by LS Silverii
“Justice, I implore you. We cheated death once tonight. Do not tempt her again.”
Justice melted at her touch. Warmth radiated from her palm on his shoulder. He leaned his head toward her until his longish hair and bearded jaw touched the top of her hand. His eyes never waivered from the approaching vehicle.
“Baby, please do it now.”
“Baby? Now I’m baby?” he said.
Justice moaned a guttural growl of indecision. The tightened grip pulled the RPG to his shoulder. He kneeled on the unpadded seat and braced against the backrest. His finger was nowhere near the trigger mechanism, though he pressed his bruised right eye against the scope.
“Justice, you are not going to fire that weapon in this truck, are you?” she scolded.
“No.” He leaned harder into the scope. It improved the weapon’s accuracy but wasn’t designed for long range spotting. He swallowed hard against the lump that wouldn’t budge. For once, Justice had no idea of the right thing to do.
“Do it.” Batya’s voice grew more angry.
“Not until they’re a little closer.”
“Do not chance it, Justice. I beg you. I’ve got nothing within to defend myself but a fighting spirit.”
Guilt suffocated him—he’d failed her once. Promises to protect her were empty after what she’d just gone through. Should he launch the RPG to ease his guilt and her fear?
His foot smacked against the ground—his spine ached. Justice crept to the front hood and rested his weight against calloused elbows. The projectile’s tube sat parallel with the horizon. Hands swiped at streams of moisture that rolled down from beneath his hairline. His heart weighed heavy but time was running out.
Horrific screams from inside the government office building drew Justice’s attention. His eyes widened with revelation. He had it, and returned the RPG into the truck’s interior. Batya’s head popped into the open window between the cab and the truck bed. Justice pressed his right index finger to his lips.
“Stay down. They’ll go inside first.”
“But what about Ben?” she asked.
“I never promised him a free ride.” Justice stared toward the open door of the outpost. “While he kills them, we escape. While they kill him, we escape. It’s a win-win.”
Her arm shook as Batya motioned for a weapon. Justice didn’t argue. At ten percent she was better than ninety percent of the soldiers he’d served with.
Justice crouched behind the truck. Pulse pounded in his temple but no time for pain. Justice concentrated on calming breaths and a narrowed focus.
He held his submachine gun close against him. Heavy metal magazines loaded with extra ammunition were strapped to his chest. He was ready to rip enemies apart—Ben included.
Finally, the personnel carrier arrived. The light blue vehicle bore the distinctive United Nations emblem. It crawled to the front of the compound, just before the patio. It appeared no one was in a hurry.
“How many?”
Justice motioned for Batya to be quiet. He noticed the very top of her head raised to match the barrel of her weapon. Justice nodded to her confidently—two pairs of eyes were better than one.
“Three. There’re three of them.”
Batya feigned a snicker. “Just three? I am capable of eliminating them in my diminished state.”
“Baby, just slow down. Ben is better at handling them.” He grinned. “Or them handling him.”
“Think he can take them out?” Batya asked.
“Unless he’s so ball deep inside Jabar he doesn’t notice them.”
Batya shook her head “Ball deep?”
Justice smiled and watched the three men exit their vehicle. They wore light colored urban camouflage battle dress uniforms. Each tugged off their baby-blue berets as they crossed the patio toward the door. Focused more on poking their caps inside the deep pockets along their pants leg than holding their weapons ready for combat, they entered.
They must have come for the gangbang. Fuck them.
“They look Greek,” Batya said.
Justice winked. “Notice something?”
“Yes, it’s been quiet inside.” She whispered. “He’s waiting for them.”
Justice cat-stepped backward until he returned to the driver’s seat. Batya offered a thumbs up. He knew she was ready to haul ass away from that hellhole and her memories of what had gone on.
Justice’s fingers waggled against the thin metal ignition key. Shoulders slumped forward as his ear craned toward the outpost. His hearing had been weakened during the earlier closed quarters combat, but it was vital to time the engine’s crank with the interior screams.
