by S. T. Boston
Reaching the end of Rue Irène Joliot Cure, Ackhart wrestled the car around another roundabout, the front end understeering dangerously, tyres singing in chorus yet again. Throwing it into another right turn and onto the D6382, Le Havre airport lay ahead, the runway lights gleaming against the dark and post-power cut night sky.
The white-walled shops and buildings disappeared behind him, replaced by darkened, concrete industrial units, all empty and slowly being reclaimed by nature. Their skeletal concrete hulks planted in empty grounds, weeds poking through the ever-growing gaps in the tarmac car parks, as if in defiance to man.
Like the police station, the airport would have its own generator. The things cost a small fortune to run, but local government always seemed to find the money to buy fuel from somewhere. The brightly-lit complex cast an artificial white glow into the night sky, giving off an almost halo-like effect.
Ackhart reached yet another roundabout, a smaller one this time which he didn't bother to steer around, instead slamming the Mégane over the raised mound of reflective white paint. Powering through the short-stay car park he knew exactly where to head. At the end of the car park was a small gate; usually manned, it led airside, easy access for emergency services. Not far from the gate he hoped he'd find a plane, a plane which contained his prisoner.
* * *
The X5 lurched around a roundabout, the inertia caused Sam to slide across the back seat and hit his head on the rear passenger door. He swore under his breath.
“Le Havre airport,” Asag announced in a thunderous voice, making Sam jump. “Not long now and we will be heading to Portugal. From there, we will change to a slightly larger craft and hop across to South America.” He sounded almost chipper, as if he was taking Sam on the trip of a lifetime and he was the tour guide.
“I'm not sure my travel jabs are up to date,” Sam quipped, his body cramped uncomfortably against the back door of the 4x4. The post-curfew darkness gave way to bright lights, the sudden illumination making Sam squint. The vehicle mounted a couple of speed humps, faster than necessary. Even with the 4x4's big tyres, his body jolted painfully. The vehicle slowed abruptly, and Sam braced himself in the seat, ramming his feet against the opposite door to stop from rolling into the foot well. He heard Asag jump from the cab, then the sound of a gate sliding open. A few moments later Asag was back and they were moving again, slower this time, through the gate and to what Sam assumed would be airside. The vehicle stopped for a second time and once again the Asag got out. Sam heard the well-worn wheel supporting the gate squeak its way back across the tarmac; it was a sound he hated, like running fingernails down a blackboard.
Finding a position which offered a little more comfort, Sam felt the BMW creep forward, making a number of left and right manoeuvres before they finally came to a stop. Namtar switched off the engine and applied the parking brake, they'd obviously reached their destination. Being moved was a key time, a moment when Sam might just get that small window of opportunity. He took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs. Releasing it slowly he tried to slow his racing heart to a reasonable pace. If a chance did present itself he would need to be calm, not have his heart slamming in his chest as if he'd just run a hundred-meter dash.
Both of his captors left the vehicle, leaving him on his own for the first time since he'd made a break for it in the custody block. First thing on the agenda was getting his hands to the front of his body, with his hands cuffed behind his back he had no chance. At the front was bad enough, but at least he could strike out and defend himself if he could get them to the other side of his legs. Rolling from his side and onto his back, Sam lifted both legs in the air, ignoring the pain as he stretched his arms down and just about managed to slide his cuffed wrists over his backside. It was the first time the limb restraint on his legs had come in handy, it kept them bound tightly together, aiding his attempt. Gradually he eased his legs through the hoop created by his arms. The pain was almost intolerable, but his strong survival instinct had kicked in, mixed with years of hostage situation training, helping to increase his pain threshold to its maximum level. Just when he thought he could take no more, eyes shut and teeth clenched firmly together, his hands cleared his legs. The pain relief was almost instant, every muscle in his shoulders and arms singing with joy. Not stopping to savour the small victory, Sam bent forward and removed the Velcro limb restraint binding his legs together. Hands to his front and legs free, Sam half sat and half crouched in the back seat, not wanting to stick his head too far into view. Gingerly, he peered out of the passenger side window.
One of his captors was standing by the door, his back to Sam, partially blocking the view. Looking around his thick body he could just see the second male, Namtar, who'd been driving. At least he thought this one was Namtar; it was hard to tell, as the two Elder brothers were practically identical. The fact that they wore matching long black coats didn't help matters. One thing Sam was sure of, was that these two weren't Earth-Breed, they were definitely like Buer, and undoubtedly, they shared his magical healing abilities. Namtar was standing by a twin-engine propeller plane. It looked like some kind of Beechcraft, possibly a King Air, more than capable of zipping them down through Europe and into Portugal. Namtar was talking to someone, most likely the pilot. He wondered if the pilot was in on their plan, or did he also believe they were working for the government, transporting a dangerous prisoner? Knowing the long reach the aliens had, and the eclectic mixture of trades used by the Earth-Breeds, he suspected the pilot would know the score. The cab of the X5 was well soundproofed but he could hear the plane's twin engines idling, ready for action. Sam was thankful for the droning sound because it would help hide the noise created by the next section of his plan.
