by LC Champlin
“Fucking traitor!” Mr. Serebus roared across the man-made grotto, straining at the captain’s hold on his vest. Good, he could hear the radio transmission. “You should have done a better job killing me in the lot!”
Albin shrugged. “I missed. Then I was curious to see what you would do and if you would die.”
Cheel looked from Albin to Mr. Serebus, then back to Albin. “Then you would enjoy seeing them die now?” The murderer’s semi-automatic swung to point at Murphy, but Cheel’s attention remained on Albin.
“Give me a weapon and I will kill them myself.”
“That test has grown dull with repetition. I will do it for you.” Repetition? Ah, Jordan’s absence made sense.
“As you wish.” Three minutes . . . “Before you kill the hostages, I think it only fair that the terrorist I infected with cannibal toxin earlier have a chance to speak his mind. Let me go, and I can still provide the antitoxin.” Of course Cheel would never believe it, but Albin only needed to convince the subject in question that his life would soon end horribly.
“You really should learn to restrict yourself to believable lies, Mr. Conrad.” Cheel chuckled.
Chapter 89
Open Mind
Destroy the Obvious – Evans Blue
Nathan shot a glance over his shoulder at the “infected” terrorist, who placed all his weight on his right leg. Anger and dread roiled in the man’s eyes, the only part of his face visible beneath the shemagh.
“Ustath Bassam, please, wait!” the bastard cried as he limped past Nathan.
“What is it?” Cheel snapped.
“This man knows how to cure the ghuls! If you give them to me, I am sure they will tell me how to find the cure. I can make anyone tell me what I wish.”
Torture. Nathan’s stomach tried to curl up into his esophagus.
“I am well aware of your prowess in the field of interrogation, but you cannot make a man hand over what does not exist.”
“But—” The interrogator took a step closer, stumbled, fell on his right knee.
“There is no cure.”
Nathan inched away from the man. “You boasted about knowing I was never loyal to you, yet you can’t see a traitor in your own ranks.”
Cheel raised his chin but kept silent.
“You don’t know Albin Conrad,” Nathan continued. “I do. He infected two of your men with the cannibal toxin—”
“Two?”
“One caused the incident.”
Rotors thrummed in the distance. There, a chopper approached from the west. Cheel gave it a glance before returning to his task. “Go on.”
“He injected this one in the leg and said I would give him the antitoxin if the . . . man helped us. This one”—Nathan pointed to the wounded terrorist on the ground, who shifted his AK higher onto his shoulder—“approached me. He was quite eager to help, even made a few suggestions himself. He claimed he’d send an SOS on the radio for me.”
“Interesting,” Cheel murmured. “Captain, please verify this.”
Steel flashed as Ali stepped forward and deployed a combat knife. The grunt held up a hand, started to protest—Shriip! Fabric parted to reveal the soggy, swollen, red thigh. A puncture wound stood out in the center of the carnage.
“I swear, Ustath,” the bastard babbled, caught red legged, “I was not betraying us! Allahu akbar! I am loyal, I swear. Him!” The 1911 snapped up again and aimed at Nathan’s head. “He is a liar!”
Not meeting the 1911’s gaze, Nathan cleared his throat. “He called Birk a badir and said it was your name for the doctor.”
The interrogator looked from Ali to Cheel, eyes bulging with terror and desperation. “No! I wished only to not die a ghul!” He turned on Nathan. “Ibn haram! Die!”
“Captain.”
BANG!
Brain matter aerosolized from the interrogator’s left temple. The body crumpled. Blood pulsed from the hole as the heart continued to pump it to the nonexistent brain.
One, two, three, four. Nathan could die just as easily.
Raptor eyes glittering, Cheel bowed his head. “Your wish has been granted.” Then he spoke a sentence in Arabic.
Ali holstered the .45 as he replied in a solemn tone.
The chopper neared. A news bird? Small, a four, maybe six seater. Bell? Albin would know.
“A waste of a bullet,” the attorney mused. “I would have killed him for you.”
