Bringer Unleashed (Logan Bringer Series Book 2)

by Jaz Primo

  * * *

  I fell asleep on the sofa in Sanders’ room, but we were both awakened by an alarm on her notebook computer.

  Minutes later, we were both peering at the screen at the multiple images of Wainright, Tevin, and Denton. Each of them looked as tired as I felt.

  “Well, you three look like you’ve been through the wringer,” I said.

  “Frankly, it’s been a long day,” Tevin said.

  “What the hell are you two still doing in Wales?” Denton demanded.

  “Helping the Brits,” I said. “We’re allies right? Besides, we were able to follow up on a lead. And hey, while we’re at it, just how did you know—”

  “Sanders filed a report,” Wainright interrupted.

  I looked sidelong at her.

  “Listen, one of us has to file the paperwork around here, you know,” she said.

  “All right, whatever makes you happy,” I said.

  “Say, are you two getting along okay?” Denton asked.

  “Us? Fine,” Sanders said.

  “Golden,” I said, refusing to look at Sanders.

  “Mm,” said Tevin. “Listen, we’re getting a lot of heat from up the chain about your protracted absence abroad. We’ve already stretched the rules considerably for your investigative trip to Belarus.”

  “Hey, vacation, remember?” I said.

  “Yes, well, that went over with fanfare and fireworks,” Tevin replied.

  “The brass isn’t happy that you’re abroad essentially unsanctioned,” Wainright said. “They want you back here in the U.S. ASAP.”

  “And did you tell them that we’re actively pursuing suspects, which is more than I say for the lack of leads we’ve had so far,” Sanders said.

  “Yeah, and while you’re at it, tell them we took another telekinetic out of play, too,” I added.

  Tevin took a deep breath. “Yes, I heard. But it’s not as if we have direct access to any evidence or suspects over here.”

  “We’re working on that,” I said. “Though I’m sure it doesn’t help that your so-called brass had rebuffed British requests for assistance. Given what they were facing, the limeys were damned lucky we came along when we did.”

  “The three of us couldn’t agree more,” Wainright said. “However, things are rather dicey at our end. I haven’t heard of paranoia this thick since back in the days following 9-11.”

  “Well, you can tell those bureaucratic bastards back home that, just like after 9-11, we’re taking the fight abroad before it hits home shores,” I said.

  Tevin chuckled. “Oh, if you only knew how much I’d like to.”

  “Be that as it may, those bureaucrats happen to the people in charge,” Wainright said. “We’re already on the outside of those in the know around here, so I’d hate to antagonize them further at this point.”

  I frowned. “Has something else happened since we last talked?”

  Denton shook his head. “Boy, and how.”

  “I’d feel more comfortable if it was just politics as usual. Unfortunately, things seem to be ratcheting up further,” Tevin replied. “I thought things might cool off after Habeas Corpus was suspended in some parts of the country and martial law declared. Now, with a slight uptick in firearms-related incidents and a lot of press coverage about so-called doomsday preppers, there’s further talk of the government rationing fuel and ammunition.”

  That wasn’t a good sign.

  I had to admit that I never thought I’d see the day those things would happen on a nationwide, federalized scale. Still, the government kept assuring Americans that it was for their own protection.

  “Hard to believe that people are accepting this level of craziness,” I said.

  “The more vocal ones who aren’t are being placed on watch lists,” Denton said. “We’ve been receiving updated suspect lists nearly daily for some time. Believe it or not, two of the people on yesterday’s list are sitting congressmen.”

  “Yes, it’s all rather disturbing. The overt naysayers and demonstrators—many of whom hadn’t voted for President Graydon in the last election—are being investigated,” Wainright said. “Some are being taken into custody and held for further assessment.”

  “I never thought I’d see anything like that,” Sanders said.

  The flexibility of our democracy was definitely being challenged.

  I tried not to dwell on it, but it bothered me almost as much as any telekinetic terrorist threats from Continuance Corporation.

  “You make it sound like a political grab for federal control,” Sanders said.

  “It’s best that we not characterize it as such,” Tevin said, caution evident in his tone. “Or openly talk to the press about it, either.”

  Sanders and I exchanged glances.

  No matter. Politics aside, we had a job to do.

  “Unless you have something else for us to go on back home, we’re staying until either we get those outstanding suspects or we get word that they’ve moved on to somewhere else,” I said.

  “But orders from up the chain are—” Denton protested.

  “I’m with Bringer on this,” Sanders interrupted.

  Honestly, I could have kissed her at that moment.

  “Do your best to find them,” Wainright said. “I’ll take the heat for now. I’m just not sure how long I can mitigate it before the crap hits the fan.”

  “Thanks, Wainright,” I said.

  “You two be careful,” Tevin said.

  “And, and uh, pick me up a Doctor Who collectible while you’re there, too,” Denton said.

  I nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll see what I can do.”

  As Sanders secured her notebook computer, I couldn’t help but wonder how much worse things might get back home.

  Chapter 16

  When Sanders and I insisted on remaining in Cardiff, tensions mounted. Scott and Strutt weren’t pleased.

