Grave Games: A Collection Of Riveting Suspense Thrillers

by James Hunt

  The other fighters were halfway to the escape room when two men kicked the door opened and charged in, firing into the air without warning. A third man rushed inside and threw a flash grenade which exploded instantly, sending the fleeing men into a frenzy.

  Salazar flew to the ground under his cot, as the intruders aimed their pistols at the confused, blinded men and shot them dead, one by one. Kareem ran past the carnage into the escape room just as bullets whizzed by his head.

  He threw himself into the tightly confined room as more gunfire erupted, shaken to the core. His loyal security team was at the shelved wall behind him, revealing their secret exit. He could hear Salazar yelling at the men in Arabic, cursing them to hell. The AK-47 erupted with a hail of bullets only to be met with more gunfire from the Americans. Then, for a moment, everything was quiet.

  “Clear!” he heard one of the Americans yell.

  “Where are the others? I saw more,” another one said.

  Kareem stood up, balancing himself against the wall as his legs shook. “Hurry up!” he said to the men in a panicked whisper, as they pushed the heavy wall open.

  “Did you kill him?” one of the masked men asked.

  “Who?” Kareem asked back.

  “Who do you think? The American! He’s seen your face.”

  At that moment, panic gripped Kareem’s rapidly beating heart. In his haste, he couldn’t believe he had been so careless. But it was too late to turn back now. His only option was to escape or die.

  “It’s opened!” one of the masked men said, pushing against the wall.

  “Hurry!” Kareem said, rushing past them. “We have to seal it back up before they find us!”

  His men rushed down the darkened tunnel, leaving one man behind to pull the bookshelf wall closed. But it was too late. Another man rushed into the room and shot a round through the ISIS lackey’s head.

  From down inside the cramped tunnel, Kareem led the way. The final entry underground was near. Kareem was too concerned with his own life to think about the underground weapon caches and military uniform storage that the Americans would surely find after a search of the perimeter. For Kareem and his men, martyrdom awaited, whether they were ready for it or not.

  ***

  Angela rushed toward the compound just in time to hear a barrage of shots fired from inside. Her heart jumped as she remained close to the windowless wall to her side, near the place where the FBI team had breached the door. While running, she looked behind her to see Thaxton gaining on her and shouting for her to stop.

  Too close to turn back now, she told herself.

  She reached the end of the compound, exhausted, and glanced around the corner, pistol drawn, to make sure no one was there. The door in back was open, with light spilling out onto the desert sand from the inside. She could hear shouting followed by more gunshots, which caused her to flinch.

  What in the hell was happening in there?

  She took a deep breath, her pistol pointed up and close to her chin, and then ran around the side and toward the breached door. She stopped at the side of the door and peeked inside just in time to see Lynch, Sutherland, and Hopper run into a room in the distance. As she examined the open hall before her, she saw several low-hanging fluorescent lights interconnected by extension cords.

  How the building lasted in the middle of nowhere was beyond her. Knowing that Thaxton was hot on her trail, Angela took another deep breath and stormed inside, pointing her gun in each and every direction. A thin cloud of smoke permeated the air, and what at first looked like piles of clothes strewn on the floor in the distance came into focus as bodies.

  A man lay under a cot with an AK-47 near him in a pool of blood. His head was spilt open in multiple spots, brain matter exposed. Most shocking of all were the men lying on the floor in contorted poses, maybe ten of them, riddled with bullets, their blood splattered all over the concrete floor.

  The sight was shocking, but Angela knew she had to keep pushing forward before Thaxton’s inevitable arrival and interference. She moved around the mass carnage of dead bodies—young Middle Eastern-looking men—and examined them only to see if Martinez was among the dead. He wasn’t.

  She had no idea if he was anywhere near or why he would be there in the first place. The dead on the ground hardly looked like members of the South Texas Border Recon.

  She trusted her instincts and charged forward into a single darkened room, where she immediately came to a wall pushed open and another dead body, masked but with a hole in his head.

