Guns clattered to the ground as many of Dominic’s initiates, recently thinking they were invincible, stopped what they were doing and threw their arms fearfully in the air.
The entrance into the warehouse was now a burning, gaping hole torn into the building’s fabric by heavy artillery and mortar shells. Even without the flames from the blaze, and the soldiers defending it having retreated, the compound was just as dangerous to enter. Sparking, exposed cables hung like venomous snakes from the ceiling, bucking and dancing ahead and around them. Metal struts and mangled, misshapen pieces of framework strained under sections of collapsed ceiling, and piles of rubble were every which way they turned.
“Here… look… a gap.” Liam picked out a path through the debris and found a less insidious route that required ducking beneath an electric wire that bucked and danced about their heads.
“The way appears to be clear.” Sophie continued to hold the handheld radar pointed ahead of her as she closely followed Liam deeper into the warehouse. “Emily… we’re entering the building,” Sophie spoke into the comms link, activating the mic by lightly touching a small button on her earpiece.
After a long pause, Emily replied: “Copy that. I’m sending a platoon in behind you.”
“Okay. Tell them not to shoot me by mistake!”
“I will. Over.”
Sophie led the way deeper into the building, kicking away debris and ducking around a sparking cable.
“According to Meredith, she and her brothers were kept in a room on this corridor,” said Liam elaborately.
“I hope we haven’t killed them!” Seeing the destruction to either side of her, it was difficult not to feel sudden despair.
Thirty feet in, the mortar damaged parts of the building lessened and something resembling a corridor appeared, though littered with debris for quite a distance ahead. Overhead lighting flickered on and off and an electric current hummed somewhere close.
“They were apparently kept in a room on our left… six doors from the end of the corridor.” Liam could see a T-junction ahead. To either side of him there were closed doors. Quickly he counted the number on each side up to the end.
There were nine doors to each side. There were likely more, but the mortar round fired from the tank had obliterated the rest.
“Point the radar over there,” requested Liam, jabbing his right index finger towards doors five and six.
Two faint ‘blips’ appeared on the screen, beyond a solid thick line that Sophie identified as the corridor’s wall.
“I see something,” she said, each word coated with enthusiasm. She hurried over to the door and tried the handle. As expected, it was locked, exactly how Meredith had found it during her daring escape attempt a day earlier.
“Step back, I’ve got this.” The big man waited a moment for Sophie to move aside then launched his body, shoulder first, against the metal door. Although the door was solid, the frame wasn’t and it gave in easily with a metallic screech and clatter, forcing Liam to readjust himself before losing balance and falling into the room, onto his face.
What faced him hadn’t been anticipated. Instead of just two children, there were two children AND two adults – a man and a woman. They were standing at the far side of the room, behind the third single bed.
Hector Degiorgio and Natasha Vincent.
Sophie’s handheld radar scanner hadn’t registered more than two people because both Hector and Natasha were pressed up close to Meredith’s brothers, a knife held at both of their throats.
“We expected you to mount a rescue attempt. Dominic said that if you tried, we should kill them.” Natasha was doing the talking, and to dramatize the threat she pressed the sharp blade against the neck of the youngest boy.
Before Sophie had followed Liam in, she heard the woman’s voice and automatically willed herself invisible.
Charlie whimpered beneath his captor’s knife, feeling its keen edge biting against the skin at his throat.
“Wo-ah, take it easy.” Liam offered steadying hands, in one was his Lantec rifle, useless against these foes. He lowered it to the ground. “No one needs to get hurt.”
Silently, Sophie walked unseen into the room, stepped around Liam and crept to the space between the wall and the ends of the beds. Before entering, she had swapped the radar device with her Glock and pointed it perilously forward.
“Now the piece at your hip,” said Hector, indicating the gun holstered by his left side. “Remove the belt.”
Dispirited, Liam unbuckled it and dropped it aside. “Seriously, I would recommend you giving yourselves up. Your army is in tatters. There’s absolutely nowhere you can escape to, and if you mean to go on as you’ve started, you’re both going to end up dead.”
“Nice try, Sonny Jim. You speak as though it’s you who’s holding a blade to one of our throats.”
“In a manner, I guess I am,” said Liam, confidently.
Natasha turned towards Hector, who was already looking towards the woman. The pair of them started to laugh together, outwardly amused by the MI6 field agent’s bravado.
“Last chance,” Liam warned, seriously.
“Let’s take him down a peg or two, Hector. Show him who’s boss, right?”
“Right,” replied Hector, flexing his wrist. The knife he held moved up and down an inch away from Stanley’s throat menacingly, before he shifted position and prepared to slice down.
Stanley’s bladder gave out; a dark stain appeared at the crotch of his trousers and urine pooled around his bare feet.
“No!” cried out Liam.
BANG!
The discharge from Sophie’s Glock was deafening in such a small, enclosed room, causing the ears of both of Meredith’s brothers to ring loud and painfully, and a dizzying, nauseating feeling to overwhelm their heads.
