WAR: Intrusion

by Vanessa Kier

  Annoyed by the excessive manpower, he waited until MacKay had passed the next intersection, then pressed the button to lower the fire door. The expressions on his men’s faces were comical as the door cut them off from MacKay.

  “Tell the men that they are needed at the back in order to fight the approaching government troops,” he instructed the senior bodyguard. “We will handle MacKay.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Watching the progress of Dr. Kirk and Mrs. N’Dorah, Natchaba triggered a door to close behind them, as well. Only this door trapped the women on the same side as his evacuating men, although still some distance away. Should he warn his men to look out for the women? He considered the possible outcomes. No. His men needed to remain focused on removing the crates of weapons.

  Returning his attention to MacKay, Natchaba cut the corridor lights. While it eliminated his view of MacKay—the infrared system had been scheduled to be installed next month—it would slow the man down. His men needed a few more minutes to finish carrying the boxes out to his SUV.

  He did a quick check of his office, confirming that everything he needed to set up at another base had been removed. Because he’d always understood that the place where he stored his weapons would be a target for his enemies, he kept most of his business records at his main office.

  Reassured that he had not forgotten anything, he set the box of explosive mobile phones on top of the boxes stacked on the final hand cart, then scrolled one last time through the video feeds on his laptop. The government forces were now engaged with his men in the jungle behind the rear exit, but the rest of his men had managed to get several lorries past the fighting already.

  But at the front door… He frowned. The government forces had set up a missile launcher. What did they expect to—

  They fired. Natchaba quickly shifted the view on his screen to show multiple camera feeds at once. No! What fool had opened the front door? He hit the button to lower the emergency door, but he wasn’t in time. He watched in fury as the missile sailed through the corridor toward the main cavern and hit the partially closed door. The door sheered off and the missile continued a few more feet before exploding.

  The floor underneath Natchaba’s feet shook.

  Slamming his laptop shut, he slid it into its case and set the case in an open box. The guard in charge of the cart stepped forward and settled the box’s lid in place.

  “Go,” Natchaba ordered. The guard pushed the hand cart toward the entrance to the secret tunnel. The other three guards should almost be at the SUV with their carts. Natchaba was about to activate the self-destruct mechanism when one of the other men came racing back down the tunnel.

  “Sir! You cannot escape this way. Someone has set off the booby-trap and the far end of the tunnel has collapsed. There is no way through.”

  “So. We have a traitor.” There were only two triggers for that booby-trap. His mobile phone, which he held in his hand, and a manual trigger hidden in the exterior wall. Only someone who knew the mechanism was there would have been able to find it. He had suspected that someone inside had helped MacKay. This was the proof. “Very well. We will leave via the main corridor.”

  He stepped back into his office. “You,” he said to the senior bodyguard. “Go into the corridor. Find MacKay. He was last spotted by the supply master’s office. Kill him.” He held out one of the exploding mobile phones. “Press one and star then throw it in MacKay’s direction if you have no other choice.”

  The man nodded. He knew what the device would do.

  “Do you wish for me to turn on the overhead lights in the corridor?” Natchaba asked.

  “No, sir. However, I would appreciate it if you would please shut off the lights here so that MacKay does not see me exit.”

  Natchaba did not like taking orders, even one couched as a request. Still, the man had a point. When his bodyguard was poised at the door like a hunting dog, Natchaba shut off the lights.

  He heard the door open, then close.

  Another explosion rocked the office. Gunfire sounded in the corridor.

  Natchaba pressed the light switch, but nothing happened.

  A METAL FIRE door slammed down behind Lachlan, cutting off the rebels who’d been chasing him. Cursing the fact that there were no hiding places along this corridor unless he wanted to risk opening one of the doors, he moved to the left side and put his back to the wall. He shifted the AK-47 on its sling so that it didn’t dig into his back and tightened his grip on the pistol.

  The corridor was silent except for the sound of Lachlan’s breathing. Every instinct told him he’d been herded into a trap. A feeling only reinforced when the lights went out. Yet, with his retreat blocked by the fire door, Lachlan had no other choice but to move forward.

