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

by Chris Lowry

  “You hold it well. I never could have made a shot like that,” Johnson admired.

  He took another long swallow.

  “I got to know something though. Did you let me win? Wait, don't answer that. I like to think I did that all on my own. I've been looking for you since DC. You did a good job there too. Did you hear they finally ruled it a suicide? An expert panel couldn't tell. Even I couldn't tell, and I knew you did it.”

  Brill leaned back against the cab of the truck and waited. He watched Johnson with veiled eyes.

  “That's why they sent me after you. The Director and Senator were worried. Too many potential suicides, huh?”

  Johnson laughed again. He clapped one of the commandos on the shoulder and almost knocked him out of the back of the truck. The man could have killed with the look, but Johnson ignored him or didn’t notice.

  “I wouldn't have found you but for her little group. These small time revolutionaries like to think they're big bad warriors,” he snorted. “A tiny splinter under one fingernail and they tell you where their momma lives. You were easy to find. Who shot you? No matter.”

  He pushed past the Commando and peered out into the jungle.

  “It’s not far now.”

  Johnson settled his bulk back onto the narrow bench and screwed the cap back on the tequila bottle before stowing it in his bag.

  The transport slammed on it’s brakes and skidded to a stop.

  Johnson and the commando’s lost their balance and shifted forward, the big man’s fingers scrambled for purchase on the bars of the bed walls.

  Brill rolled forward and slammed his good shoulder into one of the Commandos, knocking him out of the truck. He grabbed the second one’s gun, flipped it and shot the man.

  Johnson recovered quickly and pawed his pistol out. He twisted to aim at Brill and found himself staring down the barrel of the rifle.

  “Shit,” muttered Ron.

  A bullet cracked out of the jungle and split open the head of the Commando in the road as he struggled to rise.

  Brill shifted so his back wasn’t to the open gate.

  “Rique,” Ron squealed as her friends stepped out of the fringe of the jungle on one side of the road.

  Johnson slid over the side of the truck and fell to his feet.

  Brill shot, but missed.

  Johnson took off for the thick foliage that lined the road, zigging and zagging in speed that defied his bulk. He raised the shoulder over his pistol and squeezed off four shots as he ran. They were wild but had the desired effect of making everyone duck so they couldn’t shoot back.

  Brill emptied the clip into the leaves where the big man disappeared.

  “Come on!” Scooter yelled and dragged Enrique up from the road where he cowered.

  Brill dropped over the side of the truck and yanked the quivering driver out. He smashed his head with the rifle.

  “Move,” he shouted.

  Ron jumped out of the truck and followed him into the cab. Brill slumped over the wheel working to catch his breath. The activity drained away the solace of the tequila and brought back the dull ache that threatened to overtake him.

  Dana jumped on the runner.

  “We stole a jeep.”

  “We have to go,” said Brill. He dropped the truck in gear.

  “Wait!” screamed Ron.

  “He’s out there and he won’t miss,” Brill warned.

  She looked from Brill to Dana and back again.

  She couldn’t leave her friends and fellow fighters to be picked off by the big man.

  “Get in,” she yelled to Scooter as she moved over and motioned Dana in beside her.

  Scooter shoved Enrique over the gate and leaps in behind him as Brill jammed the accelerator and rocketed down the pot holed jungle road as fast as the path would allow.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Ron reached around and opened the sliding glass window set in the back of the truck cab. She shoved her torso through the opening and hugged Scooter in one arm, Enrique with the other.

  “Tell her nothing,” slurred Enrique, still groggy.

  “Rique,” Dana chastised him. “It’s still Ron.”

  He glared from Dana to Ron and back again, his eyes finally settling on the back of Brill’s head in the cab.

  “She’s still with him.”

  “He’s not one of them.”

  “He’s not one of us,” said Enrique. “Who is he with?”

