by Brad Taylor
She continued running, straining for a glimpse of Carlos to her front. She glanced back one more time, seeing the taillights of the car flash, watching it make a right turn out of sight. Her conviction faltered. Unbidden, she had a vision of Pike lying in a roadside ditch. Her mind superimposed the graphic violence she had witnessed in Guatemala over Pike’s visage, a nightmare flash in her mind of Pike’s head exploded open, brain matter and bone splattered on the ground, his eyes looking skyward, unseeing.
The image hit her with a physical blow, causing her vision to blur, her breath to catch in her chest. She slowed to a walk, the image burning into her soul. She turned around and began sprinting toward the Pajero. Fuck the terrorist. Someone else can stop him. She knew the decision might mean hundreds of people died, but there was only one death she cared about, and she would do what she could to stop it, no matter how insurmountable the odds.
Pike had talked of saving the many as the best course of action, that numbers alone decided the value of the effort, but that didn’t seem right anymore. It wasn’t just about numbers. Jennifer knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that someone would die today. Probably a great many people, including her. If Pike was standing when the smoke cleared, the sacrifice would be worth it.
* * *
Bakr paused to catch his breath, leaning against the corner of a building. He had run flat out for ten or eleven blocks, randomly turning left and right to lose himself in the city. So far, he hadn’t noticed anyone chasing after him — in fact he hadn’t seen a single reaction to his flight whatsoever. He believed he was momentarily safe.
Clearly, it was no coincidence the man from Guatemala was now in Tuzla. He was here because of Bakr. But if that was so, why hadn’t the man chased him? Why let him run away without a single response? Maybe the man didn’t recognize him. Maybe they knew that the partner of Sayyidd and Walid was in Tuzla but didn’t know exactly who he was. If that was the case, he was still invisible. He needed to get back into his hotel, retrieve the detonator, and head to Sarajevo. That would be a complete break from everything the enemy knew. He would once again be on the offensive, safe in his anonymity.
He considered the hotel room. It would be a great risk to return there, since the enemy could be waiting for him. On the other hand, he hadn’t told Sayyidd where he was staying, and the very fact that he had seen them nonchalantly hanging around out front indicated a coincidence, since they would never have been so brazen had they thought he was staying there. The detonator was worth the risk. He would just have to be very careful in his approach, ensuring the hotel didn’t contain a trap.
91
The men in the sedan had the presence of mind to handcuff me, but luckily they had done so after I was in the car, leaving my hands to my front. I would never have made that mistake, but I wasn’t going to complain. Hopefully, they’ll learn this lesson the hard way.
In front of us was another sedan holding three men, leading the way out of town. I was sandwiched between the two guys who had taken me off the street, both of them hard looking with a military air. The man known as Mason, sitting on my left, was the only one who spoke.
“Pike, listen, this is nothing personal. I’m sure you understand. It’s just a professional mission. You’re going to die. That’s a given. The choice you have is how. We need to know where the woman is. Tell us that, and we’ll simply put a bullet in your head.”
Well, there you go. Nothing personal about it. They just want to kill me.
“Go fuck yourself.”
Mason nodded. “Yeah, okay. I figured my little speech wouldn’t convince you. That’s no problem. We have plenty of time.”
We had left Tuzla and were headed south on a twisting two-lane road, the view alternating between rugged hillside and steep drop-off. The lead car was occasionally lost from sight around the sharp curves. After five minutes, we made a right turn on to a narrow blacktop that followed the ridgeline, heading deeper into the rugged terrain, away from the heavily trafficked main road.
Mason continued. “Look, I’ll give you something to think about while we drive, just to ensure you know I’ve got the stomach for the work: I’m the one who talked to your friend Ethan. Trust me, it wasn’t pleasant. I took no joy in it. The conversation lasted a long, long time.”
You little coward. I stared deep into Mason’s eyes, causing him to look away. “You should have kept that to yourself. I would’ve only killed you in self-defense. Now I’m going to kill every fucking one of you purely for the pleasure of it.”
