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  Danger Close

  James P. Sumner

  DANGER CLOSE

  First Edition published in 2021 by Both Barrels Publishing

  Copyright © James P. Sumner 2021

  The right of James P. Sumner to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act 1988.

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior permission of the copyright owner. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  Editing and Cover Design by: bothbarrelsauthorservices.com

  ISBNs:

  978-1-914191-05-3 (eBook)

  978-1-914191-06-0 (Hardback)

  978-1-914191-07-7 (Paperback)

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, situations and events are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, place or event is purely coincidental.

  Visit the author’s website: jamespsumner.com

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  In exchange for your support, you will receive the FREE ebook, The Official Reading Companion, which includes:

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  Interested? Details can be found at the end of this book.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Danger Close

  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

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  A Message

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  The series will continue…

  It’s all coming together…

  Prologue

  April 29, 2020

  * * *

  The bright spring moon cast its pale glow over the building. It was low and unassuming, standing alone in the compound overlooking the nearby port. The gentle lapping of the sea made it seem so peaceful.

  Jericho Stone knelt in the shadows behind a stack of empty crates left haphazardly beside the open loading bay. The other two were closed. Behind him, a handful of vehicles populated the parking lot.

  His breaths were shallow and measured. He felt calm but focused. He stared through a narrow gap in the crates, watching the armed sentry pace back and forth across the entrance.

  Jericho waited until the guard had his back to him before breaking cover. There were no visible security cameras. He stayed low, moving with a grace and agility not befitting a man of his size. Staying in the guard’s blind spot, he edged along the outer wall of the warehouse until he was a few feet away.

  The guard paused just to the left of the entrance. From behind, Jericho noted his relaxed shoulders and the idle shuffling of his weight from one leg to the other. Alert but casual. Professional but tired.

  Slowly, Jericho stood upright. He dwarfed the unsuspecting guard in all dimensions, looming over him. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, clasped a hand over the guard’s mouth, and wrapped one of his giant arms around his neck and throat. Ensuring the crook of his elbow was trapped under the man’s chin, he tightened his grip, forcing consciousness to leave him. Jericho guided the man’s limp body silently to the ground, then resumed his crouch and moved inside.

  He headed left, seeking cover among the racks of shelving, giving him time to look around.

  The warehouse was roughly twice as long as it was wide. Storage racks standing three deep lined both walls, forming a basic network of wide walkways. There was a large space in the middle for unloading trucks. On the opposite wall, another large roller shutter stood closed, which Jericho assumed led to a rear loading bay used by boats. Beside it was a fire exit.

  Arching over it, looking out over the warehouse floor, was a stilted mezzanine and office space. No sign of movement there.

  In the center of the warehouse, illuminated by the overhead fluorescence, were seven men. They stood in a loose circle around a small pile of crates stacked on pallets, all armed.

  Jericho strained to hear what they were saying, but he was too far away. He glanced at the Tech Sleeve strapped to his left forearm. The screen displayed a wireframe blueprint of the building. He needed somewhere he could wait safely until the men left, so he could get close to the crates. Using his fingers to scroll around the screen, he saw a spot that could work. It was farther along the left wall, near his current position. All he had to do was—

  “Don’t move.”

  Jericho rolled his eyes. He heard the voice behind him at the same moment he felt the gun barrel press against his head.

  Still crouched, he spun around on the spot, resting a knee on the ground as he looked up at the guard. His face was mostly obscured by shadow. He was dressed like the others, in an unmarked black uniform. Jericho looked at the barrel of the assault rifle, which stared back at him with its deadly, unblinking eye.

  “Who the hell are you?” asked the guard. “What are you doing here?”

  Jericho shrugged. “Looking for the men’s room. Too many late-night lattes, y’know.”

  “Get up. You’re coming with me.”

  “If you say so…”

  Jericho stood. The guard watched him rise up like a behemoth from the depths of the ocean. His eyes widened involuntarily. The gun barrel wavered.

  “Go,” said the guard. “N-nice and easy.”

  Jericho smiled. “Sure thing, Chief.”

  They walked out from behind the storage racks, into the wide strip of moonlight by the entrance. A hard jab of the gun barrel in his back told Jericho to head left, toward the group of men. As they approached, the group fell silent, turning as one to look at the new arrival. They all exchanged concerned glances.

