The Depository

by E Y Mak

  Benita leaned over and motioned to Candice. “May I?” she asked.

  Candice passed her the tablet. Benita spent the next few seconds zooming, panning, and manipulating the three-dimensional rendering of the device.

  Suddenly, she gasped and said, “Oh my God.”

  “What is it?” Petri asked from his hiding spot. He had taken cover in one of the trees above their group.

  “I think I found Russell. He looks in bad shape,” Benita said in a deep, monotone voice.

  Candice leaned over to the display. Tucked away in the southeast corner of the building was what appeared to be three heat masses crowded around another person, suspended in what appeared to be a slightly inverted position. The three attackers took turns crouching over the upturned body.

  “We can’t be sure that’s him,” Candice said, trying to cheer Benita up. She clearly had a thing for Russell. “The scanners haven’t confirmed his heartbeat.”

  Candice saw Benita cringe as one of the three standing blobs repeatedly kicked the sitting blob in the midsection. She looked down at her watch. It could be a long time before the Mercs arrived. Would Russell last that long?

  Candice called out Ricardo’s codename. “Lancer, VIP located. I’m sending you his coordinates.”

  “Roger. Maintain hold.”

  “Copy,” Candice confirmed. She looked over and saw Benita’s face paler than usual, her lower lip trembling.

  “You okay?” Candice asked.

  “We can’t just sit here,” Benita seethed. “Who knows how long it might take for your Mercs to arrive!”

  Despite her angry speech, Benita remained focused-looking straight ahead towards the compound through her binoculars. Perhaps she could not bear to look at the tablet any longer.

  Candice spent the next few minutes switching between the dim glow of the tablet and maintaining visual contact with the compound. During this time, she located and tracked seven different guards and three distinct sentry patterns. She also found something odd in the compound rendering.

  There appeared to be a huge room which she estimated to be the size of an Olympic gymnasium. The heat signatures suggested a mass of electronics heating up due to excessive use.

  “Lancer, look at the following coordinates,” said Candice as she sent an electronic communication to Ricardo.

  “Roger,” Ricardo said. Thirty seconds passed before he responded excitedly. “That looks like it could be the computers where the data is stored.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” said Candice as she continued to scan the compound. “Wait, something’s happening.”

  She watched as a sudden stream of chaotic movement simultaneously started all over the compound. More guards ran over to man the ramparts at the main entrance. The main door opened, and several guards exited and began loading into a modified pickup truck with a gunner installed on the bed. The vehicle started working its way up towards where Ricardo and the soldiers were located.

  “Lancer, they’re coming your way,” said Candice into the tiny handset. She then heard Ricardo say something, but his speech was muffled.

  “Repeat?” Candice said quickly into the microphone.

  Silence.

  There was no time for clarification. The truck was now heading up towards the main road where Ricardo and his team were stationed two miles down the road.

  While the militant truck worked its way slowly down the road, hobbled and slowed by having to navigate the brush, the convoy of three Humvees led by Ricardo accelerated up from the other side of the path. Candice could see the military vehicles cut down the surrounding plantation with ease, quickly moving up towards the compound with relative impunity.

  As the militant truck came within about fifty yards of the approaching convoy, it slowed and stopped in the path. Candice thought they might have seen the oncoming headlights of the convoy. Militants began exiting the truck, but the first Humvee smashed into the vehicle head-on, knocking it on its side. The occupants of the truck were flung out of and into the trees. The second Humvee swerved off the path, and in the distance, Candice heard a crunch and a scream. The third Humvee followed along the main path.

  Ricardo said, “We have engaged.”

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  The Phineas plan provide that Schmidt and Mueller finish climbing the cliff and plant remote charges on six different areas of the compound. Candice saw the two dots representing them moving from their perch on the southeast cliff. After almost a full day stationed on climbing hammocks, they scaled the rock face with ease. They were so confident in their free-climbing abilities, Candice imagined them as two spiders moving quickly up the side of a tree.

  Yesterday, before they had left, Schmidt had told her that both had spent ten years with the Sayeret unit of the Israeli Defence Forces. He specialized in intelligence, reconnaissance, and surveillance, making him the ideal candidate as a drone operator, even though the drones were, for the most part, self-operated. Mueller, on the other hand, had spent six years operating behind enemy lines with the Mista’arvim counterterrorism units. As a result, Mueller was well-suited for blending in effortlessly with the enemy.

  Together, they were a formidable partnership.

  “Checkpoint A,” Schmidt’s voice crackled in the radio, signifying that he and Mueller had ascended to the base level.

  Candice responded, “Two tangos behind the helicopter. Another tango on the southeast roof, but he’s not looking your way.”

  “Copy,” crackled Schmidt into her earpiece.

  Candice watched on the tablet as Schmidt and Mueller crept towards the helicopter. They went around the far side of the helicopter from Candice, sneaking up on the guards from behind. After a short delay, the ex-Israeli soldiers simultaneously choked out the guards from behind, silently and efficiently.

  “Area secured,” Mueller’s voice whispered into Candice’s headset.

