D.E.A.D. Till I Die: An Action Thriller (GlobaTech Book 1)

by Sumner, James P.

  Josh pointed his finger at Jericho. “And that’s what got you all kinds of shot,” he said. “The CIA doesn’t like people who question things. They never have, and they never will.”

  “Huh... how the fuck would you know?” he said, immediately cursing himself for inadvertently confirming he had ties to the CIA.

  “Jericho, this is me being completely honest with you—full disclosure, all the cards on the table, et cetera. I know you ran the D.E.A.D. unit, which absolutely wasn’t, in any way, shape, or form, a deniable, clandestine unit, secretly funded by the CIA...”

  Jericho clenched his fists, using the action to suppress both his anger, and his concern. “I don’t know—”

  “What I’m talking about? Yes, you do. And I know you do, because I used to be a member of the same unit, albeit a little before your time. In fact, I was there when it was created, way back when. So was Adrian. He used to run it, just like you did.”

  “That’s not possible. The briefing would’ve—”

  “Mentioned that? No, it wouldn’t. We both know you guys don’t exist, in the same way we didn’t, back in the day—hence the name. Difference is, back when we were doing it, the world was a different place. Nowadays, you can’t trust anyone.”

  Jericho took some deep breaths and tried to relax as he processed the influx of new information. He was confused, but his gut feeling was to believe what Josh was saying. He couldn’t think of a valid reason why anyone at GlobaTech would lie to him. They saved his life, nursed him back to health, and were de-briefing him with a surprising amount of openness and honesty.

  “When you questioned the orders you were given at the time,” Schultz continued, “you pissed off your bosses at Langley, and they gave a member of your team authorization to take you out—which he effectively did.”

  Jericho stared blankly at the surface of the table, his right eye glazing over as the words hung ominously in the silence. He clenched his fists again, thinking back to what happened in Colombia. Schultz’s revelation had prompted even more repressed memories to surge forward from obscurity.

  He remembered talking to Adrian Hell, and receiving the kill order from Director Matthews himself. He then saw a glimpse of a muzzle flash in his mind; the last image he could recall before his world turned...

  “Black,” he said, through gritted teeth. “Chris Black did this to me, didn’t he?”

  It was a statement, not a question, aimed at no one in particular. And no one answered.

  He looked up at Schultz. “Why?” he asked.

  It was Josh who answered. “Jericho, listen to me,” he began. “What I’m about to tell you isn’t going to be easy to hear, but it’s the absolute truth... The world is in chaos. Two days ago, there was a terrorist attack. It was... the terrorist attack.”

  Jericho looked over at him, his anger quickly giving way to the instinctual concern of a lifelong soldier. “What? Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

  Josh shrugged. “I wanted to ease you into it all.”

  “Well, next time, lead with the terrorist attack thing, okay? What the fuck happened?”

  “You remember me saying about Project: Cerberus?”

  Jericho nodded, but said nothing.

  “The satellite was hacked by a terrorist organization calling themselves the Armageddon Initiative. Using hidden capabilities built into the satellite, they were able to hack into the world’s nuclear arsenals and use our own technology to launch them.”

  “That’s... impossible!” Jericho exclaimed.

  “I wish it were,” replied Josh, calmly, but with a notable weariness to his voice, “I really do. To the rest of the world, it looked like everyone had suddenly decided to nuke everyone else. China launched against Russia... Russia launched against Iran... Iran launched against Afghanistan...”

  “Jesus Christ...”

  “Close to a hundred million people have died, that we know of... And that number’s gone up with every hour that’s passed since the attack. GlobaTech’s been working tirelessly ever since, providing military support, healthcare, food, temporary housing—you name it, to all the affected nations.”

  “That’s just... I can’t believe it. How the fuck did this happen? I thought Cerberus was designed to detect potential threats?”

  “It was,” replied Schultz. “But the problem was our own satellite was being used against us from the very beginning. You see, in reality, there was no Armageddon Initiative.”

  Jericho frowned and shook his head. “I don’t understand. You just said—”

  Josh smiled sympathetically, cutting him off. “A terrorist called Hamaad El-Zurak was recruited by the CIA to act as the front man for all of this. He handled all the recruiting and planning, and his propaganda diverted attention away from the people really responsible for it all.”

  “You can’t mean...”

  Schultz nodded. “The goddamn CIA.”

  “That’s just not possible. No way... No fucking way!”

  Schultz sighed. “The CIA director is at the center of a terrorist plot,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You might not want to hear this, but your D.E.A.D. unit was, and probably still is, being used to cover his tracks, so the world doesn’t find out about his involvement in what happened.”

  Jericho’s adrenaline kicked in again, increasing his heart rate as he forced his mind to deal with things he couldn’t, and didn’t want to understand.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s true,” added Josh. “I know this is difficult to hear, but we have evidence to prove that not only did the CIA manufacture intelligence reports, so that it looked like both GlobaTech Industries and Adrian Hell were responsible for the attacks, but Director Matthews himself pushed the button that launched the missiles.”

  Jericho sat, dumbfounded and silent; his aching head reaching the point where it simply refused to comprehend any more words.

