The Black Hornet: James Ryker Book 2

by Rob Sinclair

  Getting tired of pacing, Ryker had sat down on one of the chairs and soon drifted off to sleep. He awoke once in the night to find the room black, before succumbing to sleep once again. He’d only awoken fully in the morning when the sun’s rays streamed through the narrow windows. Not long after that Powell had arrived, and with few words said, Powell took Ryker from the room and onward to the prison exit.

  Ryker and Powell exited the prison building onto an open-air corridor. Either side of them a tall chain-link fence separated the walkway from enclosed prison yards. Ryker assumed these yards were for the other cell blocks in the huge prison. One of the yards was empty, the other was filled with grim-looking men out for their daily exercise. A few were standing right by the fence, enviously watching Ryker’s walk to freedom.

  But was he really about to be set free? No, was the clear answer. He was now in Powell’s pocket.

  It wasn’t long before the catcalls from the prisoners began, the heckling and the spitting that Ryker had become used to on the Santos cartel’s prison wing. The inmates threw numerous slurs toward Ryker and Powell. Gringo was in there once again. So too was Americano. It was clear both men were being subjected to the taunts. Ryker looked over at Powell. He was staring straight ahead, taking no notice, or at least that was how he wanted to appear.

  ‘Looks like you’re as unpopular as I am,’ Ryker said.

  ‘Popularity isn’t exactly what guys like you and me live for, is it?’

  Powell looked over at Ryker but said nothing else.

  They reached the outer gates, which were flanked by two guard posts, and Ryker held his breath as he waited. Even now he half expected a patrol of guards to come rushing from the building he’d just come from, ready to drag him back inside and sling him into a filthy cell again.

  But no, instead a single guard came out of the left of the two posts. Powell handed him a piece of paper. The guard took a couple of seconds to look at it, then he signalled back to the post and a moment later, there was a mechanical whirring sound and the gates opened.

  Ryker didn't hesitate. He walked straight through to the road outside. He looked around at the desolate and scrappy fields of sunburnt grass covered with all manners of trash from the nearby roads and slums. Freedom. Ryker took a deep breath of hot air and held it in his lungs a few seconds as though the air outside the gates was the freshest air he’d tasted in years.

  It wasn’t.

  Ryker heard the gates close behind him, then quick footsteps as Powell, having finished whatever administration needed taking care of, caught up.

  ‘So what now?’ Ryker asked.

  ‘Now you work for me.’

  Ryker didn’t like the way Powell said it. He wasn’t his underling, however grateful he was for Powell having sprung him from jail. He’d never liked being kept on a short leash. He wasn’t a dog, and he didn’t have or need a master.

  ‘We’ll go back to the city,’ Powell said. ‘We’ve got a lot to talk about.’

  ‘I could do with some decent food. And a decent bed.’

  ‘You’ll get it.’ Powell stepped in front of Ryker and over toward a battered silver hatchback car. ‘Come on, get in.’

  Powell jumped into the driver’s seat and Ryker got into the passenger side. Powell turned the key, and the ignition chugged and clicked but the engine didn’t fire. Powell tried again and the engine slowly and achingly grumbled to life, like an old man trying to get up from a sofa and get his legs moving after sitting down for thirty years too long.

  ‘Your operation must have one big budget to afford a beauty like this,’ Ryker said.

  Powell smirked. ‘Actually, we do, but I think this heap o’ crap lets me blend in a bit more than a hundred-grand Porsche.’

  Powell’s car did at least have air con, which Ryker turned as cold and as fast as it would go. Powell swung the car onto the dusty road and soon after they were on the main carriageway back into Mexico City, where Ryker’s painful and so far fruitless trip had first started.

