Corrupt: A Supernatural Thriller (Legend Hunters Book 1)

by JL Terra

  A glint from the roofline caught his attention.

  “Go.”

  He picked up his pace and started to run. Sniper or not, he didn’t want to risk any of them getting taken out in the street. Ben rounded the side of the building to an alley with an empty dumpster. Even the trash in this part of town was clean. The team was right behind him.

  Ben clicked his watch and listened to it ring.

  Remy picked up. “Security system has been disarmed.” Her voice came clear through his earpiece. Bluetooth, connected to his watch. Everyone else would hear the conversation over their comms. Ben hardly ever used them, preferring to not have the distraction of a voice in his head.

  Shadrach led the way to the entry point, a fire exit door.

  “Wait,” Remy said. “I didn’t do it.”

  Shadrach froze, one hand about to let them inside. He keyed his radio instead. “What did you say?”

  Remy answered, “The system’s down, but it wasn’t me. Someone else cut it.”

  “Police?” Ben asked.

  “It didn’t trigger the alarm. Whoever they are, they’re good.”

  The glint on the roof could have been a lookout. Ben nodded to Shadrach, who stepped inside. If whoever was there wanted the flash drive, they’d have to fight for it.

  Daire entered next. Mei stopped beside him. “What are the odds it’s the flash drive they’ve come for?”

  Ben shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

  The safety deposit boxes were in a separate vault, but he didn’t like the odds this wasn’t a regular robbery. The stairwell was nothing but a concrete choke point. And the only way down. Shadrach reached the bottom, then disappeared.

  “It’s clear.”

  Mei said, “So they’ve come and gone?”

  Daire shrugged one shoulder as they raced down the stairs. Where was this faster team? Not in the safety deposit vault.

  Ben fried the locks with his watch, slid the box out, and flipped it open. “Empty.”

  “They got here first,” Mei said. “They took the flash drive, whoever they are. And how did they get in the safety deposit box?”

  “The silent alarm just tripped,” Remy said. “Get out of there now.”

  “They played us.” Shadrach slid the box back.

  The team raced for the door and out to the mouth of the alley, all the while watching for an ambush that would hit them on the way to the van.

  Early morning traffic still flowed. How long before cop cars swarmed the street, sirens and lights going? They had to get out of there before the awkward questions ensued. He walked a fine line between law abiding and not, usually carrying a couple of IDs on him at any one time. He didn’t like lying to cops.

  “Get to the van.” Anyone watching would see them race across the street. It couldn’t be helped.

  The three of them sprinted between cars, but Ben hung back at the edge of the building. He looked around the corner and up, where he’d seen the glint.

  There it was again.

  Whoever was up there was likely connected to the people who had taken the flash drive from the safety deposit box. They could lead him right to it. Or, if Ben’s team had been played, they would get nowhere.

  Only someone connected to Eric Tiller would have known about the safety deposit box—whether the flash drive had ever been here or not.

  So what was their plan?

  Mei glanced back at him. “What are you—”

  Daire tugged on her arm. “Keep moving.”

  She said something to him, but Ben couldn’t hear it. The glint on the roof was gone now.

  He backtracked and found the fire exit of that building. A man emerged, carrying a hard-sided rifle case. He wore jeans and a sweater. Military haircut. The radio on his belt trailed by wire to an earbud in his left ear.

  A black and white cop car sped past the mouth of the alley, lights and sirens going. Everything about the guy said, “Expense account.” Whoever hired him had money. Not a low-class band of thieves out for a payday in downtown Wichita. This was a crew of professionals with a man tasked to stay behind and make sure there was no fallout.

  So not a trap. Just first come, first served.

  The guy glanced both ways and turned the corner. Ben waited. Watched him walk down the sidewalk. Two more cop cars sailed by, but no one paid the guy any attention.

  Ben pulled his pistol and thumbed the safety off. He kept the barrel low by his side as he followed.

