Jericho was on the far right, and he stepped forward, moving in front of the target. The moon was high and the sky was clear, providing ample illumination on the proceedings. He regarded the man for a moment. He had a shaved head and two-day old stubble on his chin. He was a decent size—a strong build, but not overly muscular. He noted the man’s eyes—they were ice-blue, like a husky, and shone brightly in the moonlight. He didn’t look panicked; he exuded an almost arrogant calmness, despite his current predicament.
“Adrian Hell?” asked Jericho, adjusting the grip on his FAMAS, more for effect than necessity.
“Used to be,” replied the man, shrugging casually.
“Welcome to Colombia. On your feet.” Adrian stood, looking around with an absent curiosity. “Now, where’s the laptop?” asked Jericho.
Adrian settled his gaze on the mountain of a man in front of him and frowned. “What laptop?”
“The one you stole approximately fourteen hours ago. It’s government property, and you’re going to hand it over immediately.”
“So, you work for the government?” he asked.
Jericho didn’t answer. He simply looked on, intrigued by the man’s approach to the situation.
“You guys have me confused with someone else, clearly,” continued Adrian. “The laptop I stole belonged to a known terrorist. I’m actually trying to help the government that you may or may not work for. But it’s okay, you weren’t to know. I’ll just get my things and be on my way… I don’t suppose one of you can fly this plane, can you?”
Everyone leveled their rifles at him. Black had moved round to join the rest of the unit, standing at the opposite end of the line to Jericho, keeping his weapon trained on Adrian. Jericho could feel his own uneasiness growing as the seconds ticked by.
“I won’t ask you again,” Jericho said. “Give me the laptop.”
Adrian rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. “Like I said, I stole the laptop off a terrorist, not a government employee. I did so on behalf of a private military contractor as part of an ongoing operation. And you people obviously wouldn’t be interested in that, would you?”
Jericho’s eyes narrowed. “What operation?” he asked.
“I’ve been targeted by a terrorist group who want to recruit me,” he began. “As you say, I’m Adrian Hell, whether I’m retired or not. I refused, and they came after me. Some friends of mine happened to be investigating these assholes anyway, so I agreed to help them out. I managed to get in the same room as one of them and steal his laptop, which I’ve since handed over to my PMC friends. But that’s got nothing to do with the government, so I’m at a loss as to why you’d be sent after me…”
Jericho fell silent as his mind processed the new information. Behind him, he could almost feel the looks of concern from his team—their uncertainty palpable in the quiet moments that followed. But he didn’t care. He just wanted to do the right thing and, the way things were going, the mission was beginning to make less sense.
“Who sent you after me?” asked Adrian, with increasing persistence.
Again, Jericho stayed quiet.
“Come on, get on your comms and ask the question. You know you want to.”
Jericho tensed his jaw muscles as he considered his options. He believed Adrian when he said he wasn’t in possession of the laptop anymore. But if there was any truth to everything else he was saying, the situation warranted further investigation. So, for the time being at least, he wanted to keep the man alive.
“Watch him,” he said, looking quickly at his unit, but speaking to no one in particular. He then stepped away from the group and activated his comms unit. “Sir, we have the target,” he said into the microphone. “There’s no package—I repeat, no package. Please advise… over.”
On the other end of the line, speaking from inside the CIA Headquarters in Langley, Virginia, a familiar voice replied. “Jericho, this is Jones. What exactly did the target say to you?”
“He says he stole a laptop from a known terrorist on behalf of a PMC he was working with. He doesn’t have it on his person anymore.”
A few moments of uneasy silence followed, before another voice came on the line. Jericho recognized it, despite having only spoken to the man a handful of times in the past.
“Soldier, you’re to terminate your target immediately and destroy the plane,” said General Matthews, the Director of the CIA. “Leave no evidence behind. Understood?”
Jericho frowned. “I understand, sir,” he said. “But can you please clarify the threat here? If what he says is true, we should make contact with the PMC and follow up from there.”
Matthews sighed heavily down the line. “Just do as you’ve been ordered,” he said to Jericho. “Terminate that man immediately and leave the area.”
Jericho caught a hiss of static in his ear and didn’t hear the last part.
“Say again, sir…” he said.
Matthews repeated the order.
Jericho took a deep breath. “Understood, sir.”
He walked back over to the group, moving in front of his target and raising his rifle at him once more. “My orders are to kill you,” he said, matter-of-factly. “But, I want to know who you’re working for.”
“Why?” Adrian replied with a shrug.
“Because there’s an ongoing mission I think could benefit from that information.”
“What’s the mission?”
Jericho raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”
“Worth a try,” he shrugged. “I know you have your orders, but I’m not the enemy here, you have my word.”
“And what is the word of a two-bit hitman worth, exactly?”
“Two-bit?” he scoffed, seeming genuinely offended. “Try world’s greatest, you ignorant prick. And I’m many things, but I’m not a liar. I’m trying to help. I don’t trust you enough to give you everything I know, but I can tell you I have seen solid intel that suggests a pending terrorist attack that nobody else currently knows is coming.”
