Danger Close

by Allen Manning

  “I need to be with Parker,” John said. “I have to keep him safe.”

  “Mr. Lewis is going right into surgery when he arrives. You won’t be able to go back with him anyway,” the EMT said. “Besides, we’ve got word to provide police protection for him, so he will be quite safe until you arrive. Sir, please have a seat, I’m going to grab some more supplies.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” John said, looking back at the truck inside the garage.

  Riddled with bullet holes and completely drained of motor oil, it would be useless to him. He had to find another ride. Heading inside the building, John retrieved a set of keys from the back office and slipped out the rear exit, into the alleyway where a row of older vehicles sat.

  He hopped into the cab of one of the pickups and turned the key as the old motor awoke from its slumber, rumbling to life as a plume of thick, black smoke shot out from the exhaust. John had the truck roaring after the ambulance as he dialed Travis’ number.

  Travis picked up, skipping any formal greeting. “John, I just heard about Parker’s condition. I’ll meet you at the hospital after you give the police all of the information they need about the shooters.”

  “I’m on the way to be with Parker,” John said. “I can talk to them later.”

  “Parker is in good hands. You can’t do anything for him now. We need to help the police track down the men that tried to kill you.”

  “They’ve got the murder weapon,” John said. “The suppressed rifle that killed Weiss and Tannen is still at the scene.”

  “Alright, I know trying to convince you to do anything is like getting a brick wall to obey commands,” Travis said. “I’m getting on a plane now. I’ll be in Florida in two hours. And John?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Parker is going to make it. He’s a fighter, no matter what he wants the rest of us to think.”

  John just grunted before ending the call. He dropped the phone onto the passenger seat as he sped up, blowing through a light just as it changed to red.

  * * *

  Gabriel bit his lower lip as he pulled the strap on the side of his body armor free. The Velcro tore open with a loud rip as the assassin let out a grunt. Micah helped him pull the vest off as they looked down at the still-white T-shirt underneath.

  “The rounds didn’t get through,” Micah said.

  “I can see that,” Gabriel said.

  He pulled the collar of his shirt out, looking at the pair of welts over his heart. The purple flesh had radiated out from what would have been a fatal wound without the protective body armor.

  They had read all the reports about John Stone when accepting the mission. On paper, he was a very dangerous adversary, not to be taken lightly. Gabriel had made all of the mental preparations for the task at hand, but facing the demon in person was a different matter altogether.

  Stone had lived up to his name, lacking any sense of fear or hesitation when the bullets started flying. Gabriel had only seen his kind in the recruits from the other “Greeks” in The Order’s training programs. Soldiers raised to fight and give their lives to a higher cause, ever since they were children.

  Molded as weapons at an age where most learned how to ride a bicycle or throw a baseball. The Greeks had known only fighting and had all weakness driven from them as they grew up. Gabriel had never expected to face an adversary with the same dangerous traits.

  John Stone would prove to be the toughest target he had ever faced.

  “Parker Lewis is down, but the kill has not been confirmed,” Micah said, holding a phone to his ear. “Understood. Shall we pursue?”

  Gabriel winced and reached for a bottle of water on the table in front of him. He gulped down the cold liquid and swallowed, gritting his teeth.

  “Yes, sir.” Micah snapped the flip phone in two and pulled the sim card from it.

  “Are we tracking down the targets?” Gabriel asked.

  “Negative,” Micah said. “Lewis has been taken to Flagler Hospital. Police presence has been elevated.”

  “What about Stone?”

  “He’s heading to the hospital now. Mr. Anderson says our message has been received loud and clear,” Micah said.

  “So he lives?”

  “For now. We are to return to Blanchard's compound and wait for another opportunity to take out Stone. Our primary mission is to cripple their investigation.”

  * * *

  Travis Chambers pulled his jacket off and draped it over his arm as he stepped into the waiting room of Flagler Hospital. John had already been there for over two hours, waiting for any news about Parker’s condition.

  “I don’t want to hear it, Chambers,” John said as Travis approached.

  “Did the doctors tell you anything yet?” he asked, resisting the urge to make John give his statement to the police.

  “Nothing. He’s still in surgery.”

  Travis tightened his jaw and closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath through his nostrils. “I need some coffee. You want me to get you one?”

  John just raised a styrofoam cup, showing he already had his.

  Travis disappeared around the corner as a nurse walked by. John stepped into her path.

  “Please, nurse, have you heard anything about—”

  “Mr. Stone, I don’t have any more news about your friend. Please have a seat and try to stay calm,” the nurse said. “Some positive thoughts would go a long way for both of you.”

  John nodded and dropped into one of the hard plastic chairs against the wall. He leaned forward, elbows resting on knees as he looked down at the freshly bandaged bullet wound on his forearm. Downing the rest of his coffee, John stood as Travis came back.

  “If these people are after the network, that means they’ve got a lot of powerful connections of their own.”

  “We’re aware of that, John.” Travis put a hand on his shoulder. “The police protection for Parker will be more than enough to handle anyone coming for him.”

  “You said the rest of the key people have been alerted?” John asked.

  “That’s right.”

