Body Shot

by Amy Jarecki

“Bloody hell.”

  Movement from the building drew Henri’s focus to her scope. “Two perps heading for the car.”

  “You recognize anyone?”

  She adjusted the sights slightly and her heart rate sped. “Shit.”

  “What?”

  Calming her breath, Henri pulled back the charging handle. The sound of the bullet entering the chamber made a sense of calm flow through her veins.

  “What is it?” Mike grew more insistent.

  “Fadli.” She moved her finger to the trigger.

  “Stop.”

  “I have a shot!”

  “No, goddammit.” Mike placed his palm on her shoulder.

  She whipped her head around and whisper-shouted, “Fuck you! That man’s responsible for ruining my life.”

  “Yeah, well, you take him out now and, one; you expose our cover and, two; you ruin any chance of finding Thomas Flynn.”

  “Fuck it.” She ejected the bullet, but gave Mike an angry glare. “I want that asshole so bad I would risk everything for a shot at him.”

  “Everything?”

  “My life, anyway.” Inside, Henri’s gut churned while she watched the man responsible for unquantified death and destruction saunter to the car. Her every muscle stiffened when he stopped and turned, as if scanning the horizon for a threat. Then he shifted his gaze to the outcropping. He stopped panning, his eyes lingering there while she watched him, frozen—not even breathing. Rubbing the back of his neck, Fadli got in the car. The slamming of the door echoed above the sound of the surf.

  Mike shifted ever so slightly, snapping pictures with his ICE phone. “So, ISIS brass is in town.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  After studying the map and pictures of the site, Mike and Henri opted to go in by sea just as Luke had suggested. On the north side, opposite the outcropping, there was an old stone wall leading from the shore that would give them enough cover to move within twenty feet of the old control tower. They couldn’t get half that close by any land approach. Garth had a satellite pointed at the airfield, but with the night op and cloud cover combined, the folks at ICE wouldn’t be much help.

  They’d spent the rest of the day getting their gear organized. Luke hired a small boat and Mike acquired diving gear while Henri worked with Asa analyzing the data from the satellite feed. Once night fell, they climbed into the dingy and motored out of the marina.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to cover you?” asked Luke while Mike helped Henri strap an oxygen tank to her back.

  “I dunna want anything to make them suspicious.”

  After securing her belt, Henri picked up Mike’s tank. “Cast in a fishing line and make sure the boat is out of sight, hidden behind the outcropping.”

  “Yeah.” Mike slid his arms through and took the tank’s weight. “And if anything goes wrong, you’re a tourist. Just a pilot from Australia. Got it?”

  “Anything else?”

  Mike slapped Luke’s shoulder. “That’s it, mate. If we dunna make contact within four hours, call Garth.” He pulled down his facemask and looked at Henri. “You ready?”

  “Locked and loaded.” She gave him a cheeky grin before slipping the regulator into her mouth and rolling into the swells backward.

  “See you on the other side.” Mike gave Luke a thumbs up and followed Henri into the Mediterranean.

  The cloud cover made visibility bad, but they had darkness on their side. Sitting alone at the end of the airstrip, the white control tower stuck out even in the dark. Otherwise, the place looked abandoned. No surprises there. The site was ideal for a mob of militant radicals. Since NATO had been scouring Iraq for weapons of mass destruction, it made perfect sense. Keep the bomb development offshore. And the isle of Rhodes was only a stone’s throw from Turkey, as well as a half-day’s sailing from Syria. Nothing like hiding in plain sight. If they weren’t terrorists, Mike might give them credit for brilliance, but he couldn’t do that.

  He swam alongside Henri as they let the tide push them toward the shore. When Mike’s feet hit sand, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to a halt. “What do you see?” he asked.

  She nodded toward the compound. “It looks like both the truck and the car are gone.”

  “That’s not what I expected.”

  “Me neither.” Henri leaned into him. “Do you think they’ve abandoned the place?”

  “The only way to find out is to have a look-see.”

