Deadly Intent: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 4)

by Sumner, James P.

  “What in the hell are you doin’?” he asks, sounding probably the most Texan I’ve ever heard him sound.

  Josh smiles. “In an effort to dumb it down for Adrian, I’m essentially scanning the background of the video and running software linked into one of the surveillance drones that GlobaTech still has operational, to try to determine the location where it was filmed. I’ll then cross-reference that with the digital time stamp in the metadata of the video file to see archived footage of the area at that specific time, to see if we can see where El-Zurak is hiding.”

  Raynor scratches his head and picks up his hat, putting it back on. “That’s dumbing it down?” he asks.

  Josh doesn’t answer him, but I put a hand on his shoulder and smile.

  “You’ll get used to it,” I say to him.

  “And bing…oh,” says Josh, sounding excited and almost immediately deflated.

  “What’s wrong?” asks Clark.

  “I think I’ve found El-Zurak.”

  “Why’s that a bad thing?” asks Raynor.

  Josh looks at me. “He’s in the middle of a mountain range in Northern Afghanistan, close to the Tajikistan border.”

  “Not the friendliest of places…” I muse.

  Josh looks at Clark. “So what’s the play here?” he asks.

  All eyes turn to Clark, and he stands tall, putting his hands behind his head and interlocking his fingers as he lets out a heavy sigh.

  “If we’re going to do this ourselves—and I don’t see any other option than that right now—then we only have enough resources available to us to maybe hit one of these places. And that’s a big maybe.”

  “So what are you saying?” I ask. “We have to choose between going to Pripyat and rescuing Tori, or going to Afghanistan and attempting to take down a terrorist plotting world domination?”

  The look on Clark’s face is one of regretful stoicism. “That’s about the size of it,” he says.

  I turn and sit down on the edge of the table, staring at the floor and sighing loudly. My head’s spinning and my mind’s all over the place.

  Now what do I do?

  23.

  11:57 CDT

  “Adrian, I’m sorry, but there’s only one logical answer here…” says Clark.

  I look round and stare him straight in the eye. I know what he’s trying to say. Anyone with half a brain could tell you what the detached, unemotional, logical answer is. I see Josh hang his head and grimace at Clark’s statement. It was absolutely not what I needed anyone to say right now.

  I take a deep breath, trying really, really hard not to get angry, but quickly failing.

  “Bob, right now, do I look fucking logical to you?” I reply, my voice rising slightly with each word.

  He holds his hands up defensively. “Hey, I’m just saying… we need to—”

  “We need to get my girlfriend back!” I yell as I stand up and face him properly. “I don’t give a shit about anything else! Do you understand?”

  I’m breathing heavy, teeth gritted, jaws muscles clenched, eyes unblinking. I’m not looking at anyone anymore, I’m just angry. At everything and everyone.

  Why me? Why does all this shit have to happen to me? I just want this goddamn world to leave me alone…

  Josh stands, looking at Raynor and Clark in turn. I think he appreciates that neither of them have ever seen me truly pissed off before, so he’s assuming the role of diplomat.

  “I think what Adrian’s trying to say,” he explains, calmly, “is Hussein will have gone to ground following the failed attempt to apprehend him in New York, and those Afghanistan Mountains are pretty much impregnable. Which means El-Zurak, probably Hussein, and whoever else is part of the Big Bad, will be untouchable there until they decide to resurface. Any attempt to get to them would be a colossal waste of time, and will likely get everyone involved killed.”

  He looks around the room, seeing that we’re all listening and understanding. Raynor looks out of his depth. Clark looks like he feels really bad. And so he should—asshole.

  “On the other hand,” continues Josh. “We probably can get to the underground facility in Pripyat. There will be a significant terrorist presence on site, including, but not limited to, Clara Fox—someone we’re justified in assuming is relatively high up in the food chain. We can take her out, deal a crippling blow to the organization… maybe even delay their plans, who knows? But we have a shot if we attack them in Ukraine. Plus, more importantly, there’s an innocent civilian who means a great deal to someone who means a great deal to me, so the bottom line is: that’s where we’re going. Anyone got a problem with that?”

