Agent M: Project Mabus (The Agent M Series Book 1)

by L. M. Vila

  “Any IDs?” Another asked.

  Meryl balked at answering that directly. She desperately wanted to know what Michael's was up to. There had to be a significant reason. Going against the book, Meryl decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “None yet,” she began, “but make sure no one enters the building until I give the order. Is that clear?”

  The officers gave a resounding “Yes ma'am!”

  As she looked into the church, Meryl saw nothing but darkness. She could only hope her faith wasn’t in the wrong place.

  Steps slowly echoed inside. Michael made his way to the center aisle. He carried himself sluggishly, taxing his remaining strength. Nerves continuously cried for him to stop with each step. The pleas fell on deaf ears. Not when his goal is so clearly in sight.

  Richard heard everything. Someone was coming. He yelped with a twinge of both pain and fear. Anxiety had increased tenfold. The quiet demeanor of the devil who recently came to haunt his world was terrifying. He'd never seen anyone, or anything for that matter, move or act like that man did. As if Lucifer himself appeared only to torment Richard’s soul.

  Michael reached the top of the aisle. The candles created a shadow of his demonic figure; a silhouette of impending death. His eyes still burned red. More than enough to frighten any mortal.

  Desperation kicked in. Richard began searching for his lost hand. Fear swallowed his thoughts as it rested near the entrance. There wasn't any time. His good arm dragged the rest of his body across the floor of the holy building. The demon began to march.

  Inching forward, Michael moved steadily. The floor creaked with every step. He continued to push himself through the darkness.

  The gun was nearby. Richard's severed appendage still clung to it with the same passion it had while attached to his body. He continued to crawl. The menacing creaking noise drew closer. There wasn't much time. The demon's wrath loomed.

  Heavy breaths exited Michael's body. Exhaustion had swathed every cell. His body wanted to give up. Michael ignored them and kept moving.

  Luck graced Richard for the first time tonight. The revolver was well in his grasp. He pulled it towards his body. Nothing made him happier. He pried the gun from the lifeless grip of his dead hand and checked the chamber. Richard's heart dropped when he couldn't find a single loaded bullet.

  Halfway there, Michael moved through the aisle between the white pews of the church. This holy ground was desecrated by Montalv's malevolence. Michael was determined to end the madness. Onward he went.

  Richard reached into his pockets to search for unused rounds. A large chunk of brass and lead spilled onto the ground. The demon drew closer. Time was running out.

  Distance had shortened. Michael closed in. He watched his prey squirm frantically, hoping to cling on to more moments of life. The hunt would soon end.

  Bullets scattered everywhere. Richard was able to open the chamber of the revolver with a series of distressed flicks of his wrist. Convulsions plagued his system. The loss of blood affected his movements more than he could ever imagine. Richard's hand acted if it had been struck by lightning. He couldn't keep it still. The bullet slowly reached an empty chamber of the gun. Metal clacked as it bounced away from his grasp. Timing couldn’t have been worse.

  Michael saw the darkness swell in the corners of his eyes. Vision was failing him. Through the shadows he could see his target struggling to survive, as was he. Just a few more steps.

  Willpower was Richard's new best friend. He forced the bullet into the chamber. It slid through without hesitation. Perfect. Time continued to dwindle. Steps were closing in. Desperation superseded rational thinking. Richard flung the revolver in the demon's direction. The cylinder locked into place by the sheer force of the swing. The sights targeted the shadow of that monster. Richard pulled the trigger.

  A disgusting, terror induced yell filled the halls of the church. Richard found a new source of anguish to curse his already battered body. The only good arm he had left was crying out with every fiber of its makeup. His mind couldn't even comprehend what had happened.