  They hid their tanks, masks and flippers in the brush at the edge of the beach. Mike had used a dry pack to stow two pairs of black boots, NV goggles and suppressors. He carried a Glock, and an M16, had a knife up each sleeve as well as one hidden in the inside of his boot. He’d seen Henri do the same. Funny, though. He never thought he’d see the day when he was glad to have a woman partner undercover on a covert mission but, after his trepidation in Africa, he was glad to have Henri there. He’d worked with a lot of other soldiers who didn’t have half of Soaring-Eagle’s talent. Sure, he might tease her about having eagle eyes, but he admired her skill. He figured she knew it, too.

  “Do you see anyone in the tower?” he asked.

  She put on her night vision goggles. “Oh yeah. There’s a spook at ten o’clock.”

  “Just one?”

  “Don’t see any others. Ten o’clock isn’t moving, either. Looks like he’s having a smoke.”

  “Then let’s roll.”

  They crept along the old stone wall which had nearly been buried after years of sand blowing over it, but it provided the best cover given the flat and treeless terrain. When they reached the far end, Mike stopped and gave the building a good once-over. Their reconnaissance mission earlier in the day had been on the south end. This side of the building had more windows—something he hadn’t expected.

  Mike panned his gaze up to the tower. The sentry was on the move again and looking straight toward them. Stopping in his tracks, Mike dropped and held up his fist to tell Henri to lay low.

  The sentry was joined by another. The tone of their voices carried on the wind over the sound of the surf though their conversation was indecipherable. Again, Mike rose high enough to peer above the wall. The pair shifted away from the north side, still talking. Seizing the opportunity to slip in unawares, he gave the signal to move.

  Time to see what Fadli is up to.

  Mike kept on eye on the control tower as they ran. Neither guard looked back as the sand absorbed the sound of their footsteps. In seconds, they pressed their backs against the wall, listening for movement inside.

  A conversation sounded like it came from an echo chamber just inside the window. Henri motioned forward with her hand, then crouched and took the lead. On the west side of the building, they found a tractor concealed under a canopy.

  “It looks like they’ve been busy,” Mike whispered as he tried to push through the door. But it was locked.

  Henri pulled her ICE fob from the watertight pocket on the front of her wetsuit. The gizmo was designed to unlock anything. Definitely state-of-the-art, but useless in the hands of anyone untrained. It looked like a button with a laser pointer, but hold it to a keyed lock and push the button. The thing used laser technology to shift every cog to the open position and worked like magic every time.

  The lock clicked and Henri turned the knob. Mike stood aside the jamb, his M16 at the ready. She gave a silent count—Three, two, one—and pulled the door wide.

  Mike shouldered in, his gaze flashing across the dimly lit hall.

  Nothing moved.

  The conversation came from a room up ahead and now the men were laughing.

  Definitely not an interrogation happening in there.

  To his right, a stairwell led downward. He motioned to it with a slice of his hand.

  Together they descended, their toes lightly taping the steel steps. Safely at the bottom, they crept toward the lower passageway. Mike led with his gun and peeked into the hall. As they expected, the underground bunker was still intact.
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br />   A door opened down the hall.

  Mike snapped his head in and nudged Henri under the staircase just as two men entered. “I will make him talk, mark me,” a man said in Arabic.

  Another man snorted. “You always do.”

  They started up. The men’s footsteps boomed through the small space. Simultaneously, Mike could have sworn he heard a vehicle approach.

  He held his breath. One glance down and the two ICE assets would be seen as they crouched in their hiding place. But the men continued on as if they were wearing blinders.

  Once clear, Mike let out a breath. Turning to Henri, he whispered, “Let’s go.”

  Entering the passageway was like stepping back in time. Crumbling sea salt encrusted cement walls. A lone lightbulb swung from a rusted metal fixture. Sweeping their weapons into the first doorway they secured room one. Inside, dim light shone in from the hallway, illuminating old wooden workbenches covered with tools, wire, and plate metal. In the center was a crate about the size of a coffin.

  Mike shouldered his weapon. Henri stood guard as he opened the lid. “Holy shit,” he whispered.

  She glanced inside as well, taking in a sharp breath.

