by L. T. Ryan
Halfway there I was blinded by a spotlight aimed right at me.
42
Despite what some people say, the first instinct is often incorrect, which is why I resisted stopping dead in my tracks while mired in a cone of white light. To do so would have guaranteed my capture or death, possibly both and I wasn’t keen on seeing either any time soon. I pushed forward, cutting left, then right, like I was making my way to the end zone dodging linebackers and defensive backs.
Christiana waited a dozen yards ahead of me, her back against the steel wall. She had her pistol out and raised. Her head whipped side to side as she searched for oncoming danger.
I’d sprinted the last twenty feet so hard I left myself no room to stop. It took everything in my power to avoid slamming into the wall. Pain seared through my left knee as I jammed my foot into the soft ground. Might’ve been worse had it been concrete.
I rested with my hands on my knees, catching my breath.
“I don’t see anyone,” she said. “You?”
With my hands on my knees, I looked up and down the length of the building, then out at the field we’d crossed. “Nobody. And the light’s not moving.”
She twisted at the waist and craned her head back. I followed her gaze toward the small light fixture. She shone her light on it.
“Motion detector.” I shook my head. “Nearly blew my damn ACL over a motion sensing light. The hell are we doing here? I thought you had this place scoped out.”
“I didn’t walk it.” She took a few steps away from the building and turned to face me. “I know how we can get in, so follow me.”
Our pace slowed considerably as we pushed through a heavy wave of snowfall. It pelted us head on now. Felt like icy daggers on my face. The wind had picked up. That, or the sweat that had coated my body made me more sensitive to the breeze. I noted it wasn’t as bad as a couple of days ago. Always amazed me how a few days exposed to the elements made me more resilient. I had a feeling it’d come in handy as the night progressed.
The rumble of a diesel engine grew louder with each passing second until it seemed to vibrate through the building. Brakes squealed high and tense. The engine roar grew deep and steady. Through the snow, I spotted a cone of light stretching out past the building.
Christiana stopped without warning. I didn’t notice and bumped into her. In a flash, she spun and had my right arm locked, one of her legs wrapped around mine throwing off my balance, and her pistol under my chin.
Our mouths were inches from each other’s and I felt her breath hot on my lips. Her eyes were wide with hatred and anger.
“Relax, it was an accident.”
“So help me,” she said. “You touch me again and I will scatter your brains all over the side of this building.”
I regained my balance and let go as she untangled her body from mine. I had figured she moved quickly, but that sequence of events caught me by surprise. She was as lethal as they came. How much would it cost to get her off Yashkin’s payroll and onto mine?
“Were they expecting a delivery?” I said.
“I wouldn’t know.” She was back to business. “But I don’t think so. This place isn’t operational during these months.”
“They might not be producing, but maybe they have storage. This building, those silos back there.”
“Come on.” She crept forward until we were near the end of the building, where her pace slowed even more.
Despite her earlier warning, I remained right behind her with my left hand grazing her back. We remained out of sight at the edge of the building. Two distinct voices rose and fell. It was difficult to make out what they were saying over the hum of the diesel. I picked up a word here and there, but couldn’t manage to string a sentence together.
I tugged on her jacket. She leaned back, turned her head toward me so my mouth was next to her left ear. It left her positioned to keep an eye on the area in front of us.
“Let me take point,” I said.
She turned her head further toward me. “Why?”
“I want to survey the area.”
“Too risky. Let’s wait.”
“Waiting is against my nature.” I pulled her back. Her posture left her off balance, making it simple to slip past her and get to the edge of the building. I heard the men louder here, but still couldn’t determine what they were talking about. Then I got a break.
“No shipments, man,” one of them said.
I placed my face against the freezing metal siding and inched my head toward the corner. Snow continued to slap my face. I was clad in black, but would be easily spotted against the white field in the background. The light-washed area in front of the rig came into view. A man dressed in a plaid flannel jacket faced away from me. His arms were outstretched, he held papers in one hand. They flapped in the wind. He had to be the truck driver. The other guy walked away from him, toward the other end of the building. Was that the guy I saw perched on a stool in front of the side door? I had to assume it was someone else, at least until I had a visual.
The truck driver lowered his arms, shook his head. He cursed a couple times, referring to the other guy as a type of donkey. The man turned ninety degrees, faced the truck. I pulled away from the corner and pressed against the building.
“What’s going on?” Christiana asked.
“Not entirely sure, but it looks like the driver was trying to drop something off and was refused.” I peeked around the edge again. The guy trod toward his rig. “Looks like he’s leaving.”
We waited there for several seconds. The truck door opened with a groan, slammed shut with the force of a hurricane-strength gust of wind. The engine idled for another minute.
Christiana kept watch over our six, monitoring the other end of the building and the field. I stood with my back against the steel wall, flat as I could. I kept my focus straight ahead and listened for changes in the environment.
The transmission grated as the driver shifted his rig into reverse. The rumble deepened. I looked over, saw the white container backing onto the snow-covered blacktop. He squeezed the cab onto the road without sliding into the ditch. The constant roar diminished, leaving a void in the air with nothing to fill the vacuum. Ringing persisted in my ears for several seconds. It wound down to a high-pitched hum before fading completely.
