The Asset  (Chapter 3)

Hello everyone! This is Sonny J and I want to thank all of the people who took the time to read the first two chapters of my book, The Asset; starring Mason Steele. I want you to check out this third chapter, as I finalize arrangements to have the book published!

 

I’m hoping to have the fiction novel available by the end of the year! Stay tuned, and also follow me on Instagram at: freesonnyj428

……….

“Pat, old friend. What the hell’s going on down there in Miami?” asked Conrad, talking on speaker phone while he attempted to putt the golf ball in his 18th floor office.

“We had a minor hiccup in the case. Nothing to worry about.” Cooke insisted.

“You sure about that? I just got off the phone with the DOJ. Had a wonderful time explaining why I needed that story taken off the news.”

“They’re already showing it on the news?”

“World news,” Conrad replied, as he leaned the golf club up against his desk.

“Boy, they’re fast.”

“Where’s Mason?”

“Right here, Jack,” Mason announced.

The Cecil Conrad case had really taken its toll on the 71 year old, Conrad. His brown hair had long begun to grey. As bags under his eyes now maintained a puffiness to them.

On top of all that the 50-year law enforcement veteran had also decided to grow out his beard; a decision that clearly showed that, Jack Conrad was more than ready to retire.

“You know that lunatic on the Porsche you gunned down?” asked Conrad.

“Allegedly,” Mason remarked.

“Yeah… Anyhow. We got an ID back on him. His name’s Mateo Sarcoza. Younger brother of Miguel Sarcoza.”

“I thought we already knew that,” stated Mason, now standing next to Cooke.

“We do. Which also means, Miguel knows as well.”

“So we bring him in.” Cooke suggested.

“Yeah. That’ll just be a waste of time.” Conrad replied. “What we need to do now is make sure Mason’s safe.”

“Why? You think Miguel wants to try and come after me?”

“I know he wants to come after you. He already put a million-dollar bounty on your head. Only thing is: He doesn’t know exactly who you are.”

“Shouldn’t that be enough to go and arrest this creep?” asked Cooke.

“Can’t prove it.”

“How in the hell did you find out?”

“I find out everything, Pat. You know that.”

“Right.” Agent Cooke gasped.

“Mason, I’ll call you in a few with your new alias. In the meantime you might want to stay in the shadows,” Conrad suggested, right before he ended the call.

Field Agent, Patrick Cooke waited for a reaction, or a response from Mason. Only instead, got silence followed by a puzzled expression.

“You’re worth a lot of money, Pal.” Cooke joked, hoping to ease the tension.

Mason, who still wore a poker face, seemed to be in deep thought.

“Now’s not the time Pat,” he calmly replied, as he grabbed the .45 semi from the side of his hip and checked the clip.

“Now you heard what Jack said. So don’t go piling up bodies all over the place.”

Mason slapped the clip back inside the gun and loaded a bullet in the chamber. “I gotta go to a CI’s house who turned me on to, Mateo.”

“The dancer?”

“Yeah, the dancer. Should take me about 20 minutes.”

Mason Steele tucked the massive, black handgun back in his waist, then grabbed his keys off of the table, then said, “If the older brother gets to her first, she’s dead.” He walked out of the office and headed towards a black, armored Range Rover.

“Need some extra muscle? Another gun?” Cooke asked, standing in front of the office.

Mason Steele hopped in the driver’s side of the SUV, and before he shut the door told Cooke, “It’s probably best that I show up alone. Just in case I run into a little trouble.”

The cool, calm and collected agent closed the door and push started the engine.

“Remember what I said, Mason. Keep the murders to a minimum!” Cooke shouted out.

The ruthless crime fighter rolled down his window and gave Agent Patrick Cooke a half grin, “Minimum is my middle name.”

“Thought it was, Ray Azimut?” joked Cooke, in a witty attempt to calm the agent’s temper.

The two shared a brief laugh, right before Mason rolled up his window and disappeared out of the Black Site.

Halfway down the dark highway, Mason’s cellphone began to ring. It was Field Director, Jack Conrad calling all the way from his Utah office.

Mason Steele touched the screen and the two were instantly connected. “Jack! Give me some good news.”

“I got something even better. Your new alias. Which is, Lee Ferron. Should already be on your ID app.” Conrad explained, standing in front of a large glass window behind his desk, while the p.m. sun lit up the city 18 floors down.

“Lee Ferron?” Mason repeated, shaking his head in disappointment. “What the f**k, Jack?”

“You don’t like it, you can always go back to being, Ray Azimut.”

Mason shook his head again, then said, “Still hanging on to that good ol’ sense of humor, I see.”

“About the only thing I got left.”

“I’m on my way to a CI’s house. Names, Kyle Jennings. She’s the one who turned me on to Mateo.”

“You think she’s in trouble?”

“I know she’s in trouble.”

“Speaking of, Sarcoza. Get this!…I was told he was spotted having dinner last month with a scientist named, Norman Wong. Ever heard of him?”

“No. Can’t say I have.”

“Well, some suits from the Southern District have had him on their radar for a while now. Heard he was trying to create some sort of new, Nemar Virus. But when they searched his lab and all his database files, they came up empty. Then, about a month ago they caught him on surveillance down in South Beach with ol’ Miguel.”

“Really?”

“Sarcoza wasn’t on our radar at the time, so they didn’t tail him. But then, we found out who he was, and thought he might be linked to all those overdose deaths,” added Conrad.

“And that’s when I fell into the equation?”

“Exactly!”

Suddenly confused and curious, Mason tried to piece everything together. “Why is a scientist having dinner with a known kingpin? he asked, in deep thought.

“That’s the million dollar question, my friend. We were hoping maybe you could help us answer it.”

“Right.”

With his left hand in his pocked Jack Conrad held the thin cellphone up to his right ear, as he continued to gaze down on Salt Lake City.

“Your buddy, Cecil Camara beat up two prison guards the other day. One of them walked away with a broken nose.” Conrad carefully emphasized.

The mere mention of Cecil’s name sent chills down Mason’s spine. It had been a while since the case ended and Mason Steele and Mason Steele had been trying his hardest to block it all out of his mind.

“Cecil’s where he needs to be,” the undercover agent coldly replied.

“I know. Hell you put him there.”

Jack Conrad took his focus from the window and blankly stared at the floor. “Hey, Mason,” he said, in a low tone.

“Yeah.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

……

 

*Sonny J is a lettersfromchristopher.com contributing writer. Please share this post!