Deadly Force

by Chase Austin

  The signal turned green and the first SUV started to roll. Majeed’s Fortuner followed suit. This was the time. Wick remained where he was, hand held out, and as the rear side of Majeed’s Fortuner neared him, he discreetly attached the GPS tracker to the steel. He stood there, watching the three SUVs moving in tandem. They had not realized what Wick had done.

  Plan B was set in motion.

  CHAPTER 14

  Wick returned to his Yamaha, which was still standing in the middle of the road, the cars behind it honking impatiently. He made an apologetic face at the nearest driver while ignoring his shocked expressions that a beggar could afford a motorcycle like that. He wheeled the Yamaha to the side of the road, allowing the traffic to pass. In the opposite lane, it looked like every vehicle in the city was speeding towards the explosion site.

  Wick had no way to contact his support team. The only way to reconnect was to return to the safe house. He started the engine, pressing the accelerator to give it the required thrust, and made a turn at the next intersection. His knowledge of city streets would come in handy now that he no longer had a GPS unit. Five hundred yards later, he turned left into a deserted alley.

  Twenty-seven minutes through narrow alleys eventually brought him close to the safe house. He abandoned the motorcycle three blocks away from the base and covered the rest of the way on foot. The walk didn’t cause him any discomfort, and that was the good news, although his hearing was still not fully functional.

  The safe house was locked, and the minivan was nowhere to be seen. He pulled the keypad coverup and keyed in the code for the day. The door slid to its left and he squeezed inside, not waiting for it to open completely.

  Three seconds later the door closed behind him. Hearing the sound, Elijah came out into the hallway. Olivia was behind him.

  Olivia stared at him, “Oh my god! You okay?”

  He nodded and removed his robe at the door.

  “We thought we lost you in the blast.” Olivia sounded worried.

  “I’m fine,” he said it in a matter-of-fact tone and walked into the inner room, where Logan sat at a computer screen. “How strong is the GPS signal?”

  “Good,” Logan replied, studying the screen. “The vehicle is still in motion. The possible locations could be here and here.” Logan tapped his finger on the screen.

  One of the locations was a two-story house on the outskirts of the city, around thirty miles from the safe house.

  “Bring up the images from the satellite feed,” Wick said.

  Logan’s fingers flew over the keyboard. Meanwhile, Wick turned to Elijah and Olivia, who were still looking at him with a multitude of questions in their eyes.

  “Not now, please.”

  Olivia nodded. “Helms asked for you,” she said.

  “'ll talk to him soon. In the meantime, you can relay to him that we're going ahead with the backup plan.”

  “Wick, there's one more thing,” Elijah said.

  Wick looked at him with a neutral expression.

  “We just received news that the two US soldiers captured by Baitullah Maksud’s terrorist group were burned to death. This was broadcast live on the Internet worldwide.

  Wick registered every word. He said nothing, yet everyone in the room felt the tension rise a few notches. Wick’s jaw stiffened. His eyes turned cold. His posture tensed.

  “You think talking to Helms now would make sense?” Elijah asked.

  “Show me the latest images of Majeed’s house.”

  Logan complied. The images appeared on the white wall in front of them.

  “What's Majeed's current position?” Wick asked. The lack of emotion in his tone surprised everyone, but no one said anything.

  The image on the wall changed to show a yellow dot moving towards the house.

  “Any intel on who orchestrated the blast?”

  “We're circling on the suspects. The signature is similar to that of the Al-Hamas group but not completely. One of our agents is at the location, sending us intel on all the ongoing developments.”

  The yellow dot on the screen stopped at the house.

  “We need to move fast now. This is our only chance to capture Majeed,” Wick said looking at the image. He was pissed at the way things were shaping up. “Show me the security details of the house.”

  A new image showed the building surrounded by black dots—the top view of people’s heads. Five in total. Two at the entry and three at the back.

  The photo changed again. This one showed Majeed walking towards the house with another man, who Wick assumed was Farhad, known as ‘the enforcer’ in local lingo, who shadowed Majeed everywhere.

  “We're leaving in thirty minutes.”

  He went into the other room and closed the door behind him. He needed a quick bath and some painkillers. Everyone else in the hall exchanged looks and started to kit up.

  The warm water washed the scum and blood from his body, clearing his mind. He was a loner and so far, Olivia and the team had given him the wide berth he needed to be at his peak. It wasn’t a privilege, but his need. It also meant that if anything went wrong, it was his head on the chopping block, but it gave him the freedom to make critical on-the-spot decisions without waiting for permissions or approvals.

  He closed his eyes and the face of the boy appeared on the back of his eyelids. The boy’s gaze drained of innocence stared back at him.

