No Sanctuary Box Set: The No Sanctuary Omnibus - Books 1-6

by Mike Kraus

  “Rollins.” Jackson growled as he forced her back down to the ground again. “Your ribs are cracked and you have severe bruising pretty much everywhere. You might be feeling fantastic right now but we need to at least bind your chest with some bandages before you start throwing yourself around all over the place, okay?”

  Linda nodded slowly and sighed. “Fine.”

  Jackson eased off of her, helping her slowly rise to a sitting position on the floor. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I’m three miles high and nothing can stop me.”

  “You still with us?”

  Linda nodded. “I experimented once or twice in my youth, Jackson. If I start losing it I’ll tell you, okay?” With a slight groan she lifted her arms and nodded at the medical bag. “Hurry up and get those bandages around my chest. I want to get up and going before any of this stuff starts to wear off.” Jackson pulled her shirt up and began winding tight layers of bandages around her ribcage. She winced at every pull Jackson made to tighten the bandages, but soon the discomfort began to subside thanks to the combination of the wrap and the painkillers.

  “Linda!” Alerted by her talking, Frank hurried over and knelt down next to her as Jackson finished up. “Should you be moving?”

  Linda smiled and patted Frank on the shoulder, surprised by the lack of pain involved in the movement. “I’ll be fine, for a while. Once these painkillers start wearing off I don’t know what’s going to happen, though, so let’s get moving, okay?”

  Frank stood and took her hand, helping her to her feet while simultaneously giving Jackson a concerned look. “Is she—are you sure she can do this?”

  Jackson shook his head. “Nope. But the alternative was to have her break my wrist and string me up by my entrails so I figured I’d do what she said.”

  “Quit your whining, Jackson. I’ll be fine. This stuff’ll keep me going for long enough for us to find him.”

  “We’re going to go after Omar now?”

  “You’d better believe it.” Linda nodded. “He doesn’t get to use me as his personal punching bag for hours on end and just get away. Besides, he’s scared.” She smiled at the thought and Frank nodded.

  “All right. Where do you think he went?”

  “All units, I need reports. Any sign of where those targets fled to?”

  “North somewhere, sir, in a militarized vehicle. We got a few shots off on them and we may have punctured their oil pan. There’s a pretty sizable leak in the road heading north. We were going to take one of their vehicles from out back and pursue, but you had us pull back.”

  “Understood. Get ready to move out. We’re going to finish up and move out in pursuit.”

  “Yes, sir.” There was a pause accompanied by several seconds of static, then the soldier’s voice came through again, though a hint of panic accompanied it. “Sir, we may have a problem.”

  “What is it?” Jackson secured his packs and grabbed his rifle as he ran to the window overlooking the front entrance to the building. Although the glass in the window was still present, he could hear the faint rumble of engines as they drew closer. “All units, we have incoming forces from the south! Assume them to be hostiles, take up defensive positions and prepare to engage on my signal!”

  “Jackson.” Linda approached him from behind and tapped him on the shoulder. “We can’t stay here; he’s probably diverted forces from the south to try and hold us off until he can retreat. If we don’t leave right now then we’re going to lose him—possibly for good.”

  “I can’t just abandon these men! They volunteered to come up here and search for you with Richards and I!”

  “Who said anything about abandoning them?” Linda replied. “Just pull everyone back, we’ll go out the back door, take the vehicle they spotted and head out after Omar.”

  “Rollins, I’ll chalk this moment of idiocy up to the drugs; just how in the hell do you expect them to let us get away unless there’s someone here to hold them off?”

  “Sir, it’s two trucks full; they’re disembarking! Should we open fire?”

  “Yes, dammit! Open fire! Open fire!” Jackson yelled back as he looked to see the waves of enemy men running across the nearby street like so many ants. Gunfire burst from the windows below and several of them fell to the ground, though others found cover and began returning fire on the office building.

  “Jackson!” Linda pulled on his jacket. “Omar is the only objective here! If we can get him, then we can cut off the head of the snake!”

  “I’m not aban—”

  “Jackson!” Linda pulled him away from the window and bellowed in his face. “These men volunteered to give us a fighting chance to get Omar. We have that chance right now! You, me and Frank can take him down!”

  “Sir, she’s absolutely right.” The voice came through Jackon’s earpiece and he realized that the microphone had been inadvertently triggered when Linda was spinning him around. “There were only five of them; the three of you can push up and be on them before they know what hit them. We’ll hold these guys off. We’ve got more than enough ammo and superior positioning.”

  “I—” Jackson hesitated, struggling between his unwavering loyalty to those under his command and the need to capture or kill Omar. “You four stay safe and send up a flare for reinforcements; we’ll be back as soon as we get him.”

  “Yes, sir; you got it. Stay safe, all of you.”

  Jackson turned to Linda and shook his head at her. “You sure you’re in a condition to move out?”

  She rolled her eyes and snorted at him. “Just get me a gun and point me in the right direction.”

