“Adrian, I can see what you’re doing, you crazy bastard,” says Josh.
I don’t reply, focusing on the task ahead of me. I try to make a move for the tank, but for a brief moment it feels like I’m standing in quicksand and I stop myself.
I grimace, angry at myself.
“I saw that,” says Josh. “Hesitation will get you killed. If you’re intending to do what I think you are, then for crying out loud, just fucking do it—don’t piss about worrying about being seen. They know you’re there, so go and kill them already!”
I take a deep breath. I’m annoyed at myself for that split second of doubt. He’s right. As always.
Don’t tell him I said that...
I close my eyes, reaching behind me and drawing one of my Berettas. I take another deep breath and open my eyes again. When I do, I feel all traces of humanity leaving me. My heart rate increases as the adrenaline starts to kick in. I feel the buzz—the excitement; everything I gave up nearly three years ago.
My Inner Satan slides behind the wheel and starts the engine.
Showtime.
“Just find me a way inside,” I say to Josh.
I step out and run at the tank, heading inside the parking garage and approaching it from the left rear side. In one movement, I jump up on the back of it and make my way up onto the head. I place my left hand on the hatch and yank it open, revealing two very startled men in military fatigues, looking up at me with a vacant stare. As I’d hoped, they mustn’t have seen me approach.
Without a word, I fire twice, putting a bullet in each of their heads, killing them instantly. I holster my gun and climb inside, shutting the hatch behind me. The whole area is maybe seven by seven. I’d find it a tight squeeze without the two dead terrorists in here with me… I drag the guy at the front off his chair to the floor, stepping on him to climb into the seat and take control.
In front of me are three monitors, with two consoles side by side on the small work surface. On the left and right screens a single horizontal line down the middle of the screen splits the view. On the outside of the feeds is a view of the left and right sides. On the inside feeds are images from behind the tank, to the left and right.
The middle screen does two things. Firstly, it shows what’s ahead of me. Second, it does so, essentially through the eyes of the cannon.
These new tanks really don’t mess about when it comes to warfare. They’re as close as you can get with a tank to semi-automatic, firing large incendiary shells at whatever you aim at.
I know how to drive a tank. I mean, I did it a couple of times about twenty-five years ago, so I wouldn’t call myself an expert or anything, but I reckon I can figure it out.
There are three joysticks built into the console area, which is a little different from what I remember. Why the hell do I need three?
“Josh, you there?” I ask, tapping my earpiece when I get some static.
“I’m here,” he says. “Let me guess, your grand plan has hit its first stumbling block, in that you can’t drive the fucking tank you just commandeered. Am I right?”
“Now isn’t the time for rights and wrongs,” I say, dismissively. “Just tell me how to drive this damn thing?”
“The Goliath-class is slow but powerful,” he explains. “You need to keep it as straight as you can, turning as little as possible to be effective. The right hand stick gives you throttle and brakes. The left hand one is your steering. The middle one—”
“Blows shit up?”
“Exactly.”
“Why do they need two guys to run this thing then?” I ask.
“It’s much easier if you have one person navigating and one person shooting. There’ll be a secondary control system for the gun that the other guy can use.”
All the money this country has to spend on shit like this has really been put to good use. This thing is a beast! But it also looks like something off Star Trek, and I’m not a hundred per cent confident I won’t kill myself using it.
“Hey, Josh, they have a PA system built into it…” I say.
“Yeah, they’ll use that for crowd control, I suspect,” he replies.
I smile to myself.
I’ve just had the best idea…
I take my phone out and place it on the console in front of me, next to the microphone.
“Josh, can you send a song to the phone I’m using?”
“Erm, yeah, technically I could. Why?”
“I’m thinking I might go Apocalypse Now on these assholes!”
He laughs. “One second…” My phone beeps. “There you go, file sent. There’ll be a micro-USB docking port in the console. Stand your phone in it and play the file.”
I do as he says.
I move the right stick forward and the machine rumbles to life, juddering slowly out of the garage. I flick the switch so I’m broadcasting, then crank the volume all the way up, just as the opening of Black Betty by Ram Jam starts.
I carefully turn right, then left, lining myself up and approaching the facility head-on. Looking through the monitors, I see Josh was exactly right—twenty guys in total, spread around the main entrance under cover from satellite detection.
Whoa Black Betty! (Bam-ba-lam).
The music blasts as every single terrorist aims their weapons and open fire at me. The high-pitched whizzing sound of bullets bouncing off me rings out, but ultimately does nothing to deter me from unleashing Hell itself on these pieces of shit.
I take control of the middle stick, lining up my shot and firing once. The ka-boom is deafening, and the whole tank shudders as the ground to the left of the entrance explodes in a cloud of smoke and rubble and body parts.
The damn thing gone wild! (Bam-ba-lam).
I aim over to the right and do the same.
Ka-boom!
Another cloud of smoke and terrorists. I slow down as I approach the sidewalk that leads to the main entrance of the facility. I use the cannon to look around. The building is in a state of decay—the brick has crumbled and cracked pretty much everywhere, falling away in some places. It’s borderline derelict, but I’m assuming the underground section is much better preserved.
