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Marcus Lopés

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The Mole

October 27, 2021 by Marcus 3 Comments

the mole

This is a continuation of ‘The Squeeze‘

Michael and Brian followed Josh down the hall towards the raspy voice barking orders. They entered a cozy room filled laptops, wall monitors, and other electronic equipment. It reminded him of the rooms at Agency headquarters adjacent to the holding cells and setup for surveillance. Alex, one of Coburg’s security men whom they’d met earlier, was seated at the lone desk. He was simultaneously shouting into a radio and studying the six monitors streaming images of different parts of the estate. Inside and out.

“Do you see that?” Josh pointed at the top monitor on the right and the three shadowy figures on the screen. “We’ve got company. Most likely Clarke’s men. At the moment, they’re still on the street side of the north gate.”

“Check out the other monitors,” Brian said, panicked. “They’re coming at us from all sides.”

“It’s my fault,” Michael said askance. “I shouldn’t have brought Sam here, but I didn’t know where else to go. Thought I’d been careful.”

“It’s not your fault.” Josh, shifting on his crutches, looked at Michael. “With Mr. Coburg in custody, it was just a matter of time before Clarke made his move. I already called in reinforcements as a precaution, but they won’t be here for at least forty-five minutes.”

“And it’s just the five of us,” Brian added.

“Plus the three guys walking the grounds,” Alex said.

“I hope you’re not including Sam in that count.” Michael paused. “We only have to hold them off long enough for help to arrive.”

Josh tapped Alex on the shoulder. “Tell the other guys to come in before they’re taken out, then make sure all the doors are locked.”

Alex grabbed the radio and left the room.

Michael turned to Josh. “I need you to keep Sam safe. Make sure he finishes the article. The sooner that’s published, the sooner we hopefully end this.”

“I’ll keep Sam safe, but first…” Josh pivoted, unlocked the cabinet to his right and opened the doors, which revealed a cache of weapons. “Take what you need.” Then he shuffled out of the room.

Michael stepped to the cabinet, took out a pair of night vision goggles and a Remington M24. “You up for this?”

“Of course,” was Brian’s steely reply, accepting the MP5 Michael handed to him. “I’m ready to get back to my normal life. With you.”

“Then let’s show these bastards they picked the wrong couple to mess with.” Michael walked ahead of Brian towards the foyer, where they met up with Alex and the other three men. He looked at Alex and asked, “How many entry points are there to the house?”

“The front door, the French doors off the dining room and den,” Alex confirmed. “Through the garage, plus the sliding doors in Mr. Coburg’s office.”

“That means we cover each entrance,” Michael said.

“I don’t like it,” Brian chimed in. “Spreads us too thin.”

Suddenly, the clunky sound of metal scraping against metal thundered on all sides. Michael strode to the front door and opened it. Then he took a step back as a two-inch thick metal sheet slid downwards to the doorsill. After about five seconds, silence immured them.

“Lockdown mode,” Josh announced when he appeared in the foyer. “Should have thought of it as soon as we spotted figures on the monitor. Damn pain medication is making me loopy.”

“It buys us a little more time at least.” Michael closed the door, then checked the time. They still had forty minutes before backup arrived. “Let’s stay vigilant.”

Alex and one of the other men headed upstairs while the other two disappeared down the corridor towards the east wing.

“Clarke’s men outside isn’t our only problem,” Josh said. “Dan, Rick, and Cole were outside patrolling the grounds as usual. As soon as they were inside, Alex should have initiated the lockdown.”

Michael glanced at Brian, then returned his gaze to Josh. “You’re saying Clarke has infiltrated Coburg’s security team.”

“So…” Brian furled his eyebrows. “Alex is the mole?”

“I trust Alex with my life,” Josh said emphatically. “We served together in Iraq. Nothing and no one in this world could make me think he’s the mole. Sometimes he forgets. He was held captive for ten days and tortured to near death before we were able to rescue him.”

Michael shrugged. “If not Alex, then —”

“I reviewed the security tapes,” Josh interrupted. “Cole was near the north gate when he should have been patrolling the east and south perimeters.”

“Where’s Sam?” Michael asked, reaching for his gun.

“I set him up in the den,” Josh said.

Michael looked at Brian. “You keep an eye on Sam. I’ll take care of Cole.”

“Let me come with you,” Josh insisted. “I know Cole. If he is the mole, then I stand a better chance of getting him to talk.”

