by Chase Austin
After standing at attention for several hours, the uniforms were relaxing till the convention was over. The two officers busy on traffic duty were closer to the boy, but their focus was on unsnarling the traffic. Amid all the loud honking, innumerable vehicles and pedestrians, no one had the time to wonder what a boy was doing alone on that street. No one except Wick.
He was trained to find anomalies in perfectly normal situations, and the lone boy was an anomaly. His wearing a jacket in the sweltering heat of Tehran under a blazing sun was an anomaly. And the swollen eyes—maybe he had been crying hard or sleeping less or maybe he was angry.
Sadness with a strong hint of visible anger was an anomaly. The slow measured walk towards the center’s entrance was an anomaly.
If one looked close enough, there were signs written all over the kid that he was about to derail months of intricate planning in seconds.
But Wick was worried about one more thing. He was a child: a misled kid at the wrong place at the wrong time. He didn’t know what he was doing and to whom. Anger rose inside Wick. Who would do that to an innocent? He desperately wanted to save the boy, but he could see the bulge in his jacket, which could be a bomb. The bomb could be remote-controlled or pressure-triggered, in either case, it was already a checkmate. The boy was very close to the entrance. Any move now would be a wrong move. If he tried to save the boy or tried to take him away from the location, invariably the bomb would go off. There would be hundreds of casualties.
He looked around for the person, who was bound to be somewhere close, who was keeping an eye on the child to make sure everything went as planned, to see if enough people died. For Wick, it also meant that his original timeline – to wait until the convention was over – had now gone kaput.
He instinctively whispered in the earpiece. “Abort mission. I repeat, abort mission. Activate Plan B. Over.” A couple of surprised acknowledgements and the static resumed.
Wick’s eyes scanned the three sides visible to him. His back was secured by a concrete wall. That was one area he could ignore to save time.
He could go directly to the alleyway where the three uniforms he had seen earlier were still standing. It would take him five minutes to get there if he walked. He knew he couldn’t run. People would shoot him first and ask questions later.
He could continue to his left, but it meant more uniforms and more impact if the bomb went off.
That only left one option—retracing his steps and taking cover behind the concrete wall beyond the turn. He stood up and retraced his steps. Almost there. He sped up. He was at the corner and was about to turn when a powerful blow jolted him from behind. His body left the tarmac and hit a nearby car with insane force.
CHAPTER 11
Sections of the thick concrete wall disintegrated, destroying a large part of the wall structure at the turn.
The ear-splitting blast knocked the wind out of Wick’s lungs. At such a close range, he was lucky to still be breathing. Shrapnel flew everywhere. Something grazed the side of Wick’s head, causing him to black out for a few seconds. When he regained his senses, the world had changed.
Pieces of debris still showered down on him. His ears were ringing. He couldn't hear a thing. It was as if the world had gone to hell. He tried getting up. A jolt of pain ran up his right arm, but his legs still seemed to be functioning.
He turned towards the convention center. Dust and smoke engulfed the street. Burnt dead bodies lay strewn on the ground. There were shadows of people, some of whom were like walking ghosts. Others moved as though in great pain, like scarecrows, their arms held out from their bodies, forearms and hands dangling. With a sudden flash of understanding, he realized that they had been burned and were holding their arms out to prevent the painful friction of raw surfaces rubbing together. Dust and the smell burning flesh filled his lungs.
When the dust finally settled, he saw that the front part of the large convention center building had been destroyed.
Then he saw Majeed being ushered by his bodyguards towards an alleyway opposite the convention center where his SUVs suddenly appeared, possibly summoned by one of his bodyguards.
Wick ignored his pain and sprinted towards the SUVs. His Glock was out, barrel pointing down. By the time he turned in the alleyway, the three vehicles were already in motion. The middle SUV’s door opened and Majeed almost flew inside.
“The target is moving. Over,” he shouted but there was no response. He lifted a hand to his ear. The earpiece was missing. There was no time to find it. The target was moving, and Wick had no clue where he was headed.
CHAPTER 12
Wick followed the SUVs on foot as they maneuvered through the dead bodies and the debris. He was still disoriented and stumbled every few steps. But the ringing in his ears was mellowing down.
The SUV crossed the location where Wick had seen the boy. There was a large pool of blood where the boy had been. No body parts.
With a sense of detachment, Wick noticed severed limbs, a blood-soaked watch, flip-flops, and a pair of shoes. He did not have time to think about the devastation he had just been a part of. The three SUVs were picking up speed. He had to find his rhythm. Majeed was going to get away. Plan B wouldn't work if they didn’t know where he was going.
He checked his pocket. The GPS tracking device was still there. If he could attach it to the second SUV in line, the plan could still work. But the cavalcade was fast getting out of reach. He tried picking up his pace, but his legs were not ready for a longer sprint. The pain in his right hand was growing too. The explosion had been too close. The realization hit him that his body was in no state to chase a moving vehicle on foot, and he desperately looked around for a deserted vehicle.