Aimed a centimetre from the side of Hector’s head, level with the pterion, the softest part of the skull, a little above his ear and two inches to the right of his eye; the 9mm jacketed hollow point bullet penetrated through his head, tearing through brain matter and blood vessels before slicing asunder his middle meningeal artery, exiting the other side, its trajectory not entirely complete. The carefully placed bullet smacked into the front of Natasha’s head, hitting her temple dead centre, and coming to a halt somewhere deep within a meaty section of her brain, close to the frontal lobe.
Sophie made herself present, appearing as if by magic, before gravity had done its business and helped Hector and Natasha to fall to the floor. Unlike the movies, there was very little blood, just a trickle from the entry wounds to the side and front of their respective heads.
“Sophie!” Stanley and Charlie bellowed together in delight; Stanley, the closest, wrapped his arms about her neck, oblivious to the gun still in her hand. Sophie swept him up carefully. Charlie was quickly at her side, muscling in for attention.
“Wo-ah, kids, there’s plenty of me for the both of you.”
The two boys reined in their obvious joy at being rescued and allowed Sophie to pull away and stand upright. By now, Liam was close at hand. He had kicked the knives across the room and was now crouching down, probing the bodies for signs of life. Satisfied there weren’t, he stood up next to Sophie.
“They took Meredith!” whimpered Charlie. Now that Stanley was disentangled from the young woman, Charlie wrapped his arms about her waist.
Sophie returned the Glock to the holster at her side. “I know,” she replied, placing a hand on the young boy’s head before adding in a reassuring tone: “We found her. She’s going to be okay.”
“Can we go home now?” asked Stanley, relieved.
“Soon, I promise. I’ve just got something I need to take care of.” Turning to Liam, Sophie then spoke to the MI6 man. “Can you see the boys safely to one of the boats?”
“Leave him to me,” she replied. Sophie turned from Liam and the two boys and spoke once again into the comms link, her earpiece mostly silent throughout her encounter with the kidnappers, but occasionally crackling with updates from the conflict outside: “Emily… I’ve found my brothers. They’re okay.”
“That’s great news! What about Brayden and Mullins?”
“No sign of them, but I’ll keep looking. Maybe Dominic has them. He’s close. I can feel it.”
“Don’t go in just yet. Wait for the marines; they’ll be with you shortly.”
“I’m not giving them the glory,” replied Sophie, ardently. “I’m going in now. Dominic Schilling’s ass is no one else’s but mine.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Garret
“…I will take over the world.”
Brayden couldn’t help but laugh. When it subsided enough to allow him to speak, all he said was: “Don’t count on it.”
A knock at the door put paid to any hope of having the last word or making a cutting riposte. Instead, Dominic turned away from the CIA agent just as the door opened.
Garret stepped in looking flustered. A glaze of sweat glistened on his bald head despite a cold draught blowing through the compound.
“Yes?” demanded Dominic at the newcomer’s intrusion.
“Um, Dom…? A word?” He was slightly out of breath.
Dominic scowled at the mercenary, but allowed his annoyance to melt. “Go on,” he said impatiently.
“It would be better in private,” insisted Garret, treading backwards out of the room.
Dominic followed him out and pulled the door to, his hand remaining at its edge, keeping it open a knuckle’s width. “Okay, what is it?”
“The initiates,” Garret started, nervously. “They’re fleeing.”
“What!”
“The boys thought they were completely invisible as they approached them, thinking to take the attackers by surprise from amongst them. But that wasn’t what happened. The enemy found a way to see through their polyethylene terephthalate clothing, and took us completely unawares. The cadets didn’t have a chance.” Garret rubbed at his eyes, as though clearing his vision from tears. “Before they knew what was happening, enemy marines were shooting them with some kind of dart gun.”
“Tranks?”
“No. Something else, like the antidote.” Garret was referring to the ochre countermeasure which the initiates injected to restore visibility. Kaplan Ratcliff had been able to provide a nonexhaustive supply. “Except… it’s more potent. Unlike our stuff, the effects can’t be undone by free will. The initiates tried to change back to invisible… but couldn’t.”
“What?!”
“I’m not sure whether it’s permanent, but their abilities… they’re gone.”
“Sonofabitch!” Dominic turned to go back into the room, half-opening the door but stopping at the threshold. “Radio Melvyn and find the pilot of the chopper. We don’t have much time.”
Garret was speaking into a two-way radio as Dominic closed the door gently, almost contemplatively, behind him.
Brayden almost looked pleased with himself, sitting restrained in the wooden chair. It gave rise to Dominic’s anger burning inside, and in one fell swoop, he landed a left hook against the side of the CIA agent’s face, knocking him – with the chair – over. His hand sprung back and he clutched it with his right hand, recoiling from the burst of agony the impact caused. Brayden’s face was like hitting concrete.
Far from showing signs of pain or injury, Brayden started to laugh. A small line of blood ran from his mouth where he had bit his tongue but he showed no other sign of injury. “It’s over,” he mumbled; it sounded distorted, his mouth numb and swelling. “If you give up now… I may be able to cut you a deal.”
Dominic walked casually over to the table along one side of the room. Brayden’s weapons, radio equipment, and sundry other items, were strewn across the surface. The former Kaplan Ratcliff Intelligence Director picked out a handgun, carefully appraised it, and then set it harmlessly back down before sweeping up the Lantec SFM6 Anti-Personnel dart gun.
