Grave Games: A Collection Of Riveting Suspense Thrillers

by James Hunt

  “It’s too late, Brooke. I already resigned from active duty. Well, technically I guess I resigned from participating in an organized militia, but you get the point. You’re stuck with me for a little longer.”

  Despite her objections, she was glad he was coming along. Having the experience of a seasoned military veteran couldn’t hurt her chances of making it across the country.

  Brooke made sure to replenish their supplies. The base had plenty of water, food, medicine, and ammo to spare at the moment. It would take anywhere from four to five days to get to North Carolina from Phoenix. And that was if they drove consistently with minimal breaks and didn’t run into any trouble.

  The mechanics did a great job with the cruiser. The sides were still riddled with bullet holes, and the battery was shot to hell, but the spare battery Brooke had charged at the solar station acted as an excellent substitute. In addition to repairing the engine, they gave her two new tires and replaced the shattered windshield and side windows. Brooke knew the bullet holes would be a problem once they made it into Texas and were driving through the states. It didn’t make for the most inconspicuous mode of transportation, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

  Everything was loaded up when Colonel Brack started heading their way.

  “I’ll be right back,” Eric said.

  Brooke wasn’t sure what the colonel wanted. Would he try and stop them? Did they want payment? Would they have to return the supplies? She watched the two of them talk. Neither of them raised their voices. And her worries melted when she watched the two men shake hands.

  “What was that about?” Brooke asked.

  “Nothing. Just some well wishes.”

  Eric avoided looking at her when he answered. Brooke couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw him wipe his eyes. Whatever had been said was meant for his ears. She wasn’t going to pry.

  After some bickering over who would drive, Eric reluctantly slid into the passenger side while Brooke climbed into the driver’s seat. With John and Emily buckled up in the back, Brooke cranked the engine to life, and a piece of her came to life along with it. She was back in her car, restocked, with her family, and they had an extra person to help them in their journey. North Carolina felt a little bit closer than the day before.

  Chapter 12

  Captain Howard kept a watchful eye on the four U.S. warships to the west that had yet to leave the area. During his fight with the Mexicans, his former comrades had remained motionless. What was even more odd was the fact that Mexican military ignored the four warships as well. During the skirmish, Gallo’s forces only attacked the men under Howard’s command. They’d lost quite a few jets, but the USS Ronald Reagan remained intact. Howard attributed the victory to Gallo’s lack of presence in the water and his own pilots’ superior training.

  The aircraft carrier was operating on a skeleton crew. Howard could see the weariness in his men’s eyes. He knew Gallo was regrouping, gathering his resources for a final blow. It wouldn’t be something they would survive.

  “Captain?” Master Chief Petty Officer Pint asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Captain Ford is on the line for you.”

  Howard grabbed the phone from Pint and pressed it to his ear. Whatever the reason for Ford’s call right now, it couldn’t be good.

  “Captain Howard speaking.”

  “This is Captain Ford of the USS Stockdale. I have been ordered to take your men and reclaim the United States property that you are in possession of.”

  “Ford, this isn’t the right move.”

  “We will be approaching your starboard and port sides. If you engage us, we will fire upon you.”

  The line clicked dead before Howard had a chance to reply. He wasn’t sure what type of leverage the politicians in Washington were pressing on Ford, but Howard knew that he wasn’t going to fight against the sailors he used to command. There had been enough bloodshed.

  Howard waited on the flight deck for Ford’s arrival. When the helicopter touched down on the deck of the carrier, the gusts of wind blew Howard’s uniform backward, pressing it tightly against his body. Ford kept his head low while stepping off the chopper. He was escorted by two MPs.

  The chopper’s blades slowly wound down, and the gusts of air ceased. Howard kept his aviators on and stood at attention. He knew Ford well. The two of them had gone through officer’s school together.

  Ford was a shorter man, but what he lacked in height he made up for in vigor. He had risen through the ranks with discipline and intelligence. Ford worked it by the book. Every time. No exceptions. Howard knew that he had a reputation for being a hardass, but even he bent the rules now and again. Unlike Howard, Ford was a piece of unyielding steel.

  “Hello, Captain,” Howard said

  .

  “Howard, I’ll need to speak with you in private for a moment.”

  Ford excused the MPs, and Howard and Ford began to walk along the deck of the USS Ronald Reagan. Ford didn’t speak for the longest time. He just kept glancing around the ship. Blood stained the deck. The blood of United States Navy sailors.

  “My contacts in Washington have informed me that Gallo’s fleet is regrouping just off the Baja peninsula. They should be arriving here this afternoon,” Ford said.