He searched around, anything to take him further. A Yamaha lay on its side; there were no keys. He snapped the wires from beneath the engine and hotwired the ignition. The engine coughed twice, refusing to start. He tried once more and succeeded.
No one was looking at him. People were busy saving themselves. In a few minutes, the streets would be crowded with the bomb squad, local police, and every other government agency.
He revved the throttle. The Yamaha started slowly, then picked up speed. Maneuvering through the by lanes, he sped towards Majeed’s SUV.
Wick knew that if anyone checked the rearview mirror, not only would they be alerted, but Wick would probably find a bullet heading for him.
His scummy robe flowing back in the wind messed his balance. He thought of getting rid of it but then decided against it.
He still didn’t know how he was going to attach the GPS tracker. Between him and the rearmost Fortuner was another car shielding him from a direct line of attack.
He was focused on maintaining a steady speed when the traffic ahead of him started to slow. Two hundred yards ahead was an intersection and the signal was red. As Wick slowed his motorcycle, a plan started to form in his head.
CHAPTER 13
By the time the traffic came to a complete halt, Wick was already on his feet, leaving the stolen Yamaha in the middle of the road. The wind and the maneuvering had made him temporarily forget his pain. Once he was back on foot it returned, and he started stumbling again. The good thing was that his senses were back to normal, and he was able to think straight.
Perhaps because of the blast, the traffic at the red light was extremely slow. The signal was working intermittently, and a traffic policeman was manually managing the traffic.
Wick’s walk changed as he neared the rearmost SUV. He sauntered as if his left leg was hurt. His hand in front of him begging for alms. The GPS tracker was in between his right index and middle finger.
He knocked on the driver’s side of the windshield. The driver glanced at him and gestured impatiently for him to move on. Wick didn’t knock a second time. He moved forward toward Majeed’s SUV.
Majeed was in the middle row of seats surrounded by two gunmen on both sides. He knocked on the windshield and all three men looked at him with
disgust. His eyes met Majeed’s, and he knew that Majeed had looked through him as he would any homeless beggar. The gunman sitting on Wick’s side waved him away. Wick continued to stand there, looking at the three of them, begging for alms.
The signal turned green and the first SUV started to roll. Majeed’s Fortuner followed suit. This was the time. Wick remained where he was, hand held out, and as the rear side of Majeed’s Fortuner neared him, he discreetly attached the GPS tracker to the steel. He stood there, watching the three SUVs moving in tandem. They had not realized what Wick had done.
Plan B was set in motion.
CHAPTER 14
Wick returned to his Yamaha, which was still standing in the middle of the road, the cars behind it honking impatiently. He made an apologetic face at the nearest driver while ignoring his shocked expressions that a beggar could afford a motorcycle like that. He wheeled the Yamaha to the side of the road, allowing the traffic to pass. In the opposite lane, it looked like every vehicle in the city was speeding towards the explosion site.
Wick had no way to contact his support team. The only way to reconnect was to return to the safe house. He started the engine, pressing the accelerator to give it the required thrust, and made a turn at the next intersection. His knowledge of city streets would come in handy now that he no longer had a GPS unit. Five hundred yards later, he turned left into a deserted alley.
Twenty-seven minutes through narrow alleys eventually brought him close to the safe house. He abandoned the motorcycle three blocks away from the base and covered the rest of the way on foot. The walk didn’t cause him any discomfort, and that was the good news, although his hearing was still not fully functional.
The safe house was locked, and the minivan was nowhere to be seen. He pulled the keypad coverup and keyed in the code for the day. The door slid to its left and he squeezed inside, not waiting for it to open completely.
Three seconds later the door closed behind him. Hearing the sound, Elijah came out into the hallway. Olivia was behind him.
Olivia stared at him, “Oh my god! You okay?”
He nodded and removed his robe at the door.
“We thought we lost you in the blast.” Olivia sounded worried.
“I’m fine,” he said it in a matter-of-fact tone and walked into the inner room, where Logan sat at a computer screen. “How strong is the GPS signal?”
“Good,” Logan replied, studying the screen. “The vehicle is still in motion. The possible locations could be here and here.” Logan tapped his finger on the screen.
One of the locations was a two-story house on the outskirts of the city, around thirty miles from the safe house.
“Bring up the images from the satellite feed,” Wick said.
Logan’s fingers flew over the keyboard. Meanwhile, Wick turned to Elijah and Olivia, who were still looking at him with a multitude of questions in their eyes.
“Not now, please.”
Olivia nodded. “Helms asked for you,” she said.
“'ll talk to him soon. In the meantime, you can relay to him that we're going ahead with the backup plan.”