“How far down are they?” I ask Josh, tapping the earpiece a couple of times when I get some static feedback.
“Based on the thermal imaging scans, I reckon about three floors,” he replies. “I’ve got the layout up on my screen now.”
I aim the cannon at the main door and the last handful of terrorists who have so far evaded my wrath. I line up the shot and fire, blowing the entire front wall to pieces.
“Knock, knock, assholes.”
I climb out of the tank and drop down to the street, drawing my Beretta and doing a quick sweep. The entire area looks like a warzone. There are literally bits of people all over the place. Dark stains of blood cover the streets as I walk toward the hole that used to be the main entrance. I pick up one of the dead men’s assault rifles as I walk past. Somewhat typically, it’s an AK-47. It’ll do. I’d rather save my ammunition for when it counts. I scoop up a couple of mags as I walk on and slide them into a spare pocket on my body harness before checking the weapon’s locked and loaded.
With Black Betty still blasting behind me, I walk inside the building, checking every angle for signs of life. It’s a large, open-plan foyer—the right wall was once glass, floor to ceiling, but now the slight breeze quietly whistles through the place as I walk on. There’s a large front desk on the left and, beyond that, elevators and stairs leading both up and down.
I walk by some upturned chairs and tables. I catch one of the chairs with my right leg, and it makes a scraping noise on the floor, which sounds loud in the surrounding silence. I quickly drop to one knee, raising the gun up and preparing for any movement. I wait a few moments, but there’s still no sign of life.
Happy I’m under no immediate threat, I continue on to the stairs in front of me.
“All quiet here,” I whisper into my earpiece.
“The surrounding area’s quiet, too,” replies Josh. “Looks like you took out the bulk of the security perimeter.”
I reach the stairs and I lean over the railings, looking up and down and checking for movement.
“Looks clear,” I confirm. “I’m heading down. You say it was three floors?”
“Yeah,’ he replies. “We might lose comms, so stay sharp, okay? Don’t focus too much on Clara.”
“Copy that.”
I take a deep breath and head downstairs slowly, checking the angles and pausing at the bottom of each flight. As I approach the stairs down to the third sub-level, I hear the first signs of life.
“Josh, you there?” I whisper, but the line’s dead. I check my phone and see there’s no service. I take the earpiece out—no need to wear it if I can’t use it.
I climb down the last staircase and come out in a small, tiled lobby. The walls are showing signs of damp and decay, but the lighting works fine, and the floors look clean. It certainly doesn’t look abandoned, like everything else around here.
The lobby seems to act like a sort of hub—the stairs descend into the middle, with corridors and rooms off in every direction. I stand still, holding my breath and listening for any clue as to which way I need to go. With my back to the stairs, the corridor ahead of me is dark. I glance left and right. Both corridors are bathed in fluorescent light, from fixtures quietly buzzing overhead.
I step forward slowly, turning right and checking behind me. That’s well lit, too, but I hear something from the right that makes me turn. Just a faint sound of movement. I look at the sign on the wall, which says LEVEL 3—RESEARCH LABS. I take a step down the corridor, but stop when I hear more movement from behind me. I look over my shoulder, at the corridor facing the back of the stairs, and see two men walking toward me. They’re unarmed and appear to be deep in conversation, so I don’t think they’ve seen me. I press my back against the wall and listen for any clue as to which way they’re heading.
“He’ll be here soon,” says one of them. “The Fox said he’s already in the building.”
The Fox? Really?
Well, they know I’m here… or at least, that I’m on my way. I crouch down and carefully rest the AK-47 on the floor, keeping my eyes on the two men the whole time. They haven’t seen me, and they’re drawing level with me now. It’s amazing how invisible you can be when no one’s looking for you. They know I’m heading this way, but because they don’t think I’m here yet, it doesn’t enter their heads to look around, so even though I’m likely in their peripheral vision, they haven’t registered my presence. This is good news for me and, frankly, lethally bad luck for them.
I slowly draw a silenced Beretta with my right hand. I wait for them to pass the stairs, and me. They’re heading for the darkened corridor. I step out and silently fall in behind them. I need to play this smart. I should find out what I can about what I’m walking into at least.
I raise my gun and fire once at the man on the right, putting a bullet in the back of his head, just above the neck. He dies instantly, and hits the floor at roughly the same time the spray of blood and brain matter does.
Shocked and unprepared, the remaining man spins around, but in the time it’s taken him to do that, I’m already moving toward him, so he turns just as my left elbow is swinging in. It meets his jaw as he looks round, and catches it full force. He spins away from me and drops to the floor, landing on his back. I’m on him right away, dropping down and pressing my right knee hard into his chest. I push the barrel of my gun into his right temple and place my left hand over his mouth.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask him, my voice muffled slightly through the mask.
His eyes are wide with surprise and fear, and he nods his head vigorously.
“Good, that saves me some time. Does Clara know I’m here?”
He nods again, slower this time, like he’s really thinking about the answer.
