Ultraviolent: Book Six in The Mad Mick Series

by Franklin Horton

  "Now see, wouldn't it have been easier to just do as I asked?"

  Long was whimpering now, broken and bleeding. He shivered as the cold settled onto him and his core temperature dropped.

  "I need a name," Ricardo said. "I'm certain the traitors brought you onboard to run the operation against the Macallan Collective. What I need to know is who you put on the job. Who's running the teams and handing out the contracts? Who's working for you?"

  "I can't," Long hissed through chattering teeth.

  Ricardo aimed and put a round through Long's shin. When Long's body jerked in reaction to the shot, everything below the wound flopped around awkwardly. Ricardo winced at the sight of it.

  "I can do this all night," Ricardo said. "I don't want to but I can. The good news is that I'm done wasting bullets on you." Ricardo reached to a sheath on his vest and extracted a razor-sharp combat dagger.

  Long's pained expression portrayed his understanding. He was in a bad way but he could soon be in a worse way. Torture with a knife was something Long had both done and witnessed many times over his career. It was always ugly, yet always effective. "Don't—"

  "A name!" Ricardo barked.

  "Billy Browning," Long groaned.

  Ricardo strode forward with the knife. He lunged with it, stopping an inch from Long's groin. "I bet you've taught many classes on the effectiveness of threatening genital mutilation, haven't you?"

  Long nodded.

  Ricardo grinned. "Works, doesn't it?"

  Long nodded again.

  Ricardo whispered, "Answer my question one more time and you better not be lying."

  "Billy. Browning," Long repeated carefully.

  The name sounded familiar to Ricardo. Perhaps someone he'd run across many years ago. "Where's he working out of?"

  "Private training facility near Front Royal. Belongs to Catalyst."

  "Catalyst Security?"

  "Yes, damn it. Catalyst Security." Long's words were almost sobs.

  Ricardo patted him on the shoulder. "Very well. Thank you for your cooperation."

  "Rot in hell, you bastard," Long groaned.

  Ricardo grinned. "How about you save me a seat." The hand holding the knife flew from Long's groin to his throat, sinking to the hilt. Ricardo twisted the knife, then stepped away.

  Both of Long's hands, the shattered one and the uninjured one, flew to his throat in a vain attempt to stem the gushing blood. It was a futile gesture. Ricardo watched impassively until Long's hands slowly dropped from his throat and the blood quit flowing.

  He crouched and grabbed Long by the collar, dragging him back into the dining room. He searched him, finding two handguns and a satellite phone. The phone required a thumbprint so Ricardo obtained one from Long, unlocking the phone. While it was unlocked he reset it to no longer require a passcode or fingerprint to open it, then shoved it into his pocket.

  Without the distraction of prisoners, the smell of food seeped into Ricardo's senses for the first time. He headed for the kitchen, curious to see what had been on the menu and if any might be left over. He opened the door, startling the terrified cook. The man threw both hands into the air, nearly toppling over backward, cringing in fear.

  Ricardo had been prepared for the unexpected, his weapon high. He stared through the optic at the cook. "Please pack two meals to go."

  The cook was too petrified to move.

  "I mean you no harm," Ricardo said. "But I suggest you don't make me repeat myself. If you've been listening, you know what I'm capable of."

  The cook scrambled into action, grabbing multiple food storage containers and urgently filling them with every course of the dinner, from the soup to the dessert. When he was done, he carefully stacked the containers into a plastic bag and extended it toward Ricardo.

  Ricardo didn't take his eyes off the man's face. "Beverage?"

  The cook turned to the Sub Zero refrigerator. He removed a six-pack of Heineken and held it up for Ricardo's approval, receiving a nod. He placed the beer in a different bag and held them out for Ricardo.

  "Here's what I need you to do," Ricardo said. "I'm preparing to burn the house to the ground and I assume you'd prefer not to be inside?"

  The cook nodded rapidly.

