The Devil's Shadow: A Gun-for-Hire Thriller

by J E Higgins

  “Hurry we must get everyone to the safe room!” Hosani shouted to his son, who quickly removed the barricade he had set up against the door. Abida and Mahira scurried out, tears pouring from their eyes, their long, silky black hair hanging wildly over their shoulders. They grabbed their parents and spoke in some inaudible whimper. Pervez, a strapping athletic figure, emerged from the room. He was nervous but calm as he continued to wield his cricket bat.

  “To the safe room.” The elder Hosani snapped commandingly to his eldest who quickly began shepherding the terrified women while his father followed with the younger boys.

  The soldiers of the ready reaction force had heard little from their superior. Havildar Hamed Malaka’s shouting was drowned out by the gunfire exploding across the communication set and down the hall from their position. Having experienced such situations from former combat missions, they knew to fall back on the established battle drills they had developed for such an emergency and wing it from there. Donning their tactical gear ─ body armor, tactical vests containing several additional ammunition magazines and equipment ─ they grabbed the Steyr-Aug Para sub-machine guns resting in the nearby weapons rack that housed the reaction arsenal for the security detail. As the video cameras were not yet up, they had no visual on the attackers which meant they would have to make educated guesses as to where the adversaries were and what parts of the house they controlled.

  A powerful knock at the door was followed by a familiar voice of one of the men they knew from the team. Throwing open the door, they were relieved to see the rest of their team dressed and ready. The men, who only moments ago had been sound asleep, were in nothing but their T-shirts and boxer underwear with their tactical vests thrown over their bodies. They had their pistols clutched in their hands and were faced in both directions watching the hallway. Two soldiers of the ready reaction team quickly relieved the positions of their comrades and retrieved the rest of the Steyr-Aug’s from the weapons rack.

  Now better armed, the team started to move down the hall towards the back of the house away from the gunfire. The hallway had few doors or places to take cover and led in a funnel to the house entrance and right into the line of fire of the attackers making it a virtual death trap. Instead, it was decided the better course of action would be to fall back behind the house and come through the kitchen where they would have a better chance to engage the aggressors. The initial security plan had called for the reaction team to be stationed upstairs near the family who was their priority in the event of such attacks as well as giving them control of the higher ground that could only be accessed through a single stairway. However, as the house security was still being developed, they had been placed where it was convenient.

  Lining the wall they moved out with the senior NCO taking the lead. Weapons held at the ready they moved in a brisk but cautious walk. They spoke into their comms trying to contact their leader. Hamed was still difficult to hear clearly but did give them a description of the enemy. The hallway was a circular structure that bent into a sharp curve limiting their visibility. Coming to the end of the hall, they started toward the kitchen slightly relieved to see no signs that the enemy had beaten them there.

  They had barely gotten to the end of the hallway when they were met by a sudden burst of gunfire that exploded from behind the small cooking island in the center of the kitchen. The gunfire came from a Minimi M-249 machine gun that showered the hall with a swarm of bullets. The spray tore into the team leader of the reaction force. Though the body armor protected the man’s torso and primary vital organs it couldn’t save him from the rounds that found their way into his thighs hitting his femoral artery or his neck, head, and upper chest. He was up just long enough to return a few shots that flew in arbitrary directions before succumbing to his wounds and dropping to the ground. Whoever these assailants were they were not amateurs.

  At the same time, a few shots had also caught the rest of the men who felt the sting of hot metal pierce their exposed upper bodies. The second man felt stinging pains in his shoulder and the side of his head. Another shot tore into his throat followed swiftly by another that went through the brain-stem killing him instantly.

  The remaining soldiers tried to respond with weak counter-fire but were overwhelmed by the superior force. The hail of gunfire from the Minimi 249 was too much for the Pakistani’s with their limited cover and Steyr-Aug’s as their only defense. They fired back, but the shots flew off wildly in many directions.

  The soldiers tried to tactically retreat back the way they had come. But, the gunfire made the task a slow and arduous process. They managed to make it down the hall where the bend was beginning to offer a modicum of protection, but the remaining security detail was so distracted, they did not notice the small black cylinder that had bounced and rolled slowly in their direction. The MK3 concussion grenade exploded with such a tremendous force it shook the bowels of the house.

  The assailants had dropped behind the kitchen island shortly after tossing the grenade. As professionals with extensive experience using such incendiaries, they knew how long to cook off the weapon before tossing it and when to drop for cover to avoid getting injured. They felt the force against the heavy oak cabinets. Unlike the fragmentation grenade which exploded natural shards of sharp steel to increase lethality, the MK3 concussion was designed to kill with the initial blast. As with any explosive, there was always the natural residual of flying debris─splintered wood or gravel kicked up by the blast. They waited a few seconds to ensure that any flying debris that could hit them had passed then they moved out from their positions to investigate their work.

  They didn’t have to move far to see the carnage in the hallway. The bodies of the first two Pakistani soldiers were riddled with bullets and drenched in blood. The assailants had seen enough death in their time to know the men slumped awkwardly against the wall were truly dead. A single shot to both their heads, however, removed any doubt. Looking ahead, they saw the grenade had done its work by leaving two torn up and mangled corpses held together by the Velcro of their body armor. The grotesque state of the two Pakistani’s did not prevent an assailant from firing his pistol into the temples of both heads.

