The Devil You Know Read online

  The Devil You Know

  James P. Sumner

  THE DEVIL YOU KNOW

  First Edition published in 2021 by Both Barrels Publishing Ltd.

  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:

  978-1-914191-14-5 (eBook)

  978-1-914191-15-2 (Hardback)

  978-1-914191-16-9 (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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  Contents

  The Devil You Know

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Five Months Later

  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

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  A Message

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  The series will continue…

  Quick, even for me…

  The Devil You Know

  Adrian Hell: Book 9

  1

  November 5, 2019 – 09:37 EST

  There’s an old saying about the definition of madness—that it’s doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results. Yet here I am, wondering what the fuck I’m doing for, at minimum, the sixth time in the last two years.

  This time will be different, right?

  Yeah… right.

  A little under three weeks ago, I was sitting in a bar in Tokyo, minding my own business and enjoying a nice, cold beer. I tried to do one honorable thing and wound up sitting here, still finding it painful to take a deep breath.

  I guess I’ll never learn.

  Besides, it’s not like I had a choice. It wasn’t fate that shaped my journey this time. It was a phone call from a friend in a high place. Well, perhaps friend is a bit much. But still… I couldn’t exactly say no.

  I’m just thankful that Ruby has been so understanding. She nursed me back to health after the yacht explosion. She stood by me without hesitation when I was asked to leave Tokyo. She said as long as she was with me, she didn’t care where we were.

  She then teased me for the duration of the flight about my fear of heights. I stand by that fear, given my history of things going to shit whenever my feet leave the ground.

  Honestly, she’s just like Josh—only hot and far more open to sleeping with me.

  I smile to myself as my mind wanders off to a memory of my old friend. I forget where we were. Possibly Florida. It was warm. We were checking into a motel on the outskirts of the city. I was there to work a contract. Josh was always in charge of the logistics and the admin. He was usually good at it too. But on this particular occasion, he had booked us into a motel when a gay rights protest was in town. The receptionist saw two guys checking in and assumed, I guess. We got to the room to find one king-sized bed and flowers on the nightstand. I seem to recall a lot of eyerolling on my part. But Josh… oh, he loved it. Camped it up the entire stay, insisting that he would be the big spoon.

  I took the floor, which he said was a gentlemanly thing to do. Then he reminded me that I wouldn’t stand a chance with him anyway.

  After the job was done, we left town. On the way out of the motel lot, he played It’s Raining Men on the radio.

  He was a dick, but he always made situations fun. Never took himself or this life too seriously. Sometimes I think he only did it for my benefit. I was in a dark place then. He knew his job was to keep me from eating a bullet long enough to get through it. I remember when we got back in touch, after The Order had sent me to kill him, thinking how stressed out he looked. How tired he was. Understandable, given he was running GlobaTech at the time, but I remember wondering if that’s just how he was without the burden of keeping me entertained.

  I miss him. Every goddamn day.

  I snap back into the here and now at the sound of a friendly, female voice.

  “Sir, you can go in now.”

  I look over at the secretary, who’s sitting behind the desk opposite me.

  “Hmm?”

  She smiles patiently and points to the dark oak door behind her. “I said you can go through. The president is waiting for you.”

  I let out a quiet sigh of resignation. No turning back now.

  “Right. Thank you.”

  The chair in the large vestibule outside the Oval Office is a little too comfortable, and I struggle to get out of it. As I stand straight, more things creak and crack on my body than I can identify.

  Getting blown up on a boat sucks.

  I knock once on the door, then push it open. I pause in the threshold as I take in the Oval Office before me. I liken it to Niagara Falls. It has this mystique about it that never fails to inspire awe.

  I glance around at the pictures of former presidents on the wall. At the seal in the middle of the navy carpet. At the Resolute desk and the man sitting behind it.

  President Schultz looks over and gestures me inside.

  “Come on in, son,” he says with that distinctive southern drawl. “You look like a goddamn spare part standing over there.”

  I smile politely and step inside, closing the door behind me. He stands as I approach the desk and moves around it to greet me. He extends his hand, which I shake.

  “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” he says.

  I shrug. “Did I really have a choice?”

  Schultz smiles. “Not really. But manners cost nothing.”