  As she watched the Israelis tie up and hide the unconscious guards in the helicopter, a chain of blue dots on the tablet—Ricardo’s convoy of Humvees—continued towards the main entrance of the compound. Spotlights rang out from the front entrance of the compound, illuminating the lead Humvee’s approach.

  As the Humvee advanced, a full complement of militants rushed out onto the roof, taking defensive positions on the ramparts. Candice could see the dull trim of their assault rifles aimed directly at the Phineas convoy. They were all dressed in mismatched camouflage fatigues. Lights flashed to the left and the right of the main door, now spotlighting all three of the military vehicles in a warm, yellow glow.

  As this was all unfolding in front of her, Candice suddenly heard explosions to her right. She turned and watched as incendiary fire shoot out from the southeast side of the compound. Cement blocks from the southeast corner flew into the air, and two blocks fell onto several Mauritius’s militants stationed at the front entrance, killing them instantly.

  As she soaked in the multiple violent scenes unfolding in front of her, Benita moved into a crouching position beside her.

  “I have to go,” she said with steely determination. “Russell’s alone. We still don’t know when the Mercs are arriving. He’s going to need our help. Now’s the time when everyone is distracted.”

  “We’re under orders to hold the position,” Candice said.

  “You can come with me, or you can stay behind. But I’m only here to help Russell. I’m not in your chain of command.”

  Candice looked back to Bob. Bob nodded without turning his head from the compound.

  Petri, who was still hiding in the tree above them, simply said, “Good luck.”

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  The door hinges protest loudly as I enter the cell.

  I am here, not because I want to be here, but because I failed my last mission. I have a new job, and the Warden needs me in Cameroon.

  This will be my last assignment. Not because the Warden said so. But because it is time for my release. He is nearby.

  But
I still do these assignments with pleasure.

  There are those who are trained in the art of torture. But most can only go so far because it is human instinct to not want to inflict pain and suffering.

  And then there is me. Those who are born different. I do not know that same remorse that others have spoken of. The sweet suffering feeds me. It gives me energy.

  I do it with pleasure.

  The Warden has chosen me because he needs someone with my talents. He has always trusted me to eliminate those in his way. I am one of the few that have mastered this unique skill.

  He knows I was forced to leave the city. He uses his talents sparingly, he told me. And though I was no longer useful to him in New York, he found a way to get me here.

  I walk towards the cell where my next victim awaits. Someone that I’m not to kill right away. As much as I love the hunt, it is not just the hunt that excites me.

  It is the fear.

  The fear that I have seen in the eyes of the countless prey that I have killed over the years.

  Honing my craft.

  The fear that I see in the eyes of those that I have been tasked to kill. To put them in a position where they are forced to do the unthinkable. To kill oneself, the very act a sin against God, an abhorrent act, but an act that I have caused dozens of times.

  I am God.

  I stop just outside the room, kneel down, and open the backpack. I feel the beads of sweat pouring profusely down my forehead. It is hot here, but it is the excitement that is causing me to sweat uncontrollably.

  I feel around in my sack and take out a syringe and the bottle with the toxin. I fill the needle with the amount necessary to stop my perspiring. I inject the poison into the same five spots on my forehead. It will stop the sweat for the next few hours and allow me to focus.

  The familiar feeling of rigidity grows in my head as the skin tightens and grows hard in my face. A humorous side effect to this Botox. I smile, but I know that I do not look like I am smiling.

  I enter the cell, turn the light on, and face my next victim. I stand in the doorway, staring at the person in front of me.

  My victim looks back at me, blinking as his eyes adjust to the light.

  “Hey, Russell,” I hear myself saying.

  Chapter Seventy

  Russell blinked slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the sudden burst of light. The dark silhouette in front of him morphed into a familiar face.

  A familiar face that was also now expressionless.

  It was Harry Lions.

  “You killed Tim Butler, Harry,” Russell said.

  “Good to see you too,” Harry said as he grabbed the surgical kit tucked underneath his left armpit and set it on the table. He unrolled the bag slowly and deliberately, and though Russell couldn’t see the content of the kit he could see the gleam of surgical instruments reflecting above him on the ceiling.

  “How did you know?” Harry asked. “Did the Phineas cameras tell you?”

  “I saw your file on Mauritius’s computer. Phineas knows about it now. That you were murdering women up and down the East Coast for years. He needed someone at the NYPD. You were a perfect tool for him. But it was a symbiotic relationship. He sweetened the deal for you by providing you with any information you needed to carry out your crimes,” Russell said. “I’ve had time to think about it for the last few days. Tim’s gold discovery in Cameroon was a once-in-a-lifetime affair. But it attracted a lot of attention to the area and Mauritius needed privacy here. So he offered to buy Tim out. When Tim refused—that’s where you come in. Plan B.”

  “You’re sharper than I gave you credit for, Russell. I always thought you just had the tech advantage,” Harry retorted as he walked over, holding a filet knife in his right hand. Russell kicked reflexively as Harry poked the soft flesh in his left foot.

  “I understand that there is some information that Mauritius needs. I’m one of many of his specialists in data retrieval. Give it to me and I’ll kill you without enjoying it too much,” said Harry.

