by Mike Kraus
The clatter of feet at the top of the stairs spurred the pair on and they both turned and ran through the front door just as the men in the side room opened the door and fired out into the hall, just barely missing Frank and Linda. Linda led the way across the street with Frank hot on her heels. Linda fired her rifle from the hip at a large window sitting in the front of a small restaurant, shattering the glass. She leapt through the open window, skidding along the glass and pulling herself behind the bar. She stood and fired at the building as the front door opened, bullets whizzing past Frank said as he jumped through the window and slid across the glass until he, too, was in cover behind the bar.
“Now what?” Frank shouted as he shouldered his rifle and fired alongside her. Bullets smashed through brick and wood as they hit the front of the building across the street, sending the men who were about to charge out through the door reeling back inside.
“Give me a second to think!” Linda shouted back at him as she fired slowly and steadily, trying to conserve ammunition while at the same time ensuring that their enemies would be penned in long enough for her to think of a plan.
“Better hurry; they’re coming around the side!” Frank swiveled and fired at the corner of the building across the street, tearing chunks out of brick. Two men who had charged around the corner retreated behind a large truck sitting by the side of the road and began taking potshots at the restaurant.
“Dammit, they’re going to flank from the other side and converge; we need to escape out the back!”
Frank turned and glanced into the darkness at the back of the building and shook his head before taking a few more potshots at the two men off to the side. “That’s not gonna work.”
“Why not?” Linda mentally counted down her last three rounds, firing them in rapid succession before fingering the magazine ejection lever to dump out the empty one. She slapped in a new one and the bolt slammed home and she began firing at the door again.
“Well, half the building collapsed in on itself so unless you can dig through a bunch of rubble…” A bullet sang as it cut through a glass on the counter just a few inches away from Frank’s face and he yelped and ducked down, rubbing at the cuts on his cheek and forehead. “We’ve got to do something, though… maybe we should just run out the side over there? The ones at the front of the building can’t see us there so we’d just be dealing with the two on the side.”
Linda considered Frank’s suggestion for a second before shaking her head. “No. Here.” Linda shrugged off her backpack while firing one-handed and tossed it over to Frank. “Pull three more mags out for me.”
Frank unzipped her bag and tossed the requested magazines onto the bar counter before zipping it back up and handing it back to her. “Nope,” she replied, “you’re keeping it.”
“Huh?” Frank looked at her quizzically before dropping the bag and taking a few more shots at the pair off to the side of the building.
Linda looked at him, weighing the option of telling him the truth versus lying to him, wondering which would be more likely to get him to listen to her. In the end, she opted for a mixture of both. “Frank, someone has to get back to Jackson and warn him about what’s going on with the impending attack.” That was true. “Based on how these guys are acting and what I know about Omar, they’re not going to kill me.” That, however, was not guaranteed. “If you argue with me on this I swear I will make you regret it.”
“You want me to get out while you cover me, get to Jackson and then come back for you?”
“It’d be nice if you came back, yeah.” Linda snorted in amusement.
“How am I supposed to find you?”
Linda kicked at the bag at her feet. “I’ve got a tracker tag on me and the tracker’s in my pack still. Get to Jackson, get some reinforcements and hone in on the tag. By the time you do, they’ll have taken me to Omar. Even if I—even if I’m wrong about what they’ll do, you’ll still be able to stop Omar.”
“Not a chance. What the hell makes you think I’m going to just leave you here to get captured? They’ll kill you, Linda! He’ll kill you!”
Linda stopped firing for a moment and stared Frank dead in the eyes. “You’re going to do this for the same reason you started it. What matters is the mission; stopping Omar matters more than you or me or any other single person.”
Frank felt his stomach tighten into knots as he struggled with the choices laid before him. Capture and certain death next to his friend? Or having a very high probability of stopping the madman responsible for so much death and destruction.
“But…” He spoke softly even as the fire from outside the restaurant intensified. “Some people do matter more. To me. I can’t leave you here by yourself. Not even if it means stopping Omar.”
“Frank,” she said, running a rough, dirt-covered hand down the side of his face, “get to Jackson. Then get back here to me. If you don’t, then we both die and the city—and the country—falls. If you do, and you make it back in time… then you can ask what you were going to ask earlier, and—”
“Get them! But don’t kill the woman!” The bellowed call came from the front of the building across the street, confirming what Linda had told Frank.
“See?” She shoved him toward the side of the room, kicking her pack over to him. “Now get going, Frank! Move!” He stumbled as he grabbed her backpack and ran for the side of the store, spraying the window with his rifle to shatter the glass. He jumped out as Linda leapt over the bar and advanced toward the entrance, firing at the two men on the side of the building and gunning them both down. Her movement, screams and gunfire distracted the group emerging from the building, focusing their attention on her instead of on Frank. She fired on them as they dove for cover, wounding three before her mag ran dry. She dropped the rifle and continued advancing as she drew her pistol, turning to her left and taking potshots at one hiding behind an overturned dumpster until the trigger pulled back with a solid click.
