Chapter 3
Jonathan leaned over his bathroom sink, staring at himself in the mirror. Most of the minor cuts had healed, but the inky purple bruising around his eye lingered. Gingerly pressing his fingertips into the swelling and probing, the tender tissue drew a sharp hiss as he winced. The injury resulted from smashing his face into the dashboard of the truck he and Sam used to escape.
Those Corpo goons damn near zeroed him on his last gig. The debriefing had only been a few hours ago, and sleep didn’t come easy. It never did after a mission, let alone one that changed his life so profoundly. He found himself too jumpy, amped up on adrenaline.
Noticing the black circles under his eyes heralding emblematic sleep loss, he sighed, pushing off the sink. Enough self-punishment for now. He had plenty of other ways to torture himself beyond reviewing the toll he paid physically. His shoulder shot piercing pain anytime he moved it too much, a reminder of the rifle injury. Bruised ribs still on the mend meant the fire in his side, breathing in hot coals with each breath. His body held itself together with sheer willpower alone.
Walking out of the bathroom, he glanced at the photos of himself in the hallway at various stages of his life and studied them. Highschool graduation, the military, several promotions, a photo of him graduating from the agency’s training program. Comparing himself then and now. Then a little leaner, a little less experienced, and full of himself. Now he’s a little older, a little wiser, and sorer than he had been.
In the living room, he had a few family photos up. His mother and himself. In the kitchen, he opened the freezer and grabbed a bag of frozen peas. Dropping himself down onto the couch in a heap with a groan. The telltale sign of aging. Trying to divert his mind by examining himself, and it failed. As distractions went, he probably could have done better.
Jon committed the mortal sin of making his work his life a long time ago, and he made peace with that fact. In his work and, by effect, his life, he excelled. Now, though, that work stole parts of his life from him. He felt small fissures forming in his confidence in what he did. Had the price been worth it?
Now that the price included his friend’s life, the answer is a resounding no. Jonathan settled the bag over his swollen eye and tried to will his body to relax. Tension from his mission lingered in his back in one massive knot. His side both ached and burned.
Settling in, an advertisement for medical treatment played. He rolled his eyes, irritated, scrolling the advertisement out of his face with a flick of his hand. He pursed his lip in thought. There were questions he needed answers to, and this necessitated a list of actions. The beginnings of a plan formed in his mind.
First, he needed a Netrunner to work on cracking the ICE in the data Sam gave him. The Agency had their own techs working it, but a private netrunner would crack it faster with no reporting rules to follow. Second, he wanted to forensically study the area the corpos ambushed them. It’s possible the corpo’s didn’t sanitize the site, and that might give him some clues. And third, he needed to figure out why Wilson lied to him about Masri. What is he hiding? And why aim him at Masri besides being a convenient fall man?
Double blinking to toggle the interface in his V-lenses on, then with a few gestures he scanned for flight tickets. He flicked the menu screens to the large blank spaces that replaced TVs and monitors for the wealthy. He leaned forward, studying the prices. He scrolled through the times, leaning back to chew on his lip in thought. The scab from the split, irritating him, drew his attention.
Reaching out, he selected his choice of flight. He could be on the plane and in-country within the next two days counting layovers. That would be acceptable for what he wanted. Raven would protest him visiting the attack location. This was necessary, though.
Seeing a news report pulled him from his leave mentality. He had a job to do. He pushed off the couch, putting the bag of peas back in the fridge. He drifted back to his bedroom.
He uncovered the data drive and held it up to inspect. No sign of damage or data degradation, but he wouldn’t know until a runner dove in and looked. That meant contracting one off the books. Discretion is paramount. He didn’t want to send it to Raven, since she worked too close to Wilson’s orbit. Not that he doubted her skill, more that he didn’t trust Wilson wouldn’t catch on.
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Getting a runner with the skills to crack the encryption on this drive will not be easy. There are a few Finders he trusted enough to dig up someone with the skill sets necessary to tackle this, though. He opened his contacts log and scrolled down to the name “Q-Ball” and dialed.
It rang twice, as Q’s icon appeared in an offset window. An image of a white pool ball with a Mexican cartel logo set behind it. A moment later, the line answered. Q-ball’s portrait popped up. A bald Hispanic man his age, with a wicked scar on the side of his face, smiled. A gold tooth glinted in the light.
“Jonathan. Business or pleasure?”
“Business Q. I need a Runner.”
“For what kind of work?”
“Data diving. Got something hot. Need someone to dive it. Discrete. A-game is necessary. Cost is no problem.”
Q ball leaned back, scratching his chin contemplatively. Q wore a nicely tailored suit with a blue button-up shirt and a fancy tie that grabbed the light. Jon even spotted one of those powered amps in the jacket’s color. It glowed a soft neon blue.
“No small request. Not even from you.”
“Can you fill it?”
“Perhaps. My Runners are all occupied at the moment,” Q said.
“Well, you better clear one of their schedules, then.”
Q ball’s expression hardened. “Listen Jonathan. Don’t think you can talk to me like that just because we used to troop together back in the day. The sitch is different now. I call the shots. Comprende?”
“Quintenillia, it’s Lacerno. Someone zeroed him in Iraq while working an assignment for me.”
Q ball regarded him for a moment before sighing and lowering his head. He crossed himself with a rosary for a moment, whispering an inaudible prayer. “I always knew that working for you would get that fool killed.”
“Can you help me or not?” Jon said, doing his best to keep irritation out of his voice. He preferred to keep his interactions short with Q. Their mutual past tension never made for smooth negotiations.
Q ball gestured for him to settle down. “Alright. For Sam. Not you. Don’t think you can just throw your weight around because you’re still with them .” A hint of disgust in his voice as he finished. Q fell out with the government when the states collapsed and the city states rose from the dust. That made Jon guilty by proxy.
“Fine. Who can you give me?”
Q leaned back and fold his arms, tapping his cheek thoughtfully. “You’ve done a lot of work with Polanco, yes?”
Jon nodded, trying to school his features neutral. Of the Finder’s Runners, Polanco is the best in Jon’s opinion. “He’ll do perfectly.”
“I’ll push the deets to him. He’ll be in touch. And Jon? You owe me for this.”
He sighed, “Fine. I’ll owe you.”
Q smiled, leaning back, “Good. Then it looks like we agree. Q-ball out.”