D.E.A.D. Till I Die: An Action Thriller (GlobaTech Book 1) (6 page)

“Don’t fucking tell me what I need to do!” he shouted back, losing all control of his emotions. He felt an adrenaline rush surge through him, like a wave of fire touching every part of him. He made no attempt to control it. He just needed
time
...

Without another word, two of the men moved toward him. Jericho responded by stepping to meet them and throwing a straight, heavy right hand at the man on his left. He threw it with very little backswing, knowing the majority of the power lay within the first inch or two of movement. Basic physics—the farther you travel, the more momentum you lose. The punch exploded forward, catching the man on the side of the face, below the cheekbone, where the jaw bends. The strength and the fury contained within the blow sent him crashing to the floor, where he landed in an unconscious heap.

The man on the right moved to grab him, but Jericho gripped his outstretched right arm and pulled him toward his own body. As he did, he threw a short, sharp, right elbow, jabbing the man just below his Adam’s apple, causing him to start choking. The guy dropped to his knees, clutching at his throat; his eyes wide with panic. Jericho turned, slamming his left knee hard into the guy’s left temple, which was the perfect height for it. He flew sideways, crashing into the wall.

Jericho turned toward the door as the remaining two men charged him. He leaned forward, dropping his right shoulder, and met the man on his left head-on. They collided, which knocked the wind out of the GlobaTech operative. Jericho then scooped him up with considerable ease and launched him into the far wall, as if he was discarding the trash. The man hit the wall with his body five feet off the floor, smashing into the TV screen. He landed heavily, and the remains of the TV dropped on him a second later.

The remaining operative threw a kick with his right leg, aimed at Jericho’s right side. But Jericho saw it coming in the corner of his good eye, and turned to meet it. He caught it mid-air, by hooking his left arm around it, and held him steady for a moment, before sweeping the guy’s left leg out from under him. He kept a hold of the guy’s right leg as he fell, landing flat on his back. He looked up, helpless, as Jericho hooked his arms around the man’s ankle and twisted violently, expertly snapping it so the foot faced inward at a ninety-degree angle. The man screamed in pain, clutching at his twisted extremity.

Jericho paused for a split second, stared at both Josh and Schultz, and then bolted out of the room. He turned left, into a brightly lit corridor, lined on either side by rooms just like the one he’d been in. He was on the fourth floor, and he knew it’d be difficult to get out of the building, and the compound, without attracting further attention.

There was a small vestibule at the end of the corridor, where the elevators were. Jericho glanced over his shoulder as he pressed the button, but no one was following him. He figured they’d simply be calling ahead to have more men waiting for him on the first floor.

The doors slid open, and he stepped inside, pressing the button for the second. He thought it best to get off early and take the stairs, in an effort to throw them off their game a little.

After a few moments, the elevator dinged and the doors opened again. Jericho stepped out onto a crowded office floor, bustling with noise and activity. There must’ve been close to two hundred people busying themselves around the expanse in front of him, navigating walkways made from the spaces between banks of computers and filing cabinets.

No one paid him any attention as he strode through the office, toward the fire exit he’d spotted halfway along on the right hand side of the floor. At first, he thought it strange, but then he realized he was dressed like a GlobaTech operative, so it made sense that he’d blend in.

He made it to the fire exit without incident and pushed the door open, casually stepping inside the cold, concrete column that he assumed ran the full height of the east wall. He descended the metal steps quickly; his footsteps echoing loudly in the otherwise silent stairwell.

He opened the door at the bottom, and was hit by a blast of warm air from outside, which felt more significant after being inside such a cold part of the building. He squinted in the glare of the sun as he looked around the compound spread out around him. Units of soldiers were still marching in formation, and vehicles were still traversing the small, impressive community.

He couldn’t see any way to get out of there. Even though he was dressed like everyone else, he was hardly inconspicuous. He knew he didn’t have much time before people located him. He broke into a jog and headed across the compound.

Within seconds, a man dressed identically to him, though much smaller, approached him, taking out a weapon and pointing it at Jericho’s chest. His hand was shaking.

“D-don’t move!” he yelled. “You need to come with me, r-right now!”

