The Killing Chase (Beach & Riley Book 2)

by Hurren, Craig

  Three yards past the Ugolev guard, Priest purposely tripped himself and tumbled to the pavement. The guard scoffed at the pair; watching as the larger of the two leaned awkwardly to try to assist his fallen drinking buddy. Increasing the slapstick effect, Dozer teetered and swayed as though about to join his partner on the sidewalk. The guard’s amusement quickly evolved into raucous laughter. But as he gulped to refill his expended lungs for the next belly laugh, his face suddenly became vacant.

  While Jake held the guard’s body up to obscure himself from the surveillance camera, he withdrew the four-and-a-half inch blade of his Kershaw Scrambler knife from the base of his victim’s skull. Then Jake backed into the guard booth, carefully placing the dead man’s body so it would appear to a casual observer that he’d simply nodded off on the job. Jake even pushed the filtered tip of the guard’s cigarette into his mouth for added realism. Then he pulled out his silenced H&K .45, took aim, and fired into the side of the gate camera, which was focused on Dozer and Priest.

  The flash of burnt-out electronics signaled the Australians. Dozer grabbed his brother’s hand, yanking Priest to his feet, and the pair darted to the gatehouse to follow Jake into the grounds. On his way past, Dozer glanced at the dead guard. “Those things’ll kill you, mate.”

  Priest turned to give his brother a quick look of disapproval.

  The big man smiled. “Couldn’t help meself.”

  Jake dashed for cover behind a large oak tree, just off the center of their path from the gate to the front entrance. As Dozer and Priest fell in behind him, Jake peered past the trunk toward the entrance, then turned to his comrades. Holding up one finger, he motioned to the perimeter, five yards to their right. The Australians followed on his heels as Jake bolted to the shadows of the boundary wall, tracing it until they were level with the front door. Then he cut left and crouched behind cedar shrubs at the corner of the house. A few seconds later, the guard at the front door walked down two steps away from the house, trying to see his comrade at the front gate.

  Jake seized the opportunity. By the time the front door guard sensed his presence, it was far too late – Jake was a yard from his side. The left-handed Ukrainian reached for his sidearm, but Jake’s right hand intercepted, clenching the back of the guard’s left wrist. In one fluid movement, Jake retracted his own arm inward, straightening the guard’s arm to full extension. The skilled martial artist continued the well-practiced move, driving his now closed elbow into the back of his target’s open joint. The technique combined savage power with military precision to dislocate the man’s elbow. Jake clasped his left hand over the guard’s mouth to muffle his scream then bodily lifted him back upstairs, while Dozer and Priest took up defensive positions either side of the door.

  Jake jerked the guard’s face toward a security keypad beside the door. “Passcode,” he demanded.

  Through Jake’s gloved hand, the guard spat a defiant refusal. With the kubotan in his free hand, Jake let go of the man’s face and, in a split-second, rammed the five-and-a-half inch long Japanese steel dowel sideways into the man’s mouth as far as it would go. The protruding ends of the small weapon forced the guard’s cheeks back, forming a maniacal grimace. Normally used to add weight and hardness to hand strikes, the steel kubotan crunched between the guard’s molars as it stretched the flesh at the corners of his mouth. Jake then grabbed the guard’s right wrist with his left hand, forcing it outward from the man’s body, while driving his right elbow violently upward into the armpit, dislocating the guard’s right shoulder.

  Both arms now hung loosely at the sentry’s sides. Tears of pain streamed from his eyes while blood trickled from the corners of his mouth as he strained to accommodate the diameter of the kubotan without breaking his back teeth.

  Jake turned to Priest. “We haven’t got ten minutes to do this your way. Either he talks or we blow the door.”

  Priest shrugged and regarded the pitiful wreck. “Looks like you’re buggered, mate. Why don’t you just give us the passcode before our friend here gets upset?”

  Close to breaking but still defiant, the man shook his head.

  “I hope you like drinking your dinner, mate,” Dozer said before pretending to cover his eyes. “I can’t watch.”

