The Victor: A Black Force Thriller (Black Force Shorts Book 1)

by Matt Rogers

  He would follow instructions.

  He wasn’t anywhere close to an opening, or a revelation.

  All of a sudden the doctor nodded satisfactorily and hurried straight past Xu, hurling the door open and stepping out into the corridor. Xu spied several of Velli’s men milling around the hallway, keeping tabs over the proceedings. But he only caught a glimpse, because the doctor slammed the door behind him, resealing Xu inside the office.

  It took him a moment to realise he had been left alone in a room with the man he had beat into semi-consciousness just a few minutes previously. That struck him as odd, but as he turned back to scrutinise Wilkinson he found himself staring down the barrel of a semi-automatic pistol — a desert-coloured Beretta M9A3.

  The gun had materialised out of nowhere, and even though Wilkinson’s face had already begun to bruise and swell, forcing one of his eyes nearly completely shut, a rather calculated look had spread across the man’s face.

  His entire persona had changed. It was nothing describable — just a shift from the wired lanky mob henchman to a silent, patient observer.

  Xu didn’t know what to say.

  Or where to start.

  After a few seconds of silence, he opened his mouth, still unsure what words would come out.

  Questions?

  A rushed explanation?

  ‘Don’t bother,’ Wilkinson muttered. ‘You’re not Nguyen.’

  6

  ‘Yes I am,’ Xu said.

  Keep things simple.

  ‘Like I said. Don’t bother.’

  Was this it? Had Xu shaped himself into a hardened killer over the painful years of his youth and spent half a decade working for the United States government just to bite the bullet in a Brooklyn townhouse, his cover ruined and his hopes shattered?

  He certainly hoped not.

  And, with every half-second that passed, his odds of survival increased.

  Because if Wilkinson truly wanted him dead, he would have done it already.

  Xu never would have even seen the gun.

  The lights would have simply gone out.

  Xu stared at the weapon. It was unsuppressed, but the townhouse was cramped enough for that to be unimportant anyway. ‘You fire that thing and everyone in this place will descend on you. That’s just a fact.’

  ‘Maybe I realised that if you’re not Nguyen, then you’re probably here for ulterior motives, which means I’m more than likely dead anyway.’

  ‘Why would you be dead? Who are you?’

  Wilkinson paused. ‘You really don’t know?’

  Xu didn’t want to reveal anything just yet. Wilkinson obviously wasn’t who he seemed, but that didn’t implicitly make him trustworthy.

  ‘I don’t—’ he started, but abruptly ended that statement when the ceiling rattled above them.

  Both of them flinched, and for a moment Xu wondered if Wilkinson would get trigger happy and accidentally send a round through his forehead. But all settled a moment later. It sounded like someone had been dumped on their head upstairs.

  The next fight.

  ‘How’d you get that in here?’ Xu said, nodding toward the Beretta. ‘And put it down, for fuck’s sake. I’m not a threat.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Depends who you are.’

  ‘Then the gun’s staying right where it is.’

  ‘The next person to come walking through the door behind me is going to see it. What do you think will happen then?’

  ‘Look, what the fuck is your deal?’ Wilkinson spat. ‘I’m at my last resort here. You’re not Nguyen — firstly, you don’t look like him except for some similar physical characteristics, and secondly, Nguyen can’t fight to save his life. The triad were sending him here because they had to send someone. But they never thought they were going to actually get the distribution rights. They were sending a sacrifice. A lamb to the slaughter.’

  ‘Maybe you’re just terrible at fighting.’

  ‘I’ve been training for this for a year.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Not Wilkinson.’

  ‘I figured.’

  ‘I just don’t know whether I can trust you.’

  Xu sighed, his heart pounding. There was a narrow window of time in which they could discuss the situation, and he imagined they wouldn’t be alone for much longer.

  Weigh the consequences.

  Screw it. Just do it.

  ‘I’m a government operative,’ he said, wondering if he’d just signed his death warrant.

