by M. W. Duncan
“What the hell was that all about?” Niall’s barrel homed into the infected. “Sweep and clear, that’s what we’re paid to do. Not crap like this.”
“Relax, it’s done,” said Brutus. “We needed some insurance.”
“Insurance for what? It wasn’t part of the mission. You put us at risk, Brutus.”
“It’s done. Now we’ll finish the sweep, clear the rest of the houses and get the hell out of here.”
Niall matched his fiery gaze, holding it for a moment before looking away. The team moved to pick up where they left off with the sweep.
Brutus stood over his prize, like a huntsman and his dead deer. The captured infected represented the more cynical nature of Brutus. At best, it was something he could make a little more money from on the side. At worst, it was a form of insurance against outliving his usefulness. He suffered no illusion. He was expendable. The whole team was.
He’d keep completing his tasks, then when the opportunity arose, slip away. He had the money to keep comfortable for many years and that was his plan.
Whatever was coming next, he’d be a spectator not a participant.
***
No more infected were located. The team readied to pull out. Brutus shouted orders. He need not have been so official. The team went about picking up the crates and carrying the bags without prompting. He suspected many of them were happy just to be leaving the nameless village in the Sinai.
Their dead comrade, Graeme, had been placed into a body bag, and the captured infected was thrown into a makeshift canvass carry. She thrashed about, all for naught. The bag was secured tightly at its opening, and layers of tape wrapped round and round offered the last measure of restraint.
Everything was packed and ready. Forty minutes and they would be back to the helicopter and Ry Watson would be flying them back to Cairo.
The team trekked out into the golden expanse, the cruel sun beating down without mercy. The return journey fared better than the first even with one member down and towing dangerous cargo. Brutus still had not formulated a plan in which to offload the infected. Any number of buyers would clamour for a chance to gain access to a live one. States and corporations. Brutus had contacts but none that could network him to the people he needed. If he was to sell, he couldn’t do it alone.
Magnus stepped next to him. He carried a large bag, plus his pack. His rifle swung on its sling at his back. “What are we going to do with Graeme? We can’t just rock up to a hospital or the consulate and tell them he died in his sleep.”
“Toth will make arrangements. We’ll get him back home.”
Magnus made a face, seemingly unconvinced.
Brutus quickened his pace.
They trudged on, Ash at the front, leading them onward. Finally, the rolling dunes fell behind them and they found the makeshift airfield, the helicopter now covered with a sand-coloured canvass.
Ry Watson popped his head over a sand bluff, dropping his binoculars. He stood, an MP5 weapon in his hands.
“Guys!” He waved at them, and ran down the bluff to meet them.
Ry stuck out a hand and Brutus shook.
“How’d it go? Get the job done?”
“Job’s done. How have things been here?”
Ry looked around. “Nothing to report. It’s weird here at night, freezing. You start imagining things, you hear things, voices. It’s just an empty, creepy place.”
“Graeme didn’t make it, Ry.”
Ry swore.
“Get the bird prepped for launch. I want to be out of here ASAP.”
Ry unsecured the lines holding the canvass down and pulled it free. He dropped the rear ramp and the team loaded their cargo. The infected continued to roll about in its bag. Freddo McLeod gave it a swift kick and spat. Brutus said nothing. If only his team knew the reason why he insisted the infected was brought along. Better they didn’t know.
Once the gear was secured, the team took their places, fastening themselves into position. Brutus walked the length of the helicopter, past the growling infected, past the still body of Graeme and into the cockpit. Ry talked into his headset, hand pressed against the earpiece.
“What’s the hold up?”
He did not turn. “We can’t go yet.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t get through to Toth. We don’t go until we do.”
“Screw that. Come on. We need to get out of here.”
Ry shook his head. Brutus was about to say something when Ry answered an unheard voice. He pulled off the headset and handed it back to Brutus.
“Toth wants to speak to you.”
