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

by Sumner, James P.

  “Should you be driving with only one eye?” she asked him, breaking the silence. “It’ll affect your ability to judge distances...”

  “It’s fine, I’ve driven under worse conditions in my time,” he replied.

  The traffic was getting heavier, and progress was getting slower, but Jericho wasn’t concerned. He figured they’d bought themselves at least twenty-four hours. He checked his rearview every few minutes, out of habit, but saw nothing that raised the alarm.

  They shot past a sign that announced Los Angeles was thirty miles away, which he knew would be about a forty-five minute drive, if the traffic stayed calm. Julie must’ve spotted the sign too.

  “We’re going to L.A.?” she asked.

  Jericho nodded, but didn’t take his eye off the road. “It’s a big place—easy to hide and stay hidden,” he said. “I need time to think.”

  Julie didn’t say anything; she sat back in her seat and let out a slow, heavy sigh. Jericho flashed a quick glance across at her, seeing her staring blankly out of the window.

  He was grateful to her for sticking her neck out for him the way she had, although he still couldn’t understand why. It was a gutsy move for a nurse with a small frame and innocent eyes. But he wasn’t complaining. Without her, he’d still be fighting a small army of GlobaTech operatives.

  Fifteen minutes passed before either of them spoke. It was Julie who broke the silence.

  “So, what’s your story, anyway?” she asked.

  “How do you mean?” replied Jericho.

  “Is it true you worked for the CIA before this?”

  Jericho paused before answering, choosing his words carefully; even after everything that had happened, he was still unsure if he could fully trust her. “In a manner of speaking, yes,” he said. “I ran a specialized unit that focused on preventing large-scale threats to both national, and international, security.”

  “Wow!” she said, with a small, shocked laugh. “That sounds... important. Is that what D.E.A.D. was, then?”

  Jericho threw her a sideways glance, questioningly.

  She smiled weakly. “I overheard Mr. Winters talking, while you were in your coma,” she admitted. “What does it stand for?”

  He shook his head a little, letting slip a small smile, feeling silly for saying it out loud. “It means, Doesn’t Exist on Any Database. It means I’m a ghost. Or, at least, I used to be.”

  “Do you remember what happened to you?”

  “I’m getting there. I know that a member of my team turned on me and shot me in the fucking head.”

  “That’s crazy! Do you know why he did it?”

  Jericho shook his head. “That’s something I need to figure out. Winters and Schultz offered me an explanation, but I don’t believe them. I can’t… I need to find out for myself what happened.”

  “Mr. Winters is a good man,” said Julie. “And Mr. Schultz is... well, his heart’s in the right place.” She laughed a little, but Jericho didn’t respond. “With everything that’s going on right now, they’re pretty much in charge of supporting the world, using our company to do it. Go easy on them, okay?”

  Jericho stopped at a red light and looked over at her, holding her gaze. He’d always believed you can learn everything you need to know about a person by looking into their eyes. She seemed nervous, and tired. But she had an innocence that shone through more than anything. A genuine, kind nature that made him believe she was being honest with him.

  “How did GlobaTech get involved in the first place?” he asked. “Surely, after an attack of this magnitude, the U.N. would arrange relief and foreign aid?”

  “I don’t know the specifics, but I know we lost one of our directors, Robert Clark, during the terrorist attack. Mr. Schultz was originally with us as a consultant, but given his history, the board of directors didn’t blink when they gave him the role of Acting CEO, and he believes GlobaTech is the best option to support everyone affected. I know we have the money, and the technology, so it makes sense.”

  He set off again, turning right and settling at an inconspicuous cruise.

  “It’s still an awful lot of responsibility for a company whose primary function is to act as an army-for-hire,” he said.

  “You don’t trust them, do you?”

  “Can you blame me? I wake up from a coma to find they’ve done some kind of experiment on me...” He paused for moment, his mind focusing on his bandages, and what might lie beneath them. “...then they feed me some crazy story about the CIA being responsible for everything that’s happened to the world in the last forty-eight hours.”

