by J. M. LeDuc
Seven looked up from the dirt and eyed the squad. He looked more stone-like than human. Tag looked at the others and saw the same thing. The mission was on.
“Remember,” Seven said, “this is a no kill mission. You are to use tranquilizer darts to stop Jensen’s men. If you need to use live ammo, shoot to wound.” He addressed Scarlet. “I’m counting on you to take out as many of the peripheral guards before the shooting begins.”
She fingered the string on her compound bow. “I’m ready.”
“One last thing,” Seven added. “No one, I repeat no one takes out Jensen. He belongs to me.”
“What do you have planned, Sev?” asked Fitz.
“He wants me man-to-man. That’s what he’s going to get. No one interferes, understood?”
They acknowledged his order.
Seven checked his watch one more time. “Let’s move out.”
From base camp, the sentry was scanning the hill just as he had been ordered. The glare of the sun was so bright, he had to keep lowering the binoculars to wipe his eyes. Looking through the glasses again he thought he saw two men walking straight down the middle of the mountain.
He lifted his radio to his mouth. “Sentry to Falcon, we have company.”
Jensen came running out of the hangar and grabbed the glasses from his man. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “That little slime ball thinks he can just walk into my camp with that halfwit darky.”
Jensen sounded the alarm and his men ran out of the hangar and took their designated positions. Two of them fell before they even reached their destination. Jensen heard their screams, but they were out of view and he had no idea what they were yelling about. The desperate tone of their screeching scared his other men and they started shooting at the two figures walking down the mountain.
“Hold your fire, you morons. They are out of range!” Jensen yelled.
Their fire gave Scarlet a good idea of where her targets were. “Come on,” she said to herself. “Someone poke your head out.”
In her peripheral vision, she saw one run from the side of the hangar to try to get behind a hedge. He made it halfway before an arrow was embedded in his hamstring. He reached back for his sidearm when his wrist was pinned to the ground by another arrow. His cry had the desired effect and the others began shooting again.
Jensen was flush with emotion. He screamed at the top of his lungs, “The next one to shoot will find my bullet buried in his head!”
As Seven and Jefferson passed the last pine grove, they ran as fast as they could in opposite directions. Tag and Fitz were halfway up their prospective trees before their brothers took safety behind a couple of rock ledges.
Jensen smiled. “The idiots just pinned themselves in.” He pointed to his men and then up the hill. “I want the three of you to go up the left flank.” Pointing to three more, he said, “You three go up the right side. The rest of you follow me.”
Seven radioed the squad. “No one shoots until they get close. I don’t want our numbers given away until it’s too late for them to retreat.”
Jensen radioed his men as he made his approach up the mountain. “I want the flanks to keep shooting and don’t stop. I want them pinned down. If either of them gets away, it’s your own hide that will die on this hill.”
Jensen’s men ran and continued to shoot with abandon. They were so sure they had the enemy pinned down that they weren’t worried about taking cover. The two in the front felt a sting in their neck as they ran. They dropped to the dirt before they knew what hit them.
Jensen heard someone from his left scream, “We’ve got a man down.”
And then from his right another man yelled, “Same here.”
Everything suddenly became quiet. Jensen was infuriated. No one was going to stop him from taking his revenge out on Seven. “Take cover and keep shooting,” he said through his headset.
His men began shooting as fast as they could pull the trigger. Bullets sprayed everywhere along the hillside.
A stray shot hit the boulder in front of Jefferson, rock fragments struck and stung his leg. He ducked further down behind the rock. He radioed the squad. “They’re getting closer.”
“Let them come,” Seven radioed back. “They still have no idea of our numbers. Wait until they are sure they have us pinned down, then I want all of them dropped except for Jensen.”
The squad kept their position as Jensen’s men climbed nearer. The closer they got, the better their aim became.
Scarlet could see their movements better than anyone. “They’re swinging out wide and a couple of them are trying to make their way up the mountain to attack from the rear.”
“Wait until they think they have us dead to rights and then take them out, Scarlet,” Seven ordered.
Jensen radioed his men. “No matter what you hear me say, if you have a shot, shoot to kill.” He stood up so he could be seen. “We have you surrounded,” he yelled. “I don’t care about Jefferson, I just want Seven.” There was no response. “Venturi was no match for me and neither are you. Come out with your hands up and I’ll let you live.”
Again, no response.
Jensen’s men used his words as a diversion to keep moving up the mountain. They were now almost even with the rock formations Jefferson and Seven were hiding behind.
“They’re in place,” Scarlet radioed. “It will be like shooting fish in a bowl.”
Jefferson popped his head up from behind the rock and quickly dropped back down. Bullets flew all around him.
“I see you’re still a man of your word,” Seven yelled. “You were a cheating little peckerwood fifteen years ago and you haven’t changed.”
Jensen was crimson with rage. He began kicking the rocks and dirt all around him. No one was going to insult him, especially in front of his men.
“He’s losing it,” Scarlet radioed.
“Wait for his command and let them have it,” Seven ordered.
