The Venator Program - Part Four

"What are you?" ... “Just a humble venator.”

Read Part One of The Venator Program here!

Read Part Two of The Venator Program here!

Read Part Three of The Venator Program here!

The Venator Program – Part Four: A Humble Venator

Langley, Virginia

Colby had no plans to stew about on the Seventh Floor of Langley Headquarters. Upon exiting the conference room, he spotted a pissed off Saxon speaking to DDO Price, Albert, and the Deputy Director. Bolting towards the elevator bank, he had no desire to be pulled into whatever fire and brimstone conversation he just noticed. Colby’s long strides couldn’t pull him to the elevator quick enough. Before he could jam the down arrow, a thin pointy finger poked his shoulder.

Colby kept his angst internal when he saw Elizabeth Shaw. He greeted with a curt nod. “Deputy Director.”

“My office in five minutes.” Shaw commanded. Without further explanation, Colby watched as Shaw disappeared in the opposite direction.

Pinched with confusion, Colby figured there would be one reason he was called to Shaw’s office. Like a student sent to the principal’s office, he was going to be reprimanded for his program proposal.

The five minutes antagonized him as the seconds seemed to fade at a snail’s pace. Salvador Dali’s melting clocks came to mind as he sunk further into the chair opposite Shaw’s admin outside the office. Only to make matters worse, he hadn’t received correspondence from Miles Porter. Perhaps doubling down on the operation was a poor choice. Despite the wavered thoughts on his choice, Colby had been at this espionage game long enough to know worrying never paid dividends nor helped in the moment.

His attempts to brush off the stress failed. He had no concerns about the tongue lashing he would receive. The berating received would be nothing but lip service. There was no real punch behind the storm Shaw was to unleash. Without a fireable offense, he would be fine with only loss of brownie points among top brass.

But Miles Porter was the outlier who stirred an unrest and kept his pulse at an elevated thump. Colby had Miles as an unsanctioned asset in Rome. Not that unsanctioned assets were foreign to Colby. Most of his operatives were NOCs, assets with Non-Official Cover. These were the secret spies, the hidden moles, the people conducting black operations or highly classified intelligence gatherings or even more violently proactive.

When a NOC’s cover was blown, the Agency would disavow and leave the asset to fend for themselves. Typical practice in the intelligence field, but the last thing Colby wanted to do is disavow Miles and feed him to the wolves with no potential way to recover him. Miles wasn’t just another operative or asset in the field. He was special to Colby, a pet project with much deeper meaning.

Colby’s clammy hand reached into his pocket to check his phone. Before he could check the Signal messaging app, the office door opened. DDO Price, Albert Hernandez, and his direct superior Jonathan Saxon all exited Shaw’s office. Instead of a scowl, Saxon had a devious grin on his face.

“I will be waiting for you.” Saxon said before he caught up to Price and Albert who had exited the waiting area.

“Mr. Hatton, Deputy Director Shaw is ready for you.” Shaw’s Admin informed Colby.

The gold name plate glared at him, taunting him. Even the mere name stirred a distaste, a cold reminder how Colby’s career had been obstructed by this woman. The worst matter, Colby had no idea what was in store for him once he stepped beyond this threshold. Beyond the void awaited an antagonizing furor or perhaps something completely unexpected. Saxon melted from irate to chummy faster than an ice cube on a hot sidewalk.

Colby sighed as he twisted the knob and took a step in. Once inside, Shaw greeted him with a glass of whiskey. Glass in hand, Colby followed her to a small table by the large glass windows. As they sat opposite, Colby swirled the glass as he narrowed his eyes.

“Deputy Director Shaw, to what do I owe this honor?”

“Let’s talk about this Venator Program of yours.”

Colby cocked his head like a lost puppy. “Excuse me, haven’t we done this for several meetings over the past few weeks? Deputy Director, what more is there to talk about?”

