by S. T. Boston
* * *
Sam felt the vice-like grip on his ankle before he realised what was happening. His mind still in a mixture of confusion, euphoric hope, and unacceptance at his failed escape plan he felt himself being dragged through the cab, fast. The back seat, which had been his prison for the last fifteen or so minutes whipped by, for a brief moment he felt as if he were in free fall, like that dropping sensation you get in your sleep from time to time, then the hard tarmac hit him like a truck, knocking the wind from him sails and causing his battered but gradually repairing body to throb with fresh pain. Instinctively Sam rolled onto his back, brought his legs up and kicking out, his shoeless feet found their target, Asag, whose face was contorted with rage. Caught off guard by Sam's immediate attack he stumbled back, not far, but far enough for Sam to roll to his side and get to his feet. Things happened fast; across the brightly lit apron he saw Namtar, rushing to the aid of his brother, who now was also at full steam and bearing down on him. The pilot scurried back into the small plane, bolting like a rabbit down a burrow. Sam backed up to give himself room, as Asag reached him he ducked left, swinging his cuffed wrists high, as high as he could reach, and round in an arc. His cuffed wrists made painful yet satisfying contact with Asag's face, the metal outer blade of the cuff destroying his nose with a wet crunch. Sam heard him roar in a mixture of pain and anger, it gave him a warm feeling inside. He didn't have long to enjoy it, though. Namtar was bearing down on him like a raging bull, he had seen the lucky shot that Sam had planted on his brother and he wasn't taking any chances, he was drawing his gun. Sam felt confident that they didn't want to kill him, but all the same he didn't fancy having a bullet in his leg. He broke left and made for a pallet of boxes around twenty yards away, his sock covered feet smacking against the cold tarmac as he went. He heard the gun discharge but the familiar white hot pain that accompanied the noise was absent, he'd missed, this time. Sam didn't want to give him a second chance. As he dove behind the boxes he heard another sound, it was a car, the engine screaming at torturously high revs. Rolling onto his back he watched as an old and slightly battered Renault Megane crashed through the gate in a hail of sparks, the rusting relic had to be pushing twenty or more years old. The Megane weaved left, its tyres chirping on the smooth surface of the airport's apron. The driver, who Sam could not see, lined the bonnet toward Namtar, who was frozen to the spot, his square, strong jaw gaping open in a mixture of surprise and horror, it was clear that he was having trouble fully processing what he was seeing. The driver of the Megane had time for one last gear change, teasing a little more power from the screaming engine before the car collected up Namtar's paralysed body and flung it into the air like a rag doll.
* * *
Out of all the scenarios that Inspector Ackhart had run through his head on the short, out of control sprint to the airport, none of them included the situation which met him as he closed in on the gate that lead directly to the airport's apron. He was moving fast and didn't have much time to get the full idea of what was happening. What he did see was the last thing he expected. As he smashed through the gate, almost closing his eyes as the car made impact, he saw Sam Becker, free of the leg restraints and possibly even his cuffs. He was pounding his way across the tarmac in his socks, one of the massive, supposed FBI agents, was stood around thirty meters away, bearing down on him with a gun. He couldn't see the other guy, and he wasn't sure which one it was he had in his sights, they both looked so similar, he couldn't even recall their names. He'd tried to remember them on the dash to the airport, however every time he thought he had them, his mind fogged over. Tossing the old Renault to the left his headlights, which were almost lost in the glare of the airport's flood lights, found one of the massive agents. Ackhart didn't have time to ponder the ifs, buts and maybes, he had caught them by surprise and he intended to use it to his full advantage. Gunning the already well-worked 1.6 litre engine he knocked it up a gear and smashed his well-polished shoe hard onto the gas pedal, ramming it into the worn carpet of the foot well. The tired old car picked up a little speed, but she was far from what you'd call a thoroughbred. Ackhart had spent two years working on an accident investigation department as part of his training, he'd seen the effect of a motor vehicle at speed on the human body on a number of occasions, all of them horrifically disastrous, however none of them could have prepared him for the god-awful sound that hammered through the car as he found his target. This time he did close his eyes, swearing under his breath as he felt the body hammer over the roof of the car, he was even sure that he heard the sickening thwack as it hit the tarmac behind, however he knew the sound had to be in his head. Ackhart jammed the brakes on, a natural and almost unprovoked reaction, he felt the car lunge violently, and trying to recover it he fought with the wheel. To any onlooker, the effect was an almost artful pirouette that traced out four ribbons of rubber from the tyres.
