A Necessary Kill

by James P. Sumner

  I feel calm. I know how this works, and having taken time to consider my options here, I’ve come to the unfortunate conclusion that I don’t actually have any. There’s nothing to think about, nothing to plan, no next steps… I am completely, unequivocally fucked. The police have me in custody, and I have no doubt that every government agency in the country will be aware of it. Usually, they would be fighting one another to see who can get here first and claim the prize. But not this time. This time, everyone’s drinking the same Kool-Aid. Everyone’s united under one badge, and President Cunningham’s made sure I’m going down as the most wanted man in history.

  Fucking prick.

  I feel my heart rate increase as I think about him and my jaw muscles clench as the frustration and anger build inside me.

  I can’t wait to shoot him.

  The door bursts open, distracting me. I casually look to my left and wait for whoever’s just walked in to stride into view. Probably some fat desk sergeant here to tell me the CIA are on their way to question me…

  Question me, my ass.

  I’m seething with rage, struggling to control it as it erupts inside.

  I swear I’ll burn this entire fucking building to the ground before I let them take me anywhere! Goddamn—

  “Adrian Hell…”

  Huh?

  Two men appear next to me. Both are in suits and wearing their jackets open with their badges clipped to their belts. FBI badges. One man’s Caucasian, and he takes a seat opposite me. The other’s a black man, maybe mid-thirties, and he stands just to the right of the table.

  I know them both—one better than the other. I didn’t expect to see either of them again. In fact, I know people went to great lengths to make damn sure I didn’t. For their sake.

  “Adrian, would you care to tell me what the hell you think you’ve been doing?” asks Special Agent in Charge David Freeman. His voice is as gravelly as I remember. Maybe even a little more so. I might have driven him to smoke more. He needs a shave, too, and his naturally tanned skin looks weathered. He seems tired—I can see the fatigue in his eyes.

  I raise an eyebrow and glance at Special Agent Tom Wallis, standing next to him. He nods once, discreetly, but says nothing. He looks tired as well.

  Welcome to my life…

  I take a deep breath. I know what’s going on here, even if I don’t understand how they managed to get involved. They can’t be seen to be familiar with me because Ryan Schultz saw to it that any involvement either of them had with everything that’s happened was explained away. The only thing that can’t be denied is that Wallis was in the room when Matthews pushed the button, and the official explanation is he was there trying to catch me. Consequently, he’s been dancing to Cunningham’s tune ever since.

  It’s a big risk, them coming here.

  But I’m glad they did.

  I casually glance over my other shoulder, up at the camera, and then directly at the mirror before answering.

  I shrug. “Honestly? An assassin was hired to kill me. I was defending myself.”

  Freeman frowns. “And who would hire one assassin to kill another?”

  “Another?” I smile. “Who said I was an assassin? I was just looking after my friend. Is she okay?”

  Wallis clears his throat. “Your friend has been taken to a hospital. She’s stable, but we’ll need to question her as soon as possible.”

  I breathe a silent sigh of relief. At least Ruby’s alright—for now.

  “Adrian, you’re wanted in connection with the murder of over twenty NSA agents, seven CIA agents, and suspected links to the terrorist organization responsible for the 4/17 attacks. We’re here to detain you pending a full investigation. You will be appointed legal counsel once you arrive at the FBI field office. Any questions?”

  I shake my head. “No, just make sure all my possessions are brought with us.”

  Wallis steps forward and unlocks my handcuffs, allowing me to stand. I do, and he turns me around, cuffing my hands again behind my back. “Let’s go, asshole,” he says, guiding me toward the door with his hand on my elbow.

  With Freeman just behind us, we walk through the precinct and out the back to the parking lot, where a chocolate-colored Crown Vic is waiting. Wallis guides me into the back seat, walks around the trunk, and climbs in beside me. Freeman slides in behind the wheel, starts up the car, and pulls out of the lot, heading west.

  12:09 EDT

  I hold off a couple of minutes before saying anything, as if waiting until we’re a safe distance from the precinct would make any difference whatsoever.