Jericho ignored the gun, completely dismissing the man as a threat, and stepped in close to him, keeping the gap between them to a minimum and restricting what movement and options the man had.

He looked him in the eye and smiled, with little humor. “No, I really don’t. Now, get the fuck out of my way—I’m kind of in a hurry.”

The man held his ground, although his gun wavered a little. Jericho saw the doubt and reacted in a flash. He grabbed the guy’s outstretched wrist and pulled him sharply toward him as he raised his right arm. The incoming face was met by Jericho’s outgoing elbow, which connected sweetly with the man’s jaw. His head whipped back from the impact, and his body fell limp almost instantly. Jericho let go of the wrist, quickly catching the man’s handgun.

As the body hit the floor, there was a flurry of movement off to the right, which Jericho caught in his peripheral vision. A group of ten men, all wearing the same clothes, appeared and lined up in front of him; their weapons drawn and aimed with every intention of being used.

“Jericho Stone,” said one of the men. “You’re to come with us immediately. We
will
use force if necessary.”

Jericho spun to face them, holding the weapon in two hands, ready for action. He eyed each man individually, finally resting his gaze on the one who spoke. He seemed hesitant, lacking confidence in his own words, and was looking over his shoulder for reassurance from his colleagues.

Jericho shook his head in disbelief. Ten guns aimed at one man, yet
they’re
the ones who are nervous. Although, he’d had years of experience dealing with situations that were far worse, which gave him a considerable advantage.

It’s all about confidence. If you stand tall, control your breathing, and don’t blink, you can look incredibly intimidating to a lot of people. It doesn’t hurt when you have a physique that looks like it was carved out of a mountain, either.

Before anyone else could speak, Josh appeared, pushing his way through the group and standing in front of them. He was out of breath, and looked a little disheveled.

“Don’t do this, please,” he said to Jericho. “You’ve got us all wrong. We’re the good guys.”

Jericho shook his head. “Illegal human experimentation isn’t what good people do,” he replied. “I’m leaving, and I’ll fucking shoot the first person who tries to stop me.”

He stared at Josh, who held his gaze longer than most men would’ve done. The group of men shuffled restlessly, gesturing with their weapons and preparing for any slight movement.

The sound of an engine gunning off to Jericho’s left distracted everyone. He turned to see a Jeep speeding toward them across the compound. It braked hard, skidding to a stop with a loud screech of tires, separating him from Josh and the group of operatives. The passenger door opened from within, and he quickly looked inside at the driver.

“Get in!” shouted Julie Fisher.

Jericho didn’t need telling twice. He didn’t trust anyone, but he figured not trusting them on the way out was better than not trusting them trapped inside.

He quickly climbed in, and they sped off toward the security hub, and the barrier that guarded the exit, a few hundred feet away from them. Joining the network of roads at speed, Julie navigated her way past a large truck and took a right, sliding and kicking up dust. She floored it toward the gate. Two men appeared from inside the security hut, but couldn’t do anything. Jericho braced himself as she blasted through the barrier, turned left, and put her foot to the floor, speeding west, away from the compound.

GRENADA, NICARAGUA

April 19
th
, 2017

15:35 CST

Rick Santiago sat in front of the bank of computers in the communications room, across the hall from where Black had held the meeting a few hours prior. He was alone in the D.E.A.D. unit’s operations center—Black and LaSharde were off-base together, and Baker was still in the armory, checking their equipment.

Santiago had a rough childhood, growing up in a small, underprivileged neighborhood in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Military service in his early twenties saved him from what would probably have been an early death—a result of a misspent youth, running with gangs and committing increasingly serious crimes. He carried the scars and the tattoos on his body as a constant reminder of what might have been.

He was slightly below average height, but his courage and his natural aggression more than made up for it. He’d proven himself a capable soldier early on, but had also discovered a previously unknown affinity for computers and technology. Nowadays, he typically ran support when the unit was on a mission, providing intel while they were on the ground. Only occasionally would he join them out in the field, though he was always a welcome and notable addition when he did.

