The Tribe: Black Force Shorts Book Three

by Rogers, Matt

  It turned out they had.

  But Rollins hadn’t expected it to be him.

  Two guards came sprinting into sight, circling around the exterior of the complex and powering along the narrow trail running across the front of the cells. Rollins had never seen anyone acting with urgency on the path itself — the only times the prison guards populated the trail was when they were delivering him food and water, which they fed through the bars.

  Now, these men ran for their lives.

  Rollins had seen both of them before — at some point each of them had delivered him a meal. They were both native Peruvian, with dark skin and powerful physiques honed by years in the gym. Rollins knew powerlifters when he saw them — these boys could move some serious weight. He’d always opted for athleticism over power, but it seemed these men packed both in spades.

  And they were both shitting their pants.

  Rollins could do nothing but stand back and watch.

  The pair stopped in front of his cell, their breath coming in rattling gasps, forming clouds in front of their faces on the freezing mountain trail. They glanced at each other with wide eyes, and tightened their grips on the Kalashnikov rifles in their hands.

  They were ready to use them.

  ‘You got friends?’ one of them barked into Rollins’ cell, refusing to take his eyes off the trail they’d come from.

  ‘Doubt it,’ Rollins said quietly.

  In truth, he was savouring the terror these men were experiencing.

  He hadn’t held the upper hand in quite some time.

  ‘Guy looks like you,’ the first man hissed. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  The pair had reached the limits of their patience. The second guy — larger than the first, who Rollins guessed spoke no English — wheeled on the spot and brought his Kalashnikov rifle around to face the cell. Rollins noted it was an AK-74. Pumped full of adrenalin and cortisol, the guy was exaggerating his every move.

  Rollins prayed that—

  The giant guard spat something in Spanish and jabbed the barrel of the Kalashnikov through the steel bars to try and intimidate the prisoner.

  He might as well have handed it to Rollins on a silver platter.

  4

  Rollins had his hands around the barrel of the AK-74 in a half-second of explosive movement, at which point he could simply use brute strength to wrench the gun out of the guard’s hands. He yanked the rifle through the bars as the giant grunted in surprise and made a desperate snatch for the weapon. But Rollins hadn’t had the opportunity to display his combat prowess at any point during his length of imprisonment, so the big idiot had underestimated him.

  If he’d known Rollins’ capabilities, the man wouldn’t have stepped within ten feet of the bars.

  Rollins made to spin the weapon around and send an unsuppressed burst through the bars before the first guy could realise what had happened. He went through the motions, twisting the AK-74 around to face the outside world and slipping a finger inside the trigger guard.

  But before he could fire, another giant silhouette came crashing into frame.

  Rollins froze.

  He couldn’t help himself.

  It took him a moment to process what had happened.

  Someone had leapt from the roof of his cell, traversing the concrete wing of the prison and coming down on top of the pair of guards on the exterior trail. The newcomer landed directly on top of the armed man, sending them both crashing to the trail in a tangle of limbs. In the movies the pair would shrug off the collision and enter a no-holds-barred fistfight, but in reality two hundred pounds of bodyweight coming down on top of your skull put you out of the equation for the immediate future.

  The first guard was semi-conscious by the time the newcomer tumbled off him, but the man made sure of it by thundering an elbow into the guard’s face with all his substantial bodyweight behind the swing. The first guard slumped pitifully across the snow-dusted gravel and lay still.

  Before the second guard — the man Rollins had just disarmed — had worked out what was happening, the newcomer snatched the first guy’s Kalashnikov off the ground and swung it like a baseball bat into his stomach. A brutal thud echoed down the mountainside and the unarmed man doubled over. The newcomer kicked him full in the face, smashed a fist into the bridge of his nose, and used the second the guy spent frozen in space to swing the stock of the Kalashnikov into the guy’s jaw.

  The second man dropped like a stone.

  All sound ceased.

  Rollins had been a millisecond away from firing his own rifle, but now he stood flabbergasted, trying to process what had happened. The newcomer straightened up, revealing his full height — Rollins guessed the guy was close to six foot three, with a bodybuilder’s physique and the frame of a natural athlete.

  ‘Put that thing down,’ the guy said, his accent American. He motioned to the Kalashnikov. ‘I’m trying not to kill anyone up here.’

  ‘Either of those guys might be dead.’

  ‘Maybe so. But I’m not putting a bullet in them to make sure. They can figure things out for themselves.’

  ‘What — so you’re like Batman?’

  ‘Not usually.’

  ‘Are—’

  ‘Just put the fucking weapon down, kid.’

  Rollins dropped the gun. He didn’t have much of a choice. Even if he shot the man through the bars, there was no way of escaping the cell — the American might be the only thing keeping him from succumbing to dehydration and starvation. It would not be a pleasant death.

  Rollins was at his mercy.

  ‘You Sam Rollins?’ the man said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You want out of that cell?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’ve been instructed to tell you that it comes with a few conditions.’

  ‘I’m not really in a position to argue.’

