by K Alexander
In pure reflex he lets off a shot upwards, gritting his teeth in impotent fury when the sound only produces a low chuckle from her.
"Come out here, Ryan! Fight like a man!"
"You want to shoot me. Why would I?" The edge of amusement in her voice is intolerable to Turner. Deliberately softening his voice he forces out a laugh.
"If you don't attack me I'll return the favor."
This time it's an actual laugh, one filled with genuine mirth that he can't imagine he's ever heard from her. "You don't say. Okay. Just let me get down from here… " He's still waiting like an idiot, looking towards the scuffling noise, when a whole heap of sawdust comes falling from the partially finished roof and drifts down onto him, settling on his shoulders like a massive load of dandruff. An amount of the fine particles gets into his eyes and he has to stop himself from rubbing furiously.
"Bitch!"
She laughs again, a little softer this time, and he cannot tell where she is, whether she's moved, or if she's about to jump down onto him again. "I'm not coming down from here to let you shoot me, General. If you want me you'll have to catch me."
"I could. I could also phone Mahoney and tell him to kill the other blonde woman."
"And then you'll have one dead blonde and a soldier in the rafters. Yippee for you. Get a partridge and a pear tree and you can start a barber shop quartet."
"What the fuck do you want from me?" He notices his right hand beginning to tremble and steadies it impatiently with the other. As if she can see him the woman sniggers.
"From you? I'm the one who's been messed with, chased around the country, shot at… The question is what the fuck do you want from me, General?"
"I wanted you to take care of the situation! I wanted you to ki …" He bites back the next words and glares at the roof, defying her to give away her position.
"You wanted me to kill… who?"
"Come down here!"
"Kill who, Turner?"
Roaring in anger he fires another shot into the roof at random. This time silence follows, until he thinks that he may have hit her, and then, in the quietness, she clicks her tongue at him. "Tut. You're wasting bullets."
He feels as if he is about to explode in fury when footsteps sound on the steps further down the hall. He is aware that there is supposed to be nobody in this structure, and is harboring no illusion that this will be either Marshall or Pitt come to assist him. Things have gone horribly wrong for General Turner today, and he is not about to tempt fate. With a quick glance upwards he lopes back towards the office door, yanking it open and barging in.
George Turner is not a coward. He has faced many threats, weathered many dangerous situations, and is still alive to tell the tale. However, he is also not stupid, and the Deus situation is a festering boil that has been threatening to burst open for many years now. If he could have eliminated Ryan as he had wanted to, and the blonde doctor to boot, things would have been easier to cover up for a man of his rank, but now that godforsaken soldier is running amok in his hiding place, and the doctor's gone who knows where. Eventually it is inevitable that facts about the unauthorized project will leak, and then it is only a matter of time before he is charged, and his associates tracked down. And if the government doesn't crucify him, the few associates who are bound to escape exposure will.
There are only a few outs, and at this moment the one that General Turner takes is the open window. He rushes towards it, sliding it up, and is about to take his next action when the slightest of movements attracts his attention. With a frown he turns, slowly, and when his eyes fall on the blonde doctor hidden beneath the desk, visible now from this side and curled into a fearful ball, his wide mouth stretches into a harsh grin. As the door erupts he lifts his firearm and aims it in her direction, the helpless blonde filling his field of vision right now. A body catapults over the desk and then Ryan is between them, her chest blocking his view as she plants herself squarely, point blank between Turner and the desk.
"No!" It's Walsch, her voice terrified, and then the gunshot rings out.
------ To Walsch's blue eyes everything slows down, from the sound of her own heartbeat stretching into one dull booming thud inside her chest to the agonizingly slow movement as Ryan's back arches and she buckles forward towards the broad form of the man standing in front of her.
The blonde wants to scream, can feel the thick pressure building up in her lungs as she opens her mouth, and whilst even the dust particles seem to be hanging by threads in the air around her, her mind is spinning at an impossible speed, howling NO! as she tries to propel herself towards the falling woman.
Turner's hands appear at the sides of Ryan's body, reaching out at the same time as the soldier extends her arms towards him for a grim embrace, and for a long moment the disembodied limbs seeming to protrude from her sides causes an absurd Kali-like image for Walsch, watching from behind in abject horror. The two figures meld into one as Ryan folds up like a burning paper doll, gradually collapsing onto the ground, her arms wrapped around George Turner.
15.
When finally she can move her numb body, Walsch's trembling fingers reach forward to close convulsively over the hood of the fallen woman's sweatshirt. She starts in shock and fear when a pair of warm hands wrap over them from behind and gently pulls her into a warm embrace. Trying to push back she stares up blindly at the beautiful face of the Spanish woman who is holding her ever so tenderly. "Ryan?"
"It's okay, chica. She's okay."
"But he … Sophia… "
Suddenly Ryan's arms unwrap from the burly body under her and she pushes herself up, turning around to shoot a glance at Walsch, her green eyes soft. "Sophie shot him, Walsch - he didn't shoot me. Look. I'm fine. Okay?"
