by Tripp Ellis
I cringed and rushed to his aid. "Can you walk it off?"
“I guess we’re about to find out.”
I grabbed his arm and hoisted him from the sand.
JD took a step, then crumpled again, his face tensed with pain.
I helped him hobble up the shore and deposited him in a clump of foliage.
Sophia had touched down and wadded up our chutes. She carried them up to the bushes and dumped them.
I looked up and down the beach. There wasn't a soul out at this hour. The distant lights of Porlamar flickered. As far as I could tell, we made our landing undetected.
"Do we abort?” Sophia asked.
"Hell no!” JD grumbled.
"This might be our only shot,” I said.
"I'll be fine,” JD assured. “I just need a minute to shake it off."
I knelt down and examined his ankle. I was no doctor, but I knew my way around field injuries. I manipulated the joint and pressed on a ligament.
JD almost went through the roof. He bit his tongue and took the pain, his face beet red.
"Does that hurt?" I teased.
“Fuck you!”
"You tore a ligament. Sit this one out."
"To hell with that.”
I gave him a stern gaze. "You’re gonna sit here and provide overwatch. You got me? Otherwise the mission is compromised.”
JD frowned but nodded.
"We'll pick you up on the way out."
We left him in the bushes and advanced down a path covered by a canopy of trees. It led to a small oceanside villa. The structure had white stucco walls and orange Spanish tile on the roof. It was surrounded by an 8-foot perimeter wall.
We held up on the path, taking cover to the side in the underbrush. My eyes scanned through the trees, scoping out the perimeter wall, looking for cameras or guards.
I lowered my night vision opticals and continued to scan the area. “Guardian Angel, Bravo 1, over?" I whispered.
I waited for Isabella to reply. There was nothing but static in my ear.
"Bravo 2, status update,” I said.
"Situation normal,” JD replied.
The air was thick with humidity, and crickets chirped. Stars flickered above, and mosquitoes buzzed about in the underbrush.
"Guardian Angel, Bravo 1, do you copy?"
"Copy. Lost signal for a moment. What's the matter with Bravo 2?”
"Rough landing," I said. "Proceeding as a two-person unit."
"Copy."
"Do you have eyes on the compound?" I asked.
"Affirmative,” Isabella replied, watching the satellite footage. “I see no movement. You are safe to proceed."
"Copy," I said.
Sophia and I advanced toward the perimeter wall. I gave her a hand as she climbed over. I scaled the wall behind her and silently dropped down to the other side. We huddled in the shrubbery, scoping out the courtyard. There was a nice swimming pool with several lounge chairs on the patio, along with a table underneath an umbrella. The area was well manicured.
This type of luxury was not typical. Fink’s relationship with the regime, combined with wealth acquired through weapons and drug trafficking, allowed him an opulent lifestyle while most lived in squalor.
The lights were out inside the house, and I saw no movement. No guards walking the perimeter. For an international terrorist, Fink was lax on security.
"Guardian Angel, Bravo 1. You see any movement?”
"You are the only two I see."
“Are we sure the target is at the location?"
"We are not sure of anything."
Sophia and I advanced along the shrubbery to the back of the house, moving past the tiki hut poolside bar. Large windows offered a view from the living room to the pool. French doors opened to a second-story terrace that covered the back patio.
It was an unusually cool night for the region, with the temperature in the mid 70s. One of the French doors on the terrace was open, allowing the gentle breeze in, rustling the sheer white curtains.
The stucco walls were rough, coated with uneven swipes of aggregate, making it look like the surface of a choppy sea. The ridges were just deep enough for a finger and toe hold.
I peered through the patio windows with my night vision and didn't see a soul in the living room. I was beginning to think that Elias had moved on or been given a heads up.
Sophia kept a watch on the perimeter.
I lifted the goggles, and with my rifle slung across my back, I grabbed hold of a ridge on the stucco. I pulled on it to assess its strength. The mixture of concrete, aggregate, and sand seemed solid. I reached another hand up and grabbed another ridge, then found a toe hold and started climbing up the side of the house. Bits of concrete and sand crumbled away underneath my feet with each step.
Sophia stayed on the ground with her weapon shouldered, scanning the area for threats.
Isabella crackled in my ear, “Bravo 1, I’ve lost visual. There's interference with the satellite."
"Copy that."
I continued my ascent, then inched sideways toward the balcony. I grabbed hold of the railing and climbed over. I was on the terrace in no time.
I swung my weapon around, lowered my night vision, and approached the French door. I held up in the doorway and angled the barrel of my rifle into the bedroom. There was a king bed with nightstands on either side and a dresser on the opposite wall. Above it, a flatscreen TV. The master bathroom was to my left, and at the far wall was the entrance to the bedroom.
Elias Fink wasn't here.
I crept forward into the bedroom, then quietly stepped into the master bath and cleared the area.
"You see anything?" Isabella asked.
"Negative," I said in a barely audible breath.
I stepped back into the bedroom, checked underneath the bed, then moved to the master closet. The door was closed. Closed doors were always a source of tension.
