D.E.A.D. Till I Die: An Action Thriller (GlobaTech Book 1) (17 page)

“Fuck me...” he whispered.

Jericho put his head in his hand as he heard Julie mutter, “Got you.”

With a massive exertion of strength, she slammed his hand all the way to her left. The sound of his knuckles banging on the table was loud, even in the busy bar, and people standing nearby turned to stare.

Collins was silent, as Julie simply looked at him, smiling.

Jericho handed him his beer. “I can’t believe you fell for that,” he said.

“Ah, bollocks,” he said to himself, taking the beer and downing it.

Julie looked at Jericho. “You wanna go, big guy?”

He held his hands up and smiled. “Nah, I’m good, thanks.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, before Julie turned back to Collins. “You okay there, champ?”

He chuckled, tipping the neck of his bottle to her, which she graciously clinked with her own. “My pride hurts more than my hand does, but I’ll give ya that one, sweetheart.”

Julie nodded. “Okay, here’s how it’s going to work. I’ll let you off the free shot if you don’t ever call me
sweetheart
again.”

Collins laughed. “You got it, hot stuff.”

She shook her head and looked at Jericho. “And for the name, I was thinking... your old D.E.A.D. unit ain’t really all that, y’know? I don’t think they deserve such a cool acronym. Us three right here, we’ve got the top brass’ faith and blessing, and I for one don’t intend letting them down. It’s gonna be a rough few months—I think we all know that... so I ask of both of you that we Don’t... Ever... Accept... Defeat. Deal?”

Jericho smiled. “D.E.A.D...”

Collins raised his near-empty bottle. “The best D.E.A.D.! Fuckin’ A, Jules.”

They toasted each other and finished their drinks, knowing the hard work was just beginning, and realizing in that moment, there wasn’t anything the three of them couldn’t do as a team.

As a D.E.A.D. unit.

GRENADA, NICARAGUA

April 22
nd
, 2017

20:06 CST

Baker was driving the Jeep, with Black next to him and LaSharde in the back. They had returned from Prague an hour or so ago, and were en route to their base.

The mood was low and tense. Not only had they been unsuccessful in their attempt to get the information from Daniel Vincent, but they had run into a team of GlobaTech operatives, who had already secured their target. And what made matters worse was that one of them was Jericho Stone.

They had traveled back mostly in silence. Black was staring out the window with a blank expression, unable to shake the memory of looking Jericho in the eye. He should be dead. He shot him in the head—how the hell had he survived?

Baker pressed a button on the remote in the vehicle, and the barrier guarding the base entrance slowly lifted. He drove through, checking his rearview to make sure it descended automatically behind them.

He drove over to the motor pool, next to the armory, and came to a stop. They all climbed out of the vehicle, walking around and standing next to the trunk.

“Damian, get rid of Santiago’s body, would you?” said Black, callously. “I need to make contact with Jones, find out what the fuck happened back there.”

Baker nodded, glancing over Black’s shoulder toward the armory, where Santiago was left. He frowned. “I don’t think I need to...” he said, gesturing with his head.

“What?” Black spun around, looking over and seeing nothing except a dried pool of blood on the ground. “Where the fuck is he?”

He ran over, hearing the others follow closely behind. There weren’t any visible tracks leading away from where the body used to be. He looked around frantically, but there was no sign of Santiago.

“Fuck!” he screamed in frustration, turning to address the others. “Baker, sweep the base, every goddamn inch of it—find him! Charlie, get on the systems, view the security feeds, find out who’s been here while we were away.”

“What are you gonna do?” she asked him.

He sighed. “Make the hardest phone call of my life.”

He took out his cell and paced begrudgingly away from them, punching in a number from memory. It was answered immediately.

“Jones, it’s me,” he said.

“I know!” replied Julius Jones, uncharacteristically flustered. “Where the fuck are you?”

“We’ve just arrived back in Grenada. Jones... Jericho was there. He was working with GlobaTech, and—”

“I know he was!” interrupted Jones. “I saw it on the goddamn news! It’s on every channel in the country! Please tell me you recovered the information Daniel Vincent had on him...”

Black sighed. “No, GlobaTech got to him before we could. We had to back off once the local authorities arrived. I didn’t want to risk the exposure.”

“Risk the expos—? Jesus Christ! You were already fucking exposed! I can’t begin to tell you how pissed both the director, and the president, are right now. My ass is in the firing line, and you better believe yours is too. You need to fix this!”

Black struggled to control his temper, knowing that alienating the one person still on his side would be a bad move. “With respect, Julius, what exactly do you want me to do?”

There was a heavy sigh on the line, followed by silence.

“The monitoring station in the region saw everything. You were sloppy, and you were loud. The way things are right now, especially for the agency, we can’t afford this kind of publicity.” He paused. “As of right now, the D.E.A.D. unit is no more. The three of you are to cleanse the Grenada base and move out. You’ll be contacted in due course. Until then, you drop off the grid and keep your heads down.”

Black was furious, and didn’t care to hide it. “You can’t do that! Just give us a chance to take out Jericho and get that intel back. We’ll—”

“Chris, let it go. These orders come directly from the Oval Office. Do you understand me? You’re done. Clear up and move out. I’ll be in touch.”

“Julius? Julius!” The line was dead. “Fuck!” He threw the cell across the courtyard, watching as it smashed on the ground in front of him. He strode back over to Baker, who had re-appeared from inside the barracks. “Anything?” he asked as he approached.

