by Tom Avito
“Received, Black Scorpion ONE. Negative, head back to base. Roger.”
“Snow White, Black Scorpion ONE is able to complete the operation, we are ready, we can do it. We intend to proceed anyway. Roger,” Shephard stressed.
“Remain on hold, Black Scorpion ONE. Roger,” were the base’s orders.
A few endless minutes went by before they heard the radio crackling in their headphones again.
The Sikorsky Blackhawk flew low, drawing perfect concentric circles like a vulture preparing to pounce.
Then came the communication: “Affirmative, complete the operation and return. We repeat, affirmative. Over.”
In those few seconds, the Al-ʿAmārah command had reported the situation to London, where someone had taken on the responsibility of giving them the go-ahead and making the mission continue.
Shephard was sitting in the middle of one of the two rows of men. They sat facing each other in the Sikorsky’s cabin. He looked over his men: their drawn, determined and focused faces seemed to express their agreement with the decision made by their commander. They were ready to put their lives at stake for their comrades and for the success of the mission. It was their job, they were SASs, they knew that they were inextricably bound and tied to danger. They would march together towards the end, be it the end of their career or the end of their lives. Their motto had always been “Who dares wins”[12].
The helicopter veered slightly and returned to its planned route towards the target. They left the Black Scorpion TWO’s seven men and crew on the ground to wait for rescue, and flew away.
****
At that time, Nino was usually deep in the mysterious world of dreams. What was keeping him well awake that night was the suspicion that the CCIS’s solution for the Wharzes’ liberation wouldn’t be the accurate and surgical blitz that he’d been lead to expect. The elimination of professor Wharz, and therefore of all the information that was so useful and so dangerous at once, would put an end to all worries. He couldn’t rule out the possibility that London or some other fucking part of the world had decided to go for option “B”, deeming the collateral damage to be, all in all, acceptable.
What would stop his friends from dropping one of those nice “Tomahawks”, a ton and a half of pure destruction? They’d be able to wipe away the existence of the professor, of his son and of a few hundred ball-busting Iranians.
He could only hope that the information was essential to everyone, not just to the Iranians. With a certain cynicism he knew that this was the only hypothesis that could save those poor people’s souls, and maybe his own too, since he was just a few hundred meters away from Gehirn and his son.
Three distinct shots sounded in the distance but slid past his perception, engrossed as he was in these intricate thoughts. A few seconds later, the clear blast of a Kalashnikov brought him back to earth. He knew that sound well, it was the unmistakable crackle of an AK in action. He was still dressed, he quickly put on his shoes and ran out of the apartment. The shots continued at brief intervals, as a real battle seemed to burst out.
As the frightened guests began to pour into the reception he started to run in the opposite direction, towards the northern perimeter of the residence.
He reached the wall that marked the border between the residence grounds and the villa. He heard more AK blasts, and now that he was closer he could also make out the stifled sound of silenced shots. A clearly intense exchange of greetings was going on. He looked around to notice that everyone had ran away in panic, looking for shelter and assurance.
He climbed onto the oleander, hoisting himself up onto the first thick branch. The muted light of the full moon simplified his task and provided him with enough visibility to see the right handholds. He leaped from the branch, grasping the edge of the perimeter wall, and climbed up. Laying on top of the thick partition he stopped to look around and assess the situation. Flashes of light from the machine guns’ mouths ripped through the darkness like lightning in a heavy storm. A few meters away, the lifeless body of a militia man lay on the gravel. The villa’s large garden had become the location of a raging battle.
He’d been so careless! He’d left everything in the apartment, his windbreaker, his ID, but above all his phone. His only means of communication. All he had was his wallet, containing a few euros and dollars, but it was too late for regrets. He had to decide: go forward or go back.
He jumped over the wall, landing next to the body of the dead fighter. His instinct had made the decision for him, there was no time to repent.