  Clark shakes his head, and Raynor simply shrugs, happy to go where we need to with no real opinion.

  Josh looks at me and smiles. “How’s that for logic?” he says.

  I visibly relax, staring at him with a look that says I’m now angrier because he stopped me being angry when I couldn’t do it myself.

  I shrug. “That’s basically what I meant,” I reply, smiling as much as I can.

  He shakes his head and turns the laptop toward Clark. “Bob, can you start searching to see what operatives we have currently out in the field, and where they are? I know they’re in limbo at the moment, thanks to the NSA’s sudden interest in us, but if we can get word to someone nearby, maybe they can help?”

  He nods silently and gets to work. Josh looks back at me.

  “Adrian, as soon as we can organize our limited assets, we’ll get you into Ukraine, and you can go do your thing and get Tori back, yeah?”

  I nod, but remain silent, still not yet fully trusting myself to open my mouth and not say something derogatory for no reason.

  The room falls silent as Josh moves next to Clark and they quietly discuss whatever they’re looking at on the laptop. Raynor sits on the edge of the table, staring at the floor. I can’t imagine what’s going through his head right now, the poor guy. But I sure as hell appreciate him having my back. He’s a good man.

  I have my shoulder bag open on the desk, and I’m sorting through what I still have with me. My guns are at my back, which feels worryingly comfortable and reassuring to me.

  There go those old habits again, dying hard as always…

  I take out the camera and transmitter and place it on the table next to me. Then I take out two laser tripwire mines and a block of C4, carefully putting them down next to them.

  “Jesus Christ!” says Raynor. “You walk around with bombs in your bag?”

  I look up and smile. “I’d rather have it and not need it…” I say absently.

  In the silence, we hear the sound of multiple car doors slamming shut outside, followed by the heavy patter of boots on concrete. We all look up at each other simultaneously.

  “What’s that?” asks Clark.

  I shrug. “Anyone else know we’re here?” I ask.

  Josh shakes his head. “No, we kept this location strictly between us…” His voice trails off as he looks down at the laptop like something’s just occurred to him. “Oh, shit… they must’ve traced the signal when we connected to one of our satellites earlier!” he says. “I thought I’d been quick enough logging in and out to avoid detection.”

  Without another thought, I quickly open the office door and look down to the warehouse floor below, as wave after wave of men dressed in black fatigues flood inside. There must be twenty of them, all armed with assault rifles and wearing tactical goggles.

  “Fuck me…”

  The air fills with the sound of many, many guns cocking and aiming in my direction. I spin around, shutting the door behind me just as they all open fire.

  “Get down!” I yell.

  The four of us dive to the floor as the staccato roar of a thousand bullets hits the cabin, splintering the decayed walls around us. We all scurry to the back corner, keeping as low as possible. Josh has grabbed his laptop, thankfully—right now, that’s the only thing we have giving us half a chance at doing something about this mes
s. I tip the table up, offering slightly more cover for us than before.

  “Does anyone have a gun besides me?” I shout over the endless onslaught from below us.

  Raynor draws his weapon—a standard issue Glock 19. A nice, sturdy handgun, with a fifteen-round magazine. It has a slightly smaller barrel than the Glock 17, and less recoil, making it effectively more accurate and easier to control.

  Josh and Clark shake their heads. I reach behind me and un-holster one of my Berettas, handing it to Josh, who nods as he takes it.

  “Clark, take the laptop, protect it at all costs. Stay behind the three of us,” I say. He says nothing; he just takes the computer from Josh and stays low. “Josh, John, stay behind me, fire only on my instruction. Be ready to cover me.”

  “What exactly are you hoping to do?” asks Raynor with genuine curiosity.

  I check the magazine of my Beretta is full and work the slide, putting a bullet in the chamber.

