Collins looked along the line and sighed. “Ah, bollocks....”
He stepped forward, dropping his shoulders and whipping his head toward the nearest man to him. The headbutt connected—his forehead smashing into the guy’s nose, causing blood to splatter across both their faces.
Over by the pool table, Julie nudged Jericho. “Imagine if you did that?” she asked quietly. “You’d kill someone.”
Jericho raised an eyebrow. “Hmm... yeah, must remember that,” he replied absently, looking on at the ensuing bar fight.
The remaining two men rushed Collins, taking an arm each and pinning him against the bar. The recipient of the headbutt scrambled to his feet, standing in front of him. He unleashed four big punches to Collins’ ribs and sides, alternating left, then right, with each one.
Jericho tensed his arms and took a deep breath, trying to stay calm and talk himself out of intervening.
Julie turned her back on the proceedings and placed a hand on his forearm. “You look like you’re fixing to do something stupid,” she said, quietly.
Jericho looked at her with a humorless smile. “Or something brave...”
She shook her head and smiled. “Is this that line you were talking about?”
“It could well be, yeah.”
Suddenly, Collins pushed himself off the bar, breaking free of the grip they had on his arms. He pushed the guy to his left, putting a little distance between them. He then turned and threw a left body shot to the guy on his right, catching him in the stomach. Finally, he launched a right kick at the guy in front of him, catching him in the balls, causing him to double over.
It looked like he might get the upper hand, but the guy on his left jumped him, slipping a chokehold on him from behind and holding him steady. The other two men recovered and took it in turns launching horrendous shots to Collins’ body and face.
He had no chance.
“That’s it,” said Jericho, pushing past Julie. “Wait here.”
He strode over toward the bar, his eyes fixed on the nearest of the two men punching Collins. As he approached, he threw a straight right hand of his own, connecting flush with the guy’s already busted nose. The impact sent him staggering backward and over a table, sending it, and the chairs around it, scattering across the floor.
“What the—?” managed the other guy throwing punches, before Jericho grabbed him by the throat, heaving him effortlessly over the bar and sending him crashing down onto a shelf of dirty glasses. The guy grunted as they shattered from the impact, and Jericho glanced over and watched as he rolled to the floor, bleeding from a thousand tiny wounds along his arms and face.
He looked at Collins, who met his gaze and raised his eyebrows in silent thanks. He then bent his knees suddenly, dropping his weight and freeing himself from the choke. He lashed his right elbow back, hitting the remaining guy in his stomach. He turned as the guy was keeling over and delivered a strong left knee into his face, sending him sprawling backward.
He leaned forward, his hands on his knees, catching his breath.
“You alright?” asked Jericho.
“Aye... am alright...” replied Collins, standing up straight and extending his hand. “I’m Ray.” He nodded at Jericho’s eye patch. “And you must be Blackbeard?”
“It’s Jericho,” he replied, shaking his hand and ignoring the attempt at humor. “You can take a beating, I’ll give you that.”
Collins shrugged. “I can hand them out even better. It’s just these limp-wristed fuckers travel in packs. Shouldn’t have let ‘em get the jump on me.”
“Anyone ever told you that mouth of yours is gonna get you killed one day?”
Collins laughed. “All the time... Bastards!”
“You boys finished jerking each other off?”
They both turned to see Julie standing there, her arms folded across her chest and her eyebrow raised.
“And who might you be, pretty lady?” asked Collins, seemingly forgetting everything that had just happened.
Julie playfully patted his face with her palm. “Someone you will never see naked,” she replied, stepping past him and standing in front of Jericho. Her head was level with his chest, and she looked up at him, smiling. “Wanna get out of here?”
Jericho looked over her head and raised an eyebrow at Collins, who laughed and shrugged back. He looked down at her, staring into her brown eyes. “Lead the way,” he said.
She headed for the door. Jericho set off after her, stopping when he was level with Collins. “You gonna be alright?” he asked.
