No Sanctuary Box Set: The No Sanctuary Omnibus - Books 1-6

by Mike Kraus

  “What was that?”

  Another rumble came through the speaker, though it was followed by the sound of an enormous explosion that filled the room, making Frank, Linda and Jackson all cover their ears in pain. “What the hell?!” Linda reached for the volume knob to turn down the sound and called out into the microphone. “Sarah? Sarah! Are you there?”

  As the ringing in their ears died down, they realized that there were no longer any transmissions coming through the radio. Whatever had just happened at the D.C. command post had disrupted the line.

  “Here, move out of the way, Rollins.” Jackson sat down in Linda’s seat and began working the transmitter as he spoke quietly into the microphone, trying to reestablish contact. After a few minutes of fruitless work, he turned in his seat and pointed at Frank. “Richards, get out there and tell them we have a situation going on in D.C. We need them to get our channel back up now!”

  “On it!” Frank ran out of the room, at first feeling bad for making so much noise as he burst through the door as he remembered the relative silence the people in the next room had been working in. The feeling didn’t last for long, though, as he saw that everyone who had been quietly tapping away at a computer or speaking softly into a microphone was now fully animated, loud and in a moderate state of panic. Looking around at the chaos and wondering what to do, Frank grabbed the nearest person he could find by the shoulders as they tried to dodge past him.

  “Hey, we need help back here. We were on the line with Washington and—”

  “Washington? D.C.?” The man’s eyes widened. “Something’s going on up there. We lost comms and can’t get them back. There was some gunfire or something before that happened and—”

  Linda and Jackson came through the door as the man was about to finish his sentence. Jackson glanced at Linda and nodded. “Be to the intersection in ten.”

  “We will,” She nodded back at him before turning to Frank. “We’re heading to Washington. Jackson’s going to get seats on the next flight out. We need to get our gear and some spare supplies and get ready to go.”

  The noise in the room was loud enough that Linda waved at Frank to follow her as he shouted in response. “What did you find out?”

  “Same thing everyone else here did, I assume. A surface to surface missile just took out the main comms array at their command post. There’s some kind of fighting force heading into the city.”

  “A fighting force? What does that mean?!” Frank broke into a run to keep up with Linda and the pair moved quickly down the street, pushing aside soldiers and civilians alike as they ran for where they had stowed their gear.

  “It means Sarah’s suspicion about Omar was right. All of it. He’s there in D.C. with enough people to start a fight.”

  “Can’t the military just… fight back? He can’t have all that many people, can he?”

  “Guerilla warfare, Frank. It’s a bitch and a half to fight against and Omar’s people are the best of the best. With his people and resources, whoever’s still stationed there won’t last very long.” As Frank and Linda hit the main road leading to a nearby airfield, a fleet of trucks racing by seemed to confirm what she was saying. “All the cities that are still searching for their devices don’t even know what’s happening in Washington so they can’t send any aid.” Linda shook her head. “This is bad. Really bad.”

  The squeal of tires made both her and Frank turn and they saw Jackson at the wheel of a camo-painted truck that roared alongside the convoy before squealing to a stop in front of them. “Get in!” Jackson shouted at them through the rolled-down window. Linda jumped into the front middle seat and Frank clambered in after her. As soon as the door was shut Jackson took off, honking the horn to alert the civilians and soldiers walking nearby to stay out of the way.

  “Do you have a flight for us?” Linda shouted over the roar of the engine as Jackson accelerated sharply around a corner.

  “They’re sending five hundred soldiers and Marines along with some supplies in fifteen minutes,” he shouted back, not daring to take his eyes off of the road. “We’ve got three seats in the cargo section if we can make it there in time!”

  “Drive faster, then,” Frank mumbled as he clung to his seat and braced himself against the door.

  The drive to the airfield took just under ten minutes and when they arrived Jackson stopped the truck on the tarmac and jumped out. “Hurry up! Get your gear and let’s go!” He threw a backpack on and grabbed his rifle from the back of the truck. Frank and Linda jumped out and grabbed their backpacks and rifles from the back of the truck as well, then ran after Jackson across the tarmac.

  A pair of C-17 Globemasters were parked on the tarmac with both of their cargo doors open as dozens of soldiers and crates of supplies were loaded in. The energy on the airfield was electric as troops from all branches ran back and forth on various assignments. Jackson, Frank and Linda ran up to the rear C-17 and Jackson had a brief conversation with the loadmaster.

  “Airman Bradley! I’m Lieutenant Jackson and this is Linda Rollins and Frank Richards. I’m escorting these two to Washington. I radioed in a few minutes ago; you have three seats for us, correct?”

  “Absolutely, sir!” Bradley nodded and glanced at Frank and Linda. “Seats are in the front, ahead of the cargo. We need to get you on board right now, though; we’re on a tight schedule and need to get in the air within minutes.”

  “Absolutely; just point us there and we’ll get seated.”

  “Follow me, sir.”

  After following Bradley to their seats, Jackson, Frank and Linda secured their weapons and bags before strapping themselves in. A flurry of activity continued around them as crew and cargo continued to pour on board in preparation for takeoff. While Jackson and Linda took the opportunity to drink a full bottle of water each, Frank sat slack-jawed at the coordinated chaos before a tap on his shoulder drew his attention.

