Chapter 2: Security

"Hey Frank…" the voicemail voice of David paused. "I know we haven't talked in a while. But I'm still thinking about you. I sincerely hope you are okay. I know you don't like it when I call and find you again, because I know for a fact you burn your number afterwards. No point man, I'll find you again. Can't really hide from someone who does this shit for a living. Anyways, the kids ask about you- not as much, but still they want to know that the man that saved their dad's life is okay. We wanna have you over for 4th of July. I know it's a month away. It'll give you some time to decide, I guess. Alright, I better go. Miss you man. Stay safe out there. Call me back when you get the chance."

Frank deleted the voicemail and cleared the missed call from his phone. Damnit David, worse timing, he thought, slipping his phone in his pocket and shaking his head. He had to keep his focus. Kyross was a lot more than he anticipated. Ruth had managed to convince Luke Boyd to hire him and once they had their interview over the phone, Frank was sent a plane ticket and map to the retreat.

The place was a labyrinth, which Frank realized very quickly, was purposefully designed that way. It was meant to keep people out and in. He couldn't just walk in, guns blazing. There were innocent people scattered about, such as retreat staff and invited guests that had no idea what they were walking into. It reminded him of a summer camp, with additional housing for staff and security outside of the main retreat.

The perimeter was surveilled by cameras and a motion sensor, so if someone wandered too far off one of Kyross's hiking trails, security was immediately alerted on their phones. Phones that tracked each security member, guest, and had access to all the cameras 24/7. Frank was in Fort Knox.

Luckily, there were only 6 total security guards, including him. But even in that few of numbers, these men were savages, mercenaries from around the world. Best of the best. A hundred times better than that Anvil shit Rosso put together.

Frank was in the team meeting room waiting for instructions from Boyd, who was on his phone outside, pacing. He glanced out the cabin window, watching him.

"Hey," a young man besides him said. "You're Smith, right?"

Frank simply nodded in acknowledgment, deciding the little they knew about him the better.

"We heard you are formerly from the Cartel." The man was blond with a boyish face. "None of us worked for them. I heard they skin people alive who try to leave."

Frank continued to say nothing, feeling his irritation rise.

"Ignore that asshole." Another security member said. He was large man and from his accent, South African. He was slowly sharpening a rather imposing knife. "He doesn't know when to shut the fuck up."

"My name is Mr. Orange," the blond said with a grinning smirk. "Like from that one movie."

"Your new name is Mouth," shot back another team member, who was also large, bald and had a thick Russian accent. "Because you won't shut your mouth."

The other men in the room chuckled and began to introduce themselves to one another. Starting with the Russian, "I am Alec, worked for the Vory and a few other notable affiliates. I am here at request of boss, who is attending retreat."

Frank mentally filed that information away. Unfortunately, he hadn't had time to go through the list of names Ruth provided him since he had to be at Kyross immediately after landing the job. He stored the list somewhere safe after uploading it online. He did pay attention when David, high-tech super nerd was around him for a few months. If anything happened to Frank, the digital file of the list would be sent to David with instructions. In those instructions was to give the information to Karen. She would know what to do with such invaluable information. They both would.

"I'm Slice," the man with the knife said. "Sniper. I won't be seeing much of you fucks, I'll be in the goddamned forest with the bugs for company."

"Uhm, maybe you should've picked a different specialty," Mouth popped off with an arrogant cock of his eyebrow. "I'm Mr. Orange, like I said, since none of us are using our real names. I specialize in tech and bombs. Both unrated when it comes to security."

"Grimes," a man with dark hair and a scar across his face said from the corner. "Just here for the paycheck."

"Same- names Roads, heard this place paid well for killers. So I sent in a resume." Roads was a tall older gentleman with an armory across his chest. His joke made the others chuckle again. Frank knew what this moment was, bonding. Traditional of military grunts about to go into the shit together, wanting to establish a semi-formal trust and working relationship. Frank didn't see them as friends or allies. These men were murderers of the innocent. And deserved whatever happened to them during this retreat.

"And you, Mr. Smith?" Mouth asked airily.

Frank let out a hard breath, "Smith, like the kid said. Here for the money. That's it."

