The Trade of Kings

by Mike Kraus

  It took less than a second for Marcus Rodriguez’s life to be snuffed out.

  As he took a step past yet another room and turned to look in, a dark figure appeared from nowhere. One hand grabbed his head and pulled him in while the other came down hard on his shotgun, knocking it to the ground. The hand then produced a shining blade that flashed through the air, cutting through his throat before he could even utter a sound. The figure then kicked Marcus’s dying body backward, sending him toppling into two others in the hall who had turned to see what the gurgling noise was, only to find the bloody body of one of their members being shoved toward them.

  While the gang members struggled to react to the death—and, indeed, near-beheading—of one of their own, Carl ducked back into the room, retreating into the shadows while giving a single shout in Russian.

  “Idti!”

  At the shout of “go!” Ostap drew his pistol with his right hand, swung around the doorframe and pulled the trigger as fast and fluidly as possible. Seventeen rounds went down the hall, all at chest level, and all striking against flesh and bone. He pulled back behind the doorway, slammed the pistol into its holster while slipping the mirror into his pocket, then retrieved his rifle from his shoulder and flicked the switch to automatic. He swung out again and was just about to squeeze the trigger when a blurred form struck him from the front, sending him off-balance and nearly knocking the rifle loose.

  The leader of the gang, having barely escaped from the barrage of gunfire by ducking down behind his cronies, leapt forward and caught Ostap on the shoulder, trying to grab at his rifle. Ostap backpedaled into the room, keenly aware that there were still a few of the gang left alive in the hall, and struggled with his right hand to keep the rifle while pawing for his knife with his left hand. Fingers met the steel handle and he drew the weapon, slicing upward toward his enemy’s face.

  The combat knife, carefully sharpened and unused since put in its sheath before leaving Russia, was every bit as sharp as the one Carl had used to slice the neck of the young MS-13 member. The leader of the gang, while considerably tougher and more experienced than the new recruit, did not possess anything that could keep the blade from slicing cleanly through cloth and flesh. His skin opened as though the knife was a zipper, cutting a long streak across the front of his chest, up the side of his neck and from the bottom right side of his face up over his left eye.

  The sudden, vicious assault drove him back and he screamed, clawing at the wounds while trying to escape from the room. There was no escape from the Russian Spetsnaz officer, though, and Ostap brought his rifle up to his shoulder and tapped the trigger three times, sending a trio of full-auto bursts into the man’s stomach, back and upper torso.

  As the gang leader charged after Ostap, Carl had been in the midst of circling through a side door in the room he was concealed in, looping around to get behind the group in the hall. He threw open a door and entered the corridor just as he heard the gunfire from his partner and then he joined in, eliminating the last few of the gang members with swift, accurate shots to their centers of mass.

  Ostap stepped out into the hall, making visual contact with Carl and nodding to him, then received a nod back. Both men relaxed their stances and lowered their weapons before pulling down the masks that had been covering their mouths and noses. They were both breathing hard from the sudden burst of energy they had expended in the fight, and they checked themselves and each other over for any wounds before Ostap began walking back down the hall toward the front door. He peeked out the front door, verifying that the compound was clear of any of the gang members before pulling out his radio and pressing the button on the side.

  “You’re clear to head in. Rendezvous at the car in the compound. Out.” Ostap hung the radio back on his vest and turned to head back inside the building, only to see Carl standing in the middle of the hallway with his hands above his head. At the far end of the hall, standing near the doorway to the stairwell, were figures shouldering rifles. One of the figures gestured to Ostap with his rifle, shouting as he did so.

  “Get your hands up, too! Now!”

  Ostap ground his teeth together in frustration, torn between obeying the unknown figure and taking his chances with pulling off three lucky shots in a row without him or Carl dying in the interim.

  “Now, dammit!” The figure shouted again and Ostap took a deep breath and shifted his weight, feeling the rifle move slightly on its sling on his shoulder, preparing to make his move.

  Chapter 7

  The Waters’ Homestead

  Outside Ellisville, VA

  “There’s a rope on the end of the board, right there. Just pick it up and drag it.”

  “What if she rigged it with something?”

  “You’re scared of an IED now? What do you think this is, Afghanistan? It’s a board of nails, just get it out of the way so he can radio for backup to drive in!”

  For the two men standing and arguing in the driveway in front of the Waters’ house, their night was going as well as could be expected given the circumstances. They had bellies full of canned food, their clothing was keeping them adequately warm and they still had enough friends and weapons that they believed themselves to be invulnerable against whatever dangers might come their way in the new, apocalyptic world.

  The barrage of five point five six millimeter bullets passing through the men’s’ backs and exiting out through their chests destroyed all illusion of invulnerability in the blink of an eye.

  Firing from their elevated position, Dianne and Tina opened up on the men in the driveway at the same time, instantly cutting them down. One fell directly onto the board they were moving while the other tried crawling away, making it only a few feet before succumbing to his pain and wounds. The sudden noise and screams from the two men momentarily confused the men stalking through the woods, and Dianne, Tina, Mark and Sarah all used the confusion to their advantage.

