“Easy as pie,” Ren said with fake bravado. “We’ll be back at the base for dinner, and bring the kidnapping victims back for a meal.”
If Ren had known what Askari had in store, though, she would not have been so flippant….
Chapter 6
The militants were once again preparing to move out—Mark and Ren waited at the truck that had brought them, climbing in silently beside the driver.
“Why didn’t you tell someone we were here?” Ren asked him once he had started the engine. “I’m just curious—we’d be dead by now.”
“If I had told anyone I brought enemy infidels into their midst, I’d be dead too,” the driver answered. “I believe in the cause, but I believe in saving my own neck more.”
After that speech, he refused to say anything else, and they rode in silence. Again, their vehicle was at the tail of the convoy, and they drove for almost an hour before they reached another ISIS base. This one was comprised of smaller buildings, and not protected by a fence—Ren thought to herself that they must truly feel safe here in the depths of the desert to not bother with any of the usual security measures.
Most of the militants were idling around the vehicles, but a few had headed with purposeful strides into a nearby building. Ren followed them, glancing back only once after they rounded the corner out of sight of the crowd, to make sure Mark was behind her.
Her look backward cost them their cover—one of the militants looked at them suspiciously, sweeping his eyes over Mark from head to toe, and freezing when he noticed Mark’s Army-issued boots under the too-short thobe.
The militant began questioning Mark angrily in Kurdish, lunging at him to rip off his mask. Mark dodged back, his hands up in supplication as his mind raced. He understood only a few words of what the man was saying and could not respond—but if Ren spoke, they’d know in an instant she was a woman.
Hoping for the element of surprise, Mark ripped off the garment himself, revealing his combat fatigues and then, finally, his face as he pulled the hood off as well. At the same time, he brought up his pistol in a lightning-fast and much-practiced draw.
He was no match for the number of militants, though, and in seconds he found himself in a circle of guns, all pointed at his heart. One man nudged forward and butted him in the chest with the barrel of a rifle, indicating for him to kneel.
Ren couldn’t stand it—she wouldn’t let this happen. She wouldn’t let them injure or kill another person so close to her heart. Not again. She readied her knives and moved stealthily behind the men with the guns. With the silence and grace of a cat, she launched herself at two of the men from behind, slitting their throats in two fluid moves. As another militant whirled to face her, she thrust her knife upward into his stomach, twisting it savagely before ripping it back out.
“You squeal like a girl. Come pick on someone your own size!” she hissed.
Now, only one militant was left, holding a gun to Mark’s head.
“Stand down!” he barked at Ren. “I don’t know who you are, but I know where you’re going—to hell. And soon!”
Ren wasted no time. Before the man could pull the trigger a knife went slicing into his hand, followed by a second into his eye. The man howled in pain and fell backwards.
Those who had been waiting by the convoy, startled by the noise of fighting, burst around the side of the building now, waving their guns. This time Mark took the lead.
“I’ve got this one!” he yelled as he released a grenade toward the group. The explosion left a trail of bodies near the building.
During the fight neither had forgotten Askari—both were focused on finding him, as the key to leading them to the weapons and to breaking ISIL’s will. “Into the building,” Mark whispered. “Perhaps he’s inside, and at least we will have walls at our back.”
They entered the door slowly, Mark covering Ren’s back before turning to throw another grenade as a warning to any militants who might be thinking of following them. The first room was clear, as was the second—it was a lab, filled with shining silver equipment, beakers, and rows of binders. Mark and Ren rifled quickly through the vials but found them all empty. “Dammit,” Mark swore softly. “Not that I thought they’d be keeping their most dangerous weapon out in the open and unprotected, but still…”
In the third room they found the three scientists who had been featured in the video earlier—all of the men were bound and gagged.
Ren fell to her knees to examine them. The three were chained to a desk. Each one wore a dirty lab coat, one covered with splotches of blood. It was evident that the one with a splint on his arm had no vision. His eyeballs had been gouged out, leaving bloody and oozing holes; it was a difficult sight, but Ren tried not to grimace. Instead, she looked at them earnestly, waiting for them to speak. The other two opened their mouths, torment in their eyes, revealing their burned tongues. They could only grunt—no comprehendible words.
“What have they done to you?” Ren murmured.
Upon hearing her voice, the blinded scientist began to speak. “Who are you?” he asked. “How did a woman get into this base?”
“I’m here with an American soldier,” Ren answered. “We’re going to stop Askari and find the weapons.”
The scientist laughed bitterly. “You won’t catch Askari here,” he said. “The devil chained us down and left—we’ve done what he wanted, and we’re not of any use to him now. I’m surprised he didn’t kill us on camera. But you’re in luck, if you can call it that—there are warheads under this room, and ISIL has been prepping them to ship out.”
Mark gave a low whistle. “So definitely don’t fire guns in the building,” he said. “Or use a grenade.”
