Off Guard: A clean action adventure book

by Glen Robins

  Penh smiled a cat-like smile at him. “Yes, indeed,” he said as he led Collin back into the room. A chair was ready for him in the far corner. Penh swept his hand in front of him, guiding Collin toward the seat. “You missed the part where you turn over the thirty million dollars to me. We leave for Panama as soon as we are finished here. You were clever enough to make that money so secure that only you can withdraw it and then, only in person. Clever but potentially detrimental to your friend because if anything goes wrong, he will suffer even more than he has already.”

  Collin hesitated, scanning the room before he sat down. It was a long way back to the door and there were a lot of people between him and his escape route. Penh impatiently pointed toward the empty chair in front of the table where Collin’s laptop sat open and ready. The login screen silently waited for him.

  As he maneuvered his legs under the table, his thoughts strayed as he recalled all the time he had spent typing away on that very keyboard. He thought about the photo journal he had started for his late wife and the pictures of all the cool places he had visited. Penh nudged his shoulder, thus ending his nostalgic musings.

  Collin typed in his username and password. The computer began scrolling through its security protocol. Collin realized as he watched it do its thing that he hadn’t logged in to his computer for weeks. When the security protocols ended, a window popped up and Collin was asked to swipe his right index finger across the ID pad, which he did. Then he was asked to scan his retina. This task required him to put his eye close to the camera at the top of his monitor and hold still. Next was the special phrase he had to type. This was not only a password, but it measured the rhythm, pressure, and cadence of his typing. After passing all three phases of the identity verification, Collin tensed up. He felt Penh leaning closer, his breath hitting the top of his head and trailing down his neck. It was uncomfortable. He began to wonder what Penh would do to him if his login failed.

  “Open your bank account. Let’s make sure you haven’t moved the money,” Penh enunciated calmly.

  “I can’t. You know that. This bank does not allow Internet access. It’s strictly in-person, old-fashioned banking for the rich and paranoid.”

  Penh huffed as if he didn’t believe what Collin told him. Just for good measure, Collin tried to find the bank online. No luck. Penh huffed again and straightened up. A moment later, the two bodyguards crowded in on either side of Collin’s seat and forcibly stood him up and moved him behind the chair. A skinny, bespectacled Asian guy slid into his vacated seat. He began typing furiously.

  White words on a black screen began to scroll at a blistering pace from the top to the bottom, line after line. Occasionally, the lines would stop and the cursor would blink until the Asian guy typed in something else. Then, the scrolling would continue. After several minutes of this, the NSA logo filled the screen. From here, the nerdy operator used the mouse to maneuver through the site. Penh leaned in closer and began directing him where to go. He was visibly enthused by what appeared to be top-secret documents, blueprints, and memos. Penh asked the nerdy guy to open one after another.

  Penh was enthralled and asked the nerd to stop every so often so he could look more closely. Before Collin knew it, an hour had passed. The bodyguards never relinquished their hold on his arms, but their grips did loosen. A quiet whisper came through the earpiece. “Be ready.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Seventy-Sixth Floor, Unfinished Office Building, Mexico City, Mexico

  June 18, 10:23 p.m. Local Time

  The room suddenly went dark, except for the glow of the laptop screens running on battery power. Gasps turned to panic as the sound of firecracker bursts erupted in the empty expanse outside of the conference room. High-speed projectiles began slamming into the wall, causing everyone to duck and drop to the floor, including Collin and the two guards.

  Collin used the opportunity to free himself from their respective grips. Because he was closer, the guy on Collin’s right got an elbow to the gut as he pulled Collin to the ground. In the darkness, Collin spun and smashed his fist into the man’s side over and over as fast as he could, landing three solid blows to the ribs before the man curled and rolled away. The second guard had moved forward to cover Penh and pulled him and the nerd to the safety of the floor.

  With both guards occupied, Collin began clawing his way over bodies and between chairs toward the double doors on his hands and knees.

