Friction

by Dwayne Gill

  “Get to the building,” said William. “It’s our only chance.”

  They had thwarted the initial assault, for the return fire had almost ceased as the enemy took cover behind the hill. Now was the right time to scramble for safety. Orlando tried to grab Wayne, but the wounded soldier pushed and kicked at him. “Get to cover,” Wayne said fiercely. Orlando grunted and cursed. Dirk pulled at Orlando until he relented and turned, but William glanced at Daniel and nodded in Wayne’s direction.

  Daniel knew what he wanted and respected him for it. This is my kind of guy, thought Daniel. He slung his prosthetic over his shoulder by the strap, pocketed his pistol, scooped up Wayne, and headed to the nearby shelter. William continued to spray fire over the hill, offering cover to let everyone get to safety.

  Daniel had Wayne draped over his left shoulder and could hear the resilient soldier breathing hard. He ran toward the abandoned structure with Dirk and Orlando ten feet in front of him. The two men burst through the door, and suddenly Daniel heard more gunfire, this time coming from inside the shed. There was a primal groan, almost like a roar, accompanied by several men yelling in Russian.

  Daniel never broke stride as he carried Wayne to the threshold, but when he was almost there, Orlando went flying past him. He didn’t look back. He knew William could tend to him, and as he entered the doorway, he saw the source of the commotion.

  A man nearly as large as him was throwing Dirk’s limp body across the room, but the soldier wasn’t the giant’s only victim. Four Russians were scattered around, all lying still on the floor. The beast released Dirk, sending him sailing into the air and into the back wall, and he didn’t budge as he crashed into the steel structure where it met the floor.

  Daniel made eye contact with the giant, who barely seemed human. His long, ratty hair and beard were something out of a werewolf movie, and the rest of him looked the part too. His tall, thick frame was hunched slightly forward, his chest and shoulders rising and falling with every breath. This man was out of control. When he saw Daniel, his eyes went from being lifeless to something resembling excitement, and he banged his chest.

  Daniel lowered Wayne to the floor, next to the threshold, removed his pistol, and readied his prosthetic. He looked right at the beast and threw his gun to the side.

  “I’ll bet you don’t have my sense of humor,” said Daniel. “You may be better-looking, but I’ll bet I’m a worse monster than you.”

  He wished he could summon the worst of his darkness right about now, for it appeared the animal in front of him had tapped fully into his own inner demon. The beast charged at Daniel, who ran forward, the two titans meeting in the center of the room.

  Daniel put his shoulder into it as they crashed together like two train engines colliding, and it was clear they were closely matched. The impact caused both men to stagger back and away as Daniel shook off his disorientation. The beast didn’t waste a second, charging once again, and Daniel greeted him with Bob’s leg, squarely on the jaw. It slowed the crazed man only slightly, and before Daniel could land a second blow, the beast’s long fingernails ripped at his face.

  The scratches were painful, burning down to his neck, stalling Daniel enough to give the monster an opportunity to capitalize. Daniel felt his legs leave the floor and landed on his back, his prosthetic flying away at the same time. Thundering blows landed before Daniel could fully process his dire position beneath the giant, and he tasted blood from the scratches on his face. He tried to roll left or right, but the man’s weight prevented any defensive maneuvering.

  Daniel blocked a portion of the punches and scratches with his large forearms, which seemed to infuriate the savage, who was drooling and grunting. Apparently, he was used to facing a much simpler opponent. Daniel had already seen the markings on the guy’s forearm, and because of the man’s lunacy, it was easy to do the math. Like so many other men in the states, he’d not turned as planned and had lost his mind.

  Daniel’s hands found the man’s locks, and he pulled down, causing the beast to scream out in pain. When his head was close enough, Daniel bit him on his face, almost causing him to gag from the sour assortment of foul tastes in the man’s dirty beard. Daniel thrust his hips upward and turned to his right, finally able to maneuver out of his inferior position, and the man yelled and continued to claw away. Another scraping burn later, Daniel was getting pissed.

