Element 42

by Seeley James

“No. No. No!” I shouted in English and repeated myself in Arabic.

  The damn stick whooshed and smashed into my legs again. I fell facedown in the dirt. Miguel bellowed at them while I rose to my knees and pleaded for Carmen’s life. “Mukhtar, you can’t do this. Don’t listen to Mokin. Please. Killing an innocent woman is wrong, not just for a soldier but for a Muslim. The Prophet said, ‘whoever is not merciful toward people, will not be treated mercifully by Allah.’”

  Mukhtar regarded me then waved a hand and the stick whooshed, landing hard on my back.

  Diego cried out for help. He tried to rest his weight on the sides of his feet but it wasn’t working. Every movement tore at his slashed tendons. Even the Kazakh soldiers winced.

  In Arabic I said, “We treated your people well in the US. We would never murder them in cold—”

  “Yuri tried to kill you,” he said, “but you were not man enough to kill him when you had the chance.”

  Carmen stared at Mukhtar, her face defiant. Emily sobbed, half in pain and half in desperation.

  “Take me,” I said. “If you need to kill someone. I planned the raid on the Pak Uban.”

  “I don’t care about that scum.” Mukhtar faced me. “Can you bring me all the vial pieces?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you lied to me earlier.”

  “No, I tried to discourage you. You would’ve done the same.”

  Mukhtar smiled and said something over his shoulder in Kazakh.

  His man tilted the barrel and fired a warning shot over Carmen’s head.

  “Which answer should I believe?” Mukhtar asked.

  “I’ll do my best … and I’m good. I can make some calls. Please. Give me a few minutes. I can probably have all the glass delivered here. Mukhtar, I’m begging you, let me use your phone for a second. Just don’t shoot a prisoner.”

  Mukhtar frowned and spoke in Kazakh again.

  His triggerman fired a three-round burst into Carmen’s head.

  Her blood and brains spattered over the post. Her body spasmed for a full second, then she sank, her weight hanging by her bound hands.

  The world stopped. Nothing moved or made a sound for a full minute.

  Then the world began to spin again. Emily threw up. Diego passed out. Miguel and I stared in disbelief. After another minute, Emily started screaming at the top of her lungs.

  Rage can triple a man’s strength. Like a wild rhino, Miguel bucked and kicked and threw men off his back. One of the men holding me went to help. I struggled against the men holding me. My roped hands chafed. I hit them with my elbows and kicked them. Mukhtar watched as if it were a sport. One of the men punched me in the gut. I head-butted him and he staggered away. Then he came back, blood covering half his face, and took a swing. I ducked and he hit his pal.

  I managed to move the scrum closer to their leader, my eyes found his. “You’re a dead man, Mukhtar.”

  He laughed. “Who is the dead man?”

  Emily kept screaming.

  Mukhtar raised his Beretta and aimed at Miguel’s head.

  A Kazakh jumped on Miguel’s back. Miguel bent at the waist, tossing his assailant like a rag doll just as Mukhtar fired. The man rolled three times, stopping at his leader’s feet, bleeding.

  Mukhtar stepped over his dying soldier and raised his pistol, his arm extended in front of me. I leaned forward, pulling two Kazakhs with me, and sank my teeth into his forearm. Mukhtar screamed and dropped his weapon. I sensed one of the men holding me relax his grip as he reacted to my vicious bite. With a twist of my neck, I pulled a chunk of muscle out of Mukhtar’s arm and spat it at his horrified soldier.

  Mukhtar shrieked and stared at his arm.

  Both soldiers holding me went slack, appalled by my violence. I head-butted one and kneed the other in the groin. As soon as he bent over in pain, I slammed my knee into his face. The first guy shook his head for a second before realizing he was about to die. He pulled out a revolver and jammed it in my face. His eyes swirled in their sockets, still woozy from the head-butt. Bending my knees, I dropped my head into his belly and burst forward with my legs. We both went down in a tangle, my hands still tied.

  Only two Kazakhs left.

