The Creed (Book 1): The Hunt

by Powers, AJ

  “So, you can see why this is probably not the best news to take back to the Council,” Gray said grimly, reaching for his scotch on the table. “They were furious with you for not seeking approval for the operation beforehand…” Gray was now the one to lean forward, his free hand reaching for hers as a small act of comfort. “If they find out that Hagan is here, causing so much destruction in our own backyard because of your unauthorized operation…”

  He didn’t have to finish the sentence for Shravya to know exactly what was coming next. She had a thousand-yard stare, as if she were channeling all of her being into figuring out a solution for this monumental problem Gray had just dropped in her lap.

  Gray wrestled with his desire to comfort her with more than just a reassuring squeeze from his hand, but he refrained from experiencing such intimacy with the woman again.

  Slowly, Shravya began nodding her head. “Okay, Anthony. What do you need from me to fix this?”

  “Right now, I just need time. Maybe the name alone will be enough. If not, we have a couple of leads that might help. Nothing significant at the moment, but if you spin them the right way, the Council will see it as progress.”

  Shravya nodded her head, the fear slowly draining from her eyes as her confidence was gradually restored. She was in a get-it-done mode. “Consider it done.”

  “You should also know that I’m going to go to my cabin in the Ozarks for a few days,” Gray stated, not asking for permission.

  “Right now?” she replied, disbelief in her tone.

  “Yes. Right now,” he said matter-of-factly. “If Hagan was the one who took Price, and Price talked, then Hagan is already looking for me. I need a few days to clear my mind and get away from this mess so that I can think things through.”

  Shravya wasn’t convinced. “We know who he is. We know what he looks like. He won’t be able to get to you.”

  Gray shook his head. “It’s not just that. You’ve been there, Shravya. You know how peaceful it is out there,” he said, trying to avoid the shame weighing heavily on him. “I need to get away from all the noise. I promise, when I get back, I’ll have a plan that will get us both out of this mess.”

  Shravya nodded, “Okay, Anthony,” she said with a weak smile. “I trust you.”

  “I’ve already informed essential members of my task force that I’m leaving in the morning. They know what needs to be done in my absence. If anything urgent comes up, the cabin is already linked up with the satellites. It’ll be just like I’m there.”

  Smoothing out her skirt with both of her hands, Shravya slowly stood to her feet, her hand finding Gray’s. The nervous smile she’d been wearing returned to the cunning, enticing one that had lured him into her bed many years ago. “Perhaps I could join you out there?” she asked bashfully. She stared longingly into his eyes for a moment before she moved up on her toes and pressed her lips deeply into his.

  After a brief, fiery kiss, Gray pulled away, his eyes brimming with remorse. “Shravya, I—”

  “It’s okay, Anthony,” Shravya interrupted. “She’s been gone for twelve years. It’s okay to move on with your life.”

  Gray’s efforts to resist Shravya were failing, his shame spiraling out of control. Against his own desires, and yet, perfectly in line with them, Gray leaned down and kissed Shravya passionately, holding her close. “When this is all behind us,” he said, “we’ll spend a couple of weeks out there. Just you and me.”

  The worry and fear on Shravya’s face was now gone. It had been replaced by a wide smile and hopeful eyes. She reached for her coat and threw it over her shoulders. “I’m looking forward to it, Anthony,” she said, heading for the door.

  Chapter 31

  Inside the darkened master bedroom of a house that would have come with a seven-figure price tag back in the day, Hagan sat quietly on a hard, folding metal chair, looking out the grand floor-to-ceiling window. Through a pair of binoculars, he watched as armed guards nearly two hundred yards away flanked either side of a reinforced gate, keeping watch for any potential threats to come their way. Just beyond the gate, more security personnel held strategic positions while a man was stationed on the mounted .50-caliber of a Humvee at all times.

