Stagehand: S1 Episode 8
Carl Timmons was given 24 hours to decide what he wanted to do. This was a tactic. Twenty four hours to sit alone and think about all the money he could want and the price he’d pay for it. And 24 hours to also contemplate what Andre Savin might do to him before he made him disappear. Carl Timmons was an ordinary citizen. No graduate degree prepared him for this moment. Right now he was probably thinking that he’d just agree to Savin’s terms and then go to the FBI. But Savin was connected. Men like him have eyes everywhere. They’d find a way to kill him anyways.
Carl Timmons paced around his quarters on Savin’s estate. But at this point, there was only one choice. He’d sell his soul, his loyalty. He’d live the rest of his life under the thumb of Savin—or die.
– – –
Meanwhile, back on US soil, we’d sent everything we had on Lincoln Palmer’s kidnapping scheme to Laureen Hansen. In the three years she’d spent as CEO of Illuminating Solutions, she’d been collecting proof that Palmer was misappropriating funds. I didn’t know what she
had in store for him, but I left Lincoln Palmer to Laureen. The son of a bitch would get what was coming to him.
– – –
As I crept my way across the estate, I saw him.
Frenchy found a back entrance to the estate that was in a blind spot on the security cameras. Keith and I used it to get onto the property. We could see Frenchy standing with another armed guard in front of Carl’s guesthouse. But before we could get Carl, we needed to eradicate everyone watching. Keith and I took what cover we could in the shadows as we made our way to the security building attached to the side of the main house.
According to Frenchy’s account, there were two guards on the security cams, twenty-four seven. One of them must have been looking directly at Keith as he approached the door and knocked. The door opened. They didn’t see me and my sniper rifle in the bushes five hundred yards away. I hit the guard once in the head and once in the chest; Keith blew by him before he even hit the ground. Then I heard the faint sound of a silencer from within the security building. I left Keith to deal with the security cam footage.
As I crept my way across the estate, I saw him. Andre Savin was swimming laps in his pool in the middle of the night. One of his habits, no doubt. Standing at the end of the pool was his bodyguard, surveilling the area mindlessly as Savin did the breaststroke below. The only way for me to get to the guest house where Carl was being held would be through the pool area or via the main house.
Pool it is.
As Savin swam away from the edge of the pool where the guard was standing, I moved fast and silently towards them from behind. I shot twice into the guard’s back. Savin’s stroke didn’t stutter as he made his turn at the other side. He didn’t see me until he was half-way through his next lap. For a beat, he stopped—paddling the pool like a little kid as he realized that I’m not his guard. He said nothing. We both knew how this movie ends. I pull the trigger before he can say a word.
Andre Savin will be missed by no one.
– – –
It wasn’t war but the adrenaline still hit the same.
Frenchy stood at the front of the guesthouse with another guard. There was one inside too, in case Carl Timmons tried to get any ideas. The guard said something to Frenchie in Russian, and Frenchie responded. The guard laughed. Frenchie’s got a dirty joke in every language—but before he could land another punchline, I dropped the guard from a distance. Frenchie took the cue and swiftly walked to the backside of the building, where two other members of Savin’s security detail were standing. I headed towards the entrance.
I busted in through the front door. The guard inside must have been watching because when I entered, I got a barrage of gunfire. My training took over, like it always does. I took cover and in the split second he faltered, I turned my gun on Savin’s guard—taking him out with a swift shot to the head.
I looked around the room. Hiding beneath a coffee table in the corner was Carl Timmons.
“Mr. Timmons, we’ve come to take you home.”
Frenchy arrived in the threshold, followed by Keith. “Security footage has been wiped. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
It wasn’t until we were running Carl Timmons off the estate that I realized I’d been shot in the leg. It wasn’t war but the adrenaline still hit the same.
– – –
He’d spend his life in hiding, where the only thing he’d have access to was himself and his money.
Over the next two months, the global billionaire circuit was rocked by two seemingly unconnected but equally strange occurrences within their elite community.
First there were the reports from Moscow of the murder of Russian tech mogul Andre Savin. He, along with six of his guards, had been killed at his home. According to the news, the famed tycoon was the target of a professional hit. Investigators on the case had no leads, as all security footage had been wiped by the assassins. Savin had collected a lot of enemies over his decades in business and the motives appeared to be revenge for one of his shady dealings.
Then there was the gossip surrounding the unceremonious and mysterious departure of Lincoln Palmer from the business world. Over the course of the past month, Palmer had liquidated his assets, sold his shares in various companies around the globe, and disappeared from all social circles. Not even his wife and kids knew where he was…but we did. Upon learning of the evidence Laureen had on him, he fled to the Emirates where he’d live a life worse than death. A life outside of business deals and power grabs. He’d spend his life in hiding, where the only thing he’d have access to was himself and his money.
– – –
I returned to Stagehand with the team. It’d been quite the week.
We cracked open some much-deserved beers and celebrated a mission nobody else would ever know about. Nothing had changed, but everything was different. Somewhere in between my third and seventh beer of the night, I received a call from Laureen Hansen. Since bringing Carl Timmons home, we’d become the official security go-to for Illuminating Solutions and their myriad clientele.
“Sully, I’ve got someone at the DOJ who might be in need of your services.”
I still haven’t figured out what my services are exactly, but I know they’re needed. As long as there are bad guys, there have to be people to take them out. I don’t know if I’m the good guy anymore…but I sure as hell will always be the good guy’s fixer. I walk away from the group, beer in hand.
“Talk to me, ma’am.”
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