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Silent Strike

Page 22

by Francis Bandettini


  When a wallop struck him hard in the shins, Stoker found himself sprawling out into the street. Instinctively he tried to jump up and continue his run. But, one of his calves cramped. He hobbled a couple of times, and the other calf seized up. Stoker fought through the pain, but his muscles refused to cooperate. He stumbled back to the ground but had the presence of mind to capture the Suburban's license plate number. The Texas plates read LS3-C4891.

  Stoker spun around to see who had hit him. His eyes met a satisfied smirk on Roya's face as she held a black baseball bat. His iron will commanded him to rise to his feet. When he stood, Roya's smirk turned to fear. She disappeared into the crowd while Stoker took some initial tentative steps. His next steps were slow, but at least he was walking, and in the right direction. Stoker hobbled through the crowd, and he searched to see if he could reacquire Roya. To his right, he saw her shoving her way past people. Then he was thrilled to see Agent Ahmadi just a few feet behind her. She was also trying to reach Roya, but the crowd was impeding her progress. Eventually, Roya made it to the edge of the throng, and she made a clean breakaway. She started running down the sidewalk, and then she turned around a corner into an alley. Ahmadi was not far behind her. Stoker continued to struggle, trying to free himself from the mass of hotel guests.

  When Stoker finally made it to the edge of the crowd, he also ran toward the alley. He rounded the turn into the darkness just in time to see Ahmadi. She was circling a corner toward the back of the hotel. Stoker continued to follow, increasing his velocity with every stride. When Stoker arrived at the rear of the hotel, he saw Ahmadi had almost caught up with Roya. Roya swiped her badge, which allowed her through the entrance. Then she pulled the door closed behind her. Ahmadi was locked out. It looked as though the chase had reached an end. But, then the door opened, and another employee exited, a woman wearing a hijab.

  Ahmadi pretended like she worked there. "See you tomorrow," she said in Farsi as she passed through the door flashing a smile. Then the door slammed shut again.

  Seconds later, Stoker, with shins burning in pain, limped up to the door but remained outside, hoping another employee would exit soon. He took out his phone and made an encrypted call to Z. "Rivera was just kidnapped by a black Suburban, Texas plates, LS3-C4891. But, something tells me calling in the FBI to find Rivera would be the wrong call."

  "I'll scour cameras around the city," Z said.

  "That's great. Ahmadi's chasing down that Roya woman." Stoker knelt, rolled up his pants, and started inspecting his shin injuries. "And I'm a couple of minutes behind her." His shins were throbbing. "You and I need to rendezvous with Ahmadi as soon as we can. We'll come up with a game plan that will help us get Rivera back and figure out what's going on around here." Stoker ended the call and stood up waiting for another employee to exit.

  When someone finally opened the door, Stoker pretended to be an employee who was arriving. "What's up with this fire alarm?" he asked. "I've got tangerine juice to squeeze."

  "They just made an announcement. It's a false alarm." The woman said.

  "That figures," Stoker responded as he passed through the door.

  When Stoker got through the door, he had no idea where to go. So, he started to run. This time his pace was brisk, and every stride sent lightning bolts of pain up his shins. Yet, he snubbed the pain and ran. He sprinted until he arrived at the laundry. Four employees were working there. "Did you see two women run through here?" he asked.

  "No. Of course not. We're not that kind of hotel," one of the employees joked. The other three laughed.

  Stoker smiled and said. "Good. That's why I need to catch them. We must keep it that way." The four laughed again, and Stoker turned around and ran back the way he came.

  He hit similar dead ends at a kitchen entrance and then at the loading dock. As he ran down a new corridor, he heard yelling—in Farsi. He turned again to follow the sound. Turning one more corner, he saw Roya and Ahmadi engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Roya was verbally insulting Ahmadi. "You're a Western-brainwashed whore!"

