Hellfire: A Suspense Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 4)

by Dustin Stevens

  How things went after that was anybody’s guess.

  All I knew for certain was I damned sure wasn’t going to sit in a room and wait for them to come back and shoot me.

  “Do what you can, keep everybody calm.”

  Whether he was even the right person to be saying all this to, I had no way of knowing. All I knew for certain was that he was a friend, and he wasn’t slowing me down with loads of questions I had no way of answering.

  “I’ll be back. I promise.”

  Rising to full height, I stood on my toes. Lifting the foam tile from its track, I slid it to the side, a dark gaping maw occluding everything above from view.

  It would either work or it wouldn’t.

  Not a damn thing to be gained by waiting to see.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  My initial assessment of the building turned out to be correct. The place was a former warehouse that had been repurposed, meaning that a second-floor office complex had been retrofitted inside the space.

  It also meant that it was more or less floating inside the original structure. The entire floor was built on independent supports, housed under - rather than built into - the larger shell.

  Pushing myself up off Rembert’s back, I was able to reach past the track that the ceiling tiles were sitting in. Grabbing hold of the metal rafter frame a foot beyond it, I wrapped my hands around the rusted beams and pulled myself upward. Once my upper body was through, I twisted to the side and pulled my feet up, lying perpendicular to the beams.

  Fashioning myself into a human plank, I lay suspended above the ceiling tiles below. Reaching down, I slid the tile I’d come through back into place, Rembert watching me.

  Inch by inch, it moved into position, taking his profile and the last bit of direct light I had with it.

  Once the tile was back in place, I remained motionless, forcing my breathing and heart rate to slow. Under the metal roof just inches above me, I could feel the sun beating down. Sweat coated my body, burning my eyes.

  Still, I waited, listening for any sound, letting my eyes adjust to the darkened world around me.

  From what I could tell, the rafters were arranged parallel to the front of the building. That meant they were running in the same direction as the offices on the second floor, my body now at a ninety-degree angle compared to them.

  To my left was the outer wall, the same one that had windows boarded up on it in the office below.

  More than fifty yards to my right was the opposite wall, nothing but darkness stretched in that direction.

  The design of most warehouses was meant to be as impregnable as possible. The place was likely meant for shipping, meaning they wouldn’t have wanted the elements getting in from a host of places.

  At the same time, they would have needed at least some bit of ventilation.

  Trying to work my way around in the dark would be a fool’s errand. The distance between me and the ceiling below was barely a foot, the structure not designed to hold any real weight.

  Trying to fumble my way forward in the darkness would mean eventually I would either be heard or I would misplace a step and go tumbling through the thin foam tiles.

  That wouldn’t do a damned bit of good for anybody.

  Given where I knew my position to be, my best bet was to work my way along the outer wall. At some point, I would have to find a vent.

  Getting through it would be tough, but it was infinitely preferable to any other option I had. Certainly, more so than trying to go back to the ground level and getting out that way.

  With my body braced, I did a quick inventory of what I had. A tap to the small of my back confirmed that the gun I had lifted from Gold Tooth was still intact. Ditto for the extra ammunition and the folding knife.

  Still stowed deep in my jeans was the sat phone, the hard plastic digging into the tender flesh of my inner thigh.

  The final thing was the phone number I’d received just a few minutes before, stowed in its own pocket for safe keeping.

  Who waited on the other end of it, I had no way of knowing. Why he’d chosen to give it to me, even less.

  The answers would come soon enough.

  In the meantime, I had to get my ass outside.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Working in the dark, moving one painstaking foot at a time, there was no way to know how far I’d gone. I did know for certain that I was far enough along that my body was aching. My knees were pissed about being braced against the metal railing of the rafters. Flakes of rust dug into my palms.

  Sweat started high on my head and ran down over my scalp. It burned my eyes, the briny taste bringing thirst to my throat.

  My breathing became rapid, the clock in my head ticking within increasing intensity.

  Thus far, there had been no sound from below. No indicator that Gold Tooth or Cruz had been found. No spray of bullets up through the thin ceiling panels, strafing fire meant to finish me without much effort.

  That didn’t mean somebody wouldn’t soon come looking for them. Which in turn meant I needed to be well on my way by then.

  The lives of Rembert and more than a hundred others depended on it. The man downstairs had already intimated that we were of no consequence to them.

  Gold Tooth mowing down the man in our room was just the latest example of that.

  Wedged on all fours between two parallel tracks, I had a system worked out. Moving my hand and knee on the same side in tandem, I would go forward about a foot. Then I would repeat it with the other side.

  From there, I would pause, extending my right arm out through the triangular support struts. Leaning over a few inches, I would trace my fingers along the corrugated metal of the outer wall, feeling for any break in the smooth surface.

  It was slow, terrible, grinding work. The sort of thing I hadn’t done since I was a grunt in the navy, forced to perform unholy acts as part of various initiation rites.

  In the dark, every other sense became heightened. I was acutely aware of each sound I made. The smells of bat shit and mildew filled my nostrils.

