This genius then made it all into a video game to train the twelve Ants. They trained and trained and trained. Soon they were all really good at the video game, and they loved it. That was when it was revealed to them that it was not a game, but in fact they were actually guiding an automated army. Slowly the partying was tapered off and they got serious. They learned tactics, studying the attack tactics of both the United States and Ecuadorian militaries. Suddenly João was excited as it looked like the genius wanted to kill some people.
Then it happened, the first downside. Pablo separated the two of them—him and Felipe. He needed an Ant to be his right hand man, and he needed an Ant to be the lead to guide the other video warriors. João couldn’t believe that Felipe accepted the right-hand man job without even trying to get him too, as co-right hand man. He just left him. They always did everything together. João was so hurt he turned down the lead video warrior offer.
This Pablo, super genius, had given them all their own rooms. They were four levels down in the mountain and João chose the room on the end of the long corridor, as far away from everyone else as possible. Felipe was out doing all sorts of things he wanted to do while he was stuck playing the stupid game, a game he used to love.
That wasn’t what bothered him the most, though. What bothered him the most was Felipe’s apparent belief that this Pablo had a relationship with God.
They had both seen and done enough to know that they didn’t believe in God, and now this? He saw the adulation on his friend’s face when he talked about Pablo, or saw Pablo. It was too much! And after that last visit with the gringo in tow, the two of them had needed to talk, especially after he gestured he was watching João after he asked him to stop getting high.
His head was pounding, and when he played it all out, it just got him angry and overloaded, which was why he was always getting high and drinking so much these days. He was self-medicating himself through the hardest thing he’d ever had to face, the loss of his friend.
João went over to the blinds, tried to adjust it, but ended up accidently letting in more sun than before, which caused his whore to stir and reveal a pair of tits that only youth could provide. His bedmate mumbled something and turned away to bury her head in the pillows.
The new light revealed a pair of eyes in the corner on the far side of the bed, eyes that were always watching him. As far as he was concerned, it was okay if they saw what happened in the bed last night. They could be witness to how heroic he was.
He drifted back again to his time away from the Favela.
Pablo had built special rooms that were rectangular in shape and about the size of a squash court. They had a console in the center that sat about two-thirds away from the far wall. The console was the game controller and the wall was the screen. The screen was dividable into four sections, all HD, and all very state of the art. After more than a year in the compound, however, João was going completely stir crazy—all he was doing was training, eating, fucking, and sleeping.
They each also had their own apartment and he kept one of the female Chinese workers they employed for his own. His girl resisted some at first, but he soon had her whipped into shape. Still, it was not enough. He’d realized that this was the longest he had ever gone without killing someone; ever since the day they stabbed that drunk in the alley more than ten years ago, they had not stopped.
That was when João went to Felipe and demanded he get him out of that room and let him have some freedom. Felipe’s answer was to train João to be a helicopter pilot—not in the real world, but on a game that Pablo had created to get rid of his malaise. Pablo promised João that he’d made it just for him, and once he learned it, he could go anywhere he wanted.
It took weeks to learn to play the game right because one had to really fly the helicopter, but once he had learned and mastered all aspects of flying, the program let him go anywhere. It was a game like no other, but João had finally realized that those two had only tried to distract him. They figured because he got high all the time that he didn’t know what was going on. But he did, he always did, and Felipe was just about to find that out when it all went down.
He got up and walked across the room to wash his face. He had a lot to do today, starting with fixing those fucking blinds. He looked in the mirror and realized how much he had aged in the past couple of years since it was over. He missed Felipe and had been trying to slowly kill himself ever since his friend’s death.
No one had ever hit America like that before. It had turned the world upside down . . . and it all started with the Ants and the whore.
Pablo had needed to get vital information out of the United States and he used the whore to do it. Ostensibly, Pablo was operating off the belief the he was a messenger of God, and that’s why he needed “our” whore. He was adamant that she was his destined partner.
Initially, they both found Pablo’s story all a bunch of crap, and there was no way João was giving up his favorite whore. João fondly remembered breaking her in at a very early age when they found her on the streets, terrified. He loved it when they were terrified, like his former Chinese housemate was at first.
After Pablo took her away, he had trained her and sent her to the United States. She did come back with the stolen information, sure, but she also brought back that gringo; he turned out to be her lover. The gringo was then able to get himself appointed as Pablo’s topside security man. It was all too weird. Felipe never trusted the gringo and told him so.
João had no idea who, but one of them betrayed the Ants and poisoned them. The only thing that saved him was that he was fortuitously locked in the stairwell getting high before the next round of warfare.
Luckily for him, he liked getting high before he played the game. In the few minutes he was absent, someone poisoned the Ant’s rooms. Once he’d figured that out, he got away by riding an all-terrain vehicle, stopping only to get the gringo‘s favorite guard dog on his way out of the compound.
