“What would I do without you?” I ask.
“Well, you probably wouldn’t have as much great sex as you do now,” she replies.
We laugh and I lean down, kissing her hard on her lips. When we part, we look into each other’s eyes for a moment.
“See you soon, beautiful,” I say.
“I’ll be here waiting,” she replies.
I smile, pick up my bag, and then leave the room. I walk out my front door and down the stairs to the back of the bar. I walk round to the street, where Josh and Schultz are standing side by side, leaning against their car. I stand in front of them, bag over my shoulder.
I say, “You guys ready?”
Without a word, they get in the car. I climb in the back, behind Josh, who’s driving. As we set off, I lean forward.
“Swing by the police station, would you? I wanna see the sheriff before I go.”
“No worries,” says Josh, turning right at the end of the street and heading up the hill toward the station house.
“Hey, you’ve got a companion club here, haven’t you?” he asks, rhetorically.
“Yeah,” I reply. “One of the girls there is friends with Tori.”
“Really? Might have to come back and visit you when you’re back up and running…”
I smile.
“It still ain’t right,” says Schultz. “Drugs and whores shouldn’t be legal.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you, Ryan,” I say. “But there’s no denying the effect it’s had on the country since the president got elected.”
“Ah, horseshit,” he spits, waving his hand dismissively. “I don’t trust that prissy, silver-spoon son’ bitch any farther than I can throw him!”
“Nice to see you’re not bitter about losing your position on the National Security Council.”
Josh chuckles. “Been keeping up with your sarcasm lessons then?” he asks me.
“I learned from the best,” I say.
We round the corner and pull up outside the police station, where we’d all stood just a few hours ago.
“I’ll just be a minute,” I say as I get out of the car.
I walk across the parking lot and through the front doors into the reception area. There’s a deputy stationed on the front desk, which runs almost the entire width of the room, with just a hatch on the left to go through into the main office, spread out behind him. His name’s Thompson, and he’s a nice guy. He’s been in the bar a few times—not much of a drinker.
“Hey,” I say as I approach the counter. “The sheriff around?”
He looks up from whatever paperwork he's engrossed in. He’s got neat, short dark hair with a side parting, and is clean-shaven and fresh-faced. He’s only a rookie, and has lived in Devil’s Spring his whole life. He’s got no clue about the world beyond our modest borders, bless him.
“Yes, sir,” he replies, respectfully. “Let me call him.”
He reaches for the phone but I stop him. “Actually, d’you mind if I go back and see him? I just want a word in private.”
He hesitates. “Well… I’m not supposed to let civilians back here unescorted,” he says.
“Then escort me, I don’t care.”
“But I can’t leave my post, sir…”
I sigh. I don’t have the patience for this. “Listen, I’ve had a pretty shit couple a days. You’ve seen the state of my bar... y’know, after it got shot at by eight armed terrorists… I just gotta see the sheriff about something.”
He goes to speak but a voice at the back of the squad room beats him to it.
“It’s alright, Thompson,” shouts Raynor, who’s come out of his office. “Adrian, come on through.”
I walk through the hatch, past the other two deputies sitting at their desks, and over to Raynor. We step into his office, which is in the back right corner of the building. He offers me a seat, but I remain standing.
“I’ve not got long,” I explain. “I’m on my way to Fort Worth. I’m flying out to New York straight away.”
“You fell off the wagon then?” he asks with a half-smile.
“Something like that, yeah. You heard of GlobaTech?”
“Those big military contractors? Sure, I heard of ’em.”
“Well, an old friend works for them, and they’ve been tracking the organization that keeps sending assholes to kill me. I’m gonna go help them out, maybe put a stop to all this before it escalates.”
He nods. “I’ll keep an eye on Tori for you,” he says, not waiting for me to ask him.
“I appreciate that, thanks.” I extend my hand, which he shakes.
He moves over to his desk and picks up a folder. “Adrian… I wanted you to hear this from me, in case you speak to anyone else about it. I asked those FBI fellas to give me a copy of your file. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought it could be useful for the investigations, in case your character’s called into question or somethin’.”
I nod. I honestly don’t care either way at this stage. I’ve been upfront with him about my past, and there’s nothing in that file that he won’t already know.
“Thanks for telling me,” I say. “But I’ve no issue with it.”
“There’s, ah… there’s some pretty crazy things in here after you left the army.”
I smile. “I’ve been around, yeah.”
“San Francisco… Nevada… Pittsburgh…”
“To name a few.”
“And you say you’re going to New York to help go after these terrorist bastards who’ve been trying to kill you?”
I nod.
“Jesus… I’m glad I’m not a goddamn terrorist.”
I smile again, and he chuckles for a moment.
“I’ll take care of things here,” he says. “You go and save the world, or whatever it is you intend doing.”
“Thanks, John. You’re a good man.”
We shake hands again, and I turn and leave. I walk through the station without a word and back out front, where the afternoon sun is battering the town. I climb in the back of Josh’s sedan.
