Grave Games: A Collection Of Riveting Suspense Thrillers

by James Hunt

  The return gunfire sprouted through the flimsy wood and metal of the roof as Sarah sprinted past the tennis ball-sized hole she had created and dropped the explosive inside. Screams penetrated the walls, and Sarah shoved off the edge of the roof, the car behind her erupting in a fiery blast as she rolled onto the roof of the next car, clinging to the top with all her strength.

  Sarah craned her head around and smiled as the flaming car flipped off the tracks and tumbled down the side of the mountain. “It’s messy, but my God, is it effective.” Only two more cars separated her from the front, and Sarah could see the lights of the train station in the distance.

  “Less than a mile,” Bryce said.

  Sarah frowned in frustration. “Thank you, Captain Buzzkill.” She danced along the rooftop, leaping over the last two barriers before landing on the final car. She inched close to the edge. “Bring up the thermal scan of this car on my display.” Bryce quickly obliged, and when Sarah glanced down, she saw the image of six bodies huddled together toward the front side door of the car. She glided toward their position, her gaze switching between the thermal scan and the side of the car.

  “And remember, you need to keep him alive,” Bryce said. “So no grenades on this one.”

  “Yeah, I remember.” Sarah positioned herself right above them, smiling. “The rest of them won’t be so lucky.” Sarah leapt off the side of the car, turning a one-eighty in the air, catching the ledge of the roof, swinging into the door where the cluster of terrorists had huddled.

  Flesh and bone smacked and cracked against one another as Sarah leapt to her feet, reaching for the first terrorist within an arm’s reach who aimed the barrel of his rifle at her. She snatched the muzzle, yanking both the rifle and the man forward, launching his face directly into her fist.

  Cartilage crunched, and blood sprayed from the terrorist’s nose as his head rocked backward from the vicious blow. A pair of hands grabbed her from behind, and Sarah smacked the back of her skull into the combatant’s face. His grip loosened, and she spun around, connecting her fist into his side and then a quick uppercut that knocked him backward and onto his ass.

  Sarah glanced toward the back of the car, where Sharief scurried to escape, opening the door and fleeing to the last boxcar on the train. The three remaining fighters bottlenecked the aisle, each of them with a blade drawn, waiting for Sarah’s approach.

  The fighter with the broken nose in the adjacent seat lunged for the rifle next to him, but Sarah caught it in her peripheral vision and slammed her palm into his throat then twisted his neck in a vicious snap. The second fighter reached for her ankle, but she stomped on his neck and felt the crunch of his windpipe.

  The three remaining fighters took a step back. Sarah smiled. The train slowed, and Sarah lurched forward, knowing that the station was close. A flurry of knives slashed through the air in wild strikes, Sarah evading each with ease.

  She snatched one wrist from the air, twisting left until she heard the crack of bone, then slammed her foot into his chest and sent him to the floor. The remaining blade slingers stood on either side of her. While they hesitated, she didn’t. Her fists blurred from her own unnatural speed and connected with cheek and chin, followed up with a foot to the inside of a knee and then the groin, dropping both fighters to their knees. She stole one of their own knives and then jammed the blade into one’s throat and snapped the neck of the second.

  The fighter with the broken wrist finally managed to get back to his feet but turned tail the moment he watched his last comrade hit the floor. Sarah yanked the bloodied knife from the dead jihadist’s throat and flung the blade into the fleeing man’s back, sending him back to the floor.

  Sarah removed one of the Colts from inside her jacket and set her sights on Sharief, who she knew was waiting in the next car. She stepped over the dead body with the knife sticking out of its back and reached for the door. “Next time, have your ticket ready.”

  The train had slowed to a crawl, and the engine had already started its slide into the first platform when Sarah entered the car where Sharief was hiding. The light from the platform filtered through the windows, shadows moving over the seats as the train came to a near stop. Sarah glanced out onto the platform but saw no one. “Looks like your ride is late.”