The darkness prevented him from understanding exactly how the fight was evolving, let alone make out who the aggressors were. He crawled on, bent low and alert, as the heart of the fight shifted towards the entrance of the villa.
A stifled groan to his right took him by surprise, making his hands shake and his bones become as heavy as lead. A faint, faltering voice was repeating a phrase over and over, awaiting an answer. He tried to move closer to make out the words, which were spoken in perfect English:
“Sergeant Allen here, I’ve been shot, I’m down! Southern perimeter. Roger.”
“Hold on, Allen, this is the Captain. We’ll get you out of here,” was the answer that came to the sergeant’s ears.
“Sergeant Allen, I’m a friend, I’m coming towards you, my hands are in the air. Don’t shoot!” Nino said, knowing that he risked being greeted by a nice lead shower.
“Received, Sergeant Allen? I’m coming, don’t shoot,” he repeated in a low voice.
The villa was surrounded by vegetation and trees, unlike the surrounding landscape that was rocky and barren. Everything was well-trimmed, luxuriant, and in that moment where finding shelter could be a matter of life or death, a simple bush could make a difference.
He moved closer to the tangle of shrubs, praying the Lord that this wouldn’t be the end of his earthly journey. Crouching, he pushed the leaves aside and moved past the branches. The injured man in all-black tactical gear was laying with his back resting on a large rock. One hand clutched his bloody abdomen as the other one, shaking and unsteady, held the gun that was pointed at him.
“Stay calm, Sergeant, I’m Italian, I’m a friend,” Nino said, stopping on his tracks, waiting for the other man to give him a sign.
The gun pointed downwards and touched the ground. Only then did he approach the wounded man.
“Italian, take the kit that’s in my left leg pocket, open the bag of coagulant and pour it onto the wound. Then place the gauze on it. The bullet went right under my vest!” Said Sergeant Allen, his voice getting weaker and fainter.
Nino followed the directions. He pressed the gauze on the wound, that instantly ate up the white powder and tinted it red. He looked into the man’s eyes and for a moment his suffering appeared to have eased. The Sergeant’s uncertain eyelids quivered and his grimace disappeared. A stream of thick dark blood flowed out of his mouth together with his last breath, then his exanimate head fell back onto the cold rock.
The last time he’d seen someone die had been when his father had passed. The grip of his hand had suddenly eased and Tommaso’s life had been gone forever, taking a part of his soul with it. It was the most painful moment he’d ever experienced in his life and he’d sworn to himself that he would never again look death in the face. Except when his own time came, of course. Instead, he’d just seen Sergeant Allen off on his final trip.
It had affected him terribly, worse than he could ever have imagined.
He gently pushed down his eyelids until they closed and let his hand slide on the Sergeant’s chest and onto his bloody abdomen, as a farewell gesture. He pulled the Sig Sauer out of the soldier’s holster and moved on towards the edge of the bushes so that he could see beyond. The shooting was now less intense, it seemed as if the fighters had mostly moved inside the house.
Crouching down he coasted along the edge of the greenery, towards the rear of the building. Tension and adrenaline saturated his body, which now felt stiff a
nd slow. All he could do was play along, he’d long passed the point of no return. He approached one of the ground floor windows whose glass had already been shattered. Inside, the room looked dark and impenetrable, untouched by the dim moonlight. One leg, then the other, and he was inside. The crunching of broken glass and the sound of his wild heartbeat marked the rhythm of his steps until he tripped and fell forward. The shots came nearer, while the screams and moans of wounded men begging for help echoed outside. The thud of his fall had been stifled by a thick and wide rug, but he was certain that he’d tripped on something much bulkier. As his sight gradually adjusted to the darkness, he was able to see the sketched silhouettes of objects close by. He turned and focused his eyes on the floor, making out the outline of a leg. It was in an unnatural position, another black-clad body laying in a heap. He felt the man’s jugular with two fingers looking for a heartbeat, but the reaper had already come by to take away what he’d been looking for.
