Grave Games: A Collection Of Riveting Suspense Thrillers

by James Hunt

  “Discretion is my middle name.” Sarah turned down the alleyway where the entrance to the auction was located and saw the lone guard stationed out front. He sat slumped on a stack of crates, and Sarah saw the outline of what was most likely a 9mm Glock bulging on his right hip. He only stirred when she was directly in front of him.

  “Whores go around back.” The guard flashed a snarl with several missing teeth, and what teeth remained were capped in gold and silver. His tanned skinned glistened in a sweat with a stench that rivaled the rest of the city.

  “Good, I’ll tell the boys you’re coming,” Sarah said.

  The guard locked his black eyes on her, and he reached for the Glock. Sarah snatched his arm, spun him around, and pinned him up against the wall. She gradually increased the tension on his arm, smashing his face against the dirt and grime of the sand and concrete.

  “Now,” Sarah said. “I could break your arm, but I think that would piss off some of the boys waiting for you inside, seeing as how they’ll need the use of both your hands, but I’d be willing to let this slide for an apology.”

  “I’m not—”

  Sarah increased the leverage on his arm, triggering a moan. “Think hard about your answer.”

  The guard heaved a few heavy breaths, squirming under Sarah’s hold, but eventually calmed down. “I’m sorry.” It was quick and short but laced with the embarrassment that would haunt him for at least a week.

  Sarah shoved him aside, and he rotated the shoulder of the pinned arm, his eyes cast downward. She reached inside her robes and flashed him the computer chip. He simply nodded to the door in answer, and she patted him on the shoulder on her way in. “Don’t worry. A little aspirin, a good night’s sleep along with your favorite enema, and you’ll be as right as rain.”

  More heat and the auctioneer’s booming voice greeted Sarah inside. All of the bodies crammed into a small location with no ventilation created a heavy moisture that lingered in the air along with the body odor that seeped from inside the robes of terrorists and other nefarious characters.

  The auctioneer spoke in Arabic at such a quick pace that even if she did understand the language, she wasn’t sure she could keep up. The current prize on stage was a shipment of AK-47s recently stolen off a truck in the Ukraine. Hands continued to go up even with the price reaching over twenty thousand.

  “Hey!” The shout came from an old man off to the side, his back crippled by either old age or some disease. “You have your item?” Sarah fished out the computer chip and extended it to the old man, who curled a handful of arthritic fingers around the case. He eyed her skeptically. “Don’t get many women around here.”

  “I don’t imagine you get any women at all.” By the look on his face, he’d missed the jibe, but he accepted her payment. She watched the device disappear into a back room where all of the other stolen property was most likely kept until its time came to sit on the auction block.

  Sarah positioned herself at the back of the room, off to the corner. Some people sat, others stood, but all of them kept to themselves, and those in groups spoke in hushed whispers. “Not much of a networking event.”

  “Just keep an eye out for Vince, and remember—”

  “Don’t forget the chip. You know, I am the one who crawled through five hundred yards of death traps to get it in the first place, right?” Like the others in the room, Sarah kept to herself, though the more faces she spied, the harder it became to repress the urge to bring the whole building down.

  Some of the terrorists in the room were high-level officials in some of the most dangerous organizations around the world. The Islamic State, Al Qaeda, Boko Haram, all of them guilty of mass genocide against innocent civilians. “Can’t I just shoot one of them?” Sarah asked, a hint of pleading in her tone.

  “Maybe after you catch Vince, but not now.”

  Time passed, and new items continued to rotate off the small stage, where the auctioneer rattled off prices and the scum of the earth shelled out money for the ability to kill more innocent people around the world. “What I wouldn’t give for a drone strike right about now.”

  And just before she was about to ask for one, Sarah watched a man enter, speaking with the crippled old man Sarah had given the computer chip to earlier. He wore a hooded cloak, much like the one Sarah had on, except his was a sandy color.

  “I think I’ve got something,” Sarah said, whispering.

