Deadly Intent: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 4) (22 page)

“You totally think you’re Rambo right now, don’t you?” says Josh in my ear.

“I feel like him,” I say.

“You
look
like him!”

“How do you know? Your satellite feed isn’t
that
good, is it?”

“GlobaTech’s is close to it, but I’m in the Winnebago and my shit’s better. It’s a Hi-Def, grayscale, real-time feed of your exact location. Look up and wave, honeybunch!”

I frown for a moment, and then gaze upward to the sky, flipping my middle finger at the clouds.

“Asshole.”

“Love you too, man.”

“So where am I heading?”

“At the end of the street, take a left, then a right. You should see a hospital in front of you.”

“Copy that.”

I set off in a light jog, taking the directions Josh is relaying to me on comms.

“I see the hospital,” I confirm after a couple of minutes.

“Good. On the other side of that building, half a klick northeast, is a medical research facility. That’s where the underground lab is.”

“What’s the best approach? I must admit, I’m feeling skeptical about just walking up to the front door and knocking…”

“That’s not like you,” says Josh. “You’re normally about as subtle as a—”

I turn right with the hospital in front of me, seeing a parking garage next to it. It has three levels—one ground and two up. I stop for a moment, staring across the street at the structure.

“Tank?”

“Yeah… that’s you alright.”

“No, Josh… I can see a tank.”

“Are you sure?”

I frown with slight frustration. “What kind of a question is that? Of course I’m fucking sure… it’s a tank!”

There’s silence on the line for a moment. “Where is it?” he asks.

“It’s inside a parking garage on the ground floor,” I reply.

“Hmmm…”

“What?”

“Oh, shit!”

“What, Josh?”

“I just completed a sweep of the area and came back with nothing—no signs of life anywhere. Then I thought, they know you’re coming, so they can probably hazard a guess as to the kind of support you have. They would’ve parked the tank under the cover of the garage to remain out of sight from any satellites or drones.”

I step back around the corner and drop to a crouch. “Well, that’s just cheating…” I say. “Any signs of life nearby?”

“I couldn’t see anything initially, but then I did a second sweep looking at buildings and structures nearby.”

“And?”

“And… there are four bus shelters near the entrance to the facility. Except they
aren’t
bus shelters—they’re just made to look like they are, so someone like me wouldn’t think twice when they see them looking down from a satellite feed.”

“So, what are they?”

“My guess is they’re makeshift tents or covered guard posts. They’re about twenty feet long, maybe six feet wide. You could easily stand five guys under each one side by side and be hidden from view. There’s no way you’re getting inside that facility through the front door, Adrian. They’re too well prepared for you coming. This is really bad.”

“No shit, Einstein.”

“Sherlock.”

“What?”

“The saying is: no shit, Sherlock.”

I sigh. “You can be a real pedantic sonofabitch when you want to be, you know that?”

“Yup!”

I take a moment to think. I don’t have eyes on any patrols or sentries, so I’m happy that as things stand, they don’t yet know I’m here.

“Any other way into the facility?” I ask.

“Not unless you can find a way to the roof without being seen,” he replies.

“Shit.”

I instinctively look around, second-guessing myself and thinking I’m surrounded and just haven’t noticed. My gaze rests on the tank. It’s a state-of-the-art combat vehicle, green and black. It’s only been in circulation twelve months. The sides, and back, consist of several thick, angular, metal plates that are welded to the basic frame, providing unrivaled protection on three sides. It’s concerning that a relatively new and unknown terrorist network is able to get its hands on tech like this.

From my current position, I can’t see the head and long barrel of the attached cannon, but I’m pretty sure I know which model it is, so I know what the gun will look like. There’ll be a hatch on the top with two men inside.

After a few moments, I’ve pretty much figured out how I’m going to get Tori back.

“Josh, I take it you already have schematics of this place?”

“Of course!” he scoffs, as if the notion he hadn’t already thought of that was borderline insulting.

“Good. Work on finding the quickest way inside the facility and to the underground labs.”

“And what are
you
gonna be doing?” he asks.

I look across at the tank and smile. “I’m gonna go work on my subtlety.”

28.

21:04 EEST

Keeping low, I dash over to the garage, approaching the tank from behind. It’s a Goliath-class assault vehicle, which I know uses a system of cameras to offer the two-man crew inside something close to a three-sixty view of the surrounding area. Pretty hard to sneak up on someone that basically has eyes in the back and sides of their head. But, if I can get close enough without anyone seeing me, I can rush the tank before they have a chance to react. It’s a big and powerful machine, but it’s slow and currently in a confined space, so that’s advantage
me
, in terms of maneuverability.

Careful not to get too close to the parking garage, I cross the street and plant my back against the wall of the building next to it, in a small alcove. I lean against the side and slowly edge forward, just enough to glimpse up and down the street.

“Adrian, I can see what you’re doing, you crazy bastard,” says Josh.

I don’t reply, focusing on the task ahead of me. I try to make a move for the tank, but for a brief moment it feels like I’m standing in quicksand and I stop myself.