Moving away from the window, Sam slid over to the opposite door. Praying it wasn't locked, he grabbed the handle carefully and pulled back on it gently, trying to avoid making too much noise. To his relief, the door clicked open and the refreshingly cool early morning air rushed in. Sam breathed deeply, enjoying the fresh breeze. Casting a final cautionary glance toward Asag, Sam pushed the door open fully.
* * *
Asag watched with frustrated impatience while his brother continued to chit-chat idly with the Earth-Breed pilot who'd flown them here from Peru. Having received the 'Go' order from Asmodeous to grab Becker, they'd used one of Integra Investments' jets to hop across the Southern Atlantic. Once in Portugal they chartered a smaller plane to make the shorter trip to France. It had been his idea to leave the Integra-registered jet in Portugal; using a chartered plane would afford them more anonymity should they get tangled up with the authorities, which they had. In the end, it hadn't mattered, but Asag liked to err on the side of caution. It was a small catalogue of errors that had caused Buer to fail, and Asag wasn't about to make the same mistakes. He was eager to prove to Asmodeous that both he and Namtar were worthy, wanted to prove he'd been right in choosing the two brothers to flee Sheol when the attack came. With Samuel Becker in their custody, Asag thought they'd confirmed their worth. Even if things went wrong during the taking of Adam Fisher and his sister, they'd both done their part. As soon as they got airborne, he would call Asmodeous and tell him of their great victory.
Things had almost turned sour, and the capture of Becker had ridden the razors edge of failure for a few hours that night. In order to get full un-curfew restricted access to France, they had both entered the country on diplomatic papers. Papers that saw them as U.S. Senators on a visit to Laurett. Despite the fact that such paperwork usually got the low paid security minions scurrying around in panic and saw you processed very quickly, the ones at Le Havre had been a little more cautious. In the end, and fearing that they would be discovered to be the fakes they were, Namtar had used his skills to get them through. The two border officials had still been sat, eyes glazed over, as they'd strode through customs to their waiting hire car. He'd even persuaded one of them to give him the keys to the emergency access gate, so they could get ai
rside directly on return, making it even easier for them to get Becker to the waiting plane without any questions or killing. The delay had, however, caused them to be painfully late, too late to save Laurett and almost too late to get Becker. Thankfully Earth-Humans were easily influenced, stuffing his hands into the jacket's deep pockets, Asag removed the papers that had delivered Sam Becker into his custody. They were, of course, completely blank, but then the officers at Le Havre Police Station had been expecting two agents to collect Sam Becker, they had been expecting the two agents to be in possession of the correct papers and identification, making them see what they'd wanted and expected to see had been simple. He'd not even had the time to get the FBI identification, instead a blank wallet had done the job. Making those at the station see a badge and ID card had been no harder than making them see the paperwork they'd expected.
Asag smiled to himself, his ancient body shivering despite the long, thick coat. It was cold, so cold it bit right through to his bones. Thousands of years had passed since he'd experienced temperatures such as this. It made him feel alive and long to live back on his home world and not the subterranean, sun-baked pit that was Sheol. It was almost a blessing to know returning there was no longer a viable option. The air quality was even more blissful than the refreshing cold, and he savoured every single lungful of the natural and unprocessed atmosphere. Despite these comforts, he was looking forward to relaxing in the snug, plush cabin of the primitive aircraft which had amazingly delivered them to France without crashing. Bored of watching his brother run through things with the pilot he turned, expecting to see Becker writhing around uncomfortably on the back seat, instead he saw the overly-confident Earth-Human staging an escape from the other side of the X5. He'd somehow managed to get the cuffs to the front of his body and remove the leg restraints. Asag immediately realised he'd been wrong to underestimate his prisoner, and very wrong to leave him in the car alone. With a deep roar of rage Asag tore open the rear passenger side door, almost removing it from the hinges. With his massive, shovel-like hand he grabbed Becker's foot and yanked. Becker's body was like a toy against his strength, the man came easily, his body threading through the rear of the X5 like a ribbon. Asag kept pulling until Becker flew from the cab and hit the tarmac like a rag doll being thrown about by an angry child.
* * *
Sam felt the vice-like grip on his ankle before he realised what was happening. His mind was still filled with a mixture of fear and euphoric hope when he felt himself being dragged through the cab at a swift speed. The back seat, which had been his prison for the last fifteen minutes or so whipped by, and for a few brief seconds he was in free fall, before the hard tarmac hit him like a truck, knocking the wind from his sails and causing his battered body to throb with fresh pain. Sam instinctively rolled onto his back, brought his legs up and kicked out, his shoeless feet finding their target.
