Redemption

by Dufour, Danny

  * * *

  The first lights of dawn signalled them to take the house.

  “What’s the plan?” asked Shinsaku, katana by his side.

  “We go in through the front. We wipe the first floor and then the second,” said Namara, fitting a silencer over his MP5 and indicating the rest to follow suit.

  “Leave the second floor to me, Kamilia and Ming Mei. We’ll go in through that half-open sliding floor. We’ll wipe the second floor and meet you half-way. We’ll go in ahead of you. Give us five minutes head start, then follow, ok?”

  “All right. But silence, understand? The more they’re ignorant to our presence, the quicker we can take control! If there’s anything, communicate by radio,” said Namara, pointing to the radio strapped to his neck, the better to pick up on his vocal chords.

  “Ok, let’s go!” said Shinsaku, who began his descent toward the house, followed by Kamilia and Ming Mei. The rest stayed camouflaged in the vegetation, watching them close in on the house. They were looking for signs that they’d been identified; as of this point, there was no trace of enemy activity in sight. Shinsaku inserted his fingers in the rock walls of the house and began to climb with surprising agility, as though gravity had no effect on him. Kamilia and Ming Mei did the same, reaching the balcony several seconds later.

  “I’ve never seen anyone climb like that!” murmured Taz. “They’re going in with no firearms! Are they crazy or what?”

  “Don’t fret, mate, they’ll be fine,” retorted Guerra.

  They saw Shinsaku, Kamilia and Ming Mei enter by the sliding door on the second floor and disappear inside.

  “Five minutes, starting… now,” said Namara, looking at his watch.

  CHAPTER 66

  Never had they seen such a structure in their life. The door gave into a grand corridor finished with pale greyish tiles, deserted and half-lit. All that moved were great white curtains draped over the panes, fluttering in the air currents. Ming Mei took the lead, treading silently down the hallway. She didn’t like the feel of this place; there was a clear evil presence. She followed the curtains and arrived at an intersection, where two of the same types of corridors continued out of sight in opposite directions. She proceeded straight and stopped at a half-open door.

  Three shaven-headed men sat watching television in a room that was completely bare, but for a red sofa and the aforementioned television. With an unheard-of lightness and speed she approached the sofa and broke the necks of its two occupants. The third rose in panic, but she bounded forward and planted her shoulder in his solar plexus, then his chin. She stopped his backward projection by seizing his neck and finishing him off. She left the room and rejoined the two others. Kamilia took the lead this time to the next opening. Inside a man sat reading a document at a desk. Behind him was a huge steel door, like that of a safe. Wasting no time, she planted her knife into the base of his spine. The pain was such that the man was incapable of crying out. She pulled the knife out and slit his throat, taking care to catch the body before it hit the ground loudly. Without any ado, they continued their advance, eliminating everyone they encountered room by room along the empty corridors.

  Shinsaku finished off their work on this floor. He spotted a man walking by the top of the grand staircase that descended to the ground floor. With a silent step, he approached the man and, with an upward swipe of his katana, parted his head from his shoulders. The bald cranium spun away, ricocheted off the wall, and rolled down the stairs like a billiard ball.

  * * *

  The second five minutes was up, Gonzo silently picked the front door lock. Smeared with dried mud, Taz and his men entered, their submachines on the hunt for potential targets. They penetrated what seemed to be an immense modern lounge. The decoration was Mexican, and several chandeliers cast their dim light over the space. The high ceiling left room for palm trees and ancient Mayan vases the height of a man, situated everywhere in the maze that was the house. South-American tapestries were hung along the walls. The group traversed the room and slipped into a corridor in which two armed men patrolled, firearms at their shoulders. Taz fired at their heads, killing them instantly. Covering his fire serendipitously was the sound of a flush: a third guard exited the bathroom behind them nonchalantly. Gonzo spun around the second he heard the click of the door handle and raised his gun to his chest. He fired two shots with dull, muffled bangs. The man took both bullets in his heart and tumbled backwards onto the floor of the bathroom. They continued along the corridor and arrived at another branch, which disappeared into a downward slope.

  “It’s all hallways here. Where the hell does this one go?” murmured Twinkie.

  “Underground, apparently,” said Guerra.

  “We should separate to save time. James and I’ll take this one and you all keep on with clearing the floor,” said Namara.

  “Ok, but be careful!” Taz warned.

  Namara and Guerra were soon swallowed by the corridor. The group continued to advance and arrived at a room that seemed to be a break-room for the off-duty guards. There was a huge illuminated bar that took up an entire wall and two billiard tables. Several divans were arranged about, holding a combined dozen of potential targets upon first glance, all bald and tattooed. A mini bowling alley at the back completed the setting. Most of the men were awake, but some slept, stretched out on the couches.

  Immediately, Taz and his men charged into the room in line, side-by-side to avoid crossfire and to demarcate their field of fire. They advanced quickly, fired constantly, and landed all their targets in a few seconds. A rain of lead had suddenly hit and the targets hadn’t time to take cover. Not a single shot had been fired by their opponents and the room was quiet, except for the silenced shots and the occasional shattering liquor bottle.

