[Jack Emery 01.0] The Foundation

by Steve P Vincent

  “Andrei?” Her voice was laced with anger. “I want Chen Shubian taken care of. Family too. Clean and final.”

  “I’ll get the local cell onto it.”

  She lowered the phone from her ear and ended the call. Chen had failed her, and then declined her request to finish the job. She’d wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, given his previous service, but he was someone who knew too much and offered her too little. The decision was made.

  She sighed and shook her head. “I’ve become Anton.”

  Chen’s eyes shot open and his mind was immediately alert to the high-pitched squeal from just outside his bedroom. He held his breath and listened again for the sound—a loose floorboard that his wife had implored him to fix half-a-dozen times. Chen had been reluctant, though, as the sound of the floorboard being stepped on, even by the lightest person, had inadvertently become a good alarm against sneaky children out of bed in the night.

  There was no further sound.

  Chen smiled, despite his annoyance at being woken up. Ongoing silence meant that the children were frozen in place, aware that Dad was about to come and march them off to bed with a swift spank for their troubles. He swung his feet out of the bed and sat up. The full moon had cast a shadowy hue over the whole room, and he envied his wife still sleeping soundly beside him.

  He was about to stand when he heard the creak again.

  “Shhh!”

  Chen’s plans changed in an instant. That wasn’t his children outside the door, imploring someone to silence. He swung back into bed and rolled over to his wife. Resting on his side, he put one hand over her mouth and shook her head gently but with intent. In the light of the moon he could see her eyes open, as alert as Chen had been upon waking. She had learned long ago to sleep very lightly.

  When he knew she was not going to speak, he removed his hand from her mouth and tapped her on the chin: once, twice, three times. She knew the signal. Her eyes widened a little, but she nodded and immediately started to rise. They could do this in the complete darkness, but the moonlight made it easier. As she slid out of bed and onto the floor, Chen knew that she’d do what needed to be done.

  He knew he was almost out of time. As quickly as he could, he rolled back to his side of the bed and opened the drawer on his side table. He pulled out his favorite pistol—the Heckler and Koch USP Tactical. In complete silence, he checked the gun was loaded, pressed the safety off and lay back in bed. He pointed the gun at the door and waited as he heard his wife slide under the bed. It was the safest place she could be.

  He aimed, and was surprised that whoever was invading his household chose to open his door slowly and quietly, rather than burst in to get the jump on him. Chen didn’t move as the door opened fully and a large, balaclava-clad man entered the room cautiously. It was nearly too easy. Chen squeezed the trigger once, then again, then one final time.

  One of the rounds hit the man in the head, and he fell to the ground with a thud. Chen was already moving. He slid out of bed and aimed the gun at the wall. Whoever was on the other side had obviously seen the first man fall. He had partly contained the threat, now he needed to seize the initiative.

  Chen felt sorry for them. He knew their playbook better than they did. Chen knelt, using his bed as some degree of cover, and fired four rounds into the wall, low enough to hit anyone standing outside but high enough that the bullets would whiz over the head of any children in the vicinity. His children.

  The drywall gave way to the bullets like a bar of soap to a razor blade. Chen heard a cry of shock, and knew he’d hit something. One neutralized, another wounded. If they were following standard doctrine, there would be a team of four spread among his house, chasing their objectives. Two more. His children were still in grave danger.

  He left his wife to hold the room, knowing that she’d give anybody who entered a dose of buckshot from the Remington 12-gauge she was cradling. He moved swiftly to the door of the bedroom and stepped around the corner. The wounded man he’d shot through the wall was whimpering, with several bullet wounds. Though he was no longer a threat, Chen put a round into his skull to be sure.

  He reloaded and moved further into the hallway, which was lit by a single bulb. Chen turned the corner, low, and ducked lower still when he heard the impact of a bullet in the wall behind him. At least his attackers were using silenced weapons, so the police and the neighbors would stay away. Less fortunate was the sight of the third balaclava-clad man holding his daughter hostage. He saw confusion and fear in her eyes.