The blood… Images of Albin’s possible fate ran rampant through Nathan’s mind. Then, as during times before, the cold came to drive out emotion, to ensure survival at any cost. With the ice came the amarok’s instincts.
Downwash forced the group to shield their faces as the craft settled onto the roof. If timing ever counted, it was now.
++++++++++++
The Aerospatiale AS350 pulled alongside the other building and settled on the roof. It bore a news-channel paint scheme.
Had they passed the three-minute mark yet? Perhaps Behrmann required assistance locating the RPG wielder’s location.
Albin nodded at the terrorist for the radio. “Sri Cheel, accept my advice. The enlightened leader is heedful, and the good general full of caution. Do not balk at the enemy’s power, but underestimation kills.” On the other roof, Mr. Serebus raised his head in understanding.
The terrorist chief stared at him. Albin had judged correctly: the riddle intrigued Cheel.
“Perhaps you should wonder why I am not begging for mercy. Perhaps you should check your strong points again. You may have lost count of your enemies.”
“You are lying.”
“Am I?”
Cheel hesitated for a moment, then reached for his shoulder mic. His question crackled over the radio on the terrorist behind Albin. No sooner had he spoken when Albin’s own radio spat: “Downstairs section clear—” Static consumed the rest of the man’s words.
The roof access door slammed. A male barked, “Move out!”
More terrorists?
The two gunmen behind Albin exchanged comments in an interrogative tone, then turned and crunched off to investigate.
Albin kept his attention forward. Not more terrorists, then. The cavalry? Highly doubtful. He could hardly will them into existence simply by threatening Cheel with them. But perhaps someone else could.
A car alarm blared in the west. He turned his head a centimeter to look. Yes, the alarm belonged to the carpentry shop’s vehicle. No cannibals had been wandering near it. No vibration or noise had disturbed the sensors, that Albin knew of. Which meant Josephine had triggered it. Her words about the truck echoed in his ears: “I don’t like the idea of being an action flick scene where a missile—” At this he had corrected her, “RPG.”
Chapter 90
Between Spears and Enemies
Ghost Town – Egypt Central
Turning his face from the rotorwash, Nathan grinned. Sun Tzu’s writing on the office wall: Balk the enemy’s power; force him to reveal himself. And printed below the quote: “Quickness is the essence of the war.”
Cheel shot a look of annoyance in the direction of a car alarm as he keyed his mic. Arabic question, Arabic answer, nod.
“Semper paratus, Mr. Serebus.” Albin announced over the radio.
“Carpe jugulum, Albin.” Nathan raised his hands over his head in the universal symbol for surrender. “Enough. Take the others as hostages. I was the one who caused you trouble, so I alone should die.”
“Ah.” Cheel spread his hands in mock helplessness. “But their deaths will serve our cause now that I have the files. Your actions have proved the power of the Istiqaamah and the futility of Western resistance. They will be invaluable in the effort to recruit and inspire Soldiers of Allah.” The chief’s attention drifted to the guards behind Nathan.
Nathan spun to face the two bastards. There, left upper chest of one, a GoPro mounted on the plate carrier. A video for terrorist propaganda. Motherfucking—
/> “Then make him”—Nathan stabbed a finger at Birk—“die first. He kept the files from you.”
“No!” The researcher’s hands shot up in defense as he turned gray-green, then purple. “I gave you the data. He”—pointing to Nathan—“took the files. He had them all along!”
Nathan closed the distance to him in a stride. “I believe you’re mistaking me for you.” Finger in the researcher’s chest, while the other hand closed around the box cutter secreted in a pocket. “Impressive watch you have. A little oversized, but it works fine for hiding a data drive, doesn’t it.”
“You—!” Flinch. All the provocation needed.
Nathan tossed the knife up and over Birk, toward the hostages. “Murdering traitor!” he roared as he dug his Nike toes into the roof gravel, grabbed Birk by the shirtfront, and threw him with adrenaline-charged fury at the largest cluster of terrorists.