  No response. Sarah kept the pistol aimed straight down the middle of the aisle, passing the first three rows of seats without any incident. “We can do this one of two ways, Sharief. The first way doesn’t get you shot.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, at least not in the head. The second option will also get you shot, but I’ll be very particular about which body part of yours I choose to put in my crosshairs. And I’ll give you a little hint: It’s your nuts.” Sarah tilted her head to the side. “Which I’m sure will prove a difficult target. From what I’ve heard, ISIS members have very small—”

  Sharief jumped from the back row of seats, holding a rifle in his hands, his cheeks flushed with rage, screaming. But before he fired, Sarah sent a bullet through his shoulder that flung him against the back wall of the car, and the rifle dropped into the aisle.

  Sarah lowered the Colt and walked toward the back, where she saw Sharief clutching his arm, his face already sweaty and pale. She shook her head. “No one ever wants to go with option one.” Sarah squatted to his level and placed the tip of her barrel in his crotch, which triggered a shudder that shook Sharief’s entire body. “What do you think, Bryce? Think I could stop the bleeding if I blew his two dates off the face of the earth?”

  “Not likely,” Bryce answered.

  Sarah applied a little more pressure and leaned in close enough to feel the heat of Sharief’s panicked breaths. “You’re lucky I’m short on time.” She removed the pistol, and Sharief wet himself. “Don’t expect a change of clothes.”

  Chapter 8

  Grimes watched the bottom left monitor that revealed the green bars from earlier, now turning a shade of orange and growing shorter as they dipped below forty percent. The GSF had taken the bit full in its mouth now, and all Grimes needed to do was sit back and watch his pony make it to the finish line. However, he did recognize that it might need one last push toward the end. And he’d been working on that since the beginning.

  Out of all the lessons Taylor Grimes had learned during his tenure in the intelligence community, one stood out among all others: No matter how high your clearance, there was always someone higher than you. And for Pakistan’s director of ISI, that was the prime minister of Pakistan’s interior.

  A certain joy was fulfilled watching the Pakistani intelligence director squirm. There was nothing more soul shattering than learning how truly helpless you were. It was something Grimes had struggled with ever since his discovery of the GSF, and for Director Muhali Grimes was his GSF.

  “Any further provocation could lead to a conflict neither party could turn away from,” Muhali said. “You must realize that what you’re asking has the potential to open the doors for nuclear war.”

  Grimes paused for a moment, letting the man sweat a while longer. “Considering I currently control the nuclear arsenal within your borders, I would say the doors for nuclear war are already open.” Grimes zoomed in on the map of the Pakistan–India border, much of it already teaming with military forces watching one another, waiting for the ill-fated gunshot that would transform their dick-measuring contest into something more deadly.

  “What do you want?” The desperation was comical. Pride had been tossed aside. The breaking point had been reached. “What you’re doing, it’s… beyond madness.”

  “No,” Grimes said. “It’s my job.” Grimes steadied his voice, his tone stern. “Double your troops on the border, Director Muhali. If you don’t, then I will detonate every nuclear bomb in your country.”

  Grimes ended the call before a response, and the monitor that provided the call between him and Muhali returned to its cycling of the thousands of classified documents he’d reaped from every country around the world. He was amazed at how man
y of them had buckled. But this was only a part of his reward. The rest would come soon, though he found his patience waning.

  Black Box was still perched underneath the monitors. He extended his hand and gently grazed the device with his fingertips. So much power in such a small package. The twins had done their work well, almost too well. This was no doubt their greatest accomplishment, and they’d never lived to see its full potential. But that was an unavoidable outcome.

  Grimes turned his attention to the pixelated image of Agent Hill and then snatched it from the small piece of adhesive that kept it attached to the center monitor. It wouldn’t be much longer until everything crashed upon that smug face.

  The arrogant bitch that thought herself above everyone and everything would soon find her whole world turned upside down. Everything that she loved so much about the GSF would cease to exist. And she did love it, very much. It was a truth she couldn’t hide from him.

