D.E.A.D. Till I Die: An Action Thriller (GlobaTech Book 1) (8 page)

22:19 PDT

He navigated the sea of pedestrians with a grace not befitting a man his size, walking for two blocks before stopping in the doorway of a store that had closed for the day. He took out the stolen cell phone and dialed a number from memory.

“Birchwood Savings and Loans, how may I direct your call?” asked a professional, direct female voice after a couple of rings.

“I’m calling to check my balance,” answered Jericho. “My account number is three, three, two, three, alpha, nine.”

“One moment please while I retrieve your account information.”

There was silence on the line for a few moments, and then a click as the call was transferred. Jericho could hear the faintest of sounds on the line, but remained quiet.

“Can I help you?” asked a male voice, deep and weary.

Jericho hesitated, unable to shake the doubts implanted in his mind by Josh Winters.

“Hello?” said the voice, persistent.

He took a deep breath and tried to speak, but his words caught in his throat, trapped inside a grip of uncertainty.

“Jericho… is that you?”

“Yes,” he said, eventually.

“Jesus, Jericho! What the hell happened to you? You’ve been dark for over a week.”

The voice belonged to Julius Jones, a thirty-plus year veteran CIA analyst, and the coordinator of the D.E.A.D. unit. Jericho’s minimal obligations to the agency involved a weekly update to Jones on the progress of any missions. The last time they spoke was nine days ago, on an airstrip in Colombia.

Jericho decided to play it safe. “I… don’t remember much,” he explained. “What happened back in Colombia? Did we retrieve the laptop?”

He was met with silence, and he knew Jones would be putting a tracer on the call.

“You need to come in for a full de-brief,” Jones said after a few moments. “Where are you?”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” he replied. “Just tell me what happened, Julius.”

His tone changed in an instant. “You compromised the goddamn mission is what happened! Why didn’t you do as you were ordered?”

“Because it wasn’t the right fucking call!” hissed Jericho, rapidly losing his patience. “The mission was the laptop, and we were never going to find it with Adrian Hell dead. End of story. I was in charge of the unit, and I made the decision to—”

“
That
wasn’t your decision to make,” said Jones abruptly. “I’ve always been comfortable giving you the freedom to run that unit as you saw fit, and you’ve never let me down. But when the CIA director gives you an order, it’s non-negotiable! Christ… I thought you were smarter than that.”

Jericho went quiet, thinking about what he’d been told by GlobaTech. He stepped out of the doorway, pacing slowly back and forth across the width of the sidewalk, ignoring the frustrations of people trying to get by.

“Why did the director feel he had to step in?” he asked finally. “Why was he so keen to terminate the target when there was no real cause to?”

His question was met with silence.

“What was on the laptop?” he persisted, curious to see if Jones would inadvertently confirm what GlobaTech had told him.

Jones sighed heavily. “Okay... look, it was out of my hands, how it went down. I don’t know what information the laptop contained. Director Matthews gave the order, and he was under no obligation to justify it. Jericho, if you come in now, voluntarily, I can help fix this. You have to trust me, alright?”

“Trust you? Answer my goddamn question, Julius. You can’t honestly sit there and expect me to believe you had no idea why Director Matthews wanted Adrian Hell dead?”

“I don’t know, alright? Not officially...” he sighed again. “It’s been a crazy few days, Jericho, and now isn’t the time to be asking those types of questions. I can’t talk over an unsecure line, but if you come in…”

“I’m not coming in. I was shot and left for dead by someone I trusted, who was carrying out an order from
your
office.”

“I know how it looks, but you know how this works. You know the world we live in.”

“I
did
… but from what I’ve seen, the world’s changed a little since I woke up.”

“Woke up? What exactly happened to you? How did you survive?”

Jericho hesitated, but saw no harm in telling the truth, even if he didn’t tell his old superior all of it.

“I’ve no idea how I got back from Colombia,” he said. “But I was in a coma for over a week. I woke up earlier today at a GlobaTech facility.”

“Wait… GlobaTech? What have you said to them?”

Jericho quickly picked up on the change in Jones’ voice; the concern and borderline panic in his tone. Again, Josh’s de-brief played through his mind, and the way the conversation had gone so far, he was starting to question his own instincts.

“What do you mean, Julius? What
could
I have said to them?”

The line went quiet. Jericho shook his head to himself in disbelief. In his experience, silence usually preceded guilt.

“Julius, I swear to God, if I find out you had anything to do with anything that’s happened, there won’t be anywhere you can hide from me.”

“We go way back, you and I,” said Jones after a few moments of tense silence. “I brought you in, helped train you… don’t make this any worse for yourself. Come in, we’ll talk…”

“We’re done talking. I’m gone, you understand me? I’m out.”

