Agent M: Project Mabus (The Agent M Series Book 1)

by L. M. Vila

  This was a beautiful gun. Pity it had to be wasted on such filth. In his arms, the shotgun looked like a pistol. Michael held it like one. It had a very mean kick but it didn’t mean anything if there wasn’t a shoulder behind it. As long as Michael didn’t go trigger happy, he wouldn’t have to worry about the added discomfort.

  New targets busted out of their hiding spot against a short wall, three of them to be exact. They all rose with the triggers pulled. Lead pierced Michael’s coat as he dove to the side. Pain immediately spiked but his adrenaline absorbed it. The tile was slick and shined enough to keep his momentum going. These boys made another cardinal mistake. You never chase a target while firing. Especially one as fast as Michael.

  Michael slid shoulder first to an opening with the shotgun aimed and steady. A quick double tap later and their battle cries switched to ones of agony. The distance was too close and the spread was thin. Pellets blew through the thin tissues of their chest and necks. Blood curdling yelps soon grew silent. Intelligence definitely wasn’t this group’s strong suit. The untouched third mercenary behind the short wall continued to turn while still holding down the trigger on the machine gun and cut down his companions with a fresh barrage. As if they weren’t in enough pain already. Nerves must have gotten to him. Michael had just the fix for him. Instead of wasting another shotgun round, Michel let his pistol administer the medication. The mercenary felt his intestines explode. Each bullet seemingly cut through every organ underneath his skin. Thankfully his lungs were torn asunder. The poor bastard couldn’t even muster a decent yelp. Just a half-hearted gasp.

  His body slumped to the ground as Michael picked himself up. Only two more to go. He didn’t even take two steps forward before the next revealed his position. This one had more guts than the rest of them put together. He swung at Michael with electrically charged baton. In reality, it was a glorified cattle prod but it could be effective in the right hands. Ducking the beginning strikes was easy. Damn near insulting actually. This one was so determined to stop Michael he came out swinging knowing there were two weapons in his hands. The only way this one would learn was to be taught the hard way. Michael jumped back, giving himself a bit of space. He flipped the shotgun forward, catching it at the barrel. The mercenary took one last downward strike that Michael easily avoided. He swung the gun swiftly, unleashing a massive backhand against the mercenary’s chin.

  Chunks of spewing blood and bits of teeth blasted from his mouth. Landing face first added to his misery. His nose cracked against the tile floor, breaking instantly. Michael wasn’t convinced of his demise. He flipped the shotgun handle back into his awaiting grip. The barrel pressed tightly against the fallen mercenary’s skull. Brain matter stained this ridiculously shiny floor after he pulled the trigger. Michael seemingly erased his head from his body faster than the mind could process.

  With all rounds exhausted, Michael dumped the shotgun and headed for the elevators. The front desk was nearby. One more target left and only one more round left in his pistol's magazine. That’s all it would really take.

  Michael moved carefully around the desk with his pistol firmly gripped. He quickly dashed to the right, exposing the hidden area. All Michael found was the empty shell of his used flash bang. The mercenary captain lunged from behind. His knife aimed at Michael’s neck. The FBI agent felt the air shift and turned to catch the business end of the blade against the barrel of his gun.

  This man’s strength was promising. Michael assessed he was either the leader or they were saving the best for last. Steel scraped slowly. The knife moved closer to his throat. A pistol wasn’t an efficient tool to parry melee weapons. Other methods must be considered. And quickly.

  The best way to counter a man’s strength is to use it against him. However, the deadliest way to break a man’s spirit is by making him feel worthless. Michael steadied his footing. The Captain kept a fierce hold on both Michael and the knife. That was the kind dedication he needed. It enabled Michael to push back and lift the Captain right off his feet.

