by Brad Taylor
In front was the stairwell, just like the girl had said it would be. Retro took up a position at the bottom, and we began flip-flopping up it, the low man pulling security while the high man went forward. When we reached the second floor, Retro went to the first room in the hallway, using the scope.
According to Maria, this floor was used for “training,” with about five or six bedrooms left and right down the hallway. Retro used the scope and shook his head at door one. We got the same at door two and three. We moved across the hall to door four. I watched the scope and saw it light. Someone’s in this one.
Retro shoved the scope in his pack and got ready to fight. Buckshot twisted the door handle, then leaned out of the way. We silently went inside, guns trained to shoot any threat that presented itself.
The room was illuminated with candles. The only thing in it was a bed, which had a teenage girl on it. Retro closed the gap to her and pinned her, gagging her mouth. The rest of the team looked for additional threats. In the corner was another door, which the girl was staring at hard. I moved to it. Before I reached it, the door swung open and I found myself face-to-face with the fake bum from Prague. He was wearing nothing but his underwear, and his brain was trying to compute what he was seeing. Before he could react, I jammed the suppressor of the UMP into his forehead. I got him on his knees and signaled Decoy. Circling around him, Decoy pulled out a small metal baton covered in a thin rubber coating. He hammered the man right above his ear, dropping him like a stone.
Retro was making shushing noises to the girl, keeping her calm. I signaled him to flex-tie her, then signaled the same to Decoy. We couldn’t take her with us and couldn’t risk her running around yelling, compromising the assault, so we’d tie and gag her here and come back for her later. The fake bum would get the same treatment, in case he woke up.
We exited the room and began clearing step-by-step, no longer using the scope but still moving as quietly as possible. All other rooms on the second floor were empty until we entered the last one, seeing a girl on her hands and knees with a man behind her. He caught the movement of the door and looked up in surprise, one of his eyes staring off into space over my shoulder. Decoy put two rounds into his head, spackling the wall with brain matter, the only noise the hollow clanking of his bolt.
Jesus. The girl.
She had fallen onto her stomach and was trying to roll over. I broke silence.
“Get on her! Don’t let her see the body. She’ll be fucked up for life.” If she’s not already.
Buckshot threw the body on the floor, covering it with a blanket, while Retro collapsed on the girl, trapping her as she attempted to escape. I locked eyes with Decoy.
“What the fuck was that? He was no threat.”
He didn’t back down an inch. “He sure as shit was a threat to her.”
I glared at him for a second to show him I was pissed, but I couldn’t argue with the logic.
“Control yourself. This isn’t a vendetta.”
Retro had finished flex-tying her, smiling all the while to keep her calm, although the effect came out a little twisted given the mask and NODs. She looked confused, but didn’t try to fight. Exiting the room, we went back down the stairwell to the first floor. We’d removed two from the equation, which left anywhere from four to eight still out, based on Maria’s description.
We cleared room after empty room, causing the tension to build in the team. We’d rather hit the enemy one at a time, but every empty room lessened that chance. Sooner or later, we were going to kick over an ant pile. Flip-flopping down a hallway, I saw a door in front begin to swing open. I sprinted forward. A man came out empty-handed. I trapped his arm, locking up his joints in a come-along and driving him into a wall. Just past him in the room, I could see four other men around a card table, all looking at me in shock. They immediately began diving for weapons.
The ant pile. I kicked the man I held down the hall, raised my weapon and put two rounds into his face, then focused on the room. The rest of the team had collapsed on me, with two facing down each end of the hallway, pulling security, while one began tracking the targets in the room.
One of the men inside the room managed to get off two rounds, both wildly off the mark, before having his head split open. The others didn’t fire a single shot. In the blink of an eye, all four were down, the noise of the suppressed weapons overshadowed by the bodies hitting the floor. The echo of the man’s two rounds hung in the air.
Shit. Clandestine just went out the window. Retro and I entered the room and cleared it, ensuring everyone was dead. Seconds later, we were moving down the hall toward the final door, no longer trying to be quiet. The name of the game now was speed and violence of action. Retro turned the knob, finding it locked.
Decoy pulled a flex linear charge out of Buckshot’s backpack, slapping it down the length of the door. We separated left and right with the door in the middle. He glanced to ensure everyone was clear and initiated the charge. It splintered the door inward, cutting it in half.
We followed the charge in before the pieces had even settled, finding one man on the floor laid out by the fragments of the door. Decoy fell on him while the rest of the team advanced.
The room was a kitchen. In the rear, by an oven, another woman cowered. This one older, with her hands raised. I moved to her while the team fanned out inside the spacious area. Gunfire erupted to my left, followed quickly by the muted clanking of the UMPs.
I reached the woman and prevented her from moving, whispering softly to her, using soothing noises as I flex-tied her hands to her ankles in a sitting-up position. I didn’t bother with a gag, because her screaming wouldn’t make a shit’s worth of difference after that door charge. I stroked her hair and smiled at her to let her know I meant no harm, then returned to the team.
We’d cleared the entire house, and I was pretty sure we’d eliminated all threats. Maria had said nobody ever stayed down with them in the basement, only coming down when it was time for someone to leave.