  Julie shifted in her seat. “Have you... have you seen the news?”

  He shook his head. “Not really had time to stop and watch TV.”

  “It’s just... tragic. Some of the images... entire cities reduced to dust... millions of bodies...” Her voiced started to crack with sadness, and she sniffed back tears. “People are saying this will change the world forever.”

  “They’re probably right,” he replied, casually. “And I’m sure whoever’s responsible will be brought to justice.”

  “President Cunningham was on TV yesterday, saying they’ve already captured the man behind it all...”

  “And you believe him?”

  Julie shrugged. “I know what people are saying at GlobaTech, about a conspiracy. It seems a little far-fetched to me.”

  “And me. But your bosses seemed pretty convinced.”

  Traffic started to slow down as they closed in on the City of Angels. Jericho sounded his horn as a van cut him off, and gestured with frustration as he narrowly avoided slamming into the back of it.

  “Fucking asshole...” he muttered under his breath.

  “What if they’re right, Jericho?” continued Julie. “What if the CIA really did cause all this?”

  “That’s a big if...” he replied. “But if the CIA is behind this and I’m somehow involved… being used as someone’s puppet... I’ll find out who’s pulling the strings and make the bastards pay.”

  That last statement finished the conversation, and they entered the Los Angeles city limits in silence. Traffic moved slowly as they passed by the Dodgers’ Stadium on the left, heading into the Chinatown district. After some searching, they found a no-name hotel overlooking a row of restaurants. They pulled up in the small parking lot at the back.

  “Do you have any money?” asked Jericho, looking over at Julie.

  She shook her head. “I left work in kind of a hurry,” she said, regretfully. “My bag’s still there, and my credit card’s inside it.”

  “Alright, it’s not a major issue. We need to use cash anyway, so they can’t trace the transaction.”

  He started the engine again and eased out of the parking lot, turning right.

  “Where are we going?” Julie asked.

  “To kill some time before making a withdrawal,” replied Jericho, tersely.

  LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, USA

  April 19th, 2017

  21:42 PDT

  The sun had almost completely disappeared behind the skyline, and the sound of the city’s nightlife awakening floated in through the open window, growing louder as the remaining slivers of daylight faded. They had spent the afternoon and early evening staying mobile—spending no more than an hour in any one place before moving on to the next parking lot. It might’ve been overly cautious, but Jericho didn’t want to take any chances.

  He guided the sedan along the busy street, absently scanning the sidewalks as they went by, which were crowding up with people out for the evening. He wondered how many of the scantily-clad attractive women he could see were aspiring actresses; somebody’s daughter, putting herself on the line for that one big break.

  He caught the eye of a particularly attractive blonde, who was teetering precariously on her six-inch heels. He rolled the sedan along slowly as the queue of traffic filtered through the intersection ahead of them. Momentarily distracted, he flashed the young blonde a smile. She r
eciprocated for a split second, before her gaze rested on his bandaged head. Her eyes widened and she looked away, quickly gossiping to the brunette woman she was walking with. Despite the multitude of problems Jericho was faced with, he still found himself disheartened by the girl’s superficial reaction.

  Again, he moved his hand slowly up to his head, feeling the rough material beneath his fingers.

  “So, how exactly are you going to get cash?” asked Julie. “You’ve been stalling all day...”

  Jericho snapped back into the moment and looked over at her. She was smiling a little, which he took as a mixture of sympathy and embarrassment. He decided to ignore the fact she’d probably seen what had just happened. “The thing with places like L.A.,” he said, “is that, if you know where to look, you can lay your hands on pretty much anything… including money. You just have to wait for the right time.”

  He turned left when he reached the lights ahead of them, which led them to a small, but popular district, filled with exclusive nightclubs and restaurants. In between two particular establishments, which both had a modest crowd congregated out front, was an alleyway, dimly-lit and partially-obscured by a thin mist from the air vents of the buildings either side.

