Firebolt Read online

  R.M. Galloway

  © Copyright 2018 by R.M. Galloway All rights reserved. No part of this publication maybe be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 1

  It had already been raining for three days by the time I settled in to my hiding place among the dark trees at the edge of David Zinn’s northern California vacation property. The armed guard walking quietly back and forth in front of the glass sliding doors that led out to his swimming pool was a cause for concern, but I was at least as worried about the possibility of a sudden mudslide from the forested slope behind me. A stakeout was nothing new to me, but the random chaos of nature was another matter.

  Nature can be an ally, though. She can help you hide, taking advantage of those natural mental weaknesses that leave the average person vulnerable. You don’t worry about being robbed in a driving rain storm. When the water is gushing down the gutters and flooding the crosswalks, the robbers are all at home in bed with a mug of hot chocolate. You don’t worry about your enemies when it’s been raining for three straight days. No matter who they are or how much they hate you, they will surely let it drop until the weather clears. It’s the sort of assumption that makes your target relax, that makes your bodyguard just a little less vigilant.

  Except there I was, crouching under a dark tarp in the shadows beneath the huge and ancient trees, with a pair of night vision binoculars, watching. A thousand years ago – a thousand lifetimes – I was staking out some fleabag motel room on the outskirts of Washington, DC with my late lamented partner Jim Duffy. We were trying to get a handle on a terrorist bank robbery crew called Ultima Thule, which was really more of a cult led by a would-be Pol Pot known only as Father. And then it all went to hell, and Duffy died, and it was all my fault for complicated reasons. I got transferred out to the FBI’s residential agency in Hennington, Minnesota while the Bureau sorted out just how much personal responsibility they thought I had in the matter. The irony of it all was that I was much guiltier than they would ever realize, since Duffy’s murderer had been hiding out at my house for days while I stupidly tried to save her from the consequences of her own actions. Duffy got a bullet, I got the blame, and as for Jackie Cole… she got all the cult’s money and disappeared.

  All the disciplinary actions in the entire history of the FBI would not have balanced out the scales for that one. While I was in exile, I befriended a professor at the university in Hennington who called himself Andrew Mann, and I started to fall for a grad student he worked with named Astrida Wright, who shared the professor’s interests in alchemy and other obscure subjects. That went bad too, so bad it is now known as the Hennington Incident. My actions in the Hennington Incident would not bear scrutiny, but the FBI didn’t know much about what I’d really been up to in Minnesota – trying to hunt down Father and kill him, that is. The Federal government, like every other government, believes in revenge only when it is the one doing the avenging. I do not share this ideology.

  On the road down below, two shining headlights appeared. They looked like eyes, the eyes of a predator glimmering in the night. But the person approaching in the car was not the predator in this situation.

  I watched from the trees with my binoculars, needing a clear and unequivocal identification before I could move in on my target. I had never met the man, so I had to identify him based on photos and video only. I couldn’t see into the back seat, but as the car pulled into the driveway, the guard at the back of the house walked out front to meet whoever it was. The driver parked and got out, then went back to open the rear door – a VIP, then.

  They were all rushing around, all flustered. The rain was heavy, and nobody wanted to be out in it, and nobody believed there would be a real threat on such a night. The bodyguard glanced around the perimeter in a cursory way, but he was clearly just checking off an item on a mental checklist – not really looking. I waited and watched.

  The man who got out of the car had one of those perfectly coiffed hipster beards, that tech-bro look complete with a shirt the color of Tikka Masala and a very expensive-looking pair of skin-hugging slacks. The driver was holding an umbrella up over his head so not a single unavoidable drop of water would stain the great man’s shirt. I glimpsed at his face, and immediately came out from under my tarp and began to quickly move in across the dark field while they attended to their employer’s needs. The roaring sound of the rainstorm drowned out my approach, and the bodyguard never even glanced back in my direction. I was crouching silently behind the pool shed by the time he turned around again.

  I was close to my goal, but the sordid heaviness of the whole thing started to get to me. I was once an FBI agent, a man with a respected career, an officially certified Good Guy. Now I was hiding in a drenching rainstorm outside of a scared man’s house after my very public firing and repudiation. I could quite easily die in the next few minutes, or be forced to take the life of an innocent man. That was my life now.

  So be it. I eased a nine millimeter handgun out of its holster, shielding it from the rain beneath my coat. I chambered a round as slowly and quietly as possible. It was time, and if I or anyone else at this house had to die tonight, then no one would cry about it.

  We all make choices. Most of my choices are bad ones, and that no longer bothers me.

