The Creed (Book 1): The Hunt

by Powers, AJ

  A feeling all too familiar to Hagan.

  Swallowing her emotion, Aileen quickly got back on point. She swiped her finger at a rogue tear falling from her eye and cleared her throat, her voice sounding stronger. “The man in charge of both assaults is a man named Colonel William Price. He is one of the CRG’s most ruthless killers and is responsible for shedding far more of our blood than just these two attacks. Most of you know he has been a high-valued target for us for quite some time, but we’ve never been able to get the edge on him…” Aileen’s voice trailed off as a scornful smile crept across her face. “But that is no longer the case. Our intelligence shows that Colonel Price left this morning as part of a diplomatic convoy to Fort Worth.

  “Which is why I’ve asked for you all to come here tonight,” she said, standing up from the desk, pacing from one side of the room to the other with her hands behind her back. “Colonel Price is scheduled to depart the Dallas-Fort Worth area early Wednesday morning. We are going to intercept that convoy as it returns.”

  The men and women in the small crowd all nodded in approval.

  “There’s not a person in this militia of ours that I wouldn’t eat a bullet for. I love each and every one of you as if you were my own flesh and blood. But I called on the men and women in this room specifically because you’ve proven yourself to be some of the best warriors we have. You’re quick on your feet. Effective with a rifle. And I know that you’ll get this job done.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” one man said enthusiastically.

  This evoked a warm smile from Aileen, the first since she walked into the room. “We have a rare and small window of opportunity to get our hands on such an important person to the regime. However, as eager as I am to personally shove a hollow point through this man’s head, the objective is to take Price alive. The man’s breadth of knowledge on the inner workings of the regime and its armed forces is far too valuable to lose for revenge’s sake,” she said, looking at Hagan out of the corner of her eye. “We can have our vengeance later.”

  More heads nodded and a few energetic fist pumps began to excite the small crowd as Aileen stopped pacing, standing at the front and center once again. She balled her hands into fists as her eyes panned around the room, taking a moment to look at each warrior standing at attention in front of her. “Make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen. This operation will take this war from cold to hot. The regime will come after us without restraint. Preparations are already underway to relocate any assets we suspect of being on the regime’s radar, but we must prepare for a swift and brutal response. So, go home, get some rest, and report to Outpost Delta on Tuesday morning. There, you will be briefed on the specifics of the mission. Dismissed.”

  Hagan waited until the room cleared, leaving him and Solomon with Aileen and Wilford, who was standing protectively in the doorway.

  “I’m glad you could come, Matthew,” Aileen said as Hagan and Solomon walked to the front of the room. “My brother told me when he got back that he clued you in on our operation,” she said with a fragile smile.

  Hagan nodded. “Yeah. I’m so sorry about Carrick, Aileen. He was a good man.”

  “A damn good man,” she emphatically replied.

  “Well, you can sign us up for this one,” Hagan said, Solomon nodding his agreement. “I’ve seen what Price has done firsthand and I’m more than happy to take the asshole down,” he added, sticking his hand out.

  Aileen grabbed Hagan’s hand and gave him a firm shake. “Well, this is a pretty unique situation for both of us, Matthew, because Colonel Price was directly involved with Operation Cassandra.”

  “Operation Cassandra?” Hagan asked.

  “That’s what they called the attack on your village two years ago,” Aileen replied.

  “Wait. What?” Hagan said in disbelief. “They? As in the regime? It was an authorized operation?”

  “To some extent,” Aileen shrugged. “From what we know, it was off the official books, but it definitely originated from someone high up at the Trident.”

  “Who?” Hagan asked excitedly.

  “We do not know that,” she said, her eyes devoid of deception. “But, I have a feeling Colonel Price does.”

  “I’m looking forward to having a chat with him, then.”

  Aileen put her hand on Hagan’s arm, giving him a less than gentle squeeze. “I need your word, Matthew, that you will not harm Price on this operation.”

