CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
October 14—12:53 P.M.
Olde Town Arvada, Colorado
“They’re coming,” Jesse said. “Three men, guns.”
Alex stopped running in place. She was warm and loose, or as warm and loose as her battered and bruised body could be in this frigid room. Sitting with her back to the camera, she had made leather shoes out of the bottom of her leather jacket and then set to work on the slit glasses. Cutting a long strip, she sliced a thin slit down the middle of the leather. These slit glasses would act like dark sunglasses and shade her eyes from the worst of the light. She left the arms, shoulders and chest of the jacket intact for warmth and protection. Trying to gauge space in the absolute dark, she positioned herself where she thought the men would stand after coming in the door.
She also had no idea if the British Intelligence agent was working in her favor. No matter. She was ready for any possibility.
Closing her eyes in preparation for the blinding light, she heard the men move down the hallway. Her heart pounded in anticipation when the key scratched into the lock. With a click, the deadbolt moved. Light blazed from every light fixture. Even shaded by the slit glasses, her eyelids flashed bright red.
The door moved open a crack and then stopped. The bottom of the door caught on the dirty bandage she’d set there to make them have to force the door. As precious seconds passed, her eyes adjusted to the light behind her eyelids.
One man rammed against the door.
Alex waited.
Two men threw their weight against the door. Jesse moved the bandage and the men fell into the room.
Alex exploded off the concrete floor. Jumping straight up into the air, she kicked her feet outward in a wide V. Her kick knocked both men backward. Still in the air, she heard someone throw what sounded like broken glass on the floor. Laughing, she landed on one covered foot. Rotating sideways, she kicked the British national in the chest. He slammed into the cinder-block wall.
She punched her right fist, covered in the leather glove and wound in razor wire, forward at the turban man. He ducked her fist. He moved to punch her. She sliced the razor wire through his beard and across his throat. His face flashed shock. His hands clutched at the deep wound. Choking on his own blood, turban man fell to the floor. Before Alex could finish him, the Brit jumped her.
Rotating back, Alex punched the Brit in the face with her left fist. The Leatherman Mini-tool’s needlenose pliers, held between her middle finger and ring finger, tore at the man’s eye. Rotating her fist, she exposed the knife. With her forearm in front of her face, Alex slashed at the Brit. The young man screamed with fury. She cut his arms. When he rushed her, she let loose a powerful sidekick. Her foot smashed his larynx. He dropped to the ground.
Turning, she saw the man she had rescued from Abu Ghraib. He stood just inside the door with the piece of rubber hose.
“You fucker!” She rushed him.
With her left arm under his throat, she pushed him toward the brick wall. They hit the wall with a thud. Holding the knife less than an inch from his face, she said, “Where’s your boss?”
“Stupid bitch,” the man replied in Arabic. Rotating his arm, he hit her exposed ribs with the rubber hose.
Alex slashed his forehead. The five-inch flesh wound bled profusely. Breathing hard, they stood less than an inch from each other. Blood spilled into his eyes. Alex had to decide whether to kill him or trust him. Closing her eyes, her heart said, “Trust.” As if he heard her, he nodded. He pushed her chest, and she stepped back. She rotated her right hand and the razor wire in a wide arch, and he slipped from under her.
They were locked in a delicate dance. She had to fight him for the video cameras, but she could not truly injure or kill him.
He had to take her to Eleazar.
Moving behind her, he batted at her back with the rubber hose. She rotated, jumping into a butterfly kick, missing his face by less than a half inch. He raised the rubber hose, nearly missing her head. Her front kick pushed him off her.
He pulled from his pants the Glock 9mm handgun he’d taken from her when she was unconscious. He pressed the muzzle of the gun against her forehead. Alex raised her hands but did not let go of the wire or knife. She let out a breath, as if defeated. She jerked her right knee up and crushed his genitals.
Leaning forward into her knee, he screamed, “You think a little bruising is anything after having my nuts burned in Abu Ghraib?”
Cocking the gun, he fired. Alex moved her head out of the way of the bullet and punched her left hand forward. The point of the needlenose pliers stopped less than a millimeter from his face. He slapped a handcuff on her left hand. Using her momentum, he rotated her left arm behind her.
“Just stay there,” he murmured, as he closed the second cuff over her right hand.
Stepping away from her, he pulled the leather slit glasses from her eyes. Alex closed her eyes against the light. Protected from the video cameras by his body, she folded the Mini-tool and tucked it into her back pocket. The man pulled the leather glove and razor wire from her hand. He took a handkerchief out of his back pocket and pressed it to the wound on his forehead. After a minute, he made a modified bandage.
“Get on your knees.” The man pushed her to the ground.
Dropping to her knees, she gasped as the glass on the ground cut into her blue jeans. The man dropped a black fabric hood over her head. Yanking her to standing, he pushed her in front of him. They went up seven creaking wooden stairs and turned left down a corridor or tunnel. They walked what felt like an entire city block. With the handgun at her back, he pushed her up a series of wooden steps. He unlocked a door and pushed her out into the snow.
