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

by Dustin Stevens

  And with only a single hand.

  Keeping that in mind, both Glocks were extended at arm’s length as I stepped past their bodies, finally making my way back into the warehouse several hours after first entering.

  Without the enormous extended bus and the light of day, the warehouse seemed much larger. Almost cavernous, the only light on the first floor came from the faint flicker of fire behind me, casting elongated shadows over everything.

  Along the back wall sat a pair of small all-terrain vehicles, presumably how the backup I had suspected had arrived. Small and inconspicuous, they had probably pushed right through the service entrance, making their way to the warehouse without a second glance.

  Sweat continued to flow down from my scalp. It ran along the tips of my hair and over my clean chin, dripping from my jaw. Inside the enclosed space, the temperature and humidity seemed to rise exponentially, both helped greatly by the fire burning nearby.

  Even more so by the adrenaline surging through my system.

  Staying close to the wall, I made three hard steps, practically diving from the flickering light of the fire into the shadows. Sliding to my knees, I kept one Glock aimed outward, placing the other on the ground. With a quick twitch of the shoulders, I slid the bag down and dug inside, fishing out the night vision goggles.

  I didn’t bother to put them on, instead just holding them up and doing a quick scan of the first floor.

  Counting the two I’d just put down, there was at most six people remaining. One was still on the roof. Another was the leader, who would be less likely to engage, and probably have someone serving as personal protection.

  That meant four guards upstairs.

  The first thing they would have likely done was bring the hostages together. After I’d slipped away, they wouldn’t want to take the risk of losing anybody else.

  And fewer groups made for easier guarding.

  The rooms I saw weren’t big enough to hold all hundred-plus passengers, but two rooms would be more than enough space. They also wouldn’t want to barricade the doors any longer, not after so many had seen how I’d gotten out.

  Which meant two people each for groups of fifty to sixty, one inside, one out in the hallway.

  At least, that’s how I would have handled it.

  Scanning the first floor confirmed what I’d suspected. Aside from the occasional flash of color in response to the fire and the two bright orbs of the men lying outside, there were no signs of life in the main body of the warehouse.

  Even the engines of the ATV’s had cooled enough to keep them from showing up hot.

  Dropping the goggles into the bag, I shifted the sack back around my shoulders. Taking up my second Glock, I rose to a standing position and began to move, my back just inches from the wall as I made my way toward the staircase.

  Pausing at the base of it, I glanced at the main floor once more before shifting my attention upward toward the door I’d passed through once already on the day.

  If I was running this operation from that end, I would recognize that the door was the only point of entry. I would rig it to blow, or at least warn me if somebody tried to breach.

  Cameras would be mandatory. Explosives would be better.

  Both Gold Tooth and Cruz had been inked with the insignia of the Venezuelan military and the man that had spoken to us carried himself with sort of relaxed authority that would certainly denote he was used to giving orders.

  They would be trained. They would have thought exactly what I was.

  And they would have also noticed that they had backed themselves into a poor position, there being no other way in or out of the second-floor spread.

  Built clearly as an add-on, the space was not part of the original design. There was no secondary exit, not even the required ventilation for such a space.

  Poor configuration was what had allowed me to get out in the first place.

  And it was the same exact thing that was going to get me back in.

  They couldn’t rig the door to explode because doing so meant they would be stuck. I might have been able to jump into the surrounding vegetation, but I had also torn away chunks of flesh and been damn lucky. Such an escape was a crapshoot, not the sort of thing anybody would consider a contingency.

  Their only route in or out was at the top of the staircase.

  And while it wasn’t optimal, it was going to be the same for me.

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  General Renzo Clega had made it as far as the door when his phone erupted from the desk in the center of the makeshift office. Under most any other circumstance he would have ignored it, the urgency in what his aide was telling him taking precedent.

  They had not received any word from their outer patrols. The guards on the roof had gone silent as well.

  Whatever thoughts Clega had been having just moments before were gone. However much he might have hoped that whoever had slipped away had evaporated into the ether, nothing more than wishful thinking.

  Either they had returned - or more likely - they had provided somebody else with the information they needed to do so.

  Knowing that, Clega was heading out fast. Transport was still too far out to be of assistance. Equipped with a very light detachment that was growing smaller by the moment, he needed to make some instantaneous decisions.

  What to do with the hostages. How to best defend the warehouse.

  How to get himself away should things get really ugly.

  All of that was pushed to the side by the ringtone of the phone. Instantly recognizable as the one reserved for the president, he knew there was no way he could ignore it. That doing so meant Salazar was aware of the shitstorm occurring around them.

  Not answering would only add to the growing maelstrom.

  “Keep a watch. One minute.”

  The aide accepted the information with a nod. He slid his sidearm from his hip and stood just outside the doorway, his feet wide and braced like he was expecting a linebacker to come charging ahead at any moment.

  A crease appeared between Clega’s brows as he saw the posture taken.

