SANCTIONED - an action thriller collection: a Shadowboxer collection volume one (Shadowboxer files Book 1)

by Chris Lowry

“Twenty five,” he said.

  “Thirty two,” Brill smiled at him.

  “Plus a back up piece?”

  “Would you have taught me any different?”

  Foster nodded and pulled a pistol out of his pocket. He held one gloved hand over it but kept it free.

  “I'm here,” he said. “Just in case.”

  Brill nodded once and jogged across the street to the doorway. Foster lifted a wrist to his mouth and spoke into a hidden microphone.

  “Does it work?”

  Brill wiggled his jaw and twisted his head to one side to seat the ear piece better.

  “You tell me.”

  “Loud and clear,” Foster answered over the ear piece.

  Brill pushed through the door and walked down a dark hallway.

  “Third floor, last room,” said Foster.

  Brill hit the stairs and moved up quickly, taking two at a time.

  “I'm watching,” Foster said from below as he monitored with an infrared monocular. He spied two outlines standing where the stairwell ended on the third floor hallway.

  “Two bodies, top of the stairs,” he called out.

  Brill pulled the two pistols from his pockets and moved up the last flight of stairs one step at a time. He moved like a lion slowly approaching prey. One of the guards must have heard something and peeked over the railing.

  Brill raised the pistol and shot him through the mouth.

  The body dropped on the rail and gravity fought to pull it over. Brill rushed the last four steps and hit the hallway at a dead run.

  The second guard was running for the last doorway. Brill sent two silenced rounds into his back and watched him thud to the floor.

  He approached the door and listened. It was quiet.

  He expected to hear talking, the noise of the television, other sounds of a room occupied, but the silence was telling. They heard him or they had been tipped off.

  He leaned around, kicked the door open and ducked back behind the wall. Shots erupted through the open door and peppered the plaster across from him.

  In a lull, Brill rolled around the opening and shot once with each pistol. Two men dropped.

  Bullets blasted the wall behind him and stitched a pattern above his head, showered him with white dust.

  He jerked around the edge of the door frame and dropped the machine gunner and another man. Eleven men shot at him, but he rolled out of sight.

  He needed a distraction, but didn't to call up Foster. As if thinking of him summoned the man, he called over the radio.

  “Situation.”

  “Under control.”

  One of the men grabbed the machine gun and sent an entire magazine through the wall.

  “Sounds like it,” said Foster.

  Brill pulled out his back up piece and tossed it through the door.

  “Grenade!” he screamed and ran in after it.

  All the men in the room saw was a shape soaring through the air and someone yelling grenade. They were military trained, so instinct kicked in. When you hear grenade, you duck.

  Even as they ducked they saw a shadow move into the room. Brill shot left and right, each bullet finding a mark.

  Four men ran through a side door and kicked it closed. Brill moved to one side of the door and leaned down against the wall.

  Foster watched from below as the red bodies in the monocular slowly shifted toward blue.

  “Good work,” he said. “Five in the next room. They're waiting.”

  “Thanks,” said Brill.

  He glanced at one of the dead men, grabbed the body and propped it against the door frame.

  He kicked open the door and held the body in place as bullets slammed into it. He shoved the corpse inside and slid under it, shooting as he crawled. Five shots, five men down.

  He rolled from under the body and scanned the room with his pistol.

  “Uh oh,” he breathed.

  The room was empty with two sets of thick double doors on opposite walls. Brill makes a complete circle from one door to the other.

  “What is uh oh?” asked Foster.

  “What do you see,” Brill took a step back toward the door.

  “I have nothing.”

  “Find them,” Brill shouted.

  One of the double doors opened both side and he spun toward it.

  Bodies spilled out, shooting. Brill fires back, drops low and runs toward the men pouring into the room. They trip over the first wave of bodies he dropped, but more are behind them.

  One pistol clicked dry, he side armed it into one of the men, scooped up his back up piece and kept firing.

  Each shot hit a man and dropped him, the tremor and gore spraying back onto the man behind him.

  The viscera causes a seconds hesitation, but that's all Brill needs. He shot through the wave of men until both pistols ran dry.

  He rolled and slid across the floor to their fallen pistols as the second set of doors released more.

  Brill crawled over the bodies and used them as shields. Bullets thunked into the meat, covering him with blood and matter.

  One hand dropped an empty pistol and searched around for another weapon while the second hand kept firing.

  His fingers closed over a sawed off shotgun. He yanked it up and began pumping shell after shell into the mass of gangsters across from him.

  Foster heard the roar of the shotgun. He yanked the receiver from his ear and ran to the building. He took the stairs three at a time.

  The shotgun ran dry.

  Brill swung it into the crowd. A man shot him. He spun away and kept rolling, picking up pistols and firing as he went.

  He made one of the doors and ducked behind it as bullets shredded the wood. One of the guards ran up and peeked around the door.

  Brill reached up and jerked him down, snapped his neck.

  The last five guard spread out, weapons held ready. They crept toward the door.

  Brill patted the dead man's pockets, his lap, searching for a weapon.