  Jericho had always been a naturally big guy. His physique was the product of generous genetics and combat. But recently, at the relentless behest of his colleagues, he had begun to spend time in the gym at whichever GlobaTech facility was nearest at the time. He soon found his limits and started pushing them. Benching three hundred-plus pounds every morning for a few months had an impact. His large frame had almost doubled in size, and the definition on his body made him appear almost inhuman. His dark, long-sleeve tee clung to him as if it were three sizes too small, showing every ripple of muscle he had.

  He was aware of how intimidating he looked.

  A man from the group stepped forward to meet them. A thick mustache rested on a face that time had been unkind to.

  “Who the hell is this?” he asked.

  The guard stepped to the side, having been completely hidden from view behind Jericho. “Sir, I caught him over by the door. Found Steve out cold outside.”

  The man looked at Jericho. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m a reporter,”
said Jericho. “I’m following a lead for a story I’m working on.”

  “Uh-huh. I’ve never seen a reporter look like you.” He glanced over his shoulder to one of his colleagues. “Search him.”

  Another man from the group stepped forward. Jericho glared as he began frisking him. The man pulled a wallet from Jericho’s back pocket and tossed it to the man in charge, who opened it.

  His eyes narrowed with concern. “GlobaTech?”

  Immediately, every man took a step away and trained their guns on Jericho.

  “This is private property,” said the man with the mustache. “GlobaTech has no jurisdiction. We could have you arrested for trespassing.”

  Jericho nodded. “You could. But you won’t.”

  “Yeah? And why’s that?”

  “Because you’re Byron Tully—a mercenary who, last we checked, worked for Tristar Security. I have to assume the rest of you assholes do too. Given you haven’t had a ton of good press lately, I’m also assuming that whatever you’re doing here isn’t something you want anyone knowing about. You’re not calling anyone.”

  Tully lowered his gun and smirked. “Well, aren’t you a fountain of knowledge.” He took a quick look at Jericho’s ID. “You have a big problem, Mr. Stone. There are eight of us and one of you. We have guns and you don’t. And we can’t let you leave here and risk exposure.”

  Jericho looked around, assessing his options. No one was within arm’s length, so grabbing a gun wasn’t an option. He knew Tully wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in him and drop him in the ocean outside. All he could do was keep him talking.

  “You got it all wrong,” said Jericho. “I don’t have a big problem. I am one. See, the first thing I’m gonna do is grab this guy’s gun—” He nodded to the man nearest to him on the left. “—and use it to smash you in the face. Then I’m gonna put a bullet in everyone’s leg. Unless you do something foolish, like try to kill me, in which case the bullet goes a little higher.”

  Tully stared at him for a moment, then broke out in genuine laughter. The men around him followed suit.

  “Jesus… you’re something else, you know that?” he said. “That’s funny. That’s real goddamn funny.”

  Jericho narrowed his eyes, boring his gaze into him like a drill. “Do I sound like I’m joking to you?”

  Tully’s smile faded. He re-aimed his gun. “Honestly? No. I think you were serious, which is why I’m going to kill you now.”

  Tully’s finger slid into the trigger guard. Jericho glanced around again, seeing if his options had changed since he last checked.

  They hadn’t.

  He clenched his fists and set his jaw. He had to make a move.

  A loud, mechanical whirring noise echoed around the warehouse. Everyone looked over, distracted by the shutters closing on the loading bay. A split-second later, there was another loud click and the lights went out, plunging the whole area into darkness.

  Jericho took his chance. He ducked left, navigating from memory, and grabbed the man nearest to him. He forced the gun barrel up as a burst of panicked fire sounded, then jabbed the gun backward, forcing the stock in the man’s face and knocking him out. He scuttled away to the nearby storage racks as more gunfire began to ring out. The bursts provided flashes of light that briefly outlined the frantic movements of the group.

  The men spun around, shooting blind and high, aiming at a presumed enemy.

  Amateur hour, thought Jericho.

  He waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Over the chorus of bullets, he heard the grunt of a man hitting the floor. He let out a relieved sigh, then stepped back toward the group. He moved with devastating grace around the perimeter of the circle, landing precise, heavy blows to incapacitate everyone he encountered.

  The firing stopped. From the lights going out to total silence, less than two minutes had passed.

  A hollow clunk sounded as the lights burst back to life, bathing the warehouse with their fluorescent glow. Seven men lay unconscious on the floor. Tully was sitting upright, resting against the crates, cradling his nose. Blood trickled over his hand.

  Standing beside him, smiling, was Ray Collins.

  “You took your time.”

  “What?” Ray shrugged. “I was back there, doing the thing.”

  “What thing?”