Jensen thought he heard one of his men snicker in his earpiece. “Kill the son of a—”
Before he finished his sentence, his men started dropping. When he saw them hit the dirt, his face turned ashen. Suddenly it was dead quiet.
“Pigeons are down,” Scarlet radioed.
“I want an affirmative from everyone,” Seven said.
“Everyone on the left is accounted for,” Tag radioed.
“Same on the right flank,” Fitz said.
“Jefferson and I will cause a diversion,” Seven radioed. “When we do, I want everyone to drop from your perch, but stay hidden until I tell you to show yourself.” He removed the dart clip from his gun and replaced the clip with one that contained live ammo. He pulled back the slide and chambered a round. “On my mark, Jefferson.”
“I’m with you, Sev. Let’s make him dance.”
“Everyone in place?” Seven radioed.
“Affirmative.”
“Now,” Seven ordered.
Bullets rained all around Jensen. They struck the rocks and dirt by his feet and when he tried to run, they clipped at his boots. He fired wildly uphill, shooting out of frustration. Shots were fired over his head, one grazing his scalp. His firearm empty, he dropped to the dirt, covered his head with his arms and curled up in a ball waiting for the fatal shot.
Silence returned. When he had the courage to look, he thought he was seeing things. Five, not two stood fifteen feet in front of him, pointing their guns at his head.
“Keep your hands above your head and stand up, Private,” Seven ordered.
Jensen was freaked out. He couldn’t believe he had been out-maneuvered. Even in his fear, his bravado was still intact. He eyeballed Seven as he stood. “I knew you couldn’t take me alone. You were always weak. Always hiding behind your men.”
Seven remained unfazed. “Tag and Fitz, keep your guns on him. If he as much as blin
ks, shoot out his eyes. Jefferson, cuff and shackle him.”
Jefferson reached into his pants pockets and produced two sets of cuffs. “My pleasure.”
He grabbed Jensen by the arm and Jensen spit in his face. “You always were just a dumb ni . . .”
Jefferson cold-cocked him in the jaw before he could finish the word. Jensen lay face down in the dirt. “I know you said not to touch him, Sev, but he had it coming.”
Seven smiled. “Yep, I guess he did.”
He looked at his squad. “The rest of you, bag and tag the other men and drag them to the hangar. Work in pairs. We don’t want to get sloppy now.”
An hour later, everyone reconvened in the hangar. Jensen’s men’s injuries had been attended to and those who had been hit with the tranquilizer darts had come around. They were cuffed and shackled and sat along the side of the hangar.
Jensen was hanging in the middle of the room from a chain attached to the ceiling—his hands cuffed above his head.
Seven grabbed a chair, dragged it to the middle of the room, straddled it, and looked up at Jensen.
“It’s good to be home, isn’t it, Private?”
Jensen just sneered back at him. His eyes were full of hate. He smirked and said, “I bet that’s what Venturi said when he reached the pearly gates.”
“He’s alive, you moron. Do you think you could actually kill the leader of the Black Militia?”
Seven’s words made Jensen’s face turn deep purple with rage. A guttural scream emanated from deep within and spewed from his throat.
Seven waited for his theatrics to calm down. “It seems the colonel was right,” he said. “Everything ends as it began.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jensen spit.
“It means it ends here. You and me, the way you always wanted it,” Seven drawled.
Seven’s drawl brought out Jensen’s southern roots. He poured it on like homemade syrup. Yanking at the chain above his head, he said, “It seems you got me at a little disadvantage. Is this the way you win all yer fights.”
Seven stood and tossed the metal chair to the side. “Jefferson, toss me the keys.”
Without taking his eyes off of Jensen, a set of keys landed right in the middle of his palm. Seven spit as he walked next to his prisoner. He reached up, unlocked one cuff, and then handed the keys to Jensen. The private removed the other cuff and then unlocked his ankle chains.
He circled Seven, rubbing his wrists where the cuffs had dug into his flesh. Jensen stretched his neck from one side to the other, causing a cracking sound. He started dancing around on his toes as he circled Seven. “I’m gonna enjoy this,” he said. “I’ve been dreaming about this for a lot of years.”
Seven stood rock still in the middle of the room, just watching Jensen’s moves. Seven wondered if Jensen still gave away his actions with his eyes. He didn’t wonder for long.
Jensen closed his hands tighter, white-knuckling his fists. Seven guessed the first flurry of punches was about to come, but he didn’t move. Jensen danced right and then countered left, swinging for Seven’s chin. With a slight head nod, Seven evaded the worst of the punch. Still, it hit him enough to cause his lip to bleed. The sight of Seven’s blood had Jensen flushed with excitement, spittle flew from his mouth as he continued to attack.
Seven countered with a weak punch that Jensen blocked with ease.
Jensen laughed. “You were old fifteen years ago, now you’re just pathetic.”
Seven stood flat footed as Jensen came forward to attack. This time a kidney punch came from his left and Seven moved just enough to deflect most of the force. Seven dramatically doubled over and grabbed his side and let out a painful grunt.
Jensen’s men, seeing their leader beating this man, started yelling for blood.
