Dark Winter

by Anthony J. Tata

  Solhami continued as if in a stream of consciousness. “Many more will die. Perhaps we will kill more than Stalin and Hitler combined. All because of your algorithm.” He chuckled. Maybe even more of a scoff.

  Gorham had never thought in those terms. He considered Hitler and Stalin monsters, killing tens of millions of innocent civilians to achieve their selfish goals. No. He wasn’t a maniac like those men. He was leading the world toward the Utopian goal of no borders and world peace with shared resources and equality for all. Instead of a more perfect union, he was creating a more perfect universe. “No.”

  “You are just like them, Mister.”

  The helicopter dove toward the ground as the pilot called out commands in Persian, translated by the fast thinking Solhami. “Missile. Ten O’clock!”

  * * *

  Cassie Bagwell pulled away from the man she knew was Dax Stasovich.

  While lying on the floor of the Boeing 777 her mind had found consciousness like a diver breaking the surface of the ocean on her last breath. Disoriented and confused, she’d replayed what memories she could. The jump. The twisted ankle in the rocks. The fight with the man who turned out to be her captor. Jake rushing into the fray to accomplish the mission, almost at her urging. Their successful return. The Blackhawk helicopters landing. The Rangers escorting her. The big man cutting through his restraints and pulling her off the helicopter at the last second. The firefight. Then her memory was blank until she awoke on the airplane.

  She’d logged names and countries. RINK alliance. Dax Stasovich. The cook. Kal. General Solhami. Amman, Jordan. Combat for the first time. Manaslu. ComWar. RAIL. Other terms that meant little to nothing to her.

  She was an intelligence analyst and officer as well as an Army Ranger. Her creed was to always continue the Ranger mission. She had no doubt that Jake had done everything he could to not leave her behind and she was okay with whatever decisions he made resulting in her being held captive. Most likely, the helicopters were taking off and under fire and there was no option to come back and get her. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have the fuel to make it to the refuel location. She knew the mission and knew that it was priced to perfection. She had pushed Jake and, Mahegan being Mahegan, he had executed what he believed to be the best option. As a result, she owned her predicament.

  She saw her position as an advantage for the United States since she had all but heard the enemy plan. Three days. Nuclear warfare. Rapid computerized blitzkrieg by conventional forces. Tear down the world to rebuild it. War as a means to political ends of an extremist that wants a world without borders in some misguided drive to unify a chaotic world at constant battle over limited natural resources.

  Was she currently at the nerve center of the operation? An unwitting prisoner, but apparently one that Gorham intended to use as a bargaining chip for the cook—Spartak?—and possibly someone named Shayne.

  As Stasovich pushed her into the brightly lit hospital room, she saw a doctor in a white smock guarded by two soldiers in olive uniforms holding AK-47s. By her calculation, she had at least a severely sprained, if not broken, ankle. She could barely put any weight on her left foot. Her vision was blurry and lacerations on her wrists had mostly stopped bleeding. Stasovich had bound her arms tightly with a white zip tie that was now covered in dark, drying blood. Her body ached, but she was alive and her mind was clear.

  She had to escape.

  That was the soldier’s creed. If ever captured, it was every soldier’s obligation to attempt to escape.

  She’d listened as the man called Gorham had determined her identity in a matter of seconds, if that. The resources this enemy had at its disposal seemed immense. Facial recognition? Fingerprint? Some kind of biometrics, for sure.

  “Who is this?”the doctor asked.

  “She is American. I capture,” Stasovich said. “Fix her wounds and I’ll watch.”

  The two guards closed around her, but she kept her pleading gaze focused on the doctor. She needed him to fix her, as Stasovich said. Before the injured ankle she would have been confident in her ability to outrun any of the men in her immediate vicinity. Now, she was reliant upon her mind and her training, which would be good enough.

  “Please,” she muttered to the doctor.

  The doctor barked something in Farsi and the guards stopped walking by her side. The doctor pulled her forward.

  “My duty. Then, whatever,” the doctor said, waving his hand.

  The two guards and Stasovich watched as the doctor dragged a wheelchair to her side and helped her sit. She was glad to be off the injured ankle.