  A box of folders sat to his right, and Grimes reached for one of the folders on top. He flipped it open, examining the performance review inside that was no doubt the most personal document he’d been able to read about Sarah Hill. It had come from the personal and confiscated files of Branston Clark. He too seemed to have an unhealthy obsession with Hill, though his stemmed from a point of fascination rather than condemnation.

  Grimes had studied every inch of that report and committed every word to memory. She had the highest marks available when it came to the subjects of hand-to-hand combat and marksmanship, something he already knew from firsthand experience. If it wasn’t for that mouth of hers, he would have thought she was more machine than human.

  In addition to the performance review Branston had had among his personal belongings, he’d also had a plethora of notes that offered his own observations about Hill’s unique brand of behavior. Agent Hill’s obsessive and compulsive need to act out stems from issues with her self-worth, combined with what is most likely a repressive childhood where her parents did not fully appreciate the entirety of her physical abilities. This amplifies the internal dialogue that she feels the need to share with everyone around her.

  There were dozens of notes just like that, and Grimes had spent hours sifting through all of them, learning as much as he could about Hill and the GSF. But with each note Grimes read, the more he also gained insight into the madness that was Branston Clark. Underneath the academic writings was an insanity that made his skin crawl.

  A notification pinged on one of the monitors, and Grimes dropped the notes back into the box and shoved it aside. While he was speaking to the Pakistani director, Black Box had sent another message to India. In order to force the GSF’s hand to intervene he needed to poke the hornet’s nest.

  Once that happened he knew Mallory wouldn’t be able to resist using the GSF to squash the conflict between the Pakistani and Indian governments. They had a deep-rooted hate for one another, perhaps equal only to that between Israel and Palestine. He would’ve used that to spark their involvement, but the United States was too close an ally with Israel, and the latter would have complied with whatever demands the CIA gave them. Plus, the Palestinian people didn’t have any nuclear weapons.

  But Pakistan and India were the perfect pair. Yes, the CIA had ties with the Pakistani government, but the United States’ undermining of India’s position in that area did nothing but exacerbate India’s hatred for a government that did not recognize their power as a nation. But more importantly, both had nuclear weapons.

  Besides, he knew it was only a matter of time before the GSF found a way to block the Black Box signal. By now they would have found the schematics that the Lahftz twins left behind. But that was also needed for his plan to come full circle.

  The military forces remained at a standstill on their respective sides of the border. Grimes enhanced a few of the images, targeting specific bases that he knew were crawling with GSF agents. It was nearly done, and Hill and her team of agents were about to give him the final piece he needed.

  Grimes thought of all of the loss that had occurred to reach this point. But everything was for the benefit of a world that needed order. And it was important for his country to retain the title of the world’s most powerful. History had proved the world was more peaceful when there was a reigning superpower. For a long time, it had been the Romans, then the British, and now it was the United States.

  The mental cost to Grimes himself had nearly broken him. The compartments of his mind were brimming with lives lost, the collateral damage of the battles that had erupted in communities all across the globe. All of the doubt and apprehension and guilt would eventually win out, spilling the contents of all those compartments into his conscious mind, but by then, the job would be finished.

  Grimes gritted his teeth, shaking his head. He drew in a long, slow breath to help calm himself. Once the shaking grips of regret had passed, he opened his eyes and returned to his work. The work that will bring about a new renaissance for my country.

  But in order for that to happen, the GSF needed to succeed. Because he knew something about Black Box that the GSF didn’t know, and neither did the twins.

  Grimes’s eyes flitted back to the bottom left hand screen where the orange bars continued to shrink, some of them now less than thirty-five percent. Once they reached below the needed twenty percent it would be weak enough for his program to work, but he still needed the GSF to lock onto his signal, and the window of opportunity was small. He knew the GSF would be monitoring the communication links.

  Now was the time to push hard. He knew people would die by the thousands. But the collateral damage was a small price to pay to restore peace in a world that had no idea about the war in the shadows.

