by Ponzo, Gary
“Look, Ray, I know you’re stupid, but you don’t have to overdo it.”
Seville’s face tightened with confusion.
“Ray. He tried to kill you. He knows you made him. You don’t think he’s going to finish the job? You think he forgot about you? What if he followed you here and saw two FBI agents waltz in behind you? Especially agents who specialize in counterterrorism. Faces he knows.”
Seville’s eyes widened with recognition, like someone who just remembered he’d left the stove on.
“You think you were tagged, Ray?”
Seville just stared.
Until the explosion broke the silence.
Chapter 2
The sound came from the outer hallway. It wasn’t the searing blast of a bomb destroying the building, but the muted pop of Semtex ripping apart the hinges of a steel door. Nick knew that the next thing he’d hear would be the thump of that big piece of steel slamming into the corridor. He also knew that Truth would be hustling furiously toward his demise. Which was exactly how it happened. Nick heard a couple of coughs from a silencer, then all three hundred pounds of Truth hit the floor heavy.
By now the red light in the poker room would be flashing, signaling a breach in the entrance. Everyone would scurry out the back exit for fear of being caught in a raid.
Nick searched for a way out, but saw nothing. He knew what it felt like to be trapped inside of a coffin. Nick glanced down at his cell phone. No reception. He looked at Matt and saw him examining his phone. He shook his head. Their service was being jammed.
Matt stood up and grasped his holster as if it could grow another gun. He stared at the solitary exit from the basement room. A rickety oak door that hung there more from habit than sound construction.
There was a tap on the door. It sounded exactly what the muzzle of a gun would sound like against brittle oak. A man’s voice came from the other side. It was soft, but firm, with a hint of an accent. “Raymond.”
The only noise was the hum of the fluorescent lights.
“Raymond, it’s not you I want. Just tell me if they’re armed and I’ll let you go untouched. It’s the only way you’ll leave here alive.”
“It’s him,” Ray murmured.
Nick put a finger to his lips. Matt was on his knees quietly twisting off a leg of the coffee table.
“Raymond,” the voice said. “Don’t be a fool. These are not men worth dying for.”
Nick watched Seville carefully. The guy was actually thinking about it. He saw it in his eyes. Seville blurted, “They’re un—”
Matt reached him first. His uppercut smacked Ray hard under the chin. Seville’s head jerked back, and his body instantly became a rag doll against the pillow of the sofa.
“Raymond?” came the voice on the other side of the door.
There was silence while Matt went back to work on the leg of the table. Nick saw him twisting the wooden dowel, but it was like watching from an out-of-body experience. A silent vacuum seemed to suck all of the oxygen from the room. Anxiety tightened its grip around Nick’s neck and forced him to remain still for fear of falling down. He was slipping away again.
A vision flashed across Nick’s mind. It was the image of a lipstick kiss his wife left for him on the mirror that morning. It hung there like the single digit sum to the chalkboard-crammed equation of his life. The kiss said everything that needed to be said. Suddenly, the floor seemed to be moving and he realized it was his legs wobbling beneath him.
“Nicholas,” the assassin said, breaking into Nick’s death dream. “I found two guns on the black man’s corpse. We both know who they belong to.”
Matt freed the wooden leg and motioned with his hand, encouraging Nick to engage the killer in some dialog. The lipstick kiss evaporated.
“Nicholas,” Rashid said. “Is that your partner with you? Mathew?”
Rashid’s voice jarred him back to consciousness. The evil seeped through the door like toxic waste.
Nick’s heart felt as if it would burst through his chest. He forced himself to concentrate. He wasn’t about to accommodate his assassin with any concessions.
“Nicholas, you may as well speak. They will most certainly be your last words.”
Nick instantly went from resignation to anger. Fury built up inside of him like a bolt of adrenalin. He could practically see Rashid’s teeth showing through his shark-like grin.
“Rashid,” Nick said, “wipe that smile off your face.”
A small chuckle from behind the door. “Nicholas, I should have killed you in Istanbul.”
