Behold Darkness (Wolves of the Apocalypse Book 1)

by LC Champlin

  He held the torch in his teeth as he fought the childproof lid off the bottle, then dipped the needle in and filled the syringe. Sterile water burned like fire when injected, according to his mother, so military-grade cleaner should at least sting.

  Cht-Cht. The double-squelch signal, which meant that A.) Behrmann had reached safety, and B.) the terrorists approached.

  Outside, the cannibal went silent as if listening.

  Cht. Cht. Two hostiles.

  Albin pulled the box cutter from his back pocket. A muffled male voice yelled in Arabic. Now! Looping the cord around the blade, Albin sawed the line in half. The remainder of it whisked out under the door.

  Ssssssaaaaahhhhh!

  More shouting, then a three-round burst of rifle fire. The light below the door disappeared as a body thudded to the floor before the gap.

  The box cutter dropped back into his pocket and the Beretta slid into action. Solid and reassuring, the weapon led the way as he moved to the door. The syringe occupied his left hand.

  A voice from the other side moved toward the camera control room, past the closet. No time remained to worry about the other terrorist’s location.

  Thankfully, Albin now faced a fully human enemy. Taking a deep breath, he readied the pistol. In one movement he whipped the door open and stepped half into the entry.

  The terrorist bent over the cannibal, its head now a mass of torn meat. The AK’s muzzle covered the nonexistent threat on the floor.

  At the sound of the door, the gunman started to turn, but collided with the pistol. Albin slammed the slide against the man’s jaw. Six centimeters higher would have made a death blow, but life made a better punishment for this murderer.

  The impact sent his target tripping over the carcass. The terrorist landed on his side, rifle still in hand. Dazed, he stared up at his assailant in the murk.

  Cold efficiency fueled Albin’s actions, each as precise as the changing of the Scots Guards. He closed the main door, sealing them in. His left foot snapped out to kick the rifle from its wielder’s grip. He brought the syringe down in an overhead stab. The needle pierced fabric, dermis, and muscle. With his thumb he injected the full ten milliliters into the man’s left quadriceps. Taking the torch from between his teeth, Albin resumed a two-handed grip on the Beretta.

  “Ah, aaah,” the downed terrorist gasped, senses returning under the stimulus of the pain ripping up from his thigh. The pain apparently rendered him even stupider than normal, for he grabbed his leg with both hands, forgetting to reach for a weapon.

  Albin trained handgun and torch on the doomed soul’s hollow eyes. “Look at me. Look.” Squinting from pain and the light, the man focused on the .40-caliber barrel in the face. Already pale and contorted from pain, his face froze at the sight.

  “You understand English?”

  “Fucking infidel bast—”

  “Yes? Congratulations. You’ve just received a free gift: cannibal toxin injected in your leg. Behave sensibly, and myself or the American businessman your commander captured may decide to give you the antitoxin.” The Arab opened his mouth to waste time, but Albin cut him off. “If I wanted you dead, you would already be in Hell. Now, if I were you, I shouldn’t tell my brothers about this. They may shoot you. Good bye.” At the last word, Albin roundhoused him in the head at 30% strength to stun the enemy.

  Chapter 68

  Keep Your Friends Close

  Buried Alive – Avenged Sevenfold

  The slap of the grip hitting Cheel’s palm echoed in the storage room like a gunshot. Nathan’s heart skipped two beats, choked him. Calm! He may have just met Cheel, but he didn’t seem the type to take a predictable route. A catch, a way out, must exist. The amarok hunted the hunter, waiting for a mistake.

  Cheel glanced over his shoulder, gave Nathan a mild smile. Click, click. Barely audible, the safety clicked off, then on.

  At the sound, Novocain bloomed through Nathan’s chest. Numb. No emotions, just action.

  The men filed out, with Cheel at the fore, Nathan in the middle, and Ali bringing up the rear. Left turn. Another terrorist holding an AK and wearing a black plate carrier over coyote fatigues waited in front of a door.

  Cheel nodded to the guard, who unlocked the door and held it open for the three to enter. With Ali last inside, the door closed. Click.

