Piroz The ISIS Slayer

by Sadia Barrameda

  “Don’t forget I saved you as well,” Mark reminded her.

  “I would have gotten away on my own,” Ren replied smugly.

  “I don’t doubt it. Regardless, you won’t see me hesitating to have you fight by my side.”

  They barely had time to eat. In the middle of spoonfuls of potato salad and corn, Mark again read the papers Dr. Lock had given to him. Ren, who had finished her meal, pushed her chair back and pulled her hair into a messy bun to get the curls out of her face. Mark couldn’t help but appreciate her fine bone structure and patrician features. She certainly is a beautiful woman, he thought. Dr. Lock is right on that account.

  Ren looked at him, startled, and then blushed a bright red—Mark realized he had said the words aloud. Embarrassed, he tried to cover. “You are,” he said. “Anyone could see it.”

  This was the first time Ren had received a true compliment from a man—most were too intimidated by her warrior training to see her as a woman. Besides, she wasn’t truly comfortable with her looks—though she was curvy, she was also small and girl-like, and she had never really liked her hair. To her it was always getting in the way. She had decided once to cut it all off, but she hadn’t found the time or bravery for the drastic change. She tucked a rogue curl into the hair elastic and then tied her commissioned boots more tightly.

  “Where will we get weapons?” she asked, not sure how to respond to his compliment and avoiding his eyes. “If I have to fight I need something besides my fists. I would love to have my knives back, but those are long gone. I need replacements.”

  “Knives?” asked Mark. “Didn’t you just have the one?”

  “I pulled that off a body in the jungle,” she answered. “I’m…quite skilled with daggers, and they’re my weapon of choice. I had a beautiful set, but the militants took it when they captured me.”

  Mark looked at her appraisingly, then stood up and held out his hand to her. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go see what you’re really made of.”

  Reluctantly, she took his hand—it was warm and strong, and her own felt so small and soft within it. She liked the feeling, but within a few seconds she shook loose and merely followed him to what looked like a gun range; at the end of a grassy area several paper targets were set up, stapled over long stumps.

  “Wait here a moment,” Mark said. In a few minutes, he returned with a canvas roll—he flipped it open with a flourish, revealing a shining set of knives, ranging from the size of an index finger to the length of a man’s forearm.

  Ren gasped in delight and, without thinking, reached out to stroke the sharpest looking blade, a mid-sized one that looked like it would fit her hand exactly. She hefted it in her palm, and then, without saying a word, whirled around and sent it flying into the stump furthest from them. It hit the target dead center.

  Mark whistled, then loped over the stump—he struggled a bit to pull out the knife, which had lodged deeply.

  “You’re amazing,” he said when he returned. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  “I have trained relentlessly to be a warrior—ever since the day when my father and little brother were murdered. I was full of a need for vengeance, and I was sure that this was the right path to take.”

  Ren paused for a moment and twirled one of the shorter knives between her fingers. “As a warrior, you train because you know your skills might be needed—though you hope that they are not. The point is to use them in the right moment, for the right reasons. I need to avenge my father and brother. I will use my training and skills, and even sacrifice my life, if need be.”

  “With the weapons of the U.S. military at your disposal, you shouldn’t have to sacrifice your life. Come on, follow me one more time.”

  This time, Mark led her to the base’s weaponry. A lone guard, now familiar with Mark, saluted him as he walked by. “You’re a hero, sir,” he said gruffly.

  Mark nodded and smiled. “It was reckless, but it paid off,” he answered.

  Ren was awed by the weapon room—she felt like a kid in a very grown-up, very dangerous candy store. The stockroom was filled with handguns, grenades, assault rifles, missile launchers, bazookas, and more; along one wall hung a vast array of knives, from smooth-edged to serrated to sickle. Ren proceeded to touch each one. She grabbed a holster and adjusted the straps, then began to load up with several knives.

  Mark pilfered the handgun and ammunition section, adding a dozen or so hand grenades to his pack as well.

  “We can’t be sure of what we’ll find,” he said. “We should each take as much as we can comfortably carry. And these bullet-proof vests, as well.”

  Ren took the vest from him and slipped it on—it was lighter than she had expected. Her body tensed as Mark helped to secure it around her back.

  He hoped she didn’t notice as he caught a whiff of her hair. It smelled like coconuts—he wondered which soldier had surrendered up some treasured shampoo from home, since the hair wash bought from the military smelled strictly of soap and nothing more. His brain brushed aside that idle thought and commanded his hands to keep moving. As Ren reached out for the straps from the back of the vest their fingers met. She could feel the moment of electricity and quickly jerked her hand away.

  She must not be distracted, she told herself. She must stay focused. This was her chance. There was no room for any other thoughts.

  “All right, I think we are done.” Mark coughed awkwardly.

  “Not quite,” she said, feeling compelled to share more about herself with this man. If she died on this mission with him, she felt he deserved to know her more fully. “I was born as Rengin, but I thought it was an awful name so I just settled for Ren. Now don’t ask for my last name, because it gets really complicated. I just…wanted you to know.”

