Agent M: Testament (The Agent M Series Book 2) (10 page)

Ryoo’s body fell eerily still. Every last fragment of anger had been immediately hushed. Michael slid his body away from his opponent after verifying his heartbeat had indeed stopped this time. He even kicked the deceased warrior’s body once more for good measure, allowing the audience to get a good look at the repulsive image of this former champion. Michael reached down toward Ryoo’s leg and untied the cloth linked to his surrogate family. There were still too many questions left unanswered. The first of which, how did Ryoo Myung-Dae come into possession of this treasured family crest?

The crowd stood in complete awe. No one had ever come close to besting Ryoo in combat and yet somehow, this underdog named Johnny Rage had pulled off the seemingly impossible. Some continued to speak among themselves while a few select others started to cheer. Apparently those select few had put their money behind the winning horse.

Reluctantly, the referee entered the squared arena floor. He couldn’t take his eyes off Ryoo Myung-Dae. This proud and powerful warrior had never looked so pitiful. The once undefeated champion of Charles Logan’s organization had been put to eternal rest all without spilling a single drop of blood. He knew now what he must do, even though he thought this day would never come. Out of all of the poor saps that lost their fortunes here tonight, one particular person had lost something more valuable than money. And they were not going to be happy to hear what the referee had to say next.

“The winner,” he started.

The words could barely form in his mouth as his mouth and throat had gone completely dry. Still, it had to be said. The victory was clear and decisive.

“Johnny Rage.”

A few choice members of the audience began clapping showing their utter amusement and delight. Others followed, slowly but steadily. Cheers emerged as well. They had been given the show of a lifetime and found it necessary to thank the man responsible. Although some had lost more than they cared to spend in an evening or a lifetime, at least they were entertained. Since the inception of this very concept, that’s all anyone and everyone could ever hope for. Tonight proved that anything can happen between these sacred walls and everyone, whether a little richer or poorer, was happy with the final results. Well, almost everyone.

“No!”

The eruption of this man’s voice nearly shattered every thousand dollar goblet of wine within its range. Charles Logan emerged through the confines of his sweet with an unmatched ferocity. He stood firmly on the top of the center aisle only a foot away from the main staircase and began barking his dismay.

“This wasn’t supposed to turn out like this. Ryoo was unbeatable. A lowlife like you should never have been able win.”

Logan stopped himself from saying anything further. The data and statistics gathered on Johnny Kalinowski were polar opposites of the living specimen. This whole situation reeked foul. Someone had set him up. Through all of the fight’s drama, Logan had completely lost all concentration on anything else. Electricity tickled through his brain reminding him of a few key points of interest. That foul mouth little brat alongside the victorious fighter had said every foul word imaginable and even a few key others that sprouted from her vast imagination. The most important of which was the fighter’s name and according to Logan’s newly received information, it wasn’t Johnny.

“Do not let them escape!” Logan barked calling to his machine-gun toting employees.

Meryl knew their cover was blown it before those words ever rang out of Logan’s mouth. She was actually more surprised it took this long. Uttering Michael’s name during the fight was a gut reaction and utterly stupid mistake; a very uncommon trait for Meryl. If there’s one thing she wasn’t good it, it was failing.

A lone security guard had enough brass to approach Meryl all on his own. He had jumped the six foot tall brick enclosure in near complete silence. The UMP machine gun slung over his shoulder didn’t faze her in the slightest. Meryl unleashed a hammer fist straight into the stooge’s groin and while he reeled, she finished him with a wholehearted chop right in the neck in a move that took more than this man’s breath away. Disabled and now disarmed, Meryl picked up the fallen guardsman’s weapon. The sad truth was that this might come in handy sooner much rather than later.

The sudden situation twist forced Logan to make a hard decision. Infiltrating this massive and lucrative operation insulted his intelligence. Letting two assailants ruin everything he’s worked so hard to attain get away with it all insulted his pride. The window for interrogation has passed.  Action must be taken swiftly in order to achieve a proper resolution.

“What are you standing around for?” Logan beckoned at the rest of his guards. “Kill them both!”