  Hagan tightened his jaw.

  “I promise, when we are done with him, I will personally hand him over to you. I’ll even help you dump his body in the Mississippi when you get through with him. But until that moment arrives, you need to promise me that you’ll not let your emotions cloud your judgment.” She released her grip on his arm and gently slid her hand down to his wrist, her squeeze much lighter, almost sensual. “The man killed my brother, Matthew. The last of my kin. I want to see him suffer as much as you do. But this is bigger than both of us. And if we don’t recognize that, then this fight for freedom will be very short-lived.”

  “Why are you telling me this now? Why not wait until after you guys have him stashed away somewhere?”

  “Because,” Aileen said with a sly smile, “Now I know you won’t let him get away.”

  Hagan grunted out a laugh. The woman was as cunning as she was attractive. And, if Hagan was being honest with himself, seeing her dressed like she was ready for battle made her even more appealing to him. “All right,” Hagan said, “you have my word, Aileen.” Hagan drew his hand back far enough to hold hers and stroked her skin with his thumb for just an instant longer than he should have.

  Her blushed cheeks rose as her lips parted, revealing a smile. “Wilford can give you the location to Outpost Delta. He’s requested that you and Solomon arrive on Monday afternoon to help finalize the mission plans. He might not like you much as a person,” she said, glaring over Hagan’s shoulder at the big, bald man in the doorway, “but he greatly respects your combat experience and tactical input.”

  Hagan nodded, “I think we can manage that,” he replied, releasing his grip on her hand. “You know,” he continued, “the CRG’s top target is going to be Cleon. You might want to make sure he’s in a pretty damn safe place before any of this goes down.”

  Aileen nodded thoughtfully, then raised her eyebrows. “Who ever said Cleon was a ‘he?’” she said with a wink.

  Hagan, blindsided with Aileen’s claim, turned and walked toward the door.

  “Matthew,” Aileen said, causing Hagan to stop and spin around. She stared at him longingly for a moment, her gaze penetrating deep into his soul. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 22

  Hagan lay awake in bed as Solomon sawed logs on the other side of the tiny bedroom. His mind swirled with conflict as he fast-forwarded himself to the moment he came face to face with the monster known as Colonel Price. He’d promised Aileen that he would stay cool, that he would be professional with how he dealt with Price, but the more he distanced himself from Aileen’s pleading eyes and attractive smile—the more he imagined getting his hands on the man that orchestrated the attack against his village—the more he doubted he would be able to make good on that promise.

  Though they all needed to pay for the crimes against his family, there was something different about a foot soldier carrying out orders versus the mastermind behind them. And though it was confirmed that someone else gave Price his orders, Hagan knew the man would have eagerly accepted the mission. Though he had never seen Price’s face before watching him order the public execution of eight men and women last week, Colonel Price had a reputation that extended far beyond that horrific act of tyranny. Back to when the Civil Republican Guard was just known as Vortex, and Alexandria was still only a worldwide corporation called the Apollo Group. Price was hailed as a hero for his involvement in the assault on Camp David in the opening days of the war. A battle that some of Hagan’s closest friends endured. A battle that Hagan would have been a part of had he not been wound
ed.

  Hagan listened to the sound of the tree branches rustling from the frigid gusts outside, dead leaves dancing across the forest floor. The sounds triggered his mind to step back in time to the night Samaya was taken. He grimaced as a torrent of anguish flooded his body, coercing an emotional tremble. He missed Benjamin. He missed being a father. It was a role Hagan had never wanted but found himself lost once it had been taken away. Though he had nothing to do with bringing Benjamin into the world, Hagan did everything possible to make sure the boy was taken care of for the seventeen short years he was in it. Hagan taught him to fight. To survive. To have unwavering loyalty to those in his community—to those he called family.

  A resolute loyalty that Benjamin took to his grave.

