by Roger Hayden
A woman’s voice shouted from inside. “In here!”
Suddenly, several shots fired from, striking Haashir in the chest, face, and head. His body flew backward and hit the ground. Qadar took a shot to the arm and fell to his knees. A succession of bright flashes followed.
“To the rear. Close them off!” Qadar shouted as he crawled away. A group of masked men ran to the back of the vehicle, where the door hung open. They approached with caution as other militants cautiously searched the area looking for the mysterious shooters who had killed five of their men.
Concealed beside the first parked truck in the line, Craig watched, crouching down and clutching one of the dead men’s AKs. Hicks was positioned behind the last truck in the line, from a strategic vantage point. He rose just enough to rest his rifle on the tailgate to steady his aim. Craig was relying on him for cover fire.
The approaching squad seemed to sense something. They halted ten feet from the line of trucks and started pointing, as if plotting movements and positions, and talking to each other. Craig knew it was now or never. Before long, they would begin to fire indiscriminately on their own trucks, since the vehicles were the only structure within range offering a place to hide behind.
Hicks fired the first shots from afar. One of the men took the hit to his chest and fell, as the others rushed toward Hicks’s truck and tore it apart with their rifles blazing. Craig stood up and fired as they passed by.
One of the masked men fell to the grass, a riddled, wailing lump. The relentless firing continued. Hicks tried to take cover but felt the painful shock of a bullet going through his shoulder. The force knocked him to the ground. He struggled to get up. His rifle lay on the ground, just out of reach. He grabbed his pistol from its holster at his waist and pulled it out. By the time he rolled onto his back, gun raised, one of the masked men was already standing over him with a barrel in his face.
Craig aimed his rifle from afar. He saw a man standing over Hicks behind the last truck and fired a shot through his head. The man dropped instantly. Craig searched everywhere for the last man but couldn’t see him. It was time to close in.
He heard shots ringing out from the transport carrier and didn’t know how much longer Donaldson and Rivers could hold out. He hoped that Officer Phelps and Toomey were able to fight them off as well. There appeared to be four fighters left, circling the vehicle and trying to find a way in.
Injured and vulnerable, Hicks struggled to get up as a militant low-crawled alongside the pickup trucks cradling a rifle. Hicks shifted upward and grabbed his rifle, but the crippling pain sent him back to the ground. Blood pulsed from his shoulder, flowing dark red. The militant made it to the end of the truck with his rifle poised just as Hicks rose and fired.
After two separate blasts, the militant went down. Hicks dropped his pistol and gasped for air. He’d been hit. The fresh wound in his chest had stunned and paralyzed his senses. Warm liquid flowed upward, into his throat and out of his mouth. He couldn’t breathe. He was choking on his own blood. He saw Craig kneeling over him. Craig’s words were fading. Everything was drifting away. Hicks felt tired. His eyelids grew heavy. It was too much work to breathe. He felt light-headed, as if floating in the air.
“Agent Hicks!” Craig’s muffled voice shouted, fading away.
Elsewhere, the firefight continued. The four masked men stood at the rear of the flipped carrier, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. More shots were fired from the inside, followed by female screams and a stream of words in shouted in Chechen. They recognized her voice. It was the Black Widow, the woman they had come to get, warning them, telling them what they needed to know about the enemy.
Qadar was at the front of vehicle wrapping gauze around his arm, while Ma’mun stood watching the road. “We must hurry and get her. More will be here at any moment.”
Ma’mun observed the bodies of his men that lay in the grass near their trucks. He aimed his own rifle and looked through the sight. “Some have already escaped. But they won’t get far.”
“Why don’t we just throw a grenade in there and be done with it?” Qadar asked. He wrapped a black-and-white checkered bandana over his clean-shaven head.
“Not yet.”
Qadar was about to argue, but bit his tongue. “Whatever we do, we must hurry.” Another shot rang out from inside the vehicle. “This could go on forever.”
