“Where?” I ask, as I start up and drive out of the parking lot, turning left as Clark and Raynor turn right.
Josh simply smiles at me.
He worries me when he does that.
24.
18:12 CDT
The stop off he was referring to was in Kansas City, Missouri—about six hours north of Jonesboro. The weather changed many times on the journey, ranging from blinding sunshine to torrential rain. As we hit the city limits it’s somewhere in between the two—reasonably bright skies but raining lightly.
The trip passed quickly enough. We spent much of the first hour in silence, paying professional attention to our surroundings, on the lookout for any tails or government presence. Having not seen any, we came off the I-40 near Alma and hit the I-49, which we took all the way to Kansas. By the time we arrived, we were back into the old routine—banter, joking, blasting music, and generally catching up on the last two years since we’d parted company.
After navigating my way through the busy city following Josh’s directions, I pull into a warehouse complex just outside the center that houses long-term storage units. There are three main buildings forming a U-shape in front of us. The one directly ahead is wider than the ones either side of us, with large roller shutter doors on each unit, with a smaller door cut into each one. On the left and right, the buildings are narrower, with larger units.
“Here we are,” says Josh, as I pull up.
We both get out, stretch, and I look around curiously.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
Josh sets off walking to the building on the right. “Contingency plan,” he shouts back over his shoulder. “Come on.”
I follow him, confused and intrigued in equal measure, up to one of the roller doors—the second from the left. He produces a key from his pocket, removes the padlock, and then steps to the side where a keypad is fixed to the wall.
Impressive security, for a regular storage firm…
He enters his code and presses a button, and the shutters start to roll up automatically. He turns; smiling at me with a glint of excitement in his eye, as the door disappears slowly upward, revealing what’s inside. It doesn’t take me long to realize what it is, and I fail to suppress a laugh of disbelief.
“You’re kidding me?” I ask as I look at Josh’s Winnebago standing before me.
“Didn’t have much use for it when I took the job with GlobaTech,” he explains. “But I knew I’d need it at some point so kept it here—independent, anonymous location, no one knows about it but me, and I pay cash up front and in advance for the storage, so there are no electronic footprints for the payments.”
I pat him on the shoulder as I walk inside the unit to inspect the vehicle. “You’re something else, Josh.”
It’s an impressive vehicle. Much bigger and cleaner than the last one I saw. I’m glad he chose to upgrade using our newfound wealth.
He pushes past me and opens the side door. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour,” he says.
I follow him on board, climbing the three steps that lead up and into the back. As with his old model, it’s mostly open plan at the rear. The windows are tinted, so you can’t see in from the outside. There’s a long worktop running along the left hand side as I look, with various monitors, computers and gadgets fastened in place. In the right corner, covering half of the back and right side is a booth, with a brown leather, L-shaped sofa fitted in, and a table in front of it. Next to that, finishing off the right side, is a workstation with a single computer on it. There’s a narrow path linking the back area and the driver’s cab, with the door on the left and a cupboard on the right.
“That’s the generator,” he says, seeing me look at it curiously. “It’s an independent power source, with an encrypted Wi-Fi connection, for my toys. Saves the engine battery for running the vehicle.”
“Nice,” I say, genuinely impressed.
We both step through to the cab, which looks like the flight deck of the U.S.S. Enterprise. The seats are like armchairs, which would swivel around in their space. There’s a center console separating the seats, filled with a variety of buttons and screens.
“Josh, this thing is unreal…”
He smiles like a proud father. “Isn’t it? Not really taken it out on the road for any great distance—been no need to. Figured now was as good a time as any for its maiden voyage.”
He steps in behind the wheel and starts it up, pulling out onto the main lot. I walk back to the SUV and drive it into the storage unit, replacing the Winnebago. I lock it back up again before climbing aboard, placing my bag on the seat at the back, then sitting in the passenger seat next to Josh.
