by JC Ryan
Soft-footed, like a cat, he crept up on the door. He took a quick look back down the corridor from where he came, before he carefully, slowly, pushed the door open.
No squeaks so far, he thought, just as a whisper of noise from another door made him freeze in his tracks. If the man he could see seated in front of the bank of monitors turned, Rex would have less than a second to cover the distance between them before he’d raise an alarm. He couldn’t see any weapon on or near the man from his vantage point.
At that moment, one of the monitors showed a gate guard looking full-face into the camera, and a speaker crackled. A short burst of Arabic followed the noise and the observer laughed. He leaned forward, answered, and Rex saw the guard laugh and turn away from the camera. The noise from the speaker had covered that made by the door, and Rex thanked his lucky stars that the guard was distracted by the crude joke at his leader’s expense.
A few more cautious steps and his left hand snaked around the man’s face from the back, covering the observer’s mouth as his right arm encircled the neck.
“Close the mic feed,” he ordered in a low voice.
The observer had stiffened at the sudden trap. Rex could feel the man’s muscles bunch as if to fight back, and he tightened his grip on the man’s neck.
“Do it, or you’re dead,” he urged. He tensed as the man’s arm came up. If his captive decided to fight, it would make noise, maybe enough to bring Usama or his guests from the other part of the house.
But the man killed the mic instead.
“Get up.” Rex kept his grip on the observer as he dragged him backward to the door and closed it softly with his foot. He then muscled the man into a straight chair. From his pocket, he pulled heavy-duty zipties and fastened the man’s arms and legs to the chair securely.
Once more, he took the opportunity to interrogate a captive before eliminating him, and once more, he was gratified to receive the same information he’d gotten from the servants. He had no doubt these tangos would lie to him, if they thought they could get away with it. But so far, if they’d been lying, it was a consistent lie.
After he’d learned which monitors covered what, confirmed that the gates and exterior guards were as he’d observed, and that there were only Usama and three guests inside the house, besides the servants, Rex sent the observer to enjoy the carnal pleasures of paradise and studied the monitors.
There was no sign the guards were expecting to be relieved or change positions. The four he’d seen earlier were still visible, walking about aimlessly. The two gate guards were looking away from the buildings toward the blackness beyond the walls.
The risk, of course, would be that one or another of them would decide to relieve their boredom by chit-chatting to the observer again, and might become suspicious when there was no answer. The longer it took for Rex to secure Usama and his guests, the more likely someone would realize someone – one of the servants or the observer – was missing and come to investigate.
It was time to meet the four leaders.
Rex wasn’t worried about the four-to-one odds. The monitor showed no signs of them being armed. It was very unlikely that the guests would be so rude as to carry guns in their host’s home. Maybe Usama would carry; therefore, he had to be disabled first.
Knives were a different story. There was every likelihood everyone had at least a ceremonial dagger, which would not have been brought in as weapons, but as signs of prestige. Nevertheless, they would be just as effective as weapons when Rex appeared in the dining hall. His best option was to hit them as he was trained to do, with surprise, quickness, and overwhelming force. Take Usama first and use him to control the others with Usama as his hostage.
At this point, interruption by the guards outside would be disastrous. He alerted Digger to watch his back.
“Digger, guard front door,” he said. He had no idea whether Digger knew front from back from sideways, but he knew the dog understood the word guard. All he could hope was that Digger would guard the entire house against whatever door the guards would want to use. He’d just have to trust Digger to do his best on the outside while he did his on the inside.
He watched the monitors and saw Digger emerge from his hiding place and glide across the open courtyard. He lost him again as he went in close to the house wall but tracked him as he went in and out of camera range. Yeah, this would never have worked without taking out the observer. So far, so good. Now to complete the mission.
He left the observation room, now certain that Digger would hide and only come out if someone approached the house, and retraced his steps back to the corridor where he’d surprised the last servant. Entering the opulent rooms where Usama lived and entertained, Rex was struck again by the contrast in the way this human parasite lived compared to the poor who he probably treated like dirt, served him, and fed his coffers with their labor. Not to mention that it all boiled down to the fact that the man’s wealth came from causing unspeakable misery through drug addiction and terrorism to untold numbers across the globe.
He’d never seen Usama, not even a picture of him. Descriptions in this part of the world were useless. Every man was of average height, with swarthy skin, a heavy black or gray beard and hair, and brown eyes. That would even describe Rex tonight. But he had no doubt Usama would be the one seated in a chair slightly higher than his guests’, or maybe it would be slightly more ornate, and ten to one he would be seated at the end of the table. His clothing would be of better quality perhaps, his voice could be louder than the others, he would definitely be in command. A few minutes’ observation would tell him what he needed to know.
Rex glided through the rooms, listening carefully to determine the direction from which he could hear desultory conversation and the clink of utensils against fine tableware. When he was in the room next to the dining hall, he hugged the wall as he found his way to the door. He crouched to be sure he was out of the line of sight of anyone at the table, and then peeked around the door frame. Spotting a mirror on one wall that allowed him a better view of the table, he drew back and watched for several minutes.