  “Clear! Ten confirmed neutralized targets,” muttered Twinkie over the radio.

  “Continue,” said Mike as he took the lead. The group left the room quickly behind him, like a snake creeping fluidly toward her prey. They had killed a total of twenty men before they had completely secured the floor.

  “Let’s go give them a hand on the second floor!” said Taz, and they took to the grand staircase.

  CHAPTER 67

  Mike was able to leap aside just as the bloody head rolled by him.

  “Son of a bitch, what was that,” he exclaimed, before he saw Shinsaku at the top, his katana raised and dripping.

  “We came to see if you needed a hand up here, but it looks like you’ve got it covered,” said Taz.

  “The second floor’s clear!” said Kamilia.

  “Same down here,” said Taz. “Namara and Guerra went off to the basement.”

  “We found a safe up here, and computers,” said Ming Mei.

  “We can open a safe,” retorted Taz.

  “Ok, then I’ll try to pull whatever I can find from the computers,” said Ming Mei.

  “Mike, Gonzo! Go find Namara and Guerra! Twinkie and I’ll take care of the safe.”

  Mike skirted the head as he descended the staircase, reloading his submachine gun as he walked. “Beautiful work,” he murmured at the head, and then headed for the underground corridor, Gonzo at his heels.

  * * *

  The roof of the corridor curved in a semi-circle. Several wall sconces emitted a red light. The lower Namara went, the purer the air seemed, as though a purification system had been set up in the bowels of this house. Guerra followed closely in silence. The slope was light, but they were certainly several meters underground by now. The silence was deathly and they figured they’d been going for several hundred meters now. At the end, they arrived in what seemed to be a vast, round cavern. A huge pentagram was drawn on the ground, confirming that they were in fact in the presence of Satanists. Namara paused to scan the space and realized that it must have been a theatre – there was a raised platform in the middle of the room. Stone benches dotted the periphery. Namara didn’t stop to wonder what horrors might have passed in these places, but he knew there
were horrors. The platform was decorated with dark red curtain that attracted Namara’s attention. “Go look behind those curtains, I’m going to continue on down the corridor,” he whispered.

  Guerra crossed the theatre to the stage while Namara moved toward a door that opened into a corridor. He seized the handle and opened it slowly. There was a mattress on the floor in front of him and several cameras on tripods. There was a man, too, in the process of abusing a child. The creak of the door attracted his attention and alerted him to Namara’s presence. Namara fired two bullets in his heart and head when he tried to get up. Jets of blood hit the wall and what was left of the man crashed into a corner of the room, disrupting several cameras on their tripods. Namara realized at that moment that there was another man to his left. He swung his weapon around, but the other man was faster than him. He seized the little girl and pressed a knife against her throat, using her as a shield against Namara’s fire.

  It was the man from his visions. He was facing off against a man he’d already seen. Just like his visions, Brakan had a completely tattooed face, and most of his body. His tattooed eye sockets gave him an appearance that was diabolic, inhumane.

  “Stand aside, or I’ll kill her!” he growled from behind the crying girl, couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. Namara stood back to let Brakan through. In the corridor, he regarded Namara, whose appearance was no more human than his. His mud-smeared face made him look like a dark shadow. All Brakan could see were the whites of his eyes, which were staring at him.

  “Who are you!?” he ordered, still holding tight to the girl.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” said Namara.

  “Drop your weapon! Or she dies!!”

  Guerra watched the scene from a slight distance. Namara dropped his charger to the ground and ejected the bullet in the chamber of his gun. He dropped that too, and continued to stare Brakan down.

  “Let her go, it’s between you and me now!”

  Brakan pushed the girl roughly and she fell heavily several meters away.

  “You were looking for me, hero!? I’m here! Take me!” he said menacingly, drawing his knife. He smiled and lowered his position, moving toward him, pronouncing words backwards like in a satanic ritual. “Eht serif fo lleh lliw nrub uoy evila!”

  “Come on!” said Namara.

  “The fires of Hell will burn you alive!!!” he cackled.

  Brakan slashed at his throat, but Namara pulled back in time. They circled each other, face to face. They sized each other up like two savage beasts. Brakan launched again at Namara to puncture his stomach. Namara dodged it. On Brakan’s third strike, Namara struck the fist clutching the knife, breaking all the bones in his hand. Brakan cried out and dropped the blade. Namara kicked his shin and broke his tibia. The end of the bone tore out of the skin, spraying blood. Brakan cried out again. Namara bounded toward him and seized his throat. Brakan’s whole weight was in his hand. Namara glared into his eyes for a few seconds, seized him by the shoulders and threw him onto the ground. The splintered bone perforated his back and lodged itself into his heart. He babbled in agony around the blood streaming out of his mouth and then died, impaled on his own tibia. The girl stood immobile, staring at Namara. In tears and naked, she seemed unable to move, unable to speak.

  “Don’t worry. It’s over, kid, I’m here to get you out! We’re leaving this place together, ok?” said Namara.

  The girl nodded her head and wiped her eyes.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jovanna,” she responded feebly.

  At the same moment, Guerra knelt by Brakan’s mangled corpse to confirm that he was in fact dead.

