The Whisper of Persia (The Girl in the Mirror Book 3)

by Philip J. Gould

  As the SWAT officer turned the corner, almost parallel with her hidden form, she launched herself at him. Despite the surprise and the force of being propelled off his feet, the black-clothed officer managed to squeeze off a couple of rounds from his rifle, bullets peppering the ceiling. Chunks of plaster and dust fell around them as they tussled. Sophie elbow-punched the man twice against the nose, displacing his goggles and knocking him to the floor, gaining an immediate advantage over her pursuer. Releasing his grip from the gun, he scrambled to reposition his thermal goggles. Not giving him the chance, she side-swiped his head hard with the underside of the Glock, knocking him forcefully against the toughened, steel-framed, glass safety barrier that encompassed the floor but which allowed an unobstructed view of the foyer below.

  Gun shots were fired from somewhere, pinging and ringing out as they ricocheted off metal and brickwork close by. Instinctively, Sophie ducked down behind the toughened-glass barrier − to the right of the fallen SWAT officer − but knew it afforded her minimal protection. Emphasising her thoughts, the two metre high wall shattered beside her, a puff of air from a bullet caressing her ear (the same one which was still healing from being grazed in Washington the day she first met Barry). Most of the glass wall fell to the floor below, people ducking or throwing themselves aside to avoid the lethal shower, but a few crystals of glass bounced around and over her, one or two nicking her face. She buried her head into her chest, trying to shield herself from the prickly rainfall.

  “MISS JENNINGS! YOU ARE COMPLETELY SURROUNDED. GIVE YOURSELF UP; THERE’S NOWHERE FOR YOU TO GO; NOWHERE TO RUN... WE DON’T WANT TO HURT YOU...”

  Sophie peered out from her cocoon, and looked down to the man addressing her. He was holding a battery-operated megaphone and was standing in the centre of the airport’s welcoming hall. She remembered him from a bit earlier, within the passing Sedan, although half his face was now concealed by a pair of thermal-vision goggles he’d acquired from the back of his partner’s car. As well as his face, she could now see his body too, noticing that he was quite tall, over six-feet at least.

  “WE HAVE YOUR FRIEND IN CUSTODY,” he lied. “HE’S OKAY... AT THE MOMENT. IT’S UP TO YOU IF HE STAYS THAT WAY!”

  If anything happens to Barry, she thought, I’ll kill you.

  The SWAT officer, who had passed whilst she was hidden within the locker area, was approaching from her left. Raising her Glock she fired a warning shot, dusting the man with plaster. He ducked around a corner out of the line of fire, his rifle poking out threateningly.

  “THERE’S NOWHERE LEFT FOR YOU TO RUN SOPHIE... YOU’RE COMPLETELY SURROUNDED. COME QUIETLY AND YOU’LL COME TO NO HARM...” The CIA man lowered the megaphone to confer with a female agent standing close by.

  Lowering so that she was almost flat against the floor, Sophie shuffled backwards, away from the shattered balustrade, manoeuvring herself around the unconscious SWAT officer. She reached out and plucked the wired earpiece she’d spied when brawling with him, out from his right ear and clawed free the radio receiver that was clipped to his belt. Inserting the audio device into her own ear, she listened to the linked-in conversation from the SWAT officers manoeuvring to enclose her.

  “... the perimeter is locked down... and we have a strike team on the roof awaiting orders... over.”

  Sophie glanced up towards the glass ceiling. There were no obvious signs of movement above her head; it could be all a bluff, she thought, but then again they weren’t aware she was listening in.

  “... all exits are secure... we are locked tighter than a fish’s butt-hole... over.”

  Another voice added: “... everyone is in place... over.”

  “Copy. Okay... on five...” Sophie recognised the voice from the megaphone. “Five... four... three...”

  Not waiting for the countdown to finish, Sophie bounced up onto her feet and started sprinting towards a now-deserted dining area; when gunshots were fired, patrons had panicked and had hurried down to the lower level, literally kicking and screaming.

