The Antiterrorist: A Jake Corby Sci-Fi Thriller (Mysterious Events Book 2) by Al Macy

 
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER ONE
     
     
    November 17, 2011, Oregon
    It was the word I least wanted to hear: “Freeze.” Actually, two words, “Freeze, dumb-ass.” I’m not sure what the second word was for. It was pretty clear who she was talking to—I was the only dumb-ass lurking around the terrorists’ Oregon compound at 3 a.m.
    Without turning around, I asked, “Who, me?”
    My smart reply apparently wasn’t appreciated. It got me a few hours of unconsciousness followed by a throbbing headache. I’ve heard it so many times: “That Jake Corby can’t keep his mouth shut.” You’d think at age thirty-six I’d have learned to keep it under control.
    Morning found me face down on the floor of a basement with a zip tie around my wrists. Another held my ankles against a pipe on the wall. The place looked like something from an episode of Extreme Hoarders, but the terrorists had pushed all the junk out of my reach. I lay in a semicircle of dusty cement floor as if I’d made some kind of whole-body snow angel in the trash.
    I got to my knees, rolled my shoulders, and looked around. Sunlight filtering through a grimy window highlighted dust in the air. A faucet dripped to my left, and rats or mice rustled around in their little garbage paradise. It smelled like a dumpster that had been out in the sun all day.
    I’d learned how to defeat zip ties in FBI boot camp. Didn’t the terrorists know how easy it was? Don’t they watch YouTube? With my teeth, I pulled the tie as tight as I could stand it, got the lock part between my wrists, and raised my hands above my head. That’s when boots rumbled down the stairs. I flopped back down onto my stomach. A man and a woman in camo outfits marched over to me through the piles.
    “You guys come to tidy up?” No, I didn’t say that. I just thought it. I guess I am capable of learning after all.
    The woman kicked me in the ribs. “Shut up.”
    I swear, I hadn’t said a word. Did she read my mind? She was a tall, loose-jointed girl of twenty-three or -four and looked as if she’d flunked out of her doctor’s weight-gain program. Her mouth and chin seemed designed for sneering. I recognized the voice from the night before.
    The man was around thirty and unpleasantly plump with pasty skin. He’d shaved his head, but the effect was more Tweedledum than Bruce Willis. He cut my ankles loose with a sword-sized commando knife. The bigger the knife, the smaller the—
    “Get up, dumb-ass, it’s time for an information session.” She pulled me up by my hair. Maybe that’s why commandos get buzz cuts. Her forearms looked like twigs, but she was strong. “Aw, your cuff looks pretty tight. Does it hurt?”
    I looked straight ahead, keeping my expression neutral. She yanked up on the strap, but I’d already gotten it as tight as it would go. Of course, I had thought I’d have it off within seconds. And yes, it did hurt.
    They marched me up the stairs and down a hall to a makeshift interrogation room. Most of the furniture had been shoved into a corner. A wooden chair sat in the middle of the green linoleum. On the bright side, there were no loose teeth on the floor or blood splatters on the wall.
    Twiggy re-zip-tied my arms behind me and my legs to the chair. What was it with these guys and zip ties? She stood to one side of me and a little back.
    Something whistled through the air and clanged into the side of my head at eye level. I’m not sure what it was. Maybe an axe handle or a small bat. The pain told me she’d gotten a good swing in. It only registered for an instant, and my mind made a jump-cut to the future. I don’t know whether I passed out from the pain or the blow itself. Perhaps I’d received my second concussion in twenty-four hours. Not good.
    Passing out isn’t like taking a nap. It’s an instant skip of some portion of your life. I opened my eyes. The world didn’t seem right.
    In front of me, a tall man leaned against a table with his arms