  Miguel stepped up, beast-mode, and roared like an angry lion. He twisted, tossing one man on top of me, pressing me against the man with the revolver. I heard the blast and waited for the pain to register. Instead, the man on top of me groaned. I pushed him off and struggled to my feet. I stomped on the revolver, breaking some of the groggy-guy’s fingers in the process.

  Emily’s scream reached a crescendo and continued louder and higher.

  The hardness of a gun barrel is a distinct feeling. I recognized it immediately when Mukhtar pressed it to my shoulder.

  Miguel borrowed my method and powered into his last man. He smashed the guy against a tree and kneed him in the balls. When his man bent over, Miguel jumped over his tied hands and slammed a double-fisted punch into the guy’s face.

  The odds whittled down, Miguel eyed Mukhtar carefully and moved toward us.

  “Come around to my right,” I said in English.

  In Arabic, Mukhtar said, “Tell him to stop or I’ll kill you.”

  I spun to my left, forcing the muzzle and his wounded arm behind me. He fired, and I head-butted him. He crumpled.

  The third head-butt made me dizzy and my back burned where the muzzle flash seared my skin. I staggered back a step and tried to assess the situation.

  The man with the revolver sat up, tried to aim, but Miguel kicked him in the head and repeated the kick several more times for good measure.

  Miguel came to me and untied my hands. I returned the favor. I went straight to Emily and untied her. She stopped screaming only long enough to gasp for air. Her eyes fixed on something behind me.

  I turned to see Miguel cutting Carmen’s body from the post. He cradled her limp body in his arms and dropped to his knees. A slow moan came from deep inside him. His face wrinkled into a pained grimace that quickly dissolved into a lonesome sob. It was a side of Miguel I’d never seen in the decade of war we spent together.

  “Find a knife,” I shouted at Emily, “and cut Diego down.”

  Mukhtar stirred, rising to his hands and knees. I picked up a rifle and aimed it at him. I kept the barrel aimed at his head as I stepped up and kicked him in the face as hard as I could. He collapsed and I pounded him with the rifle butt.

  Emily picked up a pistol and aimed at one of the Kazakhs.

  “No!” I grabbed her arm. “You’ll relive that shot every night for the rest of your life.”

  “Yeah, happily.” She took aim a second time.

  The man had a concussion but knew he was in danger. Survival instincts took over. He grabbed a grenade from his belt and put his finger through the pin. I stepped between them and took the grenade before he armed it.

  Emily turned and raised her pistol at Mukhtar.

  “No more,” I said. I pried the weapon from her fingers with some difficulty.

  Her face was as blank as if she’d watched hours of television.

  “Help Miguel,” I said.

  Zombie-like, she walked slowly to where Miguel sobbed over Carmen.

  I cut down Diego and laid him out with his feet elevated.

  Behind me another man got to his feet. I whacked him with the rifle then ran around picking up all the weapons. I made a pile next to Diego. I bound the living Kazakhs and moved them into a circle, facing outward, hands tied together. If any of them moved the whole circle had to move.

  With that done, I found first aid for Diego. I irrigated his wounds, taking care that Diego couldn’t see his tendons and muscle hanging out of his skin. We had to find a hospital quickly if he was ever going to walk again. Once I had him stabilized, I walked over to Miguel and Emily.

  Carmen’s dead eyes stared at me from her broken head.

  The big man’s face, streaked with tears, looked up at me, helpless and inconsolable. Emily sat by his s
ide, stroking Carmen’s leg.

  Mukhtar moaned and sat up.

  “Will Allah be merciful to you?” I asked him in Arabic.

  “He already has been. He sent you. You’re not man enough to kill me.”

  Mercury said, He has a point, homeslice. A Roman soldier would’ve crucified Mukhtar’s crew by now. Don’t just sit there throwing guilt around—kill the mofo.

  Some gods preach love and mercy. I have the kind you have to worry about.

  Walking slowly, I gave him my soldier stare. I untied him from the rest, pulled him to his feet, and kicked him in the balls because I don’t play fair. He staggered back, bent in pain. I tossed him a loaded Berretta, turned my back on him, and walked twenty steps. He squinted into the sun. I raised my Glock and aimed at his head.