  Chapter 8

  It only takes Farhad Omar two years to rise from relatively low on the totem pole in his work to being one of the most powerful men in the Iranian military. His family’s reputation combined with his education, hard work, breakthrough weapons developments and becoming close friends with the Iranian president have put him in a position where he wields an enormous amount of behind-the-scenes power. He does not use the power to further himself, choosing instead to use it in small places here and there, shaping the course of a program here and influencing a foreign policy there.

  By ensuring that he remains distant and does not personally profit or benefit from the seeds he is sowing, Omar ensures that he remains in a position to reap long-term rewards, no matter the outcome. And the outcome is fierce. Through careful manipulation, falsifying of evidence, targeted hacking and advanced intelligence-gathering and disseminating actions, he is able to bring about an invasion of his home country by a potent enemy.

  The orchestration of the USA’s invasion of his country is the culmination of years of work. As the Iranian military works to fend off the invaders, Omar is given free reign and unlimited amounts of resources to develop ways to beat them back. Programs that would have been taboo before the invasion are encouraged and lauded, allowing him to test the initial versions of both weapons and strategies that he will use as part of his master plan years down the road.

  As American tanks crush the streets to rubble under their treads and soldiers bleed and die in the mountains, fields and alleyways, Omar deploys each of his carefully planned projects. Each one violates half a dozen international rules but desperate times call for desperate measures, even when the desperate times have been generated from within. As the Americans slowly realize that they have been pulled into a war without an endgame they start to form plans to withdraw, all while the top brass quietly panics over the alarming usage of nonconventional weapons. Whispers fly both on the battlefield and back at home, speculating about the true nature of the conflict.

  It takes nearly a full year for the last boots to leave the ground in Iran, crossing over the border and heading back to US bases in Iraq and Afghanistan. In that amount of time, Omar completes over seventy separate weapons and strategic tests, fifty-seven of which are unprecedented successes. The Iranian government is only aware of twenty of the tests, though that is enough for them
to declare him a state hero. He declines public ovations and continues his quiet life, continuing to exert influence in the background as he studies the results of his tests, refines them and performs small-scale experiments on willing and unwilling participants.

  It takes years for Omar’s tendrils to fully unfurl and wind their way into all of the different corners and crevices necessary for him to carry out his desired attack on the United States. Relationships are carefully formed with key players needed to get supplies and people into the country to build bombs, plan out attack strategies and distribute virus containers to where they need to go. His slow, methodical, unwavering planning is rewarded when the country is brought to its knees in a single day.

  Thanks to those in government and civilian life who are on his payroll, no one was able to anticipate an attack of such magnitude. Whispers of bits and pieces of the attack leaked through beforehand, as he suspected they would, but any information that leaked out only served to confound and befuddle law enforcement and national security agencies. The bloat of government that was put in place ostensibly to protect the country proved, in the end, to be a key factor in its downfall.

  Chapter 9

  “Shey’taan! Damn her!” Omar’s usual calm façade was completely shattered. The driver of the truck kept his eyes on the road as Omar pounded on the dashboard, howling with rage. For years he managed to keep himself focused on his task with singular devotion and purpose, but the attack at the building was the first time in years that he had such a large setback. He survived the attack and got away, but that mattered little to him due to the fact that the thorn in his side once again slipped through his fingers.

  “She was there! She was there and I had her and now they’re going to be coming after us!” Omar’s scream was guttural and he slammed his palms on the dashboard again, causing the plastic to crack under the force of the blows.

  “Sir, they’ll never find us, you know. Even if they left right after we did, the northern safe house is far enough out that they won’t locate us.”

  Omar growled as he rubbed his palms, trying to coax some feeling back in amongst the stinging numbness. “Just get us there now. Take every precaution along the way. We’ll switch vehicles up ahead, at the depot, just to be safe.”

  “Absolutely, sir.” The driver gulped nervously, glad that his superior was starting to calm down even while fearing another potential outburst. The three men in the back of the truck kept their weapons at the ready as they scanned the area forward, behind and to the sides of the vehicle, all while trying to ignore the shouts and screams from Omar. It had been only on the rarest of occasions that he had shown any emotions, so seeing him fly off the handle merely served to reinforce the notion that things weren’t going as well as they thought.

  In the front passenger seat Omar pulled a large handheld radio from his bag and thumbed the controls, first to enter his encryption code and then to key the microphone. “Sarraf. This is Omar. What’s the status of the attack?”

  The reply was nearly immediate. “Not good, sir! It took longer than expected to cross over the river because the rafts weren’t properly secured. By the time we got across and began moving in, we took heavy fire and had to dig in.”

  “You haven’t even made it into the city?”

  “No sir, not yet. It’s like… like they knew we were coming, sir!”

