The team looks at him with a mixture of shock and excitement.
“I’ve been given the authority to execute Alpha Protocol,” he announces. “The parameters of the mission have changed, based on the opinion that Jericho is no longer fit to lead this team. I’ve been placed in command, and you now report to me. Any questions?”
He’s met with silence, which he seems to take as a sign they’re all on the same page. He then turns back to me.
“If you don’t have the laptop, you’ll give me all information relating to Yalafi Hussein and the people you’re working with, or I will shoot you.”
And there it is… unequivocal proof I’m screwed and need an exit strategy right now.
“I never said the terrorist was called Yalafi Hussein…” I said, hesitantly. “Who are you guys?”
The guy from the plane looks away, cursing himself before turning back to me. “Kill him!” he yells.
My primeval, long-buried survival instincts immediately kick in, and I dive to the left, picking up the big guy’s FAMAS and running around the plane for cover.
What did they say his name was? Jericho?
I hold the rifle in my left hand, aiming it behind me as I run, firing blind to buy myself some time. I need to get on the plane and get my bag…
I carry on running away from the group, putting as much distance as I can between us. I’m aiming for the trees, thinking I can lose them in there and then double back to the plane for my things.
I chance a look behind me, but the team isn’t in pursuit. I see two of them, one either side of the plane, planting explosives along the fuselage. The other two are aiming at me but holding fire. Behind them, where I was just standing, I see the body of their former unit leader — the man known as Jericho.
I actually quite liked him, based on our brief interaction. It’s a shame he’s dead.
But I need to focus. If that plane goes up, I’m as good as dead myself, and that wouldn’t do at all. I skid to a halt, turning around and dropping into a crouch, and bring the rifle up, taking aim. Tucking it into my shoulder, I look down the sight. I must be a good few hundred yards away by now. I set it to three-round burst and squeeze the trigger twice. The first burst catches the man on the left of the plane in the leg, and he limps off around the other side for cover. The second burst scatters the two arming the explosives, who both do the same.
Knowing they’ll be re-grouping behind cover, I run back over to the plane, crouching down behind the front wheel and glancing up at the first explosive charge.
Shit.
They’ve armed it, and the timer says two minutes and counting… they clearly didn’t intend on hanging around, so I shouldn’t either.
I peer round the wheel for a quick glance, to get their positions, but when I look, they’re gone. I look around and watch the four of them disappear behind the abandoned building across the opposite end of the runway.
Not wishing to waste another second, I stand and run onto the plane, quickly finding my shoulder bag in the cockpit. I put it over both arms and head back outside. The explosive charge on this side of the fuselage, next to the steps, has got thirty-four seconds left.
I need to get out of here!
I set off, but as I draw level with Jericho’s body, I hear something. Only faint, but it’s definitely a murmur… I look down at him.
Jesus Christ, he’s alive!
After a split second of deliberation, I decide I can’t leave him lying next to a plane about to explode, knowing he’s alive. I bend down and roll him on his back. The bullet hit his forehead, but must have gone clean through the front part of his skull. I’m not a doctor, but I imagine the consequences of such an injury are severe, even if the guy’s still breathing… The wound looks nasty, and blood’s pouring down his face.
I grab his left hand and pull in an effort to drag him clear of the blast.
“Jesus, what do you eat? Bricks?” I say out loud through gritted teeth as I struggle to move his weight.
I continue to drag him across the runway, building up speed and momentum as I go. There’s maybe ten seconds left before the charge on the plane goes off. I’m a good few hundred yards away, but I need to keep going as far as I can.
I’m breathing heavily and my back and arms are aching from dragging Jericho’s motionless, almost dead, body across the ground.
Another few seconds pass, and then a deafening explosion sounds out. The ground shakes, and the force of the blast knocks me off my feet. I land maybe twenty feet away, hitting the ground hard. My head ricochets off the concrete, sending me momentarily dizzy.
Ah, shit!
Lying on my back, I look over at the plane, which has disappeared in a ball of fire and smoke. I feel the heat from the blast stinging my skin, and I struggle to catch my breath, as the rapid increase in temperature has sucked all the oxygen out of the air around me.
I lie still for a moment, staring at the blackening sky; my ears ringing loudly and my back screams from the impact.
“Oh man, that sucked,” I groan.
I look over to my right and see Jericho’s body still motionless nearby. I did what I could for him, so my conscience is clear. But, to be honest, given the head wound he has, I doubt he’ll last the night. He might get lucky, and someone might call the fire department or something.
Having said that, I’m on an abandoned airstrip somewhere in Colombia… I doubt anyone that could’ve heard the blast is likely to care all that much.
I roll over on my stomach and push myself up on all fours, looking ahead of me at the building. I can’t see anyone, so I’m guessing the team sent to kill me has left the area. That buys me a little time at least.
I take the bag off my shoulders and open it, retrieving my cell phone — which is thankfully still in one piece. I check the screen and see I have a weak signal. I dial Josh’s number, taking one last look at Jericho’s body before walking slowly toward the building ahead. He answers after three rings.
“Adrian! Are you alright? Why aren’t you back home yet?” he asks.
“Long story,” I say. “Short version is the jet was hijacked. I’m in Colombia, and the jet’s all blown up. I’ve just survived a run-in with a pretty deadly special ops unit — don’t know whose books they’re on, but the guy who took the plane just shot his unit leader and assumed command.”
“Jesus… why?”
“I don’t know. The leader was a guy named Jericho — not sure if it’s a codename or not. He wanted the laptop I stole from Hussein, said it was government property.”
“How did they know about that?”
“Not sure, but it must have something to do with the four-star who was at the meeting. My guess… whoever he is, he’s important and doesn’t want his involvement with terrorists being public knowledge. He, or someone he works with, sent that team to kill me, using the laptop as justification. The leader started asking questions when I told him who I was, and the next thing, his second-in-command shot him in the head. Said something about Alpha Protocol, if that means anything to you? Anyway, the guy’s still alive, but barely. Nothing I can do for him.”
“Holy shit, Adrian! This is just getting bigger and bigger… look, just get your ass back to Texas, alright?”
“Yeah, about that… where the hell am I, Josh?”
The line goes quiet for a moment, and then I hear muffled voices in the background.
“Josh, is everything alright there?”
“Adrian, look, I’m sorry, but I kinda got something going on here. I don’t want to say any more over an unsecure line, just… just get back to Texas and wait for me there, okay?”