One Last Bullet: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 3)

by Sumner, James P.

  The caterer put the champagne bottle down slowly and held his hands up in silent apology. “No sir, don’t think we’ve met before. I’m new to the job.”

  Trent stood and squared up to him. “Where are you from? Your accent sounds British.”

  The caterer nodded slowly. “I’m from London,” he replied.

  “And how long have you worked here?”

  He checked his watch before answering. “About twenty minutes…”

  “What?”

  Trent’s men all took a step toward their boss, sensing the need to offer protection. But the door burst open, kicked in from outside. Everyone turned round to see who was in the doorway. The caterer stepped in close to Trent and pressed a knife against his kidney.

  “Yeah, we haven’t met, so let me introduce myself… My name’s Josh. I believe you know my friend?”

  Josh nodded to the doorway, where Adrian Hell stood, a Beretta in each hand and an evil smile on his face.

  31.

  ADRIAN HELL

  17:01

  We all arrived back at the Hilton hotel within minutes of each other, and we’ve congregated in the parking lot around the Winnebago. Frank looks out of breath and Josh seems frustrated, but we’re all in one piece, which is a blessing.

  “Everyone okay?” I ask.

  Frank’s leaning forward, his hands resting just above his knees. “I haven’t done that much exercise in years,” he replies.

  Josh remains silent, pacing up and down for a few moments.

  “Josh…?” I say.

  “My laptop’s fried,” he says, eventually. “Damaged beyond repair in the blast. I salvaged what I could and downloaded it to a USB drive, but I don’t know if I’ve got enough to launch my virus and attack the accounts.”

  I sigh heavily. If that’s the case, it’s a massive blow to us. The attack by Dominique had been completely unexpected, and I’m lucky to still be alive after fighting with her. I just hope Josh can still work his magic with what he has. He hates it when his toys get damaged…

  We all clamber into the back of the Winnebago and Josh turns on a spare laptop, sitting down at his makeshift workbench in silence. I sit on the old sofa along the back and rest my head against the pillows. It’s been a long few days. I feel tired, I’m sore from various fights and gunshot wounds, and the light at the end of the tunnel has just been moved a little farther away than it was before.

  I look over at Frank, who’s shifting uncomfortably on the spot, like he’s unsure if it’s okay for him to sit down. His hands are trembling a little, and he’s sweating. And not, I suspect, purely because of the run to get here.

  “You did great back there, Frank” I say. “Are you alright?”

  He smiles half-heartedly and gives a weak nod. He looks like he’s uneasy at receiving a compliment for having just taken a life—probably for the first time. He’s nervously looking around and fidgeting with his hands.

  “Ever fired that gun of yours before?” I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  “You’re a great shot,” I say with a smile, trying to help him relax and to lighten the mood a little, help take his mind off the pending onset of shock. Again, he forces a weak smile.

  “Frank, it’s never easy taking a life…”

  “Says the professional killer?” he scoffs.

  “Yeah, says me. I’m speaking from experience. It’s never straightforward squeezing that trigger, and you should be thankful that you feel as bad as you do.”

  “Thankful? Why the hell would I be thankful?”

  “Because if you didn’t feel bad, or uneasy, or scared… if you felt complete indifference to the fact someone is no longer breathing because of you… you’d be me. And you wouldn’t want that, trust me. Being me sucks.”

  He regards me for a moment in silence, then turns and walks through to the front, sitting down in the passenger seat and staring out across the parking lot.

  “Halle-fucking-lujah!” Josh shouts.

  “Good news?” I ask.

  “I was able to use what I saved from my laptop, and we’re good to go, Boss. I literally press this button, and we steal quarter of a billion dollars from Wilson Trent and hide it in plain sight across the country until such time as you wanna keep it all in my bank account!”

  I look at him with a raised eyebrow.

  “Okay, your bank account…”

  “Better…” I say with a smile. I check the time. Despite the unexpected setback, we’re still on track for my plan to work. “Do it,” I say.