Jericho felt troubled, and looked over his shoulder momentarily, seeing the rest of his squad exchanging nervous glances and shuffling uneasily on the spot. He ignored their obvious concerns, turning back to his prisoner and locking eyes with him.
“I’m trying to help,” Adrian continued. “And I’m offering my help to you now. I’m not the enemy, and given what I know, I suspect your orders are bogus—unjustified, and given by someone who doesn’t want the world to know they’re implicated in a terrorist attack.”
“And you can prove this?” asked Jericho.
“Yes.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jericho saw a sudden movement. He shot a look over to his left and, for a split second, saw Black pointing his weapon at him. He frowned, unable to comprehend what was unfolding before him. Then, without warning or hesitation, his second-in-command pulled the trigger. The muzzle flash was bright, and the gunshot loud, echoing all around. To Jericho, it sounded like the noise was cut short halfway through, as the dimly-lit airfield quickly faded to a vast, all-consuming darkness.
GRENADA, NICARAGUA
April 19th, 2017
12:03 CST
Chris Black stood in front of his squad, regarding each one of them silently as they muttered among themselves. They were sitting in a line; their chairs had a small fold-away table attached to the right arm, like in an exam. Overhead, the buzz of the fluorescent lighting was barely audible over the chatter in the large, yet mostly empty, meeting room.
Since failing their mission in Colombia eight days prior, they had received only one communication from their CIA contact, Julius Jones, which simply told them to sit tight and await further instruction.
It had been a tense time, especially for Black. He didn’t regret for one second obeying the order that came through to terminate Jericho, but once the dust had settled tensions had started to run high. He acted quickly to restore order, and renew the team’s faith in his ability to follow in Jericho’s footsteps
and lead the unit.
“Okay, settle down,” he said to the room. He waited as they fell silent and turned their attention to him. “I know it’s been a long wait, but it was necessary, under the circumstances. I’ve heard from Langley today, and they have a mission for us.”
He picked up his tablet from the table to his right and pressed the screen, linking it up wirelessly with the large digital wallboard behind him. He stepped to one side, so his squad could see the display. A large profile picture filled the left of the screen, with writing appearing down the right.
“This is Daniel Vincent,” he began. “He’s an engineer for a private contractor. We have intel that suggests Mr. Vincent has stolen classified information. We don’t know what his intentions are, but due to the sensitive nature of the material, this is being treated as a matter of national security.”
“What’s the information?” asked Damian Baker, who was sitting to Black’s right.
“Classified,” replied Black, sharply. “I wasn’t told, because we don’t need to know. The only thing that matters is retrieving it before he has the chance to do something stupid with it. He’s been under surveillance for the last twenty-four hours. He’s smart—staying off the grid, using public transportation where possible, and sleeping in anonymous motels all over the world. Langley suspects he’s trying to make contact with someone, maybe a buyer for the information he has. We’ve been monitoring his family—he has a wife and daughter—in case he tries to get in touch with them, but so far... nothing. Questions?”
“Where is he?” asked Charlotte LaSharde, who was sitting to the left of Baker.
“At the moment, we don’t know,” conceded Black. “The last sighting of him was in a coffee shop in Berlin, but analysts are using every camera, cell phone, satellite—you name it—at their disposal to find him. As soon as they do, we’ll move to intercept.”
“Are we sure this intel is good?” asked Rick Santiago, over on the left of the room.
Black glared at him, and even the others turned and looked surprised at the question. Santiago was typically a quiet man by nature, and rarely spoke unless he had to.
“What do you mean?” asked Black.
“I mean, our information was way off in Colombia. Our target didn’t have the laptop like we were told. In fact, I’m not sure our target even was a target... I know Jericho didn’t think so.”
Black held his gaze for a moment, clenching his jaw muscles with frustration.
“The intel is fine,” he said eventually. “Once we know the location of the target, we move to intercept. That’s all for now. Dismissed.”
Everyone stood, the chairs scraping on the floor and sounding loud in the otherwise silent room. Baker left first, followed by LaSharde. As Santiago neared the door, Black stepped toward him.
“Rick, you got a sec?” he asked, as calmly as possible.
Santiago turned and hung back, waiting until the others had left before closing the door. “What’s up?” he asked, informally.
“Do we have a problem?” asked Black.
Santiago shrugged. “I don’t know… do we?”
“You’ve been unhappy since we got back from Colombia…”
“I know. The real question is: why haven’t you?”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Santiago struggled to manage his frustration. “What the hell do you think? You shot Jericho in the fucking head, Chris! How are you okay with that?”
Black took another step toward him, in an attempt to exert some of his newfound authority. “I was following orders,” he replied. “Something Jericho developed an issue with over there. He was talking with our target like he was a colleague! He knew Langley was listening and he disobeyed a direct order...”
Santiago shook his head. “That’s because it was a stupid fucking order,” he countered. “That was Jericho, homie! He was our boss for over seven years, and you blew him away like he was nothing!”
