by Eric Dabbs
"Now slide them over here." Raziz tapped his boot to the floor. Alex and Wilson kicked the pistols over. One of the guards scurried over and scooped up the weapons along with the rifles.
"Good." Raziz nodded with an arrogant smile. "Get them."
The six men descended upon Alex and Wilson, searched them for additional weapons, found their knives, and the hand-held computer on Alex. But thankfully, somehow missed the locator card in a small inside pocket. Their hands were bound behind their backs with a thick rope.
Raziz drew near Alex. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Alex...Preston, is it?" He grinned. "Coraco has told me of your pesky behavior of late. But I have to hand it to you, I'm impressed that you found us...even though I suspected you were onto our scent."
"I found you because I'm better than you." Alex glared, eyes afire.
"Silence him."
Pain blasted through Alex's shoulder blades. In an instant, he was on the ground looking up at a brutish man with a scruffy beard and violent eyes, who'd rammed him in the back with the butt of his AK-47. With equal savageness, the man kicked Alex in the abdomen, expelling the breath from his lungs and bringing tears to his eyes from the stabbing pain in his ribs. Then with an animal growl, the guard flipped his rifle around in his grasp and aimed the barrel at Alex's face.
"Now that I have your attention," Raziz said, "we can move our little game to another location." Raziz, even in his ruthlessness, had the youthful look of a younger brother with a smoothness about the way he talked and moved. His goatee was trimmed close and his dark hair combed perfectly.
Raziz nodded in Agent Reed's direction. "Take him away. We can interrogate him later."
Two men latched onto Reed's arms, binding his hands behind his back, and then led him out of the room, down the long corridor from which they'd all came moments before.
They made Alex stand next to Wilson.
"How's your brother?" Alex said.
"What do you know about my brother?" Raziz stomped over, stopping inches away, close enough for Alex to smell the fact he'd used a minty mouthwash after his last meal.
"I know he's dead...as you'll be soon enough."
Recognition flashed in Raziz's eyes. "You...you killed him."
Raziz drew back and swung, his fist cracking into Alex's chin, whirling him around. But the brutish guard with the violent eyes snatched him by the shoulder's before he fell to the floor.
Alex tasted blood, and his jaw radiated with pain.
"I finally come face to face with the coward who murdered my brother from afar. You'll be lucky to see the light of day again...you American fool." Raziz nodded to his men with fiery eyes. "Take them where I can have some fun with them."
49
The room was much smaller than the generator room, and it still had the same musty smell issuing from its confines. The four men who'd dragged Alex to the room watched with amusement as Raziz pummeled him. Two other men held his bound arms from behind. After a flurry of vicious blows to the head and torso, Alex collapsed to the floor, the side of his face pressed against the cold concrete, nose and mouth trickling blood.
"I'm not through with you yet, Mr. Preston," Raziz said. "I can still hear my brother's soul crying for vengeance."
A wicked grin curled across Raziz's face. He pulled Alex up from the floor by the hair, to his knees, and punched him in the gut. Alex groaned and coughed as the wind blew from his lungs. He gasped for a desperate and raspy breath of air, his body racked with tremors.
"What a surprise. The super-agent is at a loss for words." Raziz cocked his arm back and nailed Alex in the side of the face with all the rage he could muster. The terrorist reeled and shook his fist. Despite the obvious pain, his sadistic grin and vengeful eyes remained dead set on making Alex suffer.
Raziz released his hair, leaving him teetering on his knees.
He used the bottom of his boot to kick Alex in the chest, which sent him crashing to the floor. The back of his head walloped off the concrete, though his shoulder absorbed most of the blow.
Alex's eyes opened and closed, his brown irises frail and glassy.
"I'll be back, Mr. Preston. And when I return—”
"Easy now, my good amigo, Hakem." Alfred Coraco waltzed into the room, his countenance radiating with a warm mirth, a look of glee at the sight of Alex's weakened condition. "You'll get your chance at revenge soon enough. Why don't you take a break for now. We have some important business to attend to."
