Piroz The ISIS Slayer

  Ren looked at the clock. 12:39. “It’s more likely he used this for some sort of torture,” she answered. “I don’t want to think about it.”

  She shoved the panic out of her mind and went back to the first rule of her training: survey the area. The glass was about three inches thick, but not seamless in the corners.

  “Maybe it’s some kind of testing area,” Mark said as he motioned for her to take a closer look at small ports on top of the glass enclosure. “Those bastards! They want to test the virus on humans and they want front row seats to see it for themselves! That’s why we’re in this glass box —trapped like animals!”

  Ren couldn’t keep the panic from bubbling up within her at Mark’s words, and she pounded savagely on the glass near the corners. The slight give of the walls gave her a flicker of hope. She kept on pounding and pounding as hard as she could. She switched it up, using her feet and even once her head. Mark, on the other hand, tried to climb the glass to reach the vents above, but it was useless. The walls were too slick. There were no chairs, tables, or cabinets to stand up on. Nothing. Only ten minutes left.

  Ren kept on pounding, knowing that if she shot the glass and it was bulletproof, then the ricochets would kill her or Mark or both of them—though a bullet might be better than dying of Ebola. She was losing patience along with her mind. Being so trapped—in a tight place—was her worst fear. She remembered back to one brutal day of training. Everyone had been tied by their hands and feet, then hung upside down in a tank. The tank began to fill with water and it was up to them to free themselves before drowning. She actually did not make it through—the first and only time she failed a training. The cold water combined with the feeling of losing air in a tight enclosure was just too much to bear. She had to be dragged out of the tank. Frustrated by being overcome with her weakness she asked for another chance, but her instructor had laughed at her. “You won’t get in a second chance out in the real world,” he’d said. “You’d just be dead.”

  “I will never give up. This mission does not end this way, not on my watch!” She kept on pounding with her fists until her hands were bloody. The definition of insanity came to mind: repeating the same action, but expecting a different result. Only seven minutes left.

  Mark was also restless, all too aware of the clock that was slowly ticking away the few minutes of life they had left. The glass wouldn’t break for him any more than it had for Ren. He looked over at her, pounding and crying. She was leaving streaks of blood on the glass, her hands battered and bruised. He put down his gun and crossed the room. Without a word he pulled her hands into his chest and held her tight.

  “There’s nothing we can do now,” he said.

  They could hear outside noises from the room—the start of a truck ignition, the slamming of doors. The militants were loading the truck—but with what? More weapons? Only five minutes on the countdown remained.

  Mark loosened his embrace and placed his hands on Ren’s jaw to cup her face. “I knew someday I would meet someone like you…” he whispered. “I knew the moment I saw you on the video that you were special.” He checked on the clock. Only two minutes left.

  Ren remained frozen as Mark continued to look into her eyes, and then he lowered his chin onto her head, pulling her to him tightly once more. “You will be the warrior who everyone remembers for her bravery and I will be the colonel who went AWOL!” Mark managed to crack a joke.

  The trucks rumbled nearby, causing the glass and the ground itself to vibrate. The two barely felt the movement under their feet, focused in the present moment of being with each other.

  “Good will win in the end,” Mark said. “Even if we’re not here to see it happen.”

  Ren merely nodded her head, knowing that if she spoke a word she would start to sob. She allowed a tear to roll down her cheek. Mark kissed it away, though more followed it. She couldn’t stop. She had failed. They had failed. She felt as if her head and her heart would burst. As she peeked at the clock and spied twenty seconds left, Mark kissed her. In those last few seconds, time seemed to stop, and the kiss drew out into gentle eternity—Ren found herself kissing Mark back, giving herself up wholly to her emotions and a part of herself she had never expected to come alive. The two were so caught up in their feelings that they didn’t even notice the floor begin to give way.

  Chapter 5

  The time wound down to two seconds, one second . . . and then zero. Time was up. Ren and Mark were still embracing one another, waiting for an explosion or release of gas—to be choked out or blown up. Was the bomb a dud? Was it a mistake, or just a form of torture to have them panic for fifteen minutes?

  Suddenly, Ren and Mark began to slide—the floor was crumbling beneath their feet, and they clung to one another as they fell into darkness. Mark twisted himself in the air so that he could cushion Ren’s fall, and when his back hit a rock floor he grunted in pain. At least the pain means we’re alive, he thought grimly.

  He pushed himself back and they both looked above them at the hole about six feet over their heads.

  “Are you okay, Ren?” Ren could never have believed her name would sound so nice coming from another’s lips—she was filled with a rush of adrenaline at being alive.

  “I am okay, Mark . . . just bruised.” Saying his name in response sent a thrill through her.

  The structure of the building hadn’t been sound enough to withstand the heavy trucks and machinery moving around. The flimsy floor above the passageway of tunnels hadn’t been properly shored up and had likely been weakening since the base was built; even now more of the floor clattered down around them.