  “I’m going to do what I do best.”

  Staying crouched down, I dash over to the door, grabbing everything that slid off the table as I pass, and slam my back against the wall, taking deep breaths and waiting for the right moment to return fire. I look over and see Josh tap Raynor on the shoulder, smiling.

  “This is gonna be a sight to behold, my friend,” he says to him.

  You’re goddamn right it is…

  “Be ready to move!” I shout to them.

  I take a couple more deep breaths, slowing my heart rate down to the point where my body might as well be asleep. All noise fades away. Everything slows to a stop. There’s nothing here but a bunch of people below me who no longer want to live, my gun, and me...

  Above my head is a space where a window used to be. I hear a voice shout below and after a few moments the firing stops. I chance a quick peek over and down to the floor. There’s a muddled group, spread out in no particular formation across the expanse of the warehouse. I’m able to count twenty-two guys in total. I picture them in my mind’s eye—the exact layout, where every man is, how they’re standing… everything. I reach for one of the trip mines, adjusting the settings and preparing to arm it.

  It’s something GlobaTech designed in the last year or so—state of the art. Everybody uses them nowadays, they’re like the industry standard, I guess. The device is hexagonal in shape, and fits in the palm of my hand. It’s maybe three inches thick. There’s an inch-long round tube sticking out, where the infrared laser is housed. Inside is essentially all explosive with minimal technology making it work. Along the side are a few switches, which allow you to arm it, and control how it will work once you have. You can affix it to any vertical surface, flick the main switch, and it’s on. If someone trips the laser, by default you have a two second delay before it explodes. The lethal blast radius is about twenty feet. Anything caught within that radius when it goes off has zero chance of surviving. Between twenty and forty feet, you’re going to feel very unwell afterward, but the chances of being killed by it drop by eighty-three per cent. But what makes these things so damn good is that, not only can you change the time of delay before the explosion, but also the delay between flicking the switch and the device arming itself.

  I’ve set it so once I arm it, there’s a five-second pause before it’s actually armed. I’ve also changed it to only delay for one second once tripped before it goes off.

  Keeping the mental image of the layout below me, I take a breath and flick the switch to arm the device, before quickly throwing it over my head and down to the floor.

  If my aim and calculations are correct, we’ll be safe from the blast, but the vast majority of people down there will be eviscerated.

  Time slows as I count in my head, waiting for the moment to start shooting. I look over at Josh and hold his gaze as the seconds tick down.

  Five… four… three… two…

  The explosive device makes a dull, hollow noise at it hits the floor.

  One…

  It’s armed.

  I hear everyone shout and freeze.

  One…

  The deafening explosion rips through the warehouse, drowning out the short screams of the lives it claims. The roar of the fire is loud, and the heat from the blast hits the office, taking our breath away.

  In an instant, I stand, take aim, glancing down at the carnage I’ve caused below, and see maybe five people still alive. I can’t count exactly how many people are dead, because there are too many body parts scattered around the place—it’s impossible.

  I quickly squeeze off a few rounds, taking advantage of their confusion and hitting all five remaining gunmen in the chest. I duck back down and rest against the wall, trying to slow my heart rate once more as an eerie silence descends on us.

  Everyone’s slowly getting to their feet. Josh seems weirdly excited, Clark looks focused, like it’s just another day at the office, and Raynor appears in shock.

  “What the hell just happened?” asks the sheriff, making his way over to the door.

  “Adrian just happened,” replies Josh, laughing. “Come on, let’s get our shit together, and get the hell outta here before reinforcements arrive.”

  Everyone files past me out of the office and down the stairs. I gather my things and follow them. As we reach the floor, we all stop and look around. The place looks like a slaughterhouse. There’s a sea of blood on the floor, with severed limbs scattered all around us.

  “Holy mother of God…” whispers Raynor.

  I have to admit, even I’m a little shocked at the aftermath. It’s been a long time since my Inner Satan was in a fight, and I’ve forgotten what it was like.