“You’re
out
?” Jones laughed, clearly exaggerating it to make a point. “People like me and you, we don’t get
out
, Jericho. If you go down this path, there’s no going back. Do you understand? If you do this, I can’t help you.”

Jericho felt a burst of anger inside, and he clenched his jaw tight to suppress it. He took some deep breaths as he stood in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing people to walk around him.

“I don’t need your help, you sonofabitch! You just better hope I don’t see you again.”

He clicked the phone off and dropped it on the floor, stamping down hard on it as he walked quickly back toward the hotel.

LANGLEY, VIRGINIA, USA

April 20
th
, 2017

01:26 EDT

Julius Jones sat behind his desk, staring at the phone in his hand as it emitted a low, uninterrupted beep. His dark, unblinking eyes were wide; the calm, executive demeanor he’d portrayed during his conversation with Jericho Stone had left him, and only concern remained.

The door to his office burst open and Steve, a junior analyst who reported to Jones, rushed in wearing a headset and comms unit. Jones looked up, meeting the man’s gaze.

“Well?” he asked.

“We got him, sir,” replied the analyst. “He was calling from a cell phone in downtown L.A. The signal stopped abruptly, so I’m guessing he destroyed the SIM card, but you were on the line long enough to complete the trace.”

“Thank you,” said Jones, sounding distracted. “Oh, and Steve…?”

The analyst had turned to leave, but stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “Yes, sir?”

“Delete the trace request from the system. Give me the exact location, hand written—don’t log it in a report. This is classified, and a matter of national security. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” said Steve, nodding; his eyes unable to hide the trace of excitement.

“That’ll be all, thanks.”

As the junior analyst closed the door behind him, Jones stood and paced around his office, which was located on the top floor of the CIA’s headquarters. He had worked for the agency for over half his life, and for the first time in a long time, he was worried. Maybe even a little afraid.

He ran his hand over his head; the tight, graying curls of his hair feeling coarse on his palm. Nearing retirement age, Jones was a fiercely intelligent man, and had been a senior analyst and chief advisor to many directors over the years.

He looked down at his hand, studying the dark, leathery skin as it quivered slightly. Was that through fear? Or something else?

He took a deep breath and walked back over to his desk, picking up the phone and dialing an extension number.

“Director Matthews, please,” he said as it was answered. “Tell him it’s urgent.”

After a few moments of nervous silence, a voice came on the line. It was stern and authoritative, with just a hint of fatigue.

“Julius? It’s late, so make this good,” said Director Matthews, abruptly.

Distracted by the current predicament, Julius dispensed with the formalities. “Tom, we have a problem. A very big problem.”

“What is it?” he asked.

Julius closed his eyes momentarily, summoning the courage to deliver the news. “It’s Jericho Stone,” he said. “He’s... he’s alive.”

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, USA

April 20
th
, 2017

08:50 PDT

The next morning, Jericho left Julie sleeping and headed out to buy them both a change of clothes and some breakfast. He was still dressed like a GlobaTech operative, and she still had her nurse’s uniform on, so they were both in need of a wardrobe change.

He’d found a department store that opened early, so he picked the first thing he could find that fit his large frame—a pair of light blue jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and a tan, zip-through hooded sweater. He kept the boots he was wearing.

He guessed Julie’s size, and picked out a similar outfit for her, quickly finding a feminine sweater and skinny-fit jeans. He also sprung for a pair of sneakers, which he figured she’d prefer. He never professed to know much about women, but he knew, where possible, that comfortable shoes were always a good thing.

He changed into his new clothes in the store, and paid for everything in cash. He put his old clothes in the first trash can he found, and made his way back to the hotel, stopping in a Starbucks on the way to pick up two coffees and a couple of bagels.

He opened the door to the room just as Julie was stepping out of the bathroom, dripping wet and wearing a short towel wrapped around her slender frame. She gasped, placing her hand to her chest, startled.

“Oh my God!” she said, breathing heavily. “You scared the crap outta me!”

Jericho stood, momentarily frozen with embarrassment, staring at her. He couldn’t help but cast a quick, approving eye over her before regaining his senses and turning his back on her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize…” He took a couple of steps back, without looking round, and held out the bag containing her new clothes. “Here—I hope they fit.”

Julie took the bag. “Thanks… I’ll just go and…y’know.”

“Yeah… of course, sorry.”

He turned only when he heard the bathroom door close. “Jesus…” he muttered to himself, unable to suppress a small smile.

He placed the coffee and bagels on the table near the door and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting patiently. After a few minutes, the door opened again and Julie appeared, dry, and dressed in her new outfit.

“What do you think?” she asked, cocking her hip out to the right and shrugging, in a light-hearted pose.