Brutus slid the headphones over his ear. The signal was full of static, crackling and buzzing.
“Brutus here. Go.”
“Ah, Brutus,” said Toth, the hint of mockery in his voice. “The party was a success I take it?”
“All went as planned. One of my men was killed. We’ll need to bring him home.”
There was a moment of silence. “That can be arranged. Put me back onto your pilot. We’ll speak again when you’re home.”
Brutus returned the headphones and sat in the empty co-pilot seat. Ry gave one and two word responses. Nothing could be discussed on an open channel. He hung the headphones up and turned to Brutus.
“When do we fly?” asked Niall.
“As soon as we’re loaded,” said Ry. “I’m not spending any longer out here than necessary.”
***
The rotors of the helicopter powered up, the chassis shuddering. Ry gave a thumbs up and the helicopter lifted from the ground. Brutus held tight. The flight kept a low altitude, skimming over the terrain, eluding the radar of any who may be watching.
The land sped past. Brutus watched from the shallow window. Something caught his eye. A blimp in the otherwise pristine landscape. He was about to call to the others when a fireball ripped apart the rear of the helicopter. The explosion rocked the aircraft knocking equipment and bodies around. Ry struggled with the controls. Black smoke filled the compartment. Brutus grasped the handrail with both hands.
Ry shouted, “We’re losing altitude. Engine’s shutting down.”
“Hold onto something,” ordered Brutus.
“We’re going in hard!”
The ground raced up to meet them, the sea of gold ready to welcome the helicopter.
Someone shouted, “Good luck.”
The engine screeched a final death rattle. The impact shattered the aircraft and turned Brutus’s world into a void of black, filled with pain and confusion.
***
Brutus woke, a thundering ache in his forehead. He reached up, his hand coming away warm and wet. Brutus lay a few metres from the helicopter. It was a miracle he was alive, having been thrown clear on impact. Where was the infected? That canvass bag?
An acrid smoke billowed. Someone cried out in pain. He couldn’t tell where. Brutus pulled himself to his feet, a wave of nausea churned and churned. He gave over to it, and threw up into the sand. Daniel Ziaber lay a few steps to his right. Brutus shouted for help. He stumbled over to his mate, and dropped down next to him.
Daniel moaned, unable to open his eyes. His left leg sat at an awkward angle.
Brutus patted him on the shoulder. “Daniel, the infected, the canvass bag?”
Daniel made no reply.
“I’ll get help. Hang on.”
Brutus freed himself of his rifle, made his way to the helicopter, and forced his way through the ruined cockpit door. Splintered metal bristled in the doorway. Ry Watson was dead, his torso crushed beneath a sheet of the machine, his eyes wide and his hands gripping levers. He made a grotesque hybrid, man and machine. Brutus pushed through to the cargo hold. Several of the team were outside, whether thrown clear on impact or escaped after, Brutus was not sure. Craig Muir lay in the gangway, dead, the back of his head sheared off. No sign of the canvass bag. Did the explosion shred it to smithereens?
“Brutus.” Niall moved up to his side, and helped him o
ut of the helicopter.
“Ry and Craig are gone,” said Brutus.
“What brought us down?”
“Daniel’s hurt bad. See to him,” said Brutus.
What brought down the aircraft? The anomaly that caught his attention moments before the blast. Something in the desert. A flash that did not resonate at the time. “What was it?” he said to himself, rubbing his face.
It came to him. Two figures, shadow-like against the brightness of the desert. The explosion that ripped apart the helicopter. Some kind of surface-to-air missile system. A Stinger perhaps. The pieces fell into a terrible order in his mind.
They were expendable, and they were loose ends. Brutus had done all he could to stay relevant and useful to Toth, but it appeared Toth found it imperative to eradicate all witnesses, anyone who could expose how much Toth was involved.
Brutus swore. The wreck billowed a dark smoke skyward, a clear beacon to their position. They would be coming, coming to make sure nobody survived.
