Nike's Wings

by Valerie Douglas

  Time was running out.

  Her objective was to be quick and silent.

  Running light and low, she passed the remaining rooms, knowing they were simply buffer, collateral damage, put in harm’s way for maximum carnage and maximum publicity, a deliberately cynical play for the headlines – ‘Federal Agents kill women and children’. Al Qaeda and the Taliban did the much the same thing, knowing it outraged some and garnered support.

  Alert for any sound, she knew the next guards were likely to be ahead.

  She neared the center of the T, the large cruciform formed by the complex. It was the nexus, the nerve center of the complex.

  It was impossible to miss the explosives wired to the main pillar.

  Just as Brad had predicted.

  Mitch looked at her as Brad started forward, but Nike held out her arm and shook her head, pointing to the shadows of the side halls.

  Closing his eyes in chagrin, Brad rolled his eyes.

  With a glance at Mitch, Nike gestured to the hall on the left. Mitch signaled to Brad and Andy to cover them. Grimly, Andy brought his sidearm to firing position covering Nike as Brad did the same for Mitch.

  Nike counted it off with her fingers, one, two, three, and then they both sprinted for the side halls, Nike diving and rolling to her feet inside the entry even as the man there started. A short hard punch to his jaw snapped his head to the side, the second hit his sternum. His breath left him in a soft whoop as he crumpled, gasping for breath.

  Turning him over she secured his hands behind his back, before looking over at Mitch, whose man was down and clearly unconscious.

  If she remembered the blueprints correctly, the double doors led into what would have been the vestibule outside the main worship hall, with an office for the reverend or preacher to one side and the deacon on the other…beyond them was another set of double doors leading into the worship hall itself.

  “Mitch, Andy, back off and cover us. Brad?” Nike said.

  “Got it,” Brad said, moving forward, already slinging his weapon over his shoulder as his nimble fingers picked through the wires connected to the explosives. He glanced up along the pole, following the trail of wires. “Smart, smart. The whole complex is wired. It’s rigged as a daisy chain. One goes off, all of them go.”

  “Take it down,” Nike whispered. “Outside in, if you can.”

  It wasn’t the first time they’d dealt with bombs.

  Brad’s eyes went to Niki’s, knowing what she said. Their eyes met, Niki’s not quite hidden behind her yellow glasses.

  It would put the two of them at the epicenter, but save those on the periphery - the women and children, the HRT, EMTs – if it went wrong.

  He understood. It was what they did. He smiled at her.

  At his smile a calmness settled over Nike. It was life and death again. The dance they all knew so well.

  Take me if you can, she thought. A dare to Death.

  If he was anywhere, their elusive quarry was here, near here somewhere.

  The bomber himself.

  HRT had moved in behind them, around them, evacuating the women and children set out as bait, removing the more zealous, sometimes forcefully.

  Those here were cowards, willing to let the women and children die so they could make their ‘statement’ about the ‘sanctity of life’.

  Obediently, Mitch and Andy backed off, guarding them from the corridor.

  There was a door on the other side of the central area.

  A sign on it said ‘Sanctuary’.

  Inside, she could hear a frantic angry voice debate with the negotiator, demanding that they pull back the HRT and the perimeter cops.

  The negotiator denied anyone was moving.

  “Okay, boys,” she whispered into her microphone, “this is it. Showtime. Go, go, go.”

  Now though, it really was.

  Around the complex the crack FBI HRT moved in, quickly, silently, efficiently, taking down the remaining guards, getting people out where they could.

  Standing with Sheriff Taylor and Commander Johnson, Ty silently watched the monitor display as recorded by the cameras on both Nike’s headset and Mitch’s helmet. Buck stood beside him, his tension a vibration. Ty tried not to betray either his own concern, or his fear. The mikes here were open, Niki would hear him.

  He didn’t dare risk distracting her now, not with so much at stake.

  He and Buck had landed only minutes before, to be whisked here by a State Patrolman.

  It was an effort to breathe normally.

  The HRT team hurried the women and children out of the compound past the dead or immobilized guards. At any moment, those inside could set off the explosives.

  Picture in picture, they watched as Niki advanced silently across the intersection of halls inside the complex. Ty’s heart was in his throat.

  The picture was dark, grainy, but sufficient. As was the audio, crackling softly.

  Watching, Ty could only hold his breath.

  Approaching the first set of double doors, Nike looked back at Mitch and Andy. Brass knobs gleamed in the dim light. With a gesture, she sent them back into the shadows.

  His face intent, nearly concealed by the pole, Brad concentrated on the wires, sifted through them. Nike heard the soft snips as he cut wires.

  With a glance at him, seeing his nod, she swallowed hard, took a breath, crouched and reached for the knobs, turned them slowly and silently.

  The doors swung open even as she straightened, drawing both guns.

  A man stood opposite the doors, framed by the wood and glass doors leading into the sanctuary itself, nearly haloed by light cast by the sanctuary candles. Nike’s camera picked him up perfectly, duplicated more distantly by Mitch’s camera, so those monitoring could also see her framed by the doorway.