  When he rounded the corner, sure enough the guy was waiting for him. That rifle case was over his shoulder, no visible weapon. “Why are you following me?”

  It was risky, confronting your pursuer. Ben respected him for it.

  “No trouble,” Ben said, shifting the gun so the man didn’t see it. He had a reporter ID in his wallet. “Just wanna know who you’re with.” He used his best “calm” voice. An attempt to corral any desire this guy might have had to draw and shoot, or simply flee into oncoming traffic. He didn’t need another dead body in his wake, even if he wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger.

  The man’s brow twitched as he looked around, nonchalant. “Who I’m with?”

  “Who hired you. Your name. All the pertinent information.” He glanced at his watch. The connection between Remy and the device was open. He’d be surprised if Remy wasn’t using voice recognition to get an identity on this guy right now.

  There was no familial resemblance to Eric Tiller. “What does it matter? Cops are here, job’s over.” His accent was American, no regional trace. “Did you call them?”

  Ben didn’t answer stupid questions. “You put a scope on my team. Finger on the trigger. That means you explain to me who you are.”

  “Who are you?”

  Ben shook his head. “Start talking, or I pull out my fed ID and march you to the cops myself.”

  The guy blanched. “Your…what?”

  “Tick. Tock.”

  “Okay.” He blew out a breath. “I’m Peter. Peter Bayleigh. We were hired to get an item from the safety deposit box in that bank.”

  “And you’re all, what? Ex-military?”

  “Four of us served together, now we’re a team.”

  “Private security?”

  Peter shrugged.

  “Why are you watching us?”

  Tiller had to have tipped them off, but what was the bigger play? There was no way they’d beat his team here.

  Ben could almost feel a red dot on his chest right now, but he had to shake it off. Loose information was the priority. “Who has the flash drive, and where are they?”

  Peter lifted his chin. “You aren’t stealing it from us. We got it fair and square, and that money’s ours.”

  If they were being paid for the job, then it wasn’t the government who’d hired them. Ben shifted the angle of his Colt again, but the guy didn’t even notice. Peter was too busy reaching for whatever was in his back pocket he didn’t want Ben to know about.

  Ben said, “Where are the others on your team?” Like he didn’t know Peter Bayleigh was about to strike.

  “As if I’m gonna tell you.”

  The knife flicked open and flew through the air. Ben ducked to the side, and it sailed over his shoulder. The guy was going to have to be quicker than that.

  Ben lifted the barrel and squeezed the trigger. It was a lazy move, and he was kind of disappointed in himself, but the round hit the man’s left shoulder. Peter yelped and dropped his gun case to clutch the front entry wound. The bullet buried in the siding behind him.

  Ben was going to have to retrieve that before he left.

  “What did you do that for?”

  Ben closed in. “Where are your friends?”

  A breath hissed between his teeth, blood now visible between his fingers. His face contorted. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”

  Chapter 5

  Oklahoma City. Saturday, 19:33hrs CDT

  The low purr of the Jaguar’s engine rumbled in his chest as Ben put the ca
r in park outside the house where the deal was to take place. Nice neighborhood. Upscale, but not Hamptons-worthy. These people had money they worked long days for and property they paid a guy to mow.

  A dull thud from the trunk of the car indicated its owner had awoken. Ben wasn’t going to kill the guy. When he was done with his errand, he’d leave the flashy ride—with the guy still tied up in the back—in long-stay parking at the airport.

  Peter Bayleigh wasn’t dead, either. Ben didn’t want that kind of attention. So instead, he’d conked the man on the head and dropped him off outside a homeless shelter. He couldn’t drop bodies every step of the way just so no one remembered his face. It didn’t matter if they did. Ben Mason didn’t exist. Not anymore.

  After Peter told him everything he knew, Remy had used the information to find the buyer from a series of instant messages on the dark web. The team had put the flash drive up for sale, and Mr. Jaguar wanted it. Enough he was willing to pay serious money to get it.