  Machine gun fire exploded from the floor below as her movement was tracked just a two second count away from Brayden giving the order to advance; more of the glass-panelled balustrade shattered beside and just slightly behind her as bullets tore into it, coming dangerously close to hitting their mark. Skidding to a halt behind a solid beam a short distance from the separate ‘up’ and ‘down’ elevators (still operating) and parallel with a fast-food burger bar, Sophie was about to reassess the situation when the glass roof above the place, under which she had moments earlier been cowering, disintegrated beneath four small explosive charges timed to detonate just before a SWAT strike team came falling and swinging in from the sky, attached to Fast Ropes, skilfully holding their weapons battle-ready as they descended.

  There were five of them in total and Sophie knew she had no time or any advantage, seeing them attired in body armour and thermal vision eyewear. They looked well-trained and keen for action.

  The hum of the escalators stopped abruptly, replaced by the sound of boots clattering noisily against the now-stationary metal stairs as a flow of armed officers ascended each separate escalator single file. With eyes darting about the mezzanine floor, Sophie quickly weighed-up the situation.

  There was no dressing it up. It was dire and almost hopeless. Time was nearly running out.

  She glanced towards a fire escape which was signposted and situated close to the back of locker area numbered ‘Two’, but was forced to dismiss it as an option. A black-clothed SWAT officer appeared through the door, obstructing the escape route and looked prepared to engage her should she make any attempt at approaching him.

  “No... no... no!” In moments she would be completely surrounded, a situation, she decided, that could not happen.

  Without thinking, she ran out from her point of cover, her Glock gripped in her hand and pointing ahead. She was fast and determined and seemingly, with timed precision, she propelled herself forward in an upward, climbing motion just as the first SWAT officer arrived at the top of the escalator. Her right foot landed hard against the man’s chest, knocking him backwards to fall into the flailing arms of a comrade who was close behind. Like a line of dominoes, the officers on that moving stairs crumpled down the flight of steps whilst their colleagues on the adjacent escalator watched on helplessly. Sophie descended, using their padded, crumpled bodies as stepping stones, dropping down to the metal stairs for the final few steps, her gun aimed ahead ready to engage if needed.

  The large reception hall was full of both alarmed and curious spectators as she invisibly entered and ‘disappeared’ within the throng of people. Whereas the upper level had cleared of people immediately after the first bullets were fired, the airport’s patrons had nowhere to disperse other than to congregate in the welcoming hall of the main terminal building, hemmed in like cattle at a rodeo.

  On the face of it, implementing a lockdown on the airport had been wise and made perfect sense. However, actions – no matter how good the intention – often came at a cost; this being no exception.

  Chiefly, it now enabled Sophie a way to move about without being shot at; it also meant she could move even less-visibly, using groups of people to mask her movements from those with the equipment that enabled them to see her. She intended to use the camouflage effectively for her exit.

  “Where is she?” The voice belonging to Brayden returned in her ear. From her vantage point she could see the CIA agent through the crowd. In agitation he had tossed the megaphone to the woman agent standing with him and looked very annoyed.

  “... it seems she’s disappeared...”

  The fallen SWAT officers on the escalator had picked themselves up and were now recomposing themselves, returning to the first level floor.

  “Find her! She’s in here someplace!”

  Casually, Sophie began to put spac
e between herself and the man who was clearly in charge, startling bystanders by grabbing them roughly with invisible hands, manipulating them into positions that offered greater cover, using them as a shield towards anyone who might have the ability to see her. Stealthily, she carried this on until she was close to a single push/pull set of exit doors that were designated for staff and deliveries only, discretely placed beyond a quiet waiting area. It was a good distance from the terminal’s main entrance point, and seemed to have been overlooked by the police placing barricades about the building.

  Through the glass door she could see the many dozens of black and white police cruisers parked at various angles, blue and red light-bars upon their roofs coalescing in dazzling merriment. Policemen in their all-black uniforms, collars open at the neck, walked about in pairs or clustered together in groups. Their orders were to barricade the perimeter − no one gets in, and, more importantly, no one gets out. Who they were apprehending they had no idea. That information was classified.