  “These bogus reports were then distributed to other agencies,” continued Josh, “like the FBI and the NSA, so they would pursue us in their investigations. You can’t trust anyone anymore, Jericho.”

  “But... none of this makes any sense! Why would the CIA want to cause a war?”

  Schultz shook his head. “They didn’t cause a war, son,” he said. “They wiped out practically every corrupt and broken nation east of Italy. There was no fight, no drawn-out conflict—this was someone pushing a great big reset button.”

  Jericho stood and walked slowly back over to the window. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood at ease, looking out at the compound before him. It really was an immense facility. There were hangars, barracks, factories, a hospital, and even an airstrip... all contained within the borders of what was essentially a small town.

  He looked over his shoulder at Schultz, turning his body toward the table when his vision blurred, because of his covered left eye.

  “What would be the point of such an attack?” he asked.

  “You tell me,” Schultz said to him. “Who would benefit from it?”

  Jericho shook his head. “I can’t see how anyone could benefit from something like that...”

  “That’s because you’re still thinking like a company man,” said Josh. “You can’t see the bigger picture, because you’ve still not accepted the fact you can’t trust the people who used to sign your paychecks.”

  Jericho moved to the end of the table opposite Schultz, standing with his back to the TV screen, facing the room.

  “So, tell me—who would want any of this?” he said.

  “When in doubt, follow the money,” said Schultz. “Matthews was behind the terrorist façade. He orchestrated it all. He physically launched the missiles. Who signs his paychecks?”

  Jericho frowned as he realized there’s only one answer to that question, and it was too far-fetched to possibly be true. Nevertheless, he replied.

  “The president...” he said.

  “We have a winner!” said Josh, clapping sarcastically.

  “Are you sayin
g President Cunningham masterminded this?”

  “We are,” said Schultz. “All that money he made this country, with his radical reforms on drugs and prostitution... he used it to fund his own bat-shit crazy plan to reshape the world to his own design.”

  Jericho shook his head in disbelief, pacing slowly around the room for a moment before re-taking his seat. “And you can prove this, I assume?”

  “We have the evidence to prove every word, yeah.”

  “Show me.”

  “We... can’t. Not right now, anyway,” said Josh. “Adrian has it all on a flash drive.”

  “Why does he have it?” Jericho asked, finding it impossible to hide his dislike for the former professional killer, despite what Josh had said about him.

  “Because the CIA is concentrating a large proportion of their resources on hunting him down and killing him, and the fact he has the evidence that can bury them all is the only thing keeping him alive.”

  “And you trust him?”

  Josh nodded. “With my life. And you should too—he kept you safe and alive in Colombia until medical assistance arrived on the scene. He told me about it afterward and I tracked you down, made sure you got transferred here to get the help you needed.”

  Jericho fell silent for a moment. “Who else knows about all this?” he asked quietly.

  “Outside of this room? Just Adrian Hell and an FBI agent we trust, although we’re trying our best to keep him out of it—mostly for his own good. But probably everyone who works here has heard rumors.”

  “So why not just go public?” he asked.

  Schultz leaned back and stretched in his chair. “We already thought of that, son. Hell, it was the first thing we considered doing. But the CIA has already made us out to be the bad guys throughout all this. And then the president came out and publicly backed us as the face of this country’s global support effort. For us to turn around now and start pointing the finger at anyone just makes us look petty and ungrateful.”

  Josh nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Jericho. Even though we have proof, the CIA would simply turn around and say we manufactured it. It would be a long, drawn-out battle, in both the world media and the courtroom. Even with proof, it’d still boil down to our word against theirs, because of who they are. Sure, we’d probably win, eventually... but the fact it would take so long would damage GlobaTech’s credibility.”

  “And that’s all you’re worried about, is it?” asked Jericho, scornfully. “Your fucking image?”

  Schultz shook his head. “Not at all. But take a look outside. Take a look at the news. We’re the only ones able to provide the level of support needed to all the affected nations on this planet. We can do it quickly, because we don’t need anyone’s approval to release funding, travel overseas, send troops and supplies... none of that bureaucratic bullshit. If the public stops believing in us, they’ll stop accepting our help. And we’re smart enough to know that our ability to help people far outweighs our need to prove somebody wrong. At least at the moment.”

  Jericho relaxed in his seat. He was feeling slightly more reassured that GlobaTech was on the level, though it was little comfort, given everything he’d just been told.

  “But you can’t just let them get away with this,” he said after a moment. “Are you even going to try to stop them?”

  “Yes, we are,” said Josh. “Of course we are... For the most part, I’m leaving that to Adrian. He’s got a plan... of sorts, and he’s staying off the grid until he can figure things out.”

  “You’re leaving the fate of the free world in the hands of a fucking assassin?”

  “Sounds insane, doesn’t it?” Josh conceded with a shrug, “But let me tell you something, Mr. Stone—there is no one more qualified, and no one I trust more, to do this.”

  Jericho got to his feet again and paced back and forth, trying to wrap his head around it all. He was a military man. He was born and raised on bases all over the world. He considered himself a patriot, loyal to his country. If all of what he’d just heard was true...

