by Peter Darley
Desperately, he turned his attention to the TS-3 and used the standard controls to move it forward slightly. Where’s the turbo controls?
The guards opened fire, but the bullets bounced harmlessly off the alloy shell.
Panic took over, and his finger automatically touched a sensor. The TS-3 shot forward as the electronic door began its rapid closure. He cleared the gap with barely a microsecond to spare. How did I know which button to push?
He flew away from Mach Industries, across trees and homes, and Drake knew he had to get his bearings. He couldn’t deny how appealing the TS-3 was, and he sorely wanted to steal it. But with what he had to do, it would attract attention. His priority was to get back to the Chevy.
He quickly got the feel of the craft and discovered the navigation screen, which enabled him to get a fix on his location. The navigator showed he was already thirty miles away from where he should’ve been. He tapped in his destination coordinates and switched over to autopilot. The TS-3 turned itself around and flew him toward his destination.
The world became a speeding blur of lights as he flew along the highways between traffic. An overwhelming sense of déjà vu came over him. It was all so familiar-but-unfamiliar.
Minutes later, he came to a deserted wooded lot, approximately three miles from Jacobson’s home. This is it.
He slowed down and descended from fifty feet. When the navigator showed he was close to the ground, he looked around for the landing gear, but there wasn’t anything that resembled it. Shit, where the fuck did they put it?
The TS-3 spun out of control and the underside hit the grass, just ahead of the trees. “Son of a bitch!”
Only then did he realize he couldn’t even feel an impact, due to the concussion-resistant design
Finally, he collected himself, shaking with adrenaline.
After climbing out of the TS-3, he reached into the back, and pulled out the rifle and attaché case. He then made his way toward the Chevy on the other side of the wooded lot.
As he walked through the trees, he tried to process what had happened to him. He was beginning to understand the dynamics of his unique condition with greater insight. Belinda Reese wasn’t his only vulnerability. It was also anyone to whom The Interceptor had been close. He’d been struck down when he was preparing to kill Jacobson, but it hadn’t been as severe as something that simply reminded him of Belinda Reese. She was the one The Interceptor loved the most. Taking her out was still the key to overcoming him.
But how could he do it if The Interceptor could knock him down and debilitate him before he could act? There was no doubt The Interceptor persona was growing stronger, but he couldn’t give up. He had to destroy what they had done to him. It would require intense focus and control and would take everything he had. If he was to survive, this woman had to die. By killing The Interceptor’s most beloved, nobody would ever impair him again. She was the one who had the greatest hold over his mind.
He arrived at the Chevy and threw the case and rifle into the trunk. Looking around, he satisfied himself that the area was deserted and there were no witnesses.
He climbed into the car, started it up, and drove on. Soon he’d be on the highway en route to his current motel in Columbia Heights.
***
The phone rang and Emily picked up the receiver. “Samaritans. Emily speaking. How can I help?”
“Hi, Emily. It’s John.”
She took a sharp breath, relieved he’d called back. “Hi, John. How are you feeling today?”
“Not great, but I’m bearing up. I really wanted to talk to you.”
“I’m glad, John. I’m sure you’ll feel much better if you get a few things out. Tell me more about yourself. Do you have a profession?”
“Not anymore.”
“What did you used to do?”
“I was . . . a pilot and a technician, but the company I worked for kinda went up in smoke.”
“What do you mean? Did they go out of business?”
“Yeah, kind of.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. You have no job and no family?”
“I have a brother and a sister somewhere, but I don’t know where. That’s why I’m so alone. No job. No family. No future. I’m constantly depressed. I just don’t know what to do.”
“I feel for you, John. I really do, and I want to help you. Sometimes, when we’re ready to give up, the most amazing surprises can come our way.”
“Like they did for you?”
“Oh, boy. You wouldn’t believe it.”
“Would you mind telling me about it? It might give me something to hold onto.”
Emily was silent for a moment as she contemplated her response. How much should she disclose about herself? She felt a connection with this man that she couldn’t explain. Keep it general. No specifics. “Well, soon after I escaped from the convent . . . after they locked me in my room, I . . . I was kidnapped by a human trafficking organization.”
“Oh, my God.”
“I know. But what I didn’t know is that my brothers had found one another after twenty-five years, and they came looking for me. They saved me, but my older brother was killed. I live with the guilt of that every day.”
“I’m so sorry, Emily. Do you still see your other brother?”
“Actually, I live with him and his father. My other brother who died? Well, his girlfriend lives with us too, and she’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“That’s wonderful.”
His tone sounded more spirited, and Emily felt she’d made the right choice by telling him her story. “That’s what I want you to take from this, John. No matter how bad things seem, you never know what’s around the corner. In a heartbeat I went from finding myself in slavery, to having a family, a terrific roommate, and a rewarding job here at The Samaritans. I’m only able to talk to you right now because of all this. I believe everything happens for a reason.”
“It’s certainly a remarkable and inspiring story, Emily . . .” He stopped in mid-sentence.
“John? You still there?”
