Well… I’ll settle for just getting through the house. Unseen is probably asking a bit much.
I compose myself and then sprint over to the door I remember standing at earlier, keeping as low as I can, all the while looking around for anyone patrolling the grounds. It’s probably close to three hundred yards, and I cover the distance quickly, ignoring the dull ache in my torso as my heart rate increases.
As I approach the house, I see a man turning round the far corner toward me. I drop to the floor, sliding across the grass and coming to a stop by a small wall with white, cast iron railings in it, which makes up the large patio area at the rear. I crouch down close to the steps and listen for the footfalls of the sentry. Ideally, they’ll head down the steps toward me, but it’s no issue if they don’t.
I wait for a few moments and hear them passing me as they cross the width of the patio. I chance a peek over the wall and through the railings. The man is level with my position, walking away from me. He’s carrying his AK-47, loose at his side, with one hand resting on it.
Slowly I stand before creeping up the steps. Staying low, I move behind the guy, pausing a moment to make sure he’s not heard me. Happy he hasn’t, I pounce forward, placing my left hand over his mouth and pulling him into me as I pinch his nose with my right. I drag him backward away from the house and down the steps, clamping down on his face tightly. By the time we’re standing down by the wall again, he’s dead. I release him, and he drops to the floor. I take his weapon and quickly frisk him for spare ammo, and then head back up the steps. After a few steps, I pause and look back at the corpse.
His upper body looks a similar shape to mine…
I quickly bend down and take off his badly-colored shirt, throwing it on and fastening all but the top two buttons. It’s hideous, but it fits. I pick up the gun and head inside the house.
Standing in the doorway from before, I think back to what I’ve seen of the house. I know what’s to my left, because that’s where I woke up the first time. I could go straight on or right, but I think I’m best sticking with what I know.
I head left and down the hall to the large living room with the brown leather sofa in it. The women are still sitting there, with their backs to me, laughing and giggling. I take one step into the room just as two men enter from the opposite side. Our eyes meet, and we all freeze momentarily.
I raise my rifle and fire a few rounds before they can react. The one on the left catches the brunt of it and drops to the floor, his trigger finger twitching, as he dies, enough to fire off a few rounds himself, but they’re not aimed anywhere in particular. The second guy has enough time to react, diving away to the right and out of view behind the sofa.
The women’s giggles turn to screams, which is the last thing I wanted. Nothing attracts people more than females screaming.
Except maybe gunfire, I guess… Shit! This place will be crawling with cannon fodder any second…
I run into the room, firing blind and hitting the second guy as he positions himself on the floor. I hear the squelching impact as the bullets hit his body. I rush over, retrieving his rifle and taking care not to slip in the pooling blood seeping out from underneath him.
With an AK-47 in each hand, I exit the room the way they had entered and head to where I woke up. Nearby, but out of sight, I hear raised voices and commotion, so any element of surprise I had was now gone.
I enter the room and skid to a halt as seven men all spin around and look at me, their rifles primed and leveled at me.
I chuckle nervously. “Has anyone seen my bag?” I ask, before lifting both rifles up and firing from the hip in their general direction.
They only weigh about eleven pounds a-piece, but when you’re holding them up one in each arm and firing them while running, it quickly puts a strain on your muscles.
The rifle itself isn’t designed for accuracy, and I’m in no position to take aim. I just fan both rifles back and forth across the room, soon hitting everyone in front of me. They all flail to the floor; not one of them, thankfully, having enough time to get a shot off.
I take a second to regain my composure, and then run across the room to the door at the opposite end, going through into another hallway. The large double front doors are ahead of me, and I see my bag resting at the side, which is a stroke of luck. They must’ve put it there after taking me to the garage.
I rush over to it, checking quickly before I drop the rifles and open it up. Both my Berettas are inside; along with all the other equipment I remember having. They must’ve put all my stuff back in there after I’d left with Vega.
No sign of my cell though, which is a pain in the ass.
I sling it over my back, tucking one of my guns at the back of my waistband and keeping one in my right hand. Quickly, I look around to make sure no one’s nearby, and then I slowly open the front door, trying not to make a noise.
A voice shouts behind me as I turn the handle. I look over my shoulder and see a man at the top of the staircase gesturing at me with his rifle. I quickly raise my Beretta and fire once, hitting him in the throat, before opening the door and stepping outside.
I was right, in that there are indeed several vehicles, parked at various angles, in front of the house. There are also, however, five men standing in a line with their AK-47s aimed at the front door, blocking my exit.
I don’t even think about it, I just run to my left and start firing blind. I somehow make it to the corner of the house, diving around the bend, as I click down on an empty chamber. I lean against the wall, breathing heavy. I switch my Berettas around, making a note to remember the one at my back is now empty, and peek round the corner at the main courtyard.
It’s mostly gravel, bordered by a short wall with a space where the driveway ends. There are four convertible Jeeps over there—the one furthest left, closest to me at the moment, has a few fresh bullet holes in it now, so I’ll avoid that one.