  It was a warhead—or at least a housing for one. What he didn’t expect was to see a World War II German swastika on the side. The metal was in decent condition with very little rust.

  Mike used his ICE watch to snap a few pictures, praying they’d be discernable without a flash.

  “This place is like a war museum,” Henri whispered.

  “It’s like a sleeping dragon.” Mike unshouldered his weapon and moved toward the door. “Let’s find Flynn and get the hell out of here.”

  The passageway had to be as long as a rugby field, lined with decrepit and empty chambers. But Mike knew they were getting close when he spotted a tiny infrared beam shining across the hall about knee height. Just beyond it was a bend leading to the right. Halting in his tracks, he held up his hand.

  Henri stopped across from him, pressing her back against the wall. She shifted the muzzle of her rifle indicating she was ready to provide cover.

  Time to party.

  Mike gave a nod, then stepped over the beam and led with the point of his rifle.

  A metal chair clattered over backward as, down the corridor, a man sprang to his feet and fumbled for the bolt on his AK-47. “A—!”

  He didn’t get the word out as Henri’s bullet shot through the center of his forehead. Mike hit the floor as a black muzzle appeared from behind the wall.

  “Down!” he hissed when Henri didn’t follow. But she stood her ground, gun poised. As soon as the shooter’s face cleared the corner, she squeezed the trigger of her Win Mag. The man crashed backward while a spray of bullets from his rifle pummeled the wall.

  Mike ran ahead. “Our cover’s blown. Move fast!” Stepping over the bodies, he kicked in the door. A man sat duct taped to a chair, his face looking like mincemeat. “Jesus Christ.”

  Henri darted past him. “Are you Thomas Flynn?”

  The man was too beat up to speak. He raised his head and gave a single nod while Mike cut the duct tape binding his legs and arms to the chair.

  “H-how...?”

  “Save your breath,” Mike said.

  Henri moved to the doorway. “Footsteps approaching.”

  “Can you hold them?”

  “On it.”

  Gunfire erupted from the corridor while Henri held back, pressing her body against the cement wall. When the bullets finally stopped hammering the corridor, she dove into the opening, shooting from her back with a burst of rapid fire. “Three down!”

  Holy hell, she acted as if her shoulder injury didn’t bother her a bit, but Mike knew differently. He’d seen the damage. The woman was just that tough.

  “Whoa,” Dr. Flynn grunted, his eyes wide.

  Mike pulled the middle-aged scientist to his feet. “Are you able to walk?”

  “Damn right.” But Flynn only managed a few steps before he stumbled.

  Mike pulled the man’s arm across his shoulders and levered up his M16 with his opposite hand. “We’re heading out of here fast. Use the doorways for cover.”

  One corner of Henri’s mouth turned up. “Shoot first?”

  “Och aye, lassie.”

  She winked. “No wonder we work so well together.” Moving like a panther, she weaved through the corridor ready to kill anyone who stepped in her path. No wonder she’d survived six tours in Afghanistan.

  Thomas Flynn moaned and grunted, trying to move quickly as Mike practically dragged him toward the exit. “We’re nearly there, mate.”

  At the stairs, Henri stopped and waited for them to catch up. “Five down, but I haven’t seen Fadli or Amri yet.”

  Mike took in a deep breath. “They might not be here—the car’s still gone.”

  She looked to Flynn. “Do you know how many men we’re dealing with?”

  The PhD shook his head. “They brought me in blindfolded.”

  “Count on more. And they’re probably waiting for us at the top of the stairs.” Mike turned to Flynn. “I’m going up first. We’ll clear a path. You strong enough to follow?”

  The scientist nodded. Mike wasn’t sure if Flynn would make it, but he had a fighting chance if he used the rail for support. And there was no way he was about to let Henri run roughshod into an ambush. She might move like a panther but, aside from her Kevlar vest, she wasn’t bulletproof.

  Together, they ascended the stairs stopping at the 180 degree bend.

  Mike pointed to himself, then up the stairs, indicating he’d go first. Henri was too much of a pro to disagree in the midst of an op, but her lips thinned.