  Michael anticipated the retaliation. Richard was in no position to attempt to challenge him in hand to hand combat. The click of the revolver's chamber snapping into place was a great warning. With the few remaining ounces of strength fueling his body, Michael's anger took over. He grabbed Richard's arm at the wrist. The tight grip Richard kept on the revolver worked to his disadvantage. Michael snapped his strength against that of the opposition, breaking his prey's arm in two places. Fingers continued to dig into Richard’s fragile skin. Exploiting this wound would break him down even further.

  The gun released from Richard's hand. Michael continued to twist. More agonizing shouts burst through Richard's lips, pleaded for this nightmare to end. He didn't even have an arm to defend himself. Michael wasn't finished yet. Even with two disabled arms, one last luxury remained.

  Air burned as it was cut off from Richard's lungs. A hand shot out and clasped his throat, locking it tight. Richard had never experienced anything of this magnitude. His life was being stolen one breath at a time.

  There was still a bit of reserve strength left in Michael's body. Victory was literally in his hands. He lifted the fallen criminal off the ground with one arm. Richard was astounded. He was being pulled to his feet by the devil that haunted him. All the things he had stolen. All of the lives he had taken. All of the sins he committed. They were being paid for, right here, in God's house.

  As his lungs pleaded for a taste of sweet air Richard could feel life fading from view. His ears began to play tricks on him. Another subtle but distinct sound could be heard behind him. It shouted on and off over and over again. To die here with this annoyance was a punishment unsuitable for any crime. His vision started to dim.

  Michael channeled the remaining bits of energy he had. His knuckles cracked as he transformed his hand into a fist; the hammer of justice. Blood poured steadily, staining every inch of his skin.

  Cocking his arm back, Michael lunged forward. His fist shot with a force unlike any other. The death grip ceased. Air immediately swept into Richard's lungs. His vision slowly returned only to see his demise ferociously charging at him.

  A mighty fist connected against Richard's skull. The power was immeasurable. His bones were forced to crack against its immense strength. The pain was so intense he didn't even realize his body had been ripped from the ground. He soared, colliding with the only working front door left in the church and tore them from its hinges. Richard continued to travel. Rain began kissing his body. The monotonous sound that he thought only existed in his mind grew larger.

  Richard's dilapidated figure slammed onto the wet asphalt. Water splashed as his demented and torn body slapped the ground. One hand had been brutally severed, the other broken. His throat was crushed and his face shattered. Even with all of this misery surrounding him, Richard hopefully clung to life. A feeling believed to be taken from him on several separate occasions this evening.

  The annoying sound had suddenly turned into a soothing melody. Richard was able to translate its true meaning. As his eyes shut he was thankful to be in the hands of police officers. At least their sense of justice wasn't so painful.

  There must have been a dozen police vehicles as well as a pair of ambulances surrounding the church. Michael crept forward. His body could barely remain standing. Leaning against the doorway provided some much needed support and comfort.

  Police approached the building with flashlights and weapons ready. Power had yet to be restored to this block. They must have been shouting something serious. Maybe orders to stand down or put his hands up. It was hard to tell. Michael's hearing betrayed him again. Too much gunfire for one day.

  Instead of succumbing to their indecipherable demands, Michael reached for his belt. Attached to his hip, a golden shield slid forward. He held it tightly, insisting that they look down upon it before he spoke.

  “Special Agent Michael Madison. F
ederal Bureau of Investigation.”

  The police officers gave him a quick once over. War-torn and battered immediately came to mind. His clothing was decorated with sweat, bullet wounds, and copious amounts of blood.

  “Stand down,” he thought he heard one of the officers shout. They lowered their weapons followed by offering him medical attention. This was actually the first time he had gotten caught by officers since the hunt began. Once they established contact with his superiors at the bureau, they would no longer be as friendly.

  Michael pushed himself off the wall. He might as well take the free ride while it was still being offered. It was better to stop at the hospital first instead of a local precinct. He wasn't in the mood for questions.

  Finally, it ended. One last thing left to culminate this victory. Michael reached into his back pocket. Out came a folded piece of paper that had obviously seen better days. Rain began to leave the final scar on this document, breaking down its foundation. Michael had enough time to use the blood that soaked into his hand, still dripping fresh liquid and cross the last name off of the list.