  I look around the room again.

  “Been a while since I was last here.” I nod toward the desk. “I see you managed to get your desk cleaned.”

  Schultz sighs, frowning. “Yeah. That desk is a hundred and forty years old. A real piece of American history. And you ruined it with a goddamn bloodstain.”

  “Yeah, but it was a bad guy’s bloodstain, so that’s okay. Bit of spit shine and varnish and it’s as good as new. Besides, that bloodstain helped you get your jo
b.” I smile. “You’re welcome.”

  Schultz rolls his eyes. “So you keep reminding me. Not been feeling thankful for it lately.”

  “Being a politician getting you down, Ryan?”

  He points his finger at me. His expression hardens. “Listen to me, you arrogant son’bitch. You get a lot of leeway for reasons still passing my understanding, but in this building, in this room, it’s Mr. President.”

  I hold my hands up. “Apologies.”

  He nods once. “Thank you. I don’t give a damn what you think of me personally, but respect the office.”

  I nod back. “I do… when there’s someone inside it worth respecting.”

  He ignores me and walks over to the sofas in the middle of the room. “Take a seat, son.”

  I do. He sits opposite.

  “I’m gonna cut right to the chase, Adrian. The world’s changing. Our way of life is evolving. Many folks still have a long way to go. For others, it’s business as usual in unusual times. That’s in no small part down to GlobaTech Industries. Their aid, security, and advancements in technology have made recovering from 4/17 achievable in the same lifetime it happened.”

  I listen intently, waiting for the but.

  “But…”

  There it is.

  “…they’re also their own worst enemy. Terrorism and warfare are evolving too—and at a rate few people can keep up with. The U.S. military is being left behind. GlobaTech has stopped working its defense contracts. It makes weapons for itself, not for us. Man for man, Buchanan’s boys ain’t all that far behind our own army. We’re losing good men and women to the private sector because they see more action and make more money there.

  “On top of that, most of our old enemies are no longer enemies. Hell, some of them are barely even countries anymore. In these unprecedented times of fragile, global peace, I’ve got more red tape coming out of my ass than ever before. We can’t do anything that might offend one of our new allies. Honestly, I don’t know if all this is a blessing or a curse.”

  I shrug. “The fact that we’re not at war with anyone is good, surely?”

  “You would think. I’m not saying I miss the good ol’ days of bombing the Middle East so they don’t blow up our buildings, but at least back then, we had an enemy we could fight. Nowadays, GlobaTech do a lot of the fighting. Small time stuff—opportunistic warlords in decimated countries, stolen medical supplies, that kind of thing. The U.N. contract lets them fix those problems without the bullshit I gotta go through to send our troops there.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “In a way. The only battles left to fight are ones our military isn’t equipped for. The larger enemies have better weapons and technology, more control over the media, and, therefore, more influence on the public. Hell, son, I could be overthrown by a goddamn Twitter post nowadays.”

  I sigh. “I feel for you, Ry—Mr. President. I really do. But what does any of this have to do with me?”

  “I’m working on an initiative that will give the U.S. government its own version of Buchanan’s D.E.A.D. unit. A small team, accountable to no one but me, who can do what needs to be done without the paperwork and the committees. Hidden within an existing system.”

  I frown. “Why not just borrow Buchanan’s? I’ve heard nothing but good things about them. The big guy hates me, but he’s capable. I’ve spoken to the woman once. She seemed useful. I know Ray. Hell, he’s part of the reason I’m able to be here.”

  Schultz shakes his head. “I can’t be seen outsourcing when the going gets tough. It devalues our own military.”

  I shrug. “You just got through saying our military isn’t up to the job anymore. How is that not devaluing them?”

  “Our combined forces will once again be seen as the standard in global militia, but it takes time. And honestly, I don’t think we have a lot of that. I need a solution now.”

  I nod. “Okay, but what about all the special forces units you already have? SEALs, Delta, Rangers… countless CIA operatives that no one admits to having. Those guys are elite. Surely, they can do the job?”

  Schultz sighs. His expression is strained, probably because he resents the need to have this conversation in the first place. The crow’s feet next to his eyes stand out like emblems of a necessary evil.