  Without hesitating, Mike led with his rifle. Determining the coast was clear, he motioned to Flynn and waited long enough for him to climb to the first landing.

  Henri moved to point and proceeded forward. Mike stayed on her flank and nudged her when they reached the top. She caught his eye and indicated she’d go first, then made a beeline for the door. She glanced back, bared her teeth in a cringed and thrust her finger at Flynn. The man needed help—bloody hell, he was clinging to the rail like a ninety-five-year-old heart-transplant patient. Mike hesitated. Damn it all, Henri was a better shot and Mike was stronger. It was the only option that made any sense.

  Mike ran back and slung the man’s arm across his shoulder. “Be ready to run,” he whispered, hefting the man up the stairs purely by brute force.

  With a burst of speed, Henri sprinted to the outer door. She turned and covered herself with a sweep of her rifle. As Mike followed with Flynn, she crept outside, panning her gun across the blackness. She motioned with her hand, leading them to the corner of the building. Mike tightened his grip around the scientist, making him speed his pace. All they needed to do was make it fifty more yards and they’d be behind the shelter of the stone wall.

  Mike closed the distance as Henri waited for them to catch up. Her white teeth flashed with a grin before she stepped around the corner.

  All hell broke loose.

  Her weapon discharged as she was tackled to the ground with a thud. Bellowing like a madman, Mike lunged from beneath Flynn’s arm and dragged the attacker off her. The bastard slashed with a blade that flickered through the dim light. Mike hopped aside, caught the bastard’s wrist and flipped him to his back, forcing the knife toward the man’s jugular.

  But this thug was tough as steel. He fought with raw strength and the blade shook as Mike used leverage to overpower him in a battle of muscle.

  Another thud slammed the ground. And another.

  Mike looked up. His opponent reversed and rolled to the top.

  Henri shrieked.

  His heart lurched as he focused on the blade. One slip and he’d have a razor-sharp knife slice across his jugular.

  With his next surge of power, Mike flipped the opponent on his back, gaining the upper hand—until the cold steel of a pistol pressed against his temple.

  “Giv
e it up,” a man said in heavily-accented English.

  Mike froze while the beefcake beneath him skittered away and wrenched the knife from Mike’s fingers. Henri lay on the ground face-first with her hands zip-tied. Two men grabbed Flynn under the arms and headed back inside.

  “Move out!” the gunman bellowed in Arabic, slapping a pair of zip cuffs on Mike.

  “Where are you taking us?” he asked.

  “Someplace where you’ll never be found,” he said in English.

  “Oh? Why not kill us now?”

  The bastard smirked. “Your death will be too entertaining not to broadcast to the world.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Cloud bursts deluged rain as Henri and Mike were forced at gunpoint to strip down to their t-shirts and shorts for a search. Their hidden weapons were removed, their wetsuits cast aside. Even their ICE watches were ripped off and stomped on with the heel of a thug’s boot. Thugs brandished AK-47s while they marshaled the ICE assets to the beach where they were forced into the cargo hull of a boat—a boat that hadn’t been there before.

  They’d failed on every front. They’d found Dr. Flynn, but couldn’t manage to rescue him. They’d seen the warhead, but no one knew about it. And their only backup, Luke Fox, was fishing behind the outcropping where he couldn’t see a damned thing happening at the airfield.

  Wet and miserable, Henri sat beside Mike with her back against the wall. The hold was blacker than coal. She hated not being able to see, cramped in a tiny space. Engines roared to life making the boat shudder. The water had turned choppy with the storm and the boat crashed through the surf, jolting and groaning as if it were sure to sink with the next lightning strike.

  Henri raised her cuffed hands to her chest and used her fingertips to rub her angry gunshot wound now punishing her for the exertion of the op—the failed op. Grunting, she hadn’t expected it to sear with pain.

  “You okay?” Mike asked.

  “I’d be a helluva lot better if I weren’t sitting on a boat in zip cuffs, sailing away from the scientist we were supposed to rescue.” She pounded her fists on the floor. “Damn it!”

  “Tell me about it. And no one kens he’s there.”