“Kill him, Falcon,” one yelled.
“He ain’t nothin’,” another screamed.
Seven still holding his side, kept his eyes squarely on Jensen.
“What’s he doing?” whispered Tag. “Should we help?”
Jefferson smiled a toothy grin. “Na, he’s just bringing the pig to slaughter.”
With Seven clutching his side and breathing hard, Jensen rushed him with a wide circling uppercut. Just before impact, Seven dropped to one knee and kicked Jensen with his other leg in a sweeping motion, taking out his opponent’s right knee. The snap could be heard echoing off the cement walls.
Jensen fell in a lump at Seven’s feet.
He finger pointed in Jensen’s face. “Never underestimate an opponent.”
He turned to walk away and Jensen moved his hand to his boot, sliding a small concealed semiautomatic from his leg. Seven turned, slid a knife from its sheath behind his back and threw it before Jensen had time to draw. The blade pierced his hand, pinning it to his calf.
Seven looked at Jensen, the defeated men, and then at his own squad. “Put a call into Q. Tell him we have a garbage pickup.”
CHAPTER 68
Brent and Alana had spent the first ten days at Alpha Camp. Brent’s leg had been placed in an air-cast provided by Q when he came to evacuate the others. They spent their down time getting reacquainted. They both agreed that time was needed and they would start fresh as friends. The past four days were spent in the Vatican meeting world religious leaders. A meeting no one thought possible— a meeting only the Ambassador could have organized.
Brent and Alana approached the entrance to al-Qal. Brent walked with a noticeable limp from his still healing leg.
“All your weapons have been checked?” Brent asked.
Alana rolled her eyes and adjusted the jacket she wore. Her weapons were hidden underneath. “You know they have. I’ve checked them, you’ve checked them, and I checked them again.”
“I don’t want to take any chances. This mission needs to be fast and without flaw.”
“The only thing that can go wrong is if the authorities have not received the message from the Vatican,” Alana said.
“They have,” Brent assured her. “No one has seen Omar leave since he returned from the Hindu Kush Mountains. Intel tells us that he escaped with twenty of his best soldiers.” He looked at Alana looking for signs of stress or anxiety; he saw none. “Our attack will be straight on, nothing deceptive. If we attack fast and with precision, they will have no time to mount a defense.”
Alana shrugged her shoulders, adjusting her coat. “Let’s go, I’m looking forward to getting rid of some of this excess weight.”
Brent allowed himself a slight smile at her wit and then his expression turned to stone.
They walked side by side into the ancient structure and quickly made their way to an area blocked by a no admittance sign. Without hesitation, Brent moved the sign and led the way down a stone stairway. The stairs were hand chiseled, narrow, and built at uneven angles. As they made their way down the steps into the bowels of the Khan, they each drew their first gun.
Brent used his free hand to stop Alana as he heard footsteps fast approaching. They hid in the shadows of the stairwell until they were sure the men were close. He held up four fingers letting Alana know the number of men he heard.
She watched as Brent held his hand out, fingers splayed apart. He slowly closed one finger at a time until his hand was balled in a fist. The sign of attack.
As soon as his fist was made, they sprang out of the shadow and fired tranquilizer darts at the men. They hit the ground before they knew what happened. Without checking, they stepped over them and continued down the musty passageway. The catacombs under al-Qal continued to spiral deeper and deeper into the earth.
Brent suddenly pushed Alana against the wall as he heard footsteps approaching. On his mark, they pushed away from the wall and dropped five more of Omar’s guards. They holstered their spent weapons and retrieved fresh ones from inside their coats.
Brent led Alana down another passage making their way closer to Omar’s lair. As they were about to turn the next corner, shots were fired, clipping the stone wall in front of them. Brent and Alana dropped to the stomachs and inched their way behind a stone pillar. Brent pointed to the far upper right corner of the tunnel where a lone gunman was perched. They saw a red laser scan the ground around them. Brent signaled that he was going to cause a diversion. On his mark, he ran from the pillar to the far side of the tunnel, firing his weapon the entire time. The gunman reacted by adjusting his position. His movement signaled his demise. Alana rolled in the opposite direction, went to one knee and put a dart in his forehead. He struck the ground before he could get off a single shot.
Brent heard more footsteps and signaled Alana to stay where she was. Brent and Alana mowed them down before they could get within fifty feet.
Five more down. That left five if their intel was correct.
Brent figured Omar would be well guarded. The last of the Brotherhood would probably be with Omar, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He and Alana snaked their way through the labyrinth of tunnels until they were just outside Omar’s ‘home.’
Darkness engulfed the area ahead of them. Brent signaled Alana to close her eyes and cover her ears as he reached for a concussion grenade. It wasn’t loaded with explosives, it just caused a deafening sound and a blinding light when detonated. Without hesitation, he pulled the pin, counted to five and let it fly. It went off before it hit the ground. Screams of pain could be heard from inside the room. Brent and Alana ran to opposite sides of the entrance and fired at the blinded guards. For the first time since they entered the catacombs, Brent spoke.