  “Goddammit... Namara,” muttered Guerra with a grimace.

  “Jovanna, are there others like you here?” asked Namara.

  She pointed down the corridor with her finger.

  “Ok! James, find her something to wear!”

  “Way ahead of you,” he said as he cut down one of the curtains.

  Namara moved down the corridor and found Brakan’s cells. They were full of children of all ages, some very young.

  “Jesus Christ… How’re we going to get them all out,” he muttered while the little eyes fixed upon him.

  “Step off, Namara, I’m going to blow the locks!” said Mike, entering with Gonzo.

  “Holy shit, are you kidding me?” said Gonzo, staring at the kids behind iron bars.

  * * *

  Twinkie carried the last bag stuffed with bundles of American banknotes.

  “It’s empty!” said Taz, stepping out of the safe.

  “Hopefully,” said Twinkie, hoisting the bag onto his back to leave.

  “How much do you think we got?” asked Kamilia, having just returned from carrying a bag out to the vehicles.

  “A lot... that's what I know,” said Taz.

  Ming Mei walked in with a backpack full of documents on her shoulder.

  “That’s if for me. I took everything that might be relevant,” she said.

  “They just escorted the kids to the vehicles. Gonzo and Mike are with them. Namara and Guerra are waiting for our signal to burn it down!” said Taz, listening attentively to his radio.

  “Then let’s get out of here,” said Kamilia.

  “Namara, you’re good to go!” said Taz over the waves as he led the way out of the mansion.

  “Understood! You’ve juiced everything?”

  “Affirmative, Danny, it’s all gonna burn.”

  Namara set fire to Brakan’s corps that had been sprinkled with gasoline in the centre of the pentagram. In a few seconds, the fire spread to the walls and climbed the curtains. It rushed down the corridor along the trail of gasoline they’d poured to reach the superior stages of the residence. Namara stood there watching Brakan get eaten by the flames.

  “Come on, Namara! We gotta go, everything’s burning!” shouted Guerra.

  They ran up toward the exit. The fire had spread to all the walls in a few minutes, becoming a more and more powerful inferno. They left through the central door and ran as fast as possible from the house. Others waited for them at the edge of the vegetation lining the terrain. Namara, surrounded by the others, turned to watch the house be consumed by a thousand flames that licked the sky. They stayed for a few minutes to admire their handiwork; then, they disappeared into the vegetation as the sun rose peacefully.

  CHAPTER 68

  San Matanza, Mexico.

  “Yes, hello?”

  “Armando?” asked Namara at the other end of the line.

  “Yeah?”

  “Erick Vandal. Do you remember me?”

  “Erick! Yes, of course! Have you found anything else?”

  There was a long silence.

  “You told me you would want to know if we ever found the truth.”

  “Yes, of course! Have you… found them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who are they? Tell me!!”

  “Yes, but you have to promise me something…”

  “I’m listening.”

  “No matter what you see, do not intervene. Stay away, you understand!?”

  “I heard you, but how did you find them?”

  “It’s a long story. I was never a journalist, Armando, you need to know that. Who I am isn’t really important. What’s important is answers.”

  “Yes, yes, of course! What do I do?”

  “Tomorrow evening, six o’clock. 278 Escondido. Stay back and wait. Don’t come alone, come with people you trust. Come with a van. If things turn out bad, get the fuck out. Understand?”

  “Yeah, but… what are we doing?”

  “Nothing. You’re doing nothing but watching. You’ll get the answers you were looking for. Your theory was good. They are Satanists and there is a network. We’ve taken out a lot, but tomorrow we’ll finish the job.”

  “Who are you!?”

  “Be there tomorrow, Armando.”

  Namara hung up the handset and continued to look over the satellite phot
os that Andy had sent him by email. There was clearly a lime green shed in the back yard of the garage on Avenue Escondido. Same lime green that he saw in his visions, same lime green found on Ed's shotgun stock. In his visions, he’d seen some turning red thing, and there was clearly a sort of old windmill, painted red, at one end of the yard. The old propeller indicated the direction of the wind. Everything in his visions had been proven true. He had spoken with Jovanna upon their return and asked what she remembered of her kidnapping. She recalled being held underground and the only thing she saw through her restraints, when they carried her out of the trunk, was green. Lime green. The same shade, in fact, that Namara could see in the photo. He was sure now that he’d found the hiding place of the Desert Devils. He closed the screen and took a gulp of coffee.

  * * *

  Armando waited patiently at the wheel of his vehicle. The three women and the man that accompanied him were all those that had lost a member of their family to these killers. Erick had told him to bring only those he trusted – there was no-one he would trust more in this situation. He checked his watch. It was 6:00. Nothing in sight. He scanned the garage that corresponded to the given address. The garage had just closed its doors and there was no activity in the neighbourhood.

  Then, three black Yukons in a row arrived at full speed. The first vehicle braked suddenly in front of the padlocked doors of the garage’s back yard. Men in black, armed and hooded, climbed out of the three vehicles. One of the men, brandishing a mace, smashed the padlocks with a powerful blow. The metal gave and the doors opened, giving way to an immense scrap yard. The men ran inside.