  Just as fast, he shoved it away, swinging the door closed behind him.

  The phone had been ringing for close to half a minute by the time Clega got to it. Snatching it up, he pressed it to his face.

  “Mr. President.”

  “General,” Salazar replied. “I trust you are seeing what is going on?”

  Not sure if the president was aware of what was occurring around the warehouse, Clega felt his chest draw tight. Losing his men was bad enough. Having the leader of the country already calling him on it made things much worse.

  “Sir?”

  “The fireworks,” Salazar said. His voice was almost a hiss, the cadence used when trying to sound tough. “Belmonte is making a mockery of us.”

  Pushing out a breath, Clega felt his body relax slightly. Salazar was still in the dark. He just had to finish the conversation and fix things before they got any worse.

  “Belmonte is making it easy for us,” Clega corrected. “By drawing so much attention to himself, the list of people he’s pissing off is endless.”

  Whether that was true or not hardly mattered. Clega knew the president would grab for the easiest explanation, this being the justification for their actions he was looking for.

  “Yes, well, that’s why I’m calling,” Salazar said. “I just spoke to the American president. They don’t suspect a thing.”

  Clega hadn’t expected them to. They had a very small presence in Venezuela for a reason. The place had little to offer.

  Just like with Salazar, they would snatch up the easiest result and be on their way.

  And spoon-feeding them Belmonte was just that.

  “And coupled with whatever Belmonte is about to do tonight...” Salazar added, letting his voice trail.

  “Precisely.”

  Pausing, Clega turned back over his shoulder. He looked at the door, seeing it stand closed. At the
foot of it, he could still see twin shadows where the staff sergeant was posted up.

  He needed to be on his way. This was starting to drag on too long.

  “Which is why I’m calling,” Salazar said. “I think it’s almost time.”

  Snapping his attention back to face forward, Clega’s features crinkled. “Now? Already?”

  “Yes,” Salazar replied. “The U.S. is on board. Everybody is looking at Belmonte. We can’t afford to have anybody later come back at us.”

  Clega’s mouth opened to respond. His mind worked through a handful of answers, all lined up to be fired back.

  None ever got as far as his lips. Instead, his jaw went slack at the sight of the orange plume of an explosion rising before him. An instant later came the thudding wail of it, the reflection of fire climbing into the night sky across the glass he was staring through.

  “I’m going to have to call you back.”

  Chapter Eighty

  My first thought was to go back to the ATV’s. I would try to find a gas tank, or siphon off a bit of fuel, or do something to create my own form of improvised explosive.

  From there, I would steal up the steps and plant it along the handle, then retreat and fire on it from below. Once the door was open and whoever was on the opposite side was scrambling, I would burst through.

  As fast as the plan arrived, it was dismissed. Doing all that would require a great deal of time I didn’t have. It would need even more luck, to ensure I didn’t maim myself or some of the passengers.

  It would also minimize whatever lead the conglomerated efforts of Farkus and Vance and Manny had given me.

  For the last forty-five minutes, I’d had someone running interference for me. Some form of diversion to make my opponent look the opposite direction as I stole my way inside.

  The rest was on me. They had all put themselves on a limb to ensure I had the greatest chance of success.

  Now it was time to do just that.

  Turning sideways, I kept my back flat against the wall. With knees bent, I ascended one step a time. My left arm was pointed upward at an angle, finger practically twitching, ready to fire at the first sign of movement. The right was aimed in the opposite direction, the tips of both weapons extended from my torso in a straight line.

  Every two seconds my head shifted sides, checking one front and then the other, each glance in time with rising another stair.

  At the halfway point I stopped on the small landing. Crouching low, I contemplated going to the goggles again before deciding against it, not wanting to expend the extra time, before pushing on again.

  With each step, my body rose a little higher into the air, an easy target should anybody slip inside.

  Even easier if they happened to be outside peering through a scope.

  Tension rose in my body, sweat seeping from my pores, knowing that I was so exposed.

  Resolve climbed in direct correlation, realizing there was nothing I could do about it.

  “Twelve more,” I whispered, the words so faint I barely heard them, instantly swallowed by the vast expanse around me. Spoken more to calm my nerves than anything, I increased my speed just slightly, the top landing coming ever closer.

  From this point on, there would be no slowing. No stopping to check my rear. Not even a quick moment to assess the door when I reached it.

  All I could do now was hurtle myself forward. Hope that any mistakes made would be covered by being the aggressor. That my sudden appearance and perpetual motion would be enough to get me through.

  One by one, the last of the steps disappeared underfoot. By the time I reached the top landing, I was more than twenty feet in the air. Nothing but a single metal bar separated me from the ground below.

  My shirt clung to my body with sweat. The open wounds on my arms glistening under the flickering light of the fire outside.

  The combined tastes of brine and bitterness passed over my tongue.