  The guards moved closer. The lead man raised his hand to give the command to fire.

  Foster ran through the door and dropped them all with five pops.

  The room is full of smoke and blood, the bodies of almost fifty men splayed and twitching. Sirens echoed on the distant street.

  “Shadowboxer?” Foster called out.

  Brill pulled himself around the door and lurched to his feet. His left arm dangled uselessly from a shoulder wound, aggravated by the rolling around.

  “No problems?” Foster asked.

  Brill toed one of the bodies over so they could see it's face.

  “I got him.”

  Foster looked around and hooked his arm under Brill's shoulder. He led him down the hallway.

  “More than nineteen,” he commented.

  “I improvised,” said Brill.

  They exited into the street and detached so they wouldn't draw any attention as they slowly walked away.

  “You need a doctor,” said Foster.

  “It's just a flesh wound,” said Brill.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Brill leaned heavily on Ron as they pushed through the thick jungle vegetation. They followed a game path, but the brush was worn low closer to the ground. Birds and insects screamed and hummed in the hidden shadows. They could hear the crunch of bodies crashing through the jungle behind them as soldiers pursued them in the undergrowth.

  They pulled away from the noise as Ron steered them off the path and deeper into the jungle. Brill gasped as she propped him against a tree.

  “We need a doctor,” she said. “Can you make it?”

  He nodded and froze. A young soldier, barely out of his teens with wisps of a mustache on his upper lip held a shaky AK-47 in sweat slick hands.

  “Alto,” he said.

  Brill held out the rifle in his hand and dropped it. The soldier nodded.

  “Aqui,” he shouted. “Aqui!”

  “The safety's on,” said Brill.

&nb
sp; The teen tilted his rifle to check the safety. Brill lashed out and jerked the gun from his hands. He slammed the butt into the teens face and knocked him down. Brill spun the rifle around, pressed the barrel against the fallen man's chest and shot a muffled round into his heart.

  “Hey!” shouted Ron.

  He shrugged and pointed to the other rifle.

  “Let's get moving.”

  “He was just a kid,” she said as she scooped up the rifle and followed after.

  “A kid that would have killed us without a thought. And he gave away our position.”

  “You could have just knocked him out.”

  “Have you ever killed anyone?” he stumbled.

  She slid under his arm and kept him moving forward.

  “He was so young.”

  “They all are,” answered Brill.

  They moved deeper and deeper into the jungle until Ron spied a vine covered structure hidden under a fallen tree.

  “Ruins,” she said. “Looks like a temple.”

  “We can lay low.”

  She led him to the black opening and stripped away the vines and growth that covered the walls. The stone was gray, moss covering the intricate weather worn hieroglyphics from hundreds of years ago.

  He picked up a branch and beat the inside of the doorway. It was a perfect hiding place for snakes, spiders and any number of jungle creatures that could have made a den.

  “I wish we had a flashlight,” he said.

  They slipped inside the temple room. It was small. The walls extended roughly twelve feet back, with a low ceiling that made him duck. Sunlight leaked through in shafts, but the floor was mostly dry.

  Brill slid down the wall and collapsed.

  “We can risk a small fire after dark,” he said. “We just need wood.”

  Ron stepped back outside and gathered a few fallen branches. She returned with an armload and set it further back in the ruins.

  “They're still out there,” she said as she slid down the wall opposite of him. She cradled the rifle in her lap and watched him.

  “We'll wait,” he said.

  He closed his eyes and breathed in for a four count. He held the breath for a four count and slowly pushed it out. The pattern established he did it again. In four, hold four, out four, hold four. He repeated it twenty times.

  The meditative trance allowed him to assess the damage. They were hunted in the jungle, on the edge of being lost since they were so far off the trail. He was shot in the shoulder, but the wound was through and through. The biggest danger was infection. The sweat and heat were a breeding ground for all kinds of nasty bacteria that would kill him just as well as a bullet.

  They needed antibiotics, and clean dressings, and water. The slow blood loss was making him light headed.

  But they were alive. And armed.

  He finished the meditation and opened one eye to glance at Ron. She leaned her head back against the stone and watched the temple opening. Brill closed his eyes and tried to snooze.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Wallace sprawled across one of the double beds in a cheap hotel room, one hand on his stomach, and snored. It was a low annoying sound that penetrated the ear like the buzz of an insect. Foster sat on the other bed, one arm thrown across his eyes as he tried to ignore the snoring. He considered smothering the man with a pillow.

  A knock on the door sent Wallace rolling across the bed. Foster sat up and pulled his gun.

  “Expecting anyone?”

  Wallace shook his head and pointed his pistol at the door.

  Foster moved to one side of the door and reached to the doorknob. Wallace shifted left to cover him. They locked eyes and nodded. Foster mouthed three, two one and yanked the door open.

  The doorway was empty. A single female hand reached around the frame and waved.

  Maddie shifted through the doorway and stared at Foster.

  “I thought you retired,” he finally said.

  He motioned her in and closed the door behind her. He walked across the room and planted his back against the wall. Foster watched her while he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped down the barrel and handle of his pistol.