  "Then I'll have you place those two bags in the Hummer blocking the road. Don't forget your coat because it's cold outside."

  "Security—" the cook blurted out.

  "All dead," Ricardo assured him. "Now, please be expeditious. It's been a long day."

  The cook launched into action, grabbing his coat from a closet, picking up the two bags, and rushing down the hall.

  "If those bags aren't in the truck, I'll come looking for you!" Ricardo shouted.

  Ricardo went to the liquor cabinet and dumped several bottles onto a sofa. He tipped one of the dinner candles onto it and set it ablaze. He tossed furniture onto the pile until he was satisfied that the blaze wouldn't go out.

  He jogged out the back door and retrieved his pack from the neighboring yard, then headed toward the Hummer. He was pleased to find that the keys were inside and there was half a tank of gas. Just as he'd expected, the dinners and the beer were sitting on the floor of the passenger side. Ricardo started the vehicle and raced away from the neighborhood.

  12

  Mt. Vernon, Virginia

  Once he was out of Long's neighborhood, Ricardo dropped his nightvision into place and killed the lights on the vehicle. He punched the gas, not that it accomplished much in the bulky, sluggish Hummer. Because of the proximity to Fort Belvoir, he knew there could be vehicles on the road at all hours. There could even be roadblocks, and that was the last thing he wanted to deal with. He recalled that the Hummer did have a Catalyst Security logo on the side. Surely people in this area were used to seeing those vehicles on the road. If he did roll up on a roadblock perhaps they'd wave him through.

  He didn't take any chances, trying as much as he could to stick to the same route he'd followed in on foot. He used the vehicle to push through gates and tear across golf courses, driving by the white glow of his optic. He used the heavy steel grille guard to snap the wooden barricade at a public park, then raced through the empty parking lot, scattering trash and leaves in his wake. When he needed to reach a particular neighborhood he cut through yards, over sidewalks, and once even used the vehicle to push down a privacy fence.

  Throughout the entire evening he'd planned to walk out of there on foot and go back the same way he came. In the adrenaline rush of killing his enemies and torching Long's home, his plan changed. He'd decided to take a vehicle and get back to George Mason University as soon he could.

  Of course, he didn't have to return to the university. He could have kept driving and headed straight for his shipping containers at the quarry. He didn't, though, and it wasn't only because he'd told Valeria he'd check in on her. It was because he'd had another idea in the two days he'd spent walking from George Mason to Mt. Vernon.

  His entire infrastructure had been eradicated. He still had contractors like Conor but his office staff was gone. No hackers, no data people, no intel analysts, no accountant, and no security staff. Not to mention the money lost in the supplies, gear, and equipment he'd been forced to leave behind at the Chantilly office. If he wanted to overcome all that had happened to him he'd need to rebuild the company from the ground up.

  The rebuilding effort had to start somewhere. During that two-day walk he'd thought about how he'd rebuild. How would he even begin that process? How would he recruit? With the world in disarray, how would he find talented, dedicated, and resourceful people to re-staff his organization?

  Then it occurred to him that it might have been more than random chance that led him to that building on the George Mason campus. Maybe it wasn't a coincidence that he met Valeria? Not only was she smart and resourceful, she had the perfect background. With no family, she had no obligations. She was utterly free to do whatever she wanted to do. If she wanted to finish school once the world was back
in order, she could still do it. Meanwhile, she could be the first person hired into his new organization if she wanted.

  In fact, he hoped they'd be able to discuss that very thing tonight over the meals that Long's cook had been kind enough to pack for him. Considering the cluttered state of the road and the indirect route that Ricardo chose, it took him around two hours to reach the George Mason campus. As he approached, he slowed the vehicle to a crawl. The less he pushed the engine, the quieter it would be.

