The Disavowed Book 3 - Threat Level: Red

by David Leadbeater

  Held his gun out in both hands.

  And saw her face.

  Hatred, fear and fury pierced his heart as Claire Collin’s battered face, her distraught eyes, latched onto his own. These bastards would pay for that hurt; they would pay in shedloads of blood. In the next instant he saw the sudden shine of hope light her face and then he was firing, taking them all on.

  The first man twisted and went down without even a yell. The second convulsed as he collapsed, firing off a shot toward the single floating cloud in the sky. Trent moved position as all eyes flashed toward him. A bullet kicked up a plume of sand from the place he’d been standing. Davic’s mercs tried to duck back behind their cars. Trent loosed off two more shots, striking a man in the chest and another in the neck. He was trying for kill shots every time. It wouldn’t pay to wound a man against these kind of odds and give him the chance to reply to Trent’s exposed back.

  “That’s Trent!” Davic’s cry, coming from the black-suited man closest to Collins. “Kill him!”

  Collins shoved herself one way into a mercenary, ruining his aim, and then sideways, right at Davic’s legs, trying to unbalance the madman. It worked, and it was unfortunate. Trent’s shot passed by his temple by no more than an inch, whining sadly as if apologizing for its near miss. Davic fell against his SUV, but caught the handle and steadied himself. Collins rolled to her feet, struggling hard. Trent stepped forward again, still firing. The sudden movements of the mercs saved them. His next target suffered only a bullet in the arm, his next a shot that grazed the ribs. They fell, but were still in the fight. Trent dropped to one knee, still aiming. A flurry of shots finally came his way, flashing and whining though the air and all around him. Trent withstood the barrage, holding tight to his courage and staying focused. Another merc grunted and died.

  Davic screamed out an order. Instantly, a horde of demons were unleashed as the men in the fast-approaching speedboats added their weapons to the melee. Sand erupted around Trent and rocks were shattered. A bullet smacked through the sleeve of his jacket with the sound of a dry sheet flapping in the wind. More chased his heels as he dashed around the rear of the SUV. Above it all he heard the sound of a fist striking flesh and then Collins’ scream.

  He almost spun around right then, right back into the wall of death to save her.

  But a salvo thunked into the meaty rear of the car. He was safe behind the wheel. A head popped out further down the line, close to the first car, making a fine target. Its subsequent explosion dissuaded any of his colleagues from peeking out. Trent heard several low, muffled thumps as the speedboats touched the beach.

  Davic’s heavy grumble told of a quick sprint toward the water.

  Trent scrambled out, already firing as he came around the car. Four boats had beached, the other two were wallowing a little further out. Trent found he had a perfect bead on the nearest boat and set about emptying it of all occupants. In the course of seconds he saw Davic force Collins over a black-painted prow and jump in after her.

  Trent ducked as he ran, expertly changing mags in the midst of the firefight.

  Men ringed Davic’s boat, firing hard, forming an impenetrable wall. Trent flung his body forward, going flat out. If they’d thought to stay and finish him then, he would have died, but the mercs were focused on escape and the next chapter in their lives. Their job was clearly ensuring Davic slipped safely away. A few more bursts and they turned and leapt back into boats that were already roaring as their pilots powered them up.

  Trent lifted a cautious head, squeezing off several shots. He could only watch as Davic’s speedboats turned into the heavy darkness and the deeper swells of the ocean and headed out of sight.

  It was all over.

  No!

  Heart hammering, he sprinted for all he was worth. The boats screamed as they poured on the speed, prows lifting. As he approached the beach, Trent was starting to lose sight of even the crafts themselves let alone their crouching occupants.

  He slowed in the sand, gun dropping to his side, head falling and despair inflaming his soul. Could Black still track them through the night? It was all they had left.

  Refusing to succumb to hopelessness, Trent thumbed the Bluetooth set-up to turn it on. He spoke rapidly, explaining the details. He was astounded to find that only six minutes had passed during the fraught lifetime since he’d opened fire.