“I’ll be fine,” he replied. “Thanks for the save. You better watch your back though...” he nodded over to the door, where Julie was stood waiting, “...I think you’re about to have a rougher time than I just did!”
“We live in hope,” Jericho replied, patting him on the shoulder and walking off toward the door.
They stepped outside, both taking in a deep breath of cool air, looking around as dusk gave way to nightfall. They set off walking back to the GlobaTech compound.
“Just so we’re clear,” said Julie, after a moment. “You absolutely are not getting laid tonight.”
Jericho smiled but didn’t look at her. “It hadn’t crossed my mind.”
They made their way back to the base and headed for the tenement buildings that housed the live-in employees, which were situated in the far right corner, close by the perimeter fence, in the shadow of the mountain range behind.
There were three large tower blocks in total. Jericho was in the nearest one to them as they approached, on the third floor.
“This is me,” he said, ambling to a stop.
Julie didn’t stop, slow down, or even turn around. “What do you want? A parade?” she called back. She raised her hand, waving it casually. “See you tomorrow, big guy.”
She carried on toward the building farthest away from his. Jericho watched her, and was sure she put an extra sway in her hips to wind him up. He shook his head and smiled. “Sonofabitch...”
GRENADA, NICARAGUA
April 20th, 2017
23:06 CST
Chris Black was sitting alone in the meeting room, leaning back in his chair with his feet resting up on the table in front of him. The rest of the squad were sleeping, but he couldn’t settle his mind enough to do the same. Having spent the evening with LaSharde, he wanted to avoid waking her with his restlessness, so had left her in bed, resting peacefully.
Over twenty-four hours had passed since his conversation with Jones, and he attributed his growing uneasiness to that.
Suddenly, his phone rang, disturbing him from his anxious musing. It was on the table next to him, and the vibrating was amplified in the silence. He looked at the display, recognizing the number immediately.
About damn time...
He put his feet down and leaned forward, resting on his elbows and stroking his chin as he answered.
“Black,” he said.
“There’s been some developments,” replied Julius Jones, dispensing with any pleasantries. “This is the first chance I’ve had to call.”
Black sat up straight, disciplined and alert. “What is it?”
He heard a sigh down the line before Jones spoke. “First of all... your mission. Daniel Vincent is in Prague. We’ve picked him up in a hotel near Wenceslas Square. You need to leave ASAP. We’ve got the jump on this, but our advantage won’t last long.”
“Copy that. I’ll round up the team immediately. We’ll be airborne in thirty minutes.”
“Be aware that your target is employed by GlobaTech Industries. That means, in all likelihood, they will be actively searching for him as well. Be on your guard, and avoid any unnecessary conflict. Am I clear?”
“Crystal.”
“This mission must remain covert at all costs. Now, before you go, there are a couple of other things you need to know.”
Black detected the change in Jones’ tone, and knew that whatever was coming next wasn’t good. “Go on...�
��
“I’ve spoken with Director Matthews regarding your concerns over Mr. Santiago,” Jones began. “Your suspicions were accurate—he hacked into our secure mainframe and listened to an encrypted audio file... a recording of the director giving you the order to execute Jericho Stone.”
“I fucking knew he was up to something...” hissed Black. “That’s why he’s been asking so many questions...”
“The director has asked me to convey his request that he no longer wishes Mr. Santiago to be a part of your unit. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Chris?”
Black took a deep breath, clenching his jaw and glaring into space. “I do,” he replied.
“You’ll allow him to arrange your transport, and then you will terminate his contract before you leave. Am I understood?”
“Copy that.”
“Good. And finally, Chris, you personally have a very large problem. It’s Jericho... he’s still alive.”
The words hung in the silence as Black tried his best to comprehend them. “That’s not possible,” he said, finally. “Sir, I shot him in the face.”
