by Rick Jones
From the fringes of this far arena, Shari had watched the battles play out. The Shape and Alfarsi, two men fighting over the spoils of each man’s life, with the Shadowman the victor in the end. As Alfarsi died on his knees with the spillage of his guts alighting on the floor like some obscene stretch of garland, the Shape approached Shari.
Stepping within the circle of light that was cast from a nearby lantern, Kimball Hayden leaned over her. With a lazy smile, she then reached up with her wounded arm and caressed his face, leaving a swatch of blood along his cheek.
“How bad are you hurt?” he asked her.
“Cut along the arm, another along the thigh. No muscle damage, at least from what I can tell, but I’m losing blood.”
“Can you walk?”
“If we can stem the flow.”
Kimball aided Shari to her feet, where she tested her footing. The pain to the thigh was great, but manageable—the same with the arm. After tying off the wounds with cloth torn from her shirt, they were able to staunch the flows until the seepage was marginal.
When Kimball saw Shari struggling to take steps, he pulled her close so he could be her crutch.
Closing her eyes, Shari could smell his scent. And since smell was the keenest sense that was tied to memory, she remembered Kimball during the moments when he smiled at her. She saw the gleam of his teeth and the dimples that suddenly formed. She noted the sparkles in his eyes that shined like sapphires, those rolling gems that held the glimmer of his feelings for her. And she remembered the moments when it was almost whisked away the moment the explosion had lifted him off his feet and broke his body. Suddenly gone was that show of life in those cerulean blue eyes, with the sparks fading away to some dusk-like land of an afterlife.
And then he was gone.
And then he came back.
This time, however, with new sparks that did not rekindle the embers of old.
She opened her eyes. His scent remained. And together they moved through the tunnels that were filled with new and young terrors in search of an enemy.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Ahmed Ali had escaped only for the woman’s inability to pull the trigger, a mistake he never would have made. After locating Qadir and Alfarsi, he sicced his lieutenants on her like a pack of dogs who savored the hunt. Then he located his experienced fighters, those who had served by his side longer than he could remember, even as the Coalition Forces began to oust them from the caliphate capital of Raqqa. They were the mentors to the conscripted, the teachers of a new age.
. . . Give the new blood a taste of the cause and give them a rifle, he told his people . . .
. . . Let them hunt down the infidels in the name of Allah . . .
. . . Let them discover the elation of rising above this plain to experience the joy of Paradise . . . Let them kill . . . Let them kill them all . . .
“They’re not ready,” Khayyam simply told Ali. Khayyam was a bearish-sized man who was heavily bearded, and one who always exhibited a skinny range of emotions as if his personality was strictly one-dimensional, a man who was always without a smile or flushed with anger.
“Our camp has been compromised. By whom or how many, I don’t know. But this I do know: this woman did not take out our perimeter guards to enter these tunnels by herself.” Ali sighed as if taxed by the entire situation. More so, he wondered how Hassad would take the news of the breach. And then: “Arm the conscripts and brief them quickly on the use of weapons. Inform those who do well by taking down their enemy in the name of Allah will be richly rewarded.”
“And the reward?”
“A one-way ticket to Paradise. Is there no richer reward than that?”
Khayyam simply stared at Ali with a dullard’s look, that of showing zero emotion. “And you?”
“I must take my leave, Khayyam. Secure the depot as I make my way to join up with Hassad.”
Khayyam bowed his head. “Yes, Ahmed.”
Ali reached out and grabbed the large man by the arm. “Remember, everything we do is with the guidance of Allah.”
“Of course.”
Releasing Khayyam, Ali finished by saying Allahu Akbar, then headed for the next available exit that led to the convoy of trucks.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The hostages moved silently through the darkness by holding on to the person in front of them. Since they did not have the hardware to see through the darkness, they were prudent in taking their steps, the going slow.
The lead team of Isaiah, Jeremiah and Jonah remained as the point unit, with Noah and Joshua taking rear. So far, the journey had little by way of opposition. Though the system was vast with numerous channels to navigate through, the extremists could be actively searching elsewhere.
But this confidence did not last, however. Soldiers were moving from the central chamber to cover the exits, both seasoned and conscripted soldiers, all heavily armed as these forces sprinted along the main tunnels to secure all means of escape.
Isaiah eased against the wall as they passed and advised the team to do the same, which they did. As soon as the radicals took position close to the ‘Gateway’ entrance, Isaiah knew they had one option. They would have to challenge the line and break through.
Gathering his forces within the shadows, Isaiah outlined the necessities of what needed to be done, with the pending cost likely to be a heavy one to pay.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
“Why didn’t you use your firearm?” Shari asked, after seeing Kimball’s weapon hanging diagonally across his back.
“You were too close to the target,” was all he said.
Together they maneuvered through the tunnels with Kimball using his GPS. They were backtracking to Ali’s chamber, which was the closest area to the exit point and their previous point of entry.
When they reached the room that was filled with crates, Shari stated that she needed to rest. Kimball set her against a crate with Romanian lettering, the one filled with AK-47s.
