THE TRUST
by
Mikey Campling
The Downlode Heroes Book II
Logging In Is Just The Beginning
Table of Contents
title page
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Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Epilogue
Thank You For Reading
Coming Soon
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Copyright
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PROLOGUE
CORPORAL SANJAY LIES VERY STILL. The warm moisture from the flattened undergrowth beneath her body seeps through her uniform and creeps across her body, prickling her skin. But she barely notices the rough fabric clinging to her body, and she’s grown used to the cloying stench of decay in the air, the constant prickle of sweat on her scalp; all these come with the territory. And this is the toughest virtual territory of them all: Jungle Combat.
I signed up for this, she tells herself. I’m not here for giggles. And her lips curl in a smug smile. The Downlode Trust didn’t let just anyone log into their systems, but she’s earned the right to be here. And she’s ready. It’s time for me to show what I can do, Sanjay thinks. I just need to keep my focus and follow the plan. She takes a long, slow breath, steadying her nerves. “I’ve got this,” she whispers. And she has to believe it. She’s got to nail this mission if she’s going to make it into the Beta Program. She’s got to finish the mission uninjured, even though every difficulty setting is maxed out to the limit, and every safety protocol is turned off. It’s not going to be easy. The Beta Program is only for the highest performing students in the Trust, but she wants to take her place among them. She wants it so bad, she can taste it. I deserve it, she tells herself. God knows I put the time in. And memories stir in the back of her mind: the long hours logged in, fighting her way up through the ranks, pouring all her cash into combat gear and upgrades, sacrificing her friendships, her social life, even her studies. And I’d do it all again, she thinks. I’d do it in a heartbeat. Because this is her chance, her one shot at making it into the program, and it’s everything she’s been working toward. She’ll make them take her seriously. She’ll force them to give her the recognition she deserves.
But if she fails, if she screws up this mission, all her efforts will be for nothing. The Beta Program didn’t hand out second chances, and they didn’t make exceptions. But Sanjay won’t settle for second-best. I’m a Beta to the core. They’d be fools to turn me down.
All she has to do is make it through the next couple hours without being captured and then head to the exfiltration zone. But there’s a patrol out there somewhere, playing the role of the enemy, trying to track her down; a crack team of highly trained players, all experienced members of the Beta Program. “Evade and survive,” she whispers. “Evade and survive.” But she shakes her head to push those comforting words from her mind. Not good enough, she thinks. Not by a long stretch. This mission is a test of initiative. To be certain of a place on the program, she’s got to grab this mission by the throat and shake it until it rattles. She’s got to find the enemy patrol, and she’s got to kill them. She’s got to kill them all. And nothing will stop her.
CHAPTER 1
HANK STANDS OUTSIDE THE GAME STORE and looks through the grime-streaked glass to the game chair on display. The curling label on the chair reads Brand New! Cutting Edge Gaming Gear from Agrippine Corporation but any ten year-old would know that the chair’s red gel pads belonged to last year’s model. I don’t have time for this, Hank thinks. I need to get to work. “Shit!” he hisses under his breath. He’s on his way to work the lunch shift at the diner, and his boss will already be watching the clock and picking out a few choice words to hurl in Hank’s direction. But Hank promised Diane he’d stop by the store, and he shouldn’t let her down, not after all she’s done for him.
Hank pulls his phone from his jacket pocket. The phone is old and the screen is scratched and dull, but it tells the time. And Hank is late. I can’t lose that job, Hank thinks. I need the goddamned money. He pockets his phone, but as he turns away from the store, the door opens and Diane steps out and looks him up and down, her arms folded across her chest. “Hank, I’ve been waiting. Are you coming in or what?”
Hank shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Diane. I don’t have time. I have to go to work.” He hesitates. “If I’m late again, the old man is sure to fire me.”
Diane raises one eyebrow. “Grimes? He said that?”
“Sure.” Hank holds out his hands, his palms open. “Listen, I like coming over to help out at the store and all, and it’s real kind of you to look over my homework, but I have my shifts at the diner, and this whole night school thing…I just don’t have the time.”
Diane studies his expression and lets an awkward silence hang in the air.
“I’m sorry,” Hank says. “I have to go.”
“Well, it’s up to you, Hank. But when you hear what I’ve got to tell you, you might finally realize you’re wasting your time in that goddamned place anyway.”
Hank’s frown melts away, and he gives Diane an inquiring look. “What do you mean? My assignment? Was it OK? Did I do better than last time?”
Diane puts her head on one side as if searching for the right words. “Put it this way, if I was grading it, I wouldn’t be able to give it a C.”
The suggestion of a smile twitches the corners of Hank’s mouth. “You think I’d get a D?” He glances at the plate glass window and nods at his reflection. “Sweet. I thought I’d never get better than an E.”