“Fine.” Michael walked ahead of Josh down the corridor, poking his head into every room. When he entered the security room, he found Cole seated at the desk in front of the monitors. “What are you doing here?”

Cole jumped out of his chair and spun around. “Sorry. On edge like everyone else.”

“I’m not on edge,” Michael said flatly. “And that doesn’t answer the question.”

“I just came to see if there’s been any movement outside,” Cole snapped. “And I don’t report to you.”

“You do report to me,” Josh said when he shuffled into the room on his crutches. “Why were you at the north gate?”

“I, um…” Cole raised his gun. “Look, Josh, man, I respect you. I respect Mr. Coburg but…” His eyes were moist. “They took my nephew. If I don’t help, they’ll k-kill him.”

Michael turned his body slightly to conceal the Glock in his hand. “Put the gun down, Cole. Nothing will happen to your nephew. I give you my word.”

“I can’t do that,” Cole said defiantly. “If I don’t retract the security shutters by ten thirty, they say they’ll shoot my nephew.”

Michael checked the time. Twelve minutes past ten. “Do you want your nephew to live?”

“Yes!” Cole barked. “He’s my sister’s only kid. He’s all she has left.”

“Then put down the gun and trust me,” Michael ordered. “Because if you do what they say, we all die.” As the stare-down continued, Michael pivoted again so Cole could see his gun. “Don’t test me, Cole. I won’t hesitate to shoot you.”

Cole rolled his pursed lips, shifted his gaze between Michael and Josh, then slowly spun his weapon around and held it out.

“Keep it.” Michael took his finger off the trigger. “Trust is a two-way street.”

Cole holstered his gun. “Promise me … nothing’s going to happen to my nephew.”

“I promise,” Michael said. A half-truth? An outright lie? “We’ll get the bastards responsible.”

Josh tapped Michael’s arm, then pointed at his watch. “We’re running out of time.”

“Then let’s see if we’re ready to make our next move.” Michael, heading towards the door, added, “Cole, stay here and monitor the grounds. If those men move even an inch, I want to hear about it.”

Cole nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“What can I do?” Josh asked.

At the doorway, Michael spun around and levelled his gaze at Josh. “Pray for a miracle…”

Filed Under: Short Stories Tagged With: fiction, gay fiction, short story, thriller

The Squeeze

October 13, 2021 by Marcus 3 Comments

the squeeze

This is a continuation of ‘Sold Out‘

“I need to make a call.” Michael looked at Sam. “Do you mind if I use your bedroom?”

“Go ahead,” Sam said with an edge.

Michael opened his mouth to respond, but the words clung to the back of his throat. Now wasn’t the time to alienate the one person who might be able to expose Adam Clarke. And he had to remember his mission: Keep Brian safe. He strode to the bedroom, closed the door and dialled.

“What’s going on?” was Brian’s panicked greeting on the other end.

“We ran into an issue.” Michael paced the area in front of the foot of the bed. “James was taken into custody about an hour ago.”

“How did that happen?” Brian asked.

“Marceau sold us out.”

“Where are you now?”

Michael drew in a breath. “At a friend’s place. James recorded our conversation with Marceau, so I brought it to Sam. He’s a journalist and has agreed to write the story. If we can expose Clarke’s alliance with Angelique Romero —”

“I don’t remember any of your friends being named Sam,” Brian interrupted.

“Brian…” Michael censored himself. Stay calm. “Right now, this is our best lead. We need to put pressure on Clarke, make him trip up. I’ll check in later.”

“Michael —”

“Gotta go.” Michael ended the call and returned to the living room. He studied Sam, still seated on the sofa, making furious notes on his laptop while a ringing sound blared from his phone on the coffee table.

“André Marceau —”

“Oh, Minister Marceau, thank you for taking my call. This is Sam Carter from the Ottawa Post.”

“How did you get this number?” Marceau spat.

“We’ll be running a story in tomorrow’s paper about high-level government officials working with the Romero Cartel.” Sam was all business as he spoke, a hint of contempt seeping through. “Specifically, we’ll be focusing on Adam Clarke’s and your involvement in —”

“I’m afraid, Sam, that you’ve gotten your facts wrong,” Marceau broke in. “I’m not involved with Adam Clarke, other than on a professional level. And I don’t know anything about the Romero Cartel. So, I’d be careful what your write because a defamation lawsuit could destroy your career.”