The cold hit Alex with the force of a truck. Her feet froze through her modified shoes. She shivered in the cold while he slowly opened the van door. He pushed her inside. Falling forward onto a bench seat, her chin hit the seat. When he locked the door, she rotated to sitting. He stepped into the driver’s seat. Without warning, he punched her face. Her head knocked against the seat. His hand dropped two pills into her lap. He pulled the fabric off her head.
“Antibiotics.”
She picked up the pills with her tongue. To cover her motions, he hit her with an open hand. Alex spat at him. Wiping her spit off his face, he laughed and started the car. He turned the stereo to blast Arabic music.
Alex had been in that dark room for so long that every sound, every sensation, and every sight assaulted her senses. Closing her eyes, she dropped her head to her lap. Every inch of her body hurt. Even the follicles of her hair ached.
“Sick?” he asked, under his breath.
“Yes,” Alex replied. “Need to eat.”
“Just make you sicker. Rest while we drive. It’ll be a couple of hours.”
A couple of hours? Then what?
Alex smiled.
Whatever happened, she was ready.
FFFFFF
October 14—2 P.M.
Buckley Air Force Base, Colorado
“Sir, Arvada Police are on scene. As you know, they responded to reports of shots fired.” Alex’s Sergeant came into the conference room where Patrick, Ben, Matthew, Raz, and Sean waited. “There are two men down. As we expected, they are non-nationals on Homeland’s terrorist list. Sir, the room? They said there is blood everywhere. There is a pool of blood near the door. It looks like . . . well, their forensics team is there. I’m sorry.”
Patrick searched the Sergeant’s face, wondering what he wasn’t telling him.
“And the gunshot?”
“They found a 9mm slug in the brick wall. They do not believe the bullet hit anyone.”
“Sean, have you heard from your guy?”
“No,” Sean said. “According to Agent Rasmussen, they are driving west on the interstate. My operative has been staying at a remote cabin in the Pikes Peak National Forest. I assume he is taking her there.”
“Satellite?” Patrick asked.
“I have a picture of
them leaving the building, sir,” Raz said. “She’s wearing a hood. He pushes her in the car. We can’t tell exactly, but I think he gave her some pills.”
“He was going to give her antibiotics,” Sean said.
“Probably. They slap at each other in the car for a while before he takes off. We are following them by the transmission in her hip.”
“And Eleazar?”
“He is in the country,” Ben said. “He’s taken a private jet from New York State. We believe he will land at a private airstrip near the cabin.”
“What’s his travel time?”
“Three, maybe four, hours.”
“So your guy will take her to the cabin, and they’ll wait for Eleazar?” Patrick asked.
“That’s our assumption,” Ben said.
“Will you hear from your guy, Sean?”
“I might. He’s fairly safe, since the other people are either dead or in Arvada City Jail awaiting transfer.”
“And the rest of the team? Matthew, when do they arrive?”
“They will touch down around four o’clock. I have spoken with the pilot, and he is going to fly them to Fort Carson. They should be at the cabin by five o’clock, give or take a half hour.”
“Time to go,” Max said, as he walked into the conference room.
Matthew and Raz looked up at him and then, at Patrick.
“I can’t,” Patrick said. “US Senators don’t mobilize on targets. I’ll stay here. Sean?”
“He’s my guy. I’m going.”
“I’ll go.” Matthew stood from his seat.
“Ben?”
“I’ll stay here.”
“Sergeant?” Patrick asked.
“I think Major Drayson and the team will need me here. I can keep track of movement and the satellite. I mean no disrespect, sir, but should Max go? He’s a civilian.”
“I don’t think we can stop him,” Patrick replied.
“Then we’re leaving?” Max asked.
Raz stood, stretched, and walked toward the door. Max’s face was set in an expression he recognized from Alex’s face. Max was done talking. Putting a hand on his shoulder, Raz said, “Shotgun.”
Matthew laughed and followed them out of the room, leaving Sean to speak with Patrick and Ben. They were standing at the elevator when Sean caught up with them.
“Weapons?” Sean asked.
“We’re set,” Matthew said. He pulled a handgun from the holster.
“Got your forty-five?” Max raised his eyebrows at Matthew.
“Yes. You made that face at me yesterday. Why does every fucking Hargreaves make that face about my handgun?”
Raz put his hand on Matthew’s shoulder. He opened his mouth and paused for a moment before he laughed. Stepping onto the elevator, he pressed the button for the garage.
“Hargreaves family saying,” Raz said. He looked at Max.
“We’re just concerned for Erin,” Max said. Raz laughed.
“What? Just fucking tell me.”
“Patrick says that weapons are like penises. If you know how to use your, uh, weapon, it doesn’t matter what size it is. People need large weapons when they can’t . . . well . . .”
Sean burst out laughing. He looked from Matthew’s indignant face to Max’s laughing smile.
“That’s great. That’s just great,” Matthew said, as the elevator doors closed.
F
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