  Then his eyes alighted on the other, drifting speedboat. It wasn’t empty. It was full of dead mercs and their weapons.

  Alex Black said, “What are you going to do?”

  Trent broke into a run. “What else? Hunt them down.”

  52

  Silk’s feet froze as he came face to face with the bomb.

  As the guard had said, there were two white tubs sitting on the floor behind some shelves in the far corner, linked together by a clear tube, and with a twisting multi-colored skein of wires jutting from their open lids. A spark would probably start the mixing and the chemical reaction. The spark would come from the detonator.

  Silk searched for the detonator.

  Wires ran behind another closely packed set of shelves. The detonator itself might have some kind of tripwire. Silk took a breath and padded forward very carefully.

  A voice at his elbow said, “What have we got?”

  His heart almost lifted into the stratosphere. “Shit! I didn’t even know you were there!”

  Brewster placed a hand on his elbow. “Always will be.”

  Silk squeezed her fingers then made his way to the back of the room. The trail of wires led to another wide shelf. On this sat a plastic box with no catches and no gaps, somewhat like a sealed unit. Silk approached the set-up with caution, even looking down to his feet for trip wires.

  “If there’s a proximity sensor,” Brewster whispered. “We’re fucked.”

  Silk cleared his throat. “Yeah. Thanks for throwing that into the mix.”

  “It’s always best to know these things.”

  “Why? So I can explode happier?”

  “Shit.” Brewster drew alongside him. “I sure could throw down a few shots of Jim about now.”

  “Must be somewhere between Monday and Sunday.”

  “Fuck you. I had a crappy ex, a crappy job, and a crappy boss. Jack and Jim were my only friends for a while.”

  Silk remained immobile before the box. “Or they made it harder for you to climb back outta the hole you’d made. But hey, don’t listen to me. I just wrecked my marriage for two women—one from my past and one for my future.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t listen to you. So what are we looking at?”

  “We need to expose the damn core,” he said. “Got a screwdriver?” He had spied two small screws on the back hinge, either side of the hole where the wires entered. He reached out to turn the box.

  “Don’t even breathe,” he whispered.

  With steady hands he gently lifted and spun the box. When he had the screws facing him he let out a slow breath and placed it back down. The wires had stretched out a little but not enough to matter.

  “Screwdriver?”

  Brewster handed him a utility knife. “Note how I didn’t mention a motion sensor?”

  “I noticed.”

  “Christ, Silk, I hope to God you’ve done this before.”

  Silk teased out the Phillips tool and inserted it carefully into the head of the first screw. With infinite care he pressed and turned, pressed and turned, until the casing gave a little, then started on the second screw. Still, he dared not breathe. When he’d finished he slowly pulled the two halves apart, breaking a little seal over the wires as he did so. The sound of the chemicals slowly mixing was a constant reminder of the threat and their nearness to death.

  When men began to force their way into the room, Silk held his breath even harder. Brewster whirled. “What the hell? Oh, it’s the bomb squad.”

  The lead technician raced forward. “Stop that! What’re you doing?”

  “I’m exposing the deton
ator,” Silk said. “To get at its wires. Don’t worry, I’m CIA. I’ve done this before.”

  “When?” the technician burst out. “Around the goddamn millennium? It’s all changed, you damn fool. You’ve fucked us all!”

  Silk suddenly wished Radford was there to help with the tricky tech stuff. A terrible sense of foreboding stole over him. “Why?”

  “Air sensor!” the tech cried. “Go! Just fuckin’ run for your lives!”

  Silk blinked as the mixture suddenly started flowing so fast it began to bubble. The detonator itself let out a little whir, a series of clicks, and then began to buzz as one of its components spun quickly toward a sharp pointer.

  He looked to Brewster. “You never mentioned the fucking air sensor! Run!”

  Brewster grabbed his hand. “We don’t have time.”