Diane waits until she has his full attention, her expression a mask of unquestionable expectance. “I wouldn’t be able to give your assignment a C, Hank because it was a solid B if ever I saw one.” She pauses, watching Hank carefully. “And I’ve seen plenty.”
Hank stares at her. “Seriously? I got a B?” He runs his hand through his hair. “But, I don’t get it. I just…I mean, I thought it went OK, but, a B? I can’t believe it.”
“Well, something must have clicked,” Diane says, “because that was a solid piece of work, Hank. So it’s about time you thought seriously about your future. We need to sit down right now and talk about where you go next.”
> Hank shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know. I’m late for work already.”
Diane purses her lips for a moment. “It’s up to you, Hank. You can come inside and take a hold of your life, and set yourself on the right track, or you can scurry off back to that roach infested dump of a diner and spend the rest of your life taking shit from the likes of old man Grimes.” She reaches out and pulls the door open. “What’s it going to be?”
Hank stands in silence for a second then he pulls his phone from his pocket and looks down at the screen.
“I think we both know what time it is,” Diane says. “About two minutes since you last checked.”
Hank doesn’t look up from his phone. “I know. I’m just calling up the diner.” He holds his phone to his ear. “Maybe, if I tell them I’m going to be late, it’ll be OK.”
“All right,” Diane says. “But if that old bastard gives you any trouble, he’ll have me to answer to.” She gives Hank a tired smile then turns away and walks through the door, calling back over her shoulder. “When you’re ready, I’ll be inside.”
“Be there in a minute.” Hank turns his attention to his phone. He needs to come up with a good excuse, and he needs it fast.
When his call is answered there’s no mistaking the surly voice of Mr. Grimes: “Lamplight Diner. What can I do for you?” Somehow the man makes it sound like a threat.
“Hi, Mr. Grimes, it’s Hank. I’m going to be a little late to work this morning. It’s my dad. He’s not feeling too well, and he needs me to take him to the doctor.”
There’s a brief silence, and when Grimes speaks, his tone is even more sour than usual. “Your old man? Mervin?”
“Yeah. Sorry to let you down, but he isn’t doing too good.”
“That’s a shame, kid. It must’ve been real sudden.”
“Yes. Yes, it was,” Hank says. “It’s probably nothing serious, but he needs to get it checked out.”
“It’s a funny thing, the way someone can get sick so fast,” Grimes says. “A real puzzler. Because you know what? I just served your dad a cup of coffee five minutes ago. And I’m no medical expert, but he looked all right to me. In fact, he was bragging how he’d never felt better. A real spring in his step, you might say.”
Hank winces. “Oh, I didn’t…”
“Save your breath, kid,” Grimes says. “Just come by later and hand in your uniform, and I’ll give you your last paycheck.”
“Right. OK. Only, I was just…” But Grimes has already ended the call. “I guess that’s that,” Hank mutters. He pushes his phone into his pocket and steps toward the store. Maybe Diane’s right, he tells himself, it was a lousy job anyway. And when he pulls the door open, the smell of fresh coffee swirls out to meet him. Diane always made the best coffee, and if he was lucky, she might have brought in some of her homemade brownies. I’ll just have to work something out, he tells himself. Who knows? Maybe it’s for the best.
But as the door swings shut behind him, the cramped interior of the store is gloomier than usual, and the crowded ranks of reconditioned game chairs press in on him from every side. And when Diane appears at the doorway of her back office and beckons him to step inside, he does his best to return her smile, but his mind is instantly elsewhere. Good grades won’t put food on the table, he thinks. And he knows, with a cast iron certainty, that his dad is going to say exactly those words when he hears Hank’s news.
“Quit daydreaming,” Diane calls. “Get your ass in here.”
“Sure,” Hank says. “I was just thinking about that grade. I can’t believe it.”
Diane fixes him with a look. “Well, you worked hard enough, so you might look a sight more cheerful about it.” She pauses and lets out a sigh. “I don’t know what goes through your head, I really don’t.” Then she turns and bustles back into her office. “Let’s get to it, Hank. I haven’t got all day.”
“Be right there,” Hank says, and he tries to sound enthusiastic. But as he picks his way across the store, he keeps his eyes on the threadbare carpet. I’m in no hurry, Diane, he thinks. No hurry at all.
CHAPTER 2
COLONEL STEWART HEADINGLEY-CLARKE PACES THE FLOOR, sipping occasionally at a paper cup of coffee. The departure lounge at the Downlode Trust’s UK landing strip is spartan at the best of times, but at six o’clock in the morning it’s cold and soulless. The glaring overhead lights are offensively bright, and since the northern sky is still pitch black, there’s nothing to see at the window except for the ghostly reflections of the lounge’s anonymous doors and empty, echoing corridors. Stewart gulps down the last lukewarm dregs of his coffee and tosses the cup into a trash can. The bitter, metallic taste of stale coffee clings to his tongue, and he grimaces at his reflection in the window pane. When the damned plane finally arrives, the first thing he’ll do is get a slug of that bourbon they always carry.