He unhooked the man’s helmet and gently placed his head on the floor, he no longer knew exactly what he was doing and could only play it by ear. His instinct was the only thing that guided him, he was doing and thinking things that up to a month earlier he would only have seen in an action movie. He had to trust himself, to have blind faith in his skills if he wanted to make it out of there on his own legs.
He put on the helmet and pulled down the night vision goggles that were still functioning. Suddenly the room lit up in a green light and everything became visible in its shape and size.
He moved on towards the room’s exit, the door was ajar and beyond it was nothing but complete darkness. He clutched the Sig Sauer aiming it in front of him, unsecured and armed, prepared to shoot at the first available target. Breathing in deeply he sought to find a balance between tension and clarity of mind. He needed to find the Wharzes or someone from the British commando and join them in order to finish up the job. The only thing that mattered was getting out of there in one piece and freeing the prisoners, but things weren’t looking good for the special forces that had attempted the blitz.
The villa was huge, he had no clue as to how the inside was structured; he’d noticed that it was built on two floors but he had no intention of climbing to the second floor, unless he was forced to. The stairs were the least concealed and most vulnerable place, also he would run the great risk of being stuck upstairs if the only exit way were to be blocked. He headed down the hallway, noticing that the sounds of the shooting had ceased and a sinister peace had taken over. He focused on trying to detect the slightest noise and approached the door to the first room. It was closed. He kneeled down and peeked through the crack at the base of the door; the inside had to be completely dark, otherwise the night vision goggles would have picked up the slightest glow and filled up with green light. He grasped the handle and tried to move it delicately, turning it ever so slowly, trying to avoid making any noise, until he felt the lock open. His sweaty right hand clutched the gun and the other hand carefully pushed the door open.
Everything happened over a few seconds that seemed to last an hour. In the wide room, by the wall opposite where he was standing, were the silhouettes of Alexander and Nicholas, green like ectoplasms in the goggles’ visor. They were holding each other, terrified, held at gunpoint by a man.
****
Captain Shephard kept cursing that fucking night. He’d answered the wounded Sergeant Allen without being able to intervene, he’d lost two of his best men in the battle inside the house, and now he was alone, looking for the Wharzes. As far as he knew, things were looking even worse outside: he could no longer get in touch with anyone through the radio. The resistance and the number of soldiers they had found inside the perimeter of the villa had largely exceeded their expectations. The element of surprise had been lost when one of the guards had managed to fire his Kalashnikov. From that moment on, the garden had turned into the scene of a bloody battle.
He’d received clear orders: ultimately, if he had no other options, he’d have to get rid of an innocent man, deleting all types of sensitive information. Against his own will, he knew he’d obey the orders, even if it meant putting his own life at stake. Now the captain was there, standing in front of a closed door, plunged in darkness, with the only advantage of wearing night vision goggles, not knowing what lay beyond the door. He was ready for anything, ready to act or react appropriately. He pushed the door, which unluckily creaked.
Nino heard and saw it happen: they were entering the room at the same time, from two different and opposite access points. Unfortunately, the Iranian heard the creak too and shot towards the source of the noise without even seeing it. Nino reacted instinctively and pulled the trigger, he saw the three bullets leave his Sig and find their target; he noticed the last one when a green puff arose from the Iranian’s skull, before he saw the man collapse to the floor like an empty sack.
Nicholas screamed in terror, clutching his father’s arms harder. The sound of the shots had been magnified to a deafening level inside the large room. He could clearly see the two monochromatic and shiny silhouettes in his goggles, they were crouching by the wall, waiting to find out what would become of them.
“Wharz, it’s the messenger, I’m coming towards you. I’ll take you home!”
He approached the prisoners and kneeled by them, patting the sobbing child’s back. They were in shock, shaking, and he placed a hand on Alexander’s shoulder to try and reassure him.
“We’ll get out of here now, we’ll go home,” he said, knowing full well that he was lying to their faces. He had no idea how to get out of that damned place.