“Okay. I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth now. Just in case you get any funny ideas about making any noise, I want you to remember two things: my gun is still pressed against your head, and bits of your friend’s brain are scattered across the floor next to us.”
I slowly remove my hand and he remains silent.
“Excellent. Now, where is everyone, and how many of you are there?”
His breathing is rapid, and his eyes are darting in every direction, as if looking for a way out.
“B-back there,” he says, in a strange accent. Possibly Scandinavian. “There are m-m-maybe fifteen men.”
“And where’s the woman they’ve kidnapped?” I press my gun harder against his temple. “And don’t lie to me.”
He closes his eyes and grimaces as panic and fear set in. “P-please… I’m just a tech guy. I’m not a soldier!”
I jab him hard in the stomach with my left hand. “I didn’t ask who you were, did I?”
He tries to sigh, but he’s breathing too quickly to do it effectively. “She’s t-tied up in one of the labs. Please… I have a f-family.”
I look at him for a moment, searching for an ounce of humanity so that I could give a shit. Unfortunately for him, I left all that back in Tennessee with Josh. The only thing I can think of right now is vengeance.
“Lucky you,” I say to him. “At least you’ll have people to plan your funeral. Next time, maybe think twice before working for a bunch of terrorists, yeah?”
I pull the trigger, sending a conical spray of dark blood across the floor. I stand and look over my shoulder, at the corridor where these two came from. Then I look left and right.
I wonder if this floor is connected in some way, like a network? If I go left, would that bring me out on the other side of the area where Clara is?
It’s a big gamble. I’m running out of time and I can’t afford any mistakes. No, screw it. I know for definite that they’re straight ahead, so that’s where I’m going.
I draw my other Beretta and stride quickly and purposefully toward the corridor at the opposite end, toward Tori.
29.
21:41 EEST
At the end of the corridor it doglegs to the right and out into a large area, separated by temporary partitions all the way around the edge, with an open area in the center.
I stand in the doorway momentarily, getting a good look at the room and planning my attack. There are a couple of men patrolling the perimeter, but the majority of the forces are in the center, which is where I assume Clara and Tori are.
I crouch down and set off to the right. The partitions are thick painted wood up to about waist height, then glass up to the ceiling, capped off with a thin border of wood again, leaving a gap between the top and the ceiling. I look up and see piping and air vents all around. Definitely some sort of old lab, but the tech seems new—they must’ve been renovating the place for months…
Keeping low, I follow the room round and I start to veer left, coming to a gap in the partitions. To my left is a pathway that leads into the middle of the hub. Straight ahead is more cover. I glance behind me, and then peer around the corner. I have a direct view into the middle, and I see a large group of men standing around. They all seem to have handguns, which, thankfully, are holstered at their sides. They’re congregating around a large monitor, but the next partition obscures my view.
What did that guy say before? Tori’s tied up in one of the labs? I’m guessing he meant they’re holding her in one of the partitioned lab areas, away from the main group… If I can find her, I might be able to get her out of here before drawing any attention to—
I feel the cold metal of a gun barrel rest gently against the back of my head. I close my eyes and sigh.
Shit.
“Get up,” says the voice. “Drop the guns.”
I stand, leaving my Berettas on the floor at my feet. I feel a hand unsheathe the Ithaca from my back, tossing that to the ground as well.
“Move,” they say, jabbing me with their gun.
I turn left and head
toward the group in the middle. As I approach, more of the scene becomes visible to me, until I’m standing in the middle of the space, surrounded by the huddle of terrorists. There are some tables and chairs on the left, with two small glass labs behind them; the doors closed. Looking very relaxed, I count ten guys all sitting around, looking at me curiously and smiling.
So, that confirms they knew I was coming.
On the opposite side to me is another glass lab, with pathways on either side. The door’s closed, and there’s a man standing outside it. I look through the glass and see Tori. Despite the circumstances, I still breathe a sigh of relief, happy to know for definite that she’s still alive.
She’s sitting down, looking straight ahead, and I’m on her right side, so she hasn’t seen me yet. Her hair is matted and she looks tired, but other than that she looks as beautiful as I remember. It feels like a lifetime since I’ve laid eyes on her. I feel a sudden wave of guilt. I blame myself entirely for her being here. I should’ve protected her. I should’ve—
“Hey! Are you paying attention?”
A strong, female voice interrupts my train of thought, and I realize they’ve been talking to me for the last minute or so, and I hadn’t noticed. I look to my right, seeing the large screen in full for the first time. There’s a table next to it, with papers laid out across it and a laptop on the right. Standing in front of the screen, staring at me with an evil bemusement, is Clara Fox. As seen on the DVD she left me, she has shoulder-length, jet-black hair and dark make-up. She actually reminds me a little of that Salikov woman I killed, back in Heaven’s Valley. She strides purposefully toward me and snatches the mask off my head, discarding it to the floor.
“Adrian Hell…” she says. “You took your time.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I reply. “I was too busy killing all your men up on the street.”
She laughs. “You think that bothers me? This is the end of the line for you, and the beginning of the Armageddon Initiative’s plans to reset the world!”
Deadly Intent: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 4) Page 21