Black moved so he was standing almost nose to nose with the slightly smaller Santiago. “I followed an order given by the director of the CIA—that was all. We’re soldiers, and this is a war. Get in line, or get the fuck out—your call. But make it fast, homie, because I won’t tolerate my authority being questioned in my unit.”
“Your unit, huh? Just like that?” Santiago shook his head and took a step back, holding his hands out to the side. “Whatever, man. Like you say, we all soldiers, right? Just tell me which direction to shoot… boss.”
Black held his gaze for a few tense, silent moments, and then nodded his head. “Dismissed.”
Without a word, Santiago turned on his heels and walked out of the room, leaving Black standing there, breathing heavy with adrenaline and anger.
Once the door was closed, Black waited a few moments, to give Santiago chance to walk away, before picking up the tablet computer he was using and launching it across the room. It hit the far wall, smashing into pieces on impact and scattering across the floor.
Black leaned forward on the desk, staring at nothing in particular. He knew he had to deliver on the next mission. All eyes would be on him, following Colombia and the events of the past couple of days. He knew if he couldn’t hold things together and get the job done, then Langley would find someone else who could.
Did he regret having to kill Jericho? A little, maybe. But orders are orders, and he’d waited his whole life for a chance to head up a unit of such importance. He wasn’t about to let one man’s insubordination get in the way of that.
He left the room, heading outside into the courtyard. Directly across from him was the barracks; off to his right was the armory and motor pool. He could see Santiago ahead, making his way over to where Baker was gathering weapons and equipment, preparing for the next mission. He watched as the men began talking, but he was too far away to hear what they were saying. Judging by their body language, he guessed it was about him.
He shook his head in a moment of anger and headed across to the barracks, where LaSharde was just disappearing inside. She turned in the doorway and, seeing him approaching, held the door for him.
“Thanks,” he said as he reached her.
They walked inside together, entering the dimly-lit corridor.
“You alright?” asked LaSharde.
Black sighed. “No, I’m not. There’s so much going on right now. I dunno... I feel out of my—”
She stepped in front of him, placing her index finger on his lips. “Hey, it’s alright,” she said. “Come here.” She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. After a few moments, they parted, both smiling. “That better?” she asked him.
He laughed. “Much. Thanks.”
She grabbed his hand and led him into her quarters, shutting the door quietly behind them.
SANTA CLARITA, CALIFORNIA, USA
April 19th, 2017
10:25 PDT
Jericho Stone gasped as he snapped awake, opening his right eye as he bolted upright in his bed. He felt like someone had ripped him from a nightmare.
“What the hell...?” he shouted out, with an uncharacteristic panic in his voice.
He looked around the room, using his training to quickly absorb every detail; to determine if there was any immediate threat.
He was lying in a bed, in what appeared to be a very specialized hospital ward. There were no windows. The room was bright and clean, and looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. Every surface he could see was white. An assortment of technology beeped and flashed away on either side of him. He looked down and saw a variety of wires both on him, and in him, that connected him to the machines.
On the right was a large door, which stood open. There was a man standing casually at the foot of his bed, partially blocking his view of a big flatscreen TV mounted on the wall opposite. He was dressed in a shirt and jeans, and was staring at him with an expression of bemusement and disbelief.
On Jericho’s immediate right was a nurse. She was wearing a white over
coat, fastened. There was an ID badge clipped to the pocket over her left breast, stating her name was Julie Fisher. She regarded him with a look of professional concern, and her hand was on his forearm.
“Where… where am I?” asked Jericho, still taking in quick, deep breaths.
Julie squeezed his arm gently. “You’re—”
“I’ll take this one,” interrupted the man, holding up his hand as he spoke. He took a step toward the bed. “Jericho, you’re in a medical research facility in Santa Clarita, California. You’ve been in a coma for just over a week. You woke up for the first time yesterday, and you’ve been drifting in and out ever since.”
Jericho frowned. “California? But you’re… you sound British…”
The man nodded and smiled. “Yeah, I am—but don’t hold it against me. My name’s Josh Winters, and I work for GlobaTech Industries.”
Jericho frowned again as the name registered in his brain with a familiarity he couldn’t immediately explain. He knew GlobaTech was one of the largest private militaries on the planet. They specialized in contracted security, as well as research and development in fields such as technology and weaponry. They also worked in conjunction with government agencies, like the CDC, focusing on healthcare advances.
But the name was familiar to him for another reason, that he couldn’t quite put his finger on...
Jericho set his jaw with determination and, in what felt like a colossal effort, re-positioned himself in his bed so he was resting upright against his pillows.
“What am I doing here?” he asked, more alert than before.
Josh seemed to pick up on the change in tone. “You’re safe, Jericho,” he said, reassuringly. “I promise. I’m not naïve enough to think you’ll trust me, but I need you to believe we mean you no harm. You’re resting, after undergoing an emergency medical procedure that ultimately saved your life.”
Jericho stared blankly ahead of him, trying to wrap his head around what was happening. He fought desperately against the dark fog clouding his mind, in an effort to recall the events that led to him being there.
D.E.A.D. Till I Die: An Action Thriller (GlobaTech Book 1) Page 2
