effectively foiled plots, apprehended suspects, and saved lives. Even his final mission in the Protective Services division was completed successfully. Despite taking a bullet in the leg from the assailant, Evan had still managed to save the ambassador to the United States from an assassination attempt in Azerbaijan near the Iranian border. His injury was unfortunate, but was also a calculated and necessary risk in the situation.
Today, as he and Raymond tailed Nia’s taxi into downtown Boston on Friday evening, he didn’t feel sharp or detached. His thigh muscle throbbed from the intense workout he’d gone through that afternoon. Evan rubbed at the tight scar tissue, trying to relieve the ache. Eight months after the shooting, he only had lingering pain when he pushed his body beyond normal endurance. It was an acceptable amount of discomfort considering the original prognosis had been permanent disability. The bullet hit him from close proximity and punctured a main artery, tore up his quadriceps, and chipped the femur bone. In the chaos after the shooting, the priority had been to get the ambassador safely out of the vicinity without causing an international incident. It was several hours before Evan could seek proper medical attention, resulting in massive blood loss followed by a deep infection.
Five months and two surgeries later, there had been minimal improvement to the mobility in his leg. Evan was unwilling to accept that he would be forever crippled. He politely retired from the CIA and returned home to move on with his life, determined to at least walk without a limp again. The first thing he did was start private sessions of physical therapy, the second was to reach out to his good friend, Lucas Johnson.
The two men had met in Washington, D.C., early in their government careers. They worked together on a lengthy bank fraud case with ties to Eastern European organized crime, and quickly became close friends. Over the years, while Evan was home in Virginia between assignments, they often talked about starting a private agency together, providing elite asset recovery, corporate security, and personal protection services beyond what local police could offer.
Four years ago, when Lucas wanted to launch the company, Evan wasn’t quite ready to leave the CIA. Instead, Evan offered to be an investor and silent partner. With the strength of the DaCosta name in the military security and defense industry, they would have quick access and credibility to a very niche client list.
Fortis was born. Evan provided seed money from his trust fund, Lucas managed the operations, only needing to consult with Evan on major decisions. One of which was the opportunity to extend their partnership to include Samuel Mackenzie, a former British MI5 agent whom Lucas had worked with in the Secret Service. After meeting the burly Scot, Evan was fully supportive. It was a smart investment. The agency quickly grew into a successful organization with few competitors in North America.
Evan’s attention returned to the present as the cab they were following stopped at the curb a half a block ahead. He parked the nondescript black SUV he was driving a short distance back. He and Raymond watched Nia exit her cab and walk into a small bar. Raymond then quickly installed a small earpiece and prepared to follow her in.
As planned, Tony was in New York for a couple of days, looking into the lead that had surfaced yesterday. There was an Interpol informant, known only as Spencer, who ran a well-respected art and antiquities dealership in Manhattan. The word in Tony’s network was that Spencer was the man to talk to about high-end stolen goods in any major city on the East Coast.
Before he left, Tony had managed to get into the dead security guard’s apartment while his girlfriend was out. Unfortunately, Flannigan had been too smart to leave anything incriminating or relevant there.
Now, with Tony out of town, the team was a man down and had
Today, as he and Raymond tailed Nia’s taxi into downtown Boston on Friday evening, he didn’t feel sharp or detached. His thigh muscle throbbed from the intense workout he’d gone through that afternoon. Evan rubbed at the tight scar tissue, trying to relieve the ache. Eight months after the shooting, he only had lingering pain when he pushed his body beyond normal endurance. It was an acceptable amount of discomfort considering the original prognosis had been permanent disability. The bullet hit him from close proximity and punctured a main artery, tore up his quadriceps, and chipped the femur bone. In the chaos after the shooting, the priority had been to get the ambassador safely out of the vicinity without causing an international incident. It was several hours before Evan could seek proper medical attention, resulting in massive blood loss followed by a deep infection.
Five months and two surgeries later, there had been minimal improvement to the mobility in his leg. Evan was unwilling to accept that he would be forever crippled. He politely retired from the CIA and returned home to move on with his life, determined to at least walk without a limp again. The first thing he did was start private sessions of physical therapy, the second was to reach out to his good friend, Lucas Johnson.
The two men had met in Washington, D.C., early in their government careers. They worked together on a lengthy bank fraud case with ties to Eastern European organized crime, and quickly became close friends. Over the years, while Evan was home in Virginia between assignments, they often talked about starting a private agency together, providing elite asset recovery, corporate security, and personal protection services beyond what local police could offer.
Four years ago, when Lucas wanted to launch the company, Evan wasn’t quite ready to leave the CIA. Instead, Evan offered to be an investor and silent partner. With the strength of the DaCosta name in the military security and defense industry, they would have quick access and credibility to a very niche client list.
Fortis was born. Evan provided seed money from his trust fund, Lucas managed the operations, only needing to consult with Evan on major decisions. One of which was the opportunity to extend their partnership to include Samuel Mackenzie, a former British MI5 agent whom Lucas had worked with in the Secret Service. After meeting the burly Scot, Evan was fully supportive. It was a smart investment. The agency quickly grew into a successful organization with few competitors in North America.
Evan’s attention returned to the present as the cab they were following stopped at the curb a half a block ahead. He parked the nondescript black SUV he was driving a short distance back. He and Raymond watched Nia exit her cab and walk into a small bar. Raymond then quickly installed a small earpiece and prepared to follow her in.
As planned, Tony was in New York for a couple of days, looking into the lead that had surfaced yesterday. There was an Interpol informant, known only as Spencer, who ran a well-respected art and antiquities dealership in Manhattan. The word in Tony’s network was that Spencer was the man to talk to about high-end stolen goods in any major city on the East Coast.
Before he left, Tony had managed to get into the dead security guard’s apartment while his girlfriend was out. Unfortunately, Flannigan had been too smart to leave anything incriminating or relevant there.
Now, with Tony out of town, the team was a man down and had
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