  As they travelled along the multi-lane road, heading toward the city, ramshackle slums gave way to taller and more prosperous affairs. In many ways it felt good to be back on somewhat familiar territory, yet as they travelled, Ryker felt more and more apprehensive over what was to come, and a thought nagged at him. ‘Why did Vasquez set me up?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  Powell stared straight ahead at the road. Not a flinch, no sign of angst in his voice, no tell-tale signs of deceit on his face or in his body language. Yet Ryker believed Powell’s words were a lie. Powell claimed to know a lot about Vasquez and Ashford and dirty arms deals involving the US Army. He knew about the ins and outs of the Santos cartel too. He knew of Ryker’s past. He knew how to pull the strings to get Ryker released from a jail that was mostly run by corrupt guards under the influence of drug bosses. There was far more to Powell than he was letting on to Ryker. Without doubt, Powell knew something about why Ryker had ended up in that prison to start with.

  So what was he not telling? And why?

  There was only one answer Ryker could see. The set-up hadn’t yet finished. Ryker was still just a pawn in a big, complex and deadly game. Powell wanted Ryker’s help, but the plan wasn’t to let Ryker go swanning off into the sunset after he’d killed whoever needed to be killed. He was being used, plain and simple. Either Powell would kill him or at the least, Ryker would be made a scapegoat and they’d shipped him off to a dingy prison once more.

  There was no way Ryker would let that happen. So Ryker decided that he wouldn’t play Powell’s games for long. Although Ryker wanted to get his own back on Vasquez, and whoever else was involved in setting him up, he didn’t need to operate under Powell’s watch to achieve that aim. He’d always worked best on his own, and there was no reason to break the habit of a lifetime now. He didn’t need to be under Powell’s watch a second longer. Not when the risk of him simply being set up again was so high.

  As soon as he saw the opportunity – and Ryker was betting on that opportunity arriving sooner rather than later – he would make his move on Powell, and leave the spook behind for good. He wouldn’t feel bad about breaking his deal with Powell. Not one bit.

  Then Ryker would track down and kill Vasquez, just like Powell wanted, but not before finding out why he’d been set up and by whom. He had to know who his enemies were.

  After that, Ryker would return into the shadows, and get back to the real job in hand: finding Lisa.

  32

  Ryker was right about one thing; the opportunity he was looking for came sooner, rather than later.

  Powell drove the two of them into the non-stop bustle of the centre of Mexico City. He’d given little away about their destination and Ryker hadn’t bothered to ask.

  Eventually, Powell pulled the car to the side of the road outside a crumbling four-storey building that from the signage Ryker could see passed as a mid-range hotel.

  This was Ryker’s chance. Not a subtle getaway, but at least he had an element of surprise, and Mexico City was one of the largest and most sprawling cities in the world. If Ryker could lose Powell now, he’d have a good chance of staying away from him for good. Plus Ryker knew if he remained there then more of Powell’s team would soon become involved. Powell was unlikely to be running such a big operation on his own; to make sure Ryker kept up his part of the deal, he would need to draft in extra help. That would make Ryker escaping later all the more difficult. Right now though it was just Powell and Ryker. This was the moment.

  Ryker stepped from the car first and scanned the scene – the buildings, the busy pavement, the four lanes of traffic, the side streets.

  ‘I know it’s not five star,’ Powell said, emerging from the car, ‘but–’

  He never got any further than that. Ryker was already running.

  Ryker dashed across two lanes of traffic. Tyres screeched, horns blared. Across on the other side of the road the mass of vehicles – all yellowed from the sand and grit that clogged
up the city air – were just coming to a stop at a red light. At the front of the queue was a moped. A delivery guy, by the look of the box on the back with a courier logo. He must have caught sight of Ryker rushing toward him because he turned when Ryker was almost on him, cowering away as his eyes went wide in shock.

  ‘Bajate!’ Ryker screamed. Get off. At least that’s what he hoped it meant.

  The guy hesitated. Ryker reached out to shove him off. Only then did the man move. In the end, Ryker only had to give a small nudge to clear the guy from the machine before he jumped on, pulled the throttle, and shot away from the standing traffic.

  For a brief moment, Ryker felt guilty. He’d just moped-jacked some poor sod, probably a teenager earning a pittance. Would he lose his job for having lost his company’s vehicle? But there was more at stake than one kid on a corporate moped.