Ash Gibbons moved to Brutus’s side, his bulk blotting out the sun for a moment. He held basic medical dressings.
“Hold still, you’ve got a nasty gash to your head.” He sprayed some saline and patted the bandage down. Fire burned at his forehead. Brutus gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain as best he could.
Ash strapped a clean gauze swab to the wound. “That’ll have to do for now.”
Brutus touched the dressing. “Daniel? Have you tended, Daniel?”
“He’s unconscious. His leg’s broken and he’s got some busted some ribs. Probably internal bleeding. If we don’t get him out of here he’ll be dead in twenty-four hours.” Everyone else is banged up pretty bad.” He wiped his forehead. “What happened?”
“I think we outlived our usefulness.”
“Toth?”
“That’s my thinking. We’re the pawns, expendable. I thought I was setting us up for something good. It was easy money, for all of us.”
“If what you’re saying is true, then we’ve more important things to worry about. The smoke from the wreck will give us away.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Brutus stretched out a hand and Ash hauled him to his feet. “What’s the ammo situation?”
Ash shrugged. “We’re down to a few mags each. Thirty or forty rounds for the sniper rifles. A few dozen shells for the shotgun. They’ll send six to eight operators, heavily armed, and they’ll come out shooting.”
“We need to get eyes up high.” All around were walls of sand, dunes rising up and falling away. “There.” Brutus pointed to a particularly high dune, off to this right. “Have Roy take position there. Keep eyes north-east. We need to get everyone out of the helicopter. Can we move Daniel?”
“Do we have a choice?”
“Get him into shade, make him comfortable. Everyone else needs to grab their weapons. Pass out water rations. We’ve probably got an hour at most.”
“What do you want to do with that infected in the bag?”
“You found it?”
Ash inclined his head toward a banged up rotor. Half buried by the desert lay the canvass bag. “Still moving. You want me to put it down?”
“No,” answered Brutus.
Ash’s hand tugged at his lengthy beard. “You know, when you first contacted me about this, I thought it was all crap. I didn’t think we’d have done what we did. The money … the money we’ll never see now.”
“You’ll get money. And more.” Brutus would get something more. He would get revenge. “That canvass bag will get us something.”
***
Roy held up both hands, indicating two vehicles approached, then crouched down into position tracking the movement with his rifle. Sinking down at the summit of the dune he disappeared from view. The dead and Daniel were moved into a makeshift shelter, hidden away and protected from the sun. The infected had been dragged a five-minute walk from the crash site and left. Brutus could not afford to leave any of the team as a guard. He needed everyone on point. The infected would likely never regain its footing. If it did, it would not be difficult to track.
Brutus concealed himself next to the ruined rotors. Lying flat on his stomach, he held the AK-47 ready. The other members of the team concealed themselves as best they could.
Three aging Land Rovers, their windows tinted dark and the number plates obscured by tape bounced over a dune and into the shallow at the crash site. They halted a short distance away. The doors opened and heavily armed men alighted. Brutus counted twelve in total, dressed in body armour and armed with AR-15s. The team leader directed them with hand signals. They spread into a well-practised line. Did a driver remain in each vehicle? Brutus doubted it.
They moved forward, slow and steady, moving weapons about searching for targets. Brutus knew Roy would be tracking the team leader. He would be the first to die. That would be the signal. He would be taken out and Brutus and his team would open up on the rest, emptying everything they had, avoiding damage to the Land Rovers in the process. The vehicles were their only method of leaving the Sinai alive. He almost pitied the newcomers. They probably knew as much about the mission as Brutus. Vague half-truths and golden promises. But they were obstacles Brutus needed to go through.