  Jake wrapped his right hand over the guard’s head then placed the heel of his left hand under the man’s chin. “You aren’t the first man I’ve put in this position,” Jake said in a fierce whisper. “There are three things could happen now. Your jaw could snap in the middle, it could dislocate – just like your elbow and your shoulder – or your teeth could shatter. I’ve seen all possible combinations of the three. Last chance – what’s the pass-code?”

  Jake applied gradual upward pressure with his left hand, watching the sentry’s eyes began to bulge. The pain was far greater than the man had expected. He began blinking and grunting wildly. Jake released the pressure. “Passcode?”

  The man nodded in acquiescence. As Jake began to remove the kubotan, he said, “If I take this out, and you don’t tell me the code, or if you give me the wrong numbers, I’ll cut your balls off and shove them down your throat before I put this thing back in your mouth and start again. Are we clear?”

  The man nodded more vigorously. Jake pried his mouth open just enough to remove the weapon. No sooner was it clear of his mouth than the guard blurted out, “Two-seven-seven-eight-two-three.”

  “Well, that seems to have worked.” Jake smiled at Priest.

  The Aussie shrugged, keeping his watchful eye over the empty grounds. “Never said it wouldn’t, Jakey.”

  Dozer punched the numbers into the keypad while Jake held the battered and broken lookout by the throat. When the door bolt clunked open, Jake gave the guard a gentle slap on the cheek. “Good boy – looks like you get to live,” he said, before slamming his fist holding the kubotan into the base of the man’s neck. “Sleep tight.”

  Jake dumped the instantly unconscious guard behind some bushes at the side of the entrance then turned to the door. Priest ducked low on the right side, and Dozer stayed high on the left, while Jake took the middle position. Priest pushed the heavy door. It opened to reveal a wide, deserted entry hall. Jake checked left and right inside the door before entering; the Australians followed close behind. The entry exposed a cavernous entertaining area with a high, vaulted ceiling. The room resembled a Victorian boudoir, opulently decorated with ornate period furniture, hand-woven rugs, and beautiful works of art. Business was obviously good.

  Jake whispered into his comms unit for Mike Lee to follow them in and guard the main entrance. Then the three intruders walked along the left wall toward the first of three closed double doorways. No light emanated from beneath the door, but Jake crouched to listen a few seconds. Satisfied the room was vacant, he moved on toward the next door directly to the rear of the main entertaining area. As he neared, Jake could see light glowing from under the double doors. He held a closed fist in the air, and the team stopped just short of the entrance. A shadow crossed the beam of light spilling from under the door. Jake turned to his men, now holding two fingers up to his eyes then pointing under the door.

  Priest crept to the far side of the entrance, while Dozer stayed on Jake’s flank as he moved to the near side of the door. Jake reached for the handle and pressed gently. The heavy brass fixture gave way, tilting downward under Jake’s fingers. He held the handle in place, and looked to Priest. The Australian nodded while Dozer gave Jake a light pat on the shoulder. Jake moved to the center of the entrance and pushed gently inward as Dozer and Priest aimed their M4’s. The door swung open without a sound, revealing a man standing behind a desk at the far side of the room, with his back to the entrance. The man wore an expensive, pin-striped charcoal suit and spoke softly into his cell phone.

  Jake and his comrades flowed into the spacious room in silence, checking each side of the door as they went. Another man in his sixties sat on a sofa on the right side of the room. He looked through bifocals, checking an arra
y of surgical implements and bandages on a large coffee table in front of the sofa. As the three intruders came into his peripheral vision, the man tilted his head forward to peer over his glasses. The seated man froze in fear as Dozer and Priest trained their weapons on him, and Jake held a finger to his lips. Priest moved toward the sofa while Dozer pulled the heavy door closed behind them.

  The well-dressed man behind the desk finished his call and turned to face the room. With Jake’s gun sights aimed at his head, the man put his phone down on the desk and spoke: “It appears I underestimated your tenacity, Jake Riley.”

  Chapter 33

  Vladimir Petrov sensed something was wrong. “Stop the car,” he said, looking at the guard post then up to the camera above the gate at the front of the Ugolev compound. “We have company. Sasha, tell the others to get back here quickly. But no tire screeching – we don’t want the Militsiya sticking their noses where they don’t belong.”

