Behold Darkness

by L C Champlin

  “Turn around.”

  “Going to give me the finger?” Nathan laughed as he turned. “Why don’t you be a man for once in your life and face—”

  BANG-BANG!

  Chapter 75

  Shot Through the Heart

  Something Wild – Lindsey Stirling, featuring Andrew McMahon

  “Turn around.” The blood drained from Albin’s face as he watched Mr. Serebus through a gap in the fence’s brush. The Beretta’s front sight slotted into the rear as Albin rested the barrel in a chain link diamond. No pressure, as his employer would add after laying out a complex, high-stakes strategy.

  Mr. Serebus swung about to face his challenger, calm and assured as ever. “Going to give me the finger?”

  Albin’s finger pad tightened against the trigger, took up the slack. No pressure. He was aiming at a target, nothing more. Thirty meters with a .40 caliber posed no difficulty on the range. A steady inhale . . .

  “Why don’t you be a man for once in your life and face—”

  Sharp .40-caliber recoil kicked the grip deeper into Albin’s grasp as the bullet impacted Mr. Serebus upper right chest. Bull’s-eye. The second bullet blew a shard of concrete from the barriers. “Godspeed, sir.”

  Albin turned and made for the western fence, then turned north through the lot spit as sniper fire hammered his previous location.

  “What the hell was that!” Behrmann yelped over the other radio.

  After the fence at the carwash, he hugged the building’s perimeter until he reached the safety of the western wall. He needed to track Mr. Serebus for a rendezvous.

  ++++++++++++

  Impact, right upper chest. Nathan hit the sand with a grunt, one knee bent to protect his spine.

  Automatic-weapon fire echoed. Retaliation would occupy them for a few seconds. With their mule down and the data in a vacant lot, the terrorists would have no choice but to put boots on the ground.

  By the time Cheel discovered Nathan had faked death, killing the hostages would be pointless. No reason to waste human resources when Nathan, the one who got away, wouldn’t know if they lived or died.

  Rolling onto his stomach, Nathan crawled toward the rear fence and its shrubs. To the right, almost at the end of the fence, the carpentry building’s roof overhung the barrier.

  Sssssaaaahhhh.

  Behind him, a jerking cannibal landed on all fours as it flopped over the rear fence. Then a second and—third? They’d learned to climb chain link?

  Digging his elbows and toes into the sand, he reached the end of the stack and scrambled behind it. Could the terrorists see him? A glance over his shoulder. No, not easily. Veering right, he trotted bent double, then turned left down the barriers’ length. Heartbeat and breathing drowned everything but the gunfire and hissing. The snipers should take them down to clear a path for the ground forces.

  Right turn. Shit! The stacks sat too close, blocking his path. Continue straight, then. At the end of this stack he could follow the fence until the roof overhang.

  Ssssssaaaahhh.

  From ahead?

  Ssssssaaaaahhh.

  From behind. How did this turn into a deadly game of Pac-Man? Thumb on the box cutter control, the blade clicked to half its length. The contagion spread with their blood; he couldn’t risk getting splashed. Clickclickclick. He retracted the blade and slid the box cutter into a vest pocket as he trotted toward the devil he didn’t know.

  Around the corner, left arm up in guard. Nothing.

  Ssssssaaaaahh!

  Cannibals prowled the other side of the fence. Speed and maneuverability gave him a chance to reach the overhang thirty yards ahead.

  The gunfire tapered to a few singles. No more hissing.

  Twenty yards.

  Last stack, almost there. Albin could’ve left him a board or bat at least.

  Ten yards.

  Goal! In the shade of the roof, he straightened enough to grab the top of the vine-choked fence. Up and over. He landed in a crouch. East, between fence line and carpentry building, two cannibals half walked, half crawled in his direction. Westward, toward the building’s rear, looked clear.

  Bent double, Nathan trotted away from the monsters.

  The radio crackled: “Mr. Serebus.” Fucking Cheel, not Albin. “If you are still alive and mobile, your only chance of survival is to come into the open. I would hate for my men’s fire to strike you by accident as they dispose of the Dalits.”

