Free Extreme Faction by Trevor Scott

to identify the car. But in the bright headlights, it was impossible to tell the make for sure. It wasn’t a normal pattern. More like someone had modified the light scheme. “Well? You ask the questions and I’ll try to answer them.”
    â€œI’m afraid it’s not that simple.”
    There was only a faint blowing sound, like a pellet rifle. Jake felt a pain in his neck, reached up and touched the dart, and that was the last he remembered.

10
    His head swirled uncontrollably, as Jake tried desperately to lift his body from the cold cement. His knees ached. There was a sharp pain in his ribs, and he rubbed them now with his hand to ease the stabbing spasm that felt like a knife was still there imbedded in his chest. Then there was the swelling throb in his neck. All these problems were minor compared to his feelings of utter stupidity. How had he let himself get into this situation?
    High overhead there was a single light, not bright enough to allow a good view of his surroundings. He could only see perhaps twenty feet in all directions. There were crates stacked high on two sides of the room, a crude wooden structure with windows, an odd attempt at an office on another side, and a high metal door on the fourth. Even through blurry eyes, Jake suspected he was in a warehouse of some sort. He could still smell the ocean, so he was probably in the harbor region.
    Out beyond the light, he heard whispers. Then footsteps coming his way. He was on one knee and one foot, with a hand on his chest and the other trying to squeeze life back into his head. Feeling with his left arm, he realized the Makarov was gone.
    Finally, he could make out three men heading toward him. They stopped ten feet away, but their faces were covered with white, cold weather masks, like those issued to Russian troops in the winter. The two outer men wore cheap wool suits, much like the old KGB or GRU would wear. The middle man wore a fine Armani, or a reasonable fake. The two on the outside carried submachine guns, but in the darkness and from that distance Jake couldn’t see if they had rounds chambered. He supposed they did.
    â€œWell, Mr. Adams,” came a voice from the middle man. “I see you’re with us again.”
    It was the same man who had spoken through the bright headlights. What type of accent was that?
    â€œYou’ve got me at a disadvantage,” Jake said, struggling to rise. He winced in pain. Someone had done a number on his body while he was out.
    The man laughed. “I’m afraid you’re right.” There was a long pause. “We need some information.”
    â€œWho’s we?”
    â€œI’ve heard you’re a difficult man.”
    Heard, my ass. Read in a security briefing perhaps. “What do you want? Make it quick. I think one of your courageous buddies there broke my ribs.” Jake squinted through the darkness to look for a reaction.
    â€œYou were the last man to speak with Yuri Tvchenko before he died,” the man said.
    â€œHe didn’t say shit to me,” Jake yelled, his voice echoing through the cavernous room. “Someone made sure of that,” he added softly, with pain.
    â€œThen why did you blow up his apartment last night.”
    Jake laughed and then started coughing. He could taste the iron of his own blood. So, they must have been at the apartment. They either followed Jake and Tully there, which was not likely, or they had been watching the place. Maybe they even set off the bomb. “Yeah, right. I got my ass fried there.” He thought for a second. “Where were you when the whole thing went down?”
    â€œI’m asking the questions here?”
    â€œWho do you work for?” Jake asked, not expecting an answer.
    â€œThat’s funny, that was my next question for you.”
    Jake glanced around the dark room for some escape route. “I work for Bio-tech Chemical from Portland, Oregon. We make insecticides