Kill Shot - An Abram Kinkaid Thriller

by Blake, Cameron

  Kill Shot

  Copyright © 2017 by Cameron Blake

  All right reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  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

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  Chapter 1

  Hindu Kush, Afghanistan

  July 2011

  Abram Kinkaid adjusted his sights in the failing light. The sun clung at the tips of the mountains to his left, one last desperate attempt to maintain control, but within a few minutes, it would submerge completely and the world would return to darkness. Abram pulled the desert-camouflaged blanket over his legs in preparation for the nightly chill. The day was warm here in the Kush, but the night was bitter.

  Abram switched his sights to thermal as the sun finally succumbed to the night. The orange outline of the mountains to his left cast dark shadows into the failing light. Two bright orange silhouettes emerged into view. Two men. One sitting with his legs propped up, while the other paced. Abram had positioned himself a few hundred meters to the north of the cave's location. The large rock face and foliage offered natural cover.

  Three weeks before, Intel had alerted his team of a small Taliban cell operating in a remote part of Afghanistan. While a smaller cell would normally warrant little attention, this cell was one of the largest for transporting and storing ammunitions and explosives. When the Pentagon had given the go, Abram and his team were the first to the location. He’d claimed his perch some three days prior while the rest of his team scouted the area and maintained positions while they waited for orders to proceed. So far, no one had come and no one had left the cave. Come to think of it, these two men were the only living beings Abram had seen the last few days, not counting the wild coyote or goat. All was quiet in the Kush.

  Abram's comms buzzed in his ear, bringing his senses to high alert.

  "Tower, this is base. How's the weather? Over."

  Weather was code for the situation at the cave. Abram moved his crosshairs along the ridge for any signs of movement, before returning to the two men. Their positions hadn't changed.

  "Nothing yet. The forecast called for rain, but so far, the clouds seem to be maintaining their course. Looks like it may be another clear night. Over."

  "Tower, we've acquired the film and are en route to your location. Over."

  "Copy that, base. I look forward to seeing the Birds of Paradise in action."

  "See you in three, over."

  "Tower out."

  Abram clicked his comms off and repositioned his abdomen on the rock shelf. Even though he had tried his best to find the flattest piece on the mountain, all of the loose debris made for a rather uncomfortable bedding. He couldn't wait for the rest of the team to get here so they could get this part started. Looking at the same two guys for three days was anything but exciting. He flexed his fingers to stimulate the blood flow.

  Three hours later, his comms buzzed again.

  "Tower, this is haven, we're in position. Has the forecast changed?"

  "Clear as day."

  "Copy that, moving in."

  Abram scanned the slopes for signs of his team. After a few moments, he spotted them. They scattered along the mountain like tiny ants, slowing inching their way toward the cave. Abram continued to scan for any signs of movement that weren't their own. None. With years of training, nothing ever seemed to get Abram flustered, but sitting here in the night, at a location that was supposedly a hot spot for weapons, left him feeling a bit underwhelmed.

  "Making our approach to the door."

  The first SEAL was no more than fifty feet from the opening of the cave. Still no movement.

  "Tower, are we good?"

  "Make your move, I've got you."

  Without hesitation, two quick suppressed pops bit through the cold night air. The sitting man's head flopped back while the one pacing collapsed. Both bodies quickly turned blue.

  "Targets down. Moving in."

  Now the other three SEALs quickly joined their comrade near the entrance to the cave. Abram watched as they checked both men's pulses before proceeding to the cave. They didn't bother moving the bodies. This was a black mission. In and out without being seen. The first SEAL disappeared into the dark hole; the three others soon followed.

  The next fifteen minutes were radio silence as Abram waited. If his team hit trouble, there was nothing he could do from his vantage point. They were on their own. His team were more than capable, but he hated not knowing what they were walking into. The last three days had only given him Intel on the two men at the entrance and no other activity. For all he knew, there could be hundreds of Taliban soldiers inside, just waiting.

  His comms crackled.

  "Tower, the nest is quiet. No signs of our Birds of Paradise here. It seems our Intel was wrong. Heading out now."

  "Roger that."

  Suddenly, Abram's ears popped with the sound of diesel engines. He maneuvered his rifle over the horizon until his sights fell on the row of headlights coursing through the night.

  "Haven, we have movement on the cliffs. Five cargo trucks headed your way. ETA five minutes."

  "Copy that, we're on our way out."

  Just as the first of his team exited the cave, the unmistakable swoosh of the rotary blades of a Black Hawk bathed the night in noise. Two of the copters raced across the valley floor.

