by Matt James
Jack wiped the blood from his lip and laughed. “Boy, am I gonna be sore in the morning.”
13
Some might say that stripping your unconscious enemy naked and zip-tying his or her arms and legs together was childish. Well, if that was true, then Jack Reilly was nothing more than an oversized pre-teen. Initially, he searched Karl for anything useful. Then, Jack got the splendid idea to shame him.
“I’m not gonna kill you,” Jack said, tying him up, “but I’m sure as hell going to humiliate you.” He laughed. “Should make an interesting mugshot.”
Jack could have, just as quickly, ended the man's life, but that wasn’t his way. He wasn’t a heartless murderer. Yes, he had killed his share of people in the past. Back then, he had killed for his country, not himself. All of his targets were terrible individuals as well.
“Kind of like you,” he said, flicking Karl’s forehead.
The first thing Jack did was take the guy’s weapons and ammo—all of it. Next to go was his Kevlar vest. Karl’s backpack was full of survivalist supplies like food and water, but there were also two sticks of plastic explosives and a timer detonator. His tactical mask was present too.
It looks like I found Emma’s demolitions expert, Jack thought, gazing back up toward the hole in the rubble.
The style of detonator that had been used made sense since they were underground. In a typical setting, you’d use one that generated a radio signal. In this case, with tons and tons of stone around them, a timer was better suited.
And as far as Karl was concerned…
Jack rolled him onto his stomach and tied his wrists to the rear left wheel of the handcart. Then, he tied Karl’s ankles to the other rear wheel. No one would find him unless they looked hard enough, or until the man woke up and cried for help. Jack fixed that issue and stuffed one of the mercenary’s rank socks into his mouth.
Armed to the teeth with a bigger knife, an HK416 battle rifle, and a second Glock 19 pistol, Jack was ready for anything. He turned and faced the pile of rocks but didn’t advance. Karl wasn’t supposed to return right away. Gunter ordered him topside to talk things over with Piotr and to retrieve the rest of their men.
It gave Jack an idea, though, he’d have to go against his beliefs and willingly get his hands dirty—really dirty. He’d more than likely have to kill someone. Probably even a few someones.
Earlier, Emma had shown off the six gunmen positioned atop the ring of the kitchen buildings. Their job was to watch over the hostages and nothing else. They were also ordered to shoot them on sight if any of them made a run for it, or if Jack disobeyed Emma. Jack’s plan was doable if that were the case. None of the rooftop gunmen would be expecting an attack from behind.
Karl’s combat knife was sheathed on Jack’s chest for easy access, along with a handsfree, tactical right-angle flashlight. The man’s sidearm was situated inside Jack’s new thigh holster. Karl’s carbine was slung across his back, and his ammo supply was plentiful. Jurgen’s pistol was tucked into the back of his pants to be used as a last-ditch option. The last time Jack was dressed like this—for combat—had been during the incident in Mosul.
He thought he’d sworn off war forever.
“Well,” Jack drew Karl’s Glock and checked it over, “so much for that.”
Jack flicked on his chest-mounted light. He spun and stomped back toward Auschwitz, leaving his scimitar behind. It was time to be a modern-day warrior, not an archaic one.
The best part about his idea was that no one in Emma’s topside team would know what hit them. He owned the element of surprise. None of her people could know that he had successfully escaped capture and was coming back to free the hostages.
To put it plainly, Jack’s plan was bat-shit crazy.
But it was his kind of crazy.
“And what’s that got to do with guano?”
With no threat in sight, Jack kept his weapons holstered, and he set out at a brisk powerwalk. It was as brisk of a pace as he could muster. His body was tightening up fast. Soon, he’d be forced to voluntarily take a dip in the temple’s ice-cold pool to numb his muscles and joints.
He thought about moving Karl and trying to operate the handcart solo but recalled how hard it was for him to get it going, even with the help of Emma and Gunter. There was no way he could do it by himself. Plus, if someone came searching for him and Karl and found the cart missing, Jack’s plan would be ruined. The only place he could’ve gone was back toward the camp.
