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

by Sumner, James P.

  Time resumes its regular speed as the last body crumples to the floor. I look over as Matthews walks back into the center of the room, stepping over the dead bodies at his feet. He looks over at the two remaining members of the terrorist organization I mistakenly thought was behind this whole thing as they back away into the far corner, looks of anger etched on their faces. In his hand is a gun, which he aims at Hussein.

  “You gentlemen have served your purpose flawlessly,” he says to them. “Your efforts in helping this world reach its potential will never be forgotten. They just won’t be documented.”

  He fires four bullets, hitting Hussein in the chest and sending him sprawling backward to the floor. His blood sprays over El-Zurak, who remains still—defiant in what I’m certain now is his last day alive.

  The general takes a step forward. I look over at his men, who seem uninterested in the four of us… sorry, the three of us.

  Damn it.

  I let out a heavy sigh and momentarily curse myself.

  No one seems to care about us now. I think if they wanted us dead, they’d have shot us when they wiped out the terrorists. I decide to take a chance.

  “General,” I say, getting to my feet.

  He turns, and I hold out my right hand, palm up.

  “Please. Let me.”

  His eyes narrow as he regards me, as if trying to decide if I’m crazy, brilliant, or a serious threat. To be honest with you, I’m probably all three. But the only thing I’m thinking right now is that I’m too late to stop the Cerberus threat, and there’s a good chance I’m going to be dead by morning. After everything I’ve been through, I think I deserve the chance to put a bullet in the head of the terrorist behind it all. So to speak.

  Matthews looks past me at his men, and they shuffle behind me as they now take aim at me.

  I shake my head. “No tricks. I just think after everything, you owe me this much at least.”

  A few moments pass before he finally nods, handing me the gun by the barrel. I take it in my hand, regarding it before taking aim at El-Zurak myself.

  “You wanna know what happened to Clara?” I ask him.

  He says nothing; his right eye glaring at me as he visibly shakes with rage.

  “At the end, she begged me to let her take her own life. I beat her, and she was dying, and she wanted a warrior’s death. And I cared so little about my history with her, I granted her that last request. She blew her own brains out in Pripyat. How does that make you feel?”

  His breathing is fast and his fists clenching.

  “Whatever happens after this,” I continue. “I want you to know how she died… how she failed you…”

  He stares at me with his one eye, snarling through the anger etched on his face.

  “But, you know what? Despite everything you’ve planned—the conspiracies, the attacks on me, even kidnapping my girlfriend... the real reason I asked for this, is because you took from me the one thing that truly symbolized my new life. Because of you, my dog died, you piece of shit. And now, so will you.”

  He screams with a guttural hatred, and takes a step toward me. I pull the trigger once, putting a bullet in his right eye, leaving a large black hole in his face. Blood sprays the wall and glass behind him as he falls to the ground.

  I take a deep breath and release the magazine from the gun, letting it drop to the floor. I eject the round from the chamber and hand it back to Matthews.

  “Thanks,” I say. “You can do whatever you want to me now. I just needed to do something to make me feel like it’s not all been in vain.”

  I turn to look at Wallis and Raynor, who are standing side by side, staring at me. The ten operatives all have their guns trained on the three of us. I walk over and join them before looking back at Matthews.

  He looks at one of his men.

  “Take them away,” he orders.

  APRIL 18TH, 2017

  11:57 EDT

  We were marched at gunpoint down sixteen flights of stairs and ushered outside, where a large crowd, mad with hysteria, met us. News crews, FBI agents, local PD—everyone was there. I surveyed the scene quickly, but couldn’t see Josh or Tori. I hoped to God they did the smart thing and got the hell out of there.

  Our guards led us to a black van and loaded us into the back, where they subsequently restrained us by our wrists and ankles, before the door slammed shut on us.

  Matthews stayed with the media to give a statement.

  They drove us to Fort Benning, about two hours away, where we were unloaded and taken to a holding cell at the base. They removed our restraints and locked us up. Six of the ten CIA operatives stayed behind with us, guarding us at gunpoint just outside.

