by Eric Meyer
I have to stop her resurrecting her father's crazy plan. Damnit, she caused the death of one of my men. Am I bitter about being used by this woman, a woman I thought I was falling in love with? So bitter I'd hunt her to death? No, she's a target, just a target.
Then he saw her fall. It was probably a loose or misplaced paving stone, but she tripped and went sprawling from the sidewalk and into the road next to a parked vehicle, a London taxicab. He picked up speed, feeling relief that he may be able to take her alive. He closed on her, twenty meters, fifteen meters, ten meters, but then she raised her hand and squeezed off a shot. He felt a hot agony as it lodged in the top of his leg, and he almost toppled over. He managed to stay upright and ducked behind a stone statue on the sidewalk, as more shots spat toward him. She fired off four more rounds, and the first three missed, but it was the fourth that did the damage. The bullet from her small pistol took him in the right hand, the hand that held his Sig Sauer. The weapon dropped uselessly to the concrete and skidded away, three meters from him; three meters of exposed ground lay between him and his pistol. There was no cover, and the pedestrians had scattered like confetti in the wind. There was just him and Anika; and the yawning gap lying between him and the only means of defense from her murderous onslaught.
"I told you to leave it alone, Abe," she shouted as she got to her feet and started toward him. He measured distances and angles. In the second it would take him to fling himself across the open space, she could put three or four more shots into him. Already, his leg was going numb with the shock of the wound, but even without being slowed by the agony in his leg, he knew he couldn't make it. She hadn't fed him a line. She was a crack shot. And then hot rage and anger welled up inside him.
No way! She'll probably drill him me with several shots before I'm halfway there, but I have make the attempt.
He tensed himself, ready to leap, but first he tried to persuade her give it up.
"It doesn't have to end like this, Anika. If you shoot me down here, there are a hundred witnesses. There's no way you'll get away with it, even with the help of your friends at MI6."
She was nearer, walking forward slowly and steadily; her little pistol held at arms length and pointed rock steady at the center of his body. She laughed, a cold, bone-chilling laugh. At that moment, he realized the Doctor Anika Frost he'd known and slept with, even started to fall in love with, was just an illusion. She was just as much a sociopath as her lunatic father, and the raving President of Tehran, Ahmadinejad. Despite their pretensions of civilization, they had the morals and intentions of the gutter; people who would murder women and children if it furthered their cause, without so much as blinking an eyelid.
"Oh, but it does have to end like this, Abe. They killed Petersens’s wife, remember, she was my mother. And I know you won't stop hunting me for what happened in Iran. I know it, and you know it. I’d be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life, waiting for the moment when you and your bunch of assassins come gunning for me. You killed my mother and my father. You’re not murdering me as well. So yes, it does have to end here."
Assassins. Kay's word yet again!
He saw her body tense, and he prepared his muscles and sucked in oxygen for that final, last second surge that would carry him to his Sig Sauer lying so near and yet so far away. He was watching her intently and saw the faint narrowing of her eyes as she prepared to fire, but he didn't even begin to catapult himself off the ground and make a grab for his pistol. Two shots rang out, a double tap, the mark of a trained professional. It was over.
He'd closed his eyes. Now he opened them, wondering why he couldn't feel the shock and agony of the bullets that must have slammed into his body. Yet all he saw was a red London bus trundling innocently past on the embankment, crowded with astonished passengers looking down on the bloody scene. He looked across to where he'd last seen Anika, and she no longer stood there. She was lying on the ground, her body torn and streaked with blood. She was obviously dead. Guy Welland stood over her, still holding his Sig Sauer to cover the body. Guy knelt down and put his fingers to her neck, checking for a pulse. He looked across at Talley and shook his head. She was gone. In the distance, he heard the wailing of police sirens. Guy came over to him, held out his hand, and pulled him to his feet.
She’s gone. Despite everything, we shared some precious moments together. Why didn’t she surrender? At least she’d have lived.
