"I'm not doing it," Percy argued with Shawne.
They had been working under the law department for five years with the FBI and SWAT. Percy was never a lawyer by training — he became one through forged papers. He was actually a psychiatrist and neurophysiologist by profession.
Things were still not okay at the headquarters. There had been a spike in homicide cases in Montreal — 29 in the past three months — and none had a positive outcome.
Van Picasso was in his office, an influential man dating back to the NATO era. The only good thing he seemed to do was move around in his chair smoking — according to Percy, anyway.
They didn't have a good relationship, but Picasso was something of a father figure to Percy — and perhaps, in a way, Percy was like a son to him.
Percy hated the smell of cigarette smoke (or anything smoked, really). He was a germaphobe, and it reminded him of his bleak past.
"The girl needs a lawyer, and you fit that job," Picasso said. "You'll get good pay. She's a famous model."
He looked at Picasso with mixed feelings. Percy still had undone work — homicide cases were like thrillers to him. Scary, tiresome, yet somehow exciting. It was only thrilling when you didn't have to deal with crazy families. The Balenci family had been the worst. They made him feel like he was the cause of their son's death. They wouldn't seek justice — they wanted to buy it.
He believed the only thing the law did was cause more problems. It was a controlling part of society, not a healing one.
Their son, Ferz Balenci, had been a drug dealer — found dead in his cottage house in the suburbs. Percy had secretly cleared the case of Ferz's involvement in drug trafficking so the FBI wouldn't dig deeper into the family.
Anyway, a drug dealer's fate was always the same — death, prison, or a mental facility.
"You'll just have to fly to Detroit," Picasso told him, "for four to six months, if everything goes as planned."
Percy did not seem to understand what Picasso was saying.
"Why does she even need a lawyer?"
"That, you should ask her."
He knew it — she was among those rich people who exploited lawyers to make themselves look right, even when they were wrong.
"What about the case I was handling?"
"Shawne can step in."
Shawne was unreliable but in a good way. He hated homicide cases — anything dealing with murder repulsed him. Percy himself disliked the sight of a corpse.
He had become a lawyer at 26 and had worked as an FBI agent for six years.
"You can still work with me — I'll be making calls," Percy assured Shawne.
The wall clock read five forty-seven p.m. He had to visit his sister.
"Okay. Book the flight. I'll head out tomorrow."
And with that, he left Van Picasso's office.
(MARIA)
His sister's house had a distinct Italian feeling to it. She was Maria-Lucia Givivanno. That was the difference — she was Italian, he was not.
"Won't you visit and have dinner around?" her fiancé asked, as though he were supposed to be close with Percy.
Ricco wasn't around. Her fiancé worked as a software engineer. Everyone knew that — but Percy had his doubts.
"What did you want us to talk about?" Percy asked, still in his previous position.
His behavior wasn't new to her — he adored her, that was one thing Ricco knew.
"Ricco and I are getting married in two weeks. He changed the date because he had other plans."
"Why the rush to get married? You're only 26."
His sister didn't seem to understand what love meant. Everything between her and Ricco was lust — a desire that Percy knew would soon fade.
"Oh. I won't be around."
"Is this an excuse?"
"I'm flying to Detroit tomorrow. For six months."
"Is that all you had to say?" she asked quietly.
He knew she was lying, but he had promised himself not to push her to say things she didn't want to.
(NATE)
The room was dark. It could have been brighter, but they chose the dim lights.
"Any info about him?"
"All clean and plain. No doubts," Nate said, scrolling through his computer.
"The wedding is in two weeks' time."
There was something that didn't add up with the abrupt change of dates. Nate had been Percy's old friend. They had gone to the same high school. He was a software engineer, and Percy relied on him for anything technical.
"His current location?"
"He booked a flight to Switzerland two days ago. He's already landed."
"Phone?"
"Location can't be tracked."
Percy kept quiet, thinking of what was next.
"He's not in Switzerland," Percy muttered. "I feel it."
(PERCY)
Percy went through his recent file again before his car arrived. The client had previous cases of depression and anxiety. He prayed he wouldn't be dealing with someone unstable.
The car, with his usual driver, dropped him at his new apartment — a five-storey building with his room on the third floor.
Nothing in Detroit was new to him. He had been there before, but things felt slightly different. His phone rang again. It was Van Picasso — ignored again.
"I've already arrived. About to settle," he said in a flat voice.
You could never predict his emotions.
"That's great. You'll meet your client tomorrow. Get some rest."
(UNKNOWN 001)
Somewhere, in a cold basement, a man had been held captive for nearly a month. He knew nothing of what was happening outside.
"Aaah!"
He had been kicked hard in the stomach. The pain echoed through him, and he coughed blood.
"Where is the boy? We need his exact location."
It wasn't a new question, and they already expected the answer.
"You... you'd beat me to death, but I will never tell you."
He slurred as he spoke, praying deeply that if prayers were ever answered, the boy would never go to Detroit.
He had warned him of enemies — not because he had done anything wrong, but because the boy had no idea how deadly the game had become.
He was not feared because of his crimes, but because of his name. The name alone could sell him out, no matter what.
He didn't change his appearance — a completely bald man, his face a mirror of his fate. The tattoos inked across his body were a stronger warning to his enemies than any weapon. But still, he never spoke a word.
(COMMON)
Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania — not everyone knew them well. Only a few who dug deep into history remembered that they emerged after the Second World War. They were still considered allies under the League of Nations.
But none of this was due to political reasons. There was no war ahead. The only thing its citizens failed to understand was that the Russian government was being slowly manipulated.
Russia had never been a member of NATO, but in recent days there was widespread manufacture of weapons on government grounds. Yet strangely, the military never received any of those weapons.
They were forced to buy weapons from the United States. Something in between was happening — something hidden.