  John looked him in the eye. “What about family? Friends? You need to make sure we don’t leave any innocent lives exposed.”

  “You’re right,” Travis said, fishing his phone from his pocket.

  “My goddaughter, Emily. You need to make sure she and her mother, Jennifer Colt are safe.”

  Travis nodded. “I’ve got some calls to make.”

  “Thank you.”

  John watched the mystery man step outside, scrolling through his contacts. He pressed his lips together in a tight line before turning to head toward one of the side exits of the hospital.

  With Travis busy moving his people around, I’ll make sure Blanchard pays for what he did, Parker. I promise.

  CHAPTER

  3

  John’s phone buzzed as he gripped the door handle to the facility Travis had set up as the team’s temporary base of operations. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, John pressed the button to decline the call.

  “Sorry, Travis.”

  He stepped inside and looked around. Though the building was older, the plastic smell of new carpet wafted through the halls. The sun had started its descent, giving the space a fiery red-orange glow. John tapped the keyboard of Parker’s computer only to come face to face with the login screen.

  Guessing his password would be a futile attempt, and swimming through the documents inside would probably prove to be an even more daunting task. The hard copies, John thought as he made his way to the small briefing room he and Parker had used to work out the progress of their investigation.

  The map on the wall drew his eye, with the crisscrossing red thread winding around an assortment of points, connecting individuals with their various roles. John already had an idea of who he would be looking for, and this web only confirmed his gut feeling.

  Damien Blanchard had strong ties to the CARR Group. Shutting them down was a massive bl
ow to the man’s operation. Adding to that, his association to the mercenary company INSEC and its CEO, Barrett Anderson, provided Blanchard access to the talent necessary to pull off the assassinations of Shane Weiss and Glenn Tannen.

  The air grew colder as John’s stomach knotted up. Parker was still at the hospital, fighting for his life because of men like Blanchard and Anderson. That changes now, John thought. He made his way to the desk, glancing at the neat piles of paper, organized in stacks, based on the various stages of the investigation.

  Resting a hand on one of the piles, John found the pages detailing The Order, a shadowy cabal pulling the strings in all of this. With an animalistic roar, John swiped his hand across the desk, flinging several stacks in the air. He gripped one side of the table, ready to flip it over when his muscles locked up.

  “No. Not like this.”

  John pressed his hands flat on the surface and looked at the pages scattered about. He stepped over and crouched down, gathering the paper into loose piles, trying to organize them as best he could on the low pile carpeting.

  He sat holding one of the pages, staring at the name at the top. Damien Blanchard had to be the one behind the hit. He was the man directly responsible for Parker’s condition. The paper had detailed information about the man, but John’s eyes stayed fixed on the address for one of Blanchard’s homes.

  A lakeside compound further north. That’s where he’s going to be.

  Memories of another event, almost a lifetime ago, ended in the lakeside home of Warren Ratcliffe, the man that had kidnapped John’s goddaughter, Emily. John could feel it weighing heavy in his gut. That was where he needed to go. Scum like Ratcliffe and Blanchard always hide in places like that, thinking the remote location will keep them safe.

  “You want this fight so bad? I’ll grant your wish, Blanchard.” John’s fist tightened, crumpling the page in whitened knuckles.

  He glanced down at his watch. It would be a ten or twelve-hour drive. John pulled his shirt off, looking at the dried blood of his friend still in the fabric. His eyes lowered to the dark, reddish-brown stains down the lower legs of his pants where he knelt in the spreading pool on the floor.

  Heading for his locker, John pulled out a pair of durable black BDU pants and a fitted black T-shirt. After grabbing his boots, John headed straight for the armory.

  He finished dressing and lacing up his boots before securing a gun belt around his waist, slipping a Colt 1911 into the drop-leg holster along his right thigh. A KA-BAR fighting knife sat in a sheath to the left side of the buckle, accessible by both hands.

  Hanging a tactical vest on a hook, John stuffed several magazines for his M4 carbine into the pouches in front. He looked at the weapons on the racks, planning the mission out in his mind to determine the loadout.

  Unlike the assault on Ratcliffe’s home, John wasn’t trying to get in quietly to rescue someone inside. He wouldn’t need suppressed weapons for this fight.

  Yanking the zipper of a black bag open, he stuffed his M4 inside, making room for the vest and a Mossberg 500 pump-action shotgun. He tossed in a set of binoculars and paused, holding the radio with throat mic in his hand. After a moment of thought, John set it to the side.

  He pulled the strap over his shoulder and stood up. Stuffing a flashlight in his pocket, John also made sure to clip the pouches for his spare pistol mags on his left hip. Prepared for his war, John made his way to the front entrance.

  He wrapped his fingers around the handle, pausing before exiting the building. For almost a full minute, John stared out the window. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but something buzzed at the back of his mind. He eyed the GMC Yukon in the closest parking spot, the vehicle’s keys clutched in his hand.

  John took a step back, dropped the keys on the nearest desk, and turned to head out the rear exit. He circled around to the old pickup truck he had arrived in and set

  the loaded bag onto the passenger seat before climbing behind the wheel, easing the aged engine awake.