  But now Ahmadi was holding the baseball bat. She faked a swing to her left, adjusted to her right and commenced another swing. As Roya started to sidestep the blow, Ahmadi tossed the bat right to her. Roya could not ignore the instinct to catch the bat, and she reached both hands out involuntarily. Just before the baseball bat reached her palms, her throat caught a crushing blow from Ahmadi's knife-hand strike. Her vision went black for a fraction of a second, wherein an elbow strike shattered her cheekbone. Ahmadi jumped forward and threw her leg out into a front sidekick impacting just above her knee and snapping it backward. The sound of tearing ligaments was brief, loud, and horrific. Roya's sickening scream echoed from the concrete walls as she tumbled to the ground. Ahmadi dropped to her knees simultaneously throwing a reverse front strike to Roya's eye socket. Roya felt no pain from her shattered eye socket because the blow knocked her unconscious.

  "Ahmadi!" Stoker yelled. She turned around instantly with fists clenched, fire in her eyes, and blood on her teeth. "Whoa, whoa. It's me, Stoker." She relaxed. "Are you alright? I saw the end of your fight, but I don't know how the battle went before that."

  "My dentist will be glad to see me," Ahmadi said as she spat two teeth onto the ground. "My neck will be sore tomorrow. I caught a kick to the head."

  "She knew how to fight?"

  "Yeah, like a dragon," Ahmadi answered. Then her tone became a little annoyed. "Where were you, Stoker?"

  "Locked out at the employee entrance."

  "If you would've seen the fight from the start, you would've been worried. Our little Roya here has obviously trained for years. She has better skills than me."

  "So why is she the heap on the floor and you the standing conqueror? Didn't she also have the bat?"

  "Because I'm more fit. Roya burned through all her adrenaline, and she trusted her weapon too much. I usually try to end a fight within seconds, but that doesn't work when your Kung Fu master opponent's holding a bat."

  "So, you disarmed her?"

  "I took a shot to my abs, which are well-prepared for such a blow, and ripped the bat right out of her hands."

  "Giving you the upper hand," Stoker interjected.

  "I'm not much of a weapons girl. But it sure made for a nice distraction. But, enough about the fight. Look at this door right here."

  "Well-reinforced. Why do you mention it?"

  "Because she was trying to get through it when I came around the corner. But, when she saw me, she made a stand as if she was protecting this area. She seemed to feel real territorial about this space."

  "I bet you're right. This may be Roya's lair."

  "I bet we find a stockpile of baseball bats," Ahmadi joked. Let's see what's inside.

  "Where's the key?" Stoker asked.

  "I'll search her," Ahmadi said. "A Muslim woman would not want a man searching her." She frisked the unconscious Roya, and quickly found the key in Roya's sock. She held up the key. "Let's find out what's waiting for us

  Stoker slipped his hand behind his back and under his shirt, removing a .45 caliber Glock 21 pistol. "You open the door, Ahmadi. I'll be the first one through."

  Ahmadi slid the key into the lock slowly and quietly. "Five, four, three, two," Ahmadi twisted the handle and threw the door open. Stoker slid through the door, pistol extended. The room was empty. "Clear in here."

  Ahmadi dragged Roya through the door and closed it. "Look, Stoker. There's another door. This one has a fingerprint reader and retinal scanner."

  "Well, let's see here," Stoker said as he stowed his pistol in the small of his back. He picked up Roya by placing his hands under her armpits. Ahmadi grabbed Roya's hand and pressed her index finger against the reader. A green light came on. Stoker shifted Roya to the right, lined up her face with the retina scanner, and boosted her limp body up to sit on his knee. "I'll hold her still; you pry her eye open and see if you can get her eyeball lined up for long enough to let the scan occur." His left hand grab
bed her hair and held it upright and steady.

  Ahmadi reached over, and with the thumb and index finger of her left hand, pried Roya's unswollen eye open. After some attempts to manipulate her eye, the laser scanned it successfully. There was a click in the door. As Stoker gently returned Roya's body to the ground, Ahmadi turned the handle and cracked the door open.

  Stoker again brandished his weapon and held up his hand with all five fingers extended. Silently he used his hand to signal a countdown back from five, four, three, and two. Ahmadi swung the door open, and Stoker stepped through it with stealth. After surveying the room for less than two seconds, he yelled to Ahmadi. "Get out of here! Now!"

  Ahmadi leaped backward but didn't close the door. Stoker reached quickly into a pocket of his tactical pants and retrieved a lock picking kit. He deftly removed one of the metal picks and wedged it between the door bolt and strike plate, keeping the door unlocked. "Let's back out of here, and fast."

