by James Hunt
"It's going to take some time getting out of the city," Rashad said, as if reading Sacha's mind.
"If you stick to the directions, you should have no problem. Just remember, time is of the essence. Everything is in place, and now that it's started, it has to go as planned."
"What if we get detained by the authorities again?" Ammon asked. "Last time I was told of such assurances we ended up in the custody of the NYPD. We lost four brothers trying to escape. I barely got word back to Rashad in time."
"Who do you think arranged the bus in the first place?" Agent Bolt asked. "We have many friends in high places."
"Impressive, yes, we'll take the case now," Rashad said, signaling Ammon to pick it up.
Ammon walked over and took the case as Rashad took a step forward.
"We'll be in touch," he said bowing slightly to the American man. "Peace be with you."
"I assume you want your money before we go?" Agent Bolt said.
"Yes, of course," Rashad said, not wanting to admit that he had nearly forgot.
"Thomas," Agent Bolt said, waving another of the suited men over. "Show him the briefcase."
Thomas stepped forward and opened a brown leather briefcase packed fully with unmarked bills.
"Two million dollars, just like we discussed," Agent Bolt said. "Just make sure you stick to the plan. Simply transport it to the disclosed location then wait for further notice."
Hasan walked to the man holding the briefcase and took it from him. Rashad's group had what they needed. The American men took a step back, ready to leave.
"Stick to the plan. Do not deviate it from the slightest. Remember, we'll be watching you," Agent Bolt said as he turned away. The men walked back to the SUVs, approaching the doors.
"Agent Bolt," Rashad said, causing the agent to turn back around.
"Yes, what is it?" he said.
"You should have more confidence in us. After all, the Brotherhood has gotten you this far."
Agent Bolt thought to himself briefly. "Fair enough, I guess," he responded.
"Open the door, Karim," Rashad ordered.
Karim, the man dressed in black, walked over to the other side of the warehouse, stood in front of a hanging chain, and pulled the aluminum door open. As it rolled open, spotlights beamed into the room from the rifles of several armed men.
The Americans were taken by surprise as the men, all dressed in tan guerrilla combat fatigues, stormed into the warehouse. In a flash, they were upon the Americans like sharks. Rashad grabbed his men and pulled them out of the line of fire.
"Hit the ground!" he shouted.
Agent Smith looked around in astonishment, genuinely confused by what was happening. By the time he realized, it was too late. Rashad's men, the guerrillas, fired upon the Americans in quick substantive bursts from their automatic rifles. Sacha huddled in the corner of the warehouse closing his eyes and covering his ears as the deafening blasts shook him to his core. The American agent slumped to the ground in a riddled, bloody mess. Multiple shells repeatedly rained onto the concrete. The guerrillas approached the bodies of the Americans and fired on them once more. Their blood-spattered corpses shook and twitched violently until the men ran out of ammo.
"That's enough!" Rashad shouted from his crouched position on the ground.
The guerrillas complied and lowered their rifles. Hasan, Omar, and Ammon rose from the ground as well in utter shock.
"What did you do?" Ammon demanded from Rashad.
Rashad turned around with an easy smile.
"I do apologize, but I couldn't risk exposing our plan."
"Plan? We had a plan. What are we going to do now?" Ammon said.
Sacha's heart beat rapidly in fear. He was shook uncontrollably as sweat poured from his head down his face. The armed guerrillas reformed and approached Rashad with their hot barrels smoking. Sacha was sure that he was next. His suspicions about the group were realized and he felt it only a matter of time before they gunned him down like a rabid dog.
"Those, men," Rashad said pointing to the dismembered bodies slumped on the floor, "they were going to betray us. We were to transport the bomb, then they would find us, kill us, and take the bomb back; all to say that they defeated the terrorists."
"Where did you hear this?" Ammon asked in disbelief.