  Gale couldn’t believe it. He was being carried by the target. There couldn't have been a more terrible position to be in. He tried to disengage but was immediately stopped in mid thought. The target’s knee caught him in groin with the force of a sledgehammer against a foam brick. Lightning bolts shot up his spine. His testicles exploded. The world ceased to exist. Thoughts of life outside of this anguish vanished. He didn’t even feel his feet touch down on the floor. Or the barrel of a gun pressing under his chin. A volcanic inferno of blood spewed from the top of Gale’s head. The final round now exhausted. Michael pushed the body aside, its final gift to the world was a slapping thump upon contact with the ground.

  This former group of ruthless mercenaries was nothing more than a memory. Their existence had been annihilated, much like Michael’s car. To their credit, they were able to put up a minor resistance but it sadly faltered against a man of Michael’s caliber. That was the last time he allowed them in his thoughts.

  The elevators were just ahead. He popped the empty magazine out of his pistol and replaced it with another, returning it back into the holster. After he pushed the button, doors opened. Michael entered quietly, as if the last two minutes didn’t happen, and prepared his mind to do it all over again once he reached the top floor.

  Staring at a computer monitor was not Kurtis’ idea of a positive use of his time or abilities. The General ordered him back to his office, for good reason of course. They were watching live security footage. Specifically the events that had just occurred on the first floor. Roman looked particularly amazed as well as worried.

  Apparently he was brought here to confirm the General’s initial fears. For Kurtis, it only worked to entice his appetite for carnage. This man appeared to be a force to be reckoned with. The cameras could not lie. Kurtis had yet to be convinced.

  “Enough of this, I’m going downstairs.”

  “Wait master,” pleaded Roman. He stood next to Kurtis and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Please, do not go.”

  The old man was forcibly pushed away by the younger. His temper spiked. “You don’t believe I can defeat him either? Do you?!”

  “Brash as always, aren’t you boy?” The General responded. “Now do you understand my reason for concern?”

  “The only thing I understand is that you're all a bunch of scared old men with their tales between their legs.”

  “Silence you ingrate!” Yegor cursed. Kurtis had rarely heard that tone of voice but when he did, his body reacted without a single order from his brain. Obedience soon followed.

  “I brought you here for a reason. We don’t have to fight this man any longer. The law is now on our side.”

  “The law?” Anger hadn’t fully flushed itself from Kurtis’ system. “How in the hell is the law going to stop him?”

  “Because, just like us, this man is not above it. He has a tighter leash around his neck than we do. Now we have evidence against him. The murdering of twenty unprovoked men. He will not attack unless he feels physically threatened. Downstairs just proved that. Whether he wants to admit it or not, he is a slave to the system. As long as we don’t put up a fight, then he has no reason to bring us harm.”

  These arguments were futile. “Do you seriously believe after watching him kill twenty men that he wouldn’t find it in his heart to kill three more?”

  “Stop thinking with your heart and start thinking with your mind!” Replied an increasingly angered General. “He is here to arrest us. Obviously he is going to use force if provoked. It is as you said Kurtis. Let him come. Arrest us if he wishes. He doesn’t even have a warrant. It is of no consequence. I have enough money to walk away from this incident with a slap on the wrist.”

  The General glared deeply into Kurtis’ eyes.

  “Giving your constant failures, I should have done that in the first place. It was foolish of me to think I could eliminate this problem the same way we always have. I can admit that now. This will be a costl
y lesson.”

  “What are you going to do with the traitor, the one that woman stuffed in a closet?”

  “I will call Seika and have her executed immediately. One less witness to speak about our affairs.”

  “And what about that woman?”

  “Consider that an added bonus. If he manages to kill Seika, then I'll have a few more dollars to establish a legal defense. If she kills him, then it will be up to you to keep her mouth shut. Should we be fortunate enough to watch them kill each other then all of problems are dramatically reduced. They must have a done a lot of research to find this building. The trial will go on for a year or so but in the end, we will still win even if we lose tonight.”

  Kurtis couldn’t believe what he just heard. The General came up with this strategy in mere minutes. Seika would get her hands dirty yet again by killing the last CIA dog and Madison has already created enough legal loopholes to let the General get off with only a few nicks and bruises. It really did take care of everything. Except of course the matter of Kurtis’ pride.