“So, what’s the plan?” I ask him. “How are we going to get to Pripyat? We’ve got less than three days before Clara said the Initiative’s plans will come to fruition and she’ll kill Tori. We’re cutting it fine as it is.”
“I know…” he replies, sounding worried. “Just let me speak to Clark, see if he’s been able to round up any troops who are out and about.”
We turn out of the complex and head east. We clear the city, and as soon as we hit the interstate, Josh dials Clark on a secure line via speakerphone. He picks up on the sixth ring.
“Yeah?” says Clark.
“It’s me,” replies Josh. “How are you guys doing?”
“We’re good. The sheriff’s driving—we’re currently heading toward Colorado. Where are you guys at?”
“Heading east toward St. Louis. We’re in my Winnebago, so we’re tooled up and secure—no acronym in the country can track me in this. What assets have you managed to find?”
“Not many, to be honest,” he says, regretfully. “Most currently on missions overseas have gone dark. Schultz will have sent an emergency communiqué out before he went along with the NSA, warning we’ve been compromised, so they’ll be following protocol.”
“Shit. Understandable, but it doesn’t help us. You got anything we can go on?”
“Hang on… you say you’re heading for St. Louis?”
“Yeah, for now. Just trying to stay mobile. What you thinking?”
There’s a silent pause on the line, except for the tapping of keys on a laptop.
“If you head for Nashville, Tennessee, I might be able to hit up a contact for a private flight out of the States,” says Clark. “They’re not a GlobaTech asset, so there’s no reason for the NSA to keep tabs on them. There’s a small airfield just outside of Pleasant View. You’ll take off from there.”
“And where will we be heading?” I ask.
“I’ve got a guy in Gomel—a small town in Belarus. He’s over there working security for a Russian diplomat. If you can get there, he’ll get you over the border into Ukraine. Pripyat is maybe three hours’ drive, all told.”
Josh looks at me, silently asking for my approval of the plan. I simply shrug and nod. It’s time-consuming, but it’s all we have, so we have to take it and make it work.
“Bob, that’s some fine work. Make the call and get the flight arranged. We’re on the I-70 right now; maybe five hours out.”
“Will do.”
“Bob,” I say. “You and John keep your head’s down, okay? No un-necessary risks.”
“We will, Adrian,” he replies. “Don’t worry about us, just focus on getting your girl back.”
“Thanks, Bob.”
Josh hangs up the call and looks over. “Well, we have a plan, which is a lot more than we had five minutes ago. You alright?”
I sigh heavily, momentarily drifting from the conversation as I watch the world whizz by through the window.
“I’m tired,” I say, eventually. “It feels like a lifetime since I slept properly.”
Josh smiles sympathetically. “Get your head down for a bit,” he says. “I don’t mind driving—want to give this beast a good run anyway. You can get a few hours at least.”
“Thanks, man.”
I lean back in my seat, which, it turns out, reclines as
well as swivels—very fancy! I close my eyes but don’t think for a second I’ll get any rest, what with everything that’s…
22:42 CDT
“Wakey wakey!” shouts Josh. “Hands off cocks, hands on socks!”
I snap awake in my chair, bolting upright with my hands gripping the arms. My eyes are stinging, not yet ready to look at the world after a deep sleep I didn’t expect.
“Where are we?” I ask.
Next to me, Josh is laughing. “We’re about ten minutes from this airfield in Pleasant View,” he announces. “You’ve been out for almost the whole journey. Feel better?”
I rub my eyes and relax back in my seat, blinking to clear the fog.
“Yeah, a little bit. You good?”
“Yeah, no dramas,” he says. “Bob called just to confirm the flight has been arranged. Him and the good sheriff are lying low in a motel somewhere in Denver.”
“Okay.”
It doesn’t seem like two minutes before we’re turning into what looks like a large field, hidden away behind a large cluster of trees. It’s a dirt track, carved through long grass over the years. After a few minutes, we see a wooden signpost on the right, saying OLDE TOWNE AIRFIELD.