  While Sasha made the call, the driver pressed the remote gate control and guided the vehicle toward the house. Twenty yards from the front entrance, Petrov said, “This is close enough.”

  Ignoring the pain in his abdomen, the big man climbed out of the car. As his bykis followed him out, Petrov put a hand on Sasha’s shoulder. “How long before the others arrive?”

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  “We can’t wait that long. Give me a weapon.”

  Sasha looked at the knife protruding from his brigadier’s belly. The scarves they’d used to pack around the hilt were thickly matted with blood. Petrov caught Sasha’s stare and glanced down to check the status of his wound. “Stop wasting time, Sasha,” he said, grabbing a Steyr assault rifle from his right-hand man. “Your pakhan is in there, and so are the intruders. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Inside the house, Mike Lee crouched low, peering through the inch-wide opening in the front door. He’d watched the big limousine pull up in the driveway with its lights off. As Petrov and his men got out of the car, Lee spoke into his comms, “A car just pulled up. Soldiers are coming.”

  Jake replied, “How many?”

  “Too dark to see, but there’s only one car.”

  “Come to us – we’re in the room at the far end of the main hall.” Keeping his .45 trained on Ugolev, Jake turned to Dozer: “You’ve got the Russian.”

  As Lee darted through the middle of the main hall toward Ugolev’s office, Jake moved to the door. Dozer, meanwhile, stepped behind Ugolev to wrap his massive arm firmly around the Russian’s neck.

  “Lee,” Jake said, opening the door to let in the ex-CIA man, “cover the guy on the sofa. Priest – you’re with me.”

  Priest moved into position on the left side of the doorframe, while Jake took the right. Seconds later, the door burst open, and Petrov’s driver barged in. His jaw dropped at the sight of his pakhan helplessly headlocked by a huge man whose other arm was aiming a gun directly at him. Before the driver could react, Dozer fired a round through the center of his forehead. As the body dropped to the floor, Petrov’s bykis began their entry, hugging the doors for cover. Jake and Priest fired two shots each from behind the double doors. The silenced rounds found their marks, and as Sasha fell to the floor his finger involuntarily squeezed the trigger on his rifle. The Steyr AUG sprayed automatic fire into the floor, throwing dust and chips of wood into the air. Jake and Priest came around their doors to put an additional round each into the bodyguards’ heads. The seasoned soldiers then crouched to check the outer room.

  “Clear,” Jake said.

  Priest began to pull the dead bykis into the room, but Jake stopped him. “Don’t bother,” he said, stepping over the bodies. “If there were any more, they’d be here by now.”

  Jake refocused his attention on Ugolev. “Bring him out here, Dozer.”

  The big Australian released his grip on Ugolev’s neck, pushing him out from behind his desk toward the center of the room. Jake walked over and stared the shorter man in the face. “Why did you kill my brother?”

  Despite the circumstances, Ugolev remained completely calm. “Look around you, Mr. Riley,” he said. “How many men do you think I’ve had to kill to get where I am?”

  Jake slapped the Russian crime lord hard on the side of his face. Regaining his composure, Ugolev rubbed his cheek. “You can torture me all you like, but I don’t recall having killed anyone named Riley.”

  Jake realized his error. The CIA had given him his new identity three years previously, so Ugolev knew him only as Jake Riley. “His name was Shane,” Jake said. “But not Shane Riley.”

  The Australian brothers looked at each other in confusion. Mike Lee, however, showed no sign of surprise. Instead he moved toward the center of the room, saying, “Just end him, Jake – and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Ugolev ignored Lee. He smiled and said, “In that case, Mr. Riley, I would suggest you start by telling me your true family name.”

  Jake had kept his real identity a closely guarded secret since he’d left Delta Force. He’d made many enemies during his service; in his current circle Mike Lee was the only person who knew his secret. Jake’s infallibly constructed CIA cover not only helped him to operate undetected on his personal missions, but was crucial in maintaining Tik’s safety – and that of other former associates. But he now realized, if he wanted to get to the bottom of his brother’s death, he must reveal it to Ugolev.