  The break room. Another guard watched to the right, while the hostages hunkered in folding chairs ahead. Two emergency flashlights of the wall-mounted variety pinned the prisoners in LED beams. Spotlights for a performance, they turned the audience to silhouettes. Squinting, the two prisoners tried to determine the newcomers’ identities.

  Nathan’s half-lidded gaze locked on the pair.

  Beside him, Cheel murmured, “I think you can deduce which is your target. The DHS is an annoyance, if not a true threat. Go.” He held the Springfield by the slide, barrel away from Nathan.

  Not diverting his stare, Nathan pushed his right hand around the crosshatched grip. Cold.

  Cheel stepped back, arms folded, to stand with Ali and the guard. His grin faded to a satisfied smile.

  The muzzle flicked up to the ceiling as Nathan stalked toward the target at a pallbearer’s pace. He stepped half into the light and halted.

  “Serebus?” Jordan grated, disgust contorting his bloodied features. “How the fuck did you get here? What’s going? Hey”—his eyes fell on the weapon—“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “Shut up,” Murphy muttered. A bruise ringed his right eye, swelling it almost closed. “Nathan.” He locked gazes with the executioner. “I don’t know what they told you, but you don’t gotta do this. Whatever they promised you, it ain’t worth it. Did they get your friends? Is that it? They won’t let them go just because you shoot us.” He shook his head. “They’ll kill you too.”

  Jordan jerked at his restraints. “You fucking dirt bag cocksucker! Turning traitor! I knew first time I saw your worthless ass you were working with them. That’s how you got out of Regis. That’s why Vitale went down like it did and fucked up our people. I should’ve left you to rot in a cell back at Taraval!”

  “You’re a good guy, Nate,” Murphy persisted, talking low and fast. “You don’t want to do this. I don’t know what the bastards did to you, but this isn’t you. This isn’t how it has to go down.”

  Clang! Jordan’s chair jumped as he continued to struggle. “Good guy? The fuck! The whole damn DHS’ll track down your shit hide and take down your whole fucking—”

  The 1911’s muzzle snapped up to press against Jordan’s forehead. Nathan looked down, dispassionate.

  Fear, rage, disbelief warred across Jordan’s face. “No, put it down!” He pulled back, but the circle of oblivion remained glued to his skull.

  “Shut up, Jordan,” Nathan drawled. “Be a goddamned man and die with dignity.”

  “Nate, wait, don’t—”

  “Why me? I didn’t do—”

  “Silence!” Finger tightened on the trigger.

  Sweat gleamed on Jordan’s face as he squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Click.” Click.

  Hammer snapped forward, but no primer waited.

  Jordan flinched. His eyes snapped open, flicked about as he hyperventilated. “Holy fuck, holy—”

  “Sshh,” Nathan hissed under the weight of Murphy’s deep-set gaze.

  Nathan stepped back into the darkness with a cold smile, even as relief swept in. He hit the magazine release, caught the mag. Empty. Rack the slide to eject—nothing. Should he feign surprise?

  Muzzle up, he turned on his heel to face Cheel, who grinned once again. “I can tell when a 1911 is unloaded.” Half true. The chamber could have held a round. One wouldn’t have added enough weight for him to notice. “Then there’s the fact that you allowed me to hold a loaded weapon before I proved myself. Your guards showed no unease, and they are far less self-controlled than you.” His stomach clenched as he spoke.

 
; Replacing the magazine, he held the weapon toward Cheel, grip first. “These hostages”—he nodded toward the men—“are too valuable for you to waste proving my intentions. You need all the hostages you can get.”

  Cheel’s chuckle grew into a laugh. “Good show!” He reclaimed the Springfield and handed it to Ali. “Very good indeed, sir.” Raptor eyes burned into Nathan, but to no effect.

  “If I didn’t pass your test, Sri Cheel,” Nathan held his shoulders back, posture straight, “you have only yourself to blame for not giving me the tools to do your job.”