  Chapter 2

  The guard and the driver brought Zinn into the house, but just as I was about to make my move, another guard came out. He slid open the glass door and stepped out under the eaves where he could shelter from the rain. The guards David Zinn had hired were clearly smart enough to realize that the forested hill at the back of the property was the spot any attackers would most likely come from. Of course, it was too late to worry about that because it had already happened. The attacker in question was behind the pool shed. Not knowing this to be the case, the new guard was peering out through the rain into the shadows of the forest. I ducked back behind the shed so he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of me.

  I hadn’t seen this one before, which meant I didn’t really know how many men there were in the building. But it was worse than that. While I was watching the house from the tree-line, I was dealing with an exhausted, soaking wet and demoralized man who probably didn’t really believe anything would happen that night. Everything about the man’
s body language had spoken of apathy and resignation, which is why I was able to get so far. Now the situation was completely different – the new guard was awake, alert and at least moderately professional.

  As for me, I was cold and wet and increasingly miserable. The tactical set-up was no longer in my favor, but it was also getting worse with every passing minute. The new guy probably wouldn’t lose his edge for three or four hours, and without the tarp over my head I’d be washed away by the rain by the time that happened. I had to make my move.

  I decided to take advantage of the one vulnerability I knew they still had. They knew there was a possibility someone would come, and they correctly believed that the forest was the spot to watch for. It was all but impossible to see anything in the dark of the rain storm, so they would naturally interpret any gunfire as coming from the forest. With any luck, the guard inside the house would actually try to get his client to the car and remove him from the scene while the guard out back engaged the attackers.

  I pointed my gun up at the clouds and fired a single shot. The effect was startling, even though I had put the events in motion myself. All the lights in the house seemed to go off at once, and the guard drew his weapon and opened fire. Someone else did the same from an open window, and a third guy followed suit a few seconds later – perhaps the driver. The night lit up with muzzle flashes and the crack of bullets cutting through branches and plowing at high speed into tree trunks. It was like an artificial lightning storm, complete with thunder.

  I took the opportunity to run around behind the back of the pool and get out to the driveway, where David Zinn’s vehicle gave me something convenient to crouch behind. Ducking down low to avoid being seen by the bodyguards, all I could see in front of me as I ran was dark, wet pavement. The shooting went on for a long time, and I realized they must be panicking at what they probably assumed was a much larger attack. Not so professional after all, as it turns out.

  Just as I had been hoping, the front door opened, and a man with a gun came out and looked around wildly in all directions. The man who had been on guard before. So far, so good. He gestured behind him, and the driver came scurrying out like a frightened cockroach. He must have seen my legs under the car, because he suddenly pointed and yelled something, and then they both started shooting. I scooted over as quickly as I could to get behind the engine block, and the two frightened men filled David Zinn’s Lincoln with every bullet they had left. The windows exploded, and glass dust rained down from every direction. Bullets came whining at high speed through metal and leather, totaling the vehicle in less time than it would take you to buckle your seatbelt. The alarm went off, and the high-pitched siren split the mountain night like some enraged and monstrous bird.

  “Get back inside!” yelled the guard, fumbling as he tried to get a new clip in his weapon. I stood straight up, aiming the gun in the man’s face.

  “Let’s all go in. But drop your gun first.”

  He should have done exactly that, but he was no better at giving up the fight than he had been at winning it while he still could have. He raised his weapon as if to fire, so I put a round in him and he dropped his weapon, falling backward into the doorway with an expression of horror and pain on his face. The driver cried out, running back into the living room as if there was some chance of escape in that direction.

  “You just shot me!” said the guard accusingly, as if I might apologize if someone confronted me with my misdeeds.

  “I could shoot you again,” I pointed out. He crouched down like a kicked dog and let me step right over him, ruling himself out of a spot in the Bodyguards’ Hall of Fame. The wound was in his right shoulder, quite survivable.

  The driver tripped, planting himself face first in the carpet at the feet of his boss. David Zinn stared down at him, as if he couldn’t believe what sort of men he had hired.

  “Where did you find these guys?” I said. “Fiver?”

  “I might as well have,” said Zinn.

  The screen door flew open, and the last of the three guards came in shooting. He almost killed me, as my little witticism about the hired help had distracted me from the task at hand. Three shots in quick succession, two of which blasted holes in the wall behind me and to my left, while the third annihilated a lamp next to the wraparound leather couch.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I said, annoyed, and fired three shots at him which also missed. He ducked back outside, but his boss called out to him.

  “Stop shooting, Daniel! Hold your fire! You’re going to kill me quicker than you kill this guy!”

  Daniel didn’t say anything.

  “Should we try talking instead?” asked David.