“You good?” asks Josh.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I reply. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
He drives away, and within half an hour, we’re halfway to San Antonio. I start to think about the flight, and what I’ll do when I get to New York. I can’t remember the last time I was there. If I find this Hussein guy, I’m going to do everything I can to bring him in alive, so Josh can work his magic on him. But before I do anything, I’m going to make that bastard tell me where Clara Fox is.
Her and me got a lot of catching up to do.
11.
18:15 CDT
GlobaTech’s private jet is a Lear 85. I’ve never traveled like this before, and it’s a bit weird being the only passenger. There are a handful of seats inside, all large, reclining armchairs in white leather. The red carpet underfoot is thick, and looks expensive. In addition to the pilot and co-pilot, there’s a stewardess serving me drinks and food upon request.
I arrived at Fort Worth and was ushered across the runway to where the jet was waiting, fueled and ready to go. Josh had given me a laptop, advising me to research the information contained on it during the flight, as well as a comms unit for when I land. He said GlobaTech had taken care of all the private landing fees, and had secured a priority arrival slot at JFK to minimize any delays while all the big commercial airliners came and went. Someone would meet me when we landed, and take me directly to a safe house I could work out of, bypassing any of the usual processes involved in flying cross-country.
We’ve been in the air maybe twenty minutes. I see the stewardess come through and walk over to me, carrying a large, black holdall.
“Sir, this was left for you,” she announces, gesturing to the bag as she rests it next to my chair. “I was instructed to give it to you once we’d taken off.”
“Thanks,” I say, curiously.
She flashes me a smile and walks off, leaving me alone again. I reac
h down and bring the bag up, placing it on the table in front of me. I unzip it and look inside, seeing a treasure trove of goodies, courtesy of GlobaTech.
“Now you’re talking…” I mutter to myself.
Inside the bag is a whole host of gadgets, which I’m sure Josh would’ve had something to do with. Microphones, tracking devices, cameras, recording equipment, and various other toys… then I see the explosives—trip mines, with laser sensors and remote detonation.
I feel like a kid at Christmas!
There’s also plenty of ammunition for my Berettas, plus an FN SCAR-H assault rifle, which is a beast of a weapon. It’s a rival for the M4 Carbine, and fires over six hundred rounds per minute, at a speed of almost seven hundred and twenty meters per second. To be honest, it’s probably overkill for any confrontations I’m likely to have, but everyone knows I do enjoy making a statement.
I set the bag aside and boot up the laptop Josh gave me, looking briefly at the information on this Armageddon Initiative. There’s not really much to go on, apart from a brief dossier on confirmed and suspected members, as well as a bunch of educated guesses about what they want. I quickly tire of reading it, and load up the Internet to look at the recent news. I tend to avoid looking at what’s happening in the real world—content with my own little existence in Devil’s Spring. With Tori.
God, I miss her. I’ve only been gone a few hours—Christ!
I find an article online about the president’s most recent cabinet reshuffle, and it makes me think of Schultz. When I first met the guy, he was secretary of defense. He’d served the country well in that role, and was a distinguished soldier in his day. Within his first two months of office, Cunningham had asked for Schultz’s resignation. It was a minor story at the time, as it’s not uncommon for new presidents to appoint their own people to such positions. But I’m reading a blog online here that’s detailing all the changes made by Cunningham since he was sworn in, and people seem to be noticing he’s almost wiped the entire slate clean, starting over with handpicked people of his choosing—some of whom seem to be questionable at best in terms of suitability and experience.
But as I’ve said, because of everything he’s done for the country, he can pretty much do whatever he wants, and no one will question him. Besides, all is right with the world nowadays, so who cares who sits in the room when the president makes up some more rules?
22:51 EDT
The flight passes quickly enough, and we’re soon preparing to touch down at JFK. I get my things ready. I’ve never been a big fan of flying, but the takeoff and landing have always been more worrying for me than the flight itself. I’m fine once I’m up there; it’s just the getting up and down bit I don’t like.
We land without incident and taxi to a stop a few minutes later. I look out the window at the illuminated skyline of New York City. I let out a sigh. It’s been a while since I did this kind of work. I’m worried I’m out of practice.
The kind stewardess opens the door for me, and I thank her for her hospitality as I exit the plane. I step out onto the staircase carrying the black holdall and my own shoulder bag, and take a quick look around.
We’re close to the small hangars at the back of one of the runways, set further away from the main hub and the commercial flights. There’s light airport security around, which is standard nowadays, I guess. But it’s reasonably quiet—presumably, because of who owns the plane, and the fact everything had been cleared prior to takeoff.
I make my way down the staircase toward the black Ford MPV that’s waiting for me. The windows are tinted, but as I approach, the side door slides open and Robert Clark steps out.
He smiles as he walks over to me, extending his hand, which I happily shake.
“Adrian, glad to have you with us on this,” he says. “How’ve you been?”
“Good to see you again, Bob,” I say. “I’m here to help in any way I can. I just want these bastards to leave me alone.”