  “Ya know… putting the thing in the other thing and pressing buttons until the bar on the screen reached one hundred percent.” He rolled his eyes, exasperated. “The thing!”

  Jericho raised an eyebrow. “And there I was wondering why you never got that job in I.T.”

  Collins chuckled. “We all have our strengths, big fella. Mine’s charm and tech stuff. Yours is… well, being all big and scary and whatnot.”

  “Well, you could’ve hit the lights earlier. I’m not bulletproof.”

  “You’re not? See, I figured since ya have arms that resemble the legs of us mere mortals, bullets just bounced off ya.”

  “Whatever. Did you get it?”

  Collins held up a flash drive and waved it at him. “All here. Shipping manifests and buyer information.”

  Jericho nodded. “Good. Let me get some pictures of the weapons for Buchanan, then we can get out of here.”

  He moved over to the nearest crate and lifted the lid. Collins grabbed a gun and covered Tully.

  Jericho’s forehead creased with a deep frown. “Huh…”

  Collins looked over. “What is it, buddy?”

  Jericho reached inside the crate and pulled out a small teddy bear, roughly twelve inches long, dressed in a blue sweater and red hat. He held it up so that Collins could see.

  “Teddy bears?” said Collins.

  “I don’t understand,” said Jericho. “Our intel was solid. We saw the satellite feeds. We know Tristar are shipping weapons out of here.”

  Collins walked over to the crates, keeping the gun trained on Tully one-handed. He reached inside and grabbed another bear, examining it closely.

  “I mean… are they, like, dangerous teddy bears?” He shook it next to his ear curiously.

  Jericho ripped the head off the bear he was holding, then pulled the stuffing out, searching inside it to no avail. He discarded it and leaned inside the crate, repeating the process with a few others to the same result. Finally, he began unceremoniously tossing all the bears out across the floor, looking to the bottom of the crate for any signs of illegal arms trafficking.

  Collins scoffed. “Man, I bet the temper tantrums ya threw as a kid were something else. Jesus…”

  Jericho stepped back and stared at the crate. “Nothing. I don’t get it.”

  Collins knelt beside Tully, prodding his head with the barrel of the gun. “Hey, numbnuts, what gives? Where’s all ya guns and the like, eh?”

  Tully moved his hand away from his nose. “Go to hell.”

  “Ah, bollocks to ya.” Collins slammed the gun into the side of Tully’s head, knocking him out. “Jerry, maybe we should, ya know, make like a shepherd and get the flock outta here. No way these assholes don’t have back-up.”

  Jericho shook his head. “We’re not leaving without the evidence.”

  “We have the drive. That’s good data right there.”

  “No, Ray, that’s proof that Tristar Security is shipping teddy bears overseas. Sadly, that isn’t illegal. We have to find hard proof of weapons trafficking…” He trailed off. “Wait a minute.”

  Collins frowned. “What is it?”

  Jericho looked inside the now-empty crate, then stepped back to look at the outside.

  “Sonofabitch,” he muttered.

  “Jerry, can ya stop speaking in riddles and tell me—”

  Jericho grabbed the side of the crate and tore it off with little more than a grunt. It splintered and snapped as almost the entire piece of wood cracked apart. He tossed it aside.

  “Never mind,” said Collins, moving to his side. “Christ…”

  The two of them looked at what remained of the crate. The bottom of i
t was false. Exposed beneath it was a row of weapons.

  They looked at each other and smiled.

  “Bingo,” said Jericho. He retrieved his phone so that he could take a picture.

  Behind them, a crackle of static buzzed. They both turned as a distorted voice spoke out.

  “Tully, are you there? What’s going on?” There was a pause. “Tully? Okay, we’re sending a team to your location right now.”

  They looked at each other again.

  “Hate to say I told ya so, Jerry, but ya best get ya pictures,” said Collins. “We’re about to have company.”

  Jericho crouched in front of the crate and snapped various shots of the weapons.

  Collins threw the gun down and grabbed the unconscious Tully. He dragged him upright and rested him against the crate.

  “One for the family album,” he said, smiling.

  Jericho got the final photo, and they headed toward the shutters. Collins pressed the screen of his Tech Sleeve, and the doors began to open. Jericho glanced over at him, surprised.

  Collins winked. “Told ya, Jerry. Tech stuff.”

  They stepped out into the night. The calm breeze carried with it a chill brought in from the sea. They made their way across the lot, jumped over the barrier, and made a left toward their vehicle.

  Jericho squeezed in behind the wheel. Collins slid in beside him. They pulled away without looking back; the mission was completed.