  ‘You just have to complete the job.’

  Rollins froze. He’d assumed this man was some kind of vigilante, but if he really did know about…

  ‘What job?’ Rollins said, feigning innocence.

  The man smirked. ‘Ah. That’s right. We haven’t officially met.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘My name’s Jason King,’ the guy said. ‘And I work for the same organisation you do.’

  5

  Apparently King deemed it necessary to release Rollins before any elaboration could take place, because he set off back down the trail and disappeared from sight not long after the words had left his mouth.

  Rollins was left alone with his thoughts — of which there were many. He had no idea what the hell was going on, or what was going to happen next. A tidal wave of possibilities ran through his mind until he deemed the mental onslaught unproductive and elected to shut up and think about nothing until he was out of this goddamn cell.

  Then he could ask questions.

  He admired the view, taking in the sight of the Huaytapallana mountain range for what seemed like the first time. Previously the landscape had been tinged with the misery of his own mental state, but now that he was soon to be free he could soak in the sights unobstructed.

  Half a minute later, the giant concrete door set into the far wall of the cell swung open with a low groan.

  Rollins still couldn’t quite believe that he was free. The entire series of events had seemed like an elaborate game, a performance to instil false hope in him. But when Jason King stepped aside to let Rollins through and he strode out into an empty hallway with two unconscious guards at one end, he breathed a sigh of relief and dropped to his knees.

  He needed a moment to compose himself.

  ‘You thought you were done?’ King said.

  Despite being out of his cell, Rollins couldn’t escape the elements. The corridor ran like a long, dark tunnel down into the depths of the prison, but it acted as a centrifuge for the mountain wind, which came howling up from the darkness to lash at
his clothing. There was no reprieve from the weather. Rollins stayed on his knees for a moment before realising it wouldn’t achieve anything, then he picked himself up off the stone.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘What do you need me for?’

  King stood at least four inches taller than Rollins, and the man — who Rollins had never met before today — glanced in each direction before shaking his head. ‘Not here. Let’s put as much distance between ourselves and this place as we can. Then we can talk.’

  ‘You really work for Black Force?’

  King pointed to the unconscious bodies all around them. ‘You doubt me?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Then let’s go.’

  They set off through the miserable stone complex, passing men beaten unconscious — some to within an inch of their life. Rollins spent the entire walk in a strange dream-like haze, gazing from body to body without truly understanding what he was looking at. He had detached from reality — none of this seemed possible. Surely he hadn’t been carted off to a remote mountainside prison and then subsequently rescued by a member of the very organisation he’d been working for when everything had gone to hell.

  ‘I still don’t understand,’ he muttered.

  ‘You’ll get the picture,’ King said. ‘I can’t be here for long. But we’ve got the whole drive to talk about what’s been happening. Until then…’

  They moved through a silent courtyard and ducked into a neighbouring administrative building, passing through a series of offices with papers strewn everywhere and furniture overturned.

  ‘You, uh…’ Rollins said. ‘You had much trouble getting me out?’

  Before King could respond, Rollins glanced across. There was barely a scratch on the man.

  King shrugged. ‘These guys weren’t trained. They’re paid to stand around and look tough. There’s no threats out here. I’ve seen it all before.’

  ‘You think I’m weak for not being able to sort it out myself?’

  King glanced across as they made for the front of the complex. ‘You came here in chains?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Then you’re not weak at all. Not much you can do from the inside of a cell. If the roles were reversed I’m sure you would have been able to handle it. You wouldn’t be working for Black Force if you couldn’t.’

  ‘I didn’t think I was working for Black Force anymore.’

  ‘For good reason.’

  ‘Did Black Force break me out just to punish me themselves?’

  ‘No. Why would you need to be punished?’

  ‘I failed a mission. I got caught. They locked me up here. Ineptitude, at the very least…’

  ‘Everyone fucks up. But you get a second chance.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That mission you failed… turns out it’s the real deal.’

  Rollins went pale. ‘The tribe?’

  ‘The tribe. You’re the only one who can stop them now. So we needed you out. That’s why they sent me.’

  Rollins didn’t know which circumstances had changed. He’d been knee deep in the operation when it had fallen apart at the seams, and that had been a failure he didn’t ever expect to recover from. But here he was, following a hulking Black Force agent to a nondescript off-road vehicle that had been parked out the front of the prison, its engine running idly in place. The mechanical purring rumbled down the mountainside.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ Rollins said, motioning to the vehicle.

  ‘An off-road buggy,’ King said. ‘That’s how I’m getting you out of here.’

  ‘And where are we going, exactly?’

  ‘I’ve been told to drop you at a certain set of co-ordinates, at which point you’ll resume what you came to Peru to do. Anything other than that is up to you.’

  ‘You’re not getting involved?’

  King cast Rollins a dark look. ‘You know we’re never supposed to even meet, right?’

  ‘Yeah, but…’

  ‘Strap yourself in. Long drive ahead.’