  Garbage littered the route, but nothing of use.

  Cheel prattled: “The data will keep; the Dalits are only interested in the living. They circle like vultures and will hunt you down like wolves.”

  Wait! Nathan snatched up a beer bottle, pivoted, and launched it at the closest cannibal’s head. Thud. The cannibal pitched backward, blood and oil splattering the sand. Poor recompense for the monsters ruining his plan.

  “If you have, by a poor decision made in the heat of battle, chosen to restore old allegiances, I cannot guarantee the safety of your comrades.” How much did Cheel think he valued the lives of semi-strangers?

  Ahead, a two-by-four leaned against the fence.

  “If, however, you return directly, you will preserve their lives. We are working for a common goal. Remember this.”

  Around the corner—His skid-stop brought him half to the ground, left hand hitting sand, keeping him upright in the face of two more cannibals.

  Ssssssaaaaaahhhh!

  Up in a heartbeat, the two-by-four came up like a pike.

  “In addition, you have the opportunity for great profit.”

  Behind, the cannibals slowed as they came erect. The two in front split up like pack predators and kept advancing. Oil splattered the ground as they threw back their heads, jaws gaping.

  Board across his chest like a bo staff, Nathan sidled along the fence.

  “Your man is attempting to kill you, the creatures will turn you into a staggering waste, and my men may fire on you. Weigh your options and choose wisely.”

  “I sure as hell will.”

  BANG! BANG!

  Right temples exploded, spraying gore across the corrugated siding. The foremost hit the sand with a wet thud. Shots fired from . . . the Wendy’s and Starbuck’s. By whom?

  BAM-BAM! BAM-BAM!

  Ahead, large-caliber lead vaporized skulls in a blast of gray matter, arterial blood, and bone. The two feet of air between Nathan and the bullets writhed with the turbulence.

  While the Good Samaritan from Franchise Nation next door might not want him dead, the AK wielder might.

  “Do not run!” yelled an Arabic-accented male from the same direction as the last shots.

  Board in hand, Nathan sprinted for the service door ahead.

  Chapter 76

  Bait and Switch

  Jungle – X Ambassadors

  Nathan yanked open the carpentry shop door and lunged through. Click, click. Bolt and knob button locked. Someone had shattered the door’s glass, so the locks would only inconvenience his pursuer.

  Following the right-hand wall into the workshop’s fore, keeping out of the door’s line of sight, he scanned his surroundings. Woodworking machines and lumber, projects and benches.

  Stay in the workshop, or move into the offices and other rooms? The workshop afforded as many benefits as the offices, plus he didn’t need to clear it.

  On the wall to the right hung a rack of screwdrivers, chisels, and other woodworking tools. Jackpot. He traded the two-by-four for a two-by-two. Pulling on a pair of black STIHL gloves, he jogged toward the door leading out of the workshop.

  Hand on the latch, back against the wall, he pushed the door open. Nothing.

  Next, weapons. Nice of the carpenters to leave duct tape on a workbench. The roll growled as he fixed a chisel to the two-by-two’s end.

  Now, to the back of another stack of boards. It occupied a clear area with exit options left and right, a view of the door, and decent co
ncealment.

  In the next heartbeat the exit’s handle rattled. “I know you are here, Mr. Serebus. I mean you no harm.” That voice, the heavy Middle-Eastern accent . . . Captain Ali.

  Smirking, Nathan slid behind the stack as an arm came through the door’s broken window to undo the locks.

  The door swung open and a gunman swung around the frame, AK up and panning. “I wish only to speak with you.” Rifle in his right hand, Ali slowly raised his arms, held them out in the international symbol for parlay—or imminent betrayal. Given how the Islamic State and its ilk loved betraying the sanctity of the white flag, the latter seemed likely.

  “I swear to you.”

  Ali started forward with measured, USPS-slow tread. Yes, come check the open door, get in range . . .“I want only to talk. Ustath Bassam does not know I am speaking to you. He expects me only to return you.”

