D.E.A.D. Till I Die: An Action Thriller (GlobaTech Book 1) (12 page)

Collins laughed. “All the time... Bastards!”

“You boys finished jerking each other off?”

They both turned to see Julie standing there, her arms folded across her chest and her eyebrow raised.

“And who might you be, pretty lady?” asked Collins, seemingly forgetting everything that had just happened.

Julie playfully patted his face with her palm. “Someone you will never see naked,” she replied, stepping past him and standing in front of Jericho. Her head was level with his chest, and she looked up at him, smiling. “Wanna get out of here?”

Jericho looked over her head and raised an eyebrow at Collins, who laughed and shrugged back. He looked down at her, staring into her brown eyes. “Lead the way,” he said.

She headed for the door. Jericho set off after her, stopping when he was level with Collins. “You gonna be alright?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine,” he replied. “Thanks for the save. You better watch your back though...” he nodded over to the door, where Julie was stood waiting, “...I think you’re about to have a rougher time than I just did!”

“We live in hope,” Jericho replied, patting him on the shoulder and walking off toward the door.

They stepped outside, both taking in a deep breath of cool air, looking around as dusk gave way to nightfall. They set off walking back to the GlobaTech compound.

“Just so we’re clear,” said Julie, after a moment. “You absolutely are
not
getting laid tonight.”

Jericho smiled but didn’t look at her. “It hadn’t crossed my mind.”

They made their way back to the base and headed for the tenement buildings that housed the live-in employees, which were situated in the far right corner, close by the perimeter fence, in the shadow of the mountain range behind.

There were three large tower blocks in total. Jericho was in the nearest one to them as they approached, on the third floor.

“This is me,” he said, ambling to a stop.

Julie didn’t stop, slow down, or even turn around. “What do you want? A parade?” she called back. She raised her hand, waving it casually. “See you tomorrow, big guy.”

She carried on toward the building farthest away from his. Jericho watched her, and was sure she put an extra sway in her hips to wind him up. He shook his head and smiled. “Sonofabitch...”

GRENADA, NICARAGUA

April 20
th
, 2017

23:06 CST

Chris Black was sitting alone in the meeting room, leaning back in his chair with his feet resting up on the table in front of him. The rest of the squad were sleeping, but he couldn’t settle his mind enough to do the same. Having spent the evening with LaSharde, he wanted to avoid waking her with his restlessness, so had left her in bed, resting peacefully.

Over twenty-four hours had passed since his conversation with Jones, and he attributed his growing uneasiness to that.

Suddenly, his phone rang, disturbing him from his anxious musing. It was on the table next to him, and the vibrating was amplified in the silence. He looked at the display, recognizing the number immediately.

About damn time...

He put his feet down and leaned forward, resting on his elbows and stroking his chin as he answered.

“Black,” he said.

“There’s been some developments,” replied Julius Jones, dispensing with any pleasantries. “This is the first chance I’ve had to call.”

Black sat up straight, disciplined and alert. “What is it?”

He heard a sigh down the line before Jones spoke. “First of all... your mission. Daniel Vincent is in Prague. We’ve picked him up in a hotel near Wenceslas Square. You need to leave ASAP. We’ve got the jump on this, but our advantage won’t last long.”

“Copy that. I’ll round up the team immediately. We’ll be airborne in thirty minutes.”

“Be aware that your target is employed by GlobaTech Industries. That means, in all likelihood, they will be actively searching for him as well. Be on your guard, and avoid any unnecessary conflict. Am I clear?”

“Crystal.”

“This mission must remain covert at all costs. Now, before you go, there are a couple of other things you need to know.”

Black detected the change in Jones’ tone, and knew that whatever was coming next wasn’t good. “Go on...”

“I’ve spoken with Director Matthews regarding your concerns over Mr. Santiago,” Jones began. “Your suspicions were accurate—he hacked into our secure mainframe and listened to an encrypted audio file... a recording of the director giving you the order to execute Jericho Stone.”