  Unseen, Sophie wandered to the door and tried pushing it.

  Surprisingly, airport security had taken the ‘lockdown’ instruction seriously. Even though ‘unmanned’, Sophie found the staff door was secured shut like, she imagined, the main entrance doors and all other ways in (or out).

  She cursed. A sideward look into the terminal hall behind her alerted her to the fact that SWAT officers had further composed themselves after being knocked down the escalator and were now advancing upon her position. It was just a matter of moments, she thought, before she was discovered. I need to get out now....

  Confirming her fears of discovery, one of the SWAT team started hollering and pointing, “I see her! She’s there!”

  Sophie swore even more and raised the Glock, her finger about to squeeze the trigger; not at the advancing law enforcement officers, but at the staff entrance/exit door, thinking to blast a way out.

  Sophie hesitated as screams of alarm and agitation came from outside the airport building. Guns were fired by policemen cowering behind their black and white vehicles, the spectacle from outside puzzling the young woman. Surely the danger is in here... with me?

  Equally distracted were the SWAT officers − now seven of them − and Brayden, who had halted their progress to stare out at the drama outside. Without warning, the main glass entrance doors imploded as an old red and white Chevrolet Silverado crashed into the airport, sending Brayden and the SWAT officers to dive for cover (one, without success, ending up being knocked up and over the windshield).

  Gunshots continued to sound from outside as police officers fired ceaselessly at the vehicle that had now breached the airport’s lockdown.

  Winding down the side window of the Chevrolet, a familiar face appeared. Barry, looking like hell, was sat behind the wheel. “I can’t see you, but hope you are here somewhere Sophie... come, get in!”

  Already running, she was at the driver’s side door − her near side − and opening it up to climb in. “Am I glad to see you!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Barry

  “How?” She wanted to know how Barry had managed to get away. When she’d last seen him he was acting like she needed to find a priest to administer his last rites.

  “Long story! Get in!”

  “Scoot over... I’m driving!” she dictated, ditching the radio and plucking free the earpiece. Despite the man’s brave face, she could see that he was in intense pain. The way his leg had been, she doubted he had been able to ‘walk it off’.

  Barry didn’t argue. Quickly, he unbuckled the seatbelt and pushed himself, with a struggle, over to the passenger seat.

  Closing the door behind her, Sophie reversed the Chevrolet back out of the airport’s smashed-in foyer; tyres’ crunching over glass fragments an inch deep, and through the mangled remains of the double-doors.

  Staring through the front windshield, Barry watched the first of Sophie’s pursuers, climb to his feet. Dressed in dusty plain clothes, the CIA agent, Brayden Scott, leapt into action waving a handgun and readying it to discharge.

  “Look out!” yelled Barry as the blond-haired agent fired a shot towards the reversing pick-up.

  Unobserved, Sophie instinctively ducked her head at the moment Brayden took the shot. A bullet smashed a ragged hole into the safety-glass parallel to where her head had been positioned moments earlier. The slug thumped into one of the rear seats, spitting out a puff of foam.

  “Here!” Sophie tossed her Glock to Barry, dropping it into his lap. “Give him something else to think about besides trying to kill me!”

  Before Barry could fire the gun the back windscreen shattered beneath a hail of bullets fired by Fresno police officers manning a blockade behind them.

  “Do something Barry!”

  “I AM!” Barry squeezed off two shots in Brayden Scott’s direction. One of the bullets hit marble at his feet; the other sailed past him harmlessly. Brayden returned fire, this time hitting a wing mirror and smashing a headlight.

  Sophie continued to reverse the Chevrolet away from the terminal building, manoeuvring it over paving and tearing up a flowerbed, zigzagging towards the road that was crammed with police cruisers. Hastily, she did a handbrake turn, barely stopping as the vehicle straightened up from a spin, before accelerating forward onto the road, the truck ploughing into two parked police cars and scraping the sides of two others. Police officers standing close by were forced to dive for safety in spectacular fashion.