“Go,” Batya prompted.
He did as she said—and heard the hollering after.
His fingers strangled the stick shift and steering wheel. His head said hurry, but his heart insisted he slow down. Batya’s spirit might’ve been strong but her body was weak.
Once they’d distanced themselves from whatever horror Ben was inflicting, Justice’s mind began to fracture between what was right and what was necessary. He’d realized years ago that black and white wasn’t always black and white. He’d never failed a mission, much less allow a target to walk free. This was different—or was it?
Anxiety wasn’t a luxury he could afford, but deep down—even deeper than his layers of specialized training—Justice was still human. He’d suffer later. Right now, he needed to care for Batya. He drove aimlessly for the first ten miles. He wasn’t sure where they were but knew if Ben had killed the last three, he’d been plenty pissed that he hadn’t been warned. They needed as much distance away from the regular travel routes as they could create.
“Where are we located?” Batya moaned.
Justice’s eyes, glazed and weakened, peeked into the rearview mirror. He shook his face to beat the fatigue back, but he eventually let off the accelerator and rolled to a stop.
“I have no idea, but we’re far enough from Ben and that building.” He leaned out and allowed his body to ooze from the seat. He was about as rugged as they came, but he’d gone far beyond his limit.
“Do you think we made the right decision to not erase him?” she asked.
“There was no we in that decision. This falls squarely on my shoulders.”
“No, Justice Boudreaux. This is our mission—the good and the bad. It was we who made the decision to let him remain alive. For the moment.”
Justice’s gaze swept across her face, but froze at her eyes. Even in the dim starlit sky, her grey eyes shone bright. Her spirit came through. It captivated Justice, and because of the abuse she’d suffered, his heart ached. Justice opened his mouth to speak but his tongue felt like a barbell sat on it. He swallowed but was unable to bring the words to the surface.
“Yes, Justice?”
He ran his hand over her forehead. Matted hair cemented to her face was mixed with semen and blood from the massacre inside that building. Justice couldn’t decide if she’d been better off not witnessing what Ben had done, or if it would have helped her feel vindicated. He forced a smile but inside he was sickened—it was his fault.
“I’m… I’m so sorry for what happened. I failed you.”
“Justice, this is no time to get weepy. Things happen during the course of operations. We are trained to survive as well as we are trained to kill. I knew the risk once assigned to you. My duty to avenge my country is more important than my body. Do not feel sorry for me. It is a sign of disrespect.”
He chomped down on the inside of his cheek. He was immune to the sting of his skin mashed between teeth. His hand pulled back from the caressing touches he felt she needed, or he felt he owed her. Justice had allowed himself to get emotionally connected to her—a recipe for disaster in their line of work.
He stepped away.
“Do not pout, Justice.” Even wounded, her body remained in a formal military rigidness. “I am not a damsel in distress.”
“I’m not fucking pouting,” he snapped back.
She wagged a finger at him, “You mistakenly allowed emotion into this scenario. I expected better from you.” She laid her head back onto the hard bed of the truck and crossed her hands over her chest. “Every male partner has failed in same manner as you. Do not feel guilt—it’s natural for a man to have emotion.”
“Who the fuck are you to talk to me like this? You’re not my mother.” He stalked the area outside the vehicle. Fists knotted into hammer-like balls ready to punch something—but he withheld.
“No, Justice,” she began.
“Don’t play with me. I’ll get you to a team doctor and I’ll be on the way to finish my mission. I’ve managed to track the last twenty-four CIA killers around this fucking globe without you. Don’t need you now.”
“See? This is what I mean—emotion.”
Fingers stabbed at the electronic device and roughly entered his secure code to access the data.
“I don’t need your shit, okay. Just let me get you to help.”
“What help?”