At least an inch of snow had accumulated on the ground already and it showed no signs of stopping.
“We’re good now,” I said.
Christiana grabbed my wrist. “Let me lead now.”
“I got it.”
“No,” she said. “I do. You stay back at least twenty feet. And do not come with me around the next corner.”
Our next step was the riskiest. There was nothing between us and the road. If another person pulled in front of the large building, they’d have us dead to rights.
I nodded and signaled for her to wait a minute. I hadn’t been able to get a good look at the layout with the truck out front. Easing around the building, I sucked in a whiff of diesel fumes. It didn’t make sense. The truck had left five minutes ago. Any remaining smell wouldn’t have only lingered in that spot.
I pressed my hand against the side of the building and felt a slight vibration. Looking up, I spotted a vent. They were using a generator inside, and it vented out to that spot, angled down and away from the building. A gust of wind must’ve directed it at me at that moment.
The area from here to the other side of the building was flat and covered in gravel. The two large doors remained stationary, even when the wind gusted. I spotted no cameras. The lights across the top of the rail that held the doors were off, and didn’t look to be motion sensing. I couldn’t guarantee the same on the other side of the building, though.
“All right,” I said. “Get going. I’ll move once you clear the bay doors.”
Christiana nodded and brushed past. Her left arm and shoulder dragged against me.
It was difficult to put this much trust into the woman. What lay wai
ting on the other side of the building could be a trap, or worse. She could be in on it. It seemed an elaborate setup, if that’s what this was. What was the point in putting both of us through all this? Yashkin had to realize her life was in danger from the moment we left, regardless of what he threatened to do with my friends. If he wanted me dead, best to have done it at the house.
I cast all doubts aside. The operation was legit. No way around it. That still didn’t mean I was in the clear. Once the job was done, everything changed. I would no longer be needed. And neither would Bear and Lexi.
Christiana turned and gave me a thumbs up, and as she did, a man appeared at the other end of the building.
43
I knew my neck would be sore the next morning with how fast I jerked my head back around the corner of the building. I saw enough of the man to know he carried a rifle, and he held it loosely in Christiana’s direction. My pulse pounded in my ears with each passing second. Five had passed and I hadn’t heard a sound.
The cold air blasted me through my unzipped jacket. My hand gripped the pistol in my waistband. I steadied my breath, counted down from three, pulled the firearm and stepped out from cover.
They were gone.
I couldn’t call out her name. The guy could have her kneeling on the other side of the building, hands wrapped around the back of her head. I stepped forward with my left foot, brought my right up next to it. I did this half the length of the building with the pistol at the ready.
A hint of her voice rose. She sounded calm, in control. But a second after I had heard it, it was gone. There was no time to waste. If it blew our mission, fine, but I had to get to the other side.
I hurried forward, careful not to step too hard on the gravel. Still my footsteps crunched, alerting anyone waiting of my advance. I held the pistol at arm’s length, gripped with both hands. If anyone but her appeared, they were getting six shots center mass. Questions could wait for the afterlife.
A slamming sound against the building reverberated through the steel. Christiana grunted and exclaimed in Russian.
To hell with my footsteps. I sprinted the remaining distance, drove my shoulder into the corner of the building to slow me down as I rounded it.
She was on the guy’s back, one arm wrapped around his throat, the other acting as a counter lever, sealing the hold and cutting off his air supply. Her face was tucked tight to his back. He waved his arms frantically, weakly beating her on the back of the head. She didn’t let go. Somehow the guy managed to drive himself upward off his knees, sending his body, and hers, into the side of the building. It was the same sound I had heard a moment ago. It hadn’t been effective then. But this time, the move resulted in Christiana losing her grip and sliding down. The guy dove forward. At first, I thought he was doing so out of panic and in an attempt to pull some oxygen into his pained lungs.
But then I saw the rifle on the ground a few feet in front of him.
I rushed forward to kick the weapon out of his reach. It was too risky to shoot, or yell even. I had no idea who else was waiting inside. They must have heard the struggle and would be waiting for us. Before I made it three steps, Christiana was on his back again. She controlled his legs with hers, and barred one of his arms as she resumed her choke hold. Using her momentum, she twisted his torso off the ground. His free arm was pinned beneath their combined bodyweight.
“You OK?” I called out, wiping sweat off my face with my palm. It felt like a sheet of ice had formed over my skin.
She grunted in return, then leaned in for a second before twisting her entire body away from the guy. His neck popped halfway through the move, his body went limp. Christiana released him from her grip and rolled away. I knelt next to the guy and felt for a pulse. There was none. She’d snapped his neck like it was nothing.
I rose, walked over to her, extended my hand. She grabbed it and hopped up.
“What?” she said, meeting my stare with her own.
“You might actually be deadlier than me.”
“Impressed?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
She moved to the door, placed her hand on the knob and turned. “It’s open. I’m going first again. Cover me.”