  Crawling as fast as he could through the darkness and confusion toward the room’s only exit, Collin was at the door and had begun opening it when he felt someone grab his ankle. The muted light revealed the outline of the bodyguard he had pummeled. Without thinking, he drove the sole of his free foot straight outward and felt it connect with the guy’s head. He heard a pained grunt. The grip slackened. He struck out again at the head, then slammed the same foot down against the wrist that held him. Finally, it relented and he shimmied through the crack of the door and into the cavernous expanse.

  Butch, Pepé, and Salazar were gone and pandemonium reigned in the open space of the unfinished floor. Intermittent bursts of rapid gunfire erupted from a group assembled a few yards to his left. A moment later came the answer from somewhere farther inside the building. Bullets whizzed through the air and ricocheted off hard surfaces. Glass popped and shattered in the distance.

  Collin remained on his hands and knees and scurried to his right, away from the gunfire, in search of an escape route. The muzzle flashes continued in the distance to his left and seemed to be pointed in the general direction of the stairway he and the others had come down earlier.

  A smoky haze and the smell of spent ammunition filled the air. The commandos were systematically securing the building under Lukas’s direction. Butch and his team were busy securing the stairway and the helipad. He could hear their frenzied exchanges through his earpiece.

  “Collin,” he heard Lukas calling through the earpiece. “Get to the helicopter. The team will take you to safety. Hurry, while the stairway is secure.”

  Collin had no microphone, no way to communicate back to Lukas. With all the gunfire going back and forth, the stairwell did not seem very secure. Instead, he moved into the inky darkness to his right. As his eyes adjusted, he began to move more quickly, avoiding the construction mess as he did.

  Lukas and Butch and their team were executing their mission to thwart Penh and disrupt his plan. That was their top priority.

  But it wasn’t Collin’s. Getting Rob was. No way would Collin board that helicopter without Rob.

  Collin worked his way through the dark until he saw the columnar shape of what he guessed was another stairway. It was a good guess. Once inside the stairway, he stood again and descended the steps as fast as his aching body would go. One level down, he cautiously peered through the door, surveying the area for guards or shooters. Seeing no one and hearing nothing, he stepped out into another unfinished floor, expecting to see Rob off to the left, like he had before. But he wasn’t there. Neither was the broken window. There were no windows around because this stairway was situated close to the center of the building. He took a moment to orient himself. Vast, empty space spread out in all directions. The clatter of guns and bullets from above was ominous and made it hard to think.

  Collin moved out guardedly, trying to orient himself. He noticed a light in the distance, near the corner of the building. He remembered the light from his brief encounter with Rob, so he moved through the scattered debris toward it. On his way, he kicked and stumbled over an aluminum beam lying across the floor. The clanging reverberated through the hollow building. Collin paused, half-expecting someone to show up and shoot him. Nothing happened, so he scampered forward in a crouch, picking his way through the debris, more carefully now.

  As he neared the hanging bulb, wind hit him in the face, so he moved into it, remembering the missing window next to Rob. After maneuvering his way between the framed sections, the buckets, the spools of wiring, and randomly strewn p
allets, he saw Rob’s inert figure still sitting in the wheelchair, not more than six feet from the edge of the window. His heart sank seeing his best friend like that.

  He approached Rob from Rob’s right side. Rob looked to be unconscious, chin against his chest, motionless. The wind howled through the opening. No wonder Rob didn’t react to all the noise Collin had made.

  Collin eased up next to his best friend, noting the left hand wrapped in white gauze and stained with blood. A flood of memories and feelings wanted to run wild in his mind, but he pushed them back. Holding his emotions in check, Collin tapped his buddy on the shoulder. Nothing. He shook the shoulder. Nothing. He paused while a wave of terror washed over him. What if they had killed him already? Fear, followed by anger, chased away by grief, finished with a gut-wrenching sickness that swept through Collin’s heart and body in that instant.

  Collin moved around until he was kneeling in front of the wheelchair. First, he checked Rob’s pulse along his carotid artery. Relieved to find it, he grabbed Rob’s face with both hands and pulled his head up from his chest. What he saw horrified him. Blood dripped down from Rob’s nose and mouth. Both eyes were swollen and purple. Bruises and scrapes covered most of his face. Gently, he shook him again, trying to wake him.

