Her undertakings roused the man in the top bunk. He became restless. Sandy squatted on top of the dead man in the bottom bunk. She saw a hand rest on the first step of the beds ladder. The man was beginning to comb the room in search of the rustling which awakened him. The body in the single bed looked fast asleep. Sandy knew it was a matter of seconds before she would be noticed. She grabbed her HK45CT, the handgun of choice. It was fitted with a suppressor. Holding the gun tight to the mattress above her she rapidly fired two bullets. Leaping off the bed holding her weapon with two hands one more bullet was discharged hitting the subject directly between the eyes. The first two shots had seriously injured him, the third ended his life.
All the intelligence gathered within the past couple of days and her satellite images supported the certainty of three persons remaining in the building. At least one was thought to be the hostage. Again, her concern was the free movement being afforded to all six occupants. Something was not adding up, but she felt prepared no matter how it played out.
After gently opening the door she heard a faint sound of a conversation taking place at the far end of the house. She eased her way down the hallway towards the voices. It sounded like a male and a female having a heated argument. The woman seemed to have the predominate voice. It appeared as if she was instructing the man who was disagreeing.
Sandy hid in an open doorway listening carefully to ascertain that all was clear before she proceeded any further. The only light and sound was coming from the room housing the two having the conversation. A third person could not be heard. His whereabouts was not known. This did not sit well with her. Knowledge of your opponent’s whereabouts and vulnerabilities were paramount to the successful outcome of a battle.
Slowly, she eased herself forward not making a sound. Each movement was deliberate. At the end of each step she positioned herself for an attack from front or rear. This became significant as she felt the gun barrel pressed against the back of her head.
“Don’t even blink,” a voice precisely instructed her.
“Good, now raise your arms above your head,” he continued.
Sandy followed the instructions to a tee. When a person has a semiautomatic rifle puncturing your skull, the best reaction is no reaction. At least for the initial contact until the circumstances can be analyzed.
“Now slowly walk forward. One false move, you lose a head. I would prefer to behead you right now, but I’m sure my superior will want to have a chat with you before I kill you,” he uttered.
She began to move forward towards the lit room. She was confident the people inside the room were not aware of what was happening in the hallway or they would have been assisting with her capture. She decided to take out the man holding the gun to her head at the next open doorway, planning to force him into an empty space so any noise would be muffled from the remaining two.
It was three steps ahead. From the placement of the barrel of the gun she estimated her assailant’s height was equal to hers. If taller the barrel would have been placed higher and if shorter if would have been lower. The projection of his voice supported her assessment. He spoke English with very little accent. His voice had a restrained quality to it. Not panicked or forced. He was applying a moderate pressure of the gun to her head. In summary, she was confident he was a well trained militant of a Middle East country with a medium height and weight. She hadn’t uttered a word yet, so there was no way he knew she was a woman. He would be a capable opponent. His drawback would be his placidity of the situation. This told her he felt superior, a fatal mistake on his part. One should never take their opponent for granted. Your life depended on it. Unfortunately for him, he would never have the chance to practice the lesson he was about to learn.
When they were adjacent to the doorway, she was relieved it was open. With lightning speed she simultaneously crouched, instantaneously making herself two feet shorter while backing into the assailant before he could think of reacting. She threw her arms up grabbing and pushing the rifle upwards. There was little resistance as her actions were so swift. Knowing he would hold onto the gun for dear life, she pulled the gun forward flipping him over her. She gained control of the weapon but not before a shot was discharged into the ceiling. With the butt of the gun’s handle, she hit him squarely in the face twice. He was down and out but not dead. She tossed the rifle into the empty room and then quickly dragged him into it. With her side weapon she put two bullets in his body, one in the head and one in the chest. One shot would have sufficed, but he pissed her off. Now he was dead.
Sandy immediately heard commotion down the hallway. A man ran right by the room not even stopping to look in. He must have thought the attack was at the other end of the house. Sandy rolled into the passage and put three shots into his back. He staggered for about two feet then dropped face first onto the concrete floor. That left the hostage. The building was now absolutely silent.
Sandy’s alertness was peaking. The suspected hostage’s free rein of the facility was disturbing. Sandy quickly made her way back into the open doorway. Something was wrong. If someone was being held against their will, now would be the time for them to be screaming at the top of their lungs. But there was nothing.
After reloading her weapon with a fresh clip, she exited the room, this time easing herself towards the light reflecting out at the end of the hall. There was still no activity. With preciseness to every movement she came to the opening. Once again she crouched with her back flat against the wall, her gun to her side. The plan was to enter the room in a squat position firing off a couple of rounds into the ceiling. If the hostage was alone in the room this would force her to take cover. A gun being fired into a room has a tendency to make one want to hide. If it was not a friendly on the other side, the discharge of the weapon would buy her a split second to evaluate the space. An enemy would aim a shot at the head or heart so being crouched bettered the chance of the bullets missing high.