Jericho looked at her approvingly. The sweater was a little big, but she seemed comfortable enough in it. The skinny jeans were a perfect fit.

It was the first time he’d seen Julie in anything other than the nurse’s uniform. She had a great figure; her legs were deceptively long and toned.

“You look great,” he replied, which he noticed made Julie’s cheeks flush a little. He nodded at the table. “Breakfast is over there. Hope you like coffee!”

“Who doesn’t?” she said, eagerly taking a sip. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste. “How did you sleep?” she asked him.

Jericho shrugged. “I’ve slept enough over the last week. You?”

“I got a few hours, but nothing significant.”

She handed him his coffee, which he took gladly. He had a mouthful and moved over to the window, looking down at the street below. The sun was rising, and the new day was already in full flow. He turned back to look at Julie.

“What did GlobaTech do to me?” he asked her, gesturing to his bandages.

Julie took a deep breath and a sip of her coffee before replying. “If I tell you, are you going to freak out and run like you did before?”

Jericho smiled, feeling a little embarrassed. “No, I swear. I just need to know.”

She took a seat on the bed, where he’d sat a moment ago, holding her coffee in both hands. “Okay... your left eye was damaged beyond repair by the bullet, you know that already, right?”

He nodded. “Josh mentioned it, yeah.”

“Well, they had to remove it completely during surgery.”

Jericho’s right eye went wide, and he gestured angrily to his bandages. “I have no fucking eyeball under these?”

Julie went silent, avoiding his gaze.

“What?” he asked.

She took a deep breath before continuing. “GlobaTech have been doing a lot of research on stem cells, as part of an ongoing healthcare program designed to aid the recovery of damaged limbs.”

Jericho frowned. “Josh started to say something about stem cells? Isn’t that to do with, like, cloning or something?”

Julie nodded. “About a month ago, GlobaTech manufactured a right hand in their labs, and were able to successfully attach it to a field operative who lost their own during a skirmish. This prompted more investment in the program, and they’ve since been able to grow pretty much... anything...”

She trailed off, and Jericho quickly put the pieces together.

“I’ve got a cloned eyeball in my head? What the fuck!”

“Hey, you promised you wouldn’t freak out...!”

“Yeah, but that was before I found out you’d put a fake... real... whatever, eyeball in my fucking head! Jesus!”

“The surgery was successful,” she explained. “It just needs time to... settle, for want of a better word, before you start using it.”

“So, what’s going to happen if I take these bandages off now?” he asked. “My eyeball’s not going to fall out or anything, is it?”

“I doubt it,” she replied with a smile. “Personally, my only concern is the stitching across your forehead. If that’s not properly healed, you run the risk of re-opening the wound, which would lead to significant blood loss.”

Jericho stroked his chin, feeling the stubble scratch against his fingertips. “This is ridiculous...” he said, mostly to himself. He took some deep breaths, subduing the surge of adrenaline coursing through him, brought on by both his anger, and his confusion. “Right, well, we need to try,” he said. “If I’m to lay low for a while, I need to be invisible…” He tapped the tourniquet covering the left side of his face and head. “...this thing’s got to go.”

She thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Okay. Come into the bathroom and we’ll take a look.”

Jericho followed her in, put the toilet seat down and sat on the edge. Julie stood in front of him, pulling the cord for the light above the sink. She leaned forward, close to him—her face inches from his. He could smell her scent, and while he figured it was just the body wash from her shower, he still thought it was nice. He looked into her brown eyes as she examined his bandages, her fingertips carefully touching his forehead.

“I think we’ll be okay removing it,” she said after a few moments. “Hold still.”

Slowly, she began unraveling it from around his head, revealing more and more of his face. Instinctively, Jericho closed his eyes. He still didn’t fully understand how he could have an eyeball in his head that was made in a lab. He felt apprehensive about opening it once the bandages were off, simply because he didn’t know what to expect.

It took Julie a couple of minutes to fully remove the layers of dressing. Jericho gradually opened both eyes, and was pleasantly surprised when he found he could see normally with both of them. He blinked tentatively a few times and looked around the small bathroom. It was like it always had been—two eyes, perfect vision.

Julie took a step back, looking at him. She raised her eyebrows.

“What?” he asked, seeing the expression on her face and feeling suddenly self-conscious.

She smiled. “See for yourself,” she said, nodding to the mirror mounted on the wall over the sink.

Jericho stood and took a deep breath, turning to face the mirror and ducking slightly so he could see his face. The first thing he noticed was the laceration across his forehead, roughly six inches long. It was a thin, dark line, with small, neat stitching running the length of it. He knew that beneath the surface was a metal plate essentially holding his skull together. That in itself was a lot for anyone to wrap their head around.