  “Should we follow the tunnel, or try to climb back up?” Ren asked.

  “

  The tunnel,” Mark answered without hesitation. “If they really did gas the chamber with Ebola, then it’s not safe aboveground in the building.”

  “I can’t think they would contaminate their own headquarters,” Ren said. “Not if they plan on coming back, anyway.”

  “I think they all left—and I agree, they were probably just torturing us and intended to shoot us upon their return. If they’re nearby we can catch up and take them by surprise. Perhaps they can lead us to the missing men and children from the village where you were attacked.” Mark forced his eyes to look away from Ren’s. Her overwhelming beauty had distracted him for a second, but he was jerked back to the mission as another rumble shook above them. They felt bits of the tunnel giving way on top of them.

  “We have to go now, then,” said Ren. “I don’t want to be buried alive in this tunnel if the rest of the floor comes down on us.”

  Ren took a small but powerful LED flashlight from her pocket. Yet another rumble sent some more debris falling. Judging by the inventory of trucks they had noticed earlier, it was possible it was the last truck leaving the compound. The two hadn’t walked far at all before they saw a soft glow of light—the end of the tunnel. They would both just have to hope no militants were left in the compound, or that only a few had stayed behind and could be easily overpowered.

  Mark barely missed a large piece of rubble, dodging quickly to the left. The militants definitely will not be returning to this building, he thought. He and Ren crouched a few feet from the end of the passageway, readying their knives and handguns. So far there was no evidence of life outside, but Mark secured his last grenade just in case. They crept onward, ready for a quick defense. Yet all they found at the end was a night sky full of stars and hot, muggy air. No one. Nothing. The militants appeared to have completely evacuated the headquarters.

  Mark and Ren stood looking around at the deserted place, trying to come to a quick decision on what to do next. Their backs to the large building, they noted the direction of the tracks they needed to follow. Suddenly a shock went surging through their bodies, their ears ringing, and their bodies were flung fiercely to the ground. Extreme heat radiated for a second. The building they had just left was destroyed—blown up. They turned around to look, s
till holding their ears and scrambling to seek some shelter from the rain of sand and debris. “It looks like they were a little off with the fifteen minutes!” Mark yelled. “If we hadn’t followed the tunnel out, we’d be dead.”

  “That seems to be the theme of our relationship so far,” Ren said. “Maybe after this is all over, you can just take me to dinner.”

  “Finally, something to live for,” Mark said, only half-joking.

  Just as they were surveying the area once more for any remaining militants, one final vehicle drove by. Both the driver and the passenger were too focused on following the convoy to notice the two loose captives.

  “They must have stayed behind to make sure the building blew up. Now's our chance!” Ren shouted. Mark followed close on her heels as she ran at full speed. She aimed for the back of the small truck, which had an open bed. She was fast, but Mark’s long strides allowed him to catch the truck first. He reached out to pull her in with him, taking her hands and swinging her up beside him.

  The driver, seeing his new passengers in the rearview mirror, slammed on his brakes, throwing Ren and Mark up against the back glass of the cab. Mark punched out the window with his fist, causing blood and glass to rain around them, and Ren sent a knife flying through the jagged opening and into the back of the passenger’s head. The driver struggled to pull his gun from his holster, but was too slow—he froze when he saw Mark’s gun pointed at him.

  “Please, let me live,” he begged in his native tongue. “I have a family—I do not want to die.”

  “You have killed people who have families,” Ren hissed. “Why should we let you return to yours?”

  “I will tell you where the others are going,” the man pleaded.

  “You will take us there,” Ren replied. “Or we will shoot you and I will leave your body on your family’s doorstep myself.” She didn’t truly know if she could do something quite that brutal—murder was one thing, terrorizing families was another—but she would say whatever she had to in order to find the ISIL militants.

  As Mark kept his gun trained on the driver, Ren dug through the bags that had been piled in the bed of the truck, tucking a handgun into the waist of her pants and also retrieving two thobes—the long robes worn by the militants. She also found two black hoods with masks. They quickly covered their own clothes with the thobes and pulled on the masks before climbing into the truck beside the driver. “Let’s go,” Mark said. “Drive fast.”

  Through the small eye holes Mark could see Ren’s light curls visible beneath the hood. He placed his hand on her head and tucked them in, adding a kiss on her forehead. She felt her skin tingle underneath the cloth, and remembered the feeling of his lips on hers—she now hoped she survived not only so that she could continue the fight against ISIL, but so that she could find herself in Mark’s arms once more.

  The truck in which Mark and Ren rode caught up to the others, and the convoy slowed down until they reached another small building far from the headquarters. Ren and Mark stayed in place to observe in the dawning light of day, hoping the militants would not notice that the truck had once held only two riders, and now held three.

  They watched as two militants pulled camera equipment out of one of the trucks.

  “Another event to tape!” Mark said. “Is this where the kidnap victims are?” he demanded of the driver.

