Distressed: Enemy Of The State- Book 1

by James Hunt

  Lights flashed, and alarms sounded as Dylan and Kasaika’s men retreated backward, using the curve of the walls as cover while the guards continued their fire. Dylan kept his eye open for the door described in the schematics and finally found it on the left-hand side where the key and fingerprint scan was needed.

  Dylan slid the card through the key strip, and the fingerprint panel lit up. He pressed a shaky hand against the scanner as gunshots thundered through the hallways. A very long thirty seconds later, the scanner turned green, and the door opened. Dylan was the first inside and found the package of chips, along with the second component that Perry had asked for personally. When Dylan rushed out, Kasaika and his men were pinned down, holding back a force of at least seven men.

  “I have what we need, but we still have to get back to the level above us to make it out of here.” Dylan ducked to avoid a ricochet and looked behind them to make sure they weren’t being flanked. “C’mon! We’ll circle around.”

  Dylan led the way, and his heart pounded in rhythm with each step forward. The footsteps behind him had the sound of a panicked herd, but Dylan focused on the simple task of keeping one foot in front of the other until he saw the barrel of one of the guards’ rifles on a turn around the corner and skidded to a stop.

  Dylan ducked and narrowly missed a bullet to the head as he ran into one of Kasaika’s men. There were only three guards on this side of the floor, and Dylan knew that they must have split up to try and squeeze them out.

  “Forward!” Kasaika waved his men on, pushing the three guards back as empty shell casings clinked against the floor and rolled left and right in sporadic patterns. Smoke wafted from the tips of the rifle barrels, and Dylan kept low to avoid the gunfire from both the terrorists and the guards.

  Sparks from bullets ricocheted against the concrete behind Dylan, and he turned to see that the other half of the guards had caught up behind them, pressing them from both sides. “We’ve got company!”

  Kasaika turned and started firing back at the guards sneaking up on their rear, while the rest of his men continued to push forward. The three groups were caught in a stalemate, rotating around and around. The longer they stayed here, Dylan knew, the more the fight would turn to the guards’ favor. It wouldn’t be much longer before they had every security guard in the facility hunting them.

  A pistol hung from the side of one of Kasaika’s men, and Dylan quickly snatched it from his belt. The man yelled something in Arabic, but Dylan started shooting at the guards, helping the terrorists. Together they pushed forward, and each squeeze of the trigger sent recoil through Dylan’s arm and shoulder. The first few shots almost knocked the gun right out of his hands.

  With Dylan’s help, they managed to force the guards to the staircase door, which was the only way in or out of the facility. The terrorists took turns jumping out from behind the bend of the wall to fire, while Dylan watched their six. He periodically checked his bag, making sure the computer chips were still there. If he couldn’t make it out of this place alive, with the computer chips, Sean was dead.

  A cluster of grenades rested on Kasaika’s belt, and Dylan plucked one off and chucked it down the hallway. Kasaika and the rest of his men hit the deck, and Dylan mimicked them, covering the back of his head. Screams from the guards echoed down the hallway, and the explosion shook the ground.

  The flashing lights in the hallway shut off from the blast momentarily, casting everyone into darkness. Dylan scrambled on all fours, disoriented from the blast but moving where he thought was forward. A whine in his ears blocked the shouts around him.

  Gunshots fired sporadically, the flash of the rifles’ barrels illuminating the darkness. Dylan pressed his hands against the cold, smooth, curving surface of the concrete and used that to guide him. He ran quickly, still holding the pistol in his hand. He collided with another body, and both fired randomly into the dark. Dylan jumped at the sound of the gunshot, but the moan came from someone else.

  Finally, Dylan found the door handle to the stairwell, and the moment his hand touched the metal, the lights flashed on. At least three of the guards were dead, the rest with wounds ranging from severed legs and arms to shrapnel wounds. Dylan looked down to the terrorists scrambling forward, and before they could get to him, he rushed up the stairs.

  Kasaika and the rest of his men shouted and screamed, firing blindly at Dylan as he climbed the steps two at a time. When he had his hand on the door handle to the floor above, he heard the quick thump of Kasaika’s footsteps getting closer.