  They slid into their respective seats and Rollins pulled a racing harness over his chest, clipping it into place to secure himself. It was far from comfortable, but he’d take it over a prison cell any day.

  King stamped on the accelerator and pulled the buggy around the gravel lot in a tight arc, kicking up geysers of the stuff as he turned a full hundred and eighty degrees. When the nose of the buggy aligned with the narrow mountain trail he corrected course and shot forward, roaring away from the prison.

  Some of the guards King had beaten down would wake up, concussed and disoriented.

  Some wouldn’t.

  That was part of the job.

  Rollins let his head fall back against the headrest and sucked in deep lungfuls of the mountain air whipping through the buggy’s open frame.

  He’d been in the process of adjusting to a lifetime of sedentary suffering when King had come calling. Now he was right back in the madness, returned to the life he’d been trying his hardest to forget.

  Everything had unfolded so fast that he hadn’t even had time to ponder whether he wanted to go back at all.

  6

  King was right.

  The journey back to the central Peruvian rainforest would take quite some time.

  Rollins recalled how long he’d spent in the rickety shuttle bus that had transported him up to the mountain prison, and he settled in for a slow return trip. Nevertheless, King seemed to want to cover the same amount of ground in half the time, judging by the rate at which he tore the buggy down the trail. At several different points Rollins snatched for a handhold, convinced the buggy was set to roll off the edge of the mountains. Each time King looked over and laughed, exposing brilliant white teeth.

  The man was enjoying himself.

  ‘You’re really comfortable in these situations?’ Rollins said.

  ‘Not at all,’ King said, suddenly deathly serious. ‘But I can relax a little this time. I’m not the one heading into the shit.’

  ‘Bring me up to speed. What have I missed since the operation went to hell?’

  ‘You tell it from the start. I know bits and pieces, but not the full thing. I don’t think they want me knowing any details about other operations. Hence why they keep us all separate.’

  ‘Do you know how many more of us there are?’

  ‘No. And I’d never ask. That’s not important right now. I’ll drop you where you need to go and then you’ll never hear from me again. That’s just the way this world works. We’re solo operators. We don’t mingle. I wouldn’t ask any more questions like that if I were you. That’s the fastest way to get thrown straight back in that prison.’

  ‘You killed a few of those men,’ Rollins noted. ‘Whether you intended to or not.’

  ‘Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. I’ll sleep okay.’

  ‘You happy about it?’

  ‘Not happy. Just neutral. They had you locked up there without a trial. Imagine what other kinds of sick shit they’ve got up to in the past. That place doesn’t even officially exist.’

  ‘So, the operation…’

  ‘The operation. You were integrating with a Asháninca tribe, if I’m not mistaken?’

  ‘Basically.’

  ‘Under the guise of someone else?’

  ‘A wandering backpacker,’ Rollins said. ‘This hair helps me look the part. No-one suspected a thing.’

  ‘And why were you there?’

  ‘There’d been reports of increased mercenary activity in Huancayo. We—’

  ‘Huancayo,’ King interrupted. ‘That’s the capital of this region, correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sorry. Haven’t been in-country for long.’

  ‘You been to Peru before?’

  ‘Once,’ King said, and a dark look spread over his face. Rollins figured the man didn’t wish to elaborate.

  ‘So,’ Rollins said. ‘There’s been some serious muscle moving through Huancayo, and they’re not keeping qu
iet about it. Talks of bombings, coups — all that kind of shit. Huancayo’s the industrial and logistical hub for the entire Andes region. There’s a lot of money to be made if some mercenary thugs play their cards correctly.’

  ‘What does that have to do with a tribe in the forests?’

  ‘I’m leading to that. Rumours spread through the forest of an American traveller — name of Bradley Frisson — who’s been making waves amongst the natives. He’s been travelling from camp to camp claiming to be a mystical shaman placed into the body of a foreigner. That kind of thing gets attention, and he has links to the mercenaries in Huancayo. We have him on camera paying them close to fifty grand for undisclosed reasons.’

  ‘So bring him in.’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that. He’s rather elusive, and he’s managed to get an entire tribe on his side. One of the groups bought his shtick. We don’t know what he’s trying to do with them, but he’s an American, so Black Force sent me in to investigate.’

  ‘Acting as a backpacker?’

  ‘Yeah. But Frisson saw right through it. The first time we properly met — and by that point he was the goddamn shaman for the entire tribe — he grilled me. Question after question after question. Eventually I slipped up, and then there was no going back.’

  ‘What’d you slip up on?’

  ‘He wanted movements from the last three months of my life. When I told him I came from Sicily he wanted proof of flight tickets. I had some made up in a hurry by the tech guys in Black Force but Frisson double-checked them against the actual flight logs.’

  ‘Jesus, he’s rigorous.’

  ‘That’s how he got himself into that position in the first place.’

  ‘Could you have taken him down?’

  ‘He turned the whole tribe on me. He’s a good actor. Had me carted off to a convoy of his mercenaries, and they delivered me straight to the prison guards who were doing the rounds.’

  ‘None of this sounds legal.’