That Feeling Your Time's Up: The Hunter Series, #3

By Aaron Michael Ricossa

Stranded from her life, isolated from the world, and on the run, Luisa is still able to find joy in the time spent with her friends and family. Those moments, those fragments of a life in hiding that aren't filled with fear, may soon be coming to an end as Ferrum Penna's noose slowly tightens around their necks.
As Luisa, Hunter and the gang sail the Mediterranean searching for answers, the answers they search for may be closing in on them. As two opposing forces both desperately search for the other, the only answer may be in accepting defeat and praying for victory.
Desperately searching for a way to clear their names, Luisa, Hunter and the gang, test fate, by poking their noses in the lives of those who wish to remain hidden. Their hope and fear is that one of those lives will result in coming face to face with those behind the mask of Ferrum Penna. Will Luisa's growing skill with the feeling be enough, or will it only prove to be too much?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aaron Ricossa
• Release date: Jun 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9788797276563

Book preview

Chapter 1

The crack of two gunshots reverberate off the stone walls like cannon fire in such close quarters. The body of a man and woman, sitting at the table only a few feet away, slump and fall from their chairs. Blood runs through the cracks in the old cobblestone street, inching its way toward his foot. The few others sitting at the tables of the small café run, screams echoing down the narrow street as they do.

They were no one, simply strangers, just tourists in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now they're dead. He thought he was calling their bluff. He thought he was in control. He thought this was nothing more than a half-assed plan to steal a wallet and a watch. As the blood reaches his shoe, he can clearly see how wrong he was.

Now do you suppose you want to take that walk? The gun held low at the man’s hip, shows the alternative.

The two men, in their matching grey sweatshirts, blue jeans, black baseball caps, and aviator sunglasses, look identical in every way. Like bank robbers in a low budget Hollywood film, the neck gators covering their faces seem amateur. The ruthless way they shot two innocent people, says they are anything but.

Mr. Katz, I will not ask again, the voice growls.

What did you call me?

Katz. Kilian Carnel Katz.

Though the two men’s faces are disguised, Katz’s isn’t. His recognition of the name is clear and his astonishment at being called it, is evident. The man stands, his age making him slower, but he moves well. The mention of his name, his true name, compelling him to listen far more than even the killing of those on the ground beside him.

What is this about?

I think you know.

He does. In fact, he’s not even sure why he asked the question. If these men, whoever they are, know his real name, then they might know everything. And if that’s true, he knows he’ll have it much worse than the couple on the ground.

The small café in the narrow street is now abandoned. The two men stand on the other side of the table as he pushes in his chair. A siren in the distance gets closer with every second, and yet, the two men don’t rush. They don’t even react. They are professionals, that much is clear.

Katz does his best to exaggerate his age and moves slowly. Hoping if he stalls long enough, the police will get here and end this nightmare of a morning. He can tell his tactic is working as the siren grows. The only problem, he realizes, is that in old town where they are, the streets are too narrow for cars. His realization comes true, the siren continues to wail, but it no longer gets any closer.

The two men step over the bodies of those they killed only a minute ago, not giving a second glance. Katz can’t help but feel guilty. Is it his fault they are dead or are the actions of these men, theirs, and theirs alone? It’s a question that simply can’t be answered. He did not kill them, nor want them dead. Yet it was him and his actions that brought these two men to this small café. It only depends how far back in the story you go. He supposes it doesn’t make much of a difference now.

Footsteps running on the cobblestones can be heard in the quiet morning. They are coming from around the corner and growing louder with each step. Katz can hear them, clear as day. It must be the police. The two men, who must hear it too, still don’t rush. They don’t move any quicker or show any sign of worry. Their calm only makes Katz more anxious and more fearful of these men. The man with the gun gestures and Katz moves. Slowly he walks away from the growing footsteps, with the two men following close behind.

Policija!

The word is yelled from behind and Katz smiles. It’s over. They’ll be arrested and he’ll be free to go. Two quick gunshots erupt again and as Katz turns, he sees both officers on the ground. No more footsteps thunder down the cobblestones. There is no backup on the way. He was right, it’s over, just not the ending he wanted.

To hell with that, he thinks, and as two men turn back to him. He kicks another café table, and it slides across the street and slams into their knees.

