Goliath

by Richard Turner

Mitchell was happy to be back on solid ground. He was comfortable flying in all sorts of helicopters, but their ten-minute flight had been choppy, and his body still felt raw after the beating he had taken from Teplov. Jen walked silently beside him, as several of Romanov’s guards led them away from their helicopter to one of the mining camp’s buildings. Once they were inside the small, empty shack, the door closed behind them, with a click of the lock. Mitchell quickly slid over to the window and looked outside. Four men stood there, weapons cradled in their arms. Crossing to the other side of the shack, Mitchell repeated the drill, and saw even more men outside.

  “Looks like we’re going nowhere for a while,” Mitchell said, taking a seat on the floor beside Jen.

  “Well, at least for once we’re together,” said Jen, as she gave Mitchell a quick hug and a kiss on his cheek.

  “Yeah, I guess that’s something.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, while outside the sound of heavy machinery starting up and moving about filled the air.

  Sam watched through her binoculars as the golden helicopter came into land. Figuring it was another group of workers coming to maintain the equipment, she was about to look at something else when she saw Mitchell and Jen climb out under guard. She keyed her throat-mic and passed on the news to Jackson and Cardinal. They climbed the stairs, moved over beside her, and watched, as Mitchell and Jen were led over to a small, pre-fab building.

  “Well, that changes everything,” said Jackson, as he turned his binoculars toward the mercenaries guarding the container. “How many bad guys do you think there are?” he asked Cardinal.

  “I count over thirty. A mix of mercs and hired thugs from Romanov’s ship,” Gordon replied. “Don’t forget, those are the ones I’ve been able to see; I have no clue how many people are still inside the tunnel.”

  “Swell, at least ten to one,” commented Sam.

  “Well, at least we know where they are now, and we don’t have to try pulling them off a ship anymore,” said Jackson.

  “Great silver-lining thinking,” said Sam with a brief smile. “Well, I need to get some intel sent back to Fahimah without delay.” She dug out a small camera from her pack and set it up on a tripod that barely peered over the top of the tower. Carefully adjusting the picture with her palm-sized tablet, Sam soon had a steady feed sent straight back to Fahimah, and then on to Polaris Headquarters.

  “Okay then, I’d better come up with a new plan,” said Jackson as he crept away from the wall and went downstairs. He sat on the cold stone floor, peered out of the open gun port, and pondered his options. He knew Mitchell would never hesitate to come to his aid, and he did not intend to let his friend down, either; it was all just a question of how and when.

  Sitting still and waiting for things to unfold chafed at Mitchell. Curiosity was starting to get the better of him. He stood and peered out the front window, as two eight-wheeled, off-road vehicles, both pulling trailers, drove up and stopped in front of a sea container guarded by at least a dozen tough-looking mercenaries. A feeling of dread seeped into Mitchell’s consciousness. Something was wrong—very wrong.

  “Jen, do you know what was inside the sea container that was flown away in the middle of the night from the refinery in Africa?” asked Mitchell.

  “No, why?” said Jen.

  “Because it looks like they’ve brought it here with them.”

  Jen stood and joined Mitchell to look out the window. “I never saw what was inside, and they never spoke about it around me—not that I would have been able to follow what they were saying in Russian,” replied Jen.

  “Well, I don’t mind telling you that I don’t like the look of all that security guarding whatever it is they have in there.”

  Voices from right outside caught Mitchell’s attention. A second later, someone unlocked the door and flung it open. A woman stepped inside, wearing a tan-colored winter jacket with matching toque and blue jeans, her jet-black hair braided in a thick plait down her back.

  Mitchell studied her for a moment and said, “I know you, but where’s the bandage on your nose?”

  “Wrong sister, Mister Mitchell,” said Alexandra Romanov as she stepped aside, allowing a couple of guards to follow her, their weapons pointing at Jen.

  “Don’t tell me. There are two of you? I must have missed that detail before being sucker punched in the back of the head while we were still on the ship of fools.”

  “I have no time for adolescent games, Mister Mitchell. My father is waiting for you. Come with me,” ordered Alexandra. “Miss March will remain here.”

  Jen reached out and grabbed Mitchell’s arm, her eyes betraying her fear.