The driver gave a nervous laugh and said, “We’ll see how tough you are in thirty minutes, asshole. Your buddy thought he was pretty hard, too, right up until we punctured his daughter’s eyes.”
Before I could respond, he jerked the wheel to the left, shouting, “Shit! Hang on!”
We were slammed back into our seats by a collision from the rear. The car swerved lightly right, then left, coasting to a stop on the side of the road.
Mason looked out the back window, saying, “What the hell happened?”
“We got rear-ended by some Bosnian bitch. Wait a sec and I’ll get rid of her.”
“Hurry up,” Mason said. “We lost our escort. Assholes kept going around the curve without even looking back.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll throw some money at her. Give me a minute.”
I turned around and felt a shock slap through my body. Jennifer was walking slowly to the back of our car, stooped over with a hand at her back, giving the impression of an injury.
Both Mason and the man to my right were focused on the activity to the rear. I didn’t have a clue what Jennifer was doing but knew instinctively it was going to be borderline insane. She has no idea what she’s up against. Before I could even come up with a half-baked plan, I heard Mason shout.
“What the fuck is that bitch doing! Jesus Christ!”
I looked back again and saw the driver doubled over holding his genitals. I watched Jennifer wind back up and kick him again, apparently attempting to drive the man’s balls up into his neck. He fell over onto the ground. Jennifer proceeded to kick him in the head with all of her might. Jesus, she’s lost her mind. His body was now on the ground and hidden from view, but Jennifer’s leg pistoning back and forth like a jackhammer was not.
Mason threw open the door, screaming, “Watch Pike!”
The man to my right was still fixated on the beating the driver was receiving. The situation clicked — one man exiting the vehicle, the other focused on the fight. Neither one paying attention to me. Big mistake.
I drew my head back and slammed it full force into the face of the guy to my right, the hard, thick portion of skull right above my eyes caving in the brittle bones of the man’s nose and eye sockets with a sickening crunch. Rotating toward Mason, I used every bit of strength I had to kick out with both feet, catching him halfway out of the door and launching him out of the car like I’d strapped his ass into an ejection seat. I ripped the Glock out of the lifeless hands of the first man and dove out the other passenger door just as Mason recovered and began firing into the back of the car, missing me but killing his unconscious partner.
I heard Jennifer scream, “Pike!” then the sounds of gunfire. Shit. Move faster. She’s gonna get hit. Rising up on a knee, I saw Jennifer running to the back of our rental SUV with Mason standing up trying to get a clear shot.
I raised the weapon in a two-handed grip, smoothly settled the front sight post on Mason’s head, and squeezed the trigger.
“Good-bye, motherfucker.”
The force of the round threw Mason into the ditch beside the road, his head cratered open with bits of bone and brain matter oozing slowly onto the ground, his eyes looking skyward, unseeing.
Seeing no other threats, I said, “Jennifer! Come out! It’s okay.”
I ran to the passenger side of the Pajero. “Hurry up. We need to get out of here before that second car comes back, and I can’t drive with handcuffs on.”
Jennifer jumped in
side and turned the key. The starter ground over but failed to catch.
“Shit! I didn’t hit you guys that hard.”
“Forget this thing, get out and go to the sedan.” I jumped out just as the other carload of men came flying back around the mountain curve at a high rate of speed.
“Too late,” I said. “Come out this side. Get behind the Pajero.”
Jennifer crawled across the seat, exiting the passenger side and ending up on the ground next to me. Before I would lose the chance, I ran in a crouch to Mason, ripping the spare magazines for the Glock 19 from his belt.
The car came to a stop, both doors flying open, the men crouching behind them preparing to fire. The air grew silent, with the occasional whisper from the men carrying across the roadway.
I peeked around the Pajero, talking over my shoulder to Jennifer. “What in the hell was that all about?”
“Beats me,” Jennifer said, breathing hard. “I was winging it, but it worked.”
