Head of the Serpent

by Allen Manning

  John saw a rifle, like the one he held, strapped to his back. He broke clear of the truck and ran in a low crouch next to the rack with the wings.

  He moved again, making his way next to a cart with various tools and bundles of wires, kneeling to stay out of sight. The whine of an electric motor announced the arrival of an offroad vehicle of some sort.

  A second man, just as big as the first, and dressed the same, stepped out and walked into the glow of the work lights. John froze, watching the leader step out and walk quickly to the computers. He turned and pointed around, barking more commands.

  For another minuted John watched the man walking around, hurriedly making preparations at the drone.

  “I’m sure your gut is telling you the same thing my software is. That’s Azhaar bin Hashim.”

  “This ends here,” John said.

  “Look, I know what you’re going to say, but don’t you think you should wait for the others?” Parker asked.

  “You and I both know that there’s no way to let them know what I see here.”

  “Wait. I’m going to patch Curtis in on this conversation. Maybe he can have the pilot swing the chopper around the mountain to find that tunnel,” Parker said, almost pleading.

  “There’s no time. It looks like he’s downloading the data to a portable drive,” John said. “I need to shut that computer down, and stop bin Hashim here.”

  * * *

  He stepped out as one of the bodyguards spun around. Before John could put his sights on bin Hashim, the big man stepped into the path of the incoming burst.

  The rounds thumped him in the gut, piercing the armor. The serpent dropped to his knees, but he reached back to bring his rifle into the fight.

  John cursed and bolted as the second man had his weapon up, snapping out several bursts. John dove and rolled behind a crate with spare parts for the drone.

  He rose up fast, catching the enemy off guard, and fired at the first guard again, killing him. The serpent fell back, arm out to the side as his weapon spit a three round burst, killing one of the younger men assembling the drone.

  The second bodyguard advanced, firing a series of bursts, the penetrator rounds punching holes through John’s cover. He stayed low, moving to the side to find another barrier. A bullet slipped through the crate, lancing through John’s left upper arm.

  He felt the heat and pain pulse out, but the next burst stopped cold as John pressed his back against a heavy rack, full of metallic cylinders, tapering to a point. The bodyguard fired again, the bullets bouncing off the tungsten-rich rods John used for protection.

  His left arm weak and shaking, John used his good arm to prop himself up against the rack and return fire. The foolish serpent had been standing out in the open, advancing on his prey.

  John’s rifle spit burst after burst, perforating the serpent’s chest and head. His weapon clicked empty. John stood, looking for bin Hashim as his hand fell to the drop leg holster. Nothing. The pistol had been knocked from his grip in an earlier confrontation.

  The head of the serpents let out a cry of fury and opened fire with the first dead bodyguard’s rifle. John dove forward and rolled behind a series of stalagmites. Azhaar bin Hashim circled the rocks, probing out with repeated bursts.

  “It is too late, Stone!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the cave.

  “It’s not too late,” John said. “Surrender now. Maybe I’ll just break your arms and leave your legs alone.”

  “You Americans are all the same. You think the battle is never lost as long as you still have your tongue to spit out clever little quips,” bin Hashim said.

  “I was basing that on the fact that you’re surrounded, most of your men are dead, and I’m in a pretty bad mood,” John said.

  The serpent rocked his head back, bellowing in laughter. “Once I kill you, I will escape, and the God Hand will still be in my possession. The western world will never be able to stop the Four Serpents, as we encircle the globe.”

  Azhaar bin Hashim stepped quickly to the side, bringing the rifle up just as he reached a position giving him a clear line of sight. But John was listening to the sound of his voice and tracking bin Hashim’s movement, waiting for his moment to strike.

  The Serpent leader’s muzzle sparked, spitting out wings of flames to either side. John had already changed directions, charging back to the drone parts.

  He skidded to a stop, grabbing one of the javelins off the rack. Bin Hashim swung the muzzle to track the Ranger. He pressed the trigger, unleashing full-auto fury.

  Hoisting the dense, kinetic-strike javelin to his shoulder, John stepped forward, driving his full weight into the throw. A bullet punched through John, just below his ribs, as he hurled the tapered rod, letting out a grunt through clenched teeth.

  The impact sent a jarring wave through his body. He dropped to a knee, catching himself with his uninjured arm. The kinetic javelin slammed into Azhaar bin Hashim, driving him backward. His body struck a tanker truck behind him, and a loud ring reverberated through the cavern.

  John rose to his feet, steadying himself on the crates of spare parts. The rifle fell from bin Hashim's hand, clattering to the floor. He clutched the tungsten rod protruding from his chest and coughed gouts of blood. The javelin had punched through his body, separating ribs as it passed through, just below his heart. His body was slack, but stayed upright, pinned to the truck.

  Jet fuel and blood poured from the wound, pooling at bin Hashim's feet. A trail of the reddish fluid snaked outward.

  His lung was punctured, and his life poured out in dark red pulsing streams. Wheezing his last breaths, bin Hashim glared at his enemy with fiery hatred. John watched the strength seep from the man through squinted eyes.