Before that, they had finally had a chance to do some fighting. And once they started killing actual people, one couldn’t have pried him out of his room with a crowbar. He was no longer jealous of his friend’s freedom. He was a born killer and this was his chance to play the game of death. He just liked to be stoned when he did it—and now he was alive because of his love of being stoned.
He remembered the last time he saw Felipe. Felipe had been giving a pep talk after they’d destroyed an attack group of the Ecuadorian military and then crippled the U.S. Carrier Group the USS George H. W. Bush. João was so thankful that he took getting stoned so seriously. He knew that they were heading into some heavy action, and he knew he needed to be stoned to be at his fullest capabilities.
Felipe and the gringo made their rounds to each room for their little pep talk and then left. That was it—he never saw him again, alive or dead. Some asshole robbed him of the chance to set things right with his only friend.
He knew from the world news that after he’d fled, the United States seized the compound, but no mention of Pablo, Vera, or the gringo, Matt, ever surfaced. João saw one of the poisoned Ants die a horrific death right in front of his eyes, and he knew it wasn’t the U.S. that did it because they hadn’t gotten there yet.
At least one of those three betrayed the Ants, and probably lived to tell the tale. If João ever figured out which one was culpable, he now had enough money to do something about it when the time came. He also had enough money to leave here and never come back. But he knew he would never leave again.
He lit a joint and smoked it as he got the blinds right with some good old jerry-rigging. Guess he didn’t have to go shopping after all. That was good because it was time to go back to sleep, but not before he investigated that ass sticking out of the covers one more time . . .
Carlos woke João up by entering his room; the alarm clock said it was three in the morning. Carlos was the only one allowed into his room or there would be trouble. And even then, he’d already learned not to mov
e too quickly or try to touch him.
João uttered, “Shit, how the fuck did I sleep through the whole day and half the night, too?” What the hell was in that joint, he wondered? His whore was gone, he noticed. She’d escaped while he was in his coma, probably hungry. He looked at Carlos and tried to focus, “What’s up?”
Carlos reported without emotion, “They’re making their move, just like you said. They just parked two full-sized vans a hundred yards up the Rue Nova Brasília.”
João jumped up and turned on his monitors. He’d been waiting for just this scenario. “Okay, go release my toys and take positions.” Carlos left immediately.
He pulled up his super high-definition, night-enhanced, mini-rotating camera system. He had cameras secretly placed all over the entire Favela; after all, he’d learned more than a trick or two from his former co-conspirators. As he brought up the screen he observed the vans . . . and then he got the rush.
João was sitting on a big secret. In the history of the world, he was in the top percentage as far as people he had single-handedly killed in battle. It had to be in the hundreds, maybe even the thousands.
When they attacked the Bush Carrier Group, they were only supposed to aim for the propellers to disable them. But he purposely drove a five hundred pound bomb directly into the belly of the supply ship, knowing it would be loaded with easy kills.
He mused, imagine if the world knew he was alive and what he’d done. He would become the next Osama bin Laden. He might have been born poor and ignorant, but he was neither any longer.
The red light came on and his hand controller was ready. It got fun from here. He saw four men exit the vans, two from each. He could see they each had an AK-47 slung over their backs and a grenade in their right hand. So that was the plan, they think they know where I’m staying and they want to blow me to pieces.
João put false information out all the time as to where he was staying, so surely the grenadiers would have missed their mark tonight, regardless.
He saw them sneaking up the sidewalk, staying in the shadows. It was now time to have some fun. He launched the first RC car by them at forty-miles per hour. Slack-jawed, they watched it go by and zip right under the van holding six of the Ramos hombres. The van exploded with a thunder that shattered more than a few local windows.
All the occupants were dead before they knew there was danger. The street grenadiers were in no man’s land now, not knowing if they should run for it through the inferno or continue the mission that was obviously blown? They didn’t have long to decide before the second RC zipped by and headed for the other van, which was already on the go and was now turning around. The occupants in that van saw the black streak coming down the street and managed to get the side door open. Two of them actually made it part way out of the vehicle before the remote bomb blew them out, a good fifty feet away. The other four perished in the second massive explosion.
That was all the grenadiers needed to see; the battle was over before it had started and they ran as fast as they could back to the Avenida Itaoca, back to the their Favela Itarare. With the fire burning on the left and the middle, they had to go to the right. After they cleared the vehicles they stopped and gathered the two wrecked bodies that had blown out of the van, both tattered and bleeding out of their ears. They were carrying their brothers . . . really half dragging them, when they turned the corner right into the firing squad.
Before they could react, the Ants wiped them out, their unused grenades falling to the ground, as did their bodies and weapons. Without delay, Ants seemingly came out of nowhere, collecting all of the weapons from the dead Ramos soldiers.
Up the street, another group of Ants were collecting all of his wireless cameras that were mounted with magnets around the street. Just like that, it was over and they were gone, along with any traces of them. No one would dare speak against them in their Favela. The UPP could kiss his ass.
Even if they went door to door, all that they had used here were some strong plastics and some electronics, which the authorities would never find, as both had been incinerated.