I lowered the rifle and drew my pistol for better mobility. I reached a hand out, twisted the knob, and pulled the door open quietly.
It creaked ever so slightly.
I winced at the sound.
There was no one hiding in the closet.
I edged toward the bedroom door and held up at the corner. I listened intently for noises, but all I could hear was the pounding of my own heart.
I swung the barrel of my pistol around the corner and pushed into the hallway, clearing both directions. There was a banister that overlooked the foyer on the first floor. Down the hallway to my left was another guest bedroom and a staircase that spiraled down to the foyer. To my right, there was another wing that housed another bedroom and a lounge area. It was a nice home. A little oasis by the sea.
"Give me a sitrep, Bravo 1,” Sophia said.
I said nothing and crept down the hallway toward the guest bedroom to my left. I moved slowly. Fortunately, the home was floored in saltillo tile, which eliminated any squeaky floorboards—always a hazard when doing second-story work.
"Bravo 2, status update," Sophia said.
There was no response from JD either.
I reached the end of the hallway and hovered by the door to the guest bedroom. It was slightly ajar. I pushed it open just wide enough to slip through. I swept the barrel across the corners, clearing the room. Then inched toward the closet and cleared it as well. The room was empty and so was the guest bath.
"Still no sign of the target," I whispered.
"Copy," Sophia said. "I'm still in position."
I moved back into the hallway and headed to the north wing, moving past the staircase. I angled my pistol over the banister, down toward the foyer, scanning the area.
"Bravo 2, do you copy?" Sophia said.
Still no response from JD.
"Guardian Angel, do you have eyes again?" Sophia asked.
"Negative."
An increasing sense of dread filled me as I inched through the darkness, approaching the other wing. I moved past the lounge toward the other gues
t bedroom. I grabbed the doorknob and twisted, easing it open. I swept the barrel of my pistol across the room and again saw nothing.
I checked the closet and underneath the bed. There was officially no one on the second floor of the house. I hadn't seen anyone through the windows below. I was beginning to think the mission was a bust when a familiar voice crackled in my ear. "So, you finally came to visit?”
My heart sank. I'd recognize Elias Fink’s voice anywhere. The fact that he was speaking to me over our encrypted comm channel was highly disturbing.
"Well, you sent so many assassins my way, I thought I'd return the favor,” I said.
“How's that working out for you?"
"Not very well at the moment."
"I'd say. You and your friend need to drop your weapons and give yourselves up, or your friend with the gimp leg dies."
50
Fink’s goons swarmed the compound. My first thought was that Sophia had set us up. Seemed like a lot of trouble to go to, but here we were.
That thought quickly vanished when a goon dragged her inside the house with a gun to her head.
I lowered my weapon and set it on the floor, then descended the steps with my hands up as the goons aimed automatic rifles at me.
They dragged JD into the house, hobbling along—and they weren’t too gentle about it. He winced with pain.
Elias appeared, wearing shorts and a T-shirt. He was in his mid 40s and clean-cut with a day’s worth of stubble. He had short brown hair and brown eyes and had kept himself fit over the years. He didn't fit the mold for the typical international terrorist. He could have been a doctor, lawyer, or tech guru in Silicon Valley. But instead, he chose to sow the seeds of anarchy across the globe, and he’d been doing it since his early 20s.
He could make the argument that he was doing it to force political change, to liberate the oppressed, to fight against imperialism, or whatever. But the truth of the matter was that he just liked to create chaos. Some people are just angry and full of hate.
I found that most people are full of contradictions. It's part of the human condition. Elias had been associated with numerous terrorist organizations over the years. He had falling outs with some, forged new alliances with others, and formed his own group, Sector Underground. But in retrospect, it seemed like a haphazard reign of terror. And there was big money in assisting terrorist organizations, providing weapons, consulting, and logistics. Many organizations were funded by the trafficking of illicit drugs, human trafficking, weapons, ransomeware, and other schemes.
"This was both bold and stupid," Fink said. "I have no doubt that the witch at Cobra Company is behind this?"
I said nothing.
"Matters not. What's important is that you are here, and we have a chance to catch up. I didn't have that luxury with the other members of your team. I'm going to look forward to watching you die a slow and painful death."
My jaw tightened.
"I know it's not going to bring my brother back, but it will make me feel better."
Fink’s brother had been killed during a hostage rescue. I led the team, and Fink blamed me.
"Maybe if you hadn’t engaged in this lifestyle, your brother would still be alive,” I said.
"Is this the part where you tell me you were just doing your job? Do you know how many atrocities are committed across the globe in the name of “Just doing my job?” The world would be a different place if people stood up and refused to do the unconscionable things dictated to them by their government."
"I guess you get a pass for kidnapping and terror?”
I don't think he particularly liked being called out on it. "I am just a reflection of your world. I didn't create this mess. I'm only responding to it. As long as there is imperialism and injustice, there will be people like me fighting against it."
"So, you're a crusader?"
"I am a light in a sea of darkness."
I rolled my eyes. "Maybe you should seek therapy."
He laughed. "Trust me, my line of work is very therapeutic."
"And detonating a dirty bomb is somehow fighting oppression and injustice?"