He’d killed a man. For the first time, he had killed! He’d taken another human being’s life. What kind of person had he become? He didn’t have the heart to look at the soldier’s body, lying on the ground with a bashed skull. He felt like throwing up and it took all his efforts to calm his gagging.
“Dammit!” He’d been forced to pull that trigger! He’d had no other choice. He had saved two innocent souls. That was all that mattered. There was no time for further defences, he had to postpone his soul-searching.
“Wait here, I’ll be right back,” he whispered to the scientist.
“Don’t leave us here, I beg you!”
“No way! I’ll be right back.”
He headed cautiously towards the door he’d heard creaking, the Sig still in his hand, ready to fire. He saw the captain’s body lying lifeless on the floor. The shots fired in the dark had been successful, Shephard had been shot right in the face, blood and cerebral matter were flowing out of his head. Nino couldn’t hold back any longer and he retched, bending over under the violence of the spasm.
He leaned against the half-open door and burst into an unstoppable, hysterical rage, shattering the wood with his fists.
Death was around him, everywhere. He felt its fetid, unhealthy stench trying to make its way into his nostrils.
Hearing hostile voices, he moved away from the captain’s body and quickly retraced his steps, still wearing the night vision goggles. Alexander and Nicholas were waiting in terror in the exact same place where he’d left them.
“We have to go! Quickly,” he said, kneeling down to rummage in the pockets of the soldier he’d gunned down a few minutes earlier.
He found what he needed, a cell phone; he took it, then grabbed Alexander’s arm and pulled him close.
“Pick up Nicholas and follow my lead,” he told the German.
They left the room and walked down the narrow, long hallway, making their way to the same window from which Nino had entered.
Everything was cloaked in darkness, the special forces had started out their job in the best way by cutting all the power lines and leaving the building in the dark. Then everything had plummeted into a catastrophic debacle.
They were now outside, in the backyard. He quickly led the Wharves into the bushes that coasted the perimeter wall and gestured to them to keep as silent as possible. Crouching down and hiding in the leaves
, they all caught their breath for a moment. The security men’s attention was focused on what had happened inside the villa; some militaries were running towards the entrance, others were already inside. No shots had been heard for a few minutes, the ones fired by his Sig had been the last.
They had to get out of there quickly, soon it would become a nest buzzing with militaries and security forces and they’d be doomed. He checked their escape route, the closest exit was a large gate approximately a hundred meters away that they could reach by moving along the perimeter, remaining hidden in the bushes, then try and cross it and make it out of that hellhole at last.
If the power had been restored before they got out, their chances of leaving the villa would have been drastically cut down, but this was the only possible solution he could see. He was about to lead them out into the open when he was temporarily blinded by the headlights of an off-road vehicle swerving in at a high speed. He lifted the night vision goggles and slowly rubbed his eyes to restore the darkness and regain his eyesight as soon as possible.
The garden resounded with screams and orders shouted to the men at the entrance of the house. His eyes were still closed but he recognized the voice. It was Bagheli, who had just climbed out of the car that was still running. It was discomforting to have that man at his heels, he was well aware of the Minotaur’s determination and experience and knew that he wouldn’t give up so easily.
He waited for Bagheli and two other soldiers to run inside and gestured to Alexander to follow him. He took Nicholas’s hand and tried to comfort the child, who was still in shock.
“It’s alright, Nicholas, we’ll get out of here now. I’ll be by your side, and your father too.”
“Ok,” replied the child, unconvinced.
“We’ll be very quiet, as if we were playing hide and seek with your friends. Don’t be afraid, I’ll be by your side. Ok?” He added, turning to glance at Alexander.
“Yes, yes, okay,” the child answered dutifully.
They started moving slowly towards the exit, father and son following in his steps, both terrified. He made them stop a few times to look behind his shoulders and carefully studied their escape route looking for any possible dangers. They were almost at the gate, which was wide open and unguarded. At the end of the wall he stopped to look beyond it and make sure that the way was clear.