A guttural sob threatens to erupt from the blonde's throat and she bites it back, swallowing until her voice is under her control again. "Okay." She continues to watch with big blue eyes as Ryan turns her back and begins with first aid, not shifting her focus away from the soldier even as Ruiz's one hand slips up to check the damage to her face surreptitiously and fleetingly.
Leaning forward Ryan applies as much pressure as possible to the copiously bleeding wound. The man beneath her hands is groaning softly, his hands clenching convulsively, and when they brush over her leg he opens his eyes dimly.
"Ryan…"
His voice is low and breathy. Looking over her shoulder the soldier meets the dark eyes of Ruiz. "¿Ya viene la ambulancia?"
"Si - ¿va a lograrlo?"
"No lo sé. Depende de que tan rápido lleguen."
"Deberías dejar morir al maldito..."
"I'm better than him, Sophie." Leaning closer to the man's paling face Ryan speaks loudly. "Turner. Talk to me."
"… have nothing to say to you… " He closes his eyes petulantly.
With an irritated sigh Ryan lifts one of her hands. "Turner, if I lift the other one you bleed to death like a pig. Don't fuck with me, okay?"
The smile that flickers over his bullish features is almost admiring. "So stubborn all the time. That's your problem."
"No, my problem is you." She replaces her hand. "Tell me. Tell me how I was going to take care of the situation."
"We set it up so you could escape…" He groans a little at a wave of pain before he continues. "Wanted you to eliminate the people who knew about DEX… set up a thread for you from Banks' house. Didn't count on him cracking. We had his daughter, you know. And you - so fucking stubborn - you just had to go a different way…" He closes his eyes. "You were just one big fucking mistake."
Fighting the temptation to let him bleed to death Ryan watches him darkly as he lies there on the floor taking shallow breaths. "How did you know I'd escape?"
"We pushed." Two brutal and simple words. Gathering his strength he shoots her a crooked smile. "We provoked you, we hurt you, we tormented you until you snapped. You've been thinking it was all Somalia, haven't you? It wasn't, Ryan. Not all of it. Sometimes that voice was your own people. We
made you, Ryan… to be what you are."
Ryan's face contorts and she bites down hard, grinding her teeth for a moment before she glowers at him fiercely. "You failed."
"Do you think so?" He exhales raggedly. "DEX, no DEX - you are what you are. You'll never be free of it."
Gritting her teeth Ryan glares down at him. "Sophie, please can you take over here?"
As she moves away he grins weakly at her. "I'm not the only involved in this, Ryan. There are people you know. Trust."
She freezes, her face unmoving. "Who?"
"I'm not telling… you'll find out eventually…"
Ryan's mouth sets itself into a thin straight line. "Sophie… "
"I'm here."
When Ruiz has her hands securely over the wound Ryan turns her back on him and crouches at Walsch's side, unwilling to touch the blonde with her bloody hands.
"Walsch?"
At the sound of her name, said so softly, the blonde shifts forward into Ryan's arms with a moan. The soldier places her arms carefully around the blonde's back. "How badly did the bastard hurt you?"
"He hit me around a bit." She chokes back a sob. "Ryan, I'm… "
"Andy. I know."
Andy Walsch looks up at her with tearful big blue eyes so identical to her sister's. "You know? And you almost got shot for me?"
The soldier answers her with a very slight lift of her eyebrows. "I don't want anything to happen to you, either." She pauses for a moment and when she speaks again her voice is a little distant. "You're safe with me. I'm not what they say I am. I'm really not."
Recognizing the slightly distressed undertone Andy runs her hands up Ryan's arms soothingly. "You're not, Ryan. Anyone can see that. Claire…" and then her eyes widen. "Claire!"
"Calm down, Andy. Sophie has it under control. If you can wait here for the ambulance with her … "
"No!" The blonde struggles to her feet. "I'm not letting you go without me. I want to see my sister!"
Standing up herself Ryan glances at the trembling woman before she leans down to speak to Sophie. "Can you get someone to take over from you? Si Andy está allá, quiero que también estés tú. Parece que ella está al borde del colapso. Okay?"
"Sì." Summoning one of her men with the two-way radio at her waist, Sophie waits until he arrives and is in control of Turner's wound before she gets to her feet. "Let's go."
------ Sierra stands on the balcony, his irritation level rising quietly and inexorably as he calls Turner for the millionth time. When the phone rings and rings he turns away from the picturesque scenery and swears softly to himself.
"What's happening?" It's Alpha, standing alertly at the sliding door, his eyes never leaving the tied up figure on the couch.
"Still no answer. Something's very wrong."
"Just don't get any fucking bright ideas, okay?" The tall man slips his fingers into his shirt pocket and pulls out a blue packet of cigarettes, sliding one out and slipping it into his mouth. "The last time you decided something was wrong we lost the woman and Turner handed my ass to me on a plate."