 “Elizabeth, please Colby.” Her voice trended off as she spoke his name. “I want to personally apologize for your proposed program being denied.” Elizabeth spoke with a level of sincerity missed in today’s meeting. 

Colby’s glare remained fixed on her eyes. He pursed his lips wanting to tear into her, but that was neither his place nor did he garner a level of disrespect that low. What Colby hated to admit, it was her prowess and willingness to get the job done that he admired. How she proceeded, well that is where she lost him. He may also be bitter about the once warm intimate reception fading, but ultimately the moment their careers diverged stirred him the most.

Shaw sipped the whiskey before she continued. “You have something special with your Venator Program.”

“Then why was it voted against it?” Colby’s tone was as rough as gravel. He wanted to direct the question squarely on her, but he knew there were several other ‘no’ votes.

“Mr. Hatton you have been in this business long enough to know what I am about to say will not leave this room. Are we clear?” 

Colby polished off the remaining brown liquid from his glass. He stared at her for a moment before he finally nodded in agreement.

“I speak for myself, but with agreement from Director Linton.” Shaw now exercised her full authority with approval of her boss, the Director of the CIA. Colby became all ears quickly. “We need to alter the program and I have a bone to pick with your usage of Miles Porter.”

Rome, Italy

A grin from ear to ear stretched across Alistair’s smug face. With such a giddy demeanor, it would be easy to assume he had gotten laid. Instead of his vice eliciting deep pleasure, Alistair enjoyed his other temptation: money. Brokering a twenty-million-euro deal to move weapons into Greece was no easy feat. The brokerage fee was a predetermined amount. A cool two million euro already wired its way to his Cayman account. Alistair now had time to celebrate with eye candy waiting for him back at his lavished resort suite. 

A black phone pressed to his ear paired with his lackadaisical saunter, Alistair spewed a hearty laugh with whomever he shared a call with. Boxed in by his three bodyguards, one in the lead and the other two in the rear, Alistair was perfectly wedged between the black suited men. Only a fool would threaten Alistair in this position. 

The lead guard and driver thumbed the unlock button on the fob. The Mercedes-Benz G Wagen failed to flash its lights nor was the thud of the locks releasing heard. His thumb jammed down on the fob’s unlock button with again no luck. 

“What’s going on?” Alistair whined. 

“Key fob battery must be dead.” 

The driver used the old fashion method of key in the lock. He pulled open the driver side door. Internal alarms rang in his brain as he realized something was wrong with the vehicle. 

A Mercedes-Benz G Wagen with all the bells and whistles would light up like a Christmas tree upon entering the vehicle. This time however provided no warm welcome as nothing illuminated. Typically greeted by the touchscreen in the center console, overhead lights, floor lighting, everything remained off. Even the ‘Push to Start’ button was unlit, only the dull red lettering on the plastic shown from the external lamplight.

“Battery is dead. Keep an eye out.” The driver called out to the other bodyguards. 

The two guards by Alistair had their heads on swivel with their HK VP9 pistols drawn. The driver moved to the front of the vehicle and unlatched the hood. Using the light on his cellphone, he shined it across the engine block. Nothing seemed out of place. The driver flashed the light to the battery. Therein lies the problem as the battery terminals cables were swapped, positive to negative and negative to positive. 

As quick as the driver made the discovery, it was lights out for him. A crack on the back of his knee crumbled him to the ground. Then everything went black as the driver faded into unconsciousness. Sprawled out on the ground, the second blow on the back of the head rendered him a noncombatant.

The commotion stirred the two bodyguards into action. Thrusting Alistair into the driver seat, one of the men slammed the door and yelled to lock the doors. Alistair’s body sprawled out across both driver and passenger seats.  He reached up to the lock button embedded into the passenger door. His fist pounded down on the button several times; each attempt failed to lock the vehicle. 

One bodyguard darted in front of the vehicle, his gun raised to kill the assailant. All he found was the unconscious driver. He placed two fingers beneath the jawline and felt a strong pulse. Gun raised, he continued to round the front right bumper with hopes of catching whoever had them under attack.

