by Adrian Smith
“Move!” Lisa ordered.
There was no more time for stealth. Zanzi crawled out the small opening and ducked behind a large grouping of granite rocks. A bullet pinged off the rock a few inches from her head, the flecks stinging her as they cut into her flesh. She rolled away and fired a burst in the direction the round had come from, grunting from the exertion. She lay on her back for a few moments, pushing her body as low as she could, waiting for another shot. When nothing came, she glanced around for a better place to take shelter.
A large Douglas fir had fallen over, and its massive trunk lay rotting in the soil, providing plenty of cover. It was only a few feet away.
Zanzi looked for Lisa and spotted her crouched down behind a cedar tree. She was tying a bandage around her leg.
“Director Omstead. Are you there?” a voice called out. The accent had a hint of German.
Lisa tied off the bandage and glanced at Zanzi, holding a finger to her lips. She mouthed “Go,” and pointed down the valley.
“Director? I know you are there. And your little friend. We’ve seen you with our thermal vision camera.” The man laughed. “I must admit, you two have been a nuisance and fun to chase, but it’s over now.”
Zanzi rolled onto her stomach and nestled her weapon in her arms. Using her elbows and knees, she crawled the few feet to the Douglas fir. Once there, she rose up and rested the carbine on the trunk. After a minute of searching, she spotted the dark figure of the talkative commando. She couldn’t hit him anywhere vital from this angle, so began to crawl to her right.
“Director! Tell your friend to stop moving or my sniper will put a bullet into her skull.”
Zanzi froze. There must be a sixth commando out there, tracking from a different trajectory. She counted to three and rolled behind a tree. The ground exploded where she had been a split second before. The echo of the high-powered rifle thundered around the forest.
“All right. Stop!” Lisa called out. “What do you want?”
“Simple. Surrender. Toss away your weapons and come toward me, nice and slow.”
“How do I know you won’t gun us down like everyone else?”
The man laughed again. It was a deep, booming laugh, like it came from the belly. “Because those I work for have paid a princely sum to capture you alive.”
“Who do you work for?”
“Someone powerful.”
“You let my friend go free and I’ll come out.”
“Zanzi Connors? They want you alive too. The boss has something special in mind for you, Fräulein. Something significant.”
“Piss off!” Zanzi shouted. She was tired, frustrated, and angry. Angry at the events of the last few hours. She had purposely chosen to pursue science. To help people, not to cause harm. She was still shaking at the thought that she’d killed one of the commandos.
“Ah. There she is. Such spirit. Just like her parents.”
The trees next to Lisa and Zanzi were peppered with bullets.
Zanzi ducked down and fired off her M4. She flicked the switch to automatic and held down the trigger.
Screw these guys.
“Cease fire!” the German commando screamed. “Now!”
Zanzi ignored him and kept firing. She had seen the muzzle flash of one of the black-clad A-holes just twenty feet away. She saw his head turn. She gritted her teeth and shot him, catching his shoulder and spinning him away.
At the same moment, Lisa rolled to her right, into the open, and shot another. The German commando fired a burst, hitting her leg. The director cried out and lay flat on the ground, arms above her head in surrender.
Zanzi pivoted and dropped to one knee. All those hours of training her father and mother had insisted she do came flooding back. Her survival instincts took over. It was like she was out of her body, watching. First, she fired at the German commando, then sprinted for cover behind a larger outcrop. As she ran, the sniper popped up and trained his rifle on her.
“Halt!” he shouted.
There were no options left with Lisa injured and her escape route cut off. Zanzi let out a sigh and raised her arms.
“Nice work, Chad,” the German commando said as he dragged Lisa along the ground through pine needles toward Zanzi. The director was grimacing in pain and trying to staunch the flow of blood from her bullet wounds.
“She’s injured. Let me treat her wounds,” Zanzi said. She crouched beside Lisa and clasped her hand.
“Our ride will be here soon. We’ll treat her in the helicopter.”
“She’ll bleed out before then. I thought you wanted her alive?”
“No. Just you, Ms. Connors. The director was one or the other.”