  Visible relief flooded Wilkinson’s eyes. ‘Oh, thank fuck.’

  ‘I take it you are too.’

  ‘I’m FBI. The Financial Crimes Enforcement Network put us onto Velli. He’s circulating hundreds of millions of dollars through his brick-and-mortar businesses and there’s no way he’s making any of that legitimately. I’m supposed to win this goddamn tournament and then Velli’s supposed to hand me a list of all his dodgy dealings on a silver platter. But then you showed up.’

  ‘Sorry to gatecrash your party.’

  ‘What branch are you with?’

  Xu grimaced. The following conversation would not be easy. ‘That’s … hard to explain.’

  He noted that Wilkinson hadn’t lowered the gun. The barrel of the M9A3 hovered there ominously, the hand attached to its grip unwavering.

  Wilkinson didn’t trust him yet, and the man still had the upper hand.

  And all the control in the world.

  ‘Spit it out,’ Wilkinson said. ‘CIA? I just don’t understand how there was a breakdown in communication. How did we both end up on the same job?’

  ‘I’m not CIA.’

  ‘Didn’t think so. What are you?’

  ‘I don’t officially exist.’

  ‘Spare it. Hurry up. Name your organisation.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have heard of them.’

  Xu didn’t know how to put it.

  He’d never been forced to justify his existence — the life of a solo black operations specialist didn’t ordinarily demand it. Now he recognised how sensitive the situation was and the nervousness began to creep its way up his spine.

  He saw the blood start to drain from Wilkinson’s cheeks — worst case scenario.

  The man was overly paranoid, and for good measure. He’d just spewed his true identity to Xu with no foundations underneath his words. He hadn’t verified who Xu was — he must have simply got the sense that Xu could be trusted.

  And Xu could be trusted.

  But he didn’t know how to communicate that in a way that was even the slightest bit believable.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, even though he feared the situation was irreparable. The seeds of distrust had already been placed. For added effect he crouched low in the centre of the room, dipping down to Wilkinson’s eye level. The man was still reclined across the leather couch with his gun hand frozen in the air, barrel still aimed squarely at Xu’s head. ‘I’m a government black operative. I work for a specialised division of the United States military, but there’s no official record of my existence. You won’t be able to look me up in any system or verify with anyone if what I’m telling you is the truth. But you need to trust me, because right now…’

  He trailed off as soon as he realised his words were falling on deaf ears. The gravity of the situation was bearing down on Wilkinson, and Xu imagined it would be similar to a constant roaring in his ears, drowning out all other sounds.

  I never should have opened my mouth, the man was probably thinking, over and over again until he dipped into a negative spiral and became lost to the paranoia.

  ‘Bullshit,’ Wilkinson muttered. ‘Absolute bullshit.’

  ‘Put the gun away.’

  ‘You’ll kill me.’

  ‘No, I won’t.’

  ‘You’ll tell Velli.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’ll—’

  Xu sensed movement in the corridor outside and screamed at his brain to relax, to buy himself another momen
t in time before everything went to hell. ‘I work a division called Black Force.’

  ‘My cover’s blown,’ Wilkinson said. ‘I’m fucked. What do I do?’

  He was talking to himself, because he sure as hell wasn’t looking to Xu for answers. His gun hand began to shake, and a single tear wormed its way out of the corner of his eye, running over the swelling, mixing with the fresh blood that had begun to leak from his wounds.

  ‘There’s no way I make it out of this without getting interrogated,’ he said, again to himself.

  Xu hadn’t seen this often, but he knew it was a very real concept. Wilkinson had entered full-blown meltdown mode, his negative thoughts compounding as his brain convinced him that Xu was an imposter, an imposter working for Velli who he’d just leaked his true identity to.

  A serious lapse in judgment, and one that he would pay for.

  Sometimes, in the field, inexperienced operatives simply shit the bed.

  This was happening now.

  Xu patiently watched as Wilkinson ran through a mental list of what he considered all the possible outcomes, and — probably finding nothing that wouldn’t result in torture and interrogation — arced the barrel of the Beretta toward the underside of his chin in one fluid motion.

