Against All Odds (Book 2): As We Break Read online

  As We Break

  Against All Odds Series Book 2

  Jack Hunt

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  A Plea

  Reading Team

  About the Author

  Also by Jack Hunt

  Copyright © 2018 by Jack Hunt

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  As We Break: Against All Odds Book 2 is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For my Family

  Prologue

  Hours Before System Failure

  A stabbing headache jolted him awake.

  With it came blindness, which scared him even more.

  “Hello?” he croaked. His throat was dry and breathing shallow.

  A clanging sound like heavy boots against steel reverberated nearby.

  Disoriented, Blake Dawson blinked and squinted trying to make sense of his surroundings. Why can’t I see? Material tickled his nose. There was something coarse covering his head. A burlap sack? A pillowcase? He tried to move but couldn’t as something sharp cut into his skin. His wrists were bound.

  That’s when it all came back: driving home from work, stopping at the side of a road to assist a woman who’d broken down, being grabbed from behind and a stinging sensation in his neck. They had injected him with a needle.

  He’d heard voices then it all went black.

  His mind instantly pieced together the rest.

  The hours after returned in almost a dreamlike state — tires crunching gravel, the steady thump of helicopter rotor blades, a hard wind whipping at his clothes, the sound of waves, and the clang of steel beneath boots.

  How long had he been here? One, maybe two days?

  Where am I?

  That was the first thing he’d asked when his captors tore off his hood and shone a blinding light in his eyes. They didn’t want him to know. They refused to answer questions and the only mercy they’d shown was offering him water.

  As he focused on the memory it got clearer.

  Cutting his binds they pushed his chair in front of a table with multiple computer screens and instructed him on what he was to do.

  “You’re going to bring it down. Bring it all down,” a voice said from behind a white mask with a wide smile, rosy cheeks and mustache. It came out in broken English with a hint of Russian. He instantly recognized the mask. It was Guy Fawkes, the same mask worn by Anonymous, the international hacking group.

  “You’re not them… are you?” Blake asked.

  “Shut up and do as you’re told.”

  Anonymous would have never brought him in to do this. They were a high-level hacktivist group across the globe that had already demonstrated their ability to perform the seemingly impossible. They didn’t need to stoop to this level.

  These guys were amateurs, wannabe hackers or just incapable of performing this task. Blake scanned the computer monitors in front of him trying to make sense of it.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “Your skills.”

  “For?”

  “To take down the Internet, then the communication network, and then the entire U.S. power grid.”

  Blake shook his head. It wasn’t that it couldn’t be done, or that he couldn’t do it — it was the legality of it all. At one time he would have jumped at the challenge simply for the bragging rights but that was when he was full of ego, young and stupid. He had put all that behind him. His years of illegal hacking were a thing of the past, a distant memory, nothing more than old headlines and a smear on his record. He’d done his time. Five years to be exact, back in the ’90s.

  He had a life now, a family, and a successful security consulting firm. There was no way in hell he was going to risk his freedom again, not for money, not for fame, not for anyone.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Blake bellowed.

  The sound of a gun cocking and the pressure of a cold barrel against the side of his temple answered that. He gritted his teeth and stared back at the screen before shaking his head.

  “Why?”

  He just wanted to know the reason. It would be several days before he would get an answer.

  “Begin!”

  He should have been terrified in that moment but he wasn’t. Out of all the people they could have used they’d picked him. Why? Of course there was the obvious reason — he was a high-profile convicted hacker. His previous mistakes had landed him on the FBI’s Most Wanted list back in the day. His crimes of wire fraud, unauthorized access of federal computers, interception of electronic communications and damage to data became the stuff of legends. But that wasn’t it. His notoriety might have gained global attention and made him the fodder of hacking forums for years to come but there were others out there, thousands who had the same skills, if not better.

  Blake looked back at the screen and shook his head. “No,” he answered.

  He was well aware that he was gambling his life and there was a high probability they would squeeze the trigger but in his fifty-two years of being alive, he’d gained a nose for sniffing out bullshit. These guys weren’t the decision makers. They weren’t the ones pulling the strings. Who was behind this? Who chose him and why? He wanted to speak to them.

  The guy holding the gun pushed it harder against his temple.

  “Do it. Now!”

  “No,” he replied with greater conviction.

  It was the wrong response. Blake felt the brunt force of metal striking his face knocking him out of the chair. A heavy boot pressed down on his neck, then released as he was brought back up again.

  “Do it.”

  He hesitated for a couple of seconds then refused again.