++++++++++++
As the researcher collided with a knot of terrorists, Albin’s left foot collided with the outside of his guard’s knee. The man grunted as he stumbled sideways. His knee collapsed as he placed weight on it. Albin’s right roundhouse caught him in the face. Blood gushed from the target’s nose as he toppled.
Automatic weapon fire rattled from the right. Hopefully it belonged to Behrmann as she dispatched the RPG wielder.
Aligning his wrists parallel to each other, Albin bent his knees and rammed his arms forward. The ties snapped. Momentum carried him toward the grounded terrorist, whom he relieved of the AKM. A bullet to the face at point-blank range eliminated the risk of retaliation.
More gunfire rang, peppering the chopper. Evidently Behrmann had discovered how to use her AKM.
Movement among the air handlers at the corner of the other building’s roof caught his eye. He turned and sprinted for the plant operations structures as the grenade launcher hissed fire.
++++++++++++
Nathan’s left shoulder plowed into Ali’s beltline. Winded and off balance, Ali tried to grapple, to get a knee up. Keep pressure, bind him up.
Swinging his left arm up and around, Nathan trapped Ali’s right arm against his side. Right fist uppercut to the Arab. Twist right, wrong way for the pinned arm. Crack.
Gunfire rang.
Nathan grabbed for Ali’s holstered .45, but missed as he sidestepped a sidekick that glanced off his vest.
He caught Ali’s wrist and stepped in for a forearm strike to the throat, but the captain blocked. Nathan’s leg snapped out to knock Ali’s nearest ankle out from under him.
Kill him!
Peripheral vision showed the hostages free and subduing their captors. Sporadic gunfire rang, punching holes in the chopper and sending up showers of roof grit.
The 1911 came free, then skittered across the roof as Cheel slammed into him. “Uhg!” The air blasted from Nathan’s lungs as his back rammed an air handler.
He dropped, pushed rightward. Elbow out, he pivoted in. Elbow sank into terrorist gut.
An impact between Nathan’s shoulder blades sent him to his knees. His forearms came up in time to deflect a low-roundhouse even lower while he rode the momentum.
His left arm wrapped around the leg, locked it, while his right fist launched toward the groin. But Cheel let his right leg go loose, turning, using the force of his fall to drive an elbow into Nathan’s trap. No pain, only impact.
An explosion kicked Nathan in the chest. The blast tore apart a section of the Doorway building’s roofline, leaving a Godzilla-sized bite mark where Albin had been a moment ago. He escaped. He had to.
Distracted, Cheel hesitated.
Getting his feet under him, Nathan heaved upward, caught his foe with an elbow to the—chest, damnit, thanks to Cheel’s recovery.
“Get the RPG launcher! Other side of the roof! Get the RPG!” Josephine’s voice crackled across the mic.
Chopper rotors upped rpm to blast roof rock at friend and foe alike in the pilot’s rush to escape. Already off balance, Nathan and Cheel stumbled apart, hands up to shield against debris, not blows.
++++++++++++
Albin shook his head, ears ringing and heart clawing its way out of his chest. The plant operations equipment had saved him from most of the blast force. Behrmann had done well, preventing an earlier launch. Her location should have protected her as well.
Scrambling to his feet, he checked the AKM’s action and magazine: a round in the chamber and half capacity in the magazine.
Rifle up, he stalked into the maze. He paused to key his mic. “Ms. Josephine, do you copy?”
“Albin! Thank God you’re alive! I tried to stop him, but he jumped out and—”
Albin cut the volume to one click above nil as he continued. He shouldn’t expect perfection, though he still did.
Gravel crunched ahead, sending him ducking between two vents.
Chapter 91
Cat and Terrorist
Not Ready to Die – Avenged Sevenfold
Nathan’s hand brushed the screwdriver in his carrier pocket.
Cheel lunged for the 1911 four yards off. Screwdriver in hand, Nathan leapt for the Indian. He crashed into the man, but Cheel landed a knee to the chest as he fell. The blow knocked Nathan to the dirt. A dive brought Cheel to the handgun.
“Raaaaah!” Nathan closed.
