by Eric Meyer
"Aren't you cold like that?"
She shook her head without turning. "It's warmer here in the kitchen, and I didn't want to wake you. Are you ready for some food?"
"Sure, I'm starving."
I really was. The food looked wonderful. I sat down at the table and waited while she filled two bowls. Not three.
"Where's Isra?"
She turned to face me, her face turning pale. "Oh, my God, Isra. I'd forgotten, do you think he's okay?"
I looked at the clock. It was already 22.30. "He's late. We'll have to eat this quick and go looking for her."
We wolfed down the food. I hurriedly threw on some clothes and went to warm up the Jeep. The door of the shack opened, and Winter emerged fully dressed and wearing one of my old thick coats. She never reached me. A cab drew up, and Isra stepped out, beaming from ear to ear. The cab driver helped carry half-dozen large parcels to the front door of the shack, and then drove off back to town.
"Where have you been?" Winter asked.
"Shopping,” he beamed, “It’s a girl’s privilege. I bumped into an old admirer, and he took me out to dinner. You won't believe this, but it was one my old clients from Afghanistan."
I'd switched off the engine and climbed out of the Jeep to join them.
"Someone from the military?"
I wasn't surprised. A lot of military men bought places around here to retire on their army pensions, and enjoy some hunting and fishing.
"I'm not sure. I guess so. Although, I never saw him in uniform."
We helped carry the parcels into the shack and put them into the small spare room I'd allocated for her. We returned to the living room, and I went to brew some coffee. While I was in the kitchen, I heard Winter asking questions.
"This guy you met, you say he was a client? I guess that means he knows you're, I mean…"
"He knows about me, sure. Lots of men who’re gay like to date someone like me, so they can pretend they're heterosexual."
I had a sudden thought, and I went back into the living room. "Isra, you said you never saw him in uniform. What did he do, this client? Was he with some kind of civilian support outfit, a private contractor maybe?"
A pause. "I'm really not sure. I do remember he was very nice to me, and he paid for the things I bought today. He asked me where I was staying, so I guess he wants to fix up another date."
Winter gave me a sharp glance, then looked back at Isra. "What's his name, this guy?"
"Joseph. I call him Joe."
I swapped another glance with Winter, and then asked Isra, "What does Joe look like?"
Isra thought for a few moments. "Well, he's not exactly God's gift to women, kind of short, and maybe a little pudgy. I think he could be an administrator. He’s definitely not a soldier."
"Rimless glasses? Going bald?"
He smiled happily. "Yes, that's Joe. He flew in with his friend, a man who owns a small airline." Then his smile faded, as he started to put it all together, "This friend, you don't think it would be…”
“Joel Turner,” I finished for him. I looked at Winter, "They're here, right now. Get out the back door, fast!"
I dived for the rear door and rolled outside just as the stun grenade exploded back inside the shack. The noise was like thunder, and I thought for a moment that my eardrums had been shattered, but I was outside the periphery of the blast and able to race away from the vicinity. I knew Winter and Isra had been caught inside, and the effect would be to leave them completely stunned and incapable of any conscious action, at least for the time being.
I could hear voices from inside as men raced into my shack. I ran for the nearest trees and turned back to look. They looked like Special Forces, except I knew they weren't, black overalls, black hoods, and respirators. They all carried stubby submachine guns with chunky silencers fitted. In the dark they looked like Uzis, but they could have been anything.
I was torn between the urge to race back and help Winter and Isra, and the tactical need to get clear and put together a plan. I was outgunned and out thought, and I knew it was going to need something special to deal with Jeffs' forces. I could make out six of them, which probably equated to four shooters, with Jeffs and Turner. The odds were bad, unless I could make it back to my workshop and reach the assault rifles. I dropped down and was about to snake back across the open ground when a burst of gunfire chipped bark off the tree next to me.
A voice rang out, "It's no good, Schaeffer. We can see you."
