Echoes of Avarice

by Brendan O'Neill

  “Look, Charisma,” Rana started as quietly as she could in the noisy room.

  “No, you look Rana!” Charisma voice was wavering with desperate rage, her eyes wild and terrified. “You can’t go around murdering innocent people! You don’t know everyone you meet will be part of Rhondak’s group. We can’t just kill anyone we meet!”

  “And what would you have us do?” Rana asked. Her eye blazed into Charisma with impatience.

  “We could knock out everyone we meet. All we have to do is get Danielle out…”

  Rana burst forward, causing Charisma to jump back into the wall. Faces inches apart, Rana’s fury burned in her voice. “All we have to do? If we’re caught, we’ll be turned over to Durand who’ll have us killed. An unconscious person can wake up at the worst moment. A bound enemy can be found and inform on us. We can’t let anyone who sees us live.”

  “But the CPF…” Charisma’s voice was weakening with helplessness.

  “Most of them won’t be complicit. Maybe all. But they all will follow their orders and turn us over to Durand. No of them can understand the big picture.”

  “Connor,” Charisma said as quietly as the noisy room would let her. “Please…” she started to say. Her eyes were pleading for him to help her, to come to her rescue. But he couldn’t. As much as he hated it, he knew Rana was right. Connor could only shake his head.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

  Charisma’s mouth worked soundlessly as she tried to say something, anything to change their minds. The betrayal was clear on her face. And the look of absolute disappointment pained him. But it fell short of breaking Connor’s heart. In the past he would have caved. But Sanctuary changed him too much. All he could do was stare at the woman as her eyes pleaded with him until the back of Rana’s hand smacked his chest.

  “Come on, Connor. We can’t stay here.” She turned back to Charisma. “If you can’t come, then you can wait in the vents. We’ll be back as soon as possible.”

  Charisma responded by ripping her jacket of and throwing it on the ground. She stared daggers at Rana. She didn’t look at Connor at all.

  Rana bent down and cupped her hands on her knee, fingers laced. “I’m going to boost you to the walkway. Grab the edge and I’ll climb up you.” She looked toward Charisma. “Watch how it’s done.”

  Connor dropped the extra cold weather gear, stripped off his own jacket, then placed a foot in Rana’s hands. He looked to Rana, who nodded her readiness. He jumped at the same time she heaved. Even in the warm room, the metal walkway was cool to the touch. He looked down to see Rana staring up at him like a cat ready to pounce.

  “Ready?”

  “Yup.”

  Rana lept up and grabbed Connor’s right ankle. Wrapping her thighs around his left ankle and her right hand reached up and grabbed the belt Connor had once considered unnecessarily heavy and complex. With a heave on that belt, the woman propelled herself up and grabbed his shoulder. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Moments later, the woman was on the catwalk.

  “Ok, Charisma,” she said. “Your turn.”

  She didn’t look Connor in the eye as she grasped his foot. The woman did her best to imitate the lithe Israeli, although her legs slipped free a few times. But anger fueled her determination and a helping hand from Rana got her onto the catwalk. Two pairs of hands pulled an exhausted Connor onto the catwalk.

  “Shit that was rough!” Connor muttered. He stared at his aching fingers, deep grooves carved into them from the grated metal catwalk.

  “How are your hands?” Rana said with a wry smile as she moved toward the door.

  “Feels like they’ve been shredded.”

  “That’s usually the worst part,” she said pausing at the door. Like earlier, Rana held a palm toward them, pointed at herself, her eyes, then the door. You two wait, I’ll look outside. This time she only stuck her head out into the hallway. She was back inside within seconds.

  “Once out that door, we move forward. To the right is a door that leads to the complex proper. This room lies in the Fleet Officer’s section.”

  “Is that why it’s so warm?” Connor asked.

  “They get the best,” Rana said. “Connor, I want you to my right. I have an idea of where Danielle might be. Charisma will follow on my heels.”

  “You seem to know this area pretty well,” Connor said with curiosity on his face.

  “Remember that door that was always guarded by a Fleet trooper?”

