Mayan Darkness (A Hank Boyd Adventure Book 2) (The Hank Boyd Adventures)

by Matthew James

  There are paths crisscrossing through the garden and we use them when convenient, but navigating them fully, would be a bad idea. Who knows what kind of traps or blind spots there are, especially with the weather turning to crap like it has. The early hour plus the weather ensures us of privacy and less collateral damage as well. If this was going on during peak visiting hours, dozens of people could get hurt or killed.

  As we pass a beautiful cast iron fountain, a blur of motion catches my attention. A man dressed in black fatigues jumps out and thrusts a rifle in our faces. He should have known who he was dealing with.

  Kane reaches out, and in one swift move, backhands the barrel away from his face with his left hand, while striking out with his right. The open palm hits the mercenary’s trigger hand, knocking it lose, silently disarming him without a shot being fired.

  The man then lashes out with a horribly oversized Rambo knife and swipes it across Kane’s face. But, Kane being who he is, blocks the attack with one of his forearm braces, then grabs the guy’s wrist and yanks him forward. A large meaty palm is then driven straight up into the assassin’s face, crushing his nose, driving the bone and cartilage into his brain, killing him on his feet.

  As the body goes limp, Kane nonchalantly tosses it into the fountain with minimum noise, following with the killer’s rifle. He picks up his dropped SCAR. “Let’s go.”

  The entire assault took all of fifteen seconds and not a shot was fired. Barely a sound was made in fact. I just watch Kane step away, in awe. Damn, I’m glad he’s on my side.

  We round another of the rose bushes, this one of dark purple coloration, bypassing the next trail. Kane leads me into a large treed section at the rear of the rose display. It’s only a short distance through the smaller patch of plants and we reach the other side in no time.

  Thank God we wore pants, I think, as we step out of the garden and into the outskirts of the Haupt Garden, covering the rear of the Castle grounds.

  Kane motions for me to kneel, just inside the foliage beside him. We silently scan the clearing in front of us but don’t step out quite yet. There are plenty of spots for the couple someones we are looking for to hide.

  After thirty seconds he motions for me to move. I follow him right towards the rear entrance and around the central part of the very large Haupt Garden.

  Not seeing anything, we stand in unison and step out into the open and are immediately met with the audible clicks of weapons being readied. Four men stand, dressed in solid green fatigues. Each one of them matches the grass perfectly with that of the Haupt’s interior lawn across from the rear door. They raise their sound suppressed automatic rifles and aim as one, like a firing squad about to kill a hostage or enemy.

  “Sorry gentlemen, but this is where we officially say goodbye!” A voice yells from across the courtyard. I look past the four men with the weapons trained on us and see Frost and Brooks climb into a waiting black SUV. Frost is standing on the step-up mounted under the rear passenger door waving at us.

  Then the doors shut and the large SUV’s driver cranks the wheel hard, turning them east down Independence Avenue, out of sight.

  “Sorry, Hank.”

  I look to my left and see Kane, eyes closed, a look of failure on his face as the four green-clad men slowly start to compress their triggers.

  The door behind us is suddenly kicked open with a bang, which startles us and the gunmen alike. Then, a flurry of booms and shouts erupt, as Kane and I instinctively dive to the ground. All four of our would-be killers are hit with a torrent of gunfire, each man taking several rounds to the chest. They fall as one, synchronized in death, hitting the concrete with dull thuds.

  Kane and I, uncover our ears and push ourselves off the ground, looking up to our savior. With a ringing in my ears, I see Nicole step out from the elevated doorway, twin Rugers smoking. As she casually descends the steps, she expels both of her empty ten round clips, letting them fall to the concrete bellow.

  Twenty shots, four dead, apparently she didn’t want to take any chances and unloaded everything she had.

  She nods to Kane, who returns it with a look of thanks, and then turns to me. “You okay?”

  I slowly nod and smile. “I am now.”

  “Good,” she says, smiling back. “I would have hated to find out that you were hurt and—”

  A horn out beyond the garden’s grounds blares, interrupting Nicole, as our Jeep screeches to a stop just outside the rear gates. Ben jumps out of the driver’s side and yells, “I can see them further down Independence Avenue! If we hurry, we can catch them!”