  Mercury said, Shoot him. C’mon, do it.

  I asked, Where’s the thrill in that?

  Mukhtar held his pistol halfway up, hesitant. Still racked with head and groin pain, he took his time raising the weapon with a shaky hand. I waited until he had it leveled at me. He pulled the trigger.

  The round whizzed past my head on the left. His second shot went even wider. I felt the first cold shiver of adrenaline driving into the crevices of my extremities. His third round warmed my right ear as it flew by. I smiled at him.

  The cold drug of danger felt good.

  Mukhtar closed his swollen eye and steadied his aim.

  Mercury said, You are one sick puppy, Jacob.

  Mukhtar lined his barrel square with my eye. In a moment of crystal clarity, I could see deep down inside it, all the way to the rounded lump of lead waiting to be released. My body shivered into my newest burst of adrenaline like a great orgasm. This was a decisive moment. It was heaven descending on me in the midst of a life in hell: the bad guy was going to die.

  My first round hit the target and blew a hole through his shoulder. Mukhtar’s Berretta flew out of his hand. His arm dropped to his side, exposed bone stuck out of his sleeve. He glared at me as he gasped in pain.

  “What’s the matter, Mukhtar? Can’t shoot left-handed?” I said in Arabic.

  He looked around for his pistol, located it, then glanced back at me.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “I don’t have all day.”

  Mukhtar stumbled in agony and picked up his weapon. He rose to his full height, put on his meanest face, and took another shot.

  Emily screamed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Miguel didn’t look up. Tears dripped from his cheeks to Carmen’s.

  Mukhtar looked at her, then back at me. He steadied his aim.

  Emily jumped to her feet and ran to the stacked weapons, drawing Mukhtar’s attention. Picking quickly, she chose a Silver Eagle .45 revolver.

  “Put it down,” I said.

  “My dad used to take me hunting,” she said. “I know how to use it.”

  “This ain’t a hunting trip and that’s a bad choice of weapons.”

  She raised it and found out why. It was heavy and hard to aim even for an experienced soldier. Using both hands, she eventually found Mukhtar in the sights.

  Mukhtar watched her, shook his head and raised his Berretta quickly.

  I put him down with a round through his temple.

  Emily screeched, high and long, then settled into incoherent screaming.

  “Wish you hadn’t done that,” I said. “He didn’t deserve a quick death.”

  She screamed, “You’re fucking insane.”

  Mercury said, Whoa, dude, the nymph knows what’s going down. Whatever you do, don’t tell her about me, OK? I was never here.

  I held out my hands, palms up. “I gave him the sporting chance he didn’t give Carmen.”

  Gasping as if she’d climbed a mountain, Emily bent over and retched. After she’d gotten it all out, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and eyed me like a feral animal. “Which one of them pulled the trigger?”

  I pointed at the circle of captives.

  The guilty party hung his head. He didn’t need to speak English to know why I was pointing at him.

  Emily staggered toward him and hefted the revolver with both hands.

  “You shouldn’t do that,” I said.

  “You gonna stop me?”

  “You’re going to see his head explode every night for the rest of your life—in hi-def. It’ll be like a demon coming to visit.” I eased toward her, one step at a time.

  “I can live with that.”

  “That’s not the only demon that’ll haunt you.”

  She dragged her eyes off her victim and blinked at me.

  “It’s the fact that he’s tied up, defenseless. That’s the nastiest demon ’cause it’s just plain murder.”

  She repositioned her feet and looked at the man, then back at me, then at the man.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Untie him.”

  I held my hand out for the .45. She glanced back and forth one more time, then handed it to me. She cut him loose from the others, then freed his hands.

  Thinking I was his savior, the man fell to his knees and kissed the back of my hand like a dog.

  Emily held her hand out, waiting for her weapon. After a moment’s hesitation I handed it to her, grip first. She stepped back and aimed. The barrel rolled around enough to put me in the danger zone if she pulled the trigger at the wrong time. She bit her lip, aimed, turned her face away, and squeezed on the trigger. Except, she didn’t squeeze enough. She relaxed, repositioned her feet, took another look, and tried again. And failed again.