  When the doctor went to push the wheelchair, Stasovich blocked him and grabbed the handles. The doctor decided against fighting Stasovich and led the big man pushing her wheelchair and the two soldiers out of the waiting area.

  Not good. Cassie needed the doctor alone.

  They entered the emergency room littered with dead bodies and beds filled with wounded and dying men. While she knew they had relocated to Amman from where she had been captured, she took pride in the fact that others were fighting and resisting the advancing Persians, as well. If the world was circling the drain, at least she, Jake, and the Rangers were a part of trying to slow it down.

  The doctor approached a small room with an open door adjacent to the emergency room. He stepped inside and swept his hand through the tiny space with a patient table in the middle.

  “Please. You can see there is no escape. I have to cut away her uniform. She deserves privacy.”

  Stasovich didn’t budge, but he didn’t say anything either.

  “Out. I am commander here,” the doctor said.

  Stasovich nodded and stepped back until he joined the soldiers in the emergency room. The doctor closed the windowless door on Stasovich’s stern gaze.

  Turning toward Cassie, who had propped her butt on the exam table, he said, “What are Americans doing here?”

  “I thought you had a duty?” she replied.

  “I do, but answer my question.”

  “A madman has started World War III. Computers are launching nuclear weapons. Russia, Iran, and North Korea are allied and destroying civilization.”

  “Much as America did in Iraq, Syria, and Afghanistan?”

  “Please. The Persians and Arabs were fighting before anyone could pronounce Merica.”

  The doctor smiled. Cassie deduced he probably had a western education. His English was excellent and judging by his empathy, the level of which remained to be seen, he had at least been influenced by the West in some way.

  “True. Though we are in Jordan, the cradle of civilization is in Iran.”

  “Might be some Iraqis or Tanzanians that take issue with that,” Cassie quipped.

  As the conversation was developing a rhythm, she turned her head, grimacing in pain, but also scanning for weapons. Two scalpels sat unguarded two arm lengths away on a stainless steel tray which sat atop a wood countertop. A reflex hammer was next to them. Four boxes of gauze. Dozens of bottles of pills, most likely generic aspirin or something more powerful like Vicodin.

  “Are you okay?” the doctor asked.

  “Am I okay? Hell no. But let’s start with your name. I’m sure I’ll have to file insurance.”

  He smiled again. “You’re quite engaging, Miss . . . ?”

  “Yes, Miss. Never married.”

  “Brilliant. I was asking your name.”

  “A gentleman would go first.”

  He nodded. “Jolly well, then.”

  Brilliant? Jolly well?

  “Hamza Sadiqi,” the doctor said.

  “Sarah Marshall,” Cassie said.

  Sadiqi smiled. “I saw the movie.”

  “Different show, Hamza. Now how about A—getting me some pain meds; B—wrapping this sprained ankle; and C—stitching up these cuts?”

  “I’m sure you’re used to bossing your troops around, but as you can see, I’m in charge here.”

  “Just prompting you to quit flirting and
start doing your job, Doctor.”

  Perhaps that was the wrong move. The doctor’s face turned bright red beneath the olive complexion and trimmed beard.

  “As you wish, Captain Bagwell.”

  So, he knew her name? Why then the theatrics? Was he truly a doctor or was she being interrogated? For a moment, fear ran through her body as she looked into the once soulful but now flat eyes of the doctor. Was the scalpel a tool of medicine or torture?

  Sadiqi walked behind her. She heard the clink of metal, almost assuredly the scalpel. She could smell his musky aroma, a mixture of sweat, cologne, and hand sanitizer. His smock opened and brushed against her back as he leaned into her ear and whispered, “I stand here every day and watch what is happening and in limps a beautiful woman. Do you know how long it has been for me?”

  The scalpel blade winked in the bright fluorescent overhead light as he held it to her throat.

  Neither a tool of medicine nor torture, she gathered. He wasn’t going to treat her and he wasn’t interrogating her. He just wanted a piece of ass.

  She turned her head so that she was cheek to cheek with him. The feel of his beard bristle made her want to gag. “Do you know how long it has been for me, Doctor? Perhaps we can make a mutually beneficial arrangement?”