  What an interesting ploy: a terrorist pretending treason to his master to smoke out the pretender. Since escape by faked death had failed, he would just have to make a Plan B. Very well, then. Nathan taped down his mic’s PTT button. Can you hear me now, Cheel, you fucker?

  Ali’s boots thudded, echoing off concrete. “You work for the American government, I am certain. You may be unbelieving, but I too am with your government.” Sailing under false colors. How predictable.

  “Look at me: I am alone. If I meant you harm, would I not have brought others?” Not if they waited outside.

  “Your plan was convincing. Bassam believes you, but I know you and your servant are not friends of terrorists.” If Cheel sent him with this line, it meant the chief doubted Nathan’s story.

  “Escape by the way I give while I distract my men. I order them not to shoot. I say you are following Bassam’s orders. I ask two favors in return for your life and for the protection I give your friends: First, put in a good word for me with your masters. Second, I ask for the data.” Aha! Cheel would take the data, then mow him down as he fled via Ali’s “escape” route. “I tell Bassam that I found your dead body and took the data from it.”

  “Stop there,” Nathan ordered. “Put the rifle down and kick it forward.”

  The dusk concealed Ali’s expression. “I am happy you act wisely.” He laid the weapon on the concrete, then pushed it four yards ahead with his boot.

  “You’re a fool, Captain.”

  “Am I?”

  “Cheel wouldn’t be so blind as to allow a mole in his ranks.” Nathan edged to the lumber stack closest to the AK.

  “I did not become captain by chance. I can, as you Americans say, keep my cover.”

  “That’s the least of your idiocy. You believe I’m going to give up the data, my only bargaining chip, on the strength of a terrorist’s word.” Nathan couldn’t go for the AK too quickly. Four yards away—he could reach it before Ali. “Then you expect me to believe Cheel will take your word that I’m dead. He’ll want my head at the very least. That’s what you people do, cut off heads and hands.”

  Ali remained with hands in the air. “You are cautious. That is good.”

  “What’s to stop me from taking you hostage while keeping the data?”

  “Bassam does not value my life that highly.”

  “Then why would I trust your clout with him in protecting my people?” Nathan switched the spear to his left hand in preparation.

  “I could do more if I were with them than if I am your prisoner.” Ali raised his chin slightly as if he sensed victory.

  “If you are an American agent, coming along as my ‘hostage’ would get you out of his hands.” Cover every exit, force every excuse out of him. “You could be traded back later and never miss a beat. You might even be more useful to the US government if you returned to Cheel with some choice bits of intel you gathered while being held prisoner. You’d be a big damn hero!”

  “He is no fool.” Yet somehow he missed the fact that his captain was a turncoat?

  “This is what we’re going to do: tell Cheel that I didn’t find the data, but there was a note left by my man about its location. I want to hear from Cheel that you’re supposed to be following me, like you claim. Then you’re going to assure him that I’m still loyal. You’re going to tell me where all the snipers are. You will ask for their statuses, and they will reply in English so I can hear. Then you’re going to ‘escort’ me toward the rental-car lot south of here, in front of God and everyone.” He could take Ali hostage there, or simply evade with the concealment the vehicles provided. “You give me a handgun and the AK ammunition.”

  “But—”

  “How am I supposed to escape without ammo and weapons?”

  Ali dipped his head. “And then?”

  “Then you follow my lead.”

  “We need to go now.” Ali started to step forward.

  “Stop.” Nathan’s grip tightened on the spear. “Remove your armor and weapons. Throw them by the rifle.”

  Thud. The plate carrier landed beside the AK.

  “Good. Now turn around, back to me, hands up and eyes closed. Do it.”

  Ali complied. Spear at the ready, Nathan sprinted for the rifle, caught the grip. Solid, reliable—now he felt complete. Kneeling beside the vest, he began rummaging through the pockets, all the while keeping the rifle muzzle on Ali.

  “How did you get involved in all this, Captain? Family business?” The armor held the 1911, loaded this time, with extra mags for it and the AK.

