by James Samuel
The agents bundled up the steps together. James opened fire. They did too. Cries reverberated through the narrow stairway. He went down as the bullet went straight into his chest plate. Adrenaline drove him on as he kept firing and three agents went down. The other retreated down another flight of steps, calling for backup.
James cried out. His bulletproof vest had protected him from death, but the bullet still hit him like a punch with the end of a lead pipe. He didn’t want to think about how many bones had been cracked.
“What’s happening?” Sinclair said.
“Six floors to go.”
Time was running out. Every agent in the building would be converging on his position. Stumbling to his feet, he never let his gun drop. He used the railing for support as he clambered down the steps and over the bodies of the dead agents. It had all happened so fast he couldn’t even remember how many shots he’d fired.
“Freeze!” Another agent yelled as he came into view again.
James just fired without another word. His shot struck the agent in the arm. The agent fell against the wall clutching his arm. James kicked his gun away and kept making his way down. How quickly could they get to him? How well had his ruses worked?
More agents burst through the bottom door as he made it to the third floor. This time he saw enough to start firing before the agents even made it to his position. One went down. The others took cover.
“They’re calling in backup,” Sinclair said over the radio. “Another car just arrived.”
James didn’t reply as every floor became a battle. Every step became a step toward freedom. Bullets assaulted him every couple of seconds, embedding themselves in the wall and pinging off the metal railings. He returned fire. Every time he hit someone another agent would replace him.
Like a spreading virus, he couldn’t whittle the FBI down. James pulled out Scott’s gun to avoid reloading and fired from the second floor. One agent collapsed to the floor, blood spurting from his chest.
James ducked behind cover again as the FBI returned fire. “I need help. I can’t get out.”
“There’s nothing I can do. You’re trapped. Either go through or go back.”
“I can’t go back.” James fired again from his position. “I’ll never make it down.”
The whole building shook. Everyone lost their footing. Was that an earthquake?
“What was that?” James used the opportunity to inch his way down towards the door. The agents backed away. “Sinclair? Are you there?”
“I’m here. The side of the building just exploded. I don’t know what it was. It was like a bomb. The FBI are retreating.”
James smelt thick smoke above his head. The fire alarm continued to wail in hope, but he could already feel the heat coming from the heavens. He followed the agents with a half-crouched stance. What could have caused part of the skyscraper to explode?
He kicked at the door that went into the lobby. The FBI continued their fighting retreat. James sent a couple of return shots back, catching one of them in the leg. The door opposite him had a fiery orange glow shining onto the pavement outside.
James made a run for it, throwing himself across the lobby. The bullets pinged off the wall and the elevator doors to his side. He dove for cover. He didn’t have much time.
“Don’t come out into the parking lot,” said Sinclair. “Go around the back. I’ll pick you up.”
James tried to make a mental note of his location. How long would it take for the professionals of the Bureau to recover from the shock?
He didn’t have time to think about it. Throwing his shoulder against the glass doors, the blazing air from outside spurred him on further. He ran straight across the path and dove down the little grass verge on the other side. He spotted the dark treeline and the fence just beyond it.
“I’m running out of the back. There’s a fence here,” said James.
“Alright. Get over it quick. You’ll see the water on the other side. There’s a canal there. Can you swim across it?”
James didn’t know, but the firing had stopped. No vengeful FBI agents were calling for his blood. He pressed himself against the chain-link fence and scaled it. Each effort caused his chest to ache. It took mere seconds for him to drop down on the grass behind him. He peered out from behind the trees as the whirr of a helicopter’s rotors circled above the burning building.
“There’s a helicopter above me,” cried James. “Where are you?”
“I’m going around now. They won’t find me. Can you get across the canal?”
“It’s too risky. The private security from the island might be coming down on their speedboats. It’ll take me too long to swim across. I need a plan B.”
Sinclair cursed. “You can follow the trees around. I saw on the satellite photos another road away from Billionaire Bunker. If you can get there, I can meet you, but they might lock down the area.”
“Screw it. I’ll swim. They’ll be spreading out into the streets.”
“Fine. I know where you can get out, just go straight on from the canal straight to the street. Your radio might not work if it’s in the water too long.”
James dove into the water. He was a strong swimmer, but he wouldn’t win any records. The icy cold water enveloped him like a black mass. James croaked as the shock stopped his breath cold.
He gritted his teeth and began to swim, avoiding the lights of the shore. It was only a few hundred metres to the opposite shore, but every metre felt like agony after the battle he’d gone through. The saltwater seared all the little cuts and bruises. It took all his willpower and all his experience to stay focused and keep swimming.
“I’m halfway across. Can you hear me?”
“Still loud and clear.”
James heard another sound. The dreaded approach of a speedboat. He tilted his head to the side and saw the light in the distance. The glare almost blinded him. Closing his eyes, he plunged deep into the water. The ambient noise turned the engine into a dull thud, but he could still feel the currents parting as the boat cut the water in half.
