by John Avery
Black Cobra
………………..
JOHN AVERY
San Diego, California
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BLACK COBRA
John Avery
Copyright © 2013 by John Avery
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locals or organizations is entirely coincidental.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thank you for respecting the author's rights and the hard work that went into the creation of this novel.
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4th Edition eBook, April 2013
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Published by Apticon Books
United States of America
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For
Arthur and Kathryn
To whom I owe so much
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“Every man's life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another.”
– Earnest Hemingway
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Table of Contents
~ THE AFTERMATH ~
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
- PART I -
Wednesday - Two Years Later ...
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Grand Cayman
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Friday - Vladivostok, Russia
Chapter 27
Tuesday - Four Days Later ...
Chapter 28
Wednesday - The Panama Canal
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
- PART II -
Friday - Nine Days Later ...
Chapter 32
San Diego Waterfront
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Point Loma
Chapter 36
North Island Naval Air Station - Coronado Island
Chapter 37
San Diego Bay
Chapter 38
Cabo San Lucas, Mexico
Chapter 39
Naval Base Point Loma, San Diego
Chapter 40
THE PARTY
San Diego Waterfront
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
- PART III -
THE MISSION
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Naval Base Point Loma, San Diego
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Cayman Islands - Three Months Later ...
Chapter 68
A Note to Readers
About the Author
~ THE AFTERMATH ~
Friday
Somewhere on the East Coast
Chapter 1
Aaron Quinn wiped the condensation from his passenger side window with the sleeve of his heavy wool overcoat and peered into the gloom. Thick clouds once again covered the moon and a light rain dampened the gray urban landscape moving past him, reminding him of a scene from a classic dystopian novel.
He and the three in the Aston Martin with him were in a collective state of shock. The positive glow of adrenaline had worn off, and the enormity of what had happened to them had sunk in.
They had just killed a man. And although the psycho deserved to die, he was dead nonetheless, probably still warm, sprawled on the cold floor back at the rundown, downtown eatery known as Sally’s Diner.
Between the passing buildings Aaron could see the southern horizon, still glowing a faint red, as his and his best friend Willy’s former hideout, the Alton Brothers Fish Cannery, continued to smolder after the two of them had blown it to bits and burned it to the ground.
Aaron shuddered as once again the memories of the last three days chilled him like ice water through his veins.
Not thirty minutes ago, he and Willy had raced their bikes through the darkening city trying desperately to get to Sally’s Diner before it was too late. He could see them throw their bikes to the sidewalk and run to peer through the diner’s large front window, hoping to see his mother alive.
He recalled the fleeting joy of seeing her inside, with Michael St. John, then the bloodied face and enraged eyes of their assailant. He could feel the tightness in his throat as he squeezed the trigger, the powerful recoil pushing him back as his and Willy’s assault rifles shattered first the diner’s plate-glass window then behind it the evil who would have killed them all.
Like rising flood waters, the memories consumed the space around him and he felt that soon he would drown in them like a rat in a rain barrel.
Stop thinking about it, you fool, he told himself. For God’s sake, just look out the window and watch the city go by.
He blinked hard, trying to squeeze the horrible visions out of his mind, but it was impossible. The memories were too fresh.
Chapter 2
The twenty-five-year-old redhead knockout stood alone in the bathroom of the small apartment, concentrating on the job at hand. She jumped when the door banged open then turned to see the man she had just slept with standing behind her, stark naked.
“Damn you, Jason Beckham,” she said. “You want me to break the needle off in my arm?”
“Haven’t you had enough, Brandy?” Jason said, disgusted. He stepped around her and checked his medicine cabinet. “I’m fresh out of Naloxone, so you’re on your own if you O.D.” He turned and walked back into his bedroom.
“I’m doing one lousy deuce, okay?” Brandy said after him. “I’m not an idiot — and that was just that one time!” She released the surgical-rubber strap from her arm and tossed it, and the rest of the paraphernalia, into a ziplock bag.
Brandy hated when Jason used his patronizing tone, but at 26, a lean six-foot-two, and stunningly handsome, Jason was a vision Brandy couldn’t stay
mad at for long.
She followed him into the bedroom, pressing a folded tissue to the inside of her arm. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about,” she said.