  The hooded figure handed something to the old man then slipped into the back where the computer chip had been stored. Sarah took one step to follow, and her path was suddenly blocked by a large body, along with the familiar stench of the guard she’d knocked around out front.

  “You and I have unfinished business.” The guard snarled and again flashed that array of mangled and missing teeth. “Outside. Now.”

  “Look, there isn’t anything that sounds more appealing to me right now than taking a walk out back and proving to scientists all over the world once and for all that it is possible to shove a man’s head up his own ass, but alas, time is of the essence. So… move.”

  But instead, the brute thrust his fist just past Sarah’s left ear as she dodged out of the way. She countered with an uppercut that connected square under his chin and popped his head up with an accompanying crack that shattered what remained of his teeth. The big man stumbled backward three paces then crashed to the floor.

  The room went silent, and weapons were immediately drawn by every person in the room and aimed at Sarah, even by the auctioneer. She kept her head tilted down with her arms up, revealing nothing in her palms. She examined the room for a moment and then pointed to the body on the ground. “He started it.”

  But with words having failed, Sarah sprinted to the storage unit. Bullets splintered the walls as she removed the robes she wore, revealing her standard Kevlar jacket and pants. Three managed to hit her, two in the left leg and one in the upper portion of her back, but the Kevlar did its job. She passed the old man, who’d curled himself into a ball on the floor.

  The back room was filled with guns, explosives, knives, and anything and everything a terrorist organization could possibly want. Sarah plucked a grenade out of an open crate, pulled the pin, and then tossed it back toward the door through which she’d entered just as four pairs of feet stepped inside.

  Rock and dust funneled forward from the explosion while Sarah kept her sprint through the maze of weapons, searching for where Vince had disappeared.

  “So much for staying below the radar,” Bryce said.

  “Yeah, I did it for as long as I could.” Sarah turned a corner after putting a significant amount of distance between her and the auction room and suddenly saw Vince shoving aside cases of ammunition on a shelf and removing the case she’d stored the computer chip in. Sarah drew her pistols and shouted, “Get your own, Vinny!”

  Vince snapped his head left and then drew his own pistol and fired. Sarah slammed herself up against the wall as the bullets ricocheted off the concrete. The gunfight wound through the narrow aisles of crates, boxes, and shelves of the terrorist warehouse. The recoil from the Colts was a welcomed pressure as she gave chase

  A door opened, and sunlight spilled inside as Vince burst through the exit. Sarah followed, emerging into the busy Cairo streets. She caught his backside cutting through the crowds, shoving aside the pedestrians and merchants in his path.

  Sarah took a step forward but stopped, a ladder catching her eye out of her peripheral vision. “Keep eyes on him for me, Bryce.” She holstered the pistols and quickly ascended the steps.

  “He’s staying north,” Bryce said. “He’s got about twenty yards on you now.”

  Sarah swung herself over the side of the roof’s ledge and broke out in a sprint the moment the soles of her boots made contact. She darted along the roof tops, shoving off the ledge of one, leaping over an alleyway, and then landing on the next without breaking stride.

  She glanced down to the street below, and it wasn’t long until
she’d caught up with Vince, who was still slowed by the crowds. She continued the sprint, jumping ahead of Vince and down to where the masses thinned and where she knew Vince hoped to exit.

  Sarah sidled up to the edge of the rooftop, still sprinting alongside, and peered over the side to the canopies below that protected the merchants and their goods from the blazing summer heat. She planted her hand on the raised concrete ledge and catapulted herself over the side, plummeting onto the canvas, which buckled and ripped as she crashed into the stacks of carpets below.

  Vince burst through the worst of the crowd but then skidded to a stop when Sarah got to her feet, reaching for her pistol. He darted right, keeping a line of civilians between himself and her bullets.

  “We want him alive, Sarah!” Bryce said.

  “A bullet doesn’t have to kill you, Bryce.” Sarah gave chase, slowly gaining on Vince with every step. She followed him on his twists and turns through the side alleys on Cairo’s outskirts. Every sharp turn left and right brought her closer to him and to ending the chase two years in the making.

