Molka advanced and readied herself to strike again.
The intruder threw up defensive hands. “No, Molka. It’s Tariq.”
Molka moved to the light switch and clicked it.
Tariq, still dressed sharply in his white turtleneck, black pants, and black leather jacket, lay on his back.
Molka sighed. “Sneaking into my room while I sleep. Really?”
Tariq shook his head. “You don’t understand why I’m here.”
Molka smirked. “I think I do.”
“You’re wrong.” Tariq stood, winced, and eased the door shut. “I’m letting you go.”
“Go where?”
“Wherever you want, away from here. Rivin’s gone on a raid. Maybe Zoran the Great will still help you if you go to him and tell him what really happened in that ravine.”
“I saw Rivin and his men leaving earlier,” Molka said. “Do you know when they’ll be back?”
“Not until after daylight. So you’ll have some time to get past the two guards. One on the wall and one on the gate. I left a scooter for you outside the wall lying next to the bottom of the ramp.”
Molka moved to the door, cracked it open, peered into the hallway, and eased the door shut. “Where’s Omar?”
“He’s passed out dead drunk in his room across the hall.”
“Jäger and his partner?”
“Asleep in separate rooms down the hall.”
“When are they taking the general out?”
“It will be at least a few more days,” Tariq said. “A Turkish army unit is camped out near their border crossing point. They haven’t even sent the general’s DNA sample across yet.”
Molka checked her watch: 11:56PM. She moved to the bed, sat on its edge, and pulled her socks from her boots on the floor beside it. She started to put on her right sock but paused and viewed Tariq. “Why do I suspect this is another trick? You let me out of this room, I walk out there, and get shot.”
Tariq held his hands up. “No trick. Like I told you, I did what I did because of my horrible situation, and I had a momentary moment of moral weakness. But if you were in my position, tell me you wouldn’t have done the same?”
Molka pulled on her right sock. “I’m not sure what I would’ve done.”
“I checked on the general and Uri earlier. Uri thinks I’m just a paid informer for Rivin. You didn’t tell him about what I actually did. Why not?”
“I didn’t have time,” Molka said.
Uri nodded. “I admit, having you become Rivin’s hostage and getting ransomed back to your people was nasty of me, but I could live with that. And then when I heard he decided to sell you to the general’s country’s secret police, I told myself, well…you’re a warrior, you knew the risks of this job. And I could live with that too.”
Molka pulled on her left sock. “Then what exactly changed your mind?”
“I found out tonight that Rivin now wants to keep you here until he’s done with you and then put you to work in a brothel he runs. That I couldn’t live with.”
Molka put on her right boot and tied it, put on her left boot and tied it, and stood. “I shouldn’t thank you. But I do.”
Tariq pulled his Glock from his jacket pocket and handed it to Molka. “You’ll need this.”
Molka grinned. “Ok, now I think I might be falling in love with you.”
Tariq smiled. “Seriously?”
Molka smirked. “Never in this lifetime, pretty man.” She released the weapon’s mag, inspected it, and reinserted it. Do you know what they did with the satphone Uri had?”
“It’s probably in the same place as the one they took from me, in the refugee camp. Rivin also runs a store there selling things he steals.”
Molka frowned. “Darn. I assume you’ll be leaving too?”
“I can’t leave for the foreseeable future,” Tariq said. “Because Zoran the Great will want to discuss his missing money with me.”
“And that discussion will not end well for you. Where is his missing money?”
“Locked in a safe in Rivin’s room waiting for his crooked banker from Ankara to arrive and deposit it in his crooked bank. What’s your plan?”
Molka moved to the door, cracked it open again, and took another peek down the hallway. “First, go get the general and Uri and release those girls. And then figure out how to get us past those two guards outside.”
“You can’t free the general or Uri or those poor girls. Because you can’t karate kick or shoot that massive steel blast door open that leads down to the dungeon. And I don’t have the code.”
Molka eased the door closed and frowned again. “I was just going to ask you that. You know, it’s not going to take Rivin long to figure out you unlocked that door for me.”
“That’s why I’m going to tell him I did it. For the reason you suspected me of. But using your superior warrior skills, you knocked me out and got away.”
“I think he’ll still be pretty upset.”
“Incensed,” Tariq said. “But he’ll understand. I’ve been drinking, and a man gets lonely in a fortress. That’s why he keeps his harem downstairs. He’ll slap me around a little, but he’ll get over it quick.”
Molka’s eyebrows rose. “If you say so. Ok. Here I go.”
“I just need one small favor before you leave.”
“What?”
“Hit me in the face,” Tariq said.
“Hit you?”
“Yes. Hard enough to leave a mark that will convince Rivin you knocked me out. Can you do that?”
A smile creased Molka’s lips. “I can try.”
“Good luck tonight. I mean that. I know you can make it out of here. You have too.”
“I’ll do my best. Ready?”
Tariq put his hands to his sides, raised his chin, and closed his eyes. “Ready.”
Molka stepped back and fired a no-nonsense roundhouse at Tariq. Her boot connected with the right side of his face.
