True Conviction (17 page)

“All valid points. You wanna know about our missing scientist?”

“You’ve found out who it is?”

“Well, the search results were surprisingly narrow. Once I filtered by location, I was left with literally one name: Jonathan Webster. He’s a nuclear physicist who worked out of Columbia University in New York. He apparently went to a conference about fifteen months ago and never came back. He sent a note to his colleagues a couple of weeks later saying he was resigning from his position at the University. No explanation, and hasn’t been seen since.”

“Sounds like our guy. We sure he’s at this particular safe house?”

“Satellite imagery from the last three weeks shows regular movement at this particular address. Out of all the locations Clara gave us, there was only one other that showed any activity, but I ruled it out because it’s miles away on the other side of town, close to the state lines. It makes no sense to keep him there, plus this other place is in reasonably close proximity to the mine.”

“How the hell do you find this stuff out?”

“Trade secrets,” he says, clearly smiling smugly down the phone. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“Even if you
could
kill me, you’d have to take a ticket and get in line at the moment.”

“Yeah, you do seem quite popular at the moment, eh?”

“Looks that way. Good job I’m not heading to a building that’s likely to be filled with people who have guns and orders to shoot me on sight... Oh, wait!”

Josh laughs. “Even when faced with such adversity, it amazes me how you always find time to practice your sarcasm.”

“I’m glad someone’s impressed. I’m turning right now. Where do I go from here?”

“Okay, carry on and take your fourth left, then your first right. It’s the second house on the right hand side.”

“Got it, thanks Josh.”

“Just add to it to the list of things you owe me. Be safe.”

I hang up and navigate my way to the house. It’s in the middle of a quiet, suburban neighborhood. They’re all large, detached houses with expensive cars on the driveways and well-manicured front lawns. It’s hard to believe that somewhere so quiet and peaceful could actually house soldiers fighting in an extremist militia. What goes on behind closed doors… even in neighborhoods like this one.

I take the last right turn and hear several loud cracks that take me by surprise. I swerve right and slam the brakes on, sliding to a halt across the width of the street as the windshield spider-webs.

“What the fuck?” I shout, ducking down to the foot well.

I can hear the rapid, deep
clunk
sound as more bullets pepper the Jeep’s bodywork. I reach behind me, drawing one of my babies and checking to make sure the magazine’s full. Thankfully, it is, but I have no spares with me.

I take a few deep breaths to compose myself, immediately cursing at the sharp pain each one causes. I completely forgot to pick up any painkillers while I was in the hospital… I’m aching all over, but it’s getting easier and I can certainly live with it.

I take one final, deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh, steeling myself for what comes next.

I chamber a round and reach for the passenger door, ready to leap out.

I’m getting too old for all these gunfights…

I PUSH OPEN the passenger door and quickly clamber out, ducking down behind the front wheel. I take a quick peek over the hood at the house, which is over to my right. I see two guys, both dressed in black—one in the doorway, the other kneeling on the front lawn. I’m assuming there are more inside, but I don’t have eyes on them.

No sign of Clara, either… Christ, I hope she’s okay.

I duck back behind the wheel, crouching down on my haunches with my elbows on my knees. I rest my forehead on the barrel of my Beretta.

How the hell did they know I was coming? They opened fire the moment I turned into the street. I could’ve been anybody, so they must’ve known it was me…

Hang on…

I look forward, the way I just came. I scan all the houses and the vehicles. No sign of movement. Then I look up and check the rooftops. Directly ahead of me, I catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure crouching low next to a chimneystack, partially obscured from
my
view by of the shape of the roof, but
he’d
have had a clear view of me as I approached, just before turning right.

They’ve got a scout, the sneaky bastards!

Well, the good news is that I found him… the bad news is I’m now aware that I’m surrounded with minimal cover.

Shit.

I’ve got to take that scout out first. He’s got a high-ground advantage, which means he can see me better than I can see him and potentially relay my movements to people in the house, meaning I’ll lose any element of surprise I might have.

I sit down on the road and lean back against the wheel, adjusting myself so I’m comfortable. I take a deep breath and aim my gun at the rooftop, holding it in my right hand and clasping my left around it tight to steady it. I close my left eye to help line up my shot.

There’s hardly any breeze, so wind speed isn’t a factor. I’m aiming up at an angle of around thirty-five degrees and the target is approximately three hundred feet away, now almost completely hidden by the chimneystack at the arch of the roof… I’ll need two shots, on target, in quick succession. The first will be to draw him out, and it needs to be as close as I can get to his position without being able to hit him. I need to put it to the left of where he’s hiding—he’s unlikely to be expecting any heat, so his instinct will be to move away to the right. The second bullet needs to follow immediately, aimed where he’s
going
to be, so it hits him as he breaks cover.

