Boiling Point (An Ethan Galaal Thriller Book 4)

by Isaac T. Hooke

  “Take point,” Ethan told Bretta.

  “Copy that.”

  They emerged from the stairwell into a section of the building that was clearly deserted. The overhead halogen lighting had been dimmed––no doubt thanks to some kind of energy-saving timer––and the cheap carpet muffled the tread of their heavy boots.

  They moved with the blend of efficiency and caution that you learned fast in their line of work if you wanted to be in it for any length of time. Something in his gut told Ethan that this was time-sensitive, and yet to rush on would have been to commit the cardinal sin on these kind of jobs.

  Bretta led the way with Ethan following and William bringing up the rear. They made their way into a long rectangular room that looked, to Ethan’s eye at least, to be some sort of research lab. There were bookshelves and study desks hugging the periphery of the room. The place was softly lit by the overhead strip-lighting, but there was a definite brightness coming from the center of it; a harsher, whiter glow that alluded less to reading lamps and more to research lights. Due to the layout of the shelves––which, on closer inspection held a plethora of scientific equipment as well as books––Ethan could not see through to the center of the lab.

  Ethan tapped Bretta on the shoulder, as they stalked silently into the ranks of shelves and tables and chairs, and signed that he was going to move ahead of her. Bretta nodded and stepped aside so that he could squeeze past her in the narrow confines between the shelves.

  After wending their way towards the center of the room, Ethan eventually poked his head out from between an alleyway made up of towering filing cabinets and finally clapped eyes on their target. His gaze darted about the space surrounding the engrossed scientist, who sat before a laptop, but there was no indication, that he could see, of any other person or people waiting in ambush.

  Ethan made the chopping hand signal to tell the other two they were moving in and then, weapon leading, though not pointed at her, he stepped out into the central study area.

  “Dr. Kiana Avesta,” he said in a flat, even tone, speaking English.

  Dr. Avesta looked up from her laptop with a sharp gasp. The pen that she had been twiddling between her fingers skittered away across the desk that she was sitting at and fell to the floor.

  Dimly, Ethan’s brain made the observation that the pictures that Sam had supplied of Kiana Avesta had not done the ground-breaking scientist justice. The wide, almond-shaped, vulpine eyes that stared in terror and confusion at him now were a startling blue green––that is to say, the outer iris was blue while the inside was green. The young woman had high, full arching eyebrows, strong cheekbones and lustrous raven-black hair that made her look the very paragon of Persian beauty.

  To his slight professional chagrin, Ethan found himself feeling quite rude to be standing there with an assault rifle as if to rob her.

  “Dr. Kiana Avesta?” he said again, his eyes not leaving her face or her hands that were clutched defensively in her lap.

  “Wh-what? Why––” the scientist stammered.

  “Are you Dr. Kiana Avesta?” Ethan repeated, his tone still unreadable.

  The young woman seemed to shrink down behind the stack of documents and folders that she piled haphazardly around her.

  “Ye-yes,” she managed. “Who––who are you? What is it that you want?”

  Her accent had a musical cadence to it. Her English was perfect. He lifted his balaclava over his ballistic safety goggles, then slid the latter up to completely reveal his face.

  “My colleagues and I are here to facilitate your leaving the country.”

  “You––you’re Americans?” Kiana asked. Her hands had moved out of her lap and were now clutching the desktop. Ethan noted how the knuckles were white and straining against her tanned skin. She was doing her utmost not to give in to her panic. Good, because he didn’t want to have to tackle her.

  Ethan nodded. “That’s right. Now, if you’d gather your things, we’ll get you out of here.”

  “W-what makes you think I want to leave my country?” she said.

  Ethan shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if you want to or not. You are leaving.”

  “You want my research,” she said, seeming to get a hold of her fear for the first time. “That’s it, isn’t it? You Americans intend to use my discovery for your weapons.”

  “No, actually, we don’t,” Ethan said. He needed her to remain calm. Pliable. His words were partially true: he and his team had no interest in her discovery. The U.S. military, on the other hand, would definitely be interested in her research. “We’re here only to save your life.”