  With less than five feet separating them, Vince cut another corner, and when Sarah rounded the edge, she saw a van door slide shut, tires squealing as it sped off. Sarah fired, painting the backside of the van with bullets and tearing the left rear tire to pieces.

  The van swerved and slowed but pressed forward. Sarah glanced around at the crowd now scattering because of the gunshots and saw an Egyptian with a truck, his jaw dropped, staring at the fleeing van tearing down the streets. Sarah shoved him aside, climbed behind the wheel, and slammed the door shut before he realized what was happening.

  “Sorry.” Sarah cranked the engine to life and shifted into first. “Trying to save the world!” The man flailed his arms in protest but grew smaller in the rearview mirror. Sarah floored the accelerator, but the speedometer climbed slowly, the old gears of the pickup catching. She repeatedly slammed her foot on the clutch to stop it from sticking.

  The van swerved onto a crossroad, smashing into a merchant tent selling fruit that spilled over the cobbled road.

  “Cairo authorities have been notified,” Bryce said. “You’ve got about five minutes before they’re on your tail.”

  “And the day just keeps getting better!” Sarah slammed the shifter into third, the truck gaining some traction and fluidity now despite the strong rattle of her seat from the pothole-ridden road.

  Two guns appeared from either side of the van, and Sarah one-handed the wheel while she retrieved her own Colt and aimed outside the driver’s-side window. Both parties exchanged fire, bullets tearing through the old sheet metal of the truck and Sarah’s .45 rounds forcing the two shooters to retreat back inside the van.

  The car chase continued the same serpentine path that Vince had followed on foot. A sharp turn right, then another left and another left, and suddenly the van straightened out on a highway. Sarah floored the accelerator, easily gaining speed on the smoother asphalt, and rammed the back of the van.

  Sarah’s shoulders and arms absorbed most of the blow as her head whipped forward. Metal crunched, tires smoked and screeched as the driver lost control, and the van spun ninety degrees then flipped to its side and skidded across the asphalt while the rest of the traffic swerved around them or slammed on its brakes.

  Smoke wafted from the hood of the truck, and with Colt in hand, Sarah stepped out of the wreck and approached the overturned van quickly. One of the goons inside popped out, and Sarah put two in his chest before he had one foot out of the vehicle. She circled around the front, the traffic still blazing around her, drivers laying on horns. Then, crawling on the asphalt with his face bloodied, there was Vince.

  Sarah pressed the flat of her boot into his back and kept him against the pavement, the pistol trained on him. “Hey, Vinny.”

  Vince craned his neck around, his breathing labored and his left eye squinted shut. “Still wreaking havoc on public property, I see.”

  Sarah glanced around at the wreck on the middle of the highway. She shrugged. “It’s been worse.” She dropped to one knee and pressed the end of her pistol into the back of his head. “Where’s the chip, Vinny?” She patted him down, checking his pockets, but there was nothing.

  Vince laughed. “I don’t have it anymore.”

  Sarah flipped him over to his back, and he groaned. She placed the barrel of the pistol right between his eyes and pressed hard. “Where’d you put it?”

  But before Vince answered his eyes darted to Sarah’s right, and she spun around just in time to stop a crow bar from smacking into the back of her skull, but not from knocking the Colt from her hand. The pistol skidded across the pavement while the mercenary swung the piece of iron viciously and wildly through the air.

  Sarah caught his wrist on a downward blow, and then punched his stomach. When his body buckled forward and his head swung down she met his face with her knee. Blood spurt from his mouth and the cartilage in his nose made a nasty crunch as he fell to the floor.

  A gunshot fired, and a bullet connected with Sarah’s upper right shoulder. She spun around, smacking the gun from Vince’s hand, but couldn’t block the left cross Vince landed on her chin.

  The sharp crack of bone jolted a shot of pain and adrenaline through Sarah’s body. When she turned to face Vince he held both fists up, a boxer ready for this opponent to step into the ring. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this, Hill.”