  “Why stay? What do we do now?” Strutt asked.

  “Wait,” I said.

  “Wait?” Scott demanded. “Wait, hell. We need to get our asses stateside.”

  Waiting wasn’t a savory prospect for either Sanders or me. We tried contacting ACC Hill, but he was busy in meetings of some kind.

  Then I called Agent Fiskall.

  Within the hour, an unmarked sedan drove Sanders and I for over an hour through Welsh countryside to an upscale office building on the outskirts of a town named Bridgend.

  Our initial impression of the building changed once we took an elevator car down to a level labeled Restricted. We entered a small technology-laden control center manned by a half-dozen men and women wearing business attire.

  Agent Fisk met us at the door. “Welcome to one of our MI-6 operations centers. Here are your guest badges. Just swipe them over the panels near doors to gain entry.”

  Sanders and I clipped the badges to our shirts.

  “Wow, keys to the city and everything,” I said. “This is how to treat guests.”

  “Actually, those will only let you into the bathrooms, this room, and the elevator,” he said.

  “Well, it’s something, anyway,” I said.

  “From this room we can tap into all government-monitored cameras in the UK,” he said. “We’re pouring over thousands of images, but we haven’t found anything yet. Mind you, we’re only one team out of more than a dozen who are actively working ‘round the clock on this. Still, more sets of eyes help.”

  “Thank you for letting us come here,” Sanders said. “We would’ve gone stir crazy back at the hotel, and we couldn’t reach ACC Hill.”

  “Happy to have you,” he said. “Let me give you a brief tour and then you can observe our operation, if you like. You might spot something helpful.”

  Fisk gave us a brief tour. We spent the next three hours observing technicians use computer-assisted recognition routines to comb over faces and vehicle identification tags.

  I was more of an action sort of guy, so hours of watching and waiting quickly wore my patience
thin. I was half-tempted to go walking the streets of Bridgend just for the exercise.

  By the time Fisk retrieved us for a quick lunch, nothing useful had turned up, and I was starting to wonder if it ever would.

  “This is the boring part of my job that they rarely bother to mention in those James Bond films,” Fisk said. “I’m happy they didn’t tell me this until after my training or I might’ve stayed in the SAS.”

  I liked Fisk.

  We were halfway through a meal of fish and chips when Fisk’s smartphone rang.

  “Fisk,” he said. “What? Where?”

  His eyes practically lit up.

  “We’ve got them,” he said.

  * * *

  A military helicopter picked us up outside the intelligence center and flew us southward across country.

  As I looked down at the countryside below, I realized that Wales was a rather beautiful place that I wouldn’t mind spending more time in.

  “Where are we headed?” I asked.

  “A quaint little seaside town along the Bristol Channel called Barry,” Fisk said. “The targets are near a place called Jackson’s Bay.”

  We landed in the middle of the town, near a large staging area filled with military and law enforcement vehicles. Fisk led us directly to a command post where ACC Hill and other leadership waited.

  “So sorry,” Hill said to us. “I didn’t hear you’d called until I was on my way here.”

  “No worries. We were just checking in,” Sanders said.

  Hill nodded and introduced us to a number of key participants.

  “What’s the status?” I asked.

  “Our targets are inside a home near the bay,” Hill said. “We have the area under tight control and we’re ready to go in and take them into custody. But we were waiting on you, just in case they have more people with abilities in their group.”

  “Something tells me they would’ve already used them by now if they had,” I said.

  “Never can be too sure, though,” he said.

  “True,” I agreed.

  “Here, Agent Sanders, take this,” Fisk said.

  He handed Sanders a 9mm pistol and two spare, loaded magazines.

  “Just in case, you understand,” he said with a wink.

  “Thank you,” Sanders replied.

  The three of us got into a police SUV and followed multiple law enforcement vehicles through the town toward the bay.

  We drove past a heavily guarded checkpoint and stopped a short distance beyond it.

  “On foot from here,” Fisk said. “We don’t want to tip them off.”

  A man wearing police tactical gear ran up to us.

  “Sirs, the targets are still inside the home,” he said.

  “Better let me go ahead first, just in case,” I said.

  “I’m going with you,” Sanders said.

  I started to protest, but she gave me a more than threatening look.

  “Don’t even,” she said. “I’m going.”

  “I’m Hurst,” said the tactical team member. “I’ll be leading you to a white home with blue trim.”

  He handed a small radio to Sanders and led us a short distance down a street before we turned onto another curved street leading in the direction of the bay area.

  He stopped alongside a panel van and peered around the side.

  “Just four homes down from here,” he said.

  I followed his gaze to the house in question. It looked ordinary and blended into the rest of the neighborhood quite nicely.

  The streets were completely deserted, perhaps cleared by the authorities, though I wondered how they might have managed that without being noticed.

  “We’ll move in as soon as you either signal us via the radio or motion to us,” Hurst said. “We have snipers watching from all exterior angles, so you should be in our sights at all times.”

  I nodded and walked out from behind the panel van with Sanders beside me. She had tucked the pistol behind her, inside the waistband of her pants.