  “I don’t know yet,” said Ron as she pulled herself back into the cab. “But he’s with us for now.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Brill gripped the wheel with both hands and concentrated on the road. His eyes were bleary, but his breathing was slow and deliberate. Four count in, four count hold, four count out, four count hold. Again and again until the pain in his shoulder subsided. The shot had bruised the side of his body and the constant abuse over the past twenty hours was making it worse. He wasn't sure if the bullet nicked bone, but the muscles tore more every time he moved his arm, which made the purple and yellow splotches under his skin grow more.

  He was going to need a long break when they got free.

  "Where are we going?" Ron gasped next to him.

  He glanced over. She was pretty calm for a student under fire. A thought tugged at the edge of his consciousness, but a pothole dislodged it as he caught his breath.

  "North," he grunted.

  "You're bleeding. Again."

  "I'll be fine."

  Ron scooted across the seat and slammed her foot on the brakes.

  Scooter slid in the back of the truck bed and banged his head against the window.

  "Ow," he howled.

  "Sorry Scoot, get in here." she called through the glass.

  "You're bleeding,” she said to Brill. “You might die and if you die while driving, I might die. I'm not ready for that.”

  Scooter opened the door.

  “What’s up boss?”

  “Shift him over,” she dragged Brill to the passenger door, and hopped over him to be in the middle of the seat.

  “Drive,” she commanded Scooter.

  The truck lurched into gear and grumbled forward. Ron peeled open Brill’s shirt and grimaced.

  “You ripped the stitches. I know it hurts. Scooter, give me your shirt.”

  Scooter contorts behind the wheel and hands his sweat stained shirt to her. Ron folded it up and pressed it against the wound to staunch the bleeding.

  “We have to ditch the truck,” said Brill.

  “Relax,” said Scooter. “We’re not amateurs. We’ve done this before.”

  He slammed on the brakes. The truck fought for traction on the loamy road. Ron slid forward and banged her head on the plastic dashboard.

  “Damn it Scooter.”

  She glared at him then noticed his stare, mouth open as he took in the road in front of them.

  Ron glanced up the road. A nest of guns aimed at the cab of the truck, dozens of Federales lined from tree line to tree line.

  “They got us man,” Scooter started hyperventilating. “We’re going to prison. They got us. We have to give up.”

  Dana tapped on the glass. Enrique lifted to assault rifles, hidden by the back of the cab.

  “Hand me a rifle,” Brill said through the open glass.

  He creaked the passenger door open.

  “Tell them we surrender,” he instructed Scooter. “Get in the floorboard.”

  He used his other hand to push Ron down toward the floorboard behind the protection of the big block engine.

  Scooter held up both hands so the soldiers could see through the windshield.

  “We surrender,” he called in Spanish. “We surrender!”

  Enrique slid a rifle to Brill, hidden by the open door.

  “Get down,” said Brill.

  He swung out of the cab, partially blocked by the door and began firing in calm, deliberate shots. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Five Federales fall before the rest thing to return fire.


  Ron squeezed into a small ball on the floorboard of the truck as bullets pinged and cracked off the hood and windshield.

  Brill drops to the ground and rolls under the truck to the driver’s side, firing between the tires as he goes. The soldier’s keep dropping.

  They aim at the passenger door and pepper it with bullets. The ground in front of the truck erupts in geysers of dust.

  Enrique pops up over the top of the cab and opens fire. He’s not as precise or as deliberate as Brill, but with an automatic, it really didn’t matter. The lines of soldiers collapsed. Survivors loped for the protection of the jungle.

  Brill aimed carefully from under the truck and dropped them.

  The jungle grew quiet. Clouds of cordite made a gun smoke scented fog over the road.

  Brill stood up as he scanned the road ahead of them.

  Enrique leaned over the truck bed and smiled.

  “Amigo,” he congratulated Brill.

  His chest exploded, spraying red mist across the olive paint on the truck cab.

  Brill dropped behind the wheel of the truck searching for the shooter.

  Johnson ran from the jungle and slid behind the rear wheel on the opposite side of the truck.

