Maximus (Guardian Security Shadow World #15)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

D emos stood up, cheering for his grandson. The kid would be a major league pitcher one day if his dad, Demos’ son Allen, didn’t push him too hard. He’d temper his son’s enthusiasm. Hard to do when Allen was one of the best outfielders New York had ever produced.

When his phone vibrated in his pocket, he answered it without looking. “That’s what I’m talking about!” he cheered as his grandson threw strike out number three. “Hello?”

Demos’ attention snapped from the game to the gravelly voice on the phone. “Hold on, let me get some distance from the stands.” He looked at his wife. She narrowed her eyes and then nodded. She knew who was on the phone. Thank God she was the most patient person on the planet. Working for Guardian, he’d put her through the wringer, but she’d never complained. Not once in all the years he’d worked for Gabriel had she mentioned the birthdays or holidays he’d missed when he was recruiting for the organization.

He walked a good distance away from the stands and leaned against a big cottonwood tree. “What’s up?” There was no need for pleasantries. Although he respected Jason as much as he respected Gabriel, they weren’t close in the way he was close with the man who’d changed his world.

“Do you have contact with Maximus?” Jason King asked.

“I always do. Why? Isn’t he answering you?” Demos glanced at the field when he heard an explosion of cheering. Damn, sounded like he missed one hell of a hit.

“No.” Jason sighed. “I’m assuming he’s working.”

“He does get consumed in whatever career he’s chosen at the moment. Do you have a mission for him?”

“Abrasha Molchalin.”

“How?”

“That’s for Maximus to tell us. I’m releasing him to do this however he deems necessary.” Jason was silent for a moment. “We need him to assess the man, find his weakness, and exploit it to get to him. He’s a violet code if necessary.”

Demos looked up at the white clouds floating over the baseball park. It was too fucking nice out to think about the casualties a violet code authorized. “Damn. Violet. Okay, I’ll get ahold of him.”

“How’s the grandson’s pitching?” Jason asked.

“Better and better. He’s going to go places.” Demos didn’t even try to hide the pride in his voice. His family was everything to him.

“I’m happy for all of you. Thanks for taking the time to reach out to Maximus for us.”

“No problem. He’ll call you by nightfall.”

“That works. Archangel clear.” Demos glanced down at the phone. Damn, it was still strange to hear anyone but Gabriel use that term. But then again, he was old school. His assassins were the old guard. Lycos was recruiting the new ones, and he was doing a damn good job. He had a different way of looking for recruits. Technology was impressive, but Lycos still did the one-on-one. A computer couldn’t replace gut feelings or that sense that crawled up your spine when you knew someone wasn’t the fit. He’d walked out of hundreds of meetings without offering someone a chance with Guardian. A person just … knew … At least he and Lycos did, and that was all that mattered.

Maximus stared at the screen and then smiled. “Got you, motherfucker.” He hit a key on his keyboard and then watched as his code flew across the screen. He studied the Chinese language on the screen and watched as the hacker in China scrambled to save his systems. It was a futile effort. “And that’s what you get for trying to crack into one of my systems, sir.”

“Boy, don’t you answer your phones?” Demos’ voice behind him was expected. He knew the second his dad was on his property.

“Been kind of busy keeping this asshole out of the White House’s national security system.” Max continued to watch as the code he’d written destroyed the systems, twelve systems to be exact, that had mounted an attack. It was a common occurrence, but that one had gone further than any others. He’d decided it was time to teach the assholes a lesson.

“Doesn’t the White House have operators who could do that?” Demos came in and sat down beside him.

Max frowned. They did. But … “I was bored. Sue me.”

“You could have come to the game, and you missed a call from Archangel.”

“No, I didn’t. I saw it. Just figured my priority was taking care of our nuclear arsenal. Jewell and Con don’t have any issues at the moment. And you know I don’t like the way Allen pushes Brent. It makes me itchy.” Itchy and him didn’t agree. Itchy was a very bad thing. He’d learned to police that feeling.