I signaled all-clear, meaning it was time to hit the basement. We raced back to the entrance, stacking on it with weapons raised. Retro opened the door to a completely black stairwell, so dark even our NODs were picking up no light. I could hear rustling down below, with the close-in stench of sweat and unwashed clothes wafting up. I ran my hands along the wall and found a switch, turning night into day. We began flip-flopping down the stairs, hearing the beeping of the alarm the girl had told us about, when the lights went off again.
What the hell?
Pulling security at the top, Buckshot turned them back on. We went a few feet, then they went out again. I halted the procession, turning on the infrared illuminator on my NODs. It wasn’t that powerful, basically giving me a view of about five feet to my front, but it was better than the ridiculous light-switch competition. Retro and Decoy did the same, giving us a view down the stairwell like we were in The Blair Witch Project. Buckshot stayed at the top.
Moving slowly, we reached the bottom. To my left, I saw the girl working the light switch. Her eyes were wide open, straining for any hint of light, the IR source from my NODs making them glow like an animal in the night. Behind her were the other girls, all on the floor with their arms around their knees, shaking, completely unaware that we were there.
There were no beds. Just row after row of pallets on the floor. Apparently, the only time they felt a bed was when they were working, which for some reason struck me as particularly cruel.
The light-switch girl was shaking as well, her hand above the switch trembling so badly it looked like she was flicking water off of it. She had no way to stop whatever danger was coming down the stairs. All she could do was slow it down. But she didn’t quit fighting.
It was quite possibly the bravest thing I had ever seen.
47
I turned to face Retro and Decoy, getting blinded by their IR source. I knew mine was doing the same to them, so I turned it off. I gave them hand and arm signals to get gu
ns out into the room while I took out Miss Light Switch. I had no doubt she’d do something incredibly stupid and dangerous if the lights came on and we were standing in front of her with weapons. The girls sitting on the floor didn’t pose the same threat. They’d have no time to react when they saw us, and probably wouldn’t even if they could.
I slowly circled around the girl, feeling a little evil at the fact that she couldn’t see me at all, while I could reach out and thump her in the head if I wanted. When I was lined up with her back, I pounced, encircling her arms and dragging her to the ground. She shrieked like a banshee, then began violently whipping around like a snake caught around the neck. She snapped her head back and slammed it into my NODs, causing them to shift and nearly knocking her out.
I shouted, “Lights! Lights!”
The room blazed into existence, blinding everyone for a moment. The girls on the floor began shrieking at the sight of the Boondock Saints pointing guns at them, but none made a move. Retro and Decoy began shouting, “Ami! Ami!” then “Friend! Friend!”
The screaming turned into whimpers, with the girls packing together like a flock of sheep cowering together at the threat of a wolf. The one in my arms was woozy from her attempts at harming me. She’d have a knot on her head, but appeared okay. I repeated “ami” over and over until she nodded her head. I let go of her and raised my hands. She scooted back to the flock, warily staring at us.
I keyed my radio. “Koko, house is clear. Bring in the girl.”
I figured the quickest way to get complete compliance was to have Maria show herself, proving we were friends. From there, we’d sort out the exfil without worrying about one of them making a break for it.
I turned to Retro. “Go get the two girls upstairs and the one in the kitchen.”
Decoy said, “What about the guy in the bedroom?”
“If he’s still out, leave him there.”
“And if he’s not?”
“Put him back to sleep. Then leave him there.” I keyed my radio. “Buckshot, get a gun out front. I don’t want any surprises.”
Minutes later, Retro came in with the woman from the kitchen. He cut off the flex ties on her hands and put her with the group. The girls showed her no outright sympathy, keeping their distance from her.
Decoy came over the net. “I’m going to need a hand up here. One girl’s going to need to be carried, and I don’t want to do that and watch the other one.”
“What’s wrong? Is she hurt?”
“No. At least not physically. But she’s pretty much catatonic.”
Retro said, “On the way.”
While waiting on them, I checked in with Jennifer.
“Maria’s good,” she said. “In fact, she can’t quit smiling. I’m moving to the house now in van one.”
“Roger that. Buckshot, when she’s in, go get van two. We need to clear out.”
“Roger.”
Decoy and Retro returned, Decoy carrying one girl while the other walked in front. Decoy laid the girl on the ground, brushed her hair out of her face, then backed up. The group went ballistic at the sight, circling around them, all talking at once. The one on the ground was awake and responding to the treatment of her friends, apparently starting to believe that she wasn’t about to die. The older woman from the kitchen hung at the back, trying to remain hidden.
Very different reaction from when she came in. Hmmm….
Jennifer appeared at the bottom of the stairs with Maria, and the scene repeated, with everyone talking at once. Our girl was practically jumping up and down trying to explain who we were and what we were doing here. The rest of the girls seemed unsure of whether to believe it, like at any minute the trick would be exposed and they’d be told to saddle up.
I had Jennifer break up the old-home week, getting Maria to point out the girl who was in the room with the Arab. After a little back-and-forth, she pointed to Miss Light Switch.
Should have known.