Four bodies are on the ground, so I must’ve done alright during my tactical retreat. The last one must be hiding behind the Jeeps. Being conscious of how much time I’ve actually lost since leaving New York, I forego the majority of my training and walk out toward the vehicles. I’ve got my Beretta aimed steady with both hands, ready to snap to my target.
Sure enough, after a few seconds, the guy’s head pops up from behind the hood of the Jeep furthest away from me. I quickly take aim and fire, putting a bullet between his eyes.
Happy there’s no one else nearby, I search the bodies for anything useful. I finally catch a break—one of them has a cell phone on him, so I take that with me before climbing inside the second Jeep from the left, for no reason other than it’s facing the way out. The keys are inside, and I set off, speeding down the drive and turning right onto the main road at the end.
I have absolutely no idea where I’m heading, so I’m making my way to the coast. I’ll figure it out from there. After a few minutes, I slow down a bit, disappearing into anonymity on the roads as I hit the countryside. I pick up the phone and dial Josh.
“It’s me,” I say as he answers.
“You managed to get home yet?” he replies.
“Not quite… It’s a long story, my friend. Listen, first things first—can you get me on GPS by tracing this phone?”
“Sure, gimme a sec…” The line goes silent for a moment. “Okay, you’re about twenty miles southwest of Barranquilla,” he says, pausing for a moment. “So why exactly are you in Colombia?”
“That would be the long story. Can you get me out of here?”
“Yeah, hang on… Right, just follow the road signs to Barranquilla and you should be fine. Once you’re there, you should be able to get across to Panama easily enough—it’s a popular trading route. I can get you a flight from there back to the States.”
“Thanks, Josh. So, is everything okay with you?”
“Not really, but that can wait. Why are you still in South America, Adrian?”
I navigate the light traffic, see
ing the first sign for Barranquilla, announcing it was eighteen miles away.
“The special ops unit blew up the plane. After I dragged that Jericho guy away from the blast, EMTs and firemen arrived and took him away. But that’s when the cartel showed up.”
“Cartel? Are you sure? I didn’t think they existed anymore. Maybe it was some local rebels?”
“Nope, definitely a cartel. I was taken to meet the drug lord who ran it, Carlos Vega. Lived in a huge mansion, teeming with armed guards. I approached them as a hitman seeking sanctuary, but they got the drop on me, tied me up, and intended torturing me.”
“Jesus… I thought cartels operated with drug money, but they can’t anymore—not since Cunningham was sworn in and ruined it for them. What were they doing?”
“That’s what I thought. Had a little chat with Mr. Vega, who finally admitted he was running guns around the world for a mystery contact in the U.S. who goes by the codename Ares. He’s paid a small fortune for doing it, too.”
“I’ll make a start, searching for potential candidates,” he says, without me having to ask. “So what do you make of it all?”
“Well, Vega said he was told I’d be coming, which means this Ares knew about the mission to re-route my plane. My guess is he’s a high-ranking official of some kind.”
“Like a four-star general, perhaps?” he asks excitedly, coming to the same conclusions I had.
“That’s what I think. Doesn’t explain why the guy was meeting with Hussein, but if he is Ares, it certainly adds a few more pieces to our puzzle.”
“It does. And I might have a few answers for you.”
“Finally! What have you got?”
“Since we spoke last, I did some digging on this Jericho guy. I wasn’t sure if it was a codename either, so it took some time. Turns out, his name is Jericho Stone—a real big deal from the military who, a few years ago, took command of a non-existent CIA unit…”
“Jesus, how do you find this stuff?” I ask, as impressed as ever with Josh’s skills.
“Ah-ah, don’t be silly… Anyway, do you want to know the name of this unit?”
“Hit me.”
“D.E.A.D.”
I shit you not; my jaw just hit the floor! I drift off in shock for a moment, but quickly snap back to the present as I feel the Jeep swerve off the road. I regain control and re-focus.
“Josh, that’s not possible.”
“Oh, it is,” he replies, laughing.
“You think this is funny?”
“A little bit, yeah!”
D.E.A.D. stands for Doesn’t Exist on Any Database. It was a CIA black ops unit created back in ‘93, originally designed for operatives from the U.S. and the rest of the world to come together and do things for the greater good that people probably didn’t want to know about.
How do I know this? I hear you ask… I know, because I used to run that unit. It was how I met Josh. After we left, they closed the program down, but it appears someone’s re-opened it…
“Well,” I say. “It’s certainly an unexpected trip down memory lane, I’ll give you that.”
“Isn’t it just! So now we know for sure that the CIA is after us.”
“Wonderful.”
I’m still trying to wrap my head around the bittersweet irony of someone sending my old unit to kill me.
“There’s something else,” says Josh. “I’ve found out a bit more about Cerberus…”
His words trail off and I get the impression he’s been spooked by something, which doesn’t happen to Josh.
“So, what is it?” I ask.
“In addition to it doing everything we already know—both advertised and otherwise, it also does something else. Something we didn’t build it to do, which means it was a feature added after we’d handed it back over to NASA.”
“I’m guessing this new feature isn’t a good thing?”
“Adrian, it not only protects our own nuclear arsenal, but it has the ability to remotely hack into and control anyone else’s… It potentially has access to every nuclear weapon on Earth.”