“Hey, look,” I say. “They spell things like you people used to back in the day… badly.”
I smile as Josh gives me the finger.
We carry on down the track, which eventually opens up to a small, makeshift parking lot in front of a large hangar. The doors are open, and the plane stands there with a fuel tank next to it, connected via a pipe. There’s a guy standing with it, checking the gauges as it refuels. It’s a Cessna Citation 500—not a bad plane at all. It will have seen far more commercial use than military over the years. It looks a few years old, with the paint worn in places, but it doesn’t look like it will fall out of the sky or anything.
“I want you to stay here,” I say, turning to Josh.
“And I want to wake up next to a Playboy Bunny every morning, but that’s not going to happen either…” he replies, looking slightly offended.
“Josh, I need you here. Bob and John are doing all they can, and I appreciate that, but you’re the only one I trust to be here running things while I’m over there shooting things. I need you to keep your head down, guide me to Clara Fox, and help me get out of there. You need to be here for that...”
“Adrian, I can’t let you go over there alone against God knows how many armed terrorists. Not to mention that bitch holding a gun to Tori’s head. We both know you’re gonna struggle thinking straight going against her. You need me with you.”
I smile, genuinely touched by his passion, and his unique insight into my state of mind.
“It’ll be fine, Josh. I promise. I’m not the person I used to be.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” he says, like he didn’t really want to say it but had no choice. “You’ve been out of the game for so long... I’m just concerned you won’t know how to handle something so personal when it comes down to it.”
“I think the remains of twenty NSA agents would disagree…”
“That wasn’t personal, that was business. You weren’t emotionally involved in that situation; you just reverted to your instincts. Clara’s the only one left on your shit list, and she’s kidnapped the only woman, other than your wife, you’ve ever loved. I’ll bet every penny of your fortune that when you see that with your own eyes, you’re going to struggle. And we all know hesitation will get you killed, Adrian.”
We fall silent. I know what he’s trying to say, and I appreciate the concern. But he’s wrong. Despite spending this road trip catching up, he ultimately missed over two years of my life. I’m not angry about that or anything, but it’s a fact. He hasn’t seen me start over since Pittsburgh. He’s basing his assumption about my state of mind on the person he knew two years ago. I don’t want to offend him, but I absolutely need him here, coordinating my efforts over there.
I stand and walk to the back. I open my bag and place my guns inside before closing it again and slinging it over my shoulder. Then I turn and hover by the door for a moment, looking at him.
“I need you here,” I say, matter-of-factly. “I’ve got a phone, so I’ll call you when I make contact with your operative in Belarus. Meantime, keep in touch with Clark and see how much of this puzzle you can put together while I’m gone.”
He sighs heavily, and then silently waves his hand at me, acknowledging what I’ve said while seemingly disagreeing with my thinking. Without another word, I step out of the Winnebago and walk across to the hangar. Halfway toward the plane, I hear the engine start up and him drive away.
I approach the hangar, and a guy appears from around the other side of the plane.
“You must be Adrian?” he says, extending his hand and smiling. “Jim Daniels… nice to meet ya.”
I quickly look him up and down. He doesn’t look much like a pilot. He’s probably around five-eight or five-nine in height, with a large stomach resting on a broad frame. His face is round and red, with an overly bulbous nose. I’d put him somewhere north of fifty-five.
I shake his hand. “Any relation to Jack?” I ask with a humorless smile.
He laughs, which is deep and booming, and comes from the bottom of his sizeable gut. “I wish!” he says. “Would be earning a helluva lot more than I do flying this thing.” He gestures to the jet with his thumb.
I look at the plane with very little interest. “You know where we’re going?” I ask.
Daniels nods. “Mr. Clark rang ahead and gave me the details. You just need to get comfortable and enjoy the flight.”