The second bodyguard hunched low to use the vehicle as cover and to conceal his upper body from being spotted through the windows. As he pushed to the rear, he rounded the bumper. Unlike the other bodyguard, this one was not as lucky.

He stood face-to-face with the assailant who appeared more like a shadowy specter than man. Cloaked in all black except for red splotches on the covering across his face, it was the stark blue eyes that frightened the guard. A round cracked from the HK VP9, but it wildly missed due to the shadowy figure wrapping his hand around the muzzle. He left the end of the barrel exposed to avoid losing his hand. With this maneuver, it prevented the weapon from cycling and returning to battery. Now the chamber was empty and would require the user to rack the slide.

The guard had no time to rack the slide to allow a round to chamber. A punch drilled his gut causing the diaphragm to contract. A solid blow to knock the wind out followed by a clean punch to the chin rendered the bodyguard as useless as the driver.

Alistair cursed in his native language of Norwegian. Goosebumps rippled across Alistair’s arms as the chaos stirred panic. He twisted around in his seat only to see a fight breakout in the rear. But before he could get the other guard’s attention, the fight was over, and the shadowy assailant faded into the darkness of the night.

Two guards vanished. Now Alistair was down to one. The silence caused beads of sweat to form on his brow. Twisting back and forth, he looked out each window. The darkness consumed the activity surrounding the vehicle. He strained to see, but there was nothing except his lone bodyguard.

Weapon raised, the remaining guard darted his eyes back and forth for a quick assessment. He rounded the rear bumper to see the other bodyguard down. His head shifted back and forth, but he saw nothing. Who was creating such havoc? It was as if the men were fighting a boogeyman hidden in the shadows or Batman himself. 

He kneeled lower to the ground to peek beneath the vehicle. Only his two fallen comrades could be seen. With no other body or pair of boots visible, the lone guard pushed his way around until he was standing at the front. The car hood remained propped up while the driver hadn’t moved even after the crack of a bullet.

Hidden alongside the large garbage crate, Miles Porter stalked his prey. The lone guard moved further down the alleyway, closing the gap on Miles. He sprang out with his right shoulder slamming into the guard’s chest. The HK VP9 clacked and skidded across the ground. Unlike the previous guards, this one wouldn’t go down without a fight.

A fist flew towards Miles. He managed to spin away, but the guard unleashed a stunning front kick. Miles landed on his butt looking up at the man. Now with a large blade in hand, Miles had an additional threat to avoid. He thrusted the blade forward and missed. The American bounty hunter rolled to his left and while he missed the blade, a heavy foot landed on his stomach. 

The guard noticed Miles recoil and he lunged his entire body towards him, blade as the leading threat. Miles contorted his body sending the attacking blade into the ground. He gathered his baton from the ground and wailed a frenzy of hits to the man’s forearm. The blade chimed along the alleyway road like bells during the holidays. 

Miles dropped the baton, wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, and spun over the top to mount him. The years of mixed martial arts training paid off. An arm coiled down and up in a “U” shape around the guard’s neck. Miles’ other arm came across the back of the neck and pressed down to lock his opponent into a rear naked chokehold. The guard bucked wildly, even landing Miles on his back and the heavy body on top, but his chokehold never failed. He only released the hold after a solid twenty seconds when the guard’s body went limp. 

Alistair Drevik heard the commotion, but the skirmish happened below his sightline. The grunts and scuffle ended a moment later. Now silence consumed his surroundings. The low glow of the streetlights cast upon the alleyway provided no help in lighting the many shadows. Drevik squinted in hopes to make out the assailant, but instead he peered into the void. His already heightened pulse surged when he heard a click against the window. 

“Mr. Drevik, get out of the vehicle.” Miles Porter demanded.

Drevik remained behind the only unlocked door, the driver door that his guard initially opened. The battery of the car rendered the vehicle’s automated locking system dead, but Drevik had one option left. He inched his hand over towards the manual lock on the door beside him. Just as Miles started to lift the exterior handle, Drevik flicked the lock to prevent the door from opening. A nervous grin stretched across Drevik’s face. 