“This is a curious thing,” Dominic twisted his body, along with his attention, back to Brayden still lying on the floor. “Tell me, what concoction have you poisoned my super soldiers with?” He aimed the rifle towards the American’s head.
Brayden started to laugh again. “Oh boy wouldn’t you like to know? I can tell ya it’s not the vaccine for bird ’flu,” he replied, cryptically.
“Perhaps I should put it to the test, see for myself?”
The man just laughed some more. By Brayden’s lackadaisical response, Dominic guessed that he was telling the truth. “It’s not fatal… but permanent. In the end, George Jennings despised what he’d done… so gave his daughter one last gift… the cure to the GYGES project.”
Dominic released the magazine containing the five darts, and plucked the topmost one out. Just three inches long from flight to tip, its potent chemical contained within a ballistic syringe. It was see-through, just like water. Dominic held it between thumb and forefinger, scrutinising the antidote, curious. His reaction was almost identical to how Emily had inspected one on taking delivery of them from Thomas Mundahl the evening before; like with Emily, the razor-sharp point caused a pinprick to his finger, making a small bead of blood appear.
Garret knocked at the door and entered. “Melvyn and the pilot are ready. They’ll meet us up on the roof.”
“Good. We don’t have much time. It won’t be long before she gets here.” Thoughts of Sophie surfaced; an image of her face as he’d slung his knife at her sister’s back. He didn’t doubt that she would try to kill him if she were to reach them. Dominic returned the dart gun back to the table, pocketing the antidote dart almost as an afterthought. He then stuck his bleeding finger into his mouth and sucked it. “Come; help me get this sorry sack of faecal matter up. We’re taking him with us.”
Five feet was as far as they’d walked when the young woman appeared in the corridor behind them, screaming: “DOMINIC!!”
Brayden was walking ahead of Dominic and Garret, his hands still bound behind his back but his ankles were now free to allow swift movement. The barrel of a handgun was frequently thrust into his back. Now the gun was whirled away as Dominic levelled it towards his pursuer.
Seeing the danger, Sophie vanished just as Dominic pressed the trigger. A bullet ricocheted against a wall but missed his intended target.
Sophie reappeared, teasingly closer. She walked confidently nearer, a Glock in her hand.
“I’ve got this; I can have her,” said Garret arrogantly, pushing down Dominic’s gun arm, swaying his decision from shooting again. “You go ahead. I’ll meet you up on the roof shortly.”
Dominic nodded appreciatively but doubted the bald man’s bravado would match the blonde girl’s abilities. He turned and ordered Brayden to hurry forward: “Get going!” They headed towards a door at the end of the corridor, beyond which a metal staircase led up to the roof.
Garret stood in the centre of the corridor, making himself look big and imposing. He carried an assault rifle, which he aimed aggressively towards the girl.
“I remember you from Nevada,” said Sophie, closing in on the Kaplan Ratcliff soldier. “You were one of the three who kept the kids safe after the Chinook exploded.”
“Finally get to put a face with the voice,” Garret trilled. “What gave me away?”
Sophie shrugged. “Your bald head… your fragrance… but mostly, the spiderweb tattoo on your face. Not many out there could pull that look off. Tell me, did you actually want that inked or was it from losing a drunken bet?”
Garret smiled sheepi
shly. “Bingo,” he said, before adding: “I’m going to enjoy killing you.”
“I seriously doubt that.” Sophie walked to within a few feet, and stopped. “Let’s make this a little bit more of a challenge.” She released the magazine from the Glock, watching it skid across the floor, and then unchambered a round; the bullet clattered to the tiled floor. She tossed aside the gun then unsheathed a pair of SOG fighting knives, the type favoured by Navy SEALs.
“Even better! All right. Let’s do this mano a mano.” Garret flung the assault rifle away and unholstered a handgun, which he unloaded in a blatant fashion before disposing it. Mirroring Sophie, he produced a pair of blades, each slightly longer than the 12.4 inch knives she was brandishing. “Don’t think that because you’re a woman, I’m going to go easy.”
Sophie grinned devilishly. “You’re one of those ‘woman-beating-types’ I figure. Don’t worry, I was counting on–” Before she could finish her retort, Garret lunged for her. Side-stepping, and twisting her body backwards, she just managed to avoid the man’s attack. She threw him an angry look.
“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, “hadn’t you finished talking? I thought we were here to fight, not fornicate.” Garret swung his right blade towards the young woman’s face in an arc, following it with his left, aiming towards the centre of her stomach, grunting from the exertion.
Sophie jumped back and just managed to tuck her stomach in as the double blades skimmed past her body. Not finished, he sliced the air some more, dangerously close to her chest and neck. Still she managed to dodge the man’s frenetic attack.
Changing tact, Garret launched himself with a leap, double kicking Sophie – once in the stomach, then to the face – the contact propelled the woman backwards into losing her balance, knocking her to the floor.
The Whisper of Persia (The Girl in the Mirror Book 3) Page 43