  “Y-you won’t save me,” she said. “The Iranian government won’t take kindly to my disappearance. They, too, are aware of my research. They’ll hunt me down. Perhaps ki-kill me. They’ll think I’m a traitor.”

  “You’ll be given a new identity,” Ethan replied. “A clean slate. No one will ever find you. But the Iranian government is the least of your worries.”

  Her brow furrowed fearfully. “W-what do you mean?”

  “We’ve reason to believe the Israelis are sending a Kidon hit team to take you out,” he replied.

  She stared at him, almond-shaped eyes wide with fear. It was clear that, as much of her time as she spent researching or in laboratories, Dr. Avesta had more than a vague notion as to what an Israeli Special Forces team coming to pay her a visit actually meant.

  Finally, she stammered: “A lie.”

  Ethan peered into those blue-green irises. “Look into my eyes. Tell me if you see even a hint of a lie.” He held her gaze for a long moment, then decided to take a risk. “If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to.”

  William stepped forward. “We can’t just...”

  Ethan raised a fist, and held the scientist’s gaze. “She can stay, if that’s what she wants. She’ll be required to give us all her research though.” He stared at her for several more seconds. “So? You have a choice. Come with us and live, or stay and die.”

  “You’re going to t-take all my research?” she asked.

  Ethan nodded. “All of it.”

  She straightened, as if trying to appear brave. “I go where my research goes.”

  “So I take it you’ve made up your mind,” Ethan said. “Good choice.”

  William unfastened the spare bulletproof vest that he had strapped to a loop on his own vest and tossed it onto the desk.

  “Put that on, miss,” the big Texan said.

  She stared at the vest and paled. She glanced at Ethan in confusion. “The K-Kidon team is already here?”

  “That’s the thing, we don’t know,” Ethan said.

  She stood abruptly. “My things…”

  “Gather what you have,” Ethan said. “Is there anything pertaining to your research in your apartment?”

  Kiana said, quietly, “No. It’s all with me. All the time.”

  “Good,” said Ethan. “Hurry, please.”

  Dr. Avesta donned the vest with William’s help, then stuffed her laptop and papers into her bulging leather satchel and tucked one of the folders under her arm. “The rest is all general research,” she explained, catching Ethan’s enquiring look.

  He nodded, then lowered his safety goggles, and slid the balaclava back down over his face. “Let’s go then. Death Adder, you watch our six. Maelstrom you’re on point. Let’s go back the way we came.”

  Bretta nodded and the four of them retreated, Ethan holding tight to Kiana’s upper arm.

  They wound their way back through the maze of shelves crammed with periodicals, journals, books and scientific apparatus whose purpose Ethan could only hazard guesses at.

  Bretta, running point and slightly ahead of the other three, cracked open the door that led back to the corridor and the stairwell up which they had just come. Ethan watched as Bretta’s blank, professional countenance hardened as she peeked through the crack. It was like watching frost form on steel.

  She withdrew her fingers and l
et door close silently again.

  Without taking her eyes off it, Bretta said, in as matter-of-fact voice as Ethan had ever heard anyone use: “Kidon team.”

  Ethan felt the familiar whooshing sensation in his guts; the same feeling he got when he missed a step going down stairs. He practically felt the adrenaline explode and diffuse through his body like a drop of ink in a cup of water.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  Bretta cracked the door again and––

  ––ducked back as the wooden door jamb was torn apart in a hail of automatic gunfire.

  5

  Splinters flew as the cheap wooden frame shredded under the barrage of bullets.

  Ethan heard the click-like report of suppressors.

  He pushed Kiana back the way they had come, away from the gunfire.

  “Hold the door!” he yelled at Bretta.

  Bretta didn’t need the order. She finished attaching a suppressor to the muzzle of her MP5, then stuck it through the door and unloaded into the corridor. The suppressed weapon preserved their hearing, but the click-like reverberations of the gunshots were still loud enough to fill the lab. Brass bullet casings cascaded out of the ejection port and across the carpet.