  Brill extracted the clip and checked. He was empty. He glanced around and spied Enrique’s rifle near the rear tire on his side. He peeked around the edge of the tire, saw Johnson’s shoulder and lunged for the rifle.

  Johnson pounced around the back of the truck and slammed his foot on the rifle just as Brill’s fingers closed around the stock. Brill looked up into the barrel of a Glock aimed at his face.

  “God damn you’re good,” Johnson grinned. “Shelby warned us about you.”

  He nodded toward the carnage up the road.

  “The rest of you, out of the truck.”

  Ron slid out of the cab and landed on shaky legs.

  “Where’s the other one?” Johnson kept his pistol on Brill.

  “Dead,” Ron sobbed.

  “Bring him out.”

  She reached back into the truck and hauled Scooter’s bullet riddled corpse from the seat of the truck. It flopped on the ground with a wet thunk.

  “What about that one?” Johnson nodded to the truck bed.

  Ron stood on a step and peered into the bed. Dana lay in a ball, eyes closed. Ron reached for her.

  “Dana?”

  “No hands,” Johnson warned.

  Ron bowed her head. Dana didn’t move.

  “Her too,” she whispered.

  Johnson watched her for a moment and shook his head.

  “Too bad.”

  Johnson glared at Brill. His finger tightened on the trigger.

  “We could play for it,” said Brill.

  “Why delay the inevitable.”

  The fat man took a deep breath. The lines on his knuckles grew white. Brill shifted as the shot rang out. The bullet ripped into the body of the truck.

  “Son of a bitch,” Johnson gasped.

  Brill kicked his knee, knocked him off balance. Johnson recovered, brought the pistol to bear as Brill struggled to twist the rifle around.

  Bullets slammed into Johnson and knocked him flat.

  Dana sat up and kept firing until the hammer on her pistol clicked dry.

  Ron reached up and took the pistol from her.

  “You got him honey, it's okay.”

  Ron pulled a magazine from her waist and reloaded the pistol. She knelt next to Brill and checked his blood covered torso.

  “Good thing you kept him distracted,” she winced.

  The wound was open wider, blood cascading down his ribcage. Dana dropped in the dust next to Ron and took over.

  “If you were a horse, I think we would have to put you down.”

  She checked a second wound in his leg where a bullet had carved out a chunk of meat.

  “Ron, rip some bandages from Enrique’s shirt,” said Dana, her voice catching on his name.

  “We need to keep moving,” grunted Brill.

  “You need a hospital,” said Dana. She used the strips of cloth to bind the wounds and stop the bleeding. “You’re going into shock. You need plasma and antibiotics.”

  Dana checked a couple of the Federales for a clean shirt and stripped one of the bodies. The cloth had blood on it, but it was the least stained among them. She helped Brill slip into the shirt.

  “No hospital,” he groaned. “I have supplies.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “North,” said Ron. “We’re going North.”

  Her voice was hollow and sad.

  “What’s North?” Dana asked as she lifted Brill and put his uninjured arm over her shoulder. She helped him to one of the Federale Jeeps parked on the other side of the carnage spread across the road.

  “Someplace safe,” he said as she spilled him into the back seat. “Baja. Head for Baja.”

  Ron collected three rifles and six magazines and put them in the floorboard next to him.

  “Should we bury them?” she motioned to the bodies of Enrique and Scooter.

  Dana sniffed twice and a dam broke somewhere inside of her. Tears slid down her cheeks and dropped on her dirt stained tee shirt.

  “We don’t have time,” she sobbed.

  Ron put an arm around her and drew her in close. She held her for a moment, then pushed her toward the passenger seat.

  “I’ll drive,” she said.

  She started the Jeep and pulled under the jungle canopy. Dana fished around in the back floorboard and pulled one of the rifles in her lap. She wanted to be prepared. Just in case.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  “I wondered when you got here?” Foster sipped a cup of coffee at a cafe table on the patio. He was in the gunslinger’s seat, the chair with a back to the wall and a full view of the street down to the ocean. Wallace sat on one side of the table, legs stretched across a second chair as he sipped on a large glass of tea.