  Though he didn’t know for sure, John could only guess that Travis had ways of tracking the vehicles in their fleet. The last thing he needed was a tac squad showing up to stop him before he reached his target.

  * * *

  Marlinton, West Virginia

  The Bell 505 Ranger touched down with a thunk onto the roof of the lakeside compound. Damien Blanchard hopped out and strode to the rooftop entryway, shoulders back, head held high. Everyone else around him, including the man in charge of security, Russell Tatlock, kept their postures hunched to avoid the still spinning rotors of the aircraft.

  Brushing a hand down his beard, Blanchard walked down the short stairs leading inside, taking the steps two at a time. Tatlock waved to the pilot and watched as the helicopter lifted off. With the powerful thumping of the rotor blades receding, the tip-tap of expensive dress shoes took over as Blanchard's confident pace forced the others to keep up.

  “Are they here yet?” he asked.

  “Yes, they’re waiting in the dining room,” Tatlock said.

  “Good. Have some wine brought in.”

  “Very well, sir.” Tatlock glanced down at his watch.

  Damien straightened his tie and turned the corner, as he entered the dining room. Gabriel had his back turned, looking at the mounted head of a buck on the far wall. Micah stood as Blanchard walked in.

  “Have a seat, gentlemen. I just need an update on matters,” Damien said.

  Gabriel winced as he unbuttoned his jacket, taking a seat next to the other assassin. Blanchard stood behind the chair at the end of the table, resting his hands on the high back as a smile spread across his face, pulling at one corner of his mouth and then the other.

  “Well? Don’t keep me in suspense,” he said.

  Micah cleared his throat. “Targets one and two have been—”

  “I know about those two already,” Damien interrupted. “I need to hear the grisly details about John Stone’s demise.” He circled around to the front of the chair and sat.

  The Alphas exchanged short, cold glances before Micah continued.

  “Mr. Blanchard, John Stone is still alive. That’s why we are here.”

  Blanchard’s knuckles whitened as his fingers dug into hardwood hand rests. His face hardened, tracing lines along his features to stand out in the faint lighting.

  Gabriel leaned forward, putting his hands on the table. “Parker Lewis was hit in the fight, but he has been transported to Flagler in St. Augustine. Our contacts say he’s in critical condition.”

  “So you couldn’t even take out the nerd?” Damien took in a sharp breath and released the chair. “How did this all fall apart? You two are supposed to be experts. Highly recommended by your boss.”

  Micah answered, “Unforeseen circumstances. Sometimes the target makes an unexpected movement just as the shot breaks. Outside of our control, but it does happen.”

  “We switched to an aggressive stance, approaching the targets to engage in close quarters,” Gabriel said.

  “But Stone established a formidable defense, thwarting our attempts until the police arrived,” Micah finished.

  Damien mulled the information over, leaning back in his chair as he ran his tongue across his molars. He had never expected these assets to be able to best John Stone without a well-funded assault. Still, their failure to eliminate Parker was a disappointment. Removing one of Stone’s most valuable allies would have moved him one step closer to finally destroying The Order’s greatest threat.

  Gabriel straightened his shirt and sat upright, almost reading Damien’s thoughts. “We can still reach the computer specialist. We’ve got the intel on where he is, and the police presence is rather light.”

  “No,” Blanchard said. “Stone will most likely still be by his friend’s side. It’s not worth the risk. You’ve taken Parker Lewis out of the fight for now. That should be enough to move ahead.”

  “And the next target?” Micah asked. “Shall we target the detective? The
shadow courier?”

  “No. We focus on chipping away at Stone,” Blanchard said.

  “His family?” Gabriel asked.

  A corner of Damien’s mouth twitched, almost pulling into a half smile. “Plans are already in motion to address that. Right now we sit tight.” He stood and fixed his tie before buttoning his jacket. “When we are ready to go after John Stone again, I’ll call you back.”

  “Sir,” Gabriel said, rising to his feet to leave.

  Micah nodded and followed his teammate out of the dining room.

  CHAPTER

  4

  John’s phone rattled and vibrated again. The truck skidded to a stop, tires scrabbling across gravel and dirt before coming to rest. He took a deep breath through his nose, exhaling before making the decision to answer. The caller came up as unknown, but for the last eight hours, it was the same number that had tried to reach him.

  “What is it, Chambers?”

  “John, where are you?” Travis asked.

  “I’m in the middle of something right now,” he said. “I’ll be back at the hospital afterward. Just make sure the police keep Parker safe until I get back.”

  “I’m fully aware of what you’re planning,” Travis said. “My men logged the missing weapons and gear, but it’s still not too late to come back.”

  “Once I take care of the immediate threat, we can catch our breath and plan the next move. Until then, have your men fall back and protect the others.” John stepped out onto the gravel.

  “John, I know you think you’re doing the right thing, but this—”

  “Has to be done,” John said before ending the call.

  Within seconds Travis called back, but the phone crunched under a massive boot and fell silent. John took the gear from inside the cab and set it on the opened tailgate of the old truck. He unzipped the bag and pulled the weapons out. Checking that spare magazines still sat in the pouches, he secured the tactical vest with the hook and loop enclosures along his ribs to ensure a tight fit.