Leaving it behind was his best option.
Jack could just see the lit train station up ahead. He felt like a moth to a flame and broke into a jog. He burst into the illuminated station with joy in his heart. Just being back near civilization was a godsend. It meant that he was this much closer to normalcy.
He struggled to pull himself up onto the empty platform, making it after two attempts.
Jack adjusted the straps of his vest and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Damn, I forgot how heavy this crap is!”
He took a second to catch his breath before making his way to the stairs. As he climbed them, he remembered to skirt around the worn wet spot from before. He shouldered his rifle and peeked inside the bunker. The room within was empty. Satisfied that no one had been sent to check on Emma’s team, he stepped inside and clicked on the weapon’s barrel-mounted light. Not needing them both, Jack turned off the right-angle light attached to his vest.
The lights within the bunker didn’t respond well to the switch being thrown. Only a few of them were on, leaving much of the underground living space in darkness. It felt like a scene out of The Last of Us. It was one of Jack’s favorite video game series, just behind Naughty Dog’s other bestselling franchise, Uncharted.
He panned left, then right, never once locking in on one spot. The power of the LED bulb mounted onto his carbine’s barrel was ridiculously powerful—more powerful than anything he’d ever used before. He could see everything in each room with no trouble. The doorway directly in front of him held the makeshift movie theater. After that was the gym. If there were someone down here with him, he’d know it.
And so would they.
Thinking better of it, Jack stepped into the theater and flicked off his light, deciding to go at it with the limited lighting provided by his chest-mounted lamp as well as the handful of lights that were lit inside the bunker. He was happy he had made the decision when he did, because just as Jack extinguished his rifle’s beam, and before he reignited his chest-mounted variant, he heard feet banging down the metal stairs. Quickly, he pressed himself up against the wall of the theater. He inched sideways until only his head was poking out. From there, he saw straight through the gym and to the lit access point.
Another of Emma’s men appeared and called out.
“Gunter?” he shouted. “Hey, Gunter?”
Jack watched the man flip on a barrel-mounted light similar to his. The mercenary stepped off the stairs and went right, toward the weapons locker. Jack silently moved forward into the gym. Now, he was in striking distance with any of his various armaments. This guy needed to be taken down quietly, and since Jack had no sound suppressor, he went with the only option he possessed.
He slowly unsheathed Karl’s heavy-duty tactical knife.
Add it to the list with pistols and carbines because Jack was also elite with a blade. Staying low, he crept up behind the newcomer as he entered the weapons cache. Just when Jack was about to make his move, his boot found a small piece of debris and made a crunching sound that rivaled a cannon blast. The stillness of the environment made the noise infinitely louder than it truly was.
With nowhere to go, Jack crouched beneath the gunman’s flashlight beam. Miraculously, it passed harmlessly over his head, and he wasn’t seen. The mercenary was too focused on the bunker to notice a man squatting within a few feet from him. Jack was also currently out of his line of sight. A raised rifle created a blind spot directly under it—right where Jack was now.
Jack w
as so close—close enough to jab the guy in the gut with his knife. He didn’t, though. Instead, Jack patiently waited for him to turn around and step away. Even if his blade did find flesh, the gunman still would’ve had the capability to speak. Jack planned on taking that ability away with nothing more than the flick of his wrist.
Another overhead light suddenly blinked to life behind him, bathing him in its ambiance. As a result, his shadow was cast on the wall across the room—right where his target could see it. Before the gunman could react, Jack leapt on his back, forgoing the use of his knife. He’d silence the man with his bare hands instead.
The stunned German was too slow to get his arms up to block the attack, and Jack successfully wrapped the crook of his left elbow around his neck. Locked in, Jack drove his right foot into the back of his adversary’s knee. The combined attacks caused the man to go down.