Suddenly the ground hit him. Something heavy on his back—Shit! As he plowed into the gravel chest-first, he clenched the flathead and began stabbing behind at whoever was holding him down. Shaft struck armor plate. Rage exploded at the deflection. Writhing, kicking, stabbing—Get the fuck off!
A kick connected with his target as he rolled. Ali. Hate stared back at him. Stab! Ali reared up; the flathead missed the carotid but caught the trachea. Cartilage tore and blood flew with the improvised tracheotomy.
“Guhr—” Ali fell back, gurgling, hand on his throat, yet he moved to retrieve his dropped combat knife—and give Cheel a clear shot.
++++++++++++
“. . . I knocked them out.”
At last Behrmann’s prattle provided something useful. Or did it? “The men on the radio earlier. Where are they?”
“Um, they’re not.”
“Explain.”
“It was—”
Gravel crunched two meters away, around the corner.
Albin clicked the radio off, then leaned into the rifle, its sight picture covering the path down which the interloper would come. The footsteps halted. These fools lacked the basic human decency to step into the line of fire and die in a timely manner.
Crouching, he took a deep breath and leaned around the corner. The back of a tan uniform disappeared between two vents. Albin growled to himself. Why hadn’t Behrmann simply killed them?
The crunch of grit. He stepped around the nearest vent, and ducked back again as bullets sprayed. Despite hearing protection, his ears whistled with the reports.
He whipped about to face the way he had come. Blast! A lunge leftward with the grace of a falling tree saved him from hot lead. Reflex snapped his rifle up. The double-tap knocked the terrorist off his feet.
As the grounded attacker brought his weapon online again, Albin scrambled to his feet and darted between an air handler and a vent. The other terrorist could emerge at any moment to trap him in crossfire. Every second he wasted on these animals left Mr. Serebus without support, save for Behrmann.
Albin turned and trotted down the corridor. Ahead and to the left waited the other terrorist, assuming he hadn’t advanced to aid his comrade.
Albin swung around the corner, AKM barrel leading. Nothing. As the terrorists remained elusive, the best course lay in returning to Behrmann and her firefight. Like the Wise Men of the Bible, he began the return by a different route.
“You may have company, Ms. Josephine,” he warned into the mic, as the reporter had fallen silent at some point during the hunt. “And for communication’s sake, let off on the transmit button every few minutes.”
&
nbsp; “I heard the shots. I’ll be careful.”
“I will try to rendezvous with you. Do not shoot me.”
“I won’t. Be safe.”
His heartbeat thudded in his ears like the bass in one of Mr. Serebus’s Death Metal tracks. How poetic, considering death could lurk around every metal corner.
++++++++++++
Instinct propelled Nathan ahead and to the right. A bullet bit the roof railing as Cheel sidestepped toward the chopper. Three strides to the evac.
The data! If he escaped—
“Al aan!” Cheel bawled over the gunfire and rotor. Already the chopper held a shaky hover a yard up and out from the roof.
Ali charged past as Cheel took another potshot.
Of course! Why hadn’t he noticed before? Cheel’s pocket no longer bulged with the data case’s rectangle. Bait and switch.
Fuck Cheel, get Ali. Nathan leapt with a hunting wolf’s force, tackled Ali around the knees.
Silver slashed. Nathan heaved backward, the blade slicing the air an inch from his face.
Bullets strafed between Cheel and Ali, then cut left. The Indian threw himself to the dirt beside the guardrail.
“Get outta there!”
Murphy? Nathan spun, saw the man kneeling atop an air handler. An RPG launcher occupied one shoulder, its warhead pointing at the chopper.
Movement—Cheel raised his handgun. As if swimming through molasses, Nathan could only raise his hand before the chief double-tapped. Muzzle flare spotted Nathan’s vision as his ears whistled.
“Murphy!” Rodriguez yelled from somewhere in the maze, apparently near the harbor master’s position.
Blood ran from the corner of Murphy’s mouth. More red blossomed around a hole in his chest. He choked. But the RPG shuddered back online.