Six Months Contract With The Mafia God

He’d been expecting this.

The search was thorough but not surgical. They patted him down, checked his shoes, went through his pockets. They found nothing because everything they were looking for was designed to be unfindable by anyone without the specific knowledge that these particular items existed.

The molar was just a crown. The button was just a button. The scar was just scar tissue. The tracker was seamlessly embedded in the shoe’s sole with no visible evidence of tampering.

”You’re clean,” one of them said.

”Let’s go,” the largest man said.

They put a bag over his head, black cloth that blocked out all light....and James felt the reality of his situation settle over him like a physical weight.

He was about to disappear into an organization that made people vanish.

He was about to become a test subject for biological weapons.

He was about to die, most likely.

And there was absolutely nothing anyone could do about it except wait for his bursts of transmitted data to paint them a picture of what was happening inside The Covenant’s walls.

***

POV: MARCO

”He’s moving,” Thomas said, his eyes on the tracking monitor. ”Heading northeast. Speed approximately 35 miles per hour.”

Marco watched the blinking dot that represented James Conley disappear into the darkness of New Jersey.

”Keep tabs on his location,” Marco ordered. ”If he goes outside the operational perimeter, I want to know immediately.”

”Copy that,” Rodriguez said.

The van fell silent except for the soft hum of equipment and the occasional crackle of encrypted radio communications.

Marco pulled up his phone and texted Dimitri: He’s in. Radio silence until first transmission.

The response came immediately: Understood. Protect the data.

And that was it. That was all the conversation they could have while James was in the process of being transported to The Covenant facility.

The next seventy-two hours would be crucial. James had those first three days to establish his cover, to make himself seem completely authentic as a test subject, to move through The Covenant’s facility and gather initial intelligence.

After seventy-two hours, he would attempt his first transmission.

If it failed, they would have to assume he’d been discovered.

And if he’d been discovered, they would have to assume he was dead.

Marco watched the tracking monitor, the blinking dot moving steadily toward the coordinates they’d identified as The Covenant’s primary Northeast facility.

”Thomas,” Marco said quietly. ”Get me everything we have on that facility. Maps, schematics, personnel files, everything. If James gets in, we need to be ready to interpret whatever he sends us.”

”Already pulling it,” Thomas said.

The van fell silent again.

And somewhere in the darkness of New Jersey, James Conley was being transported toward his almost-certain death, carrying nothing but a few microscopic devices and the determination to gather intelligence that might help Dimitri Valentino burn The Covenant to the ground.

***

POV: JAMES

James couldn’t see anything under the hood that covered his head, so he focused on what he could perceive through his other senses.

The vehicle was moving at a steady pace. Highway, probably. The sound suggested they’d left the city and were now traveling through more rural areas.

His hands were bound in front of him with plastic cuffs. Not tight enough to cut off circulation, but firm enough to restrict movement.

The man beside him hadn’t spoken since they’d put the hood on.

James used the time to mentally prepare himself for what was coming.

He’d been in dangerous situations before. Had been shot at. Had been tortured by enemy combatants during his military service. Had done things in the service of this country that he would never speak about.

But this was different.

This was walking voluntarily into a prison where the jailers were conducting illegal human experimentation.

This was trusting that a few microscopic devices would somehow keep him connected to the outside world.

This was accepting that his survival was contingent on his ability to play the perfect victim.

The vehicle slowed, and James heard the sound of gates opening.

They were at the facility.

The car came to a stop, and he heard doors opening.

”Get him out,” someone said.

Hands grabbed James and pulled him from the car.

The hood was removed, and for a moment, James was blinded by sudden light.

When his vision cleared, he saw the facility in front of him.

It was exactly what he’d expected....large, industrial, clearly built for something legitimate before being repurposed for something decidedly not.

And surrounding it were security measures that suggested The Covenant took their operations very seriously.

”Welcome,” a voice said from behind him, ”to the trial.”

James turned to see a man in a white coat, maybe fifty years old, with the clinical demeanor of a scientist who’d long ago separated himself from the humanity of his test subjects.

”I’m Dr. Hammond,” the man said. ”You’re going to be participating in a very important study. If you cooperate, you’ll be compensated. If you don’t cooperate....”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Didn’t need to.

The implication was clear enough.

”I understand,” James said, letting the fear show.

”Good,” Dr. Hammond said. ”Take him to holding. He’ll be screened, processed, and inducted into the trial tomorrow morning.”

***

The holding cell was exactly what James had expected from an illegal bioweapon research facility.

Concrete walls. A metal bed bolted to the floor. A toilet without a seat. No windows. A single fluorescent light that never turned off, casting everything in a sickly white glow.

He’d been here for six hours.

Six hours of silence broken only by the occasional sound of footsteps in the hallway outside. Six hours of lying on the metal bed, his mind cataloguing everything, the thickness of the walls....approximately eighteen inches of reinforced concrete, the location of the light fixture...center of ceiling, recessed, approximately ten feet high), the air circulation system....quiet, suggesting professional HVAC installation.

The door opened.

A guard entered....professional, armed, showing no emotion, and gestured for James to follow.

”Medical processing,” the guard said. ”Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”