Good job I’m a helluva shot...

I aim as close to the top of the roof as I can and practice the slight movement between shots—up and right—to catch his head as it pops round the corner to return fire. One… two. Bang… bang. Nice and quick.

Okay, here we go.

I take a deep breath. Then another and hold it. I squeeze the trigger and see roof tiles and brick go flying. A split second later, I re-adjust and squeeze the trigger again. At the exact moment the scout leans out of cover to shoot, his head snapped back, disappearing out of sight and leaving a small puff of red mist dispersing in the air.

I breathe out a sigh of relief.

Easy…

I get back up into a crouch and turn my attention back to the two guys at the house. The guy out front has crouched low behind a large bush. The guy in the doorway has taken cover just inside the hallway.

Where the hell is Clara? She must know I’m here—what else would these assholes be shooting at?

Bullets intermittently strike the Jeep and the ground around me as I try to figure out how to get in the house. I don’t have enough ammo to trade pot shots with these guys and hope I get lucky. Plus I’m running out of time. They know I’m here, so whoever else is inside is likely preparing to move the scientist or kill him.

I pull my other gun from my back holster and check the clip to make sure it’s full. I quickly run through every possible outcome I can think of. If I go left or right, if I stay put and trade bullets, if I move the Jeep, if I don’t move the Jeep—everything. I disregard what will get me shot and work with the options that won’t. I see everything like a game of chess, looking three, four, five moves ahead, reading people, and calculating the outcomes…

It only takes me a few seconds to realize the quickest and most effective way inside the house…

Fuck it.

With a gun in each hand, I quickly stand and walk around the hood toward the house, aiming my left at the guy in the front garden and my right at the guy in the front door. I line up my shots in my peripheral vision, seeing both targets as best I can and pick my moment.

I fire both guns simultaneously, reacting quickly and putting a round in each of the targets as they break cover. The guy crouching in the bushes out front falls backward as the bullet hits him dead center in his chest, sending him sprawling across the lawn. The guy at the door catches it in his stomach, which punches him back against the wall. He slides down and sits lifelessly in a crumpled heap in the doorway.

I quickly run over to the guy out front and search him. There’s no ID, but I find a knife in a pouch strapped to his left leg.

I’ll take that—might come in handy…

I put my guns away and take his assault rifle. It’s Dark Rain’s weapon of choice: the AK-47. I check the clip and it’s half empty, but he has two spares on him, so I pocket them and head over to the front door.

There’s no point searching this guy in the doorway—he won’t have any ID and I’ve got enough ammo to finish up here. I just step past him and enter the house, keeping low and pausing in the hallway to look around.

In front of me to the right is the staircase. I’ll deal with upstairs in a moment. To the left of that is a long hallway, leading straight through to the kitchen. Along the left wall are two doors. I move slowly and carefully toward the first door, holding the rifle ready. I listen at the door but hear nothing from within. I try the handle and open it, pausing for a moment before swinging it open cautiously to my left and stepping inside. The room falls away to the left but it’s empty—there’s literally not even any furniture, it’s just floorboards and peeling paint.

I head back out to the hallway and try the next door along. As before, I listen outside the door for a moment, but this time I hear movement inside. I give it another minute, breathing as softly as I can and listening intently…

I reckon there’s only one person in there, and if they’re moving around, they’re not going to be a prisoner.

The movement stops, and I hear a noise that’s eerily reminiscent of a gun cocking…

I don’t even think about it. I step back and kick the door open, pushing my foot through close to the frame just above the handle. It nearly comes off its hinges as it bangs open to the right. I step inside and drop to a crouch. Very quickly I assess the layout.

There’s a dining table with four chairs in the center of the room, with an old-fashioned fireplace built into the far wall. Besides the threadbare carpet, the room is otherwise empty…

Apart from the guy with his gun aimed at me standing in the far corner.

I don’t give him chance to react to the door flying in. Like a twitch, I spin and take aim, unloading a quick three-round burst to his chest. He drops to the floor and I breathe easy once again.

I back out of the room and quickly stick my head inside the kitchen. It’s empty and I didn’t expect anything else to be honest. I turn and head back to the front door, stopping at the foot of the staircase. I take a quick look up and, from what I can see, it’s clear.

The hardest part is always going upstairs. If someone’s up there already, they have the angles and the cover. If you’re the one on the stairs, you have nothing. You can’t view every angle, you don’t know where every door is and you’re firing up as you’re climbing stairs, so your accuracy will go to shit.