  The one who looked the most reassured was Roman. He knew what fate awaited Kurtis. Death knocked at his door and he would have blindly answered it. This turn of events played out in Roman’s favor. The last thing he wanted to see was another precious person being taken from his life.

  The target headed for the elevators. Yegor picked up his phone and dialed Seika’s number. When she answered, he spoke, “He’s on his way up. Execute Ms. Ross before he arrives,” and then hung up.

  “Now then,” the General stated while asking everyone to gather around him, “let us enjoy the show.”

  The cart carrying Isabella’s body traveled down a long stretch of hallway. Hustle and bustle numbed her ears from listening to anything specific going on. She had concentrated so hard on playing dead she almost convinced her body it was true. If her senses dulled any further, Isabella might miss her chance to get away.

  “It’s just past those doors,” the male stated.

  “I can take it from here,” replied the other.

  “I really shouldn’t.”

  “No, that’s ok. I’m sure you have lots of work to do and I’m not particularly busy.”

  “Really? Thank you so much.”

  The first ran off quickly. Just one less person to worry about which played in Isabella's favor. The cart continued along its path. It started getting quieter, much more enjoyable than the previous setting. Only the squeaking wheels could be heard throughout the long corridor. A quick turn to the left and suddenly they slowly increased speed. Welcoming but certainly not needed. Isabella’s level of patience was far too great to get caught up with counting the seconds that passed.

  They came to a stop. This may be it. She felt the presence of another.

  “Evening ma’am. I’m afraid I can’t let you go through here.”

  Damn! Isabella swore to her inner self. They were so close too.

  “I’m sorry. There’s a car waiting outside to pick up this body.”

  At least the doctor was fighting for her.

  “Can I see some identification?”

  “Oh, sure,” she replied. “Let me just grab it for you.”

  Silence ensued. It must’ve been difficult work assessing a doctor’s identification. This one seemed to be taking his time.

  “Oh, go right ahead Doctor.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  The door opened. “Allow me.”

  This doctor inadvertently saved the life of a murderer. She would never know either. Someone’s success is another’s tragedy. Such is the balance of life.

  Isabella could hear the street outside. Los Angeles never sounded so beautiful. The cart rolled towards freedom, noting the increasing pace. She worried how quickly this doctor wanted to get rid of this body. All speculation was put to rest once the breaks were slammed and Isabella went tumbling forward.

  Pavement never felt so ugly. Keeping her cadaver act in full gear meant eating a lot of pain. Her body actually bounced off the ground. Couple that with a few spins and you have one excessively damaged dead body. The hospital would have difficulty explaining this incident if it wasn’t for Isabella’s interference. There she laid, flat on her face and motionless and not even a peep out of the woman that cause this accident.

  Before another silent breath could be taken, a sharp heel dug into Isabella’s spine, piercing every nerve in her back. She tried her best to remain still but this person had awakened a pressure point that even Isabella didn’t know she had.

  Cold steel slapped her cheek, pressing against the smooth lush surface of her face. The doctor’s scratchy voice vanished in an instant. Its replacement was suddenly so familiar. She opened her eyes to confirm her suspicions. How she got caught started to come into fruition. The FBI had better staff than Isabella gave them credit for. Especially for a rookie.

  “Going somewhere Izzy?”

  Meryl had set up the perfect trap. And Isabella was lying face down in it.

  She may be been caught, but Isabella wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Like the Greek God Achilles, heels would be the downfall for women. Meryl broke one of the rules of restraint by gunpoint. You never keep your weapon within the reach of your opponent.

  Isabella swiped her foot across the ground and caught Meryl square in the back of the leg. While she was reeling, a follow up attack slapped the Glock 19 out of her hand. It scraped across the open surface of the loading dock giving Isabella a chance to get up and launch a counter offensive.

  Not too far away, Isabella located her hidden weapon. It was much closer than Meryl’s so she went for it without hesitation. Isabella dived, stretching every muscle in her arm and cradled the weapon as soon as she made contact. Adding a forward roll to the mix and Isabella was back an offensive position. She pointed the pistol back in Meryl’s direction but to her surprise, there was a reflection waiting for her.