  We’ve been here almost twenty-four hours now. We all got a little sleep, but really, how tired can you feel when you just watched half the world get nuked?

  I’m sitting on a bench, facing the bars of the cell. It’s probably twelve-by-twelve, with benches along all three walls. We’re on the basement level of the main building at Fort Benning, which has been in Georgia since 1918. It’s predominantly a training base for infantry, but there’s an MP presence on site, and it’s local to Atlanta, so it makes sense they brought us here.

  Question is what happens now? I’m all but convinced they’ll kill us. We know too much to risk being left alive, surely?

  I just can’t shake this feeling of guilt… like I should’ve done more. Maybe there would be more people alive if I hadn’t stood there and watched everything happen.

  “Can you believe this?” says Wallis to no one in particular.

  “Nope,” replies Raynor. “This shit is beyond me.”

  “You okay?” Wallis asks me, interrupting my train of thought. I look up absently and nod.

  “Just worried about Tori and Josh,” I say. “They weren’t outside the ComForce offices when we came out.”

  “I’m sure they’re fine,” he replies, trying to reassure me. “Josh is a smart guy—he’ll keep your girl safe.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  Raynor moves and sits next to me, leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees, and clasping his hands together.

  “There’s nothing you could’ve done to help Bob,” he says. “You know that, right?”

  I smile humorlessly. “I know it was his choice,” I say. “It was a stupid choice, but it was his. He thought it was the right thing to do, and let’s be honest, he did more than the rest of us did…”

  “But look where it got him.”

  I shrug. “Maybe it’s better to die trying, than live with the knowledge you were helpless at a time when you should’ve been anything but. You know who I am, John. You know the things I’ve done. How could I not stop this?”

  “Adrian, you were in a closed environment, surrounded by trained soldiers with automatic weapons. You wouldn’t have made it two feet. Even you—the mighty Adrian Hell. You might be extraordinary, but you’re not Superman.”

  “And neither was Clark... What the fuck was he thinkin’, John? Maybe if I hadn’t given him such a hard time throughout all this, he wouldn’t have felt like he had something to prove, I dunno…”

  Raynor scoffs. “You’re a dumb, arrogant son’bitch sometimes, you know that?”

  I smile again, weakly. “Yeah…”

  “Quit blamin’ yourself for what happened—any of it. This was all something so big, there’s no way any one man—or group of individuals—could’ve stopped it. So deal with that and focus on the here and now. We’ve got a whole new set of problems to worry about.”

  A soldier appears in front of us. He has an MP armband around his right bicep.

  “On your feet, all of you,” he says.

  He unlocks the cell and holds the door open. We walk out in single file—first Wallis, then Raynor, then me. The MP walks alongside us as the CIA squad escorts us through the holding area and up into the main barracks—three in front, three behind. They show us to an office and open the door before steppin
g back. We look at each other and walk inside. The door closes behind us, and I see through the glass that they’ve left us alone.

  Inside, the office is nicely furnished, and has a warm feel to it, which is rare on an army base—I’ve always found things were kept quite impersonal. File cabinets line the wall to the right of us. To the left is a black leather sofa, with a TV mounted above it. There’s a news channel on, muted.

  There’s a desk in front of us with a nameplate on it, but little else. Behind it is a walnut leather chair, occupied by Special Agent-in-Charge David Freeman. He’s resting forward on the surface, staring at us. Standing to his left is Ryan Schultz.

  “Isn’t this a good ol’ fashioned family reunion,” I say, flippantly. “Nice of you to join us, Ryan. Where the fuck have you been?”

  “Reel that shit in, son,” he says in his Texan drawl, pointing his finger at me. “I’ve been bustin’ my hump tryin’ to save your ass.”

  I turn and look at the TV, which as expected, is showing nothing but images of the fallout from yesterday. I point to it and look back at Schultz.

  “And how’s that going?”