  Metal rattled behind. Nathan wheeled as Jordan lurched forward, still bound to the chair. Rage and momentum propelled the officer toward Cheel. Fucking imbecile!

  Step forward. The hip check caught Jordan’s center of gravity and threw him against the wall.

  Landing with a grunt, he gaped at Nathan in fury and confusion. “You—you’re helping Bassam?”

  “Don’t be suicidal, Jordan,” Nathan warned, moving to stand over the fallen DHS man. Soon enough Jordan would learn the truth. Until then he would have to go on hating his former charge.

  “Fucking Istiqaamah sympathizer!” Jordan spat in the general direction of Nathan’s feet. Istiqaamah?

  Face a mask of calm, Cheel motioned for Nathan and Ali to follow him back into the hall. The terrorist chief clasped his hands behind his back as he turned to Nathan. “You are a fascinating man, Mr. Serebus.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  Chapter 69

  Set Up

  Dogs of War – Blues Saraceno

  Triumph and satisfaction filled Albin as he left the closet and its bloody contents. Not pleasure but the tide of superiority buoyed him.

  At the hall intersection, the second terrorist had his back to Albin, doubled over his right hand in pain. Excellent. Albin ducked across the hall to the nearest door, swiped the keycard, and slipped inside.

  As the door locked behind him, he flicked the torch about to find . . . a conference room with the classic boardroom table long enough to seat ten per side.

  Thus far everything proceeded according to plan. “Plan?” Albin rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Madness.” For bloody sake, he had infected a terrorist with a contagion that would turn the man into a mindless, blistered, oil-spewing freak. Desperate times demanded ruthless measures.

  To the right of a whiteboard stood a podium, which held a laptop. A flash drive jutted from the left side. Although it likely held nothing of use, he pocketed the stick before padding back to the south door.

  Cht-cht. Finally, the all-clear signal.

  He opened the door a centimeter, then stepped out. At the intersection, he skirted the guard’s corpse and drops of black drool, and proceeded to the loading bay.

  “Ms. Behrmann?” he whispered once inside. The radio signal meant she remained safe—

  “You made it!” She bounded from the shadows, a grin on her face and arms open.

  Hands up, Albin sidestepped, only to land in her embrace as she anticipated his escape.

  “I was worried they—”

  “Mm.” Grimacing, Albin extricated himself. “I’d hoped our pet would be more useful.”

  “But the man was limping when he came back into the hall, so he might have been bitten before he killed it. Do . . . do you know if he was?”

  “No.” Albin moved to the rucksack and shouldered it. “What about the other terrorist?”

  “He went to help his partner. I have them all on video.” She tapped the rectangular outline in her front pocket.

  “Very good.”

  “Now we wait for the distraction to bear fruit,” she continued as she clicked her radio back to the original station. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

  The AK’s barrel glinted in the emergency lighting as Albin snapped it to high ready position. Behrmann opened her mouth, distrust on her face as she raised a hand to calm the angry gun owner. “Ms. Behrmann, have you ever used a firearm?”

  ++++++++++++

  The terrorists turned right, following the hall away from the storage/interrogation room. Time for phase two: data retrieval.

  “Am I correct in assuming we can get on with business?” Nathan asked. Ahead, windows glowed along the hall, which turned left.

  Cheel halted, held up a hand for silence, and cocked his head as if listening.

  BANG!

  The blood congealed in Nathan’s veins. Pins and needles tingled in his extremities. Did they . . . Had they . . . Fury ignited in the recesses of his brain. How dare they take one of his? Red pulsed at the edges of his vision.

  A door closed behind. Nathan wheeled, fists balled. Ali marched toward him, holstering the 1911. Murdering fucker!

  Jaw clenched, Nathan whipped toward Cheel, grabbed him by the shoulder and spun the bastard to face him. “What. Was. That.” He needed information on these bastards in order to stop their plans. Calm must reign. He forced his hand to release Cheel, who looked down at it in disapproval.

  “That was the sound of investment.” Cheel met Nathan’s fury with a shark stare. “Redundancy has its place, but it is not here. Now, shall we discuss business?” Cool smile.

