1
St. Petersburg, Florida
Nineteen year old Alan Pierce watched as the rec soccer team he helped coach won their final game. Although he was just an assistant, he did more coaching than the head coach. It was he who took the time to go practice with the individual players when they called, if he wasn't working. It was why he liked coaching high school rec soccer. These kids were those who didn't make the high school team and were training for the next year. One of the players, a girl about seventeen walked towards him, away from her teammates.
"Shouldn't you be celebrating with the others," Alan asked her as she stopped in front of him, her golden hair blowing to the side by the wind.
"And leave the person who did more to help us behind?"
"Jesse, I didn't do anything. You all took the initiative and it was you who helped yourselves more than me or the coach."
"You brought us together as a team."
"Jesse, I appreciate it. But go celebrate with your team. You have my number."
Alan walked away from the pitch and towards his '79 Camero. He might have coached the team, but he wasn't one for celebrations. He could hear some of the players yelling his name, but he ignored them and slid into his car and drove off. If they really wanted him to join them, they would pester him on his phone. 'If only…'
His thought was interrupted by his phone vibrating under his thigh. He put the phone on speaker. "Alan here."
"Pierce," a familiar voice spoke. "The Director wants you."
"Right to the point, eh Minez? Doe he know I have work in an hour?"
"It's already been arranged. You're being paid for both."
"And if I refuse?"
"You'd refuse going back to your Oneechan?"
Alan stopped at the side of the road and looked at his phone. "Why me?"
"Because you know the people and the area better than anyone else."
Alan drove on and turned down his street. "Don't you have an agent in D.C. who could be ready faster than me? I'd have to get pack and go through all that other bullshit."
"That's already done."
"What?" But Minez had already hung up before Alan could ask and he pulled up into his drive way. Waiting for him was a black SUV and a man he didn't recognize who walked up to his side of the car.
"Alan Pierce?"
"Yeah, that's me."
"Please come with me. Your jet is waiting."
Alan stepped out of his car, sizing the agent up. He looked thirty, probably hadn't been in the agency longer than five years, and, by the cut of his hair, ex-military. Alan opened the passenger side door, got in, and let the agent get in before getting serious.
"Look here, I know you have read my file. But don't think that I'm in need of a chaperon."
"Kid," the agent said, taking his sunglasses of so his piercing blue eyes met Alan's dark brown rocks of eyes. "I don't want to be here as much as you want me here. I'm just here to pick you up and get you to the air field. Once there, you're on your own."
"Fine, but we're listening to my music."
Alan stepped onto the chartered jet thirty minutes later. He had been surprised by how he had been skirted through everything. The agent who had picked him up hadn't just left him. Instead, he drove right up to the jet. More than Alan would have hoped for.
When the agent had left, and the door closed, Alan had been surprised to find that the armrest held a laptop inside. Immediately he had logged onto the internet and found the Ohio rock station's website. He pressed 'Listen Live' and sat back.
Alan had just about fallen asleep ten minutes after take off when he heard a beep and the computer screen in front of him go blank. The music stopped right before the screen turned back on. In front of him sat Director Peterson. Alan threw the Director a quick dirty face before becoming professional.
"Director, nice to see you again," Alan said automatically.
"Save the pleasantries Pierce. We both know that we don't have very long."
"OK, what do I need to know?"
"Our agent that was put in Huber was found dead. Apparently being an outsider really can get you killed."
"And that's where I come in, right."
"Yes. You lived there for a few years; know the ins and outs of the town. You probably know every dirty little secret that that town has kept quiet for the last few years."
"Sir, with all due respect, I haven't lived in Huber Heights in three years. Things change."
"I know. And that's why I put you on the case. You have connections that politicians would kill for."
"Sir, isn't this a bit of conflict of interests?"
"If it should come up to that, we'll deal with it then. For now, I want you to get back in touch with your old friends and see what's been going on."
"And what of transportation and living arrangements? And of my job back in St. Pete?"
"You have a 2009 Chevy Camero waiting for you on the air strip. You're staying at your old house. We were the ones who bought it from your mother. And you're being paid what you would be paid for working for us and the time you lost at the job at St. Petersburg."
"Sir, I thank you for all the help you have given me the past year, but I haven't had a good night out in months." Alan put the laptop away with that but pulled it back out almost immediately. 'Oneechan's going to kill me.'