“Darn. Can I call you back? I think someone’s at the door.”
“Sure,” she said.
“Thank you.” The call ended.
Emily put the phone back on the cradle and sat back proudly with a feeling of hope and self worth. The evidence that she was helping John was apparent in the rapid change in his tone.
In his motel room, Drake switched off his burner phone and threw it into the bedside trash basket. So, Emily. You live with Belinda Reese and my brother. That has to mean Belinda Reese is at Faraday Ranch.
With a cold grin, he began to gather his belongings in preparation for another long drive. This time—to Dallas.
Twenty-Two
Massacre
Drake parked the Chevy behind a cluster of trees and stepped out. The midday Texas summer heat was intense, but nothing was about to deter him.
It had been another exhausting day-and-a-half journey. After driving across three states the day before, a stopover at the Arkansas border, and a two-and-a-half-hour drive to Fort Worth, he’d finally arrived at his fateful destination.
He brought the set of digital binoculars he’d taken from Mach Industries to his eyes and focused them on the ranch, a couple of miles in the distance. There were eight security guards patrolling the grounds, plus one posted at the entrance. Inside that ranch was his quarry.
Everything was at stake, and he knew he’d have to become stronger than ever to accomplish his objective. If he succeeded in overcoming the pain, the fake persona lurking within the darkest recesses of his subconscious would no longer have any power over him.
Lowering the binoculars, he considered his strategy. There was only one way. He would have to kill them all.
He walked around to the trunk, cracked open the attaché case, and cast the binoculars into it. There were the two pistols he’d taken from the Mojave facility, and enough bullets to deal with those clowns at the ranch. He wasn
’t about to waste sophisticated weaponry like the MZ-507 rifle on a cadre of bottom level rent-a-cops. However, the laser torch might have a use.
His gaze fell upon Cassidy’s Samurai sword—that which had been the creator of his rage. With macabre glee, he took it out and hung it across his back with the shoulder strap.
Scrabbling through the jumble in the case, his fingers tripped over the small transmitters. Just in case, he thought, and took one.
He closed the trunk and placed the pistols in the rim of his jeans, concealed by the hooded top. Pulling the hood over his head, he made his way along the deserted road toward the ranch.
A brisk, determined pace enabled him to reach the entrance of the ranch within ten minutes. From twenty feet away, he saw suspicion in the security guard’s eyes as he approached. It was hardly surprising. A hooded man wearing a Samurai sword was never likely to inspire confidence.
“Can I help you?” the guard said.
“Is Belinda Reese here?”
The guard angled his head in an obvious attempt at gaining a clearer view of the face beneath the hood. “And you would be . . . ?”
Drake raised his head and noticed the sudden, shocked expression on the guard’s face.
“Oh, my God. Y-you’re—”
“Death.” Drake reached over his shoulder and gripped the sword’s handle. Drawing it out, he decapitated the guard in one sweeping movement. The headless corpse slumped to the ground.
Drake wiped the sword on his sleeve and sheathed it before making his way forward along the entrance road. Halfway along, he drew the pistols.
Four security guards brandished their weapons and ran toward him. With a quickening pace, he raised both pistols as they opened fire—but he continued toward them. As he came closer, he could see fear in their eyes. He permitted them one more shot, but it simply bounced off the breastplate beneath his clothing. With that, he fired, taking down four of them with clean shots to their heads.
Four more guards hurried around to the side of the house and braced themselves behind the walls. They reached out to fire at him, but he drove them back with more shots.
He arrived at the front door through exchanged gunfire. One of his pistols was empty, which gave one of the guards the opportunity to emerge from behind the wall. The guard fired, but the bullet struck the breastplate. The terror in the guard’s eyes appeared only for a moment before a shot to the head erased all expression from his face.
One bullet left.
A guard on the left attempted to come out from behind the wall but was driven back by Drake’s last shot. A shower of concrete exploded as the bullet struck the corner of the wall.
Drake thrust the two empty pistols into the rim of his jeans and drew the sword again. Standing in the doorway, he knew there were armed guards behind the walls on either side of the house. He headed to the left and stopped at the edge, knowing he was inches away from one of them. His gaze darted from side to side while he waited.
A pistol crept out from behind the wall, and then the hand gripping it appeared. Drake raised the sword and brought it down, severing the hand at the wrist. The security guard’s scream pierced the air. Drake turned around into his path.
Crouched down in agony, the guard looked up. “P-please . . .”
In a flash, Drake shot the blade across the man’s throat, semi-decapitating him. Two to go.
He walked along the side of the house, peering through the fencing that enclosed the rear open porch. It was deserted. They’ve regrouped at the other side.
He crept around the porch, glancing through the windows fleetingly for signs of life, but it was empty.
As he came to the end, he braced himself. There was only one thing for him to do. Go for it.
He turned into the path of the two security guards and stood before them.
The one on the right aimed his pistol at him. “Don’t come any closer.”
