Mason Walker series Box Set

by Alex Howell

  Sam’s face immediately dropped.

  “He asked if there were any weirdos who had come to this bar recently. I explained that yes, there were some who had asked about a chalice for some church services. I said we serve wine, not chalices, and they left thereafter. I think Mason went to follow them to the nearby church.”

  “Got it, thanks,” Raina said, heading out without ordering a drink.

  On the way out, the older man in the suit again stared at her. Raina looked him up and down, visibly wretched, and continued on her way up the stairs.

  If she was going to find Mason, she knew it was going to be at the church right down the street. That seemed just as likely as anything else. If nothing else, it was a starting point for her to work off of.

  She approached, noticing a homeless person at the base of the stairs whom she ignored for the time being, since the man was looking face down. She went right up to the front, swung open the doors, and looked inside.

  It was far too dark to see anything. If she shot, she was just as likely to hit a sacred object as she was one of the terrorists.

  However, the light and darkness of a room had nothing to do with what she could hear, and so like a soldier perfectly camouflaged, she listened intently for anything—a breath, a word, a footstep.

  But nothing came.

  This was the case for nearly a dozen minutes. Raina had good patience, but at some point, she knew her efforts were proving futile. Everything about the situation was her hoping it wasn’t to be, but…

  Frustrated, she went out of the church and stood at the top of the stairs, cursing under her breath.

  “Are you all right?”

  It was the homeless man. Raina looked down, got a soft smile on her face, and shook her head.

  “Friend of mine was here recently,” Raina said.

  “What did he look like?”

  Raina shrugged.

  “Tall, buzzcut, older face, probably late-30s.”

  “Hmm,” the man said. “Saw someone like that go to an alley yesterday. Don’t know nothin’ else about it.”

  He didn’t need to. That was more than enough. Raina thanked him and explored every alley she could in the nearby area.

  Unfortunately, all she found was broken beer bottles, needles, and not a whole lot else. There wasn’t anything that provided any clues about Mason, and she knew that at this point, if he wasn’t in the church, it was going to be a series of guessing games for wherever he was.

  Guessing games that, sadly, Raina couldn’t spend time on, not especially since Luke would eventually wonder where she was.

  “I’ll come back for you, Mason,” Raina said. “I swear to it.”

  But as she got in her vehicle and returned to her post, she wondered just how well she’d be able to actually live up to her promise.

  17

  Date Unknown

  Time Unknown

  Location Unknown

  Mason regained consciousness knowing nothing.

  What happened? He was struck from behind—so he knew a little something. But where was he now? Was he dead? After his many years of service, was he dropped by some random low-life roaming the streets? Was he getting ready to meet his maker? Where was that light at the end of the tunnel?

  The rest of his questions held no answers, and his attempts to get those answers gave him nothing more than some wild imaginative thoughts. He was pretty sure that he was not dead as evidenced by the fact that he could ask the question, but other than that, he knew almost nothing. He didn’t know where he was, other than that he was cold. He didn’t know what day it was. He’d gotten knocked out on September 15th, with just presumably four days left.

  Had he missed everything else? Had everything already gone down? Did Mason himself have Ebola now?

  Almost as if in answer, the empty black void that Mason’s mind inhabited was suddenly pierced by a small pinpoint of light. He came back to the jarring, and harsh reality of his confinement.

  And, unfortunately, it did not do much in providing him with any answers.

  In the place where Mason was being held, the surrounding room was dark, the only light was from a single light bulb hanging from the center of the room. It was like the room Warrior had tried to pin him in, but different enough that Mason knew he wasn’t hallucinating himself back in that dream.

  It slowly came back to him, the tattoo and the words that he had seen before he’d gotten kidnapped. The cult had him now. If the team could just…

  I didn’t inform the team.

  I’m an idiot.

  I’m the world’s biggest damn idiot there is.

  Raina, I owe you one for this. Looks like I royally screwed this up.

  As his eyes cracked open, the haze of the world slowly came into the focus, but this initial shock to his system of coming to consciousness was quickly followed by the resurgence of terrible pain from the top of his head all the way down to the base of his spine. He had to grind his teeth against each other, the pain searingly intense now in his jaw as well as everywhere else in his body. It was all he could do to keep from screaming aloud. It was only his training that allowed him to quietly take in his surroundings.

  Exactly where he was, he didn’t know. His vision was blurry, and it was hard to see, but he knew he wasn’t alone. He could make out shadowy movement on the other side of the room. Mason could also distinctly smell a pot of fresh coffee that someone had just made—wherever he was, someone certainly liked their Columbian Roast.

  He could also hear vague, indistinct chatter nearby. Most of the conversation was muffled, but he heard two men who seemed to be in an increasingly intense argument or discussion go at it.

  “We’ve gone this far—we can’t go back now!”

  At first everything around him was alien and unfamiliar, but suddenly he heard something—a voice he thought that he actually recognized. It sounded like someone that he had been around before. He listened carefully, as the man ordered the others around in a commanding voice.