Caught off guard by Sam's immediate attack Asag stumbled backwards; not far, but enough for Sam to roll to his side and get to his feet. Things happened fast; across the brightly lit apron Sam saw Namtar, rushing to the aid of his brother. The pilot scurried back into the small plane, bolting like a rabbit down a burrow. Sam backed up to give himself room, and when Asag reached him he ducked left, swinging his cuffed wrists high, as high as he could reach, and around in an arc. His cuffed wrists made painful, but 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, which gave him a sense of satisfaction. He didn't have long to enjoy it, however. Namtar was bearing down on him like a raging bull; he'd obviously seen the lucky shot Sam had planted on his brother and he wasn't taking any chances, drawing his gun. Sam didn't think they wanted to kill him, but 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 which usually accompanied the noise was absent. He'd missed, and Sam didn't intend 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 somewhat battered Renault Mégane crashed through the gate in a hail of sparks. The rusting relic had to be pushing twenty years old or more. The Mégane weaved left, its tyres chirping on the smooth surface of the airport's apron. The driver, who Sam couldn't see, lined up the bonnet with Namtar, who was frozen to the spot, his square jaw gaping open in a mixture of surprise and horror, clearly struggling to process what he was seeing. The driver of the Mégane had time for one last gear change, teasing a little more power from the screaming engine before the car collected Namtar's paralysed body and flung it into the air like a rag doll.
* * *
Out of all the scenarios Inspector Ackhart had run through during the short, out of control sprint to the airport, none of them included the situation which met him when he closed in on the gate leading to the airport's apron. As he smashed through the gate, closing his eyes when the car made impact, he saw Sam Becker, free of the leg restraints. He was pounding across the tarmac in his socks, one of the massive, purported FBI agents thirty meters away, bearing down on him with a gun. Ackhart couldn't see the other guy, and he wasn't sure which one he had in his sights. He'd tried to remember their names on the dash to the airport, but every time his mind fogged over. Tossing the old Renault to the left, his headlights illuminated the agent, the guy truly was a behemoth. Gunning the engine he knocked it up a gear and mashed his shoe hard onto the gas pedal, ramming it down into the worn carpet. The old car picked up a little speed, but she was far from being a thoroughbred. Nothing could have prepared him for the god-awful sound that hammered through the car when he found his target. He closed his eyes for a second time, swearing under his breath as the body hammered over the roof of the car. He was sure that he even heard the sickening thwack as it hit the tarmac behind him, although he suspected that was his imagination. Ackhart jammed on the brakes, the car lunged violently, and trying to recover it he fought with the wheel. The car undertook an almost artful pirouette which traced out four ribbons of rubber from the tyres.
As the car came to a stop, reality caught up with him. He flung open the door of the wrecked Renault. Staying low, he hit the ground and in a low crouch, ran to the back of the Mégane. Forty meters behind him was the guy's body, a tangled mess on the floor, blood leaking from some unseen wound. Scanning the apron with his good eye, he saw the second agent rushing across the tarmac toward the body. Where the hell was Becker?
His question was soon answered when he heard Becker's 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 gleaming as the props spun at idle speed. Becker was shouting again as he dashed toward the Mégane, “THE HEA - SHOO - IN - TH - HEAD!” Becker's words were disrupted by the sound of the engine, but he was closing fast. “SHOOT HIM IN THE FUCKING HEAD!” Ackhart heard him cry as he slammed into the side of the Renault. He was breathing hard, his breath creating vapour in air in front of his face. Becker slid around the car, flopping his body onto the tarmac beside Ackhart, and he noticed the cuffs still binding 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 from the cold air, Sam slid down the side of Ackhart's car. From his hiding place behind the pallet of boxes, he'd seen the Renault smash through the gate, then slam into Namtar's body. It was a turn of events he would never have foreseen, but 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 policeman fumble in his pocket before retrieving a cuff key. There were only seconds to spare before Asag would turn away from the twisted body of his brother,
and focus his rage on them. Ackhart, his hands shaking badly, struggled to find the small keyhole on the flat face of the cuff, but eventually the key connected. As his left hand was freed, Sam took over, deftly switching the key to the right side and clicking it open. As he tossed the bloodied manacle aside, a round slammed into the side of the Mégane, ricocheting with a loud pzzinngg.
“There is nowhere to go, Mr. Becker!” Asag shouted. “If you and your accomplice turn yourselves over now, we won't harm you!”
The inspector turned to Sam in confusion. “I killed one of them,” he said in a hushed voice.
“Oh, I doubt that very much,” replied Sam. “They're hard bastards to kill.” Despite the situation, Sam took a little satisfaction in the confusion washing over Ackhart's face. He was about to get proof of 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 no more than ragged red lines, and in the bright floodlights Sam could see the skin colour improving with every passing second.
“Mère de Dieu,” muttered Ackhart, shaking his head. “What madness is this?”
“I know, right?” Sam smiled nervously. “It's some real fucked up shit to get your head around. The one you ploughed down will be fighting fit again, in just a few minutes.”