She made her move. She leaped in, rolled twice while getting off two quick shots into the ceiling then to cover behind a chair. There was no return fire. Calmly sitting behind a desk was Emily Wilson, the missing CIA agent.
Sandy’s suspicions were justified. She could not believe what she was witnessing. The agent was not bound in any way. Perched behind three laptop computers with her hands in the air in a surrendering position, she was unconcerned with her intruder. The gunfire did not faze her. Actually Emily had a smile on her face.
“Wow, it only took you a year to find me. I must have been a high priority on someone’s recovery list,” she said sarcastically. “You know I really wanted to believe that we were the greatest organization in the world.”
Sandy said nothing, just kept her cover and listened with her gun zeroed in at Emily’s head. She needed to hear more to decipher the kidnapped agent’s state of mind. Also it was best not to expose that she was a female at this point. Was she saving someone here or listening to an enemy.
“The whole world hates the great USA. Not me, I risked my life every single day for the good of the country. I mastered the art of deception for the country. I killed for the country. Now a year after I’ve been to hell and back, you come in here all guns a blazing to save me,” she ranted. “Let me see your face. I want to know who my savior is, who I owe my life to. Who was foolish enough to risk their own life to save reporter Emily Wilson after just one year of her going missing. This must be a record for the mighty CIA to recover an asset.”
Now it was time to speak. Maybe if she knew it was another woman with the gun trained on her it might help defuse the situation.
“Emily I’m here now. That’s all that should count. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You were trained for this. A year, ten years, we would have continued to search for you, no matter how long it took. Let’s get you home,” she asserted, without altering her aim at Emily’s forehead.
“How things change in a year,” Emily stated. “They send a female to save me. They’ve finally seen the lig
ht.”
“We need to move now. This was noisier than planned. We have an extraction team waiting.”
“I want to see your face,” Emily demanded.
“That’s not going to happen. Not now, not ever, let’s move.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she answered.
“Yes you are. You’re leaving here with me, now.”
“The United States is no longer my home. This is where I belong. The people here need me. We are the way of the future. Your country thinks they can force their arrogant style of life onto all others. Well I’ve learned the truth. I will remain,” she explained. “Please leave. Tell them I am no longer part of their world.”
“Emily, I am not leaving here without you. You have gone through a difficult year. We can work all this out at home.”
Listening to her talk solidified Sandy’s suspicions. They had gotten to her. She had been turned. By way of torture, they brainwashed her to believe in their god, their mission. She had been taught to deal with such rhetoric, but she was now broken.
“No I’m staying. I will not kill you if you leave peacefully. My choices have been made,” she responded.
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m the one pointing the gun. You’re in no position to be negotiating,” Sandy pointed out.
Emily’s hands were visible but one was moving ever so slightly downwards towards the back edge of the desk. Sandy knew exactly what she was attempting to do. Under the desk there would be an alarm button, similar to the ones a bank teller would have to alert the police in case of a robbery. The difference was this particular one was a detonation button. It would be protected by a small dome casing to avoid pressing it in error. The building was rigged with explosives. This was a common practice by an extremist group. They were willing to die for their cause. If captured, everything within the compound would be destroyed by the explosion. The remains left to rot in the ashes. Sandy couldn’t let it happen. Emily may have a death wish, but she didn’t.
“Don’t move your hands another inch,” she demanded while her finger tensed the trigger.
Emily’s arm froze in mid air after dropping halfway towards the desk. All that the disgruntled CIA agent required was another second or two and the place would be destroyed. Emily stared at Sandy. It was a blank stare. There was nothing behind it. Sandy had seen it before. The agent, journalist, had come to terms with her own death. Believing it was for the greater cause. She was lost. There was no bringing her back, at least at the present time. If Sandy could maneuver her out of the building and bring her to safety, there was a chance the Agency’s people may be able to save her. Although Sandy didn’t really believe it, she was too far gone.
“We will die together then. You will join me on my next journey. We will be welcomed by our lord,” Emily rambled.
Her hand made a quick move for the button. Sandy pulled the trigger. One shot, one bullet to the chest forcing her backwards away from the detonator. Emily was dead. Sandy was the last person standing. She had failed the rescue. Her subject was beyond the point of no return. The death was a necessity.
As soon as the trigger was squeezed the mission’s purpose switched from the extraction of a hostage, to intelligence gathering. Sandy stood silent for a minute until confident there were no others that needed to be dealt with. After all, this exercise generated a noise level in excess of what the initial plan of attack called for.
