Radioactive (The Rayna Tan Action Thriller Series Book 4)

by Wes Lowe

  “We walk,” announced Diego. He hoisted the grenade launcher into his arms and carried two of the knapsacks. Willie carried the third one while Davy handled the detonator.

  During their walk, Davy had never seen so many mobile homes in his life. He guesstimated that one third of the residences were situated in mobile home parks, while smaller single family homes comprised the rest. Speaking English would definitely put someone in a minority. After a mile, they heard the sound of contemporary Mexican music spiking in volume.

  “Stop,” said Diego when they arrived at a neighborhood park. “That’s the place.” He pointed to a large two-story home on the other side of the park that was situated on a huge suburban lot. Surrounded by an electric chain link fence, the closest neighbor was at least five hundred feet away.

  As they stepped toward the target building, Diego gave Davy and Willie a stern look that communicated for them to be cautious.

  They stopped at the perimeter of the park and used as concealment a little building which housed the restrooms. It was directly across the street from the target, which gave them an excellent view of the massive home.

  Looking past the shadowy perimeter, they could see drunken revelers partying and dancing to music that was blaring out at eardrum-shattering decibel levels.

  In the parking lot were half a dozen American SUVs and pickup trucks, as well as one vehicle that stood out from the rest—a brand new black Mercedes Maybach.

  “Just put the bombs at the entrance,” ordered Diego as he gingerly handed the knapsacks he was carrying to Willie. “Be very fast. We want to be done in less than five minutes.”

  “Yes sir,” said Willie.

  Not wanting to risk the consequences of not obeying Diego, it took Willie a shade over four minutes to scurry to the stone pillars at the front entrance, place the three bombs behind the stone columns, and race back.

  As soon as he arrived, Diego lifted the grenade launcher and fired, dropping the six grenades on random points across the house.

  Boom! Boom! Boom! There was pandemonium as the grenades exploded, sending debris shooting into the sky and ricocheting around the property. People rocketed out of the house and into their vehicles, bloodcurdling screams in Spanish haunting the atmosphere as fire began to consume the home.

  While extending an open hand to Davy, Diego’s sharp eyes never left the building. “Give the detonator to me,” he shouted.

  Davy handed him the cell phone detonator. Diego saw Manuel, a stocky man with considerable girth, waddle into the Mercedes, yelling at the top of his lungs.

  The German luxury vehicle launched and was the first car to make it to the entrance. As soon as the vehicle’s nose passed the stone pillars, Diego hit the FIRE button on the mobile.

  Caught between three powerful bombs, the Mercedes was obliterated in a cloud of fire and dust.

  As bits of metal and human flesh began to rain down, Diego turned to Davy and Willie and ordered, “Don’t run but walk quickly.” With the screams of shocked revelers echoing in the background, Diego led Davy and Willie back to the Explorer.

  Diego’s spirits were soaring. His personal mission was accomplished. He took the wheel and was very careful not to exceed the speed limit nor drive in any way that might draw attention.

  When Davy heard Diego mutter, “Venganza por mi hermano (Vengeance for my brother),” he answered the assassin with, “La venganza es tuya y será mía (Vengeance is yours, and it will be mine.)”

  A moment later, Davy saw a wisp of a smile on the ungodly assassin’s face.

  28

  The Jaws of Death

  Fighting the pain of the stick in her thigh and the sight of her own blood oozing out, Rayna steeled herself with a line from her Special Ops experience that had been drilled into her for years. “The more you bleed in training, the less you bleed in war.”

  And this was war. Mental toughness was the primary requirement. The first thing that Rayna determined was that she was in pain, but not incapacitated. No broken bones, no sprains. This mindset is what had propelled her through long nights with no sleep, days of ruck marches without food, and when the pain of a nagging injury had to be ignored.

  Arrive ready to compete and win, not to merely survive. This was the biggest difference between those who graduated into Special Forces and those who did not.

  Did it hurt? Damn sure.

  But Rayna was ready.