"I was on my way." Raziz rubbed his hands together, apparently trying to ring the pain from his battered knuckles. He gave Alex one more hateful look, his jaw clenched tight. Then he eyed his fists, exhaled a disgusted breath, and brushed by Coraco, exiting the room without looking back.
The four men who'd gotten their fill watching Raziz beat the life out of him, left the room as well.
Coraco crouched over Alex. "Seems you've run upon some bad luck, amigo."
"I've never put much stock in luck...and I'm not your friend." He coughed and spit blood from his mouth.
Coraco snarled his nose. "You ought to choose your words more carefully, Mr. Preston. I'd kill you myself, but I suppose you aren't worth soiling my expensive business suit. Are you?"
“What’s wrong? You don’t have it in you?”
“Oh, I have it in me. But my fight isn’t with you alone, it’s with the United States as a whole, especially its leadership.”
“What did they do to you?”
“What did they—I’ll tell you what they did! They killed my only son, that’s what they did. He was visiting his girlfriend’s family in Syria, and they bombed their home. A drone attack...from the sky. The Americans are cowards and murderers. And they’ll pay for their sins.”
Alex didn’t realize Coraco had a son. It wasn’t in the profiles Washington emailed him. Maybe the child had belonged to a mistress in secret?
Coraco rose and straightened his suit. He breathed deeply and exhaled through his nose. “Hakem will be back shortly. You might want to say a prayer for mercy, but I'm sure it will fall on deaf ears."
Coraco grinned and then followed it with an angry snarl. Then he waltzed out of the room in the same manner in which he came, his shoes clacking on the floor. He slammed the heavy metal door behind him. It screeched on its hinges and boomed against the door jam.
Alex glanced over at Wilson who was sitting in the corner of the room. Fortunately, he’d only suffered minor scrapes and bruises from being jerked around and slung to the floor.
"Pull yourself together, soldier," Wilson said.
Alex raised his head.
"You were trained for this. You're a Navy SEAL. You improvise. You adapt. You overcome."
Alex let out a deep barking cough.
Wilson winced.
"That's the Marines,” Alex said.
"What?"
"The Marines. They adapt...overcome...impro..." Alex gazed around the room, and then lowered his head back to the floor. His eyes closed. "There has to be a way out of this."
50
Alex felt like he’d been out for an hour, but he couldn't be sure.
His vision started out blurry, like looking through murky water, but gradually, it cleared to where he could see his surroundings. Of course, it would help if he could wipe his eyes clean of the mucus irritating the outer edges of his peripheral. He actually did say a prayer for help as Coraco had so gracefully suggested. At this point, he'd take anything he could get, whether it be divine or not.
Alex twisted against the ropes cutting off the circulation to his wrists, a groan escaping his lips.
"Are you awake?" Wilson said. "Are you all right?"
"If by all right, you mean not dead, then yeah, I'm all right." He angled his neck back and caught a glimpse of Agent Wilson.
"Too bad we don't have some help on the way."
"That would be something, wouldn't it?" Then a memory struck like lightning in Alex's head. "The Marines are coming."
"Y
ou're pulling my leg, right?"
"My hands are tied behind my back. How can I pull your leg?"
"I'm not in a laughing mood. What are you talking about?"
"Sorry." Alex shrugged his shoulders. "Guess I’m a little despondent considering everything we've been through."
"Snap out of it and tell me what's going on."
"It's a long story. But to make it short, I didn't trust you or Reed. I figured someone informed Coraco's men of the location of my safe house in Marbella. With the way things went down tonight, I suspect Reed is the one who handed us over."
Wilson's face twisted in disbelief. "Why?"
"Why do you think?" Alex made a feeble attempt to smirk, but his nose felt like someone had flattened it with a sledge hammer. "Money...plain and simple. Coraco's got it and Reed wanted it. It makes sense. Think about it. Why isn't he in this room with us? I bet he's counting the money right now."