Once sure she was the sole breathing individual in the building, she gathered up the three laptops that lay on the small desk. The blood on each would remain only to be removed once DNA testing was completed. With the computers in her knapsack she scanned the remainder of the office. After retrieving a few files it was decision time. Should she carry the former CIA agent’s body or leave her sitting in the chair where, by choice, her life came to an abrupt end. The verdict, she would remain as is. There seem to be no benefit to lugging her to the rendezvous area. The order would be to bury her at sea without anyone being advised of her identity. Sandy decided the complex must be destroyed to erase all intelligence that may be hidden within its walls. The country she was in dealt with bombs being detonated on a daily basis. The assumption would be the aggression was one terrorist group’s attack on another. Within hours multiple radical groups would be seeking credit for the act. No investigation would be initiated. The Government was ill equipped for inquiries every time this happened. Technically the country was always at war.
She retrieved explosive devises out of her bag which Fyad provided her with. Each had a tiny microchip implanted into it. A sticky substance on the bottom allowed it to be placed on any surface in a timely manner. The first two were placed under and on the back of Emily’s chair. She would not be recognizable. Also from her bag she took out a set of vials to take blood samples from all her victims. Emily was first. She would repeat this as she came across each of the other victims.
Sandy continued her exit positioning each one of the explosives on what she believed to be supporting walls. The combination of her devices along with the internal ones was sufficient to destroy any evidence which remained. It would most certainly be a noticeable explosion, but it was the only alternative. Nothing could remain intact.
Leaving the building she entered into the remaining hour of the night’s darkness. Retracing her route step by step through the treeless rolling terrain in the direction of the rendezvous point she found herself that much further away from the sparse civilization.
Counting her strides she did not have to estimate when the ideal distance was achieved. At that point she took out what looked to be a GPS unit. It required a fingerprint, then a voice recognition prompt. The signal was bounced off a NASA controlled satellite. It could not be traced. She held her thumb to the screen, raised it to her face and briefly spoke into it. Still casually walking like someone out for a Sunday stroll without a care in the world, she pressed one more button on the phone. The sky behind her lit up like a New Year’s Eve celebration. She continued her casual walk without breaking a stride or looking back. There would be little if anything but ashes to sift through. The other dwellings in the area were far enough away not to sustain any major damage.
“Holy shit,” the commander yelled, “go, go, go, go, go!”
The team remained aboard the helicopter on higher ground ten miles from the target ready to deploy within seconds. They were expecting contact authorizing recovery of their cargo. Radio communication was the preferred method. Well I guess this works, the Commander thought.
The caterwaul of the propellers increased at a rapid speed. In no time flat they were airborne. They flew low and fast. Their destination was the drop off point. This time they did not hover above. They landed. The team disembarked one covering the front and one covering the rear of the chopper. The other three began their way towards the fireball in a V shape formation. They only gained a few yards when over the ridge Sandy appeared. She held her arms high until they were satisfied with her identity. Not wanting to speak she gave a thumbs up as the team whisked her into the aircraft. The only words spoken came from the Commander inquiring if she was all right after pointing out the blood on her face covering. She hadn’t noticed an injury. It was most likely a splatter of blood from one of her victims. She shrugged it off nodding her assurance of being okay.
The team was to escort her to the airport in Saudi Arabia where her jet was still stationed. Her pilots had been instructed to have the plane prepped and ready for takeoff at an instant. The flight was uneventful. The commander reported the successful recovery of the unknown agent. Nothing else was or would be asked of him as Sandy would be briefing the Director in private once she landed.
They touched down close to the hanger in which her plane was parked. One of her pilots could be seen in the brightly lit building standing at the base of the aircraft's stairs. Sandy stepped out as did all members of the team. Once she was safely on the ground they were to return to the aircraft carrier. She acknowledged them with a nod. With a
quick jerk of her head she beckoned the Commander to follow her. He motioned to his men, directing them to stay with the helicopter.
Soon he was walking alongside of her. Once inside the hanger out of sight from the remainder of the team, she abruptly stopped, lifted the balaclava to her forehead so only he could see her face.
“Blake,” she said exposing her identity to him.
“Breaker, I had a feeling.”
She knew he would shield her involvement. Together they had been to hell and back. All who participated in that year long exercise were unwavering in their commitment to the sensitivity of each other’s assignments.
“Breaker,” he repeated calling her again by the nickname she acquired from snapping too many bones of her comrades during training. “I wasn’t aware of your active duty.”
The statement did not require a reply. She answered with a shrug of her shoulders. The success of the subterranean assignments this A-list group was engaged in demanded unparalleled secrecy. Their lives depended on it.
“What happened back there?” He asked.
“She wasn’t who we thought she was.”
“Okay.” He accepted her decisions without questions.
“How have you been Blake?”
“I’m fine,” not being accustomed to small talk his answer was brief.
“Have you married, have family?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I think you know the answer to that Sandy.”
“We’re not normal, are we Blake?”
“Depends on whose eyes you’re looking through,” he replied softening his voice knowing only a select few would understand the complexities of her choices.
“You’ve seem to have found a balance in your life,” he hinted. “You appear to be handling your public life gracefully. Your newsworthiness is hard to miss.”
Love Lonely Page 17