  Mark laughed and held out his hand for an official shake. “It’s nice to meet you again, Rengin,” he said. “I look forward to finding out as much about you as possible.” His voice was heavy with meaning, and Ren looked away. She couldn’t believe how constantly uncomfortable he made her.

  Ren followed Mark’s lead back over to the helicopters to commandeer one for the next mission. The master sergeant on base hadn’t given them permission, but Mark knew that after his last bout of heroics the master sergeant would certainly look the other way.

  Ren and Mark chose another Apache, input the coordinates, and were as good as there. They rode in silence, surveying the land below them. It looked so peaceful from above—just vast expanses of desert occasionally broken up by lush greenery. Their strategy was to find a location close enough to travel by foot to the enemy base, yet far away enough to avoid detection when they landed the Apache.

  Mark pointed to a clearing near a rocky outcropping and Ren nodded in agreement. It was secure, but far enough away from the headquarters that the militants wouldn’t have heard the chopper approaching. A satellite view of the place, provided by Dr. Lock in the bundle of papers, showed that the headquarters consisted of two buildings. One was larger than the other and possibly housed a training center and a containment area for prisoners. The smaller one had more guards out front—it was likely the barracks where the leaders lived. Militants also stood posted at each corner of a perimeter fence made of steel and bricks. The base was simply designed—an advantage for the duo. But how were they going to infiltrate it when they were so outnumbered? They sat for some time to come up with a plan.

  “We should wait until nightfall,” Ren proposed. “Guards will be posted, of course, but most of the base will be asleep and we can take them by surprise. This satellite shot also shows there’s a tree by the fence on the eastern side—we can probably drop from a branch to the ground and explore the base from there. You can take out the leader when we find him, while I cover your back.”

  “We’ll need to search for the Ebola samples,” Mark said. “It’s likely they have more in another location—but anything we can take from their hands is a victory. We’ll want to disable any vehicles on site, as well
.”

  Thus prepared with a plan, the two set off toward the base, alert and ready to engage in battle. It was a trek of several miles, and they reached the edge of the base just as night fell. They began to prepare themselves: a couple of hand grenades for Mark, and a pair of night vision goggles for each. They quickly headed for the large tree that would help them enter the camp without being spotted. They looked down together over the fence. A couple of followers just below them were enjoying a quick snooze. Mark looked over at her and gave a thumbs up. She shrugged. It opened a great opportunity for them while the militants shirked their responsibilities below.

  Ren was the first to come down from the tree. She immediately took a knife in each hand and approached the two guards from behind. With one swift movement she slashed both their throats. There was one more guard to take care of ahead. She ran toward him to catch him unprepared. Both knives still in hand she sent one diving straight into his belly, and the other into his throat. None of the men made a sound louder than a gurgle.

  Mark was impressed, but didn’t relish long in the moment as he eyed three additional militants who had spotted Ren and were running toward them, calling for reinforcements. He shot them one by one in the chest—clean shots all in a row—and was grateful for the technology of the silencer. Ren was the one to be impressed this time, and both hoped no one within the building had heard the conflict.

  The largest building was just a few feet away—but their luck didn’t hold. A group of dark figures suddenly surrounded them, some wearing nightclothes but all armed to the teeth.

  “Looks like you two are surrounded!” A voice suddenly boomed out. “Our leader is impressed with you infidels. He would like to speak with you! We have expected you—especially this little Kurdish warrior, here. We knew she would not disappoint us, and look! She has appeared, just as thought.”

  Ren was ready with a knife in both hands but Mark motioned for her to take it easy. “Save your strength,” he whispered. Ren could not believe that she was taking orders again. She was a warrior and she worked for no one. She could easily take down this man. Both of her hands were free. She audibly clenched her teeth.

  Mark continued to whisper as quietly as he could. “Look at everyone around us. They all have guns. If we do something stupid then we could both end our lives here, right now,” he warned.

  “And this is the reason why I don’t work for anyone!” she shouted. “You are not my boss!” She turned her body to face his, pretending to have forgotten the militants in her anger.

  “You may be the warrior, but you do not have the strategic training to handle these things. Why don’t you listen to me?!” Mark shouted back, also facing her. He had caught on to what she was doing.

  “I wanted to come here to become a hero, NOT to be overshadowed by you!” She now began to pace in a tight square. The militants stood still, staring at the feuding team in disbelief that they would be arguing at a time like this.

  “You can’t do this all by yourself…” as Mark said this his hands clamped down on the grenades.

  “Why don't we go our separate ways then…” Ren’s hands had been on her knives for too long. She was dying to release them.

  “I can’t leave you behind. I care for you!”