  The man was tall, bearded, ascetic in appearance, his arms spread in clear imitation of art. His brown hair was threaded with white, his brown eyes glowed; his expression was exalted, beatific.

  On the other side was the local preacher who’d given the bomber refuge, fed his mania with his sermons. Caught off guard, the phone at his ear, he gawked in stunned surprise.

  Cocking her head curiously, Nike looked at the other man as he smiled and spread the long outer vest he wore over his monk-like robes.

  The preacher stood with the phone in his hand, aghast at the terrible reality that stood suddenly in front of him. It wasn’t abstract any more. In his eyes she could see the sure knowledge that there was a good chance he could meet his God that day.

  Oddly, he didn’t appear to want that. At least not so soon as this.

  The observers saw it even as Nike saw it, the explosives strapped around the bomber’s chest and waist.

  A cold calm washed through her. It would be here and it would be now.

  “Out,” she said, very softly, calmly. “Go, Mitch, everyone, go, go…,” as the man raised his arms.

  She knew that those that could, fled. The HRT team would grab everyone they could, praying as they spun and ran.

  Brad did not. His nimble fingers played among the wires at the pillar, finding the right ones among dozens of false ones. He snipped them quickly. There was no room for fear. For every wire he clipped, more people might live.

  Including Niki.

  And himself.

  Without glancing at Mitch, he echoed Niki quietly, “Go.”

  Brad knew he could die here, but it didn’t matter. There were other lives at stake.

  Mitch couldn’t do anything for either of them, however much he wished he could, but both were doing what they had to do.

  His hesitation was clearly visible to those watching, the camera going to Brad’s fingers as they sorted through the wires.

  Turning, Mitch signaled to Andy, and they ran.

  Nike remembered Ty’s words in New York. She needed to buy everyone time and the man hadn’t pressed the detonators yet.

  “Don’t do this,” she said quietly to the bomber. “Don’
t waste your life. Make your statement from jail. People will hear you. Otherwise, you’ll just be one more religious zealot, one more nut case killing people for reasons they don’t understand.”

  In the tent, Ty heard what she said. Memory overlapped reality, his words, her voice. His heart wrenched in sudden fear. In that voice, he could hear the sure knowledge that she might die here today.

  “Get everyone out,” Ty said. “Get them out, NOW.”

  On the screen his eyes were locked on the man Niki was speaking to.

  Nike looked at him, hoping, praying.

  For a moment, the man hesitated, clearly considering her words, buying more time for HRT, for the team, to escape, to get clear. Only seconds perhaps, but every footstep would count.

  The man’s brown eyes met Nike’s.

  “Are you ready to die, sister?” he asked, his face ecstatic.

  Unexpectedly, fear shot through her, who’d looked to die for so long.

  She looked at him steadily. “Not today.”

  It was the truth. That shocked her. She wanted to know she would have a second chance.

  In the command center Ty’s heart twisted.

  The bomber nodded almost sadly as he spread his jacket further to display the explosives strapped around him to her.

  Nike looked at him.

  Their eyes met, and she saw the insanity in his as he spread his arms. He had a detonator in his hand.

  “Nevertheless,” he said, “it is your day to meet the Lord.”

  He threw his head back as the rapture took him, ecstasy raising him up on his toes.

  “Brad, go,” she shouted, desperately.

  Even as he spoke, seeing the madness in his eyes, Nike turned and raced through the doorway even as he depressed the plungers.

  The doors closed behind her.

  Throwing his hands up like a calf roper who’d tied the calf, Brad turned and ran.

  Nike felt the explosion hit her like a large warm mattress. It slammed into her, lifted her and drove her across the open chamber at the heart of the complex. Curling into herself, she felt herself hurtle through the air.

  Even seeing the explosives, even hearing the words, the explosion still startled everyone around Ty, even those who’d been watching the video feed. The reality was nearly to…real. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, as it did at such moments, as the brain and mind tried to encompass the magnitude of the disaster. It didn’t seem comprehensible.

  For a moment time stood still… Ty’s heart seemed to stop.

  The sound was huge, terrible.

  All he could see was Niki standing beside him on the Mall as the breeze blew, lifting her face to his, her green eyes looking up at him, grief and sorrow in them, seeking forgiveness…

  The video cut out.

  In the center of the complex the roof lifted, dust, gases and fire escaping as the back of the complex blew out completely. Windows shattered. Then the roof settled down once again in a burst of dust and smoke as the force dissipated. Parts of the roof and the building collapsed. Dust and ash blew outward in billowing clouds.

  A stampede started among the women and children escaping the complex.

  Confusion and chaos reigned as screams echoed among the trees.

  The FBI HRT and the state and local units moved in even as FBI and ATF agents did.

  Ty found himself playing referee between them even as he tried to fight his way through, as he fought his fear and worry for Callie, Mitch and the team…

  It was chaos, a kind of organized chaos, but chaos all the same.

  Pandemonium reigned among those who’d escaped, some weeping and wailing for their lost ‘prophet’ while others stood shocked and numbed by the magnitude of what they’d escaped.

  Niki…Callie… Mitch and Andy. Brad, staying even as Callie had, trying to buy time, risking their lives to give others a chance at survival…to survive.