As the car came to a stop reality caught up with him, fast. He opened his eyes and flung the door of his wrecked Renault open. Staying low he hit the floor and crouch ran to the back of the Megane. Around forty meters behind him was the guy's body, a tangled mess on the floor, a dark liquid, which he knew only too well to be blood, leaked from some unseen wound on the body. Scanning the apron with his one good eye, whilst squinting through the one that Becker had well and truly smashed, he saw the second agent rushing across the tarmac toward the mess of arms and legs. Where the hell was Becker? His question was soon answered as he heard his voice, loud and urgent, shouting over the drone of a plane's engine. It was the first time he'd noticed the sound, the small twin engine Beechcraft gleamed in the flood lights, its white fuselage looked impossibly clean as the props spun at idle speed. Becker was shouting again as he dashed his way across the tarmac toward the Megane, “THE HEA - SHOO - IN - TH - HEAD!” Becker's words were broken by the sound of the engine, but he was closing fast, “SHOOT HIM IN THE FUCKING HEAD!” He heard him cry as he slammed into the side of the Renault. He was breathing hard, his breath vapour clouding the air in front of his face. As Becker slid round the car, flopping his body onto the tarmac beside him, Ackhart noticed the cuffs that still bound his bleeding wrists. “Please tell me you have a key?” he panted, a broad smile on his face.
* * *
Heart hammering in his chest and lungs burning in the cold air, Sam slid down the side of the inspector's car. From his hiding place behind the pallet of boxes he'd seen the Renault smash through the gate, focus on, then slam into Namtar's body. It was a turn of events that he would never have foreseen, but were very welcome nonetheless.
“Please tell me you have a key?” he gasped, holding his battered wrists out, “We don't have much time.” He watched the shocked police man fumble in his pocket before retrieving a cuff key. There were only seconds to spare before Asag would take his attentions away from the twisted body of his brother, and focus his anger well and truly on them. He watched as the inspector, his hands shaking badly, struggled to find the small keyhole on the flat face of the cuff, eventually the key went in. As his left hand span free, Sam took over, deftly switching the key to the right side and clicking it open. As he tossed the bloodied maniacal aside a round slammed into the side of the Megane, ricocheting with a pzzinngg.
“There is nowhere to go, Mr. Becker!” Came Asag's rampant and raged ravaged voice. “If you and your accomplice turn yourselves over now we won't harm you.” The inspector looked at Sam in confusion.
“I have killed one,” he said in a hushed voice.
“Oh, I doubt that very much,” replied Sam. “They are hard bastards to kill.” Despite the situation he took a little satisfaction from the confusion that washed over Ackhart's face, he was about to believe Sam's story, hell he was about to get sucker punched by the truth. “Look!” Sam held his wrists up. The bleeding had stopped, the marks left by the unforgiving metal were now no more than fleshy looking red lines, and in the bright flood lights Sam could see the skin colour returning with every passing second.
“I know right,” smiled Sam nervously. “It's some real fucked up shit to get your head around. They will be the same, in a few minutes, the one you ploughed down will be fighting fit again.”
“Time is running out, Mr. Becker,” Shouted Asag. “You have ten seconds, then I'm coming for you.”
“Give me your gun,” demanded Sam, holding his hand out urgently.
“I will do no such thing, you're my prisoner –“
“Cut that shit, we both know we are way beyond that now.” Sam thrust his hand forward in a stabbing motion. “And I hope you can remember how to fly a plane.” The inspector looked blankly toward the idling aircraft, Sam felt sorry for him, he'd been in a very similar situation, and there was no easy way to get your head around it. Far slower than Sam liked, Ackhart withdrew the gun from his holster and handed it reluctantly over, Sam had to give the weapon a final tug to release it from Ackhart's grasp. Swiftly he checked the mag, turning the weighty black weapon in his hand once before flicking off the safety.
“You really think we can take that plane?” There was no hiding the doubt in the inspector's voice. Sam didn't blame him, Buer had been hard enough to take out, hell he'd failed to kill him, it was a lucky shot from Adam that had finally put the bastard down, they were facing two of the fuckers here, plus whoever was piloting the King Air. A second shot slammed through the Megane, the bullet charged clear through the car, exiting just above the rear wheel arch, spraying a deadly hail of vehicle shrapnel with it. There was no hiding behind a car in a real-life gun battle, not like they did in the movies. It was a dangerous place to be and they needed to move.
“On my mark,” mouthed Sam, looking reassuringly into the wide frightened eyes of the police inspector.
“Three, two, one – MARK!” Sam grabbed his new partner and made a run for it.
* * *
Asag felt an unquenchable fury burning deep inside his gut as he rushed to the crumpled body of his brother. His nose, now well on the way to being fully healed, still throbbed between his eyes. To his horror he'd seen the silver car crash through the gate and fix its aim squarely on Namtar. Watching with a cautionary hand over his bleeding face, he'd expected his brother to dive out of the way at the last moment, then the two of them would have dealt with this latest idiot together. Instead he'd stayed frozen to the spot and been tossed in the air like a piece of litter thrown out of a car window. Now stooped by his writhing body, he aimed the gun at the car where Becker and the driver were hiding. Asag thought the driver looked a lot like the foolish inspector he'd tricked so easily, but it couldn't be, could it? He'd gone deep enough into his mind to make sure that by the time he questioned the genuineness of the request they would be well on their way to Peru and beyond his reach.