  Ren’s eyes widened and as if on cue, Mark threw the grenades straight at the militants’ feet. “Run like hell!” he yelled at Ren—it had been a foolhardy tactic, and one that risked their own lives, but he hadn’t been able to think of another one. They bolted around the corner of the building, hearing the stampede of the militants’ feet as they fled too. Seconds later, an explosion rocked the ground.

  “Did you mean what you just said?” Ren inquired in between breaths.

  “Mean what?” Mark was so embarrassed to admit. “We were pretending right? I had to keep talking to distract them.”

  “So you don’t care for me?”

  Ren shrugged off the feeling that this man had at least a flicker of feelings for her. They barely knew each other—it was a foolish thing to hope for. Besides, it wasn’t important now. The explosion of the grenade meant that the entire base would be after them now, and she and Mark had to find the leader before they were captured themselves.

  Chapter 4

  Mark and Ren entered the largest building without any trouble—it seemed no one was guarding whatever was inside. If we’re looking for Askari, it seems like we’ve chosen the wrong building, Ren thought to herself. But then what is this one for? Ren swore softly in frustration. Any minute now they would be totally surrounded by militants again. They had to hurry.

  One room was piled with sheet metal, while another housed propane and diesel tanks. Still another room was large and empty, with high ceilings.

  “This room is for storage—it may be the place where the Ebola weapons were loaded into the trucks. Look at the tire tracks on the floor,” Mark whispered, the two still trying to move as swiftly as possible while observing their surroundings. Ren looked down. Indeed, large trucks had been here and could have been used to transport weapons out of the building.

  “That must be why the satellite view showed guards all around the building,” Ren said. “At the time it was taken weapons were being loaded onto the trucks.”

  “We need to go,” Mark said. “We don’t have a chance at the leader now that the militants are alerted to our presence—the base is too small, and there are too many of them. If we get into a gun war with these devils, we’ll die.”

  “I came here to kill their leader,” Ren said, “and I’m not leaving until I do.” She darted into one of the rooms they had already explored and started shoving propane tanks with her foot, looking for an empty one. Finally, her foot made a hollow thunk against one that was waiting to be filled. “Carry this,” she said. “We’ll threaten to blow the place up if they don’t take us to him.”

  Mark, though doubtful of the plan, decided to trust Ren. They edged to the door and shouted around the jamb. “This place is full of propane!” he yelled out. “A few grenades into that room will blow this place sky high—and you’ll go with it. Or, we could just grab a tank apiece and run out into you and blow you up that way—but we won’t, if you take us to your leader.”

  He heard an angry buzzing as the militants discussed this, then one shouted back. “We can easily overpower you! Just come out, and maybe we will kill you quickly and mercifully.”

  “You!” Ren pointed at him. “Do you want to die tonight like your brothers a while ago? Don’t be stupid. Take us to your boss!”

  "You heard the lady," Mark added, hefting the tank.

  The militants gave in, moving out of their way and leaving clear the path to the other building. As soon as the crowd was behind them, Mark threw the empty tank at them just as Ren heaved a grenade. The men scattered but too late—the explosion killed many of them just as Mark and Ren barred themselves inside the second building.

  “We’ve just made them mad now,” said Mark. “Like a nest of hornets.” He grabbed a machine gun propped by the door, and Ren did the same before they began to explore.

  Room after room was an empty disappointment, until they reached the final door. It wasn’t until they’d stepped through, into the semi-darkness, that they realized they were in a glass chamber, completely enclosed once the door slammed shut behind them. It was a trap. There was no getting out.

  A loud voice greeted them. “Welcome to your doom.” The speaker began to clap. “I must say that you two are the craziest infidels I have ever met—as well as incredibly talented, brave, and skillful. If only I had more soldiers like you on my side! Unfortunately, I don’t trust that I could turn you to our glorious cause. I am sorry to say that I have to kill you both. You’ve done quite enough damage already.” He paused, and both Ren and Mark stood in silence, staring at the lunatic in front of them—it was Askari. “Oh, and I almost forgot,” he continued. “You won’t be alone in journeying to whatever afterlife awaits you. Don’t worry. The whole world must be cl
eansed of the infidels just like yourselves.”

  Askari stepped back to reveal a timer. The minutes read 15:00, but started counting down as he pressed a small button.

  “I will release a virus that will cleanse the world. My weapons will be used to blow up those shining cities where so many infidels live and work in droves. And we won’t stop there—there will be no major Western city that doesn’t face our wrath. It will be a grand affair.” Askari’s eyes shown with insane fervor, and it sent a chill down Mark’s spine. It reminded him of certain other evil men Dr. Lock had told him about, in bedtime stories that had later turned out to be quite real.

  Askari continued to speak as he exited the room. “I have to go. The world awaits! It’s time for Word War III!”

  Ren and Mark found themselves alone in the glass chamber. They shouted and screamed for only a few seconds, knowing it was futile. No one on the base would come to their rescue—and this sort of capture was one they could never have expected. “What sort of lunatic builds a glass prison?” Mark muttered in frustration. “Was he just hoping someone would wander into it?”