  Guilt banished, Ryker weaved the moped through the criss-crossing traffic that sped across the junction in front of him. He tipped the little machine this way and that, coming to within an inch or two of colliding with a truck whose bulk filled Ryker’s peripheral vision for what felt like an age before it thundered past.

  Somehow or other, Ryker made it through the junction unscathed and, only once in the clear, did he risk looking back to see if Powell was following.

  He was. Powell was already at the junction, grappling with a motorcyclist. Ryker turned his attention back in front and jerked the throttle further, trying to eek out every last bit of horsepower that the tiny engine could muster. Ryker took a sharp left, heading down a narrow and quieter side street.

  He didn’t know the area that Powell had brought him to, but if he just kept going, putting distance between himself and Powell, he’d be able to stop and regroup his thoughts before he decided what to do next. Ryker took another sharp turn, onto an alleyway that was filled with overspilling and stinking bins. Swarms of flies crowded around the mess. Ryker closed his mouth and held his breath as his face smashed into a horde of dirty little beasts.

  The end of the alley was soon in sight. Ryker glanced behind him again. Powell was now on the motorbike, just entering the alley. Ryker leaned the moped into the corner, trying to lose as little speed as possible as he rounded onto the next, more open street. He took the corner at a pace but unfortunately this next street wasn't quiet. It was thriving. Market stalls lined both sides of the road as far as Ryker could see. Crowds of people milled about in between.

  Ryker revved the squeaky engine and honked the whiny horn. Most people didn’t react, but then it only took the startled shout of one person – a middle-aged lady – to start a wave of interest in the fast-approaching machine. Domino effect. Or was it herd mentality? Either way, all of a sudden the crowd departed at speed. There were shouts and calls here, there, and everywhere as pedestrians pushed and shoved to get out of Ryker’s path. He zipped along the street, snaking the moped through the gaps, doing his best to dodge around the remaining pedestrians who’d been slower to react.

  Then Ryker heard the deep, grumbling roar behind him. He turned his head. Shit. Powell was closing in. The motorbike he was on wasn’t a fully-fledged sports bike, but was certainly a beefier and more powerful machine than Ryker was running. Plus Ryker had to contend with clearing the path ahead. This didn’t look good.

  Ryker pulled on the throttle for a third time, trying to gain an advantage. He was going far from top speed but there was no way he could go full pelt with all the people in his way. In front of him, a van was parked alongside the stalls. Two men were busy unloading the fruit pallets stashed inside. One of them went to walk across the street with a box of avocados. Ryker headed straight for him.

  With Ryker bearing down, the avocado guy panicked and did exactly what Ryker hoped he would. He dove to the side, averting a collision but sending the box full of little green stumbling blocks into the air. Ryker was past in a second, but Powell was forced to slam on his brakes, coming to a stop in the brief melee that followed, as avocados thumped down and rolled across the street and burst a squidgy green mess in all directions.

  Ryker had some breathing space, but he’d have to work hard to lose Powell for good.

  Finally, Ryker made it to the end of the market street and he took a right – onto a cobbled pedestrianised street. Not good for the tiny tyres of the moped. Ryker cursed his bad luck.

  Soon the roar of Powell’s bike got louder again. Ryker didn’t look back to see how close he was. Up ahead, the cobbles turned to steps that led down into a small tree-lined square with tidy apartment blocks on three sides and an old stone church at one end.

  A narrow alley led off each side of the church - they were Ryker’s only way out. He pulled on the brakes at the last second to avoid him flying over the edge and the moped bobbed and crashed down the steps. Powell’s bigger wheeled and more powerful bike fared better.

  By the time Ryker was at the bottom, in the square, Powell was already right up his backside.

  There was nothing more Ryker could do to get away.

  Powell shunted Ryker hard and the moped wobbled. It leaned left, then right as Ryker fought for control. No use. The moped turned over and Ryker was thrown off onto the dirt pathway. Luckily Ryker hadn’t been going that quickly, and he set himself for the fall, rolling his body like a stunt driver would. He’d have some pretty nasty cuts and grazes, but no broken limbs at least.