  A terrible numbness swept through him at the enormity of it.

  Had he lost her?

  The reality of it wouldn’t penetrate.

  Something inside Ty very nearly died.

  Had he left it too long?

  Would he get another chance to tell her he loved her? That she wasn’t alone? That he’d never leave her alone again?

  Ty desperately wanted to be out there among those searching through the rubble, but it was clear that someone was needed to organize the response. To fight through the jurisdictional quarrels as emergency services tried to find and treat the injured while firefighters attempted to deal with the fire the explosion had set off at the back of the complex.

  If there was any chance to find her, to get inside the rubble, they had to get everyone coordinated first.

  “I’ll see what I can find out, Ty,” Buck said, moving off as Ty worked with Sheriff Taylor and Commander Johnson to try to calm things down and get things moving, coordinated.

  Ty nodded.

  All Ty could think about was Niki… Callie…

  It was a shock to realize he loved her. It was more of a shock to realize what it would do to him to find out she was dead. That he’d lost his chance, he’d lost her…and that she’d died thinking herself alone…abandoned once again.

  Then Mitch and Andy fought through the crowd to the command center, but Ty could see in their eyes that they looked for answers, too.

  Suddenly there were shouts. A second explosion went off. Flames rose above the complex.

  All Ty could see in his mind’s eye was that last confused image from her video out as Callie had turned to run and the blast caught her…

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Once again Nike had danced with death and survived. Every part of her body ached. She trembled with exhaustion and reaction. Rolling her head on her shoulders, she tried to remember the last time she’d eaten and found she didn’t really care. Slowly stretching, she stripped off the halter and leather pants and tossed them onto the thin mattress.

  It had been one of the HRT guys who had hauled her out from beneath the rubble of the roof. He’d told her that Mitch and Andy had gotten out clean, seconds before the bombs had detonated. The EMTs she’d waved off stated that they were checking Brad for a concussion, but they thought he’d be all right.

  Just the sight of him, dazed, but alive, had been enough.

  That had been the first thing she’d checked as soon as her head cleared, that Brad, Mitch, and Andy were all right.

  It had been hard to hear with the ringing in her ears, but the EMTs had checked her eardrums and there was no sign of permanent damage.

  Brad’s quick work had confined the explosion to that one area of the complex, and most of that had been contained in that small central room the HRT people had said. All of the power had been directed through the sets of double doors and upward. It was the force of the explosion and the roof collapsing, blowing out the windows, that had caused the most damage and injuries, from flying glass. The explosives they’d used just hadn’t been enough or that strong.

  A swarm of police and EMTs had surrounded them the minute she and Brad were pulled out from beneath the wreckage amidst the dust and smoke just as a small explosion went off, ignited from the fire that had just started to take hold. The sanctuary lantern had been blown off its hook to shatter against the far wall, the flames igniting the draperies that framed the huge wooden cross, drenching it all with highly flammable lamp oil.

  Nike had heard the crackle and pop as the fire spread, fire leaping through the blown out windows.

  At his alarmed glance she remembered the explosives wrapped around the central support.

  “Get everyone back,” Nike said.

  Brad shouted, “There’s more explosives.”

  There was a sudden frantic rush away as those around them realized the danger, increasing the confusion as some folks moved back while others moved forward to put out the spreading fire.

  That was when the second major explosion had gone off.

  Everyone around had
watched in awe as the massive fireball rolled upward.

  Nike’s radio had been destroyed, though, when she’d collided with the interior wall. She’d been forced to ask one of the cops to find Mitch and Andy to let them know she and Brad were all right and ask them to meet her back at the abandoned high school for preparations to return to D.C.

  She touched Brad’s shoulder. Knowing that he couldn’t hear her too well at the moment, she circled her finger once and he nodded again.

  Back to where they started. Okay.

  Her gratitude at his survival had made her chin quiver. She’d looked away for a moment, closed her eyes against the sharp sudden sting of tears. She wasn’t used to that. Deliberately she pushed the tears away.

  One of the cops gave her a ride back to the school to collect her gear.

  Alone, she walked over to the tall mirror propped on a crate. It was battered and half the silvering was missing so it gave a spotty image at best, but the shafts of sunlight from the grimy windows were good enough for her purposes.

  Wearily, standing in only her panties she turned, raising her arms to try to see how bad the damage, if any, was, craning her neck in the dim light to try to see if there was anything she’d missed. Cuts from the flying glass, scrapes…

  Her throat was tight, but she wouldn’t think about what had happened in D.C. Or what would happen next.

  She would have bruises from her shoulders to her hip from where she’d hit the wall, but she’d taken most of the impact on her back. There was no pain when she breathed, no tightness to indicate damaged ribs.

  That was what Ty saw as he threw the door open and strode in – Niki standing half naked in the beam of light from the filthy windows, wearing only her panties. It was an incredibly erotic sight, but also infuriating, because he knew exactly what she was doing and why. Looking to see if she’d been hurt and didn’t know it because she couldn’t feel it. Yet she’d waved off the EMTs, as they’d told him when he went looking for her and Brad.