He’s silent for a moment, but I can see him wanting to bite…
“What do you mean?” he asks.
And... reel him in!
“I will go on record right now—assuming there is a record?—and say that I stole a laptop from an apartment in New York. That apartment wasn’t empty. The man in possession of the laptop at the time was Yalafi Hussein, the known terrorist who masterminded the assault on my bar. He had armed men with him. Want to know who he was meeting when I broke in?”
I see a flicker of doubt. I know this guy will have had extensive training in the art of interrogation. And probably torture. He’ll be an expert in determining whether someone is lying or not. I know I’m telling the truth, and so does he. Which confuses him, because someone who’s telling the truth is giving him information that directly conflicts with what he’s been told by his superiors. Hence, the doubt now clouding his mind.
“Enough,” he says. “You’ve had your chance to explain your actions. If you continue to lie, you will be treated as a traitor to this country and prosecuted as such.”
I chuckle. “Son, we both know I’m not lying. Go on, go outside, and ask your boss to disprove what I’m saying. I bet you my considerable fortune he gives you the brush-off, just like you’ve given me.”
He goes to stand, but hesitates.
“Go on,” I urge. “I’ve got all day.”
He waits a moment before standing, to make it seem like it was his choice, and not because I told him to. Then he walks over to the door, opens it, and leaves, slamming it closed behind him.
I sigh heavily and relax. Round one to me there, I think. Now I just have to wait for someone else to walk in who outranks the first guy, and we get to dance all over again.
??:??
I reckon they’ve left me a good twenty minutes. Maybe half an hour, but no more. They’ll be in here any minute. I know as well as they do that time isn’t on their side, so they can’t afford to give me the full psychological work-over and leave me here for a few hours.
The door swings open a moment later.
Told you.
General Thomas Matthews, the Director of the CIA, is standing before me, wearing his suit and medals with pride.
I wasn’t expecting to see him here, and I admit it catches me off-guard for a moment. But I recover quickly.
“Hey, General,” I say. “I’ve not seen you since New York. How’ve you been?”
He remains silent, standing firm and regarding me with distaste.
“Come on, you must remember me?” I continue. “I’m the guy who barged in on your meeting with Yalafi Hussein and stole his laptop before jumping out of a window… Say, what were you two talking about? He’s not a very nice guy, y’know? Strange someone of your social standing would be seen cavorting with the likes of him…”
“Boy, I’ve never seen you before in my life,” he says, finally. His voice is powerful and suits his tall, broad frame. “Now tell me everything about the terrorist attacks you’ve been planning.”
“Wow… okay. Where shall I start? First of all, you’re a terrible liar. That first guy was better. Second, going from a lowly interrogator straight to the Director is unheard of, and is pretty much an admission of guilt on your part. You might as well set up a large neon sign on the roof saying ‘Free Conspiracy With Every Purchase!’ The fact you’re here shows you’re panicking and desperate. You know exactly what I know, and I know everything about your involvement in all this… Ares.”
His eyes betray him. He mustn’t have figured we’d make the connection between him and the cartel, but after what I learned from Clara, it was obvious to the point where it’s insulting. He remains stubborn and steadfast in his act.
“I don’t know what you think you know, Adrian Hell, but I can tell you that you have no concept of what’s happening here; what’s at stake.”
“I’ve got a rough idea.”
“You really don’t, soldier. This world is a shitty place, and sometimes you gotta do things you don’t agree with to get the result you want. Now tell me what you know about the terrorist attack!”
I frown.
That was an odd thing to say… and all of a sudden, it’s not my terrorist attack anymore.
“You tell me, General. I’m still trying to figure this whole thing out. But I’ve been busting my ass for two weeks in an effort to stop the attacks myself. We’re on the same side in this.”
The general smiles. “No, we’re not.”
I shrug. “Yeah, you might be right there, actually.”
We’re both silent for a couple of minutes before the general opens the door, letting the first guy back in.
“Take him to a holding cell,” he orders. “Once they’re all together, they’ll be shipped out to GitMo.”
What? Guantanamo Bay?
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I shout. “That place is closed!”
The general turns to me and smiles. “Says who?”
“The president!”
He laughs. “Not this president.”
The first guy lifts me by my arm to my feet and marches me out of the room. As I pass Matthews, I stop.
“This ain’t over, General. Not by a long shot.”
He ignores me and looks at the guy escorting me. “Get this sonofabitch out of here.”
He pushes me out of the room and leads me right, down a long corridor. The walls are plain and dirty cream. The floor is thirty-year-old linoleum. At the end, we turn left and go down some narrow stairs that lead into an underground parking lot. It’s mostly empty, save for a large truck over in the far right corner.
He marches me over and opens the back of it, revealing Clark, Josh, the sheriff, and Tori, all sitting on small benches, two on either side. Their hands are cuffed in front of them and linked via a chain to metal hoops in the floor. He pushes me up the steps and sits me down on a bench of my own, facing the door. Reaching behind me, he removes the plastic ties, then pulls out a pair of cuffs and secures me in the same way as the others.
I wait for the door to close.
“Everyone alright?” I ask.