What would my old man say if he saw me drinking bourbon? he wonders. His father served in the Royal Regiment of Scotland, rising to the rank of Brigadier, and although he’s retired these days, the quickest way to get on the wrong side of the old man’s fiery temper is to offer him anything other than a twenty-five-year-old, single malt scotch. But Stewart spends most of his time stateside these days, and slowly but surely, he’s developed a taste for Kentucky’s contribution to the world of whiskey. He allows himself a wry smile. Fortunately, whichever of its jets the Trust has sent for him, it’s sure to have a fully stocked bar.
He stretches his back and yawns, then checks the time on his watch. The plane should be rolling in within minutes. The Trust’s pilots are all ex-forces, and they run their routine flights with all the precision and rigor of a vital military operation; whatever happens, his flight won’t be late. He stares out the window, waiting for the moment when the runway’s lights will cut through the inky darkness. For a moment, he thinks of his home in Scarsdale. What time will it be over there—one in the morning? Yes. And if there was any justice in the world he’d be there now, relaxing with a good book in his king-size bed. If only, he thinks, and he closes his eyes.
The shrill sound of his phone ringing brings him round with a start. The strident ringtone reverberates around the bare room, and Stewart snatches his phone from his jacket pocket and checks the screen. “Oh hell! What can Brunner want at this time in the morning?” His thumb hovers over the red reject call icon; one tap and he’ll be left in peace to catch his flight. But he can’t do that. Stradford Brunner is the chairman of the Downlode Trust’s board of directors, and since the Trust spans the globe and has strong ties with governments and corporations on every continent, Brunner is not a man to be tangled with. And he’s also Stewart’s boss.
Stewart sighs and takes the call. “Stradford, what can I do for you?”
“That depends,” Brunner answers. “Are you at the airstrip?”
“That’s right. I’m expecting a flight any moment. I’m going to spend a few days in New York, then I’ll be heading over to the candidate event in Austin.”
“Not anymore. I need you to go back to Northridge House and catch a couple hours sleep. I want you in the boardroom at nine o’clock local time.”
Stewart stares out the window and watches as the landing lights flare into life. So close, he thinks. “But I have a full schedule back in the States. I’m booked up for the next three weeks. And my flight—it’s just about to land.”
“I know,” Brunner says, “I’m on it. I’ll be landing very soon, and I don’t expect to see you waiting. And as for your schedule—forget it. It’s gone. Go back to Northridge and take a break—it may be the last chance you get for a while.”
Stewart runs a hand across his forehead. “There’s trouble?”
“Yes. I can’t say more, but it started at Northridge so that’s where you need to be.”
“Understood. I’m on my way.” Stewart hesitates. Outside, he can see the plane’s lights as the jet arcs toward the landing strip. He pictures a soft leather seat, a glass in his hand, the light c
atching the amber liquid as it swirls around a chunk of ice. “Tell me, Stradford—what did they send, a Gulfstream?”
“No. It’s the Bombardier. A Global 7000.”
“Ah yes. A nice plane.”
“Is it?” Stradford asks. “I find it…small. Call me old-fashioned, but I’ll take my Boeing any day of the week. I had them take out the dining room and fit a gym in there. Did you know that?”
Stewart does his best to keep his tone neutral. “I believe you may have mentioned it.”
There’s a pause. “Is that your Brit sense of humor? I never can tell. Wait. Don’t answer that—I don’t need to know. Just head back to base and I’ll see you in the boardroom at nine. Don’t be late.”
The call ends abruptly and Stewart pockets his phone and turns away from the window. Whatever’s going on, it must be serious, he thinks. But I’ll find out soon enough. He takes a last look around the room and lets out a small sigh, then he heads for the parking lot. It’ll take him a while to drive to Northridge House, and the sooner he gets there, the sooner he’ll be able to start digging around and find out what disaster has brought the chairman of the Trust’s directors across the Atlantic.
CHAPTER 3
SANJAY LICKS HER LIPS. Her mouth is dry and her throat parched. Back in the real world, her body is becoming dehydrated. If she doesn’t see some action soon, she might have to log out and gulp down an isotonic energy drink. She could even try to freshen herself up a little before logging back on. Yeah, right, she thinks. And I might just give up my rifle and take up the violin instead. She allows herself a grim smile and moves her head slightly from side to side, stretching the muscles in her neck, clicking her cervical vertebrae. She mustn’t let herself get too tense. She must be ready for action at a moment’s notice.
She takes a deep breath and releases it gently through her nose without making a sound. And in that moment, a message flashes onto her UI:
TARGETS LOCATED—ENEMY PATROL APPROACHING YOUR POSITION
The Trust (The Downlode Heroes Book 2) Page 1