He dropped unconscious to the floor.
Molka inspected her work.
Ouch.
Not as pretty now.
But that should definitely convince Rivin.
CHAPTER 32
Molka soft-stepped into the dark hallway holding the Glock at the ready.
She closed the door behind her, locked the double deadbolts, and moved past the other closed doors until she reached the hallway’s end, where it intersected another hallway running perpendicular.
She paused.
The blockhouse exit lay to her right.
The door to the dungeon lay to her left.
Conscience took her to the left.
She reached the massive dungeon door and tried to pry it open
Useless.
She moved to the lock keypad and—just for the, “you never know,” factor—typed in 1-2-3-4-5-6.
Nothing.
She typed in 6-5-4-3-2-1.
Nothing.
Sorry general.
Sorry Uri.
Sorry girls.
Molka backtracked, reached the blockhouse door, cracked it open, peeked out, and viewed the gate about 50 meters away.
Just to the gate’s left sat a little, square-shaped, concrete guard shack she had not noticed before. The shack featured glass view slots in every direction and an overhead light inside illuminating the back of a red keffiyeh on a seated guard’s head.
Molka assessed.
The shack’s position abutting the south wall’s interior allowed the guard unlimited view of the interior wall to his right.
But the interior wall to his left would be a blind spot for him.
A careless design flaw.
Then again, a fortress is supposed to keep people out, not keep people in.
Her first goal would be to cross the thankfully dimly lit yard without the shack guard seeing her, get into his blind spot against the interior wall to his left, locate the guard patrolling the wall tops, and then decide how to proceed.
Molka crouch-ran s
traight ahead, keeping her eyes on the shack guard’s keffiyeh. It never turned in her direction, and she reached the interior wall about 10 meters from the shack and put her back to it.
She took a relief breath and scanned the wall tops.
South wall above her, clear.
North wall across from her, clear.
East wall to her left, clear.
West wall to her right…occupied.
The guard atop the wall sat on the parapet with his back to Molka about 40 meters from her position.
Alright.
Before he turns around, takedown the gate guard and slip out.
Molka held the Glock at her right side, pressed her back tight against the rough 500-year-old brickwork, and used side steps to ease toward the guard shack.
Directly across from her, Fuchs stepped out from the blockhouse wearing only his white undershorts. He held his pipe and tobacco pouch and leaned next to the door.
Molka was eight meters from the guard shack.
Fuchs removed tobacco from the pouch and packed his pipe.
Molka was six meters from the guard shack.
Fuchs placed the pipe in his mouth and lit it.
Molka was four meters from the guard shack.
Fuchs puffed and expelled a face-covering smoke cloud.
Molka was two meters from the guard shack.
The smoke cloud cleared from Fuchs’ face.
Molka was one meter from the guard shack.
Fuchs spied Molka.
He looked to the shack guard.
The enclosed shack guard might not hear a warning yell.
He looked up at the cigarette smoking wall guard.
Fuchs yelled at the wall guard:
“Alarm!”
“Alarm!”
“Alarm!”
Molka’s eyes flashed to Fuchs and up to the wall guard.
The startled wall guard stood and looked down to Fuchs.
Fuchs pointed vigorously at Molka:
“Prisoner escaping!”
“Prisoner escaping!”
“Prisoner escaping!”
The wall guard spotted Molka and readied his weapon.
Molka aimed at the wall guard and fired.
The wall guard fell and smacked the yard gravel: dead.
Molka spun fast and fired a shot toward Fuchs.
The shot hit wide against the blockhouse wall.
Fuchs dove behind the blockhouse door.
The shocked gate guard stepped from the guard shack.
He viewed the dead wall guard.
He viewed Molka.
He tried to unshoulder his weapon.
Molka aimed and fired.
The gate guard fell dead.
Molka entered the guard shack.
Fuchs peered out the blockhouse door.
Molka turned the key on the control panel to open the gate.
Fuchs dropped his pipe, burst from the blockhouse, and sprinted toward the guard shack.
The gate began a slow slide to the right.
Molka stepped from the shack and waited for room to exit.
Her back was to Fuchs fast approach.
The gate was almost open enough.
Molka readied to run out.
Fuchs tackled Molka from behind.
She fell hard, fumbling the Glock.
Fuchs tried to pin her arms.
Molka twisted onto her back and fired hammer fists.
Fuchs’ gigantic forearms blocked them.
Molka bucked her hips and tried to leg lock his neck.
Failure.
Fuchs got his arms around Molka.
He pinned her arms to her sides.
With minimal effort, Fuchs rose, lifting Molka with him.
Her boots dangled off the ground.
They stood chest to chest, face to face.
Fuchs glared at Molka.
Molka squirmed to free herself.
Pointless.
Fuchs squeezed her with incredible force.
Her breath snuffed out.
Her lungs began to collapse.
Fuchs smiled at her.
Molka couldn’t take much more.
Fight an animal like an animal!
Molka tipped her head forward and chomped into Fuchs’ large nose.
Fuchs bellowed.
Molka locked her jaw and yanked at cartilage.