Jones scoffed. “Whatever you did, it didn’t work. I’ve spoken to the man personally. He’s very much alive, and isn’t very happy with the CIA.”
“Where is he?” asked Black, getting to his feet. “I’ll—”
“You’ll do what you’re told,” said Jones, cutting him off. “Jericho’s with GlobaTech, so you can’t get to him. But I suspect he’ll come to you very soon, so be ready.”
Black was angry in a way he didn’t know he was capable of. He knew that anger was directed more at his own failure to take out Jericho than anything else, and his mind was already racing to think of a way to redeem himself.
“If he’s working for GlobaTech now, he’ll definitely be in Prague,” he said.
“That’s my thinking, too,” agreed Jones. “Which is all the more reason to watch your back while you’re over there, and keep the fucking thing quiet.”
Black hung up without another word, pocketed the phone, and began pacing back and forth in the room, like a caged lion. As he neared the table again, he let out a guttural scream and slammed his right fist down on the surface.
“Fuck!”
23:31 CST
Damian Baker, Charlotte LaSharde, and Rick Santiago sat facing him; summoned on a moment’s notice to prepare for action. Black had composed himself before waking them, wrapping his head around what he must do, and what was to come.
“I’ve received information from Langley,” he announced. “Daniel Vincent works for GlobaTech Industries, and is currently hiding out in Prague.”
“GlobaTech?” queried Baker. “Those guys are fucking golden at the moment...”
“I know,” agreed Black. “Which is why this mission needs to happen quietly. We suspect they’ll be sending a team to retrieve him. So we get there first, we bring him back, and we absolutely do not engage any hostiles unless we have to.”
The team exchanged glances before nodding their understanding.
“There’s something else,” continued Black. He paused for a moment, taking a breath, preparing himself for what he was about to say. He quickly thought of all the different ways he could say it, but in the end decided to just come out with it, like ripping off a band aid. “Jericho Stone is still alive, and he’s working for GlobaTech.”
The sound of a collective intake of breath filled the room.
“How?” asked LaSharde, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief.
Black shook his head. “I don’t know. But he’s already made contact with Langley, and threatened to go after Jones. My guess is he’ll want revenge, and he won’t understand that everyone was just following orders. We all need to watch our backs until he’s taken care of.”
“What makes you think he’ll want revenge?” asked Santiago quietly, speaking for the first time.
Black looked at him like he was an idiot. “Wouldn’t you?” he asked. “I know I would...”
“No offense, Boss, but you’re not Jericho. The man I knew was a soldier and a patriot. Revenge wasn’t really his thing.”
Black was furious, and stepped forward, glaring at Santiago, who was sitting with an annoyingly impassive look on his face. “I’d watch your mouth if I were you, and remember who you’re talking to.”
Santiago smiled. “Yeah, well—you’re not me, either. And I wasn’t following orders, you were. I think you’re afraid. And if I were you, I’d be afraid, too.”
The two men held each other’s gaze for a few tense, silent moments. Eventually, Baker cleared his throat and intervened.
“Alright, let’s take a breath, fellas,” he said. “Chris, what’s the plan for getting Vincent?”
Black looked over at him, pointing at Santiago. “Assuming it’s no trouble for him to arrange, we need to be airborne in thirty minutes.”
Santiago shrugged. “Piece of cake, homie.”
Black took a breath and stepped away, turning his back on the unit for a moment. Then he spun around again, re-focused on the task at hand. “Baker, LaSharde—head to the armory and gear up. “Santiago, console room. Get us in the air ASAP.”
He strode out of the room, headed out of the building and across the dusty, moonlit courtyard toward the barracks. There was something he needed to get before they left.
23:57 CST
Black walked out of the barracks and over to the armory. He could see LaSharde and Baker were already kitted out—tactical vests, assault rifles, handguns... the works. They were stood side by side facing Santiago, who had just started speaking as Black approached.
