It’s mostly gravel, bordered by a short wall with a space where the driveway ends. There are four convertible Jeeps over there — the one furthest left, closest to me at the moment, has a few fresh bullet holes in it now, so I’ll avoid that one.
Four bodies are on the ground, so I must’ve done alright during my tactical retreat. The last one must be hiding behind the Jeeps. Being conscious of how much time I’ve actually lost since leaving New York, I forego the majority of my training and walk out toward the vehicles. I’ve got my Beretta aimed steady with both hands, ready to snap to my target.
Sure enough, after a few seconds, the guy’s head pops up from behind the hood of the Jeep furthest away from me. I quickly take aim and fire, putting a bullet between his eyes.
Happy there’s no one else nearby, I search the bodies for anything useful. I finally catch a break — one of them has a cell phone on him, so I take that with me before climbing inside the second Jeep from the left, for no reason other than it’s facing the way out. The keys are inside, and I set off, speeding down the drive and turning right onto the main road at the end.
I have absolutely no idea where I’m heading, so I’m making my way to the coast. I’ll figure it out from there. After a few minutes, I slow down a bit, disappearing into anonymity on the roads as I hit the countryside. I pick up the phone and dial Josh.
“It’s me,” I say as he answers.
“You managed to get home yet?” he replies.
“Not quite… It’s a long story, my friend. Listen, first things first — can you get me on GPS by tracing this phone?”
“Sure, gimme a sec…” The line goes silent for a moment. “Okay, you’re about twenty miles southwest of Barranquilla,” he says, pausing for a moment. “So why exactly are you in Colombia?”
“That would be the long story. Can you get me out of here?”
“Yeah, hang on… Right, just follow the road signs to Barranquilla and you should be fine. Once you’re there, you should be able to get across to Panama easily enough — it’s a popular trading route. I can get you a flight from there back to the States.”
“Thanks, Josh. So, is everything okay with you?”
“Not really, but that can wait. Why are you still in South America, Adrian?”
I navigate the light traffic, seeing the first sign for Barranquilla, announcing it was eighteen miles away.
“The special ops unit blew up the plane. After I dragged that Jericho guy away from the blast, EMTs and firemen arrived and took him away. But that’s when the cartel showed up.”
“Cartel? Are you sure? I didn’t think they existed anymore. Maybe it was some local rebels?”
“Nope, definitely a cartel. I was taken to meet the drug lord who ran it, Carlos Vega. Lived in a huge mansion, teeming with armed guards. I approached them as a hitman seeking sanctuary, but they got the drop on me, tied me up, and intended torturing me.”
“Jesus… I thought cartels operated with drug money, but they can’t anymore — not since Cunningham was sworn in and ruined it for them. What were they doing?”
“That’s what I thought. Had a little chat with Mr. Vega, who finally admitted he was running guns around the world for a mystery contact in the U.S. who goes by the codename Ares. He’s paid a small fortune for doing it, too.”
“I’ll make a start, searching for potential candidates,” he says, without me having to ask. “So what do you make of it all?”
“Well, Vega said he was told I’d be coming, which means this Ares knew about the mission to re-route my plane. My guess is he’s a high-ranking official of some kind.”
“Like a four-star general, perhaps?” he asks excitedly, coming to the same conclusions I had.
“That’s what I think. Doesn’t explain why the guy was meeting with Hussein, but if he is Ares, it certainly adds a few more pieces to our puzzle.”
“It does. And I might have a few answers for you.”
“Finally! What have you got?”
“Since we spoke last, I did some digging on this Jericho guy. I wasn’t sure if it was a codename either, so it took some time. Turns out, his name is Jericho Stone — a real big deal from the military who, a few years ago, took command of a non-existent CIA unit…”
“Jesus, how do you find this stuff?” I ask, as impressed as ever with Josh’s skills.
“Ah-ah, don’t be silly… Anyway, do you want to know the name of this unit?”
“Hit me.”
“D.E.A.D.”
I shit you not; my jaw just hit the floor! I drift off in shock for a moment, but quickly snap back to the present as I feel the Jeep swerve off the road. I regain control and re-focus.
“Josh, that’s not possible.”
“Oh, it is,” he replies, laughing.
“You think this is funny?”
“A little bit, yeah!”
D.E.A.D. stands for Doesn’t Exist on Any Database. It was a CIA black ops unit created back in ‘93, originally designed for operatives from the U.S. and the rest of the world to come together and do things for the greater good that people probably didn’t want to know about.
How do I know this? I hear you ask… I know, because I used to run that unit. It was how I met Josh. After we left, they closed the program down, but it appears someone’s re-opened it…
“Well,” I say. “It’s certainly an unexpected trip down memory lane, I’ll give you that.”
“Isn’t it just! So now we know for sure that the CIA is after us.”
“Wonderful.”
I’m still trying to wrap my head around the bittersweet irony of someone sending my old unit to kill me.
“There’s something else,” says Josh. “I’ve found out a bit more about Cerberus…”
His words trail off and I get the impression he’s been spooked by something, which doesn’t happen to Josh.
“So, what is it?” I ask.
“In addition to it doing everything we already know — both advertised and otherwise, it also does something else. Something we didn’t build it to do, which means it was a feature added after we’d handed it back over to NASA.”
“I’m guessing this new feature isn’t a good thing?”
“Adrian, it not only protects our own nuclear arsenal, but it has the ability to remotely hack into and control anyone else’s… It potentially has access to every nuclear weapon on Earth.”
His words hang in the air for a few moments. I zone out of the conversation, letting his revelation sink in as I re-focus momentarily on the road ahead.
“Josh, that’s…”
“Yup.”
“But that means…”
“I know.”
“Man, we have to…”
“I’m trying, Adrian. We’re still at square one — no idea where to find the key members of the Armageddon Initiative, no idea how they intend doing what we assume they’re trying to, and no idea what any of this has to do with a U.S. general.”
My mind’s racing again, and I have no idea what any of the answers are. I fly past another sign that tells me I’m just a few miles away now, and my thoughts quickly turn to Tori. I’ve missed her like crazy, and I’m mad at myself for not thinking about her during all this. My survival instincts took over, and I’ve been doing whatever I needed to in order to get home. But now home is in sight, I can’t get her off my mind.
“Okay, keep doing what you’re doing, Josh. I’m almost there, so I’ll contact you when I reach Panama.”
“No worries. Watch your back, yeah?”
“You too.”
I hang up and throw the phone out of the Jeep, just to be safe. In another few minutes, I’ll be in Barranquilla and one step closer to Tori.