State of Conspiracy (Titus Black Thriller series Book 8)

by R. J. Patterson

  Seconds later, a gunman appeared on the balcony from Ward’s room, searching for Black. The man didn’t turn fully to the right before Black hit him with a center mass shot before squeezing off another shot that hit him in the head. The man toppled over the railing, landing with a sickening thud on the sidewalk four stories down.

  Black heard men on the street screaming as car doors opened. Seconds later, bullets started whizzing past Black. He surveyed the surroundings again and noticed a drainage pipe he could use to shimmy up onto the roof just above him. Before he could make the move, he recognized that he needed to lay down some cover.

  Black fired several shots at the two men below. He hit one of them in the leg, sending him sprawling to the ground. The other man hustled to take cover around the passenger side of the car. Black seized that moment to scurry up the pole and reach the roof. As he rolled out of harm’s way, bullets sprayed through the area, taking chunks of concrete out of the wall.

  Keeping low, Black hustled across the hotel and searched for any openings that might lead to the roof. And as he suspected, there was only one.

  Black surveyed the area for the best spot to pick off anyone who attempted to access the rooftop. He located a place just behind a series of air conditioning units. Despite the cooler temperatures, the machines still hummed, creating a dull roar. Black eased into a prone position and readied himself for the impending onslaught of attackers.

  When the first man shoved the door open, Black hit him with a head shot, toppling him to the ground before he even had a chance to scan the roof. Another man stumbled over the first guy. Black waited until the man scrambled to his feet before putting two shots in his chest.

  Suddenly, there was a log jam near the door, preventing it from shutting.

  Black reloaded and prepared for another wave. But it never fully materialized. Two minutes passed before another gunman ventured onto the roof. Black wasted him and then waited.

  In the distance, the first signs of sunrise lit up the sky across the water. After five more minutes, Black decided to head back inside. He crept down the stairwell and came to Ward’s room. A security bar kept the door cracked. Black eased inside.

  He kept his gun trained in front of him as he cleared the space. The only person in the room was Ward, who was bleeding out. Black checked his pulse, which was faint but existent.

  “Paramedics are on their way,” Black said, as sirens wailed in the distance.

  “No, they’re not,” Ward said in a gruff voice. “I know I won’t make it.”

  “I’m sorry, Ethan,” Black said. “I—”

  “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. Just make sure you get Ahmed and the rest of those bastards.”

  Ward’s eyes closed as he fell limp. Black cursed under his breath as he recognized that Ward’s pulse was gone.

  He wanted to lament his friend’s loss, but a sound from the hallway snapped Black back to the gravity of the situation.

  He stole across the room and hid in the coat closet near the front door. The breeze caused the door to bang against the security chain. On the other side of the room, the curtains flapped in the wind.

  Moments later, another armed man entered the room. He knelt next to Ward’s body and checked for a pulse. Then the man walked toward the table in the corner and started digging through Ward’s things.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Black said as he emerged from the closet.

  The man froze.

  “Hands in the air where I can see them,” Black said.

  The man followed Black’s commands.

  “Now, turn around so I can see you,” Black ordered.

  The intruder slowly spun toward Black. It was Magan.

  “Well, well, well,” Black said, shaking his head. “I wish I could say I was surprised.”

  “Your friend was a fool,” Magan said.

  “As were you for thinking that your goons could take care of me.”

  Magan laughed defiantly. “You won’t win.”

  “Bold prediction for someone who won’t be around to see he’s wrong,” Black said.

  He squeezed off two rounds into Magan’s chest. He gasped for air as blood pooled around his body.

  “That’s for betraying my friend like you did,” Black said.

  Magan attempted to reply, but couldn’t get the words out. Black shook his head before firing a shot that hit Magan between the eyes. Ward’s traitorous informant fell face first onto the bed before bouncing off and tumbling to the floor.

  Black snatched up his bag along with Ward’s and headed toward the back stairwell. Once Black reached the street level, he strode through a back exit and wove through a labyrinth of alleyways. He hustled along until he came to the back side of the block. Walking briskly, he headed toward a major intersection that was bustling with activity as the city came to life with the dawn of a new day.

  Black hailed a cab for the airport. He wanted to call Shields, but decided texting would be more secure given the circumstances.

  The driver seemed uninterested in small talk, rocking back and forth to the reggae rhythms pulsing through his car’s speakers.

  Black explained that he’d been compromised and that Ward was dead.

  Heading to the airport now

  When Black reached the airport, he gave the driver a generous tip before bolting toward the private plane hangars. He showed his passport to a man at the customs kiosk and slipped a hundred dollar bill across the counter. That was more than enough to earn Black a permissive nod and entry into the area without further questioning or inspection.

  Black waited until he was out of sight before racing toward the hangar housing Blunt’s private plane.

  When he reached the jet, the door was shut. Black slapped the side of the aircraft to see if the pilot was inside. After a few seconds, the door buzzed as it slowly opened. The pilot squinted as he checked his watch and then glanced at Black.

  “Do you realize what time it is?” the pilot asked.