  The three of us look at each other in shock at seeing Ben screaming over the white noise of rainfall for us to hurry. But we do, as Nicole turns on a heel, leading the charge, taking off at a sprint towards the waiting Jeep.

  We exit the Haupt Garden through the same cast iron gates Frost and Brooks did. Ben tosses the keys to Kane and climbs in behind him, not even making an effort to ask him to drive. He understands what’s at stake and knows Kane can handle the Cherokee’s 475 horsepower engine better than he can.

  “Where’d you get my keys?” Kane asks Ben, patting his obviously empty pocket.

  “I found them in front of the stairs, you must have dropped them,” Ben replies. “I meant to give them back to you when you returned, but seeing William and Sophia stirred something in me to help. So here I am."

  “Thank you,” I say, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  He nods. “I called the police and told them there was a break-in, but I didn’t tell them what they’d find.”

  I nod, understanding. At least someone will be along shortly to handle the situation down on the basement level.

  “What of Olivia?” I ask, worried for the geneticist. Kane stops and listens.

  “She’s fine,” Ben replies. “I told her to lock herself in your father’s office until the police came.”

  His look of guilt is immediate. Ben’s mention of my Dad’s office was unintentional. It was an involuntary comment and wasn’t meant to be anything more than that.

  I try to shake off the sight of my murdered father but fail horribly. My breathing quickens and my sight narrows, the onslaught of a panic attack beginning.

  A hand grabs my shoulder and forcibly turns me around. As I face the person, a hand slaps me across the face, but before I can react, a set of full lips meet mine. At that very instant, all of the anxiety running its way through my body, through my very soul, melts away. My eyes close as my heart rate regulates. The kiss from an angel.

  I’m released and I open my eyes to see Nicole staring into mine. “Thank you,” I say in a whisper.

  “My pleasure,” she replies, smiling. “You ready?”

  I nod and head for the front passenger seat, about to climb in. Nicole follows and goes to get in behind me, but is stopped.

  “Nicole, wait.”

  Ben and I look over to see Kane, SCAR in hand. He then offers the weapon to Nicole. She smiles and holsters her handguns, gladly accepting the upgrade to the assault rifle.

  “What about you?” She asks him.

  He draws one of his Desert Eagles and smiles. “I’ve still got these,” he says. “Plus, I can’t handle a rifle and drive at the same time, but I’m not bad with a pistol and a steering wheel.

  “Oh, and by the way,” Kane continues, looking at Nicole. “Next time Hank goes into one of his, Oh-my-God-I’m-dying phases, use less tongue. People are watching.” He points back-and-forth from him to Ben. “We don’t need to see that shit.”

  Embarrassed, I climb in and shut the door, lowering the window, without a peep. The others follow, Kane giving me a knock to the chest and a smile.

  “You’re a jerk. You know that right?” I say with a smile.

  “Yep,” he replies, a cocky grin on his face. “I know.”

  Ben leans forward, inbetween the front seats, a worried look on his face. “What happens when people see us coming and don’t move—or worse if and when you sta
rt shooting?”

  Kane just stays quiet and flicks a switch on the Jeep’s dashboard. Instantly, a mind-numbing display of lights ignite from the front dash and the rear window.

  “We have government plates too,” Kane explains. “Only an idiot would test me and not concede the road.” His smile broadens, “Also, only a complete moron would stand in the way of two cars exchanging bullets while traveling at a high-rate of speed.”

  If only to accentuate the last detail, Kane floors the SRT8’s pedal, cranking the steering wheel in the process. Kane forces the Jeep into a one-eighty, swerves and straightens out, shooting us down the eastbound lane and quickly accelerates to what I’m sure is way over the posted speed limit. Tires squeal in protest, as we continue our quest to stop Frost and the traitor Brooks.