I grimace, angry at myself.

“I saw that,” says Josh. “Hesitation will get you killed. If you’re intending to do what I think you are, then for crying out loud, just fucking
do
it—don’t piss about worrying about being seen. They know you’re there, so go and kill them already!”

I take a deep breath. I’m annoyed at myself for that split second of doubt. He’s right. As always.

Don’t tell him I said that...

I close my eyes, reaching behind me and drawing one of my Berettas. I take another deep breath and open my eyes again. When I do, I feel all traces of humanity leaving me. My heart rate increases as the adrenaline starts to kick in. I feel the buzz—the excitement; everything I gave up nearly three years ago.

My Inner Satan slides behind the wheel and starts the engine.

Showtime.

“Just find me a way inside,” I say to Josh.

I step out and run at the tank, heading inside the parking garage and approaching it from the left rear side. In one movement, I jump up on the back of it and make my way up onto the head. I place my left hand on the hatch and yank it open, revealing two very startled men in military fatigues, looking up at me with a vacant stare. As I’d hoped, they mustn’t have seen me approach.

Without a word, I fire twice, putting a bullet in each of their heads, killing them instantly. I holster my gun and climb inside, shutting the hatch behind me. The whole area is maybe seven by seven. I’d find it a tight squeeze without the two dead terrorists in here with me… I drag the guy at the front off his chair to the floor, stepping on him to climb into the seat and take control.

In front of me are three monitors, with two consoles side by side on the small work surface. On the left and right screens a single horizontal line down the middle of the screen splits the view. On the outside of the feeds is a view of the left and right sides. On the inside feeds are images from behind the tank, to the left and right.

The middle screen does two things. Firstly, it shows what’s ahead of me. Second, it does so, essentially through the eyes of the cannon.

These new tanks really don’t mess about when it comes to warfare. They’re as close as you can get with a tank to semi-automatic, firing large incendiary shells at whatever you aim at.

I know how to drive a tank. I mean, I did it a couple of times about twenty-five years ago, so I wouldn’t call myself an expert or anything, but I reckon I can figure it out.

There are three joysticks built into the console area, which is a little different from what I remember. Why the hell do I need three?

“Josh, you there?” I ask, tapping my earpiece when I get some static.

“I’m here,” he says. “Let me guess, your grand plan has hit its first stumbling block, in that you can’t drive the fucking tank you just commandeered. Am I right?”

“Now isn’t the time for rights and wrongs,” I say, dismissively. “Just tell me how to drive this damn thing?”

“The Goliath-class is slow but powerful,” he explains. “You need to keep it as straight as you can, turning as little as possible to be effective. The right hand stick gives you throttle and brakes. The left hand one is your steering. The middle one—”

“Blows shit up?”

“Exactly.”

“Why do they need two guys to run this thing then?” I ask.

“It’s much easier if you have one person navigating and one person shooting. There’ll be a secondary control system for the gun that the other guy can use.”

All the money this country has to spend on shit like this has really been put to good use. This thing is a beast! But it also looks like something off Star Trek, and I’m not a hundred per cent confident I won’t kill myself using it.

“Hey, Josh, they have a PA system built into it…” I say.

“Yeah, they’ll use that for crowd control, I suspect,” he replies.

I smile to myself.

I’ve just had the
best
idea…

I take my phone out and place it on the console in front of me, next to the microphone.

“Josh, can you send a song to the phone I’m using?”

“Erm, yeah, technically I could. Why?”

“I’m thinking I might go Apocalypse Now on these assholes!”

He laughs. “One second…” My phone beeps. “There you go, file sent. There’ll be a micro-USB docking port in the console. Stand your phone in it and play the file.”

I do as he says.

I move the right stick forward and the machine rumbles to life, juddering slowly out of the garage. I flick the switch so I’m broadcasting, then crank the volume all the way up, just as the opening of
Black Betty
by Ram Jam starts.

I carefully turn right, then left, lining myself up and approaching the facility head-on. Looking through the monitors, I see Josh was exactly right—twenty guys in total, spread around the main entrance under cover from satellite detection.

Whoa Black Betty! (Bam-ba-lam).

The music blasts as every single terrorist aims their weapons and open fire at me. The high-pitched whizzing sound of bullets bouncing off me rings out, but ultimately does nothing to deter me from unleashing Hell itself on these pieces of shit.

I take control of the middle stick, lining up my shot and firing once. The
ka-boom
is deafening, and the whole tank shudders as the ground to the left of the entrance explodes in a cloud of smoke and rubble and body parts.

The damn thing gone wild! (Bam-ba-lam).

I aim over to the right and do the same.

Ka-boom!

Another cloud of smoke and terrorists. I slow down as I approach the sidewalk that leads to the main entrance of the facility. I use the cannon to look around. The building is in a state of decay—the brick has crumbled and cracked pretty much everywhere, falling away in some places. It’s borderline derelict, but I’m assuming the underground section is much better preserved.

“How far down are they?” I ask Josh, tapping the earpiece a couple of times when I get some static feedback.