  Ben slipped the man’s phone into his pocket and climbed out. Checked his tie in the tinted window. Everything was where it should be, but that niggling feeling from earlier hadn’t dissipated. His team now had targets on their backs, and it tied back to Eric Tiller. The urge to walk in and shoot whoever was inside, just to eliminate the threat, coursed through him. A blaze in his chest that flickered to his fingers and toes. So hot, it was a wonder his hair hadn’t caught fire.

  He walked to the welcome mat at the front door, beside which was a concrete tile. Painted handprints for Chelsea, age 4, and Tim, age 9. His nephew’s hand would be the size of that boy’s.

  Ben knocked on the door.

  The man who opened it was dressed much like Ben. The thieves had switched out their burglary gear for meeting attire. “This way.”

  Two others waited in the kitchen. They only managed to look like gangsters. This was Kansas, after all. Ben hadn’t had time for tailoring, he’d simply undressed the owner and donned the suit. It fit well enough to the unknowing eye.

  He set the briefcase containing two hundred thousand dollars on the mahogany dining room table. Whoever owned this house, he hoped they were on vacation. This crowd definitely didn’t belong here. They’d occupied the space long enough that empty pizza boxes piled up on the counter. It looked like every mug in the house was in the sink. Still, the pervading smell was burned coffee.

  He let his gaze move through each of them, like they were nothing to him. Ben allowed a tell-tale shakiness in his hand to betray the fact that the man he pretended to be wasn’t used to making deals. “I want to see it.”

  The man who’d answered the door crossed to his buddy and handed over the flash drive to him. Not Ben. Man number two sat at the breakfast bar with a Rockstar in his hand and four empty cans on the counter beside his Mac. Computer guy shifted the laptop so Ben could see the screen; a list of names, locations and aliases. This was far worse than he’d expected.

  “I buy this, I want your guarantee it’s the only copy.” Ben let his voice ring out against white walls, chrome appliances, and the marble counter where Chelsea and Tim probably ate pancakes in their PJ’s on Saturday mornings. Were they dead? “I don’t want anyone else knowing what I know. Or moving on this intel before I get the chance.”

  Two of them glanced at each other. One hung back by the wall oven. Yes, he’d said “intel.” Let them think he was either military, or a former intelligence officer. The guy in the trunk was American and from the state department. He could conceivably be a disgruntled NSA analyst. The word tracked with who Ben was posing to be.

  At first he’d figured the man currently in the trunk of his Jaguar was simply trying to regain possession of the flash drive, to turn it back over to the US government. Until Remy had done some digging.

  His last duty in Paris, a CIA agent had been stationed with him. It was like a movie script: a State department guy marries the female CIA agent. They’d had a good thing for a while. Whirlwind romance. Then she’d taken files from his safe and turned them over to a crime lord in Ireland in exchange for a part in his operation. The CIA had no qualms about how they got results, and his career and personal life had suffered in the fallout. This sale wasn’t about doing what was right, or even getting ahead. It was about revenge against his ex-wife and the CIA.

  Ben didn’t like it. None of the information Remy found answered the question of how the state department employee had even known about the flash drive. Or who’d hired these guys to steal it. Shame Eric Tiller was no longer available for questions.

  Computer guy said, “Exclusive access costs more.”

  “I pay more, and I take your word for it. That it?” Ben lifted one brow. “How do I know you didn’t upload it already and start piecing it out country by country to the highest bidder, trying to make extra on the side.” He didn’t give them a chance to reply before he said, “This entire list is mine. I give you cash, and you give me not only the flash drive but proof it hasn’t been sold to anyone else.”

  “Proof?” The guy who’d handed the flash drive to his computer friend addressed him now. “We got that?”

  Computer guy worked his jaw back and forth. “It’s doable.” He turned to Ben. “Give me an email, and I can send a report of all the flash drive’s activity.”

  “I hear even a whisper that someone is sniffing around, making a sale for the contents, and I’ll be all over you guys. I don’t care who’s paying for this op. Far as I’m concerned, it’s you who’s responsible for this sale.”