“You didn’t kill me in Istanbul because you couldn’t,” Nick said. “Just like now.”
A pop. The silenced bullet shot through the door and buzzed past Nick’s ear. Both agents hit the floor, their heads only a couple of feet apart. They scurried behind the sofa across from Ray.
“He’s being cautious,” Matt whispered. “We got lucky once. He won’t make that mistake again.”
“Or he’s relishing the moment,” Nick said. “Prolonging the pleasure.”
“Whatever he’s doing, we’ve got thirty seconds, maybe sixty if he’s in a sporting mood.”
Nick nodded. He pointed to the door. “How does he come in? Heavy or slow?”
“He busts through, dives right and shoots around the room starting from his right.”
“Agreed.”
Another pop. This time the sound was louder. He was alternating guns. The bullet passed through the dilapidated sofa with little resistance. Rashid had them. Without return fire, he would be on top of them in a matter of moments.
Matt gripped the table leg and got to a knee. He pointed at the door. “I’ll wait for him to barge through. He’ll see me first and fire, but I might get one swing in. It’s our only chance.”
Nick shook his head. “No. It’s suicide.”
“Of course it’s suicide. What, you think I was going to beat Rashid with a stick against his two guns?”
Nick thought a moment. Two guns. “You’re right. He’s got a gun in each hand.”
“Now you’re catching on. That’s why you’re the brains of the team.”
“How’s he going to turn the doorknob with a gun in each hand?”
Matt blinked. “What difference does that make? You see that thing? It’s barely hanging on its hinges.”
“Exactly,” Nick said, his voice growing stronger with each cogent thought. “He rams into that door with any momentum at all and it will give way.”
The both of them stared at the door.
“Nicholas,” Rashid’s voice sounded impatient.
“Okay,” Matt whispered. “What if I remove the hinges?”
“Yes,” Nick said. “He leans into it and it comes straight down. Rashid won’t expect it and for a moment, he’ll be exposed. Just a moment.”
Again a bullet spit through the flimsy door and this one plunged into Ray Seville’s chest. By the amount of blood hemorrhaging through his shirt, Nick could tell that the bullet had found his heart. The poor bastard never saw it coming.
Nick turned to Matt. “That’s precisely how much time you get. One moment. Don’t miss.”
Matt’s eyes had a glimmer of hope. As he crawled to the door with the table leg, he looked back and said, “Keep his attention toward you.”
Great, Nick thought. Just what he wanted to do. He shimmied to the left and cupped his hand over his mouth, aiming his voice to the left. “Rashid, where’s your friend, Kharrazi?”
As he’d hoped, the bullet missed to his left this time. It cracked through the frail sofa like it was made out of balsa wood. He rose up to see Matt working on the bolt in the top hinge of the door. He couldn’t tell what he was using. A pen? It appeared to be moving.
“Nicholas,” Rashid said. “Let’s be reasonable men. Open the door and I will make it quick. You and your partner will never feel a thing. You have my word.”
Matt had the first bolt in his hand now and was working on the middle one.
&
nbsp; “That’s a fascinating offer,” Nick said. “Can I get that in writing?”
There was silence. Nick cursed his use of sarcasm. He took short, quick breaths and waited for the worst. Matt pried loose the middle hinge, applying pressure on the door to keep it upright.
An onslaught of bullets blitzed into the small room forcing Nick to cover his head and duck below the sofa. He squeezed his eyes shut as he got peppered with shards of splintered wood and fabric. The spray of debris was so dense, it actually heated up the room. He knew that the barrage was tantamount to the finale of a Fourth of July fireworks display. Rashid was simply clearing the way for his grand entrance. It would be all over very soon now.
There was a pause. In the silence, the room seemed to creak from duress. When Nick opened his eyes, it was dark. For a split second he thought he’d finally caught a fatal shot. Then he realized that one of the bullets had popped the fluorescents and left them in complete blackness. It was something Nick would have done himself had he been thinking clearly. Which he wasn’t.