Miles sighed behind his bandana. “Like a child, you are only prolonging this.”

“I will wire you twenty-five thousand in any currency you’d like, just leave me be.”

Miles chuckled. “Listen you cheapskate, you are worth far more than that.”

“One hundred thousand, any currency.” Drevik pleaded. “Bitcoin?”

With a fierce, downward swipe, the driver side window shattered. Shards of glass showered Drevik. A few pieces cut up his face. Miles smirked as he reached in to unlock the door. 

“No!” Drevik cried out as Miles tugged him onto the ground. 

“Shut up!” Miles yelled. But his target continued to belly ache and beg for Miles to stop. 

Miles zipped a pair of flex cuffs around Drevik’s wrists. He withdrew his mobile phone from the jacket’s inside pocket. He located the Signal app and tapped on a message thread marked “C”. His fingers tapped at a blazing speed. 

“TARGET CAPTURED. FINALIZING CONTACT TO INTERPOL.”

A steady stream of blood ran down Alistair’s chin and splashed on the cobblestone. He looked up at the man who dispatched his security crew. Alistair was in awe at the visceral speed and force that this unknown assailant exerted. He called up to him and asked. “Who… who are you?”

Miles Porter ignored Alistair’s question. A sound to the rear of the vehicle caught his attention. Someone had just racked the slide on a gun and had a bullet ready for Miles.

Langley, Virginia

Brown liquid sloshed from each side of the glass. Perceptive brown eyes peered down at the whiskey contemplating whether the liquor would ease his inner tension. Colby struggled to believe the changed tides.

“I have spoken with DDO Price, Mr. Saxon, and Mr. Hernandez. We are all in agreement that you should operate this program. However, the way you intended to manage this op, well it must change.” Shaw said.

“Black ops?” Colby referred to clandestine operations covered by the Agency.

Shaw nodded. “Off the record. Your operation works as a standalone entity to the Agency despite being a black op.” Colby nodded as Shaw continued. “Your proposal was for $10 million. I’ll give you a million to jump start this program.”

“A tenth? Elizabeth, I need more.” Colby said slowly as he lowered his tone in attempt to be more soothing.

Shaw cocked her head. “A minute ago, you didn’t even have a green-lit program, now you are haggling on budget.”

“Elizabeth.”

Shaw pinched the bridge of her nose. “$3 million and not a penny more.”

More than enough to get started, Colby didn’t want to seem too eager. If he could keep Elizabeth on her toes and willing to assist when needed, he needed to make it look like he would stretch every penny.

Colby sighed as he raised his glass to cheers. “Fair enough. I will do what I can.”

Elizabeth Shaw polished off the whiskey. With the glass in hand, her index finger circled around the top. “Let’s talk Miles Porter?”

Colby cleared his throat as he nodded. 

“Am I correct in assuming?”

Reluctant to confirm his connections, Colby peered into her eyes before he spoke. “Yes.”

Shaw’s sigh lingered. “Why?”

“He has the talent and skill set for it. Former military, skilled in hunting and tracking. He has a few freelance military and special activities contracts under his belt.”

“Like father like son?” Shaw turned her gaze out the window. 

Lucas Porter, the father to Miles Porter, had worked with both Colby Hatton and Elizabeth Shaw many years ago. In official capacity, Lucas had been a contractor providing training to employees and field assets of the Agency. Further insight on his role became sealed and deemed classified upon his death.

“Nothing to do with his father. All skill set. He is more than capable.” Colby reaffirmed. “I promise you,”

Before Colby could finish, Shaw cut him off. “More than capable than what? Who? Because I will be damned if he dies like…” Her voice trailed off.

Colby had no intention of sharing his true reasoning with Shaw. In fact, he had no intention to share with Miles. At least not until the time was appropriate.