He gestures me into the vehicle and I oblige, sitting down on the leather seat, facing forward. He climbs in after me, sitting opposite me, with his back to the driver. There’s a partition separating the front seats from the back, and Clark taps on it twice as he slides the door closed. We set off.
He looks well, if a little tired. His dark hair still has its side parting, but there are flecks of gray showing around his temples and above his ears now.
“Good trip?” he asks.
I shrug. “It was what it was,” I reply. “The plane was nice.”
He smiles. “A handy little acquisition from some former associates south of the border. It serves its purpose.” He gestures to the black bag and smiles. “I see you got our little care package?”
I nod. “Yeah, thanks. Lots of nice toys to play with. You expecting me to run into much trouble then?”
Clark shakes his head. “Hopefully not, Adrian, but I know how you like to be prepared. I’m hoping you won’t need any of the weapons in there, and the camera and microphone are for our surveillance of the target and location.”
I smile to myself as I try to think of an occasion in the past where a situation has gone exactly to plan, and I’ve not needed a weapon to resolve things… None spring to mind.
I take a quick look out the window as we leave the airport and head out into the city along the Van Wyck expressway.
“So what do you know?” asks Clark.
“Only what Josh and Schultz told me,” I reply.
“Did they show you the photo?”
I fix him with a hard stare. “Yes.”
He nods. “Well, do me a favor—get me Hussein before you go all Charles Bronson on me, okay?”
I can’t help but smile. “I’ll do my best,” I say.
He nods and falls silent for a moment. We carry on past Willow Lake, and come off at Flushing Meadows, heading west alongside the Long Island expressway, all the way to Queens.
“Adrian, I… I heard what these people did to your bar back in Texas. I’m sorry you got dragged into all this, truly I am.”
“Not your fault, Bob,” I say. “But I appreciate the sentiment. I’ll get this guy for you, and hopefully you’ll be able to stop these assholes from doing whatever it is they’re planning to do, before anyone else gets hurt.”
“We’ll do what we can.”
23:09 EDT
We navigate the traffic for another ten minutes or so, eventually turning onto 55th Avenue in Queens, and coming to a stop outside an anonymous-looking one story house halfway up the right side of the street.
“Here we are,” announces Clark.
I raise an eyebrow and look at him. “Really?”
He smiles. “It’s a safe house—the whole point is you put them where no one will think to look for them,” he replies.
“Oh, I understand the concept, don’t get me wrong. It’s just I figured with your budget you’d have sprung for something a little less run down.”
Clark laughs. “Well, critique aside, this place has served us well over the years, and will do just fine for now. Come on.”
We get out and walk to the front door. I instinctively glance around the neighborhood. The street is quiet, and there are no people around. He produces a key, unlocks the door, opens it and steps inside, and holds it open for me to pass him.
I walk down the hall, which runs centrally through the house, toward the kitchen, which covers the width of the building at the back. There are four rooms in between, two on either side. I check each room in turn, like someone on their holidays arriving at their hotel for the first time. The first door on the left is a modest bedroom, with a single, ready-made bed against the far wall, and a closet on the right opposite the door. Minimal, but functional.
I close the door and turn, opening the one across the hall on the right. Inside is a living room, with two sofas arranged in an L-shape facing away from me, aimed at the TV on its stand in the far corner. Again, aside from a set of small tables in the middle of the room, there is little els
e in there.
I back out again and walk further down the hall, opening the second door on the right, revealing a bathroom. The toilet is facing the door, with a sink next to it. Against the right wall is a decent-sized shower cubicle. Very basic, but serves its purpose.
Finally, I turn to the left and open the second door, opposite the bathroom. This is another living room, but has a dining table with four chairs around it in the center of the room. I close the door and turn to see Clark, looking at me, smiling.
“Everything to your satisfaction, sir?” he asks, sarcastically.
“Just getting a feel for the place,” I reply, chuckling at the fact his sarcasm is obviously a result of his time spent working with Josh, which I can completely relate to.
“I’ll leave you to acclimatize,” says Clark. “I’m staying in another safe house a mile or so away. My number’s pre-programmed into the burner phone I put in your goody bag, so call me if you need anything.”
I nod. “I will, thanks,” I reply. Then I ask, “When’s Hussein meant to be making an appearance?”
“Sometime tomorrow morning, if the intel is to be believed.”
“Is the source reliable?”
“We like to think so.”
“Contact me as soon as you have a location. I’ll arrange my own transportation, and try to stay off anyone’s radar as long as I can.”
He nods and leaves without saying another word.
I walk into the kitchen and lean against the side, next to the sink, and look out the window at the yard. I let out a heavy sigh. So this is it… here I am, in a run-down house in Queens, thinking of the best way to go about taking down a well-guarded terrorist who has, so far, sent eighteen people to kill me…
Doesn’t matter how fast you run, the past is always quicker.
12.
APRIL 10TH, 2017
10:04 EDT
I get a call just after nine. It’s Clark.
“We’ve got the location,” he says.
I’m already up and dressed. I found a jar of instant coffee in the cupboard, so I’m halfway through my second cup by the time he calls me.
Deadly Intent: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 4) Page 7