  “Let her go.” Chen raised his pistol. “Let her go, now.”

  “We’re here for you, not the k—.”

  Chen didn’t let him finish. He fired, glad there was enough light for perfect aim. The attacker’s head jerked back slightly as Chen put a round through the man’s open mouth. A fine mist of blood and brain matter evacuated from the back of his head and Chen was already moving up the hallway toward his daughter.

  She started to cry as he reached her, and squealed as Chen put another round in her attacker’s head. He put his arm around her, lifted her and carried her to the master bedroom, where he called out to his wife before entering, lest she fill him with shot. Once inside the bedroom, he let his daughter run to his wife and turned around again.

  His senses burned, trying to locate the fourth attacker. There were always four.

  Chen heard the back door slam. The fourth attacker must have lost his nerve and started to run. He threw the pistol onto the floor. Having to shoot inside had been bad enough, but he knew he couldn’t fire off a few shots in the backyard of a quiet Wisconsin street without drawing police attention. Even with a silenced pistol, it was too risky.

  He ran for the back door, thankful that the house was small. He burst through the door and it swung back hard on its frame with a loud bang. As he ran across the yard, Chen saw his prey was at the fence but struggling to climb over. He closed the distance quickly and pulled the man back.

  The attacker cried out in surprise and landed heavily on top of Chen’s wife’s favorite flower pots. Chen picked up a large, pointed piece of broken ceramic pot. He pulled the man by the collar, just as his pistol was rising in Chen’s direction. Chen drove the point of the shard into the man’s face with all the force his adrenalin and training allowed.

  It was enough. The man went limp as the clay pierced his skull and slid into his brain. Just to be sure, Chen rammed the piece into the man’s face again, then once more, creating a series of bloody craters. Done, he dragged the man’s dead weight back into the house, leaving a bloody smear.

  Once he was inside and the door was shut, he shouted up the hall: “We need to go!”

  When he reached the master bedroom, he watched the scene with a combination of awe and admiration. His wife had already gathered the children. They were frantic but as disciplined as always. She’d also gathered the single getaway bag they kept for emergencies and had car keys in her hand.

  “Go to the car, it’s safe now.”

  As they left the room, he went to the other side of the bedroom. In less than a minute he’d gathered the second getaway bag he kept for himself. It had a fresh pistol, cash, fake documents and everything else he needed to get them away. If his hunch was right about his attackers, he’d have to get far away indeed.

  As he heard the sound of the electric garage door grind its way open and looked at the room one last time, he felt a pang of regret. They’d only had a brief time here, but it had been enjoyable. His wife had made friends with the neighbors, he’d started work and the children had settled in at school. Their cover had been perfect.

  That meant there could only be one attacker: the Foundation.

  He regretted having to leave, but in Chen’s world, nothing was forever.

  20

  Local police currently have made no arrest for the quadruple murder in Spring Green, Wisconsin. In a statement today, the Sauk County Police Department revealed that the dead men were involved in a home inv
asion gone wrong. They’ve appealed for the occupant of the house to hand himself in, stating it is highly likely he was defending himself and has little or nothing to fear. Channel 4 News spoke to neighbors in the street, who described the residents of the house as a quiet Asian couple and their young children. The neighbors added that they were baffled by the deadly episode.

  Frank Tait, Channel 4 News, October 21

  Jack sat in his car across the road from the house. When he’d traced the number from Dominique’s notepad, it had proven interesting enough to be worth a trip. He hadn’t expected to arrive and find it surrounded by police tape and a smattering of media. Any hope he’d had of interviewing the person who lived here and somehow finding answers to Ernest’s shooting now seemed lost.