He couldn’t see Matt, just the filtered light that outlined the doorframe and two tight circles created by the bullet holes. Nick had to make sure Rashid burst through the door with his shoulder. He couldn’t afford to have the terrorist become cautious and test the doorknob. He wanted to give his partner a signal and let him know Rashid was coming, but in the darkness it had to be verbal. He prayed that Matt was finished with the hinges.
Nick took a deep breath and shouted. “Hey, Rashid. How’s that ear of yours doing?”
It was the equivalent of waving a red flag in front of a snorting bull. And it worked. An instant later the door toppled straight down with a thud and the assassin stood frozen in the doorway. He was leaning backward and off-balance. It was human nature to recoil from the unexpected. But Rashid Baser was more animal than human, so when Matt came out of the dark with the table leg, he was a step too late. Rashid caught the dowel with his forearm and deflected the blow.
Rashid and Matt were clutched in a fierce embrace. Matt had done the smart thing and wrapped himself around Rashid before the assassin could fire either gun.
Nick needed to get to Rashid, but his legs were lead weights. He lurched forward and focused on the only thing his eyes could see—Rashid’s silencer. It was loosely aimed at Nick, but Rashid was too busy dancing the violent shuffle with Matt. Both of them were up against the wall, head-butting each other back and forth.
Just as Nick was about to reach out for the gun, Rashid found him and aimed at his head. Nick was no more than three feet away, but he might as well have been on the moon. He wasn’t going to reach the gun in time.
Rashid’s lip curled upward and his face glowed with anticipation. His arm was fully extended now and marksman straight.
Nick sucked a quick breath.
Rashid pulled the trigger.
Nick’s legs faltered as his entire body seemed to spasm.
Rashid pulled the trigger again and again.
The lipstick kiss flashed across Nick’s mind as he waited to collapse. Only he couldn’t feel the shot. Was this how it happened? Was his body protecting him from the pain and sending him into shock?
When he looked up, he realized that Rashid’s silencer wasn’t spitting out bullets. There was just the small click of the hammer behind an empty chamber. Rashid had committed the killer’s mortal sin. He’d lost count of his rounds. Maybe he thought he didn’t need to know. He’d had two guns and plenty of time to reload. Maybe Nick had infuriated him enough to hasten his entry into the room.
Either way, Nick was still breathing. While he murmured words of gratitude, his partner kneed Rashid in the groin. The terrorist grunted like a prizefighter and hunched over. Matt used his height advantage to stay on top of him. They seemed to merge into one entity as they took short, quick steps to support their upright wrestling match. Neither could afford to be the one who fell first.
Nick saw Matt’s gun on the floor behind Rashid. The assassin must have dropped it in the struggle. Nick was about to scramble for it when he heard a wild shriek.
It was Matt.
Rashid had clenched Matt’s ear between his teeth. He twisted and pulled on the cartilage until Matt’s ear looked like silly putty. Rashid was about to pull it completely off when Nick reached down and picked up the wooden table leg. He had a clear shot at Rashid’s head and he swung hard. The thick, wooden dowel reverberated in Nick’s hands as he connected across the back of Rashid’s head.
Rashid dropped to the floor. Nick grabbed the gun and placed his foot on Rashid’s neck. He heard Matt behind him gasping and muttering curses.
Nick pointed the 9mm at Rashid’s nose, only a couple of feet below him. “Just give me a reason,” he said. “I misinterpret one of your blinks and it’s goodnight, Rashid.”
Matt came around Nick with a pair of handcuffs. He rolled Rashid on his side and yanked the handcuffs onto the assassin’s wrists until Rashid’s face couldn’t hide the pain.
“You fight like a fucking girl,” Matt huffed, bringing his blood-spotted hand down from his ear.
Rashid glared up at Nick with rattlesnake eyes. “You think this is it? You think this is the end?”
Nick didn’t speak. He felt an anxiety attack tightening his chest. Shit, not another episode. Not now. He didn’t dare give away his condition, though. He handed Matt his gun back and said, “Here, I’m afraid I’ll shoot the bastard.”
“You think he won’t come after you?” Rashid spat, saliva spewing from tight lips.