  “Guys, what the hell are you doing here?”

  Freeman glances in the rearview, catching my eye. “Saving your ass. You’re welcome, by the way…”

  “Yeah, thanks. But you coming in here to help me is a helluva gamble…”

  “We know,” says Wallis, next to me. “We didn’t have a choice. We’ve both been under scrutiny from the top since 4/17, and we’ve had no other option than to actively do what we can to help track you down. The plan being that once we did, we could get you before anyone else.”

  “Well, at least your plan worked.”

  He shakes his head. “No, Adrian, it didn’t. We didn’t find you.”

  I frown. “Then who did? And how come you’re here?”

  In the front, Freeman lets out a defeated breath. “The CIA have been using Cerberus to track you. That’s how they keep catching up with you. As part of the counterterrorism unit I run, we have access to that information as well, so we’ve been keeping one step behind the CIA, letting them do the legwork so they can lead us right to you. When the bulletin hit about you being apprehended, we knew we had to step in. How the hell did you get caught?”

  I shrug. “My own fault, I guess. I’ve been putting together a team to help me take down Cunningham. The CIA got to one of the people on my list before I could and hired him to take the rest of us out. You said they had Cerberus trained on me this whole time. Now I see how they managed it.”

  “So, this assassin was the guy you were fighting when you were picked up earlier?” asks Wallis.

  I nod. “Yeah, a very competent all-rounder called Fernando Garcia. Also known as The European. Just so you know, he isn’t going to stop until I’m dead. It doesn’t matter who’s with me.”

  Silence falls as Freeman navigates the dense midday traffic, taking the turn for the expressway that will take us all the way to the New Jersey Turnpike.

  “So, what’s your plan, exactly?” I ask.

  “Get you out of Atlantic City for starters,” says Wallis.

  I shake my head. “No way. I’m not leaving without Ruby. And the only other member of my team is meeting me here tomorrow. I can’t afford to lose him, too. Not now.”

  “We need to get you somewhere safe, Adrian. Somewhere we can regroup and—”

  “This isn’t a debate, Wallis. You just said the most powerful satellite in the world is being used to track me. There isn’t a safe place. Not anymore. And neither of you is really in a position to help me finish this. I need my team… what’s left of it, anyway.”

  “Okay, so what’s your plan?” asks Freeman, sounding like he’s losing patience with me. “Seriously—what do you intend to do to fix this?”

  I laugh. “Do you really wanna know?”

  He pauses for a moment. “Yes. Tell me.”

  I shrug. “Okay—I have a plan to get me and my team inside the White House. Then I’m going to do what I’ve been saying I’ll do all along—kill the president.”

  Wallis lets out a heavy sigh and shakes his head. “Jesus…”

  Freeman shakes his head. “I had to ask… Okay, what do you need?”

  I look at Wallis. “First, get these cuffs off me.” I shift in my seat and turn away from him slightly. He takes them off and I bring my hands around, sit back, and massage my wrists to get the blood flowing again. “Thanks. Okay, we’ve established I can’t hide, so I’ll stop trying to. I need to g
et Ruby, meet with Jonas, and make my way to Washington.”

  Freeman looks at us both in the rearview again. “That… ah… that might be a little difficult.”

  I frown. “Why?”

  “Because your friend was taken to a secure wing of the AtlantiCare Medical Center, which is a few miles in the opposite direction. She’s under twenty-four hour guard until she’s well enough to be moved. There’s no way you’ll get to her. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Freeman, just turn the damn car around.”

  “Adrian, you can’t be serious?” asks Wallis. “It’s suicide going back there. The CIA will have a kill order, and we can’t protect you.”

  “I’m not asking you to. And pretty much everything I’ve done in the last three weeks has been borderline suicidal, so that’s nothing new. This is the only way. I’ll worry about getting Ruby. Just get me there and then get out of here before what little cover you’ve got is blown.”