  ***

  Sarah manhandled Muhammed Khalief through GSF headquarters and tossed him into a cell, where he flopped onto the concrete with a loud smack. He wallowed on the floor for a minute, cursing her to whatever hell a woman like herself would be cast to in his version of the afterlife, while Sarah covered the more basic aspects of the prison sentence.

  “Lunch is served every day at noon sharp here in your cell, along with breakfast and dinner. You will receive zero outdoor and physical exercise time. Oh, and there will be no shower time.” Sarah scrunched up her nose. “So keep the sweating to a minimum.” She flashed a smile and cocked her head to the side. “We hope you enjoy your stay here at the GSF cell blocks. Feel free to leave any reviews or comments on the wall by carving your fingernails into the paint until they break off and bleed.” Sarah slammed the door shut, and it rang with a metallic timbre that cut more of Sharief’s curses and threats short.

  Sarah weaved around the desks of the support agents, her eyes flitting to the dozens of screens she passed on her way to Bryce’s desk. In all of her time spent at the GSF and all of the missions she’d been a part of, she had never seen anything quite like what she saw plastered on these monitors. Not even during the Global Power crisis.

  Wars were being waged in every corner of the world, some of them in plain sight, others behind the veil of agencies and national secrets that were never supposed to see the light of day.

  Sarah leaned up against the side of Bryce’s desk, her back toward his monitors, crossed her arms, and let out a low sigh. “I hope that whatever you have up your sleeve works.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how much longer we’re going to be able to keep all of this together.”

  Oblivious to her presence and trapped in his own mind, Bryce smacked his palm on the desk and then pushed away from it in his chair. “This is ridiculous. Absolutely, one hundred percent ridiculous.” He slumped low, shaking his head, his bony shoulders sticking out and looking like they were going to poke through the fabric of his shirt.

  The outburst triggered a smile from Sarah, and though she understood how grave the stakes were, Bryce’s frustration was one of her favorite shows, and it was rare she was able to witness it live and in person. Most of the time she just had to imagine what he looked like sit
ting at his desk. “Does anyone have any popcorn?”

  Bryce spun around in his chair, leapt up, and paced the small patch of carpet between his and Johnny’s desks. Sarah sidled up to Johnny and pointed at Bryce, who was muttering to himself about something that Sarah could only assume was nerdspeak. “Is it always like this?”

  “Yeah,” Johnny answered. “But if he picks up the small Millennium Falcon on his desk, then you know it’s bad.”

  Sarah raised her eyebrows, watching Bryce travel inward toward a mental space that blocked out even her chiding. “I think I can smell his brain burning.” She squinted. “Fascinating.”

  Bryce collapsed back into the chair and massaged his temples, his eyes closed. “You do realize you’re not as funny as you think you are.” He opened his eyes, tossing Sarah a glare that would have given Mack’s a run for his money.

  “Oh, I’m definitely as funny as I think I am.” Sarah walked back over to Bryce’s desk and nodded toward the monitors. “Grimes still giving you trouble?”

  Bryce twirled in his chair, dragging his feet until he stopped. He returned his long, bony fingers to the keyboard once more and let out a long, self-absorbed sigh. “It’s Black Box, which was created by those monstrous twins, that is causing me to question my God-given abilities as a programmer.” He picked up the schematics that Sarah had retrieved from the house in Sacramento. “This device is like the hand of God.” The wind had been knocked from his sails, and he once again slumped into his chair, gesturing to the papers scattered messily over his desk. “There are layers, and layers, and layers of programming that I have never even seen before.”

  Sarah clapped her hand to Bryce’s shoulder. “Well, it’s like my father always said, ‘that dress makes you look easy.’” When Bryce furrowed his brow in confusion, Sarah simply shrugged. “I didn’t say it would be a helpful analogy.”

  Leaving Bryce to his work, Sarah stepped away to call Becca and check on the kids. “Hey, how is everything holding up at Casa de Hill?”