by S F Benson
Mark pulls me aside. Lowering his voice, he says, “I sure hope the hell you know what you’re doing, Ash. I told you we don’t need any more enemies.”
—
Regardless of Butler thinking he’s running the show, I lead us through the fence and onto the premises with Mark bringing up the rear. Every nerve in my body is stretched taut. It’s far too quiet for my comfort. Not even a bird flies overhead. We scramble across the numerous rocks and uprooted trees before we reach the ruined buildings.
Our backs are against a slightly demolished wall as the unit moves cohesively together. Not too long ago, bomb blasts tore apart the buildings of North Woods, split open the abandoned relics of fighter planes, and cleaved trees like toothpicks. Bricks fall behind us. My heart thuds with the impact. I adjust the pack I’m carrying.
We continue edging along the side of another structure. Our boots crunching over the frozen snow is too loud in my ears. I raise my hand and everyone halts. Up ahead, to our right, is the old loading dock with discarded cardboard boxes and a few rusty trash dumpsters on it. Two young soldiers stand near the medical building on our left. The sun glints off their weapons as they talk.
I hold up two fingers followed by the signal for hand gun. We crouch low against the wall and wait for them to walk on.
Butler speaks in my ear. “Now whatcha wanna do?”
Knock the shit out of you. Maybe offer a breath mint.
“You see that door? That’s, like, the only unguarded entrance into the medical wing. No easy access windows on the ground floor unless you have someone on the inside helping. The only other door, in the front of the building, is heavily guarded—soldiers and cameras.”
“So we wait,” he says, stating the obvious.
No shit, Sherlock.
The two soldiers take forever to leave. They discuss everything from the weather to what they want for dinner instead of MREs.
Picking up the backpack, I prepare to move when Butler cuts me off.
“Look, young buck, give me the lay of the land, and we’ll go in before you.”
I open my mouth.
“You don’t have the experience here,” he jumps in before I can find the words. “If you did, you wouldn’t have called for backup. I can get my men in and out with few casualties. Now tell me where to go.”
Butler has a few valid points, but I hate admitting defeat especially to an asshat. “The doors take you right into the main corridor. There are security cams every fifty feet or so, none at the rear door. In about two hundred feet, you’ll reach the first set of automatic double doors—all made of glass.”
“Anyone stationed on ‘em?”
“Empty until you reach, like, the nurse’s station. Only one nurse was on it when we were here.”
Butler closes his eyes and assumes a posture like he’s picturing something in his head. Seconds and then minutes pass before he opens his eyes and attempts to draw what I told him in the frozen snow. It takes him a moment to make a rough but fairly accurate sketch. Why didn’t he just look at the layout Fletcher has?
Butler’s eyes lift toward mine. “I like to picture where I’m headed in my mind. Helps me get a better feel for things. Digital devices won’t do that.”
Creepy. It’s like dude read my mind or some shit.
“What’s between the rear door”—he points out on his drawing—“and the first set of double doors?”
“Offices and rooms set up for patients.”
“Ever see any patients?” Butler asks.
“The whole time we were here there was only one patient, and he was with us. That’s—”
“Any stairs?” he interjects.
I think about it for a minute. “I didn’t think much of it at the time, but inside the back doors, there’s a darkened area. Might be a set of stairs going down to another level. No lights in that spot.”
“First place we should check.” Butler signals over his shoulder, and two of his men come close. “Inside the doors…to the right…and down. Cams beyond that point. Need a light source.”
“Got it,” affirms one man before the group takes off across the field.
Butler signals for another two men. “Detail on the doors.”
Mark runs up behind me. I tell him, “Get inside an office and check a computer. Whatever’s there, destroy it.”
“Hate to say it, man, but you have to contact Aoki. If there’s a chance to hack into the system and destroy it, that’s his job. I could do it, but he’s faster.”
Butler sends another two men toward the building and then tells me, “Listen, do what you got to do. We’ve got this covered. Just don’t get your asses caught.” He takes off with the rest of his men.