  "Haven, we have a problem. Two copters are headed your way."

  "Are they friendly?"

  "Negative, base can't confirm any friendlies in the area. Proceed with caution, over."

  "Roger that, Tower."

  Abram pulled the charging handle, sending a round into the chamber and slowed his breathing. What were two Black Hawks doing in the area? And why didn't Base know about it? Abram's heart quickened as the helicopters soared up the mountain. They'd be on top of the cave in three...two...one. The moment the first Black Hawk made altitude, it r
eleased a wave of Hellfire missiles. The cave erupted into flame, sending shards of rock in all directions. Abram's men dove for cover as the second copter unleashed its storm.

  Abram scanned to one of the cargo caravans making its way to the site. He saw movement on the back of it and his heart stopped.

  "Haven, one of the trucks has a 50-cal. You need to get out of there ASAP!"

  Abram could hear his men radioing in to Base to get the Black Hawks out of there before they were all blown to ash. Another wave of missiles rocked the mountain, collapsing the entire cave entrance. Then the gunfire started.

  The first of the trucks was within range and its occupants were unleashing their own torrent of bullets at the helicopters. His men were caught in the crossfire.

  Abram swerved, took aim, and fired. The driver's head exploded in a ball of red mush. The truck swerved and crashed into the side of the cliff. The mountainside erupted into sparks as the men redirected their aim toward him. Abram knew they couldn't see him, but that didn't mean they might not get lucky. He held his ground, slowed his breathing, and fired three more rounds. The 50-cal showered the mountain, shredding it to pieces. Abram ducked for cover behind the nearest tree and waited it out.

  "Haven, do you have eyes on that 50-cal? It's wreaking havoc on the mountain."

  "Got it."

  The sky suddenly lit up with light. Abram peeked around the corner just in time to see one of the Black Hawks go up in a ball of flame and plummet down the mountain. Abram noticed he was no longer under fire. The remaining Black Hawk fired its last two Hellfires. The first missed the target, but the second managed to flip one of the trucks. The 50-cal was still unleashing its own hell on the copter. Abram knew the Black Hawk wasn't made to take direct contact. It was only a matter of time before they'd go down too. And as if his thoughts were spoken into life, an RPG raced through the night like a white dart, smashing into the tail of the copter. Its four blades spun out of control before it smashed into the ground.

  Abram adjusted his sights. His crosshairs danced along the rim of the man's face. His dark beard hung down to his chest, and he wore a red bandana around his head. Abram squeezed.

  "You're welcome," he said as the round tore a large hole in the bearded man’s shoulder. The man fell limp and the 50-cal stopped its volley. But this was to no avail, as now the remaining vehicles slid to a halt at the cave. Abram's men were met with gunfire almost immediately.

  Abram sent three more rounds coursing through the night before he scooped up his rifle and sprinted down the mountain. Another explosion lit up the sky. The men in the trucks were filtering out and taking positions. His men were cornered and had nowhere to go. An explosion knocked him off his feet and sent him tumbling down the slope. His head caught the side of a boulder and filled his vision with white specks. When his body finally came to a halt, his muscles and bones screamed in agony. He felt a sharp yank on the back of his head. His eyes steadied on the barrel of an AK-47 pointed at his left temple.

  The two men were yelling at him, but his ears were throbbing too much to care. All he remembered doing was smiling, then the rest went black.

  Chapter 2

  Six years later.

  The door to the diner dinged as another customer walked in. Abram was at the counter near the television, as he always was. His customary House Special sat untouched on his plate. His eyes were locked on the TV.

  The new President was about to give his commencement speech to the world.

  "What do you make of our new president?" the lady behind the counter asked.

  Abram shrugged.

  "Many people around here think he'll be impeached before he's able to do too much damage. For me, I think we should just let him do his thing. After all, wasn't he elected?"

  Abram's eyes followed the cameras as they traced over the many faces in the crowd. Many were joyful, but Abram could see all of the microexpressions leaking out like a dirty faucet. He knew people were just ignorant and worried about their daily lives. Most people just hopped on the bandwagon and went along with whatever the media told them. The same thing happened with this election. It had come as a shock when he had won. No one had expected it. Not even the new president believed it, Abram suspected. Everyone was all stirred up with these claims about a foreign government meddling in the affairs of the presidential election, but Abram knew better. It was in the interest of all foreign powers to meddle in the affairs of each other, especially the United States of America.