“I had a talk about that with Allen before I came here. Don’t think he realized what he was doing. We’ll see if bringing it to his attention helps. Hope it does.”

“If not, let Mom take it on.”

Demos laughed. “Don’t tempt me.”

Max leaned back and turned toward his dad. “What did Archangel want?” He looked at his monitor of Guardian’s systems. He didn’t see any issues.

The smile slipped off his father’s face instantly. “They don’t want Max; they want Maximus. Your target is Abrasha Molchalin.”

Max cocked his head. Well, it was about time, and since he was bored to death, he could use the diversion. “Interesting. I make all the calls and assign any secondary duties. No one questions it. I’m not checking with anyone.”

Demos nodded. “Which is why this target is yours. The Council has violet-coded the bastard. They want you to find his weakness, exploit it, and take him down. You have Val, Smithson, Flack, or any of the class to assist you.”

“To assist me.” Max snickered at the thought. “In doing what?”

“In taking this man down. He travels with an army. You know that. The hit is yours, but you’ll need help.”

Max laughed. “I think I may be insulted.”

Demos snorted. “Deal with it. He’s slipped through Guardian’s hands too many times. This time, you’ll take him out, and the others will clear the path to him. You get there, read the situation, and then call in the reinforcements. No lone wolf here. You copy?”

“I copy. I don’t like it, but I understand the rationale.” Maximus turned back to his keyboard and took one last glance at the situation he’d shut down in China. Those operators would probably cease to exist. Most of the people who failed epically in governmental computer attacks disappeared. Was there a twinge of regret? Not even a glimmer.

“Give me a minute, Pops. Let me do some digging.” He typed for a few moments and read the output of his system. He had the most advanced system in the world, which was child’s play to maintain and update. His entire basement was nothing but one secure system, with redundancy and generator power, shielded by a mesh system he invented. Only Saint had a similar system—much smaller but similar.

“Take your time. I like watching you make the computer do somersaults and backflips.”

Max chuckled. “Then hold on. We’re going to stick the landing.”

His dad had found him when he was trying to survive. His aunt had been murdered in a random act of violence. No one had told him. He had to find out by using the computer his aunt had bought for him and searching the NYPD’s database when she didn’t come home. He’d grieved her loss for a week and then decided he’d take care of himself because no one had showed up to take him away. Only, at twelve, he’d failed to anticipate two variables. Those variables had led Demos to him, alone in the apartment his aunt rented. With no options for employment at his age, he’d obtained funds by breaking into the banking system and hitting the biggest account he could find. Gabriel Alexander had owned that account. Someone with that much money wouldn’t miss a couple thousand dollars—or so he’d thought. He’d used the money to pay rent for the next six months via direct deposit. Mistake number one. The second mistake had been depositing money in his aunt’s account because she’d kept a spare debit card in her top dresser drawer. Demos had arrived at his door twenty-four hours later. The man had sat him down and talked to him like an adult, which he’d respected. With his intellect, most people either assumed he was weird or developmentally challenged.

He wasn’t. Usually, he was bored with a conversation within seconds, and he tuned out whoever was in front of him to work on interesting problems in his mind. After he’d admitted to Demos what he’d done, the man had offered to take care of him. To provide him with the education and resources to develop his gifts. Since that day, he’d been raised with Demos’ family. He had younger brothers and sisters who loved him and accepted him. Demos had ensured he’d had challenges, but he’d never pushed. He’d guided his development, and his sense of right and wrong, good and evil, had been shaped through his interactions with Demos and Guardian. The agency had fully employed him as their security system engineer when he was fifteen. He’d developed all their systems and taught Jewell by using an untraceable online persona when she’d first came aboard, guiding her and the agency when requested.

Demos waited quietly as he worked. The man never rushed him. He never pushed him but was there to encourage him and to listen, even though he didn’t understand a word Max said. Venting was what Demos called it, and more times than not, venting led him to a solution for his problem.

Max finished his assessment, turned, and looked at the only father he’d ever known. “His weakness is his love of art.”

Demos frowned. “Explain that for me, please.”