  The driver refused to answer. “I have driven you here,” he said. “I have done what you asked, but I will not betray my leader’s secrets any further.”

  “Let’s go and find out ourselves,” Ren said as she slipped from the truck and blended into the crowd of militants. Mark commanded the driver in his broken Arabic to stay close, following only them. But with everyone covered in black, how were Mark and Ren to tell each other apart, aside from a guess at height? It could be disastrous. Mark picked up a box and handed it to her so he could whisper in her ear. “Our boots. Look to the ground to know where I am.”

  She took the box from him while he picked up a camera bag, following the movement into the building. As soon as they were near they placed their things in a pile outside and proceeded into the structure. The building’s exterior was deceptive. Inside it was not as small as it looked on the outside. A narrow corridor led them down, deep into the earth.

  The militants filed and into a large underground location, like a trail of dark ants. Ren fell into the line as well, her eyes darting around to take everything in while she tried not to draw any attention to herself. The place had been built coliseum-style, with seats fanning out in a circle around a center stage. A podium stood in the middle of it.

  Mark eyed the camera equipment. What he found really odd about this gathering was that no one uttered a single word. The only noises were the shuffle of feet and the occasional groan as a militant lifted something particularly heavy.

  Soon, everything was arranged and the militants took their seats. Silence filled the huge room as a tall and lanky militant ushered three men to the stage. Mark instantly recognized them—he had seen them on the news. They were scientists, studying the Ebola outbreak in Africa—and they had disappeared months ago. The fair-skinned men were bloodied, dirty, and ragged; one even had a splint on his arm.

  Ren knew their pain—she herself had been beaten and tortured before. The memory flashed into her head of a belt whipping her body, which was tied to the chair, and the ice cold water poured over her head when she refused to be responsive. Her captors had asked her who she was working for, but of course she didn’t answer. They didn’t know that she actually had no answer. She worked for no one. But now, she did work with someone, for the first time in her young life—and it was an amazing feeling.

  One of the militants forced the men to sit down on a bench on the stage, looming over them with an assault rifle. A hooded man made his way to the stage, making his entrance with great gravitas; but both Mark and Ren could sense the energy radiating from him. From his voice Ren knew this was the same man who had left them with the bomb—Askari. He motioned the cameramen to focus in on his face. The cameras focused, the lights shone brightly, and the militants in the audience clapped and cheered to welcome him.

  After basking in the adulation for a few moments, Askari raised his hand to signal silence. “Greetings once again infidels…” he began in heavily accented English, directing his gaze to the camera. “I would like to greet you like an American should: Good day to you!” The man’s fluent English made Mark wonder about his background and training. Could he have attended an English-speaking school as a child? Or was the language a part of his militant training?

  “We are gaining might, because we have the force of right behind us!” Askari exclaimed. “I am responsible for the bombing in Paris, for the attacks in South Africa, and of course for the latest outbreak of disease in Hong Kong.” He said these words proudly, his chest puffed up and his head held high. Ren wanted to take out a knife right now and send it soaring into his throat. She knew she could, but she forced herself to remain calm. She could take down one, or many—and she chose many, even if it meant she had to wait.

  “But we do not work alone! Here before you are three magnificent scientists—some of the world’s brightest men, who at my behest have helped me develop a weapon like the world has never seen. It is a weapon that will cleanse the Earth of corruption and sin, leaving only those who follow the will of Allah! Soon, you will witness how I attack the financial capital of the world: New York City! It cannot be stopped—the plans are in motion, and New York City has purchased its own demise through insiders working within. Of course, I am a merciful man and would be willing to spare those who commit their praise, loyalty, and oath to the cause. What are my demands, then? How can you save yourself? In short, you can recognize me, Askari, as ruler of the one true world! Allah has willed it, and we must obey Him!”

  Again the crowd clapped and cheered. Ren was gritting her teeth, angry at how Askari was completely twisting a religion she knew into something vile and violent.
He was a lunatic! Mark was pushing down his own anger; as a man dedicated to his country, he couldn’t stand the thought of that madman threatening its safety.

  Askari ended his speech and left the stage; the cameras remained trained on the scientists for a moment, clearly capturing their fear and anguish.

  Mark had put all the pieces together by now, and hoped he could make his way back to his base to share the information with his superiors. This place was some kind of abandoned TV station on the outskirts of the city. ISIL was able to use it to transmit their signal. The transmission tower would be located nearby, likely on the top of a hill, and would enable the telecast to be seen in almost all television stations all over the world.

  Mark and Ren made their way out of the building, their faces and bodies still covered in their black thobes. They hung back from the militants, and Ren finally spoke when she was sure she would not be overheard. “The best way we can all end this is to find out where they are keeping the weapons and disable them. If we could do this in time, we could stop the chaos and end the Ebola outbreak.”

  “And we must also take out Askari—without their leader, the militants will lose direction and be easier to overcome,” Mark answered.