  “How many ships does he have?”

  “Enough to wipe out the rest of your men. Washington doesn’t want to lose any more of its resources in this ‘conflict.’ I’ll be taking command of the ship, and we’ll be heading south through the Panama Canal.”

  “I assume you’ll want to proceed immediately.”

  “I do, but per protocol before any long voyage, my men will be inspecting the ship to ensure it’s sea ready. Since this carrier has recently seen battle and has not been under the command of any official United States military officers, the inspection could take some time.”

  Howard smiled. He slowed his pace and turned to Ford, who was still looking out into the sea. One of the warships under his command was parked straight ahead.

  “I suppose if Gallo’s men choose to engage us, it will be an act of war on the United States, seeing as this ship is now under my command. If that happens, I will have no choice but to retaliate with deadly force,” Ford said.

  ***

  Once Jones received word that Ford had taken control of the USS Ronald Reagan, he immediately phoned Gallo. The conversation was brief. “All clear” was all that was said before he disconnected the call.

  Howard and his men provided a minor setback, but with that taken care of, Jones knew that the rest of the pestering militia that still plagued the Southwest would be eradicated. Gallo’s next move would be the final blow.

  Now Jones could focus his attention on more pressing issues with Smith and his scientist. He had put a tail on Smith and his staff members, but so far nothing had turned up. He had no idea where Smith was stashing the doctor, and he had heard nothing from Daniel after their conversation. Hopefully something would turn up by the afternoon.

  Jones sidelined his thoughts on Smith for the moment and headed to his meeting with the vice president. Johnson would play a pivotal role in Jones’s next step. While the vice president lacked certain “political” talents, his popularity with the public was unmatched. The good ol’ boy image still carried a lot of weight, and Jones wanted to capitalize on that quickly.

  He was to meet the vice president at the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, where his staff resided. When Jones was escorted into the VP’s main office, Johnson was munching on a roast beef sandwich.

  “Congressman, you’ll have to excuse the food. Busy day,” Johnson said.

  “It’s quite all right, Mr. Vice President.”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, no. I’m fine. Big breakfast this morning.”

  “So, what can I help you with?”

  “Well, honestly, sir, I just wanted to take the time to come over and thank you. Your support of my bill was as important
to me as the president’s. The American people are always calmer when you’re able to put your name to something.”

  Johnson waved him off. A breadcrumb rested on the corner of his mouth. Jones wanted to reach over and smack it off his face, but he refrained and tried to drown out the vice president’s incessant chewing.

  “I was wondering if I could pick your brain on something else?” Jones asked.

  Johnson swallowed the bite of his sandwich. “I’ll do my best, Congressman.”

  “It’s no secret that tensions with the Mexican government have been high. The water shortages have affected the entire continent.”

  “We’ve tried to extend the olive branch, Congressman, but they were being unreasonable.”

  “I think we should try again,” Jones said.

  Johnson wiped his fingers on a napkin. He leaned back in his seat and rested his hands on his stomach. He flicked his tongue against his teeth, making sure there weren’t any remnants of the sandwich stuck there.

  “What makes you so confident it will work this time?” Johnson asked.

  “I think a collaboration of sorts could benefit both countries. Now’s the time to band together.”

  “That’s not exactly what your bill accomplished for our country, Congressman.”

  “It was unfortunate, but necessary. Much like an alliance with Mexico.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Water.”

  ***

  Gallo had almost all of his men in place. He oversaw the preparations personally. There wouldn’t be another embarrassment like the previous battle. This push would be the end of it. He would finally regain the land of his nation. Reestablish the culture that had been stolen and bastardized by the Americans in the Southwest.

  Colonel Herrera knocked on the open door. Gallo looked up from his work.

  “What is it, Colonel?” Gallo asked.

  “General, I apologize for disturbing you, but there’s been a new development in the situation with San Diego. It seems the American ships have joined forces with the aircraft carrier that stayed behind.”

  “What?”

  “Our scouts have counted five warships in the area now.”

  “Are they in international waters?”

  “No, they’re only ten miles off the coast of California. They’re blockading the San Diego port.”

  Gallo knew that if the Americans had gone back on their deal, it could only be Jones’s doing. He cursed himself for trusting him.

  “What are your orders, General?” Herrera asked.

  If Gallo attacked a naval ship under the command of a United States officer, it would ignite a war. Hundreds of thousands of men would die. It could break both nations to the point of no recovery.

  “If the Americans engage, then we take them down,” Gallo said.