In one motion, Jack rolled to the side and wrapped his legs around the mercenary’s waist, securing his ankles together—much like he did in his brawl with Karl. Only, this time, Jack was using a maneuver called a “rear naked choke.” The idea was to cut off your opponent’s airway and render him unconscious. Based on his wrestling partner’s movements, Jack was doing a fabulous job.
“Shhh, shhh, shhh,” Jack cooed, yanking back hard. “It’s okay. Time…for a nice…relaxing…nap.”
As the seconds passed, his enemy’s responses dwindled down to nothing. Ten more seconds and Jack let go. He shoved him aside and got to his feet. The last time he’d done that had been the year he started in Yellowstone. It was a long story, but it began with someone badmouthing Bull’s people. The “conflict” ended with the potbelly asshole landing flat on his back, in the mud, and somewhere off in dreamland.
Kneeling, Jack collected his knife and sheathed it. He checked the mercenary’s pulse next. But Gunter’s buddy wasn’t breathing. Even if Jack wanted to perform CPR, he couldn’t. Another set of feet could be heard pounding down the circular steps behind and above him. Either Jack needed to take the next one head-on, or he needed to conceal the dead man’s body before he was discovered.
Or…
Jack got an idea.
He slid beneath the lowest section of steps, leaving Humpty to be found by Dumpty. Once again, he slid his blade free and readied it. The second guy’s reaction was instantaneous. He rushed toward his fallen comrade and called out. “Jonas!” Either his voice was naturally high, or he was unbelievably young. Jack forced the incoming memory of the boy from Mosul from his mind, and instead, he floated after Jonas’ colleague.
When the second man leaned over the body, Jack pounced.
Faster than a cobra strike, Jack covered this one’s mouth with his free hand and swiftly yanked his knife hand from left to right. Then, Jack stepped back and kicked the bleeding mercenary in the small of his back. The mortal injury, combined with his off-balance stance, sent the German sprawling to the ground.
Jack didn’t stick around to watch him die. He turned for the stairs and started the next phase of his rescue operation. He had just killed two men in less than a minute in a place that had already seen its fair share of death.
“The Devil’s pet guards the way.”
Emma looked up from the Himmler journal and thought about what she had just read. It sounded like some sort of creature had taken up residence in the tunnels. She wasn’t sure where, but Himmler wouldn’t have written it unless it was true.
“That was eighty years ago.”
Nothing was for sure now. There was a chance that whatever his pet had been didn’t exist anymore. But if it did, what could it be?
Emma closed the journal and slipped it back into her vest. She stood and tried to wipe the building tiredness from her face but was unsuccessful. Then, it hit her. She knew of an animal that fit the description, and something dangerous enough for Himmler to have added it to his book. Looking around her feet, Emma was happy to see nothing.
She sighed, feeling foolish. If they hadn’t seen any of them yet, they were probably no longer in the area. The winter weather would’ve driven them deep underground.
As the Bible says, Satan once offered Adam and Eve an apple. The form he took has long been used as the representation of evil—the symbol of “the Devil’s pet” from Himmler’s journal.
14
Jack was nearly at the top, and he was winded and cold. His mind and body had been through a lot, even more than an average mission back with his Delta team. Most of those operations had been more mentally stressful than anything else.
The air rushing in was crisp, and his clothes were still damp. The warmth of the fire down in the Templar stronghold beckoned him to turn around. So did the treasure, for that matter. He stopped and readied himself, shouldering his rifle. As much as his body was telling him to stop, he still had a job to do. As it was, this was his first solo assignment. His Delta team had been precisely that—a team.
At this moment, Jack Reilly was an expertly trained, one-man battery. He strapped on Karl’s tactical mask and tested it out. His breathing was okay, and it fit snug enough that it wouldn’t shift and annoy him too much. Concealing his identity was paramount. He was an armed American—with no ID—inside a World War II-era concentration camp turned state museum.
“Okay,” he told himself, his voice slightly muffled, “let’s do this.”