  Still, I moved on, working until finally, mercifully, I found what I was looking for.

  The first sign of it was a vertical metal casing. So immersed in my task, my body had slid into a state of auto-pilot, a charge roiling through me at the change. Pulling back my hand, I repositioned myself so I was directly perpendicular to it before reaching back, assessing what I could.

  From the feel of things, the opening was approximately two feet across and about the same in height. Covering the space were metal slats shingled atop each other, louvers that could be opened on command from below.

  Starting at the top, I felt my way down, counting an even dozen in total.

  Digging the tips of my fingers into them, I felt more rust beneath the pads. Clearly, it had been some time since they were installed.

  How long it had been since they were last opened was anybody’s guess.

  Moving my hand clear to the bottom, I leaned far to the right, bracing my shoulder against the metal rafter. I curled my fingers back into a fist and placed the ball against the bottom louver, pressing as hard as I could.

  There was no response. Years of rust and corrosion had sealed the metal tight.

  Drawing my left leg up beneath me, I braced it against the rafter beside me, using it for leverage. Sweat coated my body as I drew air in and held it, pressing as hard as I could.

  For several moments there was still no response before slowly it started to move upward. A millimeter at a time, it nudged away, bringing with it a thin strip of light that was almost blinding in the total darkness.

  Wincing, I pinched my eyes shut and turned my head to the side, pushing with everything I had. Little by little it continued to move, culminating with something I had never expected.

  The sound of metal snapping.

  As fast as I had slammed my eyes shut, I popped them open, jerking my head to the side. Convinced I had heard wrong, there was no stopping th
e tiny pulse of adrenaline that leaked in as I looked over to see the left side of the louver hanging at an angle.

  Apparently, the building was older than I had thought, years of exposure to the elements and the sea nearby having worn down the thin metal rod holding the slat in place.

  Feeling the exhilaration pass through my core, I instantly moved my fist upward. Without the slat beneath it, this one worked a bit easier. Unlike the one below it, the metal support rod stayed intact, but still, I had a four-inch window to work with.

  That alone wouldn’t be enough to get me through, but it was a start.

  In what seemed to be blinking bright red numbers, the clock in my head continued to tick as I worked. Sweat poured from my body as one by one I went through the slats. Three I was able to break loose merely by exerting well-aimed pressure.

  The others at least moved upward, forming a grid that as a whole would be more than enough for me to get through. Light poured in, plainly illuminating me, interspersed only by the few stray bands of metal cutting through it.

  By the time I was done, most of my oxygen was depleted, my shoulder aching. Pulling my arm back through, I rolled the joint twice, working a bit of stiffness out, staring at the opening beside me.

  As it stood, the largest gap I had was eight inches tall. It was a good start, but that alone would never be enough for someone of my size to fit through.

  If I was going to get out and up onto the roof, I needed to make it at least twice that size.

  Which meant I needed to get the remaining few slats cleared.

  Keeping my foot wedged to support my weight, I stared at the problem before me for a moment.

  In a perfect world, I would have a blow torch. Or a pair of bolt cutters. Or one of the many other tools I had left behind in Montana. Any one of them would make easy work of the brittle metal, sending me through in a matter of seconds.

  Having nothing of the sort at my disposal, I did a quick inventory of the items I had on hand. The note and the phone were worthless in this situation, for obvious reasons.

  Ditto for the gun. Given the design of the place, where I sat was essentially an echo chamber. In the event that a bullet didn’t ricochet and maim me or worse, I would basically be painting a target on myself for every armed guard below.

  Which would defeat the purpose entirely.

  The knife I considered briefly before again remembering the two dead guards downstairs and the dwindling timeframe I had before they were found. Chiseling away with the blade would probably eventually get me out, but at a time cost too great to bear.

  Which meant I had only one option.

  Far from ideal, I felt my core tighten at the notion. Dread passed through my system.

  But there simply wasn’t another way.

  Fighting to keep my body wedged between the rafters, I pushed my upper half in the opposite direction. Once it was in place, I moved both knees to the other side before snaking my right leg through the triangle formed by the rafter supports.

  Extending it to full length, I saw I had more than enough length to reach through the horizontal louvers.

  Knowing it was going to be loud, that once I committed, I had no choice but to move as fast as I could, I pulled my heel back. In my head, I counted slowly to three before thrusting my leg out straight as hard as I could.

  On contact, the metal of the bottom two louvers sheared loose, sending the slats hurtling outward.

  And sending the God-awful screech of metal breaking loose out around me.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Once my foot first made contact, I had no choice but to go with it. I couldn’t stop and listen for anybody that might have heard. I damned sure wasn’t going to make myself a stationary target, letting the guards downstairs figure out what was going on.

  After the first contact, I drew my leg back and fired it again. And again. Like I piston, I lashed out six times, managing to clear the bottom nine louvers.

  Figuring that eighteen inches was more than enough space, I pulled my leg back through. Again, I managed to wrestle my weight across the opening between the rows, working my head and right arm through the rafter.