“It ends here,” Ma’mun said. He pulled a military-issue smoke grenade from his utility belt and crept to the rear hatchback, with the others.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Qadar said to himself.
Ma’mun called to the four masked men left and then pointed at their dead. “Go and find the persons who did this to our brothers and bring them to me.”
As the team dispersed, Ma’mun pulled the pin on the smoke grenade and tossed the grenade inside the rear. After a loud pop, smoke billowed out of the rear of the vehicle. Seconds later, he heard coughing and hacking, and Ma’mun knew that it would only be a matter of time.
Craig remained crouched down, concealed on the far side of the third pickup, as he watched a group of militants advance toward him. With Hicks dead, his only hope was that Donaldson and Rivers could pull through, along with Phelps and Toomey. Before he could make his next move, the passenger door of truck he was squatting near swung open and bashed him directly in the face, knocking him to the ground. His rifle bounced onto the dirt and out of reach. Then came a forceful boot right in his face. As Craig lay there in shock, he saw a bearded man dressed in green army fatigues emerge from the truck.
“Foolish American. You’ll make a great prisoner,” the man said. Then came another boot kick in the face.
The smoke continued to consume the inside of the carrier. Husein made a dash for the open door, pulling Malaka along. Donaldson and Rivers were on their knees hacking, with tears streaming from their eyes. No person, no matter how determined, could have lasted much longer.
Ma’mun stood calmly to the side with his rife raised, waiting for everyone to funnel out. First came a boy. Ma’mun watched in amusement as Husein fell out of the truck and rolled to the ground coughing. Soon came Malaka, with one hand over her mouth and coughing as well. Ma’mun helped her out of the truck and told her to breathe.
“It will pass soon, don’t worry.”
He guided her away from the smoke with her arm around his shoulders. Her eyes were closed, tears running along her cheeks. Her coughing gradually subsided when they got a safe distance away. “Who else is in there?” he asked her.
“Two…men,” she answered between lighter coughs. “FBI.”
Ma’mun smiled. He helped her down onto the grass. “Sit here. I’ll return shortly.”
He walked back to the transport carrier just as his men approached with Craig at the end of their barrels. Qadar stepped forward and swung the butt of his rifle into the back of Craig’s leg, sending him to his knees. Within moments, Donaldson fell out and rolled into the grass, violently coughing and wheezing. Rivers soon followed.
“I would move if I were you,” Ma’mun said to a visibly shaken Husein, who was still on the ground coughing.
He raised his rifle just as Husein got to his feet and ran away. He fired one shot into Donaldson’s head, splitting it open, then a barrage of shots into Rivers’s chest for good measure. They went silent—motionless and locked in agony. Ma’mun walked closer, tilted his head back and spat.
Craig raised his head at the sound of gunfire and was gripped with anger and fear upon seeing the two FBI men he had gotten to know murdered in cold blood.
The gruff, bearded man in military fatigues who had kicked Craig walked up as well, joining the group. He didn’t seem happy and began to chastise the men, even Ma’mun.
“Too many of your brothers died for this. How could you let this happen?”
Ma’mun nodded but didn’t seem too bothered. “Things got a little out of hand, General, but we took control of the situation.”
The ge
neral scoffed. “I shouldn’t have let you do this on your own. You weren’t ready.”
“Of course we’re ready,” Qadar said with his hand gripped on Craig’s shoulder. “Did you see what we’ve accomplished today? We’ve made history.”
“History, eh? Well, maybe if you hadn’t killed the Americans, we’d walk away with more leverage,” the general said. He looked over to Craig and observed the badge on his belt. “This one is FBI. He’s perfect.”
“So what?” Qadar said, putting his barrel to Craig’s head. “Let’s shoot him.”
“That’s enough, Qadar,” Ma’mun said. He then looked at the general. “You are correct. He’ll be perfect.”
“Let’s just get this over with,” the general said.
