Deadly Pursuit

By Jasjit Singh Kharay

Ray Jacobs hasn't dealt with the trauma of his last mission more than a decade ago. Now, separated from his family and still haunted by the demons of his past, he is struggling to survive.

When his eleven-year-old daughter, Hannah, is kidnapped without demand for ransom, Ray's purpose immediately comes into sharp focus. He gets crystal clear on his new mission. He must find and rescue Hannah. Failure is not an option this time. Even as a deadly virus ravages the nation, racking up fatalities within days of exposure, Ray must do whatever it takes to protect Hannah and hunt down her assailants.

He's in a desperate race against time and impossible odds. Will he find a way to overcome the wounds of his past to save the nation and his family from annihilation?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jasjit Singh Kharay
• Release date: Apr 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224333042

Book preview

CHAPTER

ONE

It was supposed to have been just another lazy Sunday afternoon with her daughter Hannah. But for Susan Cofflard, this summer day turned out to be unlike any other. They had just returned home from the park, and barely moments after Susan had closed the door of her house, it blew open, shattering the lock and sending splinters of wood flying everywhere. Immediately, several masked men wearing black and carrying compact assault rifles poured into the house.

The impact of the blast had thrown Susan onto the hardwood floor. Still in shock, she raised her head and looked up to see eleven year old Hannah struggling as two of the masked men grabbed her arms.

No! Susan shrieked, scrambling to her feet. She felt unsteady, the room spun, and her legs felt like they were giving way. Panic engulfed her entire being, she could feel her heart thundering in her chest. But she pushed herself up and stumbled forward towards her daughter. She made it two steps forward before another one of the masked men stepped in her way, blocking her. She swung her fist at him, screaming wildly. He easily dodged her attack, and then shook his head at her. She felt the butt end of his rifle strike her painfully on the side of her head. The enveloping darkness swallowed her as she tumbled to the ground, unconscious.

When she came to, she was alone and everything was quiet. The curtains blew in gently from the breeze through the open window in the living room. Sunlight streamed in and lit up the room on what otherwise would have been a perfect summer day. Susan blinked. She was in intense pain, her neck, back and arms stung. Her head was throbbing and swollen. There was debris scattered all over the hardwood floor. Pieces of broken glass. Splinters of wood from the door. The flowers that Hannah had picked up from the park were strewn across the floor in front of Susan, the petals trampled and crushed.

Susan tried to get up, but felt a shooting pain through her neck and down her back. She cried out, touching her head. She was bleeding. Clumps of blood had clotted on her hair, while long red streaks ran down the side of her face and neck. She inhaled sharply from the searing pain on her head. Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself up onto her knees and crawled to the coffee table. She reached for her purse and dug out her mobile phone. Fingers trembling, she quickly dialed a number and waited. Her breath was coming in short rasps.

Please, she whispered, hoping that she wouldn’t lose consciousness before the phone was answered, please pick up.

A man’s voice answered. Susan? Is everything alright?

It’s Hannah! she cried into the phone, Ray, they took Hannah! Some men, I don’t know who, I don’t know why, they just came and they took her! I couldn’t stop them, they broke down the door and they had guns.

There was immediate tension and urgency in his voice. Are you hurt?

I will be alright, she sobbed, please find Hannah, please find our baby!

Then she hung up the phone and dialed 911.

Minutes that seemed like eternity slowly passed. Susan was feeling drowsy, in a sort of strange, unsettling way. Something inside her was telling her to fight this sleepiness, to stay awake. Very important to stay awake. She couldn’t really figure out why. But she struggled to keep her eyes open. She sat on the floor of the living room with her back against the wall, staring into nothingness. The wail of the sirens began very faintly in the distance. Slowly, the sirens grew louder and louder. Until they were right at the entrance to her door. Flashing blue and red lights. Ambulance. Police.

Paramedics rushed in and surrounded her, speaking to her, tending to her wounds, and taking her vitals. Two of them knelt next to her, the man was older with graying hair, and the young woman assisting him was younger, maybe in her twenties. She could hear them speaking to each other rapidly as they assessed the situation. The female paramedic then addressed her.