“A team doctor. There’re CIA assets recruited around the globe. This device will alert the closest one. If available, they request identify and confirmation through HQ back in the States.”
She trembled as she fought to sit up on her elbows, “Whose identity?”
“Yours. The doctor won’t take non-confirmed. Too risky.”
“No.”
“You need help,” he pleaded.
“Your agency will notify my agency. They will inquire about the incident. I will be disgraced and removed.” She fell backward, “I refuse to allow you to ruin everything I’ve earned. Do not activate that device.”
Justice heard her anguish. He debated his options. “How about I tell them the medical is for me instead?”
“No. It will come out.” She had made her final decision.
“Just trying to save your life.”
“Oh really? Do you think you are my savior? Are you the Jews’ messiah?” Batya’s tone was without accent and cruel. “I’d rather die in this dessert with honor than bring shame on my family. No, I said.”
“Okay, we’ll think of something.”
“Don’t bother. Help me grab my phone. I have contacts in this region. We stay here.”
Justice helped her retrieve a small satellite phone from a concealed pouch in her garments.
“Don’t do it, Batya. Even your contacts might report back. I’ve got a solution.”
“What?”
“You’ll stay put until help arrives. I’ve a mission to complete.”
She moaned as she bent her head to look at the rifle in her hands. “We stay. This is our mission. You abandon your partner, and I make solemn oath that I shall track you down.”
“And do what?”
“Do not fuck with me, Justice Boudreaux. There is no playful banter in my words. Do not fuck with me.”
Justice stormed off from the truck. Batya Cohen had gotten under his skin like no one had ever before.
What a bitch.
“I know what your mind is thinking. And yes, I can be a bitch.”
How does she do that?
Chapter 10
Batya’s screams sent Justice running upstairs to the second story of the semi-abandoned structure. His heart raced. Power pumped through his legs as his boots skipped two and three steps at a time. The hallway was traditionally narrow, and in the darkness Justice felt his wide shoulders bang and scrape along the walls until he spotted the open door. Her cries for help filled the corridor. His eyes widened as he prepared for the unexpected before he swung into the room.
“Justice. Oh, hal’lúkah, praise God it’s you.” A saturated layer of cotton stuck against Batya’s skin.
Rectangular openings cut out of the mud structure on either side of the ten by ten foot room were covered with loose-flapping cloth. They restricted air circulation, but provided concealment against prying eyes.
“Finally, you’re awake,” Justice whispered as he peeked through both openings. Neighbors were few and far between, but spies were everywhere.
“Where are we?” she asked. Suddenly, she shot up from the bed. “Did you call the doctors? Justice I asked you not to.” Her eyes wild with fright.
Justice eased her back onto the firm mattress in the middle of the room. The low ceilings caused him to have to duck, but over the last four days he’d grown accustomed to it.
“Baby, quiet please. No, I didn’t call the Agency’s doctor.” He motioned for someone to come in. “I called the only person out here I knew I could trust.”
She sighed. Her eyes cut into Justice’s soul and he knew she wasn’t happy he’d exposed her. Batya blinked back the haze of multiple days of unconscious.
“Who might that be?” she snapped as her head rolled to the door. She sucked in a huge gulp of wretched smelling air. “Oh my heaven, it’s another you.”
“Hello, ma’am.”
Justice rested his hand on her shoulder. “This is my very own brother, Fury Boudreaux.”
“Fury? What, did your parents hate you?”
Fury snorted. “Yes, actually they did. It’s why we all joined the military. To get away from them.”
“All? There’s more?” She slammed her eyes shut. Moisture crept between the lids and filled the shallow crows’ feet etched at the corner of each eye.
“Seven of us to be exact. But to be perfectly honest, ma’am. I’m the most handsome of the lot,” Fury told her without expression or apology. “You can already tell where Justice falls in the Boudreaux brothers’ looks ranking.”
Justice shot his younger brother a middle finger and mouthed, “Fuck you,” behind Batya’s head. He checked the out window again.