  He’d spotted several discretely placed cameras along the previous corridors. Although Lachlan had already taken out the communications center, he had to assume that Natchaba had a direct feed to the corridor cameras. Since the lights had been cut, Lachlan figured Natchaba must also have wired the corridor with infrared technology. Besides potential booby-traps, what else waited in the dark? Shooters hiding behind doors? Was the objective to capture Lachlan or to kill him?

  What Lachlan really needed to know was if Natchaba had watched as Lachlan led Helen and Mrs. N’Dorah to the storage room. Had Natchaba already sent in his men to capture or kill the women?

  Icy fingers squeezed his heart.

  Lachlan had to find his way back to Helen and Mrs. N’Dorah. He couldn’t be too late again.

  Don’t panic. First things first. Get out of here. Then save the women.

  He took a deep breath and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. In order to stop the men who’d been chasing him from drawing too close, Lachlan had used up both the extra magazines for the AK-47. Since Natchaba or whoever else was watching the camera feeds wouldn’t know that he was out of ammunition, Lachlan decided to keep the weapon with him as a possible psychological deterrent. At the very least, he could use it as a club.

  He turned on the red LED light on his stolen torch. If he was being watched, it wouldn’t matter if he used the regular beam, but there was no point in offering a too obvious target. Plus, the red light would help preserve his night vision. Holding the loaded pistol in his hand as he walked, he scanned his surroundings for any bulges or color inconsistencies that might indicate a booby-trap.

  An explosion on the other side of the fire door shook the corridor, throwing Lachlan to his knees. Debris rained down from the ceiling. The shaking popped open the door to the room he’d just passed. Lachlan caught the motion of the swinging door out of the corner of his eye and dove away just as the room exploded.

  He continued rolling down the corridor until he was out of reach of the expanding wave of heat. Once the corridor settled into heavy silence, Lachlan climbed to his feet.

  Right. At least some of the rooms were booby-trapped. Good to know.

  He had only taken a few steps when he spotted a light underneath a door up ahead. Natchaba? Could he be so lucky? If he could capture Natchaba, the man would make an excellent bargaining chip if the women were prisoners.

  Lachlan eased toward the office door. He’d almost reached it, when the lights inside the office went off.

  Lachlan shut off his torch and hurried past the door. Then he pressed himself against the wall. He heard the door open, then shut. A torch flickered on, revealing one of Natchaba’s bodyguards pacing carefully toward the place where Lachlan had just been.

  Aye. Someone had been monitoring him.

  The corridor shuddered under the force of another explosion. The bodyguard fell down on one knee and braced himself with a hand against the wall. While Lachlan held his breath, hoping the man wouldn’t look his way, the bodyguard pushed himself to his feet, then continued walking toward the fire door, shining his torch from side to side.

  A loud pop sounded from the direction of the office that had exploded. The bodyguard spun, fired in that
direction, then ran forward. Lachlan followed, staying far enough back that he was still in shadow. The pop had probably been a piece of wood expanding too rapidly, but it had revealed the speed of the bodyguard’s reflexes. Just before the man reached the still burning office, his body exploded.

  Lachlan threw himself to the ground as pieces of rock and flesh rained down on him.

  Shite. Another miniature explosive device? Had the bodyguard intended to use it to kill Lachlan and it had triggered early? Or had Natchaba deliberately killed his own man?

  In the silent aftermath, Lachlan heard the squeak of a wheel in the direction of Natchaba’s office. Wary of who might be watching him, Lachlan slowly turned his head. At the far end of the corridor, a rebel pushed a handcart loaded with filing boxes away from Lachlan’s position. A torch that had been wedged between two boxes provided illumination for the man behind the cart and the armed guard following him. Natchaba walked slightly ahead of them both. A heartbeat later he reached a bend in the corridor and turned out of sight.

  Once the entire group had disappeared around the bend, Lachlan turned on his LED light and approached what was left of the bodyguard. He cursed. The explosion had not only fragmented the man’s body, but the extra magazines of ammunition Lachlan needed for the AK-47 had exploded. So much for reloading.