  Sadiqi’s manicured fingers stopped stroking her cheek. His head tilted. “Really?”

  “You think I’m getting any?” Cassie asked.

  “So many men, though. Your choice, no?”

  His breath smelled as if he had just gargled with mouthwash. The scalpel hovered just below her throat. She studied his nails, trimmed and buffed. She deduced he was a soft man. Beatable. Like a running back finding the gap in the line and looking for the best path through the secondary, she started thinking beyond killing the doctor. Where would she go? On entry to the room, she’d noticed no windows, but saw a closet door. Did it lead elsewhere?

  “What if the men come in while we are . . . engaged. Then you’ve lost your prize, because they will all want some. I would prefer to just be with you, Doctor.” It was a gamble. She deduced that the doctor’s ego was large and the notion of giving herself exclusively to him might entice him to at least consider the closet.

  “But the door is locked.”

  “Did you see the size of that guy? Plus, they have weapons. Is there somewhere we can go? I’ll be with you, but I don’t want to get raped.” The irony of her words was not lost on her. He fully intended to rape her at knife point. She was simply doing the best she could with a bad situation.

  As if to emphasize her point, a big fist pounded on the door with three loud thuds.

  Cassie raised her eyebrows. “Better get that. But first you might want to do something that makes it look like you’ve actually tried to help me.”

  Sadiqi slipped the scalpel into the lower left pocket on his smock. Grabbing some scissors, he cut her pant leg, calling out, “Just a second!” Removing her boot, the doctor peeled away her sock, which she was sure stunk with sweat.

  “Still turned on?” she quipped.

  The doctor looked up as the door was pounded again. “I can’t tell without an X-ray, but based on the swelling, I think it is broken. I can wrap it tight and immobilize it.”

  She needed to wear her boots so she could escape. Barefoot would not help her, but if he wrapped it thick enough, that might serve the same purpose of a boot. “I want to be able to wear my boot. I don’t want to show weakness in front of these men.”

  The doctor nodded as if he understood.

  The fist pounded on the door again with even louder thuds. “Open the door!” Stasovich shouted.

  Already Cassie could recognize his voice.

  The doctor turned away and pulled open the metal door, blocking the entrance with his body. Cassie used the opportunity to look to her left, an area she had not been able to scan well. Cabinets of medicine, surgical gloves, more gauze, and needles. Judging the distance, her left hand would be about five inches away from the cabinet with the needles. No way for her to quietly secure the weapon.

  “Please, I am working on the soldier,” Sadiqi said. “She has a broken ankle. I must set it and then wrap it. Then I have to stitch some wounds. After that, she is yours.”

  Stasovich peeked his head around the corner of the door and confirmed Cassie was still sitting there. She grimaced in mock pain, though the injury and hurt were real.

  Seemingly satisfied, Stasovich said, “Ten minutes. That’s all.”

  “Ten minutes. I should be done by then,” Sidiqi said.

  More like two minutes, Cassie thought.

  He locked the door and turned toward Cassie, his brow beading with sweat. Stasovich had unnerved him.

  While he was still standing there, Cassie said, “What’s in the closet?”

  Sidiqi looked at the door to his right. Paused. Thinking. “It’s not a closet.” He lifted the lanyard around his neck and retrieved a white card that appeared to be a fob. He walked to the door, held the card to a black pad that beeped. The door lock clicked and Sadiqi pulled open the metal door. She couldn’t tell, but it appeared to be deeper than a closet.

  A passageway?

  “Finish wrapping my ankle and we can go into your special room, Doctor. Any dead bodies in there?”

  “Yours will be if you try anything.” His libido was raging, but not so much that he had lost his sense of self preservation.

  “I know the only way to stay alive for now is to let you have your way. So, I’m going along with it.”

  Sadiqi cocked his head. “A smart woman or a survivor? Or both?”

  “Can’t be too smart. I’m a prisoner of war with a broken ankle.”

  Sadiqi looked at the ceiling as if checking for monitoring devices. “You’re not a prisoner. You’re a guest of the Iranian government. I am simply performing necessary medical procedures to help you heal. Then your escorts will take you to your quarters.”