I could have kicked myself. Naturally, they'd be using night vision equipment.
"Your friends are in here. If you want to save them, come back inside. We don't want to kill you, just make sure we can agree on a few things."
The hell they did. They hadn't flown all the way up here and pursued us to this inhospitable northeast corner of America, just to suggest a friendly game of dominoes. Of course the fuckers wanted to kill me, and they'd kill Winter and Isra as well. Dead bodies made for rotten witnesses. I did the only thing I could, and ran.
It only took a few minutes and I was at the beach. I ran toward the surf, with some crazy idea of swimming out to sea and then curving around to hit them from where they least expected it. But when I looked down, my footprints betrayed me, as good as a signpost to what I intended. I could hear them crashing through the wood toward the beach. I hurriedly retraced my steps, treading carefully in each footstep until I reached the shelter of the dunes, not a moment too soon. The first of the hostiles appeared and ran down to the beach. He stared from side to side, and then out to sea, using night vision gear. Three more of them came crashing out of the woods, also sporting night vision goggles. The man on the beach turned as the first of the newcomers reached him.
"Is there any sign of him?"
"That's a negative. He's gone into the water. He is out there somewhere, treading water maybe, or he'll be circling around to hit us from the flank."
"Head up the beach a couple hundred yards, and see if you can see him. You two men; go the other way, two hundred yards, and look out for Schaeffer."
I recognized Joel Turner's voice.
"If he isn't there, how long do we wait?"
"As long as it takes," Turner replied, "That applies to all of you. I don't give a shit if you are out here all night and all the following day. We have to nail the fucker."
I heard them grumbling, but they obeyed his orders and loped away. Turner backed away all the way to the dunes and hunkered down. His Uzi was pointed toward the sea, to where he thought I might emerge. Sometimes, things just don't go the way you thought they would. For Turner, this was one of those occasions. I was four feet behind him, out of his line of sight. For me, it was one of those times when things do go exactly the way you thought. I edged forward until I was only two feet behind him. Then I hit him hard, a blow to his skull with the butt of my Colt .45. I didn't try to soften it at all, quite the opposite. I couldn't care less whether I’d killed him or not. If I had, it would only save time later on.
Then I ripped off his night vision goggles and put them on. The beach appeared in stark shades of green. In the distance, I could see the other men waiting several hundred yards away, watching the waves intently. I hoped it would be sufficiently therapeutic to keep them occupied for some time. I checked Turner. He was breathing deeply, but I doubted he would come to for at least an hour. That was enough. If I needed any longer to finish this, an eternity wouldn't be enough. Then I picked up his Uzi and took a couple of spare magazines out of his pockets.
The journey back to the shack only took a few minutes. I was convinced the remaining two men would be inside, Jeffs and one of his Special Forces people. I kept the goggles on. The place was almost in pitch darkness, and then a beam from a flashlight winked on. I could see Jeffs searching the area outside the shack, poking around with his Uzi, while the other man waited inside. He was alternately looking through the window and then back at something inside. It meant he'd be checking on Winter and Isra, which was good news. It
meant they were still alive.
I made some rapid calculations. It was obvious the major obstacle would be the Special Forces operative still inside my place, which meant he had to go down first. I retreated into the woods and worked my way around to the other side of the shack. Everything was quiet. They assumed I would return from the seaward side and were keeping it covered. I crept carefully along my front path until I reached the still open front door and peered inside. I could see the man watching through the window, and nearer to me, Winter and Isra on the floor. I wasn't sure if they were alive or dead, when Winter groaned and moved slightly. The operative whirled then relaxed as he saw there was no threat. He knelt down and checked her over, then stood up and resumed his watch at the window. Isra moved slightly, and he looked around casually, now convinced there was no immediate danger. He glanced down and then looked out of the window. It was time to move.