  He took a circuitous route around the perimeter. On the western side of the campus, he took a street that passed by the performing arts building, then took a right that led him around back to the service entrance for the building. He parked by the dumpster and left the engine running while he quickly unloaded the truck. He set the food, beer, and his pack onto the loading dock, then performed a hasty search of the vehicle and found a couple of gun cases and several duffel bags. He also piled those onto the dock along with his gear.

  He hopped back into the vehicle and pulled into the parking garage alongside the performing arts building. With no lights on the vehicle, he hoped his arrival would go unnoticed. After all, it was a cold night and anyone still in the area should probably be inside with their windows shut.

  He parked on the second floor of the garage, stopping in the center of the building and turning the vehicle around so that it faced the exit. He didn't want to park in one of the designated parking places around the perimeter. Someone might spot the vehicle in the daylight and recall that it hadn't been there before. He locked the vehicle, pocketed the keys, then hurried back to the loading dock.

  Exactly as he'd done before, he deftly picked the lock. He propped the door open with a wooden wedge and shuttled all the gear inside. When he had everything, he closed the door back and made certain it was locked. He shouldered his pack and hurried off into the main building. Once he found Valeria, they'd come back for the rest.

  Navigating by nightvision, he hurried through the interior of the building, weapon raised. "Valeria!" he hissed. "Valeria! It's Ricardo."

  If she was hiding in the darkness with a pitchfork or a baseball bat he wanted her to know that it was him. When he reached the stairs, he took them two at a time. He skipped the middle floors and went straight for her quarters in the faculty lounge. With the weight of his pack, it took some effort to run the steps. By the time he reached the top his heart was pounding, his breathing labored, and his legs were burning.

  He paused for a second at the top landing, sucked in a few deep breaths, then tugged open the fire door separating the stairwell from the hallway. Someone immediately screamed directly in his face. Ricardo backpedaled, releasing the door and raising his weapon.

  "Valeria! Is that you?" He stood there by the closed stairwell door, listening for her voice but only hearing the sound of his pounding heart. "Valeria!"

  Finally, she answered. "Ricardo?"

  He flipped his nightvision out of the way and tugged the door open. He directed his weapon at the ground but triggered the light mounted to it. The beam hit the floor, illuminating them in its ambient glow. Valeria stood before him in the same dark robe she'd been wearing when they first met. The hood was lowered and her eyes were wide with fear.

  "I heard something in the stairwell," she said, her voice tight with panic. "I had my ear to the door when you opened it. You nearly scared me to death. I wasn't expecting you back this soon."

  Ricardo smiled. "I'm sorry I scared you. My business in Mt. Vernon went better than expected and I was able to wrap it up expeditiously. I also procured a vehicle which shortened my return trip."

  "I was reading in my room. It's too cold to do anything else."

  "Let me dump this pack in your room. I have a few more items to retrieve from the loading dock and I may need your help."

  They went to the faculty lounge and Ricardo stashed his pack there while Valeria slipped some shoes overtop her two pairs of socks. They hurried down the steps and back through the building to the loading dock. Ricardo picked up the plastic shopping bags and handed them to Valeria. He could hear her sniffing the air.

  "Is there food in here?"

  "Yes. Real food. There's even dessert."

  "How on Earth did you get real food?"

  "Long story," Ricardo said, looping the straps from the various gear bags around his body. "I'll tell you over dinner."

  She didn't argue, leading the way to the next door. She ended up having to hold it for Ricardo since his load made him wider than the opening. He had to move slowly and angle his body to fit through. They went through the same process at each door, but walked quickly in the hallways. The load he carried cooked him on the stairs and he was relieved to reach the top, his legs rubbery as he walked to the lounge door.

  As soon as he negotiated the last doorway, he removed the bags from his body, dropping them into a pile, placing the P90 on top of the heap. He was pleased to see the warm glow of the Luci light he'd left with Valeria on his earlier visit. She headed straight for one of the round dinette tables, cleared off the art supplies and a stack of drawings she'd been working on, then emptied the plastic bags.