Maximus chuckled. “From what I can find, he employs a curator, which means he loves art and presumably has an extensive collection. The curator has held several private showings, which, by following logic, would mean the curator is showing portions of his collection. The way to Molchalin is through art.”

“How did Guardian not know this?”

“They probably haven’t been able to tap into the Russian government’s State central system or haven’t needed to do so. Once there, I was able to filter for any mention of Molchalin. Of course, there weren’t any. So, I started to look for influxes of money, non-State related. The Russian State museum had several large and recent donations from a curator, Elena Ivanova, to continue the restoration of old easel paintings. There were other donations from private citizens I also followed. However, Ivanova was the most interesting. She has a masters degree in art history from Saint Petersburg State University and is currently paid by a series of shell companies. All the other donations indicated are from banking institutions outside of Russia, which is normal for the rich of Russia. They don’t keep their money in Russia.”

“So, the curator is employed by Molchalin?” Demos leaned forward.

“Yes. Based on the information Jewell and Con have found and tagged in Guardian’s system, I could piece the shell companies together and trace it back to Molchalin.” Maximus looked back at the screen. “From the records I’ve uncovered, she’s been employed by his system of shell companies for the last four years.”

Demos whistled. “And she hasn’t been killed. That’s pretty amazing.”

He nodded in agreement. Most who worked with Molchalin didn’t last long. He watched with interest as the events involving Molchalin unfolded. Jewell and Con were good at what they did, but there was one he’d had his eye on—a genius with computers. Not exactly where Max was intuitively, but someone he thought was being underused and underappreciated. He’d bring that up when the mission was over.

“Do you have anything else?”

He blinked back to the conversation. He’d heard everything—he always did. However, his brain tended to work faster than most conversations. “The way in is through his art collection. He has a vested interest in the art and either respects the curator’s abilities, or she’s just as evil as he is. Either way, she’s the weak link.”

Demos nodded. “How will you exploit her to get in?”

Max shrugged. “I’ll become an art expert and make myself a cover persona.” It would be something he hadn’t studied before, and it should be entertaining to mess around with a persona again.

Demos smiled. “How long will that take you?”

Max narrowed his eyes and thought about the extent of knowledge needed. He’d need to know enough to have a discourse about any painting. The eras, the artists, the current market, and the nuances of an exhibit, plus he’d need to know all the major players in the art world. “I can be ready in a month. Less if needed, but I’d be comfortable with a month.”

Demos chuckled. “Have I ever told you your brain amazes me?”

“Continuously.” Maximus chuckled.

“Well, it’s true, but remember, while your brain is special, you are more important than anything your brain can do. You’re the person we love, and you’re the person who’s essential to our family.” As Demos stood up, he followed suit. He was taller than his father and had more muscle, but he didn’t doubt for a second Demos could put him on his ass if he weren’t careful. They worked out and sparred together, and Demos was a force to be reckoned with. His dad grabbed him and gave him a rib-crushing hug. “Mom wants you to come to dinner tonight. We’re celebrating Brent winning his game. A no-hitter.”

“I’ll be there. I probably need to call Archangel and fill him in on what I’ve found and what I plan to do.”

“Yep. That was the request.” His dad clasped him on the shoulder. He leveled a stare in his direction. “Do not under any circumstance put yourself in a position that would get me in trouble with your mom. If you go over to Russia and get yourself killed, you know what’ll happen to me.”

“Yeah, you’d be in the afterlife with me in two seconds.”

“That is the honest-to-God truth. I’m not afraid of many people, but your mom is one person we never cross.”

“Don’t I know it? I’ll be over for dinner.” Since he lived three houses down the block, getting there in time wouldn’t be a hardship.

“If you don’t show up, I’ll send Martha over.”

“Dad, for God’s sake, don’t even threaten that. Get out of here. I’ll be over.” He laughed and picked up his phone. His little sister was a pest of the largest order and thought he needed a girlfriend. The epic failures of Martha trying to fix him up were now well-told stories at family get-togethers. Mom had banned her from trying again.