  Maddie sat on the bed and crossed her legs.

  “We're still on schedule.”

  “Hands on management,” she said. “I just can't stay out of it.”

  She pulled a pistol and handkerchief and matched the older man's movements.

  “Why are you still at it?”

  Foster watched her work on the gun, making sure the barrel never drifted toward him.

  “Are you here to contract me?”

  Wallace shifted on the bed and set his gun in his lap.

  “Your knuckles are white,” she nodded to Foster. He doesn't look.

  “You can look,” she said. “I won't shoot.”

  Wallace leaned forward and pressed the barrel of his pistol into her nest of hair.

  “I'm not your mark.”

  “Lay it down,” he growled.

  Foster began cleaning his gun again.

  “Let it go son. She could have had us both before you pulled the trigger.”

  Wallace let his pistol drift away, but watched her closely. One move and he would be ready.

  “She's strapped on under her right arm. The gun in her hand is empty. She'd show you that one, shoot you with the other.”

  “One of the better tricks you taught me.

  “I learned it from him.”

  The two of them worked in silence, each mimicking the other's movements of cleaning and wiping down their pistols.

  Wallace's stomach growled, breaking the silence.

  “Anyone else hungry?”

  Maddie glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

  “You tell him about waistlines?”

  “He says he has a fast metabolism.”

  “It will catch up with you,” she warned.

  “What doesn't?” the big man shrugged. “They serve pizza around here?”

  “Burrito stand, three buildings down.”

  “Man, I hate Mexico. I'm sick of burritos.”

  He stood up from the bed quickly and tucked his pistol into the waistband of his pants.

  “You say she's safe?”

  “I didn't say that,” corrected Foster.

  “So I shouldn't leave you alone with her?”

  Foster smiled over the tip of his pistol as he sighted on the wall.

  “I think we can manage.”

  “Want one?”

  “Thank you no,” said Foster. “Watch your head.”

  Wallace patted the bulge at the small of the back and squeezed through the cheap hotel door. Maddie listened to him as he lumbered down the exterior walkway.

  “He won't last long.”

  “He can shoot.”

  “How did you find him?”

  “He came on a referral. I thought it was you.”

  “No use for his type in my company. Want to play?”

  “I'm too old to play.”

  She went to the window and slid the curtains aside with the barrel of her gun.

  “He needs the practice.”

  Foster watched her back, the strong lines of her shoulders under the Armani suit, the movements like a lithe panther.

  “Were you contracted for him?”

  “I wouldn't tell you.”

  “If you hit him, I'll tag you,” he warned.

  She turned to him, a grin splitting her face.

  “That means you want High!”

  She pulled the door open, peeked out and ducked back in before exiting to ensure the way was clear. She sneaked out of the room. Foster followed on her heels, hiding his gun under his coat.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Garbage was the decoration of choice in every corner and crack on the dust drenched alley. Wallace walked through as if he owned the place. Shoulders back, head held high and eyes on a swivel.

  He stepped onto an equally dusty street in a small sleepy village
. A man sat in a doorway as he strummed a guitar. Wallace nodded, and the man nodded back.

  The burrito stand was a piece of plywood resting on two sawhorses, the ingredients under a couple of mesh screens and damp towels. It almost tipped over when Wallace leaned against it. He kept it from small with one hand and laughed.

  “Hola, donde estas?”

  He said to the small teen girl who shuffled behind the table to check on the ingredients.

  “Tres,” Wallace held up three fingers.

  He licked his lips as she slathered beans and beef on a tortilla, sprinkled in peppers and onions. He didn't pay attention to the clucking sound behind him or notice the guitar man stop playing and move further down the street.

  Maddie stood behind Wallace and glanced over her shoulder at the rooftop further down. Foster peered over the edge and watched them both. She smiled and took two steps up to the back of Wallace as he takes a huge bite out of the first burrito.

  She put the tip of her finger against the back of his head and whispered.

  “Bang.”

  Wallace jumped, dropped the plate of burritos. The vendor backed away, her eyes the size of saucers. Wallace gagged, lurched for Maddie as she stepped aside. He held both hands to his throat, choking. He lashed out in panic, punched himself in the stomach, but couldn't breath.

  Maddie studied his movements. Most people panic when they choke. The lack of air shuts down the reasoning center and goes straight into lizard brain survival mode. The brain can function three minutes or so without oxygen, so if a person remained calm while choking, they could reason out how to dislodge the obstruction and live.

  Everybody panics when they choke. Wallace fell to his knees.

  “Death by natural causes,” she said to him. “Always looks cleaner.”

  Two puffs of dirt erupted by her feet, followed by the sound of two quick pops in the air.

  She motioned with her finger to the roof and turned Wallace around. She grabbed him around the midsection and gripped her hands under his diaphragm. She glanced up at Foster who made a hurry up motion with his pistol.

  She jerked her fists up and back once, twice. Wallace coughed out the chunk of burrito and collapsed to the ground as he tried to catch his breath.

  “Scared you.”

  He nodded.