  Richard Montalv.

  The paper met its ruin in Michael’s palm. He gave it a quick crush and dropped it in the wet ground. As he headed into the street the rain helped to unfold the crushed page. Anyone passing by would see only enough to read the title but further inspection would tell a monumental story in and of itself.

  Medical technicians quickly surrounded Michael as he reached the ambulance. They escorted him inside and attempted to help him out of his weathered clothing. The coat weighed almost one hundred pounds and wasn't cooperating when it came to removing it from his body.

  The doors shut they rushed Michael to the hospital. He didn't realize how badly he needed medical attention until they started sticking him with needles and stacking piles of towels soaked in his blood. If they only knew what kind of hell this FBI agent had been through.

  Once his identity was established, Michael was sure his office would be notified. They couldn't be too mad at him though. After all, he had singlehandedly eliminated the ten most dangerous fugitives on the FBI's Most Wanted list in just six months.

  Meryl saw Michael walk through the crowd of officers. He disappeared from her life just as soon as he reentered it. After facing life and limb, countless bullets and even part of a building exploding, Meryl couldn't even work up the courage to say hello.

  Desert masked a veritable wasteland of earth. Mounds of brown lifelessness could be seen for miles. Mountains stood proudly, lifting the barren landscape. Hillsides were covered with scattered plots of vegetation and raw earth. Seeing this made Kurtis wonder why they bothered with such a dump. At least the airport they landed at in some hellhole named Ontario had more than just dirt to stare at.

  Unlike his master, Roman felt a great deal of tension upon their arrival. Even the loud drone of the private helicopter couldn't deter his thoughts. Nothing else mattered besides the General's current mood. And his level of forgiveness.

  They screwed up. Rather, Roman screwed up. He disobeyed a direct order. They weren't supposed to leave the city let alone the state. A twenty hour joy ride to Missouri is hard to justify by any standards. Blaming it all on Kurtis, which in fact was entirely true, would seem cowardly and weak. Kurtis was supposed to listen to him, not the other way around.

  Heavy construction left a pungent stench of filth in the air. This area had been fenced off for one square mile. A ridiculously tall tower stood painfully out of place. None of the buildings in the High Desert ascended past six stories and this one was over ten times that length. Only the best for the fastest rising pharmaceutical company in recent memory.

  Doors opened as the helicopter safely kissed the ground. Kurtis quickly removed himself from the vehicle. A decently aged veteran of a war that never started stood outside, waiting for their arrival. What was left of his grey hair surrounded the outskirts of his head along with a matching beard. His body was adorned in dark blue suit of remarkable quality and a shimmering gold watch hung from his wrist. The only thing that stood more proudly than he was the freshly built sign they had installed earlier today.

  America had already been taken by storm. The world would soon revere the name A.N.K.H. Pharmaceuticals. General Yegor Semyon was making sure of that.

  “Welcome back,” greeted the General. “I trust your vacation was relaxing.”

  Anger stained Kurtis' brow. Others would have died for spitting such an insult. Yet Kurtis did nothing. He couldn't defy this man. The General was responsible for his entire well being since childhood. Knowing this silenced Kurtis' defiant tongue. At least, for the time being.

  Roman stood next to the tempered Kurtis. He greeted the General with a nod. Though his war had ended and Russia relieved his command years later, Yegor still preferred to be greeted as General; mostly to command respect.

  Two of the General’s most trusted employees stood firmly at his side. To his left was a young blonde haired man known as Mr. Perry, their American business liaison. His responsibility was to make sure that this company is operated justly and legally. Since joining the organization six months ago, Mr. Perry had helped A.N.K.H. Pharmaceuticals establish their brand name to homes all across the country.

