Retribution: Whistleblower Series, #2

DAVID SMITH

It’s the end of an easy shift for Jake Redwood, a lowly Detective in Polk County. When he receives a mysterious phone call while having a drink with his buddies, it starts a fast and furious train of events, as he runs for his life to escape retribution for heinous crimes he doesn’t even know he’s committed.

RETRIBUTION

Jake Redwood is running for his life again… but from whom?

This novel is entirely fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior permission of the author.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent.

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This book is my tenth. Like the last one and all the others before it’s dedicated to my wonderful wife and best buddy Ally.

Thanks for everything.

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The author would welcome any feedback about this book.

If you would like to contact the author with any feedback or comments please e-mail:

davidsmith2468@gmail.com

Other books by the author:

One Bad Penny

One Bad Gig

Another Bad Gig

Seeds of Freedom

The Seed Cloud

Guests of Horror

The Last Train Home

Peek-A-Boo

Whistleblower

Contents:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Retribution

The strength of two connected neural pathways is thought to result in the storage of information, resulting in memory. This process of synaptic strengthening is known as long term potentiation.

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Who can say where inside a man’s body his soul is kept? Who can pinpoint a part of his brain, or even a single synapse, and say this is or is not the essence of that person? Can one body be possessed by two souls, and if so is one equally as guilty of the crimes committed by the other?

Part 1

It’s the end of an easy shift and I’m having a beer with the guys in Jessup’s, a nice enough place. It’s not exactly a Mom and Pop joint where you’d take your date for a romantic evening; sometimes the clientele like to let off steam. It’ll do for our gang though at 3 o’clock on a Tuesday morning.

We’re sitting in a booth in the corner, each sucking on a Bud or a Heineken and chewing the fat when Darren, the barman, whistles above the incessant stream of country music twanging out through the Tannoys. That’s a sign to his patrons that there’s a phone call for someone. We all look over and Darren nods at me.

Who the hell would be calling me in a bar at three in the morning? I got my cell in my pocket and anyone that wants or needs to talk to me can get me through that. The guy next to me shuffles off the end of the banquette so I can squeeze out. At the bar Darren hands me the phone, but doesn’t turn the music down, so at first I struggle to hear who’s on the other end.

‘Hello?’

‘Jek?’

No one’s called me that for a couple of years. I recognise the voice straight away, Miss Trouble, my ex, Jane Kreiff. Jane and I are ex partners in both senses. After all the shit with our adversary from another world, Krillik, was over we had a great time together for a while. But her lifestyle as a Special Ambassador for the United Nations and mine as a humble detective in the Polk county police were never going to make it as a long term bet. So reluctantly we called it a day. She moved on and we gradually lost touch. Now, all of a sudden here she is on the other end of a land line to my local bar in the middle of the night. My brain knew this wouldn’t be a social call but my heart was hoping like hell that it would.

‘Nice to hear from you after all this time…’

She doesn’t let me get into my stride with the long time no see chitty-chat, ‘Put your cell on the floor and walk out of the bar right now! Don’t go to your car, head for the freeway on foot, and as soon as you’re outside run like hell!’

In the short time I worked with Jane one of the many things I learned from her was that when she said jump you didn’t question why, or ask how high. You just jumped, straight away, and as high as hell, otherwise you’d find yourself dead. I put Darren’s phone back on the bar, turned and headed for the exit. As I walked away I slipped my cell phone from my inside jacket pocket and put it on the first barstool that I passed. Shame, it was new and I was just getting the hang of using it.

‘Hey Red!’ one of my compatriots shouts over to me, heading back to our booth with a fresh tray full of drinks, ‘Where the hell you going?’