  Behind him, he heard William hollering and firing; it sounded like the enemy soldiers were trying to advance. Orlando lay on the floor inside the shed, while William ducked in and out of the cover of the doorway, spraying rounds sporadically. Daniel heard William reload and curse, and he knew he had to get a move on. He head-butted the beast and kicked him away, trying to get enough distance to regain his footing.

  The crazed man seemed to get to his feet a step slower than Daniel expected, but he was no less angry. He came at Daniel with an arcing right hand, and this time Daniel caught it in midair with his left and punched him in the throat with his right. It was a solid blow that caused an immediate choking reaction, and Daniel moved in. He grabbed two handfuls of hair and brought the giant’s face into his waiting knee, and again, but his opponent was still not giving up. The giant straightened his back, pulling against Daniel’s grip on his hair, seemingly oblivious to the pain. The man was drooling and coughing, but his eyes still displayed the same fierce determination. Daniel landed another head butt, still holding on to his hair, and kicked the man’s knee. It cracked, but even then, the beast stood, trying to scrape and claw at him.

  The giant suddenly buckled backward, his hands reached up for his shoulders, and Daniel saw Dirk standing behind him, extracting a knife from their opponent’s back. Dirk stabbed several more times, and because Daniel had his hair, the beast couldn’t spin around to defend himself. Daniel could feel the man weakening, and he released his grip, landed a thundering uppercut, then picked him up and body-slammed him onto the hard floor. Dirk handed him the knife. “Do it,” he said.

  The defeated giant was barely conscious, and as Daniel knelt over him, he could see the fire leaving the big man’s eyes. Daniel pressed the blade into his chest and pushed his weight down until he saw the man’s eyelids close. Daniel knelt over him and took a moment to catch his breath.

  “He was a hoss,” said Dirk, who was limping around, trying to gather himself. Daniel looked down at the fallen giant, an unsettling, distorted image of himself, and wondered how far he’d been from possibly turning out just like him: crazed and consumed by anger.

  “Good job,” said Wayne, who lay in the corner. Daniel was glad to see him alive and talking.

  “They’re surrounding the building,” said William. “The walls are too thick to shoot through, but we can’t get trapped in here.” There were no windows in the shed for them to use to see the surrounding army.

  Orlando was on his knees; his airborne trip had shaken him up, but he appeared okay.

  “We can wait them out in here until help comes,” said Dirk. “There are only two ways in here.”

  William shook his head. “Help me get them situated,” he said to Daniel. “And then I need your help.”

  *

  Malakhov was concerned; he only had six men left, and Levi hadn’t gotten the job done. If the beast had completed his mission as intended, there shouldn’t be any movement around the shed. William had popped one soldier a few minutes ago, leaving only two on the western end of the hill.

  Malakhov had the rest of his men fanned around the building, surrounding it, but he was hesitant to advance. If his men could shoot through the walls, the men inside the building would be dead already, but now they were stuck in a precarious position and time was running out. Malakhov had seen from afar the rest of his troops being overtaken up the coast, and local reinforcements would be headed their way soon. He hoped his port soldiers had accomplished their one task inland, but there was no way for him to know.

  With few options remaining, Malakhov decided it was time to de
ploy his exit strategy and move north up the coast, where his boat waited to bring him back to the safety of Turkmenistan. He wished he’d be bringing positive news back to Vinson, but it was out of his hands. The mission had been a long shot anyway, and Vinson knew that. They were outmanned, underprepared, and had taken a gamble that didn’t pay off.

  Malakhov signaled to his men down the hill, but as one of them rose, a shot echoed across the landscape and the man’s head exploded. Another soldier, too slow to react, met the same fate a second later, and the gunfire continued as the rest of the soldiers scrambled for cover. Perched atop the building, the shooter now had an optimal, elevated angle to pick them off.

  Malakhov made a beeline for the bumpy terrain to his rear, trying to distance himself from the sniper. He still had a mile to go to reach his destination. Behind him, he could hear the rest of his men occasionally yelling out as gunfire hit them, but the sound died out as Malakhov trudged forward.