I’m watching his team run off when I remember what has to be done on our end. It’s the reason I requested a small stash of Semtex. “Fletch, Niang…”
“Yes, sir.”
“Unofficial part of the mission. We’re, like, going to destroy the lab in the main building. Check the area for anyone who might be a casualty, and then blow that sucker up.” I push the heavy backpack toward them.
Fletcher leans forward, his eyes glowing with eagerness, and slides the pack’s straps over his shoulders. “My pleasure.”
“I want in,” Mark pleads.
“No. Niang and Fletch, go!”
Mark crouches beside me. “What gives? You know I love blowing shit up.”
A little too much in my opinion, but Mark’s idiosyncrasies are not an issue today. “I need someone who’s got my back. We’re going inside. Zared can’t shut down a system he has no access to. It’s up to us to get him that access.”
Mark checks the time on his device. “It’ll take those two fifteen, maybe twenty minutes before the building blows.”
“Then, we better move.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Don’t think for a minute that Riza initiated the outbreaks in this country. Look to our leaders and those who advise them. Those are the real culprits.”
—from “Reflections on Riza” by Lt. Asher Nicholas Jones
What’s the saying about the calm before all shit blows up? We’re in that moment. To be honest, we get inside the building too damned easily. Other than the two Riza soldiers from earlier, we haven’t seen anyone else. My gut tells me something’s wrong.
Mark and I edge along the sterile, white corridor. Shorting out the fence must have shut down power inside the facility, as well. All the better for us. Our boots beat out a hushed tempo. Every few feet, we ease a door open and check inside, only finding patient rooms. Half way down the hall, we find an office with a computer and sneak inside.
There’s an ancient desktop computer powered on in a corner. Backup power? But if that’s true, why were the lights off in the hall? I run my hand across the leather desk chair. It’s warm. Someone knows we’re here, but where did they go?
“Mark, we’re, like, not alone.”
“Do whatcha need to do. I’ll stand guard.” He leans against the wall beside the door with his pistol raised.
My fingers dance across the keyboard, initiating a system check, and then I pull out my phone. Thankfully, he picks up on the first ring.
“Zared, I’m sending you info. Hack into this system. Gather anything useful, and then shut it down.”
Plugging a cable into my phone, the data he needs uploads.
“Got it, Ash. I’ll insert a virus. It’ll take a couple of minutes for me to gain access and plant a worm.”
“Any word on Rihana?” I ask while I wait. “Bashur?”
“Not yet.” He pauses for a beat. “Okay. It’s done. I’m gonna place a call to Bashur and patch you through. Ash, I don’t have confirmation of his location.”
“Shit,” I say. It’s what I feared when Zared claimed to have a location for Bashur and Rihana. Maybe when I talk to the double-crosser I’ll pick up another detail or two. No maybes about it. I have to get intel.
“Ash, somebody’s coming,” Mark whisper-s
houts.
The click-clack of heels speeding across a linoleum floor echo down the hall and bounce off my nerves. Getting caught with a phone in my hand is not part of the plan. I disconnect the call, pocket the device, and quickly cross the room, taking my position on the other side of the door. Pressing my back to the wall, I slide my weapon from its holster.
The door swings open. My eyes take in the teetering black heels, the shapely legs, the snug bright blue dress, the curtain of black hair hanging down her back. All time grinds to a halt as she turns around and we lock eyes.
At first, I think it’s Taaliba, but that’s not possible—unless her corpse has been reanimated. This woman just bears a stunning resemblance.
“Who are you?” she asks in perfect English—definitely not Taaliba.
“Never mind.” Mark yanks the woman toward him and places the barrel to her temple. “Breathe wrong and you’re dead.”
Her eyes saucer and her chin trembles. “I don’t understand.”
“Tell me who you are?” I ask.
“My name is Doctor Frances Galton. I’m a colleague of Taaliba Aoki.”
