True Conviction (23 page)

August 24
th
, 2013

I LEFT PELLAGGIO’S estate as soon as I heard the sirens in the distance. I walked for an hour or so, clearing my head and relaxing myself, allowing the adrenaline to subside. I’d left all my equipment there, except my Berettas, obviously. It was all clean and untraceable, so I wasn’t worried about them being found.

I did a quick sweep of the grounds, to make sure there were no stragglers and to retrieve my Bluetooth earpiece, which was sadly broken beyond repair. I took it with me anyway—the less evidence that I was ever there, the better. I’d taken off my black coveralls and ditched them in a trashcan a mile or so from the estate.

It feels like I’ve walked through most of Heaven’s Valley, but I suppose I
am
taking the most indirect route I can find back to the bus terminal. I’m trying to clear my head, but there’s something gnawing away at me. It’s not really the lack of closure I feel having killed Pellaggio and all of his men. I’ve already dealt with how indifferent I feel toward that.

No, it’s something else…

A sense of… I don’t know—dissatisfaction? Restlessness, maybe?

I don’t know what it is, but I know what’s causing it.

Dark Rain.

Robert Clark has said he’s going to work with Josh and co-ordinate an assault on their base. I know Clara’s gone doing some recon work to help out. I feel like I should be doing something too. Pellaggio was my personal battle, but Dark Rain is everyone’s war.

I take out my phone and call Josh.

“Adrian!” he says as he answers. “Where the hell have you been? What happened back there? Are you alright?”

I smile. “Hey, man. I’m alright, don’t worry. It’s all over.”

“I know, I watched via the satellite uplink. I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again: I’m glad you’re on my side, Boss!”

“And I’m glad you’re on mine.”

We both laugh.

“How come you went dark?” he asks.

“I banged my head as I jumped up to the roof that second time. My earpiece fell out.”

“Ah, fair enough. I’m just glad you’re alright. Feels weird to admit this, but there was something almost magical about watching that satellite feed. Just seeing body after body drop and turn cold. Knowing it was just you and your guns. It was poetry in motion. You’re one scary bastard, d’you know that?”

“I don’t know about scary. I think it’s more accurate to say I probably have some serious issues.”

Josh laughs, but doesn’t disagree.

“Listen, I was thinking about Dark Rain...” I say.

“I’m due to link up with GlobaTech in a couple of hours,” he says. “They've scheduled their assault for later this morning. They have ground forces en route to the city as we speak. Air support is standing by.”

“Sounds like you’re all good to go. How are they managing to move so many armed troops in broad daylight on U.S. soil? Surely it’s not the most discreet of things to do? Hasn’t anyone questioned it?”

“They’re using the old ‘training exercise’ line, which I suspect the media have gotten used to not questioning. Plus, they’ve got permission and support from the U.S. government, so they’ve got free rein to pretty much do whatever they feel they need to.”

“Unbelievable. I appreciate their help and everything, but do you think it’s wise granting a private contractor that much power?”

“I know what you mean, but right now isn’t the time to ask that question. They’re the only people who have fought on our side since you got there. You know what they say about a gift horse and its mouth.”

“Fair enough, I guess. You heard anything from Clara yet?”

“Not a thing. She might just be having communication issues though—we’ve found out Dark Rain has taken over a disused military base out in the desert, a few miles outside the city limits. The phone signal out there will be patchy at best.”

“Do we know what this base is like?”

“The place is an abandoned military compound from what I’ve seen of it. It’s got its own airstrip, hangars, bunkers—you name it. Not to mention access to an old underground lab. According to the intel that Jackson fed Clara and GlobaTech, they have everything they need there, including a few thousand soldiers and enough weaponry to seize control of a small country. Although, there’s been no movement in the last few hours. No sign of anyone, in fact.”

“Hmmm, that’s odd… What are GlobaTech bringing to the party?”

“Well, you saw the level of tech they’re working with from the care package they gave you. They don’t just provide private security—they manufacture weapons for the military. Their R&D budget is frightening. They’ve got the manpower—all ex-military, highly trained in combat and used to conditions like desert warfare. They’ve been running contracts in Afghanistan for the past five or so years. The standard of operative is very high. You’re not going to want these guys coming after you.”

“Sounds like they have a new addition to their fan club as well,” I say with a laugh.

“Hey, I’m just saying,” replies Josh, somewhat defensively. “These guys are the market leaders in every area. They’re what everyone else tries to be, and you can see why.”

“Might be an idea to stay friends with them then, eh? You never know when we might need to call in a favor.”

“Absolutely! So, what do you intend doing now?”

“I need to swing by the bus terminal and pick up my bag from the locker. Figure I’ll get some breakfast then get a ticket for the next bus out of here. I might head north to Minnesota; lay low for a few days. Give you chance to finish up here before finding me another job.”

“Sounds good. I’ll give you a shout when the operation’s underway.”

“Thanks. And if you hear off Clara in the meantime, tell her to give me a call, okay?”

“I will,” he says.

I can tell he’s smiling, and I know why.

“It’s not like that,” I say.

“Whatever,” he replies.

I hang up and walk on toward the city center. It’s not long before I reach the bus terminal. The place is empty, despite being open twenty-four hours. I see an empty bench at one of the stands. I’m all alone and in no great hurry. I might as well get some rest. I sit down, stretching my legs out and crossing my ankles. I clasp my hands together across my chest and close my eyes.

I snap awake at the sound of footsteps nearby. Opening my eyes, I immediately squint as the morning sun blinds me. I sit up straight, giving my eyes time to adjust. People around me are giving me strange looks. I guess I do kind of resemble a tramp, sleeping on a bench in a bus terminal…

Looking around, it’s a lot busier now. Buses will have been running for a good couple of hours and people are dashing around, going about their day without a care in the world.