  Black nodded. “It’s time to go.”

  “What the—”

  Black dispensed with bringing a ladder over. Instead, he placed his hands on the plane’s floor and pulled himself up.

  “What is going on?” the wide-eyed pilot asked.

  “We need to get out of here right now,” Black said.

  “What’s happening?”

  “There’s no time for questions,” Black said, pointing toward the cockpit. “If you’d like to avoid certain death or imprisonment—or both—you need to start going through your checklist so we can get this bird in the air ASAP.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “I’ll explain later, but I’m dead serious,” Black said.

  “Roger that.”

  The pilot scurried toward the cockpit and started going through his checklist. Meanwhile, Black stowed his belongings, save for a few weapons. He wasn’t sure if Magan had had time to alert any of Ahmed’s men about the situation, but Black didn’t want to take any chances. He reloaded all his weapons and prepared for a gunfight.

  These bastards will never take me alive.

  Black’s phone buzzed after a few minutes with a text from Shields.

  Don’t do anything stupid

  Black smiled at the unexpected message. He thought he’d get a dire warning from Shields instead of passive permission to wreak havoc on Ahmed’s goons.

  “How are we looking up there?” Black shouted toward the cockpit.

  “We’re coming along. Maybe two or three more minutes before we get this plane in the air.”

  “You’ve got ninety seconds if you want to avoid any harrowing escapes,” Black said. He wasn’t sure if his prediction would prove accurate, but he felt compelled to express urgency to the captain.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Black looked up to see the other pilot staggering to his feet.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “We’re about to be under fire if we aren’t rolling do
wn the tarmac in about sixty seconds,” Black said.

  The pilot shouted a few expletives before stumbling toward the cockpit to join the plane’s captain.

  Black continued to prepare for an assault, meticulously checking all of his weapons. He let out a sigh of relief when he heard the whine of the first engine rattling to life. The second one followed quickly thereafter.

  “Great job, gentlemen,” Black shouted.

  He caught himself as the plane jerked forward and exited the hangar. The pilot sought permission to take off, which was flatly denied due to the lack of paperwork submitted by the crew. Instead of taking no for an answer, the pilot explained that it was an emergency situation and that he’d send the paperwork from the air.

  Black couldn’t make out the entire conversation, but he could tell from the screeching over the speakers that the people in the flight tower weren’t happy with the pilot’s decision to defy their orders.

  The jet rumbled along the runway, each bump coming more quickly than the last. As the plane swung around to prepare to take off, Black looked out the window and noticed a convoy of trucks speeding toward them. One of the vehicles came to a stop and Black noticed a man climbing into the bed of the truck with a rocket launcher on his shoulder.

  “They’ve got RPGs,” Black shouted toward the front.

  “I see him,” the pilot said.

  Black hustled toward the cockpit. “Are we in trouble?”

  The pilot chuckled. “I used to fly for the Thunderbirds. I can do evasive maneuvers in my sleep.”

  “As long as we’re airborne,” the co-pilot added.

  “That’s a fact,” the pilot said. “If we’re on the ground when he decides to shoot, we’ll be sitting ducks.”

  “Then let’s go,” Black said, slapping the back of the captain’s chair. “I want to see your mad skills in action.”

  “Roger that,” the captain said with a grin.

  The volume of the engines escalated for a few more seconds before the plane lurched forward. Black hustled back to his seat and buckled up. He clutched a pair of guns and braced for the worst.

  As the engines roared, the plane lurched skyward.

  Within seconds after leaving the runway, Black saw a flash of light as one of Ahmed’s men in the trucks launched a missile.

  “Incoming,” Black shouted.

  “I see it,” the pilot said as the plane banked hard left and dove downward.

  The missile soared over the plane. Black let out a sigh of relief, his heart still in his throat. The plane returned toward an upward trajectory as the engines rattled. He looked out the window as the ground disappeared beneath them in the morning light.

  “Hell of an exit,” the pilot said.

  “A little too close for me,” Black said.

  “We’re all still alive, aren’t we?” the pilot said, not waiting for an answer. “But that begs the question: What did you do to piss off those guys like that?”

  Black shrugged. “I guess terrorists don’t like it when you waste a half-dozen of their goons.”

  “Apparently not,” the pilot said with a chuckle. “Now, sit back and relax. I expect a smoother ride from here on out.”

  Black wasn’t in the mood for jokes. Ward’s gullibility put Black at risk, not to mention costing him a shot at taking down Ahmed. Black knew there’d be considerable fallout for the miscue, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it now.

  He said a prayer for Ward and his family and then closed his eyes.

  CHAPTER 8

  Lambarene, Gabon

  RACHEL GELLER PULLED her wavy brown hair taut and secured it in a ponytail. Rolling up her sleeves, she joined a supply chain unloading a U.S. cargo plane in the village of Lambarene. Located on the banks of the Ogooue River, the town had suffered a devastating flood a week earlier that had wiped out all surrounding infrastructure. At the request of the Gabon ambassador, Geller made a few phone calls to get the U.S. military involved in the humanitarian mission.

