by Linzi Basset
Max stared at the large man with the kind heart. He knew that the risk he was taking was bigger than he’d led on. Deep in his heart, he knew that he wasn’t going to come back from this. He didn’t voice his fear, however. No one needed to know.
“No, Bruce. This was it. I’m walking away from her—for good this time. Take care of her and make sure she doesn’t live with the hurt the rest of her life.”
“Max—”
“I need a drink. A toast with all my friends,” Max interrupted Jack with a wide grin. “No more doom and gloom, mates. We’ve got this.”
Jack stared at Max. He knew him better than anyone else in the room. A cold chill ran down his spine when their eyes caught. He knew then.
Max was saying farewell.
* * * * * * * *
During the day, the city was always moving; cars, people, buses, trains, all the components that made up the organic part of the city, which determined the character and the structures. Now, it was quiet. Only a distant rumble of a motorbike and the odd passing of a car in the distance disturbed the silence.
Max leaned negligently against the lamp post. He blended in with the haunting eeriness that surrounded the quiet of the night.
His grimaced as he gazed at the low-rise, buff-colored, precast office building with repetitive square windows across the street. He supposed the bastard had deliberately chosen the FBI headquarters as the rendezvous point. To send a message to them that he was untouchable.
“Checking audio. Confirm Max,” Rhone’s voice droned into his ear.
“Audio confirm, loud and clear,” he responded with barely moving lips.
“Audio activated,” Keon’s confirmed, followed by every team member.
“Confirming all chips are tracking,” Richard’s voice sounded in their ears.
“We are now in full tac team mode. Wait for my signal,” Rhone barked. “Max, I want your assurance that you will use your distress code if anything threatens your life.”
“I need time to push them, Rhone. We need that traitor’s name.”
“Not at the cost of your life, Max,” Jack interjected.
Max noticed the lights from a dark SUV turning the corner and approaching him slowly.
“They’re here,” he mumbled, watching as the vehicle slowed to a stop next to the curb a few yards in front of him. The back door swung open. Max didn’t move. He waited. “If you want me, fucker, you’re gonna have to come and get me,” he said sotto voce.
“Don’t tempt the devil, Max. You’re the vulnerable one,” Rhone cautioned him, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice.
A dark figure emerged from the other side of the SUV and walked toward Max.
“Hammy, my buddy! Fancy meeting you here,” Max said in a dry voice.
“Get in the fucking car,” Hamal sneered. He looked around and pushed Max from behind.
“Technically, it’s not a car, Ham. It’s a SUV,” Max continued to taunt him.
“Move, fucker!” Hamal shoved him harder.
“Easy there, Hammy. You don’t want to pull a muscle.” Max looked Hamal over with amusement in his eyes. “What? You’re not gonna frisk me for weapons?”
“I figured you didn’t want to die this soon,” he grated back. “But, a little nick won’t hurt.”
The glint of the blade in his hand caught Max’s eyes. He easily sidestepped the wild swipe.
“So touchy. Very well, Hammy, let’s get this show on the road.”
Max swaggered toward the SUV and got inside, slamming the door closed in Hamal’s face. He was forced to walk around to the other side. It gave Max the opportunity to size up the other two men in the front seats. He recognized them from his capture in the compound.
“What’s up, mates?”
They only glared at him with hate filled eyes.
“Geez, you guys make me feel so loved,” he taunted. Hamal got inside, and they pulled away immediately. He settled back with his head against the back of the seat. “Wake me up when we arrive, Hammy. I need my beauty sleep.”
Hamal barked out a short cackle. “Soon, you’ll sleep for good, American fucker.”
Max slowed his breathing, pretending to be asleep. He hadn’t been fooling himself. He knew they never intended for him to walk away alive. The fact that they didn’t blindfold him, affirmed Max’s assumption.
The hour-long drive took them to a remote farm. Max squinted in the dark at the farmhouse that hunkered low over the rocky scree. The outside appeared dull red and the roof was made from cedar shingle.
Max was out of the vehicle before the driver switched off the engine. He stretched out lazily, looking around with a wide yawn.