  Maddie pulled out the chair opposite Wallace and sat with her back angled toward the wall. It still left her vulnerable to Foster, and he could tell she felt it. Her head was on a constant swivel, scanning the street and back at them.

  “I’ve been watching,” she said.

  The small waitress came over and took her drink order, coffee and returned quickly with a cup to match Foster’s.

  “Maybe he went somewhere else?” said the man. “Does he have a place we aren’t aware of?”

  “He doesn’t go anywhere else,” she said as she took dainty sips.

  Wallace slurped the bottom of the cup and set it on the table.

  “He’s probably dead.”

  Foster glanced at his protege and shook his head.

  “He’s not dead.”

  “I don’t know, I winged him pretty good.”

  Maddie snorted.

  “Wing does not work on this guy. You have to nail him dead on. Even then, you can’t be sure.”

  Foster turned his scrutiny to her, light dawning in his crinkled eyes.

  “Is that why you retired?”

  Maddie shrugged and studied the bottom of her coffee cup.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  The flea market in the small village at the base of the Alps was crowded. Bright splashes of colorful awnings dotted the town square as thousands of people milled about from vendor to table vendor. The smell of roasting nuts and beer was in the air from stalls set up several hundred yards apart.

  Brill rode a bicycle to the edge of the crowd and locked it to a bike rack before diving into the throng. He was younger, dressed like a poor student, with scruffy hair, a goatee and worn backpack over one shoulder. No one paid him a second glance.

  He moved with deliberation through the crowd, searching. His eyes locked on a tall man with graying hair and Brill fell in step behind them, separated by several dozen people. It gave him time to study him.

  He was lean to the point of emaciation, but wore an expensive suit. His hawkish features and narrow nose gave him th
e look of a predator, which Brill thought was made more poignant by a possessive hand he kept on the shoulder of a young blond girl beside him. The tall man steered her through the crowd, controlling. She looked young. Brill knew she was seventeen to the tall man’s fifty two.

  He tailed them as the man steered her out of the crowd and to an old office building converted into small apartments. The man pulled her into a doorway and roughly kissed her.

  Brill slipped into a second doorway across the way and further up to watch. The street was almost empty except for a rotund man waddling up the cobblestone sidewalk and a woman padding in his wake. He did a double take.

  Maddie?

  He ducked his head and let them pass by, then slipped out of the doorway and stalked them.

  The rotund man turned into a narrow side street and Maddie followed. Brill paused at the corner and peeked around the edge.

  She was leaning against the wall.

  “Pardon, Mouisier,” she called.

  The man stopped and stared at her. She wore a short dress with a low cut on the bosom, and leaned forward. It was an effective distraction. His breath came quickly as he stared.

  “Help, please,” she continued.

  The man waddled toward her. He got within arm’s reach and Maddie pulled out a pistol. She shot him in the stomach. He gasped and fell, gripping his insides that spilled out across the dirty stones. He started moaning and she kicked him in the head.

  Maddie leaned down and pulled his wallet from a jacket pocket. It looked like a robbery gone bad.

  She slid the wallet and pistol back into her small purse and turned.

  Brill stood at the end of the alley smiling.

  “Sweetheart,” he said.

  Maddie froze.

  “You saw.” It wasn’t a question. Her eyes darted around the narrow street and over his shoulder. They were alone now, but in the city, they wouldn’t stay undiscovered for long.

  “It’s not what you look like,” she marched toward him, one hand in her purse.

  He nodded.

  “Let me show you something.”

  He held out his hand. She studied it for a second, then grabbed it and followed along.

  Brill led her to a three story apartment building with a front door propped open. They went up to the third floor where he used a key to unlock a room. It was empty, except for a table set up beside a dormer window. All of the other windows had thick sheets draped over them, but for the one by the table. A rifle rested on the surface.