A Grim Place: A Cullen Grimwade story, #1

By Neal McClinton

Cullen Grimwade managed to survive a desperate childhood where he alternated living with his amoral, criminal father and time spent in state care.  Now Grimwade is an agent with The Executive, a clandestine organisation which works to protect America's interests at any cost.  When Grimwade's foster brother is murdered, he sets out to avenge his death whilst keeping his activities off the radar of his employer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Neal McClinton
• Release date: Jul 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393924524

Neal McClinton

I love stories. Back before TV on demand I'd read during ad-breaks and anytime I went anywhere, I travelled with a stack of books. I read and write across a range of genres and formats. My portfolio includes a fantasy novel, film and TV scripts and plenty of short stories. Being able to write for a living would be a dream come true, so I'll keep banging my head against the proverbial brick wall...!

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

A GRIM PLACE

First edition. July 7, 2020.

Copyright © 2020 Neal McClinton.

ISBN: 978-1393924524

Written by Neal McClinton.

Table of Contents

Copyright Page

A Grim Place. | A Cullen Grimwade novella. | By Neal McClinton.

A Grim Place.

A Cullen Grimwade novella.

By Neal McClinton.

PROLOGUE:

During the reign of President Nixon, when the world seemed to be tumbling down around them, members of the government decided they needed an organisation that could quickly neutralise problems of any sort, a unit that would provide consistent security regardless of what might be going on with the current administration of the day.

Executive Order (Top Secret) 10176 provided for the creation of a group of men and woman whose job it was to carry out the orders of the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, whatever they might be.

CHAPTER ONE:

The prisoner reared back like a bucking stallion as the cattle prod stabbed his stomach and flooded his body with pain.  He screamed until his throat was raw. 

There were three people tormenting him.  They were young men, dressed in a mix of military clothing and knock-off sportswear.   African hip-hop streamed from a mobile phone provided the soundtrack. 

The prisoner shifted, causing his chains to rattle.  He was secured to a metal ring mounted in the ceiling.  His arms were manacled but his legs hung free.  He kicked out at the man holding the cattle prod and received another jolt in response.

The men passed a bottle of brown liquor amongst themselves.  The torture continued until dusk, they grew bored then as he slipped in and out of consciousness.  The trio left their tools - cattle prod, cricket bat and a short whip - on a battered table and closed the door behind them.

The prisoner waited until the sound of their footsteps receded before he raised his head.  This was the second day he’d been a prisoner.  Yesterday he’d been too stunned to try anything and he’d barely been left alone today.

The prisoner, a lithe, muscled, young man, levered his legs up until his feet were level with his hands.  He breathed out deeply against the effort.  His fingertips brushed across the rim of his left shoe until he felt a metal bump.  He used his fingernails to extract a pin. 

He lowered his legs and looked up at the chunky padlock which held him in place.  It was a big piece of steel but it was still just a padlock and he’d learnt how to bypass such things whilst other kids were figuring out how to hit a baseball or master a swimming stroke.

He inserted the pin into the lock and eased it through the tumblers until the mechanism clicked open.  With a few awkward movements, the prisoner was able to remove the padlock and then he uncoiled the chains until he could slip free.

The prisoner dropped lightly to the floor.  He retrieved the pin from where he’d let it fall and pushed it back into the rubber around his shoes.  He approached the table and armed himself with the cattle prod.

The prisoner peered out the sole window in the room.  He could see the city of Kaya towards the horizon. 

The prisoner eased the door open and surveyed the corridor beyond.  It was empty.  He crept out and checked each room as he passed.  Camp beds littered with dirty sheets told him he was in the sleeping quarters.  In the last room, he found another inmate.

The man was perhaps fifty and his white hair and beard provided a stark contrast to his wonderfully dark skin.  He was chained to the wall.  He looked up as the prisoner appeared in the doorway.

A white man now?  What is this? he said in decent English.

The prisoner didn’t respond.  He used his pin to free the man’s shackles.

I’m getting out of here; you can come but I need you to stay behind me and do what I say.

The old man nodded his approval and they moved out. 

The prisoner padded down the stairs to the next floor.  He heard the same music that had been playing during his torture; it was coming from a room at the end of the hallway.  He moved silently towards the sound. 

He glanced into the space and found the three men amusing themselves with a pair of female captives.  One was a young, black woman, whilst the other was a middle-aged white woman with stark blonde hair.

The white woman was partially hidden behind the bulk of one of the torturers whilst the other captive was hemmed in between the other men on a torn, leather couch.  The prisoner made a stop motion with his hand and the old man halted.  He handed over the cattle prod.

The torturer assaulting the white woman had her pushed up against a wall.  The prisoner could see a handgun sticking out of his trousers. 

He walked into the room, four rapid paces and reached for the weapon.  The torturer twisted around but the prisoner put the barrel against his spine and fired two shots.

The men on the couch started to rise.  One went for his own gun and the prisoner shot him in the mouth.  The back of his head and inside of his skull painted a terrible picture on the wall behind him.  The last man made it to his feet.  The prisoner fired but the gun clicked on empty.  He tossed the weapon but his opponent ducked out of the way.

The prisoner leapt forward and drove his knee into the other man’s chest.  They fall back over the couch.  As they rose, the old man stepped into the room and touched the cattle prod against the last man’s temple.  He erupted in a storm of twitches and then fell still.

The prisoner hurried out of the room and rushed to the front of the building.  He found a partially broken set of shutters and checked the scene outside.  Four guards were on duty, manning a set of colonial gates.  Thankfully, gunshots obviously weren’t too unusual, as they were sitting in various slumped postures which suggested anything but concern or vigilance.

He headed to the door and found a tired AK47 propped in one corner of the entryway.  The prisoner grabbed the weapon, dropped the clip and checked the action.  He kicked open the door and fired at the guards. 

His first two shots went wide of the target and he