Jason reached for his jeans. “What, Johnny called and he knows you’re screwing around on him?”
“No — God no,” she said. “Don’t even joke about that! You know as well as I do he’d kill us both.”
Jason had to admit that was true.
“I had lunch with him today,” Brandy said, “and he got drunk and told me he’s meeting a woman at Sally’s Diner tonight.”
“So what?” Jason said.
“Are you even listening?” Brandy said. “I can’t have Johnny hanging out with other women.”
Jason found that amusing, considering what he and Brandy had just done.
“And why would he tell me about it?” she went on. “Don’t you think that’s a little weird?”
She had a point: Brandy and Johnny had been together for years, and as far as Jason knew (and in spite of ample opportunity), Johnny had never strayed. And even if he did he would have spared her feelings and never told her about it in the first place.
“I guess it is a little odd,” Jason said. “Who’s the woman?”
“I don’t know, her name’s Ashley Quinn — it doesn’t matter. But I have this bad feeling about that meeting, okay? I can’t shake the feeling he’s in serious trouble.”
Jason looked her in the eye and a sudden, visceral unease swept over him. It was common for her to come up with wildly random shit to stress about, and most of it was simply annoying; but for some reason this time he believed her.
“You’re serious, aren’t you,” he said.
“Yes, Jason. I’m serious.”
He checked his watch. 6:58 p.m. “What time were they meeting?”
“At 6:30, I think. I already called Needles, and I’m sure he was headed over there. But that was an hour ago. He would have called me back by now — if everything was okay, I mean.”
Jason stepped into a pair of sandals, grabbed his sweatshirt-jacket, and without a word walked out of his apartment leaving the door wide open.
Brandy listened as he descended the stairs and exited the decaying building through the front door, and then she went to the window and watched through the rain as he crossed the street and climbed into his black Hummer. Then he drove off toward downtown.
Chapter 3
Aaron Quinn listened as the Aston Martin’s wiper blades tapped out their relentless rhythm, hoping to distract himself from the horrifying memories threatening his sanity. He reached for his wallet and pulled out a small photo, the one-of-a-kind shot of his mother hugging his real father, taken when he was nine during a family vacation while his dad was home on furlough the summer before he was killed in action overseas. The priceless photo represented the last days they spent together as a family, and minutes earlier, Aaron had rescued it from the pocket of a bloody corpse.
An only child, Aaron recalled how after his dad died he had attempted to hold his breath long enough to kill himself, concluding that self-suffocation was physically impossible. He often wondered how many other pathetic souls had tried it before resorting to more traditional and reliable suicide techniques. Now, four long years since his father’s death, vivid images of those techniques haunted him still.
Aaron was very angry: angry at himself, angry at the world, angry at God for taking his father, and for letting the last three days happen — the last three horrible days. He remembered what his father had said to him many years ago: “God doesn’t stop bad things from happening, Aaron. He gives us comfort and hope, and the strength to deal with adversity and look for the good.”
He glanced at the others. After all the horrors we’ve lived through together, I may have the makings for a brand new family here, he told himself. He smiled at the possibility and put on a happy face for their benefit.
“So, where we headed?” he asked brightly, his question directed at the driver of the car, Michael St. John, whom Aaron had known for just three days, yet loved like a father. It was a good question, and Aaron’s beautiful, loving mother, Ashley, and his best friend, Willy, sat up in the back seat and listened for Michael’s reply.
Michael checked his watch. 7:05 p.m. He considered Aaron’s question for a moment. His immediate goal after leaving Sally’s Diner had been to put as much distance between themselves, the dead man, and the approaching sirens as he could. He looked at Aaron, then back at the road, and decided to try a more comforting answer.
“We’re headed to a faraway place where no one can bother us ever again,” he replied, and Aaron and the others thought that sounded really good.
Ashley had seen Aaron take out the photo of her and Danny. “May I see the picture, Aaron?” she asked over his shoulder, and he handed it to her.
Tears welled in her eyes as she took a long look at the photo, imagining herself wrapped in Danny’s loving arms once again.