“I don’t know,” Nick said, trying to appear nonchalant even though his entire body trembled. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
In a deliberately soft tone, Rashid said, “There is no one bigger than Kemel Kharrazi. And that is who you just brought upon yourself. You are now the target, Nicholas. No one else, just you. Are you prepared for that?”
But Nick barely heard him. He stepped around the shell casings and headed outside to slip away on his own. Maybe weather the panic attack before the place was swarming with FBI agents. Nick already knew the questions that would be asked and he was already tired of answering them.
As he approached the open doorway, Nick saw Truth’s body flat on his back, eyes shocked open. There were three bullet holes in his chest directly over his heart. Nick was relieved to know he went fast. He knelt down and touched Truth’s face with his fingertips. There was nothing to say. He could not have felt any more helpless than he did at that moment.
Sirens closed fast from two separate directions. The press would have a great time portraying America as a safer place because of Rashid’s capture. But Nick knew better. There was something much more malicious going on. Rashid Baser didn’t go through all the trouble to sneak into the United States to exact revenge on a single FBI agent. It wouldn’t stop the press though. At least in the short-term. They’ll raise the freedom flag high and swagger with delight. In the world of terrorism, there was no one bigger than Rashid Baser. No one.
Except Kemel Kharrazi.
Chapter 3
Nick left Dr. Alan Morgan’s office on Pratt Street just after noon. It was three days since the shootout and regulation mandated a session with a professional counselor whenever bullets left a chamber. The affected had seventy-two hours to complete the session. Matt went first, then waited in the car for his partner. Nick’s session took longer than Matt’s. There was too much psychological damage to go over in just one visit, so Nick agreed to return when the time was right. Which meant never.
Nick got in the car and started the engine. He drove a gray Ford sedan with soot clinging so masterfully to its exterior it appeared to create a designer pattern. This was not born out of neglect as much as an attempt to blend in.
He drove west on Pennsylvania Avenue toward the Baltimore field office. Matt sat in the passenger seat with an open lunch box on his lap. He held up an apple and inspected it like he was about to dust it for prints.
“What kind of apple is this?�
�� Matt asked.
“How am I supposed to know?” Nick said.
“You do talk to your wife at night, don’t you?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, don’t you tell her what I like and don’t like?”
“Listen, do you know why she makes you lunch whenever I have any kind of doctors appointment?”
“Why?”
“Because, she thinks you’ll sit in that waiting area eating lunch while I’m getting my teeth cleaned and you’ll protect me from terrorists that might barge in and try to kill me.”
“Are you serious?” Matt chuckled.
Nick nodded. “However, what she doesn’t know is that you sit in the car and read Playboy, so if a terrorist ever did come in you’d have a hard-on so big you’d probably sit there with a smirk on your face and point directly to the office I was in.”
Matt took a bite from the apple and chewed slowly. “Playboy has excellent interviews.”
Nick rolled his eyes. He stopped the car at a light and hung his elbow out the window.
“What’s this meeting about?” Nick asked.
“All I know is, it’s a Red Ball special, and nothing good ever comes out of a Red Ball.”
A young black kid wearing a Baltimore Orioles baseball cap approached the car holding a stack of newspapers. “Wanna paper, Mister?”
Nick reached for his wallet, pulled out a five-dollar bill and handed it to the kid. “Are you an Orioles fan?”
The kid handed him a copy of the Baltimore Sun, “You bet.” He dug his hands into his pocket for change.
“That’s okay, keep it,” Nick said.
“Thanks, Officer,” the kid smiled, then wandered toward the next car in line.
Matt laughed. “We may as well have a siren on the roof.”
Nick glanced at the front page. A soldier poked his head out from a U.S. tank surrounded by a mob of angry Turkish civilians. Their faces were twisted into sinister shapes. Their mouths open, assaulting the soldier with venomous emissions, while a U.S. flag burned in the background. Nick dropped the newspaper onto Matt’s lap and accelerated through the intersection. “Looks like the boys are getting a warm welcome in Turkey.”
