Black Mountain: An Alex Hunter Novel 4

by Greig Beck

  When she turned back to the street, it was as she had expected. Colonel Jack Hammerson stood just ten feet from the doorway, his gun drawn and pointed at her left eye.

  ‘Let her go, Adira. We’re only here for Alex – we just want to speak to him.’

  Adira stayed hunched behind the smaller woman. She knew how skilled the HAWCs were; if she exposed even an inch of her flesh as a target, Hammerson would hit it.

  ‘He does not want to speak to you,’ she said. ‘Any of you. He does not even know you anymore.’

  Hammerson moved slightly to her side, improving his angle. ‘We both know I could take you down if I wanted. So I’ll ask nicely one more time. Let Franks go and let’s sort this all out.’ His eyes drilled into her, steady, serious. ‘Don’t make this go bad.’

  *

  Alex shook his head as the vet’s words played over and over in his mind. She’s just gone . . . same as all the others. He was too late; he could feel it. His grip on Grinberg tightened. He needed to lash out at something, or someone. He wanted to crush the little man for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  The vet seemed to shrink in his hands. ‘Don’t kill me,’ he pleaded, his eyes closing.

  A gunshot sounded from outside. By the time the old man had opened his eyes, Alex Hunter was gone.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Shitza – no time. Adira knew something had to give. Even though the woman she held was partially incapacitated, she was still one of the deadliest soldiers on the planet. Adira couldn’t afford to have her begin fighting again when she had an armed HAWC zeroing in on her for a head shot. Adira also suspected there could be more HAWCs creeping up in the shadows all around her.

  Then a tall figure stepped into the street behind Hammerson. Adira smiled and raised her gun to point it at the HAWC commander, knowing exactly what would happen. Hammerson immediately moved to a side-on shooter’s stance and tightened his grip on the trigger. The figure behind him saw the action and responded at a speed that was both fearsome and unbelievable.

  Alex collided with Hammerson and shunted him twenty feet down the street. The older HAWC hit the road surface and rolled several times before coming back to his feet. Alex was already upon him, his fist drawn back.

  ‘Alex . . . Arcadian, halt!’

  Hammerson still held his gun, but didn’t bother bringing it up. He stood there as if waiting, either for recognition or a blow. Neither came. Adira knew she had to act.

  She smashed her gun down on the back of the woman’s neck, then kicked her forward and shot Hammerson in the outer muscle of his thigh. The tough man went down. Adira knew the flesh wound would probably only slow him temporarily, but that was all they needed.

  She ran towards him and aimed the gun point-blank at his face, then saw that he was smiling. She snorted in contempt when she saw the reason why: he had his own gun pointed at her belly. She nodded for him to drop his weapon but he shook his head.

  Alex knocked her gun up and kneeled down beside Hammerson, grabbing the front of the HAWC commander’s shirt. ‘Who are you? I’ve seen you . . . in my head.’

  Over in the doorway, the woman struggled upright and pulled the blade from her shoulder. ‘You’re one of us, you dumb fuck,’ she yelled. ‘You’re –’

  Adira fired the rest of her clip into the air. The noise was almost deafening in the silent, pre-dawn street. Lights came on in some of the buildings, and curtains were pulled back.

  ‘Time to go,’ she said, and grabbed Alex’s arm, ignoring the weapon Hammerson was still pointing at her.

  *

  Hammerson lowered his gun and swore softly as Senesh and Alex Hunter disappeared around the corner. He saw Franks spin the thin black blade in her hand that she had just pulled from her shoulder. She sprinted towards the corner, clearly intending to launch the spike at its original owner.

  ‘Don’t.’

  Her arm froze for a second, then wound back further.

  ‘That’s a fucking order, soldier.’

  Another second passed.

  ‘Fuck!’ Franks said, and lowered the blade. She flexed her fingers where the Mossad agent had stamped on them, then headed back to the doorway to retrieve her gun.