  CHAPTER 15

  Twenty minutes later, when Olivia opened the door Wick was putting on his Kevlar bulletproof vest. His long, messy hair was tied neatly in a ponytail. The long beard was still there, but minus the dirt. He had ditched the loose clothes and wore a comfortable Dry-fit t-shirt. He looked clean and ready.

  He walked up to the laptop and checked the GPS location of Majeed’s SUV. It was still parked at the same location. The satellite had sent two more images minutes ago. The other two SUVs had not accompanied Majeed’s. No change in the number of gatekeepers either, still two in the front and three at the back. The three guards at the back were busy drinking and smoking.

  “Here's the plan,” Wick started. “We'll stop the minivan approximately one-and-a-half miles away from the location. Elijah, Olivia and I will cover the rest of the distance on foot. Logan will guide us from the van. You both,” he turned to Olivia and Elijah, “will take the three at the back and anyone else you find behind the house. I'll take care of the two at the front. Standard ops protocols: one tap and no noise.” He turned to Logan. “You'll be our eyes and ears. Anything changes, inform us immediately.” He looked at everyone in turn. “We’ll be connected all the time. Once everyone outside is taken care of, Olivia will secure the building from the back and Elijah from the front. I'll go inside. One-eight-zero seconds, in and out. If the connection breaks or I'm not out in three minutes, Elijah will follow me inside. If you see anyone except Majeed, shoot to kill. Any questions?” They all shook their heads.

  CHAPTER 16

  Outside, night had started to descend on a city still reeling with the grief and shock of the blast. No terrorist group had as yet come forward to take responsibility for the gruesome killings. The police were clueless, politicians were trying to rake in political gains from the tragedy, and the media was blaming everyone they could imagine. Wick was only concerned about how this circus would affect their ability to accomplish the mission.

  The number of uniforms patrolling the city had increased. Logan took extra precautions and drove within the speed limit. Staying under the radar was important.

  The team was ready for any eventuality but preferred not to engage proactively. Logan was using internal roads and alleyways to maneuver through the grief-stricken city. Luckily, they did not find any roadblocks.

  Logan braked as they reached the marked location after an hour’s drive.

  Olivia, Elijah and Wick got out and started walking briskly towards the target location. Wick was carrying the same Glock-26 with an Octane K-45 suppressor that he had taken to the convention center. />
  The three shadows covered ground rapidly under the moonless sky. The scarcity of streetlights allowed them to run without arousing suspicion. As they moved closer to the target, Wick felt anger rising in his gut. He had reasons to be angry. But right before a critical mission, it could be fatal for him and his team. Yet he couldn’t shake his feelings. This intermittent surge of emotions was a new territory for him. His anger combined with nerves before a big mission was turning him into a wreck.

  The three of them navigated the deserted streets in less than ten minutes and took cover behind a brick wall.

  The house stood silent in the dark, moonless night. The lights were out, and a casual passerby would assume everyone inside was already asleep. But Wick and his team knew better.

  Luckily for them, the security details around the house appeared light. Majeed didn’t expect any attack on him tonight or any other night. He was not a terrorist in Iran, and he knew that the USA didn’t have the courage to hunt him on his own soil.

  “Logan, any changes in the positions? Over,” Wick said on the microphone.

  “None. Over,” Logan responded.

  “On three.” Wick used the fingers of his right hand for the countdown, then started to sprint towards the house.

  CHAPTER 17

  Wick arced around to reach the front of the house. Crouching in the bushes, he could see the two gunmen guarding the front entrance.

  Olivia and Elijah remained in the same position behind the brick wall, waiting for Wick's confirmation about his position. Once he was settled, Olivia sprinted to her position, followed by Elijah.

  “We're in position,” Elijah confirmed his arrival.

  “Target in range. Over,” Wick said

  Sitting alone in the shadow of the bushes, Wick found his body trembling with rage. He looked at his right hand, his gun hand. It shook as it rested on his thigh. He tried but couldn’t get it to stop. He felt nauseated, sick enough to vomit.

  Go time was in four minutes.

  Sitting in a crouched position, staring down the block at the house where Majeed was, he closed his eyes to conjure images of the men inside but got nothing. All he got was the face of the boy who had blown himself up and the thought of the two US soldiers burned to death. He shook his head to clear it.

  “Wick, you ready?” His earphone crackled. It was Olivia.

  “Yes,” Wick said without skipping a beat. He looked at his trembling hand, and then back at the door where the two gunmen were standing lethargically, waiting for nothing. They were probably thinking how long the night was going to be. They weren’t expecting a hit tonight. Wick and his team had the crucial element of surprise.

  The building was an old, rambling, two-story house, a sufficient distance from the city. The lights inside were out. Either everyone inside was asleep or they were doing things that needed the cover of darkness.

  “Hit hard. Hit fast. Leave nothing to chance. Over,” Wick said in his mouthpiece. His last bit of advice before the hit.