"See, was that so hard?" Mouth asked and patted his shoulder with a hard fist. He turned to the rest of the team, "Now- real talk, has any of you bastards worked this gig before?"

They all shook their head.

"Team lead has," Grimes said. "He was the one who recruited me. His name is Reaper." It was then Frank heard the slight British accent from scar-face. "We were in the same unit a few years ago."

"I thought team lead was Boyd," Slice said.

Grimes shook his head, "Boyd is a soft-hand. Doesn't know shit about security or guns. He's temporary lead. Reaper is out catching our white whale."

"Oh, white whale." Mouth said in mock excitement. "What's that?"

"The uncatchable. The one who keeps getting away every year and has a permanent spot on the list of invited guest's aka fish. Those who pay to attend our retreat are catchers, they are also high value. Me and Michael are the Captains. Know your codes, ladies." Boyd said, entering the room. He slipped his phone into his inside jacket pocket and pushed his expensive glasses up his nose.

Frank probably wouldn't have imagined that one of the worst son-of-a-bitch here, creator and assistant director to Kyross looked like a nerdy tech engineer.

Boyd continued his speech, "We make special accommodations for our white whale- again not a fish, this one is important. So, there will be a rotation of you around our white whale this year. Reaper will explain more when he arrives. In the meantime, fish and their catchers will be arriving soon. Since Reaper isn't here yet, I will be your team lead."

He pulled out a different phone, the one that all of them had been given earlier. "Slice- you'll be on the north facing side, gun pointed to the ballroom. Roads, you'll be monitoring the vehicles coming in and out, gate checks and the like. Grimes, I'll need you at the door. Uhm, Mr. Orange, you and Smith will be detail coverage inside the ballroom where the fish will be hosted for the evening."

Boyd glanced up from his phone after he sent them all instructions via their linked device. Frank felt the vibration of it in his pocket and pulled it out like the rest of the team. "Guns and ear mics are over there," he pointed to the unlocked cabinet. "And suits…" he paused at them. "Well, we also provided that, we have a few tailors on staff if the suits we have don't fit you."

Boyd turned to leave and paused, "And ladies, whatever weapons you want to bring additionally, as long as they are not obvious to the fish, are allowed. We want them to feel safe, not scared. Also, you all have private accommodations for your time here. We take our security team seriously and respectfully. There aren't cameras or mics in your cabins, let me repeat—we aren't monitoring your room. We don't fucking care about you that much, we are literally paying an obscene amount for your trust. And I know, most of you are paranoid fucks and I'm telling you this because last year some yahoo ripped apart his cabin, costing us thousands of unnecessary dollars. We trust you- not the fish. Mr. Orange has linked the cameras and mics in their rooms to the device in your hand. Any questions, ladies?"

Before any of them had time to ask, Boyd smiled with a thumbs up. "Perfect. Once Reaper arrives, he'll take over. This isn't his first rodeo, so if you need anything- ask him. Be in your positions in the next hour. Be professionals too- our fish sometimes are stupid and get lost in the retreat or forest, or whatever. Just kindly and find a smile if you can and lead them back to wherever they need to be. And if a fish hits on you- we also don't care. This is a retreat for them. So make the fish fuckin happy."

A few chuckles started which cued Boyd's exit. Frank watched the co-founder carefully. He was unarmed and unprotected, which was his first mistake. He wondered if this Michael Colt was also unguarded. Frank would have to check the device to see if there were any cameras in the Captains rooms. If he could cut the heads off the snakes that ran this place, it would crumble. But it wouldn't stop the security team coming after. Colt and Boyd were the money and this place didn't move without it. Frank would have to take them out before the auction took place.

"Did he just give us permission to fuck the fish?" Mouth asked to them.

Slice groaned, "C'mon man. I highly doubt there are any fish worth bangin' in this barrel."

"Maybe," Mouth said with an amused look. "I will say, that was probably my favorite new job speech ever."

"Shut the fuck up, Mouth." Roads pushed past him, grabbing a gun and a mic from the cabinet. He found something else inside and turned to Frank, locking eyes with him before tossing a key. "Cabin keys."

