Savior of the Saints

The room was frigid, sending a chill through anyone who walked in. Three men were sitting around an oval table, listening to another man talk. A young woman sat behind the desk that normally was occupied by the one talking. The door creaked open and a nervous looking teenager walked in.

"Sir?" He asked, wringing his hands.

"Hmm?" The man talking, a red-head who stood at 6'2", turned. He had been gesturing to a world map, or more specifically a place in Russia. He ran a hand through his hair and examined the boy. "What do you want?" There was just a twinge of a Southern accent, one that was normally hidden unless the 36-year-old was irate.

Hearing the accent made the boy even more unnerved. It meant his boss was in a very volatile mood, and when Travis Anderson is pissed off, people get shot. "Sir-I-we-a report…just came in. From the Hoag. From our rat."

Travis twisted his wrist, urging the boy to move on and finish what he was saying.

"He said…Miss Lyssa is taking on the MacManus brothers' case." The boy was trembling. This was very bad news, I thought. Lyssa was excellent with lost causes and everyone within the group new it.

"Is that so?" Travis wandered over to his desk. The woman stood, brushing her blue streaks out of her eyes. Her blonde hair was up in a loose bun.

Travis sat down and rubbed his temple. The blonde rubbed his shoulders as he considered something. Finally, he nodded. "Excellent. That's the best news I've heard all day."

The boy let out a long sigh. Thank God, he thought to himself. He had seen the Southern man shot someone simply for bringing him coffee with sugar, reminding everyone else in the room that he liked his coffee black.

Travis stood up, saying, "This is very good. Sherri?" He turned the young woman, kissing her lips softly. "Keep me updated on the trial. I also want a full list of all Lyssa's current associates and anyone who may cause problems for us. Also, get me full profiles on both Irish boys. I want to know what we're up against."

The blonde bowed her head slightly. "It shall be done." She left, grabbing her satchel off the table.

"Jericho, Zero. We need to send Lyssa a message." Travis glanced at two of the men at the table.

"You're getting personal, Travis." Jericho warned. He had a British accent.

"No, I'm not." Travis smirked. "I'm getting even. We need to make a point, to remind Lyssa that one does not simply walk away from the Patriots and expect us not to retaliate. We set an example, for the whole world. If I know Lyssa, the Irish boys are going to be a thorn in my side that will become infected if the issue is not dealt with."

"Should I take care of them?" Zero asked. His hair was white despite the fact that he was only 30.

"No. We wait to see what Miss Lyssa is going to do. I don't want to kill the MacManus boys unless my hand is forced." Travis examined the boy who had not left.

The boy was young, 16 years old if that. He had dark hair and green eyes that normally darted around nervously but were now focused on the map of Boston.

"Sir, I can't let you do this." He pointed to a red circle.

"Why not?" Travis asked, sounding amused.

"I attend school there. I have friends there, and family." He said, his voice breaking.

"Is that so? Well, that's a shame." Travis sat back down at his desk, scratching his head in thought. He reached a decision and said, "You'll see them soon enough."

Had the boy been watching, he would have seen Travis take a handgun out from beneath his leather jacket, lazily take aim, and fire. The boy crumpled, blood spattering the wall.

"Damn," Travis sighed and put his gun back. "Call Mina to come clean this up." He stood up and walked towards the door. He clicked on his radio headset and said, "This is Travis. I am ordering all Patriots assigned to Assignment 189 to move out. It's time for an early Fourth of July."