Then he looked at his left eye. It wasn’t brown, like it used to be. It was a light blue. He covered his right eye with his hand, just to be sure. He could see perfectly, although it felt slightly sensitive in the light.

“Are you okay?” asked Julie.

“It’s fucking weird,” he said, shaking his head. “But yeah, I can see fine. They could’ve made it the same as my right though...” He pressed and prodded around his eye socket with absent curiosity.

“I don’t know the intricacies of growing eyeballs, but at least it’s a nice color.” She smiled at him, which he returned. “Just go easy until it properly adjusts. Maybe wear some sunglasses when you’re outside for the time being, okay? We’ll pick some up on our way out of town,” she said, walking out of the bathroom.

Jericho frowned and followed her, pausing in the doorway and leaning on the frame. “
Our
way out of town?”

She turned to face him, standing in front of the bed and folding her arms across her chest. She shrugged. “Well, I figure you’ll need someone close by should that stitching re-open. Besides, I don’t think there’s anything left for me at GlobaTech now. Even if I go back, they’ll fire me—or arrest me, whatever—for helping you escape.”

Jericho smiled, but didn’t get a chance to reply. The door to their room suddenly flew open, causing a loud bang as it slammed against the wall. Reacting in a split second, Jericho pushed Julie backward, and she bounced off the bed and landed on the opposite side, on the floor in front of the window.

“Stay down!” he yelled, turning to confront whoever kicked the door in.

Three men, dressed head to toe in black, rushed into the room, single file. Jericho’s military instincts took over. He quickly assessed the threat. They were all armed with silenced handguns. Their movements were sharp, which indicated they were well trained.

He didn’t need to know anything else.

He stepped toward the man in front, grabbing him by the throat with his left hand. He jabbed him hard twice in the side with his right—both blows finding the kidney, as intended. The man grunted from the impact, dropping his weapon. Jericho pushed it away, toward Julie, with his left foot as he slammed an elbow into the man’s left temple, knocking him out cold.

The part of the room near the door was quite narrow, and opened out behind Jericho to where the bed was. He wanted to keep his body between the intruders and Julie, but he was limiting the space he had to fight in as a result.

Keeping hold of the first guy, he put both hands on his chest and thrust him into the other two, momentarily knocking them off guard. Knowing he wouldn’t have time to get the gun from over by the bed, he dropped his right shoulder and charged them, forcing them both out of the room. He lost his footing as he collided with them, sprawling to the floor. As he stood back up in the corridor outside, he found himself in the middle of them. Each one had their weapon aimed at his chest.

“Jericho, we
will
shoot you if you don’t cooperate,” said the one on his left.

He didn’t respond. He looked back and forth between them. Each had their gun roughly three feet from him. One step in either direction, and they’d be within reach. He knew he had to act quickly.

He opted for the man on his left, who spoke, figuring he was the more senior. He stepped toward him quickly, grabbing the outstretched arm with his right hand and spinning his body so he stood in front of the guy with his back to him, facing the remaining man in black. Using both hands, he controlled the gun, firing twice and hitting the other man in the chest, causing him to flail backward and land awkwardly on the floor.

He quickly snapped the wrist he was holding, and then reached behind him and hooked his right arm under the guy’s armpit, hoisting him up and over, slamming him down to the floor in front of him. Jericho crouched down, quickly retrieving the gun, and fired twice, hitting the man with both rounds at close range in the chest.

He stood and rushed back into the hotel room, putting a bullet in the first man’s head without looking as he passed him. He dropped the gun on the bed and moved toward Julie, who was standing, rigid with shock, by the window. He placed both hands on her shoulders, leaning down to look at her.

“Julie, we have to get out of here right now, do you understand?” he said.

His voice distracted her from her distant staring, and she looked him in the eye and nodded. He bent down, picking up the first gun and handed it to her.

“Take this,” he said, clicking the safety on. “Just put it under your sweater ‘til we reach the car.”

He picked the gun up off the bed as he walked past, heading out of the door without hesitation. He held the gun out in front of him in his right hand, cupping it with his left for steadiness. He aimed it straight ahead, keeping it pointing in the direction he was looking.

“Come on,” he called behind him. “Stay close.”

Julie appeared next to him, holding the gun in both hands by the barrel, like a baseball bat. Jericho noticed it, but said nothing. If that’s how she felt comfortable holding it, so be it. It wasn’t going to go off and, in the interest of time, it ultimately didn’t matter. They just needed to get out of there, and fast.

They made it to the elevator at the end of the hall and stepped inside. Less than a minute later, they walked out into the lobby. They went left, eager to avoid any security cameras as they ran past the mini bar and out the service entrance to the parking lot at the back.