  As he was cresting the next hill, Malakhov felt a burning sensation in his left calf, stumbled forward, and rolled. He hadn’t even heard the shot, but the aftermath had left him with a searing wound. He cried out in agony, tried to stand, but couldn’t. Desperate, he crawled on his stomach toward his boat, but he knew he’d never make it. He continued until he reached the top of the next hill, but a large man met him on the other side. The brute was bigger than Levi, and despite Levi’s wild appearance, somehow this giant looked infinitely more dangerous. Malakhov knew instantly who he was. Strangely, the man he knew to be Daniel was holding a prosthetic leg, and he would have laughed had he not keenly known how much trouble he was in.

  Malakhov reached for his holstered pistol, but Daniel raised the leg over his head. “I wouldn’t recommend that,” he said.

  “Just kill me,” said Malakhov.

  “You’d probably like me to end your life, but I won’t give you the satisfaction,” came a voice from behind him. He turned his head to see William approaching, but he wouldn’t have needed visual confirmation. The voice was unmistakable, and the line he’d recited was familiar too.

  It was the same thing Malakhov had said to William when he captured him months ago, word for word.

  “We have something much worse planned for you,” said William.

  *

  October 2, 2028

  2:00 a.m. EST

  Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  Colonel Mathis was sound asleep when he heard a phone ring, which he normally would have slept through, except it wasn’t his work cell. It was a phone reserved for emergencies and sensitive matters, so he rolled over to take the call.

  “All hell broke loose in Baku,” said the voice.

  “What happened?” asked Mathis.

  “The Russians were waiting for them as they landed. Someone tipped them off.”

  “Who is this?” asked Mathis.

  “Did you set them up?”

  “Why the hell would I do that?” asked Mathis. “You know what I risked getting them in there to begin with?”

  There was a brief silence. “I’m Cane. Bowman’s friend.”

  I know exactly who you are, thought Mathis. “Is William okay?”

  “They’re fine,” said Cane. “I don’t think they’ll be leaving Baku any time soon, though.”

  “Where’s Bowman?” asked Mathis.

  “They took him,” said Cane.

  “The Russians?”

  “No,” said Cane. “Someone much worse.”

  Mathis wondered for only a moment who Cane was referring to before recalling the marked men Bowman had always spoken about. “When’s the last time someone heard from him?”

  “He called right after his meeting with you,” said Cane. “No one’s heard from him since.”

  Mathis couldn’t believe it. Surely someone didn’t take Bowman from Bragg? “What can I do?”

  “Plumber, the FBI director, is trying to find him,” said Cane. “But I need a big favor.”

  “Name it,” said Mathis.

  “I need a plane to take me across the country when I land at Eglin.”

  “Why?” asked Mathis.

  “I’m going to protect William’s family,” said Cane.

  Mathis sighed. “You know where they are?”

  “William told me,” said Cane. “It’s why I went on ahead without him.”

  “I can get a few guys to accompany you,” said Mathis. The line was silent, and Mathis realized the assassin probably wouldn’t trust anyone. “It’s fine. You’ll have to trust the pilot, at least.”

  “I have no choice,” said Cane. “With so much corruption around, do you even trust your own guys?”

  Mathis wondered about the corruption Cane referred to but didn’t feel like he’d get anywhere by prying. “Call me if you need something,” he said. “Bowman is a long-time friend of mine. If there’s anything I can do to help him, I will.”

  “I’ll kill every man responsible for his disappearance,” said Cane. “No matter what office or position they hold.”

  The line disconnected. Mathis swallowed hard, feeling like he’d just been threatened by the world’s most dangerous man. Although he knew he had nothing to worry about, it was still a sobering moment.

  He stared at the ceiling of the dark room, thinking. He’d been methodical, careful, and by the books his whole military career, but he feared his one exception might come back to haunt him. Had it been a mistake helping Bowman rescue William? Now that things were even more complicated in Baku, the likelihood of Mathis emerging from this unscathed was dwindling.

