by Stuart Field
‘It’s a shame it has to end like this Steel,’ Stan said. His voice rang with admiration. ‘We could have been allies, you and I. Just think of the glorious things we could have accomplished!’
‘So, who do you work for?’ Steel said. ‘Looking at all this equipment, it’s not some bunch of arseholes who woke up one morning and decided to take over the world.’
‘No,’ Stan said. ‘We are the word of the Master, the followers of truth. We are the Hisan Khashabiun, and this is the Falcon,’ yelled one of the men.
‘Nice – catchy,’ Steel said, as he emptied the can of oil into the funnel.
‘You mock us?’ yelled another of the three men. ‘We are chaos. We are fire. We are…’ The man continued.
Stan turned to see smoke rise from under the armoury door. The man who had been on the far right of the three saw it as well. Confused, he walked over and went to open the door.
‘No, wait!’ Stan yelled, but it was too late.
There was a whoosh of flame as the man was engulfed in a backdraft. He yelled in pain and fear, his grip tightened on the trigger of the MP5K as he screamed. A burst of automatic gunfire ripped through the building as he writhed in pain. 9mm parabellum bullets shattered the brickwork, and several stray rounds found their mark in one of the men’s back and legs as he ran for cover. The man was now completely engulfed in flame. Still screaming. Stan could only watch in horror as the man ran blindly into the armoury – and directly into the stacks of ammunition and explosives. The building was rocked by a loud explosion as some of the plastic explosives detonated. Thick smoke and searing heat filled the air in the building.
The through draft from the open window on the first floor and the open door forced the inferno upwards and engulfed the ceiling in an orange and red ocean. Stan looked back at the two downed men and then at the front door – his and Steel’s only exit. If he could get there first, he could cut down Steel as he ran blindly out. Stan stood ready to make his retreat but was forced to duck behind one of the upturned dining tables. Smaller popping sounds were followed by the noise of stray bullets flying indiscriminately, as the ammunition heated up by the raging fire.
Inside the building, there was a deafening roar from the inferno. Thick black smoke filled the room, and the blaze from the armoury was intense. There were more popping sounds as more bullets exploded from their casings. But the sound of their travel was lost by the animalistic roar from the flames. There was a moaning sound – like the building was in pain, just before parts of the ceiling came crashing down, smashing onto the tables and the bodies of Stan’s men. Stan looked around in anger and panic.
He knew he had to get out, and his only hope was the front entrance, a good twelve feet away. Each foot towards the door had the potential of either the roof caving in on him or one of the damned loose bullets taking him out. But it was a chance he had to take if he was going to get out alive. Stan began to run, plotting his course, getting ready to move at a seconds notice whenever he heard the sounds above, indicating the ceiling was coming down. He dodged and weaved like a ballplayer. Avoiding parts of the ceiling that came crashing down in front of him in a blazing heap. He could feel the heat against his skin, the hairs on his arms had gone, and he could feel the hair on his head being to burn. Stan ran as hard as he could.
He fought through the heat and the pain and ran.
Stan conjured up ideas of the terrible things he would do to Steel – if he survived this. The man had to pay for what he had done. His eyes fixed on the prize, the old wooden door.
Stan was near the door – so close he felt he could almost feel the fresh air from outside. He was practically out – almost home free.
Almost.
The blast from the gas bottles sent brick and metal shrapnel flying and smashing and shredding. It blew Stan forwards and through the open door.
Stan rolled on the ground. The momentum of the blast had smashed him against the door and across the open ground of the farmyard. He was stunned, and his ears were bleeding.
At first, Stan did not know whether he was alive or dead. Had he survived the blast or was he suddenly going to look down on his burning body in a spectral form?
The burning sensation on his right arm told him he was very much alive – and on fire. Stan ripped off the jacket and tossed it to one side. His face scarred from the heat, his eyes burned with hate.
