Chapter 53
“You intend to keep the prototype off the market,” I said.
“Look who catches on quick,” the American said. His name was Jordan Bingham, the head of Novenergy Petroleum.
“This prototype has the power to democratize energy. Everyone will have it, and it will cost next to nothing. That’s bad for profits. But when the time is right, we’ll sell our assets, short the market, and sell this to the world.” The dollar signs glowed in his eyes.
"What does Raul get out of it?"
"You can call it a symbiotic relationship," Jordan said. "We launder his cash, and he greases the wheels of production in San Montego. He ensures our facilities don't run into issues. It is in both of our interests that the status quo continues.”
Jordan placed the synthetic hand on the case and activated the biometrics.
In an instant, the case clicked open.
Jordan lifted the lid with eager eyes, but his face turned sour when he stared at the contents. Anger reddened his cheeks, and his jaw clenched tight. The veins in his forehead bulged. "Where is it!?”
I gave him a dumb look. "I don't know."
He grabbed the case and threw it against the wall, shattering a picture in a fit of rage. Shards of glass rained down. "Where is it!”
"I'm telling you, I don't know. I've never opened the case.”
Jordan marched to one of the goons, snatched a pistol from him, then grabbed Paisley and put the weapon to her head. "Where is it? You have three seconds to tell me, or I'm going to blow her head off. Three… Two…”
Paisley trembled with fear, her eyes tortured.
"If it's not in the case, I don't know where it is," I said. I thought for a moment. "Todd. He must have opened the case and taken the prototype."
Jordan glared at me. "Todd? You’re telling me some random ass-clown got this case open? How? I went to great lengths to get the fingerprints from the stiff at the morgue and have that synthetic hand made. There is no way some jerkoff got into that briefcase before I did.”
"Then where is it?" I said.
Jordan glared at me. "That's what I'm asking you!”
"It's gotta be in the car," Paisley said.
"What!?" Jordan snapped.
"Mercer must have stashed it in my car. He gave me the briefcase as a decoy.”
Jordan growled in frustration, flailing his arms, shaking, and stomping about. At least he didn't have the gun against Paisley’s head anymore.
He was a temperamental little shit.
Jordan grumbled a few obscenities, then tried to compose himself. He took a deep breath and forced himself to speak in a calm voice. "Where is Paisley's car now?"
"It's in the impound lot," I said.
"If it's in the impound lot, then I don't need any of you anymore.” He aimed the pistol at me.
“You need us to access the impound lot.”
Jordan laughed. “Because it’s soooo secure,” he mocked. “Sorry. Your time’s up.”
The muscles in his jaw flexed, and his finger wrapped around the trigger.
The goons standing behind me moved out of the way.
“Not inside,” Raul grumbled.
Jordan groaned in frustration. “Take them into the jungle and shoot them.”
Antonio said, “I think now is a good time to mention that I just drive the boat.”
Jordan glared at him. “Kill him first.”
Antonio frowned.
“Leave the girl,” Jordan said. “I kind of like having her around. You never know when she might come in handy.”
I glared at the scumbag.
Paisley looked at me with terrified eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. She screeched in horror as another thug grabbed her.
Two thugs marched us out of the house and across the clearing.
The warehouse still smoldered and hissed.
With machine guns at our backs, they forced us toward the tree line.
The closer we got to the jungle, the more panicked Antonio got. His eyes darted about, looking for an exit route.
There wasn’t one.
Anxiety took over. Antonio bolted in the opposite direction, running as fast as he could. The goons swung their barrels toward Antonio.
The distraction was enough for me and JD to strike.
Muzzle flash flickered, and gunfire erupted.
Bullets streaked across the clearing toward Antonio.
JD and I wrestled the weapons away from the scumbags and thoroughly vented them as they reached for backup pistols.
They twisted and convulsed with each hit, crimson spewing.
Antonio had gotten tagged in the thigh. He tumbled to the ground. Blood spurted from the wound, soaking into the dirt as he writhed and moaned in agony.
Jack ran across the clearing to give aid. He knelt down beside him and put pressure on the wound, trying to stop the flow of blood.
I grabbed an extra magazine and a pistol from a dirtbag and advanced to an ATV and took cover.
Two goons spilled out of the house with rifles shouldered.
I lined one up in my sights, squeezed the trigger, and fired off two rounds.
The thug twitched with each hit and tumbled back.
Bullets snapped in my direction as the other returned fire.
I readjusted my aim and took out the other creep.
More blood spewed, and the goon dropped to the ground in front of the house.
I scanned the house and grounds, looking for additional threats.
The place was silent and still for the moment.
I glanced at JD as he treated Antonio, then I advanced closer to the house, taking cover behind another vehicle.
From there, I darted to the front door and held up at the frame. I swung the door open, angled the barrel of my rifle into the foyer, and was met with muzzle flash.
I ducked for cover around the frame as bullets streaked in my direction.
After a short burst, I angled my weapon around the frame again and squeezed the trigger. Bullets chewed up drywall at the corner where the goon had taken cover. The copper minions of death pierced the wall and pelted his torso as he hid behind it.
He groaned and crumpled.
His comrade in the living room had taken cover behind the sofa and unleashed a torrent of bullets. They chewed up the door frame and shattered glass as I took cover.
Adrenaline coursed through my veins.
I backed away and circled around the house to the patio.
I had a clear view of the living room through a large window wall.
The thug by the sofa still focused on the front door.
I took the opportunity to unload a few shots through the window, peppering the scumbag.
Crimson splattered the white leather sofa.
My bullets had webbed the window with cracks, but it was still intact.
I grabbed a decorative rock from the patio and hurled it through the window, shattering it. Shards danced on the tile and the concrete outside.
I advanced to the window frame with caution, angled my rifle inside, and swept the barrel across the space.
Glass crunched under my boots as I stepped through the window frame with caution. I advanced to the dead guy by the couch, knelt down, and felt for a pulse in his neck just to be sure.
He was long gone.
The guy by the foyer still moaned and groaned.
I angled my weapon over the sofa at him. He clutched his wounds with his hands, trying to stem the tide of blood, but failed miserably. His rifle lay across his lap.
I crept around the sofa, moving toward him, keeping a wary eye on my surroundings.
The thug made a move for his rifle.
I fired two more shots into his chest.
Shell casings danced against the tile, and the goon went limp. He lay on the floor in a pool of blood.
I cleared the kitchen, the living room, and the downstairs guest bedroom.
An eerie silence filled the house.
I moved back to the edge of the foyer and angled my rifle skyward toward the balcony as I inched forward.
Muzzle flash lit up the night, peppering the tile as I stepped into the foyer.
I darted back.
Raul leaned over the balcony, blasting away.
If he was on the frontlines, there were no more underlings. Just him, Jordan, and Paisley.
I aimed my rifle at the ceiling and squeezed off a flurry of bullets.
The minions of death tore through, shredding Raul as he stood above. He groaned, tumbled forward, and fell over the balcony. Raul flopped flat on his back on the hard tile in the foyer. He moaned and gurgled, unable to move.
I put two more bullets into him to end his misery, then crept into the foyer. I kicked his weapon away and crossed to the floating stairs. I took a wary step up. With my barrel aimed at the top of the staircase, I inched forward.
As my head crested the top of the second-floor landing, muzzle flash lit up the darkness.
I ducked as bullets snapped past my head, peppering the drywall.
This was a bad tactical position.