He counted seconds in his head to distract himself. How long could he hold his breath before he had to resurface? Thoughts of drowning entered his head as the droning motor never seemed to cease.
James opened his eyes and saw only a glimpse of blackness with a few bobbing lights on land. He squeezed his eyes shut and swam to the surface again. A white light from the shore guided him. This one time, he resolved to move towards the light. Every foot made things clearer and brighter before he surfaced with a crash.
He took in deep gulps of air as he searched frantically for the boat or any signs of life. Nothing. Just the action somewhere in the distance. James continued his odyssey until he hit the side of a dock.
“Are you still there, Sinclair?” said James as he heaved himself from the canal.
His clothes and the bulletproof vest felt like rocks hanging from his body as he trudged off the dock and into the trees again. If the FBI wanted to find him, they would only have to follow the drips now.
“Sinclair?”
No answer. The water must have disabled the radio.
James tried to remember the location of the road. The FBI would soon start to fan out into Miami, determined not to let their designated terrorist escape.
He thrashed his way through the thick foliage, the city lights beckoning him forwards. Sinclair had never specified which part of the road they’d meet on. Once again, doubt crept into his mind as he emerged from the trees.
“Freeze!”
James halted. The gun levelled at him came from just a few feet away now. At the last hurdle, he’d stumbled. How could he have made it this far only for someone to catch up with him now? Slowly, he turned to the man holding the gun.
“Get in the car,” said Sinclair. “I’ve put it in a driveway down the hill.”
James didn’t move. He vibrated with a cocktail of rage and adrenaline.
“What?” Sinclair shrugged. �
��What’s wrong?”
“Fuck off, Sinclair.”
James stalked away to the car, his mission completed, his word intact.
Chapter Sixty-One
A long art deco pier jutted out into the Atlantic just north of Miami in the shadow of the sunset. James sat atop a large hill overlooking the beach below. The locals strolled along the sands as the sun glowed a vibrant red behind him, sending a devilish array of colour to the east.
James puffed on a cigarette as he imagined what it would have been like to enjoy this sort of view with Jessi. A week had passed since the incident at Romero’s mansion. In that time, he’d probed his contacts and managed to come up with nothing. He didn’t know if she was alive or dead. It still bothered him in his dreams.
No matter how many times he asked Sinclair to find her, he said he couldn’t do anything. James didn’t believe him for a second. Sinclair had a knack for tracking anyone down if he tried hard enough.
He groaned as Sinclair materialised behind him and jabbed him in the ribs.
“Another week, I would say, and we can leave. It should have died down enough by then.”
James refused to give Sinclair the satisfaction of getting a complaint out of him. The bullet he’d taken hadn’t managed to penetrate his body armour, but the blunt impact had broken a rib and cracked two others. Every breath came with a twinge. His injuries woke him every few hours with a sharp throb in his torso.
Still, the underground doctor Sinclair sourced had done well. A few weeks and he would be prepared to go back into the field again.
“Good. We are wasting time here. I’m half expecting Gallagher to show up. You heard anything from him yet?” asked James.
Sinclair sat down on the hill next to him. “No, not yet. I suppose he thinks we left Miami immediately. I’ve tried to keep total radio silence, so it doesn’t give us away.”
James grinned. “You’re scared of him, aren’t you?”
“Course I am. You’re a field agent. I work mainly in intelligence. You can take care of yourself. I’m in as much trouble as you are.”
“You shouldn’t worry about Gallagher. He’ll tell us how naughty we’ve been, and then we’ll be back on the next operation. It’s happened before. Whatever he thinks, we know he kept us in the dark about all this. He doesn’t have a leg to stand on, and he knows it.”
“Yes, but haven’t we dealt with enough trouble the last few weeks?”
James thought back to some of their previous operations, where they’d broken the rules and had to face their boss. No, this was far worse. They’d never gone rogue and murdered the client. They’d also never left behind a gutted skyscraper and a pile of dead FBI agents in their wake. Things would take a little longer to blow over this time.
“You’re right,” said James.
“We’re lucky that they haven’t managed to find any suspects in the news. They’re blaming a rival drug cartel and claiming it’s a terrorist attack. Bad news for them. Good news for us. We have nothing to worry about.”
James pinged the remainder of his cigarette off the top of the hill. He picked out another cigarette and lit it, before reclining on his back. If the FBI didn’t know who he was, it didn’t matter. He’d kept his word and he could sleep soundly.
“That agent, did he know your name? Your real name?”
“I told him, but he didn’t name me over his radio. Wouldn’t matter, would it?”
“Don’t be so sure.”
“James Winchester has been legally dead for the last five years, remember?”
“Let’s keep it that way. We don’t want anyone to think about looking into your record.”
Sinclair took out his phone and scrolled through his bursting email inbox. He shoved the screen in James’ face.
James removed his cigarette and read the email. He scratched his temple in confusion.