  37

  Washington D.C., USA

  We give chase, Kane driving like a mad man to catch up to the other vehicle. He swerves right and goes around a silver Prius, it's angry and apparently uptight owner flipping us the bird. Light traffic has started to dot the roads as its regular commuters are leaving for work or whatever else they have planned for the day. We’re only a block or so behind Frost now as we continue down Independence Avenue.

  On our left, we zip by the Air and Space Museum and then the American Indian Museum. Next are the U.S. Botanical Gardens and the U.S. Capital Building, home to the United States Congressional meetings.

  Kane hits the brakes and yanks left on the wheel, sliding us through the intersection at 1st Street and heads north behind the Capital Building. Bullets ping off the hood of our car as we gain ground on Frost, who is the one shooting at us. Kane lets loose two well-placed shots, shattering the rear window of the lead vehicle.

  Frost dives back as glass explodes through the interior of the SUV. The driver swerves hard to the right, sideswiping half-a-dozen parked cars in the process.

  Car alarms blare as we pursue the SUV, passing the Library of Congress and the Supreme Court buildings on our right. Suddenly, we squeal to a stop in front of the crossing at Constitution Avenue. “Son-of-a…” Kane says, white-knuckling the steering wheel. “Sorry!” He yells out his window, waving his hand.

  A woman with a walker is frozen in fear not ten feet in front of us. She has her hand to her chest and is breathing heavily, but calms a little and continues forward shaking her fist, yelling grumbled obscenities at us.

  That would have been bad, I think, releasing my death grip from the ever poignant, oh shit handle.

  Kane floors the pedal again, blowing through the red light, startling another angered outburst from the poor woman we nearly ran over. Safely clearing the intersection, we shoot between the Senate Office Buildings and continue north on 1st Street.

  “There they are!” Nicole yells, pointing over my shoulder to the black SUV one light ahead of us.

  “Where are they going?” Ben asks from the back seat. “The only thing down this street is Union Station.”

  “Damn,” I say, thinking of the ramifications. This is one of the worst case scenarios I had feared.

  Washington’s Union Station is one of the busiest train stations in North America, receiving over tens of thousands of people daily. Much like New York’s Grand Central Station, Union Station is a hub for entertainment, featuring retail stores, restaurants, and even a movie theater. It also has eighteen platforms and twenty tracks, perfect for getting lost in.

  “It’s an easy place for them to disappear and an even easier place for them to set off the device if they so choose to,” I say, peering through the windshield.

  We burn around another unsuspecting driver and go to push through the last of our obstructions, the intersection directly in front of us. Except, cars are everywhere, littering the road like a pissed off toddler’s Hot Wheels set.

  Kane slows the Jeep, trying to find another way around…and does. The car veers sharply left as he takes an alternate route around the pile-up in front of us… The sidewalk.

  The vehicle’s horn blares, as Kane slams his massive hand down on the center of the steering column. Then, he quickly flicks the switch to the auditory nightmare that is the siren and mounts the concrete sidewalk’s curb.

  We’re jostled around as Kane expertly carves his way through people, bicycles, and trashcans, the latter of which he obliterates with the Jeep’s front fender. Thankfully, the pedestrians get the idea and dive out of the way.

  As we clear the throng of people making their way to the station for their commute, Frost’s SUV blows through the intersection, causing another wreck. They then cross the neatly manicured lawn in front of the station and continue through the hedges lining the road.

  Kane accelerates after them, having a clear shot thanks to their reckless incursion just a few seconds earlier.

  We follow, as our target takes the short drop off another curb beyond the bushes at full speed and swerves into Union Station’s front courtyard. They enter just right of the Columbus Fountain and bodies fly. The driver, one of Frost’s high-paid lackeys I’m assuming, plows through the collected mass of people in route to the building’s front entrance.

  Slowing, as to not hit anyone, unlike the other vehicle, Kane steers around the prone figures, some alive, some not. Frost’s SUV screeches to a halt as all four doors pop open. The two men we are after, Frost and Brooks, join the other two men accompanying them and open fire on us.

  Dozens and dozens of bullets impale themselves into our bulletproof carriage. Seeing this, one of the men adjusts his aim and sends a burst into our front right tire, blowing it out.