  From his elevated position, Hagan also spotted dozens of guards patrolling throughout Secretary Gray’s compound, each one behaving as if they’d been given a reason to be edgy. As if they’d been told someone would be trying to breach the borders at any moment. They beamed their flashlights into every darkened nook and cranny along their path, and then another passing guard would do the very same just minutes later. Their paths were consistently inconsistent, making it impossible for Hagan to discover a pattern he could use to his advantage. Hagan had spent the last three days staking out the subdivision-turned-compound, looking for vulnerabilities to exploit. But there were none.

  None.

  The place was locked down tighter than a buzzard’s ass in a power dive. The border wall was twelve to fifteen feet high, and he lost count of how many security cameras were posted along each stretch. There were three points of entry, all of which were heavily guarded around the clock, even when Gray was not on the premises. Of course, the guards relaxed a little bit once Gray’s convoy departed each morning, but not nearly enough to make a damn bit of difference for Hagan.

  Even if Hagan and Solomon could infiltrate the compound and reach Gray’s residence without detection, getting him out would be impossible. This operation wasn’t going to be like Hagan’s other interrogations. He needed to extract Gray, not question him on site, and there were just too many negatives stacked against him. And the more he considered the situation, the more he realized snatching Gray from his own bed was an impossible feat.

  Gonna have to hit him on the road, Hagan thought, giving up on any chances of assaulting the compound.

  However, attacking the convoy came with its own set of challenges. Since Price’s abduction, the regime had beefed up security measures for traveling, such as adding two decoy vehicles, tripling the space between transports and, from what Hagan had heard through the grapevine, secondary and tertiary routes taken at random by the lead Humvee driver, who was always selected just minutes before departure. Such measures would make planning an ambush exponentially more difficult, but Hagan had prepared under worse conditions while on Coyote Team. The difference, however, was that he had a team back then.

  While part of the Ground Division, Hagan worked with as many as nine other highly trained men who had access to plenty of resources like RDX, det cord, radio-controlled detonators, and enough heavy machineguns to intimidate Rambo. But it was just Hagan and Solomon this go-round. And their supplies were lower than ever. Setting up a trap like they did for Price would require a substantial amount of explosives—likely more than they had available—and a boat load of ammunition since a firefight would be inevitable. It would be two against many, and the many would be ready for an attack.

  Despite the suicidal odds, the mission was not impossible. Difficult, yes, but not impossible. However, in order for the two of them to pull off something of that magnitude, Hagan and Solomon would have no choice but to make a trip up to see Marcus Wohl in Champaign, Illinois for a large resupply. So long as Aileen hadn’t disappeared their cut of the ship’s cargo, they would be fine on weapons and ammo. But without enough explosives to cut off the convoy, trapping them in a deadly cone of fire, there was no point in even trying. It was a battle already lost.

  Hagan shifted the binoculars back to Gray’s house and watched as a middle-aged Indian woman came out the front door, a trio of bodyguards quickly filing in beside her as they walked her to one of the three white Escalades sandwiched between a pair of Humvees. It was dark, but there were just enough lights in the area for Hagan to memorize her face.

  He kept his binoculars locked on the convoy as they wound their way through the neighborhood. Soon, the five-car caravan was racing onto the main road, their engines redlining as they sped off to the east toward the cap
ital. Within just a few seconds, they were completely out of sight, the low, distant hum of their motors the only evidence that they had just been there.

  Panning the binoculars back to Gray’s estate, Hagan saw a light pop on in a second story window. A weary Gray walked into his bedroom and sat down at the foot of the bed, nursing a drink.

  If only I wanted you dead, old man, thought Hagan.

  He estimated it was around eleven, maybe twelve-hundred meters to the front door. It was anything but an easy shot for someone who wasn’t a sniper, but Hagan had gonged steel at a thousand more than a few times over his career. What difference would it make to tack on another couple hundred? Nevertheless, killing Gray wasn’t in the cards. Not yet, anyway. So, it didn’t matter whether Hagan could make the shot or radio in a JDAM strike to level the mansion. So long as Gray was inside his stronghold, he was untouchable, which meant it was time for Hagan to start planning a roadside attack.