I knew every part of that shack, every noisy hinge or creaky floorboard. I was able to step inside in total silence and get a few feet behind the man at the window. Then I aimed the Uzi and fired a single shot into his throat. The second the bullet left the barrel I ran forward and grabbed him before he could crash to the ground. He made no noise. His throat and vocal chords were torn to shreds by the 9mm bullet. There was only a faint gurgling sound as he tried, unsuccessfully, to breathe. I didn't want to fire again. Even an effective sound suppressor makes noise, and I could see Jeffs was still outside, unaware of the threat behind him. It took the man two minutes to die, possibly a combination of blood loss and shock. Whatever, I couldn't care less. When people come into your home and start shooting with the intention of killing you, they're riding the tiger. And this guy had sure ended up inside the belly.
I tensed as I heard someone calling softly.
"Ed?"
Ed wasn't going to answer him, not with his throat shot to shit.
The call came again, and when there was no reply, Jeffs started back to the shack. He stepped inside through the back door and into the living room. He looked down at Winter and Isra, and then at the third body, where there shouldn't have been a third body. He started to raise his gun and spin around, and I hit him with the butt of my Colt. I summoned up all the ferocity and anger I'd stored up ever since that day back in Afghanistan. He went straight down without a sound, and this time I didn't bother to lower him gently. His head banged against the edge of an oak bookcase, and I could swear there was the sound of breaking bone. Fine by me.
I collected up both Uzis and went to look at Winter. Her eyes opened, and she half smiled when she saw my face.
"Are you injured?" I asked.
She shook her head, and I understood she hadn't heard me. The effects of the stun grenade would take longer to wear off, so I used a kind of sign language to ask the question. She shook her head.
"I think I'm okay, just woozy. Where are Jeffs' men?"
I pointed to Jeffs and the operative on the floor, and held up three fingers. Then I pointed to me, my weapon, and toward the beach, and held up another three fingers.
"Three of them still out there? They'll be back mighty soon."
I showed her the two spare Uzis, pointing to her and Isra, and then at my Uzi and me. She got the message and went over to Isra to try and bring him round. The Afghan was already starting to regain consciousness, and inside of a couple of minutes, was able to understand me.
"They all dead?"
I went through the same rigmarole, pointing at guns and bodies, and he understood.
"What do we do?"
I handed an Uzi to each of them, together with a couple of spare mags, all I'd found on the bodies. Then I nodded toward the beach. They understood, and we began preparing for their return. First, I gave them each a set of night vision goggles. Isra went outside the shack and hid behind the Jeep Wrangler. Winter went to the opposite side and they waited. I stayed inside. I had an idea it might be possible to end this without more killing, at least, of the hired help. Jeffs and Turner didn't count. We waited in the darkness, listening to the sigh of the waves from the beach. The sea fog had rolled inshore, and visibility had dropped to only a few yards. I lost sight of Winter and Isra, so when the men came, they almost took us by surprise.
The first intimation was the slight clink of a pebble that someone kicked. I tensed, waiting for them to come into view, but nothing happened until a voice shouted out loud.
"Schaeffer! We've got your girlfriend." Just in case I didn't get the message, Winter screamed in sudden pain, "If you don't want her dead, drop your weapon, and come out with your hands up."
Where was Isra? They had to know there was a third member of our party, had they taken him too? I soon had my answer.
"We've got your queer friend, too. If you come out, we can work this out and they can go free."
I had to think fast, and I could only come to one conclusion. I would have to go out there and confront the three of them. I tucked the Colt into the waistband at the back of my pants. It was a last desperate measure, but the only one I had left. I stripped off the night vision goggles and went to the rear. I propped the Uzi just inside the door and walked out with my hands up. They were waiting for me about ten yards away. Three of them, all wearing night vision goggles, so there was no chance I could slip away into the darkness and the fog to evade them. I could see Isra on the ground, a few feet from where I stood.
"Are you okay?"