  Her biggest worry was potential infection, but that was a concern she had no control over. It was filthy, loose bits of shit were scattered around as was the unmistakable raucous odor of urine. She hoped she could be in a safe situation before disease-causing agents that had likely already entered her body through the wound in her thigh had a chance to fester. Where and when that might be was unknown.

  While there was a natural inclination to immediately pull out the branch, that might sign her death sentence—especially if the blood was oozing out of an artery. There would be no way to stem the bleeding if the branch was providing the plug on the wound.

  Applying careful smart pressure was the key. She took off her top and used the small Swiss army knife to cut off one long strip that was six inches wide. She tied the tattered filthy ribbon tightly above the wound closer to her body. She then carefully pulled the tree branch out.

  Success! There was only minimal bleeding—she didn’t hit an artery.

  But she wasn’t done yet.

  Think outside the box, Rayna.

  Rayna inhaled deeply, trying to get her pounding pulse to slow down. With so little to work with, her options were limited but what the hell.

  Her next idea was a long shot, but she decided to try and cauterize the wound. She took out several matches and lit them all, holding them under the Swiss army knife’s blade until the flame petered out. She placed the heated blade on her flesh around the stick, biting down as hard as she could as she saw her flesh sizzle. She repeated this three times until all the matchsticks were gone.

  Panting hard, she forced herself to slow her breaths until she had the courage to look at her thigh.

  Mission accomplished—the wound was cauterized.

  Rayna stood up. It hurt like a son-of-a-bitch but she could move, and if she could move, she was going to do what she could to try and save Steve.

  She picked up the two branches that she had soaked with gasoline. Soaked with mud, they were now useless.

  No guns, nothing to light a fire with… Looking and smelling the way she did now, she wasn’t sure that she could even use what women in time immemorial used as weapons against men—her body.

  All she had was the pathetic little Swiss Army knife.

  Her hope for her life and Steve’s was clinging by the narrowest of threads… but there was still the chance, no matter how unlikely, that she could beat the odds.

  Despite the almost unbearable pain, Rayna willed herself to trudge the remaining distance along the path to where the hopeless shanty town lay. As she approached, she heard wailing, chanting, clapping, drumming, and flutes warbling like birds. They sounded louder and more frenzied than when she and Steve first arrived.

  She crouched low behind a bush. Ouch!

  As she pushed her hand onto her cauterized wound to help ease her pain, she looked into the clearing. In addition to the dancers and musicians performing, she saw men, women, and children, their agony-stricken voices wailing outside the tent. Then she saw Steve exit the tent, carrying the lifeless body of the priest. As Steve placed Kervin’s body in with the carcasses of the dead pigs, the swarms of flies seemed to develop new energy as fresh meat was added to their meal.

  After Steve rose up, three men grabbed Steve and held him. This was not good. Rayna realized that the leader’s son must not have survived. The penalty for failure was being extracted: the priest was first and Steve would be next. Then she spotted the bullet holes in the priest’s forehead.

  That was a good sign—there were only two of them! That likely meant that it was only one gunman
and not a firing squad.

  Then Rayna recognized the leader leaving the tent. He, too, was carrying a dead body—that of a bony teenager. She realized then that within moments after he placed his son down, Steve’s execution would be the thug’s next task.

  For some reason, Rayna’s thoughts flashed to her pastor father and what he would do. Yeah, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death… Rayna glanced skyward, then turned to see that the leader had placed his son beside the priest and taken out his Sig Sauer.

  It was now or… there was no alternative to now…

  “Stop! Stop!” she cried out, hobbling towards the leader who had fixed his weapon’s sights on Steve.

  Startled at the outburst, Michel turned to see Rayna stumbling awkwardly toward him on the verge of collapse and snapped a shot off at her.

  Rayna flinched as the bullet ploughed into the ground at her feet.

  Then chaos broke out. Steve hurled himself onto Michel’s back. He wrapped his left arm around the gangster’s neck and squeezed his elbow tight to try and cut off the air supply from his windpipe.