Baker shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Shit! There’s no way he’s still alive...”

“No offense, Chris, but you thought that about Jericho too...”

Black glared at him, but he knew it wasn’t the time to direct his anger at the only allies he had.

“Come on,” he said, walking over to the main building.

They entered the building and took a left, walking into the communications room where LaSharde was sitting in front of the computer with her head in her hands.

“Please tell me you have something...” said Black.

LaSharde sighed loudly, pressing a button to begin playback of the security feed. “Yeah,
this
...”

The three of them crowded round the monitor and watched a feed from approximately twelve hours ago. It was black and white, but hi-definition, so they could see it clearly.

Santiago was lying on the ground, which was stained all around him with his blood. Slowly, he started to twitch. Just his legs at first, then his right hand. After a few minutes, he managed to take his cell phone out, fumbling with it before placing it to his ear. He dragged himself to his feet, talking as he clutched his stomach wound, hunched over and staggering slowly toward the armory. He disappeared out of sight of the camera as he entered.

“What the fuck is he doing?” asked Baker, quietly. “And who is he talking to?”

No one answered; their eyes riveted to the screen.

Santiago reappeared ten minutes later, as another person ran into view across the courtyard. The unknown male moved to Santiago’s side, gently lifting his arm over his shoulder to support his weight.

“Hang on...” said LaSharde. She pressed a few buttons and switched over to a different camera feed from the same time. “Here... this is them leaving.”

They looked on as the two figures walked toward an unregistered sports car parked near the barrier. They couldn’t see the face of Santiago’s friend. He helped him into the passenger seat, and then climbed in behind the wheel and drove off in a hurry.

“Seriously, who the fuck
was
that?” asked Black, knowing there was no answer.

“The better question is,” replied LaSharde, “what was he doing in the armory for ten minutes?”

Baker and Black looked at each other, drawing the same conclusion at the same time. They turned in unison and sprinted out of the building, back over to the armory. They ran inside, frantically searching for something they both hoped they wouldn’t find.

But Baker found it.

“Fuck me...” he said, stunned.

Black moved over to him and followed his gaze. At their feet, in front of a crate of ammunition, were three blocks of C4 taped to a gasoline can. There was a timer counting down, and it had less than four minutes to go.

“Oh, shit!” exclaimed Black. “Can you defuse it?”

He shook his head. “Santiago was the explosives expert,” he conceded. “I probably
could
stop it, but not in three and a half minutes.”

Black took a breath to calm himself. “Okay, we’ve got plenty of time. Grab your personal effects if you have any. I’ll load the trunk with weapons. We’re moving out, right now.”

LaSharde appeared as they turned. “What’s happening?”

“We’ve got less than three minutes now before this whole place goes up. Grab some weapons and start the car,” said Black.

The three of them moved swiftly and efficiently, and just over ninety seconds later, they were clear of the barrier and heading down the dirt track toward the coast. Baker was driving, and after a minute or so, he slammed the brakes on, turning to look behind him as they stopped. The others did the same, and after a few tense moments, a deafening explosion rang out, shaking the vehicle and the ground beneath them. Smoke and flames billowed to the sky, and the smell of fire and gas and gunpowder stung their nostrils, despite the distance.

“Holy shit!” said Baker, breathing a heavy sigh of relief.

“Chris, what the fuck is going on?” asked LaSharde, turning around in the back seat to face him.

He swallowed hard, taking a few quick, deep breaths as he subdued a surge of adrenaline. “Okay, here are the facts,” he began. “I spoke to Jones and, because of Prague, on the president’s order, our unit has been shut down, effective immediately. We’re to separate, drop off the grid, and await instructions.”

“Can they do that?” asked LaSharde.

Black shrugged. “It’s the president—he can do what he likes. But I know how they operate. There’s no way they’ll contact us again. Chances are, we’re going to be hunted down and killed. We’re a fucking liability now.”

“So what’s the plan?” enquired Baker. “You ask me, we’re better off together.”

Black nodded. “I agree. The way I see it, we’re on our own now. The CIA will want us silenced, but that’s not going to happen. There’s only one reason we’re in this position, and that’s Jericho fucking Stone. As far as I’m concerned, nothing matters now except putting that bastard in the ground. We’ve got weapons, we’ve got money... We bury him, maybe the CIA lets us back in. Or at the very least, lets us walk away without having to look over our shoulders for the rest of our lives. Are you with me?”

Baker looked at LaSharde for a brief moment, and then put his hand on Black’s shoulder. “I’ve got your back,” he said. “Payback’s the only option.”

Black nodded. “Good man.” He turned to LaSharde. “And what about you?”

She pursed her lips together and took a breath, staring into his brown, angry eyes. She couldn’t deny her true feelings for him, even if she had no intentions of letting him know she wanted it to be more than just physical between them. Consequently, she knew in her heart she’d follow him anywhere. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that going after Jericho was the wrong move.

She closed her eyes for a moment before speaking. “I’m with you, Chris. All the way.”

Black smiled and faced forward in his seat. Baker did the same and set off, speeding away from the flaming remains of their base. He glanced in his rearview at the blackening sky, and then turned to Black.

“So what now?” he asked.

Black rested one foot up on the dash, and his arm against the window of his door. “Now... we disappear.”

THE END

Dear Reader,

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James P. Sumner

(
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)