Ciphers by Matt Rogers (ereader with dictionary .txt) 📕

I succumbed to it, you’d be the first to know.’

She half-smiled, probably reflecting on their workload. With the amount of her life she dedicated to black-ops, and the amount he slaved away at conditioning himself into a human weapon, there was little downtime between their schedules. They spent most of it with each other. It’d be difficult to mask a crippling alcohol addiction within those hours.

She said, ‘Have you ever wondered why he falls into it and you don’t?’

‘Sometimes,’ he said. ‘But I’m usually interrupted by training. Then I don’t think about much at all.’

Another half-smile.

But it was hollow.

King glanced at the door. ‘Did Alonzo want to speak with Slater?’

Violetta shrugged. ‘If he did, it’s between them.’

He stepped over to her, put a giant arm over her shoulders, and held her reassuringly. She looped her arms around his waist, resting them on his rigid abdominals, and kept them there.

Together, they waited in silence.

There was little to say.

It had all been said.

Five minutes later the door opened, and Alonzo stepped out. King tried to read his face, and came away perplexed. The tech genius sported an expression somewhere between pride and contentment, which didn’t exactly gel with the circumstances. King said, ‘What’d you two talk about?’

Alonzo glanced at him. ‘Not a whole lot. Just trivial stuff. You take care of yourself, friend.’

He sounded like he truly meant it.

Then he was gone, making a beeline down the hall for his desk.

Violetta stepped away from King when Slater appeared, sporting a distinctly thick new layer underneath his compression shirt. King knew exactly what it was. In one hand Slater had two big duffel bags, and in the other, a second Enforcer vest. He passed it over, and King set to work putting it on.

‘What’s in the bags?’ Violetta said.

‘MP7A1 submachine guns with suppressors and extended mags.’

‘You don’t want long range?’

He gave her a withering look. ‘It’s Manhattan.’

‘You’re the expert.’

She looked up at King.

He nodded. ‘It’s the right call. It’ll be close quarters.’

She checked her watch. ‘You two need to get moving.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Nearly two a.m.’

King pinched his eyes. He’d stripped off his own shirt, exposing the same battered, hard-as-steel physique as Slater’s, and now he dropped the vest over it. He was a little taller than his counterpart, a little wider, a little denser. Harder muscle, a bigger frame, more of a giant than Slater.

He knew it didn’t matter.

The two times they’d succumbed to their base instincts and started brawling, Slater had come away the victor. That would always be in the back of King’s head, and always gave him the burning, white-hot determination to train every single day.

A constant pursuit of betterment.

Slater passed over an olive Glock 22 and an appendix holster, and King fixed both to the underneath of his shirt. Drawing from an appendix holster was as natural as breathing to him, and he knew he could have the firearm in hand in less than a second. King noticed Slater had fixed his own holster to the outside of his compression shirt and draped his leather jacket over the top.

Violetta said, ‘You have all you need?’

They both nodded.

Vests. Handguns. Submachine guns.

And their brains and fists.

All you could ever ask for.

‘Let’s go,’ King said, opting not to waste another second.

The longer they stalled, the more time they had to think.

The more time to realise how much weight was on their shoulders.

As one, they moved for the exit.

35

Slater went first, storming straight past the feds.

None of the trio were pleased that neither Slater or King even glanced their way. It was intentional on Slater’s part, subtle yet aggravating. They didn’t feel important. They were being kept out of the loop. They thought they mattered in their usual roles, but now they were discovering just how out of their depth they were.

In a vain attempt to provoke, the ringleader said, ‘Do you really think you’re being slick with those vests?’

Slater stopped. ‘What?’

‘You both look ridiculous. Cover them up a little more, for God’s sake.’

Slater knew the best treatment was dead silence, but Violetta didn’t have quite as much patience. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing speaking like that?’

The ringleader glanced her way. ‘Ma’am, I was only—’

‘You were only nothing,’ she hissed.

King placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s okay. Let them let it out. They’re frustrated they’ve been relegated to door bitches.’

She glanced up at him. ‘Oh. I see.’

Slater smirked. The interaction was so beautiful he almost thought it might have been rehearsed.

It shut the feds down in a way they never anticipated.

One of the guys opened his mouth to retort but Slater walked off, refusing to allow him the time of day. King followed right behind him, with Violetta on their heels, who shot daggers at the feds the whole time.

In the stairwell, they could speak freely.

Violetta said, ‘I don’t want to cloud your minds with details. But you should know that I’m in the process of coordinating with the NYPD to arrange a cordon around half the Bowery.’

‘I thought—’

‘It’s going to be ragtag, but it’s something, at least. If these hackers are half as talented at defending their turf as they are at using malicious code, then a few clusters of night-shift cops aren’t going to achieve a damn thing if they try to storm the building. So, for now, a cordon. From what I’m told, the police are a nightmare to try and coordinate right now. A chunk of them aren’t listening to orders because there’s immediate problems right in front of them. People trapped in elevators, hospitals in chaos, countless injuries. You name it, they’re trying to fix it. It’s noble, but their best bet right now would be to prioritise this and get the lights back on.’

‘Sounds like a logistical nightmare,’ King said.

‘It is. So I want the pair of you to treat this like you’re the last resort. Because you most likely are. But on the off chance you can’t trap them and they flee, we might have reinforcements in place to scoop