His words hang in the air for a few moments. I zone out of the conversation, letting his revelation sink in as I re-focus momentarily on the road ahead.
“Josh, that’s…”
“Yup.”
“But that means…”
“I know.”
“Man, we have to…”
“I’m trying, Adrian. We’re still at square one—no idea where to find the key members of the Armageddon Initiative, no idea how they intend doing what we assume they’re trying to, and no idea what any of this has to do with a U.S. general.”
My mind’s racing again, and I have no idea what any of the answers are. I fly past another sign that tells me I’m just a few miles away now, and my thoughts quickly turn to Tori. I’ve missed her like crazy, and I’m mad at myself for not thinking about her during all this. My survival instincts took over, and I’ve been doing whatever I needed to in order to get home. But now home is in sight, I can’t get her off my mind.
“Okay, keep doing what you’re doing, Josh. I’m almost there, so I’ll contact you when I reach Panama.”
“No worries. Watch your back, yeah?”
“You too.”
I hang up and throw the phone out of the Jeep, just to be safe. In another few minutes, I’ll be in Barranquilla and one step closer to Tori.
20.
APRIL 13TH, 2017
07:31 CDT
I open my eyes slowly, stretching and cracking my back and legs. I feel like I’ve just slept for a lifetime... I need a minute to get my bearings. I’m sitting on a comfortable chair, slightly reclined, with a pillow behind me. I turn my head and look out the window on my left, seeing nothing but blue skies around me and white clouds below.
After I arrived in Barranquilla, I made my way to a small airfield and bribed the pilot of a cargo plane bound for Panama to let me sneak on board. I didn’t get any rest on the journey—there was nowhere really to sleep, and my mind was doing a hundred miles an hour trying to figure out the shit-storm I’ve found myself in.
It took about two hours to reach Panama. I made contact with Josh, when I landed, who directed me to another airfield, where he had arranged for another GlobaTech jet to fly me home. He said it’d take some time to get to me, and he sounded stressed, so I didn’t push him or stay on the line any longer than I needed to.
It had taken quite a while for the plane to arrive, and I used the time to get some much-needed rest. There was a small office on the airstrip, and I got some sleep on the sofa in there. And even once I was on board, as soon as ass touched seat, I was straight back out like a light.
There’s a stewardess on the flight, who smiles at me as I look around, slowly emerging from my deep sleep.
“Are we there yet?” I ask, smiling.
She laughs. “We’re making the descent now,” she says. “We’ll be on the ground in fifteen minutes or so. You’ve been asleep well over three hours. Is everything okay?”
I take a deep breath. “That’s a pretty broad question, under the circumstances. I’m alive, and if we can make it home without another plane I’m on being hijacked, I’ll consider that a victory for the day.”
Her face changed immediately to one of concern.
“Another plane?”
“It’s, ah… it’s been a rough few days,” I say with a weak smile, standing and stretching again. “You’ve not seen my bag, have you?”
“It’s stowed at the back of the cabin,” she replies, now sounding distracted. “Oh, and Mr. Winters requested a change of clothes be made available for you as well.”
I notice as she says that, she looks me up and down. I realize I still have on the shirt I stole, which is both insulting and offensive to all other shirts in the world.
“Thanks,” I say, a little embarrassed.
I walk to the back, seeing a new outfit hanging from a clothes rail in a small, open closet space opposite the bathroom. My b
ag and a change of shoes are underneath.
I step inside the bathroom and change my clothes, putting on the fresh pair of jeans, tan work boots, and a plain black T-shirt.
I leave my old stuff in the trash and step back out, picking up my bag on the way past and walking back to my seat. The stewardess isn’t there, so I assume she must be in the cockpit, talking with the pilots.
I take my Berettas and back holster out, load the guns, click the safety on and slide them into place. I put the holster in the bag again and relax back in my seat. I feel better now I’ve changed my clothes and I’m on my way home.
I hope Tori’s doing okay... As soon as this mess is over, I’m going to take her on holiday somewhere—put some distance between us and the real world for a while. And then, once the FBI, and God knows who else, have finished dissecting my bar, I’ll get the place back up and running. It shouldn’t take long to do. It might sound crazy to say, but I sometimes forget I’ve got a quarter of a billion dollars in my account. I’m a simple man with simple tastes and needs—I took that money more out of principle than necessity. But I’ll get the place looking brand new in no time.
The stewardess reappears, smiling professionally and looking a little more relaxed.
“We’ll be landing in San Antonio in ten minutes,” she announces. “There’ll be a vehicle waiting for you to take you home.”
“Thanks. Do you mind if I drive myself? Could do with the alone time if I’m honest.”
She smiles, like she understands. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”
07:49 CDT
We land just over ten minutes later, as she’d said. There’s a black rental car waiting on the runway with the driver standing by it, resting on the hood. I thank the stewardess and the pilots for their service and step off the plane, feeling the early Texas sun on my face. Without a word, the driver hands me the keys before turning and walking across the runway toward the Terminal building at the far end. I climb in, crank up the air conditioning, and set off.
Deadly Intent: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 4) Page 14