  It wouldn’t just be his own death.

  It would be the death of Xu, when everyone in the townhouse came charging down the stairs at the sound of a gunshot.

  He lunged at Wilkinson.

  7

  It’s rumoured that one’s life flashes before their eyes in their final moments.

  Xu had been in enough near-death situations to know that was horse shit.

  At least for him.

  Every fibre of his being was concentrated on wrenching that Beretta M9A3 out of Wilkinson’s shaking palm. He had no time to dwell on what he’d accomplished over the course of his life, or take a moment to be grateful for his ascension from a rural Thai farm boy to an elite government agent for the United States. Instead the world seemed to speed up, and he crashed against Wilkinson’s prone frame as his fingers shot for the gun.

  He clamped a hand around Wilkinson’s wrist and, with pinpoint accuracy, shoved one of his fingers through the narrow slit behind the trigger. By that point the barrel had swung to point at Wilkinson’s own face and the man yanked against the trigger with all the strength he had, trying to take his own life as quickly and painlessly as possible.

  Just as rabid as Xu was in his attempts to wrestle the gun free, Wilkinson was equally determined to die.

  He knew the fate that awaited him if he didn’t manage to pull the trigger.

  His mind had been consumed by thoughts of Xu as one of Velli’s henchmen in disguise, and he probably thought he would soon be delivered into the hands of the psychopathic underworld figure.

  Agony flared in Xu’s finger as Wilkinson crushed it with the trigger, but it didn’t depress far enough to fire a round. Xu yanked upwards and wrenched the Beretta free from Wilkinson’s grip. The man went deathly pale, seeing his last hope stripped away from him. Xu wasted no time, ignoring the M9A3 as soon as it was free from Wilkinson’s grasp.

  He had to move fast — unnaturally fast — because what he had in mind would rely on the memory loss that came from a brief bout of total unconsciousness.

  Muay Thai wasn’t his only specialty.

  It was his foundations, but he had other tools in his arsenal.

  He tapped into them now.

  As soon as the gun separated from Wilkinson’s hand, Xu looped a crushing forearm around the guy’s throat and squeezed like a boa constrictor suffocating its prey. Wilkinson choked and coughed and spat but his protests fell on deaf ears, because Xu clamped a hand over his mouth while wrenching with the other arm, delivering inhuman strength into cutting off the circulation to the guy’s brain.

  Wilkinson battered feebly at Xu’s forearm, but he didn’t budge. A few seconds later the half-hearted slapping and kicking died down and the FBI agent slumped like a rag doll across the couch.

  Xu didn’t stop there.

  He gave the choke another three seconds of maximum effort, releasing his hold at the last second to ensure he didn’t give Wilkinson permanent brain damage. The extra force applied would make him loopy as all hell when he came awake — it wouldn’t take long to crawl out of unconsciousness, but when he did wake up he would be horrendously confused.

  Short-term memory loss was all but guaranteed when you got choked out.

  He would be reeling, trying to regain his senses, and then hopefully his training would kick in and he would continue pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Xu didn’t know who the real Wilkinson was, or what had happened to him, but it was none of his concern.

  All his instincts were focused on survival.

  He dropped the limp, unconscious body of Wilkinson back down onto the couch and forced his eyelids closed, making it appear like he’d passed out from the pain of his injuries. Then he adjusted his clothing and…

  Footsteps.

  Close.

  His heart spiked, almost exploding out of his chest wall in fright, and he wheeled on the spot, desperately searching for wherever the Beretta had skidded off to. Same as most of the details surrounding Wilkinson’s infiltration of the underworld, Xu was in the dark about how the man had managed to smuggle the pistol into the house.

  Nevertheless, he spotted it in the far corner and lunged for it, snatching it up and jamming it in the rear of his waistband just as someone burst into the room.

  Xu tried his best to appear nonchalant, turning to face the new arrival.

  It was the doctor.

  Back again.

