Involuntary Control (Gray Spear Society) Read online

  Involuntary Control

  Alex Siegel

  Involuntary Control

  All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2011 Alex Siegel

  ISBN: 978-1-105-34652-1

  For information about this book and others in the same series, please visit:

  http://www.grayspearsociety.com/

  Chapter One

  "Norbert, how many times do we have to do this?" Aaron yelled. "I just want a simple wheel kick from you. I'm not even asking you to jump at the same time. Let's try it again."

  Norbert wore a white gi with a gray belt. His sweat had soaked through his uniform until it sagged on his tired body. Heavy exertion had turned his rounded face red. Even his curly, brown hair looked a little damp. However, his expression was as intensely focused as ever.

  He nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."

  He initiated the attack by twisting his shoulders. The angular momentum moved down his body until it reached his foot. His heel flew upwards directly towards Aaron's face. Aaron grabbed Norbert's ankle in midair, forcing him to maintain a stretched and uncomfortable position.

  "You're still bending your knee at the moment of impact," Aaron said. "That robs your power and range. Sloppy execution is what gets us killed." He dropped Norbert's leg.

  "Yes, sir," Norbert muttered in a voice so tired it was slurred.

  Aaron checked Smythe and Marina, who were sparring together on the other mat. Smythe had been a member of the Gray Spear Society for almost a year, and it showed in his lean, powerful body. With his masculine jaw and blue eyes, he looked like a Hollywood action hero. Aaron watched him perform a jumping back kick that would've made the final cut in any martial arts movie. He followed with a crisp back fist attack to Marina's head.

  She smiled as she blocked him. She had joined the Society several years before any of them, and her fighting technique was flawless. Aaron had trained with her almost every day since his own initiation, but her graceful movements still entranced him. He loved how her strawberry blonde hair floated around her head like a halo when she spun. She was so flexible she could point one leg straight up while standing on the other. Even though she had sparred with Smythe at full speed for twenty minutes, she wasn't breathing hard.

  Aaron looked back at Norbert. His membership was just three months old, and at his current slow rate of progress, he would be stuck with the "rookie" label for a long time.

  Jack's deep voice came down from the rafters. "Aaron, sir, you have a personal phone call."

  Aaron looked up at a speaker mounted on the ceiling. Jack was chief of security for the Chicago cell of the Gray Spear Society. Microphones and cameras installed throughout headquarters allowed Jack to hear and see everything that went on. The only exception was the bed where Aaron and Marina slept together.

  "A phone call?" Aaron said. "For me? Who is it?"

  "I don't know, sir," Jack replied in a somber tone. "It's a woman, and she asked for you by name."

  "Ethel?"

  Ethel was Aaron's boss and the supremely powerful legatus legionis of North America. Aside from his staff, she was the only other person in the world who had his private phone number, as far as he knew. All of his staff members were present in headquarters.

  "No, sir," Jack said. "I would recognize the legate's voice. I can't trace the number either. I suggest you take the call in your office."

  Aaron furrowed his brow and looked at Marina. "I want you to work with Norbert while I'm gone. Obviously, my teaching skills aren't good enough. Maybe you can get through to him."

  "Yes, sir," she said.

  Aaron grabbed a towel from the ground and wiped the sweat off his face. He headed towards the stairs leading up to his office.

  Headquarters occupied a long, narrow building on the west side of Chicago. Eventually, the cell would relocate to a better, permanent facility, but that day was at least a year in the future. In the meantime Aaron had to suffer with accommodations that were less than ideal.

  A very long hallway ran down the center of the building. It was wide enough to serve as a parking lot, and more than a dozen vehicles were parked there now. In this neighborhood nice cars weren't left on the street. The floor was smooth concrete and steel beams supported a rusty metal roof. Aaron's bare feet slapped the floor as he walked.

  He reached a flight of wooden stairs and began to climb. The steps creaked under his weight. His private office was on the second floor, and it was the only part of the building not at ground level.