  From that moment on, he was put through a cycle of punishment that he could only imagine was similar to what prisoners in Guantánamo Bay might endure: multiple beatings were followed by waterboarding, and threats of death.

  Time ceased to exist.

  Then it got worse.

  Then it abruptly ended.

  He wasn’t sure how long they were out of the room, only when they returned he could hear a female crying. The bag was torn from his head once again and there before him was his wife, Kelly.

  They had forced her onto her knees with her hands tied behind her back.

  “No!” he cried out as they sat him in a seat and wheeled him in front of a computer.

  “Do it!” they demanded.

  “Blake?” she muttered as she looked up through tears.

  “Kelly, it’s going to be okay.”

  A hard crack to the side of his face and another demand, “Do it!”

  Blood trickled out the corner of his mouth and for a minute he considered going through with it but it was only the know
ledge that they hadn’t killed him that kept him from stepping over the line. He knew the weight of the consequences. This was all just a ruse. A means to get him to give in. He figured they wouldn’t harm her otherwise they would jeopardize what little hope they had of him fulfilling their demand.

  He was wrong.

  “No,” he replied.

  There was no warning given, no think again.

  The guy beside her raised the gun, and squeezed the trigger.

  One second she was screaming, the next silent.

  It wasn’t happening. It was a dream. It had to be a nightmare. He’d wake up any second now and be at home curled up beside her and she would tell him that everything was okay and to go back to sleep.

  Except it never happened.

  It was real.

  “NO!” Blake yelled shaking from side to side in the chair, struggling to get free of his restraints. They weren’t going to cut them loose until he agreed to their demand. Two of the men dragged out Kelly’s body leaving behind a trail of blood on the steel floor. For a second he got a glimpse of the outside, a corridor, but that was it. Everything about what he was in reminded him of a submarine. The metal surrounding him was industrial, military grade, the kind of setup that might have been put together back in the Second World War.

  The same guy wearing the mask moved in and slapped him around the face.

  “Hey, hey! Pay attention. You think that’s bad?” His captor fished into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone and tapped the front a few times then twisted it around.

  Blake’s stomach sank.

  There before him was a photo of his thirteen-year-old son.

  “You want Aidan to join her?”

  The question was direct and to the point. They weren’t playing games. This was the real deal. They weren’t going to give in any more than he was. The guy slapped Blake a few more times then shoved the chair back under the table, took out a knife and cut the zip ties holding his hands behind his back.

  As soon as he was free, Blake latched onto him, clawing at him for what he’d done to Kelly but it didn’t last. The man gripped a clump of Blake’s hair and slammed his face into the table then held him there. His captor got real close. So close he could smell his breath. The mask touched Blake’s ear as the Russian spoke again.

  “Enough. This is your last chance. Do this or he dies.”

  Blake had no choice. Aidan was all he had left.

  Any hesitation or doubts about their intentions were gone.

  It was one thing to be beaten, another to see his family harmed.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Three words sealed America’s fate.

  He understood it would lead to a loss of life beyond any war.

  Thousands would die because of his actions. That’s why he’d resisted, held off as long as he could. Blake glanced over at the blood smear on the floor and a wave of guilt washed over him. His only hope was that America’s greatest minds would find a way to reverse it, to turn back what he was about to do.

  Blake snapped back into the present. Days had passed since he’d brought it all down, and he was still here.

  What more could they want from him?

  Why were they keeping him alive?

  He had to escape. The question was how?

  Since arriving they had kept him bound only releasing him when he needed to relieve himself, or when it came time to eat. They’d brought in a doctor twice to tend to his wounds; he assumed the doctor was there by force because she didn’t wear a mask. The doc assured him that he would heal up in no time. No time? Those assholes had rearranged his face, broken his nose, knocked out two teeth, brought him to the brink of death twice and now all he could taste was blood.

  The only upside was they no longer kept a hood over his face.

  He was in a cramped room that looked like the quarters on a military ship, a steel box — low ceilings, one bulb behind a protective cage, steel rivets holding together the walls and floor, and a door that was locked from the other side. Even if he could get out, where would he go? He had no idea where he was. Lying on a bed he stared up at the ceiling then around his quarters. There wasn’t much to it. It was windowless, stuffy and besides the bed, chair and table that was it. After he’d satisfied their demands they’d removed all the computer equipment from the room leaving it bare.

  He’d thrashed around multiple times trying to break free of the restraints, even trying to cut them loose by using the steel bedpost but that only led to more pain.

  Soon his thoughts turned to the doctor. She’d looked nervous on both occasions, as if she had been threatened. The look of horror on the first visit was a clear giveaway.