I wave my hand in the air back at him, one of those non committal waves that say everything and nothing. Seconds later I’m out in the fresh air. There’s a breeze blowing and it’s cold, but away from the bar it’s good and quiet. There’s nothing out of the ordinary, just suburban night sounds. I can see no reason to run but I do, fast and straight across the parking lot and towards the road leading to the freeway. I’m about a hundred yards from the bar when I hear something very unusual for Polk at three in the morning, chopper blades batting the air. I reckon there are three, possibly more. At least two are troop carriers, Chinooks. I can tell by the distinctive whap-whap noise they make when their opposing rotating blades cross. However many there are, they’re travelling fast and straight towards me.

Half a minute later I’m at the edge of the slip road to the freeway for the southbound lane. I don’t want to run down it, I’d be very conspicuous; a big man in a suit running like crazy in the dark. So, I slow to a walk. The choppers scream over my head, their down draft bending the tops of the trees nearby and scattering dust and litter in their wake. I slip into the shadows and watch. I should be running but I want to see what happens next.

There are three choppers, two army Chinooks trailing right on the tail of a police Eurocopter Dauphin 2, The Eurocopter spins round above the bar I’d just high tailed it from and the pilot flicks on his search lights. Suddenly the whole area around the bar is brighter than the Washington Nationals’ baseball diamond at a mid season game. The Chinooks dump down in the parking lot and disgorge a couple of platoons, all fully kitted out, and all with serious looking weapons. They spread around the bar and take up poses that suggest they’ll shoot the fuck out of the place should anyone inside as much as twitch at them.

I watch as a small team of soldiers manoeuvre towards the front of the bar. I figure everyone inside the bar, even those hard of hearing, would know by now something extremely out of the ordinary is going on. The curious inside are at the windows trying to see what the cabaret’s all about. I see two of my buddies come through the front door, beer bottles still in their grips, wanting to see first hand what the fuss is all about. Luke, my best buddy, a big gutted lug with the balls of a bull, starts walking towards the troops. I can’t hear what he’s saying but knowing him he’ll be asking less than politely what the fuck they think they’re doing. I squint hard to see exactly what happens next. The lot is brightly lit but the chopper is swaying so the lights, and the shadows they’re making, are constantly shifting.

I see Luke flop to the floor like a sack of doorknobs, and a fraction of a second later hear a noise I recognise, the scream of a man that’s just been hit with the bolts from a Hi-V. Moments later half a dozen goons are on top of him. I can’t see but I guess he’s being given the benefit of their weight on his limbs and chest while one of them straps restraints on his wrists and ankles. Four goons lift him up and try to carry him back to one of the Chinooks. Good luck with that. The guy weighs at least 300 pounds. They give up and drag him across the lot to the Chinook, and he’s out of the game while the cabaret continues.

Someone with a bullhorn steps forward, the born leader, and he hollers, ‘Stay inside and get down on the floor now! Anyone not lying flat on their face with their hands and legs spread wide will be shot.’

The goons then start to move towards the bar, standard close combat assault pattern, and it’s time for me to go. These guys are trained professionals, well armed and look pretty determined to finish whatever they’ve started. I don’t know that they’re looking for me but Jane’s call would suggest they are. Why? What the fuck do they think I’ve done now? Whatever it is it isn’t about late return of library books. It’s serious.

My first thought is to boost a car and put as much distance between me and the cabaret at the bar as possible. It’s a bad idea. The force back there is a combined one, police and army. The resources they’d have between them would cover most options. As soon as they discover I’m not in the bar they’ll set up road blocks. In ten minutes this area will be locked down tighter than a drum, every road going anywhere would have half a dozen patrol cars and a couple of dozen goons checking every car, bus, truck, anything that moves.

I’m just standing there in the dark by the roadside trying to figure out the best of my options when I hear a voice. It’s some distance away to my right, a man’s voice. It’s a shouted whisper.

‘Jek!’

I look in the direction of the voice. It’s coming from a small wooded area about twenty yards from me. It’s where trees and bushes have been planted up to try to lessen the impact on its neighbours of the railway line that cuts through the county before swinging east to the coast. It doesn’t do its job very well. The long crocodiles of gondola trucks with double headed diesel-electric engines thundering backwards and forwards day and night aren’t exactly a pleasant back drop noise around here, especially when the gondolas are empty. It’s quiet now though, and I hear him call out again.

