. made it the most advanced prosthetic limb in the world, and because of his testing, veterans were getting new limbs that were beyond imagination every day.

“Well, have a great run. Careful of that last turn. It’s blind.”

“What do you mean?” asked Clay. He tapped his comms so all could hear.

“Oh, well, the turn from Melpomene onto Tchoupitoulas is dark. It’s beneath the interstate, so it’s kind of smelly and creepy.”

“Good to know. Thanks,” said Clay. The guy pushed his way further to the front, telling Clay that he was probably a top contender for the 10k run. “Everyone hear that?”

“Roger that,” said the chorus of voices.

“Alright, runners, are you ready!” yelled the starter from the top of a ladder. “I hope you all have your jingle bells on. We’ve got great prizes for the winners today. We’ll see you at the finish line in five, four, three, two, one!” The starting buzzer sounded, and the runners took off.

For the men of Belle Fleur, this was a walk in the park. They did runs like this daily, usually longer. The men who were here today were the core group that challenged one another constantly to go farther and faster.

But their intention wasn’t to win the race. It was to spot anyone or anything suspicious and prevent a possible mass killing.

“We’re headed to the underpass,” said Luke. “Keep your eyes out for anyone in the buildings or alleyways.”

“Do you see anything?” Cam asked the snipers.

Hawk, Eagle, HG, Bone, and Hoot were perched on the tops of buildings, watching the runners below and the skies above. AJ and Sly had the drones moving around the route and filtered into the crowds were a number of team members as well.

“Nothing yet. If they’re here, they’re hidden well so far,” said Bone.

“Keep your eyes peeled. I have that feeling, and I don’t like it,” said Luke.

As the runners made their way through the city, some jockeying for position to be at the head of the pack, the Belle Fleur boys had to remind themselves that they weren’t in this to win it but rather to ensure others won by finishing the race.

Adam and Ben walked on one side of the street, while Luke and Carl walked on the opposite side of the street. Just as they were turning the corner, a man ran directly into Carl, backing up in apology.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, holding the hands of his son and daughter. He stared at Carl and swallowed.

“I know you,” said Carl. The man looked nervously at his children.

“Daddy, who is the big man?” asked his little girl. Carl stared at the man, then down at the expectant faces of the children.

“I’m a friend of your daddy’s,” smiled Carl. “He’s a good man.” The children smiled, and Luke looked at his brother, instinctively knowing who the man was.

“I started that job at the warehouse,” he said quietly. “It’s a dream job. They’re already asking me to be a shift supervisor. The older man, I think he was your grandfather. Thank him again for me.”

“No thanks needed,” said Carl. “Are you enjoying the run?”

“Well, we were, but there were three men back there that pushed my daughter into the street. They were carrying those big backpacks, like skiers would carry.”

“Are you hurt, sweetie?” asked Luke.

“No, sir. Just a skimmed knee.” Luke laughed at her mispronunciation and nodded. He pulled two candy canes from his pocket, handing one to each child.

“You go on with your daddy now. Have a good Christmas.” Luke looked at the man as he stood straight and tall. “Get the children out of here. Get to safety.”

“Yes, sir.” He didn’t argue or ask any questions. He took his children and moved as quickly as he could down the street.

“I take it that was Grandpa’s save the other day,” asked Luke.

“Yep. What do you think about the men with the backpacks?” asked Carl.

“I think we have a problem. Everyone hear that? Three men with large, long backpacks in the crowd. Fucking find them!”

“Did you have to knock that kid over?” asked one of the men.

“We have a job to do, or did you forget? I don’t give a shit about some snot-nosed kid that skinned her damn knees. Let’s go. We’re already late getting to the top of the buildings.”

“It won’t matter,” smirked the third man. “I’ll be picking people off like ducks at a carnival. Simple.”

“Nothing is simple, Jay. Keep your fucking head on and do your damn job. Where are Cord and Arvel?”

“Chill out, Buzz,” laughed the man. “We’ve got this. The weapons are superior. We’re the best shots around, which is why we were hired, and we can handle something this simple.”

Buzz gripped his shirt, shoving him against the cold brick of the building. As the unofficial team leader, he didn’t want excuses. He didn’t want to have to tell their boss that something went wrong. He needed for this to work.

“Listen to me, you fucking little shit. I’ve had more years firing weapons than you’ve been alive. Nothing is simple. Everything can become an issue. Pay attention and do what I fucking tell you!”

“God, fine!” he said, brushing aside his hands. “Fine. I’m paying attention. Everything isn’t serious. Everything isn’t urgent, Buzz. We know what we’re doing, and we’ll get it done. Just chill out for a minute.”

“Get to your spots,” said Buzz, glaring at the two men. They were younger than him but not so young that they shouldn’t know what to do. “I’ll check in later.”

He crossed the street and moved along the sidewalk, turning right at the corner. The other two men watched him, then shook their heads.

“He’s wound pretty fucking tight,” frowned Jay.

“He’s got a lot of pressure on him from the boss,” said Arvel. “Just ignore the attitude and listen to him. He does know more than we do.”

“Why? Because he shot a few ragheads in the Middle East a lifetime ago? That doesn’t mean shit to me.”

“It should,” said the other man, getting ready to cross the street. “It should because he was one of the best.”