Before they can react, Katz is gone. Running down one of the narrow corridors in the ancient city. His speed might not be what it was when he was a younger man, but he knows this city and knows these men are not locals. With a few quick turns, he’ll lose them for sure. No one knows the old town like he does.

He runs through a stone arch, past homes that have stood over a millennium, and turns into an even narrower street. Glancing back, he sees no one, but as he turns forward, there he is…the man in a sweatshirt and ballcap, standing at the top of the stairs. He’s good, but not good enough. Katz ducks into a small shop, and comes out the other side. Now continuing down a different path, he knows the man won’t be able to make it through the shop in time to see him make his next turn.

He swerves around the corner and stops, frozen. Down the street is the other man. Standing, not even chasing him, just waiting. He can’t believe it, but it doesn’t matter, it’s not over. He turns again, running in the opposite direction. Making turns as quickly as they come. As he rounds another corner, there he is. The sweatshirt, the ballcap…the first man is in front of him again. The men are clearly fast and know the city better than Katz had anticipated. No matter, he hasn’t lost faith yet.

Quickly, he steps into a restaurant and moves through the tables and into the kitchen. A couple employees yell and curse, but they are of no importance. They won’t chase him, nor would he be worried if they did. Out the back and up a flight of stairs…there’s the sweatshirt and ballcap again. This is impossible.

He turns and makes his way down another walking street. Two more turns and there he is again. They aren’t human, they can’t be. The two men move through the city like ghosts, appearing out of thin air wherever they need to be. Katz races down a narrow corridor, no longer confident, no longer thinking clearly. He looks down the path to the right, the sweatshirt and ballcap is there. He continues running, glancing down the street to the left, the sweatshirt and ballcap is again there. This isn’t possible, they aren’t running. They aren’t out of breath. Hell, they aren’t even moving, just staring at him through those sunglasses. Their faces hidden, their body language calm.

Losing hope and possibly his sanity, Katz rushes into another building, climbing the stairs. Getting further and further away from the streets below and the men who seem to be wherever he goes. He continues upward, bursting through doors, uninterested and uncaring of where he is or who he’s interrupting, just knowing he needs to get away. His shoulder slams into a door and it doesn’t budge. The end of the line. He looks back and there’s no one behind him. Not yet, but he knows the two men are out there and they’ll find him. He can’t stop, he needs to continue forward. It’s his only hope of escape.

He slams his shoulder against the door again and the frame cracks. One more time and it smashes open. The door swings on its hinges and Katz almost falls. The door was locked for a reason. On the other side, is nothing but air. Though not too high, at his age, the drop would surely kill him. Peering out, he knows exactly where he is. The small market, the people walking below and the walled entrance to old town beside him, it’s unmistakable.

With nothing for him forward, he turns, and his heart nearly stops. Both men in their matching disguises stand before him. The gun once again held at the waist, pointing directly at him. Was this their plan? Did they coral him into this building, toward this door? Was this where they always knew it would end for him?

What do you want? You want me to confess? Cause I will. I did it. Okay? I did it. I stole the money, faked my death, and I’ve been living like a king ever since. You happy now?

The two men don’t say a word. They don’t move. They simply stare at Katz.

Who even sent you? A relative? One of them figure out I stole the family’s fortune? No, they’re all too stupid. Well? What are you going to do? Kill me? You’re not going to kill me, you still need to recover the money.

Despite the lack of cooperation or even acknowledgment, Katz is beginning to get his confidence back. He is a man of means, instinct, and wealth. He can talk his way out of this. He can talk his way into or out of anything.

Listen, guys, as you obviously know, I am very wealthy. If you let me go, I can make the two of you very rich. You can retire, live the good life. You just have to—Stop! Stop! Stop!

The two men step forward toward Katz, closing the already small gap. He shuffles backward and his heel slips over the edge. His arms reach out and catch either side of the doorframe.

You don’t want money. Okay. What do you want?

Ferrum Penna, the man with the gun says, giving nothing more.

Ferrum what? What are you talking about? I’m offering you riches and you’re speaking Latin.

They move the final step closer, the gun's silencer now pressing into Katz’s gut. Their next step will send him out the open door and to his death.

Stop! You can have everything. You can have it all. All my money. The account number is 82475921. Pin code 3749286.