“He is just as capable, if not more than his father. He will be fine, no worry of his well-being.”

“If another Porter dies on my watch,”

Now it was Colby’s turn to cut Elizabeth off. “That will not happen. I promise.”

Elizabeth replayed the events of Lucas’ death in her mind. A bitter cold morning with a sunrise tarnished by an ambush and faulty intel. It was one of a few awry operations that remained embedded with her each day.

“Elizabeth,”

Her gaze shifted to Colby’s sudden warm eyes. Her hand reached out and clasped his. The momentary loss of professionalism didn’t bother either of them. Though once reality settled, Shaw recoiled as her hands went to flattening out her blouse and skirt.

“Sorry Mr. Hatton.”

Colby wished to have heard her say his first name, but instead continued. “Deputy Director Shaw, no qualms I promise. I know the weight of Lucas’ misfortunate death weighs on all of us. Unexpected, but caught in the crossfire is never a good ending. I promise you everything will be fine with Miles. In fact, I guarantee there is not a better man for these bounty hunting operations.”

“I find it difficult you are pulling Lucas’ son into the mix.”

“If you are implying, I replace Miles, you are off base.”

“Don’t tell me what’s off-base. I have no desire for you to change who you use for this program.” Shaw leaned forward in hopes of breaking down a barrier. “I just need to know you chose him for his own merit and he is trustworthy.”

Colby became defensive. “You think I’d purposely choose someone incompetent for this program?”

“Not my implications, my apologies. I know you do good work for this Agency and for our nation. Colby, if I didn’t believe in this program, this conversation wouldn’t happen. And I only believe in programs or any operation if I trust the person in charge.” The corners of her lips peaked up ever so gentle. “I think you have just the man for the job. If he is half the man his father was, then you have a real gem.”

Colby nodded before he polished off his drink. Shaw shook Colby’s hand as she congratulated him. He exited her office and beelined for the elevator bank. As he scurried along, he checked the Signal app, one new notification.

He reread the message multiple times. The words took a moment to sink in. He read the message one more time… Miles had captured Alistair Drevik. Overwhelmed by joy, he hadn’t been this excited for a successful operation in many years. Add that Miles had been the one to accomplish the task, while Colby would never admit it, he felt like a proud father.

“Been waiting for you. Took you so darn long.” Saxon failed to conceal his grin as the pair entered the empty elevator. He took notice of Colby’s elation. “What has you all giddy?”

“Had a chummy chat with the Deputy Director.” Colby struggled to keep a grin off his face. “But even better. Miles captured Drevik.”

“Well, I’ll be darned!” Saxon chuckled and patted Colby on the back. “Congratulations! Off to a great start! Your program is denied, then approved, and your man captured a high-valued target. What did Shaw have to say?”

“Same thing you heard. Clandestine. Black ops style. With a little more off-the-books than I intended.”

“I think it will be better this way. Shields both your man and us, while running it how we feel confident in doing so. Plus provides Miles a little more freedom to operate.”

“Not sure if that is a good thing.”

Saxon expected that to be a joke, but by Colby’s demeanor, it was far from it. Saxon cleared his throat. “Do you think Lucas would be proud of his son?”

Colby pinched his nose as he grunted. “Perhaps not the path of execution, but in many ways, yes.”

“Yeah, I think he would too. Perhaps a good thing he isn’t here to see it. Don’t need him seeing you corrupt his boy.” Saxon joked.

The ding of the elevator startled Colby and broke him from a trance. Is that what he was doing here, corrupting Miles Porter? He shook that notion off, of course not. He was giving Miles the chance to make a difference and be someone.

Before he left Langley Headquarters, Colby had one last stop. After informing Saxon they’d rendezvous for lunch in an hour, Colby went back to where his visit today started, the Memorial Wall. Like the last visit to the wall this morning and like any previous visit, he always looked at the engraved stars. Practically a ritual, Colby enjoyed his moments of peace with the fallen friends and heroes who died in the line of duty. One star caught his eye, the one he saw etched after his best friend had died.