  “Agent Gannon!” she could hear from afar. Thaxton had arrived.

  She ignored her and crouched to enter a five-foot hole where a vent had been removed and proceeded on, feeling as though she was on a hunt of her own. With her night-vision goggles, she navigated the cramped confines of the tunnel until reaching a wall and, oddly enough, finding a drain cover that had been removed, leading to an underground ladder. She listened for voices or gunfire but heard nothing. There was no turning back then either.

  She climbed down the ladder, breathing the damp and stale air and reached the bottom, twenty feet below, enveloped in total darkness. Down the tunnel ahead, there were men running. The back of their jackets said FBI. She was close.

  She ran forward with her pistol drawn. Beyond the FBI team, she could see several other men running down the long corridor of a tunnel. No telling how long it was or where it might end.

  The FBI team was gaining on its quarry, and before she could make her presence known or say anything, she watched as they fired multiple shots into the fleeing men, taking each one of them down. The gun bursts were loud and alarming, and she instantly backed against the wall for cover. The gun fire ended but she remained in place, frozen, goggles at her side. Surrounded by complete darkness, she tried not to make a sound.

  “No! No, please!” a man’s voice shouted out.

  Gunshots followed in three white flash bursts, and the pleading man said no more. She instantly brought the goggles to her eyes and saw Lynch, Hopper, and Sutherland ten feet ahead standing over several bodies, their guns pointed downward. At that moment she wanted nothing more than to run back up the ladder and never turn back.

  Hopper whipped around, scanning the area. “Who’s there?” he shouted, raising his pistol.

  Angela threw her hands in the air. “It’s just me, Agent Gannon!”

  The men stopped and looked at each other.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Sutherland asked.

  She felt angered by his question and approached the men defiantly. “What am I doing here? Watching you shoot fleeing suspects in the back. That’s what I’m doing!”

  “Did we get all of them?” Lynch asked, cutting in.

  “I don’t fucking know,” Sutherland said. “You see anyone else alive?”

  “What… is… going… on… here?” Angela asked with each hardened step she took toward the men.

  “Relax,” Sutherland said, raising a hand. “We were given specific instructions to neutralize the situation.”

  “Do you even know who you’ve killed?” Angela shouted. She couldn’t see them very well, but it didn’t matter.

  They grew silent. Then Lynch spoke up, but in a calmer way, setting a new, friendlier tone. “Looks like we got the terror cell to me.”

  “Was that really who you were looking for?” Angela asked, closing in. “Or is Captain Martinez the real objective here?”

  “We were trying to rescue him, Agent Gannon. I don’t know what else you’re trying to imply.”

  Angela pointed at the men, unconcerned that they were still holding loaded pistols. “This is not the way things are done, and I’m not going to be a part of whatever the hell this is.”

  “What are you trying to say, Agent Gannon?” Sutherland asked.

  “I’m saying that I’m reporting every bit of this operation to my chain of command. This wasn’t a rescue mission. This was a massacre!”

  The men said nothing, and Ange
la lowered her finger. Their silence had her reconsidering her words. What had she gotten herself into? Before anyone could respond, Thaxton’s voice shouted from the ladder above.

  “I found Martinez! Get up here, now!”

  For a moment, nothing else mattered to Angela. She ran back down the dark tunnel without saying a word.

  “Agent Gannon, wait!” Sutherland said. “Let us cover you.”

  “Stay away from me,” Angela said, with her anger rising. She didn’t know just how far the tunnel went in the opposite direction toward the outside, and she no longer cared. All that mattered was finding her partner and leaving. “Please let him be okay,” she said under her breath, and grabbed hold of the wooden ladder, leaning against the wall.

  She climbed up in no time, ignoring the increasing weight of the medium-size vest that was gradually wearing her down. Sutherland was right behind her, and the ladder creaked with their combined weight as she reached the top.

  Thaxton was nowhere to be seen, but Angela pushed on through, familiar with the intricate fortifications of underground tunnels commonly used by the cartels. Martinez had been on to something. There was a new threat in town.