  Dylan ducked after a series of shots echoed up the stairs, and he quickly opened and shut the door behind him, sealing Kasaika and his men inside, unable to get out, as Dylan had the only key card. They pounded on the door, and Dylan took a moment to catch his breath. His breakfast tried to evacuate, but he managed to keep it down. He wiped the snot from his nose and rushed back down to the utility room where they’d entered.

  The lights and sirens continued to flash, and when Dylan made it to the utility room, a unit of guards turned the corner. The reaction between sighting him and the gunfire was nearly instantaneous. Bullets whizzed by, and without even thinking about the repercussions, Dylan fired back, shooting one of the guards through the chest.

  All three guards had assault rifles, but Dylan couldn’t afford to turn back. If he was caught, then his son’s life would be over. It didn’t matter if Cooper would be able to clear him of whatever charges they threw at him or what they’d be able to get out of Kasaika and his men in terms of a confession. The moment Perry found out what Dylan had done, Sean would be dead, unless he had something to bargain for, something he needed, like the computer chips in the bag at Dylan’s side.

  Dylan fired into the cluster of guards, making a final sprint toward the door while he did. He balanced firing and running awkwardly, the gun nearly falling to the ground with each haphazard shot flung in the guards’ direction. He reached for the handle, and a hot sting pierced the upper left of his body, close to his neck, and he stumbled a few steps. He managed to keep the gun in his hand but fumbled with the key card. He leaned against the wall, using it to help stabilize himself.

  Blood spurted from the cloth of Dylan’s shirt, and he felt his shoulder go numb. The gun in his hand grew heavy, and he finally managed to slide the card down the middle of the strip. He yanked it open and collapsed inside.

  The pistol skidded across the floor, and Dylan crawled to the air duct. All he had to do was make it out of the facility. The cars were still waiting on the other end of the forest that they’d snuck through. He dumped one of the large server pillars across the entrance to the door, blocking the guards from trying to enter, or at least trying to enter easily.

  Dylan lifted himself into the vent and crawled as fast as he could, elbows, knees, the top of his head all banging against the metal and concrete. Halfway through he no longer had the use of his arm and had to make the rest of the journey without it.

  Throughout the crawl, he thought he could hear the shouts of men and gunfire. He constantly checked behind him, just waiting to see the barrel of a rifle ready to shoot him down. The moment he’d shot that guard, he had become a wanted fugitive and terrorist of the United States of America.

  The tunnels finally opened up to where Dylan pushed himself to his feet and stumbled through the light stream of water running along the tunnel’s floor. A small circle of light was ahead, and Dylan felt a burst of energy surge through him at the sight. He broke out into a jog, his head ducked and back hunched from the small tunnel.

  Dylan squinted his eyes against the sunlight and continued his stumbled walk through the forest once he was free of the tunnel. It wouldn’t take long for Cooper and the rest of them to realize what had happened. He had to keep moving. The thick trees overhead blocked the sight of the chopper humming through the air, but Dylan still heard the rotating blades wane above.

  The trucks they’d arrived in were still nestled under the cover of the large tree where they’
d left them, and Dylan ripped the tarp off and climbed into the driver’s seat. His body started to feel cold, and he looked to see that the bloodstain had grown from his trapezius to cover half his chest. He managed to stretch his fingers, curling them in limited mobility, but the rest of the arm was useless. Using his good arm, Dylan pried open the dash underneath the truck and yanked the wires down. He cut the ends off two wires and peeled back the wax. He twisted the pieces of copper together then jammed his knife into the ignition and turned the engine over.

  The V8 roared to life, and Dylan engaged the four-wheel drive and tore off through the woods, careening around trees and boulders, doing his best to remember the way out. Each bounce of the truck sent a jolt of pain into Dylan’s shoulder, but he didn’t dare slow his pace.