  “Here,” Linda said, holding out a bottle of water to him. “Hydrate up. It’s going to be a long flight.”

  “How long?” Frank took the bottle of water and unscrewed the top.

  “Four hours, give or take.”

  “Holy crap,” he choked on the first sip of water and coughed loudly. “Are we even going to be in time to do anything?”

  Two seats down, on Linda’s left, Jackson leaned forward and looked at Frank. “They’ll hold out, don’t you worry. There’ll be plenty of fight left for us when we get there.”

  Frank nodded as Jackson sat back in his seat, then he turned and looked at Linda, wanting to hear her opinion. She leaned in and spoke quietly to him. “We’ve got zero intel on how things are going up there. You saw how it was before we left, though. The place was practically a warzone already.”

  “So you don’t think they’ll hold out?”

  Linda shook her head. “I didn’t say that. They’ll hold out, yeah. But if Omar’s really directing the assault and he’s got a decent-sized fighting force, they’re going to be hard-pressed to hold out for more than a few hours without getting in reinforcements.”

  “Surely there are more troops from closer cities going there, though, right?” Frank had to speak up as the whine of the engines and sound of the closing cargo doors began to grow louder. A few airmen ran down the line of people seated on the sides of the aircraft, passing out hearing protection in the form of earplugs and earmuffs.

  Linda didn’t answer for a moment, then she shook her head. “I don’t know. We’re going to be one of the only cities sending troops, and that’s because we verified that the device here was dismantled and our jammer is down. The cities that are still searching for their devices aren’t about to give up on that search—hell, they won’t have even heard about Washington if their jammers are active.” Linda took a deep breath and sighed in exasperation. “Who knows what we’re going to find up there or how we’ll find Omar if he’s in the neighborhood. But we’ll try. We’ll try our damnedest.”

  Frank nodded and sat back in his seat a
s he put on his earmuffs. Further talking was impossible as the whine of the engines turned into a scream as the Globemaster accelerated forward, taxiing toward the runway. Designed for short takeoffs and landings, the Globemaster lurched forward as soon as its sister aircraft was in the air, the four massive jet engines propelling the craft forward and upward into the sky. Frank closed his eyes as he was pushed around in his seat, moving only half an inch or so back and forth as his restraints kept him from flying out of his seat and turning into a pink smear on the far wall.

  His last flight on a military aircraft had been stressful enough, with the assignment of heading out to California to try and locate some mysterious devices that had been smuggled into the country. This flight, though, was different in a whole host of ways. The devices had been found, some had been detonated, he had been through firefights and car wrecks, Sarah was missing and the District of Columbia was under siege by a force led by Linda’s nemesis. He cracked his eyes and turned his head to look at Linda. She sat still in her seat, the large black earmuffs covering half of the side of her head. Her hair was still tucked away in a neat ponytail that seemed to never come undone. Her face was a mask, betraying no hint of emotion to the normal observer. Though Frank hadn’t known her for long, he knew her well enough to know that it was a face of raw determination. The same face that had taken them into the depths of hell and back. The face of a friend whom he had never dreamed he would have and someone who he would do anything to protect—and knew that she would do the same for him.

  As Frank sat on the loud, bumpy flight, his eyes closed and his thoughts a swirling mess, he felt a small, calloused hand wrap around his, clasping it tightly. Opening his eyes he looked down to see Linda’s hand in his, her fingers gripping his so tightly that her hand was turning white. He squeezed back, feeling a warmth spring up in his chest that radiated peace and tranquility through his whole body. The feeling filled him with something that could outshine the terrible darkness, bring order to chaos and transform his swirling mind into one that was calm and relaxed.

  Hope is a simple, ordinary-seeming thing. But it can change the world.

  Sitting there, squeezing tight the hand of someone whom he had never imagined he would meet in a situation he never imagined he would find himself in, Frank Richards had hope. Fierce, determined, unwavering, unflinching hope.

  And that would be enough to turn back the darkness.

  Chapter 11

  Dressed in casual winter clothing with a tan scarf wrapped around his neck and leather gloves protecting his hands from the bitter cold, Farhad Omar stands tall on the bow of the riverboat as it motors slowly up the Potomac River. The intense precipitation for the past few weeks means the river is deeper than usual, an unexpected bonus for the man planning the most daring operation ever to occur on United States soil. He had been concerned at one point about the eleven riverboats behind him, as running even one of them aground would compromise his already fragile operation beyond repair.

  Everything is running smoothly, though. He smiles as he looks out across the darkened city, basking in the fact that most of the area is without power. Its residents are displaced and in no small amount of discomfort—if they are even alive.

  Omar takes one last deep breath of the frigid air before opening the door to the cabin of the riverboat and stepping back in. He casts his gaze across the men seated in the boat, each of them wrapped in a thick coat and long pants. They are all cold in spite of this and they are shivering uncontrollably, as are the men seated in the other eleven boats farther down the river. It is a necessary discomfort, though. Thermal imagers are undoubtedly in use by the patrols and keeping the boats as cold as possible will reduce the chances that someone spots them sailing slowly up the river.