“Aah, I love the fresh smell of the countryside, don’t you, Hammy? No? Well, I guess you don’t really know what countryside is. You surf on the sand. Hey, we should try that. You and me. It’ll be—”
“Shut up! You fucking talk too much,” Hamal growled. “Bring him,” he barked at the other two men and started walking toward the barn, a small distance from the house.
The smell hit Max in the face as Hamal lugged open the unwieldy, russet colored door. The tired hinges creaked like the moaning of cantankerous old man. He breathed in the sweet, musty odor of old straw. Then he detected the undertones: the stuffy musk of animal fur and the stink of old dried-out droppings. He even detected the sharp smell of old, oily metal but he couldn’t see any in the dimness of the vast space. His eyes adjusted to the dim pallor of light to make out the shapes of dusty frames of wooden stalls and poles. The heavy bosom of the loft hung from the ceiling.
“Nice digs,” Max said dolefully.
Hamal turned on the switch. The interior lit up dimly from the light fittings hanging from the rafters.
“Yeah, I can already hear the creak of the rotting wood as they sing to your screams when I carve my name into your balls.”
“Hammy, my man! I didn’t figure you for an adapter. Well, I guess it takes all kinds,” he taunted him. His lips thinned as the other two cuffed his hands to chains hanging from the rafters. They strung him up with his feet off the ground.
“Hang around, fucker. Once the sheikh awakens, your time is up,” Hamal informed him with a gleeful smirk.
“What? No bedtime story, Hammy, old man? Ugh!” Max gasped for breath as the man by his side slammed the handle of a rake into his gut. “I guess that’s a no,” he puffed, gulping for breath.
“The first thing that’s gonna go is that fucking tongue of yours. I’m tired of listening to you talk shit,” Hamal growled as they left and slammed the door shut.
Max kept his body still. He could feel the pressure of his weight bearing down on his wrists. He wrapped his hands around the chains to alleviate it but knew he wouldn’t be able to maintain his hold for long.
“Max? Are you okay?” Jack’s concerned voice echoed in his ear.
“Yeah, just hanging around.” He squinted around. “Fuckers could at least have switched off the lights. Who can fall asleep with it shining in your eyes,” he muttered.
“It doesn’t make sense. Why pick you up in the middle of the night and then leave you alone?” Lance pondered aloud.
“It’s a part of their torturing technique; psyching the victim so that he starts to panic. The waiting is sometimes worse than anything else,” Max said quietly. “On the other hand, their contact could’ve deliberately chosen the time.”
“What are you alluding to, Max?” Rhone asked.
“We already know the fucker has no honor. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s double crossing the sheikh.”
“You could be right. Alpha team, are you in place?” Rhone barked.
“Roger, team leader,” Ruark’s voice echoed softly.
“Charlie team, confirm,” Rhone waited for confirmation and then said, “The two teams are on the outskirts of the farmhouse, Max. Just stay calm. Everyone, I want you alert and silent from this point on. We don’t know where they are or if they’re listening,” Rhone o
rdered.
Max didn’t respond. He closed his eyes and forced his body to relax. He slowly eased into a meditative state. He concentrated on the one thing that always managed to calm his mind.
Joanne.
Her beautiful face swam in his vision. He soaked it up like it was the last drop of water on earth. He became lost in her essence that he always felt deep inside his soul. Thoughts of her beautiful smile, her sweet submission and her natural sensuality transcended him into a beautiful world which contained all the beauty she had brought to his life. He sank deeper into those thoughts and cherished how it made him feel—wholesome and loved.
The sound of the door banging against the wall tore Max from his relaxed state. He was surprised to see that it was morning. He squinted against the sharp rays of the sun shining through the trees. The shapes of five men were silhouetted against the backdrop of the brightening day.
“Do you know what we do with traitors in my country, Max Shaw?”
Max recognized the gruff voice of Sheikh Juhayman bin Mohammed. He chose not to respond.
“Ah, how do you say here in America? Hm, yes, cat got your tongue, Max Shaw?” He smirked. He tapped the steel cane he was carrying against the soles of Max’s boots. “We cut them up—piece by piece and then make them watch the wolves eat their body parts. It’s a very slow and painful death but very entertaining to watch.”