“Based on the thermal imaging scans, I reckon about three floors,” he replies. “I’ve got the layout up on my screen now.”

I aim the cannon at the main door and the last handful of terrorists who have so far evaded my wrath. I line up the shot and fire, blowing the entire front wall to pieces.

“Knock, knock, assholes.”

I climb out of the tank and drop down to the street, drawing my Beretta and doing a quick sweep. The entire area looks like a warzone. There are literally
bits
of people all over the place. Dark stains of blood cover the streets as I walk toward the hole that used to be the main entrance. I pick up one of the dead men’s assault rifles as I walk past. Somewhat typically, it’s an AK-47. It’ll do. I’d rather save my ammunition for when it counts. I scoop up a couple of mags as I walk on and slide them into a spare pocket on my body harness before checking the weapon’s locked and loaded.

With
Black Betty
still blasting behind me, I walk inside the building, checking every angle for signs of life. It’s a large, open-plan foyer—the right wall was once glass, floor to ceiling, but now the slight breeze quietly whistles through the place as I walk on. There’s a large front desk on the left and, beyond that, elevators and stairs leading both up and down.

I walk by some upturned chairs and tables. I catch one of the chairs with my right leg, and it makes a scraping noise on the floor, which sounds loud in the surrounding silence. I quickly drop to one knee, raising the gun up and preparing for any movement. I wait a few moments, but there’s still no sign of life.

Happy I’m under no immediate threat, I continue on to the stairs in front of me.

“All quiet here,” I whisper into my earpiece.

“The surrounding area’s quiet, too,” replies Josh. “Looks like you took out the bulk of the security perimeter.”

I reach the stairs and I lean over the railings, looking up and down and checking for movement.

“Looks clear,” I confirm. “I’m heading down. You say it was three floors?”

“Yeah,’ he replies. “We might lose comms, so stay sharp, okay? Don’t focus too much on Clara.”

“Copy that.”

I take a deep breath and head downstairs slowly, checking the angles and pausing at the bottom of each flight. As I approach the stairs down to the third sub-level, I hear the first signs of life.

“Josh, you there?” I whisper, but the line’s dead. I check my phone and see there’s no service. I take the earpiece out—no need to wear it if I can’t use it.

I climb down the last staircase and come out in a small, tiled lobby. The walls are showing signs of damp and decay, but the lighting works fine, and the floors look clean. It certainly doesn’t look abandoned, like everything else around here.

The lobby seems to act like a sort of hub—the stairs descend into the middle, with corridors and rooms off in every direction. I stand still, holding my breath and listening for any clue as to which way I need to go. With my back to the stairs, the corridor ahead of me is dark. I glance left and right. Both corridors are bathed in fluorescent light, from fixtures quietly buzzing overhead.

I step forward slowly, turning right and checking behind me. That’s well lit, too, but I hear something from the right that makes me turn. Just a faint sound of movement. I look at the sign on the wall, which says LEVEL 3—RESEARCH LABS. I take a step down the corridor, but stop when I hear more movement from behind me. I look over my shoulder, at the corridor facing the back of the stairs, and see two men walking toward me. They’re unarmed and appear to be deep in conversation, so I don’t think they’ve seen me. I press my back against the wall and listen for any clue as to which way they’re heading.

“He’ll be here soon,” says one of them. “The Fox said he’s already in the building.”

The Fox
? Really?

Well, they know I’m here… or at least, that I’m on my way. I crouch down and carefully rest the AK-47 on the floor, keeping my eyes on the two men the whole time. They haven’t seen me, and they’re drawing level with me now. It’s amazing how invisible you can be when no one’s looking for you. They know I’m heading this way, but because they don’t think I’m here yet, it doesn’t enter their heads to look around, so even though I’m likely in their peripheral vision, they haven’t registered my presence. This is good news for me and, frankly, lethally bad luck for them.

I slowly draw a silenced Beretta with my right hand. I wait for them to pass the stairs, and me. They’re heading for the darkened corridor. I step out and silently fall in behind them. I need to play this smart. I should find out what I can about what I’m walking into at least.

I raise my gun and fire once at the man on the right, putting a bullet in the back of his head, just above the neck. He dies instantly, and hits the floor at roughly the same time the spray of blood and brain matter does.

Shocked and unprepared, the remaining man spins around, but in the time it’s taken him to do that, I’m already moving toward him, so he turns just as my left elbow is swinging in. It meets his jaw as he looks round, and catches it full force. He spins away from me and drops to the floor, landing on his back. I’m on him right away, dropping down and pressing my right knee hard into his chest. I push the barrel of my gun into his right temple and place my left hand over his mouth.

“Do you know who I am?” I ask him, my voice muffled slightly through the mask.

His eyes are wide with surprise and fear, and he nods his head vigorously.

“Good, that saves me some time. Does Clara know I’m here?”

He nods again, slower this time, like he’s really thinking about the answer.

“Okay. I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth now. Just in case you get any funny ideas about making any noise, I want you to remember two things: my gun is still pressed against your head, and bits of your friend’s brain are scattered across the floor next to us.”