  He limped forward, pulling the last flare from the pouch on his thigh. Popping the cap to expose the tip, he looked the leader of the Four Serpents in the eye.

  “You should lighten up,” John said and sparked the stick to life

  He tossed the hissing flare on the ground, in the oncoming path of bloody fuel.

  The liquid reached the flare, birthing a serpent of intense flame. The fire flashed toward the dying man, engulfing his entire body in a whoosh. Rasping hisses escaped the man’s lips as he writhed in agony.

  John rushed across the open cavern, toward the exit tunnel on the other side. The sound of the explosion dominated his senses. The solid rock walls shook and crumbled, as a wave of heat washed over his body.

  The flames swirled around inside the cave, following him into the tunnels. John pistons his legs, and dove around a corner. Fire splashed off the walls all around him before the intense burning heat finally subsided.

  John groaned as he stood, casually patting a small flame off his pant leg. He used the loops and clasps on his vest to support his left arm and clutched a hand over the wound in his side. John continued through the tunnel, until he emerged on the other side of the mountain, and headed for the tree line in the distance.

  “What about the computers? The Drone?” Parker asked.

  John felt the rumble, deep in the mountain’s heart. Popping and crackling rattled the air. He looked over his shoulder as he stepped out into the fresh night air. “That’s all taken care of.”

  John made sure Parker had a clear view through the tactical cam of the cave collapsing, crushing the God Hand underneath a literal mountain of rock. The tunnel followed shortly after. John raised an arm to shield his face from the dust cloud that belched out.

  “Whoa,” Parker said, drawing the word out. “Is that it? Did we win?”

  “Yeah, kid. We won.”

  CHAPTER

  35

  “I see you,” Curtis said.

  John waved at the chopper, as he walked to a clearing in the trees, where the pilot would be able to land.

  “Have you reached the others yet?” John asked.

  “One of the police guys reached an area with a better signal,” Parker said. “I struggled for a bit with an online trans
lator, but then Gavreau came back out, and I let him know what had happened.”

  “Did anyone get hurt in the collapse?”

  “No, Gavreau and Silvestre were able to reach the other teams and pull them back. I imagine feeling the mountain around you shaking had to be pretty unnerving,” Parker said.

  “You have got that right,” Gavreau said, joining in on the conversation. “Please do me a favor. If I ever say something crazy, like suggesting to bring you on another operation, slap some sense into me.”

  “That I can do,” John said.

  * * *

  The AS532 Cougar sat in a clearing, in front of the remains of the Four Serpents’ hidden base. Inside the helicopter, a medic bandaged John’s arm and worked to stop the bleeding in his torso.

  “Are you sure, you do not want any painkillers?” the man asked in a heavy accent.

  “Ask me again once we’re sure the mission is over,” John said.

  Gavreau checked on his men, as another medic tended to other injuries. He shook hands with everyone nearby and tucked his helmet under an arm before walking over to John.

  “You are sure that it was Azhaar bin Hashim in there?” he asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

  “My gut says so,” John said. “But since I know you’re more of an evidence guy, Parker’s mob recognition software places the probability at about ninety-nine percent.”

  “Good enough for me.” Gavreau pulled his gloves off, tucked them into his helmet, and tossed it into the chopper.

  “Is that it, then?” John asked.

  Gavreau looked up toward the peak of the mountain with a sigh. “Dr. Takada is dead. Azhaar bin Hashim and all of Takada’s research is buried under that.” He looked John in the eye. “But we can never be too sure.”

  John nodded, agreeing with the sentiment.

  “Thank you, my friend.” Gavreau extended a hand.

  With a firm grasp, the two men exchanged nods and mutual respect for one another. John watched him as he rejoined the others. Curtis limped over and climbed into the Cougar with a grunt.

  “So, bin Hashim is twice dead,” he said. “What next? Hunt down his pets?”

  John smiled and pressed a hand on the bandage over the wound through is triceps. “If his dog learns to pilot a drone, then Fido is on the list.”

  Epilogue

  “Kind of like in the movies, overcast skies at a time like this, isn’t it?” Parker asked.

  John didn’t answer, only looking down from the top of a hill at the large crowd gathered below. Word of Marvin Van Pierce’s death spread fast through the network and other government agencies. The sea of people below had turned out for the man’s funeral. Full military honors.

  John and Parker watched the ceremony from a distance, and Curtis joined shortly after, leaning on a cane. Dr. Miranda Spencer held his other hand, helping him climb the hill. She gave the others a small, sad smile.

  “He had some career,” Curtis said, leaning on the cane with both hands.

  “I would consider my life a huge success if I had half that turnout at my funeral,” Parker said. “A quarter, even.”

  Still stoic, John just watched as the honor guard folded and presented the flag to a woman off to the side. He didn’t recognize her, having almost no exposure to Van Pierce’s personal life. John knew virtually nothing of the man outside of the work they had done together.

