CHAPTER
11
South Africa
The flight sapped the energy from John’s muscles and tightened his joints. He was unable to get any sleep during the long trip but didn’t feel the fatigue. Driven by purpose, John found the energy he needed to stay sharp and alert as he stepped off the plane.
Waiting with the others, he had his bag draped over one shoulder, watching Travis off to the side talking to someone on the phone. Millie stretched and bent down to place her hands flat on the ground. Even though the young woman had an obvious issue with the long journey over the open sea, she still could regain control and maintain the necessary composure to make it through with minimal stress.
Where they would be headed, that kind of anxiety could get people killed. John felt a sense of reassurance knowing he would be fighting side by side with people that have proven themselves in previous battles. It served to further put his mind at ease.
“Three minutes or so,” Travis said as he came back. “Once the trucks get here, we’ll meet up with my contacts, who should have our gear prepped and ready.”
“Sounds good to me,” Curtis said, pressing his fist into the side of his jaw as he turned his head and cracked his neck. “They say anything about dinner?”
“Maybe you should reset your watch, son. It’s four AM,” Travis said, glancing down at his wrist.
“I take it, since we weren’t able to bring our own weapons, there won’t be any special requests,” Millie said, crouched on the curb, hugging her knees.
“I did what I could as far as weapons, but it looks like we haven’t got much to choose from,” Travis said. “Aren’t you trained with all small arms, though?”
“Aren’t you able to pick a suit off the rack?” she asked in response. “We’ve all got our taste. But yes, I’ll be fine with whatever we can get our hands on.”
“John should be fine,” Curtis said. “You know they’ve got a 1911 sitting around, waiting for an old man to pick it up.”
John smiled. “It’s got a legacy. Maybe you’ll learn to appreciate that in your old age.”
“If I live long enough to pick a seven plus one capacity over a Glock 21, do me a favor and check me into the old folks home,” Curtis said with a smirk.
A pair of well-worn SUVs with a healthy coating of reddish dust rounded the corner. Their rumbling engines dominated the early morning air as they growled to a stop.
“This is us,” Travis said. “Let’s get our gear stowed and head out. We’ll discuss the plan on the road.”
John pulled the rear hatch of the lead vehicle open, smiling and nodding to the driver as he came out to assist. “I’ve got it.”
He put his bag in the back and turned to help Curtis and Millie stow their gear as well.
“They told me you were still in one piece, but I had to see it for myself,” a voice said from the second vehicle.
John turned to face the speaker. “Jimenez?”
“Yeah,” the man said, taking his hat off and walking over to offer his hand. “I mean I knew you were tough after the Russians dropped that building on you, but when the other stories kept coming in…” Jimenez let out a whistle. “You certainly live up to your name, Stone.”
“Thank you,” John said. “And thank you for all of your help.”
“Did the Army just dump the bottom of the barrel on us?” Curtis asked, walking around as he recognized his friend. “How have you been doing, Jimenez? How’s the leg?”
They shook hands and exchanged a brief hug.
“The leg is fine,” Jimenez said. “Shouldn’t slow me down.”
“So what’s the deal? I didn’t know we were allowed to pull personnel from the military for this mission,” Curtis said.
“I’m retired,” Jimenez said. “From active duty anyway.”
“It’s tough finding people capable of doing things the way we do,” Travis said. “Let’s say that Jimenez received a suitable offer to join our little crew.”
“Wait, we get paid?” Curtis asked. “And how did you get here before us?”
“I was in Germany when Travis called me. Just finished getting all the paperwork to join the Hard Core as a contractor,” Jimenez said. “I got here just before you did. These guys showed up and told me they were my ride.”
“I’m glad you made the decision to join us,” John said. “We need a lot of talent behind the scope.”
“Who’s this?” Millie asked.
“I’m Corporal Jimenez. I ran alongside these two for a mission a little while back,” he said. “No offense, but you don’t look old enough to be a doctor, so I’m guessing you’re not Spencer.”
“Millie,” Travis said.
Jimenez held his hand out. “Millie…” he drew the name out.
“Just Millie.” She shook his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Hey, so can we get this show on the road?” Curtis asked. “I need some breakfast. I can’t survive on just airline peanuts and pretzels.”
* * *
The warm breeze blew across the covered patio where Damien Blanchard sat, sipping his coffee while waiting for his breakfast. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes before opening them again to watch the sunrise. This day would be devoted to relaxation. Tomorrow he would start planning on how to handle John Stone.
One of his servants walked over holding a tray. Hungry for his meal, Damien shook the cloth napkin and draped it over his lap, taking another sip of his coffee. As the man approached, Damien could see a look of concern in his eyes. The tray didn’t have a plate of food as he expected. Wonderful. I’ve got to waste my morning dealing with incompetent kitchen staff, he thought.
It wasn’t until the servant was within speaking distance that Damien noticed the object on the tray was a telephone. His jaw tightened. Who dared call him at this hour? A list of appropriate responses passed through his mind as he prepared to tear into the idiot on the other end.