  53

  Radford pulled into the lot outside the In-N-Out Burger, passing underneath its glowing red sign. Ontario Mills was a vast place but the burger joint was a small eatery with only a few buildings around it. And no cover. The parking lot was low and flat, dotted here and there with small shrubs and the odd bent palm tree, but the only real concealment was offered by the few randomly parked cars.

  A good place, then, to grab a bite to eat and check you weren’t being tailed.

  Alex Black still inhabited Radford’s head. It was getting to the point now where Radford thought he might start to feel lonely without him. “You there? Good. He hasn’t moved. I have him driving . . .” a pause as Black consulted some papers. “A blue Avenger. Standard rental fodder. Let me know when you have eyes on.”

  “Sure will.”

  “The good news is he’s been there a while. He shouldn’t just assume you’re following him.”

  Radford cruised the lot, trying desperately to appear like a man looking for the perfect space. It was almost certain that someone as shrewd as the Moose would have chosen a table overlooking the parking lot, and would be surveilling them at that very minute. Maybe Amanda coming along hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

  Unless the assassin had pictures.

  Would he be so paranoid as to match every picture to every incoming patron?

  Unlikely, but then the man had survived in his profession for over two decades. Who knew what these whackos took into account?

  Or what methods of failsafe they used . . .

  Radford stopped and stuck the car into park. The blue Avenger sat before him, in the space closest to the exit and entrance doors, which he related to Black. Then he glanced over at Amanda. “You ready?”

  His wife looked nervous. “I am.”

  “When the shit hits the fan bite the floor. Got it?”

  Amanda nodded. Radford climbed out of the car, then went around and opened her door. He took the opportunity to hug her close. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered. “Besides, some twisted bastard up there wants to see what we do next. He wouldn’t bump us off now. We’re too . . . unusual.”

  Amanda sniggered into his collar. His spirits rose. With her at his side he could accomplish anything. Without moving, he checked his pockets for the handgun and then turned her toward the chunky walling-stone pillars that marked the entrance. Red-and-white canopies hung over the windows. A stone bench sat outside a spotlessly clean window. A plastic trashcan stood to the left. More stone-walling formed the base of the building itself. Figures moved inside as they approached. The Moose could be any one of them.

  Radford glanced up at the big yellow arrow and said a prayer. So here I am praying on the Burger God. Well, keep us safe, my friend, and I’ll worship you till I die. Promise.

  With an outstretched elbow he pushed through the door, making sure Amanda remained hidden by his bulk. Inside, the diner was noisy and smelled wonderful. About half the booths were occupied. Radford did a quick cursory check whilst pretending to scan for a seat, but saw no one who looked like an aging Serb assassin.

  “We’ll head to the back,” he said. “Check tables as we go.”

  “Okay.”

  They moved steadily; not too slow. A family sat to the right, tucking into their food. Along the row of tables down the center sat two couples and another family. Radford was sure they’d be looking for a single man. The next booth brought pay dirt—but the man looked to be in his early twenties, despite the pony tail and beard that aged his appearance. As Radford moved he saw that only one window remained on the right-hand side of the diner—the perfect vantage point for watching the lot—and that a lone figure did indeed occupy the seat. He tightened his grip on the gun and pushed Amanda back.

  Swung into the booth.

  The old man sat watching him, eyes slightly narrowed. He sat easily, both arms resting atop the table. One hand gripped a mug of coffee, the other a Heckler and Koch semi-auto. Radford’s eyes widened. The machine gun just sat there on the polished table, gleaming black, in full view.

  The old man gave him a tight smile. “Everyone in this diner,” he said. “Or you let me walk out of here. Your choice.”

  Radford gave the diner a surreptitious glance. Laughter and conversation charged the place with a kind of travelers’ delight. Kids shrieked contentedly in the soft-play area. Boyfriends and girlfriends smiled happily, most likely killing time before heading over to the cinema. It was a Wednesday night in America. It was unblemished, innocent life.

  He turned back. “So you’re the Moose?”

  The old man’s eyes flashed and the muscles in his forearms flexed. Raw power radiated from this man. “I have been called that.”