"I've ruined another dress and torn two of my nails. My hose is ripped to shreds, and my hair is in ruins. So no, I'm not okay."
It sounded like the same old Isra. "Winter, where are you?"
She didn't reply.
"We had to tap her on the head, so she'll be out of it for a while," one of the men said, "Where's Turner?"
It occurred to me they needed him to fly them out of here. I turned toward him. "I'll show you, as soon as you keep your word. Let Isra and Winter go."
He hesitated and then shook his head. "Winter Moss is still out. She's not going anywhere."
"In that case, let Isra use the Jeep to take her to the ER room."
They looked at each other, and I saw one of them nod. I knew they wouldn't let any of us go. They were just playing with us. As soon as I led them to Turner, they'd kill us all.
"Okay, the queer can go get the Jeep. No funny business, or I’ll shoot your girlfriend dead."
A faint voice came through the darkness and the mist, "I'm not queer. I should have been born a girl."
"Shouldn't have been born at all," one of them rasped.
"Go get the Jeep, Isra. Forget them."
He came quite near as he made his way toward the other side of the shack where the Jeep was parked. I could see his face, and his expression was like nothing I'd seen before. To say he was in a rage would understate the case, he was boiling mad.
"Make sure you come real slow," one of them shouted.
"Oh, I will," he replied, his voice tight and controlled.
We waited in a kind of frozen tableau. After a few minutes, I heard the sound of the Jeep engine starting. The vehicle moved slowly toward Winter's unconscious form, just as they'd ordered.
Suddenly, the entire area was bathed in light. Isra had switched on the main beam headlights, illuminating and cutting through the night and the fog. The three operatives froze and then began wrenching at their goggles. The abrupt dazzling light would have overridden the sensors, and I could only begin to imagine the pain and disorientation they were experiencing. It was as good a chance as any. I snatched out my Colt and took aim, two shots for each man. It was impossible to miss, as they were so beautifully lit by the powerful beams. I went to each one in turn and removed their assault rifles. Not that there was any need, they were all dead. I ran over to Winter. Her face was covered in blood and she lay still. But when I put my ear close to her, she was still breathing. I shouted for Isra.
"The Jeep, bring it nearer. We have to get her to a hospital."
There was no reply and I looked up. Nothi
ng had changed. The headlights were still blazing, and the engine ticked over. Except… no Isra.
I shouted again, "Isra, we need to get this moving."
"Not tonight you don't."
Turner. He was standing behind the vehicle in the dark shadow. With one hand, he held someone in front of him, the slight figure of a girl. With his other hand, he was holding an Uzi. I couldn't shoot, not without killing Isra.
"Let go, Turner. It's all over. Your men are dead, and Jeffs too. There's been enough killing. Just leave it and get out of here."
He didn't move an inch. I heard his grating laugh. "Jeffs dead? Is that right, Joe?"
A man materialized next to him, Joseph Jeffs. He was limping and held a towel to his head to staunch the blood, but he was still very much alive. I'd failed, failed utterly. This was the man behind all of it, responsible for the massacre in Afghanistan, helping feed the butchery in Egypt, and now he was here on the beach in Rockport, still alive, and ready to kill again. I didn't say anything. There wasn't anything left to say. All that was left to do was to die.
I thought back to all those times when I wanted to die, had drunk myself stupid and then walked to the beach, feeling the magnetic pull of the icy waves. Each time, something had stopped me and I pulled back. The terrible thing was, now it was about to happen, I'd have done anything to stop it. Anything, except be responsible for killing my friends, which would have been the inevitable consequence if I made any kind of a move.
Turner kept me covered while Jeffs went to the Jeep and dragged open the door. He glared at Isra.
"Get out, you fucking whore!"
I saw him step down. He stood waiting for Jeffs to tell him what to do. He didn't speak, just raised his pistol and fired a shot that smashed into him, pitching him to the ground with blood oozing from his chest. I felt a black despair and ran forward.