“Wick, there's one more thing,” Elijah said.
Wick looked at him with a neutral expression.
“We just received news that the two US soldiers captured by Baitullah Maksud’s terrorist group were burned to death. This was broadcast live on the Internet worldwide.
Wick registered every word. He said nothing, yet everyone in the room felt the tension rise a few notches. Wick’s jaw stiffened. His eyes turned cold. His posture tensed.
“You think talking to Helms now would make sense?” Elijah asked.
“Show me the latest images of Majeed’s house.”
Logan complied. The images appeared on the white wall in front of them.
“What's Majeed's current position?” Wick asked. The lack of emotion in his tone surprised everyone, but no one said anything.
The image on the wall changed to show a yellow dot moving towards the house.
“Any intel on who orchestrated the blast?”
“We're circling on the suspects. The signature is similar to that of the Al-Hamas group but not completely. One of our agents is at the location, sending us intel on all the ongoing developments.”
The yellow dot on the screen stopped at the house.
“We need to move fast now. This is our only chance to capture Majeed,” Wick said looking at the image. He was pissed at the way things were shaping up. “Show me the security details of the house.”
A new image showed the building surrounded by black dots—the top view of people’s heads. Five in total. Two at the entry and three at the back.
The photo changed again. This one showed Majeed walking towards the house with another man, who Wick assumed was Farhad, known as ‘the enforcer’ in local lingo, who shadowed Majeed everywhere.
“We're leaving in thirty minutes.”
He went into the other room and closed the door behind him. He needed a quick bath and some painkillers. Everyone else in the hall exchanged looks and started to kit up.
The warm water washed the scum and blood from his body, clearing his mind. He was a loner and so far, Olivia and the team had given him the wide berth he needed to be at his peak. It wasn’t a privilege, but his need. It also meant that if anything went wrong, it was his head on the chopping block, but it gave him the freedom to make critical on-the-spot decisions without waiting for permissions or approvals.
He closed his eyes and the face of the boy appeared on the back of his eyelids. The boy’s gaze drained of innocence stared back at him.
CHAPTER 15
Twenty minutes later, when Olivia opened the door Wick was putting on his Kevlar bulletproof vest. His long, messy hair was tied neatly in a ponytail. The long beard was still there, but minus the dirt. He had ditched the loose clothes and wore a comfortable Dry-fit t-shirt. He looked clean and ready.
He walked up to the laptop and checked the GPS location of Majeed’s SUV. It was still parked at the same location. The satellite had sent two more images minutes ago. The other two SUVs had not accompanied Majeed’s. No change in the number of gatekeepers either, still two in the front and three at the back. The three guards at the back were busy drinking and smoking.
“Here's the plan,” Wick started. “We'll stop the minivan approximately one-and-a-half miles away from the location. Elijah, Olivia and I will cover the rest of the distance on foot. Logan will guide us from the van. You both,” he turned to Olivia and Elijah, “will take the three at the back and anyone else you find behind the house. I'll take care of the two at the front. Standard ops protocols: one tap and no noise.” He turned to Logan. “You'll be our eyes and ears. Anything changes, inform us immediately.” He looked at everyone in turn. “We’ll be connected all the time. Once everyone outside is taken care of, Olivia will secure the building from the back and Elijah from the front. I'll go inside. One-eight-zero seconds, in and out. If the connection breaks or I'm not out in three minutes, Elijah will follow me inside. If you see anyone except Majeed, shoot to kill. Any questions?” They all shook their heads.
CHAPTER 16
Outside, night had started to descend on a city still reeling with the grief and shock of the blast. No terrorist group had as yet come forward to take responsibility for the gruesome killings. The police were clueless, politicians were trying to rake in political gains from the tragedy, and the media was blaming everyone they could imagine. Wick was only concerned about how this circus would affect their ability to accomplish the mission.
The number of uniforms patrolling the city had increased. Logan took extra precautions and drove within the speed limit. Staying under the radar was important.
The team was ready for any eventuality but preferred not to engage proactively. Logan was using internal roads and alleyways to maneuver through the grief-stricken city. Luckily, they did not find any roadblocks.
Logan braked as they reached the marked location a
fter an hour’s drive.
Olivia, Elijah and Wick got out and started walking briskly towards the target location. Wick was carrying the same Glock-26 with an Octane K-45 suppressor that he had taken to the convention center.
The three shadows covered ground rapidly under the moonless sky. The scarcity of streetlights allowed them to run without arousing suspicion. As they moved closer to the target, Wick felt anger rising in his gut. He had reasons to be angry. But right before a critical mission, it could be fatal for him and his team. Yet he couldn’t shake his feelings. This intermittent surge of emotions was a new territory for him. His anger combined with nerves before a big mission was turning him into a wreck.