  Bitterness ripped through Hagan’s insides as he asked himself why it had to be his son’s loyalty put to the test that night. But Hagan knew the answer to that question before it even finished crossing his mind.

  It had to be Benjamin because Benjamin wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  Hagan knew that, despite his body being ravaged from bullet wounds and shrapnel, his son died in peace knowing that Samaya Barnes had escaped her captors. Benjamin proved to Hagan—to everyone—that “deo, patriae, familia,” weren’t just words to him. They were his way of life. It was what Hagan had taught him from the very first day. And when it came time for the final exam, Benjamin excelled.

  Crying was not something Matthew Hagan often allowed himself to do, but he cried for many nights after lowering his son into a dark, muddy grave. He spent several weeks wandering the Ozarks afterwards, contemplating his next move. The only thing Hagan knew for certain at the time was that the attackers had come from Alexandria. He knew that finding out who was responsible would be like finding a specific bolt in a junkyard, but when Hagan returned from his month of solitude in the wilderness, he knew retribution had to come. Otherwise, as soon as the people behind the attack learned of the village’s new location, they would just send bigger and stronger men to come after Samaya. To try and take her from her family again for reasons that Hagan still did not know.

  That bothered him. Hagan had made his peace with Benjamin’s sacrifice. After all, the boy was only acting out of love for his friend. But why was his boy forced to make that choice in the first place? Why did he have to put himself in harm’s way so that Samaya could be freed? He wanted answers, but nobody seemed to have them.

  At least, not yet, Hagan thought, his mind drifting back to Price.

  Carrick and Solomon were right; vengeance would be a hollow victory for Hagan. But he would much rather take a hollow victory than a solid loss.

  The hunt would continue.

  But then, as Hagan tried to force himself back to sleep, he heard Carrick’s posthumous voice asking for help. Asking him to join the fight for freedom. To fight for something bigger than revenge. Hagan screwed his eyes shut, as if he could blot out the man’s appeals.

  And just like that, Hagan was back to square one. He, once again, had no idea how he would respond once he was face to face with Price. He knew how he wanted to respond. He knew how he should respond. But only God knew how that moment would play out when it arrived. Hagan decided, in either case, he would be okay with the conclusion.

  Strangely, Hagan found himself satisfied with the moral stalemate he was in. Being content with either decision come game time helped his racing mind slow. His eyes grew heavy and the much-needed sleep he’d been chasing was finally knocking on his door.

  Hagan was somewhere in that nebulous state between consciousness and dreamland when the sound of rustling leaves flipping across the ground roused him just enough to question it. A jolt of adrenaline then scorched through his veins as he heard more leaves and then the faint but unmistakable cracking of a branch underneath the weight of a foot.

  Rolling out of bed, Hagan reached for his suppressed .300 blackout leaning up against the wall and then rushed over to Solomon’s bed. He tapped the man on the shoulder twice then whispered, “We’ve got visitors.”

  Solomon kicked out of his cocoon of blankets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, shaking loose the cobwebs as Hagan retrieved the HK 416 also up against the wall. Hagan handed the rifle to Solomon, who quickly snatched it from him before spinning around to grab his night vision goggles from the bedside table. Powering the device on as soon as it was strapped to his head, Hagan’s eyes quickly adjusted to his digitally enhanced vision. Under the greenish-white view, he looked into the eject port as he pulled back on the charging handle of his .300 blackout just far enough to see a round chambered inside.

  Another soft crack outside put both men on high alert. In the past, at the sound of a creature lurking outside their window, both men would groggily gear up and drop down through the escape hatch beneath the floor. Once they surfaced in the woods some thirty yards from the cabin, they would quickly confirm that a large animal, usually a deer, was just nosing through the area for food. They usually got a nice, hearty meal from the midnight wakeup call and then went back to bed as if their sleep hadn’t been interrupted. But the hushed voices and faint, lanky shadows on the other side of the blinds gave credence to the uneasy feeling in Hagan’s gut.