Off in the distance, as Frank struggled to run down the street with his legs still in pain and overloaded with two backpacks, he fought every urge in his body to turn around and go back to help Linda. Even as her shouts of rage and the gunfire suddenly stopped, he continued forward, propelled by the slightest bit of hope given to him by what he had heard shouted by their enemies.
“Don’t kill the woman!” It was the only thing keeping him going; the only hope he had of seeing Linda again. It was a faint hope, a mere sliver, but it was there. The city and country would stand—he would be sure of that. But if she fell, he wasn’t sure if he could live with himself and his choice to run instead of dying by her side.
Frank Richards ignored the screaming of his legs and the thumping of the extra weight against his side and chose to run even faster.
Chapter 6
The funeral for his parents and brothers is brief and unusually muted. In spite of the dangers involved in traveling back to his home country, Omar jumped on the first available flight, abandoning his classes and exams so that he could bury his family. Dressed in all black, he is surrounded by distant relatives who are wailing and gnashing their teeth in a home outside Tehran, grieving for the loss of the ones they loved. In Omar’s heart, however, there is no grief or sorrow or sadness. Anger burns bright, fueling an intensity that he has never before known in his comfortable life.
On the third day of mourning, as he sits quietly in a corner, a pair of men appear before him. They sit down and give their condolences, and tell him that they are with the government. His father, it seems, had spoken quite widely of his success in his studies and with the loss of so many officials and scientists, they have come to offer him a job once he concludes his studies. He sits and listens to their offer, speaking only when he has a question or wishes to clarify a point. They soon move outside the house where the two men speak more candidly, disclosing details about the attempted coup in an effort to further motivate Omar to commit his life to his country.
They speak of how the Americans
were behind the coup, with specific instructions to kill dozens of scientists and government officials before executing the president himself, but how his parents were merely collateral damage. They speak of the heroic actions of the soldiers that burst in only a few moments after his parents and brothers were killed, and how doctors desperately tried to save their lives. They speak in cynical tones about how the truth will be swept under the rug because any finger pointing may give the Americans just the excuse they’ve been looking for to invade.
Then they speak of how he can help. How, because his family was never on a list, he can continue his studies in America, develop his craft and talents in a field that will help his country, and return to it after graduation. He will be offered a prestigious position in military research and development, helping to shape the future of Iran to ensure that no one can ever try the same thing again. The offer is more than simply enticing. For a young man whose life has been overturned and virtually destroyed, it is impossible to resist.
In the late afternoon, with the wails of family mourning their dead in the background, he agrees with a handshake, and the two government men disappear as quickly as they appeared. Omar spends the next four days with his extended family, though unlike the first days he feels anger instead of grief. The anger is tempered with hope, though it is not a happy, joyful hope. It is a hope of revenge, a hope that his life can be spent finding ways to exact revenge for the death of his mother, father and brothers.
After his brothers and father and mother are buried, Omar heads back to America and immediately plunges himself back into his education. He doubles his scholastic workload and eliminates all forms of extracurricular activities even as his advisor protests and tries to insist that he needs to take more time off to grieve. Deposits still arrive in his bank account on a monthly basis, though the origin is an unknown name instead of his father’s. He does not question the deposits, assuming they are coming from someone connected to the two men he spoke with. His only focus and thought is his work, which he excels in.
Over a period of four years he blows past his peers, earning a master’s degree and a doctorate. The title of his thesis is unintelligible to anyone but an expert in his field, and combines chemistry and bio-engineering in new ways that turn him into a veritable rock star in a few small, niche scientific communities. He is cautious, though, to ensure that any and all research he performs and papers he produces do not cross lines that would raise eyebrows with military officials or attract the attention of national security agencies.
With his doctoral degree in hand and a swirling mass of new ideas and information fresh in his head, he completes his move back to Iran within days of graduation. Four years of keeping to himself, forgoing a social life and turning down any attempts at friendship with other students mean that he has no ties to cut, and integrating back into life in his home country is painless and simple. He spends a few days at home with grandparents and other extended relatives before he is contacted by the same two men who spoke with him four years prior. They thank him for his hard work and tell him that he has a job that he can start as soon as he is ready. He leaves for Tehran the next morning, promising his grandparents that he will call as often as he can, though he knows that is a lie.
On the military campus he is introduced to his new colleagues, all of whom are eager to hear about his theories and research projects. As he is introduced to his new work, he begins to realize that his position will afford him more than just the opportunity to protect his country. His desire for revenge has smoldered for years, and he has resisted fanning the flames until being in a position where he can effect some real change.
In his new position, with the resources and mandate he has been given, he realizes that—for the first time—he doesn’t care about his country at all. The only thing he wants is revenge. And he will take it, no matter the cost.