  Russell ignored his request but squirmed further. “Your secret is out. You have nowhere to—” He was abruptly halted by a flash of pain cutting through his body as he felt the knife penetrating the bottom of his foot.

  Harry walked up and knelt down beside Russell. “The password and the name, Russell. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he whispered into Russell’s ear.

  Russell maintained his silence as blood from the wound in his mouth continued dripping downwards towards his nose. His mind was once again torn away as he felt the knife being gently twisted in his feet.

  His screams of pain filled the room.

  The explosion rocked the all-terrain vehicle in front of Russell, sending it and its rider spinning upwards fifty feet above the sand dune.

  It was 2002 and the three of them in this ATV unit, James, Russell, and Ryan, were scouting out routes into and out of the Shah-i-Kot Valley in the Paktia province of Afghanistan. Instead of conducting helicopter infiltration of the valley, the operation commander used a broad range of surface reconnaissance to avoid alerting terrorists. The ATVs were common vehicles in the valley, and they had managed to return invaluable, and vital, intelligence to the operation thus far.

  “James!” Russell shouted hoarsely at his fellow Canadian.

  James had just taken point on the unit as they wound their way around the high-altitude twists of the valley. As Russell watched his friend rocket up into the air and land thirty yards in front of him, his mind raced at the untold dangers that may lay hidden ahead. His friend was in the open, and going to help him might expose Russell and Ryan to enemy fire or trigger another improvised explosive device that would make short work of the unprotected ATV.

  In the distance, Russell heard a moan and saw some movement.

  “Help,” yelled James weakly.

  Russell turned to Ryan, who nodded at him. They both flung the accelerators on the handles of their ATVs and ripped off down the sandy path and into the open desert towards their fallen comrade, dodging tumbleweeds and rocks and dips and shrubbery.

  They made it to James in about ten seconds. Russell and Ryan stopped three feet away from him, and both hopped off of their ATVs, killing the ignitions.

  James was mangled but still alive. Barely. He was bleeding out from gaping holes in his chest and right thigh. He was not going to make it. But they would try, nevertheless.

  Aside from the explosion still ringing in his ears, the air was quiet. It was an unsettling stillness. Ryan must have sensed it too. Danger surrounded them, but both of them knew exactly what had to be done. They weren’t going to leave him here. Not today.

  “Quickly,” said Ryan.

  Russell nodded, and together they pulled James’s onto Ryan’s ATV. After securing him down, they restarted the ATVs. Russell rode ahead and they backtracked to the path that would return them to base.

  It was about five minutes later, as they were making their way towards the top of the valley, when he saw it. It was a flash of glass, about fifty yards to their left.

  A targeting scope.

  Then he saw the explosion in front of him. A bright red ball of fire not twenty feet ahead in his direct path.

  The light burned his eyes as the sound burned his ears.

  But he managed to maneuver through it.

  More explosions. In front, behind, and on both sides. Louder and brighter.

  Suddenly, the loudest explosion so far ripped the air just behind him.

  He turned back to see Ryan’s ATV propelled directly towards him.

  And then more explosions.

  What the hell was going on?

  Russell looked around him. He was still suspended on the table. Harry was away from the table, looking out the window.

  Another explosion.

  Russell struggled to free himself, and he realized that the binding on his left hand had loosened.

  More explosions. A chain of them this time, moving closer to the cell.
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  He continued to tug at the bindings, managing to quickly wiggle free both of his hands when Harry spoke to him from the window.

  “It looks your friends have come for you,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “A pity. We were just getting started. Now we’ll have to spoil it by rushing.”

  Russell quickly slipped his hands back into the ropes just moments before Harry turned back from the window and crossed the room.

  “Anything worth doing is worth taking one’s time on,” he said dully, punctuating the statement by slapping Russell across the face.

  Numbness began permeating the right side of his jaw and the inside of his cheek. He closed his mouth to keep the insides of his body from lurching out of his throat. He felt Harry’s hot breath on his cheek, a couple degrees warmer than the humid jungle air. He was close.

  Now.

  Russell opened his eyes and slipped his hands from the ropes. In one swift motion, using all of his remaining strength, he grabbed Harry’s head and pulled down hard, slamming Harry’s face violently into the table. Harry groaned and let go of the knife. The blade clattered loudly onto the table next to Russell.

  Russell grabbed the weapon. With blood and sweat streaming down his face, he pulled himself up and cut the rope binding his feet. He dropped off the table. The hours of inversion had drained all of the blood into his upper body. His legs buckled immediately. He fell into a crumpled heap on the cold cement floor. He felt the sticky sensation of his bare right foot creating a bloody outline on the floor. Crawling forward, he knocked over the bucket on the ground next to the waterboarding table. It rolled loudly and irregularly, resting in a trough funneling water into a drain near the window.

  Squinting in the bloody darkness, he saw Harry resting on one knee. For a brief second, Russell thought he saw a look of fear in Harry’s deep-set eyes as he focused on the knife in Russell’s hand. Harry, however, quickly calmed and let out an eerie laugh—but just the sound. There was no movement in his face.