He also had an instinctively suspicious mind, and something over the last week or so had been bothering him. Seizing a rare opportunity while alone, he used the unit’s systems to hack into the CIA mainframe and pull the audio recordings from the Colombia mission. He scanned through the files, clicking an encrypted transmission with a time stamp that didn’t fit in with their official mission log. He lowered the volume and leaned forward on the desk, listening intently.

“Chris Black, this is the Director of the CIA. Do not acknowledge this communication, just listen. We’re monitoring your mission in real time at Langley, and we believe your commanding officer, Jericho Stone, is jeopardizing the integrity of an ongoing investigation. The laptop you’ve been sent to retrieve belongs to an undercover asset named Yalafi Hussein, who Adrian Hell believes is a terrorist. Find out what he knows and silence him. I am officially executing Alpha Protocol. You know what that means, soldier. Do your duty.”

Santiago frowned, and replayed the message.

Black didn’t even hesitate carrying out that order...
he thought.
How could he go against Jericho like that?

There was a noise behind him, and he quickly closed down the file and spun round on his chair.

“What are you doing?” asked Black, standing in the doorway.

Santiago shrugged casually. “Nothing important. Just doing some research while I had the spare time.” He turned back around and pressed a few more keys, quickly deleting any trace that he’d accessed the file, while trying to remain as nonchalant as possible. “There—I’ve finished up now. Do you want me running comms when we know the location of the stolen intel, or am I on the ground with the rest of you?”

Black stared at him, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “I want you monitoring the satellite feeds,” he replied after a moment. “I doubt we’ll be the only ones looking for him, and I want to know if we have company down there.”

Santiago nodded and stepped to the side as Black moved forward, looking at the console. “Makes sense,” he said. “I’ll make sure I give the local authorities a heads-up, too, so there’s no resistance should things not go according to plan.”

Black slowly looked away from the bank of computers, meeting Santiago’s gaze. “Good. We need to get this information as quietly as possible.”

“And we definitely don’t know what it is that Vincent’s taken?”

Black took a short, impatient breath. “No, we don’t. And I don’t see why it would matter...”

Santiago shrugged. “I’m just thinking out loud,” he said, innocently. “If we knew what it was, we might have a better idea about who, if anyone, would be coming after the target, beside us. Will make things easier...”

“Don’t you worry about that—just concentrate on keeping us safe while we’re out there.”

Santiago sighed. “You’re the boss.”

Black squared up to him, taking a step forward. “Yeah, I am,” he said. “And you’d do well to remember that.”

They held each other’s gaze for a few tense, silent seconds, and then Santiago rolled his eyes and let slip a small smile, before turning and leaving the room.

Black watched him leave, and then quickly moved over to the console, desperately searching for evidence of what Santiago had been doing before he arrived. He checked the logs, to see what files and systems had recently been accessed, but there was nothing that looked suspicious.

He slammed his fist down on the desk with frustration as he leaned forward, resting his hands flat on the surface, staring at nothing in particular and breathing heavily. After a moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, dialing a number from memory. The call was answered on the third ring.

“Jones...”

“Julius, it’s Black. I think we might have a problem.”

“What is it?”

Black took a deep breath before speaking. “I’ve got a bad feeling about Rick Santiago—the way he’s been acting since Colombia... are you able to arrange a search against his profile to see what systems and information he’s accessed in the last six hours?”

“You can do that yourself...”

“I know, and I have, but there’s nothing there.”

“So what’s the problem, Chris?”

“I think he might have deleted his usage history in some way. The only person I know skilled enough to work around that is him. Can you get one of your analysts to do it?”

“What’s this really about?” Jones asked, lowering his voice. “You’ve been on edge all week. Did we choose the wrong man for this job?”

Black closed his eyes for a second, cursing himself for prompting that line of questioning from Langley. “No, of course not. It’s just that he’s been vocally opposing both myself, and the orders you’re sending me. Discipline isn’t the issue... I think he’s up to something. It’s not like him to question things.”

Jones sighed. “Okay, leave it with me. I’ll be in touch.”

He clicked off the line, and Black pocketed the phone as he walked hastily out of the room, heading for the entrance.