“Sir,” said one of them, addressing Schultz. “Are we okay here?”
Josh took a step toward them, holding one hand out at them, and the other at Jericho.
“Boys, we’re fine,” he replied. “Just… stand down. Jericho, listen to me — we’re not your enemy. You have to calm down and trust us. If you leave now, and the CIA finds out you’re still alive before we want them to, you’ll be dead within the hour.”
Jericho was standing in a loose fighting stance; his arms up in a low boxing guard, his muscles flexed. He felt like a caged animal. His instinct was to run — not through fear, but because he knew he had to distance himself from everything and everyone until he could figure out who he could really trust.
He took a step toward the group of four. He had to get out of there…
“Jericho, stop!” pleaded Josh. “There was no easy way of telling you about your injuries, and I’m sorry if you feel we violated your rights, but you need to let us explain!”
“Don’t fucking tell me what I need to do!” he shouted back, losing all control of his emotions. He felt an adrenaline rush surge through him, like a wave of fire touching every part of him. He made no attempt to control it. He just needed time…
Without another word, two of the men moved toward him. Jericho responded by stepping to meet them and throwing a straight, heavy right hand at the man on his left. He threw it with very little backswing, knowing the majority of the power lay within the first inch or two of movement. Basic physics — the farther you travel, the more momentum you lose. The punch exploded forward, catching the man on the side of the face, below the cheekbone, where the jaw bends. The strength and the fury contained within the blow sent him crashing to the floor, where he landed in an unconscious heap.
The man on the right moved to grab him, but Jericho gripped his outstretched right arm and pulled him toward his own body. As he did, he threw a short, sharp, right elbow, jabbing the man just below his Adam’s apple, causing him to start choking. The guy dropped to his knees, clutching at his throat; his eyes wide with panic. Jericho turned, slamming his left knee hard into the guy’s left temple, which was the perfect height for it. He flew sideways, crashing into the wall.
Jericho turned toward the door as the remaining two men charged him. He leaned forward, dropping his right shoulder, and met the man on his left head-on. They collided, which knocked the wind out of the GlobaTech operative. Jericho then scooped him up with considerable ease and launched him into the far wall, as if he was discarding the trash. The man hit the wall with his body five feet off the floor, smashing into the TV screen. He landed heavily, and the remains of the TV dropped on him a second later.
The remaining operative threw a kick with his right leg, aimed at Jericho’s right side. But Jericho saw it coming in the corner of his good eye, and turned to meet it. He caught it mid-air, by hooking his left arm around it, and held him steady for a moment, before sweeping the guy’s left leg out from under him. He kept a hold of the guy’s right leg as he fell, landing flat on his back. He looked up, helpless, as Jericho hooked his arms around the man’s ankle and twisted violently, expertly snapping it so the foot faced inward at a ninety-degree angle. The man screamed in pain, clutching at his twisted extremity.
Jericho paused for a split second, stared at both Josh and Schultz, and then bolted out of the room. He turned left, into a brightly lit corridor, lined on either side by rooms just like the one he’d been in. He was on the fourth floor, and he knew it’d be difficult to get out of the building, and the compound, without attracting further attention.
There was a small vestibule at the end of the corridor, where the elevators were. Jericho glanced over his shoulder as he pressed the button, but no one was following him. He figured they’d simply be calling ahead to have more men waiting for him on the first floor.
The doors slid open, and he stepped inside, pressing the button for the second. He thought it best to get off early and take the stairs, in an effort to throw them off their game a little.
After a few moments, the elevator dinged and the doors opened again. Jericho stepped out onto a crowded office floor, bustling with noise and activity. There must’ve been close to two hundred people busying themselves around the expanse in front of him, navigating walkways made from the spaces between banks of computers and filing cabinets.
No one paid him any attention as he strode through the office, toward the fire exit he’d spotted halfway along on the right hand side of the floor. At first, he thought it strange, but then he realized he was dressed like a GlobaTech operative, so it made sense that he’d blend in.
He made it to the fire exit without incident and pushed the door open, casually stepping inside the cold, concrete column that he assumed ran the full height of the east wall. He descended the metal steps quickly; his footsteps echoing loudly in the otherwise silent stairwell.
He opened the door at the bottom, and was hit by a blast of warm air from outside, which felt more significant after being inside such a cold part of the building. He squinted in the glare of the sun as he looked around the compound spread out around him. Units of soldiers were still marching in formation, and vehicles were still traversing the small, impressive community.
He couldn’t see any way to get out of there. Even though he was dressed like everyone else, he was hardly inconspicuous. He knew he didn’t have much time before people located him. He broke into a jog and headed across the compound.
Within seconds, a man dressed identically to him, though much smaller, approached him, taking out a weapon and pointing it at Jericho’s chest. His hand was shaking.
“D-don’t move!” he yelled. “You need to come with me, r-right now!”
Jericho ignored the gun, completely dismissing the man as a threat, and stepped in close to him, keeping the gap between them to a minimum and restricting what movement and options the man had.
He looked him in the eye and smiled, with little humor. “No, I really don’t. Now, get the fuck out of my way — I’m kind of in a hurry.”
The man held his ground, although his gun wavered a little. Jericho saw the doubt and reacted in a flash. He grabbed the guy’s outstretched wrist and pulled him sharply toward him as he raised his right arm. The incoming face was met by Jericho’s outgoing elbow, which connected sweetly with the man’s jaw. His head whipped back from the impact, and his body fell limp almost instantly. Jericho let go of the wrist, quickly catching the man’s handgun.
As the body hit the floor, there was a flurry of movement off to the right, which Jericho caught in his peripheral vision. A group of ten men, all wearing the same clothes, appeared and lined up in front of him; their weapons drawn and aimed with every intention of being used.
“Jericho Stone,” said one of the men. “You’re to come with us immediately. We will use force if necessary.”
Jericho spun to face them, holding the weapon in two hands, ready for action. He eyed each man individually, finally resting his gaze on the one who spoke. He seemed hesitant, lacking confidence in his own words, and was looking over his shoulder for reassurance from his colleagues.
Jericho shook his head in disbelief. Ten guns aimed at one man, yet they’re the ones who are nervous. Although, he’d had years of experience dealing with situations that were far worse, which gave him a considerable advantage.
It’s all about confidence. If you stand tall, control your breathing, and don’t blink, you can look incredibly intimidating to a lot of people. It doesn’t hurt when you have a physique that looks like it was carved out of a mountain, either.