Beholder's guilt

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Summary

The Branch is a paramilitary organization that offers high-grade protection for wealthy customers. Charles Blackburn is the best team Commander the Branch has to offer, and so it falls to him and his men to protect an eccentric, old man on his journey to a mysterious island in the Mediterranean sea. The island isn't on any maps, and in its heart are ancient buildings that hold something more powerful than priceless, old relics.

Status
Complete
Chapters
8
Rating
4.3 3 reviews
Age Rating
18+

Chapter 1

Charles saw the familiar old man on the airstrip and moved his hand just in time to stop Salazar from taking out his knife.

“Now is not the time, Sal,” Charles said in a whisper and pushed Salazar’s hand down until the knife was secure.

“To hell with that,” Salazar broke free of the grasp and continued headlong forward. “I’ll take the old man, you get the guy next to him. We can stash their pieces in one of the hangers. Three minutes work.” Salazar licked his lips and reached for the knife again, the scars on his cheeks trembling slightly from his excitement.

The old man, whose name was Naramore, noticed the movement but remained in a relaxed position, leaning on his cane. Charles reached over Salazar’s chest and grabbed the insignia on his uniform.

“Not here, Sal. He’s obviously the client, and there are people around. We have a plan!” Charles’ voice rose at the end, which made Salazar blink once like he’d just woken up.

“You’re right, Commander,” Salazar said, tone and inflection flat. “I’m sorry I lost my cool.” Both of his hands went limp by his side.

Charles nodded to the display of obedience and released his second-in-command. Both men tidied their dark uniforms and walked towards the unwavering old man.

“Now, let’s see what this walking dead man wants to say,” Charles said as they resumed walking with a steady gait.

Naramore continued watching them, and when they got close, his right cheek rose in a smug half-smile. Wrinkles like waves formed on his skin and extended all the way to his angular jaw. His brows were downcast because of the bright sunny day, but the razor-sharp blue color of his eyes almost seemed to make the day colder around him. A man a few inches shorter than the 5 ft 11’ of Naramore stood behind him. Blond hair reflected the sun, and a very stylish gray suit fit the man perfectly. His face was round and acutely regular. However, the eyes gave him away. They were bright green and inquisitive. He seemed to have noticed the attempted knife draw, and now he, not so discreetly, looked from knife to hands to faces.

Salazar got less than three feet away from Naramore and yanked him up by his collar. The blond man said and did nothing.

“Do you want to die so badly, you piece of shit?” Salazar said, his face threatening to merge with Naramore’s.

“I wasn’t planning on it, Lieutenant,” Naramore said in a creaky, unpleasant voice, leaned his head forward, and gave Salazar a full smile.

“It’s Captain now, lots changed in ten years,” Salazar’s fists shook Naramore’s shirt as he struggled to contain himself.

“Congratulations on the promotion then,” Naramore said with a downward inflection as if congratulating a child on a job well done. “Although, now it must be rather awkward with Charles being a Captain as well. How do your men distinguish when addressing you?” The sleazy smile on Naramore’s face grew wider, the disturbance creating wrinkle waves again.

“Very funny,” Charles said with a fake smile, then his face became still. “Are you the client?”

“He is indeed,” the green-eyed, blond man responded and thrust out a hand towards Charles. “Collin Moor, I’m Mr. Naramore’s aid. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Captain Blackburn.”

“In the Branch, I’m just Commander Blackburn. It’s all there in the files,” Charles said in a disinterested tone, glanced at the hand, shook it, and then returned his death stare to Naramore. “Let ’em go, Sal.” He ordered, but Salazar did not comply.

Naramore looked from Charles to Salazar, and in a single fluid motion, raised his cane between the arms holding him. Grabbing the cane from both sides, Naramore now had control of Salazar’s left wrist.

“Please comply, Captain,” he said in a low and menacing tone, close to a hiss. “Or I’ll be forced to make you, and I really hate damaging my retainers.”

Salazar felt the strong grip of the older man and judged that a broken wrist was a fair trade if he got a hit in. Charles pushed past the aid and grabbed Salazar by the shoulder. The tension left his body, and he let go then took a step back.

“Good boy,” Naramore said condescendingly, but Salazar showed no reaction.

Straightening his clothes, Naramore grunted with content and looked up at Charles.

“Now then, let’s get to business.”