  After collecting all the intel he was going to get for the night, Hagan stood from the chair and stretched his aching joints. He twisted his back and slowly rolled his shoulders as the stiffness from hours of inactivity plagued his every muscle. A quick glance at his watch told him it was a little after midnight. He was already cold, and he still had a five-mile hike ahead of him, but at least he was walking back to the truck instead of the ATV.

  Hagan kept his hat pulled down over his eyes and his chin tucked into his chest as he walked out the back of the house, doing a quick survey of his surroundings. Sticking to the shadows and dropping behind some hedges as a scanner swarm floated by, Hagan reached the main drag after about fifteen minutes. The streets were empty, and the cautious glances he made before crossing the road seemed to support that assessment.

  But his gut told him otherwise.

  You’re being followed, his inner voice warned.

  Stepping calmly onto the curb in front of an old movie theater, Hagan kept his head down and maintained his casual but vigilant stroll along the sidewalk, acting as if he was just trying to avoid being harassed for breaking curfew. But with each step he took, the feeling that he was being watched grew stronger. He scrutinized his environment, looking for anything out of place, but nothing appeared wrong. Even though he knew it was.

  Taking a turn at the first street corner he came upon, Hagan tore off in a sprint as soon as he was confident he broke line of sight with his observer. He ran halfway down the block before ducking into an alleyway and concealing himself behind a dumpster. Pressing his back up against the cold, hard steel, Hagan drew his pistol and took a beat to catch his breath before he chanced a look around the corner. His pulse quickened and his vision sharpened as he steeled himself for an encounter. He soon heard shoes swiping the sidewalk as his pursuer searched for him. He was drawing close.

  Hagan spun back into cover, hoping his tail would just run past. But the footsteps slowed as he approached the alley, finally coming to a complete stop.

  Just keep moving, Hagan thought to himself anxiously. He wasn’t worried about the man getting the drop on him. Hagan knew that, should he deem the man a threat, he’d be able to have two in the chest and one in the head before his new friend’s brain could even register the danger. But discharging his pistol—his unsuppressed pistol, at that—in the middle of the city after midnight would bring the hammer of God down on him. He was nowhere near his truck, and he didn’t expect to receive help from a Good Samaritan like he did last time. Pulling the trigger was a last resort.

  The mystery man moved into the alley, his feet scuffing off small gravel and broken pellets of glass on cracked asphalt. He was close now. Close enough for Hagan to hear his shallow, almost wheezing breaths.

  Now!

  Hagan rolled around the corner of the dumpster and leveled his pistol on the figure, hissing, “Don’t you move!”

  The man recoiled in fear, immediately raising his hands above his shoulders. His familiar face was illuminated from the light of a nearby window, revealing terror and worry in his youthful eyes. Hagan stared at the man; he’d seen him before. But where?

  Holding the pistol as steady as a surgeon holds a scalpel, Hagan, remaining in the shadows, said, “You so much as flinch and I blow your damn head off. Understood?”

  The man nodded slowly.

  “You alone?”

  He nodded again.

  “What’s your name?” Hagan asked, his eyes widening as he realized where he’d seen the face before.

  The man hesitated, his features twisting further with fear. He swallowed hard before drawing a deep breath through his nose. “My name’s Lieutenant Andrew Mason…” he said, taking another deep breath. “And… I need your help.”

  Chapter 32

  Hagan’s grip tightened on his pistol, his finger flirting dangerously close to the trigger. “And why would I want to help?” he asked Mason. “I’m not exactly in the business of helping my enemy.”

  “I’m not your enemy.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Hagan fired back.

  “You should,” Mason said, his voice held a confidence his demeanor lacked. “Your name is Matthew Hagan. About a month ago, you rescued a group of women that had been abducted by human traffickers. After escorting the women back to the Texas Alliance, you met with Aileen O’Connor at her bar in St. Louis, where she immediately had you hijack and dock the cargo ship The Hercules as it came up the Mississippi River. Along with that job, she gave you a name. Jericho Stevens. A scumbag drug dealer involved with Operation Cassandra. A few days after you successfully hijacked The Hercules, you went to Jericho’s apartment, interrogated him, and then killed him…”

  “How the hell do you know all that?” Hagan growled.

