“That’s how it’s going to be?” Mike dropped his coat to the ground and ripped off his shirt. He didn’t want his dress shirt to limit his mobility.
Beneath, printed on his inside out t-shirt was ‘I got out of bed for this?’ in bold lettering.
Sokol pressed both hands to his side and bowed. "I am glad you've chosen the honorable course, but you will pay a soldier’s price: death."
Mike returned the bow without a word. Only one man would walk away.
Mike spread his feet a little more than shoulder-width apart but kept his knees bent for mobility. The balls of his feet touched the ground. He held his hands near his face.
Sokol did not shift into a stance.
Sokol remembered Mike’s weakness from the championship fight. He had a tell. Let him get a few hits in and wait for him to drop his shoulder. Then put an end to this American.
He kept the smile on his face.
That fucking smile! A scowled formed, and Mike balled his fists tighter. His muscles tensed. He inched forward and threw a jab, intending to wipe that smug smile of Sokol’s face.
His fist met air. A bone-jarring slap across his face reddened his face. The bastard’s fast. Mike recovered and turned toward Sokol.
Sokol’s smiled faded, and he assumed a stance, countering Mike’s kicks and punches with blocks that sent shockwaves of pain through Mike’s body.
A few hits slipped through Sokol’s defenses, but Mike was not unharmed either. Both were battered and bloodied. Sokol began to circled Mike like a shark smelling blood.
Mike became aware that Sokol had picked up the speed of his attacks, Mike tried to end the brawl with a Superman punch.
Sokol deflected the blow and countered with a spinning back-fist that flashed an inch from Mike’s temple. Had it landed, death would have been its reward.
A minute and a half into the battle, Mike’s left arm sank to chest level while he prepared to launch his signature right cross.
The punch would strike nothing but air. He knew the second he threw it. The spry, smirking terrorist easily avoided it. Before Mike registered how, a body shot to the ribs sent an explosion of pain across his torso. Through force of will, he did not fall, he made sure he did not fall--but it was closer than he liked.
Sokol’s smile returned.
Anger boiled inside, a torrent of heat. Mike lashed out with a left hook. This caught his opponent off guard.
Sokol fell. Then, he stood again. The smile was gone.
It was unreal. The pain in his ribs and gut shouted at him, he did not want to see Sokol standing. Mike lowered his left arm and fired another right cross. He would end it. It would miss again. How?
Sokol’s responded with a lightning fast uppercut.
Mike’s face exploded in pain. A bright light flashed and chased away consciousness. He fell face first into the snowy dirt’s embrace. Sokol’s shoe bury itself in his stomach. A whoosh of air exploded from his lungs and mouth. Do something. Mike mumbled incoherently. He made his body shake. Sokol’s footsteps grew louder as he approached.
“At last, I prove the great Mike O’Connor is not indestructible.”
Mike kept his eyes closed.
“Don’t worry. I won’t kill you. There’s something you should witness firsthand. Remember that little bomb in New York, the one you stopped? I have one here, in the car. Except a nuclear explosion will power the EMP pulse. Russian scientists worked decades perfecting the process.”
Sokol continued. “Your grid system is interconnected. Ten nearby states will be affected. To survive, all I need to be is a mile away. Your country’s infrastructure won’t be so lucky.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a key fob. Pressed the button and a Lexus on the street sprung to life.
Mike whispered. “You bastard.”
“Close actually, you’re right. I am a bastard, raised by people that taught me to hate. Which is unfortunate for you.”
Sokol turned and scurried toward the police car. He was carrying a set of thick, white handcuffs.
Not this shit again. Mike retrieved the stake from his boot that he had pulled from the ground earlier. He concealed it under his crossed arms.
Sokol said, “Mike, you have caused me a ton of trouble, but I admit you’ve been a determined and resourceful adversary.”
Mike whispered. The words were barely audible. “To strive, to seek, to find and not to yield. To strive, to seek, to find and not to yield. To strive, to seek, to find and not to yield.”
“You mock me?” Sokol dropped to his knees. He grabbed Mike’s cheeks with vise-like fingers.
Mike’s cheeks crushed against his teeth. He spat out. “To strive, to seek, to find and not to yield.”
Sokol gripped harder.
Mike chopped hard at Sokol’s throat with his left hand.
Sokol had latched on his wrist before the strike landed.
The anger on Sokol’s face disappeared. “I expected better, Mr. O’Connor.”
Mike’s right arm plunged the stake into Sokol’s exposed upper abdomen underneath the ribs. At first, he met resistance. The resistance gave way, and the stake buried itself deep inside, piercing any organ in the way. Steaming, sticky blood covered his hands and chest.
The blunt-force trauma of the stake piercing Sokol’s body wiped the look of disappointment off his face. The stake brought death.
Inside of Sokol’s body, the blade ruptured the sack surrounding Sokol’s heart, collapsing it. He fell forward on Mike unmoving.
CHAPTER 39
Tick Tock
President Johnstone continued his speech. “After the devastation that rocked Chicago, a man, and an ex-FBI agent challenged our nation’s enemies and won.”