  He watched as Celeste walked away from one of the neighboring houses, shaking her head. She’d flown into Madison, Wisconsin, a day after him, and they’d made their own way to the town of Spring Green—population 1500. Since then, they’d joined the rest of the local media, and some national media, outside the house. Thankfully, the rest of the media had gone now. Most had left a few days ago, three days into the stakeout, and the last of them had gone the previous night. A small town couldn’t hold the attention of the major city papers and networks for long, especially when the locals had no answers. They’d rely on subsidiary networks to cover any follow-up.

  Jack was just glad he could finally get down to the real reason he was here—getting answers about the mysterious Chen. The murders just piqued his interest even more, given the sheer impossibility of one normal man taking out four armed intruders. That made Chen special.

  Celeste reached the car, opened the door and got in. “Neighbors aren’t talking, Jack. Just general gossip.”

  He found it hard to believe there was no clue about the character of a man who’d killed four home invaders. “No idea who he was?”

  She grabbed his Big Gulp and took a long pull. “Not that they’re sharing. Some real weirdos live here.”

  “They just don’t like us city folk.” He gave up on his best attempt at a redneck accent. “Plus they’ve probably had their fill of journos asking questions.”

  She laughed. “Doesn’t change the fact that we might be too late.”

  “Let’s go look.” Jack already had the car door open.

  Celeste followed him across the street. “What about the cops?”

  Jack smiled as he looked around. With no neighbors in sight, he ducked under the police tape and tried the front door. It was securely locked, a rarity for this part of the country. He searched underneath the welcome mat, inside the dying pot plants and in the letterbox for a spare key, but came up empty.

  Celeste kicked the door in frustration. “So much for stereotypes. A house in the quietest street in America and no spare key? Ram it, Jack. That works in the movies.”

  Jack rapped his knuckles on the door. It sounded solid, not that Jack knew a lot about wood. “It’ll just give me a sore shoulder. Not so keen on that. Let’s try around the back.”

  She laughed but walked with him. “Coward, I had you pegged as an action hero, Jack.”

  He snorted but didn’t reply. They walked through the latched wooden gate and down the side of the house. Once they reached the backyard, Celeste walked over to investigate the fence and the shattered plants while Jack tried the door.

  “There’s been a struggle here! There’s blood and a whole lot of broken flower pots.”

  He didn’t respond, too engrossed in the door. Unlike the front, the back of the house had a screen door with no lock, which Jack opened with no trouble. Unfortunately, the back did have the same heavy wooden door he’d found at the front. With one notable exception—the lock was broken. He tried the handle and it opened.

  He laughed and called out to Celeste, “Looks like the cops didn’t want to wait around for the locksmith. Thanks, Sauk County PD.”

  Celeste came up beside him, shaking her head. “See, you’re an action hero. Or at least the luckiest guy on the planet.”

  Jack was about to make a joke in reply when he pushed the door open. The joke disappeared, replaced by a sharp inhale as he took in the scene before him. There were bloodstains on the carpet and a large, crimson streak on the wall halfway down the corridor. The scene was worse than he’d anticipated.

  Concrete floor. Blood. Fists and feet pounding him. Metal instruments. His bowels contributing to the miasma.

  Celeste put her hand on his shoulder. “This place is creepy, Jack.”

  Jack shook his head, trying to clear away the flashbacks from China. “Yeah.”

  Celeste pushed past him. “Some evil shit happened here.”

  She was right. Jack had hoped that it wasn’t him breaking into Dominique’s house that had brought the hammer down on this place. But whoever this Chen guy was, he looked like he could handle himself. He was more convinced than ever that Chen was involved in Ernest’s shooting.

  He flicked on a light switch. “Let’s see what we can find. The cops will have scoured the place clean, but it’s worth a shot.”

  Celeste nodded and went to search one of the bedrooms. “You never know. They weren’t thorough enough to lock the back door, so they might have missed something.”

  He went to the master bedroom and called quietly, “Ten minutes, then we’re out of here.”