  Sadiqi was covering his ass for the Red Cross in case the room was bugged. As an extra precaution, he continued talking as he wrapped Cassie’s ankle. He even produced a walker boot, which he secured to her foot and ankle. “I don’t have cast material, but this boot should immobilize your foot for you to heal. It will certainly help you walk over here with me.”

  Cassie pushed her body off the exam table, landing on her good foot and gingerly placing weight on her left ankle. She grimaced even though it felt much better than before. She felt the tight wrap compress around her ankle as she slipped off it onto her right foot and fell onto Sadiqi, stumbling as she clasped his shoulders with both hands, sliding down some until his strong arms grasped her to keep her from falling.

  As he lifted her, Sadiqi dragged her toward the blackness that lay beyond the open door.

  The pounding on the main door to the exam room began again. “Open now! Too quiet!” Stasovich’s voice thundered in concert with the pounding of his fists. Sadiqi’s head turned toward the door.

  Cassie’s cuffed hands slipped into the smock pocket, fumbled with the scalpel, and grabbed it backwards, but that was okay. She pressed up on her injured foot, standing straight up, pushing against Sadiqi with her shoulder to give her enough room to lift her arms.

  The main door slammed open. Standing in the well of the side door with Sadiqi, Cassie stabbed the scalpel into Sadiqi’s jugular and raked it back and forth until she saw a fountain of blood squirting perpendicular to his neck. In a swift flip of her wrist, she used the bloody scalpel to cut the lanyard with the card fob and then pushed Sadiqi toward Stasovich, who was firing his pistol into Sadiqi’s body. If the cut carotid artery didn’t kill him, Stasovich surely just did.

  She pulled the door shut, but Stasovich’s hand reached in and began pulling it back open. The giant Serb was much stronger, her only option being to release the door handle and use the scalpel to lacerate his fingers.

  Stasovich howled and lost his grip on the door, which Cassie promptly shut. The lock clicked into place. She hobbled into the
darkness as AK-47 rounds punched into the metal wall behind her.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE MC-130 REFUEL AIRCRAFT FULL OF U.S. ARMY RANGERS AND Mahegan bounced onto the Farah, Afghanistan airfield.

  When the ramp lowered, Mahegan instructed one of the Rangers to carry the dog to the headquarters and dashed to General Savage’s waiting Humvee. “They’ve got Cassie.”

  “Roger that. You told me. We’ve got eyes on that compound. Got a company of Rangers on standby as QRF if we get a bead. A Boeing 777 took off and headed west. We tracked it to Amman, Jordan. It’s possible she’s on that. Maybe, maybe not. Once we get a sliver of intel, we’re going in. The remaining Blackhawk and two Apaches are fourteen minutes out. Hauling ass. When they get here, I need you to get that prisoner into interrogation. We’re a little lean, so we need to work him.”

  “Roger that,” Mahegan growled. He would lead the QRF, quick reaction force, when they had a location on Cassie. His mind reeled. Leave no soldier behind. He should have jumped from the helicopter. He tried. They had been ascending rapidly through 100 feet as he saw the big man jump off the trail Blackhawk with Cassie as his prisoner. Maybe he’d be dead now. He was acting on pure instinct. Save Cassie. The woman he loved.

  And this was what love did.

  Mahegan retrieved his knife, found a rag in the back of the Humvee, wiped the blood off the blade. He handed the rag and the identification from the dead Korean leader to Savage. “You might want to have this checked out. Could be the new North Korean president—that general. Or could be someone who looks like him.”

  Savage looked at the rag and the identification. “This could be big.”

  “Maybe. Probably a doppelgänger.”

  “You kill him?”

  “No. Just extracting a DNA sample,” Mahegan said. “But he’s dead.”

  Savage nodded.

  The Humvee made a couple of sharp turns into the headquarters complex, which was a series of stacked shipping containers and trailers packed into a U-shape. The giant satellite antenna in the back was the giveaway that the surrounding buildings were significant.

  “That container over there is where you’ll interrogate whoever we’ve got,” Savage said. “We need ten minutes in the command center to update you on the global meltdown that’s happening. Fucking chaos.”