  “Copy that. Over.” Olivia and Elijah spoke in unison.

  “I'll take the left tango. Over,” Elijah whispered again.

  “Rightmost tango and the middle one. Target in range,’ Olivia stated her position.

  Logan heard everything from the minivan, his heartbeat racing to triple digits. He was still relatively new to such missions. The adrenaline gave him jitters. He pressed hard against the earphones to not miss any whispers.

  “When I say three. Over,” Wick muttered.

  “Ready,” said two voices in unison.

  “One… two… three.”

  Three bullets pierced the stillness with a muzzle velocity of a thousand feet per second. Three small, symmetrical holes appeared in three skulls. Three dead bodies. Before they hit the ground, there were two more shots. Two more heads. Two more thudding sounds. All this in less than a three seconds. The sound of the bodies hitting the ground was absorbed by the stillness of the night. For the next few minutes, three pairs of eyes remained glued to the house for any sign of movement from any direction. No one came out to check.

  Wick jumped to his feet and sprinted towards the door. Olivia and Elijah ran and took their positions as planned.

  Nearing the house, he scanned the area for any potential surprise.

  Nothing worth worrying about.

  Reaching the door, he pushed it slightly. It was bolted from within. He circled to check for any other entry. He checked with Olivia and Elijah too. The front door was the only access point to the house. Shooting the lock open would compromise the surprise element of the attack. He had to knock. He updated Olivia and Elijah about the situation. They nodded, alert.

  Wick’s Ka-Bar blade was out. He didn’t want to use a gun where a knife would do the trick. Also, an open door would do no good in case of a gunshot, however suppressed the sound might be. For speed and silence, the knife was his best bet.

  Wick knocked on the door twice and stayed put. Footsteps approached from inside. Wick hoped there wasn’t any code-word for opening the door. Someone like Majeed wasn’t a typical target. He was a religious figurehead who was never linked directly to any terror attack in public. The thin security detail had made it clear that he was not even expecting an attack like this one, at least not today. The footsteps reached the door. Wick kept to the right side of the door. It was always better to be on the side in case the host was revealed to be a maniac with a gun.

  The door opened and a familiar face appeared. Farhad squinted in the dark. Wick wasted no time in slicing the blade through his neckline, followed by two more cuts. Then with his left hand, he grabbed Farhad’s shirt to prevent the deadweight from falling on the ground. He dragged the body outside and laid him to the left side of the door.

  “I'm going in,” he whispered into his mic. “Time your watches to one-eighty.’

  CHAPTER 18

  Wick’s eyes had already adjusted to the dark. His Glock was out, along with a pencil-sized flashlight in a surefire hold in his other hand, not yet lit. Moving ahead slowly, Wick rapidly considered his options.

  Considering the obvious age of the house, its rusticity, and the lack of any apparent alarm keypads, he doubted that the house had a security system.

  When he slowly pushed the door inward, one hinge rasped, and at once a voice arose from deeper within the house. Wick froze on the threshold, but then he realized that he was listening to an advertisement coming from a radio. An AK-47 lay on the table in the large, dimly lit living room. The room was deserted.

  The wind whistled into the house, rattling a wobbly lampshade and threatening to betray him, so he closed the door. The radio voices came down from the first floor, to his left.

  The living room had hunter-green leather armchairs with footstools, a tartan-plaid sofa on large ball feet, rustic oak-end tables, and a section of bookshelves that held perhaps three hundred volumes. The decor was thoroughly but not aggressively masculine.

  Where he had been expecting pervasive clutter as evidence of Majeed’s seriously disruptive mind, there was neatness. Instead of filth, cleanliness. Even in the shadows, Wick could see that the room was well dusted and swept. Rather than being burdened with the stench of death, the house was redolent of lemon-oil furniture polish and a subtle pine-scented air freshener.

  Selling tax services and then various food items, the radio voices bounced enthusiastically down the stairs. Farhad had it cranked up too loud; the volume level seemed wrong to Wick, as if someone was trying to mask other sounds. There was another sound, and after a moment he recognized it: a shower. That was why the radio was set so loud. Someone was in the shower, listening to the music. Maybe Majeed.

  Wick smiled at his luck. As long as Majeed was in the shower, Wick could search the house without the risk of being discovered.

  Wick hurriedly crossed the front room to a half-open door, went through, and found a kitchen. Canary yellow ceramic tiles with knotty-pine cabinets. On the floor, gray vinyl tile speckled with yellow
and green and red. Well-scrubbed. Everything in its place. Taped to the side of the refrigerator was a calendar already turned forward to April, with a black and white photograph of a man Wick couldn’t recognize instantly. He tore the picture and stuffed it into his pocket, making a mental note of checking it once he was out of there.