He felt an overwhelming sense of loss and misery as Guy came helped him up.
"You'd better put your arm over my shoulder, and I'll help you get away from here."
"Why, Guy? Why did you do come back? I thought you'd decided…"
"To go over to the dark side?" Guy smiled his piratical grin. "I won't deny it had a certain appeal. Somewhere along the line, that oily little bastard needs someone to take him out."
"But not you," Talley murmured.
Guy shook his head. "Not yet. I guess when it comes down to it, Boss; I have a job to do. We have a job to do, and it's doing something I've wanted ever since I was a kid. People laugh at notions of duty and obeying orders, but somehow it's become ingrained in me. As long as I'm your number two, I'm paid to back you up."
Talley glanced down at the body lying on the sidewalk. There was a large, red stain, as her blood seeped out of her body, and with every drop that left her, he felt a part of his humanity draining away with it. People were starting to edge closer now that the shooting had stopped, to see what the excitement was all about. After all, it wasn't everyday you saw a shooting on the streets of London.
"I guess I ought to say thanks, Guy, but somehow it doesn't seem enough. I honestly thought I was going to have to follow you to Heathrow, and find you waiting for a flight to Tehran."
Guy raised an eyebrow. "And then what? Would you have killed me to stop it happening?"
"I don't know," Talley replied quietly. "I guess it's what you said. We have a job to do, and it's a job that gets under your skin and ingrained in your system."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"It's all the answer you're going to get, Sergeant, and that's an order. Leave it at that."
"Yes, Sir," he grinned, "I reckon we ought to get out of here. I mean out of the UK. The cops will be here any moment, and when her intelligence colleagues find out what happened, they're going to be sore as hell. I'd sooner not be around to take the flak."
"We'll have to deal with it sooner or later."
Guy nodded. "Let’s make it later. They can send us an e-mail if they want any answers."
Talley smiled. "That will do for me. Let's go."
Chapter Twelve
They’d fixed the event in one of the conference rooms in NATO Headquarters, Brussels. Talley’s unit was present to watch the promotion ceremony. He felt uncomfortable wearing his US Navy dress uniform, with the bars of a full lieutenant. And he did his best to stand at attention, the wounds to his hand and leg were still sore, although they were healing fast. Guy Welland stood next to him, resplendent in the number one full dress uniform of the Welsh Guards, an elite regiment and part of the Brigade of Guards. Understandably, neither the SAS nor the Navy Seals were inclined to distinguish themselves with individual uniforms. As they spent most of their working lives working in hostile countries, they didn’t intend to make life any easier for those who wanted to hunt them down afterward and kill them. They came to attention as Vice Admiral Carl Brooks entered the room, and then there was a stir, as the Commander of NATO appeared; the SACEUR, Admiral James Stavridis, and a rare honor for one of the most senior military men in the world to make an appearance. Even the men’s rigid discipline couldn't stop them from glancing nervously around them.
Why is Stavridis here, just for a routine promotion? Talley thought.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the Supreme Commander of NATO, Admiral James Stavridis."
The Admiral nodded to his aide as he walked up to the lectern.
"I guess you men above all would know that Specia
l Operations go unremarked because of the need for secrecy. However, a recent operation, which need not be mentioned, was carried out with a bravery and dedication that went beyond the normal call of duty. Lieutenant Talley, step forward. You are promoted to the rank of Lieutenant Commander. Admiral Brooks has made it clear to me that you wish to stay with Echo Six, and I'm happy to go along with it, especially in view of your record in the field."
They shook hands, and the newly promoted Lieutenant Commander Talley shook hands with the Admiral and stepped back. Then it was the turn of Sergeant Guy Welland who was promoted to Warrant Officer, and given the obligatory handshake. Both men cringed at the round of applause, and Talley was just waiting for the moment when it was all over and he could stand the men a round of drinks in the bar.
"Lieutenant Commander Talley?"