Chapter 7
When Linda’s pistol ran dry she tossed it aside, pulled her rifle back up off of her shoulder and ejected the magazine. She was just about to pop in a fresh one and continue her assault on the men when a shadow loomed from behind and she felt the force of hard wood and metal slam against her lower back. She cried out in pain as she toppled forward, dropping the new magazine to the ground. The rifle clattered down as well, spinning as it slid a few feet away before coming to rest. She reached for it but another blow landed on her upper back, sending her to her hands and knees. She reached for the knife on her chest and pulled it out, then twisted and lunged at the figure she sensed behind. Her reactions were slowed, though, and the knife passed harmlessly through the air before a gloved hand grabbed her arm, twisting it sharply so that she dropped the knife in pain.
A boot rammed into her back, forcing her to the ground and another hand grabbed her other arm, wrenching it behind her where a large zip tie was quickly applied to her wrists. Whoever bound her made the tie exceptionally tight, and even through her hazed pain she could already feel her fingertips begin to tingle.
“Get…off of me…assholes!” Linda grunted and tried to roll over, to kick and lash out at her attackers, but two other figures accompanied the first, holding her tightly as they picked her up. They remained silent as they brought her inside the building that she and Frank had briefly entered, then threw her down on the floor in the room with the large table. She groaned in pain and rolled over on her back again before slowly pushing herself into a sitting position just as the doors to the room slammed shut.
“Linda Rollins. Shey’taan herself, in the flesh.” The voice was smug, full of pride, and located somewhere close. She squinted, trying to clear her blurred vision. A figure standing at the far side of the table from her swirled into view, and though he knew her name, she didn’t recognize him.
“Who the hell are you?” Spittle flew from her lips as she spoke, mustering up all the courage and outrage she could. “One of Omar’s dogs?”
The insult intended to provoke the man had no effect, and he merely smiled as he watched her struggling on the floor. “He will be most pleased to see you. Plucking the thorn from his side after it has irritated him for so many years will, I imagine, be an enormous pleasure.
“Bite me.” Linda snarled at him and he gave her a thin smile.
“By the way, your associate—the one following you around—we killed him.”
Linda’s heart jumped, though she kept her expression sour. “Liar.”
The man stood up and raised his hands. “It’s true. He took a bullet in the back. They’re dragging his corpse back now, I’d imagine. Such a pity, for your friend to die like that. Running like a coward.”
“What do you want from me? Shouldn’t you be calling your master and letting him know I’m here?” Linda ignored what he was saying about Frank, though her certainty that he was lying was lessening as she wondered whether they really had managed to gun Frank down.
“Your defiance is admirable, shey’taan. He is already on his way.” The man stepped close to her and she kicked out at him but missed by a hair. He laughed and kicked back at her, savagely, his steel-toed boot crunching into her chest. She felt a burst of pain as multiple ribs fractured and she gasped for air, each breath full of agony. “You should calm down,” he hissed at her, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her to her feet, “or else you’ll be in multiple pieces when he does arrive.”
***
Linda lost track of how long she was lying on the floor of the closet. Her breaths were shallow and she tried to keep her arm off of her left side, but with her hands still bound behind her back the extra pressure on her chest made the pain in her ribs nearly unbearable. The room was dark, with the only light coming from a crack beneath the door. As she drifted back and forth between consciousness and not she heard muted voices and footsteps from various parts of the building around her. None of what she heard was clear enough to completely understand so she gave up trying and focused on staying alive.
Breathe in. She winced.
Breathe out. She gro
und her teeth to keep from groaning.
Breathe in. Stars flashed across her vision.
Breathe out. She tasted blood in her mouth from nicking the side of her tongue as she clamped down with her teeth again.
Minutes and hours blurred together until the footsteps and voices that had been muffled began to grow louder. Shadows passed in front of the light beneath the door and the voices grew soft as a conversation of some sort was held outside the closet. She squinted her eyes, preparing for the door to open, which it did a moment later. She squeezed her eyes shut as a blinding light was thrust into her face and a rough hand turned her head this way and that. Linda kicked out, sending shock waves of pain through her chest, but her leg was stopped before it could connect, held in place by a powerful hand.
“Shey’taan.” The voice was smooth and deep, with an oiled tone of sophistication and deadliness. She recognized it at once and felt her heart quicken. She opened her eyes slowly, adjusting to the light. Her worst enemy squatted over her, her hand in one hand and her leg in his other. He smiled at her look of recognition, flashing perfectly straight, white teeth against his olive skin.
“So you’re really, finally here.” His chuckle was genuine, as if he found her presence legitimately amusing. She said nothing in return and he nodded at her before glancing back over his shoulder at the cluster of men behind him. “Take her upstairs.” He turned back and smiled at her again. “We have much to discuss.”
***
“I heard about your parents, out in Tennessee. Such a tragedy.” The voice came from somewhere behind Linda, still soft and smooth as it had been two hours prior when she was dragged from the closet. Her head sagged down to her chest and her breath came in ragged gasps as blood trickled from the corner of her mouth down her chin and onto her right pants leg.