  “I’ll try anything once,” I answered.

  Chapter 3

  “I know you’re here to kill me,” said David Zinn, handing me a gin and tonic. I watched him closely as I took the glass. Daniel was still crouching by the door, still armed. If I let my guard down, I was dead.

  “But I have to admit, my feelings are hurt,” he continued, sipping his own drink. “I was sure Vitalius would send more than one person. That’s why I hired so many guards. I was expecting a siege.”

  “Are you saying he should have sent more men?” I asked him. “Because it seems to me that one man was adequate.”

  “I see your point. I should definitely have hired some ex-military guys, someone with serious experience. Instead I went with these Hollywood bodyguards, you know? Security to the stars, that sort of thing.”

  “Tech guys are celebrities now. I understand.”

  “Here’s the thing,” he said. “Daniel, however terrible his marksmanship, is right over there. If you finish the job, there’s at least a fifty-fifty chance he’ll manage to hit you before you can get him. And if we’re being honest here, you missed him too. So this isn’t just a Luke versus the Stormtroopers scenario.”

  “Most people miss most of their shots in close quarters,” I said. “Even cops.”

  Even disgraced former FBI agents.

  “Even so, even so. You can’t really claim to be better than Daniel. Plus, you have to assume that I already called 911, which means you’re working with a hard time limit here even if we are way up in the mountains. So the smart move would be to call it a day. Can’t win ‘em all, right?”

  “And then how would I explain myself to my boss when I got back?”

  “You’re not a freelancer? I thought hitmen were freelancers.”

  “I’m on retainer. They hired me right after you left.”

  “Huh. Well, still. You can die right now or live to fight another day. It’s an easy choice, right?”

  I had to admit, this guy was a cool customer.

  “Shoot this motherfucker!” yelled the wounded guard in the doorway. “Kill him, Daniel!”

  Daniel started to move.

  “Sit still, Daniel!” snapped David. “Don’t fuck this up!”

  He stopped moving.

  “You’ve heard my proposal,” said David. “What’s your counter-offer?”

  “You’ve got brass balls,” I said. “I’ll give you that.”

  “Don’t assume I’m not scared,” he said. “I’m terrified. But more than that, even, I’m quite pissed off.”

  “If my former business partner put out a hit on me, I’d be pissed off too,” I said.

  “Your empathy is appreciated, if slightly disturbing. Don’t you even want to know what I’m pissed off about? Because I was mad before any hit men started showing up. And this is something you could benefit from.”

  “I can’t just…”

  “What, seriously? Hitman’s honor? You took the contract and you have to see it through? Come on, bro! That’s a load of crap!”

  “Well, what are you so pissed off about then? And how can it benefit me?”

  “Now we’re talking. It was my idea. My idea, you get me? Just think about what that’s worth for a minute. We’re talking mucho millions, my friend. Not whatever he’s paying you to kill me. Lots, l
ots more.”

  “What was your idea?” I asked.

  “The whole god damn thing! His so-called Quod Corporation! A single company to hire all the top geniuses from everywhere and get them working on all the new technologies everybody’s been dreaming about – printable electronics, AI house systems, DNA repair, synthetic replacement organs, fucking flying cars, man! Everything! But most of all, the glasses!”

  “The Quod Glasses?”

  “Yeah, although that sure as hell is not what I would have called them. But it’s my tech, you hear me? I built that! And now that crazy old weirdo wants to shut me up?”

  “What’s so important about the Quod Glasses? It’s just VR.”

  “It’s just VR?!” he said with scorn. “Listen to yourself! This is not just your typical everyday virtual reality headset. This tech is revolutionary! This is true immersion. No experiential difference whatsoever between the qualia these glasses make possible and consensus reality. You can live whatever life you want to live!”

  “For the right price,” I said.

  “What are you, a communist? Fuck yeah, for the right price! But that’s not what our pied piper Charles Manson of a CEO wants to do with them, now is it?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’m just the help.”

  “Okay, so you’re not a man of vision,” he said, calming himself with another sip of gin and tonic. I did the same. “But just think about the money. The money, dude! Is there a single grubby dollar bill in what this mystic wants to do with my tech? Not one. Not one! So which would you rather have? A hundred grand for my head, or a hundred million for being smart, for letting this tech be what it’s supposed to be? For helping me instead of him?”

  “It isn’t a hundred grand,” I said with a chuckle.

  David Zinn stopped dead, his gin glass halfway to his lips. “What do you mean?” he asked me sharply.

  “He isn’t giving me a hundred grand for your head,” I said. “It’s a lower figure.”

  “You’re kidding me.”