He looked around and saw a NATO officer looking at him. The guy wore the uniform of a Lieutenant Colonel and was olive skinned. Turkish, probably, Talley supposed, an important NATO member nation.
"What can I do for you?"
"Would you come this way, Commander? There is somebody who needs to speak to you."
He shrugged and followed the man out of the room, along the labyrinth of corridors until they came to an unmarked door. The officer knocked the door. There was an inaudible reply from inside, and he held it open for Talley.
"If you would go in, Commander, I'll leave you here. Good luck."
Talley walked in, surprised and puzzled. He didn't like surprises or puzzles. Neither did he like the person he came face-to-face with. He was staring at the President of the Islamic Republic of Iran, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.
What did Guy called him, the archfiend? Yeah, that's about right.
He stood with several of his assistants bunched up behind him. Another man standing with him was obviously his interpreter. Ahmadinejad offered him a handshake, but Talley stood rigid, waiting.
"What can I do for you, Sir?"
The President spoke in Farsi, and the man next to him translated.
"I want to thank you for stopping the enemies of the Islamic Republic from overthrowing my government."
Strange, or is it my imagination the way the President is smiling at me suggests he's hiding something?
He nodded.
"I was in Brussels for a meeting with ministers of the European Union, and my army chief of staff suggested I came here to thank you personally," he continued.
Talley nodded again, seeing through the veneer of civility.
“I didn’t do anything for you, Sir, but I guess you know that. It’s a pity that so many of your people had to die.”
The President shrugged. The meaning was clear, a few people dead being of no consequence. He was still looking at him with that faint, enigmatic smile, and if Talley weren't in NATO Headquarters, Brussels, it would have been in his mind that somewhere around the corner a trap was waiting to close on him. An aide whispered in Ahmadinejad's ear and he nodded.
"I'm told that I am needed elsewhere, Lieutenant Commander Talley. Perhaps we will meet again."
"I hope not." He gave the man a cold, hard stare.
Guy was right. Whatever the operation required, aiding someone like Ahmadinejad was wrong. He needs someone to put a bullet in his brain.
The entourage swept out of the room, but Talley realized he still wasn't alone. Two men remained, both Iranians, and they had that hard, competent look of Special Forces, or maybe intelligence operatives. One of them, he had a scarred and pockmarked face that looked as if he'd been in one too many fistfights, nodded to him.
"I wonder if you would come with us, Lieutenant Commander. There's something outside I want you to see."
Talley grinned and shook his head. "Not in a million years, buster. If I were carrying a loaded assault rifle, maybe I'd take a look. You know I don't trust you, my friend, and I don't trust your people."
The man gave him an understanding nod, "Of course, I expected nothing else."
He looked behind Talley, who realized that somehow the second man had maneuvered into a position behind his back. He saw the faintest change of expression from Scarface and started to whirl around but felt a sharp stab of pain in his left shoulder as the man behind him fired.
He was holding a pistol in his hand. Talley leapt forward to wrestle it away from him, but he only managed to take one short step before his legs turned to rubber and his brain started to go fuzzy. The two men lowered him to the floor, and just before everything went black, they dressed him in an unfamiliar uniform. On the brink of unconsciousness, he noted the uniform wasn't unfamiliar after all. It was the uniform of the Iranian military; the same as Ahmadinejad's guards wore. They’d disguised him as an Iranian to spirit him out of NATO with Ahmadinejad’s entourage.
When he awoke, it took all of his strength to push himself off the floor and struggle to his knees. He promptly vomited onto the hard concrete, and then two men grabbed him and pushed him into a chair. He was so weak with the effects of the drug they had pumped into him that he couldn't stop them strapping his wrists and ankles to the chair, leaving him powerless. His vision slowly cleared, and he looked at a face that was slightly familiar, Scarface, one of the Iranians who ambushed him inside NATO Headquarters. He was astonished they’d dared to put into place such a bold ambush, in the very heart of NATO. The security headquarters of the Western world, and they'd penetrated it to kidnap a NATFOR officer. The Iranian, Scarface stood in front of him, staring at him with an expression that was both violent and angry.