“Sir. You’ve got a call,” the servant said, struggling to hold his hands steady.
“Yes, I can see that, you halfwit.”
Damien picked up the phone. “Do you have any idea what time it is? If it’s not important, I’m going to personally—”
“John Stone is there,” the voice said. “He landed in Africa a couple of hours ago.”
A lump formed in Damien’s throat. His vision blurred as his heart thumped in his ears. He clenched his teeth and gripped the cordless handset tighter. It took several deep breaths before he could regain control.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” he asked.
The digitally altered voice on the other end said, “John Stone has landed in Africa. He’s got a group with him. You are to deal with him there. Make sure he does not make it back to the US.”
There was a click on the other end as the caller hung up. Damien stood, looking down at the phone in his hand. Baring his teeth, rage filled his body as he hurled it into the field. The impact on the rocks and dirt sent a few of the animals scattering.
How? he thought. How did Stone know where I am? It didn’t make sense to Damien. Without the computer nerd’s support, he believed that the American lacked the ability to gather that kind of intel. The Hostile Response Division died with Marvin Van Pierce. Stone didn’t have the connections to pull this off in such a short amount of time.
Turning to the man with the tray, Damien wrapped a hand around the man’s neck, pulling him close.
“Get Zane here now!” he growled, shoving the servant away.
* * *
The SUVs pulled into a small compound surrounded by a mix of old wood slats and chain link fences. The people inside moved with purpose, stacking crates along one side of the main building. Several pickup trucks rolled out of the way, their cargo already unloaded.
John stepped out and worked the kinks from his joints, stretching his muscles again. Travis exited behind him and patted his shoulder before heading to a small group of men issuing orders to the people in t
he compound. Curtis and Jimenez continued their conversation as they walked over to the main structure, where they were told the food would be waiting.
“What does your gut tell you?” Millie asked, already pulling her backpack over her shoulders. “You think this is a good plan?”
John looked at her, then back to Travis as he spoke with his contacts. “It’s as good as we’re going to get. We’ll have to make it work.”
Millie gathered her hair into a small ponytail. “We’ll make it work.” She put on a pair of sunglasses and made her way to the building.
Travis turned and joined John again. “Looks like we just sit tight for further orders. Things are changing a bit.”
John raised an eyebrow. “Not enough weapons?” he asked, jutting his chin toward the crates stacked along the wall.
“Definitely not enough,” Travis said. “As in no weapons at all yet. Those are aid packages for local villages and farmers.”
“How, exactly, have things changed a bit?”
Travis wiped the back of his neck with a handkerchief before tucking it into a pocket and removing his jacket. “The local government is asking for some favors in order to allow us to conduct our operation here. Turns out Blanchard’s warlords have been a consistent nuisance, even after he left.”
“And now they want us to deliver the aid that Blanchard’s goon squads have stolen from the locals,” John said.
“Yeah, but before you—”
“We’ll do it.”
Travis cocked his head to one side. “Huh. I had a whole speech prepared and everything.”
“I understand that we’re not here to just stop Blanchard, but undo the damage that The Order has inflicted on innocent lives,” John said. “Maybe you can use your speech on the others.”
“Maybe,” Travis said. “Or I can just tell them you’re on board. No one is going to question you.”
John smiled and watched as more trucks pulled in with pallets wrapped in plastic. “Please tell me the weapons are on the way, though.”
Travis returned the smile. “Weapons, soldiers, and transportation for hauling all of that.”
“What are they providing as far as wheels?” John asked.
“A few Mamba Mark Twos to lead the way, a SAMIL 20 for the extra bodies, and a SAMIL 50 for the cargo.”
“That should work,” John said.
“Go grab some chow, Stone. The next few days are going to be rough.” Travis fished his phone out again as he walked away.
John put his hands on his hips, looking around. He saw several of the trucks leaving, but one of them had been parked off to the side, the driver heading over to help the others unload more supplies. The muscles in his neck and jaw flexed and relaxed. John scratched his chin and made his way to the older vehicle.
Settling into the driver’s seat, he could see that the keys still dangled from the ignition.
“What are you doing, John?” Curtis asked, approaching the truck. “We’re just about to eat some breakfast. Thought you might like to know that they’ve got bacon and eggs just for us. At least I think that’s what it’s supposed to be.”
John leaned out the window, resting on the door. “Plans have changed. Ask Travis, he’ll tell you all about it.”
“You’re not going after Blanchard without us, are you?”
“No. I just need to get a feel for the area. See what we might be getting ourselves into.”
“Not without me you’re not,” Curtis said, stepping around to the passenger side.
“Clarke, just stay here with the others. I’m not going to do anything stupid,” John said.
“Well, then you won’t mind me joining you.”
John wiped a hand across his cheek and scratched his neck. “I promise, I’m just going to ask around to see how the locals are living. We could be destroying lives if we’re not careful.”