The German lifted his eyes and gazed at Zanzi. There was a smug look on his face as he and Chad stood over the two women. He pulled a radio off his hip and raised it to his mouth.
Crack! Crack!
Zanzi jumped. The German’s head exploded in a mushy mess of blood and skull fragments, coating the hood of her jacket and spraying her face. Chad took a shot to the chest just above his heart. He gasped and slumped to the ground, gurgling blood.
Zanzi wiped the muck out of her eyes and frowned at the sight of two hunters emerging out of the shadows. The half moon illuminated their features enough for her to see that they were of Native American descent. They both wore blue jeans, hiking boots, and green camo jackets, and held old-style bolt-action Remington rifles. They approached cautiously. The taller of the two stopped beside Chad and felt for a pulse. He pulled a knife from his belt and cut Chad’s throat. He wiped the blade on his shirt.
“Hello Lisa,” the shorter man said. “Looks like you’ve got yourself into some real trouble again.”
“Brock. Glad to see you. I was beginning to wonder where you were.” Lisa winced. “This is Zanzi. Do you have a medic kit? No idea where mine is.” Brock gave a curt nod and crouched next to Lisa, looking over her injury. He removed a first aid kit from his pack and, working quickly, dressed her wounds. “Tut tut, Director, going out into the field without your kit.”
“We kind of left in a hurry.”
“Who are you guys?” Zanzi said.
“We’re the backup of the backup. Old army buddies,” Brock said, and turned to the taller man. “We’d been tracking you for a couple of miles when these guys showed up.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Check to see if we have anymore unwanted guests roaming on our lands, Kamal.”
Kamal nodded and silently crept back into the forest. Within moments he had melted into the night. The way Brock and Kamal moved in this environment reminded Zanzi of the weekend she had spent with her father in the wilderness of Idaho. She and Liam had trained with some retired army rangers, learning how to move silent and fast. The Native American men and women were another level altogether, seemingly melting into the background without a sound.
They lifted Lisa into a standing position. She grunted with the effort but didn’t cry out.
“Think you can walk?” Zanzi said.
“I’ll be okay.”
“Our truck is a few miles to the west,” Brock said. “We need to move. There’s still a couple of choppers in the area.”
Zanzi looked up. A few clouds had rolled in, obscuring the stars and the half moon. There was still enough light to see by without using flashlights, and she was confident of Brock’s and Kamal’s abilities to guide them to safety.
The German commando’s voice echoed in her head. “We’ve seen you with our thermal vision.”
One, if not both, of the helicopters must be equipped with thermal imaging cameras like police and rescue choppers use.
“Wait,” Zanzi said. “The German said they had thermal cameras. If they come back and start hunting for us, there’s no escape.”
Kamal materialized back out of the trees. He raised his head at Brock and held up his hand, fingers splayed. He followed it up with several more hand gestures. Some Zanzi recognized as American Sign Language, others not.
“Let’s m
ove. We have more hostiles moving in,” Brock grunted.
“They’ll track us with their thermal cameras.”
“Not where we’re going. C’mon. It’s not too far.”
“The bodies?”
“Leave them where they lie. The animals will appreciate the feed.”
Kamal picked over the dead commandos, removed any ammunition, and pocketed it.
***
Zanzi concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other. She had always considered herself fit but having another person’s weight on your shoulder for fifteen minutes is agony. Lisa was doing her best to stay upright, but the blood leaking from her bullet wounds was hindering her efforts.
A helicopter buzzed over them and swooped around, locking onto their position. So far, the choppers hadn’t fired on the group, so it didn’t concern Zanzi. It was the five commandos farther up the valley who were moving toward them that had her worried, getting closer every minute and not bothering to hide their approach.
“Where are we going?”
“Secret Multnomah place,” Brock said, grinning. He changed the position of his hand, looping his calloused fingers under Lisa’s belt. “Sacred place. We don’t normally let non-tribe members see it, but we have exceptions.”