  “What about me?” he asked, eventually. “Where do I stand in all this?”

  “Right now, the CIA believes you’re dead,” said Schultz. “And I, for one, would like to keep it that way—at least for the time being. If they knew there was another loose end that tied Matthews to everything that’s happened, they’d come after you with everything they’ve got.”

  Jericho nodded thoughtfully, and then sat back down in his seat once again, looking at both men in turn. “What can I do to help?” he asked.

  “We’re putting together a team—just a small unit, which we can use to help Adrian bring these bastards down. I’d really like you to be a part of it.”

  Jericho nodded without hesitation. “When do we start?”

  14:29 PDT

  Josh cast a tense eye at Schultz before looking at Jericho. “Well... there’s… one more thing you should know...” he said.

  Jericho narrowed his eye skeptically.

  “I’m sure you’re wondering why you only have the use of your right eye at the moment?” continued Josh, his tone changing, sounding almost sympathetic.

  Jericho moved his right hand slowly toward his left eye, gently running his fingertips over the material that covered it.

  “It had crossed my mind, yeah...” he replied, with a hint of impatience.

  He noticed an imperceptible nod between the two men, just as Josh stood and began pacing aimlessly back and forth on the opposite side of the room, pausing briefly at the window before turning to address Jericho.

  “Here are the facts,” he began. “The bullet you took in Colombia did significant damage to your head.”

  Jericho nodded. “I know, Nurse Fisher told me about the metal plate you boys put in there to keep my skull together.”

  “That’s right,” he continued. “The bullet grazed across your forehead, about a quarter-inch into the skin. It essentially scratched your skull, all the way across.”

  Jericho shrugged. “But it’ll heal, right? How does this affect my eye?”

  Josh briefly massaged the bridge of his nose between his right thumb and index finger, and then scratched his head, as if searching for the right words. Jericho was pretty good at reading people’s body language, and he found himself increasingly concerned about his.

  “You were very unfortunate, in that the bullet hit you at a slight angle, meaning the farther across your forehead it went, the deeper it burrowed. It damaged your optic nerve as it exited your skull, rendering your left eye permanently useless.”

  Jericho’s hand moved to his bandage again, hovering over it. “So, I’m blind in one eye?” he asked.

  “Yes... and no...” replied Josh.

  He frowned, feeling himself tense up. “What the fuck have you done?” he asked, immediately sensing something wasn’t right.

  Josh stood facing him, holding his hands up as he flashed a concerned, uneasy smile. “Now, I need you to stay calm and let me finish what I’m about to tell you before you react, okay? It’s important.”

  Jericho slowly got to his feet, flexing his shoulders and standing to his full height. He’d learned from a young age that he had an intimidating physique. He’d never set foot in a gym—his muscles were developed through years of combat and military training, coupled with some very fortunate genetics.

  “Start talking,” he said slowly, glaring first at Josh, then at Schultz.

  “Heh... Alright, take it easy, Bruce Banner,” said Josh, apprehensively. “We’re on your side, remember? When you came in, it wasn’t certain you’d even live through the surgery. Once it became evident you would, we then started looking at the rest of your injuries. We knew we’d have to remove your eye, and we saw an opportunity to—”

  Jericho’s right eye went wide, and he took a step toward the Brit, clenching his jaw tight as he fought the urge to grab Josh by his throat and squeeze.

  “What... did you... do to me?” he asked, seething with rage.


  Josh held his hands up. “We saved your life,” he said. “And hopefully your sight. We’ve made some amazing advances in stem cell research, and—”

  Any trust he’d invested in them since waking up had gone. All he could think about was the most basic of human instincts: self preservation.

  “You fucking experimented on me while my life hung in the balance?” Jericho yelled. He reached behind him and flung his chair across the room with one hand. It crashed into the wall, just to the left of the TV, causing Schultz to jump in his seat.

  Suddenly, the door to the conference room burst open, and four men entered. They were all dressed similarly to Jericho, in GlobaTech-issue uniforms, except each of them had a sidearm holstered to their right thigh. The men were big, though not as big as him.

  “Sir,” said one of them, addressing Schultz. “Are we okay here?”

  Josh took a step toward them, holding one hand out at them, and the other at Jericho.

  “Boys, we’re fine,” he replied. “Just... stand down. Jericho, listen to me—we’re not your enemy. You have to calm down and trust us. If you leave now, and the CIA finds out you’re still alive before we want them to, you’ll be dead within the hour.”

  Jericho was standing in a loose fighting stance; his arms up in a low boxing guard, his muscles flexed. He felt like a caged animal. His instinct was to run—not through fear, but because he knew he had to distance himself from everything and everyone until he could figure out who he could really trust.

  He took a step toward the group of four. He had to get out of there...

  “Jericho, stop!” pleaded Josh. “There was no easy way of telling you about your injuries, and I’m sorry if you feel we violated your rights, but you need to let us explain!”

  “Don’t fucking tell me what I need to do!” he shouted back, losing all control of his emotions. He felt an adrenaline rush surge through him, like a wave of fire touching every part of him. He made no attempt to control it. He just needed time...