Danger Close

by Allen Manning

  CONTENTS

  Blank Page

  Blank Page

  Copyright

  Chapter - 1

  Danger Close

  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

  EPILOGUE

  Execution Style - Chapter 1

  Exeution Style - Chapter 2

  Execution Style - Chapter 3

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  Danger Close

  by Allen Manning & Brian Manning

  Cover by Allen Manning

  Copyright © 2019 Allen Manning

  All rights reserved.

  CHAPTER

  1

  Sacramento, California

  Gabriel stared down at the body at his feet. Lifeless eyes met his gaze as blood pooled out from the target. A crimson tendril slid along a crack in the concrete slab of the patio, reaching out to grab the assassin, the victim’s last act of defiance. Gabriel’s eye followed the path, pivoting his foot on his heel as the bloody trail continued out toward the grass.

  Raised to be an efficient killer since he was young, Gabriel didn’t remember his old life. And didn’t much care to, judging by the flashes of the pain and suffering of his childhood. Known to his superiors as Subject 8, he grew to be one of their most reliable assets from the Alpha program. But to his friends, his family, he answered to the name Gabriel.

  “Kill confirmed,” Micah, the man next to Gabriel said.

  Although he came from the same program, Micah’s designation was Subject 4. Gabriel knew that The Order used longer numbers to identify their subjects, but only the last one or two digits were ever used when talking to the assets themselves. Both men knew only their shortened number designation and had only ever been given a single name during their training.

  Gabriel knelt next to his victim, Shane Weiss, and tilted his head to stare deeply into the emptiness of his target’s eyes. Micah pulled a phone from his pocket and initiated a call to the only contact programmed in it.

  “It’s done,” Micah said.

  “Good,” a digitally altered voice replied

  “Should we cleanse the site?”

  “No. We want Mr. Weiss' body found. Make it look like a home invasion.”

  “Yes, sir.” Micah ended the call and slid the phone into his pocket.

  “Burn it?” Gabriel asked, still looking at the man on the ground.

  “Not this time,” Micah said. “He wants us to make it look like a robbery gone wrong.”

  Gabriel smiled. “Perfect.”

  He pulled the Cartier watch from Weiss’ wrist and stood.

  * * *

  Aspen, Colorado

  22 Hours Later

  Glenn Tannen tousled his son’s hair as he said his goodbyes through the back window of the Audi Q7. He walked up to the driver side window and gave his wife a quick kiss, exchanging pleasant words with her.

  “Wait for the family to leave,” Micah said, watching the man through a Leopold Mark 4 spotting scope, lying on his belly in the snow.

  “What’s the range?” Gabriel asked, fingers resting on the elevation adjustment knob of his weapon’s optic.

  “Six hundred twelve meters. Wind is holding steady at five miles per hour.”

  “Six hundred twelve meters. Check.” Gabriel tracked his target’s movements, holding the crosshairs steady over the man’s chest as he waved to his family on his way back to the house.

  “He’s inside,” Micah said. “No shot. No shot.”

  Gabriel’s jaw muscles tightened as he scanned the house through his weapon scope. His spotter did the same, sweeping the Mark 4 along the windows of Tannen’s home.

  “I’ve got him,” Micah said. “Second floor. He’s in his office.”

  “I see him,” Gabriel confirmed as he settled the sight on his man.

  His body made the necessary micro adjustments to position his shoulders and legs in line for the proper angle.

  “No change in the wind. Take your shot,” Micah said.

  Gabriel breathed in and let the air out in a slow exhale through his nostrils in visible streams. His finger tightened on the trigger, just enough to break the resistance. The suppressed Ruger Precision Rifle coughed in the thin mountain air as the subsonic round burst through the window.

  The cracked glass and red mist obscured their target as the man’s body hit the ground. Gabriel worked the bolt of his Ruger and pocketed the ejected brass. He knew in his gut that the shot was clean, punching into Tannen’s heart. But like their last target, they had strict orders to confirm the kill up close.

  Micah folded his scope’s tripod, slipping it into his pocket as he unslung his MR556A1. Gabriel snapped the legs of his bipod together, using it as a foregrip as he rose to his feet.

  The snow particles on his white BDU fell gently to his feet as the receding sun stretched the mountain range’s shadows, concealing the two figures stalking the house.

  * * *

  St. Augustine, Florida

  With a grunt, John broke the bolt loose. He wiped a sleeve across his forehead as he twisted his body enough to look out from under his truck.

  “Can you grab that filter wrench and drain pan for me, Parker?”

  “Which one is the filter wrench? Is it this one?”

  “Yes, the one that I put next to the drain pan.”

  Parker dropped the wrench into the pan and walked over to the truck. He crouched down low enough to slide them underneath.