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Just then a large black Hummer moving at high speed skidded wide around the flooded corner ahead of them and crossed into their lane. Aaron caught a fleeting glimpse of the oncoming driver’s face just before they collided head-on, sending the Aston spinning violently in a shower of glass. The Hummer zagged hard, jumped the curb, and careened through a street-light pole before crashing to a stop against an overflowing dumpster. The Aston Martin slid to a stop in the middle of the block, doors flung wide open, its fabric top mostly torn away, and for a moment nothing moved except for the falling rain ...
Then BOOM!
The Aston’s fuel tank blew with enough force to heave the car several feet into the air where it rolled onto its side before returning to earth with a violent whump, flames roiling from its shattered windows.
Jason stumbled out of his Hummer, stunned, but unhurt. He approached the Aston’s fiery wreckage; but the heat was too extreme and there was nothing he could do, so he backed off.
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As he turned back toward his Hummer, Jason was surprised to see what appeared to be a boy, about thirteen, lying in the shadows on the wet sidewalk a few feet from him. The boy’s face was blackened and bloody, but he was still breathing and appeared to be in one piece. Jason checked the boy’s pulse, finding it weak but steady. He spotted a curious bandage wrapping the boy’s chest and shoulder — it was soaked with fresh blood but appeared to be controlling any excessive bleeding.
Jason lifted the boy into his arms and carried him to the Hummer, laying him gently across the wide rear seat and covering him with a wool blanket. Then he swung the door shut.
He checked the front of the Hummer for damage: It was smashed in, but not severely. He climbed into the driver’s seat and tried the engine, which started easily, and then he backed away from the dumpster and onto the street, heading west with the intention of finding the nearest hospital.
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After rounding two corners, Jason remembered why he’d come downtown in the first place. He pulled over and skidded to a stop in front of Sally’s Diner.
In the distance, sirens ...
Chapter 4
The old, black, desk phone rang, shaking Detective James Harness out of a good sleep. He checked his watch, 7:10 p.m., and then slid his feet off his desk and sat up, fumbling for the receiver.
“Detective Harness,” he said in a gruff voice, pinching the bridge of his nose to help ease his headache.
“Harness, it’s your Captain. Several calls just came in concerning gunfire downtown at Sally’s Diner, and I guess there’s been a fatal automobile accident two blocks from there. You and your partner get your asses down there. Got it? Backup’s on the way and emergency services have been notified.”
“Roger that, Captain,” Harness said, yawning deeply. He’d been cooped up in his hot, tiny office all afternoon and welcomed the evening’s first real diversion.
He hung up the phone and called to his partner. “Roberts? You out there?”
Officer Rober
ts was just outside Harness’s door in the deserted precinct office refilling his coffee cup. He was nursing a huge hangover and a steady stream of black coffee was the only thing keeping him alive.
“Right here, sir,” he replied. “No need to yell.”
“Pour me some joe to go and grab your shotgun,” Harness ordered. “We have a situation.”
Chapter 5
Jason listened to the approaching sirens, judging their distance at two minutes. He pulled his .45 caliber pistol out of the Hummer’s glove box and stepped out into the rain.
Brandy Fine had been right to be concerned, the front of Sally’s Diner looked like a war zone: the green canvas awning hung in tatters; the huge, plate-glass front window was blown out; and two rusting bicycles lay tangled on the sidewalk amid piles of broken glass.
Jason raised his pistol and stepped cautiously through the shattered window into the diner.
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Inside, Jason saw the familiar signs of recent mayhem and brutal violence: fresh blood spattered the floor, walls and ceiling, and the entire room was riddled with bullet holes.
Two bodies lay sprawled on the floor: The first, lying under one of the stools at the counter, appeared to be an old man. Jason tried to check the gentleman’s pulse, but the old geezer jerked awake and abruptly stood and wandered out the front door, as if he’d simply finished his donut and was heading home.
Jason turned to the other body and saw lying next to it a familiar, worn leather fedora, and, although the dead man’s face was obscured with blood, he knew at once who it was. He leaned down and knelt next to his dead brother.
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“Drop the gun and put your hands in the air!”
The booming voice from behind sent a sharp chill up Jason’s spine. Damn it! he thought, kicking himself for forgetting about the police. He let the pistol slide through his fingers and onto the floor and then slowly raised his hands.