  Meanwhile, Ethan and Kiana were hurrying back through the shelves, following William who was leading the way. He sensed more than heard Bretta following, her hurried but measured tread punctuated by brief bursts of covering fire.

  “Grab a hold of my vest and don’t let go! Understand?” he yelled at the terrified-looking scientist.

  Dr. Avesta nodded and grabbed a loop on his bulletproof vest.

  “And put this on!” he tossed her a spare balaclava, so that she wouldn’t be as obvious a target as the others. At the very least, the Kidon team wouldn’t be able to ID the doctor—for all they knew, Ethan was dragging along some teaching assistant.

  There was one thing to be said for getting into contact with an enemy; life suddenly took on a whole new sense of crystal-clear clarity. Ethan’s reality now contained only two objectives: get Kiana out of there, and do it without anyone he knew getting shot.

  Ethan had to admire the Israelis––even as they were trying to slaughter himself and his team––for the way in which, once they had started something, they were totally without fear of going all in. Now that the first shots had been fired, it was clear that the Kidon team had absolutely no qualms about leaving the Physics Research Center in a state of the utmost ruin, so long as they expunged their target in the process. They had been beaten to the prize by Ethan and his team, but it was abundantly clear that they were fixed on getting the job done nonetheless.

  A hail of automatic gunfire scythed over Ethan and Kiana’s head, shredding an extensive collection of catalogued copies of the Iranian Journal of Physics Research. Paper rained like confetti, while sparks erupted along metal shelving and flattened hollow-point rounds ricocheted in all directions.

  Ethan forced Dr. Avesta to the floor with one hand while chaos reigned around them. The scientist was not screaming, or sobbing hysterically––on the contrary, she had not uttered a sound since the firefight had erupted––but that was likely because she was so petrified she had gone into a state of shock. In situations like this, it was imperative that the civilian retained enough of their wits to at least listen to instructions.

  “Hey!” he yelled, snapping his finger under the woman’s nose. Her saucer-sized eyes fastened instantly on his.

  Good. All her dogs are still barking by the look of it.

  “Do exactly what I tell you. Got it?”

  Kiana nodded frantically.

  Ethan flinched slightly as one of the strip lights nearby exploded in a shower of glass and sparks. He looked about, taking stock of the situation. Bretta was moving steadily back towards himself and Kiana. As he watched, the Italian-born contractor took one hand off of her MP5 so that she could open one of the spare magazine pouches she had attached to the MOLLE webbing of her ballistic vest. With a deftness that Ethan could appreciate even in this adrenaline-fueled scenario, Bretta ejected the spent mag from her submachine gun with a flick, rammed the fresh magazine home, worked the slide and let off a three-round burst back towards the blocked exit.

  Ethan glanced behind him and saw that William was already waiting at the end of the shelves, where the room opened up into the laboratory and study area. He signed for Ethan to “send the package.”

  Pointing at the big Texan, William said to Kiana, “Run to him now! Stay low!”

  To her credit, Kiana did not say a word, but turned and dashed low towards the kneeling figure of William.

  A movement in the corner of his eye made Ethan turn. A male figure––judging by its size and the way it moved––clad all in black combat fatigues and wearing a thin black balaclava and Ops-Core FAST SF Super High Cut helmet, stepped out of the shelves to his left. He was carrying a Bushmaster ACR assault rifle, the muzzle of which was pointed in Ethan’s direction.

  Ethan’s own weapon was up and moving before he consciously made a decision to move it, muscle memory at work once again. The CQBR bucked slightly in his hands as he squeezed off a burst, but his aim was slightly wide and the flanking Kidon member ducked into the cover of a heavy filing cabinet, as a selection of glassware was reduced to nothing more than dust and shards thanks to Ethan’s 5.56mm rounds. The sound suppressor at the tip of the muzzle’s flash hider spared Ethan's hearing.

  “Move!” Ethan yelled at Bretta, letting loose another burst of fire towards his hidden enemy. “I’ll cover your six!”

  “Copy that!” Bretta affirmed.