  It wasn't so much who was president that had Abram concerned, it was how the people would react. The U.S. needed someone decisive and courageous. They needed to return the backbone to the people in power and remind the world that the U.S. meant business. Abram subconsciously rubbed the scar on his thigh where a bullet had nearly severed his femoral artery. Abram stood and placed a $10 bill on the counter.

  "Aren't you going to finish your meal?" the waitress asked.

  "I lost my appetite," he said, and walked out.

  He wasn't lying. These days, he rarely had an appetite. As he exited the diner, he pulled his jacket tighter. The clouds blocked out the sun and a light rain sprinkled down. Abram flipped his collar up and squeezed his hands into his coat pockets. He walked right past the man in the brown trench coat, sitting on a bench, reading a newspaper.

  The man watched Abram wait at the crosswalk and then make his way across the street. The streets were full of pedestrians and news vans. It seemed like every news station was parked on every corner. The man stood and followed after once Abram had made it to the other side. Abram pushed his way through the crowds. The local police did their best to quarantine the protestors and keep the streets clear, but protestors always found a way.

  A man with a Hitler emblem wrapped around his left arm tried to stop him. Abram pushed by and kept his head down. The crowds only grew the closer he got to the Capitol Building. The Women's March on Washington was in full swing and many people shouted obscenities into the cameras. Abram hurried through the crowd, not wanting to get into a confrontation with one of the misguided protestors who didn't even know why they were there. Abram knew many of them were paid to be there and instructed to recite catchy phrases and hold up signs, but he never understood why the opposing party would want to cause damage after the president won. Shouldn't the people be working together to make the world a better place instead of fighting and ridiculing the people in power? Logic would say yes, but very few people functioned by anything other than raw, untamed emotion. It was all about feelings. Something any survivalist would tell you you couldn't trust.

  Abram rounded the corner and was met by the largest crowd he had ever been in. He effortlessly blended with the group and waited for the commencement speech to begin. Abram scanned the faces by instinct, not really looking for anything in particular. The president wasn't set to take the stage for another hour. The rain fell in sheets on and off. Abram hadn't thought to bring an umbrella, and nor, it seemed had thousands of others. They all huddled together in the rain, seemingly unperturbed by the cold sweat falling from overhead.

  When the music began, people sent out cheers. Abram stretched his neck and gazed at the hundreds of necks that stood before him. Many tried to stand on their tippy-toes to see, but Abram didn't bother. He knew he was shorter than the average person, and seeing wouldn't change anything. The loudspeakers projected the first person to come on stage. Greetings were exchanged and then their monotone speech would begin. One after the other came on stage and said roughly the same thing. Abram's head was tilted forward when he heard the president-elect's voice ring over the mic.

  Abram didn't listen to his words. He didn't much care. He maneuvered to a small clearing by a tree and propped himself against it. His hands hadn't left his pockets. As the president-elect continued his speech, Abram slowly worked the suppressor in place. People were all talk, but no action. They complained about the corrupt system and the unbalance of power, but all they did was whine and complain and riot in the
streets. Child's play. Abram had a more decisive approach. If you wanted change, you had to cut off the head of the snake. Abram absentmindedly listened as the inauguration speech continued. Abram made to slip the gun from his jacket and take position around the tree when he felt a hand on his back.

  "I'd think before you next move," a voice said.

  Abram didn't bother to look back. He knew it was the man in the brown coat.

  "How long have you been following me?" he asked.

  "Long enough," the man said.

  Abram held the gun pressed up against his gut.

  "Are you here to arrest me?" Abram asked.

  The man's voice was silver and void of judgment.

  "That depends. Do you want me to stop you?"

  Abram didn't miss the redirection. He hadn't said anything about stopping him. He knew no one could do that. Curiosity boiled and he relaxed his grip, turning to face his stalker.

  The man was in his fifties, low-cropped graying hair, with low-brimmed glasses shielding two blue eyes. His face was clean-shaven and he wore a plaid suit. Even though he was older, Abram knew by the lean of his stance that this man was not someone to take lightly.

  "So why are you here? If you're not going to arrest me, what do you want? I assume you know why I'm here."

  Abram's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized this unknown stranger.

  The man didn't make eye contact. Instead, he turned his focus to the stage.

  "Many people are upset by the election results," he said. "Many are worried that their rights may be infringed upon and that we're headed down a dark path."

  "So they say," Abram said.

  "Do you believe them?" the man asked. He still didn't look at Abram. He scanned the tops of heads, pretending to be looking for someone.

  "I don't believe anyone who has their own agenda."

  The man finally made eye contact.

  "We all have our own agendas, no?"

  Abram's jaw tightened and his hand slid along the handle of his concealed gun.