  He entered his office. Like the rest of headquarters, it had been furnished with expedience rather than aesthetics in mind. An elegant glass desk didn't match the cheap, folding chairs around it. A single green cabinet held what little paperwork the cell needed to keep on file. A small safe on the floor held the most sensitive documents. More than half the staff was trained in safe cracking, so Aaron expected one day he would find the safe standing open. If they wanted to look at something, a mere combination lock wouldn't stop them.

  He sat at his desk and grabbed his phone. "Hello?"

  "Is this Aaron?" an unfamiliar voice said.

  "Yes," he responded cautiously. Like everything else about him, his real name was a secret.

  "I'm Wendy. I'm a member of the Manhattan cell of the Society. I'm also the banker who handles all the Chicago accounts."

  "Oh? How do I know that's true?"

  "Last month you spent 1,821,472 dollars and 32 cents," Wendy said calmly, "which is a lot, sir."

  He pawed through the papers on his desk to confirm the number. He didn't have a calculator handy, but the total seemed about right. "We're trying to build a new headquarters from scratch. We have to buy a lot of very expensive equipment."

  "I apologize for my comment, sir. It's not my place to criticize your spending."

  "So, you're the woman I call when I have a big financial problem?"

  "Yes, sir," she said, "but we actually have a specific matter to discuss right now. Some money was stolen from a Society bank account."

  "How much?"

  "1,019 dollars and 4 cents."

  Aaron smirked. "That's a rounding error for us."

  "You don't understand. The money was taken from a secret account, accessible by only three people in the world. I'm one of them, my commander is the second, and the legate is the third. The amount is irrelevant. It was a major security violation."

  "What bank?"

  "The International Lenders Association," Wendy said.

  "Then complain to them."

  "The Gray Spear Society runs the International Lenders Association. We are the bank."

  "Ah," Aaron said.

  "It normally takes me about ten seconds to chase down a fraudulent transaction, sir. In this case my entire banking team needed three days. Our computer records were corrupted, duplicated, and creatively rearranged. Entire sessions were completely erased. This thief blew past our best security protocols. We're still not even sure how much money was stolen. The thousand dollars could just be a small part of it."

  He frowned. "I see."

  "We very much want to know who this exceptionally skilled thief is," Wendy said, "and who he works for. We're particularly troubled by the fact the International Lenders Association was hacked. It's a uniquely important institution."

  "OK, but I still don't know why you called me. I don't know much about banking, and I know even less about computer security. My cell doesn't even have a technology expert. He was killed three months ago, and we haven't found a replacement yet."

  She paused. "That's unfortunate, sir. I suppose you can rely on me for help for the duration of this investigation. I'll do what I can. The reason I called you is because we
eventually traced some of the stolen money to a woman in your territory. As a favor to us, we would like you to interrogate her. She lives in Lemonseed, Illinois, sir. I'm texting all the details to your phone. Of course I can't order you to do this, but I would remind you that every dime you spend comes through Manhattan, and you spend a lot of them. A supportive relationship is in our mutual best interests."

  Aaron didn't need to hear the threat repeated. Unlimited access to money was essential to the operation of his cell. He checked his phone and found a long text message.

  "I'll get right on it."

  "Thank you, sir," she said. "My phone number is included in the message. Feel free to call me back any time, day or night. I'm always available to you."

  "I'll do that." He hung up.

  He took a moment to read the text carefully. The woman in question was Kaitlin Simmons. She worked as a database administrator for White Flame Technology. Aaron recognized the company as a manufacturer of high-tech military equipment, including missiles and battlefield robots. The Gray Spear Society occasionally bought stuff from White Flame. They were the world's top supplier of exotic weapons. Aaron immediately knew the best approach to take with Kaitlin.

  He went back down to the main floor. As he walked towards the section that served as their informal gym, he watched Marina working with Norbert. The frustration on her face indicated she was having no more luck with him than Aaron. Norbert was a deeply spiritual man and absolutely dedicated to serving to the best of his ability, but unfortunately, he had limited natural talent. He just needs time to grow into the role, Aaron thought.