  “Thanks,” John said. “I thought you wanted to learn how to do this stuff.”

  “Yeah, well, I was just trying to be polite. I’m kind of a klutz with all of this non-computer stuff,” Parker said. “I’m more at home with my fingers on a keyboard.”

  John held the pan to catch the stream of old motor oil as it flowed out. He lowered it to the ground, making sure to prevent any spillage. Wiping his hands with the old rag resting on his chest, he used his heels to roll out from underneath the truck before sitting up.

  “Maybe you can try something with smaller parts,” John said. “Like helping me clean the guns.”

  “I think I’ve had my fill of firearms over the past couple of years,” Parker said. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” John said with a smile as he watched the steadily slowing oil flowing into the pan.

  “I mean, I get that we needed guns to accomplish our missions, but I gotta say, I liked my role a lot better helping you guys out in front of a wall of monitors.”

  “Trust me, kid, I’d prefer to leave all of this behind too,” John said, getting up to rest on the truck’s bumper. “But I won’t be able to do that until we work our way up the ladder.”

  “And so I leave all of that to you and the others. I’ll just make sure to keep the crumbs out of the keys,” Parker said as he sa
t on a stool.

  “Deal,” John said with a chuckle.

  Parker’s phone chirped several times before he pulled it free from his pocket. “It’s Travis,” he said, accepting the call and switching it to speaker.

  “What’s going on, Mr. Chambers?”

  “Parker, is John with you?”

  “I’m right here, Travis.”

  “Good. I need you to lay low. Keep your heads down for a while,” Travis said.

  “What’s going on?” John asked.

  “Two of our people have been found dead in their homes. Shane Weiss was killed several days ago, and just yesterday we found Glenn Tannen’s body.”

  “Do we know those guys?” Parker asked.

  “They were within our network,” Travis said. “Both were instrumental in our mission to take down Faust Kingston and the CARR Group. And last week, Tannen was chosen to spearhead a committee to oversee the groups responsible for the contracts with Kingston.”

  “That’s too much of a coincidence,” John said. “Was it the same killer for both?”

  “No doubt about it. Both men were shot through the heart with a 185 grain .308 round,”

  “Probably subsonic. Which meant they were firing from a suppressed rifle,” John said. “The report wouldn’t arouse any suspicion, and the bodies wouldn’t be found for some time after the kill shot.”

  “Exactly. Weiss wasn’t found until ten hours after his death, and Tannen was discovered the following morning. But coroners’ reports place their times of death about a day apart.”

  “So why didn’t you call us when Shane Weiss was killed?” Parker asked.

  “It hadn’t come through our system yet,” Travis said. “Police reports listed it as a home invasion gone wrong. Shane’s place was ransacked, and all of the valuables were taken.”

  “I don’t like this,” John said. “What about the rest of your network? Are they safe?”

  “All on high alert. Most have already been evacuated to safe houses. But you two are not safe where you are. I’m sending you coordinates to a safe house nearby.”

  John got to his feet. “No. We take the fight to the enemy. This has The Order’s fingerprints all over it. Going into hiding now would just give them the breathing room they need to—”

  Parker kicked an opened bottle of motor oil over. “Oh man, I’m sorry. I’ll clean that.”

  He reached for a rag when a loud clanging echoed in the engine compartment of the truck, followed a split-second later by small chunks of glass from the far window hitting the concrete. Parker flinched, but John reacted fast, diving forward.

  “Look out!” John tackled Parker just as the headlight of his truck exploded, the bullet whipping past them as they hit the ground.

  The phone clattered away as Travis frantically shouted “What’s happening? John, Parker, what’s going on?”

  “We need to get to cover now.” John grabbed a handful of Parker’s shirt pulling him along as all of the southern-facing windows shattered.

  The thundering roar of automatic weapon fire bounced off the walls as they slid behind a rolling tool case. John reached for the Colt 1911 on his hip, patting only the empty waistband of his pants. He had placed his handgun on the table to clean it after changing the oil.

  A second weapon joined the chorus, but the only sound it could add was the impact of subsonic slugs chipping the concrete and sparking off of the metal around them.

  John spotted a figure moving up as only the suppressed rifle kept him pinned. As soon as the first assailant reached the building, the second moved up, the first man spraying his weapon into the room through one of the broken windows. Crouched and ready to run, John waited for the almost imperceptible lull in fire when the lead man had to reload.

  Springing into action at that precise moment, John lunged for the table, snatching the nylon bag with his firearm cleaning supplies. Both weapons blasted away again, tearing up the surface of the table and puncturing the spray can of CLP, sending it spinning away.

  Reaching in blind, John wrapped his hands around the familiar grip of his 1911, fishing out one of the magazines inside. The two attackers circled to the front. He pulled the slide back just as the door crashed open.

