Goliath

by Richard Turner

Mitchell hunched over the steering bar of the ATV. Rocks scattered everywhere under the vehicle’s tires as it tore around the narrow corner of the tunnel. He looked ahead into the darkness, but saw no sign of the other vehicle and its deadly cargo. He gunned the accelerator all the way. The ATV leaped forward like a prized stallion racing down the track. Mitchell drew Jackson’s pistol, knowing that he could not be that far behind Teplov. His blood began to boil. The sooner he dealt with the hired killer, the better.

  The long, eight-wheeled ATV came to a gradual halt at the end of the tunnel. Teplov jumped off and looked back down the tunnel; only cold, unforgiving darkness seemed to stretch into the distance. The cool, damp air made him shiver. He turned toward the bomb. Teplov ordered the guards with him to unhitch the trailer and get the ATV turned about so they could leave as soon as Markov had finished his final inspection of the bomb.

  Alexandra slipped her cold hands into her jacket pockets and walked over beside Teplov, a sour look on her narrow face. “It looks like we will have to remotely detonate the bombs well ahead of schedule. Father won’t be happy, but it can’t be helped.”

  Teplov looked down at Alexandra. “Don’t worry,” he said with the hint of a smile. “Once the bombs go off, the West’s ability to mine oil in the North Sea will be obliterated, Russia will soon once more belong to your family, and you will be rich beyond your wildest dreams. It will be as your father planned, just a few hours early, that’s all.”

  A light flickered down the passage.

  Teplov had not expected anyone else to be coming down the tunnel. Gently, he moved Alexandra behind him, using his body to cover hers. He reached down, grabbed his Motorola and called the other bomb team.

  Silence answered him.

  The sound of an approaching ATV’s engine echoed down the long, narrow tunnel.

  “Perhaps it’s the other team? Or one of Chang’s men coming to report?” said Alexandra.

  “Maybe,” replied Teplov, unsure. “You two come here,” he said to the guards.

  The men walked over beside Teplov.

  “I’ll help Markov. You two see what the other crew wants,” ordered Teplov, edging back behind the mercenaries. His gut told him that something wasn’t right. He took Alexandra by the arm and walked behind the bomb. He wanted to put as much distance as he could between them and the approaching ATV.

  Mitchell saw the light from the larger ATV illuminating the far end of the passageway. He could see several men standing there, silhouetted in the light. He leaned over the handlebar for support. Mitchell brought up his pistol and took aim.

  Teplov was about to chalk it all up to his nerves when a shot rang out. One of the two guards’ heads snapped back, his lifeless body falling backward onto the ground. Before the other man could react, two bullets pierced his chest. He dropped to his knees and tumbled over onto the cold, rocky ground.

  Teplov pushed Alexandra back and drew his pistol, making it ready.

  The blond-haired Markov turned in horror as a vehicle sped straight at him, out of the dark, as if it were coming from beyond the grave to seek vengeance upon him for his many sins.

  Mitchell turned the vehicle’s handlebar all the way to the right and slammed on the brakes. The ATV came to a sliding halt right beside the dead bodies of Chang’s men. He jumped off the ATV and strode toward a petrified Markov, his pistol aimed straight out in front of him.

  Markov, seeing the look of anger in Mitchell’s eyes, dropped onto his knees, threw up his hands in the air, and pleaded not to be shot.

  “Disarm this, now,” growled Mitchell, jamming his pistol hard into Markov’s face.

  Markov looked like he was going to soil his clothes. He got to his feet, nodded, and turned to face the bomb.

  When he saw only the two dead guards, Mitchell began to wonder where Teplov and Alexandra had disappeared to. A gnawing in Mitchell’s stomach told him to be wary. They had to be close. A sudden movement out of the corner of his eye made him turn. He gritted his teeth when he saw Teplov, with his pistol aimed at Ryan’s chest. Alexandra stood behind hm.

  “Drop it,” said Teplov to Mitchell.

  “It’ll be a cold day in hell when I let go of this pistol,” replied Mitchell.

  “Markov, is the bomb prepared?” asked Teplov, looking past Mitchell at the bomb specialist.

  Markov stopped what he was doing and fumbled for a cigarette. He lit it and said, “Yes, everything is in working order. I was about to—”

  The sound of Teplov’s pistol firing inside the narrow tunnel was deafening.

  Blood and gore sprayed all over the bomb casing as Markov slid to the ground, a hole blasted straight through his temple.