João had five screens in all, and he was focused on the Ants’ efficiency at removing the cameras in a timely fashion, which was up to his expectations. One by one they were taking down his cameras and he was losing views. He was still focused on his main zoom camera though, one that was well hidden and did not need to be removed.
He was so busy congratulating himself and lost in the rush that came from barbecuing those putos or he might have heard the small creak the door had made. Although he didn’t hear the assassin, he felt his presence and by the time he turned around, the Ramos assassin’s knife was a foot from him and coming down hard.
His reactions probably would have allowed him to get his arm up and take it from there, but he never got the chance. The black streak came out of nowhere, and his protector had his assailant by the wrist and was gnawing fiercely before the man knew what had happened.
As he was leaving the compound in Ecuador two years before, he had found one of the dogs the gringo had been training. The dog had been wearing a bulletproof vest and he looked so badass that João just had to have him. The dog came to him right away and accepted him as his new owner ever since that day, without question. João was a hundred and thirty pounds, and Gringo, his dog’s name, was now a hundred and twenty. His assailant was his size and the fight was not going well.
Of course, by now he had his Beretta out and the fight was over no matter what, but this was a good time to give the dog a taste for blood and death. João gun butted the knife out of his assailant’s hand and the Ramos assassin screamed in pain. He kept punching the dog in the face with his free left hand, but the dog would not let go of the right. He was screaming and then he tried to bite Gringo, but João gun butted him in the head and he fell back. That was it. He’d exposed his neck and the dog went for the kill.
To his credit the gringo, Matt, did not train these dogs to wound. The beast grabbed the assassin’s throat and clamped down. His reaction was what João would have done—he reached for the dog’s eyes. So João broke his fingers as Gringo crushed the gurgling man’s throat with a syrupy kind of sound he would never forget. He called the dog off and sat him down. João noted that Gringo looked like a satiated lion after the kill.
João went out only to find his entire security detail dead—all of their shirts had a red dot where their hearts were located. He looked at his new best friend by his side and vowed to never again be anywhere without him. He went back to his monitors. There was one still lit up. He called a number, Carlos answered, and he asked if it was in position? The answer was affirmative.
Across the Hill, one of the Ramos runners arrived at their headquarters bearing a grave message for all, but he was so out of breath that he could barely deliver it. Finally he stammered out, “Estão todos mortos.”
They were the last words spoken in the room full of Ramos leaders. João‘s remote copter hit the window and its plastic explosive cargo took care of the Ramos boys and their entire headquarters. That should slow down their growth, João thought, and turned off his last monitor as the sounds of the madness he’d unleashed were unfolding throughout the city.
Ants came in and took away all evidence of the control station. They also had the ghastly job of removing and cleaning up his fallen security detail. Although João hated to admit it, he had learned a lot from Pablo as well. He opened his window and listened to the wonderful sounds of chaos. He heard a tortured scream come from far off and a large smile appeared across his face as he and his new friend lay back on the bed.
He lit up a joint and enjoyed the rest of the night, sounds of sirens and screaming and madness. Some people might like to hear pleasant words and sounds before they fell asleep to help them ease off into a peaceful night’s rest. But João found the scene outside to be the most cathartic night he could ever remember, and for sure this was the most relaxing bedtime story he’d ever experienced. Actually, it was the
only one he’d ever experienced.
An especially excruciating wail came from across the hill, yet it somehow made it through the cacophony of sound that was happening outside. João imagined it was the mother of one of the Ramos leaders. She must have just come upon the completely destroyed casa that João arranged and found her son dead.
He wanted this night to last forever, but unfortunately for him, he was back asleep some time in the middle of the helicopter search of his Favela.
* * *
Typical as of late, Matt went to bed around midnight, but here he was again up at five in the morning, as usual. His night terrors were too much for him and they inevitably woke him.
He looked beside him in bed where Jan was softly snoring, little Jon Jon on the guest foldout next to her. Jon had a cold and she never left him alone when he was sick.
Almost as soon as his eyes opened, his mind wandered to his past. For two years he had slept with Vera, ate with her, and loved her as deeply as he has ever loved anyone—until the day he killed her and their unborn child. Sure, the good ol’ U.S. of A. had given him the best therapy money could buy, and Ray Callahan brought him back from the brink, no doubt about it. Ray was the best at getting into people’s heads. Yet Matt had lied his way through the healing process and did what all Hurst men did since time immemorial, they sucked it up and worked it out—alone. Matt told them what they wanted to hear and what they wanted to hear was, “he was better, he was fine, that he’d found a way to cope with what he’d done.” They got him to admit to the necessity of what he’d done.
It was then that the jig was up as he remembered the lessons of his past life, the ones where he was just a Loss Prevention Manager, catching people stealing and then being able to go home anonymous at the end of the day. Time after time he replayed the “if onlys” in his head. Especially the if only he had just finished that sandwich and let her go his life wouldn’t be this clandestine mess it was now.
Without Wrath (Harbinger of Change Book 3) Page 2