  Pushing with my legs, I extended outward, grabbing hold of the bottom ledge of the vent. Squeezing tight, I fashioned my hold into a horizontal pullup, tugging my body through.

  I had no doubt the outside air was still tepid and humid, but it felt blessedly cool as my shoulders passed into the opening. A world that had just moments before been total darkness swung to the opposite end of the spectrum, bright light illuminating everything around me.

  Exposing my head just far enough to get a full visual, I took in my surroundings, seeing it play pretty close to what I’d witnessed on the bus ride in.

  The warehouse was positioned in the rear corner of the airport facility. Below, I could see a chain link fence running along the perimeter, coils of razor wire intertwined along it.

  Beyond that, heavy vegetation pushed up close, the bright green treetops looking almost close enough to touch.

  For a moment, my focus stayed on the puffy bursts of leaves, imagining the best way to work down to the ground, before my attention shifted. Rather than looking at the bright sun amplifying color saturation, I instead focused on the shadow line of the building I was now peeking out of.

  With the sun coming down at an angle behind me, it cleaved a straight line across the ground, unnaturally straight save the one vertical intrusion not ten yards away. Upright and inching forward, a horizontal arm was extended directly in front of it.

  A guard carrying a weapon.

  Feeling my body clench tight, I watched as it moved closer, pausing every few feet.

  So worried about being heard from below, I had failed to think about who might be waiting above. No way could someone have gotten up to me so fast, meaning they had to have been positioned there from the beginning.

  Which also likely meant they didn’t yet know where the sound was coming from, the stilted movements meaning they were stopping often to look and listen.

  Threading an arm to the small of my back, I extracted Gold Tooth’s gun. I gripped it tight in my right hand and braced with my left, rolling my weight a few inches at a time until my shoulder blades rested on the bottom ledge of the vent.

  With my legs wedged into the rafter across from me, I was perfectly positioned, gun extended before me. In that post, I could wait as long as it took, practically willing the guard to come forward.

  As far as I could tell, he was alone, but that didn’t change anything. Already I had killed two men. I was attempting to crawl out through a side vent and had a satellite phone and a number to something stowed on my person.

  Killing one more wouldn’t make my situation any more dire. And it was only a matter of time before the rest of them found out about me anyway.

  My only option was to continue pushing straight ahead. To charge onward, even at the expense of flailing at times, and hope for the best.

  Or, as I had been taught countless times before, to always err on the side of aggression.

  The gun was a standard 9mm, the slide well-oiled, the suppressor of high quality. Holding it in both hands, I extended the weapon to arm’s length, counting off seconds.

  With my back to the ground, I could no longer use the shadow as a reference, instead waiting for my opponent to appear.

  Which, in total, took less than a minute.

  Whatever cautiousness the man had been showing earlier had faded. Without my beating against the louvers, all had grown silent, his AK lowered from shoulder height to his waist.

  Stepping close to the edge, he peered out over the side, his expression approaching bored as he glanced down.

  Even as the pair of rounds slammed into his body, hurtling him backward, the look failed to shift.

  The instant the shots were fired, I let go with my left hand. Pressing it tight against the top ledge of the vent, I slid my torso through, the metal almost scalding to the touch.

/>   Remaining horizontal, I shifted my weight out far enough so my backside could rest on the bottom edge of the vent, hooking my feet under the rafter inside to brace myself. Once my haunches were square on the ledge, I sat upright, holding the gun at eye level.

  Able to just see across the surface of the roof, I swept the weapon from left to right. Moving fast, I checked every surface, seeing no immediate threat.

  On the ground a few feet away was the body of the guard, the Kalashnikov sprawled beside him.

  Training the 9mm on him, I fired twice more, his body spasming slightly on impact, but having no real reaction. Content that he was dead, I placed the gun on the roof and grasped the top edge with both hands.

  I unhooked my toes from beneath the rafter and slowly edged my way through. The heat of the metal burned my palms as I clamped down. Little by little I drew my feet out until they were on the bottom edge of the vent, my body perched in an awkward squat along the side of the building.

  From where I was, I had two choices. I could scrabble my way up onto the roof. From there, I could pillage the guard, maybe take a look around and see if there were any other exits or anything of use.

  As tempting as it might have seemed, I didn’t give it a ton of thought. The clock in my head was continuing to pound ahead. Already I had killed three guards. Somebody inside had surely heard the sound of me tearing out the vent louvers.

  Time was my most precious commodity now, even more than an extra gun or bit of ammunition.

  Releasing my right hand, I snatched up the weapon and returned it to the small of my back. Keeping the hand free, I twisted and again examined the tree line below.

  The fall from where I was to the top of the canopy was no more than eight feet. Thick and dense, it was hard to determine what the support structure was beneath it, but the trees looked like hardwoods.

  Which meant they would have plenty of thick branches, any of which would give me a good base to work with.

  The majority of the last five years, I had made a living working in the wilderness. Doing so had imparted certain skills in me, things far beyond what any amount of government training ever could.