I pulled back around. “Man, I’ve seen some seat-of-the-pants shit before, but this is an absolute record.”
I saw her laugh, apparently completely confident that everything would now turn out perfect. She doesn’t get it. She’s used to miracles happening. I knew the truth. I was facing three trained killers with two magazines of 9mm and shackled hands. I looked to our rear for an escape route and saw a hill rise about seventy-five feet. We go that way and we’ll be cut down for sure. I knew what I would do if the roles were reversed — put suppressive fire on our position while maneuvering a force to flank us. Once they got on the high ground, with no cover between us and another gunman to our rear, we would be dead. There wasn’t a lot I could do about it, since the odds of killing all three while they used the car for cover were just about nonexistent. Shit. We’re going to need another miracle.
92
I poked my head up to get another read, immediately drawing a fusillade of fire. In that glimpse I had seen two men preparing to flank us. In order to do so, they would have to cross the road, traversing about forty feet of open ground. I leaned around the front of the SUV, keeping low, and saw them begin to move. I snapped off a few rounds, driving them back, but drew fire on my new position in return, forcing me to jerk back behind the Pajero.
Jennifer, still oblivious to our peril, asked, “What are we waiting for? What are we going to do?”
“Jennifer… we’re in deep shit. I’m not sure what we’re going to do. Once they get to the high ground in back of us, we’re dead. The only thing that runs through my head is the ending of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”
Jennifer’s smile faltered, the predicament finally getting through. “How are we getting away?”
I peeked around the front of the Pajero again, seeing the two men making another break, both armed with assault rifles. I was able to snap off three rounds before being driven back, thinking I had winged one of the men, but ultimately unsure. They made it across the open ground. I rolled back around, leaning against the frame of the Pajero. Fuck. We’re done.
“This is it. I want you to crawl underneath the SUV. They’re going to reach the high ground in about a minute. From there, they’ll kill us both. Once I start shooting, I want you to roll out the other side and run across the road, into the underbrush. Run down the hill as fast as you can. With any luck the other guy will be focused on the firefight and won’t be able to get a clean shot at you. Once you’re in the woods, keep going. Don’t stop for anything. Run until you hit another car or a town.”
Jennifer sat still, the implications of the plan sinking in.
“What about you?” she said. “What are you going to do?”
I couldn’t meet her eyes. “I’ll find you in the town. Okay?”
“No, no, no. I’m not doing that. Let’s both run.”
Please don’t make this hard. “Look, someone has to pin them down so the other can make the run. Since you can’t shoot, that leaves me. Please, get underneath the damn truck. We’re out of time.”
Jennifer’s face flushed. She started to say something else but thought better of it. She leaned close and gave me a peck on the cheek. I saw her eyes begin to water.
She said, “I’ll see you in the town.”
I leaned back, resigned to what was coming. Make no mistake, I wanted to live. But I had a greater responsibility to Jennifer. There was no way I was going to let her die. I was disappointed at how my life would end, but not tragically so. I had had a good run. My only shame was the mess I had become over the last year. Just when I crawl out of the sewer, I get killed. What a waste. God seemed to enjoy knocking me around. I just hoped my death would be enough entertainment. Let Jennifer live. You’re getting me. You’ll have my entire fucking family. Isn’t that enough? Please let her get out of here.
I looked at the sky, seeing the contrails of a jet high overhead, wondering where it was going. I thought about Carlos, running loose with a device that would kill hundreds, if not thousands, hoping someone else would be able to stop him. I saw a helicopter in the distance, lazily circling as if looking for something. I felt a spring breeze against my face, light and warm, rustling the tree branches. Why have I never taken the time to enjoy that before? I wondered if my life had been good enough to earn the right to see Angie and Heather in heaven. I checked my weapon, saying another silent prayer for enough speed to give Jennifer a chance to escape. Don’t let them kill me quickly.
I scanned the hillside and picked up a glint of metal in the sunlight at the top. It’s time.