  He sighs heavily, perhaps sensing my mood and realizing it’s not the best time to argue with me. I turn to Special Agent Freeman.

  “And have you finally decided which side you’re on, asshole?”

  He stands, slamming his hands on the desk. “Hey! Watch your tone, you piece of shit—I was doing my goddamn job!”

  I take a step forward, seeing an opportunity to let out some frustration by beating this guy’s head into the desk, but Wallis steps across and cuts me off, placing a hand on my chest.

  “Knock it off, Adrian,” he says. “Nothing these two have done was wrong, and you know it.”

  I hold my hands up and walk away, staring at the TV.

  “What do you guys know about what’s happened?” Wallis asks them.

  “I only know what I’ve been told by my superiors, and what I saw on the news,” says Freeman. “But when I found out the CIA had captured you all in Atlanta and were bringing you here, I came over for Wallis. Ryan found me and told me… quite a story—which I’m still finding hard to believe, if I’m honest.”

  “Hard as it is to believe, it’s no less true,” adds Schultz. “And I’ve got evidence to prove it.”

  I turn around and look at him. “You have proof?” I ask. “Of what, exactly?”

  “Of the CIA’s involvement,” he replies. “Financial records which can track the funding of a renegade cartel in Colombia, as well as the original intelligence reports on the Armageddon Initiative that GlobaTech provided months ago as a courtesy. When compared to the briefings fed down to other agencies, it’s clear that the information has been doctored to suit their cover story, and make us all scapegoats for what they were helping Hamaad El-Zurak do all along. It then became all about stopping GlobaTech and apprehending anyone helping them, so they could carry on funding the Armageddon Initiative behind the scenes with no one looking in their direction.”

  “This is good news. How did you get all this?”

  “I spent a lot of time with the NSA over the last week. I’ve learned a few things off your friend, Josh, so when we found ourselves in their crosshairs, I did a bit of digging. Another thing I found was a report from the upper echelons of the CIA to their equivalents in the FBI, detailing how Yalafi Hussein was an agency asset currently in play and was to be shown discretion during any operations to apprehend us.”

  “Shit… that explains why the D.E.A.D. unit was sent to take me out. They said I stole government property when I took Hussein’s laptop back in New York. If Hussein was listed as an asset, then technically I guess I did.”

  “Exactly. They covered their tracks pretty well.”

  “But even if Hussein was working for the CIA, why would he be discussing a top secret government satellite with the director?” asks Wallis.

  Schultz shrugs. “My guess? They’ll say he was gathering intelligence on terrorist activity, and they were using the satellite to verify it. Forget what Cerberus could do, that’s what it was initially designed for.”

  “That’s pretty weak,” I say.

  “I know it is, but it’s still plausible. And I just thought of that on the spot. The most powerful and secretive intelligence agency in the world has had months to think of a believable reason.”

  “Jesus Christ…”

  I turn away and pace slowly toward the door, but the images on the TV catch my eye.

  “Hey, turn this up,” I say over my shoulder.

  On screen is a live press conference from outside the White House. President Cunningham is standing at a podium on the front lawn, with General Thomas Matthews at his side.

  The indicator appears on the screen as the volume rises, and we hear the president’s speech.

  “…our thoughts and prayers are with the families of the victims, and the survivors, in the nations that were subjected to these truly horrific attacks by the terrorist organization known as the Armageddon Initiative.”

  Along the bottom of the screen is a ticker, scrolling right to left, showing the number of deaths in all the countries fired upon. Over nine hundred thousand dead in China… three quarters of a million dead in Turkey… two hundred thousand dead in Pakistan… another half million in South Korea…

  My God!

  “These unforgiveable attacks took us all by surprise,” the president continues. “I will concede that our technology was manipulated in a way we didn’t know was possible, and I have taken action to have Project: Cerberus decommissioned with immediate effect. It was designed to help protect the citizens of our great nation, and indeed across all nations, but instead it was used to hurt them. From this day forth, the United States will set aside all foreign policies and treaties. We will wipe all existing debts. We will help those who need it most; no matter how long it takes, no matter how much it costs. We… will… make… this… right!”