  Hagan strapped on his pistol and grabbed three spare magazines for his rifle while Solomon tightened the straps on his plate carrier. Hagan chided his laziness that prevented him from bringing his own body armor into the bedroom last night, as was his personal protocol. But there was no time for that now, as Solomon was already propping up the hidden door in the floor with the blade of his knife.

  “You grab the clacker?” Solomon asked.

  “On it,” Hagan said as he dragged the drawer of his nightstand open, retrieving the small, olive-drab device with a large trigger-like switch jetting off the side.

  Following the same procedure as before, Solomon dropped down into the tunnel beneath the floorboards and Hagan trailed closely behind. He gently lowered the hidden hatch over his head, easing it back down to the ground so that it would lie flush with the rest of the hardwood floors surrounding it. Having been through the process dozens of times since moving in, the two quickly reached the end of the tunnel, unlocked the escape hatch and climbed to the surface.

  Hagan and Solomon pulled themselves out of the tunnel and into the cold, dark night of the forest. Up above, naked trees danced and swayed in the wind, the creaking and scraping covering what little noises the two veterans made as they settled into position. Silently, they watched from behind some shrubs as an assault team stacked up near the front door of the cabin, three men with automatics on either side and a single man unsuccessfully raking the deadbolt to grant them entry. The locksmith eventually found paydirt and popped the door open, quickly stepping aside as the others swiftly moved into the cabin. Their boots were heavy and careless as they tromped into the main living space, announcing their presence like a herd of drunken elephants.

  As the men stormed the cabin, Hagan felt around the ground, his fingers finally curling around an insulated copper wire beneath layers of dead leaves, dirt and branches. He held the wires with one hand, the clacker in the other, and looked over at Solomon.

  Solomon shook his head. “That’s an awful lot of gear for us to lose over seven amateurs,” he said quietly.

  He had a point.

  “All right,” Hagan agreed, setting the clacker and wire off to the side before pulling his rifle optics in front of his face. “Cowabunga it is.”

  After adjusting the brightness setting on his Trijicon ACOG scope to be more suitable for his night vision, Hagan zeroed in on Locksmith as he stood guard outside the door. The man flinched and looked into the cabin as multiple gunshots erupted inside, the bedroom window flashing furiously from the sizzling-hot breath of the angry rifles.

  “Guess they’re not looking to take any prisoners,” Solomon said.

  “That’s all right,” Hagan replied, the red ring of his reticle resting on Locksmith’s face, “neither are we.”
Hagan’s rifle popped and Locksmith’s body went limp, dropping to the ground in a hurry. “Show time.”

  Hagan pushed himself off the ground and moved off to the side, snapping his sights back up to his eyes as he kept them trained on the door. The first man emerged from the door, unaware of his dead friend twitching on the ground a few feet away. The man’s G36 was raised as he stepped outside, his head twisting around nervously as he called out, “Miguel!” with a loud whisper.

  Hagan’s carbine popped again as the 208-grain bullet hollowed out the man’s head, his body falling with a thud.

  Suddenly, everything fell silent except the wind’s continual howl; the world becoming still. Judging by the lack of activity, Hagan suspected the remaining team inside was pissing their collective pants. With only one way out—at least as far as they knew—the kill team must have quickly realized they were in a tactical nightmare. Hagan and Solomon had the entire world to hide in, while the men inside had just a three-foot wide doorway to squeeze through. If they ever wanted to leave, that is.

  The silent standoff carried on for nearly twenty minutes. Hagan assumed the men inside were scrambling to figure a way out of the mess they’d made. But there wasn’t any. The cabin was not just some random place Hagan and Solomon had stumbled upon when they set up shop inside Alexandria’s borders. The remote location was built by CIA contractors decades ago, designed to have just one topside entrance with windows too small to climb through. The design wouldn’t have exactly passed fire code, but it was great for trapping a few bad guys looking to carry out a hit job on a couple of grizzly old agents from a past life.