“The chopper’s three minutes out,” explained Santiago. “It’ll fly you to our usual airfield, where a Lockheed C5 will take you directly to Prague. When you land, there’ll be a transport vehicle waiting to take you straight to the target’s location. You’ll have the full support of local law enforcement while you’re there too, and I’m watching via satellite, so—”
“Actually,” interrupted Black, “I’ve just got off the line to Langley. There’s been a slight change to the mission brief.” He shuffled slightly to his right, putting his body mere inches from Santiago’s. His left hand slowly moved behind him, and when he spoke, he addressed LaSharde and Baker. “Director Matthews himself has advised that due to the sensitive nature of the mission, Langley will be monitoring the mission via a comms link to their local Station...” He paused and turned to Santiago. “...which means we no longer need your services.”
In a flash, he brought his left hand round, which was holding a KA-BAR combat knife, and whipped his body clockwise, thrusting the seven inch blade into Santiago’s gut, just to the left of his navel. His eyes went wide; the shock counteracting the pain, which would inevitably follow shortly.
The others gasped, and Baker instinctively took a step forward, but LaSharde stopped him. Black ignored them both, placing his right hand on the back of Santiago’s head and leaning in close.
“If you were me,” he hissed angrily, “you wouldn’t have asked the same questions that got that steroid-induced freak disavowed and shot in the face! I’m following orders, Rick... it’s nothing personal.”
He withdrew the knife and let go of his head, smiling into Santiago’s bulging eyes as he watched him drop to the floor, clutching at his stomach wound. Blood pumped out, soaking his hands and the ground around him, staining it a dark crimson.
Black wiped his blade on his leg and slid it back into its sheath before turning to face the others. “That,” he said, pointing to Santiago, “is what happens when you disobey a direct order from the director of the CIA. I trust the three of us are on the same page here?”
He knew LaSharde was with him, for obvious reasons. He assumed Baker was as well, but there was no harm in proving a point.
The chopper sounded overhead, interrupting the scene. Black looked up and smiled, quickly moving to grab his gear as it made its descent. Moments later, and the three of them were airborne and
bound for Prague.
WASHINGTON, DC, USA
April 20th, 2017
22:49 EDT
President Cunningham sat in the residence of the White House, sipping a large brandy in front of a log fire, reading the newspaper. He had changed out of his navy-blue suit once his working day was over, opting for a more relaxed outfit of jogging pants and a matching sweater, sporting the logo of Columbia University, where he graduated close to twenty-five years previous.
He was born into a family of active Republicans. His father, Charles Cunningham the fifth, had a seat in the House of Representatives during George W. Bush Sr.’s only term in the Oval Office. He was bred for politics from a young age, but quickly tired of the same approaches to the country’s problems, seeing the repetition as a cause of the issues, rather than an attempt at resolving them.
Cunningham knew that if any real long-lasting change was ever going to be implemented, then a radical new approach was needed. In the years that followed 9/11 he didn’t see fear where other people did. He didn’t see crisis. He saw opportunity. He saw a nation united against a common enemy. He saw an unprecedented desire to succeed.
He was determined to build on that. To recreate that feeling among the American people, but also to build on it. To make it a way of life, and not just a phase.
His first step was to look at the economy. To combat the recession, he knew the country needed a massive boost of income. International relations were delicate, to say the least, and it would’ve been a hard sell, even for him, to make significant changes to them. So he decided to look internally. He looked at what the United States had already, that could potentially be exploited on a larger scale to increase wealth.
Ahead of launching his campaign for the presidency, he commissioned a report to look at the biggest, and most lucrative, industries in the world, to see where the money was being earned, and to see if there was any way of turning an individual business into a nationwide commerce.
The two highest grossing industries in the world turned out to be the import and export of cocaine, and the sex trade. Drug cartels, for example, were earning hundreds of billions of dollars each year, illegally.
D.E.A.D. Till I Die: An Action Thriller (GlobaTech Book 1) Page 11