When he was sure he knew which man at the table was Usama, he struck like a cobra. In two steps, he sprang across the room, his silenced Sig Sauer in his hand, and Trevor’s was safely tucked in the small of his back. In the same instant he arrived at Usama’s side, he saw the man’s eyes widen and his hand go toward his belt.
“I wouldn’t,” Rex snapped. His eyes never left Usama as he announced. “Anyone else moves and I kill the Lion first and you next.”
Usama tried to hide his shock and surprise and was all bluster. “Who are you? What is the meaning of this intrusion? One shout from me, and my guards will surround you. You will not leave here alive. Put down your weapon.”
Despite his brave façade, with one hand, he was signaling the guests to relax and sit down. No doubt the black bore of the P226 no more than eight inches away, pointed directly between his eyes was a powerful persuasion not to test the resolve of the man holding the weapon.
“I know you,” one of the guests blurted. “You…”
“Quiet,” Rex and Usama barked almost in unison.
“Come here.” Rex ordered the speaker.
The man rose and approached Rex cautiously. With his free hand, Rex pulled out more of the zipties.
Rex picked a napkin up off the table and stuffed it into Usama’s mouth. Then he ordered the man to do the same to himself and the rest of the guests.
“Anyone of you try to spit that out and you’re dead.
“Now, listen carefully to me. You’re now going to tie Usama to his chair, use some of the ties to secure the napkins in his mouth and then you do exactly the same to the others,” Rex ordered. “I’m watching you, tie them up good or you’re dead.”
The man nodded and started to cross between Rex and Usama, but Rex hissed, “Stop! I will shoot Usama right through you if you try that again.”
The man leaped sideways like a gazelle. He made
a wide swing to avoid getting in the path of the pistol again and apologized to Usama obsequiously as he secured his wrists to the arms of the chair.
“Ankles too,” Rex directed. He kept his weapon trained on Usama, who glared steadily at him the entire time as his guest secured him and the other two in the same manner.
“Now take your seat,” Rex directed. When the man was down in his seat, Rex walked over and coldcocked him with the butt of his pistol. He placed the pistol on a nearby side table and secured the man to his chair the same as the others, then inspected everyone’s wrists and ankles more closely. When he was satisfied they were secure, he picked up the Sig Sauer again and in quick succession tapped each of them behind the ear. There. They’d be out for the few minutes he needed to take care of the guards outside.
He went back to the observation room to have a quick look on the monitors to see where the guards were. He went out the front door, finding Digger ensconced behind a large pot, alert to the approach of any of the guards.
“Good boy!” Rex stage-whispered. “Stay. Guard.”
Leaving Digger in charge of keeping anyone out, Rex went after the roaming guards. It took him less than three minutes to take them down one by one and drag the bodies into alcoves and behind landscaping to hide them.
The gate guards were last. Rex couldn’t remember a time when he’d killed so many enemies face-to-face in such a short space of time. He felt no regret. Every one of them had chosen to work with Usama, who was both a drug lord, and in Rex’s opinion, a terrorist not only by virtue of the harm his product did but also by the money from his product going into the coffers of terrorists.
Rex had just killed the first of the gate guards when he became aware of a commotion at the front of the house. He ran, crouched and silent, his pistol at the ready, to the front of the house and discovered Digger growling at the throat of a terrified gate guard. A quick survey of the scene told him the story. The guard had approached the front door, and Digger had taken him down. The man’s right hand was torn and bloody, and a Russian MP-412 REX revolver lay a few inches out of his reach.
Fortunately, the guard hadn’t managed to get a shot off. Digger obviously got the drop on his man and also managed to keep him relatively quiet at the same time.
“Good job, buddy,” he said to Digger in English.
The guard tried to beg in English. “Please…” A vicious growl from Digger stopped him, and he tried to scream and pray but the sounds were muffled. Rex raised the gun to shoot him in the head, but Digger was in the way.
Then the guard withdrew a knife from under his clothes. The man must have realized he was going to die in any event, so in a desperate last effort he could try to kill the beast on top of him.
The thought of the right circumstances and giving the “kill” command flashed through Rex’s brain, but he never got to it.
Digger must have seen the knife coming out — the man’s last wail was cut off as Digger ripped his throat out. The knife dropped out of the guard’s hand.
Digger was unhurt.
Rex let out a breath of relief.
“Let’s go in and play good cop, bad cop, buddy,” Rex said. He had some pointed questions to ask Usama.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Outskirts of Kabul, Afghanistan, 10:30 p.m., June 24
REX SMILED FOR the first time since the night of the explosion that had killed his friends. He’d been given a mission to break up a party that was never going to take place. Now he had a party that was taking place, and he was going to not just break it up – he was going to demolish it.
He set Digger to guard the front door while he waited for his host and the other guests to wake up from their short nap. Usama’s head must have been a bit harder than the others, because he was the first to come to.
“Welcome back,” Rex said coldly. He called Digger to come in. The dog’s influence might loosen their tongues.