Sam pressed a button on the recording device he held in his hand:

First Voice:
The best thing you can do for yourself, André, is to tell me now everything you know.

Second Voice:
Clarke promised to keep me out of it. Said no one would ever be able to trace it back to me.

First Voice:
What are you talking about?

Second Voice:
It’s about more than Excelsior. Angelique Romero wants payback after the Canadian ambassador to Italy tipped off the Guardia di Finanza about the cartel’s opiate shipments. Clarke pressured me to run interference. Made it so I couldn’t refuse…

Sam stopped the recording. “I have it on good authority that the first voice belongs to James Coburg. The second voice is yours, Minister. Correct? Any comment?” No response. “Minister?”

“He’s gone.” Michael trained his gaze on Sam. “You can’t stay here. You’ve got five minutes to get what you need, then we’re out of here.”

Sam shot off the sofa. “What the hell have you gotten me involved in?”

“Pack a bag!” Michael ordered. “We don’t have time —”

“Stop it, Michael.” Sam raised a hand. “Don’t treat me like I was just a one-time shag. I know we mattered more than that to each other. You need to tell me what this is really all about.”

Michael sighed. “I will. Once I get you somewhere safe.” Then he repeated firmly, “Five minutes.” After Sam disappeared, he made a phone call, which lasted less than a minute. Shot off a short text message. Kept checking the time. When the five minutes were up, he marched down the hall and into Sam’s bedroom. “Are you ready —” Walking in on Sam stepping out of his sweatpants, his gaze latched onto the white briefs hugging Sam’s butt. He spun around and said, “We need to move.”

“Goddammit, Michael, give me a minute,” Sam snapped. “I’m not Jason Bourne. I don’t carry my whole life around in a tiny backpack.”

“Just hurry up.” Michael retraced his steps back to the foyer. Two minutes later, Sam appeared. Threw him a this-is-serious look, then they left the condo. “Stay close to me,” he instructed as they made their way to the lobby. “And do as I say. No questions asked. Got it?” When there was no response, he placed his hand to Sam’s chest and shoved him against the wall. Their mouths less than an inch apart, he spoke brutishly. “This isn’t a game, Sam. The people who are after me are now after you. If I’m going to keep you safe, you need to do what I say.”

“I didn’t sign up for this.” Sam shoved Michael away. “You’re the one who put me in harm’s way. Remember?”

Michael had to censor himself again. No time to argue. Or apologize. He grabbed Sam by the arm and escorted him to the building’s entrance. Looked up and down the street, then at Sam. “Remember. Stay close to me and do as I say.” He threw open the door and, his hand still on Sam’s arm, moved towards the blue Nissan Pathfinder parked about twenty feet away and that had flashed its headlights.

“Why don’t we just take my car?” Sam asked.

“Because by now, every law enforcement agency will be looking for it.” Michael opened the rear door and, while Sam got in, surveyed the street. Then he climbed in, and, seconds later, they were on the move.

Sam tapped Michael’s leg. “Where are we going?”

“I told you. Somewhere safe.” Michael, typing a message on his phone, didn’t look up. “It’s a bit of a ride. Maybe you should start writing that article.” He pressed ‘Send,’ then stole a sidelong glance of Sam, who was retrieving his laptop.

Then a silence settled in, only disturbed by the sound of Sam’s fingers tapping the keyboard. And for Michael, it was a short reprieve from the chaos swirling about him. He rested his head against the window and closed his eyes. He didn’t expect to sleep as his mind was in overdrive. But when he opened his eyes again, they were just passing through the iron gates of James Coburg’s Admaston-area property. He covered his mouth as he yawned just as the vehicle came to a stop. Got out and, making his way around to the other side, saw the front door open. Waited for Sam to shove his laptop back into his backpack, then headed towards the house. He nodded at Josh, who stood just inside the doorway on crutches. Inside, Brian was also in the foyer and introductions were made.

“We should talk about how to get James back,” Josh said to Michael.

“We will.” Michael pointed at Sam. “Can you show him to a place where he can work? Then I’ll come find you.”

“This way,” Josh said and led Sam down the dimly lit corridor

“I get it now.” Brian, alone with Michael in the foyer, glared at him. “What you meant about things having changed.”

“Brian —”

Brian raised a hand. “I get it. I was dead. You moved on with your life.”