  Kane tries desperately to keep us in line with the shooters, intent on ramming them, but the speed and angle across the lawn is too much. The Cherokee bucks, sending us into a dizzying barrel roll.

  Our Jeep, being a military upgrade, is tough and takes the brunt of the damage, rolling three times. Finally, and personally ready to puke, we land hard, upside down in a heap of crunched metal and bruised bones.

  Union Station

  Washington D.C., USA

  The sound of glass violently breaking wakes me up. I look around, not remembering where I am. My pulsating headache isn’t exactly letting me focus either. Shaking my head like a wet dog, I clear my thoughts long enough to realize two things. The first thing I realize is that I’m bleeding. A Lot. I wipe some of it away from my face and see the second thing wrong with the situation. I’m upside down.

  The realization snaps me fully awake as I take in my surroundings and understand the pickle I’m in. I reach for the seatbelt release and depress the button. Nothing happens. It’s jammed. I can’t get out!

  Peering through the now open frame of the Jeep, the windshield having been busted out, I see two sets of military style boots marching themselves towards me… Boots I don’t recognize.

  I look left, expecting to find Kane in the same situation as me, but find his seat empty. His window is also broken, shattered to bits. His seatbelt must have worked correctly and he crawled out, I think, my head still swirling a bit.

  I then try and look behind me and find Nicole and Ben are gone as well, but can’t see their exit from where I’m suspended. My point of view is blocked by my headrest, but the tailgate’s window is shattered, so I assume they crawled out that way.

  “Okay,” I say to myself. “One thing at a time. How bad are you hurt?” I touch my head and instantly reel back from the pain. The gash on my forehead is apparently quite sensitive.

  Ow! Damnit! Alright, don’t do that again.

  The feet stop in front of me and take up what looks like a defensive position. It’s then I hear the gunshots being traded between this force and an unseen one behind me. Kane, Nicole, and Ben must be behind the Jeep pinned down.

  But, I think, smiling the best I can. I doubt they know I’m still in here. I look around for my AA-12, the blood rushing to my head and fingertips, and see it almost out of reach above the driver’s side seat. I lean left and touch the barrel with my fingertips, just barely grazing it
s flat-black surface.

  More gunshots erupt from the men in front of me. They are quickly returned by Kane and company an instant later. Shouts arise from my team, as I think one of them is hit. I can’t be certain, but it sure as hell sounded like someone was crying out in pain.

  I lunge for the shotgun, intent on ending this before someone else gets killed, and snag the barrel inbetween my index and middle fingers. Slowly and carefully, I drag it close enough to grip and examine it.

  The AA-12 looks good enough to fire and thank God it is, because at that moment one of the guys from the goon squad ducks into the Jeep’s wrecked interior, intent on catching my team off guard from underneath.

  Just as he looks up and sees me hanging in mid-air, my 12-gauge inches from his face, I pull the trigger and erase his look of surprise forever in a splatter of red.

  His comrade must take notice of his buddy’s demise, because he jumps back, only for me to blow off his right foot in the process, sending him sprawling to the ground. Then, I pump three more slugs into his reeling form and the automatic fire ceases.

  Scraping and crunching noises fill my ears as a familiar face appears next to me. “Hank?” Nicole is kneeling next to me, a look of both confusion and relief on her battered face. She has a cut on her chin and a knot on her forehead.

  Probably hit her head on the window next to her.

  “You okay?” She asks.

  I smile. “Nicole?” I ask in a hushed tone.

  She leans in closer. “Yeah, Hank?”

  “Cut me down, please,” I say, feeling the blood running from my body and into my head as I hang upside-down. “I can’t feel my face.”

  She tries to hide the smile but is unsuccessful, snorting out a short laugh. She then unsheathes a knife, sliding it across my seatbelt’s straps. Without a way to break my fall, I crumple to the roof of the mangled Jeep with a crunch and a curse but manage not to break my neck. I slither my way free with the help of Nicole and Kane, who grabs my other hand just as Nicole did the other. They yank me from the metal coffin and the three of us collapse on top of each other.