  Ahmadi followed his instructions and walked in reverse toward the first door. "Is that a lab?"

  "Yes. No doubt about it."

  "What kind of lab?"

  "That's a question laden with doubts and mysteries. It's biological. They're growing cultures. And, nobody should go in there without a complete biohazard suit."

  They backed through the first door. Stoker closed it until it was only open a crack. There was a light whistling sound as air passed through the gap. "Feel that," he said as he held his hand up to the separation.

  "That's some pretty aggressive ventilation," Ahmadi said.

  "It's negative pressure to protect lab personnel. The air is being constantly sucked into the room and filtered. So, if a germ gets into the air, it will be sucked into the filtration system within the room."

  "So that space is a biohazard?"

  "I'd bet my restored Ford Bronco on it," Stoker said.

  "While you're wagering your antique SUV, I'm going to call in the FBI Weapons of Mass Destruction Operations Unit."

  "No!” Stoker replied. “Only you, Z, and I know what's going on here. If we must bring in large teams and bring them up to speed, they'll fajangle everything while they try to figure things out. More importantly, they'll scare off the people who run that lab in there."

  Ahmadi turned around to the unconscious Roya, knelt beside her, and put flex cuffs on her. "We'll interrogate Roya when she wakes up. She's our only lifeline back to Rivera."

  "I'd love to help,” Stoker said. “With that mangled knee, she'll tell you all her secrets in return for a merciful dose of a typical opioid."

  "This is one time when I may look the other way while you coerce a criminal," Ahmadi said.

  "Well, the pain medications—our bargaining chips— are at my hotel,” Stoker said. “Let's get her upstairs before she wakes up."

  "Let's get her up to my room," Ahmadi said. Then you can retrieve the pain meds. I'll grab one of those big laundry carts. We'll put Roya in it and cover her with some sheets."

  "Great. While you're looking for your laundry cart, I'll get Z down here to set up some cameras. Let's see who else comes calling at this little lab."

  Stoker called Z and directed him down to the bowels of the building where he was waiting with the unconscious Roya. "Get cameras on these doors right away. And let's watch this door twenty-four seven. Roya is our first lifeline to Rivera. But, the person who comes down to this lab is going to be our second critical link."

  A few minutes later, Z finished installing two additional hidden cameras positioned to watch the doors.

  "Okay Z," Stoker said. "I don't want you to take your eyes off of the camera feed."

  Stoker and Ahmadi loaded the unconscious Roya into the laundry cart and covered her with sheets and towels.

  Five minutes later Ahmadi and Z pushed the cart into Ahmadi's hotel room. Stoker made a quick trip to retrieve his medical bag and pain medications. Once he returned to Hotel Esatto and Ahmadi's room, Stoker took charge. "Okay guys, Errol Rivera may be missing, but he's not our mission. We've got another objective. To find out who is infecting a few hundred thousand people with Campylobacter jejuni. Let's focus on saving the world. However, I'm thinking we may fill two needs with one deed."

  "I agree. The two are connected," Ahmadi interjected.

  "That assumption will keep us focused," Stoker said. "And, when Roya wakes up, you've got to do what you've got to do, Ahmadi. But, I just need to know one thing. Would you believe, Roya as a woman, could be running this whole operation here?"

  "In the Muslim world of the Ayatollahs? Never. She's a pawn. Someone else is the mastermind."

  "Good to know. As we interrogate, we can assume there is one or more males higher up the chain of command."

  A soft moan emanated from the laundry cart. "Our princess awakes," Z said. Ahmadi reached into the bin and removed the laundry. Roya was sitting sideways with her lower leg askew. Roya moaned again. Then her face winced. She involuntarily began to stretch out her injured leg, when a bolt of pain made her eyes shoot open. Her scream was ear-splitting. But it was over as fast as it started because Ahmadi stuffed a washcloth into her mouth. The screams turned to muffled yells.

  "Fine. We'll give you something for your pain," Stoker said. But he saw an opportunity to extract some information from Roya. So, he took a gamble and asked a question that contained some assumptions. "Listen Roya, who is that guy we've seen you with?"

  "Never. I tell no one about him," she hissed.