  ***

  A map of South America lay spread out on Jones’s desk. The rivers that flowed through Brazil were spilling over with water. The past decade had seen South America grow richer with an unintended natural resource. Rio de Janeiro had become for the continent what Dubai was for the Middle East. It had hundreds of millions of gallons of water just ripe for the picking. All Jones had to do was go down and take it. There was a knock on the door, and Jones’s chief of staff entered.

  “Congressman,” Ken said.

  “What is it?” Jones asked.

  Jones took in Ken’s frail posture. The old man looked worse than usual. His eyes looked more sullen.

  “Captain Ford has commandeered the USS Ronald Reagan,” Ken said.

  “I know. I fail to see how that’s a situation.”

  “He’s refusing to move.”

  “What?”

  “Gallo’s men are advancing, and he’s standing between them and the San Diego port.”

  Jones balled the map of South America up angrily and threw it across the room.

  “Get me Gallo on the line immediately.”

  ***

  “You told me that the military had been evacuated and that anyone remaining would be branded a traitor,” Gallo said.

  “Ford isn’t deserting. He’s following inspection protocol, which is written in our laws,” Jones replied.

  “Well, change the laws. That’s what you have the power to do, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll need more time.”

  “I’ve already given the order to my men. They’ll be arriving in San Diego shortly, along with my men penetrating Arizona and New Mexico.”

  The muscles along Jones’s arm wobbled his wrinkled skin. The weakness of his grip on the phone failed to exemplify the anger coursing through him.

  “The president will have no option but to retaliate against you with full force, and if that happens, we both lose our advantage into the south,” Jones said.

  “You’re the one who wanted Brazil, Congressman.”

  “How long do you think your army will last without water? How long do you expect the country to continue with no water? You’re drying up, General.”

  “Goodbye, Congressman.”

  Chapter 13

  A layer of rusty barbed wire rested above the gates of the factory on the edge of the Maryland coast. The factory’s fences were worn, with parts of them completely missing, and massive storage crates littered the property. While some crates were open, most were closed, their contents abandoned long ago.

  The only light coming from the building illuminated a dirty office window. Inside, Dr. Carlson was hunched over his desk, going over the designs of his filters. He’d spent the past twenty-four hours resketching everything he’d made. The files he had stored at his home had long been destroyed, and since Jones had removed the copies at the patent office, he’d had to start from scratch.

  Even though Dr. Carlson hadn’t had a drink in almost two days, the effects of his abuse over the past several years had taken their toll. He could feel the lag in his thoughts. It took him twice as long to come up with the simple formulas he’d concocted in his prime.

  Dr. Carlson dropped the pencil on the desk and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. The papers scattered underneath had massive generators, pipes, and filters drawn on them. Underneath each sketch were the materials needed and the combinations of chemicals that were involved in the purification process.

  He’d spent years on this work. The recreations brought back all the sleepless nights and the calculating and recalculating of every mathematical equation, along with the hours he had spent in the lab, ensuring that the water worked through his process was safe and drinkable. But most of all, he remembered those few weeks when his life’s work had been turned into a sideshow.

  His face had been plastered on every major news channel, with taglines of “Eccentric” and “Dangerous Doctor” posted right next to his name. Death threats and hate mail arrived at his home daily. Every time he walked down the street, he could feel violent stares. Eventually, he couldn’t go anywhere in public without being harassed. And when the bill that would have allowed his filtration process to become legal and give the citizens of the country all the fresh water they could drink had been voted down, he shut himself off from the rest of the world.

  Dr. Carlson looked around his “office.” The paint was peeling off the walls. No A/C blew through the vents. The air was dry and stale. He rubbed his foot along the floor, where it scraped against the dirt and debris that had made its way in from the broken windows.

  “Almost like home,” he said to himself.

  He pulled out the cell phone that Smith had given him and dialed his number.

  “Hello?” Smith asked.

  “I’m finished.”

  “You’re sure everything’s correct? We’re not going to get a second chance with this.”

  “It took me a little longer than usual, but it’ll work.”

  Dr. Carlson hung up the phone and looked down at his sketches. He tossed the phone on top and leaned back.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s right,” he said to himself.

&nbs
p; ***

  Beth kept her eyes on Smith the entire time he was on the phone. Her body was rigid. She became aware that she wasn’t breathing. When Smith smiled, she exhaled.

  “We’re ready,” Smith said.

  “I’ll tell Jake to start gathering the materials,” Beth said.

  “You didn’t think he could do it, did you?”

  “Well, technically he still hasn’t, but with everything that’s riding on this, I’m willing to look at this with a glass-half-full perspective.”

  “You’re not going soft on me, are you?”