  Jake looked at Dozer, then at Priest. “I’m sorry, guys. I couldn’t give up my cover. It’s kept Tik safe since I got her out of Laos.”

  “Don’t do it, Jake,” Lee interrupted. “You don’t need to know why he did it – just kill the bastard!”

  But Jake was resolute. He stared into Ugolev’s eyes. “Burton,” he said. “My brother’s name was Shane Burton.”

  “Nicky?” a voice came from the doorway.

  Dozer, Priest, and Jake spun their weapons toward the door. “Hold!” Jake shouted.

  Dozer and Priest held fast as Jake focused on the large, hunched figure in the doorway. A Steyr assault rifle hung at the big man’s side, and a knife handle protruded from his belly. Struggling against shock from blood loss, the big man dropped his gun to the floor as he repeated, “Nicky – is that you?”

  Jake hadn’t heard that voice or that name in over four years. The covert warrior was stunned by the sight before him. He tried to move toward the man, but his feet were glued to the floor. Suddenly, Mike Lee pushed Jake aside and took aim at Sergey Ugolev. Dozer caught Lee’s movement and dived toward the former CIA man, grabbing for his gun as Lee took the shot. Lee’s 9mm bullet ripped through Dozer’s left shoulder as the Australian’s massive right fist ploughed into Lee’s head. As Lee hit the floor, Priest neatly placed a shot into his thigh. Lee screamed, grabbing at his leg, while Priest darted toward his younger brother.

  “Would someone please tell me what the hell’s going on here?” Dozer said, holding pressure on his shoulder wound.

  Jake ignored everything but the man in the doorway. Struggling with his own confusion, he peered through the dust still hanging in the air from Sasha’s gunfire. His vision focused on the face he thought he’d never see again – the face of his brother, Shane Burton. As Jake slowly began moving toward his brother, Ugolev called out, “Vladimir – what is the meaning of this?”

  But Ugolev’s right-hand man didn’t answer his pakhan. Blood oozing from his belly wound, and his younger brother standing there before him, the big man knew he would never again play the role of Vladimir Petrov – a role he’d been playing for more than three years. None of it mattered anymore. Shane Burton started to move toward Jake. “Nicky, is it really you?”

  Chapter 34

  Overcome by shock, Shane Burton began to slump to the floor. Jake made the distance just in time to catch his brother as he fell. Jake pulled the older and larger man up, hooking Shane’s arm around his neck for support. As Jake half-carried Shane toward the sofa, the old bespectacled man got up to make room for a man whom he’d kno
wn almost four years as Ugolev’s brigadier, Vladimir Petrov. Jake gently lowered his brother onto the sofa, easing his brother’s head onto the cushions, then looked at the instruments laid out on the table nearby.

  “You’re a doctor, yes?” He glared at the old man. “Do something now, or you’re a dead man.”

  The old man sputtered something in Ukrainian then looked to Ugolev as if for a cue. When Ugolev nodded, the old man spoke in English and began pulling on some surgical gloves. “I am Dr. Artem Yovenko, Sergey Ugolev’s personal physician. Your threats do not concern me – I do this for Mr. Ugolev, not for you, American swine.”

  “There is no need for discourtesy, Artem,” Ugolev said. “I don’t care what Mr. Riley calls him – this is still our Vladimir Petrov.”

  “You’ve gotta give it to him,” Dozer commented to Priest. “The bloke’s got bloody good manners. I reckon his mum would be proud.”

  Priest shook his head; still pressing hard on his brother’s wound. “I don’t give a shit about his mum or his bloody manners,” he said, glowering at Ugolev. “If that doc doesn’t fix my brother up when he’s done, I’ll kill you myself – got it, mate?”

  Ugolev smiled dismissively and began to walk toward the sofa.

  “Oy, where do you think you’re going?” Dozer said, pointing his .45 at Ugolev’s head. “I never said you could move. Sit down on the floor right where you are and don’t move a bloody muscle.”