  Thankfully, Xu spent most of his life in high-stress situations, and it wasn’t difficult to remain calm, even though he would have been caught in the act had the man returned a single second earlier.

  Xu flashed a glance in Wilkinson’s direction, faking a grimace. ‘He’s not doing too good.’

  The doctor eyed the unconscious man suspiciously. ‘What the hell happened?’

  ‘Pain must have got to him. He closed his eyes and hasn’t been responding for a good thirty seconds.’

  ‘He seemed fine when I left.’

  ‘He was a little groggy. Then he went downhill.’

  The doctor said nothing. The man simply alternated his gaze between Xu and Wilkinson, thoroughly confused but obviously not involved enough with Velli to voice his concerns. It wasn’t a great cover story, but Xu was relying on the sheer strangeness of the proceedings in this townhouse to let any inquiry dissipate.

  The doctor simply wasn’t being paid enough to cause unnecessary trouble.

  ‘Right,’ the doctor finally said, his glare piercing.

  ‘What am I supposed to do now?’

  The doctor motioned out into the hallway. ‘They want you back. You’re up again, apparently.’

  Xu went pale. ‘Again? Already?’

  ‘I don’t call the shots. I’m paid to patch you all up and send you on your way. Just as you said.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Good luck … I guess.’

  ‘You’ll take care of him?’ Xu said, pointing at Wilkinson.

  ‘As much as I can.’

  ‘When he wakes up,’ Xu said, taking a chance, ‘he might be a bit groggy. He might say things that aren’t true.’

  It was one of the more notable gambles he’d taken since he arrived — but he thought his hunches were accurate, and the doctor seemed like a man who took all the work he could get. That didn’t make him an inherently bad person, Xu figured. The man probably assumed that if he didn’t take the job, someone else would do it, and not as well.

  So — just maybe — the guy would read between the lines and help Xu with whatever ridiculous crusade he’d decided to go on.

  ‘I’ll make sure he keeps his mouth shut,’ the doctor said, giving the slightest nod of understanding.

  Relief flooded through Xu’s system, but only for a moment.

  �
�Appreciated,’ he said.

  Then he turned and headed straight back out into the main hallway, where one of Velli’s men herded him toward the stairwell.

  8

  Xu reached the top of the stairwell and eyed what he imagined was his next opponent, which made him realise that this entire tournament had been rigged from the start.

  He’d suspected as much. It was some strange kind of macabre theatre performance to Velli, who had retreated to a far corner of the room to watch the spectacle unfold. There Xu saw a bank of monitors he hadn’t previously noticed, all displaying a live feed of the room covered in plastic sheeting.

  Velli had a front row seat to the carnage, but he must have been putting this entire tournament on to satiate one of his wild vices, because no-one in the room had a hope of beating the man who stood in front of Xu.

  The guy was pushing seven feet tall, yet despite his gargantuan frame he’d somehow managed to fill it out with what Xu guessed had been a decade-long IV drip of steroids and human growth hormones. He was African-American, and had to be pushing at least three hundred pounds. Despite that, none of it was fat — he wore a plain T-shirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of jeans that must have been custom made for him out of a field of denim.

  Xu couldn’t believe his eyes.

  ‘What is this?’ he shouted across the room to Velli, ignoring all the other occupants of the room watching him.

  Velli seemed bemused. ‘One of the contestants, of course.’

  ‘Is this a joke?’

  ‘You got a problem?’ the giant said.

  Despite his imposing physique, his voice was high-pitched and nasally. Maybe a result of all the drugs pumped through his system over the years. No-one could look like that without artificial assistance.

  Velli pointed a furious finger at the floorboards. ‘As soon as you stepped through that door you entered the tournament. You try and back out now and I’ll put a bullet in your head so fast you won’t even know what hit you.’

  ‘Right,’ Xu said.

  ‘You got a problem?’ the giant repeated.

  ‘I seem to be going through this thing awfully quick,’ Xu said, still staring straight at Velli, still ignoring the massive powerhouse to his right.