  We know she's working with at least one other person, Stoker thought. A man. He pulled a pre-filled syringe of morphine and midazolam out of the medical bag and considerately injected the needle into her shoulder. Her pain-twisted face shifted to a look of serenity. Then her eyes closed as the sedative kicked in.

  "It will do us no good to see people entering this basement laboratory from up here. We won't have time to run down and capture them. Someone needs to be there waiting to nab whoever comes to the door. One of us needs to be right there. And, Roya is not the only person who can fit in this laundry cart. Stoker tipped the cart forward while Ahmadi and Z each grabbed Roya under her armpits and dragged her onto a spot on the hotel room floor.

  Stoker volunteered. "Okay Z, you know your marching orders," he said as he climbed into the laundry cart. "Don't take your eyes off that screen. We're going to leave you here with Sleeping Beauty." Stoker looked at Ahmadi. "Wheel me down to the corridor where the lab is. And, where is that baseball bat?"

  "Why the bat?" Ahmadi asked as she handed it over to him.

  "It's not what you think it's for," Stoker replied as he sat down inside the cart. "Let's stay in radio contact," he said as he put a radio earpiece in his ear. Ahmadi threw the laundry on top of him.

  For the next few hours, Stoker remained concealed underneath sheets and towels in the laundry cart while listening intently for somebody to arrive at the door to the lab. While he hid under the laundry, he reflected on the events of the last few days. When he thought of the wave of disease about to hit the United States, his indignation broiled, sharpening his focus and forging his resolve. Occasionally Z would check in with Stoker through his earpiece. Their brief conversations consisted of Z asking questions. Instead of answering verbally, Stoker would respond by keying his radio switch once to generate a single click for negative. He keyed two clicks for affirmative. After a few hours, Stoker heard footsteps coming toward him. Z's voice came through his radio earpiece. "We've got a tango in the hallway," Z said. "The man's turning toward the door. He's removing keys from his pocket. Get ready Stoker. I think this is our guy."

  Stoker heard the key enter the lock. Then he heard the door open. In one strong fluid motion, he lunged sideways slamming his shoulder into the side of the utility cart and tipping it over. Rolling out with the bat in hand, Stoker lunged for the door, swinging the weapon in a swift downward arc. Nikolas heard the commotion at his back. He stepped quickly through the door, attempting to slam it shut. Just before it swung closed, Stoker's bat wedged its
tip between the door and the door frame. To gain a more significant advantage, Stoker forcefully shoved the bat toward Nikolas. It struck him square in the forehead, almost knocking him unconscious. Nikolas stumbled away from the door and deeper into the lab's anteroom. Stoker swung the door open and advanced on Nikolas in two quick steps. "Listen, I need to talk to you. But for now, you need to go to sleep." With a mighty swing of his arm, Stoker slammed his elbow into the side of Nikolas's head and knocked him out cold. Nikolas slumped to the ground.

  Stoker picked up Nikolas and lifted him up, over his shoulder like a rag doll. "We're going on a little excursion, you and I." Then Stoker carried Nikolas over to the tipped laundry cart. He used the top of his foot to flip the cart into its normal standing position. Then Stoker tossed Nikolas on top of the dirty laundry. After he secured the lab by shutting the door, he pushed the laundry bin down the empty corridor while he whistled the song Don't Worry Be Happy.

  • • •

  Back in Ahmadi's hotel room, Stoker was slapping Nikolas's face. "Wake up, come on. Wake up."

  Nikolas was zip-tied to a chair, and he started to awaken.

  "Hey Z, is the camera recording right now?" Stoker asked with a menacing intensity.

  "Roger that," Z said. "The camera's ready."

  When Stoker saw Nikolas was alert, he said, "Okay, where's the man your goons kidnapped? You better know where the hell he is. You're going to tell me everything, and you're going to tell me now," Stoker snarled.

  "I can explain. I will tell you everything. I'm a hostage, in the most ironic of cruel circumstances." Nikolas had prepared for this moment for years.

  "I don't give a damn about your circumstances. I don't have time to play your games. I have a forty-five-caliber pistol trained on your left kneecap. Where's the man you kidnapped?"

  "I will take you to your friend, and you'll get him back. I promise you. No negotiation necessary."

 

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