Jack rushed up the remaining stairs and nearly bulldozed into Piotr. The museum director didn’t get off easy, though. Jack delivered a bone-jarring uppercut to the older man’s chin with the stock of his carbine. The blow sent the Nazi sympathizer sprawling to the ground without a response.
One of Emma’s men came rushing into the office from the hallway and was met with a three-round burst to the exposed part of his upper chest. Two of the bullets found flesh, flinging the man back through the doorway along with a splatter of blood.
Jack stood still, locked in, breathing hard. He couldn’t believe what he’d just done, and how quickly he’d done it. He was embattled, but he knew he was here for a reason. With his abilities, he was going to save everyone that was at risk.
Blinking out of the shock he was in, he looked down at the cowering traitor. He bent over Piotr and ripped the key from his neck. “I’ll take this.” He pocketed it and stepped away, but stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “I’ll be back for you later.” Piotr clawed at Jack’s legs but was too weak to impede him.
Jack turned his attention back to the mission, and he smoothly made his way to the doorway. He refused to look at the man he had just shot. Jack listened and waited for footsteps. Sooner or later, someone would come to check on Piotr and the guard.
Jack’s eyes floated around his surroundings. The Cellar walls would reduce the rifle’s report, possibly concealing it altogether. With a little luck on his side, he was able to slip out of the office and check the main hallway unperturbed. The way was empty.
Weapon forward, Jack quickly stepped heel-to-toe and made his way to the stairs. Again, he waited for any sign that his counterassault had been noticed. No one came down to check, so he headed up the stairs, taking a headcount as he did.
Not counting Karl, he’d taken out three of Emma’s people since leaving the treasure room. She had happily boasted about the six gunmen atop of the kitchen rooftops, though it was while he’d been fighting off a brutal headache. In reality, he hadn’t seen much. There were also other men roaming the grounds, from what she had said. The trio he’d come across here was proof enough.
But how many more were there?
Jack took the steep stairs two at a time, intent on finding out. He hit the landing and snapped his carbine up. Nothing greeted him, and he continued up to the first floor. The dense concrete and brick walls of the Death Block had successfully acted as the world’s largest sound suppressor.
“Ernst?”
Jack stumbled when he heard the voice. He had been about to turn into the central corridor. Luckily, he stopped before he was spotted. The newcomer must’ve
been the one stationed outside the front door. Jack vaguely recalled Gunter ordering someone to stay put there.
“Ernst?” the man called out again.
Jack pressed himself up against the wall just outside the stairs to the Cellar. He needed the guy to come to him, but to do so without being suspicious.
“Ja?” Jack asked. It was one of the only German words he knew. The other one word he knew was from Die Hard. Hans Gruber’s men shouted it a lot. It translated to, “Quickly!” So, Jack decided to use that one too.
“Schnell!” he shouted.
“Schnell?” the man asked back, confused.
“Ja,” Jack replied.
Ernst’s friend broke out into Jack in a string of garbled gibberish. Unsure of how to respond, Jack stayed silent. The guard stepped into the building, with a clunk of his boot, and repeated what he had just said. As he did before, Jack kept his mouth shut.
“Ernst?”
“Ja?” Jack repeated.
Jack’s man was baffled, so much so that he started coming his way to figure out what the hell was going on. Without a sound, Jack leaned his carbine against the wall and drew his newly acquired tactical knife. He needed to time his next series of moves correctly.
A shadow appeared from around the corner.
“Ernst?”
Nope, sorry. Not Ernst.
Just before he saw the German, Jack leapt out of his cover, slapped the man’s drawn pistol from his hand. He swiftly plunged the tip of his blade into the base of the trooper’s throat, just below his Adam’s apple. Jack kicked the weapon away and sidestepped the gagging man, leaving the knife buried in place. He kicked out the back of the mercenary’s knees and he picked up his rifle. Then, he turned and headed for the door.