Brock led them along a winding game trail and down to another river. He had to piggy-back the director across the river, and clamber up the far bank, keeping close to the water. After a further ten minutes, they crossed the river again. They began to pick their way between massive slabs of basalt. Brock was leading them deeper into the park. Five minutes later, the thundering sound of a waterfall filled the night. Brock didn’t relent his pace. The waterfall was short but impressive in the amount of water cascading down. It was perhaps twenty feet high.
“Wow,” Lisa whispered. “That’s not on any maps of the area.”
“Definitely none I’ve seen. I’ve hiked all over this area too,” Zanzi said. She stood in front of the waterfall, marveling at the bluish hue the moonlight shed on the water. She followed Brock under the water, gasping at the sudden chill. It was fed from springs high up on the mountain, and snowmelt. She had to hunch slightly for a few feet before they came to a rock fall. Quartz and basalt rocks blocked the path in a haphazard manner.
Brock disappeared behind a large slab of reddish rock and triggered a releasing mechanism. The rock groaned and rolled three feet to the left. The gap wasn’t much, but it was enough to squeeze through.
“Ingenious,” Zanzi said. “Unless you knew, you would never find it.”
“Have to keep out the nosy people. Always some rockhopper looking for gold and gems.”
The tunnel opened out into a massive cavern. A myriad stalagmites and stalactites cluttered the space. Brock clicked on his flashlight, causing beams of light to bounce off the quartz like a million crystals shining. Multnomah artwork was everywhere. Faces were carved in rocks. Geometric paintings in black and red depicted various fauna. Beadwork filled crevices.
“It’s beautiful,” Zanzi gasped. “No wonder you keep it secret. Tourism would ruin it.”
“Yes. It’s too sacred.” Brock gestured with his head at dozens of passages breaking away into the gloom. “The caves go for a mile or so, all filled with sacred items.”
He paused at a painting of what looked like a bear and said a few words in his native tongue.
“This way.”
Brock guided her and the hobbling Lisa down a twisting passageway, down steps that had been cut into the rock, and through a shallow underground river. The passageway slowly opened, and they exited into forest.
“Where are we?” Lisa asked, groaning as they pushed her up a steep bank and onto a gravel road. An old log cabin sat up a short driveway. An elderly couple stood on the deck watching, beckoning.
“Multnomah land. My family here will help, no questions asked.”
“Thank you,” Lisa said.
“Any time. You saved my life in that sandy hell. Now I’m returning the favor. After you feel better, you’re going to tell me what’s going on. Why these buzzing machines are disturbing our peace.”
“Of course,” Lisa said.
Brock and the elderly man took the director inside the cabin.
“We’ll wait out here,” the old lady said, nodding to Zanzi.
The sweat trickled down Zanzi’s back and soaked the band of her jeans as she sat down on the verandah. The elderly lady, who had silver hair and a kind smile, handed her a steaming cup of earthy-smelling tea. Zanzi looked up into her brown eyes. They were full of warmth and love.
“Thank you,” Zanzi murmured, lost in thought. She loved how, despite being so mistreated and wronged by the settlers, the Native American people were always willing to welcome others into their homes. They didn’t judge by skin color or by heritage. They met you, got to know you. She had experienced similar welcomes and friendships on her travels with her family. To Hawaii. Costa Rica. Peru. Australia. And dozens of trips to her father’s country of birth, New Zealand.
The helicopters thumped in the next valley over. She took a sip of the peppery tea and hoped Kamal was okay.
For the first time in her life, she felt that she wasn’t in control. She felt fear. Not just anxious from the events, but real fear. She shivered. The German had said she was wanted alive.
“He has special plans for you, Fräulein. Something significant.”
Thirteen
Mt. Koya, Japan
Ryan jolted awake and stretched out the kinks in his neck. The gong for morning meditation was ringing through the sleeping quarters. He sat up, knocking the leather-bound map book to the floor. He had been having the same dream he always had. The noise of the wall of water as it barreled toward him and Cal. The muddy river. His beautiful wife torn away, her head disappearing under the surface. Always, after the dream, he needed to workout. As if physical exertion was the only solution to the consumption of his soul. You could train for nearly every situation, but there was no way to prepare for the loss of a loved one.
Since there were no expectations to attend any of the meetings, Ryan stayed in his room. He ignored the last rings of the gong and grabbed his burner phone, calling the only number stored on it: Booth.