Turn around.

I’m trying to—

Turn around.

Unsure what’s happening, Katz carefully turns, putting his hands again on the edges of the doorframe.

The bank is in Switzerland but there’s branches all over the world. There’s one here, you can get your money today. If you’ll just give me…

His sentence trails off as he looks over his shoulder and sees the two men are gone. He steps away from the door and looks down the hallway but there’s no one there.

Chapter 2

Turquoise blue water shimmers in the late morning light. Perfectly clear, the harbor bed looks only inches below the surface. The small yacht appearing to float on nothing, bobs in the water among the other toys of the wealthy elite. Two more sets of clothing are tossed on the pile of grey sweatshirts, blue jeans, black ball caps, and neck gaiters, before being stuffed into a secret compartment below deck.

Arriving from opposite directions, Hunter and László are the last to return. Took them long enough. I’m already in my bikini, soaking up the warm sun, lounging in a chair beside Charlotte, sharing a bowl of diced fruit. Dan, Viraj, Gerald, and Lukas sit around a table, playing cards and devouring a plate of sliced cheeses, meats, and bread.

Did you dispose of the police uniforms and blood bags? Hunter asks.

Bagged and in a dumpster full of fish guts, Viraj says.

Prop guns?

Locked and hidden, Dan replies.

Civilian clothes and their blood bags?

Trashed. This was not our first time. We’re on top of this, I say.

Good.

So? I ask. Is it him?

László goes below deck, clearly not in the mood and Hunter slouches into the captain’s chair. I think it’s safe to say, the morning was a bust.

Well he confessed. Nearly shit his pants. But nothing about Ferrum Penna.

It’s been six months and twelve different imbecilically rich and powerful, supposedly dead guys. How long are we going to keep this up? I’ve got a life back home. Charlotte voices what we’re all thinking, though with her large brimmed hat and hand fan, it’s got a lot more attitude than I could give.

We’ve been over this. No one is forcing you to be here, but don’t forget that you have no life back home. There is nothing for you to go back to. Interpol, DSIS, the CIA, Havoc, they are all looking for you, looking for all of us. We have nothing and no life until our names are cleared. That won’t happen until we can find those in charge of Ferrum Penna and bring them to their knees.

Hunter isn’t mad, he’s just tired and frustrated like the rest of us. In fact, probably more so because we all seem to look to him for a plan. Not a skill that comes easy to the man. He’s always been much more of a fly by the seed of his own pants kind of guy. That’s why on our walks, or late at night, the two of us work together. He continues to train me as best we can with the limited resources we have, and I work with him on crafting his impulsive ideas into actionable plans.

Is there any chance any of these guys could have been Ferrum Penna and just chosen to die instead of telling you? Charlotte continues.

It’s possible but each one we’ve terrified to the breaking point. None of these men are soldiers and they’ve all cracked, giving up what’s most precious to them. If any of them knew of Ferrum Penna, László or I would have been able to sense it on them.

So what then? We just keep doing this forever?

Not forever, just until we get arrested or killed, László says, popping back up from below deck. He’s changed back into one of his retro outfits. Today it’s the classic blue jeans, white T, and a letterman’s jacket that I can only assume was purchased used online. Since I met him in Budapest, he’s given up Magnum P.I. for the more subtle eighties jock. He looks like he’s about to tape Larry Lester’s butt cheeks together, then cry about it in detention. I look around to see if anyone else is seeing this, but apparently I’m the only one still entertained by László’s wardrobe.

Meanwhile, Hunter collapses back into his chair, the exhaustion evident. I have to help. I have to jump in. Maybe this is my shot to take a larger role. To inspire. To lead.

Look guys, we don’t talk about it much, but I know everyone is watching the news. Since Christmas, Hungary’s militarization has doubled while laws guaranteeing its citizens' freedoms have been getting repealed. Their Prime minister and President are both spewing nonsense about its necessity and value, but we all know where their talking points are coming from. Ferrum Penna.

Hunter stands, my speech seeming to ignite their passions once again.

Luisa’s right, he says, and I appreciate the acknowledgment, but if I’m right, why interrupt me at all? Why not just let me motivate the guys? No matter what I do, he still doesn’t see me as a leader. He still doesn’t trust me to make the decisions.