  Ryker’s momentum finally stopped when he banged against the side of a stone fountain in the centre of the square. He jumped to his feet. Powell was just yards away. He too had come off his bike following the impact. He was moving groggily, but when he set eyes on Ryker, he seemed suddenly alert.

  ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ Powell shouted.

  ‘You didn’t have to follow me.’

  ‘We had a deal. I can send you back to that damn hell hole.’

  ‘No. I’m not going back there.’

  Powell charged and barrelled into Ryker whose considerable weight and strength took the majority of Powell’s attack. After that, it was all about gaining an upper hand.

  Powell was a surprisingly quick mover, and he went for a series of kicks and jabs, punches and elbows, all intended to subdue his foe. Ryker fended most of them off, though he took numerous hits in the process. Then, as Powell shoved Ryker backward, Ryker lost his footing. He toppled over the edge of the fountain, and could do nothing as both men tumbled into the shallow water.

  They grappled, water sloshing and splashing everywhere as each man tried to gain an advantage, but Powell had the dominant position having fallen on top. Initially, Ryker’s focus was simply on blocking Powell’s continued strikes. But then Ryker saw the opportunity. The problem with being on top was that the striking position makes the arms vulnerable, and Ryker was as good a close combat fighter as any man. He knew exactly what to do.

  Ryker pushed back, shuffling his weight and edging Powell further down his body. Then when Powell next swung a hook, Ryker locked the arm and used his upper legs to encircle Powell’s neck and arm in a triangle choke, constricting the carotid artery which would ultimately starve the brain of oxygen.

  Ryker’s move put a quick end to the grappling, but was he really about to kill Powell? Surely that was a step too far, wasn’t it? Ryker had only wanted to get away.

  Both men were out of breath from the brief but frantic fight. Powell’s face was creased and contorted. It would only take seconds for the lack of oxygen to render him unconscious. Then Ryker would be up and out of there.

  He heard sirens. Shit. The PF. That was the last thing Ryker needed, though he had to expect some heat given he’d just jacked a moped and ridden like a crazy man through the inner city streets.

  ‘Don’t!’ Powell shouted through laboured breaths. ‘I need you, Ryker. I need your help...’

  Ryker didn't say anything. He looked around him. Most pedestrians in the square had scarpered. Those that remained were hunched behind benches or trees, eager to glimpse the action in front of them but o
nly from relative safety.

  No sign of the police yet.

  ‘And I can help you!’ Powell said desperately.

  ‘You’ve done all you can for me,’ Ryker said.

  ‘No. I mean... I can help you find Lisa.’

  Powell now had Ryker’s attention.

  ‘What do you know about Lisa?’ Ryker demanded furiously.

  ‘I... d-don’t know what happened,’ Powell croaked. ‘But I do know she’s still alive.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Ryker said. ‘Tell me now or I’ll kill you right here.’

  The sirens were getting closer.

  ‘I can get us out of here,’ Powell said.

  ‘Tell me what you know!’

  ‘No,’ Powell wheezed. ‘First... our deal.’

  ‘That’s not good enough.’

  ‘It’s all I’m offering.’

  The sirens were louder still, then Ryker heard screeching tyres, out of sight somewhere just beyond the trees. This was a close call, just about as close to a fifty-fifty as Ryker had ever known.

  ‘You can get us out of here?’ Ryker asked.

  ‘Yes!’

  Ryker released the grip. ‘Then do it.’

  33

  Powell kept to his word. He got Ryker away from the PF, but not without the help of his entourage who suddenly sprang onto the scene. There were three of them: two men, one woman. All Mexican, all plain clothed and unassuming, all with good English. Neither they nor Powell gave Ryker any details of who they were or who they worked for, but the task of Ryker running was already significantly harder.

  Though not impossible.

  Ryker hadn’t given up on the idea of splitting from Powell, despite the odds. Powell surely knew that too though, and Ryker sensed that as being one of the motivating factors behind Powell having brought up Lisa in the first place. (Other than the fact that Ryker had been about to choke him to death, of course.) Ryker was equally angered and intrigued by that. How could Powell possibly know anything about Lisa? But for now at least, he decided, it was worth the risk to wait and find out.