Perfect. She should be able to give us what we want. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, and you’re going to, like, answer.”
“And if I don’t?”
Jerking my head toward Mark, I say, “If you don’t, my friend has ways to make you talk.”
The good doctor’s cornflower blues darken. Suddenly she pushes her shoulders back and holds her chin high. “You’re the rebels. I was told to expect you.”
“By who?” Mark asks.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not telling you anything.”
Not exactly how I planned on doing this, but hey, nothing in my life is going according to design. Going back to the desk, I open drawers with one hand while keeping my gun aimed at her. In the bottom drawer, I find a roll of duct tape.
“Mark, catch.” He holds up a hand, and I toss the roll to him.
While Mark restrains Doctor Galton’s hands behind her back, I step closer. Before she can use her high heels as a weapon, I drop down and remove her shoes.
Once she’s properly declawed, I drag her to the desk chair. “Okay, doctor, let’s try this again. Where are the teenagers?”
“Do you really think I will cooperate with you—a known traitor?” she spits out.
Perching on the edge of the desk, I huff. “Why is it you people insist on calling me a traitor?” I clasp my chin with my free hand. “Is it because I don’t embrace your rhetoric? What do you think, Mark?”
“Beats me. But we need to get her talking so we can get out of here.”
“Listen, doc, I’m a reasonable man. My partner here? Not so much. He could go, like, all archaic on your ass. He’s not above gruesome methods like bone-breaking or pulling out your nails.” I pause for effect. “I believe I saw a pair of pliers in the drawer.”
She squirms.
“Me? I like immediate results. A well-placed gunshot to say…uh…a hand or…better still, a foot works. It will hurt like hell. You might even pass out from the pain. At best, you’ll never wear these again.” I hold up a shoe.
The doctor rubs her stockinged feet together but doesn’t volunteer with any answers.
Tossing the shoe aside, I add, “Here’s a thought. It’s been a long time since my friend has fucked anyone. How long, Mark?”
“At least a month. She’s not too hard on the eyes. I’ll fuck her—nice and hard.” Mark licks his lips, and the doctor flinches.
“I promise I won’t watch, though.”
“What do you want to know?” she mutters.
Leaning back, I smile. Mission accomplished. “Tell us where to find the Helix. Are they in this building?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she delivers the question like a statement.
Mark moves to the other side of the chair. He whispers something in her ear I can’t discern.
The woman recoils and leans away from him, trying to put some distance between them. “You’re a filthy-ass pig.”
“I love it when a woman talks dirty to me,” he says.
“Enough, Mark.” No doubt he said something so crass that even a street whore would blush. My friend has always had a propensity for vulgarity.
Thankfully, he backs away from the woman and doesn’t say anything else.
“Like, answer the question, Dr. Galton,” I command her.
She glances over at Mark and swallows hard. “In the basement.”
“Where are the soldiers guarding them?” I ask.
“They were called to the main building. One of the New Order’s leaders is arriving.”
Shit! Fletcher and Niang will be trapped. I look over at Mark.
“I’m on it.” He runs from the room.
“Now that we’re alone,” I start, “I need some more information.”
“Like what?” Her arrogance makes a return with Mark gone.
“Why is a leader coming here?”
The corners of Doctor Galton’s lips lift in a confident smile. “I only know that there’s a meeting today.”
“Who’s meeting?”
“Leader Salk and a man named Mohammad Raymond—”
“Raman Bashur?” I finish for her.
“Yes. He’s offering a trade with the government. Apparently he has someone from the Most Wanted list with him—a young woman named Rohana or Ruhana.
Rihana.
Her words grow legs and kick me in the gut, driving air from my body. My vision blurs for a moment as red seeps around the edges.
Dr. Galton glances at the clock on the wall. “They should be here any minute.”
The bomb!
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Many of you have birthed your children in this land. You have worked here and when war broke out, you fought alongside your neighbors—Purebred and Hybrid alike—to keep what was yours. Some of you have lost loved ones in this land of sorrow. I ask you, where is your reward?”