  Raising his pistol, John fired three rounds at the silhouette attempting to rush in. The figure dropped back as the second spun around the corner and fired his weapon. The suppressed rifle rattled and thunked, driving John behind his truck.

  He fired the last four rounds from the 1911 before pulling the passenger side door open. John dove inside as more rounds pierced through the door. The unsuppressed weapon roared as bullets hammered the raised hood, still maintaining enough energy to punch through the windshield.

  John grabbed the M4 carbine behind the driver’s seat and returned fire through the spider-webbed glass. He heard the men talking to each other, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. All he knew was that his counter-attack bought him a precious few seconds.

  He slammed his fist against the glove compartment and retrieved the pistol mag inside, reloading his 1911, before exiting from the driver-side. His boots hit the concrete just as the two men circled around and fired bursts at the vehicle. Steel groaned and shrieked as the glass and plastic sprayed out.

  John spun to the rear and braced his carbine against the bed of the truck, sending a pair of short bursts at the two invaders. Both retreated but maintained their rates of fire to keep John pinned.

  Pivoting and moving across the rear bumper of the truck he knelt and used the vehicle for cover and pressed his attack. The assailants dropped back toward the entrance, one taking cover behind the table with the firearm cleaning supplies, while the other slipped outside, using the door for protection.

  The shooting stopped, but the air still buzzed as the reports rebounded off of the concrete surfaces around them.

  “John! The police are already on the way. Are you and Parker okay?”

  One of the men slammed the stock of his rifle into Parker’s phone, silencing the call.

  “You and your friend Parker are both dead men,” he said. “You’re not getting out of here alive.”

  John ejected the magazine from his rifle, inserting the full one coupled to it, side-by-side, to top off his weapon. “Maybe. But if that’s the case, I’m taking you both down with me.”

  The second man shouted a short command in what sounded like Russian. Both men continued their assault, but John had prepared himself for the attack, using the truck to protect him from the first man while he sighted the second.

  His burst scored two hits, as the 5.56 NATO rounds puffed out from the center mass impacts. The man grunted and staggered back as the rifle fell from his grasp. He hit the concrete hard. John pivoted to shift his sight on the other man as he moved to help his friend.

  He hadn’t noticed that the man he had shot drew his sidearm and opened fire. The bullets sparked off the bumper, spoiling John’s aim as the first man dragged the second out the door.

  Pressing his body against the truck, John shouldered his M4 carbine and let loose with a long burst, chipping away at the plaster and steel frame. Approaching sirens wailed in the distance. The enemy hadn’t returned fire, so John waited for several beats before rushing forward as he let loose with another burst.

  He reached the door and spun out, whipping the muzzle around, looking for the enemy. John caught a glimpse of two men disappearing in the foliage only thirty yards away. He turned to check on Parker.

  “Hang tight. I’m going after them,” he said.

  Parker gurgled and tried to speak through clenched teeth.

  John’s throat tightened as he saw the blood spreading out from underneath his friend. He rushed over and checked for a wound. The blood came from a small hole in Parker’s side. Unable to find an exit wound, John pressed his hands to apply pressure, trying to slow the bleeding.

  “Hang on, Parker, help is on the way. Just hang on.”

  John’s hands shook and his hear
t raced. He had found himself almost numbed to the danger of death in a firefight, but seeing his friends hurt always hit him harder than any bullet.

  Parker tried to say something as blood bubbled from his lips. He reached up to grab John’s sleeve.

  “Don’t move. Just stay still.”

  John rolled him onto his side so he could put more pressure on the wound while preventing Parker from drowning in his own blood.

  “Police! Is everything okay?”

  John heard several men enter, but he never took his eyes off of Parker. “He’s been shot! Get an ambulance here now!”

  The world around him slowed. His vision blurred and shook as tears and adrenaline overloaded his senses. The voices around him struggled to get through to him, sounding fuzzy, like he had his ears plugged with foam hearing protectors.

  “He needs help now!” John shouted as Parker’s eyes eased closed.

  Danger Close

  The Manning Brothers

  CHAPTER

  2

  “Please, sir, we’re doing everything we can, but if we don’t get your friend to the hospital now, he’s not going to make it.” The paramedic placed her hand on John’s chest, keeping him back.

  Even though she gave up almost a hundred pounds of mass and six inches in height, her authority and determination were enough to break through to him. John gritted his teeth.

  “Please. Just help him.”

  The other emergency medical technicians closed the ambulance and slapped the back as the driver took off, sirens blaring.

  “You’re going to need to answer some questions for the police,” the woman said. “It’ll help get your head together while I patch you up.”

  John absently wiped a hand across the bloody bandage over the wound on his forearm. He hadn’t even noticed that one of the rounds had grazed him in the firefight. He wasn’t even sure when it had happened.