  Right, then. Stepping carefully so he didn’t slip in the dead man’s remains, Lachlan followed Natchaba’s group. Once the floor was clear, he broke into a quiet jog. A few meters before the bend he slowed to a walk and shut off his torch. Placing each foot with care so as to remain silent as the noisy handcart faded into the distance, Lachlan snuck up to the bend then dropped to his belly and eased around the turn until he had a clear line of sight into the next leg of the corridor.

  At the far end, natural light filtered in from a large opening to the right, revealing a surprisingly bustling scene. Rebels pushing handcarts, driving forklifts, and carrying boxes crowded into a packed queue as they headed for a short side corridor that likely led to the back door. The base appeared to be evacuating.

  Lachlan searched for Helen and Mrs. N’Dorah in case they had been taken prisoner and were being escorted outside. When he didn’t spot them, relief flooded him.

  Natchaba had stopped several dozen meters behind the throng of rebels. Lachlan was tempted to shoot him, but that would be suicidal. With the way back blocked by the fire door, he’d never make it out alive.

  Jaw clenched, Lachlan watched as Natchaba reached out and tapped a pattern on the wall. A section of the wall slid back to reveal an escape tunnel. Natchaba motioned for the man pushing the handcart to go in ahead of him.

  The rebels at the back of the queue noticed the new escape route and ran toward Natchaba. He shook his head and motioned them back. When they ignored him, Natchaba and the guard who’d been following the handcart strode toward them. The guard threatened the men with his rifle, but in their panic to get out of the tunnel, they kept coming. The guard hit the first man in the belly with his rifle, which caused the men to pause in shock.

  While his bodyguard held his men at bay, Natchaba lunged toward the wall and slapped a button. A moment later, a metal door slid down in front of the men. One man darted forward and slid underneath the door just before it clanged shut.

  Before the man regained his feet, and before his bodyguard could react, Natchaba shot the man. Then he pivoted on his heel and ran back toward the escape tunnel. Toward Lachlan.

  Yes. Come to me. Still on his belly, Lachlan splayed his legs behind him and braced his upper body in a shooter’s position.

  Fury at the pain and terrible deaths Natchaba had caused pulsed through Lachlan in waves that tinged his vision red. He wanted to watch Natchaba die. Wanted to hear the man scream in pain. He wanted to see the man’s blood run down his chest.

  His mind flashed back to the bloody, mutilated bodies at the hospital.

  No!

  He wasn’t his father. He would not give in to this darkness. He was a professional who would stay true to his training and act out of logic, not emotion.

  Lachlan pulled the trigger. But just as Lachlan fired, Natchaba darted into the escape tunnel. Lachlan fired twice more, taking out the bodyguard, before scrambling out of sight.

  “I should have known you weren’t dead, MacKay,” Natchaba called. “A pity. But easily rectified.”

  Something hard hit the floor on the other side of the bend in the corridor.

  Fuck!

  Lachlan darted round the corner, snatched the mobile phone sliding toward him, and lobbed it toward the half-closed door of Natchaba’s escape tunnel. As he dove back to safety, he saw Natchaba slip out of the tunnel just before the door shut completely.

  Bastard.

  The phone exploded inside the escape tunnel. Lachlan heard a thud and a grunt of pain. Then running footsteps heading his direction. Natchaba came around the corner firing, but Lachlan had shifted position and was now standing in a shallow alcove on the opposite side of the corridor. Natchaba’s bullets missed him. When Natchaba drew even with him, Lachlan swung his AK-47 like a cricket bat toward Natchaba’s gut and was rewarded with a satisfying oomph of painfully expelled air and the clink of the pistol as it fell from Natchaba’s hand to the rocky floor.

  Natchaba stumbled back into the main corridor, grabbing onto the rifle and using his body’s momentum to jerk it sideways. But Lachlan had anticipated that. He let go. The sudden loss of resistance unbalanced Natchaba. He dropped the rifle and threw his arms out to his sides.