"But he's one of us."
"Was, one of us." Alex shifted gears. "You know what would be nice?"
"No. But I have a feeling you're about to tell me."
"The dress belt I wore to Coraco's party. I remember Wes telling me it was equipped with a unique feature, one that could come in handy in a situation like this.”
51
Something was hidden in the back of Alex's utility belt, sandwiched between two layers of material. Something he hadn't noticed before. A thin smile came to his face when he managed to slide the metal object from a slot in the belt.
A razor blade. Wes had planted one in his utility belt as well.
"What are you doing?" Wilson tilted his head, chin raised.
Alex twisted the blade to the proper angle and started working the ropes over the sharpened edge. "I'm trying to get free," he said in mid-slice.
"Good luck with that."
While ignoring Wilson, Alex avoided the knot where Raziz's men had tied the rope. He concentrated the blade's sawing action on a section that looped around in a figure eight from one wrist to the other. It was difficult to judge his progress without being able to see what he was doing. He struck a careful balance between efficiency and safety; the last thing he wanted to do was lacerate himself and bleed all over the place. He moved his hands back and forth. Over and over. He felt the rope loosen a notch...and then the blade sliced through the final strands.
The concentration and exertion left him drained. He’d been in worse situations before. In SEAL training, he'd spent the night shivering in the bone chilling ocean, his teeth chattering. Mind over matter. Like a Marine, he knew how to improvise, adapt, and overcome.
Alex brought his right hand around to inspect the damage. His wrist was bruised and reddened, but otherwise in good condition. He struggled and pulled his left arm out from underneath his body. He glanced over at Wilson. His big round eyes bulged to the point that Alex thought they might pop out of their sockets.
"How did you..." Wilson's words floated in the air, an incomplete thought and nothing more.
Alex's left arm felt like it was dislocated because it had been pinned beneath him at such an awkward position for so long, most of his weight pressing down on it. He scrambled over onto his knees, pushed himself up to his feet, wavered for a second, and then stumbled over to Wilson.
"How did you get loose?"
Alex unbuckled his utility belt and held it out. He didn't have to offer any further explanation, but went to work on Wilson's ropes. A moment or two later, both men were free. Alex told him about the razor blade that Wes had put in his dress belt for the party. "I had no idea he put one in this too. Come on, we've got work to do."
"I bet there's a guard outside the door," Wilson said.
Alex nodded in careful thought. "I would expect as much, but I have an idea."
He walked up to the door and rapped on the dense metal. The deadbolt unlocked and then the barrel of a rifle protruded into the room. Wilson caught on quick, stepping backward, his hands raised. The guard's head appeared next. Alex launched his shoulder into the door, pinning the man's skull against the jamb. For good measure, he drew back, releasing the pressure, and then drove the full weight of his body into the door again. The guard's head was pinched with a sickening crunch.
Alex stepped back and let the unconscious man fall to the floor, then he and Wilson dragged him into the room. After binding the man's hands behind his back with the scraps of leftover ropes, Alex gave Wilson the guard's AK-47 and kept a nine millimeter pistol for himself.
The two men left the room and entered the corridor with caution. To the left, the hallway ended with a door, while to the right, it extended for a short piece and then turned a corner into the unknown. The door to the left turned out to be a broom closet, so they ventured the other way. Fifty feet down the hall and they took the bend to the right.
An open doorway came into view. Alex was surprised to find themselves back in the generator room. This whole place was a maze and they were the mice. But now they had a bearing on their general location in the airbase. They found the vent in the heat shaft where they first entered. From there, Alex led the way to the hangar.
Raziz had confiscated his Glock handgun, his M4, and the three additional thirty round magazines. He also had Wilson's M4 and Colt 45 pistol. But as they inched down the hallway, they turned a corner and noticed a guard up ahead with his back turned. Alex nudged Wilson back, out of sight. He peeked around the corner and realized the man had his Glock 21 shoved down in the back of his pants.