Stan looked over to the fallen side of the building. Stan wanted Steel dead if he wasn’t already. Stan would see Steel’s head on a pike. Stan walked towards a body that was lying on the ground face down. It’s black clothes, smouldering from the inferno the man had escaped from. Stan raised his pistol and pulled the trigger, emptying the magazine into the body. Grinning wildly as he did so until he heard the click click click of the empty magazine. Stan reached to his jacket, in hope to find more magazines for the canon, but discovered his pockets were empty. His maddening grin remained as he kicked the body over, hoping to see the great Mr Steel lying before him.
Stan’s smile fell away.
His eyes began to search all around him.
The man at his feet was the third man of his team. His body lying still, half-burnt and full of fist-sized holes.
Stan let out a cry of anger. ‘Steel!’ He roared and shook his fists to the air.
A small explosion was followed by an enormous blinding flash, and then a blast wave ripped Stan off his feet and hurled him across the farm’s courtyard. The explosive had detonated along with the mines and grenades. The farmhouse building was torn apart, with brick, and glass and wood sent reeling in all directions. The barn next to the farmhouse was smashed by the burning debris. The large barns door was decimated by burning limestone and metal from the ammunition boxes.
Flying metal shards and the ball bearings from the anti-personnel claymore mines embedded themselves into the nearby buildings. The old stone wall was sent crashing sidewards onto the adjacent field.
Steel stood up from behind an old wall some ten feet from the burning building. The sound of the final bullets being set off was more like firecrackers after the decimating explosion. Steel had made it out through a hole in the fragile wall at the side of the house. Stray bullets from the man who had been on fire had loosened the brickwork. It had been enough for Steel to push the wall with his legs while he lay on his back. It was a risk. The wall could have fallen on him, or it could have refused to budge. But, as Steel pushed with all that he had, a part of the wall fell away. It wasn’t massive, but Steel did not give a damn, it was enough for him to crawl through and get the hell out of there. Steel pulled out his cell phone and pressed resend on his last email.
Steel smiled slightly as the words, message sent, appeared. Now it was down to Samara to convince embassy officials something was going to happen.
Steel looked around at the carnage around him. The two buildings had all but vanished, only a burning shell remained and a large crater where the ammunition room had been. Steel sat hard on the ground. His body hurt from the beating of the blast and the building dropping on top of him. Steel knew he would be a walking burse by the end of the day. Maybe, when it was all over, he would take that holiday.
Steel sat for a moment and watched the farmhouse burn and hoped the photos he had taken had been enough. There had been a lot of information in there, but now all of it destroyed. Even the hard drives of the laptops would be useless. Hopefully, someone at the embassy could figure out who had planned all this and what their plan was.
But one thing was for sure if his theory was correct, this had only been one team of many. Possibly even, not. Perhaps the men Steel had seen were merely a rearguard to watch the equipment until the others returned. Given the numbers that would make more sense – after all, there had only been four of them – that he knew of.
Steel sighed as he rested. He was tired, tired of getting close and then it all been taken away.
A sound from behind him made Steel drop and roll to the side, just if it was a guar
d who hadn’t been inside the building. Steel stood up, his limbs taught and a fresh blast of adrenalin pumped through his veins.
Stan stood a few feet from Steel; his body was full of wounds from the last blast. His flesh, blackened and angry, cuts showed muscle and bone.
‘Help me,’ Stan mumbled, his hand reaching out.
Steel’s face was cold and emotionless. Steel could see the irony, Stan was taken out by the same weapons he had brought to cause death and destruction.
A part of Steel wanted to leave him there to rot, but he had a better idea. Stan had information, and judging by his present state, he wasn’t going to need truth serum.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Samara had phoned the embassy to warn them, but the person on the other end had put her on hold for the best part of fifteen minutes listing to some crappy music. Using Kane’s cell, Samara tried Foster’s number, but there was no answer. Samara had suspected there wouldn’t be – after all the man was in hospital.