Drake shook his head at their ineptitude. The guard’s hand was shaking to the extent that he couldn’t hold the gun straight. “When are you assholes gonna learn?” He held their gazes for a moment, and then lunged toward them with a bestial roar.
The guard discharged the pistol, but the bullet bounced off the breastplate. Drake reached them, slicing them both across their midsections with one stroke. Bloodlust rose inside him, fueled by the joy of the kill.
He ran around the house again to the front door. After trying the door handle, he discovered it was locked. He took out the laser torch and aimed it at the handle. With the touch of a button, the beam cut through the wood and metal within seconds. He then kicked it with his heel and the door swung open.
Rampaging through the house, he kicked open doors all across the ground floor, but all rooms were vacant.
Next, he scaled the stairwell and frantically entered each room on the first floor. Nobody was there. The same applied to the second and third floors. It was an empty house, consisting of the most appealing luxuries: spotless, beautifully-furnished bedrooms, Jacuzzi bathrooms, an indoor swimming pool on the ground floor, a sauna, steam room, gymnasium, offices, and a huge living room with a bar. But no human being in sight.
He returned to the ground floor, exited the house, and looked to his right. What’s in that guest house?
Using the laser torch again, he entered the guest house and looked around. He noticed it was more humble than the main house, but he quickly found the first bedroom. It was empty.
He walked through the kitchen, and then entered the other bedroom. The moment he stepped inside, he knew.
A photograph of her on the counter caught his attention. He picked it up and gazed into her eyes. The sadness began immediately. No! I have to fight this. I have to beat him. He forced himself to look at her photograph, but the feeling only grew stronger. It was all-consuming. Tears ran down his cheeks until he could bear it no longer. Oh, God!
Dropping the photograph, he found just enough strength to reach into his pocket and take out the transmitter. It was an effort for him to even peel away the plastic adhesive backing. However, he managed to switch it on and crouch low to look around for a dark corner underneath the counter.
Once the transmitter was in place, he staggered out of the guest house and gradually gained speed as he made his way across the field.
Twenty-Three
Shock
Belinda sat with Emily in the back of a cab as they returned home from work together.
Emily turned her attention to Belinda’s midsection. “You’re really starting to show now, you know.”
“Well, I’m nearly four months along.”
“How do you feel about it?”
Belinda’s smile beamed. “Wonderful. The doctor says I should feel the baby kicking soon.”
“I’ve got to tell you, I can’t wait to be an aunt.”
“And you’ll be great too, Em.”
Emily lightly tapped Belinda’s lap and chuckled. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I read the first issue of Interceptor.”
“And what did you think?”
“Well . . . I’m quite embarrassed, actually.”
“Why?”
“Well, at the end it says ‘To be continued’ and I want to know what happens next. Do you have the next one?”
Belinda looked at her surprised, and then burst into laughter. “No, I haven’t. We’ll have to look on eBay.”
They turned the corner to the ranch to discover their passage was blocked by a police car. Then they saw the place had been cordoned off by yellow tape around the perimeter. A squad of police cars and an ambulance were parked in front of the house in the distance.
“Oh, my God!” Belinda said. “What’s going on?”
Emily shook her head with deep concern in her eyes.
Belinda barely had the presence of mind to pay the driver before exiting the car with Emily. “You remember when I told you I sensed something terrible was going to happen?”
“Yes.”
“I have a horrible feelin
g this is it.”
Through the crowd, Belinda saw Tyler talking to two police officers. Charlton was at the back talking to a tall, burly man in a police uniform. She assumed it was the sheriff.
Tyler looked across at them and excused himself from the officers.
“Tyler, what’s going on?” Belinda said.
Without answering, he hugged them both together. “Damn, we were so lucky,” he said, his voice quavering. “You just missed the TV crew.”
“But what happened?”
“We don’t know. We don’t even know how many there were, but all the security guards are dead. Some of them decapitated.”
Belinda’s hand came over her mouth with the horror of having to process something so ghastly.
“Who would have done such a terrible thing?” Emily said, shaking her head vacantly.
“I don’t know, Em. That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
Sheriff Aldo Malloy’s intense stare burned into Charlton Faraday’s. “So, you have no idea who did this?”
Charlton had been cagey throughout—uncertain of whether he should disclose what he knew. Finally, he realized he had no choice, and ushered the sheriff away from the crowd. Away from Tyler, in particular. “Al, we’ve been friends for many years.”
“We sure have. Charlton, tell me something truthfully. Do you know who did this?”
He looked at the sheriff darkly, and whispered, “I can’t be absolutely sure, but I think so.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You remember the incident in Los Angeles a few months ago.”
“With Tyler, his brother, and the slave traders?”
“Yes. At the hospital, I had a tip that one of them, Han Fong, had escaped, and that we should watch our backs. That’s why I had the security set up here.”
The sheriff became pallid and looked away for a moment. He then turned back to Charlton. “And you think this Fong guy had something to do with this?”
“Like I said, I can’t be sure. It wouldn’t have been him by himself. He’s affiliated with one of the Tongs. I’ve had an investigator looking into it. One of the best.”