Bullets rained from the sky. The paradox of the thought passed through Michael’s conscious quicker than the hot pieces of lead that followed. His legs moved on instinct. Meryl had already started to return fire nestled safely behind the confines of the brick exterior that divided the audience from the combatants. Only a few meters away separated Michael from his partner now. The guard’s fire drew closer with each passing step. There was no bullet proof trench coat or spider silk Kevlar shirt to fall back on. Only this flame enveloped leather outfit that did nothing more than paint a bigger target for them to aim at.

“What are you waiting for cocksucker? Jump!”

Michael sprung into the air, kicking away gravity as if it were a suggestion instead of a law. He dove over the six foot tall wall of brick and tucked into a forward roll smashing aside the former dining area where the audience once sat. Luckily the one guard in their vicinity had been vanquished but the other dozen were making up for their loss. The loud popping and crackling of exploding gunpowder shocked Michael’s biologically enhanced hearing. Meryl remained ever vigilant. For every clip the guard’s poured in their direction she responded in kind making sure to mind the fleeing audience members. Spray and pray always worked in the movies but after this experience Meryl would have a hard time empathizing with those scenes.

The empty rattling clicks of the machine gun pushed Meryl back to a crouching position. She popped the empty cartridge and tossed it away.

“I’m out.”

Looking over at the knocked down but still fairly conscious guard that Meryl previously took out gave Michael an idea. The guard added a dislocated jaw to his growing list of misery. Michael’s steel fist came across swiftly and with the force of a speeding bus. Punching the doughy exterior of unenhanced flesh gave him a renewed confidence. Michael rifled through his jacket and flung out a magazine pouch carrying six extra magazines. He tossed over the find to Meryl who happily plucked a fresh mag into the weapon and started to return fire.

“Thanks.”

A quick search around the guard’s unconscious body provided Michael a weapon of his own. Granted it didn’t have the same intimidation factor as plucking five hundred rounds per minute but in terms of pure stopping power, a Beretta M9 did the job required. Michael joined Meryl’s retaliatory fire and popped off a pair of rounds. They both quickly tasted floor once their protective barrier became riddled with fresh bullet holes.

Meryl couldn’t find an inch to sneak in through. The enemy’s rate of fire was fast and continuous. Granted they were hopelessly outnumbered but it was but a minor detail. Adrenaline fueled her thoughts. She drew the weapon up and tossed a few blind fire rounds but knew it would do more harm than good with those civilians still roaming around.

“Damn it. Those assholes are relentless.” Meryl slammed another magazine into her weapon. “You’d think we’ve had U.C. support by now.”

“Impossible,” Michael replied as bullets continued to rip into the air. “They’re unarmed.”

“Well what about SWAT? They should have kicked the doors in two clips ago.”

“Perhaps they require some vulgar motivation,” retorted Michael referring to Meryl’s many uses of colorful language in the passing few minutes.

“It worked earlier,” she said almost wanting to add a wink to it and continued to return fire.

Crowds of able bodied and elderly attendees rushed for the two sole exits. Logan could not believe this was happening in his arena. His home no less. The loathing and tiresome wealthy masses continued to push into safer confines. Some, not all. A few lone rebels stood behind and they started assaulting the unaware guards. The image finally became clear. Logan had been set up alright. Whichever government agency that had been sniffing around his extracurricular activities must have finally found enough to get a decent bite for a change. They damn well better to try and pull a stunt like this. Try as they might, with his empire in shambles, Charles Logan would rather go down swinging than with his tail between his legs.

“I think they’re letting up,” Meryl called as she peaked over the barrier.

Through thick and thin, rain or shine, her impulses always took center stage. Seeing the guards slow down their assault gave them both a chance to catch their breaths.

“What’s going on? Why are they –”

The deafening eruption silenced Meryl’s words and thoughts. She dropped to the ground clasping both ears with her hands in the hopes of avoiding another similar blow.

“What the hell was that?”

Michael took this opportunity to look up. Both exit locations were covered in black smoke. The crowd who feared the firefight inside the arena had been sent back from whence they came. Even the guards, the ones that were still standing anyways, forced themselves to look. Impending doom began to pour through both sides of the arena. Michael stood up to acknowledge his location and their presence. It was about time they showed up.

“SWAT.”