"I knew it all along. You think the Americans would willingly give us a bomb of this magnitude? They would never risk such a thing. I'm guessing that the control module they gave us doesn't work. It's a decoy. I know that they have the real one on them. They wouldn't have hesitated to use it to their benefit. Now we hold the power. We can do whatever we want."
The guerrillas shouted and cheered in Arabic. Sacha looked desperately for a way out of the warehouse. The only way out was to walk directly by the terrorists to the open warehouse door.
Ammon grabbed Rashad's hand and shook it gently.
"Wonderful plan, brother. Allah has blessed us with your genius."
"We're not there yet, Ammon. We're going to transport the bomb as agreed upon, but we're not going to where they can find us."
"Where will we go?" Ammon asked.
"Where we can do the most damage," Rashad said.
He walked away from Ammon and gave attention to the guerrillas.
"Dispose of their bodies and their vehicles. But first find the control module. With haste, brothers, with haste."
Ammon, Hasan, and Omar approached the guerrillas and embraced them with hugs and smiles.
"I knew you were all still alive," Ammon said. "Praise be to Allah!"
Sacha crept on the ground quietly. He was nearly passed the celebrating group, but still had a long way to go.
"We have to move, brothers. Now!" Rashad ordered.
The men broke up their circle and proceeded to mobilize to flee the warehouse. Ammon took immediate notice of Sacha crouched below only a few feet from the open warehouse door.
"Brother Sacha, where are you going?" he asked.
Sacha froze and closed his eyes in a cringe. Ammon had caught him with so little to go. He heard Ammon's footsteps moving quickly towards him.
"Why do you flee?" he asked. "I told you there was nothing to be afraid of."
"I just needed some fresh air," Sacha said, rising to his feet.
"Listen, the Rashad believes in you. I believe in you. You ask why? You ask what I want from you. I want you to help us."
"I don't think I belong here," Sacha said. "I think you should know that I'm Catholic."
Ammon appeared unconcerned of Sacha's religion at the moment and pressed him further.
"We will deal with that when the time comes."
Suddenly Ammon's tone grew deeply serious.
"Our plans have changed as you can see. The Americans were trying to double-cross us. Didn't you see that? Then we beat them, as we will again and again!"
Sacha remained silent. He felt as if he was surrounded by lunatics. As long as he was with them, he felt that his life would be in danger, even more so out in the city as it ate itself alive.
"We don't have time to squabble," Ammon said. "Unfortunately, I'm going to have to give you two options. Go with us, accompany us on our mission and help us complete the plan, or face the same fate as the lifeless bodies lying before you."
It was clear enough. Ammon made his first official threat against Sacha's life, giving him little choice.
"I will go--" Sacha said.
"Speak up!" Ammon said.
"I said I will go with you."
Ammon smiled in a satisfied gleam. "Excellent. Now go help the others destroy the evidence and we will be on the road soon," Ammon said.
Sacha agreed and reluctantly walked to the bodies on the ground. One of the guerrillas told him to grab the feet. They lifted one of the bodies and piled in the back of a nearby SUV. The sight and feel of the corpse was almost too much for Sacha to handle. He wanted to vomit everywhere; all over the guerrillas, over Rashad, Ammon, Hasan, Omar and the like. But he wa
s no longer in a position to antagonize or refuse them.
"Do you think you can trust him?" Rashad asked Ammon in an aside.
"We can now. Being trustworthy is his only choice, if he wants to stay alive. Give it time," Ammon answered.
While he lifted the second body, a glimmer entered Sacha's head. It was the word "double-cross." He could submit to the Brotherhood, do what they asked, and become a part of them. He could earn their trust through any measures within reason, if such a thing was possible. Once they accepted him, he would do everything he could to stop them. That was his plan, however far-fetched it seemed. Sacha was going to stop them. He was going to prevent the bomb from detonating. That was his new mission.