  Wallis sighs and stares at the floor. I feel sorry for him. He didn’t ask to get caught up in any of this, and he’s been doing his best to stay alive while watching my back—something that, at the moment, isn’t easy for anyone.

  “Ah, shit…” says Freeman.

  “What?”

  “We’ve got company. Lots of it.”

  I frown and look over my shoulder out the rear window. There are three black SUVs spread across the three lanes of the expressway following us.

  The CIA couldn’t be more conspicuous if they painted their standard-issue vehicles bright yellow and put a Playboy bunny on the roof holding a sign saying Agents On Board.

  I remember the good ol’ days when you never knew they were there. Old school spies and black ops units who appeared like ghosts a second before they took you. Nowadays, they shout it from the rooftops and take out ads in the fucking newspaper… And don’t get me wrong… it’s not because of a decline in quality—it’s simply that they don’t give a shit. Cunningham rules the world. Why should anyone who works for him care about the consequences of their actions anymore? It’s not like anyone’s going to reprimand them, is it?

  This is bad. Really bad. I glance quickly at Wallis and Freeman in turn—both of whom look worried. And justifiably so.

  I need a plan…

  I could—no… that wouldn’t work.

  There’s always—no… damn it, that wouldn’t work, either.

  Ah, I’ve got one!

  Well, that was quick, even by my standards.

  But… wait—no, I can’t. Can I? There must be another way…

  Shit.

  There isn’t another way.

  Oh, man, this is going to suck.

  Not for me, obviously.

  For these two.

  I look at Wallis. “Do you trust me?”

  He frowns. “I don’t like it when you ask me things like that… ”

  I smile momentarily. “I’ve got a plan that means we all get out of this. But you’re not going to like it.”

  “What is it?” asks Freeman.

  “Oh, you’re definitely not gonna like it! But there’s no other way. And no time to argue. Do you both trust me?”

  Freeman looks at Wallis in the rearview, and they both nod to each other.

  “Do what you need to,” says Wallis. “If the CIA stops us now, we’re all dead.”

  I nod. “My thoughts exactly. Okay… give me your gun, Tom.”

  He hesitates.

  “Come on,” I urge. “Time’s a-wastin’ here.”

  He sighs and pulls his FBI-issue Glock 22 handgun from his shoulder holster and holds it out to me. I glance quickly over my shoulder again to size up the SUVs. They’re closing fast. I can just make out the facial features of the driver on our tail, which means he should be able to see me as well.

  I need to make sure he sees everything…

  I look at Wallis and smile apologetically. “You’re a good man, Tom. Thanks for everything you’ve done for me.”

  He frowns. “I don’t underst—”

  I grab the gun with my left hand, raise my right elbow, and lunge sideways into him, connecting with his jaw. I hit him where his mandible meets his ear, and he slams against the side of the car, slumping unconscious in his seat.

  I face the front, carefully positioning the gun against the back of the driver’s seat.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” yells Freeman.

  I lean forward. “Sorry, David. I think you’re a dick, don’t get me wrong, but you don’t deserve this. It’s… it’s the only way…”

  I fire once, the gunshot muffled by the back of the seat. The bullet hits him exactly where I intended—the right side of his waist, through and through. It’s a fairly shallow flesh wound that avoids anything major. It’ll bleed like Niagara Falls and hurt like hell, but he’ll be fine.

  He falls forward, hitting the wheel with his forehead, which causes the car to swerve to the right. I put my hand against the headrest and push myself back in my seat, bracing for the inevitable impact.

  This was a stupid idea…

  17

  12:22 EDT

  The car slides across the outside lane, narrowly missing the oncoming SUV. We do a complete three-sixty, slamming side-on into the grass verge that runs alongside the expressway. My attempt at bracing counts for nothing. I’m thrown sideways and land on Wallis, who in turn is crushed against the door on the right side.

  Ah!