  The one by the sink shifted. The other two were distinctly unimpressed by Ben’s bravado. Had he lost his touch, or were they not threatened by a dirty state department employee looking to get back at his ex-wife? Did it matter?

  Ben touched the side of his watch, depressing the button twice in short succession.

  The window above the sink shattered and the man in front of the refrigerator jerked. His brain matter splattered over the leftover slice of pepperoni and hit the Mac’s open lid. The computer guy reared back, stumbled off his stool and onto the floor, but managed to get his gun out.

  Like his friend.

  Ben stared at one Sig Sauer, then the other. “Exclusive access. I pay the asking fee and no more.”

  “Fine,” the one still on the floor yelled. “Whatever, man. Just take it and go.” He glanced at what remained of his friend, yanked the flash drive from the computer port and tossed it over.

  Ben used a handkerchief from the inside breast pocket to wipe off any prints he’d left on the briefcase.

  Two steps into the hall, a phone rang behind him.

  “Yeah.” The man paused. “Right.”

  Ben reached the front door.

  “Hey! Not so fast.” The man’s voice betrayed a slice of nervousness.

  Ben turned back, one eyebrow raised.

  “Where did you say you worked?”

  “I didn’t.”

  The second man stepped into the space behind his friend. Both took aim with their weapons. Again. What was it with mercenaries and their firearms? Ben would have happily settled things in a more peaceful manner. Shame so many thugs in the world left little room for gentlemen’s arrangements.

  He knew he was a throwback to an era that had probably never existed. What was wrong with trusting a man’s word? He’d rather every encounter didn’t end in a gun battle. There was no glory in bloodshed.

  The computer guy said, “How about your internet handle?”

  His watch buzzed. Text on the screen. Remy was more than happy to verify that credential, but instead Ben said, “We’re done here.” He reached for the door handle.

  The guy motioned with his Sig. “Not so fast.”

  “Root beer.”

  The door from the garage was kicked in. The sound echoed through the house, followed by a burst of footsteps. Daire came into view at the top of the stairs. “Guns down.”

  Both men raised their hands.

  Mei stepped from the kitchen behind them. Her
entrance had been through the tiny garage window to the interior door. “You heard the man.” Her voice rang with authority. “Put ‘em down.” She sounded like an old-time gunslinger.

  Ben half smiled. “Guns down. I take the flash drive—”

  “And the money,” Mei said.

  “And we part ways.”

  The computer guy’s lips thinned. “You killed my friend.”

  His other friend, still alive, was no happier.

  Ben shrugged. “We all understand the rules of this game. When you win it’s big, but losses are hard to stomach. Today the outcome was this. Next time, who knows?” He shrugged one shoulder. “Could be totally different.”

  “There will be a next time.”

  Ben opened the door. “I look forward to it.” He took one step. Bang.

  He glanced back as the computer guy cried out, clutched his hand. Daire had shot him before he could shoot Ben. The friend fingered his trigger. Determined to suicide for the honor of his fallen brothers?

  Mei fired. The man dropped. On the way down, he pulled off a shot of his own.

  Fire raced along Ben’s hip, the bullet off trajectory but still close enough it grazed him. He grunted, then fired at the man. Caught him square in the chest at the same time Daire’s bullet hit the man’s head from above.

  “Really, you guys?” Mei planted one hand on her hip. “I think my bullet would’ve done it. You didn’t need to add your own.”

  “Yes, we did.”

  Ben didn’t disagree with Daire’s assessment. His hip stung. He needed to get out of there before either of them realized he’d been hit.

  Mei surveyed the scene.

  Ben said, “This is going to be more difficult to fix.”

  Mei cocked her head to one side. “I was jogging past, officer. Saw the flash of the gunshots. Home invasion. They got bored, decided to shoot each other.”

  “Red flag.”

  “What red—”

  “The officer checks your ID, realizes you don’t live local. Starts asking questions about what you’re doing here.”