‘ OK, new plan,’ Samara said. Kane stared into her eyes and trembled slightly as if he had read her thoughts.
‘You want me to drive there?’ Kane said.
‘Nope, I’m driving, you're handling the phones,’ Samara said and lept into the driver's seat and started the engine. Kane got in and fastened his seat belt.
‘You know this is going to be a really bad idea?’ he said. Samara just shrugged, smiled and hit the gas.
They were heading south towards Attard when Kane got Steel’s text on Samara’s cell.
‘We still need to get to the Embassy and warn them,’ Kane said. Samara nodded silently, her brain calculating the route.’Stay on this road until the roundabout at the Kapelle of San Pawl,’ Kane said. Samara squinted, unsure of his route, but then he knew the place better than she did.
The Outlander sped down the highway, heading towards Attard. Kane had tried calling Steel, but it just went to voicemail. Now Samara and Kane were getting worried. What if something had happened to Steel, what if that was his last message?
Kane looked around, hoping the scenery would calm him. But it was all blurred passed. Then he looked at his side mirror, hoping the seeming still image of traffic would help him to feel less motion sick. Kane shot Samara a concerned look, but she kept her eyes on the road, she had a job to do, and by God, she wasn’t going to let Steel down.
‘Uhm…Samara…’ Kane said. His voice rang with a concerned tone.
‘Not now,’ she barked, concentrating on the road ahead.
‘Uhm – Samara –,’ Kane yelled, his voice filled with purpose.
‘What?’ Samara screamed back, trying not to take her eyes away from the busy road.
‘Behind us,’ Kane said, thumbing behind them.
‘Yes, I know, I saw them a while back,’ Samara said confidently.
Samara rechecked her rearview mirror and saw the four black Yukon SUV’s speeding up behind her.
‘Hold on,’ she warned. Kane nodded and braced himself as Samara began to dart in between traffic. Kane looked back through the rearview. The lead vehicle was flashing his lights as if trying to get their attention.
‘I think they want us to stop,’ Kane said.
‘I bet they do,’ she said, her eyes transfixed on the road ahead. ‘Besides, we don’t know who they are.’ Kane had to agree with her logic, after all, she had kidnapped a couple of days ago.
‘Try Steel again,’ Samara insisted. Hoping Steel had contacted someone at the embassy. As she looked in the rearview mirror, Samara saw the lead vehicle speed up behind them.
‘They could be friendly?’ Kane said, with a hopeful tone ringing in his voice. Suddenly the sound of gunfire rang out, and the back window shattered. ‘Or not,’ Kane added, trying to crawl down into the footwell. The phone still to his ear. Samara swerved the vehicle, hoping to not give them something to aim for. More shots rang out, stray bullets began hitting other cars, causing them to swerve erratically.
Samara manoeuvred the Outlander, like a rally driver, swerving between vehicles and racing ahead. The highway they were on only had two lanes that headed north, and on the other side of the partition, there were two lanes southbound.
More shots rang out, this time the windscreen took a hit, shattering the glass centre. The spider’s web effect was making it hard for Samara to see the road. She moved her head side-to-side, up and down until she found a small spot where she could navigate a safe route, but it meant she had to slow the vehicle.
‘Shit.’ Samara cursed their luck and the assholes behind them. ‘I can’t see anything.’
Kane sat up and with his feet, he pushed on the splintered safety glass and forced it out onto the bonnet. The next shot hit the rearview mirror, sending it into the wild.
‘OK – I have had enough of these bastards,’ Samara growled, ‘Hold on, brother.’ Kane looked over at Samara. He noticed the corner of her mouth was raised.
She was smiling.
He knew this could not be good, whatever she was planning.
‘Oh, no,’ he said and pulled his seatbelt tightly across his chest.