  A crunching sound came from somewhere behind him. “It’s no use, Mr. Cook,” echoed the arrogant, accented voice of Pho Nam Penh. More crunching as he stepped into the light. “You see the cost of friendship with you? It will be quite some time, I’d imagine, before he revives. But, by then, it will be too late. For him and for you.”

  ****

  Mobile Command Center, Mexico City, Mexico

  June 18, 10:28 p.m. Local Time

  Lukas watched the gun battles via helmet-mounted video feeds. It didn’t look promising at the moment. Although Collin had done an admirable job of stalling, it wasn’t quite enough. Lukas and his Mexican counterparts needed more time. He knew the forces loyal to the democratically elected government of Mexico outnumbered those whom Torres had misled with his silvery promises of a new world order and the resurgence of the mighty Aztec nation as the rightful rulers of the American continent. But the truth was, Penh, Torres, and their band of dreamers had the upper hand in this battle while the loyalist troops continued to gather. He bit his lip and continued to watch both the video feed of the skirmish up in the tower on one screen and the progress of the amassing troops on another. He just hoped the groups inside the building could hold on long enough for the reinforcements to arrive.

  His phone buzzed with an incoming text, which brought a sigh of relief. The commanding general of the Mexican Army was on his way with a hand-selected brigade of Special Forces commandos. Their estimated time of arrival was eleven minutes out.

  Lukas felt like a sleeping giant had been awakened. Perhaps broadcasting the unfolding events over a secured network to those who had remained skeptical of the intel he and his counterpart had provided was making the difference. Some people will only believe once they see. The question now was whether their acceptance of the facts and conversion to full-fledged support was too late.

  He smiled a wistful smile as he shook his head slowly. His team needed some good news right about now, so he spoke words of encouragement through the microphone to all those wearing the communication gear, hoping the prospect of additional troops joining the fray would bolster their spirits and give them courage to hold out a little longer.

  ****

  Seventy-Fifth Floor, Unfinished Office Building, Mexico City, Mexico

  June 18, 10:29 p.m. Local Time

  “You’re a sick bastard, Penh,” Collin snarled as he rose gracelessly to his blistered feet. He tried not to hobble in front of his enemy, but his legs were stiff and his midsection was sore. He stood, nonetheless, reaching his full five-foot-eleven-inch stature. Even in the faint light of the single bulb overhead, the taut muscles of his exposed chest and abdomen were obvious. The veins in his arms bulged with the adrenaline the ongoing skirmish produced.

  Penh watched him through narrowed eyes. He practically spat his condescending words at Collin. “Maybe you think so, but I’m a winner. Always have been. You? You are a loser. Always have been. You may have thought you could beat me. Catch me unaware. Somehow come into my fortress here and escape with the victory. Tssk. Tssk. Tssk.”

  “Doesn’t look to me like you’re winning. Looks more like you’re surrounded and about to lose,” said Collin as he rigidly stepped backward toward a larger more open space behind the wheelchair.

  Penh chuckled. “Trust me, Mr. Cook. We have more troops at the ready that will soon overpower the pitiful force your friends at the NSA have assembled. You see, I have spent months planning for every contingency and have gathered vast support, which you will see in action momentarily.”

  “You might be the most arrogant, delusional, and twisted piece of human garbage I’ve ever encountered.” Collin spoke slowly as he continued to back away from Rob’s wheelchair, hoping to lure Penh some distance from Rob. “Even while you’re getting crushed, you think you’re winning. Unbelievable.”

  “Crushed? You call that getting crushed?” Penh sneered, angling his arm toward the commotion above them. “Your handful of commandos against our hundreds of soldiers? I believe you might be the delusional one, Mr. Cook.”

  “Think what you want, you prick. Truth is, you’re going to lose tonight.”