“The heroic deed of these everyday Americans saved untold lives and put the terrorists on notice that they would be caught and punished with the full weight of the American Justice system delivering a just verdict. Together we will not let terrorism stand!”
Congress exploded in applause. Johnstone continued after the eruption. “It was a grand achievement, the sum of many acts of courage, determination, and hope. What Americans are made of. Mike O’Connor and Kim Maat are real heroes in America’s war on terror. They did it in the face of overwhelming odds. And I’m happy that both of them could join the First Lady and me tonight.”
He paused and swept his hand in the First Lady’s direction, “Mike and Kim, we’re proud of you. Please stand up.”
One-half of the heroic heroes was there to rise and accept the applause.
“When you gotta go, I guess you gotta go.” He shrugged his shoulders, palms up.
Laughter and the clapping reverberated throughout the chamber.
He continued. “We still have a lot more to do, everyone on both sides of the aisle, success means providing a safe America, securing our borders...”
Mike shoved Sokol’s blood-soaked body off him. The surrounding air had the smell of an aged, room-temperature steak. The warm blood that coated his stomach chilled and solidified. Fresh blood leaked from Sokol’s body. Sokol’s steel-gray eyes were dulled.
Mike staggered slowly toward the Sokol’s unmarked car. His heartbeat raced, fear pumped it faster. Each footstep shot a painful reminder through his body. Every muscle screamed.
On the fourth or the fifth step, he fell. He dreamed of sleep. To quit. The idea of quitting shook him to into action. He would not quit. He forced himself to one knee. He pushed with both hands on his knee and righted himself. Melted snow and blood masked his face.
Sirens and flashing lights encircled the park. Car doors slam shut. Someone yelled orders.
His struggle to his destination was over. Mike was a statue. The pain was gone, the blood an afterthought. His eyes focused on a black and yellow diagram with three pie slices pointing to a circle. The universal symbol of radiation.
He shook his head. A nuclear bomb. That bastard was not lying. His voice sounded strange. Words he never expected to utter. “A fucking atomic bo
mb is in the car.”
The bomb appeared to be a large, metallic cylinder hooked to four fist-sized cables. He focused on holding his hand steady when he flipped the latch on a timer. The LEDs counted down from three minutes and forty-two seconds. He unlatched the cables and threw them to the ground.
Footsteps approach.
A loud voice boomed. “Don’t move!”
“There is a nuclear bomb in the trunk.”
The immediate area became quiet. He turned slowly toward the officers.
The enormous officer he punched earlier stood among the crowd. His gun aimed center mass. “Hands in the air!”
Mike shook his head and started to inch his hands upward. “We have less than three minutes before we’re all dead. Put your gun away. I need to think.”
A man in a suit walked up and shoved the officer’s pistol arm toward the ground.
“Put away your weapon. Now!” He appraised Mike. “I recognize you. You foiled the attack in New York. You’re a bomb expert, you have a plan?”
“No. Not really. I had demolition experience in the military, but I can’t defuse this. I need time we don’t have.”
“Everyone be silent!”
Mike turned his back to everyone to avoid distraction.
The man in the dress suit snapped at him. “Well get a damn plan fast. I don’t have anyone here who can defuse that thing.”
Mike twisted around to face the officer. “I might be able to stop the nuclear blast at least. The device needs to be aligned perfectly to work. I’ll ram the statue and un-align the damn thing.”
“But...”
“No damn buts!” He did not wait for the officer to finish his sentence. Death was a distinct possibility; he did not require the reminder. He had tunnel vision while he raced for the driver’s seat. He slammed the door shut.
The officer shouted. “Everyone get back to your vehicles!”
Mike grabbed the keys. They were still in the ignition. It would have been funny if they weren’t. He smiled.
His smiled faded when he turned the key, and the engine roared to life. A white-knuckled hand forced the shifter in reverse. His foot slammed against the floorboard. Exhaust and engine noise filled the cabin.
The tires spun in the grass and snow and finally caught. He pushed against the steering wheel to counter the force of the car when it leaped in reverse.
He turned to see where he was going, he aimed the four-ton car at the statue’s base. The tan cement of the base grew and blotted out the back window. Once aimed, Mike buried himself in the seat, his head pushed against the headrest, braced for impact. The airbag exploded in his face, he would not be pretty in the morning.
The crumbling metal and broken glass brought back memories of his parents’ death. He was immobile, stunned. Maybe this is a fitting end. The hell with that!
He slapped himself. Pain shot through his cheek. Move!
He unlatched his seatbelt, shoved the inflated bag out of the way, and yanked the door open. A loud creaking sound reached his ears. He looked for the source.
To Mike’s dismay Major General Nathanael Greene, on horseback, slowly tilted in his direction. Spurred to action, he leaped. The cold hard ground gut punches him.
The five-ton bronze statue flattened the top of the car.
Mike rose and stumbled forward. He wanted distance, as much as humanly possible from the vehicle. The force of the explosion threw him five feet before face-planting him in the dirt. The explosion rained hellfire. Metal whizzed by his head. A big thud followed by a small ground tremor made him turned his head.