He answered on the fifth ring. “Connors. You beat me to it.”
“Hey. I met with Jiro. He wasn’t too helpful, but it seems he was correct about the bunker. He gave me an old book detailing it.”
“Was he whining about getting out of there?” Booth chortled.
“Yup. I gave him the usual spiel. Help me, help you.”
“Police?”
“Aren’t helping, so I’m going to do some snooping around.” Ryan paused and rubbed the twinge out of his neck again. “Meet with Keiko’s roommate. See if I can find an entrance to this bunker.”
He gazed around his tiny cubicle, searching for his rucksack. He made a mental note to himself to stock up on supplies from the convenience store.
“I’ve been looking at the photograph too,” Ryan said as he felt for it in his pocket. Having it reassured him there was a possibility of Cal being alive.
Booth sucked air through his teeth. A television blared in the background. “Believe me now?”
“Maybe. After I find Sofia and Keiko, I’m coming back to Osaka and tracking her down. If she’s alive and in Japan, I’m going to kill anyone who stops me finding her.”
“Yeah … that might be more difficult than you think. A lot has happened in the last twenty-four hours.”
“What?”
Booth blew out a breath. “I just got word five minutes ago. HQ was attacked. Half of the first floor was blown up. It’s bad, Connors. We have people on the scene now. They’re finding dozens of bodies.”
“Zanzi? Oh God. Is she okay?”
He had encouraged his daughter to join LK3 to further her studies, not as a field operative, but as a scientist, helping those who had lost so much defending the nation. Now she was in danger. They hadn’t parted on go
od terms. She hadn’t wanted him to go to Japan. Said it was a waste of time. That he couldn’t find what he was looking for there. But Ryan had gone anyway, ignoring his daughter’s concerns. She didn’t understand that he needed a foreign country to clear his head. Now he regretted that decision.
“I don’t know. We’re hunting for her and Lisa. Good news is the director’s escape tunnel was sprung. She managed to initiate Operation Theia and leave via the forest, but the trail goes cold after that.”
“Can’t we check the log details to see if Zanzi left the building? She and her friends have tacos on Saturday. They’ve been doing that for years. Every Saturday. No matter how busy they are. Tacos and margaritas.”
“Theia has been updated since you left. It wipes everything now, clean and precise. Everything.” Booth paused and tapped away on a keyboard. “Shit … shit … bastards.”
“What’s going on, Booth?”
“Remember that computer genius?”
“Avondale.”
“Yeah. He just sent an emergency message. Seventy-five percent of our operatives have been neutralized. London. Amsterdam. Sydney. Wellington. Nearly all in the US.”
Ryan pulled the phone away from his ear and glanced out the small window. If LK3 operatives were being taken out worldwide and HQ attacked, it would only be a matter of time before whoever was responsible came after him and Booth. If they hadn’t already.
Is that why the yakuza were after them? Not for the thumb drive, but to assassinate?
“I saw the yellow rider yesterday afternoon,” he said.
“I thought we killed that one.”
“So did I. He didn’t see me, but I’m sure it’s the same guy.”
“Are you sure?”
Ryan shoved another water bottle into his rucksack and said, “Reasonably.”
“How much is reasonably?”
“Ninety percent.”
“That’s pretty sure.”
“What’s the protocol now?”
“Still the same as before. Go off grid. Disappear,” Booth said.
Ryan sifted through the papers spread out on his bed. Last night, after dinner, he had taken his copy of the plans and, using a map of Koyasan, traced the bunker tunnels. The entrances to the secret bunker all opened at the oldest buildings in town. The post office, university, museum. The main exit seemed to emerge in the steep, forested mountains. He had checked and double-checked maps of the area. There was nothing out there. Not even a road. It was to have been his next move after talking with Umi, Keiko’s roommate. That was, until the latest news. Now that Zanzi was missing, his focus was on getting home. As much as he wanted to explore the possibility of Cal being alive, Zanzi would need his help. He had neglected her for the past year, something that troubled him. Ryan didn’t want to be that kind of father.