  Josh smiles, looked down at the Return key on his laptop, and, with a brief moment of ceremony, presses it.

  “Boom!” he exclaims. “You now have two hundred and fifty million dollars… Drinks on you?”

  I laugh, and we bump fists. This is a huge victory for us, and much needed, given the last couple of hours. But we still have a long way to go.

  “C’mon, we need to get moving.”

  “Where?” he asks.

  I smile. “I’ll fill you in as you drive.”

  17:42

  Josh is driving with me next to him. Frank’s sitting on the sofa in the back in silence. I figure it’s best to leave him to it, let him deal with things in his own way. The poor guy has really been thrown in at the deep end, and the last twenty-four hours have been really tough on him.

  Having called ahead for directions, we pull up outside Oscar Brown’s other warehouse complex—his smaller one in Pittsburgh. Well, I say smaller, but the place is still huge. There are two massive buildings directly in front of us, which look like aircraft hangars. There’s another, smaller building over on the left, which Oscar told me to head for.

  We get out and make our way across the broken, wet concrete. I check the time on my phone. I hope to God that he’s here—there are no signs of life, and we’re cutting it fine as it is.

  “Where are we?” asks Frank as he climbs out behind us.

  “Second home of the world’s first illegal arms supermarket,” I reply.

  “Sorry I asked…” he mutters to himself.

  As we approach, the door in front of us opens and Oscar Brown appears with a big smile on his face. “You found it okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah, thanks,” I say. “Sorry to drag you halfway across the state on short notice, but time is of the essence. I need a… specialty item.”

  He regards me for a moment, sensing the tone and the mood. “Step into my office,” he says, beckoning me with his hand.

  I turn to Josh. “You wait here with Frank,” I say. “I won’t be a minute.”

  “What you got up your sleeve, Boss?” he asks with a frown.

  I smile and follow Oscar into the warehouse.

  18:25

  We’re parked outside the service entrance at the back of Heinz Field. I’ve just finished explaining my plan to Josh and Frank, and they seem impressed, despite some initial concerns.

  “You’re crazy,” says Frank, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re actually certifiable, you know that?”

  “It’s been pointed out to me once or twice, yeah,” I reply. “So, are you in?”

  He gestures with his arms in mild exasperation. “Why the hell not…”

  I smile and turn to Josh, raising an eyebrow and silently asking him the same question.

  “I just don’t understand… when did your Inner Satan start making insane, yet beautifully intelligent, schemes like this one?”

  “What can I say?” I reply. “I got inspired, I guess. Unique circumstances… unique approach.”

  “Unique? Good—because it’s really weird not being the brains behind this outfit!”

  We laugh and get out of the Winnebago. I instinctively check my guns at my back by tapping both barrels. Josh stretches and cracks his neck and shoulders, as if he’s limbering up for a workout. Inside, Frank lowers the window, having slide into the driver’s seat. Leaning out, he looks at me.

  “I’ll pull up over there,” he says, pointing to an e
mpty area of the parking lot. “See you on the other side.”

  “Thanks, Frank. I appreciate your help with all this.”

  He nods and gives me a tired half-smile before driving off, leaving Josh and me standing side by side.

  “You ready?” I ask.

  “Ready,” he replies.

  We bump fists and walk over to the service entrance, where security and catering companies come and go during game days. The door’s open, and we can see one security guard just inside. Ahead of us, two men wearing red t-shirts enter, flashing the guard the passes they have attached to a lanyard that hangs around their necks.

  “I’ll handle him,” I say, striding forward ahead of Josh.

  “I bet you will…” I hear him say behind me.

  I walk through the door, and the security guard stands up from the stool he was sitting on, holding out his hand to stop us. He’s a tall, dark-skinned man, very broad—just on the overweight side of well-built. He has short black hair and a thin moustache. He’s dressed in jeans and a navy blue jacket.