Chapter Eleven
The Chase
It was morning in the Rockies and sunlight was just beginning to rise over the valley. Actual birds were chirping, and for a moment, it seemed like the beginning of just another day. Paul awoke lying with his seat back and a crick in his neck from his awkward positioning. He wasn't sure how long he had slept for, but they had a front row view of the sun rise coming up over the mountains; shaping up to be the most majestic sight he had seen in some time.
"Samantha," he whispered.
Samantha was lying back on the passenger seat with Julie in her arms. The kid must have crawled up front that night. Paul didn't want them to miss the sunrise; so he gently caressed her shoulder.
"Samantha, wake up. You have to see this," he said.
She slowly opened her eyes as Julie nuzzled into her chest. "What is it?" she said in a tired voice.
"It's beautiful," Paul said.
Once Samantha looked ahead, she said no more. The sun peered over the mountain tips and brightened the vast wilderness below. The sheer wonder of natural beauty brought mutual awe between them. They watched until the sun fully rose to a vibrant glowing circle in the sky. Paul leaned in and kissed Samantha on the cheek.
"Good morning," he said.
Samantha smiled and then stretched. "Do we have to leave here?" she said.
"Not necessarily," Paul answered. He looked over to Julie. She showed no signs of wanting to wake. She looked like a baby in her mother's arms.
"Is she still sleeping?" he asked, though the answer was pretty obvious.
"Yeah, she's out pretty good," Samantha said. "I feel like we're on vacation. Maybe everything was just a dream. Maybe we can go back to Beech Creek and everything will be fine."
Paul thought to himself for a moment, then responded. "You know, Sam, I was never happy there," he said.
"I know," Samantha responded. "You tried your best to accept it. It was the right change, I think. It was good for Julie."
"I don't think she was ever happy there either," Paul said. He hadn't told Samantha about the house. He hadn't told her about her car, or about Edwin, or the battle at New Haven, or anything that would horrify her already fragile state. None of it seemed necessary to get into, not during the moment. If she was going to find out, it would be in time. Someday, when the worst was over, he would tell her everything, but not that day.
"We can go somewhere else," Paul said. "Somewhere they can't find us. Somewhere we can have a fresh start."
"Anywhere that we're together and safe is fine with me," Samantha said.
There was no immediate discussion of their earlier plan involving the conspiracy. They knew they needed to get to Denver and try to expose Senator Bryant before it was too late. For a moment, none of it mattered as they watched the sun continue to bring life to the valley below.
"We need to find some food," Paul said as his stomach growled. "We're running low on supplies."
"You mean to find some in Denver?" Samantha asked.
"Possibly, unless we're planning to live off the land."
Julie moved slightly and then wrapped her arms around Samantha. Samantha gently rubbed her back, caressing her further asleep. She didn't want the moment to end. She didn't want to worry about nuclear genocide, Senator Bryant, terrorism, or anything else. Everything in the mountains was so peaceful, one wouldn't think that anything was upset in the world. Paul held out his arms and stretched.
"Do you think it's safe to go into the city?" Samantha asked.
Paul turned the key ignition slightly forward to turn the car on. The dashboard lights came on, and the air conditioning vents lightly blew out cool air. The fuel gauge was slightly below the quarter tank line. He wasn't sure how much further they could drive. Everything was low: fuel, water, and food.
"Let me try something first," Paul said.
He moved his hand to the radio dial, turned it on, and scanned through the stations. The usual static came through the speakers.
"We might be able to find some news on here. It's hit or miss sometimes."
He moved the knob back-and-forth as the digital numbers flickered. Suddenly he heard some crackling followed by an announcer’s voice. He passed the station by accident then went back to it. The announcer's voice, amidst that static, continued.
"Officials have confirmed the disappearance of an 80,000 pound nuclear bomb believed to range from 900 to 1,000 megawatts from an undisclosed top-secret nuclear facility in the United States. The nuclear device, referred to as the megabomb or asteroid bomb is labeled so because of its wide-range of destruction, similar to that of an asteroid, or perhaps the closet man-made element next to it. If detonated, the megabomb could destroy anything within a 5,000 mile radius, or simply five neighboring states all at once."