  They traded shots. Both fired wildly. There was no reasonable place to hide in this environment so they were at the will of their opponent’s aim. Meryl couldn’t have reasonably made that distance quicker than Isabella unless she had severely underestimated this woman’s ability yet again. Keeping up a fire fight here was pointless. An aimed shot would take time. Isabella couldn’t afford the risk so she put all of her efforts towards escaping. Concrete ate its fair share of lead this evening. By firing at Meryl’s legs and feet, it would keep her off balance. This was the opportunity she needed to gain the advantage.

  Meryl’s adrenaline carried her through this battle. Even bullets whizzing past didn’t seem to affect her mood nor will. Physically, her body reacted better than she could ask it to but that meant slowing down. Isabella was already gaining momentum and heading for the street ahead. This had to end here and now.

  Another shot ripped through Meryl’s chamber. It glided through a patch of wavy brown hair. Isabella must have let hear guard down. The shock of it all sent her rolling forward. A short victory that turned into a catastrophe. Her target used this opportunity to flip to their knees and line up a well aimed shot.

  The ground never felt so sweet. Meryl dropped to her back and listened to the bullet pass overhead while sending back retaliatory fire of her own. The wall around her target’s body absorbed every shot. Isabella pulled the trigger on her weapon once more without flinching. When nothing came out, she began to worry. The slide being locked back was just the icing on the cake.

  Tossing the empty pistol aside, Isabella opted for cover between a pair of nearby trailers. Meryl continued to fire as the woman fled. She escaped between the steel trailers giving Meryl the responsibility of finding her. One she took aggressively.

  Seika pressed the button for the elevator a few moments ago. She positioned herself inside the laboratory behind the glass walls. The hostage was stashed away close by. Seika moved towards the closet to tie up one last loose end.

  The drug had a seemingly positive effect. Nothing dangerous to report but her body felt lighter
than ever. Whatever cocktail these men had mixed Seika would have to make a purchasing offer before she left. So long as there was no lingering after effects. As soon as Seika clasped the handle, a pleasant ding chimed signaling his arrival. The elevator doors parted as if the gates of hell had opened up and their servant stood within. A black menacing image stood out against the shiny interior of the elevator.

  Stepping forward was the infamous Agent Michael Madison donning a large trench coat that reeked of battle. The fact that he was standing before her, passing through the numerous armed mercenaries authenticated the General’s warning. However, a new challenge awaited him the likes of which he would never live to experience again.

  Michael approached slowly, almost stalking Seika. Maybe he was trying to intimidate her. Ditching the suit and tie for a black combat motif was an upgrade but only aesthetically. He was still the same man underneath that shell. Seika moved away from the hostage, granting her a few extra moments of life. Revenge took precedence.

  He moved calmly but sharply. Seika began to wonder why he wasn’t saying anything. Not even pulling out a weapon and attempting to arrest her. She at least wanted the satisfaction of speeding through his defenses and knocking it away. Something was different.

  The automatic glass doors parted. Only a few feet separated the two from each other now. His continued silence was borderline disturbing. Even oxygen passed through him without as much as a peep. She didn’t want to admit it, but his faux intimidation methods may be working.

  His fist exploded forward. Seika was stunned by its incredibly velocity. The air took the brunt of the attack but barely. Brutal wind slashed against her cheek. She had never felt nor seen a punch travel that quickly. More attacks ensued. Michael was seriously dishing out his assault on all cylinders. His fists and legs snapped at an incredible rate. Each attack that Seika blocked or dodged was quickly followed up with another. She couldn’t find a way in. He was too forceful and direct. This style he used was incredible. All force, no waste. Seika had never seen or experienced anything like it. At this point, there was nothing she could do but protect herself. Even with increased reflexes she could barely keep up with him. Blocking seemed to cause damage no matter how well she defended. Every time contact was made, thunder clapped. Seika had to step up her game and start completely dodging attacks in order to regain some leverage. Maybe toss in a bit of offense as well.