  “Watch where you’re walking,” says Josh. “No footprints in the blood if you can help it—we need to minimize how much forensic evidence we leave.”

  We follow him across the room, navigating the human debris like it’s a minefield. Eventually, we make it to the other side and head back out the fire exit to the parking lot. There are six blacked-out SUVs parked haphazardly by the doors. Thankfully, there are no more men. I head over to the nearest one and climb in behind the wheel. There’s a console fitted on the dash, level with the gap between the two front seats. I tap the screen to bring up the HUD.

  “What you got?” asks Josh, appearing beside me.

  “I just killed a whole bunch of NSA agents, it seems,” I announce. “Fuck...”

  “NSA, CIA… this is real heavy, Adrian. What you thinking?”

  I look at him, fixing him with a determined stare. “We split up. We’ll deactivate the tracking devices in two of these SUVs and head off in opposite directions. See if you can set up a secure line between the two vehicles, so we can keep in touch without giving our position away. From here on out, we’re at our most paranoid. We stay off the grid until we figure out a way to get to Pripyat.”

  Josh nods and walks back over to Clark and Raynor, telling them the plan. I look back at the console. Let’s see what the NSA have to say for themselves…

  I click through a couple of basic screens. There are search functions for license plates and descriptions, as well as the ability to upload photos via Bluetooth. I type in GlobaTech and hit the search button. After a few moments, the screen fills with information. I feel my eyes go wide the more I read.

  “Guys,” I shout over. “You might want to take a look at this.”

  They all walk over to the vehicle. Clark stands next to the driver’s door with Raynor just behind him. Josh climbs in next to me.

  “I’ve searched for you guys on the NSA’s database,” I explain. “And it’s come up with a whole lot of bullshit. According to this, the NSA thinks GlobaTech are funding terrorism. They’ve had orders handed down from their director to seize all of your assets as per Title 18 of the U.S. Code. I’m quoting here—‘…all domestic employers are to be questioned, with priority focus on the following high-ranking employees and directors: Robert Clark, Josh Winters, and Ryan Schultz. These people are to be detained...’ You boys are famous.”r />
  “This is bullshit,” says Clark. “Who’s running this investigation for the NSA? How can they think we’re funding terrorism? We’re working our asses off trying to stop it!”

  “Well, somebody obviously forgot to tell them that,” I observe. “Forgive the potentially stupid question here, but why can’t you just tell whoever cares that you’re trying to help? Explain what we’ve learned and what we’ve been doing?”

  “It’s a nice idea, in theory,” says Josh, rubbing his temples. “But at the end of the day, we’ve known since New York that there’s more to this than just a terrorist group plotting an attack. We don’t know who we can trust outside of our company. Schultz is running interference with the NSA, trying to clear our name without giving our game away. But now we’ve just killed over twenty government agents, all of that is irrelevant. We’re going to be one-through-four on everyone’s Top Ten Most Wanted List in about half an hour.”

  “You guys didn’t kill anyone,” I say.

  “We know that, Adrian—but we were there when you did, so as far as the law is concerned, we all pulled the trigger. Besides, it doesn’t matter who did what—we’re all in this together.”

  I turn to Clark and Raynor. “You two, take a vehicle and get the hell out of here. Just pick a direction and drive. Contact us in six hours.”

  They both nod without another word, knowing it’s the only option.

  I turn to Josh. “Deactivate the tracking devices for us right away, then we’re gonna go in the opposite direction to these two.”

  He gets out of the vehicle and fiddles under the hood of our SUV, and the one nearest to us for a few minutes. Then he shakes Clark’s hand and gets back in next to me. He looks at me with concern in his eyes.

  “What are we going to do, Boss?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “Long term? I don’t know,” I reply. “But right now, you just need to figure out how to get me into Pripyat. I’ll take it from there.”

  He nods back at me. “Working on it,” he says. “Now let’s go—we need to stop off somewhere along the way.”