“I’m still a bit uncertain how or why you are involved. Are you with the CIA, too?”
“Hell no, ma’am. I’m a Navy medic, attached as support to a SEAL team.”
Justice patted his brother on the shoulder. “He naively thinks they’re going to capture bin Laden. I tried explaining to this squid that’s an intelligence agency’s responsibility.”
Fury looked across the small room as the light breeze waved the window’s tattered covering. Justice froze—he knew that look. Both hands pressed against his chest but there was nothing there. He’d reacted so quickly once Batya started to scream earlier that he left his rifle downstairs. His pistol would do no good against a long-range attack.
“How long y’all been here, bro?”
“About five days total.”
“Anybody know you’re here?”
Justice slid Batya toward him and eased her off the mattress that sat about as high as the bottom of the window’s opening.
Justice shook his head. “Only you and the guy who drove you here. I’ve made night runs to scrounge shit for supplies.”
“McDuff is solid. And he’s a good shot in a pinch,” Fury said.
“Arm me.” Batya’s eyes were wide and moved rapidly. “They know we’re here.”
He pressed the KA-BAR into Batya’s palm. A silent motion signaled for Fury to keep watch as he slipped into the hall. Rays of sunlight fell carelessly across the dim corridor. Faulty shadows scaled the walls like geckos on a screened-in porch. Justice paused before exposing himself on the ground floor level.
He scanned the bottom room. There were only the traditional rugs and pillows strewn across the wooden surface. Food stock was scattered in one corner and his stash of weapons sat in another. There was no movement—there was no McDuff.
Shit, where is that fucking guy?
Justice took two steps back up the stairs so his legs wouldn’t be exposed to anyone watching from the outside. He listened for McDuff—for anything. He caught a whiff, wrinkled his brow and waited for another sniff.
Fucking idiot was supposed to be on watch instead of outside smoking a cigarette. Justice crept closer to the bottom floor. No wonder they were drawing attention.”
He pressed himself close to the ground and crawled over the dirty rugs
until he reached his rifle. His mouth set in a hard line as he watched McDuff out in the open smoking. He was dressed in civvies, but he and even the cigarette screamed American.
Justice poked his head through the rifle’s sling, yanking out long strands of his unkempt hair as they tangled in the adjustment straps. He shook it off while his hands moved in a flurry to shove loaded magazines into his ballistic vest. The RPG’s olive drab canister was propped in the corner of the room—he reached for it, but the sun’s glint caught his attention.
“Squid, what are you doing?” he grunted past the wall to McDuff.
McDuff spun toward the house. “Taking a shit. What does it look like I’m doing, spook? Been waiting for that bitch to wake up, so I can get back to camp. I needed a smoke.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Why? Because smoking is bad for me?”
Justice ducked further away from the veiled opening.
“McDuff, don’t look inside the window while you’re talking. Just back up through the door—now.”
The reflective surface bothered Justice. It hadn’t been there earlier.
“This ain’t my first day in the dirt.” McDuff threw down the butt to his cigarette.
Justice heard the crack of the bullet as it exploded from the rifle and streaked across the sky at close to two thousand miles per hour. There was nothing McDuff could do. All Justice could do was duck. Chin tucked deep into his tactical vest, clumps of meat and skull bone rained down over him. He swiped the RPG on his sprint back up stairs.
“About a half click southwest,” Justice said coolly as he pressed the canister into Fury’s palm.
“What happened?”
“You’ll need another ride home.” Justice still held the RPG, “Take it.”
“Seriously? I’m in the fucking Navy.” Fury’s mouth twisted in protest.
Batya snatched one of the rifles Justice delivered and crawled between the two brothers. She laid the rifle on the floor and pointed it down the hall.
“She’s got our six, now take the northwest window while I get rid of our sniper.” Justice moved to the side of the opening. “Everybody stay down.”