  “Report, please.” Omar’s voice is smooth and steady, the cold having no effect on him.

  “Spotters report all clear. One foot patrol is nearby, on the port. They’ll be passing by in two minutes.”

  “Have the spotters ready. Take them out if they look like they’ve spotted us or if they’re alone.”

  The man seated near the pilot of the boat nods and speaks into a radio. Lying on top of each of the boats, pairs of men dressed in black shift positions, turning their long suppressed rifles in the direction of the approaching patrol. Six men and two women dressed in Army camouflage walk near the bank of the river, speaking quietly as they keep their eyes open for threats. It’s been days since they last encountered looter activity, though, and they are at ease as they talk and crack jokes with each other.

  Four of the eight die within the same half-second as fifty caliber rounds enter and exit through their skulls, turning their heads into gelatin and a fine pink mist. The other four only have enough time to realize that something has gone horribly wrong before they, too, are executed. Two die to gaping chest wounds, one bleeds out in under a minute after losing her leg and the final man takes a round to his lower spine as he tries to run to cover.

  The sounds of the rifles are loud across the water in spite of the suppressors, and Omar flinches internally with each shot. There are no other patrols close enough to hear them, though, and the man seated next to the pilot looks up at him with a nod. “The patrol is down. We’re clear all the way through to Hains Point.”

  Omar pats the man on the shoulder and smiles. “Excellent. Give me the radio and patch me through to the boats.” It takes a moment for the man with the radio to prepare things, but once he does he passes a microphone to Omar who takes it and begins pacing at the front of the boat.

  “My brothers, our path is clear. In less than one hour we shall arrive at our destination. We shall disembark and dissipate into the city as instructed, setting up safe houses and staging grounds for the eventual assault.” He feels the next words catch in his throat as he continues.

  “The assault on our people shall be returned in kind very soon, my brothers. The torment and misery and degradation felt by our people shall be visited back upon those who call this place home. Many of us will die. But we die with honor and truth in our hearts, knowing that we are performing a worthy deed and executing a finishing blow upon those who desired to do the same to us.” Omar’s voice grows louder and more emotional as he finishes his speech.

  “So lie in wait, my brothers. For days or weeks if necessary. Pick at their flanks, find their defenses and then—when the time is right—we shall rain down upon them with hellfire! None of them shall be considered worthy to be spared our righteous wrath! For our vengeance is mighty and our cause is just!”

  Muted by the thick walls and windows of the riverboats, the cries of joy and agreement from the men on the twelve craft are nothing more than shallow murmurs to anyone on the banks of the river. The dark craft wind their way forward, carrying nearly one thousand soldiers ready to lay down their lives for their cause. Their leader is a man filled with darkness. A swirling storm of hatred and retribution who will take nothing short of vengeance as a satisfactory answer to wrongs both true and perceived.

  Like a storm, Farhad Omar descends upon the vulnerable like a ravenous lion, ready to carry his plan forth to the end, no matter what that end may be.

  BOOK SIX

  THE BATTLE

  Chapter 1

  “Please be warned that what you’re about to see is graphic, and may not be suitable for all audiences.”

  A young man watches the television screen in the small living room of his off-campus apartment. A stack of textbooks and a laptop computer sit on the table nearby, the battery for the computer nearly drained. The ice in a glass of soda has nearly melted, and condensation from the glass drips off the table to the floor. In the kitchen, the oven ticks as the heating element turns on and off, and on the counter sits a warm tray of once-frozen macaroni and cheese, having long since been forgotten as it slowly thawed.

  He is not concerned with the state of his apartment or anything in it. A young man, living in the country for just over two years, it has been many months since h
e’s traveled back home to visit his parents. His country occasionally pops up in the news, but in spite of America’s general distaste for his country, the students and teachers he sees on a daily basis have nothing but smiles and curious questions about his foreign lifestyle.

  While the young man often imagines being back home, surrounded by his family, old friends and familiar sights and smells, he never dreamed he would see his country on the television in the state that it is in. The volume on the broadcast is unexpectedly loud, startling him and making him reach for the remote on the table. He knocks the glass over and it tumbles to the carpet, soaking it with watered-down sugar water, but the young man pays little mind.

  Farhad Omar turns down the volume on the television and stares, transfixed in horror, as his home burns.

  “What you’re seeing now is video taken moments ago by civilians trapped in buildings just outside the main government buildings in Tehran. Internet service in the country is very spotty, and most reports making it out of the country are coming from satellite uploads as the main transmission lines have been physically severed.

  “You can see there, near the bottom, several persons from this unknown group as they rig some sort of explosive device to the main security gate. We understand that there are dozens, perhaps hundreds of these individuals both in and around the main government buildings. The military’s response was sluggish at first, but they are on the scene and doing their best to stop what appears to be an attempted coup of the Iranian president.”

  A phone rings off to Omar’s side and he reaches for it out of instinct, slides the green answer symbol across the front and puts it up near his ear. Before he can answer, though, the line is filled with the sound of screams, gunfire and chaos.