  “Wait here,” he said, getting out of the car. He looked up and down the street briefly, and then crossed over, casually blending himself in with the throng of people on the sidewalk. After a few moments, he discreetly stepped away and headed down the alley, which opened out into a small square a couple of hundred feet in, surrounded by tall buildings on every side, with just a narrow passage leading out the other side.

  “You lost, son?” said a voice off to his right.

  He turned and saw a black man, dressed in a large overcoat and loose-fitting jeans, with expensive-looking sneakers poking out the bottom, leaning against the wall off to his right. He had a baseball cap worn high, with the peak almost vertical. He was clean shaven, maybe late twenties.

  Jericho glanced over his shoulder, back to the street. No one was paying any attention. He turned to face the man. “Not lost,” he replied. “Just looking.”

  The man stepped closer, stopping in front of Jericho and looking him up and down. “That right? And what you looking for, big man?”

  Jericho gestured to his bandage, which he knew was far from inconspicuous. “I need something for the pain,” he said, with a slight smile.

  “You’re a big guy,” said the man, shrugging. “I reckon you can manage.”

  “I don’t know… I’m in a lot of pain.”

  The man’s eyes flicked momentarily to his right, and two more guys appeared, dressed in similar outfits. He looked back at Jericho as his friends walked slowly toward them.

  “Oh, you about to be, homie,” he said. “Are you a cop?”

  “Do I look like a cop?” asked Jericho.

  “Yeah, you kinda do,” he replied with a humorless smile.

  “Huh... really? Well, that’s a pain in the ass. I’m not, by the way. You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. Tell me, do you treat all your potential customers with such prejudice and contempt?”

  “Whatever, man. In my line of work, you’re guilty until proven innocent, know what I’m sayin’? Now, my boys here are gonna search you. And I hope for your sake we find cash, and nothin’ else. Otherwise, you gonna have a problem, you feel me?”

  Jericho smiled regrettably. “Seriously, if any of you lay a hand on me, I’ll fucking break it.”

  The man took a step back; his face a split-second picture of shock, before lighting up with a large, white and gold smile.

  “Ah, shit—you just gone and got yourself killed, bro.” He turned to his friends. “Fuck this fool up!”

  Jericho turned to look at them as they moved toward him. Their bulky frames and weathered faces gave the impression they were professional muscle, but they posed no serious threat to him.

  He took one giant step forward, right foot first, and met the one on his left head on. Before he could move, Jericho thrust his left leg forward without breaking stride and kicked him hard in the groin. The man buckled over instinctively. As his head lowered, Jericho took another step and lifted his right knee, smashing it into the man’s face. He felt the cartilage in the nose break under the impact, and he watched as the guy dropped to the floor like a dead weight.

  Jericho turned to face the other man, who hesitated briefly before throwing a right punch at his face. Jericho caught the punch in his large right hand, stopping it dead. The impact stung his palm, but his face betrayed nothing. He stared into the man’s shocked, wide eyes and saw a wave of fear sweep across them.

  He threw the man’s hand down and launched one of his own—a quick left jab that connected flush on the jaw, sending him backward, crashing unconscious to the ground next to his friend.

  Jericho spun around, breathing heavily; not through exertion, but through sheer adrenaline. It felt good to get involved again—to feel capable. His world had been turned upside down, and being able to take down a bunch of low-lives made him feel… himself again.

  The man who engaged him when he first emerged from the alley stood holding a gun, and was aiming it directly at him. He was maybe ten feet away, and Jericho could see the faintest of quivers in the gun’s barrel. The man was afraid.

  And so he should be…

  “Give me that gun and whatever cash you have on you, and I’ll let you off easy,” said Jericho, feeling that was a perfectly reasonable proposal.

  “Sc-screw you!” came the response. “I’m gonna shoot you!”

  Jericho smiled. “No, you’re not.”