  Hammerson pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, rolled it, and wound it around his bleeding thigh. He gritted his teeth as he got to his feet, but let out a satisfied snort as he stuck his gun into its concealed holster. The last time he had seen Alex Hunter, the HAWC had been on the verge of death, his body frozen to stop the progress of the Hades bacterium that was eating it. What Hammerson had seen just now was more than he could have hoped for – the soldier he had effectively created, and sometimes thought of as a son, was alive and obviously fully functional, despite the memory loss he was clearly suffering. They had always guessed the bacterium was likely to make its way to his brain and cause some type of complication.

  Hammerson smiled; Alex Hunter, the man he knew, the HAWC, was still in there – he knew it. He just needed a few more minutes with him to bring it out, without that damned Mossad woman acting as his minder.

  Franks came back, reaching into her shirt to stick something onto her wound. She rolled her shoulder, an angry expression on her face. ‘Go after them?’

  ‘No.’ Hammerson replied. ‘All that’ll do is push them into another firefight. We’ll let the leash run out a bit, then haul ’em back in later. What we do need to do is separate them, so we can speak to Hunter alone – and for that we need some help.’

  ‘I can take her out if I get another chance.’

  Hammerson spoke without looking at her. ‘You underestimated her, Franks. I should send you home.’

  Franks rebuttoned her shirt. ‘She’s got a few moves is all. I know I can take her in the open.’

  Hammerson glared at her. ‘You were instructed to get behind her and hold your position. Next time, you’ll be dead. Might even shoot you myself. Clear?’

  She muttered something unintelligible.

  The glare went up several notches in intensity. ‘Are we clear, soldier?’

  Her head snapped up. ‘Crystal.’

  That’s all I fucking need, Hammerson thought. He knew that if Casey Franks got another opportunity to engage with the Senesh woman, she would – didn’t matter what he said or ordered. Franks’s skill, competitiveness and aggression had brought her to the attention of the HAWCs, where she had excelled. But Hammerson knew that if she didn’t learn to control her impulsiveness, it would be her downfall . . . and death.

  ‘Secure us a car,’ he told her, then paused, hearing the faint sound of a siren in the distance. ‘Belay that order, we’ve got company. About time they joined the party.’ He put his finger to his ear to touch the small comms stud. ‘Sam, they’re on the move again. Get me some visuals.’

  The sky was showing some dawn light. Hammerson took a step, and winced. His leg hurt like a bitch, they’d lost the Arcadian, and Franks now had a seething determination to try her luck again against the Mossad agent. And it’s only morning, he thought. He needed a drink. Instead, he pulled a wound patch from his pocket and pushed his pants down to reach the deep fissure gouged through the flesh of his thigh.

  An Asheville PD cruiser turned into the far end of the street. Its lights and siren shut down, and a large man stepped out and surveyed the scene, including Hammerson and Franks. He reached back into the vehicle to grab the mic and talk into it, before standing and unclipping his holster.

  Hammerson raised his ID and walked towards the car. ‘FBI,’ he called to the cop.

  *

  Adira heard the sirens and increased her pace. She had deliberately drawn the police to the scene to create trouble for Jack Hammerson, but unless they got well away they’d get caught up in the attention too. She watched Alex from the corner of her eye. He hadn’t spoken since she’d dragged him away from the HAWCs, but seemed to have taken charge of their direction.

  He stopped and bent to peer in through the window of a large Ford Cruiser. ‘Thi
s one,’ he said, and took off his jacket.

  He held it over the back window and punched through the material to shatter the glass, then pushed away the crystallised fragments and reached around to open the driver’s door. He jumped in and reached across to unlock Adira’s door, then gripped the toughened plastic sleeve behind the steering wheel and ripped it away in one motion.

  He held out his hand to Adira. ‘Give me one of your spikes.’

  She hesitated for a moment and then handed it over. He laid the steel over the exposed solenoid terminal and the engine came to life. He handed back the weapon without a word and stepped on the gas.

  Adira knew he wouldn’t remember how he knew to do that, but she still didn’t like it. His former life was returning too fast. She watched his face as he drove, and could almost feel the waves of simmering rage coming off him, even though his face was as blank as that of an automaton.