I crouch next to the stairs and weigh up my options. I
have
to go upstairs, so I’ll need to keep my back to the wall and aim high, making sure –

BANG!

What the…

BANG!

They’re gunshots…

And the dull thud that follows the second one is definitely a body hitting the floor above me.

Oh, shit! Clara!

Ignoring all training I’ve had for these situations, I quickly stand and rush upstairs. I’m holding the rifle loosely in front of me, ready to fire from the hip if need be. I move from room to room, kicking in the door and quickly sweeping inside before moving to the next.

Finally, I reach the main bedroom at the front of the house. The door’s open, and a thick pool of blood creeps into view over the thin, beige carpet.

With my gun raised, I run in.

Clara’s standing where the bed would’ve been, behind the door. The gun in her hand is still smoking slightly from the bullet she's just fired. I look at the dead guy on the ground; lying spread-eagled with a bullet hole between his eyes.

“Jesus!” I say. “Clara, are you alright?”

She’s staring vacantly into space. I drop my gun and put my hands on her face, making her look at me. I examine her eyes and can see the onset of shock behind them.

“Clara, are you okay?” I ask again. “Answer me. Are you hurt?”

She finally focuses on me and looks blank and disoriented. There’s a bloodstain on her top from where her bullet wound has re-opened.

“I was too late... I’m so sorry,” she says as if she’s daydreaming.

She turns her head and I follow her gaze to the opposite wall.

Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph…

The sick, twisted bastards have stripped Jonathan Webster naked and nailed him to the wall by his hands and feet, like a starfish… His body is a mess, covered in deep cuts and a mixture of fresh and dried blood. There’s a pool of blood on the floor beneath his body too. The bullet hole in his forehead is recent.

She must have killed that guy on the floor seconds after he killed Webster.

I look back at Clara and feel an overwhelming sense of sympathy for her.

But it only takes a few seconds to start feeling the darkness and the anger building inside me. I’m completely blind with rage and I clench my jaw muscles and my fists as I struggle to contain it.

Again, the piece of shit was two moves ahead of me. Ketranovich hasn’t just disposed of the scientist—he’s tortured and sacrificed him, needlessly, knowing we’ll find him. The body of Webster is a message meant for Clara and me to find.

Well, message received…

He isn’t going to like my response.

“Come on,” I say to Clara. “We need to get out of here.”

I take her by the hand and lead her out of the room and out of the house. We get in the Jeep and I drive off. I need to get her back to the hospital and get her bullet wound looked at.

As I turn left, I glance to the right and see her Dodge Viper parked further up the street. I slam the brakes on and reverse quickly, stopping level with her car. She looks at me inquisitively.

“The bullet holes in this are even more conspicuous than your Viper,” I explain. “We should switch.”

We do and within minutes we’re back on the road, heading to the hospital.

She’s sitting in silence, staring at the dashboard. She’s not said a word since we left the house. I don’t even think she’s blinked. She’s in shock and I have no words of comfort to offer her. Things aren’t going to be okay. Things won’t get better soon. We’re officially at war and it’s going to keep getting worse until I kill Ketranovich.

The best thing I can do is stay productive. If I sit and dwell on what’s happening with Dark Rain, I’m going to end up in a very disturbing place that may well result in a lot of dead bodies—and that’s not the best way to play this. But I need the distraction, so I’m going to focus on getting Pellaggio off my back.

I’m going to leave Clara at the hospital—it’s the safest place for her right now. My bag’s still in her room and I need it to help me deal with Pellaggio.

I pull into the hospital driveway entrance. The roar of the engine in Clara’s Dodge Viper sounds even louder than usual outside the quiet building.

“Come on,” I say to her. “You need to go and get yourself patched up again.”

“It’s alright,” she says, distantly. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

“Yes, but it’s a flesh wound that’s bleeding all over your top. Now come on.”

She doesn’t bother arguing again. We get out of the car and I put my arm around her waist for some support as we walk into the hospital and take the elevator up to the fourth floor. There’s no sign of any GlobaTech personnel as the doors ding open. They must’ve cleared out after I’d left earlier. They obviously weren’t too bothered about their Jeep...

Good job, really.

As we approach the front desk, a nurse rushes round and takes over supporting Clara, shouting for a doctor. One quickly appears, along with another nurse and I follow them all back to the room. I watch them lie Clara gently back in her bed as they cut away her top and set to work on stopping the bleeding. I quickly retrieve my bag from next to the chair I slept in and move back over to the door.

“Is she gonna be alright?” I ask one of the nurses.