He wasn’t a real general in the sense of military rank, but he did have a military background and was one of the top strategic ISIS planners.
He had the notoriety of having served in Saddam Hussein’s personal military guard as a member of the Baath party. He had long ago disavowed his Shiite ties and joined the Sunni-based ISIS faction in Iraq. Somewhat a relic, he offered young recruits knowledge and a wealth of stories from his many years.
Ma’mun called out for Malaka to join the group. She had wandered away, trying to get away from all the smoke. Husein walked next to her to make sure she was okay, while trying not to look at the bodies of the American FBI men lying on the ground as they passed them.
Looking satisfied, the general walked in front of Craig and pulled out a long hunting knife. Craig lowered his head, preparing for the worst. The general lifted up his foot and tapped Craig in the shoulder with his boot. “Hey. You. American.”
Malaka approached the group with Husein at her side. “When do we leave?” she asked. “I can hear sirens coming.”
“Yes, we should definitely leave soon,” Qadar added.
“Oh, we will,” the general said, taking a look back at Ma’mun. “There’s some unfinished business we must take care of first.”
He handed Ma’mun the knife. “I’ll give you the honors.”
Craig looked up, squinting at the group as the sunlight hit his eyes. He saw the silhouette of a man standing over him ready to strike.
“Wait!” Malaka said, running to them. “This man has taken everything from me. I want to see him dead, but not like this. We should take him with us. Show him the worst kind of pain each and every day until he can feel no more.”
Husein looked around the group, confused. “Let’s just go,” he said to Malaka. “You and me. We can go back to Chechnya before they catch us. Put this behind us.”
The general looked over to Husein and laughed. “Your boy here, he’s not very bright, is he?”
The other men joined in the laughter. Malaka’s face went red with anger as she lashed out at them. “Leave him alone! Who do you think you are?”
“It’s time,” the general reiterated.
Malaka began to protest once again, when suddenly Ma’mun grabbed her by the arm, pulled her in front of him, and ran the sharp blade across her throat. Her eyes widened in horror. She gagged as blood flowed out of the gaping wound. Ma’mun pushed her away and her hands immediately gripped neck as she choked and gasped, lurching forward and stumbling over.
Husein screamed and ran away in a panic.
“Get him!” the general said. Two of the masked men ran off toward Husein. They caught up with him in no time and tackled him to the ground. Husein kicked wildly into the air and screamed as they carried his small body back.
Malaka continued to stumble forward, past Craig and the others, hunched lower to the ground with each step. Her wheezing grew louder as fresh blood ran down her robe and trickled on the grass below, leaving a trail. Her eyes were full of unadulterated shock. Blood spewed from her mouth as she fell to her knees with a gargling cry.
Her hands still gripped the open wound but did little to stop the blood flow. Her face quickly grew pale as she hacked in stunned disbelief. With another hissing gasp, she finally collapsed face first into a puddle of her own blood.
Craig looked on just as confused as the general flashed him a self-satisfied smile. Two masked men carried a screaming Husein past Craig and toward their trucks. He cried out for his aunt repeatedly even as she lay propped in the grass on her knees and twitching toward her last breath.
The general then stepped forward and hovered directly over Craig. “The Surkov family line is dead now, my friend. Now you have nothing. And we…have you.”
Craig’s body trembled despite his attempts not to show any fear. “What do you want from me?” he asked.
“In time,” the general said. He looked toward the men. “That’s Americans for you. So damn impatient.” They laughed.
Ma’mun stood by silently, the bloody knife still in his hand, as he looked down at Malaka’s still body.
“You did the right thing,” the general said with a hand on Ma’mun’s shoulder. “Now cut that bitch’s head off and leave it at her feet.”
Ma’mun looked up with hesitation.
“Do it!” the general shouted.