  Riflemen lined up, firing volley shots on command, saluting the man that they had come to honor. After a while, everything ended, and the crowd thinned. John just stood, still as an oak, watching and waiting.

  Curtis put a hand on his shoulder. “Marvin was a great man. This is a huge loss for the world.”

  “How many lives did he save?” John asked. He looked at Curtis. “How many more are in danger without a man like that doing what he did every day?”

  “I’m not so sure it can be measured that easily,” Curtis said. “People like that don’t come along too often.”

  “It’s up to us to fill that void,” John said.

  “What do you mean?” Miranda asked.

  “You’re not talking about joining another government team, are you?” Parker looked at the others in turn, a mix of confusion and concern twisting his features.

  “No. I’m not just talking about us,” John said.

  “This world has grown complacent,” Curtis said. “Apathetic to the battles happening around them, everywhere. Every day.”

  “Then society has to start small,” John said. “But when men like Azhaar bin Hashim or the Four Serpents rise up, we’ve got to strike back. Together.”

  “Right,” Parker said. “It’s a team effort.”

  “And we’ll be there to answer the call,” Curtis said. “For MVP.”

  John looked at Curtis, the corner of his mouth turning up in a hint of a smile. “Like you said, it’s not every day the world has someone like that watching over them.”

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  The Manning Brothers

  Want more from the Manning Brothers?

  Here’s a sneak peek of Miami Winter

  A Scott Maverick Thriller

  CHAPTER

  1

  “Stand down, Maverick. That’s an order.”

  Homicide Detective Scott Maverick tossed the radio onto the passenger seat of his car and pulled his badge from the back pocket of his jeans, hanging it by a chain around his neck. Adjusting his shoulder holster, he secured a Model 686, the latest offering from Smith & Wesson, chambered in .357 magnum. He stepped quickly up the driveway, past the lush manicured lawn. With back up still on the way, Scott made his move to the front door. Time was of the essence, and sitting back was out of the question.

  Nine weeks putting a case together and another couple of days securing a warrant, if Guy Barclay got away, hundreds of man-hours would be flushed down the drain. Guy was wanted for homicide, claiming three innocent lives, and Scott owed it to the people of Miami to take out the trash. He plucked the folded court document from his shirt pocket and jogged the last few yards to the heavy, ornate door, pounding with his fist as he stepped up onto the porch.

  “Metro-Dade PD. Open up, Guy,” the detective bellowed.

  Hushed voices and hurried footsteps came from just beyond the door. Someone was inside, and they were in a hurry to get out. Scott took a step back and kicked the front door in, drawing his gun and holding the folded paper with the other.

  “I’ve got a warrant for your arrest, Barclay,” Scott shouted. “Don’t bother running. You’re surrounded.” His voice echoed off of the hardwood floors and stone tiles.

  Two figures darted across the living room, streaking shapes in his eyes, heading for the hall in the back. In the early morning, the still golden slivers of light didn’t creep into all of the crevices, leaving large pools of darkness, making it difficult to recognizes specific individuals.

  Unsure if one of the people was his suspect, Scott shoved the revolver back into his shoulder holster and rushed around the corner to give chase. The two men saw their progress slowed by a bedroom door. The lead man fumbled with the knob while the trailing man turned to face the intruder barreling right for him. Scott was an imposing figure standing at six-two and tipping the scales at better than two-twenty. The barrel-chested detective wrapped thick arms around the m
an’s waist and buried a bowling ball of a shoulder into his gut.

  The impact carried the scrawny runner into his buddy, sending all three of them into the room, splintering the door as they passed. Scott regained his balance and saw that both of the men were out of the fight, rolling on the ground nursing bruised bodies. Neither were Barclay.

  Two distant pops rang out, and small chunks of the floor chipped away near Scott’s feet. Guy stood at the far end of the house, firing a small holdout piece at him before deciding better of it and turning to run. Scott picked up his momentum again, legs churning as he tore away at the distance, toward the man he was after.

  “If you surrender now, I won’t tack on attempted murder. Of a police officer no less.”

  Guy poked his head around the corner again with his pistol in hand. Scott ripped the revolver free from his shoulder rig and slammed his body behind a stone column as three more shots cracked through the air. Leading with the muzzle of his magnum, Scott sent a pair of thunder bolts back at the murder suspect. Melon sized holes appeared in the wall next to Guy, and he stumbled back on his heels.

  Scott resumed the chase. He rounded the corner to see Guy scooting away on his butt, the slide of his sub compact pistol locked back, showing that he was out of ammo. The Metro-Dade detective advanced, keeping his weapon trained on the overweight man.

  “On your feet, dirt bag.” Scott’s voice was as thick and intimidating as his arms. If one ever used the term muscular to describe a voice, it would be an apt description for this man’s words.

  Leaving the small pistol on the floor, Guy rose to his feet and straightened his silk bathrobe and adjusting the gold chain perched on the cushion of body hair. “Just give me a minute, officer.”