Usama snarled at him.
Digger took it personally and returned the favor with a teeth-baring growl.
Usama’s eyes went wide as he noticed the dog. “You dare to bring that filthy beast into my house?” he raged. “I will kill you and feed that dog your entrails before I kill it.”
Rex almost grinned. “You’re welcome to try.” Without another word, he shot Usama in the kneecap.
His howl of pain brought the others around, and Rex treated them to the same — a bullet through the knee. In honor of his fallen buddy, he was using Trevor’s pistol.
It took some time for the men’s screams and moans to wane down to a level where he could talk to them.
“That was only to get your attention,” he announced. “I am going to ask you questions and you will answer them. I hope it’s not necessary to tell you what’s going to happen if you lie to me?” He didn’t wait for responses. “Let’s talk about who you work with in the US.”
Bewildered looks from the guests told him they had no idea who he was talking about. Usama merely glared at him without answering.
Knowing these bastards wouldn’t survive the night, Rex thought he would get the information he wanted a bit quicker if he took some time to give them a little background information. So, he explained who he was and why he was there. He went on at length about the men killed in the explosion and that they were his friends. When he explained that he was not killed with the others, despite the fact that he was present at the time, he made sure it hinted at some kind of supernatural powers. He went on to explain how he and Digger had tracked down the bombers and learned of Usama’s involvement, putting a bit of a paranormal spin on Digger’s abilities, as well.
Now and then he peered at each man in turn and assessed their pain and fear levels. They had all grown quiet except for a moan now and then. They were losing blood, not so much that they were in danger of bleeding out, but almost certainly enough to make them worry about it. All but Usama were beginning to shift as much as their bindings would allow. When Rex decided they were sufficiently warmed up to talk in spite of their fear of Usama, he began to question them in earnest.
“What route do your products take to the US? How about yours?” he asked two of them in turn.
The first shrugged.
Rex shot him in his other knee. “Haven’t I told you, you have to answer? You can’t pass on a question.” He glanced at the third man, who was staring at Digger and trembling uncontrollably. Digger’s eyes were fixed on his, as well.
“Yours?” Rex prompted.
“Golden Crescent,” he blurted.
Hmm, the route to western China into the Xinjiang Province.
“Thank you,” Rex said. Then he shot the second man he’d asked in his other knee. “Change of rules. Whoever is first to answer doesn’t get shot.”
Rex was pointedly ignoring Usama. He knew the leader would have the most answers, and he knew he’d get none of them while the other men were alive. Their blood was going to ruin Usama’s expensive Persian rug before he’d get anything out of the leader, but watching his men die slowly and painfully in front of his eyes might loosen his tongue when the time came. Meanwhile, he intended to extract retribution from these men. He pulled out his KA-Bar. “Or cut,” he added to his previous rule.
From that point he slowly but steadily got the information out of them. It could have gone a bit quicker if he didn’t have to deal with the situation where he had to convince them that they had more to fear from him than from Usama. In the end he’d built up the picture of what had resulted in the deaths of the Phoenix team. His predations on their drug trade activities had hit these men and others in the most tender parts of their anatomies – their wallets. They told him that they had petitioned Usama to do something to stop the destruction of their business.
Despite a few more bullets and cuts, they had no more information about what Usama had done, other than what he’d told them, which was that his friends in America would see to it that whoever was doing the damage would be stopped.
By the tim
e he’d extracted that paltry information, he’d done major damage to the bodies of the men he questioned. Now their urine, as well as their blood, stained the carpet. Too bad. The carpet was worth far more than all three of their iniquitous lives put together. He finished them off, with a bullet to the head each, without pity. His contribution to improvement of the human gene pool and depollution of the planet.
He was sure each of them left this mortal plane with the certain knowledge that they were not going to meet seventy-two, or seven, or two, or any virgin. Digger’s presence at the time they departed would have meant to them that they were going straight to hell to be tortured for eternity. Rex had only introduced them to what they’d suffer in that place.
Usama, however, would be a tougher nut to crack. He had demonstrated he wasn’t superstitious and regarded Digger as nothing more than a filthy creature to be despised. If Digger knew Usama’s opinion of him, though, he appeared unbothered about it. A hand gesture from Rex commanded him to sit in front of Usama and ‘threaten’. He was doing his best imitation of a vicious killer when Rex pulled up a chair, sat no more than two feet from Usama’s knees, and leveled Trevor’s pistol at his healthy knee.
“Now,” he said. “Let’s get serious. I want names. I want phone numbers. While we’re at it, I want combinations to your safes, passwords to your accounts, everything.”
“You will kill me one way or the other. Why should I make it easy for you?” Usama sneered.
“Oh, only because that will make it easier for you,” Rex replied. “You saw what I did to your guests. Are you so brave that you’ll let me cut you into tiny pieces, one by one, until you die without telling me anything? I don’t think so.”
“Whether it’s painful or not, I’m going to die in any event. You threaten me with this filthy dog, but I do not fear him.”