  The driver of the truck winced, anticipating another explosion from Omar. He glanced over at his superior and saw Omar’s face twisted into a mask of rage, though he made no sounds as he ground his teeth together in an effort to get himself under control. Finally, when he responded, his voice was calm and neutral, though his face was still red and twisted. “Her companion, the one these idiots let get away, must have gotten word to them.” Omar took a deep breath and rubbed a hand across his weary features. “Push up as hard as you can; try to draw most of their forces to one side and see if you can get a splinter group through the perimeter. We need the codes more than anything else. Ignore all other priorities and get the codes!”

  Whatever response came back through the radio was muffled by Omar throwing the device back into his bag with a heave strong enough that the driver thought it might have broken into more than a few pieces. He thought about saying something to Omar, trying to reassure him that their plans would succeed, but wisely decided against it. Omar sat in silence for the next several minutes as the truck wove a meandering path through the city.

  After getting out of the tight city streets the driver headed for a nearby big box retailer that they had taken over shortly after everyone evacuated from the city proper. Large corrugated steel overhangs off the back of the store allowed them to easily hide several vehicles, and the interior of the store was used to store supplies, fuel and weapons for combatants in the area.

  With the assault on the city underway, the depot was manned by a skeleton crew, and as the truck slowed to a halt Omar jumped out and gestured at the three-man group standing behind the store. “You three! Get a transport ready, load it with emergency supplies and get ready to move out!”

  Though the three men were curious about why they were being ordered to abandon their post at the depot, they were well aware of the consequences of questioning an order from Omar. They moved quickly to load several crates of supplies, weapons and ammunition from inside the depot into the waiting transport, then they got in the back. At the same time, Omar and the driver of the pickup got into the front while the three men riding in the back of the pickup moved to join the other three in the back of the covered transport.

  “Anything else you need, sir?” The driver looked at Omar, his hand on the ignition switch.

  “No.” Omar looked straight ahead and the driver pushed the button. The throaty diesel engine roared to life and they took off without a second’s hesitation, continuing to head north out of the city. Once they cleared the city proper they moved to get onto smaller back roads as quickly as possible, both to avoid any possibility of being trailed and to enable them to travel at a faster rate. The main roads were still clogged with vehicles in large patches and the long, wide military transport needed more room than was offered.

  The safe house had been established in the rural areas north of Washington many months prior, purchased from a few local residents for an exorbitant amount of money funneled through three layers of shell organizations. By purchasing four different small farms and homes adjacent to each other, Omar’s operatives had been able to quickly build up a cache of weapons and supplies that could sustain them indefinitely, all without anyone in the area being the wiser.

  It took a solid hour for the transport to make it to the safe house, and Omar spent the time in between the depot and the safe house in complete silence, as did the driver. In the back of the covered transport the six men spoke in hushed tones with each other, speculating on what Omar was doing and how well the mission was going. Each man who worked for Omar was connected to him in some way, either owing him for an obligation or having some sort of familial connection. This helped ensure loyalty and silence, though he had used other methods to keep their mouths shut.

  A steady paycheck, life-long payments to their wives and children if they were to die and a leader who was both fearless and inspired meant that Omar’s followers would march after him no matter where he went. On the drive out to the safe house, though, the seven men accompanying Omar were feeling less than certain about their leader and the situation in general.

  “Sir?” The driver cleared his throat. “Sir? We’re here.” Omar sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring off into space, until the driver tapped him gently on the arm.

  “Hm? Oh. Right. Yes. Good.” He jumped out of the transport and looked around at the surrounding landscape. A pair of large red barns stood nearby along with a large home that had been hastily remodeled and expanded. A pair of armed guards stood near the home, watching the transport closely in case they were needed. Woods wrapped around three sides of the home and barns while a l
arge field extended out in front, joining up to the other three nearby properties that had been purchased. Off in the distance were pairs of guards walking the perimeter of the properties, keeping in constant communication with short-range encrypted radios.

  While the home and two barns were the main location of the safe house, the other homes and outbuildings on the other three properties were by no means ignored. Food, weapons and spare parts for vehicles and machinery were spread out across the properties and each home had several cots inside both for the guards and for anyone who might need to use the safe house in the short or long term.

  ATVs and small pickup trucks were used to haul large quantities of people and supplies back and forth between the buildings, but most travel across the properties was performed on foot. It was quieter, used no fuel and helped keep everyone on their toes, watching for anyone who might try and intrude.

  Since the mission began there had only been two instances of people trying to cross over onto the properties, and both had been handled discreetly and without gunfire or bloodshed. Omar’s instructions on that point had been very clear—the safe house couldn’t remain safe long term if people started disappearing nearby. People would eventually come looking for missing loved ones, he reasoned, even during the apocalypse, and it was better to not give anyone a reason to look at the safe house.

  “Sir, it’s good to see you. Are you here for a quick checkup? Or something more long term?” One of the two guards near the house approached Omar and extended his hand as he spoke.

  “I don’t know yet.” Omar ignored the proffered hand. “Help get the supplies we brought inside. Double the guard and make sure this transport and anything else that looks remotely military or different is put under cover immediately.”

  “Is everything all right?” The guard’s question was out of curiosity, but his face turned white as Omar fixed him with a murderous gaze.