"Thanks for reminding me about that." Sierra stares at Alpha, his dark eyes biting, until the other man turns away from his gaze with a shake of the head. His nostrils flaring at the initial smell of sulphur drifting from the match, Sierra steps inside and approaches the still form lying on the couch.
"Hey."
His low voice is neutral, and there is no response. Reaching out he presses two fingers against the pulse point in her neck, monitoring the steady heartbeat for a moment before he withdraws his hand. Melville had obviously hit her once or twice, judging by the dried blood and the dark bruise coloring her cheek, and she is still out, even an hour after they found the man and returned the favor before they left him in one of his back rooms.
Checking on the knots around her wrist quickly and proficiently, he makes sure that she will be unable to move before he rises to check the front door again. He is just returning to the living room when Alpha steps in through the sliding door, his face rigid.
"Company. Two Caucasian males, armed; one African male, armed, other side of the street, west."
"Movement?"
"None."
Sierra steps out onto the balcony offhandedly and sweeps the area indifferently with his eyes before he strolls back into the room and closes the glass door behind him. Alpha is already on a chair, his SC-20K on his knees as he checks the sliding mechanism. He glances up as Sierra passes him, moving towards his own weapon. The shorter man reaches out for his rifle as he presses the redial button and waits for Turner to answer, which never happens. Slipping the phone into his pocket Sierra sits down and begins to check his firearm. The woman on the couch stirs, a low sigh escaping her throat, but beyond a mild glance in her direction Sierra does not respond. When both men are prepared Alpha takes up his station at the side of the glass door, his body still as he keeps quiet watch on activities beyond the balcony. Sierra stands loosely against the wall just inside the lounge, his rifle competently in both hands, and they do not have to wait long.
A knock sounds at the door, hollow in the silence. Motioning to Alpha to stay at his post Sierra approaches the door on the balls of his feet, his expression watchful. Another knock sounds, loudly, and then a woman's voice.
"Come on, Melville, I know you're there." Frowning, Sierra stays quiet. "You've got the wrong woman, you know. Don't be an ass. She means nothing to him." Sierra glances back at Alpha, but the other man has his back towards the room, his posture solid. "Turner's been found out, Melville. You have nothing to gain from this. Open up."
This time when Sierra glances back, Alpha is shooting the door a brief puzzled glance before he turns his back again. There is a moment of silence before the woman speaks again.
"It's Ryan. Let me in."
At the mention of her name both of the men inside the apartment freeze. Scowling, Sierra shares a perplexed look with Alpha, and then steals towards the door to peer through the peephole.
Whoever she is, she isn't Leah Ryan. Her dark hair cascades down her shoulders in unruly curls and her slanted eyes are dark and still. As Sierra watches she bites the inside of her bottom lip in quiet frustration and appears to look straight at him. Leaning back, Sierra peers through the living room's doorway and shakes his head in the negative to Alpha, who nods once before he moves out of Sierra's sight, back to the balcony.
He is standing alertly inside the sliding door just at the border of the concrete surface, his hands wrapped around the weapon, when a rustling attracts his attention. It seems to be coming from directly below the balcony to the right. With a frown he approaches and stops just short of the edge, aware that it may be a trap, and lifts his weapon, aiming it expertly as he sets one foot in front of the other carefully. Drawing in a smooth breath he steps closer … and almost fires off a startled shot as one of the armed soldiers he spotted earlier bursts from the bushes below, running at a low lope towards an unmarked black van. Glancing upwards the soldier spots Alpha and drops down instantly, rolling behind a small shrub. With a puzzled - and slightly amused - grin, Alpha carefully combs the area for signs of marksmen before he steps closer to the edge to keep the amateurish soldier in view.
The smile is still on his face when Leah Ryan explodes up from absolutely nowhere and grabs the back of his head, yanking it forward so that the bridge of his nose meets the iron railing with a dull crunch. As his eyes roll back in his head she catapults over the rail to wrap a hand in the fabric of his uniform and lower him quietly to the ground, his weapon now clasped in her free hand. Crouched low she checks his pulse before she approaches the door stealthily, the weapon at the ready, to find a smallish stocky soldier standing silently in the living room with a groggy Claire Walsch tightly against him and the barrel of his rifle pointed directly at the unsteady blonde head.
He cocks his head in the direction of the door. "She's not you."
"And you're not Christopher." Lifting one hand in a show of submission she leans
down to put the rifle on the ground, though they're both aware that this apparent compliance means nothing significant to either of them. He watches her impassively until she straightens up again.
"You killed him?" From the direction of his eyes she knows that he's talking about the man outside on the balcony. Apparently Turner's wellbeing isn't all that high on his list.
"No." A shake of her head emphasizes it. "Broken nose. Maybe a slight concussion." Her green eyes flicker to the bloodied blonde in his arms, and a flash of horrifying anger blazes through them before she pushes down her emotions. "You hit her?"
"No. It was before we came." He watches her carefully.
"Where is he?"
Sierra cocks his head in the direction of one of the closed doors off the living room. "He was a weasel."