"You thought you could devastate my country and bring about the deaths of many of our people?" he snarled at him. "You do not realize the people you are dealing with. You may think you can get away with it, but believe me, our memories are long, and our reach is even longer."
His head dropped as the drug swirled through his brain, but he managed to look up and stare at his captor.
"So Ahmadinejad is reduced to kidnap?" He realized he was slurring his words. "I knew he was a low down piece of scum, but I didn't think he'd stoop this low. I imagine the EU and NATO will think twice before they invite a piece of shit like him inside their doors again."
The man chuckled. It wasn't a pleasant sound, more of a harsh grating noise, like two pieces of metal rubbing together. "Ahmadinejad? He knows nothing of this. The fool genuinely wanted to thank you. He's just a puppet. Don't you realize? Inside the Islamic Republic, my people have all the power, and the good Mahmoud jumps to our tune."
"So you’re Pasdaran. I should have known by your stink. Have you run out of women and children to torture and hang from cranes in the main square?"
Scarface scowled and smashed his fist into Talley's face. He felt one of his teeth break, and thought, 'there goes my dental plan'. Maybe if he could keep a sense of humor about this, he could survive long enough to figure a way out. The man put his face close to Talley's, and he spat out the broken tooth. It hit him in the eye, and he reeled back, astonished that his prisoner would dare to resist. Talley had known since he was a kid; the last thing bullies expect is for their victim to retaliate. But his satisfaction was brief, and all it earned him was another punch in the face. He felt warm blood trickling down from his lips.
"You may as well know in advance that I'll see you in hell before I tell you anything."
Scarface nodded. "Yes, I'm sure we will meet in hell, but I will have the satisfaction of knowing you get their first. Save yourself a deal of pain, Commander Talley. All I need to know is how you uncovered our plan to bring the warheads in from Pakistan. It is important we find out who betrayed us. It makes no difference now, except that your death will be easy if you tell me the truth. If not, you will die over a long period. I can keep it up for several hours, and you will shriek in agony for every second that you wait for the blessed relief of death."
Did this fucking raghead seriously think I'd tamely give it all up in response to a few threats?
Just as Talley, like other military men, failed to understand the cru
el and brutal rationale of the Arab world, so the Arabs didn't understand concepts of decency and loyalty. He thought of Javeed, the homosexual Deputy Manager of the AEOI. Doubly damned, both as a gay man and for helping Echo Six, even if he was given no choice. How could these people have any concept of decency, when every last piece of malicious agony they inflicted on their people could blithely be explained away as, 'the will of Allah'? The Christian world had once been as bad, true, but they'd got over it. It seemed incredible in the age of mass information and communications that anyone could be so naïve as the Islamic nutjobs.
"There's one thing I can tell you," Talley murmured through his broken and bleeding mouth.
Scarface leaned forward eagerly, "Good, now you're being sensible. Tell me, quickly!"
Talley stared him straight in the eye, "You can go fuck yourself, shithead. And when you're done, go fuck the camel that brought you here."
The man's eyes narrowed in fury and his face reddened. He lunged forward and smashed him on the side of the head with a punch so hard Talley was rendered unconscious.
He came to a few minutes later. He’d achieved his objective, for while he was unconscious, there was no way he could answer any questions. He knew he was in a shut ended situation, and there was no way out. All that awaited him was death, and all he could choose was the manner of his going. He could choose the easy way or the honorable way. He was a soldier, who'd never sacrificed the honorable for the easy. He heard Scarface talking and couldn't make out what he said, but it had something to do with a cell phone. He looked around the room and saw his tormentor speaking to one of the other men who was fiddling with the phone. Then his hopes soared. They'd taken his cell.