“And over there,” she said, pointing to a group of crates, “are bricks of Semtex.” Then she added: “Enough to level this hillside for good.” It was also a suggestion.
Kimball pried open a lid with his KABAR. Immediately he recognized the acidic stench, the smell of the plastique. Then he reached inside and grabbed a brick. It was as soft as Play-Doh. Then he opened two more crates before he found the detonators.
“We can do this,” she told Kimball. “We can destroy this entire camp.”
Kimball turned to her and noted that her sleeve and pant leg was as black and shiny as newly cooked pitch from bleeding out. Returning the detonators, he said, “I have to get you out of here.”
That was when she lifted her hand to stop him, palm out. “We can do both,” she told him. “We can set the charges and be on our way.”
But Kimball balked at this. He then pointed to his earbud and said, “What’s ahead of us hasn’t been cleared yet. I haven’t received the call from Isaiah confirming access. It’s too risky.”
Shari pointed to the crates. “Kimball, this is only a small part of what this tunnel holds. There are crates everywhere. Whatever they were planning, it’s big. And it’s bigger than all of us.”
Kimball returned to the crate to take inventory of the bricks. In this room alone, there had to be hundreds, enough not only to blow the hillside apart, but to leave a smoldering crater in its wake.
“Kimball,” Shari stood up and labored to Kimball’s side. And then she latched on to him as a crutch to support her. But it was so much more, she wanted to feel him close and to know that he was there with her, should this moment be their final. “This stockpile needs to go; we both know that. Isaiah will move the troops forward. He’ll give us the opening we need.”
In warfare, however, Kimball knew that this wasn’t true. The variables were always incalculable since the human element could never be planned for. Isaiah had yet to create an avenue of escape. And once the charges were set, then they would be on a timer that co
uld not be stopped. So, questions abounded: Would there be enough time to draw distance from the hillside? Or would they be forced to become reckless trying to create an opportunity of escape, now that the timer was winding down to a final moment of unmitigated destruction?
Seeing the hesitation in Kimball’s eyes and the vacillation of thoughts that weighed heavily on his mind, she said, “We both know what we have to do . . . This depot can’t stand.”
Kimball could see the ‘no quit’ in her eyes. Reaching to his earbud and tapping it on, he said, “Isaiah.”
A moment later as a whisper, Isaiah responded, “Go.”
It was obvious to Kimball that Isaiah’s soft tone was a direct result of being within close vicinity of hostiles. “Setbacks?”
“There are approximately fourteen hostiles taking position between our position and to the ‘Gateway,’” he stated softly. “We can try to backtrack to the rear entryway, but that would eat up valuable time and it’s probably in lock down, as well.”
“I agree,” said Kimball. “Look, Isaiah, I need you to punch through that line. Is it doable given the time?” Kimball looked at the timer on the GPS which was counting down.
. . . 12:45 . . .
. . . 12:44 . . .
. . . 12:43 . . .
“We have just under thirteen minutes to get to the extraction point.”
“It’ll be a challenge.”
“It always is.” Kimball looked at the mapping of his GPS. The system had several smaller arteries that branched off from the main tunnel, with some ending in dead ends and others too small to pass through, unless you did so by crawling on your belly. Kimball used his fingertips to expand the screen so he could home in on individual chutes and their digitally charted sizes. Only one passageway circumvented the main tunnel and came out by the ‘Gateway,’ however. And given its dimensions, it was barely sizeable to allow a man of the slightest build to access.
“Isaiah.”
“Go.”
“How far are you from the ‘Gateway’?”
“Approximately two hundred fifty yards.”
“About fifty yards from your position to the rear, there’s a small access channel that skirts the main tunnel. The problem is, is that it’s rather tight. People like Joshua and Jeremiah would never be able to navigate through the passageway. It’s close-fitting, Isaiah. The ceiling is less than eighteen inches in some spots and thirty inches wide. Even with your slim build, it’ll be a trial.”
“But doable.”
“Yeah. But two hundred fifty yards is a long way using your elbows and knees.”
Kimball checked the time on the GPS: 12:21.
“It’s the only other way besides a full-frontal assault. You make the call.”
Kimball looked at Shari who was obviously weakening by the way her shoulders were slumping by the inches. Then he looked at the timer on his GPA once again, the seconds ticking off. And then: “Go for it. Come up behind them and do your thing. Just don’t get caught within the crossfire.”
“Copy that.”
Clicking his earbud off, Kimball went to Shari’s side.
Raising her arm up so that Kimball could walk her to the crate that contained the Semtex, she said, “Help me.”
“Shari—” Kimball cut himself off. What was he going to say? You need help. Of course, she needed help. But the situation neither granted them that luxury nor the opportunity to advance. They were hemmed in by the Islamic State.
“Get me to the crate,” she told him.
Kimball, who half-carried, half-walked Shari to the arrangement of boxes, set her along a crate so that she could brace herself and stay upward.