  “I am a loyal servant of Allah.”

  Nathan began distributing the gear around his plate carrier’s pockets. “What does the Istiqaamah offer for its benefits package, other than couches and virgins in the afterlife?”

  “It is my duty and honor to serve Allah, and to honor the name of his Prophet.”

  “Yet you say you’re helping the US government?” Nathan asked as he dropped the AK’s mag and shucked the rounds into a pocket. He ejected the chambered round, sending it rolling across the floor.

  “I have realized after seeing the Istiqaamah’s acts that there is another way to serve my god.”

  Click. Empty mag back in the rifle. “I’m sure you’ll start peaceful proselytizing by knocking on doors instead of kicking them in. What does Istiqaamah mean, anyway?”

  “Faithful.”

  Chapter 77

  Mole Hill

  Evil Ways – Blues Saraceno

  “Fitting.” The 1911 in his right hand, Nathan pushed the vest and glorified club back toward their owner. The AK bumped off the back of Ali’s boots, making him flinch.

  Nathan straightened. “Put it on and take your rifle. If I didn’t think you were useful, I’d kill you where you stand.”

  “I will prove my worth,” Ali asserted as he slipped the armor over his head. “You will see.” He looped the AK strap over his shoulder, holding the weapon across his chest.

  “Go on.” Nathan motioned with the 1911. “Call Cheel and your men.”

  Face blank, the Arab keyed the mic. “Ustath Bassam, do you copy?”

  “Speak, Captain. What is happening?”

  “I have met the American. He does not have the data. But he found a note telling the location. What are your orders, Ustath?”

  As the terrorists talked, Nathan sidestepped to the tool rack, selected heavy-duty wire cutters and slid them through a MOLLE loop on his vest.

  “Watch him well.”

  “Yes, Ustath. The American still appears loyal to our cause. He will get the data.”

  “He is loyal to his own cause, Ali, but it aligns with our own. Protect him, but see that he retrieves the data.”

  “Yes, Ustath.”

  “Good,” Nathan murmured. “Now your men. You’re unarmed, so remind them to watch your back for the cannibals.”

  After switching channels, Ali keyed the mic. “Soldiers of Allah, I am going to escort the American. Protect your brother from the monsters that seek our blood. What are your statuses and positions?”

  �
�Nasser one, ready on the roof.”

  “Nasser two, ready on the roof.”

  “Nasser three, ready on the ground.”

  “Nasser four, ready on the second floor.”

  “Good. I leave now. Over.”

  “Go on.” A flick of the Springfield’s barrel toward the door. “Daesh first.”

  With a glower, Ali turned and strode to the door.

  On the floor lay a scrap of cardboard with the Arete A in duct tape on it. With Ali’s back to him, Nathan snatched up the card and turned it over. Car park across the street. Else return. Or Mors Ab Alto w/surrender, in Albin’s handwriting. With a nod, he dropped the scrap and continued after the terrorist hound.

  Ali stepped out, alert for danger. Joining him, Nathan looked about. Bright sun and a breeze made the situation seem unreal, except for the wail of sirens and the distant beat of chopper rotors. “Back the way we came so your men can cover us and nobody suspects anything.”

  They set off, Ali on point, Nathan covering the rear with the 1911. One, two, three, four. He should run. He should take cover among the cars in the rental lot and get out of Dodge ASAP. Doorway or an ally of Arete Tech could determine how to use the files. The hostages . . . wouldn’t want him to cut deals with terrorists. What did he care about them anyway?

  The fugitives picked around the corpses. They passed under the roof, close along the building. At last they reached the corner. No cannibals.

  They followed the road, cut across the street, then trotted along the overgrown chain-link fence that protected the rental cars. Barbed wire on outward-facing arms crowned the top.

  “Start cutting.” Nathan tossed the wire cutters onto the ground, where they landed in a spray of sand.

  Time to get down to business. “What was that?” he whispered, wheeling toward an imaginary sound farther down the fence line.