  “Got ya pass?” he asks.

  “Y’know, I’ve gone and left it in my car,’ I say, patting my pockets as if searching for it. “But I’m running really late, can you just let me past and I’ll come and get it on my break later.”

  The guard’s face is expressionless, almost bored. He’s probably heard it all a thousand times before. “No pass, no entry,” he says.

  I sigh. Why doesn’t anyone ever just accept the story I tell them? Why do they always have to give just enough of a shit about whatever they do to make me have to resort to plan B?

  Without another word, I leap forward and smash my forehead into the bridge of his nose. He’s about my height, which means I’m able to get the perfect angle as my head arches forward. I connect sweetly, and the guard falls backward like a tree and sprawls out on the floor.

  Josh appears behind me, walking past, and stepping over the unconscious body with an exaggerated lunge.

  “Smooth…” he says.

  “I did try the subtle approach,” I reply, defensively. “He just wasn’t buying it.”

  He turns around and starts walking backward as he speaks. He holds his arms out to the sides. “Well, God loves a trier!” he says with a laugh. As he turns back around, he bumps into a caterer coming out of one of the rooms on the left. “Ah, jeez… sorry, man,” he says.

  The caterer says nothing, just waves him away as if to say it’s no big deal. But as he’s about to walk off, Josh grabs his arm and holds him in place, looking him up and down before looking over at me with a smile. He turns back to the caterer.

  “Okay, this is gonna sound weird, but… I’m gonna need your clothes.”

  The guy looks horrified and immediately tries to make a run for it, but Josh trips him up and punches him in the face on the way down, knocking him out cold. I walk over to him, exaggerating the step I take over the body of the unconscious caterer.

  “Smooth…” I say with a smile.

  “I learned from the best,” he replies.

  He drags the guy into the room he’d just come out of and a few minutes later re-appears dressed as a caterer. The shirt’s a bit too small for him, and he can’t tuck it in properly at the back, but it won’t make much difference. He looks believable, and that’s the main thing.

  “Put your hair in a ponytail,” I say. “They wouldn’t let you wear it down if you were serving food and drink to people.”

  “No probs…” he says, tying it up.

  On the wall a bit farther down the corridor is a large, laminated floor plan of the stadium and seating. We walk over to it and find the exact location of where Trent’s private box is.

  “You sure this plan of yours will work?” he asks me.

  “Nope… but it’s a really good plan, and if it does work, it will be a brilliant way to get rid of someone like Wilson Trent once and for all.”

  “He certainly won’t see it coming, that’s for sure.”

  “No one expects me to think this much about something, that’s why.”

  “No kidding!”

  “Screw you,” I say with a smile. “Right, you go find some props, I’ll wait for my cue.”

  We set off in different directions, knowing that in little under an hour, this could all be over.

  32.

  19:13

  I’m leaning against the wall just outside Trent’s box, listening at the door as Josh plays his part beautifully. He’s simply to wind Trent up enough for him to get distracted, so I can make my entrance and put the next phase of my plan into action. And from how it sounds in there, I figure the room’s just about ready for me…

  I draw both my guns, checking the magazines are full and the safety switches are off. I stand in front of the door and take a deep breath. Everything we’ve done over the last few days… everything I’ve done in the past eight years… it’s all served as a prelude to this moment. I’m about to come face to face with Wilson Trent.

  I can feel my Inner Satan snarling and spitting, pulling on its restraints and begging for freedom, so it could unleash its fury on the world.

  Not quite yet…

  I kick the door open so hard it almost flies off its hinges. I stand in the doorway and quickly survey the room. There are five bodyguards, each with their hands tucked inside their suit jackets—presumably reaching for their guns. Behind them, Josh is standing just behind Wilson Trent, close to his side and holding a knife to him.

  “Yeah, we haven’t met, so let me introduce myself…” says Josh. “My name’s Josh. I believe you know my friend?”