Frank grabbed his, also pushed past Mouth, taking a gun and mic and left. He wanted to get away, get outside and some fresh air. The second the warm summer sun hit him, Frank exhaled slowly, and glanced at the key number for his cabin. He headed into the forest where the security team cabins were lined up. He was the last cabin, number 6. He cautiously glanced around the surrounding area before entering. It was a tiny place. Not as small as one of his first apartments. It had a small kitchenette, queen sized bed, with a window and chair, no tv or computer and a small bathroom. He opened the closet to find his all black suit hanging up.

He pulled his black duffle bag out, that had been inspected and inventoried before entering the retreat. Frank unzipped the bag and withdrew a new bullet piercing vest. He wouldn't dare bringing in his Punisher one. He pulled off his shirt and slipped it on, grabbing the suit out of the closet and tossing it on the bed. He loaded up his person with weapons, including a knife in his boot, and a gun tucked into his personal hip holster.

Frank turned to the mirror inside the closet door and felt his teeth suddenly clench. He looked like a fucking hitman, he thought irritably. He didn't like the polished suit, it felt strange to him, yet begrudgingly acknowledged it was a requirement for this job. Just like he planted himself in the Cartel before wiping them out, he could do the same here. Still, he didn't like it. And unlike the Cartel, he didn't have months to figure out a plan of attack. He had a 2 days.

He ran a hand through his thick black hair, attempting to straighten it in a somewhat professional manner and did a quick shave. He hesitated, wondering if he would be recognized. It had been years since his face was splashed on the newspapers in New York. He was in California now, and only hoped that his identity remained a secret. Once they found out the Punisher was in this castle, all hell would break loose.

He felt another ding in his pocket, this time from his personal burner phone. He withdrew it and recognized the number as David's. It was a text message. He opened it and read it.

David: What I didn't mention in the voicemail is—I'm here if you need me. No questions asked. Just call me if you need my help.

Frank gritted his teeth and deleted the message. If he were to be honest with himself, he wouldn't mind Micro helping him out on this one. Frank debated it and decided it was safer to leave David out of it. He alone made this choice to become the Punisher. And with that, meant the people in his life before couldn't be in his life anymore. It was a risk. A risk he wouldn't take again, not after the death of his family.

He thought of David and his family and shook his head to himself.

And then he thought of her.

Karen.

Frank's heart painfully stood sill in his chest. She'd been on his mind almost every damned day for the past six months. Ever since their last encounter, he felt as if he made a mistake with her. He told her to walk away and that she couldn't follow him down this road anymore. That his decision to become the Punisher meant wiping away whatever possibility he had for a normal life. It was his only decision. He didn't deserve a happy ending. She had to believe it too. She'd seen his violence, felt it and witnessed it. He deserved a fucking bullet in the skull like the rest of them.

Yet… she was always there. After everything Karen Page still came for him. The beautiful, incredibly brave woman that sat beside him in the hospital room, listening to his grief without judgement and holding his hand with warmth and…

He slammed the closet door and let out a hard breath. He didn't deserve her care or compassionate. Frank was a shallow, empty shell that only had room for death—not life. He told her to go back to Murdock, someone good and decent. Not him. And the look of pain on her face when he turned away from her yet again, was as if he had shot her somehow. He gritted his teeth at the memory. He never wanted to hurt her, never. But she was so godamned stubborn. He knew that their conversation wasn't over yet. She was like a bulldog and wouldn't let him just walk away without a reason.

He checked the ammo in his gun. This was his reason. The Punisher.

Except, he thought with the shake of his head, that was never reason enough to stop her before. But maybe his rejection was. Another painful twist of his heart nearly punched the air out of him. What if Karen was truly done with him now, he wondered. What if she had given up? Stopped fighting for him? What if that day in the hospital was it for them like he said but, did he mean it? Frank moved to the chair and heavily sat down.

He couldn't have her and the Punisher. It didn't work that way. Karen was too good for that. She wanted him, not the violence. He folded his face into his hands.

"You have to stop loving people in your dreams!"

Her words echoed through him now and had stayed with him. She was right. He had stopped using the excuse of his family's death to be the Punisher a long time ago. He did it because he liked it and needed it.

Frank stood and put on the mask and shield of the Punisher in his mind and walked out the cabin door, locking it behind him. He needed to forget Karen. Forget her light, her warmth. Leave it behind him because it didn't belong on this path of darkness.

TBC