  To an outside observer, there was no reason why I was doing what I was doing. Besides Rembert, I didn’t know a single person on the plane. I wasn’t involved with law enforcement any longer. Aside from Ela, I didn’t even know a single person in the entire country I was standing in.

  I didn’t have to do what I did to Gold Tooth. Didn’t have to jump from a building and run through the woods to track down help.

  Damned sure didn’t have to put together a rescue mission and come back.

  But what those observers wouldn’t realize was, sometimes we do things just because there’s nobody else to do them.

  I had no idea what was waiting for me on the other side of that door. I didn’t know if there was a hundred armed men or a hundred murdered passengers.

  All I knew was, somebody had to go through there and find out.

  The door was a simple affair. It was a solid metal structure with a horizontal push bar across the middle of it, silver standing bright against a dark green background.

  Sliding away from the wall, I put my back against the metal rail. If anybody was out there, this was their perfect shot, the full width of my back on plain display.

  For a moment, I stood still, listening, waiting, as I raised the Glocks to shoulder height. Elongated tips extended before me, they were trained to explode at anything that moved.

  Ten seconds passed, not a single sound or movement coming back to me.

  It was time.

  Chapter Eighty-One

  I expected the door to be locked. Given the position of it and the fact that the offices were on the other side, I figured that there would be some way of securing it from that side.

  And I was right.

  It just didn’t matter.

  Using the rail for leverage, I hurtled my body across the short expanse of the landing. Raising my leg parallel to the floor, my heel smashed into the push bar, a move that was a combination of martial arts and professional wrestling.

  For just an instant, the door pressed back, the metal hasp on the end holding tight, before the intensity of the kick was too much.

  Driven by pure animosity, my leg drove straight through the metal bindings, the door swinging open wide. Arcing away, it crashed into the wall beside me, bright halogen light flooding out.

  Just as I remembered, the door entered on the side at the far end of a long hallway. To my right, it extended out for thirty yards or so, eight feet wide and the same in height.

  To my left was an oversized door, presumably opening into the presidential suite that looked out over the airport and accommodated the other half of the width of the warehouse.

  All of that, my subconscious managed to register and file in a split second. Already having been inside the space, none of it came as a surprise. Like seeing a picture again, familiarity kicked in, everything clicking into place.

  What occupied my conscious mind was the young man standing no more than five feet in front of me. Dressed in black military attire, his eyes and mouth all went wide for a split second at the sight of me.

  Just as my foot landed back onto the white tile underfoot, the rest of his senses seemed to catch up, the front tip of the Kalashnikov he was holding rising slightly.

  Using the momentum of my kick, I dropped to my knees. The denim moved smoothly against the polished floor, both weapons rising at an angle as I slid forward, unloading a pair of shots from each weapon into his chest.

  Entry wounds spat bright red stripes across the floor, random spatter fanning out in a wide arc. With each shot, his body jerked in a spastic movement, the gun sliding from his hands.

  An instant later it landed in a clatter at his feet, his body teetering unevenly before drifting backward. His shoulder blades were the first to hit the door, his weight remaining propped upright until gravity won out and he slowly slid downward.

  By the time he made it all the way to his ass, his eyes were already fixed and dilated. Bloody spittle ran down over his chin.

  Five to go.

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  The journey
for Grey Rembert and the other passengers huddled in the fourth room lasted all of fifteen feet. Nothing more than a quick scuttle from one holding cell into the one beside it, no sooner had the group went inside than the doors were closed tight behind them.

  Crowding into the space that was much too small for a mass so large, more than fifty people – half of those that boarded the plane in Atlanta that morning – were wedged in tight.

  Watching over them were a pair of guards, the two so close in appearance they might have been related. Each standing with assault rifles before them, their foreheads glistened beneath the bright overhead lights. Every few seconds they exchanged hushed comments, neither taking their gaze from the room.

  With their backs to the wall, they were careful to keep a wide swath of space between them and those they were watching over.

  “What do you think’s going on?”

  It was the first time Rembert had heard the girl’s voice. Jerking his head to the side, he stared at her for a moment, surprised to see her awake and alert. Any residual sign of what had taken place seemed to have bled away, the heightened stress of switching rooms having brought her senses alive.

  Parting his lips to respond, Rembert felt a searing pain travel the length of his jaw and down into his neck. A sheen of tears came to his eyes as his hand shot up, his body’s natural reaction to massage the area.

  Stopping just short of doing so, he looked down at the girl, saying nothing. Pressing his lips together, he gestured to his face and shook his head slightly.

  A silent move meant to relay he wanted to respond, but physically couldn’t.

  Gathering as much, the girl’s eyes traveled down to his jaw, settling on the unnatural swelling that had left the lower half of his face twisted to the side.

  For an instant, a look of sorrow passed over her features as her gaze shifted back up to match his.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Thank you for doing that. I can’t imagine what would have happened if that creep...”

  Her voice drifting away, the same veneer of moisture rose to her eyes that had gotten Rembert a moment before.