I picked the rifle off the ground and waited until she cleared the doorway, then followed her inside. Heat blew down from a unit mounted above the door. I tugged off my hat and the warm air heated the sweaty mop on my head while Christiana continued down the hallway. Lights mounted to the ceiling dimly lit the space. The walls were framed but only drywalled in some places.
I moved down the hall, clearing the open areas as I went. There was enough distance between Christiana and me that anyone watching her move past might come out before I got there. It was still better to make sure than suffer a surprise attack.
The corridor angled away twice. Both times I lost visual of her, but managed to hear her light footsteps as she proceeded forward. But then they stopped before I reached the next corner. I didn’t know what to expect when I turned. She might have another guy wrapped up, or maybe already disposed of.
When I had her in sight again, she was standing in an opening roughly eight feet wide. Her hands were up near her shoulders. She had her head cocked, and her body leaned to the right a bit. She was trying to look less threatening as she spoke in Russian.
A man responded in kind.
Was it Thanos? Was this the big secret? He was actually Russian? Nothing Yashkin had said led me to believe this, but at that moment, it seemed plausible.
Christiana took two steps forward.
The guy yelled something, and it sounded as though something crashed on the floor. I heard a gagging sound, almost like a muffled scream.
Christiana seemed to stop herself from looking in my direction. She lowered her chin to her chest, spoke softly. It was all in Russian.
Not knowing what was being said, I knew I had to cover some ground. I put my shoulder against the wall and moved forward. The pistol in my coat pocket bumped against my hip with every step. I had the rifle in hand with a round chambered.
As I moved toward her, Christiana kept going forward, matching me step for step. Smart move. It covered any sound I made on the concrete floor.
The guy yelled again. She froze in place, said something calming.
Opposite the opening there was a large window. It didn’t provide the best reflection of the room, but as I drew near I could make out Christiana and two figures beyond her. One stood tall, arm outstretched toward someone on the floor. The guy was on his side, one knee drawn to his chest. He covered his head with his right arm. I leaned in as close as I could without placing myself in view. The guy on the floor had something wrapped around his head tucked in his mouth. Was he Thanos?
Christiana spoke louder.
The guy swung his arm toward her. The firearm glinted in the light. He aimed it at her for a few seconds before redirecting it back to the man on the floor.
I made a single clucking sound with my tongue. Nothing that would sound too out of place in the environment. I didn’t want to make the guy with the gun even more frantic.
Christiana picked up on my signal. She took a deep breath, exhaled loudly. Said something to the guy, and then started toward him.
He stiffened, swung his arm around.
I raised the rifle high and tight to my body, lurched around the corner. The guy froze in place, his pistol halfway between his prisoner and Christiana. His stare locked in on me. His arm followed suit. If he was any faster I’d have three holes in my chest. I lowered the rifle, aimed. His left hand caught his right. He lifted his firearm.
I squeezed the trigger. The explosion rocked the room, bounced off the four walls, making the room louder than a collie-town rave. Every muscle in my chest and core tightened. I had sensations of burning, freezing, panic, and rage.
Across the room, the other guy stood tall, chest out. His eyes were wide. His arms hanging oddly at his side, elbows back, bent, arms out. He took a step forward, droppe
d to a knee, and fell over.
44
The man twitched as life left his body. He clung to his firearm. Blood pooled from the wound to his chest. My ears rang with the rifle blast still fresh. I patted my stomach, chest, and head making sure I hadn’t been wounded.
Christiana twisted at the waist and stared at me. She held a pistol in her right hand, aimed at the floor.
“Are you OK?" I said.
“I think so,” she said. “You?”
I nodded, then we both turned our attention toward the other guy on the floor, curled up in a fetal position.
“That’s Thanos?”
“Yeah. Looks like he made it, too.”
We met in the center of the large room. Thanos rolled over onto his back, and laid there in a bridge-like position, with his bound hands supporting his lower back. His face was bruised heavily on the left. A gash lined the top of his head. His eyes danced wildly between us. He kept talking even though the blood-stained gag prevented him from saying much.
“You want me to do the honors?” I said.
She nodded and took a step back.
I leaned over the man. My pistol pulled the right side of my jacket down further than the left. I could do it now. Take him out, and then have a staring contest with Christiana. We weren’t partners. I was forced to come here with her. What happened to Thanos after this moment was out of my control if I pulled off that gag and let him talk. Yashkin wanted this guy, and that meant the FBI, SIS, CIA, and anyone else who wanted to hear what Thanos had to say could take a walk. They’d all be out of luck.
Frankly, I didn’t care if any of them saw Thanos alive again.
I grabbed the gag with my left hand, reached into my pocket with my right. I’d been leaning over too long. Blood rushed to my head and caused the outer edges of my vision to darken.
“What are you doing, Noble?” Christiana said.
I held the pistol grip tight, threaded my finger between the trigger and guard. I didn’t even have to pull it from my pocket. The shot was lined up perfectly. One bullet, one kill. Then spin around and hold Christiana at bay, see if she’d listen to reason.