They all nod.
I look at Tori. “Are you okay, babe? Did they hurt you?”
She shakes her head. “I’m fine,” she says. “They didn’t touch me.”
“Any idea what’s happening now?” asks Josh.
I nod. “I had a chat with General Matthews. He told me where they intend taking us, but it doesn’t matter. We’re getting out of here and stopping El-Zurak from taking over Cerberus. End of story.”
Clark looks around the interior of the truck and pulls on his chain.
“Doesn’t look good, Adrian,” he says. “So where are they going to take us?”
I sigh. “Guantanamo Bay.”
“Oh, shit…” says Josh.
“This is bad, isn’t it?” asks Tori.
“It was meant to have been closed years ago, but apparently it’s been re-opened. And yes, it’s pretty bad.”
“It’s where terrorists are taken to disappear,” adds Josh.
“But we’re not terrorists!” shouts Tori, panicking.
The truck starts up, and we move off.
“That doesn’t seem to matter anymore,” I say.
I lean back against the side of the truck and close my eyes.
Now what do I do?
35.
??:??
Why is the CIA so bothered about me? And GlobaTech, for that matter... There’s no way they can seriously think we’re terrorists. It’s obvious we’ve been trying to help all along. And they must know about the genuine threat, so why ignore it?
I’m sitting in the back of a truck with everyone in this world that I trust, secured to the floor by my wrists, as we’re driven to a place where the U.S. government absolutely does not torture terrorists for the rest of their lives.
I’ve been in worse situations.
Can’t think of any right now, granted, but I’m sure I have been at s
ome point.
I look over at Josh, who’s leaning back and staring at the roof. He’s thinking of a way out of here—I recognize the look on his face.
Next to him, Bob Clark is staring at the floor. He’s a corporate guy. Smart, loyal… a little stupid sometimes, but he’s been there to help me when I’ve needed it for the last few years and I can’t forget that. But he’s not cut out for this. In a board meeting, he’d be deadly. But in the line of fire, he’s useless. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. I just mean that his mind will start to panic and he’ll shut down, rendering him incapable of doing anything useful. So, by definition, he’s useless.
Opposite him is John Raynor. My local sheriff and one of the most honorable men I’ve ever known. He’s a good man, and a good friend. He’s stuck by me simply because I live in his town, and he sees me as his responsibility, which is nice. But I feel bad for dragging him into this. He should’ve cut and run after Arkansas when we ditched the NSA.
I say ditched… I mean when I killed them all.
In between him and me is Tori Watson, my girlfriend. The only woman on this planet I’ve ever loved besides my wife. She never knew the old me. She never knew Adrian Hell. She fell in love with the person I became when that part of me died. Clara Fox kidnapped her so I’d go looking for her—part of a plan for her to satisfy her twisted quest for revenge against me that she’d harbored for years. When it boiled down to it, I realized she’d become irrelevant to me. But Tori went through a lot, and now she’s here, backing me up unquestioningly.
These people are risking their lives to help me. The least I can do is make sure they don’t have to sacrifice them as well. I need to find a way…
What’s that noise?
I sit up, straining over the mechanical rumbling of the noisy engine.
That sounds like…
“What is it?” asks Josh, seeing me concentrating.
I shush him and hold my hand up so everyone knows to stay quiet.
Is that…?
The noise gets louder and the others hear it too.
Clark looks up. “Is that…?”
“I reckon so,” I say.
“What is it?” asks Tori.
“There’s a helicopter approaching,” I say. “How long have we been on the road? Anyone?”
“I’d say no longer than fifteen minutes,” offers Josh.
“This type of truck is designed for long haul transfers. If we were only going a few miles, we’d have been moved in the same type of van we were brought in.”
“What does this mean?” asks Raynor.
“It means, I doubt very much we’re being switched to a helicopter this far into the journey,” I explain. “It’s getting closer, so it makes sense to be on an intercept course with us, but whoever it is isn’t here to move us anywhere.”
“So what do they want?” asks Clark.
I shrug. “I imagine we’ll find out soon enough,” I say, sitting back and trying to relax.
Sure enough, after another couple of minutes, the truck brakes sharply, and we screech to a halt. I hear both doors of the cab open, and boots drop to the ground, followed by faint sound of raised voices over the loud whirring sound of helicopter blades.
There’s nothing for a few moments, then the whirring gets louder as the chopper takes off and flies away. Silence descends, and everyone exchanges concerned glances.
Then the back door unlocks and opens, and we see Special Agent Tom Wallis standing there, holding a set of keys.
“I swear to God, this is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done!” he says as he steps inside and starts unlocking our cuffs.
“What the hell?” asks Josh.
“Long story,” he says. “I asked Freeman to contact the CIA office that you were taken to, to make sure you were okay. He told me they told him you’d been questioned, admitted your guilt, and were en route to a secure facility to be processed.”
“That’s bullshit,” I say.
“I figured. I got an FBI chopper to fly me to the CIA building, and from there, we covered a ten mile radius until we found you.”
“What happened to the driver?” asks Tori.
“Him and his friend are outside on the ground, knocked out.”