And it’s not just Hungary, he continues on. Ferrum Penna’s reach is spreading through Europe and beyond. In the last six months, they’ve begun doing everything they can to gain more control. They’ve rigged elections for their puppets to take over the office in countries like Brazil and Vietnam. They’ve bribed and blackmailed their way into power over leaders in countries like Spain and Mexico. And I’m certain they were behind both deaths of the country’s political rivals in Turkey and Indonesia.

Hunter and I have discussed some of this late at night, but a lot of it, even I had no idea about.

At the rate they are moving, and getting all of these countries to do and voice whatever bidding they want, they’ll be targeting and moving in on the world’s powerhouses anytime. England, France, America, Russia, China, they’ll all fall under Ferrum Penna’s control soon enough, and once they do, it’s all over. We tried to stop what they were doing in Hungary and we failed. Now our only hope is to target them directly. That’s what we’ve been doing and maybe I haven’t made that clear. But unless we find the leaders of Havoc, none of us will have lives again, and the world of freedom and individuality we’ve always known, will cease to exist.

No wonder the man looks exhausted and has lost a bit of that spark he had when we were first reunited. I had no idea the magnitude of what has been happening. I can see on the faces of everyone else, that they didn’t either. I’m not sure if the knowledge helps or if he was keeping us in the dark because ignorance truly is bliss. The quiet is overwhelming as none of us know what to say. Is knowing what we are going up against, only going to make it that much harder? Should I not have stood up? Should I not have started this? What are we going to do? Everyone is demoralized. No one is speaking.

So we keep plugging away, Dan’s voice booms from the quiet. I personally couldn’t be happier with the fugitives I’m sharing this adventure with.

I don’t laugh, but his attempt at lifting our spirits does elicit a small exhale through my nose. The kind of laugh where it’s a laugh but not enough to actually get you to open your mouth and verbally laugh.

This isn’t an adventure, Gerald says.

On the lam, on vacation…look around, what’s the difference?

Dan has a point. We are sitting on a yacht in the Adriatic Sea in the middle of summer. For being internationally wanted criminals, we aren’t exactly living the hard life. Of course, that’s entirely thanks to Hunter, László, and Charlotte, who all have extensive experience as master criminals. This yacht, for instance, is borrowed from a wealthy tech entrepreneur that happened to become busy dealing with some trouble with his software patent. It was Charlotte’s idea to release his algorithm online, László’s execution, and Hunter’s skill in…let’s say commandeering the boat. The result is comfort and the anonymity of wealth that many customs agents and ports shy away from confronting. Basically, it’s a free ride into any port city, no questions asked.

That freedom has allowed us to move through the Mediterranean with ease. In summer, it would seem most of Europe’s wealthy and powerful migrate to the pristine waters of the southern sea. Moving from city to city, we’ve devised cons, like the one we just pulled this morning, to try and get a Dominus of Ferrum Penna to reveal himself. Hunter’s idea is that Jorgan Muller faking his death was no coincidence. He believes that all the most powerful Ferrum Penna members are probably thought to be dead by society. So with the backdoor that I had Lin install in Havoc, I’ve been able to use their resources to make a list of the most powerful people thought to have possibly created their existence after faking their death.

We’re basing our whole plan on the fact that Ferrum Penna supposedly, at all times, has a group of ten Dominus’s that are controlled by a single man, known only as the Rex. If we can catch a Dominus, he might be able to lead us to the Rex and then we can find some leverage to stop them and clear our names. So far, no one knows anything about Ferrum Penna, and we are no closer to finding the Rex. In fact, we aren’t even sure if the information we have is correct.

Despite Dan’s positive spin, I’m starting to feel like this is looking for sunken treasure from a ship that never even existed. A small laugh catches me by surprise. We’ve been living on this boat for so long, everyone’s metaphors and analogies have become nautical themed. Even mine. Just a couple days ago Dan referred to a particularly tasty pizza as being as good as a wakeless slumber. That one was an analogy and a sea pun…and to be honest, it took me a minute.

It’s a wonderful reminder that despite the horrible situation we are in, there are always things to smile about. The fact that Dan can still make me laugh, is just another reason why this awkward, pretending to be nothing more than friends routine I have been doing is just silly.

