Jericho watched as the first man, their target, stepped onto the tarmac, got down on his knees, and crossed his ankles behind him, putting his hands on his head. Chris Black, the remaining member of Jericho’s team, and the man sent to retrieve the target followed, aiming his gun with a professional steadiness at the back of his prisoner’s head.
Weapons ready, the squad made their way over to the runway. Jericho had taken point, with LaSharde and Santiago behind him, and Baker completing the diamond formation at the back. They stopped a few meters away from the target, forming a neat line.
Jericho was on the far right, and he stepped forward, moving in front of the target. The moon was high and the sky was clear, providing ample illumination on the proceedings. He regarded the man for a moment. He had a shaved head and two-day old stubble on his chin. He was a decent size — a strong build, but not overly muscular. He noted the man’s eyes — they were ice-blue, like a husky, and shone brightly in the moonlight. He didn’t look panicked; he exuded an almost arrogant calmness, despite his current predicament.
“Adrian Hell?” asked Jericho, adjusting the grip on his FAMAS, more for effect than necessity.
“Used to be,” replied the man, shrugging casually.
“Welcome to Colombia. On your feet.” Adrian stood, looking around with an absent curiosity. “Now, where’s the laptop?” asked Jericho.
Adrian settled his gaze on the mountain of a man in front of him and frowned. “What laptop?”
“The one you stole approximately fourteen hours ago. It’s government property, and you’re going to hand it over immediately.”
“So, you work for the government?” he asked.
Jericho didn’t answer. He simply looked on, intrigued by the man’s approach to the situation.
“You guys have me confused with someone else, clearly,” continued Adrian. “The laptop I stole belonged to a known terrorist. I’m actually trying to help the government that you may or may not work for. But it’s okay, you weren’t to know. I’ll just get my things and be on my way… I don’t suppose one of you can fly this plane, can you?”
Everyone leveled their rifles at him. Black had moved round to join the rest of the unit, standing at the opposite end of the line to Jericho, keeping his weapon trained on Adrian. Jericho could feel his own uneasiness growing as the seconds ticked by.
“I won’t ask you again,” Jericho said. “Give me the laptop.”
Adrian rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. “Like I said, I stole the laptop off a terrorist, not a government employee. I did so on behalf of a private military contractor as part of an ongoing operation. And you people obviously wouldn’t be interested in that, would you?”
Jericho’s eyes narrowed. “What operation?” he asked.
“I’ve been targeted by a terrorist group who want to recruit me,” he began. “As you say, I’m Adrian Hell, whether I’m retired or not. I refused, and they came after me. Some friends of mine happened to be investigating these assholes anyway, so I agreed to help them out. I managed to get in the same room as one of them and steal his laptop, which I’ve since handed over to my PMC friends. But that’s got nothing to do with the government, so I’m at a loss as to why you’d be sent after me…”
Jericho fell silent as his mind processed the new information. Behind him, he could almost feel the looks of concern from his team — their uncertainty palpable in the quiet moments that followed. But he didn’t care. He just wanted to do the right thing and, the way things were going, the mission was beginning to make less sense.
“Who sent you after me?” asked Adrian, with increasing persistence.
Again, Jericho stayed quiet.
“Come on, get on your comms and ask the question. You know you want to.”
Jericho tensed his jaw muscles as he considered his options. He believed Adrian when he said he wasn’t in possession of the laptop anymore. But if there was any truth to everything else he was saying, the situation warranted further investigation. So, for the time being at least, he wanted to keep the man alive.
“Watch him,” he said, looking quickly at his unit, but speaking to no one in particular. He then stepped away from the group and activated his comms unit. “Sir, we have the target,” he said into the microphone. “There’s no package — I repeat, no package. Please advise… over.”
On the other end of the line, speaking from inside the CIA Headquarters in Langley, Virginia, a familiar voice replied. “Jericho, this is Jones. What exactly did the target say to you?”
“He says he stole a laptop from a known terrorist on behalf of a PMC he was working with. He doesn’t have it on his person anymore.”
A few moments of uneasy silence followed, before another voice came on the line. Jericho recognized it, despite having only spoken to the man a handful of times in the past.
“Soldier, you’re to terminate your target immediately and destroy the plane,” said General Matthews, the Director of the CIA. “Leave no evidence behind. Understood?”
Jericho frowned. “I understand, sir,” he said. “But can you please clarify the threat here? If what he says is true, we should make contact with the PMC and follow up from there.”
Matthews sighed heavily down the line. “Just do as you’ve been ordered,” he said to Jericho. “Terminate that man immediately and leave the area.”
Jericho caught a hiss of static in his ear and didn’t hear the last part.
“Say again, sir…” he said.
Matthews repeated the order.
Jericho took a deep breath. “Understood, sir.”
He walked back over to the group, moving in front of his target and raising his rifle at him once more. “My orders are to kill you,” he said, matter-of-factly. “But, I want to know who you’re working for.”
“Why?” Adrian replied with a shrug.
“Because there’s an ongoing mission I think could benefit from that information.”
“What’s the mission?”
Jericho raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”
“Worth a try,” he shrugged. “I know you have your orders, but I’m not the enemy here, you have my word.”
“And what is the word of a two-bit hitman worth, exactly?”
“Two-bit?” he scoffed, seeming genuinely offended. “Try world’s greatest, you ignorant prick. And I’m many things, but I’m not a liar. I’m trying to help. I don’t trust you enough to give you everything I know, but I can tell you I have seen solid intel that suggests a pending terrorist attack that nobody else currently knows is coming.”
Jericho felt troubled, and looked over his shoulder momentarily, seeing the rest of his squad exchanging nervous glances and shuffling uneasily on the spot. He ignored their obvious concerns, turning back to his prisoner and locking eyes with him.
“I’m trying to help,” Adrian continued. “And I’m offering my help to you now. I’m not the enemy, and given what I know, I suspect your orders are bogus — unjustified, and given by someone who doesn’t want the world to know they’re implicated in a terrorist attack.”
“And you can prove this?” asked Jericho.
“Yes.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jericho saw a sudden movement. He shot a look over to his left and, for a split second, saw Black pointing his weapon at him. He frowned, unable to comprehend what was unfolding before him. Then, without warning or hesitation, his second-in-command pulled the trigger. The muzzle flash was bright, and the gunshot loud, echoing all around. To Jericho, it sounded like the noise was cut short halfway through, as the dimly-lit airfield quickly faded to a vast, all-consuming darkness.