Sleep did not come quickly. I thought about Lucy and Ben. I tried to see us together the way I had once seen us together. I wondered how Lucy saw us and whether we saw the same thing.
20
Jon Stone
2240 hrs
West Hollywood, CA, USA Jon Stone, rock god.
Now up on his rotation: “Play That Funky Music” by Wild Cherry.
Jon jerked and whirled to the beat pounding his home above the Sunset Strip like a one-man boy band wrecking crew, every cell in his body a pulsing celebration. Jon Stone, naked as a jaybird, sixteen days back from a security stint in Turkmenistan on the northern Iranian border, had banked so much cash in the past twenty-four hours he buzzed with a burning energy.
And play that funky music ’Til you die!
Jon Stone sold death. Jon, who had spent thirteen years with the U.S. Army’s Special Forces, six of which as a Delta Force officer, was a private military contractor. As such, he sold the services of those who could deliver death and those who could defend against death. Business was booming.
Rotation change: “Money” by Pink Floyd.
Jon rolled with it, and sang with the band.
Money
It’s a gas
The pullout from Afghanistan had created a security panic. Corporations with vulnerable assets in nearby countries were offering contracts at mind-blowing rates faster than a minigun sprayed bullets. Think of Jon Stone as an agent for mercenaries. For every contract he filled, he got a piece of the action. He had filled twenty-six security contracts in the past thirty hours, all from the safety and comfort of his black-and-steel home. No risk to life and limb required.
Jon’s home was a sleek contemporary above the Sunset Strip, resplendent with floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors, Carrara marble floors, and a glittering pool. The house overlooked the broad expanse of the Los Angeles Basin and was totally private. Jon preferred to be naked when he was home. Currently, his only adornment was a headset Bluetoothed to his computer. If someone phoned, his computer instantly muted the music, allowing him to conduct business. And dance.
Rotation change: “Thank You” by Sly and the Family Stone.
Hell yeah!
Lookin’ at the devil, grinnin’ at his gun
Jon caught reflections of himself in glass and polished steel. He had the hard build of a surfer with spikey blond hair and a stud in his ear. The stud was an equilateral triangle, also known as a delta triangle, the delta for his time in the Unit. Jon spun, twisted, and belted along with Sly. Damned if he didn’t look like a rock star in the mirror behind his bar. Kinda like Sting. Only better.
The music abruptly stopped. Jon’s earpiece chirped simultaneously, indicating an incoming call. Jon was expecting a call from a former British SAS operator named Rafael Highgarten.
“Jon Stone.”
A low male voice whispered.
“Turn.”
Jon Stone stood absolutely still. Five cocked-and-locked .45-caliber Kimber pistols were hidden in discreet but accessible locations throughout his home. Had Jon been in his bedroom, kitchen, entry, or next to the bar, he would have broken left or right without hesitation. But Jon currently stood well away from guns or cover on a white Carrara plain. He raised his hands slowly out to the sides, and turned.
Joe Pike stood on the far side of the pool, phone to his ear.
Stone dropped his hands.
“No.”
He cupped his mouth and said it louder.
“No.”
Pike said, “Gear up. I need you.”
Pike lowered his phone, and Sly and the Family returned.
Thank you . . . for letting me . . . be myself . . . again
Jon pulled off his headset and geared up.
21
Joe Pike
0110 hrs
Silver Lake, CA, USA
They needed two vehicles, so Pike drove his red Jeep Cherokee and Stone took his black Range Rover. The Rover was turbocharged and a beast of a vehicle.
A half mile past the Hollywood/Sunset split, they left Pike’s Jeep outside a Cuban restaurant. Pike wanted to make a fly-by. If people were watching Schumacher’s bungalow, Pike didn’t want them to see his Jeep twice.
Stone guided them toward the target, slumped against the door as he drove, looking all gloomy and sour.
“This guy Cole is really something. How much he paying you?”
Pike ignored him. Jon knew he wouldn’t be paid. At the end of the day, he was doing this as a favor for Pike.
Jon scowled.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Kinda like you, not paying me.”
“Coming up. Right turn.”
“If a friend of mine took advantage like that, I’d cut his ass off.”
“Around this curve, a left, then a right.”