“I fucking
knew
he was up to something...” hissed Black. “That’s why he’s been asking so many questions...”

“The director has asked me to convey his request that he no longer wishes Mr. Santiago to be a part of your unit. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Chris?”

Black took a deep breath, clenching his jaw and glaring into space. “I do,” he replied.

“You’ll allow him to arrange your transport, and then you will terminate his contract before you leave. Am I understood?”

“Copy that.”

“Good. And finally, Chris,
you
personally have a very large problem. It’s Jericho... he’s still alive.”

The words hung in the silence as Black tried his best to comprehend them. “That’s not possible,” he said, finally. “Sir, I shot him in the face.”

Jones scoffed. “Whatever you did, it didn’t work. I’ve spoken to the man personally. He’s very much alive, and isn’t very happy with the CIA.”

“Where is he?” asked Black, getting to his feet. “I’ll—”

“You’ll do what you’re told,” said Jones, cutting him off. “Jericho’s with GlobaTech, so you can’t get to him. But I suspect he’ll come to
you
very soon, so be ready.”

Black was angry in a way he didn’t know he was capable of. He knew that anger was directed more at his own failure to take out Jericho than anything else, and his mind was already racing to think of a way to redeem himself.

“If he’s working for GlobaTech now, he’ll definitely be in Prague,” he said.

“That’s my thinking, too,” agreed Jones. “Which is all the more reason to watch your back while you’re over there, and keep the fucking thing quiet.”

Black hung up without another word, pocketed the phone, and began pacing back and forth in the room, like a caged lion. As he neared the table again, he let out a guttural scream and slammed his right fist down on the surface.

“Fuck!”

23:31 CST

Damian Baker, Charlotte LaSharde, and Rick Santiago sat facing him; summoned on a moment’s notice to prepare for action. Black had composed himself before waking them, wrapping his head around what he must do, and what was to come.

“I’ve received information from Langley,” he announced. “Daniel Vincent works for GlobaTech Industries, and is currently hiding out in Prague.”

“GlobaTech?” queried Baker. “Those guys are fucking golden at the moment...”

“I know,” agreed Black. “Which is why this mission needs to happen quietly. We suspect they’ll be sending a team to retrieve him. So we get there first, we bring him back, and we absolutely do not engage any hostiles unless we have to.”

The team exchanged glances before nodding their understanding.

“There’s something else,” continued Black. He paused for a moment, taking a breath, preparing himself for what he was about to say. He quickly thought of all the different ways he could say it, but in the end decided to just come out with it, like ripping off a band aid. “Jericho Stone is still alive, and he’s working for GlobaTech.”

The sound of a collective intake of breath filled the room.

“How?” asked LaSharde, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

Black shook his head. “I don’t know. But he’s already made contact with Langley, and threatened to go after Jones. My guess is he’ll want revenge, and he won’t understand that everyone was just following orders. We all need to watch our backs until he’s taken care of.”

“What makes you think he’ll want revenge?” asked Santiago quietly, speaking for the first time.

Black looked at him like he was an idiot. “Wouldn’t you?” he asked. “I know I would...”

“No offense,
Boss
, but you’re not Jericho. The man I knew was a soldier and a patriot. Revenge wasn’t really his thing.”

Black was furious, and stepped forward, glaring at Santiago, who was sitting with an annoyingly impassive look on his face. “I’d watch your mouth if I were you, and remember who you’re talking to.”

Santiago smiled. “Yeah, well—you’re not
me
, either. And I wasn’t following orders,
you
were. I think you’re afraid. And if
I
were
you
, I’d be afraid, too.”

The two men held each other’s gaze for a few tense, silent moments. Eventually, Baker cleared his throat and intervened.

“Alright, let’s take a breath, fellas,” he said. “Chris, what’s the plan for getting Vincent?”

Black looked over at him, pointing at Santiago. “Assuming it’s no trouble for
him
to arrange, we need to be airborne in thirty minutes.”

Santiago shrugged. “Piece of cake, homie.”