  She sat back to think. Things were closing in on them. The rapid appearance of the HAWCs meant that it wouldn’t be long before they were picked up again. She now had Hammerson on one side, and a Mossad team on the other. Plus, the more Alex remembered of himself, the less he seemed to need her. She had to get him away from this place, the source of his anguish and the trigger for his memories, but she had the feeling that whatever had drawn Alex to this small town was far from resolved. Time is nearly up for me, she thought miserably.

  ‘What happened in there?’ she asked him. ‘Find anything?’

  He shook his head. ‘Something, but not what I . . .’ His brow creased in confusion. ‘I know she was attacked . . .’ He grimaced, obviously reliving some painful memory. ‘She could still be alive.’

  She touched his arm, but he didn’t acknowledge her.

  ‘There are too many people tracking us now,’ she said. ‘We should lie low, go somewhere and wait it out for a while.’

  His face changed from confusion to anger, and he turned to her. ‘What I need to do, must do, you don’t.’

  The car accelerated.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ she said. ‘I’m with you all the way, Alex. Haven’t I proved that I want to help you? I can still help . . . whatever it is you need to do. Just tell me.’

  He shook his head, as if trying to clear his vision. The car’s speed increased again. ‘I need to get up into the mountains, up high. There’s a killer up there – the destroyer of my family.’ He screwed his face up as if in great pain. ‘There’s no one left now. My chance to speak to someone who knew me, the me I once was, is gone.’ His balled fist banged the wheel. ‘I don’t exist.’

  He put a hand to his temple and rubbed. The car jumped forward again, starting to bounce on the icy road, now doing well over a hundred.

  Adira reached out again to touch his forearm. ‘I can help you find her. I’m not leaving . . . and you’re not alone, Alex. I’ll always be here for you.’

  He didn’t respond, but the car slowed.

  Light snowflakes started to drift down and stick to the glass, and he switched on the wipers. Adira looked up at the low cloud cover. It was a cold morning, and would probably get colder. Up in the mountains, it would be freezing. Alex might survive, but I won’t, she thought.

  ‘Stop . . . back up,’ she said.

  ‘No, there’s no time.’

  ‘Look, if we’re going up there in the snow, we need supplies – hunting supplies.’

  The car slowed to a cruising speed and then stopped. Alex stared at her, and she had the feeling he was looking deep inside her, reading her. After a moment, he nodded and reversed the car back down the road.

  ‘Okay . . . stop here,’ she said when she saw the sign. ‘Look – Carroll’s Hunting Supplies. Perfect. You might not freeze up there, Alex, but I will – I’m a desert woman. Besides that, I like American knives; they’re good steel.’ She looked at him and smiled. ‘And I’ll let you keep the grenades you’ve been hanging onto.’

  She expected some kind of response to her acknowledgment of his secret stash of weapons, but his face remained tight with barely suppressed hostility.

  She gently squeezed his shoulder, feeling the knots of tension in the bunched muscles. ‘Just one thing, Alex – how will we find who we’re looking for?’

  At last, Alex looked at her properly, but his expression made her sit back in her seat.

  ‘I have a place to start,’ he said. ‘Besides, I can still smell it . . . I’ll know where to find it.’

  It, not who. What exactly is it? Adira wondered.

  *

  The Infiniti G35 coasted to a halt a block from the street where the HAWCs had intercepted Adira and Alex. Its three occupants watched as the Asheville police interviewed residents who had gathered to complain about the early morning’s events. After ten minutes or so, the small crowd dispersed, and the police drove slowly down the street and disappeared around the corner.

  All three men left the vehicle and walked quickly to the centre of the road. One bent down to stick his finger in a small pool of sticky red fluid. He rubbed it slowly between his thumb and forefinger before putting his finger into his mouth.

  ‘Not Arcadian,’ he said.

  The three men stood there silently, ignoring the steadily building traffic, the cyclists and early morning joggers. The few people who passed them looked quickly away after the initial glance; perhaps because of the cratered skin on their faces, or the way steam seemed to rise from them in the cold morning air.