  Bright flashes of yellow and white light exploded from the upstairs of the quiet house in the middle of the woods as four rifles sang out. Lead tore through wood, cloth and flesh alike, and in just a few seconds there were six more men lying or crawling on the ground, crying out from the wounds they suffered. The confusion did not last for long though, and as the leader of the group finally realized where the shots were coming from, he ordered his men to fall back and hide amongst the trees. There were a few scattered bursts of gunfire from the house, but as Dianne realized that the men were hiding, she told the other to stop firing and get away from the windows, as she expected a barrage of return fire.

  “What’s going on?” Tina peeked out through the edge of one of the windows, after waiting in silence for what felt like hours. “Why aren’t they opening fire on us?”

  “I don’t know.” Dianne shook her head. “I don’t like it though.”

  “Attention!” The voice came from outside, loud and electronic as it was magnified through a megaphone. Dianne peeked up and glanced out the window to see a man looking out from behind a tree near the driveway. A white and red megaphone was up to his mouth and there was a sharp crackle before he spoke again. “You in the house!”

  Tina glanced at Dianne before Dianne replied, shouting out the open window with as much gusto and bravado as she could muster. “What do you want?”

  “To talk! Are you that bitch from the gas station?”

  Tina stifled a snort at the response, then sat up and quickly fired off a pair of rounds at the tree, one of them managing to cut through the end of the megaphone, which was dropped and then hastily retrieved. Tina sat back down and replied, shouting as she leaned her head back at the window. “Yeah, we’re the ones from the gas station! Now, what do you want?”

  “To stop shooting for a second and just talk!”

  “Talk about what? How you’ve been kidnapping and killing people? Enslaving them? Abusing them and worse?” Tina sat up again and fired, but the man speaking through the megaphone had anticipated her action and concealed both himsel
f and the megaphone fully behind the tree and the rounds plunked harmlessly into the wood.

  “Holy hell, woman, stop the shooting! We could light you up right now if we wanted; you know that right?”

  Tina opened her mouth to reply, but Dianne put a hand on her arm and shook her head as she whispered. “Don’t antagonize them. Let me do the talking.” Tina rolled her eyes but didn’t reply. Dianne stood next to the window and peeked out again as she called out in response. “So what is it you want, then? Why are you talking instead of ‘lighting us up,’ as you put it?”

  “It’s simple!” The man yelled back as he glanced around the edge of the tree. His features were impossible to make out in the darkness, but Dianne could sense that his casual, almost dismissive attitude was a ploy. Something else was going on, but she wasn’t sure what just yet.

  “All right, then name it!”

  “I want you or whoever it was that came into our camp, burned it to the ground and killed a good number of our men, to walk out the front door of the house. You’ll come with us and the rest of your people will live.”

  “What makes you think I have any idea about what you’re talking about?”

  Dianne could nearly hear the man’s deathly smile in his reply. “Not many folks left in these parts. Someone who can snipe one of my men at a decent distance and wound a second is even rarer. Plus, I recognize that old coot’s voice from the camp. You can keep her; just send out your leader and we’ll be on our way!”

  Tina looked over at Dianne and whispered. “You know it’s a trap, right?”

  Dianne’s eyebrows shot up and she shook her head at Tina. “No kidding; you think so?! What do I look like, stupid?” Tina laughed heartily at the response, then Dianne continued. “No, I don’t even think he’s serious about wanting someone to come out.”

  Tina’s laugh vanished and a serious expression came over her. “You think he’s stalling for something?”

  “Mom?”

  Dianne turned to look over at Mark on the other side of the bedroom. “What’s up?”

  “A few of the guys out to the side of the house just ran from the trees they were hiding behind.”

  “Ran? Ran where?”

  “Off into the woods far enough that I can’t see them anymore.”

  “He’s right, Dianne.” Sarah was the next to speak. “There goes another one.”

  “Oh hell’s bells.” Tina groaned. “They’re taking off out front, too. Looks like three moving farther around to the side.”

  “Well?” The voice from out front came again, and Dianne called back.

  “Oh yeah, sure. We’ll get right on that!” Her words were dripping with sarcasm and she whispered to Tina. “If they’re surrounding us then they’re probably just going to start firing wildly trying to hit us.” She turned to look at Mark and Sarah. “You two, get on the floor and crawl to the hallway, then get downstairs. Don’t let them see you, okay? I want Mark at the front peeking through the cracks on the side windows and Sarah looking out through the cracks at the back door. As soon as I open fire, I want you two to shoot anything that moves.”

  Mark and Sarah nodded, dropped to their hands and knees and began shuffling out of the bedroom and down the hall. Dianne turned back to Tina once they were gone. “Time for round two. Think they’ll give up once we kill a few more of them?”

  “Not a chance.” Tina shook her head. “It’s not just about revenge for saving me or destroying their camp anymore. You wounded their pride and they want retribution for that.”

  A flare of orange light caught Dianne’s eye and she looked out the window into the woods, gasping in horror at the sight. No less than five flames had simultaneously appeared amongst the trees, and they were rapidly bobbing across the ground as the men carrying them charged forward, shouting at the tops of their lungs. Dianne turned back to the window and fired off a few shots at the men, but a burst of fire from the trees drove her back as bullets thudded against the siding of the house. With no way to stop the men, she watched from the edge of the window as the flames soared through the air, arcing toward her home.