His face tensed. He drew close, and his narrow eyes stared into mine. "All I can do is be the catalyst for change."
“Terrorizing innocent people is a catalyst?"
"The people are far from innocent. They are all complicit. My actions will cause people to stop and think. It will wake people up from their coma. They’ll slip back into it shortly—they always do. But for a brief moment, they might contemplate the nature of their existence, and the atrocities perpetrated by their government.”
"You know what I think?"
His curious eyes surveyed me.
"I think that's all a load of bullshit. You just like to blow stuff up."
He considered my statement for a moment. "You may be right." He flashed a smarmy smile. "Either way, my plan is in motion, and you can't do anything to stop it."
"What are you targeting?"
He smirked. "That is for me to know and for you to never find out."
"What are you so worried about? It's not like any of us are getting out of here alive."
"I'm glad you’ve accepted your fate."
The only thing that I had accepted was my renewed determination to rid the planet of the scumbag before he could cause further harm.
My eyes glanced from JD to Sophia. Dread tensed her face, and her wide eyes flicked about the room, surveying the goons and the situation.
Fink turned his attention to her and stepped closer. "And you, my dear, have betrayed my trust. You failed to complete a task which you were paid to do. To make matters worse, you actively worked against me. You killed a man that I had hired to do the same job." Fink frowned and shook his head. "There's nothing I value more than loyalty. And sadly, that word doesn't seem to be in your vocabulary."
"I give my loyalty to those who are worthy of it,” Sophia said with a defiant stare.
"You should never have taken the job if you didn't intend to complete it. I understand that Deputy Wild can be very charming. But I expected more from a professional such as yourself. You destroyed your reputation."
"I'm so glad you're concerned about it."
Fink held out his hand, palm up. One of his goons placed a black semiautomatic pistol in his grasp. He gripped the pistol and placed the weapon against Sophia's forehead.
The goons holding her arms made sure they were clear of the barrel.
Sophia's eyes rounded.
"While you might not care about your reputation, I care about mine. No one betrays me and lives."
His finger wrapped tight around the trigger, ready to squeeze.
51
I was expecting a loud bang, followed by an unsightly rearrangement of the contents of Sophia's skull.
The situation looked grim. Two thugs held onto Sophia. Two goons attended to me. And two goons surrounded JD.
They were all armed with pistols. Rough and tumble-looking guys that were no strangers to violence and prison cells.
Fink lowered his pistol, and I breathed a momentary sigh of relief. "On second thought, I don't want to clean up the mess." He surveyed Sophia for a moment. "Take her outside and drown her in the pool.”
The two goons dragged Sophia toward the patio door. She struggled, kicking and screaming, cussing up a storm, coming up with colorful names for the terrorists.
Fink turned his attention back to me. "I don't know if you care about her or not, but I figured I'd let you watch her die. Then I'll figure out what to do with the two of you."
My body tensed, and my eyes blazed into him.
My judgment regarding Sophia had become cloudy, to say the least. She wasn't all bad. But she wasn’t all good either. Nobody really is. We are all shades of gray when you get down to it, though some of us are grayer than others.
Isabella wanted Sophia dead. But the girl had saved my life more than a few times. When it came down to it, I didn't know if I could pull the tr
igger myself. But that choice was about to get taken away from me.
If there was anything I learned about Sophia, it was never to underestimate her.
The two goons forced her to the edge of the pool. One of them grabbed her by the hair and shoved her head down. They were trying to get her on her knees and plunge her head under by the edge of the pool.
Sophia wasn't having any of it.
She twisted around and roundhoused the goon to her right, kicking him in the back with enough force to splash him into the pool. The big ogre sent a tidal wave rippling.
Like a lightning bolt, Sophia jammed her elbow into the other goon’s rib cage. He crumpled around her elbow. Then she twisted around and put a solid fist into his kidney. The blow made him release the grasp on her hair.
Sophia kicked him in the balls.
His eyes bulged, and he doubled over with pain, looking like he was going to hurl. It was the kind of pain that could make anybody want to toss the contents of their stomach.
She finished with an uppercut to the jaw, tumbling him back. Like a viper she struck, snatching his pistol from his shoulder holster. She pumped two rounds into his chest as the thug fell back into the water, blossoming his shirt red before he submerged.
The other goon had his weapon drawn and aimed it at Sophia. He was about to squeeze the trigger.
Sophia aimed the barrel of her pistol in his direction as he fired.
Muzzle flash flickered, and bullets snapped through the air.
While that was going on, I took the opportunity to strike. I kicked the thug beside me in the knee, snapping his medial collateral ligament. It crunched like celery, and his knee collapsed inward at an unnatural angle. Healthy knees only bend in one direction.
He tumbled to the ground.
I spun around and planted an elbow into the back of the goon beside me, and his body wrapped around the strike.
He swung the barrel of his pistol around toward me, and I shoved his forearm toward the ceiling.
The gun went off.
The deafening bank echoed through the living room.
Still holding his forearm, I grabbed the barrel of the pistol and twisted it around, snapping his finger in the trigger guard, stripping the weapon from him.