  Like a single entity, the three men turned to stare at the dark doorway where Adira had concealed herself. They looked up and down the street, before their heads swivelled towards the animal hospital. Without a word spoken, they headed to the side of the building.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Alex and Adira hunted through the aisles, throwing clothing over their arms as they went – lumber shirts, long johns, boots, socks. Alex stopped at a table covered in hunting knives, his eyes going to just one. He put the clothing down, drew the blade from its sheath and inhaled the scent of fresh oil. He hefted it and turned it over in his hand. ‘This’ll do.’ It was a Blackjack hunting knife, surgically sharpened high-tensile steel, triple-rolled – a bear killer.

  As the overhead lights glinted off the razor-sharp edge, Alex’s vision turned inwards – he saw long steel coming down again and again, but against dark green fronds and vines . . . he was hacking through a jungle. Someone called his name – he turned to see a huge soldier, fearsome-looking and taller than he was. He blinked at the memory, then saw his own reflection in the polished steel. As he watched, it blurred and altered. There were other faces now – the man and woman he had just seen in the street. You’re one of us, you dumb fuck, the woman had yelled at him.

  One of us – what does that mean? he wondered.

  His mind sought the answer – and waves of images washed over him again. A dark tunnel, screaming soldiers, a desert, creatures that burrowed beneath the sand. Then that huge soldier again, hacking through jungle vines as thick as knotted cables.

  Alex had no idea how long he stood there, frozen, before he felt someone touch his arm.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Huh?’

  He saw Adira looking up at him, worried.

  ‘Sure,’ he told her.

  She handed him a tissue. ‘Your nose is bleeding.’

  He nodded his thanks and held it to his nose. In his other hand, he still grasped the hunting knife. He knew he was going to need it.

  *

  General Meir Shavit watched Adira and Alex Hunter exit the sporting goods store and climb into their vehicle. The intercepted VELA satellite images were as clear as if they’d been snapped from across the road instead of tens of thousands of miles above the Earth.

  Obtaining the pictures had been easy; Israel intelligence had been accessing the high-value strategic images for years. Getting access to Alex Hunter’s sealed files from the technical safes at USSTRATCOM had been more difficult. Shavit had assembled a small group of specialist technicians who
had been worming their way through firewalls, trapdoors and spring-loaded tech traps for weeks searching unsuccessfully . . . until now. The files had been exactly what Shavit had needed. Hunter’s mother’s address had immediately been highlighted by the predictive software program as a ninety-nine per cent probability match for likely destinations the pair would head to next.

  Shavit lifted the phone, but paused before keying in the numbers. He felt they were no nearer to securing his niece, and that a bloody showdown was imminent. The initial interaction had resulted in three dead agents. He had already given Salamon warning to be careful of the man they pursued. Perhaps the agent’s ego had outweighed caution, or was it simply that a good warrior had met a better one?

  He had consented to sending Salamon a replacement team; and the new agents had been picked for their specialisation in unarmed combat and marksmanship – he knew Salamon’s first instruction would be a takedown order on Hunter. He had cautioned his man about extending that order to Adira. He doubted now that she would come in without a fight, but if it was necessary to incapacitate her physically, then so be it. She would live. Alex Hunter was a different matter; capturing him alive was going to be far too difficult and costly. Besides, once the former HAWC had been taken down, Adira would have no reason to fight, or to stay on foreign soil.

  Shavit brought the phone to his ear, pressed a string of numbers and waited for the line to be routed through to its destination.

  ‘Salamon, I have an address for you.’

  *

  Logan took notes as he listened to the rugged-looking FBI agent’s explanation as to how he and his strange-looking sidekick had managed to be in town for less than an hour before getting all shot up. Apparently, the FBI had been investigating a series of disappearances up and down the Appalachian slopes, and on the agents’ arrival in Asheville someone had taken pot shots at them from a moving car. They hadn’t got a look at the shooters so couldn’t tell whether the incident was related to their investigation, or just some tanked-up jackass with too much whisky under his belt. Both agents had refused medical treatment, even though the stains on their clothes indicated pretty deep wounds – bloody painful, Logan bet. But both seemed to be moving freely, so it wasn’t his problem.