  Connor shrugged. He only saw it a couple times. Like most people in the CPF and Fleet, he spent as much of his time in the warmest areas possible.

  “That’s the door to our left. I dated one of the Troopers to get back here a few times.”

  “Dated?” Connor repeated in surprise. Or was it jealousy? He wasn’t really sure which right now. And he didn’t think he want to know.

  “I’m attractive and men are stupid,” Rana said as though it should have been obvious. Maybe it should have been. “He was more than happy to sneak me into the officer’s section for the slim chance of getting into my pants.”

  Connor nodded. Time to end this conversation. “Where do you think she’ll be?”

  “Captain Durand’s quarters are at the end of the hall. The trooper mentioned there’s a storeroom attached to her office. That’s the most likely place.” She looked around at her two friends. “Ready?” A pair of nods answered her.

  Rana checked the hallway was clear one last time and the three moved out. Each had their knives in hand and pistols holstered. The hall was clear, but brightly lit. It was also unbelievably warm. Like summer. Ignoring every other door, they rushed in a hunch down the corridor to Captain Durand’s quarters.

  Rana gently tested the door’s handle. Locked. She listened at the door, then shook her head. Nothing. Connor started for the lock, but the woman waved him off. She signaled for Charisma instead.

  Charisma bent to work, and for a moment Connor was confused. Why wouldn’t he work the lock? Charisma’s training at lock-breaking was far inferior to his own. But when Rana caught his eye and tapped the blade of her knife he understood. Rana needed someone she could count on.

  Connor’s heart was racing, blood pounding so hard in his ears that he thought he would go deaf. Anyone could appear in this hallway at any moment and any of the doorways they passed could open at any time. He glanced at the lock Charisma struggled with. It would have taken him only seconds to bypass that lock. He could tell that with a quick look. But Charisma took almost a minute.

  A minute that taught Connor activity which distracted the mind was far better than inactivity which bred doubt and uncertainty. A minute that brought gnashing teeth and fast, shallow breathing. A minute where Connor felt the humiliation and disgrace of misgivings at risking everything for just one person. Even if she would have done the same for him.

  He was on the edge of panic. He knew he had to regain control. Connor forced his mind through different offensive and defensive ASSAULTS techniques should anyone come into the hall. Techniques that involved his knife. Techniques to disarm his opponent. Techniques to use should he be disarmed. Techniques dependent on whether his opponent was close or at the other end of the hall. It was a method he’d used all his life to chase away panic.

  Connor was so focused on his old mental control techniques that he didn’t notice when Charisma finished. He almost jumped out of his skin when Rana tapped his shoulder and motioned him through the now open door.

  Inside was a balmy 72 degrees. Paintings of random landscapes and pictures of Captain Durand engaged in various activities dotted the walls. Her stolen luxurious furniture littered the entire room. Lavender carpets lay on the floor, gleaming blue satin curtains hung on two walls to cover imaginary windows. Twin brass floor lamps stood on either side of the room, filling the space with an unnatural warm light. An ornate satin armchair that looked more expensive than anything Connor had ever owned sat in the corner. Incense permeated the air. More salvage from the
resorts that never came to be. A single door was closed on the right wall.

  Rana pointed at Charisma, held a hand over her eyes as though to protect them from a bright light, then pointed at the door they’d entered. Watch that door. She and Connor moved to the other door.

  He waited as Rana first listened at the door, barely muffled voices from inside making their way to his ears as well. The moment she cracked the door open his nose was assaulted by the reek of body odor, human waste, and blood.

  She glanced back at Connor. Holding up three fingers and grabbing her wrist told him there were three enemies in the room. Bringing her hand up as though holding onto her throat meant there was a single hostage in that room.

  Danielle? he mouthed.

  Rana nodded.

  His heart charged in his chest. Even as terrified as he was, every cell in his body wanted to, needed to, charge into that room and save his friend. But he waited. His eyes burned into Rana as she signaled a complex stream of hand-signals. She’d take the man furthest from the door, Connor the closest. The last opponent would be taken by whoever was free first. He assumed that would be Rana. Either way they’d have to be quick.