  Maybe she could help him?

  Although he hadn’t seen his captors’ faces he’d been able to distinguish that there were three of them by their voices. If there were more why hadn’t they been in to see him the day he hacked the system? He’d seen one of them out the corner of his eye filming him with a camera. Who was that video for? The feds or whoever was pulling the strings? He’d contemplated Russia being behind this but why go to all the trouble of taking an American from his home in Colorado when Russia already had top-class hackers? He’d rubbed shoulders with them, even learned from them. No, what was the end game?

  Blake swung his legs off the low bed and rolled his head around working out the tension. God, he hated the restraints. He couldn’t scratch his back without getting up and rubbing against the bedpost. He just wanted to…

  Footsteps approaching.

  A hard bolt pulling back.

  The door swung open and in stepped the doctor, and one of his captors. The doctor was told to wait by the door while his restraints were cut. On both occasions prior to that there had been two of them, one blocking the door while the other dealt with his restraints, but not this time. This was it. Now or never.

  Blake gave a nod to the doctor and she lowered her chin — shame? Guilt? Fear? It was hard to know what was going through her mind, as they wouldn’t let him talk to her other than to describe what pain he was in.

  After getting free, he rubbed his wrists and the doctor stepped forward and placed a bag down. “How are you feeling?” she asked, reaching into her bag and retrieving new bandages, and several devices she used to check his pulse, temperature and look in his eyes and ears.

  “Better,” he replied, his eyes darting to the door for a second.

  As the doc began checking his vitals he sized up his captor. Unlike the other two, this one had an average build, no more than his. He wore a dark jacket, jeans, black boots and that mask, always that damn mask. Holstered at his hip was a Glock. He stood with his arms folded staring at him. “Though I did notice some blood in my urine,” he said.

  “When?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It was after you left,” Blake said.

  There was no problem with his urine but he needed a reason that might require real medical attention, something beyond his prison. But it didn’t work.

  “I’ll need you to go again, so I can see,” she said.

  The doc turned and told the guy what needed to be done and he told her to wait outside. She exited and Blake pulled out the steel bedpan they’d given him.

  “You think I can get some privacy?”

  Any time before that they’d stepped out but not now.

  “Just go.”

  He shook his head and turned around and unzipped.

  A few seconds, a trickle and then he filled the bedpan. Once he was done, he zipped up and picked up the bedpan but before he turned around he crouched over and began to groan as if he was in pain. Out the corner of his eye he saw the guy approach, walking straight into what he wanted. Blake spun around and struck him with the pan as hard as he could. Piss went all over him as the guy buckled.

  A detonation of pure will to survive and Blake burst into action leaping around him and heading for the door. He swung it open to the
surprise of the doctor and dashed down the steel corridor. Where the hell am I?

  Angry yells echoed, his captor was now in pursuit.

  Blake raced down the corridor until he came to a steel ladder fixed to the wall, he scaled up it with all the ease of a monkey, adrenaline pushing him on.

  It took him up to another level, and into a room full of chairs, a TV and a table. He sprinted down the corridor to the next ladder and went up multiple floors, blasting through openings until he pulled back a steel door and wheeled out into the light of day.

  Daylight stung his eyes.

  Hours, days of being inside with nothing more than a light bulb had taken its toll. Without stopping to take in his surroundings, he wheeled around and reached for a railing and ascended steps.

  There he found himself on a steel platform with a huge H at the center of it.

  He spun around, 360 degrees, and took in the sight of the ocean. Nothing but water for miles. He spotted a few boats on the horizon, and what may have been land but it was too far away, nothing but a speck in the distance.

  Blake considered jumping for a second but stopped short of the edge.

  If the drop didn’t kill him, the frigid waters would.

  Within seconds his captors appeared, out of breath and brandishing handguns.

  Though now there weren’t three, there was a fourth. One of them extended their arms outward.

  “It’s the North Sea, there’s nowhere to go,” a familiar voice said. “You are the guest of the Principality of Sealand.” He’d heard of it before. A tiny speck, seven miles off the east coast of the United Kingdom, the sea fort was grounded in international waters — a tiny nation unto its own. It had been constructed during the Second World War as a means of protecting England.

  Blake stared back at them, overwhelmed. “I’ve given you everything you want.”

  “Not everything. There is still one more thing to be done, Blake.”

  “I just want to see my son.”

  “And you will.”

  The voice was so familiar.

  “Who are you?”

  The man stopped walking towards him and lifted his mask.