Black took a breath and stepped away, turning his back on the unit for a moment. Then he spun around again, re-focused on the task at hand. “Baker, LaSharde—head to the armory and gear up. “Santiago, console room. Get us in the air ASAP.”

He strode out of the room, headed out of the building and across the dusty, moonlit courtyard toward the barracks. There was something he needed to get before they left.

23:57 CST

Black walked out of the barracks and over to the armory. He could see LaSharde and Baker were already kitted out—tactical vests, assault rifles, handguns... the works. They were stood side by side facing Santiago, who had just started speaking as Black approached.

“The chopper’s three minutes out,” explained Santiago. “It’ll fly you to our usual airfield, where a Lockheed C5 will take you directly to Prague. When you land, there’ll be a transport vehicle waiting to take you straight to the target’s location. You’ll have the full support of local law enforcement while you’re there too, and I’m watching via satellite, so—”

“Actually,” interrupted Black, “I’ve just got off the line to Langley. There’s been a slight change to the mission brief.” He shuffled slightly to his right, putting his body mere inches from Santiago’s. His left hand slowly moved behind him, and when he spoke, he addressed LaSharde and Baker. “Director Matthews himself has advised that due to the sensitive nature of the mission, Langley will be monitoring the mission via a comms link to their local Station...” He paused and turned to Santiago. “...which means we no longer need
your
services.”

In a flash, he brought his left hand round, which was holding a KA-BAR combat knife, and whipped his body clockwise, thrusting the seven inch blade into Santiago’s gut, just to the left of his navel. His eyes went wide; the shock counteracting the pain, which would inevitably follow shortly.

The others gasped, and Baker instinctively took a step forward, but LaSharde stopped him. Black ignored them both, placing his right hand on the back of Santiago’s head and leaning in close.

“If
you
were
me
,” he hissed angrily, “you wouldn’t have asked the same questions that got that steroid-induced freak disavowed and shot in the face! I’m following orders, Rick... it’s nothing personal.”

He withdrew the knife and let go of his head, smiling into Santiago’s bulging eyes as he watched him drop to the floor, clutching at his stomach wound. Blood pumped out, soaking his hands and the ground around him, staining it a dark crimson.

Black wiped his blade on his leg and slid it back into its sheath before turning to face the others. “That,” he said, pointing to Santiago, “is what happens when you disobey a direct order from the director of the CIA. I trust the three of us are on the same page here?”

He knew LaSharde was with him, for obvious reasons. He assumed Baker was as well, but there was no harm in proving a point.

The chopper sounded overhead, interrupting the scene. Black looked up and smiled, quickly moving to grab his gear as it made its descent. Moments later, and the three of them were airborne and bound for Prague.

WASHINGTON, DC, USA

April 20
th
, 2017

22:49 EDT

President Cunningham sat in the residence of the White House, sipping a large brandy in front of a log fire, reading the newspaper. He had changed out of his navy-blue suit once his working day was over, opting for a more relaxed outfit of jogging pants and a matching sweater, sporting the logo of Columbia University, where he graduated close to twenty-five years previous.

He was born into a family of active Republicans. His father, Charles Cunningham the fifth, had a seat in the House of Representatives during George W. Bush Sr.’s only term in the Oval Office. He was bred for politics from a young age, but quickly tired of the same approaches to the country’s problems, seeing the repetition as a cause of the issues, rather than an attempt at resolving them.

Cunningham knew that if any real long-lasting change was ever going to be implemented, then a radical new approach was needed. In the years that followed 9/11 he didn’t see fear where other people did. He didn’t see crisis. He saw opportunity. He saw a nation united against a common enemy. He saw an unprecedented desire to succeed.

He was determined to build on that. To recreate that feeling among the American people, but also to build on it. To make it a way of life, and not just a phase.

His first step was to look at the economy. To combat the recession, he knew the country needed a massive boost of income. International relations were delicate, to say the least, and it would’ve been a hard sell, even for him, to make significant changes to them. So he decided to look internally. He looked at what the United States had already, that could potentially be exploited on a larger scale to increase wealth.