Craig tilted his head back and watched as Ma’mun approached Malaka’s body. He turned away just as Ma’mun pulled her up by the hair, dug the knife in, and began cutting around her neck. The faint sound of the long blade sawing into bone followed, filled with pops, cracks, and hisses. Craig closed his eyes as the brute force of a rifle butt struck his head and knocked him cold to the ground.
Hostage
The boat ride to the cabin took more than an hour, and the further they traveled across the lake, the more it became apparent that they were fleeing civilization—if only for a few days. It had been a month since the last time they had been at the cabin, and already Rachael was feeling sentimental. Times had been easier times back then. Going to the cabin without Craig saddened her. What were they going to do once they got there? Sit and wait? Her mind was flustered with questions, and there were no answers in sight.
As she navigated the boat, the wind blowing through her hair offered a comforting, cool peace. As always, she found a kind of tranquility in the lush trees and foliage passing by on both sides. Yet, her handheld radio didn’t leave her side. They passed several lakeside homes with their own boats tied to docks. Oddly enough, no one else was on the water. She pictured them all, glued to their televisions or computers, desperate for answers. She thought of all the family and friends she needed to call, and hoped that, once they got to the cabin, she would get a signal.
Their backpacks rested on the deck of the boat, filled with whatever they had been able to fit into them. She had no real concept of how long they would be staying at the cabin. Craig had told her a couple days, but with the port attacks, anything was possible.
Inside her pack was a week’s worth of clothes, an emergency radio, and most importantly, her .38 Smith & Wesson. When they had first married, Rachael had been adamantly opposed to firearms. In time, her views had changed, and as they coasted along the Hudson shoreline, having a weapon made all the difference to her.
The ride had been quiet, with little conversation between her and Nick. He hadn’t asked many questions, and she didn’t feel like providing many answers. A map rested near the steering column, but she hadn’t needed it. She had navigated on instinct. It was familiar trip with most of it a straight shot through the narrow channel of the river, past the riverside homes, and then into a sanctuary of undisturbed nature.
She steered the boat to a stream off the river. The GPS navigation screen had pinged the location of the cabin, not too far off. Nick looked around as they neared the cabin. Rachael guided the boat to the shore, apprehensive about what they would find once they got there.
The boat steadied against the bank. They had arrived. She shut off the engine and coasted to shore. As the boat slowed, she took off her life jacket and tossed it to the deck. Fear grew within her as she kept trying to convince herself that they were safe. It had been a month since they had seen the cabin. Cra
ig had since stocked it with canned and preserved foods and installed a fresh-water pump. She just hoped that their supplies hadn’t been pillaged.
“Let’s go,” she said.
As he jumped on shore, Nick looked eager to get to the cabin, though Rachael didn’t fully understand why. She stood up and tossed him the rope. He tied the boat to a nearby tree, knotting it the way his father had taught him. Rachael climbed out with her pack, and they began the short walk to the cabin.
She still hadn’t told him everything. She almost felt ashamed knowing that the world he knew would no longer be the same. She wished there was something she could have done to change things, but she was helpless.
Under the cloudy sky, they walked into the forest with their packs on. The cabin was a half mile ahead, and surrounded by a natural concealment of trees and brush.
“How long do we gotta stay out here?” Nick asked.
She clutched the radio at her side, hoping to hear back from Craig at any minute.
“Not long,” she replied.
They strolled through the open forest under large, encompassing oak trees, the quiet broken only by the sound of foraging squirrels and birds. The cabin awaited them ahead: a small two-bedroom log structure sitting atop four piers that positioned it above ground. The water heater to the side of the cabin glistened in the sunlight. As they approached, it seemed as if no other soul was around. Exactly how Rachael wanted it. The place looked just as they had left it a month ago.
“Mom,” Nick said.
“Yes?”
“When’s Dad getting here?”
“He’ll be here soon,” she said.
“I heard about the terrorist attacks,” he said.
Rachael could feel her heart sinking.
“You did?”
“Yeah. We’re gonna get through this, right?”
“Yes. Of course,” she said.