  Chapter 8

  Washington, D.C.

  “Stop!” The shout came from behind Ostap and he spun around, shrugging the rifle off of his shoulder and preparing to fire on the new threat when he saw the forms of Oles and Jacob behind him. “Don’t shoot them!”

  “How—how did you get here so fast?” Ostap was nearly at a loss for words, his head still spinning from the fight that had just concluded.

  “We were near the front gate when we heard the gunfire, so we came in.” Both Oles and Jacob shrugged sheepishly.

  “Hey!” Carl shouted from inside the building, and Ostap and the two technicians looked at him. “Can you save the question and answer session for later, maybe? These three look more than a little bit trigger happy!”

  In the doorway, Rick glanced at Jane and Dr. Evans, surprised to hear an American colloquialism from someone who was very clearly a foreign agent. He could still see the second man standing outside and there were two more who had appeared, but none of the four looked like they were about to open fire, so he took a nervous step out into the hall. The bodies of the MS-13 members were strewn about the floor, the air heavy with the smell of gunpowder and blood. Rick swallowed hard as he tried not to look at the corpses, addressing the man closest to him instead.

  “My name’s Rick Waters. Who are you and why are you here?” The question seemed simple and childlike in the face of such overwhelming death and destruction, but it was the only one that made sense to ask.

  “I’m—”

  “My name,” said one of the men outside the building, who stepped inside without raising his hands, “is Oles Belov. We don’t mean you and your group any harm.”

  Rick motioned at the bodies on the floor with his rifle. “Could have fooled me.”

  Ostap pushed his way past Oles and shot the technician a glare. “Ostap Isayev. We’re here on a mission to stop the weaponized computer virus known as Damocles. Our… technicians say that one of your group may have the same intent. Is this true?”

  Rick eyed Ostap cautiously, weighing the man’s tone and attitude against his demeanor. Ostap’s hands were down at his side, and Rick could see his right hand swaying slightly just inches away from a holster on his hip. “You four were in that Russian plane that went down, I take it?”

  Carl turned his head to look at Ostap, while Oles stepped forward again and jumped into the conversation before he could be stopped. “Yes! Yes, we were! Did you see it go down?”

  “Mhm. West side of the city, while the storm was passing through. We didn’t know if there were any survivors.” Rick lowered his rifle slightly, though Jane and Dr. Evans kept their weapons pressed against their cheeks and shoulders, fingers hovering near the triggers. Rick looked down at the pile of bodies again and shook his head. “I guess we have you to thank for taking care of these a-holes.”

  Carl nodded and lowered his hands slightly until his palms were level with his shoulders. Ostap walked forward slowly, stepping over the bodies on the floor until he stood next to Carl. “Mr. Waters—”

  “Just call me Rick.”

  “Rick.” Ostap nodded. “Our technicians believe you have someone in your group, a Dr. Michael Evans. Is this true?”

  Rick stiffened, raising his rifle back up and adjusting his stance. “What if we do?”

  Ostap put his palms in a non-threatening gesture, then turned to Oles. “Do you mind explaining this?”

  Oles nodded eagerly and began talking at a high rate of speed. “We took one of the last remaining planes out of our country and came here with the purpose of finding access codes to shut down Damocles. Our engineers determined that it was likely going to continue to escalate its attacks unless it was stopped, and apparently military intelligence decided that this is likely where the command and control center is located.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.” Rick’s voice was flat and em
otionless.

  “Oh! Yes, Dr. Evans! He’s… well, he’s a genius!” While Oles was technically the senior technician of the two, his childlike wonder was just as strong—if not stronger—than Jacob’s, and discussing a figure like Dr. Evans made him beam with delight. “He was the lead developer on the project that ultimately turned into Damocles! The breadth and depth of his knowledge on the subject is such that he would be an absolutely invaluable asset in the shutdown of Damocles. Is... is he really here? Was that truly him that we saw?”

  Rick heard movement behind him and shifted to the side, clearing a space for Dr. Evans to step out of the doorway. He lowered the rifle and, as his face became unobscured by the weapon, both Oles and Jacob let off shouts of delight and disbelief. Their enthusiasm and friendliness in the face of so much carnage in the very same room was confusing, but given that two of the new arrivals had just slaughtered the MS-13 gang members, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  Rick lowered his rifle and held out his hand to Carl, whose hands were still raised. “Rick Waters. And you are?”

  Carl turned to look at Ostap, who merely shrugged, though Rick noticed that the man’s hand was easing away from his holster instead of toward it. Carl took a deep breath and extended his hand, clasping Rick’s in a firm handshake. “Carl Aliyev. The other technician here is Jacob Yermakov. Ostap is our mission leader.”

  Ostap walked slowly up to Carl’s side and shook Rick’s hand. “Carl. Ostap. I’m guessing, based on your dress, that we have you two gentlemen to thank for saving our asses.”

  “When Oles and Jacob saw who was with your group, they told us it was vital that we keep you out of harm’s way.”