  Mitchell fired.

  Teplov felt the bullet pass by his head as he ducked back behind the bomb, leaving Alexandra standing there, a perplexed look on her face. Ruthless to a fault, she had never expected to be abandoned and left to the mercy of others.

  Mitchell ducked. Ignoring Alexandra, he fired off a couple of quick shots under the bomb trailer, hoping to kill or at least wound Teplov, who he knew, was hiding somewhere in the dark.

  Within seconds, it grew deathly quiet inside the tunnel. The only sounds Mitchell heard were his own breathing, and the rocks crunching under his feet as he slowly edged his way back to the end of the trailer. His heart started beating fast in his chest as he turned the corner of the trailer, and he brought up his pistol to fire. Instead, he swore. There no one was there.

  Mitchell was about to move down the other side of the trailer, when the hair on the back of his neck shot up. He barely had time to register the dull flash of metal as a shovel blade flew out from the dark, hitting his already bloodied hand. Blinding pain shot up his arm as he lost his grip on his pistol, and the weapon tumbled away from him, under the bomb trailer. Mitchell cursed, positive that his right wrist was now broken. He reached over with his left hand, grabbed the shovel’s wooden handle, and pulled as hard as he could. Teplov, his hands still firmly gripping the shovel, stumbled forward, off balance. Mitchell let go of the shovel, made a fist with his left hand, and sent it straight into Teplov’s face. Lesser men would have dropped from such a blow, but Teplov, fueled by hate, simply dropped the shovel to the ground, stepped back, shook his head, and spat out the shards of several shattered teeth from his bloody mouth.

  With a loud cry, Teplov dropped his head and charged straight at Mitchell, hitting him in the stomach. Both men flew backward onto the rock-strewn ground, each fighting to break the other’s hold. Twisting his body, Mitchell brought up his right leg and tried kicking Teplov off him.

  Teplov turned his body slightly, so Mitchell’s leg missed him completely. He snarled like a rabid animal and lunged, leading with his head, toward Mitchell’s face.

  Mitchell recoiled, repulsed by Teplov’s primal attack. He pulled with all his strength and broke his left hand free, sending it flying into the side of Teplov’s head. A loud, satisfying thud filled Mitchell’s ears as Teplov’s head flew to one side. He thrust his leg upward once more, this time into Teplov’s stomach. Mitchell flipped his assailant up and off him. He scrambled to his feet and sent his right foot flying into Teplov’s head, knocking him back down to the ground. Quickly looking about, Mitchell spotted his pistol, lying just out of reach barely ten meters away, under the bomb trailer. He turned to run toward it, but nearly tripped, as Teplov, bloodied and injured but not yet out of the fight, shot his hand out and grabbed Mitchell’s nearest leg. Hauling off with his free leg, Mitchell kicked as hard as he could into Teplov’s ribs. The sound of escaping air being painfully forced out of Teplov’s lungs and a rib or two breaking were barely drowned out by Mitchell’s heart pounding away in his ears.

  With a moan, Teplov let go of Mitchell’s leg. He struggled to catch his breath as he painfully got up on his knees and looked over at Mitchell.

  Something was wrong; something made Mitchell hesitate.

  Teplov turned his pounding head over and saw Alexandra. A weak smile crep
t across his bloodied face when he saw that Alexandra was standing there, Mitchell’s pistol in her hand. Slowly he stood, his feet unsteady underneath him. Teplov, his heart still consumed with anger, staggered over to Mitchell and, with a cry on his lips, smashed his fist into Mitchell’s face, sending him staggering back against the rocky wall of the tunnel.

  Mitchell’s jaw felt as if it had been hit with a baseball bat. He fought to remain standing. He shook his head, took a deep breath, and looked over at Alexandra and Teplov. He had to play for time. “I’ve already stopped the other bomb from going off, so you might as well give in,” said Mitchell.

  Teplov let out a chuckle. Blood and spittle trickled down his chin. “Give it a rest, Mister Mitchell. I helped Alexandra plan this entire operation from beginning to end. Do you honestly think I would not have thought of that possibility? All we really need is one bomb. The second is a mere insurance policy. Besides, once this one goes off, the other will explode by sympathetic detonation.”

  Mitchell bit his lip. Teplov was right; his plan was almost foolproof. “Bravo for you two psychos,” said Mitchell, inching ever closer. “But I doubt that your band of criminals outside will be able to hold off the army, who are on their way to this island as we speak.”