  Hearing the grenade blast, Hamed feared the worst. His suspicions were confirmed when he tried contacting his men and received no reply. Realizing he was now on his own he tried to figure out his next move. The assailants, having no further obstacles, would now be concentrating solely on him and breaching the stairs. He continued to take some reasonably well-aimed shots a few shots at a time. But the men below were decked in body armor, and he knew he was having very little impact even if he was hitting them.

  As predicted, the assailants began to spread out giving them a better angle to engage their targets. Soon the side of the railing Hamed was using for cover was awash with bullets. Shards of the vanity and plaster flew into his face as the metal projectiles proceeded to tear it apart. The gunfire was coming in controlled bursts with each gunman taking turns firing shots. Simultaneously, he could feel the vibrations of heavy feet treading up the stairs. The controlled fire from below kept him occupied and provided cover while their comrades moved up the stairs on the adjacent side.

  Having no other option, the soldier began sliding away from his covered position and moving further inland away from the upstairs. Seizing the chance, he rose to his knees and transitioned a fresh magazine into his pistol. He had barely finished this exercise when he caught sight of the threatening assailants come into view. He raised his weapon just in time to meet the first two masked figures as they breached the top. He got off a few rounds before the barrage of gunfire from the M-4s tore into his head, legs, and stomach killing him instantly. Being nothing more than a blood-soaked mess, the assailants brushed past Hamed with no more regard for him except to have a bullet fired into the side of his head to ensure his demise.

  The assailants moved down the hall in a tactical formation covering both sides of the corridor. The hall lights rema
ined on illuminating the path enough to obviate the need for night vision. The bedroom doors were all flung open indicative of people leaving in a rush. Flipping on the room lights, they gave little more than cursory glances to satisfy themselves that the bedrooms were empty before moving on. Having a good idea where their targets were hiding the assailants continued to the far end of the hall. At the last room, the door was locked. Using the method of hammer and wedge rectified the problem. They were then confronted with some heavy obstruction baring the door. Two of the assailants forced the door open.

  They were soon in a dark, drab room that was clearly not used by the owners. However, the assailants were now taking an interest in the small door in the far corner ─ a door that an average person would have to crawl through. It was the entrance to a panic room. The back of the house was covered by additional teams, so the family couldn’t have escaped. This was the most likely place the family would take refuge during any fighting.

  The door was made of heavy metal a few inches thick and reinforced with heavy steel framing specifically designed to withstand breaching through blunt force nullifying the use of the hammer and wedge or any sort of battering ram. The door opened inward placing the hinges inside the safe room to further protect against breaching. The room itself was lined with thick steel to prevent accessing it from a different room. Such safety rooms were common in the wealthier houses in Mexico City where the threat of kidnappings and assassinations were a real concern. Safety rooms were designed to be virtual fortresses.

  Anticipating this problem, they had brought along SIMON breach grenades, rifle-launched grenades developed by the Israelis specifically to breach heavy doors. Mounting the long rod-like object onto the muzzle of one of the M-4s they took cover behind the door on the other side of the room. Pulling the trigger, the bullet fired into the grenade sending the rod fly across the room and into the door. The sound of the explosion echoed thunderously. The heat and force from the back blast resonated powerfully and could be felt from behind the door. Immediately after the blast, the assailants moved in. The steel door was blasted wide open. They could hear the cries and moans from the people hidden inside. Taking a knee next to the door frame one of the assailants leaned slightly over to peer inside. The way ahead was clear. He knelt and edged his way forward turning to his left as he entered the room.

  The general and his family were huddled closely together in the corner. The girls were sobbing loudly, the boys coughing heavily as they tried to catch their breath. General Hosani and Fatima were trying to gain control of their faculties while calling out to see to the wellbeing of their children.

  “We only need the general.” A deep gravelly voice said from outside.

  Nodding his head, the assailant moved further into the room. He was soon joined by two more of his comrades who moved in and grabbed the general. Hosani tried to fight back but a strong blow to his head from a gun butt brought him to heel. Dragging him dazed and confused from the room, the assailant tied and blindfolded the general as they dragged him outside. The man with the gravelly voice took a grenade and pulling the pin, gave a short time for cook-off before tossing it into the safe room. The grenade detonated with a blast that vibrated against the metal walls of the room and emitted a monstrous growl along with the blood-curdling screams from the victims inside. Confident he had killed them all, he joined his comrades outside.

  A screaming and kicking General Hosani called out wildly through the burlap sack drawn over his head. He screamed the names of his family as if hoping he would hear something back that would tell him that what he feared wasn’t true. His cries were met with another sharp blow and an elbow jammed into his stomach. He went silent while he continued to be dragged down the stairs and outside to a waiting van parked along the curb.