“Cool.” Curtis pulled the seatbelt across his lap and secured it in the buckle. “Let’s roll. I’ll call Travis and let him know what we’re up to.”
Shaking his head, John secured his own belt and started the truck. “Have it your way, Clarke.”
“Hey, maybe we should at least grab a pistol or two before we leave,” Curtis said, pointing to the crates.
“Weapons aren’t here yet,” John said as the truck rumbled to life. “Still not too late to change your mind and stay here.”
Curtis pressed his lips together and processed the new information. He pointed forward. “Let’s roll out.”
* * *
Zane ducked as he entered the room, even though his head cleared the high entryway by almost a meter. He removed his hat and brushed a hand along the brim as he took a seat at the table. Damien Blanchard sat at the far end, lightly pressing the tip of a knife into his finger, twirling the blade back and forth with the other hand. His head of security stood to his left, arms folded over his chest.
Gabriel and Micah were already seated, both on the same side, near Damien. Retief and his second-in-command, Kamran, followed behind Zane, also removing their hats and glasses before joining the rest.
Grabbing the knife in an icepick grip, Damien tapped the blade down into the table, testing its strength. “No need to mix words,” he said. “John Stone has chased us to our own turf.”
Gabriel and Micah looked at each other, then back to Damien.
“Are you certain?” Gabriel asked.
“Quite,” Damien said. “He and a small group landed this morning. They’ve been taken north of Johannesburg. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”
“He’s coming here?” Zane asked. “How does he even know about this place?”
“It’s not exactly the lost city of Atlantis,” Damien said. “We’ve never advertised the location, but someone was bound to find it.”
“Let us take care of him right now,” Gabriel said.
“We’ll have his head on your table by breakfast tomorrow morning,” Micah said.
“No, we can’t risk tipping our hand.” Damien turned to Kamran and Retief. “I need you to go out and assemble the rest of our men. Tell them to cease all activity in the region and prepare for a fight.”
“Of course,” Retief said.
“I’ll prepare the rest of the men here,” Zane said.
“Good. Get on it,” Damien said.
His three captains each gave their verbal acknowledgment and turned to leave. After their departure, he addressed the two Alpha assets.
“When Stone and his team get here, I’ll need you two in an elevated position. One of the rooms on the top floor should provide an adequate line of sight.”
“You want us to make a long-range shot in the heat of battle?” Gabriel asked.
Damien’s face grew incredulous. “Isn’t that what you do? Aren’t you experts at that type of shot? I thought Flair trained you personally.”
Gabriel leaned in, his expression cold. “We are trained to eliminate the target. We can make the shot.”
“Excellent, then shall we—”
“But you are introducing too many variables,” Micah interrupted, “making too many assumptions. How do you know Stone will be out in the open when the battle commences? What kind of armor will he be wearing?”
“What do you propose?” Damien asked, the frustration evident in his tone.
“Let us accomplish this task our way,” Gabriel said. “Give us the weapons we need. Micah and I will hit Stone before he realizes we know he’s here.”
The leader of the Alphas maintained his gaze. Damien reciprocated, locking eyes with the assassin. Tense moments passed before he spoke.
“Very well. You can try it your way,” Damien said. “But if you screw up and surrender the element of surprise, I don’t care how valuable you are to The Order, I’ll add you to my collection.” He gestured behind his chair to the mounted trophies. Lifeless heads of big game animals adorned the hardwood walls along the back of the room, above the mantle of the fireplace.
“You’ll find that we
are much tougher game than you are used to,” Micah said as he put his sunglasses on.
The Alphas left, closing the door behind them. Damien slammed the knife down, plunging the blade into the wooden table. He let out a furious roar, angry at both Stone and the arrogance of Rebecca Flair’s Alpha assets.
CHAPTER
12
“Alright, we’ve been driving out here for almost an hour,” Curtis said. “Can you tell me what you’re really looking for?”
“No ulterior motives,” John said. “I’m just trying to get a feel for what the people out here actually go through.”
“And we couldn’t do that by asking around at the base?”
John pulled into a small village. “Chambers said that Blanchard’s warlords are still operating in the area.”
Curtis closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his forehead. “Please don’t tell me we’re out here hunting for the bad guys, completely unarmed.”
“We’re going to stay out of trouble. I promise.” John stepped out of the truck, pushing his sleeves up to mid forearm.
Curtis hopped out and joined him.
John looked at Curtis. “Blanchard’s men have been stealing the aid supplies sent to people in need, and when Travis’ contacts found out what we would be doing here, they sent a shipment to deliver while we tracked our target.”
“So all of those crates were food and medicine?” Curtis asked.
“Yes, as well as water filtration and other technology,” John said. “The kind of stuff that would help these people provide for themselves without needing to provide slave labor to Blanchard’s men to make ends meet.”
“Wow, this guy’s dossier gets rosier every minute,” Curtis said.
An older man approached, with a teen helping him cover the distance. He waved at John and Curtis, saying something that sounded friendly enough. But it was in a language that neither understood.
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