  “It’s okay,” said Mitchell with a smile. “I’m sure he just wants to talk sports or something. I’ll be back before you know it, and then we can go on a nice long holiday somewhere together.”

  “You’d better be, mister,” said Jen, as she watched Mitchell walk out of the room. The door was quickly closed and locked behind him. Tears filled her eyes.

  Mitchell walked over to the sea container, escorted by Alexandra and a couple of men, who, not trusting Mitchell, kept well back with their weapons trained on him at all times. A minute later, the sound of a helicopter’s rotor blades split the air. Mitchell looked up and saw that it was another one of Romanov’s choppers coming in to land. The powerful downdraft from the rotors sent a bitterly cold wind whipping across the open ground, stirring up the fresh snow into a mini-blizzard. Mitchell turned away as the chopper landed. As soon as it was on the ground, the engine switched off. Mitchell observed Dmitry Romanov climb out, accompanied by Nika, and their bully, Teplov. A serious-looking Asian mercenary with a black eye patch walked over and started to talk with Romanov. They were too far away for him to hear a word. Romanov thanked the man and then walked to the sea container where Alexandra Romanov stood, waiting for her father.

  On an order from Chang, the doors to the container opened. A loud, protesting screech from the rusty hinges rang out.

  “Come with me, Mister Mitchell. I want to show you something that will change the world as we know it,” said Romanov.

  Mitchell saw inside for the first time. A chill ran through his body. Securely fastened into metal cradles were two long, cylindrical bombs. Mitchell knew they were nuclear. He turned and locked eyes with Romanov. “What the hell are you doing with two nuclear bombs?”

  Romanov grinned. “I knew there would be no fooling you, Mister Mitchell. You are quite correct; I have in my possession two nuclear bombs.”

  “Where did you get them? And for God’s sake, please don’t tell me you were able to buy them on the black market.”

  “Unfortunately no. The Russian Mafia and the Pakistani military both rebuffed my offers, oddly enough. So I had Colonel Chang appropriate a couple for me,” said Romanov, walking over beside the bombs. “They are South African, a little old and somewhat crude, but still quite functional. They are more than sufficient for what I have planned.”

  “And just what is that?” asked Mitchell, trying to get something, anything, useful out of Romanov.

  Romanov pursed his lips and shook his head at Mitchell. “All of your questions will be answered in good time, Mister Mitchell. You must remember when I said you were an essential part of this operation. Trust me, I meant every word. Now, no more idle talk. Chang and his men have a lot of work to do over the next few hours.”

  Mitchell thought about lunging for Romanov, but knew that he would not make it more than a meter before being cut down by one of the man’s goons. Frustration grew inside him. He had to do something before this madman actually tried to use the bombs that he had in his possession.

  Teplov turned to one of Chang’s men and said, “Cuff Mitchell to the lead eight-wheeler, and make sure that two men remain with him at all times. If he escapes, I’ll hold you responsible.”

  Chang stepped forward until he could look into Teplov’s cold eyes. “My services are contracted to Mister Romanov, not you.
I’ll give the orders to my men from now on,” Chang said, his voice like ice.

  When he saw the look of anger in Chang’s eyes, Teplov could tell that he hated him and, if given the chance, would enjoy killing him. Taking a step back, Teplov said, “Fine, have it your way. But I still want Mitchell secured and guarded.” With that, he walked away.

  With a nod from Chang, two men grabbed Mitchell by the arms, dragged him over to the ATV, and cuffed him to the ATV’s roll bar.

  Mitchell stared at the two guards and pulled hard on the cuffs. As he expected, they didn’t budge at all. Mitchell had to admit to himself that he was going nowhere fast. He looked back into the container at the bombs and tried to figure out what Romanov was planning. He would not have brought them here if he intended to use them on a major city in Russia or another target in the West. He could have easily shipped them into a busy port and detonated them there before anyone knew what was happening. There had to be another reason. Looking around at the camp, Mitchell saw the tunnel dug into the base of the tall, ice-covered volcano. Some of Romanov’s men were busy clearing the snow from some of the equipment at the entrance of the tunnel. Looking back at the bombs, Mitchell broke out in a cold sweat. He knew what Romanov was going to do. If he wasn’t stopped, millions of people would be dead in the next few hours.

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