  With each plastic container she removed, she cracked the lid, groaning when she smelled the food. "Oh my God—there are rolls!"

  With the smell of food filling the room, Ricardo realized he was hungry too. He grabbed one of the beers and popped the cap off with the butt of his tactical knife. As he took a swig, he noticed Valeria looking at him intently.

  "Do I get one of those?"

  He hesitated. It wasn't like the law was of any concern these days. Besides, where he'd grown up the drinking age was sixteen. "Do you even like beer?"

  "Yes. I grew up fast."

  He removed a second beer from the bag and opened it for her. He placed it on the table while she removed two paper plates from a tall commercial-sized bag of plates. She did the same with napkins and plasticware.

  "The concession stand has a lifetime supply," she explained when she saw him looking.

  He moved the Luci light onto the table and they worked together to split the food onto their plates. The food had cooled during the drive but it still surpassed anything that either of them had eaten in some time. They didn't speak much as they ate, each too focused on devouring the food in front of them. Long's cook had sent generous portions, perhaps afraid that his life depended on it. They wasted nothing, but slowed enough to talk after some of their urgency subsided.

  "So what kind of business did you have in Mt. Vernon?" Valeria asked. "Considering what I've seen of the world, I'm kind of amazed that you had some kind of meeting where you came back with a running vehicle and real food."

  Ricardo considered his words carefully before he spoke. "You remember in our earlier conversations I was kind of vague about what I did? It's that kind of work. Secrecy is critical. My life and the lives of my employees depend on it."

  "Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

  "It's fine," he said. "In fact, I have a proposal for you. I'd like you to hear me out."

  Concern clouded her face. Valeria was young, but not so naive that she wasn't wary of a proposal from a strange man.

  Ricardo waved a hand. "Don't be concerned. I assure you that there's nothing to be worried about."

  "Okay," she said, stretching the word out in a way that implied uncertainty.

  "I own a fairly successful company. While it wasn't as large as those of some of my competitors’, we were well-positioned. We offer specialty services that the government needs and can't always perform themselves. They contracted with us on an almost constant basis and we did quite well."

  "What kind of service?"

  Ricardo sighed, then took another bite of a roll as he considered his words. "There are often things that need to be done for the good of the nation, but legal constraints prevent the government from directly engaging in those actions. There are laws, congressional oversight, and security considerations that force the government to bring in o
utside entities to do the work that needs done."

  She raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you talking about killing people?"

  Damn, she was just as astute as he'd expected. "Yes, sometimes."

  "Are you an assassin?" she asked, low and conspiratorial. "Some kind of hit man?" It wasn't so much an accusation. There was more interest in her voice than concern.

  "No, not usually. I have contractors who are specialists in a wide variety of areas. My role is to match the government's stated need with one of my specialists and then assign a price to that service."

  "Not usually?" she persisted, picking on that opening.

  "Well, I have killed people, if that's what you're asking."

  "How is this business of yours even legal?"

  Ricardo mulled that one over. "It's not entirely legal but it goes on every day. There are some actions that may not be allowed by law but aren't prosecuted because they're for the greater good of the nation. That's kind of where my business lies. We do have enemies though. There are people in government who don't approve of the existence of companies like mine."

  "Why are you telling me about this? You were pretty tight-lipped before. Do I need to be concerned?" Her voice was more playful than scared.

  "No. I'm telling you because there's a major battle taking place within the government right now. There are always divisions that run along ideological divides but this division is brewing into an actual war. I was heading out of town a few days ago when my chopper was shot down by a missile. I was lucky to escape with my life. When I got back to my office I found that all of my staff had been murdered."

  Her eyes went wide. "Oh my God!"

  "Exactly. So now I'm on a mission to find the people responsible and make them pay. I also need to rebuild my company because I lost everyone. I still have the contractors in the field, the specialists who get their hands dirty, but all of the other positions I employ are vacant right now. Because of that, I'd like to offer you a job."