  “Just do what you’re told—both of you! The time for discussion is over, just stick to the plan and we will put the whole world on notice! And you know what? In doing so, we’re going to cleanse it of all its iniquity! God will smite all who have opposed him—and quite a few of the world have a hard lesson coming to them!”

  ‘Cleanse the world of iniquity?’ What the hell is this guy going on and on about?

  And why the hell does that voice sound familiar? And yet I can’t place it… C’mon, mind, get with it. Get back in the game!

  It was obvious that the person behind the vocalizations was someone that was quite used to throwing their weight around. Perhaps it was someone from a terrorist group he’d used to follow, but the voice didn’t have a noticeable accent to it—although it didn’t exactly sound “normal,” either, and, in any case, Mason’s state of mind was not one where he could fully understand just what the hell was happening.

  He tried to move his wrists, only to realize they were pinned behind him on a hard, wooden chair, bound by a rope. The aches in his arms and shoulder suggested he’d been restrained there for far too long—anything was too long, really, but if it had been long enough for soreness to sit in, that wasn’t a good sign for whatever day it actually was.

  Mason struggled against his restraints, but he quickly realized that he would have no such luck. On top of that, his mouth was so dry he could hardly stand it. He knew that there was no escape from whoever had him.

  “But sir!” one of the men cried out with an Italian accent. “The Americans are figuring out where we are! We’ve had the homeless man tell us that some girl came by looking for the captive.”

  Raina?

  “We stay here much longer, we’re a—”

  “Shut up!” the first man snapped. “I know we’re being watched. We have one of their top guns, do you think they’re just going to let us get away with it? But we’re well hidden. So long as you two stupid morons just don’t get followed—
like, say, you almost damn did back there—then we won’t have anything to worry about!”

  Silence came.

  “We’re this close to getting our mission done. This close. If you screw up, it’s not just me you’re gonna have to answer to. It’s God. And if you want to piss off God, be my guest, but it’s gonna be your blood that gets cleansed as well.”

  And then Mason got an idea that was probably too stupid to have been considered rationally, but, in Mason’s state, it was something he felt like was worth trying.

  Slightly turning his head, he was able to see where the heated discussion was coming from. Three men were seated at a table in the corner. Squinting his eyes, he tried to focus on them, but their forms were shadowy and indistinct. Through his parched throat and cracked lips, he managed to hiss.

  “Water! Water!”

  His captors were not expecting this outburst, dropping their conversation and staring at Mason stunned. The men immediately stopped what they were doing to investigate. They seemed to purposefully stay just out of Mason’s line of vision, approaching him from the side and from behind. Mason had a bad feeling and immediately regretted having spoken out, but what more could he have done? He was in so much pain and was so dry in the mouth that just a single drop of water would’ve provided immeasurable relief.

  Hell, getting knocked back out would feel better than this.

  Mason struggled with his aching neck muscles to lift his head to get a better look. But the pounding in his cranium made the effort unbearable, forcing him to quickly drop his head back down. He wasn’t sure who he was addressing but groaned once again.

  “Please—water! Give me some water!”

  Mason saw movement in the darkness to his left—it was the head of a mop dripping with dirty mop water. This was thrust right into Mason’s face as someone command him, laughing.

  “Drink pig—this is all you get. So, drink!”

  As embarrassing as the display was, Mason was so thirsty he lapped up droplets of the mop water as the mop head was brushed across his lips. The sight provoked some laughter from his captors, but Mason was in no state to complain about his treatment.

  Slowly, Mason’s world came back to him. His mind gathered a little bit more strength than it had before, although it was still not at full capacity. The questions raced through his mind once more.

  Who were these people? What were they doing to him? What did they want?

  “Who are you,” Mason grumbled. “What day is it?”

  Laughter followed, but Mason was having none of it. He was gathering more strength.

  “I said, who are you!” he shouted, although shouting was a relative term. “You kidnapped a SEAL, I’d love to know who was skilled enough—”

  “Shut the hell up!”

  Mason froze at the booming voice.

  “Enough! Stop playing with him! Take him out! Quickly!”

  Damnit. Pushed my luck too far.

  Mason braced himself thinking that this was the end of the line—he was certain that the guy had just been ordered to kill him. But why were they ambling to kill him now? Why leave him tied up to a chair only to decide later to rub him out? Or did they already think he was dead? It just didn’t make sense.

  Mason prepared himself for a gun to be placed to the back of his head to deliver the final blow. Sadly, as horrible as the incessant ache in his head was, he almost welcomed death. He wasn’t actually embracing it, but with the pain he was in…

  The only regret he had was Clara—who would take care of her after he was gone? He was all she had.

  But “all she had” was more than enough reason to keep on fighting.

  Mason got angry. He got furious.

  And so, with shocking force, he twisted his body so much that the chair knocked off its moorings, hitting someone in the process, who cried out in pain.

  “Damn shins!” he roared.

  “How dumb can you all be to not take out a man tied to a chair?!?”

  Who is that voice? I know I’ve heard it somewhere!