  He pauses as a thunderous round of applause and cheering breaks out.

  “This is bullshit,” I say to the room.

  On screen, President Cunningham holds up his hands so the audience will calm down.

  “Now, even in these darkest of times, there is light. I can reveal that thanks to the efforts of our intelligence community, and the brave men and women serving our country, we have captured the men responsible for these attacks. Many of the terrorists involved were killed during the operation, but I can now confirm to you that we have the leader of the organization, Hamaad El-Zurak, in custody at a secure location where he’s undergoing interrogation…”

  “Bullshit!” I yell. “I shot the bastard myself!”

  “…I would like to personally thank the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, General Thomas Jack Matthews, for working to bring this evil individual to justice.”

  President Cunningham turns and shakes Matthews’ hand, and then waves to the crowd.

  Unbelievable.

  He’s managed to turn the biggest terrorist attack in history into a goddamn publicity stunt… and the people are loving it! He just admitted it was American technology that caused all this, and they’re fucking applauding him!

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  I turn to face everyone. “Schultz, have you heard from Josh and Tori?” I ask.

  “They’re safe,” he replies. “They slipped away in the chaos back in Atlanta.”

  “Good. So, what’s your plan?”

  “I need to make a call—try to get everyone released.”

  I shake my head. “There’s no way the CIA are going to let us go when we know so much.”

  He reaches into his pockets, pulls out a USB flash drive, and waves it at me.

  “But they don’t know we can actually prove anything,” he says with a wicked smile. “Let me do some negotiating. With Freeman’s help, I’m sure we can make them see it’s best if we keep quiet and all this disappears… the world’s got enough to worry about, right?”

 
; Schultz walks out of the room, followed by Freeman. Wallis and Raynor both sit down on the sofa in the corner, but I remain standing, staring at the TV screen. The scope of this whole thing is beyond comprehension. Millions of people have died. The last twenty-four hours ranks up there with the first two World Wars and Smallpox.

  I pace back and forth, unaware of the time. It doesn’t seem long before Schultz and Freeman re-enter the room. They look flustered.

  “Okay, we’re going,” says Schultz, urgently.

  I frown at his tone. “With or without permission?” I ask.

  “With… sort of. Come on, we don’t have much time. There’s a chopper waiting for us out front.”

  He turns and practically runs out of the office, with Freeman close behind him. The three of us exchange looks of confusion before filing out after him. We walk down the corridor, ignoring the seemingly accusatory glances of the people we pass, and step out into the open.

  Sure enough, there’s a chopper on the front lawn, which Schultz is just climbing aboard. Freeman is on the ground signaling us over. We all break into a jog and duck as we approach. The noise of the spinning rotor blades is deafening. We climb into the back, and we lift off before I even have chance to sit down.

  “Where are we going?” I shout to Schultz.

  “The safest place I know,” he replies, cryptically.

  40.

  18:03 PDT

  The safest place he knew turned out to be GlobaTech’s main headquarters in Santa Clarita, California. The chopper took us to Atlanta International Airport, where a private jet was waiting for us on the runway, fueled, and ready to go. Vowing to myself that it was definitely the last time I ever traveled on one, we climbed aboard and were soon in the air.

  The flight took a little over eight hours, during which I tried to get some sleep, but failed miserably. We touched down at Whiteman Airport in Pacoima, and made the half hour drive from there to the GlobaTech building in a chauffeured limousine that was waiting for us.

  The site is at the base of a small mountain range, and is enormous. All the years I’ve had a relationship with them, I never knew just how big of a company they are. We drive in through the main gate, and across what feels like a small town surrounded by a fence. Three- and four-story buildings are scattered around the site with seemingly no prior planning. Operatives parade around the grounds, kitted out, armed, and heading in various directions to do God knows what. There are helicopters, and even fighter jets, standing stationary, all bearing GlobaTech’s red and black emblem.