After shaking off that bastardly ringing, Meryl joined Michael’s position. She watched alongside him as multitudes of armed soldiers came through the smoke armed to the teeth.  The FBI’s SWAT team came out in droves, dropping the terrified audience members to the ground, and turning the odds back into Meryl and Michael’s favor.

Meryl relaxed the weight of her body and rested on the battered and bruised wall and drank in this glorious moment of relief. Firefights were something hadn’t missed all that much back in her days in the LAPD and hoped to abandon once she joined the FBI. However, ever since she paired up with Michael again, her assignment to gunfight ratio had tripled. Although she would never admit it, Meryl enjoyed the extra action. One that adrenalin courses through her body, she felt like she could do anything; especially with Michael by her side.

Her eyes gazed over to his massive and slightly battered frame. He’d definitely been through the woodworks yet he looked as if he’d just spent an entire day at the office. While facing death itself countless times over, nothing ever seemed to bother Michael. He just did his job without question. Meryl admired him for that among other things. Their deep rooted friendship allowed her to ask the first painfully obvious question.             

“Are you alright Michael?” Adding a well needed amount of concern.

She placed a hand on his arm and rubbed it gently between her fingers. It was warm but stiff, unwavering like his emotions. Michael nodded; his trademark response to practically everything. He stared coldly into the distance, refusing to focus on one single point. Meryl continued to glare into his eyes trying to pry into his thoughts. The mission was a success, at least their part of it, but Michael didn't appear as modestly content as he normally would be. The way he looked out while refusing to make eye contact made him seem distant, like his mind had departed this arena and traveled somewhere else. Meryl couldn't remain silent without showing some empathy to her partner and best friend.

SWAT cleared the area quickly. It seemed like only seconds had passed since their arrival and already the entire arena had fallen under their control. Though not all was as quiet as one would hope. Many of the wealthy and business moguls alike shouted at the top of their lungs. Some screamed about injustice. Others cried for legal representation. It was the typical scene for this kind of crowd. Even when caught with a smoking gun they still tried to retain their innocence.

This disgusting sight normally made Michael’s intestines twist. Watching men grovel on their knees like spoiled children just proved that when confronted with their own mortality, be it health or wealth, they all revert back to their inherent animalistic tendencies. However, Michael couldn’t keep track of any thoughts relating to the scene or the mission itself. Meryl’s instincts were correct. His mind had drifted elsewhere. The only thing drawing Michael’s attention was the man named Adriel and how to sneak away from this mess to find him.

Barely an hour had passed since the battle ended and the FBI had already locked down this monument to brutality. Much to their dismay, a few attendees had gotten calls out to their lawyers and the place was slowly turning into one gigantic argument of semantics and legal precedents.  Watching them doing it while wearing handcuffs added a little sugar to this growing pile of feces.

Michael and Meryl were promptly greeted by some of the other agents on site. They traded information but mostly took notes of everything Meryl had witnessed from behind the scenes. The deception of swinging vulgarities left and right made it easy to mask her intentions. Medical treatment had been offered to both parties but summarily declined. Michael took his fair share of bumps tonight but nothing a good night’s rest with his accelerated regeneration factor wouldn’t fix.

Clean ups always irked Meryl’s patience. After an adrenaline surge, it was hard to keep her body still. All of that excess energy would go to waste and the refractory period afterwards dulled her senses and made the next passing moments slow down to a crawl. She kept her body wrapped in an emergency blanket provided by her fellow agents. Mostly to save her modesty above retaining body heat. With cameras going off at hundreds of angles, Meryl didn’t want to find a picture of her in this gaudy outfit nestled on some pervert’s hard drive or worse, floating around the infinite void of the Internet.

“Here.”

Meryl felt a rush of ice grace her cheek sending every hair on her neck stand at attention. She grabbed the source of this temporary discomfort and pulled the cold bottle of water to her lips. The refreshing and flavorless nectar flooded her cells with hydration after two big gulps.

“Thanks,” she replied with a relieving sigh.

Michael had returned with just the remedy she required without having to say a word. They knew each other better than anyone else after all. A bit of jealousy crept in when Meryl noticed her partner had the opportunity to change his attire. Now donning a plain black shirt instead of that wickedly out of date leather vest, Michael started to look like his old self again. Well, minus the leather flame adorned pants.