  “That’s more like it!” Barry whooped, laughing. “Where did you learn to drive like that?”

  “I wouldn’t celebrate just yet... look!” Sophie indicated a roadblock half a mile ahead of them, fashioned from five police vehicles parked transversely across both lanes and a row of A-Frame barricades. Adding to their woes, police cruisers had started to give chase behind them. It was like a classic car-chase scene from a movie.

  “Take the next left,” said Barry, seeing a white signpost ahead with the words ‘ROAD CLOSED’ emblazoned across it at the junction’s entrance.

  “Are you sure?” Sophie sounded hesitant.

  “Just trust me, Sophie.”

  Sophie took the corner hard; tyres squealed in protest and a hub-cap came free and bounced across the street. Sophie advanced up the side road. It was narrow and hard not to collide with the odd dustbin, sending bags of rubbish and metal bins to bash and fall in the vehicle’s wake. She drove for two-hundred metres before an alarm screamed inside her head.

  “Uh-oh...”

  “What?” asked Barry. His neck was craned behind him as he monitored the convoy of police vehicles closing in on them.

  “The road… it’s closed,” said Sophie, sounding surprised.

  “What? Didn’t you see the signpost?” Barry started to laugh.

  “Glad you find our imminent imprisonment amusing...” griped Sophie, adding slightly panicked: “... but seriously Barry...”

  Turning serious, Barry raised his right hand and pointed. “Pull over just up ahead.”

  “What the hell Barry!” Sophie couldn’t see what it was he was getting her to do. There was no throughway and nowhere left to turn.

  “Just pull-over!” ordered the MI6 agent.

  Sophie slammed the breaks, bringing the pick-up to a skidding-stop. She turned, looking perplexed. Her eyes implored Barry for clarification, but he was oblivious to any of her expressions. Without faltering, he shared his thoughts with her. “This is where you get out,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “What?” Sophie didn’t trust what her ears had heard.

  “You’ve got a much better chance of getting out of here on your own.” Highlighting his plight, he winced noisily as he tried lifting his broken leg. Shaking his head he added regretfully: “My job here is done.”

  “Barry...” she said, fearfully.

>   Barry reached up to the rear-view mirror and adjusted it so that he could see Sophie’s reflection. Her eyes were welling-up, as though she was about to cry, but her features were almost as he remembered them, though a little bloody from some nicks and cuts. He reached out for her with his right hand and found her chin. Pulling her gently towards him, he gave her a kiss full on the lips.

  “Oh Barry,” she whispered, sounding totally miserable. She kissed him again.

  Behind the pick-up, a tide of police cars were piling single file into the narrow road, closing the gap.

  Reluctantly, he prised himself away from Sophie. “Go. Go now, get out. Before it’s too late. I’ll buy you some time.” Without further discourse, Barry opened his side door and jumped down onto his good leg, Sophie’s Glock in his hand. Using the door for balance and as a shield, he crouched down, his broken leg stretched behind him awkwardly. Peering back into the truck he noticed the driver’s door had not budged. “Sophie! Go...! GET THE HELL OUTTA HERE! DON’T LET ME DIE ALL FOR NOTHING!”

  Sadly, but reassuringly, Barry heard the ‘clunk’ of the door as it opened, and the heavy thud that followed as it was slammed closed behind her. Despite looking, there was no way to see which way Sophie was heading without thermal-goggles, or to tell whether in fact, she had left at all.

  He hoped − and prayed to dear God − that she had.

  The leading black and white police car that had been tailing them stopped at a safe distance from where the red and white Chevrolet was parked, the driver navigating it into an angle that blocked the road completely, barring any suggestion or thought of escape that way. A pair of uniformed officers climbed out − a man in his mid-forties and a much younger woman − and crouched in the car’s shadow, mirroring Barry’s stance by unholstering their weapons in readiness for use.

  The convoy of chasing police cars piled up behind the lead vehicle and came to a grinding halt, spewing forth an impressive number of officers. Taking up positions of safety, the policemen withdrew handguns and rifles and steadied their hands, preparing to use them.