  One by one, she shuttled pallets of bottled water down the line in an effort to empty the plane as quickly as possible. For the first time since the flood, the dirt runway was firm enough for large planes to land. However, a large thunderstorm had formed to the east and was heading toward Lambarene at a fast pace. And if the ground softened any more, both her jet and the military aircraft would be stuck for a while, creating a security nightmare.

  She decided not to inform the administration about the unscheduled stop since she was certain it would happen. Her experience in the Marines had taught her that asking for forgiveness was always better than requesting permission. And while Young would undoubtedly be upset about her helping with the humanitarian mission, he would be beyond irate if she couldn’t complete the main purpose of her visit to the continent.

  A State Department staffer snapped a few pictures of her and the rest of the soldiers unloading supplies for the devastated community. After an hour of intense work, the cargo bay was empty. She doled out high-fives with some of the people she’d been working with, both military officials and local villagers alike. Everyone was all smiles until thunder rumbled in the distance. While the noise sent many people scrambling for shelter, Geller looked up at the sun, which was still beating down on them.

  She tapped a villager on the arm and asked him in French why everyone was running.

  “The storms come fast here,” he said before darting off.

  Geller scanned the area before locking eyes with one of her staffers, who was gesturing for Geller to join her.

  “What is it?” Geller shouted.

  “We’re going to get stuck if we don’t get out of here right now,” the aide said, grabbing Geller’s arm and ushering her toward the jet.

  They hurried toward the plane, its engines already humming. Once aboard, the pilot wasted no time in explaining the situation to her.

  “Sorry about the quick exit, Madam Secretary,” said Mitch Fogle, her pilot. “Between the condition of the dirt runway and the approaching storm, we’ve got a very short window to take off or else we’ll be here far longer than I imagine you want to be.”

  “It’s that bad?” Geller asked.

  Fogle nodded and pointed to the radar, which showed a fast approaching storm poised to engulf the entire area.

  “Buckle up, ma’am,” he said. “It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”

  She complied with the orders before digging her fingers into the armrests on her chair. The inertia of the plane zipping along the runway forced her back against her headrest. Seconds later, the jet soared skyward.

  Lightning flashed across the sky, tentacles of electricity dancing wildly through the billowing clouds. Geller closed her eyes and then made the Sign of the Cross. As the plane ascended, it shook, rattling every loose object in the cabin. Geller swallowed hard and said a quick prayer under her breath.

  Several tense minutes elapsed before the plane emerged out of the clouds and found smoother air.

  Geller opened her eyes and hailed the pilot on the intercom.

  “What is it, Madam Secretary?” Fogle asked.

  “Are we safe now?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s smooth sailing until we have to stop for fuel in about six hours. So just sit back and relax.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “That was some world class flying.”

  “We were trained by the U.S. Air Force, ma’am, by the best flight instructors in the world.”

  She closed her eyes again and drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  GELLER AWOKE to a beeping noise coming from the direction of the cockpit. She glanced at Janet Reston, her top aide, who sat wide-eyed across from her. Matt Nixon, the head of her security detail, wore a worried look on his face.

  “What’s going on?” Geller asked.

  “The plane is having some issues,” Janet said.

  “What kind of issues?” Geller asked.

  “The kind that require us to make an emergency landing,” Nixon s
aid. “The pilot said he didn’t think it was anything serious, but he wants to check it out.”

  “Where are we landing?” Geller asked.

  Janet sucked a breath through her teeth. “Kinshasa.”

  “Does anyone know we’re in this part of the world?” Geller asked.

  “They do now thanks to all the social media posts I uploaded during the first part of our flight,” Janet said.

  Geller cursed under her breath. “Kinshasa is a nightmare.”

  “I’m fully aware, ma’am,” Nixon said. “I discussed this situation with the pilot and he’s going to make sure we won’t be exposed.”

  “And how does he plan to do that?”

  “Once we land, we’re going straight to a private jet hangar with its own security,” Nixon said. “We’ll be safe there until the issue with the plane is resolved.”

  “Has he communicated with anyone in Kinshasa yet?” Geller asked.

  “I believe so, ma’am. I just—”

  Geller unbuckled her seatbelt and bolted toward the cockpit. She opened the door and both pilots turned toward her.

  “Ma’am, I need you to return to your seat,” Fogle said. “We’re about to start our approach into the Kinshasa airport.”

  She didn’t move. “Did you tell anyone we were coming?”

  “I’ve been communicating with the tower, if that’s what you mean,” Fogle said. “Now, I’m going to have to ask you to—”

  Geller’s glare intensified. “Did you tell them that I was on this plane?”

  He nodded.

  “That was careless,” she said. “You should’ve checked with me first. Now, you’ve put everyone here in danger.”

  Fogle scowled. “If I hadn’t said who I was, we never would’ve received permission to head straight to a private hangar, which is secure. I don’t have time to argue about this. My job is to fly this aircraft and make sure we get where we’re going safely.”

  “And that won’t happen if you announce our arrival in a place like Kinshasa,” she said. “Do you realize how dangerous that place is?”