  On the General's right stood a ravishing young female. Kurtis remembered her as something akin to eye candy and nothing more. Despite his criticisms of her work, she proved her usefulness to Yegor very quickly. Anything that involved A.N.K.H.'s finances went through her first. Making this company look good on paper was a very involved process, especially with the constant influx of cash coming in. Her name is Danielle Ross. When it comes to money, no one could manipulate the system better. Their presence is truly a force to be reckoned with. A.N.K.H. Pharmaceuticals was poised to become the most powerful company on earth. Nothing could stand in their way. Not even an insubordinate and hot-tempered young fool.

  “We should go inside and talk,” ordered the General. His tone was still somewhat warm but with a touch of ice. Kurtis knew their conversation would not bode well for the General's temper. Or his.

  Soldiers guarded their flank as they entered the skyscraper. Onlookers would feel this kind of security was a bit unnecessary. Then again, constant legal junctions by five separate companies and three death threats would make anyone feel ill at ease. Besides, with Yegor’s growing wealth, it didn't hurt to spend a few more dollars on some added security. You really can’t put a price on piece of mind.

  Despite its grandiose exterior, only the ground floor had been completely built and furnished. Yegor believed first impressions are the foundation to a great relationship. Marble lined every inch, mirrored windows covered the walls, and a giant waterfall flowed gloriously the center. The legendary ankh symbol carved out of pure jade stood in the middle of a pond where the water gathered.

  Elevators were located behind the front desk without a receptionist to greet them. All of the other employees were working on moving out of New York City. Not including the hundreds or so members of the construction crew, Yegor’s California staff was mostly security.

  Gold plated doors opened before them. As they entered, Mr. Perry pushed the button for the top floor, number sixty. The elevator ascended rapidly. Nothing but silence filled the box. Kurtis felt his apprehension growing. He knew, despite the General's calm demeanor, anger brewed inside of that old man's heart. And he was going to take it out on his best employee.

  Was it justified? Probably. But Kurtis did not like being talked down to. Having the power to rip a man’s spine out of their body severely depleted his level of patience. Yet Yegor did. And no matter how hard he tried, Kurtis listened. In the end, he was nothing without the General. His entire existence up to this point is all thanks to that man and his enormous sum of wealth. Getting entry to this country would have been impossible. The General did it without breaking a sweat. One thing Kurtis hated more than personal insults was debt. Once fully paid, Kurtis would be free. With or without the General'
s blessing.

  The elevator stopped. Everyone quickly exited. Yegor moved towards the large cherry-colored doors with gold handles. The rest of the floor stood under massive construction, much like ninety-percent of the interior. Plaster colored walls and loose wooden floorboards stretched from end to end. The only thing remotely finished was the entrance to Yegor's office. He motioned for Roman and Kurtis to follow.

  “Leave us,” he firmly stated. Both assistants nodded and headed to their desks several yards away. Hopefully the insulation was strong enough to spare them from hearing the verbal lashing that would soon commence.

  Kurtis shut the door behind him. He moved into the room where Roman and the General sat behind a piece of cheap aluminum filler in the vague shape of a desk. The General's laptop and a corded phone rested quietly on top. It was all he needed to conduct business from this location.

  “So Kurtis, please tell me why you think you can do anything but follow your direct orders?” Yegor calmly asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence. He decided to keep his dialogue in Russian. No need to alert their American partners as to what the specifics of this conversation could escalate to.

  Kurtis kept his mouth shut. Any arguments would be useless. Although, killing the General outright would offer some immediate relief. An increasingly tempting proposition.

  “Kurtis!” Yegor called. His sharp tone demonstrated authority and also snapped his subordinate back from whatever dream world he lived in.

  “What?” Kurtis snidely remarked.

  The General was not amused. Apparently Kurtis didn't realize the gravity of this situation. “There is a saying back home. I'm sure you have heard of it,” Yegor began, carefully controlling each word that escaped. “They say that when you have the job done, then you may take a walk boldly.” A fairly old, but useful saying. American's have adapted this translation as business before pleasure.