A high-powered sniper round blasted the team leader and sent him careering backwards. The whole crash site opened up on the new arrivals. Brutus fired controlled, single shots. The new operators returned fire, an undisciplined, unfocused move. They still hadn’t located where the fire was coming from. Two went down to the left, and a third was taken by Roy. They scattered seeking the scant cover available to them. Bullets sprayed the helicopter carcass. Brutus ducked his head a moment, but kept firing.
One of the operators leapt back into the closet vehicle. Before Brutus could direct fire on him, the entire windscreen shattered, the operator slain in the driver’s seat. Roy was in a perfect position. One operator leapt to his feet, and ran across the open ground, seeking to make it to the helicopter. His eyes went wide when he saw Brutus lying in its shadow. Brutus opened up on him, dropping the operator without a second thought. He changed to his last magazine.
Magnus stepped from behind his sand cover and lobbed a grenade at the cluster of the remaining enemy, then fired as he slid back to cover. The explosion felled three soldiers who lay too close to each other. Freddo took out another.
Gunfire continued, and it became obvious that nobody was shooting back. The crash site fell to silence. Brutus snuck forward on his belly, wriggling like a snake in the sand. Only two operators remained, both knelt, holding their AR-15s above their heads. Brutus stood and held his hand in the air, motioning for a cease fire. It made sense to question them before he killed them. And they had to die.
Freddo and Ash Gibbons joined Brutus. Freddo pulled his combat shotgun free. He kept the two surrendering enemies in his sights.
“Weapons down, five steps back. Hands on your heads.”
They did as Brutus commanded. Freddo stepped up, pushing the barrel of his shotgun into one of the faces.
“Move, and you’re dead,” he said matter-of-factly.
Brutus let his AK go, resting it on the sling. He picked up one of the AR-15s, checked the weapon and sights before moving up to the two prisoners.
“You were sent here to kill us, to destroy the evidence of our mission?”
Neither man spoke. They kept their eyes to the ground. Freddo laid a meaty fist into the closet man’s stomach, doubling him over.
“Answer his goddamned question, you bastards,” he roared.
“No survivors,” said the man doubled over. “We were told to leave no survivors and destroy the helicopter.”
“What’s your name?” asked Brutus.
“Fisayo,” he said, with the accented style of a Nigerian national. He straightened, his dark skin beading with sweat.
“Who sent you? Tell us and I promise you won’t be harmed.”
Fisayo looked about him.
Freddo stepped forward. “Wh
o sent you?” He pushed the shotgun close to his face. “Speak.”
“Andor Toth.”
Freddo sent Brutus a sideway glance.
“What happens once you’ve mopped up here?” said Brutus.
“Say nothing,” said the other operator.
Brutus stepped up and smashed the butt of the AR-15 into the side of his head. He fell to the ground, unconscious. He rounded on Fisayo.
“I don’t want any more bloodshed. Don’t give my men or me an excuse. You were just following orders. We understand how it works. Andor Toth. You’re meeting with him after this? Once the mission is complete?”
He nodded.
“When and where?”
Fisayo licked his lips. “I’ll show you. I’ll show you where and then you let me go.”
Brutus weighed up his options. Would he be able to find Toth on his own? Unlikely. Fisayo was key to gaining access to Toth. Besides, he would suffice as a guide on the journey out of the desert and back to Cairo.
“When do you make contact with Toth?”
“Four days from now. In Cairo.”
Brutus let a smile split his face. “Fisayo, you just saved your life. Get up.”
“Freddo, keep an eye on him. He’s not to be harmed.”
“What about the other one?” He kicked at the unconscious operator.
“Leave him here.”
It was a death sentence.
Brutus waved to Niall and the others. “We’re driving out.”
He checked the three Land Rovers. Fuel tanks close to full. The boots contained more ammunition and supplies, and canisters of drinkable water. It would take the rest of the day to get out of the Sinai and then another to Cairo. One day in Cairo to find somewhere to lie low. The fourth day, Brutus would arrange a reckoning with Toth. The puppet had just cut his own strings.
***
Chapter Six
Panopticon