  My head bounces off the window, jolting my neck. I can feel a trickle of blood making its way down the side of my face. I sit back for a moment and try to relax my body. I glance forward, feeling a little dazed. Freeman is slumped over the wheel. I can see he’s breathing. Through the windshield I see the three black SUVs slamming on their brakes up ahead, ignoring the traffic and desperately trying to turn around safely, to come back and claim their prize.

  Exactly like I want them to.

  I look down and check the mag of Wallis’ Glock. Minus the round I put in Freeman, there are thirteen loaded with one in the chamber, safety on. I slide across the seat, put a hand on the door, and check through the rearview to make sure I’m clear. The road behind me is practically empty. I guess my friends from the CIA have already blocked the road—I’m sure people will be thrilled by that!

  I open the door, climb out, and stretch quickly before shaking my head to clear it. I glance back over my shoulder at the unconscious Wallis sprawled on the back seat. I feel bad for him. Freeman I can take or leave, but Wallis has always been good to me. I wish I had another option right now.

  I walk slowly into the middle of the road and face the three oncoming vehicles. The sun is tucked away behind some light clouds, and there’s a strong breeze blowing across from the east. I relax, standing casually with my arms by my sides. I grip the Glock tightly in my hand.

  I’m not entirely sure how to go about this. I guess I’ll just have to play it by ear. But whatever happens, there’s no way I’m leaving here with them.

  The vehicle on my right slows as it gets within a few hundred yards of me. The one in the middle follows suit, but the one on the left maintains its speed. It must be intending to go past and stop behind me…

  No chance.

  I whip my arm up, turn my body slightly, and fire once at the front tire of the vehicle. The sound of the bullet is partially drowned out by both the noise of the traffic on the other side of the expressway and the wind. But it’s still loud.

  It finds its mark, as I knew it would. The SUV’s probably doing forty-five, maybe fifty. The front left side drops sharply as the tire disintegrates, and the back swings out. The driver struggles to retain control. I stand my ground, holding my breath as the vehicle goes flying past inches away from me. It turns side-on, the remaining tires screeching loudly and throwing up smoke. I turn slightly and watch as it—

  Holy shit! It’s just flipped into the air!

  It crashes down heavily on its roof and slides farther away from me.

  I can’t pass up
this chance…

  I widen my stance, tense my body, and steady myself as I take aim, both hands on the gun. I take a deep breath and quickly drown out my surroundings until all I’m aware of is my target. I’m aiming for the gas tank…

  I line up my shot and fire three rounds in quick succession.

  There’s a deafening blast and a rush of air as the vehicle goes up in flames, the force of the explosion lifting it off the ground once more. It lands, and I hear the exposed framework creak over the crackling of the deadly flames engulfing the metal carcass, like a starving man would attack a buffet line.

  I allow myself a split-second of celebration for having just improved my odds of getting out of this in one piece before I spin around to face the remaining SUVs, which are stopping at an angle probably twenty feet in front of me, nose to nose.

  I close my eyes for a moment then adjust my grip on the Glock as I think about the next step. It’s eight on one… And not just any eight—these are CIA agents who will likely be under orders from on high to kill me. I think the time for interrogation has passed.

  I take a couple of deep breaths.

  In…

  Out…

  In…

  Out…

  I open my eyes and feel my Inner Satan slide behind the wheel.

  Adrian’s sitting this one out… These assholes are mine!

  I know I’ll only have a few valuable seconds before they retaliate, so I need to make sure every shot counts…

  I walk forward raising my arm and open fire before they have a chance to get out of the vehicles. The windshield shatters, exposing the targets trapped within. The driver catches a bullet in the forehead—he slumps against his door as a thick splattering of blood covers the glass next to him. The passenger scrambles for his weapon, but he has no chance. I aim and fire, putting a bullet through the center of his heart. He’s pushed back against his seat, a crimson pool expanding across his shirt.

  I turn my attention to the other SUV. The agents have had time to organize themselves a little, so the four of them are climbing out of the vehicle as I put them in my crosshairs.

  My first three shots take two of them out—the driver and one of the men from the back seat remain. By my count, I have five bullets left, and there are four assholes still standing. Cutting it close…