  Worse, Mathis feared he’d have to involve himself further to get William and crew out of Baku at all. Mathis rose out of bed, got dressed, brushed his teeth, and prepared a cup of coffee. He had work to do.

  Inventory

  October 2, 2028

  8:00 a.m. EST

  Washington, D.C.

  Plumber could hardly wait to get to his office to hear from Gray, his investigator. All night, Plumber had wrestled with the implications of what was happening around him, determined to get to the bottom of it. He was to meet with Barkley later, so it would be nice to be armed with more damning information to justify his actions.

  However, when he sat down at his desk, rather than seeing the file he expected, he only saw a flashing light on his phone, indicating a new voicemail. As he listened, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It was U.S. Attorney General, Yancy Manning. The message was brief, but the man’s tone suggested he wasn’t happy and wanted to meet. Plumber looked at his watch, doing the math on his outgoing flight to Miami. He didn’t have time to delay.

  Plumber dialed his investigator and waited until he answered. “Tell me you have something on the senator.”

  “I have too much,” he said. “I’m tapping out. This isn’t what I signed up for.”

  Plumber was perplexed; he was paying this man well, and this shady figure wasn’t known for scaring easily. “I gotta know what’s going on,” said Plumber. “This is a matter of national security.”

  “You have no idea just how right you are,” said Gray. “If I were you, I’d resign and leave the country.”

  Plumber’s heart was racing. “I won’t do that. I’m meeting this head-on. What do I need to know?”

  “First, I wouldn’t meet Manning, if I were you.”

  Unsurprisingly, Gray knew Manning was trying to reach him. “The attorney general is involved?” asked Plumber. If this were true, the rabbit hole went far deeper than he thought.

  “Vernon Blake,” said Gray.

  “Who?” asked Plumber.

  “That’s the only lead you’ll get from me. Find him, and you’ll find your two captives.”

  Two captives? “What do you mean, two?” asked Plumber.

  “Dennis Bowman and Brandon Webb.”

  The line went dead. Plumber tried to recall the second man Gray named, but it eluded him. He dialed Hart, who would likely be the other person familiar with all this. Hart sounded surprised to
hear from him; he was preparing to talk to the doctor in Chicago. “Director Plumber?”

  “Yes,” said Plumber. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have a question. Do you know who Brandon Webb is?”

  There was a slight hesitation. “Yes,” said Hart. “He’s a CIA agent who was captured last month by the marked men.”

  “Do you know a Vernon Blake?” asked Plumber.

  “Nope,” said Hart. “Never heard of him. What’s this about, sir?”

  “Brandon Webb is being held captive with Bowman.”

  “Where?” asked Hart.

  “I don’t know, but apparently Vernon Blake does,” said Plumber.

  “Okay,” said Hart. “I’ll look into it. Are you going to visit Barkley?”

  “I’m leaving now,” said Plumber. Hart’s silence was telling. “She’s not in trouble,” said Plumber. “I’m more concerned for her safety than anything.”

  “Me too,” said Hart, who sounded worried.

  “I’ll make sure she stays safe,” said Plumber.

  “Thank you.”

  “Hart,” said Plumber. “You were right. This conspiracy may extend deeper than we thought.”

  “The senator?” asked Hart.

  “Deeper,” said Plumber. “Maybe much deeper.”

  *

  October 2, 2028

  7:45 a.m. CST

  Chicago, Illinois

  Hart was on foot outside the clinic, waiting for a text from Dr. Brewer. Lindsey and her team of agents were scattered throughout the neighborhood, blending in. Hart had been in place for thirty minutes, strolling up and down the street. He’d used part of the time to call Lynks and provide him with the latest name of interest, Vernon Blake. Hart hoped the tech guru could work his magic once more and find the connection between Blake, Bowman, and Webb.

  The best news of the day so far was that Plumber was fully convinced of the conspiracy, but if the corruption extended as far as the director implied, Hart might be in the same predicament as before. Having Plumber on his side was great, but if those above him couldn’t be trusted, they would still find a hard time officially investigating Vinson and BioFare.