  Reunited

  Once emerging from the tunnel, Angela rushed past the lifeless, blood-soaked bodies that lay about the open hall of the compound.

  “Assistant Director Thaxton!” she shouted, looking around.

  “In here!” she called from a room to Angela’s left. The air was a noxious combination of fresh gun-powder, misty smoke, and the stench of blood and death, but she continued and went straight to a dimly lit room, hopeful that her partner was okay.

  She stormed inside, mortified by what she saw. Thaxton was standing at a table where Martinez was strapped down. He was moaning, barely conscious, with his left arm mangled and bloody.

  Thaxton turned around with a stoic, pale expression. “Help me get him loose,” she said, pulling on the leather straps that bound him to the table.

  Angela ran over, pushing out of the way a rolling cart that displayed a series of knives, drills, pliers. She noticed a chair in the middle of the room bolted to the ground with rope lying nearby, and an empty metal bucket, a backpack, and a long cane. She couldn’t imagine what Martinez had been through and at what cost.

  She started working at his ankles, unfastening both straps as Thaxton worked at his chest. Their brief time alone together gave the assistant director a moment to get a reprimand in.

  “It was unacceptable for you to run off like that. You put yourself and this entire team in danger.”

  Angela said nothing, just moved her hands up to the straps around his waist. Martinez’s eyelids flickered with another moan. He was pale and losing a lot of blood. His left arm lay in a large puddle of blood that dripped onto the floor.

  “You’re to tell no one about what happened here tonight,” Thaxton continued. She expertly unfastened the strap on his other arm and another over his chest. “You’ll be signing some documents to attest to that as well, understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Angela said, not wanting to argue. With Martinez free, she looked around the room for a cloth or rag—anything. “We need to stop the bleeding,” she said, pointing at his wounded arm. One glance at the rolling care and it was evident what had happened. A blue power drill lay among the knives, its bit stained a dark red and speckled with tiny pieces of flesh.

  The rest of the FBI team rushed into the room, guns drawn. They froze when they saw Martinez’s battered appearance and wretched condition. They swarmed the table as Sutherland turned to Lynch. “Grab a blanket or one of those cots outside. We need to get him on air transport, immediately!”

  Lynch and Hopper ran out of the room to see what they could find. Sutherland opened a pouch connected to his belt, revealing a first aid kit, much to Angela’s relief. Thaxton took a back seat and began taking pictures of the room with her cell phone.

  “Here, hold this. Put pressure on it,” Sutherland said to Angela, placing a gauze pad over one of the wounds.

  She placed her fingers on the pad and pressed down as Sutherland wrapped the gauze strip around Martinez’s arm, covering the wound. They did the same thing to the other hole as Lynch and Hopper came into the room, Lynch holding a thick blanket.

  “Perfect,” Sutherland said. “Now let’s lift him out of here and get him on the helicopter.” He gently nudged Angela out of the way as they took positions around the table to lift Martinez.

  Hopper was at his ankles, Lynch at his shoulders. Sutherland did a countdown and the two men lifted Martinez up and carried him to the blanket on the floor, barely getting a reaction from Martinez as he faded in and out of consciousness.

  “We’ve got more medical supplies on the helicopter. Let’s move!” Sutherland said. Lynch and Hopper lifted him up and the team left the room with Sutherland covering them. Angela turned around to find Thaxton surveying the room with grave interest.

  “Your team works well together,” Angela said.

  Thaxton nodded, not making eye contact.

  Angela turned to the open door and then back to the assistant director. “Are you coming, ma’am?”

  Thaxton walked slowly toward Angela as though she were distracted or just trying to take everything in. When she spoke, her voice held an unmistakable threat. “Remember what I said, Agent Gannon. This mission is classified. I’m sure you understand.”

  Angela could hold back no longer. “I watched them shoot men as they were running away.” She paused and took another step toward the assistant director, confronting her in a way that she knew was unwise and imprudent. “They shot them in the back. Clearly, you can see it all on the video feed.”