  “We’re dinosaurs, you and I,” Radford said. “Seen too much. Done too much. Ordered to do too much. This is not how we should do this.”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed even more as he saw the hard resolve in Radford’s eyes. “You would risk their lives?” He nodded at the patrons in general.

  “You tried to blow up a kid. You killed a man’s wife. You planted a bomb at LAX.”

  “I have killed many men’s wives.” The Moose’s gaze swept across Amanda. “Planted many bombs. And yes, I have murdered children in the course of my duty.”

  “Duty?” Radford all but spat.

  “Don’t play the innocent. As you said—we are dinosaurs. We have done much that we regret. But now—now I am out. I fight for nothing now but my freedom.”

  Radford saw that as a dangerous sign. “Is that supposed to make me want to let you go?”

  “Oh, I am going,” the Moose said. “One way or another. As soon as I have finished my drink.”

  Radford could see the man was committed. Scenarios flashed through his mind, each one more dangerous than the last. To risk dozens of innocent lives was more than reckless, it was criminal. But to let this murdering freak of nature just walk away?

  Alex Black could keep tabs on him. Radford would follow him into the middle of the desert if needs be.

  “And now I am a little curious.” The Moose took another sip. “How did you find me, Dan Radford?”

  So he did have photos.

  “I’m CIA,” he said shortly. “We have a few resources.”

  “It is not me. I am clean. Even my body hair.” He made a slicing gesture. “Whipped off, down to the bone.”

  Radford’s lip curled with disgust. “Do we really need to know that?”

  “It is the car. The rental. It has a tracker. Oh, how stupid of me.” He made a face. “I am slipping, no? Probably a good thing this is my last job.” He made a frigid smile.

  Radford was aware the cops were getting closer every second. Alex Black was on standby. This situation was about to escalate into havoc or quickly peter out. No way would the cops let him go. Radford quickly chose the latter scenario.

  He backed away, pushing Amanda hard. The last thing he wanted was for her to be taken hostage.

  “Your car keys?” The Moose nodded at the table. “Don’t worry. I’ll leave you mine.”

  Radford deposited them with a dull jingle, hand tantalizingly close to the machine gun. The Moos
e saw his thought form before it was even fully realized.

  “I advise you not to try it. Unlike CIA, I am a real soldier.”

  Radford didn’t doubt it. He backed off, giving the Moose plenty of room, and maneuvered Amanda toward the counter area. The Moose sat for a moment, leisurely finishing off his coffee, then rose.

  His eyes met Radford’s, and the evil that filled them was the vilest glow of anticipation Radford had ever seen. The machine gun swung around and Radford grabbed Amanda by the coat and dived headlong.

  He screamed out a warning.

  The HK unleashed its fury with full-throttle madness. Supersonic rounds destroyed the counter and the prep area behind it, smashing bottles of syrup and coffee makers and even the till drawer. Wreckage and dollar bills jumped and jerked and spiraled into the air. Waitresses dived for cover, hands up to cover their ears and screaming. Bullets smashed through into the kitchen, sending plates, pans and tubs flying.

  Radford reached for his gun, now lying atop Amanda.

  The Moose was on the move, firing from the hip now into the diner’s eating area. Screams and shrieks made a shocking backing track to the machine gun’s heavy riff-like music.

  Radford looked up, dreading the sight but determined to stop the slaughter. It was then that he saw the Moose was deliberately aiming high. Bullets struck the tops of windows and the ceiling, slammed into the high door frames. Even the roof took several volleys. Pictures danced and jumped off the walls. The Moose was shooting the diner up to cause bedlam, but he wasn’t killing anyone.

  Radford levelled the gun at him as he paused by the door. One quick squeeze and it could all be over.

  Eerily, the Moose swung around and stared straight at the ex-CIA agent. “I told you I’m out,” he said. “Don’t make me modify my thinking.”

  Radford shifted his aim to the side. The Moose nodded and pushed out the door. Screams filled the place as men and women popped their heads up.