  “Those fellas are the best at a standard of warfare that’s no longer relevant,” he says. “The battles being waged are geopolitical. To put it bluntly, we need a smart scalpel, not a dumb hammer.”

  “Jesus, say what you mean, sir.”

  “I want the best of what we have to be brought together and trained to survive in this new world. I want them to think like our new enemies, to fight them on their terms and win, without anyone knowing we’ve adapted.”

  I shift in my seat. “Sounds like a great plan, Mr. President. But I have to ask… why are you telling me?”

  Schultz doesn’t say anything. He holds my gaze as a long silence falls on the Oval Office.

  I look back at him.

  Seconds tick by.

  …

  …

  …

  Then the penny drops.

  He can’t mean…

  He does, doesn’t he?

  My shoulders slump forward. I let out a heavy sigh.

  “Oh.”

  2

  09:52 EST

  “You want me to lead this team.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  Schultz nods. “I do, son. Your president’s calling on you to serve your country.”

  “But… why? I mean, I’m flattered, but seriously… why? You have SEALs, Marines, those Delta boys… I would think twice about going up against any one of them on my best day, never mind now.”

  He smiles patiently. “Look, I’ve always been honest about my opinions on what you do for a living.”

  “Did.”

  “Whatever. Whether I like it or agree with it is irrelevant. Fact of the matter is this: on your worst day, you’re at least top three in your…” He pauses to clear his throat. “Chosen field. You’re perfect for this.”

  I’m trying hard not to look confused by his logic, but it’s difficult.

  “That’s kind of you to say, Mr. President, but I think you’re forgetting that I just got my ass handed to me in front of sixty million people by a girl who isn’t old enough to drink. I’m pushing fifty. My worst days aren’t as good as they used to be.”

  He scoffs. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to be modest, or if you’re just plain stupid.”

  I shrug. “Probably the latter.”

  “The way you approach things. The way you see situations. It’s unique. And it’s not just your perspective. It’s how you act on what you decide needs to be done. Execution without hesitation—no pun intended.”

  I let slip a small smile.

  “As good as our elite is, they still have limits and restrictions. You don’t. That’s what I need you to teach these people. That’s the only way they will survive long enough in the new world to stop the fight that’s coming.”

  Silence falls. My eyes instinctively narrow at Schultz. This is probably the nicest he’s ever been to me. Certainly the most complimentary. He’s really giving this the hard sell.

  I look closer. He keeps fidgeting with the cuffs of his suit jacket and straightening his stars-and-stripes lapel pin. His smile and friendliness feel forced—not ingenuine but enough to betray his true feelings.

  The president’s desperate.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” I ask. “What do you know that I don’t?”

  Schultz holds my gaze for what feels like an hour.

  “Son, the sheer weight of what I know could sink a cruise ship. Unfortunately, a lot of what we have is hearsay and educated guesswork.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Educated?”

  He pulls a face. “Well, it’s NSA intel…”

  We exchange a brief smile, sharing a tragic inside joke.

  We’ve both been on the
receiving end of the NSA’s intelligence gathering in the past. Turns out it wasn’t all that accurate. Yes, there were extenuating circumstances, but still… it left a sour taste in our mouths.

  He continues. “I’m working closely with Buchanan and GlobaTech to get something more solid. But until we do, we’re operating on a worst-case scenario basis. The future of warfare is knocking on our door, Adrian. We need to be able to answer it when the time comes.”

  “Is it really that bad?”

  He shrugs, searching for the words. “If Moses is right, we’re looking at a threat to our freedom and security on a scale hitherto unforeseen.”

  I let out a low whistle and absently scratch the back of my head. “Damn. It must be bad if you’re using the word hitherto.”

  Schultz rolls his eyes. “Joke all you want, son. But the storm’s a-coming, and we’re sailing into it without a lifeboat. We need you.”

  I have to admit, it’s a hell of a pitch. Something definitely has him worried. That isn’t enough to make me jump on board, but the fact that Buchanan and GlobaTech are involved and equally spooked gives it more credibility.

  But I don’t want this. I can still just about walk unaided. After the last few weeks, I want to retire. And not Tokyo retire… I mean actually retire. Hang up the guns for good and spend my days on a beach, staring at Ruby in a bikini.