  “I think you are bluffing, but it is not important. Chang and his men need only last as long as it takes for Alexandra and me to leave,” replied Teplov.

  “Take another step, Mister Mitchell, and I’ll shoot,” said Alexandra, stepping back and away from Mitchell.

  “Enough of this crap,” said Teplov. “Kill him now, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Alexandra smiled and raised the pistol, aiming it at Mitchell’s head.

  The whooshing sound of something tumbling through the air made Mitchell turn his head. A split second later, Alexandra’s body violently lurched forward, a bloody pickaxe blade protruding through her chest. Her eyes glazed over, a look of shock and disbelief on her face as her legs buckled. Alexandra turned to look at Mitchell. She tried to speak, but only a bloody gurgle escaped her lips as she fell forward onto the tunnel floor. The pistol bounced out of her hand, landing at Mitchell’s feet.

  Both men dove for it, but Mitchell was faster. He snatched it up off the ground. He did not even bother to aim. Mitchell emptied the entire magazine into Teplov, his body twitching every time a bullet struck home. He was dead long before his body hit the ground. The smell of acrid smoke hung thick in the air. Mitchell looked down at the corpses and tossed the pistol away into the dark. Anger and disgust filled his heart. So many people had died, and for what?

  Jackson stepped out of the shadows, looking down at the lifeless body of Alexandra Romanov.

  Mitchell looked over at his friend. “Thanks, Nate,” said Mitchell. “But why didn’t you just simply shoot them both? You had a gun.”

  “You were in my line of fire. Besides, I wanted to make sure that she got the point,” replied Jackson.

  Mitchell shook his head at Jackson’s deadpan humor. “What about the other bomb?”

  “It’s disarmed,” replied Jackson. “I left Igor, or whatever his name is, tied spread-eagle on top of it, so he wouldn’t get any ideas of heroics.”

  “Great, but this nuke’s still live and can be remotely detonated at any time by Romanov.”

  Jackson stepped over to the bomb. The arming device looked far more complicated than anything he had ever seen in his life. The thought of tinkering with it left his mind when he saw that it had what looked to be an encrypted code built into the arming pad.

  “I’m going back to the other bomb, and I’ll bring Ivan back here to disarm this one too,” said Jackson, as he jumped back on the ATV and took off down the tunnel.

  A satphone vibrating in the dark caught Mitchell’s attention. Looking around, Mitchell realized that the sound seemed to be coming from Alexandra’s body. Mitchell bent down and pulled out a slim satphone from Alexandra’s jacket. He was surprised that he had a signal this far inside the tunnels but realized that there would have to be relay stations to allow the bombs to be detonated remotely. He held it up and saw a message in Cyrillic on the screen. Mitchell cursed himself for letting what Russian he knew become horribly rusty, but the one thing he could read was that it was from Dmitry Romanov. The man was apparently expecting his daughter to send him an update. Mitchell could imagine him sitting on his yacht, going out of his mind as he wondered what was going on. Gently placing his broken wrist inside his jacket to give it some stability, Mitchell turned and looked down the tunnel. The sound of gunfire coming from far in the distance reminded him that it was not over yet.

  A couple of minutes later, the ATV returned and squealed to a halt, with only Jackson on it.

  “Where’s the bomb expert?” asked Mitchell.

  “He told me that he doesn’t know the code,” replied Jackson. “He had the code for his bomb only, and the other specialist knew the codes for both. It would appear that trust was not this crew’s greatest asset.”

  “Great, the dead one is the one we need,” said Mitchell, looking over at Markov’s corpse.

  “So now what do you recommend we do?”

  Mitchell held up Alexandra’s phone. “Daddy dearest sent a text message while you were gone.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “Damned if I know. But one thing is for sure, I’m fairly certain that this one was Daddy’s favorite and I doubt that he intended to bring billions of tons of rocks down on his own flesh and blood. Come on, we need to get out of here and stop this bomb from being detonated.”

  “How are we going to do that, pray tell?” asked Jackson as he followed Mitchell to his still-idling ATV.

  Mitchell jumped on behind Jackson. “With this,” said Mitchell, flashing Alexandra’s phone, “along with Fahimah, Yuri, and the support of the navy. First, though, I think Sam and Cardinal may need some help.”

  Jackson nodded, turned the ATV around, and jammed his foot down on the accelerator. In an instant, they sped off down the tunnel, leaving Alexandra and Teplov on the cold, lonely ground.

  45