He leaned closer and sneered into Max’s face, “But, I have no interest in you, American. You are only the bait that will bring your whore to me. Yes, Max Shaw, you know who I’m talking about. The biggest traitor of them all—Joanne Blackmore.”
He jabbed a straight fist into Max’s nose when he didn’t react. He cackled with glee as blood splattered from Max’s nose and stained his shirt with splotches of red.
“As soon as the bitch arrives, you will eat my bullet.” He laughed boisterously. “And do you know the best part, Max Shaw . . . she will be the one pulling the trigger.”
His laughter followed him outside. His voice floated back to Max. “Soften him up, Hamal. You might as well have some fun while we wait.”
“No jokes this morning, American?” Hamal taunted as his fist powered into Max’s solar plexus. Max ground on his teeth, refusing to utter a sound and give them what they were after. Hamal threw his body weight behind the next blow that edged closer to Max’s face. It hit his jaw with such force that blood pooled inside his mouth. Pain erupted from the point of impact. Crimson leaked freely from both Max’s nostrils. He heard a sickening crack as the next punch twisted his nose to the right.
“Not such a pretty boy, now, fucker!” Hamal boasted as he drew back his fist again and ploughed it into Max’s stomach. It was like hitting a train head on. Max bit on his lips, swallowing the groan that tickled in his throat. His guts smashed together, blood vessels bursting at the force of the blow. Pain ruled Max’s body from that point on as all three men began beating him to a pulp.
“Fuck, Max! Say something,” Jack’s concerned voice sounded far away in his ear.
Max forced up his head. His eyes were almost swollen shut completely. He could barely make out who was who of the three men in front of him.
“Is that all you’ve got, Hammy?” He growled but it lacked the usual amusement. He spat the blood that was pooling inside his mouth at the body in the middle. Hamal jumped back with a curse as the spittle of blood splattered all over his white shirt.
“You fucking bastard!”
“Hamal! I need you!” The panicked voice of the sheikh prevented another blow as the three men immediately rushed outside.
Max felt the energy drain from his body along with the blood that flowed freely from his cracked lip and broken nose.
“Fuck, I think I lost a tooth,” he grated softly. There wasn’t a spot on his body that didn’t pulse with pain.
“Alpha team report. Something’s up, Rhone,” Ethan’s voice echoed in Max’s ear. It sounded far in the distance and he knew he was about to lose consciousness. He shook his head to clear his vision. He squinted through half-closed swollen eyes to the outside.
“Report,” Rhone balked.
“They’re packing up. The sheikh is pacing about and swinging his arms around. He appears to be pissed off,” Ruark reported. “We managed to catch a couple of phrases—the little we could translate. It sounds like he’s been double crossed and lied to.”
“Charlie team report. We’ve got sirens sounding from the main road.”
“All teams, stay low and out of sight. Eyes peeled. We need to know where they’re going,” Rhone snapped out the order. Unease once again rushed through him. “Max—”
“Alpha team report. Quiet, Rhone. They’re on their way to the barn,” Ruark warned.
“I hate deceit and once again Americans have proved they cannot be trusted,” Juhayman shouted as he walked up to Max.
“I assume your buddy stood you up? That’s the thing with double agents, Sheikh, my man. They only look out for themselves. I’d be pissed off . . . ugh!” Max grunted as he hit the ground when Juhayman slammed his fist against the lever to release the chain pulley.
“Is it David Letterman? No? Hm, how about Scott Wood? Tell me and I’ll get him for you. I’ve got contacts in high places,” Max grunted as he pushed himself to his knees. “How about a trade? I give you the bastard and you forget about Joanne Blackmore,” Max prodded, hoping for a name.
“You talk too much. Why would I trust you? Another American? No, Max Shaw, our plans have changed—forcibly so—but no matter. I will get the whore, without anyone’s help. I know who she is now and what she looks like. I also have contacts, American, in high places of your government. In the meantime, you will do to satisfy my need for revenge.”
“Zaeim Alsahra'! I can hear sirens. We have to go,” Hamal urged from the barn door.