Ma’am, she said, looking into Susan’s eyes, Ma’am, can you tell me your name?

Susan tried to form the words but couldn't. Her eyelids felt heavy. She felt like closing them.

Ma’am, the paramedic said again, louder this time. What is your name?

Su-Sus, Susan struggled. The young paramedic was looking into her eyes. This was serious. She could see it in the way she was looking at her. She tried again. Susan.

Alright Susan, my name is Jackie, we’re going to take care of you, okay? You have sustained a head injury, it looks like you might have a concussion. We’re going to take you to the hospital to get checked out. We’ll take care of you. We got this.

Susan nodded in relief. Jackie’s confident demeanor reassured her that she was in good hands. The other paramedics wheeled in a gurney, and together, they all lifted Susan onto it and covered her in a blanket.

Jackie continued talking with her as they rolled the gurney out to the ambulance waiting to take them to the hospital.

When she opened her eyes, Susan found herself lying in a hospital bed covered in white blankets. Above her head, some machine was periodically emitting a low beeping sound. Perhaps a monitor of some sort. The room was small, but not cramped. Windows with partially closed drapes to her right, and the door to the hallway to her left. The door was ajar and she could make out voices speaking in a hushed tone just outside. Other, indistinct conversation also floated in to her. Several voices speaking in medical jargon. Perhaps the nurses station was just outside. In the corner of the room, a small television hung from the ceiling, tuned to CNN with the volume off. A steady stream of text from the closed captioning flowed across the bottom of the screen. There was the general news of the day: no new leads in the recent mysterious death of the brilliant but eccentric scientist Dr. Lydia Schneider, and continued coverage on the outbreak of a new pandemic disease, a virus that had already claimed several hundred lives across the country. And it didn’t seem to be showing any signs of slowing down at all.

Her head still throbbed, but the pain in her body had subsided to a dull ache. She tried to sit up, but her muscles felt stiff and sore. She took a deep breath and looked up, tears forming in her eyes. What had happened to Hannah?

As if hearing that she was up, the door swung open wider and a doctor in a white coat poked his head in. Seeing her awake, his eyes lit up and he stepped into the room, adjusting his black-rimmed glasses.

How are you feeling? he asked cheerfully. I’m Doctor Beekman.

Where’s my daughter? Susan asked as the tears rolled down her cheeks.

I understand that the police are looking into the matter, and they will be speaking with you very soon, Dr. Beekman’s tone became serious.

Susan nodded, looking at her hands clasped together in anxiety. Dr. Beekman continued, You sustained a mild TBI, a traumatic brain injury, what you may have heard referred to as a concussion. We’d like to perform a few tests to rule out anything serious.

What kind of tests? Susan asked, looking up at him for the first time.

An MRI, and some X-rays, Dr. Beekman replied. Do you have any implanted or embedded devices, like a pacemaker, any intraocular objects, anything like that?

Susan shook her head.

Alright, thank you. We’ll get those ordered right away.

Thank you, whispered Susan, but she felt no relief.

In the meanwhile, the police would like to have a word, and I believe you also have a visitor.

As he spoke, a man and woman entered the room. The man was tall with graying hair, and had on an old, worn-out beige summer jacket. His sidearm, a .45-caliber Glock 21, was holstered on his belt, next to his badge. The woman, shorter and much younger than the man, had long black curly hair and was much more stylishly dressed in black slacks and a neat white blouse. Her badge was also displayed prominently on her belt with her 9mm Glock 19 sidearm.

Dr. Beekman stepped out of the room with a well- practised nod, closing the door behind him.

Mrs. Cofflard, I’m Detective Joe Lang, the man said, and this is Detective Arielly Sanchez. We are with the LAPD Office of Special Operations, detective bureau, robbery and special assault section. We’d like to get your statement about what happened this morning.

Lang took a notebook out of his jacket pocket and began