I stand and walk over to the lockers, retrieving my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. I feel a twinge in my stomach and realize how hungry I actually am.

When was the last time I had something to eat?

Jesus… it was that cheeseburger about thirty-six hours ago.

No wonder I’m starving!

After everything that’s happened in the last few days, I’ll be glad to get back to what resembles normality in my life. Eating and sleeping at fairly regular intervals and not worrying about so many people trying to kill me.

I walk for a good fifteen minutes and find a diner that’s offering a full breakfast and a jug of coffee for eight dollars. At this stage, it isn’t going to take much to entice me into somewhere for food, but that does sound like a good deal to me.

I go inside and sit in an empty booth in the far left corner, looking out at the rest of the diner. It’s busy, going through the morning rush before everyone starts work. There are three waitresses working the floor, with another two manning the counter. Guys are going back and forth through the doors leading to the kitchen, picking up the latest orders and leaving a plate of food behind for the previous ones.

Most seats and tables are occupied. The booths are standard, red leather two-seaters, one either side of a table that perpetually stinks of disinfectant. There are bar stools lined up at counters either side of the entrance that offer a view of the street outside, if that’s your thing while you’re eating breakfast.

A waitress walks over within a couple of minutes, so I order the full breakfast and a jug of coffee—black, no sugar. The coffee appears after a minute or so, followed a short time later by the first course—a stack of six pancakes with a small jar of maple syrup. I remember Josh telling me once about what British people refer to as a full breakfast, or a full English, as they call it. Along with the usual bacon and eggs, they have sausages, tomatoes, beans and something called black pudding. He did tell me what it was, but I’ve forgotten. I certainly don’t recall it sounding all that appetizing... Give me a waffle, some bacon, sausage, and my eggs over easy any day of the week. And a pot of steaming hot black coffee, obviously.

You know what? When all this is over, I’m going to take Josh on vacation. Take him on a trip across the pond and see
his
homeland for a change. It must be years since he’s been back there.

When we first met, which seems a lifetime ago, I was briefly stationed over in the U.K. for a training exercise. He never used to shut up about all the ways he thought they did things better over there than we did.

I smile in fond recollection at one night in particular, when me, Josh and a couple of the boys from our unit went for a few drinks at a bar in London. It took maybe twenty minutes for us to get into a bar fight! Despite Josh being happy nowadays, sitting behind a desk, playing with his computers, back then you couldn’t ask for a better man to back you up in a fight. But after the first couple of years running black ops, it became clear we functioned better as a unit under his guidance, so we agreed to take him out of the field and put him in charge of our operations center. We had a damn good run with him working the intel.

I re-focus on my breakfast and tuck into the pancakes—which are excellent—and wash them down with coffee. I check my watch. I imagine Josh will be linking up with GlobaTech any time now, planning the attack. I still feel like I should be doing something to help. But at the same time, like Robert Clark said, I know I couldn’t have taken on an army by myself. And GlobaTech won’t need my help at this stage. Probably best to just leave it to them.

I find my mind wandering to Ketranovich and his psycho soldier, Natalia Salikov, thinking about how they’re likely going to be dead in a few hours.

Serves them right, if you ask me.

I glance up at the TV on the wall opposite. It’s showing the news. A woman in a red suit jacket and white blouse is sitting behind a desk, with a picture of a large house behind her. The headline at the bottom of the screen says ‘MANSION MASSACRE’. I raise an eyebrow.

A waitress walks past my table.

“Excuse me? Can you turn that up a bit please?” I ask, pointing to the TV.

She smiles and kindly does so. The woman behind the desk is in the middle of her report.

“...in the early hours of this morning. It’s been confirmed that the deceased include local businessman and suspected crime boss, Roberto Pellaggio. His body, along with several others, was found inside the mansion. Police have no suspects at this time, but sources close to the investigation have said that, based on early forensic evidence and details found at the scene of the crime, it’s thought the mass slaying was a mafia hit, carried out by a team of professional killers. Detectives are waiting to question the one survivor of this horrific event, twenty-seven year old Daniel Pellaggio—Roberto Pellaggio’s youngest son. He was found with bullet wounds in his leg and chest and is currently listed as being in critical condition. More on this story as it develops. In other news, a local man has found...”

Holy shit, someone’s survived? That’s unexpected. He’s a lucky bastard, no doubt about that. I should probably go and kill him to tie up the loose ends…

But then, having said that, the hospital is going to be a media circus and impossible to get inside unseen. Plus, like the reporter just said, everyone thinks it was a team of killers. Even if the guy talks, he doesn’t know what I look like and no one will believe just one person did all that.

With Jimmy Manhattan in police custody for the foreseeable future as well, it’s probably not worth worrying about. Pellaggio’s business will have imploded within hours of me killing him, given I managed to slaughter most of the people involved in its day-to-day running.

No, it’ll be fine—it’s all over now.

The waitress comes over and takes my plate away, replacing it with a plate of bacon and eggs. She tops off my coffee and leaves me to enjoy the food. I figure I’ll finish up here and head back to the bus terminal. I’ll get a ticket for the next Greyhound out of here and head north.

I manage one mouthful of bacon before my phone rings. I look at the caller ID—it’s Josh. I put the phone down on the table. I’ll let it go through to voicemail. I need to eat.

It keeps ringing.

I look at it and sigh, slightly frustrated.

I’m trying to eat… but he never rings me unless he needs to.