  He reached to his side and tapped the pistol in his holster in hope that he could even the odds with that. Hand to hand, this would be his first real fight and Connor wasn’t sure he was ready. But Rana shook her head. It would be too loud, draw in more soldiers than they could deal with. Possibly innocent soldiers that they might have to kill.

  “Where are they, Tejeda?!” Durand’s shout filtered easily through the crack in the door. “This could all be over if you just tell me where Harper and Adams are!”

  “Culeada!” came Danielle’s hoarse response.

  Rana didn’t waste any time. She looked to Connor who held his knife at the ready and gave her a nod of readiness. They burst through the door, flying toward their targets.

  Connor hoped to take the man by surprise. He was big. About 6’3 and 260 Lbs. And he was trained far better than Connor had hoped. He’d somehow perceived the threat even before he saw the charging pair.

  The man spun, his own knife flashing out toward Connor in a blur. Connor managed to dodge, barely, and stumbled. The trooper’s knife surged forward again, and again Connor barely avoided the lethal steel. But this time he kept his footing.

  As the sharp metal came racing toward him in a wide arc, Connor charged forward. He timed it perfectly, feeling the turbulence in the air as the blade passed centimeters before his face. Connor’s own blade drove deep into the man’s midsection.

  The trooper gasped and stumbled a couple steps back before dropping to one knee. “Fuck”, he mumbled as he held his injured stomach.

  Connor couldn’t pass up the opportunity. He switched his knife to a reverse grip so the blade was facing backwards and darted forward stabbing at the man’s neck. The trooper was good. Too good to fall that easily. He blocked the strike and their wrists collided. But as skilled as the trooper was, he was too injured to keep up with the energized Connor.

  Connor’s hand twisted, bringing his blade back to lock the trooper’s wrist against his own. He stepped behind his target, his free hand grabbing the trooper under the chin. Neck exposed, Connor turned his blade toward the man’s helpless throat and stabbed. The man fell forward as he grasped at his throat, blood pumping between his fingers.

  Relief was only an instantaneous refuge for Connor. It died when he turned to see Captain Durand standing over an unconscious Rana. She’d dropped her target, but Durand had surprised her. A trickle of blood flowed from Rana’s temple as Durand stared at Connor with an evil grin. The woman held a wicked looking knife in her hand.

  “I’ve been wondering where you fuckers were.” Durand waggled the knife in her fingers as she circled like a vulture. “I had a bet with Stefenes that we’d have to go out to finish you off. Of course, now that you killed him, I don’t have to pay him.”

  Connor didn’t speak. He watched the woman warily. She seemed completely unworried and unhurried, as though she were addressing a friend rather than an enemy. A confident smile rested easily on her face. A predator sure of her superiority.

  There was no time for Connor to think. For most people, maybe, thinking was good. Thinking brought logic and clarity. But thinking only brought uncertainty for Connor. He couldn’t think. If he did, he would overthink. Now more than ever, Connor couldn’t afford that. He had to act.

  Connor whipped his knife toward Durand, but the woman knocked the strike aside. Another strike and another followed, but each Captain Durand easily deflected. The French woman’s blade skills were extraordinary and each thrust Connor sent toward her was turned easily away.

  A blur of steel flashed toward Connor’s face so quickly he couldn’t react. He staggered back, blood trickling into his right eye. It didn’t make a difference when he wiped his eye clear. Fresh blood poured in as soon as his hand was away.

  His one good eye looked over at the woman. Durand was smiling at him. She circled, her steps light and relaxed. Then she was a sudden blur, and a bloody slit appeared on his left arm. Connor only glanced at his wound and, when he looked back, Durand was already circling again. She was enjoying the game.

  “How are you doing, Connor?” she asked sweetly. “You’re looking a little pale.” She gazed at him quietly, but only for a moment. “You know you’re going to have to tell me where you hid your little girlfriend. And those two lunkheads. Although they’re not that important. I probably don’t need to bother with them. In fact, I’d be happy to spare them. If you’re willing to give up Charisma.”