  Jack searched the room without result. While there was more blood and signs of a gunfight, he found nothing useful. The possessions of the house’s occupants were still here, too. They’d probably left in a great hurry. Jack wished he knew where they’d gone.

  “Going down to the basement, Jack!” Celeste called.

  Jack was impressed. Celeste had already searched the kitchen and living room and made her way to the basement. Jack was creeped out and wanted to leave, but he went to join her. He walked down the stairs but stopped halfway. Something felt wrong. The light flicked on and he saw a large man pointing a pistol at Celeste.

  “Stop right there.” The man’s voice was Eastern European. “Who’re you?”

  This was leading to no place Jack wanted to go. “We’re journalists.”

  “Unlucky ones.” Their captor waved his pistol at him. “Back up the stairs, please.”

  Jack had the distinct impression that the hulking foreigner wouldn’t ask again. He walked up the steps from the basement, with Celeste and their captor behind. He gave some thought to running, but didn’t think he could outrun a bullet. The man led them to the front door, which had a button on the back of the door knob to unlock it.

  They were taken out to the front of the house. Jack looked back, and saw that their captor had put his gun discreetly inside his large jacket and was pointing at a large black SUV parked a few houses up the street. Jack approached it as slowly as he legitimately could. His mind raced. He knew that inside that car was death for both him and Celeste.

  They edged closer, and Jack was about to do something desperate when a police cruiser turned the corner at the top of the street and drove toward them. Jack stopped and waited for either the cop car to pull alongside or to get a bullet in his back. The shot didn’t come, but as the cop car rolled alongside, the cop looked straight at Jack.

  The car braked and stopped. Jack would never know the officer’s name, but he’d have to make sure never to slag off the fine men and women of the Sauk County Police Department ever again. He knew a lifeline when he saw one. He turned quickly to grab Celeste’s hand and started to walk toward their car.

  He snuck a glance at their captor, who looked back at them impassively as Jack led Celeste away from the SUV and back toward his own car. The man made no move to intercept them as he started the car, and Jack wasn’t sticking around. He drove up the street, away from the house.

  Jack looked in his rear-vision mirror and saw the cop car driving away. “We’re safe now.”

  “That was too fucking close for my liking.” Celeste was shaking and staring straight ahead, but was holding up a USB stick.
“I found this.”

  He turned his head. “What is it?”

  “A USB stick.”

  He shrugged. “Let’s worry about it later. I want to get miles from this place.”

  Chen closed the cubicle door, turned the latch and then pushed on the back a few times to be certain it was locked.

  He placed his bag on the floor, sat on the toilet seat and cradled his head in his hands. He took in a deep breath and let it out in a long, slow sigh. His heart was racing, but he knew this was the best way to calm down. He needed to regain his composure before he took any action, and kept reminding himself that he had time and was safe.

  He’d flown from Wisconsin to Los Angeles, and was now in Hawaii on his way to Taiwan. His family was already in the air. He was panicking because he’d left his insurance policy—the USB that contained Anton Clark’s file dump—at home in Wisconsin.

  He’d spent a frantic few minutes in the terminal searching through his bag, but hadn’t found the envelope. He’d cursed all of the gods and deities that he knew, from Allah to Zeus, unable to believe that he’d been stupid enough to lose it. He’d thought back and determined that it must have fallen out of his bag during the rushed departure.

  If someone else found it, his identity and the safety of his family would be at risk. And with four dead bodies in full combat gear, he was sure that a diligent police search would find it. He just had to hope that the local police weren’t smart enough to crack the encryption and recognize its importance.

  As it was, he couldn’t worry about the USB for now. He had little choice. He had to access the Darknet for the first time since he was contacted by Dominique, to finalize the arrangements for his return to Taiwan. There was one computer in the airport that had the Darknet browser he needed, but before he could use it he needed a credit card so he could pay for the internet kiosk time without being traced. He could have used cash, but he wanted the user log to point to someone else entirely.