‘Hey Jek! Over here!’

Whoever this guy is flicks on a cigarette lighter so I can locate him in the bushes in the dark.

Alarm bells like the peels at a royal wedding are ringing loudly in my head. In the whole of my life on Earth only two people have ever called me Jek. One was Jane. The other was an alien called Noone. He was reputed to have saved the human race from annihilation from the deadly Revelation spore. I knew the guy in the bushes sure as hell wasn’t Jane, and I knew it couldn’t be Noone either. He was off world, somewhere out there, pleading the case for the survival of the human species. So, who the fuck is this?

I ease my hand inside my jacket and pull out my Beretta 92FS, and make sure it’s ready for action. He calls again, a harsh whisper.

‘Hey Jek, they’re hunting for you. Jane says to come with me and you’ll be safe. I got a van parked just round the corner.’

‘Who the fuck are you?’ I say quietly, but I know he can hear.

‘I work for Jane. I’m on your side.’

On my side? I’m not aware there are any sides right now.

‘Where’s Jane?’

‘She sent me. She’s waiting for us but we need to get out of here real quick.’

‘You still haven’t told me who you are,’ I say.

It’s then I hear it, faint, about ten yards to my right and a little behind me. It’s a sound I recognize and an ice cold chill runs through my body. This guy isn’t alone. He has at least one other person with him. The good news is they’re not going to kill me, they want me alive. The bad news is the noise I hear is the short high pitched whine of a Hi-V charging up. They want to take me with them whether I choose to go or not.

Are they working with or for Jane? Are they here to help me escape whatever’s happening back there at the bar? My instinct is to fire a couple of slugs at the space where I heard the Hi-V and hope for the best. But I don’t. It would be a dumb move. Dropping me with a Hi-V and explaining to me later that it was in my best interests is just the sort of trick Jane would pull.

So I crouch and run. I’m just in the nick of time. The bold from the Hi-V whizzes through the air where my shoulder was a fraction of a second earlier. I run hard and fast, straight towards the flame from the cigarette lighter. I hit the guy going full pelt and it’s like hitting a brick wall. In the fraction of a second just before we collide and I knock him to the floor I see the guy’s face. I don’t know who it is but I do know what it is. I recognize the Neanderthal features. It’s a fucking Dreek.

The momentum of my body knocks the Dreek backwards but he turns as he falls and we land with him on top of me. He must weigh over 250 pounds and all muscle. In the collision the Dreek drops the lighter and we’re tangled in the bushes in the dark. I have my gun in my hand and now feel perfectly justified in blowing this bastard’s head off, but the Dreek wraps one of his huge hands around my wrist holding my gun hand at arm’s length. I’m a big guy but I’m no match for the sheer power of the Dreek and in seconds he’s pinning me down, my back flat on the muddy ground. I fight and writhe underneath him to get the shot away but it’s a lost cause. The Dreek grabs my other wrist then slides his knees over my chest so he’s on top of me, pinning both my arms to the ground and crushing the weight of his bulk into my chest.

He leans his head close to mine and whispers in my ear, ‘Stop fighting me Jek, the game’s over. You lose.’

I hear the noise of branches being pushed aside as someone comes towards us. I sense rather than see the second Dreek stepping through the scrub as he comes over to stand beside us. I hear the Hi-V charging up again. In one swift move the Dreek on top of me moves off my chest, still keeping my wrists pinned down. I know what’s going to happen next. The whine of the Hi-V stops. It’s ready. The goon on top of me moves aside so his buddy can fire the bolt into my guts.

‘Sweet dreams, Jek,’ says the Dreek kneeling on the muddy ground beside me, still pinning my wrists. In a sudden, quick movement and using all my might I push my left hand, the one without the gun, hard away from me. I take the Dreek’s arm with me as my arm flies out sideways. With all the Dreek’s weight down on my wrists he has no choice but to splay out, his chest landing with a thump on top of mine.