  “We’re just going to walk up and ring the doorbell?” she asked.

  “Why not?” I replied. “That should really shake them up.”

  As we casually walked toward the house, I opened my mind to receive thoughts.

  …hope Bringer knows what he’s doing.

  I tried not to smile over that.

  …going on out there? Not a lick of traffic.

  We were only a house away when a jumble of clear thoughts poured forth.

  …he better hurry up and get here.

  …don’t like sitting about.

  …make them pay for Lis.

  I wondered if that person knew what had happened to Marlis.

  …time for something to eat before we leave?

  …wish the news coverage would settle down.

  …wonder what sex with her would be like?

  “Seriously?” I asked. “At a time like this?”

  I wanted to meet whoever was thinking that last thought. Even more, I was curious who they wanted to have sex with.

  “What? What is it, Bringer?” Sanders asked.

  “Uh, nothing,” I said. “Just a passing thought.”

  “You’re really weird sometimes,” she said.

  …really freaks me out sometimes.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” I said.

  We walked up the sidewalk and onto the front porch.

  I reached out to depress the doorbell.

  …finally! He made it!

  …outta here now!

  I frowned. “What?”

  Inside, I heard upraised voices and even a couple of subdued cheers.

  “Somebody got through the perimeter,” I murmured.

  “What? When?” Sanders whispered.

  “Just now,” I replied.

  The question was, how?

  I turned toward Sanders. “Send them in now.”

  I frantically waved my arms above my head and motioned to the front door as Sanders called on the radio for everyone to move in.

  The distant sounds of booted feet on pavement followed as Sanders readied her pistol.

  I held out my hands, palm outward, and imagined a giant wrecking ball swinging forward.

  The front door smashed inward in a shower of splinters and pieces, taking part of the door frame with it.

  Shouts came from inside as I stepped past the debris and into the main entryway.

  “Nobody move!” I yelled, progressing into the house with Sanders close behind me.

  As I rounded the corner into the living room, gunfire erupted before me as I spotted two men with assault rifles. My shield caught numerous rounds, leaving the bullets suspended before me.

  Before I could react further, the gunmen ducked into the next room.

  On reflex, I reached behind me to grab Sanders’ left hand and extended my shield around her

  “What—” she protested.

  I dragged Sanders forward with me, reaching out with my mind.

  A wave of disjointed thoughts tumbled through my brain, nearly making me reel.

  “Everyone hold hands!” a man yelled.

  Hold hands?

  The clashing noises of glass breaking and doors being breached filled the air around me as tactical team members yelled for everyone to freeze.

  “Hey!” Sanders exclaimed as I pulled her behind me.

  I maintained my shield as I moved into the adjoining room, a combined dining room and kitchen, to see a group of eight men and women holding hands.

  “Drop your weapons!” yelled one tactical team member to my right.

  “Get on the floor!” yelled another.

  One of the group members, a young man with a goatee, grinned wickedly.

  “You’re too late,” he said.

  I thrust a wall of force forward with my mind that briefly touched something that felt foreign, sending a wave of queasiness spreading throughout my body.

  Then the people before me simply vanished.

>   Chapter 17

  “They bloody disappeared!” someone exclaimed.

  “Everyone stand back!” I yelled, releasing Sanders’ hand.

  I generated a fireball in my hand, enlarging it to the size of a beach ball as men cursed and retreated from all sides.

  “Shit, Bringer!” Sanders yelled.

  I moved forward with the fireball held before me until I was standing where the group had been.

  One thing became certain: they weren’t invisible…they were gone.

  “Well, crap,” I muttered, extinguishing the fireball.

  Embers dropped to the floor, hissing against the tiles.

  “All clear!” I yelled, stamping out a few stray embers with my shoes.

  “What the bloody hell was that all about?” Fisk demanded from behind me.

  “They’re gone,” I said.

  “Gone? That’s not possible,” Fisk said.

  “Try telling a man who generates fire that something’s not possible,” I said.

  The limits of possibility had been severely strained with me in recent weeks.

  I exited the house, walking past dozens of stern-faced British authorities, until I stood alone in the front yard.

  I rubbed at my temples, trying to will away a growing headache, as I contemplated what had just transpired.

  Teleportation.

  They knew how to teleport.

  “How in the hell am I supposed to counter that?” I asked aloud.

  “Bringer?”

  I glanced back over my shoulder at Sanders, whose complexion appeared as pale as snow.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  I inhaled a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

  “No,” I said. “But you’re the one who looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “What you just did—” she began. “What I felt. That was unnerving. Then when those fugitives disappeared, it felt like the floor disappeared from beneath me. It was all I could do not to throw up.”

  I frowned. “Yeah, I felt that, too.”

  She reached out to gently touch my shoulder.

  “Is it always that way for you?”

  I considered her question as I watched a police SUV pull up at the curb. ACC Hill appeared none-too-pleased as he exited the vehicle.

  “Sometimes, but mostly I’d gotten used to it,” I replied. “Until today. That was something new.”