“Time is running out, Mr. Becker. You have ten seconds, then I'm coming for you.” he shouted, his voice spitting with rage. Asag counted the numbers in his head, waiting for Becker to make his move. The ten seconds seemed to take ten minutes to pass, he glanced repeatedly from the car to his brother, who was looking better by the second, however it would still be some time before he was fully functional after being hit that hard. The Gift was a wondrous thing, but very serious injuries took longer to recover from, head injuries could take days if severe enough, thankfully it looked to be Namtar's torso that had taken the brunt of the impact from both the car and the ground. He had some nasty facial bleeding but nothing serious.
Sure that the time he'd given Becker had passed he squeezed a round off and watched it slam into the car with a metallic ping. With any luck the bullet would pass right through the rusty old car and take one of them out. He was under strict instructions to take Becker alive, however right at that point in time he wanted nothing more than to rip Sam Becker's head off his shoulders with his bare hands. If it were a choice between him escaping and being killed here and now it would be the second option, he would face the wrath of Asmodeous when the time came. Eyes fixed securely on the old silver car he watched with the nervous excitement of a cat stalking a mouse, ready to spring into action. Then he saw Becker, he sprang from behind the front of the car, pulling behind him the one who'd come to his aid, Asag felt his rage build at the sight of the inspector trying desperately to keep up with Becker, who was now un-cuffed and covering ground fast toward a large aircraft hangar. Asag stood from his crouched position and raised his gun, before he got time to fire a round he saw Becker's arm outstretch, the muzzle flash was masked by the floodlights but there was no mistaking the gun in his hand. Asag hit the deck, firing two rounds blindly in a hit and hope fashion. Becker's shot missed, as did his. They were now close to the hangar, their backs to him. Rolling onto his side he squeezed off another round, and this one was timed and aimed better. He watched Becker as the shot found his shoulder; it threw him forward, slamming his body into the corrugated side of the hangar. Asag shot to his feet and began pounding across the apron, closing ground fast as his massive legs ate up the tarmac. He raised the gun, fixing it this time on the inspector. Becker was back on his feet now, hand on a small access door. Trying his best to aim as he closed them down, Asag fired again.
* * *
Sam felt the bullet hammer into his shoulder. The weapon that had fired the slug was powerful, it was like being hit by a train. He didn't get a good look at the weapon but he felt certain it was some kind of tactical handgun. Helplessly he felt his body hurl forward, just before he slammed into the side of the hangar he heard the slug hit the metal. Thankfully it had passed right through his body that now screamed in pain. It wasn't the first time he'd taken a bullet and in full survival mode he didn't let it slow him down, if he did they were both dead. Getting back to his feet he turned to see Asag closing ground on them, his face contorted in rage as he raised the gun again. Sam felt his hand grasp the freezing cold aluminium handle, praying the door was unlocked he pumped it down. He heard another shot ring out through the cold night air. Instinctively he ducked, pulling Ackhart with him. As they fell the door swung inward, the movement of their bodies sending them reeling across the threshold. Sam felt his shoulder cry with pain as his body hit the floor, and looking through the door he saw Asag, now less than fifteen meters away and closing. As the door swung back past his foot he kicked it shut, thankfully it found the latch and closed, it would only buy them a second or two but in situations like this, when you were rolling the dice between death and survival, those few seconds counted.
“You've been shot,” panted Ackhart as Sam pulled him to his feet, almost wrenching his right arm from its socket. Ackhart was gulping in air, wheezing like a set of broken bagpipes.
“No time to worry about that now,” replied Sam, heading deeper into the hangar. After the bright flood lit apron the hangar seemed as black as sack-cloth. “It hurts like hell but in a few minutes it will be right ass rain.” Sam took them left, away from the door and Asag's line of sight. As he did he heard the hangar door fly open, smashing back against the wall before swinging closed.
“We need to get to that plane,” Sam whispered. He guided them back toward the wall where the door was. He had felt the handle move up slightly when he'd flung it open, it gave him an idea, it was a long shot but worth a try.
“Give yourself up NOW, Becker!” Screamed Asag, his voice echoing hellishly inside the cavernous and dark hangar. “If you do I'll make your deaths swift.” Sam felt a shiver run through his body, there was an unhinged tone to his voice that told Sam they were both dead men walking if they were caught. Should his little plan pay off there was the not so little matter of Namtar, who by the time they cleared the hangar, might be fighting fit again.