  Penh shook his head slowly. “You have no idea what you’re up against, Mr. Cook.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Another thing I know is that you don’t have the guts to face me, so you pick on my mom and my friends.” Collin was backing up as he spoke, moving into the open but darkened space in the corner of the building behind Rob. With each step backward, Penh moved closer. “You catch them off guard and use them against me. You’re a slime ball and I’ve been looking forward to this moment since your goon shot my friend Tog. I just didn’t think you had the balls to show up and face me like a man.” Collin raised his fists, calling Penh in for a fight.

  “I see you are unarmed,” said Penh, stepping carefully through the aluminum frames, six feet behind Rob. “I am, as well.” Penh held out his hands so they were visible.

  “Yeah, but your two little buddies aren’t. I’m sure they’re around here somewhere. You can’t seem to face anything on your own. Not even a loser like me.”

  Penh removed his suitcoat and draped it over an aluminum crossbeam in the framework he’d just stepped through while Collin rolled his shoulders and head, trying to loosen the muscles. Penh then removed his tie and set it on top of the coat. “My bodyguards are preoccupied at the moment,” he said as he unbuttoned his top button. “So it will be just you and me. Mano y mano, as they say around here. This will be most gratifying.”

  Penh bent his knees slightly, moving foot over foot gracefully in a wide arc, rolling up his sleeves as he glided, looking like a panther on the prowl. Collin circled haltingly, his aching body struggling to match Penh’s movements. With his fists raised in a boxer’s classic defensive pose, Collin looked and felt clumsy next to Penh’s refined and practiced moves. But he had a secret he hoped would make up the difference. Buried in his right fist was a nail he had scooped up as he knelt next to Rob and heard Penh’s footsteps. It was his only hope of besting Penh in a fight he knew he couldn’t otherwise win, even if he was feeling 100 percent.

  Penh closed the gap, tightening the circle. Penh weaved this way and that. Collin reacted sluggishly. He kept moving and felt his muscles warming up as he did. After two or three circles, Penh lunged at him. Collin couldn’t dodge quickly enough to stymie the attack. Penh drew first blood, landing a vicious blow to the side of Collin’s face. Collin managed to push him away before he could strike again.

  Collin licked his mouth and tasted the coppery tang of his own blood as it dripped from his lips. Penh backed away and laughed mockingly. Penh swaggered, his supreme confidence and superior training on full display while Collin regrouped. Feeling like
the lowly Rocky Balboa facing the venerable world champion, Apollo Creed, Collin raised his fists again and tried to shake off the additional pain.

  Penh seized the moment and launched himself forward. Two quick shuffle steps and he had breached Collin’s perimeter. He kicked out, chest high, but Collin dodged deftly to his right and deflected the leg as he twisted his body away from the incoming kick. He jabbed the leg downward with the butt of his right hand. The nail was too concealed in his hand and didn’t make contact with Penh’s leg as he’d hoped.

  Penh appeared to be mildly surprised as he resumed circling. Maybe he didn’t expect any resistance. He seemed content at the moment to just toy with his prey. That could be his undoing. Collin decided to continue to look sluggish, even though he could feel his body responding to the renewed adrenaline surging through his veins. He suspected he was tougher than Penh presumed. Plus, he had a nail in his hand, which he tried to position better in his grip as he purposely lumbered around the circle.

  Penh swooped in again, this time with his fists. Collin kept his arms up in front of his face, but Penh landed two blows, one to each side of his head that sent him reeling and staggering backward. Again, the stiff muscles showed an awkwardness that Penh seized upon, lashing out again with another barrage. But Collin saw it coming. He ducked and dodged and blocked a right-handed arcing punch with the pointy end of the nail sticking out. Penh cried out in pain as the point ripped his shirt and slashed his skin. He retreated a few steps and surveyed his forearm, pressing on the bleeding gash. This only made him angrier and he flew at Collin again, kicking out with his legs. Collin moved left and jabbed out again with his curled right hand, sticking the point of the nail into the side of Penh’s calf. Penh pulled back again, a stunned look on his face. His pant leg was torn and blood was running into his silky blue dress sock.