  One, two, three, four. Redundancy.

  The riddle from Professor S that Nathan solved to earn freedom from the class involved a triangle with the phrase I love Paris in the the spring inside. With a limit of seven seconds for students to find the error, Prof S thought he’d won. Only Nathan recognized the redundancy: the two thes.

  ++++++++++++

  Behrmann tensed in concentration as she raised the rifle, pointing it at the lift cage. “It’s heavier than it looks.”

  “It’s real, not Airsoft. Relax. Not that much.” And not on me. “Move your hand farther on the fore grip.” He repositioned her left hand. “Good. Show me the fire selector and how to reload.”

  As she did with the Beretta, she made a decent showing with the rifle.

  “Passable. Now trade weapons.” With proper planning and placement, she wouldn’t need to use the weapon.

  “Start small, huh?” she remarked, practicing the grip and stance he had shown her with the pistol.

  “Something like that. Place your support hand more here.” He pried her left hand off and readjusted it. “That will have to do. Here’s the extra magazine. The next question is: are you capable of firing it at cannibals?”

  Looking up from adjusting the magazine in a vest pocket, she frowned. “If we keep quiet and hidden, they won’t find us.”

  “If you freeze, I may not be able to assist you, and you certainly will not be able to assist me.” With Hollywood ramming zombie films down viewers’ throats, why did anyone still hold reservations?

  “Do you think just because I’m a woman I’m going to freeze, or sprain my ankle, and get us all killed?” She glared up at him.

  For the love of sanity! He chambered a round in the AKM with a touch more force than necessary. “Do you believe I think that because I am a man? I will not allow you to endanger my life, but I will do what I can to support you, just as I would with any team member.

  “Now, are you capable of killing other humans? I mean terrorists in particular.” The refusal to stop a human threat with lethal force made no logical sense, aside from the wish to avoid dealing with the legal system after.

  “Will I need to?” She flushed.

  “How badly do you want to live? Answer that question and we will have the answer to mine.”

  He added in a softer tone while melting a fraction of the ice in his gaze, “We haven’t seen eye to eye very often, but your assistance could make a critical difference. You performed admirably when we executed the cannibal tactic.”

  “So I’m good enough for you now?” She raised a brow as she brushed a lock of hair from her eyes.

  “Call it a probation period,” he returned with a twitch of a smile.

  “I really hope that isn’t the standard ninety days.”


  “You and I both, Ms. Behrmann.”

  Pale, she sobered. “Now you’re planning to call the terrorists.”

  “I need to scout first.” Albin moved to the service door and set the bottle in the jamb. “I require another set of eyes.”

  “I got your back. I have to look good during my probation, right?” she responded, pistol at low-ready.

  He rolled his eyes as he shouldered the rifle, then opened the door a few centimeters and scanned the area from behind the AKM’s sights. “Stay low. Move.”

  Chapter 70

  Investment

  Take It from Me – Kongos

  No use crying over spilt blood. Jordan died in the line of duty like a good officer. Others would live thanks to his sacrifice.

  Businesslike tone: “Let’s proceed, Sri Cheel.”

  Cheel sauntered to the nearest window and pulled back the blackout curtains to let in the mid-morning sun. Apparently Nathan’s unconsciousness and the negotiation had lasted less than an hour, though the latter seemed like days.

  Clearing his throat, Nathan pressed, “The military will start to wonder what happened to their Blackhawk. I’ll arrange a data handoff with my ally, then . . .” He glanced at Cheel, eyes narrowed. “How are you planning to get out of here without running into military or law enforcement? Twenty people aren’t easily spirited away.”

  “With the proper techniques they disappear quite easily. You underestimate our resources, Mr. Serebus. We will be out of US jurisdiction in minutes.”

  Minutes? The bay! A ship? Not with the harbor in confusion. A sub, then.

  “What if the files Dr. Birk downloaded from the servers aren’t what you want?” Cheel must know how to verify the data before he left.

  Cheel crossed his arms, still looking out at the parking lot. “He downloaded the correct files, of that I am certain.”