Max saw the handle of the gun, but it came at him too fast to dodge it before it crashed into his skull. Pain exploded in his head as a black void engulfed him in its claws.
“Let’s go. I want to be in the air in fifteen minutes. Warn the pilot to start up the plane.” Juhayman got into the first GMC. “Bring him. He’ll do until I find her.”
Max was bundled into the back of the other SUV. They pulled away in a cloud of dust, going in the opposite direction from where the blaring sirens were closing in.
“What the fuck happened? Report Alpha team,” Rhone barked in a worried voice. “Alpha team, it’s a go! Get to that barn!”
Minutes later, Quinlan’s voice echoed over the airwaves. “Charlie team report. They took him, Rhone and the yard is swarming with cops.”
“Anyone we know?” Keon queried.
“Yeah, a couple,” Lance said. They all sounded stumped at the change in events.
“Find out who alerted the authorities and for what. We’re going after Max,” Rhone barked and turned the Raider around to follow Max’s tracking device. “They’re moving fast.”
“Rhone, you don’t let that plane take off with Max on board. Do you hear me?” Quinlan’s voice rasped out hoarsely.
“We’ll do our best, but we have to wait until they’re at the airport. We can’t afford to catch Max in the crossfire,” Rhone responded urgently. Wishing that, for once, his gut feel had been wrong.
“Richard, they’re heading north-west from our current location. The airfield is approximately fifteen minutes by road from here. Find it,” Keon instructed. His own concern coming through the gruffness of his voice.
“Already on it,” Richard responded. “Got it. It’s Kepler Farm Airfield. Sending you the coordinates.”
“Let’s hope we’re in time.” Jack stared out to the landscape below. Fear ruled him at that moment.
“They have a head start and even with the speed of the Raider . . .” Rhone’s voice drifted off.
“Max might be in the line of fire,” Jack completed his thought.
Chapter Nineteen
Max woke up as he was jostled around, with the loud hum of a
n engine in his ears. He didn’t move as he tried to find his bearings. He was lying on his back next to a large container in the cargo hold of a plane. Another bump and then Max started sliding down as the wheels lifted off the ground.
“Fuck me,” Max groaned. He pushed himself up from the floor. “Rhone, can you hear me,” he called in a weakened voice. He stumbled toward the hatch in the front of the hold but was too weak to pull himself up the steel ladder.
“Max! Where the hell are you?” Jack’s voice vibrated loudly in his ear. “Fuck, Rhone, we’re too late. The plane is already taking off.”
“Shoot it down.” Max turned away from the overhead hatch and shuffled toward the loading bay entrance. He hooked his arm into the steel infused lanyard that was anchored to a hook next to the hatch.
“I’m not fucking shooting down the plane. Not with you in it,” Rhone growled.
“Rhone, if he gets me to Saudi Arabia, I’m a dead man anyway. We just started climbing. The impact wouldn’t be that bad. I’m in the cargo bay on the right side of the plane. They will have to turn to the left. Aim for the left engine.”
“Max, I’m not—”
“I might make it, mate, if you do it now. The higher we climb—”
“Jesus, Max! You don’t know what you’re asking,” Rhone thundered in his ear.
“If I have to die, I’d rather do so on American soil. Things have changed, Rhone. We didn’t plan on me being taken. I don’t stand a chance of survival over there . . . if he’s going to wait until then.”
“Max, there has to be another—”
“Shoot the fucking plane down, Rhone! NOW!”
Rhone flipped open the arms switch. His finger tightened on the trigger as he locked the target on the left engine. “You fucking better live, Max,” he whispered and squeezed.
They watched the rocket blaze toward the plane and strike the left engine with accuracy. Fire billowed, before the entire left wing exploded and tore from the plane. The plane flipped on its left side and pummeled in a straight line to the ground.
“Jesus!” Jack watched in disbelief as the jet crumbled on impact in a mess of mangled metal. He was barely aware of Keon’s voice as he called mayday to Richard who had already alerted the fire brigade and emergency services. “He’s dead. He’s fucking dead! No one can survive that.”