  Connor’s mind whirled. He couldn’t beat Durand. At least not without luck and only fools relied on luck. Rana was still down, and if he called Charisma in, she would probably kill them both instantly. If the woman knew Charisma was right outside, likely she would have killed him already. Desperation demanded him to find some way, even if it was luck, of defeating Durand.

  Inspiration born from fading hope and palpable desperation gave him an idea. His only chance. Connor tossed his knife away and balled up his fists, taking a meager looking boxing stance. If he got her both overconfident and close he might be able to land one good shot. But only one. He’d have to cripple her with that one shot.

  Durand’s smile got even bigger. “So, you want to drag this out? Ok, sweetie. I’m happy to indulge you.” She tossed her wicked looking knife aside.

  She continued to circle but, as Connor had hoped, she took a matching boxing stance. Durand danced in, her right fist crashing into his jaw. Connor had intended to let the woman hit him but, even if Connor had wanted to dodge, she would have been too fast. Fighting her was like fighting Rana. Like trying to outrun lightning.

  Three more shots came in. Two to the body, one to the head. In the middle of the shock and pain, Connor was fascinated to see one of his own teeth fly across the room. He staggered back, slamming into the wall. It took all his self-control not to slide to the floor.

  Durand flew at him, driving her knee into his stomach. Air exploded from his lungs and he sagged forward against her. His hands wrapped tight against his midsection as the woman leaned in close and pushed him against the wall.

  “We have a word for you,” the French woman whispered into his ear. “Insensé. It means foolish… idiot… crazy. Taking me hand-to-hand, you’re definitely insensé. In every sense of the word.”

  Pain tore through Connor’s body. He hurt almost as badly as when he and Rana got into that heavy scrap before they left. But, thanks to Rana’s intense training, he’d learned to partition away some of his pain. This was his chance. His only chance.

  Connor summoned his flagging willpower for one last surge of effort. It was win or die. If he failed, they’d all die. Charisma, Rana, Danielle, maybe even Jackie and Akshay.

  Both his hands shot up, one grasping the back of Durand’s neck and the other grasping the back of her shoulder. He drove his knee into her chest, hearing the satisfying crack of her ribs.
Durand gasped and would have staggered back if Connor hadn’t had ahold her. Connor brought another knee into her stomach, her hands forming a weak defense. The knee came up again, but suddenly redirected into a kick. His shin smashed into her crotch with enough force to cause his shin to ache and a tingling sensation in his toes. Durand moaned and deflated into a kneeling position.

  Connor was starting to feel a glimmer of hope when Durand’s elbow shot out and caught him just beside his knee. His leg buckled and body dropped, but he had enough presence of mind to direct his momentum. There was a series of sickening cracks as his butt drove his entire bodyweight into Durand’s exposed ankle. A stomach wrenching scream tore out her throat.

  Both kneeling, their arms flailed against the other. Connor aimed for her breasts, sore crotch, throat, and broken ribs but her defense was too good. For now. She coughed often, sometimes bloody. Durand had a punctured lung.

  “Join us,” she coughed out suddenly, going defensive. “I can buy your life back if you join us.”

  Connor’s reply came in the form of a renewed assault against the woman. She’d become used to his attack against her torso. As he’d hoped. He shot a fist toward the woman’s chest and, as expected, she moved to block. His hand suddenly changed direction, fingers opening out and flying into her face. Durand yelped as his fingers slammed into her unprotected eyes and her hands went instinctively, toward her face. She stopped herself, but the opening was already there.

  Connor’s fist drilled into her broken ribs with every ounce of strength he could muster.

  Durand’s eyes bugged out and air exploded from her damaged lungs. Tiny red flecks of blood spattered on Connor’s face. The woman dropped into the fetal position, facing Connor, her arms tight to her chest. Her entire body was spasming as she coughed. For the moment, she was helpless.

  Connor was weak and hurting, but he couldn’t give the woman time. She was far too dangerous. He crawled painfully over the helpless woman to collapse onto the floor behind her. His right arm found a home around her neck. The other slid under his right hand, then formed a cinch with the left hand locked behind Durand’s head. She struggled pitifully, but her strength was gone as Connor choked her.