He frees the last of us, and we pile out onto the street.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Just outside of Jacksonville, Florida,” says Wallis.
I look around. The sun’s rising, and there’s already a warm breeze blowing.
“How long since we were taken from ComForce’s building?” I ask.
Wallis frowns at the question.
“It’s been a disorienting few hours,” I explain.
“Ah, right.” He checks his watch. “Maybe eighteen hours in total.”
I look at Josh. “We’re… what? Five hours from Atlanta?”
He nods. “Easily.”
“Shit. Okay, first two cars we see, we take—no questions asked. Wallis, I’m really grateful for you sticking your neck out for us like this. I can’t ask you to do it anymore. I don’t expect you to come with us…”
He waves his hand to dismiss my concerns. “I’m already in way over my head,” he says. “If I go back now, I’ll definitely lose my badge and probably my freedom. At least with you guys, I can do something good before I lose everything. I’m in.”
I stare down the road and see a car approaching.
“Well, you’ve not lost that badge yet,” I say, pointing to the car. “Use it.”
Wallis flags the car down and feeds the poor driver the standard line about it being official government business, and the FBI appreciating his co-operation. He then holds the driver’s door open as they climb out and looks at me.
“You take this one,” he says. “I’ll flag another for the rest of us.”
I nod. “Okay. Tori, John, you’re with me—get in.” Raynor slides in behind the wheel and Tori climbs in the back. I turn to the owner of the car. “Sorry, but I need your cell phone.”
The guy hesitates for a second, but takes another look at the FBI badge and sighs, handing it over. I turn to Josh. “I’ll call you on Wallis’ cell if I need you. I doubt you’ll be too far behind us, anyway. You and Clark figure out a way to stop Cerberus being hacked, let Wallis do the driving.”
He holds his hand out, and I shake it.
“This time,” he says.
I nod. “This time.”
I turn and get into the passenger side of our newly acquired four-door saloon car, and Raynor guns the engine and spins us round. We speed off toward Atlanta, and the ComForce building, for the second time in twenty-four hours. The CIA will soon get word we’ve escaped, so they won’t be far behind. The FBI will be on the hunt for Wallis, so they’ll be on our tail as well. We need to be quick and lucky, if we’re to get there in time.
“So what’s the plan, assuming we reach Atlanta without being arrested again?” asks Raynor.
“I’ll tell you when we get to Atlanta,” I say.
APRIL 17TH, 2017
07:30 EDT
Truth is I actually do have a plan this time. Or, at least, the beginnings of one. Which is a lot more than I normally allow myself to have when I’m preparing for a fight. But I don’t want to share it in case we get caught. Plausible deniability, I think the politicians call it. If anyone asks, they can tell the truth and say they had no idea why we were heading to Atlanta. It’s better for them.
Problem I have now is that I have no weapons. I’ve lost both my Berettas, which I’m pissed about, and Raynor’s lost his gun, too, so we’re unarmed and driving full speed to launch an arguably futile attack on a terrorist network…
Retirement’s more stressful than when I was an assassin.
I place the borrowed cell phone into the hands-free kit and dial Josh’s number. Unfortunately, I’m not the best when it comes to technology—I thought I pressed dial, but for some reason I’ve managed to turn the radio on.
“For God’s sake…” I mut
ter as I move to turn it off again, but Raynor stops me.
“Hold on,” he says, turning it up.
It’s in the middle of a live news report.
“…have been here for several hours. So far, there are no casualties or demands, but a video has been transmitted to local stations showing hostages on the sixteenth floor. For those of you just joining us, we are now in the sixth hour of a siege at an office building in downtown Atlanta, where an unknown number of suspected terrorists have taken control of the ComForce Securities office. Their motivation is unclear, and so far, they have made no demands. Local police have set up a perimeter around the building, and an FBI negotiator and SWAT team arrived on the scene a couple of hours ago. More on this breaking news story as it happens.”
Raynor flicks the radio off and looks at me.
“We’re too late,” he says. “They’ve taken the building.”
Overcome by an inexplicable rage that I’ve not felt in a long time, I let out a guttural scream, thumping my fist on the dashboard.
“Fuck!”
Behind me, Tori squeals as she jumps in shock. Raynor raises an eyebrow and looks ahead, leaving me to my frustration. It subsides as quickly as it came, and I start thinking rationally again.
“No way is this over,” I say, dialing Josh’s number again. “Not after everything we’ve been through.”
I try calling Josh again, and it works this time—the ringing sounding out over the speaker system in the car.
“Have you heard the news report?” I ask as the call’s answered.
“No, what’s happened?” replies Josh.
“They’ve taken the ComForce building. As of six hours ago.”
“Shit!”
“We’re easily three hours out still. How long would it take them to gain control of the satellite?”
“Jesus, I don’t know, Adrian… they’ve got to get access, then use it to control our nukes, then launch them… assuming that’s what they want to do. If they’re trying to hack someone else’s, it’ll take longer, but—”
“Best guess?”
He sighs. “Best case, twelve hours. Worst case, they already have control of our nuclear arsenal.”
Deadly Intent: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 4) Page 27