  “You sure you want this, Emily?”

  She blurted, “He killed Carmen.”

  “His commander ordered him to.”

  “That’s no excuse. He knew it was wrong.”

  “So is killing him without a trial.”

  “Yes it is,” Emily said. She held the gun steady and aimed with one eye. “It’s very wrong.”

  The sexy, charming Emily was gone forever.

  I’d seen men bend their morals in a war zone, but seeing a travel reporter turn into a cold-blooded vigilante was making my skin crawl. There was only one way to save her last shred of humanity.

  I pulled my pistol, grabbed the man’s hair, twisted his head, and shot him through the top of the skull. My aim was diagonal, the round went through every critical part of his brain. He never felt a thing.

  “You write the story, Emily. I’ll fight the demons.”

  Mercury said, Holy Minerva. You’ll get the Congressional Medal of Horror for that one.

  She stared at the gore for a long time without making a sound. She nodded and said, “Got what he deserved.”

  I said, “Emily, go help Diego.”

  Her hollow, darkened eyes showed a glimmer of light when she asked Diego if she could change the blood-soaked gauze on his feet. Rendering aid soothes the sinner’s soul.

  I explained to Diego and Emily that our statements to the authorities would need a chronological alteration: the two Kazakhs died between the death of Carmen and the cessation of hostilities. They readily agreed.

  Sabel Security HQ kept tabs on us via the comm link. They summoned the Malaysian authorities to our GPS location and reported Carmen’s death to the Major. It would take hours for anyone to arrive. Would they charge us with murder or call us heroes? I didn’t care.

  I walked over to Miguel and sat in the dirt next to him. Carmen’s body was cooling fast, but he wasn’t ready to put her down. I leaned against the big guy’s shoulder, put my arm around him and let my tears flow.

  CHAPTER 35

  Two men in suits stood in the Jefferson Hotel’s colonial yellow hallway when Violet opened the door.

  “Special Agent Verges, ma’am.” He held up his FBI ID. “This is Dhanpal Singh, technical consultant.”

  She shook hands with both men and ushered them into her suite. She pointed to a silk-covered divan nestled between corner windows. Looking down her nose, she checked the handsome, compact Dhanpal.

  “You lo
ok military,” she said.

  “Navy Seal,” he said. “Retired.”

  “What do you do now? Are you one of those infamous Sabel agents?”

  “I’m assisting Special Agent Verges, ma’am.”

  “Coffee?” Violet asked. “Decaf would be appropriate for this hour of the evening, I suppose.”

  “Decaf would be nice, thank you.”

  She pressed the room service button and ordered coffee and tea, then took a seat facing them. “Now, gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

  Verges pulled out his phone and pulled up a picture of the last vial. “We believe this is one of yours. What can you tell us about it?”

  She took his phone and stared at it for a long time. “Those appear to be Windsor’s project numbers, but who knows? Number sequences are not unique. I can look into it for you. When was this taken?”

  “This morning, ma’am.”

  The last vial. Violet swallowed her gasp in a small cough. “That recently? Where did it come from?”

  She glanced at Dhanpal, who sat erect, feet planted on the floor, hands on knees, his eyes watching hers as if he were trying to see through them into her brain.

  “What project is this from?” Verges asked.

  She shrugged. “I have no idea. In Asia, we sell used equipment. That’s why we use glass instead of plastic. That vial could’ve been ours at one point, but now, who knows?”

  “Why were the project numbers stamped in UV ink?”

  “I’d have to ask the project manager.”

  “OK, that would be great.” Verges leaned back on the couch and spread his arms across the back.

  Violet watched him and frowned. “You do know there is a twelve-hour time difference? She’s not in at the moment. I’ll call later this evening and let you know what I find out.”

  “Why was the vial on Borneo?”

  “Was it?”

  “We did some checking on Windsor Pharmaceutical project numbers and noticed the project codes are all sequential. Your company submitted a project with a code only one digit lower than this one to the FDA recently. Wouldn’t that mean this project is new?”

  “It could.” Violet gazed out the window.

  “Were you on Borneo in the last few weeks?” Verges asked.