She planted her body against a nearby wall next to the southern exit door alongside Michael and indulged in a few more swigs of water. Her partner, on the other hand, had other intentions with his own bottle. Michael took the chilling liquid and dumped the contents over his head. The ice cold liquid rushed through the stained blonde locks of his raven colored hair and thoroughly removed any traces of the dye.

“Aw,” Meryl joked, “I was starting to like that look on you.”

“Likewise,” he shot back with his eyes staring at Meryl’s exposed belly.

“Shut up.”

Her arms quickly pulled the blanket over the embarrassing image trying not to give Michael any more satisfaction. They continued to stand together in silence, not knowing what to say to one another. With Michael’s mind drifting off into distant lands, Meryl was at a disadvantage. She could usually come up with a mutual topic of interest right off the top of her head. That was the growing tradition in the last year or so anyways. Michael’s conversation skills had barely improved quantity wise but the quality had seen a dramatic progression. So instead of fighting through the awkwardness looking for something to talk about, Meryl just enjoyed the bit of peace they could share together. It sure beat getting shot at on a weekly basis.

“Oh, look who’s here.” Meryl’s eyes darted to the opposing exit door.

Commander Wells and the incorrigible S.A.C. Adrian Fischer walked into the arena without the same grandiose entrance as their two employees.

“We’ve finally got our ride,” Meryl stated turning to Michael or at least where he once stood.

He disappeared without a sound, smell, or trace as if he were never there in the first place. Whatever the reason, Meryl knew he’d be back. It’s not like he had any other place to go tonight.

Surveying the scene provided Nicole a pleasant and relieving feeling. All of their hard work had not gone to waste and at the very least, it would spare her of Agent Fischer’s condescending wrath. Granted her agents had flights leaving within the hour for a far more prestigious assignment but the successful results of tonight stand on their own. The scene before her eyes danced in a mist of controlled chaos. Dozens of Las Vegas agents surrounded the scene, taking diligent notes, and performing their duties to the book much to the chagrin of Nicole’s subordinate. Vegas’ S.A.C. Thomas Prince had his hands full making sure of that.

A familiar face started walking up the stairs. Charles Logan was being carted off by two SWAT members on each arm with his wrists neatly bonded together with the tight chrome chains of justice. Fighting the urges to let him pass without a witty retort or snide comment proved too much for Nicole to handle. She wasn’t about to let this rich prick off the hook without tormenting him a little bit. Besides, if she could put a few cracks in his shell, it would make the rest of the legal matters an easier battle.

“It’s a pity to see such an honorable and respectable member of the community being carted off in handcuffs. Tell me Charles, with all of your staff members busy with this investigation, who’s going to validate my parking?”

“This isn’t over. Your combined government salary doesn’t even match up to what I spend on a bottle of wine. I’ve got the kind of money that can afford me enough lawyers to fill this building up twice over.”

“Not after tonight you don’t.”

“You’ve got nothing on me and you know it.”

“You may be right,” Nicole stated.

Then her eyes drifted to the rounded up crew of businessmen and politicians that made up his audience.

“But I’ll bet my meager government salary that they do. And I’m sure they’ll all squeal their little hearts out to spare themselves from the embarrassment. Care to place a bet? I’ll give you ten to one odds.”

Logan scoffed and turned his head in disgust as the SWAT officers carried him away. He may have lost a battle and maybe a small fortune but he certainly wasn’t defeated. Lawyers would be chomping at the bit just to get a piece of this action. He’d have a hardened legal team built within the next twenty four hours and without spending a single night in jail. Unlike his deceased meal ticket, Logan preferred to fight his battles in the legal arena. That’s where he always held an edge. Everyone’s got a price, be it money, power, or sex. Logan’s deep pockets always carried an ace or two to get him out of any jam. Tonight would be no different. This even would be a minor stain in Charles Logan’s illustrious career.

Just before any more good times could roll in, Meryl arrived to greet her superiors deciding once and for all to forgo the blanket. Modesty be damned, she still looked great no matter what type of clothing touched her skin. That and the fact that no one else would dare flash a camera in Nicole’s direction. Her reputation as the Ice Queen of Los Angeles was well known down the F.B.I. pipeline.