He blinked, his eyes trying to comprehend the absurdity. General Greene’s arm buried to its elbow a foot from his waist, the body of the general sheared from the horse. The general’s head was aligned with his, the expression grave. Under the large green-bronzed colonial hat, the general gave Mike a stern gaze.
More sirens approached the park. Footsteps approached.
He pushed himself off the ground. Hands clamped under his armpits and helped him to a standing position.
The officer in the suit held Mike upright. “You alright?”
Mike patted his body. “I think so.”
“You don’t look alright.” He turned to the gathered officers. “Someone call an ambulance. Get a HAZMAT team here now. Everyone get the hell out of here.”
Someone patted him on the back, and Mike strained to remain upright.
The adrenaline that supplied energy and reduced his pain halted. Mike’s spigot of energy turned off. The park spun, his legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground.
His face smothered in dirt and snow, his thoughts raced. What would he do if this injury crippled him? Unfixable bad. Bad enough he couldn’t walk anymore. Injuries like these add up and take their toll. Was tonight, the night the bell tolled for him?
Mike’s thoughts faded with his consciousness.
Outside a cabin in Whitetop, Virginia, Natalya and Eric waited to hear news of a nuclear explosion, the car’s radio tuned to a local talk radio station.
The radio beeped an emergency broadcast tone. “We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming. Five minutes ago there was an explosion in Washington, DC near the capital during the President’s address.”
Natalya said, “This is it, let’s kill the bastard.”
Eric shook his head. “Wait.”
The radio continued. “The cause of the small explosion outside the Capitol Dome is unknown. We have received no reports of injuries at this time. No terrorist group claimed responsibility. However--”
Natalya nearly broke the knob when she turned the radio off. “He failed.” She hissed. “Let’s kill the designated survivor anyway.”
“No, too much risk. We’ll contact Sokol and see what went wrong.”
The next morning, Kim sprinted into Mike’s hospital room to talk to the doctor. “What’s the scoop?”
“I assume you’re Kim Maat?”
“Yes.”
“Your boyfriend’s in recovery.”
“How is he?”
The doctor pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose, sighed, and then locked eyes with Kim. “The good news, he’s stable, but his body received quite a shock. Unfortunately, he re-injured his back.”
Kim held back tears. “Is it permanent?”
“He’ll always have trouble with his back. It’s the nature of his original injury. As far as this latest round goes, well, we do not want him walking anytime soon. He bruised his spine where the thoracic and lumbar regions meet, near what we call the T-12 and L-1 segments of his backbone.”
“Will he ever walk again?”
“He has a very good chance. Mike’s spine injury is not as severe this time. We were able to put the bone fragment back in place, his spine will heal. The bone was pressing against the nerve. As far as we can tell, it’s not damaged but will need time to calm down. We got the inflammation under control, and he should be feeling better soon. Of course, he will need physical therapy after the bone mends.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“I will say, repeated stress in the same region does him no good. Provided he rests, he should walk again. If he recovers, keep him from fighting terrorist, he has done his share.”
“He’ll rest.” Kim slammed her fist into her palm and rubbed her knuckles. “He’ll rest. You can bet on it.”
“Good.”
“Does he know?”
“Yes. I explained it to him. I’m sure he’d like to see you.”
“Thank you.”
Mike eyelids crept open and spied Kim. “Oh, no. Don’t even think about feeling sorry for me! Whatever they say, I’m gonna walk again.”
“Sorry? Sorry hell, I am going beat your ass for that dumb ass stunt!”
She punched him on the arm. Not as hard as she wanted. She wanted him to feel it, but not break anything else.
“Damn that hurt.”
“Good. I can’t wait until you get better so I
can kill you.”
She leaned down and hugged him. “By the way, you look like shit.”
CHAPTER 40
I Do
Three weeks later, Mike was getting dressed for his wedding at the White House. His legs would not support his weight and Charlie had to assist him into his tuxedo.
Once he was dressed, he lowered himself into his wheelchair.
“That was embarrassing, but thanks for helping. I don’t know where I would be without you.” He paused. “You know I never thought I would say that.”
“I didn’t like you either. You’re an arrogant bastard sometimes.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.” A big smile crossed Charlie’s face. “I hope you are UP to the honeymoon.”
“Enough with the bad puns.”
A noise caused Mike to turn toward the door. Eddie crashed in. Mike did not understand how he stayed upright.
Eddie looked terrible. Messy hair, droopy eyelids, and bloodshot eyes. He started taking off his clothes to suit up.
He stumbled and grabbed the door to keep from falling three more times while putting on his pants. “You had one hell of a bachelor party last night Mikey, too bad you weren’t there. If you want, I’ll give you the lap dances I got in your name.”
“No thanks.”
Eddie slapped his head. “Shit, where’s my shoes?”
Mike smiled. “On your feet, you idiot.” Eddie.
Mike scanned the East Room while he waited for his bride-to-be. The room was twice as long as it was wide. Mike figured eighty feet long minimum. Three large ornate golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The wooden tile floor was art, surrounded by art, surrounded by art. Kennedy laid to rest in this room. Damn.
The East Room was three-quarters full. Mike did not know ninety percent of people attending. He guessed they were here to rub elbows with an American hero. He did not feel like a hero.
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