  My gaze settles on Trent, and we hold each other’s gaze for a moment. How easy it would be to put a bullet in his head right now… But that’s not the plan. Besides, it could easily go through the glass and out into the surrounding crowd, and I’m keen to avoid any unwanted casualties... or attention.

  “Not interrupting, am I?” I ask with a wicked smile.

  “You…!” seethes Trent through gritted teeth.

  “Me…”

  One of the bodyguards twitches, their gun hand moving a millimeter inside their jacket. I have both guns on Trent, but I move the one in my right hand and aim it at them.

  “Don’t be doing anything silly now, boys,” I say. “Your lives depend on it.”

  I look over at Josh and nod imperceptibly. He moves away from Trent and stands in-between the bodyguards and me.

  “Alright ladies, hands where I can see ‘em,” he says. It takes a moment, but they comply, much to Trent’s dismay, though he remains silent.

  Josh moves to each one individually, lightly frisking them and taking their guns. The first one he takes, he slides into his waistband at the back. The other four, he throws across the box into the corner.

  “All clear, Boss,” he announces after a few moments.

  I haven’t looked away from Trent since I entered the room. My entire body is tense and on edge. It’s not that I’m not relaxed under the circumstances; it’s that I have to physically restrain myself from rushing over and blowing Trent’s head off. That’s not the plan. The plan is to break him. Make him suffer. And suffer, he shall.

  “Good man,” I reply. “Now, Trent… where should we start?”

  His unwavering gaze does its best to bore a hole of hatred right through me, but I see in his eyes that he knows he can’t intimidate me, even if he doesn’t fully understand why.

  “How about I kill you with my bare hands, you arrogant prick?” he snarls.

  I smile. “Don’t confuse arrogance with simple knowledge. I’m confident purely because I know things about this situation that you don’t. The fact I’m better than you in every single way is beside the point.”

  It’s Trent’s turn to smile. I know what’s coming. He’s going to antagonize me, try to force me to make a mistake. I’m not going to like it, but I’ve prepared for it beforehand—as has Josh.

  “I did it, y’know?” he says. “Pulled the trigger, I mean… I
put a bullet into your wife’s face and made your daughter watch. Then I made her beg before all my men emptied their clips into her. I tell you, she bounced around that kitchen floor like a ragdoll after every shot…”

  My jaw muscles ache as I clench and tighten them. He’s standing in front of me, grinning with fond recollection at how he murdered my family. I can feel my blood boiling underneath my skin, succumbing to an anger and rage I’ve never even dreamed of being capable of. My face must be telling quite a story, as the five bodyguards, and even Josh, all take a step back, giving Trent and me some room. They all exchange worried glances with each other, and then look at Josh, who simply shrugs. He has a vague idea what’s going to happen next, and he knows to stay out of the way.

  With both my Berettas aimed squarely at Trent, I can feel myself starting to shake as I struggle to hold back the demon within. I take some long, deep breaths, trying to settle the kick of adrenaline that’s surging through me.

  “And to think,” Trent continues. “That all happened… because of you!” He points his finger at me, jabbing the air as he explains. “You got your family killed because you took my son away from me!”

  “Oh, give it a rest, will you?” I reply, breaking my silence with a calmness that even surprises me. “You didn’t even know your son. He hated you and wanted nothing to do with you. He didn’t even have your name. I did my research—you hadn’t seen him since he was three. You banged some random whore one night and got her pregnant, then walked away from her and Darnell Harper when she demanded you help raise him. Let me guess, you killed her and left the boy in foster care? A victim of this country’s broken system. No wonder he grew up to become such a worthless little bastard. I did the world a favor blowing his goddamn head off. And yet you use him as justification for killing my wife and daughter, who I loved with every ounce of my being. You want the truth? Yeah, you broke me. You took my soul and killed Adrian Hughes in the process. After a couple of years of searching, Adrian Hell found me and turned me into the monster I am today. I can end you with a click of my fingers, you fat piece of shit.”