Taske Force: Prologue

~Prologue~

~June 16th, 2014

The two men stared at each other across the large oak table. The one man wore a blazer and tie, a small American flag pinned to his collar. His silver-gray hair framed a thick nose and blue eyes. His suit and stance radiated political power.
The other man was younger, his hair was dark brown and his eyes a sharp gray. His muscular body was clothed in black canvas pants and black T-shirt. Twin Desert Eagle Magnums rested against his thighs and two Japanese Sais were sheathed behind the pistols. He also radiated power, but it was a submerged, lethal kind of power.
The first man stared at the second, sizing him up as if they hadn’t known each other for over nine years.
Breaking the heavy silence, the first man spoke.
“Please, sit.”
“No thank you, Sir.”
“Would you like a drink?”
“No sir.”
The one stared again at the other for along moment.
“Do you know why I’ve called you here?”
“I have ideas.”
The silver-haired man walked over to the drink-cabinet.
“You know about my attempts of acquiring a position of power in the criminal Underworld?”
The other shifted uncomfortably.
“You know what my position on that is, Sir. No matter my connections, I am here only for security reasons.”
Pouring himself a glass of whiskey, the silver-haired man turned and nodded.
“I know, and I respect your position. But that isn’t why I’ve called you. I fear repercussions from certain people aimed at my family. There is someone in particular I have in mind.”
The other man wrested his hand on the handle of his pistol, understanding dawning on him.
“Your daughter, Sir.”
“Yes, my daughter. With my endeavors into the Underworld I have acquired some… dangerous enemies. I want her protected, and I trust only you, Taske.”
“You want me to act as her personal bodyguard?”
“Yes, along with overseeing my other security details.”
The younger man nodded and, holding out his hand, sealed the deal.
“You have my word, your daughter will be safe, Mr. President.”
“I know she will be, Mr. Taske.”


~June 14th, 2014: Two Days Before

Far away, all the way across the US in Oregon, a sputtering Harley pulled up in front of a small-looking house.
The man on the motorcycle looked like he had been riding long and hard. His long black hair was wild and wind-swept and fell in jagged locks over his ice-blue eyes. A thin white scar ran across his left eye from brow to lower lip.
As he dismounted, his black leather jacket pulled back slightly to reveal the grip of a Colt .45 against his dirty white T-shirt.
Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a dark-blue Razor. Dialing a number, he waited for it to ring.
“Damn it, Josh, answer…”
But Josh didn’t answer, just his voice-mail. The black-haired man waited for the beep to sound, then left his message.
“Josh, this is Nathan. We are kinda in trouble, and I need to talk to you in person, so I’m trying to track you down. I’m at your Oregon safe house and I’m gonna let myself in before moving on. My bike is dying so I’m probably gonna borrow that Honda I like so much. See you when and if I do, Wolv out.”
Nathan wheeled the Harley behind the garage and entered the house through the back door.
Nathan first checked the fridge, finding tequila and cola and not much else. Josh wasn’t home often, so he only kept what would last a while.
Nathan selected a tequila and sat a while at the kitchen table looking over a stack of Josh’s mail. He left it all unopened except one letter bearing the Presidential seal on it.
Popping the blade open on his switchblade, Nathan opened the envelope and scanned the typed letter. What he read made his eyebrows shoot up.
“Wow, bodyguard to the President. We are moving up in the world.”
Nathan put the letter back in the envelope and, taking his tequila, went into the hallway and up the stairs.
He entered what looked like an office (though it was far too sparsely furnished), and removed a large picture of Crater Lake from the wall. Behind the picture was a metal panel with an electric-combination keypad.
Quickly punching in the 17-digit combination, Nathan slid the panel back to reveal a surprising arsenal of weapons.
Pistols, semi-automatics, a compound bow and arrows, wrist-launching crossbows and bolts, even an AK-47 and M-16 squad rifle.
The hidden cache of projectile weapons was impressive, but Nathan knew Josh had a cache of swords, knives, and bladed weapons behind the picture of Mt. Rushmore in the living room, and another of highly explosive weapons behind the rack of tools in the garage.
Nathan selected ammo for his .45, and a P.22 with boot-holster. After a moments thought, he also strapped a MP7 sub-machine gun with a silencer across his back under his coat.
He was careful, however, to not touch the four identical Desert Eagle Magnums. They were Josh’s personal weapons of choice.
Casting a longing glance over the M-16 and its laser-scope and grenade attachment, Nathan closed the weapon cache. Grabbing another tequila for the road, he headed out for the garage, being careful to lock the back door behind him.
In the garage Nathan hit the garage door opener and walked down the ramp into the large parking lot under the much smaller garage building.
Passing by a Mustang, Firebird, and even a PT Cruiser and BMW Bug, Nathan selected a Honda street-bike from the line of cycles and choppers along the back of the garage.
White with a blue fire design and chrome dual-exhaust, the bike was Nathan’s favorite. Favorite, that is, next to Josh’s black Ninja 3, but the Ninja’s space was empty.
Nathan loaded his extra ammo and tequila into the Honda’s travel pouches and started the engine. It purred to life and its energy, along with the alcohol in his blood, energized Nathan’s tired body.
Carefully closing and locking Josh’s garage, Nathan gunned the Honda and sped down the road.
He was going to see the President.