Alex couldn't believe his good fortune as he eased toward the guard's rear flank, and in a quick swipe, snatched the pistol from his waistband. "I'll take that," he said.
As the guard spun around, Alex smashed him between the eyes with the butt of the pistol. The man wobbled on his feet, prompting Alex to finish the job with another wallop to the bridge of the man's nose. The guard crumbled, out cold.
Wilson rounded the corner and helped Alex drag the man into a nearby closet.
Alex stuffed his Glock pistol down the back of his pants and took the unconscious guard's AK-47. Now they were armed and ready with the hangar dead ahead.
52
A check of the Glock revealed a full ten rounds of forty-five caliber bullets. Alex popped the magazine into the butt of the handgun and returned it to his waistband. For Wilson and himself, both AK-47's were fully loaded. Alex also had the nine millimeter pistol crammed into the back of his pants, the same one he stole from the guard earlier.
Alex ducked low and pushed through the double doors leading into the hangar, tailed by Wilson. The agents scampered across an open span on the backside of the stealth bomber, avoiding the drums of jet fuel. His saliva tasted acidic in his mouth as they took cover, squatting behind a pair of rolling tool boxes. He swallowed, his body tight with tension, veins laced with adrenaline.
"Must be more than twenty," Alex said. "Packing AK's like us. What I wouldn't give to have my M4."
"I'm with you on that,” Wilson replied. “Two dozen armed militants against the two of us. All of them hovering around that bird. Not the best of odds."
"I don't remember there being that many when I planted the homing device."
"I thought you weren’t able to...ahhh," Wilson smiled, "you didn't tell me because of Reed."
"That's right," Alex said, his focus straight ahead.
Attached under the wing of the plane, the sight of stainless steel caught his eye. The nuke. And then his stomach turned at the sight of a particular individual…Agent Reed mingling with the enemy. Next, Alex spotted Coraco and his co-conspirator, Raziz, ogling over the plane and the bomb, and what would be the crowning achievement of their lives, a strike to the heart of America, a flight ready to take off at any moment.
"I want Raziz first." Alex took aim with the AK-47. The Russian made assault rifle could pierce armor, but it wasn't known for pin point accuracy.
Raziz paced away, the moving target more difficult with each step. Then he disappeared behind the stealth bomber. Coraco follow
ed him out of sight, as did Agent Reed. Alex started to circle around to pick them up on the other side of the plane when he saw a metal work table...and his hand-held tracking computer resting on top of it. Raziz must have given up on the device after discovering it was password protected.
"Stay put," Alex said.
"Where are you..."
"I'll be right back."
Alex crossed behind Wilson, his feet like lead weights the closer he got to the work table. He needed that computer to keep up with the homing device attached to the bomb. He fought through the apprehension pressing against his chest. He halted over the table top, lifted the device in his hands, cradling the portable computer, scanning it for signs of damage. It looked to be in perfect condition, and after a quick search of its operating system, he discovered that to be the case.
An explosion burst in his ears and the table rocked against the back wall, a hole the size of a quarter blasted through its metal frame.
His hair felt like live wires standing on end, instincts forcing him to hunker low.
Alex clutched the hand-held device close to his body and bolted for the cover of the tool boxes. He skidded to a stop on his knees, Wilson's hefty frame scooting over behind the second tool box.
Alex pocketed the device and then with nods of agreement, both agents whipped their AK-47's into the open, took aim, and fired a ratta-tat-tat of automatic gunfire. Hot rounds tattooed two of Coraco's men with a trail of lead. Alex's target took the barrage across the chest and face, spinning around from the impact, dead before he hit the floor. Wilson's man received a series of rounds to the back of the head.
Coraco and Raziz's men scattered and obtained fortified positions behind a pair of forklifts, several work tables and the drums of jet fuel.
Alex zeroed in on a guard crouching behind one of the forklifts. He squeezed the trigger and watched the man’s head erupt in a spray of red. Wilson nailed another guard who knelt by one of the large tires on the stealth's landing gear.