Paul and Samantha's eyes instantly locked on each other in terror. With the broadcast, their peaceful morning and idealized plans immediately vanquished. Reality came crashing down on them with the turn of a dial. The announcer continued.
"Mass widespread panic has spread across the state of Colorado where, up until now, there was no sign of any nuclear attack or plot. The governor has re-doubled his efforts to enforce martial law in the state. With no word from Washington, and Capitol Hill reportedly obliterated, all surviving states are left with little option but to control the population in this crucial time of national crisis."
Paul grabbed Samantha's hand and squeezed it. How much time did they have left? It seemed inspiring massive panic and fear was another phase on Bryant’s list, but if things went as planned, the "masterminds" had no intention of detonating the bomb. Perhaps Paul and Samantha's best bet was to flee the country and make new lives for themselves. The thought had crossed Paul's mind. Julie's eyes fluttered open as she began to wake. She lifted her head from Samantha's chest and yawned.
"Is it morning already?" she asked.
Samantha pet Julie's hair, unresponsive. Her eyes and ears were glued to the car stereo as the announcer made another declaration.
"In recent developments, officials have released information on two suspects believed to have knowledge of the whereabouts of the bomb. They are described as a 'young married couple with a daughter that were last seen near the Denver Airport.' Paul Thompson, white male, thirty five, and five-foot nine, is currently wanted by authorities for questioning. He is known to pose falsely as a United States Congressman. His alleged wife, Samantha Thompson, twenty-eight, five-foot six is a white female of Japanese descent. They are believed to possess deep knowledge on the location of the bomb, and all citizens are asked to keep a vigilant watch of these suspects. Their alleged daughter, Julie Thompson, white female, twelve years old, five-feet, is said to accompany them as well. An official manhunt is underway for these suspects who may have terrorist connections or could be terrorists themselves. Images from a security camera in the Denver airport have been broadcast on all state television channels, and widely distributed among law enforcement and military. Citizens are urged to use caution when approaching these suspects as they are reported as being armed and highly dangerous."
Paul and Samantha stared at each other in shock. There was no way that the announcer was saying what they had just heard. Them? Terrorist suspects? Samantha held Julie tight. Paul looked at the radio w
ith a defeated expression as his mind went in a hundred different places.
"Bryant," he said softly. "He beat us to the punch. He's going to have all of Denver looking for us now."
"I knew that he would," Samantha said with a shaky voice. "What are we going to do?"
"Did they just say our names on the radio?" Julie asked. A growing look of concern flushed across her face.
"They have the wrong information, sweetheart," Samantha said as she kissed the top of Julie's head.
"This changes nothing," Paul said. "We have to get to the city, it's our only hope."
Suddenly, helicopters sounded in the distance, immediately getting Paul's attention. They flew closer and closer as Paul shifted around in the car to see where the noise was coming from. Samantha was shaken with fear as the whirring of the blades grew louder. Julie looked between Paul and Samantha with utter confusion.
"What is it?" she asked.
Paul could see them. There were two helicopters appearing over the mountains directly towards them. As they came into sight, he started the engine. Samantha reached over and grabbed the steering wheel.
"No, wait," she said. "We're concealed here under these trees. They don't see us yet."
As if to debunk Samantha, a symphony of faint police sirens entered the fray. Paul jerked his head around to the windy road that took them up the mountain. He didn't see anything yet, but the sound of the sirens became undoubtedly louder.
"They've found us," Paul said.
Samantha was in perpetual disbelief. Senator Bryant hadn't given them a chance, just a false glimmer of hope. She held Julie tighter, trying to calm her. Samantha's cocktail dress was now torn and ragged. How she wished they could all just find a nice hotel room, shower, and change. They could go out to dinner, order steaks and get so full that it hurt to leave the table. Her mind continued to drift towards mental escape, as though their capture seemed inevitable. What would it matter?