Samara slammed on the breaks and slipped the car into reverse. The vehicle squealed with disapproval at the sudden change of direction, then powered backwards. The deadly convoy's first car did not have time to react before the heavy Outlander slammed into the front end, destroying the front grill. The two gunmen who were leaning out of the rear passenger windows were thrust backwards. Their bodies slammed against the steel of the window frame, almost cutting them in half.
Samara slipped the car into gear. The Outlander lunged forwards, the rear of their vehicle damaged, but so was the lead vehicle's cooling system.
There was another loud crash behind them as the middle two SUV’s managed to avoid the leader, but the fourth wasn’t so lucky. The rear vehicle was moving fast, and a dust cloud from the first two vehicles compromised the driver’s vision. The rear car ploughed into the back of the rear of the front vehicle. There was a massive bang as the two cars became almost one. The rear vehicle hit with such force it punctured the leader’s fuel tank.
There was an explosion which resulted in a fireball. As fuel began to seep out onto the road, and this too caught fire, creating a wall of flame.
Samara smiled again and pressed down on the gas. Behind them, the two remaining vehicles pursued at speed. Samara looked back past her shoulder quickly to check the distance between them and the two cars. The gap wasn’t large enough, the SUV’s were closing. Samara needed to get them to the US Embassy and warn them of the attack. There they would also be safe from the guy’s in the SUV’s, even for a short time.
‘Who the hell are they?’ Kane growled. Samara pulled out her gun and handed it to her brother.
‘You’ll have to shoot back Kane.’Samara yelled.
‘How much ammo have you got?’ Kane asked.
‘Not enough for you to miss all the time – so make them count,’ Samara said, swerving the car to avoid another volley of shots from behind. ‘I just hope all that time with the film set firearms guys was worth it?’ Samara said. Kane scowled at her. ‘I did OK,’ Kane said as he shot back twice, hitting the lead car windshield.
‘Yeah baby,’ Kane said, praising himself as the glass splintered, causing their vehicle to swerve, enough for Samara to push forwards on the other side of the road. Cars beeped their horns as she hammered forwards. The rear vehicle went to overtake the blinded car but was forced to slow as the traffic bunched up in place due to the chaos. Samara was now in front of the eighteen-wheeler, and the roads ahead seemed empty for the moment. She knew if the cars made it passed, they would soon catch up with them.
‘What’s your plan now?’ Kane asked, sliding out the pistol’s magazine and checking how many rounds were left. Twelve bullets and one in the pipe. Enough rounds for one vehicle, but not if more turned up.
Samara looked at her side mirror; there was enough gap between her and the artic lorry. Enough space for what she needed to do.
‘I hope I have this right,’ she said with a grin.
‘Have what right?’ Kane asked, looking behind them, noticing the large truck.
‘Oh, you’re not…?’
‘Yes, I am.’ With that, Samara braked hard leaving a smell of burnt rubber in the air. There was a squeal of tires, as the truck went from eighty to zero in seconds. Suddenly there was a collision and explosion from behind the truck.
Samara turned on to the Triq Buqana road at the roundabout instead of heading for the Triq Durumblat road, meaning they were now heading South and not East. It was a two-lane highway were both lanes travelled north, the southbound route was on the other side of the partition. Meaning there was no oncoming traffic to navigate against. Samara wove in and out of the other cars in front, her eyes darting at the rearview mirror to check for any new pursuers. Then she saw it – the last SUV far behind, but still too close for them to relax. The trick with the eighteen-wheeler had slowed them, but not enough. Kane looked over at Samara. She was calm and focused, he was crapping himself – possibly more about her driving than the men behind them. Samara kept her foot on the gas. The car wasn’t steering correctly, causing it to sway out slightly every time she accelerated. But it had been worth damaging the vehicle somewhat just to get the number of pursuers down. Now they were one-on-one. But they only had one magazine for the Masada 9mm, and she figured their opponents would probably be fully stocked with weapons and ammunition. But she also hoped that she was wrong.