“Flight tickets,” said Sinclair. “Back to Europe. We shouldn’t stay in America too long. The Americans will be investigating what happened, no matter what they say in front of the news cameras. Even with our identities, I don’t want to take the risk. If we’re found here, nobody will be able to get us out.”
James sighed. Sinclair never could relax. Throughout their week off, he’d done nothing but follow the news and type away on his computer. He seemed determined to dig up any bad news he could.
“Why Europe?”
Sinclair took his phone back and pocketed it again. “I don’t know. Seems like the safest place. The moment we get inside the Schengen Zone, we can move around without having to show our passports. Should be easier to lay low if we need to. Also, we might need to meet Gallagher.”
James couldn’t argue with the logic. It had been over a year since he’d left European soil. Still, James didn’t like the continent. Too many bad memories from operations in and around Europe. Places like Mexico felt exotic, far away from everything and everyone who knew him.
“I just want to know one thing.” James puffed away from his prone position. “Where did those explosions come from?”
“Nothing to do with me.”
“Must be God, then.”
“If you believe in those things, you can call it God. Those were drones carrying explosions. There aren’t many people who have that sort of hardware. Someone was watching this play out the entire time and they decided to help you.”
“Okay, then it was God. He works in mysterious ways.”
Sinclair didn’t laugh. “Stop joking about it. This is serious. Those explosions allowed you to incinerate Romero and probably saved your life. You would have never made it out if that drone hadn’t hit the building.”
“Maybe it was Gallagher, or maybe even Blake?”
Sinclair shrugged. “Maybe. Sometimes it’s best to leave well enough alone. Take the help and move on. Leave it as one of life’s little mysteries.”
James had wondered who could have helped him that night. Blackwind did have the hardware, but he doubted Gallagher would have helped him like that. He sat up as the sun continued to set and the wind blew in from across the Atlantic. “We should go. It’s not that warm up here.”
Sinclair looked up at him as James looked to beat a hasty retreat.
He trudged away with his cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth, “Come on, Sinclair.”
“Wait,” Sinclair called after him. “We need to talk about what happens next.”
But James paid no attention to him. He didn’t want to contemplate where they would wind up next. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know who had detonated those explosions. Sinclair was right. Sometimes, it was best to leave well enough alone.
End of Book One
Keep reading for a preview of Overthrow (A James Winchester Thriller Book 2)
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Overthrow Chapter One
Sihanoukville, Preah Sihanouk Province, Cambodia
Dark plots stalked the streets of Sihanoukville. The sleepy town of Sihanoukville on Cambodia’s south coast once welcomed Western backpackers looking to discover pristine beaches and a relaxed way of life. Sihanoukville had changed.
Glaring neon signs shined from Chinese casinos dominating the town. Enormous Edens of gambling, hotels, and restaurants stamped upon the dreams and ambitions of the local Khmer.
The streets swarmed with Chinese tourists and the Khmer soldiers protecting their interests. The Khmer, who had lived in Sihanoukville for generations, now worked for their overlords, living only to serve. Those who resisted the incursion ate not even the scraps from their banquet tables.
In the back room of the Lucky Dragon Casino, Shao Fen sat cross-legged on
a silk cushion. He curled his toes as he straightened his back. Oolong tea was served by deferential Chinese waiters in a room hung with red silks. Shao bit into a piece of dried beef. The salty taste splashed across his tongue. He made no outward signs of pleasure.
“Mr. Howser,” said Shao in perfect English. “I appreciate your organisation’s help with this matter. Our work with the Central Committee can no longer be kept private. This has caused us grave problems with Prime Minister Hun Sen.”
Hun Sen ruled Cambodia with an iron fist. He had ruled the country for years and had always been a friend to China, until recently. The prime minister appeared determined to support the Cambodian nationalists in their anti-Chinese views. It had come as a great shock to his masters in Beijing.
American Dylan Howser sat awkwardly on another cushion opposite, with only the gongfu tea table separating them. “Thank you, Mr. Fen. But I came here to tell you that we have a problem. A big problem.”
Shao sipped at his tea, maintaining a vacant expression. He hated Westerners. Westerners only wanted to tell people about problems. Such negative people.
“Xiphos Security will continue to support you and your business interests in Cambodia, but the problem is Sen has called in Blackwind to protect him. It’s going to be tough to pull this off.”
“Are they a problem?” asked Shao.
“Sure, they’re a problem. Blackwind is one of our major competitors. If they’re working for the other side, that’s a big problem. Right now, I don’t know whether they’re protecting Sen or whether they’re planning to go on the offensive. The naval base here isn’t ready to start accepting Chinese battleships, is it?”
Shao popped a couple of nuts into his mouth and chewed on them thoughtfully. It was true that the Ream Naval Base near Sihanoukville hadn’t yet carried out the necessary work to accommodate Chinese warships into the region. The base would be vulnerable, but he didn’t believe for a second Sen would risk open conflict with Beijing by acting on its weaknesses.