  “Because, Matt, I was the one who gave Aileen that folder. I’ve been feeding the insurgents intel for months.”

  Hagan reeled for a moment, trying to process everything Mason had just said, looking for a crack in the façade that would prove he was lying, but all doubt vanished as Mason continued.

  “I know that there was a Russian scientist on the boat, and that you helped Aileen’s brother, Carrick, smuggle him across the border. I know that you helped Aileen’s crew capture Colonel Price and that that created a bit of a rift between you and the insurgents. But, more than that, I know that Price talked. I know that he told you who ordered Operation Cassandra, and most importantly,” Mason said, lowering his hands ever so slightly, “I can get you Anthony Gray.”

  Hagan’s eyes narrowed on Mason. He analyzed every twitched muscle, every gesture, no matter how minute. “How?” he asked.

  “He leaves tomorrow morning for his hunting cabin. I can get you the location.”

  Hagan was starting to sniff a trap, but the sincerity and despair in Mason’s eyes told him this was not some strategy to lure him into an ambush. If Mason had wanted Hagan dead, why would he have come by himself? Hagan could have easily shot him, leaving him to die alone in the cold, dark alley, which was a risk that the man had to have known. Yet, there were no other officers storming the alley. Not even the sound of a troop transport in the distance. The more Hagan studied Mason’s demeanor, the more he believed him.

  “You say you’re a lieutenant…” Hagan said, sizing Mason up with a quick glance. He slowly shook his head with incredulity. “You seem a little too junior to be a CRG, so I’m going to guess you’re a hoplite. Those peons aren’t privy to information such as the whereabouts of a VIP’s home like Secretary Gray.”

  “You’re right. I’m not privy to such information. But I do work closely with Gray—hunting you down as a matter of fact—which has allowed me to get close to his SUV…”

  Hagan tilted his head.

  Mason reached into his pocket.

  “Easy there, junior,” Hagan said, raising his gun enough to remind Mason that he still had the advantage.

  Slowly, Mason pulled a cellphone-like device out of his pocket and tossed it to Hagan. Hagan caught the gadget with his left hand, keeping his gun trained on Mason
with the other. Holding it in front of his face, as to not remove Mason from his sight, Hagan pushed a black rubber button on the front of the device, a bright white screen powered on. The screen flashed a logo and then displayed a map of North America, a large, red ring near the center of the former United States. The red ring started to shift to the west and scale down as the map zoomed in closer and closer to St. Louis. It moved southwest of the city and kept tracking closer and closer until it blinked rapidly less than a mile from their current location. Though there were no street names, Hagan recognized the layout of the roads it was hovering over.

  “You low jacked the Chief Defense Secretary?” Hagan asked.

  Mason nodded.

  “You do realize the regime will chop off your balls if they discover this?”

  “Yeah. I know,” Mason said, fear and desperation in his voice.

  “All right,” Hagan said, “I’ll bite. What do you need from me in return?”

  Mason looked around nervously, stepping closer to Hagan, whose gun was still pointed right at him. “My wife’s pregnant.”

  “Mazel tov,” Hagan replied dryly.

  “With our second child.”

  Suddenly, the kid’s audacity didn’t seem all that shocking.

  “I need your help getting us out of the country.”

  Hagan chewed on his lip, contemplating Mason’s words. “Why me?” Hagan asked. “Why not Aileen?”

  “Aileen’s primary means of smuggling goods in and out of the country was taken out along with her brother,” he said, a hint of guilt in his eyes. “Not to mention that she has enough problems to deal with right now.

  “Okay, then,” Hagan said, giving a shrug. “I’m sure you have a whole filing cabinet full of people that could get you guys out of the country. Why not go to someone less high profile than me?”

  “Because, I trust you.”

  Hagan laughed. “Trust me? You don’t even know me, kid. How could you possibly trust me?”