Ahead of launching his campaign for the presidency, he commissioned a report to look at the biggest, and most lucrative, industries in the world, to see where the money was being earned, and to see if there was any way of turning an individual business into a nationwide commerce.

The two highest grossing industries in the world turned out to be the import and export of cocaine, and the sex trade. Drug cartels, for example, were earning hundreds of billions of dollars each year, illegally.

This gave Cunningham an idea. He sat down with his closest and most trusted advisors, and outlined a plan that would form the foundations of his presidential campaign. He knew it would be met with an initial outcry. He knew he would be laughed off the stage when he first talked about his plan for change. But he knew, unquestioningly, that he could win people over.

If he made cocaine a legal drug, implemented laws to regulate its production, usage and distribution, as well as fund awareness campaigns for the obvious health concerns, he could apply tax to the one point eight trillion dollar a year industry. That alone would boost the economy, and it would also put the Cartels out of business. Crime would drop, relations with South American countries would improve, and that would eventually lead to further opportunities for trade agreements between nations.

It was the same with prostitution. It’s global worth as an industry was around two hundred billion dollars per year. He could make it legal, introduce a healthcare system for the people who worked in the business, and make it a safe, legitimate, respectable environment to work in. The women would be better off, and better paid, plus he could apply tax to the consumer spending. Couple that with the cocaine money, and the income from those two sources alone would wipe out the Federal Deficit in just a few short months. That alone would guarantee him the Oval Office.

He was a natural salesman, and he believed that if he subtly disguised the
how
with the
why
, people would eventually show their support.

Theoretically, his plan was perfect. But he knew the biggest problem he faced was the level of bureaucracy that the Oval Office frequently came up against when it tried to get things done. Battles with the Senate to get bills passed could be long-winded, which would delay his plans for a new golden age of American history.

He knew that if he wanted these changes to be accepted, he needed to recreate that unification the country saw following 9/11. Where people rallied together, and the government backed any proposed changes with blind enthusiasm, simply because it was better than what they had at the time.

That would take something extraordinarily tragic; an atrocity so terrifying, it could unite the country in an instant—make people turn to someone who could promise them a brighter future, no matter what the journey to get there entailed...

Cunningham was engrossed in the many reports detailing the aftermath of the terrorist attack three days ago.
The attack had simply been christened 4/17 by most international media outlets, similar to how 9/11 was, some sixteen years prior. A couple of the more creative reporters had adopted the moniker of Nuclear Monday, but that hadn’t caught on quite as well, being deemed in poor taste.

He failed to suppress a smile as he read about nations that were decimated—blasted back to the Stone Age in less than twenty minutes, and how their leaders were literally begging the United States to help them. His allies in Western Europe had immediately jumped to his side, but he’d already spoken with his fellow presidents and prime ministers, assuring them they needn’t get their own countries into debt trying to rebuild the world—he had it all under control.

He turned the page and saw a large feature on the work GlobaTech Industries was doing in the Middle East, notably in Syria and Israel. Both nations had been hit hard in the attack, and had opened their borders to each other without hesitation, in an effort to help refugees find shelter and medical support. GlobaTech was acting as a peacekeeping force, as well as transporting food, clean water and temporary housing to the region.

Cunningham’s smile broadened as he read the report, in which the journalist had commented that, while it was an obvious tragedy, the fact that the conflict between both countries had immediately come to an end was a silver lining in an otherwise black cloud. It went on to say just how strong the human will to survive truly was, and that it was a shame that sometimes it took something so horrifying to make people see there’s more to life than each other’s differences.

The president closed the paper, folded it in half and placed it on the table next to his armchair. He then stood, cradling the glass of brandy in his hand as he walked over to the fire, staring thoughtfully into the flames.

He knew the world would hate him when they inevitably found out what he’d done. But reading that article only served to strengthen his belief that everything he’d done was in the best interest of not only the people in
his
country, but around the world as well. He might go down in history as the worst terrorist to ever live, but at least the future in which that history was taught would be a peaceful one.