Colby whispered to himself. “The wheels are in motion my friend. Just don’t be disappointed by the means or the messenger that will come someday. I promise I will protect Miles to the best of my abilities.”

Rome, Italy

Miles Porter readied his hand on the holstered IWI Jericho 941. With the hammer cocked back, he positioned his thumb to flick the safety off when it was time to draw the pistol. A clean back pivot allowed him to face what was behind him. 

Expecting to find an assailant with the barrel of a gun pointed at him, Miles saw nothing beyond the vehicle. He kept his pistol holstered, but his hand remained ready. The sound could have been something further up the road, or even the sounds of the city beyond this back alley. 

His mind flooded with questions. Miles had been certain there were only three bodyguards. Even the reconnaissance in the casino displayed three guards around Drevik. Now the text to Colby felt preemptive and celebratory. How dumb, Miles thought, but to keep to his word he needed to finish the job. 

Alistair pushed up to his knees. “Mind telling me who you are?” Met by the resistance of Miles’ boot in the small of his back, Alistair squirmed on the ground and the damp cobblestone muddied his once pristine suit. 

“Nah uh. Stay down.” Miles motioned his left hand down as if he commanded a dog. He dropped his knee along Alistair’s spine as his head swiveled back and forth. 

“What is your fee if I want to hire you.” Alistair grunted. 

“A million bucks.” 

Miles crouched low as he shifted to the passenger side. The bodyguard remained slumped on the ground in the same position. He remained low to the ground. If there was someone still nearby, he did not want his movement to be revealed through the windows of the vehicle. Once he rounded back to the rear end, realization hit. One bodyguard had regained consciousness faster than expected. 

A deep breath puffed Miles’ chest out. His mind compartmentalized the questions to address later. If focus wasn’t maintained, then he might lose this battle. Miles was fortunate his mind could keep track of the information on the fly, even as he mitigated against threats.

Now, with his target in a convenient position, Miles checked his surroundings. In front, then a quick swivel to his six, both empty from threats. He peeked through the vehicle’s windows, but the black tint was far too dark in the low light to make out anything. He dropped to his belly to check the sightline beneath the vehicle. Again, his surroundings were too dark to make out an oncoming threat. The only light source aside from city light pollution was a single streetlamp that cast over the front of the vehicle. 

One guard remained, moving as silent as Miles. His suit crumpled and wet from the nighttime pavement. A steady stream of blood oozed from the top of his head and down the back of his neck. With the HK VP9 in hand, the guard continued to push along the passenger side to the rear of the vehicle. 

Erupting out of the darkness, the guard yelled in poor English laced with a Russian accent. “Hands up! Turn around slowly!”

“Don’t shoot him yet. I must know who he is.” Alistair hissed.

The guard had no intention of listening to his boss. This man was going to die. His finger attempted to squeeze the trigger, but his brain never sent the electrical impulse.

The muzzle of Miles’ gun erupted with a bright flare. The IWI Jericho 941 slid out of the holster. Miles’ thumb flicked the safety off as he flicked his wrist up to aim the pistol. The barrel pointed cleanly at the guard who had his own gun drawn.  

BAM! Miles’ quick draw skill put the man into an everlasting coma with a pool of his own blood surrounding him. Alistair saw all the chaos ignite and end in an instant. 

Stunned, Alistair crashed back into the ground. He had never seen anyone draw a weapon that fast. Miles' boots clicked off the wet cobblestone as he approached. 

The growing sound flared panic in the Norwegian. Alistair called out to Miles. “What are you?” 

Miles Porter looked down at his newly captured target. Their eyes met as he narrowed his gaze. “Just a humble venator.”

THE END.

MILES PORTER WILL RETURN…

Thank you all for reading ‘The Venator Program’, a Miles Porter short story! Stay tuned for more to come on Miles and his international bounty hunting adventures! Also, please consider subscribing for free to see more spy thriller news and goodies!