  She turned and sprinted up the row, flashing past Ethan. He fired another flurry of shots at the man hidden behind the filing cabinet and then began to pace steadily backward towards the open laboratory where the rest of his team waited with weapons covering him.

  “Go!” Bretta’s voice came over his earpiece. There was sporadic gunfire coming from the sides now, as well as from behind them.

  Ethan loosed a couple more rounds towards the man behind the filing cabinet, then turned and dashed towards the laboratory area. As soon as he was out of position, the Kidon man he had had pinned down ducked back out and let loose a storm of controlled bursts at Ethan’s retreating back. At the same time, another two Kidon figures slipped through the main door that the team had been peppering with shots and opened fire at Ethan as he fled.

  Ethan ducked and rolled right. The carpet where he had just been standing was shredded, while the desk and four chairs he had been intent on hurdling over until he had changed direction were reduced to ruins. Stuffing and wood chips filled the air.

  Ethan was on his feet at once. He pelted down the row and soon emerged into the open space of desks and laboratory benches where they had originally found Kiana Avesta sitting. The deep, staccato clicking of William’s suppressed SCAR told Ethan that he was covered for the time being. He dove over a high bench, sending stools clattering to the hard floor––which was coated in linoleum here, presumably to make cleaning up spills easier. He hit the deck hard and rolled again, the breath whistling out of him, the occasional round snapping off the surfaces close by.

  From his prone position on the floor, he looked back towards the ranks and stacks of books and scientific equipment. His assault rifle was empty and hung useless from the strap around his neck, and he reached automatically for the pistol at his thigh. Two figures, moving with the ease and fluidity of the highly-trained modern warrior, stepped out into the open, their muzzles flashing sporadic fire as they engaged Ethan and his team. He vaguely noted that the flashes weren’t as bright as their unsuppressed counterparts would be.

  Before Ethan could even clear his HK45C from its holster on his leg, something bounced over his head and skittered across the lino floor. A second later, William’s big paw had grasped him by the shoulder strap of his bulletproof vest and hauled him into the cover of a solid wooden cupboard. Bullets punched into the floor at his heels.

  The
n the Stinger went off.

  The Stinger was a crowd control grenade available to the military, law enforcement and private contractors that delivered the same disorientating effect as a flashbang––a retina-searing flash and ear-ringing detonation––but with the added bonus of rubber pellets firing out in all directions. There was also a model that packed an extra little punch with a burst of CS gas, but it was apparent that William had not opted for that one.

  The foremost member of the Kidon team was so close to the detonating stun-grenade that he was thrown off his feet in a hail of rubber pellets. He was catapulted over one of the desks, smashing into it with his hip as he did so, and landed in a crumpled pile on the floor. The other man managed to spot the thrown projectile and got a hand up to his face just in time. However, he still tumbled backwards, his IWI Galil MAR rifle clattering to the floor as he flung his arms up in a futile attempt to stop the stinging balls and clear the temporary blindness from his eyes.

  “Go, go! Move!” Ethan scrabbled to his feet and hauled Kiana along behind him. He thrust the petrified scientist ahead of him and reloaded his weapon.

  “I have an exit,” Bretta informed him.

  Ethan nodded. “Copy that. Maelstrom on point. Death Adder take the girl and follow. I’ll be right behind.”

  They hustled through the rows, following Bretta’s lead. Ethan could hear the sound of two voices, one of them a woman’s, speaking fast in Hebrew. He could practically see the scene in the open study area playing out in his mind’s eye; the two other members of the four-person Kidon team helping their fellows to their feet.

  Ethan lingered, waiting until he thought he might just hear the careful step of boots on broken glass, as the Kidon team moved from the linoleum floor and followed Ethan’s team back into the shelves. He gave them five more seconds, then pulled the pin on one of the M84 stun-grenades that he had attached to his webbing, rolled it back towards the laboratory and took off running.

  The sound of his thumping footsteps drew bullets like flies drawn to shit. An equipment cupboard housing an array of electrical equipment was reduced to splintered ruination as he dashed past, the cupboard doors spinning away like leaves caught in a gale.