  The blacktop of the road came into view, and Dylan jammed the accelerator down, peeling out on the pavement. The speedometer tipped sixty then seventy once he was on the smooth pavement. Keeping the dangerous speeds and balancing the wheel with his knees, he reached for the phone that was buzzing in his pocket. He knew who it was before he even looked at the screen.

  “Here’s the deal,” Dylan said, sandwiching the phone between his cheek and neck while driving. “You get your computer chips when I get my son, and if he’s in any worse shape than the last time I saw him, then the deal is off. There is no other alternative, there is no other deal, this is it. Take it or leave it.”

  The only response was the rumble of the truck’s engine as Dylan drove. The silence that filled his ear lingered longer than he would have liked. He knew Perry would play on his relationship with his son. It was what he’d been doing since the very beginning. The only difference now was Dylan had something that Perry wanted equally badly.

  “A bold move, Dylan,” Perry replied. “You do understand that I still have control over Homeland operations, and my people will be able to track you down. Not to mention my Egyptian friends. You really think you can hide? Did you think this would work?”

  “I’ll call you with the details of the exchange. Until then, not a hair on my son’s head is harmed, understand? And you better keep this number. I’ll be calling you from a different phone next time you hear from me.” Dylan chucked the phone out the window, and it crashed to the road, breaking and snapping in half.

  There wasn’t any turning back now. Dylan had set the wheels into motion. He was on his own. No Cooper. No Perry. Just him and Mark and the computer chips for nuclear missiles in the bag sitting on the passenger seat.

  Chapter 8

  Cooper received the call from Moringer while she sat with the strike team on the mountain road where Dylan was meant to lead Perry and his men after they had the computer chips. For a moment, she thought she misheard him when he spoke, but once the words sank in, she kicked the dirt and cursed a violent storm under her breath.

  They tried catching up to Dylan and tracked the phone that Perry had given him, but all it did was lead them to the smashed remnants of the mobile. There was no doubt that Homeland, the CIA, and the FBI now had his picture up on any and all major news networks, citing Dylan as an accomplice in the attacks that had happened around the country. And with that, Moringer couldn’t risk Cooper coming in until they had some sort of resolution. Moringer told her to stay low, off grid, and he'd contact her when it was safe. She had to go dark.

  Why? Why would he risk all that? Does he think he can blackmail Perry by himself? Does he think we wouldn’t have made good on his deal? Whatever the reasoning, there was no way that Moringer would be able to go to Homeland now. The moment Moringer revealed any knowledge about the operation, he’d be thrown out of the agency and tried for treason, along with Cooper and Diaz. The only hope that Cooper had now was to get to Dylan first to try and convince him that there was another way.

  The house where Dylan was staying with his first mate was empty, with the exception of the old furniture inside. Cooper knew the place was probably being watched by Perry, but she didn’t have time to be coy. Each second that passed was one less in which Homeland, or Perry, could find him.

  Cooper checked the marina and security footage in the area but found nothing. The only other option left to her was looking up the ex-wife, although she doubted that Dylan would get her involved. Still, it couldn’t hurt her chances to check.

  The neighborhood had changed slightly since the last time Cooper visited. The well-kept streets and yards had been replaced and covered with trash, the houses etched in graffiti, windows boarded up, and not a single light on that she could see. Apparently the wealthy were not immune to the power outages that plagued the rest of the city.

  Cooper pulled into the driveway and saw that the ex-Mrs. Turk’s home was in the same condition as the others. Trash, boards, and no sign that anyone was even home. She kept one hand on the pistol at her side as she walked to the front door. She gave a few knocks then tried peeking between the cracks of the boards over the windows to see inside. With no answer, she knocked harder. “Mrs. Harth? Are you home?”

  The turn of the lock on the front door clicked open, then the door opened just a sliver. “What?”

  Cooper could only see a fraction of Mrs. Harth’s face, but what she did see looked in bad shape. “Mrs. Harth, I don’t know if you remember me or not, but—”

  “I remember who you are, Agent Cooper. What do you want?” Her words shot out the door like blasts of ice in a snowstorm, and despite the still blazing-hot temperatures, Cooper felt a chill run up her spine.