  Mason fought like hell on the restraints, but they were not the knots of Warrior, a deranged madman on the verge of losing himself. These were the knots of someone who knew full well what they were doing and had no trouble getting a man of Mason’s size captive. He felt multiple hands hold him down, including a sharp knee go into his sternum. Mason gasped as he felt a needle go into his neck.

  Not going to kill me. No. Need me… alive…

  Mason collapsed, again passing out.

  But not before telling himself to next time, play dead.

  18

  September 17th, 2028

  3:12 a.m. PST

  Palo Alto, California

  Clara was in the middle of a terrible dream.

  She was walking through the streets of downtown Washington D.C., looking everywhere for her father but to no avail. She had asked several people, but none of them were helpful. Some were even downright menacing. It was the middle of the night, and even members of Onyx seemed to dismiss her.

  Luke laughed at her. Raina said she was no help. Kyle flirted with her and ignored her requests. And while these were not the real Onyx members, in the middle of a dream that seemed so real it captured her consciousness, there was no chance for Clara to disengage and realize it was only a dream.

  And then…

  “Clara! Clara! Can you hear me?”

  She actually heard her father.

  Where, she couldn’t say for sure. It was too distant, and he wasn’t in sight. But she definitely heard his voice.

  “Claaaara!”

  Clara broke out in a run as she tried to pinpoint the sound of the voice. She moved down streets that suddenly became very barren, without buildings and without lights, as the voice became louder and louder. She was sure she was getting nearer, but she didn’t want to shout back in fear that doing so would reveal herself to the enemy.

  “Clara! Please! Hurry!”

  By now, the voice was as if it was right next to her. But where Clara stood was not in D.C. anymore—but just outside her home in Baltimore. There were no other homes in the neighborhood, however, and no automatic vehicles in sight. It was just a single building, underneath the blackness of the night sky, menacingly staring at home.

  And then she heard a gunshot.

  “Dad!”

  Her father did not respond.

  Clara tore into the house, but as soon as she took one step in, she felt something grab her ankles—much as her captors had when she was taken hostage in real life. She screamed, but an ugly, muscular man moved to put a hand on her mouth.

  “Don’t you make a sound! You are coming with me!”

  Clara bit him, drawing a loud swear as she screamed at the top of her lungs.

  “Help! Someone please! Help me!”

  But there was no response.

  “No one’s going to help you!”

  And that, right there, summed up all of Clara’s fears. Though she had been kidnapped in D.C., she always knew her father would do everything in his power, even sacrificing himself, to save her. She knew someone was going to help her.

  But now, with Mason the one being held captive, she feared no one really was going to help her. She would be alone in this world, left alone with her father’s inheritance and meager pension to make by—things she would trade in without a single thought to have her father back. But she would not be able to.

  And then she jolted up, her eyes wide awake and her whole body tense.

  Off to the side, Serena slept peacefully, even wearing a smile on her face. She glanced at the alarm clock, saw it was well after three a.m., and started to tear up. She scrambled to her phone, but she had no new messages, no missed calls, nothing.

  At this, she began to cry. Everything was a damn mess, and worse of all, she had no one here at Stanford she could confide in. She really was alone here in this new world.

  She let herself go like this for a couple of minutes before a thought came to mind.
If your dad is alive, do you think he’d put up with this? And if he’s not, do you think he’d be proud to know his only child is crying like this?

  No.

  So get yourself together.

  The thought wasn’t perfect, as she still sobbed, but the sobs at least slowed down and she at least was managing to get herself back together. Once the sobs stopped, she decided to go through a few different things that, while perhaps ultimately futile, still carried an incredibly slim chance of working out.

  First, she decided to try and call her dad herself once again. Dialing up his contact for what must have been the 20th time in the past few days, she tried to get a handle on her nerves as the call connected. If by some odd chance he happened to answer, and she found out that he was just out on the lamb somewhere with some of his buddies, she was going to kill him.

  But, wow, was it a murder she’d be grateful to have to “commit.”

  She kept her fingers crossed, but it was no use. Her dad’s phone once again went straight to voicemail. Still searching for a reason, halfway worried and halfway agitated she muttered to herself, “Maybe he just lost his phone…”

  Deep down, though, she knew that this couldn’t be true. Even if he had, Raina, Kyle, and Luke would not have sounded so helpless and concerned as they did. Plus, it had been over twenty-four hours now.

  Then she got a text.

  Her eyes lit up. It was Kyle!

  “No updates yet on your dad. I’m really sorry :-( Don’t tell Luke, but Raina went to look for him. No luck.”

  Figures, she thought, well past the point of crying. So… I guess I just sit here and wait for the bad news, huh?

  Sure wish I was home. At least then, if I was in D.C., I could gather some weapons. I’d go into my dad’s basement… get the stuff… that I know… is there…

  Clara suddenly recalled how her dad had showed her how to connect to the home network at their house in Baltimore. Down in the basement of the home was all of her father’s operational gear, weaponry, tech gear, computers, and even a stand-alone server. If she could get back there and gather some weapons…