Right behind her was the woman from the kitchen. When Maria caught sight of her, she froze for a second. Then she plowed through the crowd, pushing bodies left and right like a fullback trying to reach the end zone.
That’s not good. “Decoy, stop her!”
He was close, but not close enough. Maria leapt on the woman like an alley cat, clawing great gouges in the woman’s face as they fell to the floor. Before Decoy could reach her, the rest of the girls, seeing the attack and finally realizing they were no longer in any danger, lost all timidity and fell upon the woman as well, biting, clawing, and kicking. The outright savagery told me the woman would be dead in seconds.
It took all four of us to physically manhandle everyone off of her, and even that wasn’t working until I shouted at Jennifer to crack a round into the floor with the 416. The explosion finally got them to stop, all panting like hyenas fighting over a kill. We got them separated and left Buckshot pointing a weapon to keep them calm.
We pulled out of earshot, taking Maria with us. In short order, we learned that the woman, far from being a captive, was one of the most sadistic people in the house. Maria began relaying horror stories that caused me to tell Jennifer to shut her up.
“I get the picture.”
Decoy tossed his head at the cut-up woman. “Well, what about her? She’s heard us talk. She’ll know we’re Americans.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I’m not going to kill her in cold blood. No matter how much she deserves it.”
Retro said, “We don’t have to do anything. We could just walk up those stairs for a few minutes.”
“That would hurt the girls more than the woman. She’d just be dead, but they’d live with what they did forever.” I felt Jennifer’s eyes on me but didn’t acknowledge it. “I have a better idea.”
48
Keshawn kept his mind off the meeting by sweeping the inside of the warehouse. For the fourth time. He told himself it was just because he didn’t like clutter, but deep down he knew it was because he was nervous. The tell was in the number of times he glanced at his watch, then glanced at the two Pelican cases at the back of the room.
What the fuck are you afraid of? You’ve walked with killers.
And yet he was. The man coming was someone who held a mythical place in his mind’s eye. A fighter that would destroy all the rich motherfuckers in this godforsaken country. Turn it into an Islamic utopia, where everyone was equal in the eyes of Allah. No more greed, no more haves and have-nots. Just a society based on Sharia law, where the glory was dedication to the one true God instead of material, worldly goods.
But what if he’s not?
What if all of this time and effort had been invested for some raghead loser? What if the promise wasn’t real? For the first time in his desolate, violent life, he had a purpose that transcended himself, and he was now afraid he’d find out it was a fantasy.
A soft knock snapped him out of his thoughts, the sound cracking open a fight-or-flight response as great as if he’d heard gunfire.
He placed the broom deliberately in the corner, took a breath, and strode to the door. Standing outside was a pudgy, balding man nervously glancing left and right. He was dressed like a street bum, his clothes stained and his oversize running shoes showing holes at the toes. He stank of whiskey and boiled eggs. Keshawn felt his heart fall. Then felt a rage like never before, images of Beth’s struggle in the bathtub turning his vision red. He brought himself under control.
“Yes?”
The man wiped the sweat from his upper lip. “You get a FedEx package here yesterday?”
“What business is it of yours?”
“It’s my business because I know what’s in it. And if you don’t give me some money, I’m going to let the cops know.”
Keshawn was completely taken aback. This man wasn’t the fighter. He was something else entirely. He didn’t know how the man had knowledge of the delivery, but he did know one thing: The bum was a threat.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Keshawn said. “Cops? For what?”
The bum was sweating profusely now, fidgeting left and right. “Just give me a hundred bucks, and I’ll leave.”
Keshawn stood back from the door, his mind running through options, none of which he could execute on the front stoop. “Come inside. I have some money in here.”
“That’s okay. I’m not stupid. Bring the money to me out here.”
Keshawn looked left and right, seeing no one in the deserted industrial area. He reached back like he was pulling out a wallet, withdrawing a four-inch folding knife instead. He flicked out the blade and whipped it straight into the man’s abdomen, blade up, stabbing deep and ripping upward toward the heart. He clamped his other hand on the man’s jacket and held him upright while he continued to cut, finally hitting the bone of the rib cage. The man shrieked, his eyes bugging out of his head. Keshawn jerked him inside, the door slamming shut on its mechanical arm. He tossed the bum on the ground, watching him writhe around in a growing pool of blood, desperately attempting to staunch the flow. He knew the man was going to die in seconds.
He grabbed the bum’s hair to get him to focus. “Who told you about the shipment?”
The homeless man gargled, holding his hands to his stomach, his eyes rolling back in his head.
“Who, motherfucker, who?”
The man was unresponsive, either dead or unconscious. Keshawn kicked him, then kicked the wall.
“Fuck!”
He heard another knock from outside. What the hell? He quickly glanced at himself, seeing blood on his right hand up to the wrist. He thought about jumping out of the window at the back of the warehouse, but grabbed a shop rag instead. Wiping off the blood, he cracked the door a second time.
Standing on the other side was wiry man with a hawkish nose. His complexion was swarthy, but what caught Keshawn’s attention were his eyes. Black pools that reflected something dangerous. Perhaps something irrational as well. Just as he could smell a cop from across the street, Keshawn knew this man had been inside a prison. And not an easy one.