  “General Hosani, we can make this far less painful if you just tell us what we want to know.” The man spoke in a low, unnerving hiss as he slowly circled the General. Hosani shivered as cold trails of sweat poured down to join the warm pools of blood oozing from the various cuts made across his naked body. The draft of the largely empty warehouse cooled the liquids quickly adding to the chilling discomfort.

  “So, again, where is the location of the missiles?” The hissing voice asked in the tone of a man disingenuously trying to be friendly. The acoustics of the metal structure were such that every word, the slightest sound echoed wildly throughout in a haunting manner that was no doubt the intended effect.

  “I said, I don’t know about any missiles!” The Pakistani yelled in his accented Spanish, his attention turned towards the ceiling as if he were answering to a deity above.

  “Senior Hosani.” The hissing voice had been replaced by the graveled voice he had heard in the safe room. “My name is Alvaro Gutiérrez. I am the one who has orchestrated this situation.” Hosani lifted his head just enough to see a shadowed figure standing over him. Gutiérrez didn’t bother waiting for a response. “As you know, I have gone to a great deal of trouble to have this meeting. I have questions that must have answers. And, my patience is being tried. It is obvious you persist in being difficult. That is alright, I enjoy a challenge.”

  “You killed them! You killed my family,” Hosani shouted. The film of sweat and blood compiled in his mouth now came spitting out in a large glob that plopped loudly on the floor a few feet from him.

  “We did. Yes, we did,” Gutiérrez said with fake-sounding sympathy that only enraged the Pakistani more. “But, that is in the past and there is nothing you can do about it. This is the time for you to stop concerning yourself about things you can’t change and focus on saving your own life.”

  “You think death frightens me?” Hosani began to chuckle.

  Gutiérrez sighed heavily. “Well, I had hoped to appeal to your common sense. Since that apparently is not happening, we’ll have to stop being civil and try a more direct approach.”

  Hosani felt a powerful set of hands grip his fingers as they began forcing them to a fully extended position. He wasn’t sure what he was dealing with until the sharp edges of some metallic tool slid over the second knuckle of his small finger. It was the quick move of a strong slicing motion that sent immense shockwaves of pain shooting through his body. He didn’t have to look to know that they had severed his finger. He gritted his teeth trying hard not to scream or give his captor the satisfaction of watching him squirm.

  “Perhaps he didn’t quite get the point of this exercise,” Gutiérrez said.

  Hosani felt the sharp edges again sliding over his fingers. This time it was his ring finger being threatened. Another sharp snip and the Pakistani knew it was gone as he endured another round of excruciating pain. He continued gritting his teeth trying not to scream while his captors laughed and jeered. It was then that he felt a hot sensation emanating from something that was close to the sockets of his severed fingers. Hosani twitched nervously as he prepared for what was coming. He didn’t have to wait long when the hot object pierced the socket of his little finger causing even more agonizing pain. The hot metal object produced reverberating shocks of pain that finally had the Pakistani screaming loudly for them to stop.

  Gutiérrez chuckled as he walked over and patted his prisoner firmly on the cheek. “That’s a good boy. I knew you would see reason eventually. Now, tell us about your mission. You are here to negotiate the sale of nuclear missiles to Iran on behalf of some friends in the Pakistan military. We need to know where those missiles are. And, don’t tell me you don’t know, because I have it on very good authority that you do.”

  Knowing it was futile to keep denying he knew nothing, Hosani began to speak. “We’ve hidden them in caves in Waziristan. I don’t know the exact whereabouts. Friends of ours in Tehrik-i-Taliban are guarding them until we were ready to hand them over to the buyer. When the deal was concluded, the missiles were to be moved across the border and stashed at the University of Medical Sciences.”

  It was a complete fabrication of course. Hosani knew nothing about any wea
pons deal. But, as his captors would only respond to further denials with increasing acts of torture, the Pakistani could only rely on telling them stories that he hoped would be believed. The remote and lawless lands of Waziristan were controlled by tribal forces that had a few years ago morphed their forces into an armed body called the Tehrik-i-Taliban, or Pakistan Taliban. A strong military force in its own right, it often was at odds with the Islamabad government. A few years ago, there was an uprising that overtook large swaths of the country. Though at times they retained a desultory relationship with Pakistan military intelligence, it was just good enough that he figured it would be accepted by someone unfamiliar with Pakistan’s political situation.

  Gutiérrez ran his teeth over his bottom lip as he digested what the Pakistani was saying. “Do I believe you? I don’t know. At this point, you’d say anything to survive or end the torture. I feel I’ve gotten the best answer I’m going to get. So, General Hosani, your services are no longer needed.”

  Nodding his head to one of his men, Gutiérrez turned and walked away. At that moment, several moist clothes that smelled of petrol were tied over his exposed body and over his face. One of the men reached for a gasoline drum and commenced pouring its contents over the Pakistani. Hosani smelled the petrol and felt it sting as the liquid slid over the wounds covering his body. A match was lit and the soaked rags caught fire instantly. Soon the Pakistani’s body was engulfed in flames, and he screamed as his skin started to sizzle. His captors laughed and cheered wildly as the flames rose and the man burned.

  Chapter 4

  El Paso Texas.