  "Norbert!" Aaron said. "Shower and shave. You and I are taking a long road trip. We'll be FBI special agents, so dress accordingly."

  Marina faced him. "Where to?"

  "Lemonseed, Illinois, wherever that is. The Manhattan cell asked me to chase down some stolen money. We may have to spend the night."

  "Sounds like fun, sir. I want to come."

  "Sorry." He shook his head. "You're in charge here while I'm gone."

  "That's not fair! I've been cooped up for weeks. I feel like a caged animal."

  He raised his eyebrows. "Since when did we start giving out assignments based on boredom?"

  "Actually," she said, "mere legionnaires like me go out on assignments. Important decurions like you are supposed to manage our operations from here."

  "I'm taking the rookie out for some field training, and that's my final decision. Got it?"

  He glared at her. It was bad enough when she challenged his authority privately. Doing it in front of Smythe and Norbert was unacceptable. Just because Aaron and Marina loved each other didn't mean she could act like a nagging wife.

  She looked down. "Yes, sir."

  He walked past her, shaking his head with annoyance.

  * * *

  Aaron and Norbert stood in the armory. Long, deep shelves held nearly every type of gun made in the last hundred years. Larger weapons, boxes of grenades, and explosives cluttered the floor. Some items were still in their original shipping crates, and they would probably stay that way. There wasn't enough space in the narrow room to unpack all the hardware.

  "Weapon selection is always crucial," Aaron said. "I generally carry four weapons for a basic assignment like this one. Let's start with your primary piece. This will be the gun you always grab first. Pick one you can handle with total confidence. Familiarity is more important than caliber."

  Norbert furrowed his brow as he considered the many options in front of him. Eventually, he grabbed a Springfield XM 9mm.

  Aaron nodded with approval. "Good choice. Compact, accurate, and reliable. I'm going with my old friend the HK 45. Bigger and louder than yours, but the extra stopping power is worth the fuss." He grabbed a black, semiautomatic pistol with a polymer grip. "Your second weapon is your concealed backup piece. It has to be small enough to hide easily."

  Norbert took a .25 caliber Colt Mustang Plus II, another decent choice. Aaron grabbed a pair of custom derringers that he could strap to his forearms and conceal under his shirt.

  "Next," he said, "you need a weapon for close work. A knife is standard. Here."

  He gave a small combat knife to Norbert. The six inch blade was lightly serrated and painted black. Aaron took the same kind of knife for himself.

  "Finally, we come to what I call the 'deep shit' piece. This is the one you grab when you're in deep shit."

  "An assault rifle?" Norbert said.

  "It needs to be somewhat concealable. We'll be walking around in public. In your case I'd go with hand grenades. They don't require a lot of finesse."

  Norbert took two fragmentation grenades from a box on the floor. Aaron grabbed a MP9 Tactical Machine Pistol and packed the clip with explosive tipped ammunition.

  "Sir, is all this firepower really necessary for a simple investigation?" Norbert said. "What if the police search us?"

  "The gun you leave behind will inevitably be the one you need the most. And I'd much rather be in jail than dead. If you're arrested, what are you supposed to do?"

  "Nothing. Keep my mouth shut and don't cause trouble."

  "Right." Aaron nodded. "We'll get you out of jail, even if we have to bust you out."

  He helped Norbert position his weapons under his suit so they wouldn't cause a bulge. They left the armory and walked down the central corridor to a sporty, black sedan. Aaron reached inside and took the keys out of the ignition.

  "This will be our car. I asked Nancy to pack the trunk for a two day excursion." He held up the key. "However, if I open the trunk with the key, the car will explode. Forcing or picking the lock will have the same result. There is only one safe way to get inside that trunk. Let's see if you can figure it out, but be very careful."

  Norbert walked around the car and examined it. After a few minutes he knelt down and looked underneath.