  “No one is going to see that video feed,” Thaxton said, flippantly. She glanced at Angela’s reddened face and tried to calm her with a squeeze on the shoulder. “But you did well, Agent Gannon, despite your insolence. Your partner was found and the terrorists were killed. I’d say it’s a win-win.”

  Angela didn’t feel the least bit comforted. “We may never know who these men are. And if any of them got away, well, this could blow up right in your face.”

  Thaxton smiled, as though she were half-amused. “Judging from their attire, these men are affiliated with the Islamic State. And we hope they get the message. We want them to see that the United States isn’t messing around anymore.”

  “You can’t silence both me and Martinez,” Angela said. “Sooner or later we’re going to have to tell our superiors what happened.”

  Thaxton turned from Angela, surveying the room. “I’ll make this real easy for you, Agent Gannon. You do not want to rile things up with this administration. You have a secure job with great potential and a loving family. Same thing with Martinez. The FBI has a job to do, and you will either work with us or get out of our way.”

  Angela stared back as their ferocious eyes locked. She swallowed, trying to look brave and not the least bit intimidated, though she was.

  “Do I make myself clear?” Thaxton asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Angela said after a moment of brief hesitation.

  “Good. Now let’s get Martinez to medical.”

  Thaxton stormed out of the room, not saying another word and leaving Angela to examine the room of horrors: of the various blood-stains on the floor and wall, some fresh and others dry. She then left the room with an overwhelming weight of mixed emotions. In the end, all she wanted to do was to go home.

  Angela climbed into the helicopter to find Martinez—his arm wrapped in bandages, on the first bench seat, and starting to come to. Thaxton climbed in after her, followed by Sutherland. He closed the door. Angela turned around, looking for the others.

  “Where’s Agent Lynch and Special Agent Hopper?” she said.

  “They’re staying behind,” Sutherland said, placing his helmet back on his sweaty head. “Another team has been dispatched to clean up while we MEDEVAC Captain Martinez.”

  Something about the phrase “clean up” didn�
��t settle right with Angela, but she took her seat nonetheless at the end of the bench seat across from Martinez. Thaxton sat next to her. Sutherland leaned near the pilot, giving him a thumbs up.

  The pilot nodded and took the helicopter up. Angela adjusted her helmet and strapped in as the cabin shook and rattled with their quick ascent. Martinez snapped awake and began looking around in a panic.

  “Where the hell am I?” he said hoarsely, wide-eyed.

  Angela leaned close and ran her hand across his head. “It’s okay, sir. We’re getting you out of here.” She had a million questions but didn’t want to overwhelm him. It was good enough that he was finally conscious. Both Thaxton and Sutherland were eyeing him intently.

  “He’s awake!” Angela said, turning to them with relief.

  “That’s good,” Thaxton said. “We’ll get him taken care of.”

  A brief glance out the window, and Angela could see the desert getting larger and more spacious as they reached higher altitude, trailing off and leaving the mysterious and isolated terror compound behind. A place, according to the assistant Director, where they had never been.

  ***

  It was early morning by the time Angela returned to the Del Rio Border Patrol station, where she was bombarded with questions from other agents about the mission. The most she would confirm was that they had found Captain Martinez. That morning, she was immediately summoned to Chief Drake’s office. The sun streamed in through his blinds as she sat across from his desk, exhausted and feeling a pounding headache, despite having just taken two aspirins.

  Her green uniform was dust covered and dirty, with spots of dried blood. She assumed it had come from Martinez’s wounds. Loose strands from her ponytail covered the sides of her smudged and tired face.

  Angela couldn’t recall if she’d been up for two or three days. It seemed like forever since she last saw Doug and the kids. Eager to let her get home, Drake had sat her down in his office to get a recap of events.

  Gone were the FBI assistant director and the other agents. They had vanished from the station like ghosts. Martinez had been taken to the Del Rio Regional Medical Center, where he was rushed to intensive care, just to make sure, and listed in stable condition. Angela was immensely relieved. She could breathe again.