Fuchs bellowed again and his grip slackened.
Molka released the bite and fell to the ground.
She thudded on her side and gasped for air.
Fuchs screamed in rage, grabbed Molka’s ponytail, yanked her up, and slung her into the guard shack.
Molka’s arms blocked most of the force.
But she played hurt and stayed down.
He’s too strong.
Can’t fight him off for long.
One final chance.
Fuchs touched his wounded nose and pulled away blood-covered fingers. “Now you die, bitch!”
Fuchs stomped toward Molka.
Molka sprung to her feet.
Her recovery and quickness stunned him.
He hesitated.
Lightning-swift, Molka launched her body forward, secured a neck clinch on Fuchs, pulled his head down, and fired rapid knees strikes into his groin.
Bullseye.
Fuchs moaned and sunk to his knees.
He absorbed Molka’s first side kick to the head.
Her second to his temple he could not sustain.
Fuchs fell over unconscious.
Molka spit out Fuchs’ salty-hot blood, wiped her mouth on her sleeve, retrieved the Glock, and viewed her victim’s bloodied face.
Shoot him?
No. He came at me unarmed.
She ran through the gate, ran down the ramp, found a white scooter laying on its side at the bottom, righted it, got on, started it, and sped full throttle into the darkness on the dirt road.
When Molka reached the turnoff heading toward Mucize, she stopped.
What do I do now?
PROJECT MOLKA: TASK 1
FRIDAY
5:55AM
CHAPTER 33
“Molka, wake up.”
Molka slept sitting with her back to the Mucize’s clinic’s door. The white scooter sat parked beside her on the sidewalk. And behind the scooter, four villagers stood lined up waiting for the nurse to arrive.
Molka opened her eyes to Zilan’s distressed face glowing from the rising sun. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
Molka rose. “I didn’t know where else to go. Can you help me?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What happened is not what you think. I didn’t have anything to do with killing your father’s fighters or taking his money. I can explain.”
“You should leave.”
“Just let me explain. If you don’t believe me,” Molka pulled the Glock from her waistband and offered it to Zilan, “do what you have to do.”
Zilan took the weapon and spoke to the villagers in their native language and then looked back to Molka. “Come inside.”
Zilan unlocked the door and entered.
Molka followed her, fell into a waiting room chair, reached behind her head and tugged on the base of her ponytail. Her eyes widened, and she stared at the floor. “I escaped, but for what? I can’t go home. I can’t stay here. I failed the task. Uri and the general are going to die. And Azzur’s going to kill me. They killed my little sister. What kind of animal kills a sweet 11-year-old little girl for revenge? You want revenge, come after me, you coward!” Molka bowed her head and put her face in her hands, and whispered. “I’ve failed you, my little Janetta. I’ve failed you, my little Janetta.”
Zilan knelt beside Molka.
Molka continued to whisper:
“I’ve failed you, my little Janetta.”
“I’ve failed you, my little Janetta.”
Zilan placed her hand on Molka’s shoulder.
Molka continued to whisper:
“I’ve failed you, my little Janetta.”
Zilan gently squeezed Molka’s shoulder. “Molka, Molka, Molka, shhh, shhh, shhh, just take deep breaths.”
Molka silenced and looked up at Zilan with tear-filled eyes.
“I’ll get you some water,” Zilan said. “And then I’ll examine your wound.”
“Ok.” Molka wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Will you listen to me and believe me now?”
“I only believe you have been through much trauma. But out of respect for the debt owed to you by my father and myself, I will listen to you.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” Molka said. “And I can’t believe I just thought of this!” She sat on the examination table with her shirt still off after receiving a fresh bandage and holding a bottled water.
Zilan sat in a chair across from her with a note pad and pen, writing down Molka’s account of events.
Molka continued. “The weapons I carried fired .40 caliber hollow points and regular 9-millimeter. Your father knows this; I showed him my weapons before the village operation. But that mercenary maniac who killed your father’s fighters used an HK G36 assault rifle, which fires a higher velocity 5.56-millimeter NATO round. Much different wounds. Your father would be able to tell that. So that’s it. What do you think?”
Zilan laid the pad and pen on the counter and frowned. “I’m very disappointed in Tariq.”
“That makes both of us. Although he did help me escape, so I have to give him points for that.”
Zilan focused on the wall behind Molka. “Yes, I suppose he deserves some credit for that.”
“Then, you believe me?”
“Yes.”
Molka exhaled, relieved. “Thank you. I’m sorry about my little anxiety attack earlier. I’ve been under a lot of stress and it all just kind of came pouring out. I’m usually more under control emotionally.”
Zilan focused a stern gaze on Molka. “But as far as your story, what I believe cannot help you. So you have a choice to make, and you must make it right now.”
“What?”
“You can choose to leave here, which I will allow without contacting my father. Or you can come to my father’s house with me and tell him your story.”
Molka hopped from the table and pulled her shirt back on. “If I leave here, I’m not going to get far with your father’s fighters out searching for me and Tariq with, as you said, kill on sight orders.”
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