At that precise moment the Dreek standing over us fires the Hi-V. At such close range the bolt from the Hi-V buries itself deep into the back of the Dreek that’s on top of me. He squeals and bucks with the sudden shock of the impact of the bolt, and pain from the high voltage charge released from the weapon. All the Dreek’s muscles are instantly tensed then relaxed repeatedly, draining them of all their power due to the pulsing shocks. In the fraction of a second after the bolt hits home the Dreek releases his grip on my wrist. I swiftly turn my gun upwards towards his compatriot.

Balm! Blam! Blam!

I can’t see exactly where he is so I take no chances. At least one of the shots must have hit home because seconds later the full weight of the dead Dreek comes crashing on top of us, knocking all the breath out of me. In his death fall the Dreek let’s go of his grip on the trigger of the Hi-V. At once the powerful muscle numbing pulses of electricity stop being pumped into the Dreek pinning me down. He starts to regain consciousness almost straight away.

So here I am lying on my back in the dark with two Dreeks pinning me to the ground, one dead, one very much alive and soon to be as fully compos mentis as a Dreek can ever be. With his compatriot lying dead on his back I don’t think it’s likely he’ll want to be my new best buddy. To make matters worse, the Dreek I shot landed on my gun hand when he fell. My Beretta is now useless to me, jammed between the dead Dreek and the one lying on my chest. I wriggle and pull hard to free my hand but it’s well and truly stuck.

The Dreek that’s still alive and on top of me snaps back into full consciousness.

‘What the fuck?’ he says as he shakes the last remnants of the shock out of his tiny brain.

It isn’t long before he figures out what’s happened. He starts to push himself upwards and shrug off his dead compatriot, but the sheer weight is too much and he only moves part way off his back.

‘I’m supposed to bring you in alive, Jek,’ he says in a low menacing voice, ‘but you don’t play nice. Dead or alive makes no difference to me.’

In an instant one of the Dreek’s powerful hands is across my throat. This hand takes his and that of the dead Dreek’s full body weight as he swings his other hand off the ground and locks it around my throat with his other in a tight, choking grip. Almost instantly I feel the pressure cutting off the blood to my brain. My world starts to spin and I know it won’t be long before his throttling grip will take not only my consciousness but my life. He straightens his elbows and stretches his arms out to increase the power of his grip. I feel the weight on my chest ease a little as the dead Dreek slides further off the back of the one busy choking me. It’s just enough. I tug and wriggle at the gun and just as I feel I’m passing out I feel the gun slip free.

Blam!

It’s too dark to see the Dreek’s face but I know his part in the story’s over. His grip on my throat relaxes just as his dead, heavy head crashes onto mine, the collision splitting my lip and almost busting my nose. I feel the blood flow returning to my brain and I suck in the clean, sweet air in deep gulps to clear my head. I was always taught in the army that after an engagement with the enemy the first thing you do is take stock of your situation. So, that’s what I do now. I’m lying on my back in a tangle of bushes on muddy ground in a small wood by a railway track. I have two dead Dreeks lying on top of me. I don’t think at this point in time I have the strength left in me to shift their weight off me so I can start moving again and get away from here.

Lying here panting to get my strength back I try to figure out what’s going on. A few minutes ago I was in the bar with my buddies sucking on a Bud and sharing jokes. How quickly things change. It would appear the authorities with all their might are trying to find me, and judging by the way they’ve come looking it’s not to give me a promotion. That little cabaret back at the bar would indicate that the combined forces of the army and police are pretty keen to have a little chat with me and don’t care what human rights laws they break to track me down.

But why? What have I done?

It would also appear that someone else is keen to talk with me as well, and this ‘someone’ is using creatures that shouldn’t even be on this planet. I’ve just been attacked by two Dreeks. To my knowledge there are only twenty