  Michel was at least fifty pounds of muscle heavier than Steve. While Steve tenaciously resisted being thrown off, it was only a matter of seconds before the super heavyweight would crush the welterweight like a flea.

  Meanwhile, the mourners swarmed Rayna, pelting and kicking her as she tried to fend them off..

  Suddenly, the air above her filled with little flashes of light, followed immediately by the deafening roar of automatic machine gun fire. Rayna’s attackers either fled or dropped to the ground in pools of their own blood.

  Rayna looked around to see a familiar sight; a Black Hawk helicopter hovering low, door gunner poised to fire with a machine gun.

  Rayna saw that the helicopter gunner was waiting for an opportunity to fire again. She looked toward Steve to see that Michel had managed to free himself from the forearm choke hold. His thick arms had Steve in a tight bearhug and he was squeezing the life out of him. Steve was now barely conscious and Rayna could see he was fading fast. She had to do something.

  Rayna scampered and picked up two rocks. As a child, she had heard the story of David and Goliath a thousand times. As she launched the stone, she hoped that she could be as accurate with her aim as the shepherd boy was.

  No such luck. The stone hit Michel on the back, not enough to hurt or affect him.

  I’ve still got one shot. Rearing back, she launched the second rock. This time, the stone landed exactly where she wanted to—in the center of Michel’s forehead. Unfortunately, she did not have the same result as David. She had lost so much blood that her throw, while accurate, lacked the strength to do any real damage.

  As she dropped to her knees, she saw a small indentation in the middle of Michel’s forehead where the rock had landed. Michel threw Steve to the ground and turned his attention to Rayna. He began barreling toward her.

  Too weak to get away, one thought popped into Rayna’s head as Michel opened his hands to throttle her. This is a lousy way to die.

  A moment later, Michel’s body spurted multiple bloody holes in his head, neck, and torso, and toppled on top of her. She pushed him off and watched his body convulse briefly before the stillness of death came upon him.

  Rayna stumbled to Steve while the chopper descended and landed in front of them. She gave a thumbs up and mouthed “thank you” to the gunner, who smiled and nodded his acknowledgment. He moved aside to allow a mulatto male of medium build to step out of the chopper. As he walked to the couple, Rayna thought he looked like a shyster televangelist with his too-coiffed hair and immaculately tailored powder grey suit.

  Which only went to prove the old saying, You can’t judge a book by its cover.

  He arrived and shook Rayna and Steve’s hands. “Rayna Tan and Dr. Steven Yang? I’m Senator Ronald Cleri, a friend of Barry Rogers. He asked me to look in on you. It seems like our appearance was most timely.”

  “It certainly was, Senator. Thank you so much,” mumbled Steve.

  “Don’t thank me. Thank Felix,” replied Cleri, pointing to the door gunner.

  “Thanks Felix.” Steve then asked, “How did Barry know to come here?”

  Rayna interjected before the senator answered. “Barry knows everything. And if he doesn’t, he’ll dig until he finds out. He wants me for something, right?”

  Cleri smiled. “You are absolutely right. He was trying to contact you because he needs you right away. But when you didn’t respond, he became concerned and asked me to find you. But let’s get onto my helicopter before you call.”

  29

  Diagnosis

  As the chopper rose, Senator Cleri pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. “Hello, senator,” said Barry on the other end of the line.

  “Mission accomplished. I have Rayna and Dr. Steve with me on the chopper. I will let you speak to her,” said Cleri.

  As he handed his cell to Rayna, there was the gurgling sound of vomit. Rayna swiveled to see that Steve had passed out. His body was trembling and his face was covered with sweat. Holding her breath and clenching her lips to avoid gagging at the raucous stench, she looked to the floor and saw a watery pool of diarrhea. She pushed Felix away. “Don’t worry about me. Help Steve.”

  There was no time for pleasantries. She grabbed the cell from Cleri. “Barry, Steve’s passed out and he looks really sick. Can you get a doctor on the line?”

  “On it now,” replied Barry. “Stay on the line.”

  An eternity of thirty seconds later, Dr. Madeline Anderson was on line. “I understand you have a sick patient. Can you give me a brief history and tell me what you see?”