Reaching into the box, Shari grabbed the detonators and skillfully began to ply her knowledge to assemble a workable piece. Kimball did the same while periodically glancing over at Shari to see that her skin tone was blanching. The dark moons surrounding her eyes were becoming more pronounced with the drainage of blood, it seemed. And her face appeared gaunter. It was as if the weight in her cheeks was falling into the looseness of a rubber mask from the loss of blood, though this was physically impossible. Nevertheless, this was how Kimball saw Shari as she slowly ebbed away from life, which gave him rise for concern.
Together they toyed with the detonators into workable units, then connected them to the Semtex bricks. One discharge of the plastique would set off the others in domino effect throughout the system, bringing the entire hillside down.
Looking at the blank screen of the timer that was connected to the detonator, Kimball said, “Once we set the clock there’s no turning back.”
Shari gave him a lazy grin and sleepy eyes. “Go for it.”
Kimball looked at his GPS monitor by his elbow. The clock read: 10:51
Kimball set the timer for fifteen minutes, then hit the button.
. . . 14:59 . . .
. . . 14:58 . . .
. . . 14:57 . . .
Kimball had allotted them approximately four minutes additional time to clear the area.
After replacing the lid to the crate, he turned to Shari. She still maintained that smile, that lazy smirk and the slow narrowing of her eyes as she was about to fall asleep. Seeing this, Kimball knew what was coming next as he extended his arms. Shari, finally having sapped that power of a lioness to its end, fell into his embrace.
Hoisting her off her feet and into his arms, Shari had enough strength to reach up and fold her arms around Kimball’s neck as he carried her. With her head resting against his shoulder and a dreamy smile that never wavered, she once again smelled his scent, that naturally raw eviction of pheromones that attracted her to him like metal shavings to a magnet.
As Shari started to slip into a deeper realm of existence, Kimball hastened as he carried her through the tunnels.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Ahmed Ali, by nature, was a true coward who killed only when he had the advantage of doing so. Once his enemies had been bound and forced to kneel, only then would he strike them down. And when he saw the woman inside the cave and understood her weakness, he knew he would live another day. So he ran as fast as his legs would take him while his heart raced with pounding madness. He took the bends and the turns easily, the man knowing this terrain well, which was always an advantage. The rounds that missed him from his assassin’s gun only provoked him to move faster, since fear was a great motivator. And when he reached Qadir and Alfarsi, he knew he was safe. When he ordered them to confront his would-be assassin, he also told them to glorify themselves with the kill thereafter by bathing in her blood. But deep down—and should the woman manage to rise and conquer, which Ali considered unlikely—he was not one to sacrifice his life for any cause. In the end, he was the one who would send others to their deaths in the name of Allah.
Escaping through the rear of the tunnel as his team of soldiers and conscripts secured every possible measure of escape, Ali made his way to one of the pickups and started the vehicle. Once the gas needle hit FULL, he set the truck in gear and began to speed his way out of the hot zone.
Allahu Akbar!
I live to see another day!
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Isaiah fell back to the rear where Joshua watched over the hostages, who remained as silent and as unmoving as corpses.
“Stay close,” Isaiah told him. “And keep your ears open.”
“I heard your communication with Kimball,” said the big man. “Good luck.”
“Jeremiah is acting as lead now. When I get in position, I will respond accordingly to the opportunities and try to clear the passageway. Once I engage, Jeremiah will move his team forward. Stay with the assets. When the area has been made safe, proceed by moving the assets toward the ‘Gateway.’”
Joshua nodded.
As Isaiah tried to skirt the assets of the nurses, physicians and the priest, a hand lashed out to grab Isaiah’s. It was Father Savino.
“Perhaps a blessing is necessary here,” he whispered to Isaiah.
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p; “Please, Father, make it quick.”
Bowing his head and holding Isaiah’s hand within his, Father Savino mouthed words to a prayer, made a sign of the cross when he finished, and released Isaiah.
Nodding his head in appreciation, Isaiah quickly disappeared into the shadows by using the night-vision scope of his weapon to guide him.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Kimball could tell that Shari was fading from consciousness, or perhaps something worse, by the way her grip around his neck weakened. Ever since he met her back inside the Green Zone, at least by the way she embraced him upon their initial meeting, he racked his mind to find any possible traces of her. The pretty smile; the beautiful face; the perfect alignment of teeth and the metallic color of her eyes, which had the coppery hue of brownish orange. But there was not even an atom-sized suggestion of memory that she had existed in his life at all.
How could I ever forget someone like her?
How could I forget someone with such tenacity or someone who carries such a fierce intensity about her?
The no-quit attitude.
The ability of never complaining when her pain was paramount.
As he carried her, as her arms began to loosen their hold from around his neck, he could smell something about Shari that was beyond her blood. It was an old-time scent. It was the phantom odor of strawberry shampoo, something she did not use within the Green Zone, but something he equated to her all the same. Was this an opening, that first hole developing in the dyke with more to open?
He had certainly hoped so.
As she continued to fade, Kimball begged for her to hang on.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Isaiah discovered the entryway. At first glance it looked like the opening to a fireplace. But the opening became increasingly smaller as he got onto his belly and began to crawl into its maw by using his elbows and knees to push him along the dirt floor.