I smile again and walk over to the door, which is halfway along the right side of the fuselage, opened and revealing stairs. As I step onto them, I glance to my right, out the other side of the hangar at the long runway.
“You a nervous flier?” asks Daniels.
I shake my head. “Not at all,” I reply. “Just looking around. Can’t be too careful nowadays.”
He frowns at my answer, confused, but he just smiles politely and walks off around the other side of the plane. On my left, the man with the fuel disconnects the piping, gives the plane a final check, and then climbs aboard the small truck with the tank on it.
“Everything’s good to go, Mr. D,” he shouts.
“Thanks, Al.”
He drives off without a word, and I board the plane without another thought. Inside is much narrower than the Leah jets I’ve been on recently, but the seats still look comfortable and spacious. The white leather has been well looked after, and I sit down on the first seat on the right side, resting my bag at my feet.
Compared to the paint job on the outside, the interior is definitely in better condition. There’s not much in the way of luxuries, but I only need it to get me from A to B, and for that, I’m sure it will do just fine.
After a couple of minutes, Daniels climbs aboard and closes the door behind him, locking it in place.
“Just be another few minutes, then we’ll be in the air,” he announces.
I nod. “Thanks, Jim,” I reply.
I sit back and relax as best I can. I feel pretty good about this. It’s a positive step toward sticking it to the bad guys—the first for a good while. I just want to get Tori back. That’s more important to me than killing Clara, if I’m honest. I know there’s still a terrorist threat to worry about, but I’ll deal with that later.
True to his word, just over five minutes later, we’re screaming down the runway about to takeoff for Belarus.
“Here we go…” I mutter to myself.
25.
APRIL 15TH, 2017
17:13 FET
So, let me explain to you why I no longer like flying.
In the past week or so, I’ve been on more planes than I have in the ten years before that combined. I’ve never traveled via private jet before all this, and I’ll admit they are nice and comfortable. In another life, I could afford to buy ten of the damn things if I want
ed. But the first plane I went on took me to New York, where I ended up jumping out of a window with terrorists shooting at me. Not the flight’s fault, I know, but the circumstances surrounding why I had to get on the plane led to me having a bad experience, so it’s all relative.
A CIA black ops squad hijacked the second plane, and I was taken to Colombia, where I was almost killed. Twice. Once by the CIA, and once by a cartel.
The third plane, I’ll admit, wasn’t actually too bad—got me home in one piece, but overall, after the first two, I think I could be forgiven for thinking flying wasn’t really the way to go.
Which brings us to my most recent flight… a private charter, flown by Jim Daniels—someone GlobaTech has apparently used in the past for things they don’t want to keep a record of.
We left a small airstrip in Pleasant View, Tennessee, and have flown for around ten hours until we passed over Minsk, which is the capital city of Belarus. At this point, the delightful Mr. Daniels announced we were about twenty minutes away from Gomel, which was where I was to meet the GlobaTech operative who would take me over the border, into Ukraine.
In keeping with the tradition of everything going against me nowadays, at this exact moment, the cockpit of the Cessna Citation 500 decided to explode. No warning, no explanation, no nothing. Just… gone. We were at a decent altitude, so I had a little bit of thinking time, but I admit, it was something of a shock.
The plane was blown in half and began plummeting vertically, and I was doing everything I could not to get sucked out of the damaged fuselage. But nevertheless, I managed to slide my bag over my arms and shoulders, at the front, against my chest, before getting the parachute out of the security compartment just outside of where the cockpit used to be, and putting it over my shoulders and onto my back. After a moment to compose myself and think about just how shitty my life has become, I crawled over to where the door used to be and rolled myself out of the flaming wreck that was once my airplane—something I’ve not done for many years, and even then, only a handful of times. Luckily, there’s not much skill to it. You quite literally step out of the airplane. Or, in this case, kind of flop out of it. Ideally, with a parachute attached to you.
Deadly Intent: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 4) Page 18