  Rayna took a deep breath to steady her skyrocketing pulse. “We were in China before coming here. He treated an elderly person with bird flu in a rural village. We arrived in Hispaniola a week ago for a vacation but when Hurricane Ophelia hit, Steve volunteered to go to help in a remote village. I accompanied him, but we were captured and taken to a disease-ridden shanty town where Steve was forced to treat the son of one of the local gang leaders. Steve negotiated my release and a young thug drove me in the direction of Malpasse. I knew though, there was no intention of keeping me alive. I fought him off, probably killing him and headed back to the shanty camp. When I got there, I could see that a military-looking figure was about to execute Steve when unexpectedly, we were rescued by Senator Cleri. We are currently on his helicopter. Steve appeared weak but was otherwise well when suddenly he started vomiting violently just now. He passed out and even now is trying to puke, but nothing is coming out. There is a lot of watery diarrhea which stinks worse than anything I’ve ever smelled. His body is twitching, almost to the point of convulsing. We are still within the seventeen day limit that he could have contracted bird flu, but I don’t know it well enough to diagnose the symptoms.”

  “While we can’t rule avian flu out since he was well before you went to the Hispaniola, I’m more inclined to think he got something there. Sounds like cholera but it might be malaria. No matter what it is, we should get him to a hospital ASAP,” said Dr. Anderson.

  “We are about fifty kilometers to Port Au Prince and I can arrange to have the chopper land directly there within half an hour,” Senator Cleri called out.

  Barry jumped back on the line. “Thanks for the offer, Senator Cleri but that’s not going to work. Because of Ophelia, I know that all the hospitals in Haiti are overrun with suffering locals and I don’t want to take up any more of your country’s resources than I have to. I’ve arranged for a meet-up with one of Steve’s friends who works with the Red Cross and is in Haiti now. Giorgio will look after him. Can he just meet you at the airport?” said Barry.

  “Of course,” replied the Senator.

  Dr. Anderson came back online. “That’s good. Rayna, can you check his heart rate and mucous membranes in his nose and mouth?”

  Rayna placed her index and third fingers of her right hand on Steve’s neck to the side of his w
indpipe and used her left hand to poke into the nostrils of Steve’s nose. She waited for fifteen seconds, then released a worried breath. “Not good. It was thirty-five beats for fifteen seconds, and inside his nose is dry.”

  Dr. Anderson clucked her tongue, then said, “He’s got the classic symptoms of cholera. That’s about the only thing that could have such a fast incubation period. Most other diseases would take a week or more. We need to start rehydration treatment ASAP. Do you have a first aid kit onboard or some bottled water?”

  The pilot answered, “The first aid is pretty basic. Wouldn’t have anything that would help. We do have several bottles of water, half a dozen bottles of rum, and some coconut water.”

  “That’s good. How about sugar or salt?”

  Rayna glanced at Felix who rummaged through the front of the chopper. After a few seconds, he held up some packages of sugar and salt, souvenirs from some take-out restaurant. She turned back to Dr. Anderson. “Some sugar and salt.”

  “Good. Put the sugar into the bottle of water and shake it. Force him to take small sips until it’s gone. What we’re trying to do is replace the fluids.”

  “He’s lights out. How can I make him drink it?”

  “If you’ve got straws or tubes, you can replenish his water orally or through his nose into his stomach.”

  “I know you said it’s unlikely but what if it’s the bird flu?” asked Rayna as she put the sugar into the water bottle and shook it.

  “Then you better pray. That’s a whole different animal.”

  Steve started cramping as Rayna put the sugared water to his mouth. She shouted, “Steve’s legs are cramping and his body is spasming.”

  “Someone hold him still and force the water down his throat. He’s got to stay hydrated,” shouted Dr. Anderson.

  Ignoring the possibility of themselves getting infected, Felix wrapped his muscular arms around Steve’s torso to stabilize him while the co-pilot forced the sugary solution into Steve’s mouth and down his throat.