“They’ve taken the disease with them too,” the scientist continued. “Vials and vials of mutated virus—it will do more damage to mankind than one hundred warheads.”
“What will they do with it?” Mark asked, knowing the answer.
“They’ll move on from attacking Africa to Europe, Russia, and America—New York will be their prime target there, though no major city is safe.”
The blind man rummaged in his tattered lab coat and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “Here,” he said. “I pulled this from a file before they took my eyes.”
Mark took the paper and smoothed it out against his leg. “It’s a flight map,” he said. “To the United States. Is this something they’re planning to use to strike New York?”
“It almost seems too stupid,” Ren said thoughtfully. “To allow such a plan to be stolen by a prisoner? Askari is craftier than that . . . I wonder what he is up to.” Then she directed her words back to the scientist. “What happened to the prisoners—the men and children taken from the village?”
“They’re safe,” the scientist answered. “Or as safe as they can be in the jungle. The militants wanted us to test the virus on them, but Askari and his comrades are so scared of the virus that whenever we did tests they left the base. As soon as we were sure the coast was clear, we let the prisoners go, and made sure each man took a child—later we slaughtered some wild goats in the area and buried them so that we would have graves. We told Askari the victims were buried there. They wouldn’t go near diseased, dead bodies. They just looked at the fresh graves from afar and took our word for it. Well, at first—but when they found out the truth, you can see what they did to us.”
“We’ll get you to safety,” Mark said. “And to medical attention—I promise.” With a few swift kicks, he broke the leg off the desk and removed the chains, freeing the men. Ren and Mark helped them to their feet and led them outside. The militants had gone—Ren wondered what the hurry was that they didn’t want to seek revenge for their murdered kindred, but she wasn’t one to question good luck, especially when she saw that a single truck had been abandoned. There probably weren’t enough militants left to drive it, she thought smugly.
Ren helped the scientists climb into the back and made them as comfortable as she could. “We’re
taking you back to Mark’s base,” she said. “Where you can be cared for. If the truck stops, or if you hear gunfire, get as close to the back as you can and wait for us. Don’t come out!”
“Hurry, Ren!” Mark urged her. “We don’t have much time.”
“You know, the first time you gave me orders I could have knocked you down, I was so angry,” she said. “But now, somehow I don’t mind.”
“It’s because we’re a team,” Mark answered. “And because you have a crush on me.”
“A crush!” Ren laughed. “What are we, sixteen again?” But she didn’t deny it.
Driving as fast as they safely could, and worrying the entire time about the pain the scientists must be suffering on the bumpy roads, Ren and Mark reached the chopper without incident. They slipped from the truck with guns drawn, waiting for an ambush—but none came, and Mark helped the scientists climb one by one into the Apache, strapping them into the jump seats.
From the co-pilot’s seat, Ren inclined her head toward Mark and spoke into his ear as they lifted into the air. “Thank you for being here with me. It’s been so long since I’ve been with someone I can truly trust—and with someone who understands me.”
Mark smiled, busy with the controls. “I’m used to relying on myself, as well,” he admitted. “It’s hard to give yourself over enough to trust someone in the face of danger—even your fellow soldiers. But with you, it’s so different. And even facing down death, I’m so happy! I haven't felt this giddiness since I was a kid and Uncle Sher—, um, Dr. Lock would come to visit me. It was such great fun when he would come.” He hoped she missed his slip-up once again—Dr. Lock’s true identity was a secret he couldn’t share even with Ren, at least not yet. Ren rarely missed anything, but she didn’t pry. She was sure Mark would tell her in time, though she was certainly curious.
Once they were a few miles from the base, Mark radioed the command tower to let the base know of the approach, and then radioed Dr. Lock. “I’m bringing in three gravely wounded scientists,” he said. “They’ve been tortured—they’re in bad shape.”
“We’ll have stretchers waiting on the ground,” Dr. Lock said. “But I don’t think my heart can handle any more heroics—just land safely, please.”
“The true hero is beside me—my warrior,” Mark humbly replied. “She saved me today—and the scientists.” He paused and swallowed before saying the next lines. “I want you to meet her. She’s already so important to me.” He continued to look straight ahead, afraid he would blush too much if he looked over at Ren.
“After all these years . . . I was waiting for this to happen,” Dr. Lock said. “In fact I’d even say it feels like decades—not every young man has our special family potion to allow him that much time to find his true love. Hello miss, I’m looking forward to meeting you, over and out!”
“Secret potion?” Ren asked, unable to help herself.
“Old family joke,” said Mark nervously. “It’s a long story—and unbelievable, honestly. But I promise to tell you, one day.”
Half an hour later the Apache touched down on the helicopter pad, and medics immediately rushed to the scientists.
“You’re in good hands now,” said Mark, watching as they were carried off for treatment. He hoped they could be reunited with their families soon, though he knew the men who returned to their wives and children would be very different than the men who had left.