  “I need to talk to you about your ex-husband and your son. Can I come in?”

  The sliver in the door remained open for half a second then abruptly closed. After standing there for more than a minute, Cooper thought Evelyn had left, but then the door jerked open and there she was, wrapped in a robe, her hair frizzled and unwashed, dark circles under her eyes and red blotches on her cheeks and neck. Whatever she’d been getting into didn’t seem to be healthy. “You heard what he did? It’s all over the news on the radio. They’re saying Dylan was a part of all this. The attacks.”

  Cooper stepped inside. The house was even more humid and stuffy than the air outside. “Mrs. Harth, I can’t get into the specifics of what Dylan did or did not do at this time, but I was wondering if you’ve spoken to him lately? Or maybe even seen him?”

  Evelyn turned and marched away without a word. Cooper followed, although not knowing if her leaving was an invitation or not.

  The kitchen was dirtied with opened cans of food, liquor bottles, and beer cans. Evelyn reached for one of the half-empty vodka bottles and a cup then filled it. “I spoke to him a few days ago.” She took a sip, winced, then made her way to the couch.

  Cooper took a minute to stop and listen, but she heard no other voices inside the house. “Mrs. Harth, where are your husband and daughter?”

  “Peter took Mary to the second home in upstate New York. He figured it would be safer up there.” She curled herself onto the couch and sipped the vodka that seemed to soak through both her and the house. The stale stench of old liquor and beer left a nasty sting in Cooper’s nostrils.

  “Why didn’t you go with them?” Cooper asked.

  “My son’s still here.” Evelyn turned her head sharply, and her face twisted as if the words had caused her pain. “And he’s still alive, and when he comes back, I’ll be here waiting for him.”

  Cooper joined Evelyn on the couch. “Evelyn, Dylan is in trouble. Did something happen after the two of you spoke a few days ago? Was there anything said that may have put him on edge, or did he seem out of character?”

  Evelyn swirled the vodka in her cup, watching the liquid splash around. “He’s used to being out of character. He was for a long time.” She took another sip then set the cup down in her lap. “You read his file, right?”

  Cooper nodded.

  “Hmph, of course you did. I don’t know how he managed to live with that for as long as he has. But you know what isn’t in that police report that you read? That it was my idea
that Zack go out with him that day.” Evelyn’s eyes started to wet and redden. “Sean was two, and Mary was just a baby then, and I was just so tired and overwhelmed. I thought that just having to watch the two of them would make it easier, so Zack went with his father.”

  “The death of your son, that’s what started the drinking?” Cooper asked.

  Evelyn nodded. “I tried talking to Dylan about it, tried telling him that it wasn’t his fault, but it was like trying to teach a fish to breathe on land. It just didn’t make any sense. He was a good man. I held on for as long as I could, but he was just spinning out of control. And when… when…” She broke down, burying her face in her hands, the booze and memories overpowering whatever self-control she had left.

  Cooper rested her hand on Evelyn’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Losing a child is something that is unfathomable to those who haven’t experienced it. The grief, the loss, the sadness, nothing else comes close to that type of pain.”

  Evelyn wiped her nose and eyes, the cup of vodka shaking slightly in her hand. “That night, on the police report, the one where my father was there.” She sniffled, clearing her nose, her hand steadying. “Dylan was just so angry, so drunk, he didn’t realize what he was doing. My father, he… said things that no one should have uttered out loud. He blamed Dylan, said that no father would let his son die like that, no father would give up.” Regaining some of her nerve, Evelyn sipped the drink again. “I tried getting Dylan off of him, but he just knocked me down and kept hitting my dad. Blood stained the tile, both of their clothes... By the time the police came, Dylan was blacked out, and my dad was barely breathing. He spent six days in the hospital, and his face was beaten to a pulp.”

  Cooper had seen domestic cases before, but whenever she read the file, she always reminded herself that she would never truly understand the situation, what happened in that moment. All she was reading were recorded facts on a page, told with no emotion or favor. It was rare she actually saw the aftereffects, those moments of pain and anger.