  Before Natchaba steadied himself, Lachlan nailed his sternum with a push kick that forced the other man back toward the burning entrance to the escape tunnel. Lachlan kept a tight rein on his emotions and simply focused on the logistics of taking down his opponent. Think of Natchaba as an obstacle. Not as someone you need to punish.

  Natchaba reached for Lachlan’s leg as he fell against the wall, but Lachlan had retracted his kick too quickly. Lachlan followed up with several punches to Natchaba’s face and torso. As Lachlan drove Natchaba farther toward the metal door blocking the corridor, it became more difficult to hold back his emotions. Each blow Lachlan landed filled him with satisfaction at being able to pay Natchaba back in even a small way for the deep pain and suffering he’d caused Helen and everyone else.

  No. Remember. Use logic. Not emotion.

  Right. Lachlan dodged another blow and slammed his fist into Natchaba’s nose. Cartilage crunched and blood spurted.

  Yes, there was a primitive thrill in testing himself against an opponent. But it was the thrill of survival. Not an addiction to power that must be fed by the fear and suffering of another.

  Natchaba’s fist connected with Lachlan’s ear. Lachlan responded with another kick that sent Natchaba to his knees. Natchaba rolled to his right and fast-crawled toward the fallen bodyguard, but Lachlan tackled him just before Natchaba’s fingers closed over the dead man’s pistol.

  They grappled and rolled. Natchaba fought with the desperation of a wild animal. Lachlan hit him with a series of elbow strikes and punches. Lachlan’s knuckles, still bruised and torn from the beating he’d given the convoy leader, throbbed with each blow he landed.

  He rolled, pinning Natchaba beneath him on his back. Lachlan’s thighs held Natchaba’s hands trapped against his own hips. Lachlan stared down into Natchaba’s battered face. The man’s broken nose did nothing to lessen his defiance. “What now, MacKay?” Natchaba struggled to get free, but Lachlan had him properly restrained.

  “Perhaps I will kill you. Butcher you as your men did the people at the hospital.”

  “You won’t kill me,” Natchaba sneered. “You WAR types are all the same. You believe human life has value.”

  Lachlan gave Natchaba his coldest smile, channelling his father. “Are you so certain?” But even as the words came out of his mouth, Lachlan knew that Natchaba was right. He could justify the violent beating he’d given the convoy leader because he’d needed information that would lead to He
len’s rescue. Not only did Lachlan not have the heart or the will to perform such butchery, but if he killed Natchaba now it would not be justified. It would only be a selfish attempt to satisfy his own thirst for vengeance. For violence.

  “You’re right,” Lachlan said. “I won’t kill you. Because I’m a better man than you are. I don’t kill for the thrill of taking a life. I kill to survive or to protect the lives of others.” His father’s darkness might live within him, but it was Lachlan’s choice whether or not to let it rule him.

  Today, he chose to rise above the darkness. He would knock Natchaba out, tie him up, and hand him over to the—

  “Lachlan, behind you!” Helen cried out.

  At the sound of his name, Lachlan threw himself to the side and rolled away as a bullet whizzed past. What the fuck was Helen doing here? He’d thought she was safe.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  HELEN HAD CRACKED open the infirmary door when she first heard Natchaba’s voice out in the corridor. Once she’d determined that no one was looking in her direction, she’d watched the enfolding action, hoping for a chance to stop Natchaba. But Lachlan had things well under control. After a brutal one-on-one fight during which Helen had barely dared to breathe, Lachlan finally pinned Natchaba beneath him.

  Motion caught Helen’s eye. Across the corridor, a rebel had stepped into the ruined doorway to the escape tunnel. He surveyed the scene, then raised his pistol toward Lachlan.

  Helen threw open the door to the infirmary. “Lachlan, behind you!” she cried, pulling the gun out of her pocket.

  Lachlan rolled off Natchaba as the rebel fired. Helen shot the rebel, firing twice before he fell.

  “Helen! To your left!” Lachlan yelled.

  She pivoted. Natchaba had scrambled over to the rebel he’d shot earlier. He snatched the man’s pistol and pointed it at Helen. Before her brain even had time to register the danger, Lachlan dove in front of her, his hand extended as he fired at Natchaba.