Mark stepped back as another medic approached him. “We’re fine,” he said. “We just need to refuel, rest, and get back out into the field.”
“Master sergeant’s orders,” the medic said firmly. “I must examine you both.”
Soon Ren and Mark found themselves on side-by-side gurneys in the small hospital, with the medic treating Ren’s arm. “You have a ligament tear and a broken finger,” he said. “You’ll need to rest this arm. You also have several nasty cuts on your hands—you’ll have to watch those too, or you’ll get an infection.”
“So that’s why my right arm felt so heavy and throbbing,” Ren said. “Well, I’m afraid to say I must go against doctor’s orders.”
The medic sighed. “I didn’t expect anything less from you, after hearing about what you did this afternoon. Just take it as easy as you can. Well, I’m done—the master sergeant has requested that you meet him in his office.”
“We need to go after the militants!” Ren protested to Mark once the medic had left.
“He probably wants a briefing on what happened this afternoon,” Mark answered. “He’s my superior and this is the second time I’ve gone AWOL—we have to go.”
Ren agreed reluctantly, but what she and Mark witnessed in the master sergeant’s office took them both by surprise—it was the ISIL militant who had driven them in the truck.
“How did you get here?” Ren gasped.
“I surrendered myself,” the man answered. “I knew I would never feel safe around Askari now—what if he found out what I had done? I am here to beg for your government’s leniency, and also to share some information that you may find interesting.”
The master sergeant gestured for Ren and Mark to sit down. “Listen to what he has to say.”
“Askari’s next and most immediate target is another village west of Kobane—it is remote, and very few people travel to it or even know it exists. ISIL plans to seize the town for its headquarters, as it is strategically situated and easy to defend. He will slaughter the people there, just as he has everywhere else—and in return for their lives, which I have just given you the opportunity to save, I ask for the lives of my wife and children.”
“Your request will be considered,” the master sergeant said. “Colonel Thomas, I wanted you to hear this information—our troops won’t be ready to move out for several days, given the situation in our immediate area. However, if you should choose to go yourself, know that I will pretend not to notice. You’re dismissed.”
“Wait,” said Mark, reaching into his pocket. “One of the scientists gave us this—I wanted to give it to you myself, directly. It’s a flight plan—the militants may be planning to fly a plane full of weaponized Ebola into New York City.”
The master sergeant’s face blanched, and he took the paper, smoothing it out over his desk. “You can be sure I will escalate this all the way up the chain,” he said. “Good work, Colonel.”
As they left the office, Mark saw that Ren’s face looked pale and drawn.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “We have another shot at capturing Askari now, and it’s unlikely that the bastard will be able to fly a plane into any city in America now that we’ve passed that intelligence along.”
“Those are both good things. But my family came from a village west of Kobane,” she said quietly. “I grew up there, before we moved to the city—I remember how peaceful it was. I’m sure I would still recognize those who still live there. We can’t let Askari do this!”
Ren broke down, the details of her story pouring out of her—the frantic packing, her father hurrying her along, her choice to turn back for the puppy. In turn, Mark shared his own story with her—of how fate had taken him off of his base, leaving him as the only survivor.
Mark took a shuddering breath and then clasped her hands in his. “That dog saved you, and that damn helicopter part saved me, because there was still something more in store for our lives. It’s no mistake that we’re together.” He leaned across the table to kiss her. “And this may be fast, and it may scare you, but I believe in my heart you’re the one. I won’t let you go. For now, we need to rest and gather our strength—we’ll leave at first light. Let’s go, little warrior—I’ll take you to your bunk.”
“I need to tell you something else.” Ren’s tone was serious. “I am not who you think I am.”
“What do you mean?” he questioned, not taking her too seriously as he walked her to her room. “This is your room. Sleep well and don’t worry about anything.” He kissed her once more.
“Mark, I am not who you think I
am,” she insisted. “I am a fraud, not a real warrior. I never finished training.”
Mark paused to listen, understanding that she needed to get this off her chest.
“Before I ran away to train as a warrior I was engaged to be married. Yes, I was young—but women as young as ten become engaged in my culture. In my case I was engaged at thirteen to a boy I hardly knew. After my father died, my aunt insisted I marry by the time I reached sixteen; she didn’t want me around because she had so many children of her own. I was a burden. When I turned sixteen, I refused to marry him, and the boy colluded with her and kidnapped me. I . . . was raped, Mark.” The words were painful coming out of her mouth. It was like pulling them out with a string, forcing them to be voiced. “They both thought that if I lost my honor, I would be forced into marrying him to avoid being cast out into the street, or worse. But I did something vengeful. I killed my fiancé and fled.”
Mark still stood quietly, trying to find the right words for the moment. “But the past is the past my love,” he finally heard himself utter. “You were still a child, and a frightened one at that. You acted to protect yourself then, and I will protect you now. No one will hurt you anymore. Believe me. I accept you for what you are. I am not perfect either.”
Piroz The ISIS Slayer Page 7