  Sarah tightened her fists, her knuckles popping from the pressure. “You have no idea.” She lunged forward to attack, mixing up combinations of body and head shots, landing more than she missed. Vince held his own, connecting with Sarah’s face twice more, forcing her to back up and using his height and reach to his advantage; all the while cars zoomed around the highway, both Sarah and Vince dancing around the overturned van.

  Risking the hits, Sarah lunged closer to Vince’s body to neutralize his reach. She landed three quick strikes to ribs before he thrust her back, then planted a hard right cross on her cheek that flattened her to the asphalt.

  “Getting weak, Hill,” Vince said, his breathing labored as he favored the left side of his ribs where she’d struck him, struggling to keep his feet under him. “Looks like standards have dropped since I’ve left.”

  The grainy pavement left an imprint in her hands and cheek as Sarah pushed herself up. Her head was ringing, but the rage burned through the pain. “Standards haven’t dropped, but they have changed.” She spit a wad of blood. “We don’t accept pussies like you anymore.”

  Vince laughed and staggered two steps to his left. “Do you hate me because I betrayed the GSF?” He raised his eyebrows. “Or because I helped the people that killed your brother.”

  Sarah lunged forward, her fists flying in a blur as they drew blood from Vince’s mouth, then his nose, each blow followed by the crack of bones. She backed him up to the side of the van, working his ribs and stomach, her fists pulverizing the meat sack in front of her. It wasn’t until her muscles gave out that she stopped and Vince slid to the pavement.

  He wheezed a few breaths, nearly all of his ribs broken, and looked up at Sarah whose shadow blocked out the sun. “You know, I really was always jealous of you.” He coughed then grimaced, still clutching his ribs protectively. “But it wasn’t because of how good you were in the field. It was because that no matter what the job always came first.” He cracked a smile. “You could always put your family aside, and it never fazed you. Even now, with one of the men who had a hand in your brother’s death right in front of you, you’re still listening to that device in your ear that’s telling you not to kill me.”

  Sarah grabbed his throat and squeezed tight. His pulse beat against the palm of her hand. She gritted her teeth, spit and words flying from her lips. “Where’s the chip, Vinny? I’m not gonna ask again.”

  “Go on,” Vince said, his face turning a shade of purple and his grip growing weaker on Sarah’s arm. “You know what I did.” Sunlight shimmered the blood on the righ
t side of his face, and he flashed a hint of a smile. “What do you want more? An approving nod from Mack, or vengeance.”

  Sarah’s body shook, all the while her grip tightening around Vince’s neck, closing his airway to where nothing but whines and wheezes escaped his lips. “I think after what you did, killing you might get me both.” She kept the steady pressure on his neck, and just before that little voice in the back of her mind pushed her any further she let go.

  Vince collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, the purple and red fading from his cheeks. Then, when he looked up at Sarah she saw something in his eyes that she didn’t expect; fear. “He’s coming for you.” He widened his eyes. “He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

  Sarah aimed the pistol at Vince’s head. “Can’t say that I blame him. I’m quite memorable.” She squinted. “But who would this admirer be?”

  Vince rested his head against the warped metal of the van. “You fell right into his lap, Sarah. You—” Blood splattered across the white paint job, erasing the look of fear and life on Vince’s face.

  Sarah spun on her heel, looking for the shooter, but saw nothing amid the growing traffic.

  “Cairo PD is less than thirty seconds away, you need to move, now!”

  Sarah patted down Vince’s body, then the other goons he rode with, but didn’t find the chip. And just as the first squad car arrived on scene Sarah dipped off the side of the highway and wound through the streets, Vince’s last words replaying over in her mind. She wasn’t sure who Vince was talking about, but she was willing to bet that the shooter and her admirer were one and the same.

  Chapter 8

  Grimes stared at the shattered glass that lay in the same spot in the hallway that he’d left it on his last visit to the old factory he’d purchased. The shards were scattered, some lying flat, others protruding from the floor’s surface like tiny booby traps, waiting for the unsuspecting soles that fell on their path.