  "I see buttons near the rear bumper, sir, but they aren't labeled."

  "Numbers are etched into the surface," Aaron said. "They are meant to be felt, not seen. The combination is the first four prime numbers: 2, 3, 5, 7. We use the same code for all our vehicles and safe houses. Go ahead and try it, but if you press the wrong button..."

  "The car will explode. I understand, sir."

  Norbert closed his eyes as he felt around underneath the car. After a moment the trunk popped open. He smiled.

  Aaron looked into the trunk. "Let's see what Nancy packed for us."

  He pulled out several suitcases and placed them on the ground. Norbert opened the first and found it full of hundred dollar bills.

  His eyes opened wide. "That's a lot of money."

  "Cash is the universal lubricant. You can't have too much."

  Norbert went through the rest of the luggage. He found surveillance equipment, spare clothes, extra weapons, and a briefcase full of various fake identification.

  "Seems like we have everything we need."

  Aaron shook his head. "You're missing one critical item."

  He took his phone out of his pocket and held it up. It was much bulkier than most cell phones and covered with gray metal.

  "My phone!" Norbert said. "I left it in the kitchen."

  "Get it, now."

  Norbert ran off. He returned a moment later with his phone in hand.

  "That's your lifeline to the Society," Aaron said. "You use it to call for help, and we use it to find you. It has all the apps you need to survive. It's more important than any gun. If you ever leave headquarters without it, or lose it, I will personally give you a beating you won't forget. That's no joke."

  "Yes, sir."

  Aaron nodded. "I have to say goodbye to Marina, and then we'll leave."

  "I saw her in the kitchen."

  Aaron headed towards the west end of the building, passing more parked vehicles along the way. A drop of water splashed his forehead. He looked up and saw a rusty crack in the metal roof. Damn, he thought. This place is going to become an icebox when winter comes. We'll have
to seal it somehow.

  He walked into the large kitchen, which also served as the dining room and occasional conference room. A line of four plastic picnic tables ran along the right wall. Two different kinds of cheap cabinetry covered the left wall. There were two giant refrigerators and a free standing sink. Exposed white plastic pipes were strapped to the back wall. Marina stood at a large, wooden table in the center of the room, which Nancy had built by hand. That table was the only good surface for food preparation.

  Marina had showered and was wearing only a gray bathrobe. Damp red hair lay across her shoulders. This was her home as well as her office, so her informal attire was understandable, but he wished she had pulled her bathrobe a little tighter. The rest of the team didn't need to see her breasts.

  She took a bite of a sandwich.

  "I'm leaving now," he said.

  She nodded. "Bye."

  "No kiss?"

  She angrily took another bite of her sandwich.

  "I'm not happy with you, either," he said. "I have to lead this team, and I need everybody's respect to do it. You can't undermine my authority every time you don't like my orders."

  "I was just stating my professional opinion."

  "If you had stated your opinion that way when Ethel was here, she would've separated your head from your shoulders. Am I right?"

  She chewed her food and stared at the table.

  "Well?" he repeated loudly.

  "Yes, sir."

  Obviously, he wasn't going to get that kiss. He turned and left.

  * * *

  Three hours later, Aaron drove through Lemonseed, Illinois. According to the sign on the highway, the population was 815, but it seemed even smaller than that. The "downtown" area was just two blocks long and consisted of maybe a dozen buildings. There was a bank, a Dairy Queen, a discount store, and a post office. Homes and businesses stood side-by-side with no clear zoning. A small library was the only structure with any architectural flair, and everything else was just boxes made of bricks with shingles on the roof.

  Aaron had put Kaitlin Simmons' address into the navigation system and was directed to the west side of town. He entered a neighborhood made of small, widely spaced homes. Many of the residents had dirt lots instead of lawns. A gang of young teenage boys was playing football in the street, while a group of girls whispered to each other a short distance away. The land was perfectly flat, but plenty of trees broke up the visual landscape.