—from the Honorable M. Raman Bashur,
Kurdish political & religious thinker
Slapping a piece of tape over the good doctor’s mouth, I run out the door. I’m an open target to any soldier wishing to take me down. No precautions for me. I’m only thinking of my destination.
Sprinting toward the building with the bomb, my mind races. Did Mark reach Niang and Fletcher in time? Did they activate the explosives before Mark got there? Or did all of them get apprehended? Of course, the obvious questions dance in my head, too. Why would Bashur bring Rihana here? Is he testing me? Is this how he plans for me to die—rescuing the love of my life?
As I come around the side of the building I see a black SUV come to a stop. The sun gleams off the shiny exterior. The door opens, and a short, balding man gets out. He looks around and attempts to button his dark suit coat over his paunch. That must be Salk. I’ve never had the displeasure so I can’t be completely sure.
From my spot, I see Mark speaking with Fletcher and Niang. His arms and hands flap about frantically as gestures pepper his words. Their response is to pull Mark away from the impending destruction.
“Wait!” I scream, jeopardizing our location.
But it’s too late. The Semtex triggers a fiery ball of orange and red flames, surging into the open air. A deafening noise, like a thunderous clap, passes overhead. Anyone standing is knocked off their feet. Bricks and rebar rain down upon us like missiles. Heavy smoke blurs my vision as the taste of metal fills my mouth, and the acrid smell of burning plastic singes my nose.
I scramble to my feet, not waiting for the smoke to clear. Sounds, muffled and unclear, funnel in and out. Shaking my head doesn’t restore my hearing. My gaze bounces around the scene. Fletcher and Niang slowly rise, but Mark… He’s still on his back.
Damn! I crawl beside him and check for a pulse. It’s strong. His eyes flutter open, and he coughs. Thank God, my best friend is alive. If I could only hear clearly…
A flurry of activity nea
r the front of the building alerts me. Flames engulf the car Salk traveled in. Behind it is a second SUV with a trail of fluid leaking beneath it. Smoke billows from its crumpled hood. A man resembling Bashur slumps over the steering wheel with blood flowing from a head wound. In the back seat, a woman stirs. She’s trying to exit the vehicle but the door won’t open.
“Rihana!” I jump to my feet and dash toward the car.
Someone tackles me to the ground just before another explosion rocks the area. The second vehicle shoots into the sky on a plume of orange flames. Windows shatter, and shards of glass and steel fall to the earth.
I spit dirt from my mouth and yell, “Get the fuck off me.”
“You’re gonna get yourself killed,” Mark shouts.
Watching the car burn, I struggle against my friend as the smell of burnt flesh fills the air.
No matter how hard I try, Mark won’t ease up. My pocket is buzzing incessantly, but a damn phone call doesn’t matter. Nothing will ever matter again. I just lost my last hope in this fucked-up world.
Gradually, the fog vacates my ears, and I hear voices speaking to me. Riza soldiers haul us to our feet. Mark glances over at me and mouths, stay calm. Like I have a choice in the matter. With Rihana gone, our daughter needs me. The only way I get back to Viyan is to get out of this hell hole, one more time.
The two of us along with Niang and Fletcher are dragged to the medical wing, the only intact building remaining. I don’t see Butler or his men. Maybe they found the target and got the fuck out of this wasteland. At least the mission won’t be a total wash. They’ll relay word back to my grandparents in case…
My eyes dart from each familiar face—men I once trusted and led—as they lead us to the office where we left the doctor. When the door opens, I see she’s gone. No surprise there. The soldiers divest us of our weapons but don’t restrain us.
Dumb move.
A soldier steps to the side and Salk enters the room. His face is dirty, and his suit is torn and soiled. The arrogance dripping off this man is unscathed. How did he survive the explosion? My heart holds out a glimmer of hope that Rihana might be as fortunate.