After Christmas last year, when this all started, I knew there was something more there with him. I was ready to take the chance, make the leap, and then we had that moment. On the iconically beautiful Fisherman’s Bastion in Budapest, having just survived a terrorist hostage takeover and a madman’s attempt to kill us all, I felt there was no better time. I thought he was going to tell me how he felt and reveal that he wanted to be with me. Then he hesitated and nothing happened. Why did he hesitate? I thought he felt something for me, but since that moment, I haven’t been so sure. Maybe he realized that it’s nothing more than a little crush or even less than that, I don’t know.

What I do know is that he’s right. We need to be grateful that we are all still alive, free, and together. Nothing can be too bad, while that’s true.

The only difference is that we couldn’t afford this nice of a vacation, I say, trying to pull everyone into embracing Dan’s view. I get a couple laughs and even Hunter smiles. Pulling a beer from the cooler, I toss it to Hunter. So. Where to now captain?

He pops the tab and turns the motor on. With a rumble of the powerful engine below, he says, Dan, why don’t you come captain for a bit.

If people were anything like cartoons, Daniel’s eyes would be ballooning out of his head right now and his smile would literally reach from ear to ear. He tries to stand, slips, knocks over his drink which spills across the table, then proceeds to bump every single person on the boat as he rushes to the helm. He looks like he’s on The Price is Right and was just told to ‘come on down.’ There’s something incredibly uplifting about seeing pure joy in others. One person’s joy in a moment can really spread. I see it’s even working on Charlotte and László.

He grabs the steering wheel and Hunter puts the captain’s hat I got him as a joke, on Daniel’s head.

Okay, nice and easy now.

Daniel pushes the lever and the boat throttles forward faster than I’m sure he intended. More glasses fall, spilling on the table, as we all jostle, nearly falling ourselves.

That was not nice and easy.

He sighs and his hands fall from the controls as he removes the cap. Hunter takes it and places it back on his head.

No worries. Now you’ve got a feel for it. It was probably my fault anyway. Hovering and all. Why don’t you head south down the coast.

As the others clean the table and wipe up the mess, Daniel’s grin spreads across his face. This time as he pushes the throttle, the boat eases out of the harbor and into the Adriatic Sea.

Luisa, we need to talk. Join us downstairs.

Hunter’s request, though said with a smile, seems urgent. He and László head down into the cabin and I have a feeling there might be a bit more to what happened today.

Chapter 3

Is this really all we are doing?

All? We are spying on the Director of the CIA, who is also the man running operations for the most secretive and powerful organization history has ever known.

Yeah okay, but…It’s just so boring.

Lin you were the one who taught me that working for the CIA isn’t all shootouts and car chases, it’s data and information gathering.

Marcus sits in the back of a van, in front of a computer split into quadrants. Each section showing a different view of a beautiful old brick house in the middle of the woods. The very house, where just six months ago Marcus was ordered to kill his mentor, who sits next to him now.

Yeah but, come on. We’ve been watching and listening in on Baird for months. The man is a machine. He follows the exact same routine every day and never does anything interesting. I never knew anyone could be so boring.

Glimpses of the man who ordered Marcus to kill Lin, pass from one quadrant to the next. The only angles of the inside of the house are camera shots through the windows, but the quality is surprisingly good. They can see Baird getting ready for work, the exact same way he does every day. Toast, unbuttered, and a single soft-boiled egg is all he eats. Black coffee is poured into a thermos and carried with him to the garage.

He can’t do this forever. He’s bound to slip up and when he does, we’ll catch him, Marcus says leaning into the screens as if it’ll give him a better view.

I find your optimism unbelievably annoying.

You want to go back to stakeout shifts with Jack?

Lin cringes at the question. Six months ago, she reunited with her husband that she hadn’t seen or spoken to in nearly fifteen years. At first they were inseparable. They were like teenagers in love…if those teenagers had dysfunctionally opposite personalities. In his old age, Jack has learned peace and embraced his emotions. Lin on the other hand only embraces one emotion, aggression.

No. I was on the verge of blowing our whole operation, simply because I was going to put a bullet either through his head, or my own.

Their love was evident, clear as day, but somehow they spent almost every moment contradicting the other