“It was a brief fling that just happened. Literally two weeks before your resurrection.”

“Honestly, Michael…” Brian pursed his lips. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

Their conversation was cut short when Josh reappeared.

“I don’t like the look on your face,” Michael said to Josh.

Josh gave a languid shrug. “We’ve got a problem…”

Filed Under: Short Stories Tagged With: fiction, short story, thriller, writing

A Little Help from a Friend

July 28, 2021 by Marcus 3 Comments

A Little Help from a Friend

This is a continuation of ‘Time to Change the Rules‘

Michael, seated in the passenger seat of the silver Mercedes-Benz C300, stared blankly out the window into the darkness. Josh had agreed, or maybe he’d been ordered, to drive him back to the ‘cottage’ in Kemptville. Michael wanted to pick up his vehicle and didn’t want to wait until morning. He was already mentally working through different scenarios as to what he’d do next. And he didn’t want to rely on James or Josh, especially when he still didn’t know who to trust. Besides, the late-night trip was a chance to put distance between him and Brian. More importantly, it gave him time to think. Leaving Brian with James didn’t seem risky, or at least that was what Michael told himself. He discreetly glanced at the dashboard clock. They’d been on the road for almost forty minutes and had barely said a word to each other.

Josh broke the silence first. “I spent fifteen years in the armed forces. During my last two years, I served with the Special Operations Forces Command. Like you, my job was to protect this country.”

“What’s your point?” Michael asked, his gaze held to the blackness of the night. [Read more…] about A Little Help from a Friend

Filed Under: Short Stories Tagged With: creative writing, fiction, short story, thriller

Is It Too Late for Us?

April 21, 2021 by Marcus 1 Comment

A continuation of “Past Present Future”

The Gulfstream G200 banked to the right, and Michael stared out the window at the floor of white fluffy clouds below. He couldn’t see the ocean, and that was a good thing. The seat belt sign had gone off two hours ago, but the black strap was still secured tightly at his waist. And he’d wait until his bladder was set to burst before even thinking about getting up. At least he’d managed to keep his coffee down as the plane pitched and rolled during the climb to their cruising altitude. Turbulence wasn’t just like ‘riding down a bumpy dirt road,’ like his grandmother had told him. Not when there was thirty-seven thousand feet between him and the surface of the Atlantic Ocean.

Michael flinched when the hand pressed down on his shoulder. He looked up to see those owlish grey-green eyes fixed on him. Despite what he wanted to believe, they still had a certain power over him. [Read more…] about Is It Too Late for Us?

Filed Under: Writing Life Tagged With: fiction, gay fiction, gay romance, short story, thriller

Past Present Future

April 6, 2021 by Marcus 2 Comments

past present future

“Don’t give your uncle any trouble,” his father had said and, in an unusual display of affection, hugged him. “I’m doing this for you … because I love you.”

That was what Michael Reid remembered about the day his father dropped him off at the airport. The first time in his life his father had said, “I love you.” Most kids probably would have thought that their dad was trying to get rid of them. He knew his father was protecting him, helping him escape a home that was burning down around him. His mother’s mania was the worst it had been in years. He had the scar on his arm where she’d burned a cigarette that proved it and that had been, for his father, the final straw.

So, he was sent to live with his Uncle Clive in London. Wasn’t his blood uncle, because neither of his parents had siblings. But Clive Darling, who also served in the Persian Gulf where they’d met, was the closest thing his father had to a brother.

And Michael adapted quickly to life in the area known as St. John’s Wood. But, at fifteen, his biggest challenge was crossing the road safely. The signs painted on the street, to ‘Look Right’ or ‘Look Left’ had saved his life. Repeatedly. His school mates teased him about his accent, but he didn’t mind. Anything was better than locking himself in his room to escape his parents’ Olympic shouting matches. And while he was only supposed to be gone a year — to not have to watch his mother being involuntarily committed for psychiatric treatment — he stayed long enough to complete his sixth form studies at Harris Academy. Did so well in school that his Uncle Clive convinced his father that he should remain to attend university, too. But the summer before he was set to begin at King’s College London, his mother committed suicide. He returned to Halifax for her funeral and, to his surprise, stayed. [Read more…] about Past Present Future

Filed Under: Writing Life Tagged With: am writing, fiction, gay fiction, gay romance, short story

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