  The man frowned. “And what makes you so sure, fool?” he asked, regaining a hint of confidence. “I got a gun pointing right at you.”

  Jericho nodded. “Yes, you do… but you’ve got the safety on.”

  The man’s eyes went wide with panic, and he shifted his gaze to the weapon. In that split second, Jericho charged forward, covering the minimal distance between them in the blink of an eye. He grabbed the guy’s wrist, twisting it away from the body so the reflex caused him to loosen his grip and drop the weapon. As it clattered to the floor, Jericho launched a thunderous right elbow—the point of which, along with the bulk of his large forearm, connected with the man’s left temple. He let out a low grunt as the consciousness was smashed out of him, and he hit the ground with a dull thud.

  Jericho took a step back and scanned the area, making sure no one else was coming. Satisfied he was alone, he checked the man’s pockets and found a handful of small bags, each containing varying measurements of cocaine.

  He shook his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

  Even though the president had legalized cocaine, people still sought to make money from selling cheap, and presumably poor quality, imitations to gullible idiots looking for a quick score.

  He put the drugs back in the guy’s pocket and continued his search, quickly finding a roll of cash and a cell phone. He counted close to a thousand bucks, which was useful. He stuffed the money and the phone in his pockets, and reached over to retrieve the gun, which had landed a couple of feet away from them. He stood, looking at it with a wry smile as he flicked the safety on, and then tucked it in his waistband, pulling his T-shirt down to cover it.

  He checked the other two guys, but found nothing besides a couple of hundred dollars between them. “Every little helps,” muttered Jericho to himself, adding their cash to his new wad.

  He looked around one last time, and then made his way back to the street. He re-entered the crowd of eager partygoers, mingling casually for a moment or two before strolling back across the road and climbing in behind the wheel.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the cash, dropping it on Julie’s lap. She stared at it, surprised.

  “Where the hell did you get all that?” she asked. “There must be close to a thousand dollars there!”

  “Twelve hundred,” corrected Jericho, shrugging. “Like I said, a place like this… you ju
st have to know where to look.”

  He gunned the engine, spun the car around and drove back to the hotel they had found earlier in the day, parking in the same space as before.

  “Book us in for one night,” Jericho said to her as they walked through the main entrance and across the small foyer. “You’re less memorable.”

  “Gee, thanks…” she responded, sounding slightly disgruntled.

  “I just mean we’re trying to keep a low profile, and if anyone’s questioned, they’re more likely to remember a guy who’s six-five with half his head wrapped in bandages.”

  “I know what you mean,” she said, smiling. “Is one night long enough?”

  Jericho nodded. “By the morning, I’ll know exactly what we need to do, don’t worry.”

  Julie approached the young woman sitting behind the desk while he hung back, casually checking out the place. The décor was simple, yet effective. There was minimal furnishing in the entrance, with a stand in the left corner by the door that had several different pamphlets detailing local attractions. The floor was plain, clean tiling, and the front desk facing the doors was a simple counter, about waist height, with two people sitting behind it. The elevators and stairs were off to the right.

  After a few minutes, Julie returned, holding a swipe card.

  “They only had a double left,” she said, looking sheepish and a little awkward. “Sorry.”

  Jericho shook his head. “That’s fine—I’ll take the floor. I’ve slept on worse.” He turned and strode over to the elevator, pressing the button to call it. “What floor?”

  Julie checked the key. “Third,” she replied.

  The doors opened, and they stepped inside. Jericho hit the button for the third, and within a minute, they were walking down the corridor toward their room.

  Julie worked the door and opened it, stepping inside and holding it open behind her for Jericho. He followed her in, pausing to quickly check up and down the corridor outside, making sure there was nothing suspicious. Satisfied they were alone, he closed the door and locked it.

  The room, like the reception area, was basic but functional. A double bed against the right wall; a window facing them, offering a view of the street below and the restaurants opposite; a bathroom off to the left, with a shower cubicle in the corner… Luxury, compared to some places Jericho had spent the night.