I dropped the half-empty magazine from the Glock, loading in a full one and laying out the other full one on the ground. I waited for the fight.
“They’re at the top of the hill. Hold for about five rounds before running. Once you start, do not stop. Don’t look back at me. Don’t worry about the gunfire. Do you understand?”
I could hear Jennifer sobbing, ripping into my soul. Jesus. Don’t cry. It’s okay.
“Yes… I understand. Pike… don’t die. I… I… Please don’t die.”
As I formed my answer, knowing that these words would be my last on earth, my pager began to vibrate. What the hell? The screen said: Mark your position. Mark your position. Coming in hot. I stared at the pager for a split second before the truth sank in.
“Get out from underneath the truck! Take off your headscarf and start waving it. Hurry.”
She wiggled out, ripping off the scarf and waving it back and forth like she was in a lifeboat in the middle of the ocean.
“What’s up? Why am I doing this?”
Someone else is God’s entertainment. Someone who fucking deserves it. “It’s the cavalry. Stand by. These assholes are dead.”
The pager vibrated again with a single word: Marked.
The world had returned to level, all doubt and fear banished by that simple message. I had been given an incredible gift. A miracle.
The feeling of relief was short-lived as the air around us snapped with supersonic rounds puncturing the steel of the Pajero. Shit. We’re out of time.
“Get back underneath the truck. Move!”
I shoved Jennifer bodily backward, then began raking the hillside with the Glock, hitting nothing but hoping to suppress the incoming fire. Bullets were chewing up the ground around us, causing a feral fear to surface. So fucking close. Not fair. I got Jennifer behind the wheel well, jammed underneath the axle, and turned to fight. The two men were coming fast, one firing while the other moved, flip-flopping down the slope. I snapped off the remaining rounds in the first magazine and reloaded, traversing the hillside to draw the fire away from Jennifer’s position. I dove behind the cover of a large tree, the ground around me exploding in pops like someone was working a Weed Eater against the trunk. Where’s the fucking cavalry?
I could tell who was moving and who was shooting because there was a pregnant pause in the fire each time they transitioned. I waited for it, then rolled to the right, attempting to keep them from flanking me or closing on Jennif
er. I knew it was ridiculously stupid, but if I didn’t even up the odds, we were both dead, and the small gap was all I had in my favor. If I did it right, I’d be facing the man on the move, and he’d block the shot of the guy providing the suppressive fire.
As soon as I aimed the Glock, I knew I was dead. I had picked the wrong side. The man to the left was moving, and I was facing the barrel of the man to the right, aimed directly at my head fifty meters away. Too far to hit with the pistol, but easy for the assault rifle. Fuck.
No rounds came my way. Instead, the man turned and aimed at the crest of the hill. For the first time I felt the deep thump of rotor blades. A Bell 427 helicopter sliced across the top of the hill, incongruously painted in bright yellow and white, with a logo emblazoned on the side reading Epeius Oil Exploration. The helicopter’s blades bit into the air as it rotated violently, the open door facing the earth. I could see the team inside, held in place by the centrifugal force of the rotation, three holding SR-25 sniper systems at the ready. I couldn’t hear the gunshots due to the rotor blades but saw the muzzles flash, two times each.
“Yeah, motherfuckers. Eat that.”
The helicopter immediately circled around to the other side of the car hiding the single man. He jumped up and began to run, only to be cut down by the precision fire of the men inside, the 7.62 match-grade rounds flying unerringly toward his head as if it was a giant magnet.
Finished shooting what it could see from the air, the helo hovered over the road, its right door sliding open and a man hooking a thick fast-rope to the rescue hoist hanging off the side. Once attached, he threw out a kick bag holding the remaining coils. It fell to earth, the fast-rope snaking out of the bag on the way down. No sooner had the rope hit the ground than men began sliding down it, controlling their descent by hand and foot pressure alone, like a fireman sliding on a pole. One after another they exited the aircraft, until a total of five men were on the asphalt, fanning out and looking for targets.
