Liberation Day

by Dustin Stevens

  Without turning around Gold stared at the monitors, his fingers laced before him. “I’m afraid this time it looks like the real deal.”

  Ling walked forward until the front of his legs pressed against the desk and took inventory of the images before him. “Military?”

  “I don’t think so,” Gold said. “We’ve done nothing to earn their wrath.”

  Using a few controls on his desk he pulled up a particular camera feed, zooming in on the last of the intruders struggling to make it over the wall. “Besides, these men are far from professionals.”

  Ling snorted, ire rising within him as he watched the bloated men wrestle themselves over the exterior fence. “You want me to take care of it?”

  Gold returned the image to its normal size and motioned towards the bank of monitors. “Right now they’ve got teams sweeping in from the north, west, and south. Boats are circling outside our dock. I think the prudent choice would be for us to run and fight another day.”

  A flash of heat rose to Ling’s face as he stared at the back of Gold’s head. “Are you sure?”

  Clicking through more camera views, Gold said, “They may not be military, but they are certainly armed like it. Our plans are too important and too eminent to do something foolish.”

  Halfway through the slide show an image caught Ling’s attention, his eyes narrowing. “Go back. Zoom in.”

  Ignoring the tone Gold did as Ling asked, inflating the previous image. Before them were two young men, neither seeming overly interested in the fighting as they tore up the driveway and headed for the door.

  “That son of a bitch,” Ling said, malevolence heavy in his voice.

  “I take it that is who’s been causing you so much trouble?” Gold asked.

  “I am going to kill him,” Ling hissed, his voice no more than a whisper.

  “He’s barely old enough to shave,” Gold quipped.

  Ling’s eyes shined with fury beneath his fedora, his fists clinched in balls by his side. “Stay here, I’ll be back.”

  The entire bank of monitors cut to black as Gold wheeled around to face Ling. “No unnecessary risks. Right now we must go.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Ahead in the distance a handful of servants and maids could be seen running about, though the house was almost silent. Thorn took the lead, going forward with Nio behind him. Moving slowly he peeked into every room he passed, clearing it before heading on. Even without the guns in his hands and the adrenaline in his system the task was simple, all of the rooms void of life, most not containing a stick of furniture.

  It was apparent within minutes that the place was more a headquarters than a residence.

  Five tense minutes passed as Thorn led them from the front door towards a circular main foyer in the middle of the house. Behind them the front door was left open, the occasional burst of light or sound drifting through. Despite them Thorn honed his focus in on their surroundings, waiting for a surprise attack, checking each doorway for a trip wire that never appeared.

  By the time they reached the foyer Thorn could feel moisture dripping along the nape of his neck, the heavy Kevlar vest saturating his shirt. Ignoring the burn of sweat reaching his eyes Thorn pushed out into the open space, an epicenter for the entire mansion around them. Stretched more than fifty feet across, it was adorned with only a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, a series of hallways shooting in various directions around it.

  “Smoke,” Thorn said, the first word either had uttered since entering.

  Pausing, Nio sniffed at the air, his gaze darting about. “Where?”

  Without answering Thorn pinched his eyes tight, swinging his gaze around. It took him almost thirty seconds to find it, just the slightest tendril of white easing its way from a ridge in the wall, working up towards the vaulted ceiling above.

  Following it down he was able to decipher the hidden stairwell positioned between two hallways, the walls and décor blended to hide any trace of its presence.

  “Stairs,” Thorn said, pushing forward. In his left hand he carried the Glock, his finger inside the trigger guard, weapon extended before him. In his right he gripped the barrel of the shotgun, carrying it like a baseball bat by his side.

  At the bottom of the stairwell Thorn stopped, seeing the smoke grow thicker as it continued drifting upward, a thick hanging tapestry stifling most of the flow. In another life approaching such a scenario would have been a job for multiple people, an advance team with men behind to cover his rear. Given neither he took the stairs two at a time, stopping just below the top and using the butt of the shotgun to peel back the curtain separating him from whatever lay inside.

  A thick billow of smoke poured out as he kept himself pressed low to the ground, the caustic scent burning his nose. Little by little the initial plume thinned down as Thorn left the shotgun lying in place and crept inside, the Glock still stretched out before him.

  The room was small, much smaller than any of the others he had cleared since being inside. A large desk dominated the space, a vast bank of monitors and electronics covering the back wall. The smoke seemed to emanate from somewhere in the sea of gadgetry, though Thorn couldn’t determine where.

  Two leather armchairs sat across from the spread, the walls devoid of any signs of life. The only other item of any note was a silver door along the side, an array of buttons along the side of it demarcating it as a private elevator.

  “Shit,” Thorn mumbled, rising to full height and pushing the tapestry aside. A burst of fresh air passed over his skin as most of the smoke filtered out, Nio standing just a few steps below.

  “Iggy?”

  “No,” Thorn said, shaking his head. “We just missed whoever was here. Looks like they initiated a self-destruct.”

  “Shit,” Nio echoed, stepping into the room and looking around.

  “Stay here,” Thorn said, “see what you can do with all this. I’ll go find her.”

  At the sound of the words Nio’s hand shot out, his brown fingers offset against Thorn’s black shirt. They squeezed tight and pulled Thorn back an inch, Nio leaning in tight.

  “No way in hell. I’m here for her, that’s it.”

  Glancing down at the hand on his arm long enough to make a point, Thorn stared back at Nio. “We have two objectives here and limited time. I can’t do them both and I’m better at one than the other.

  “You stay here. I’ll go find her.”

  The words weren’t issued as a threat, though Thorn made sure his intent was clear. Given the choice between a bank of smoking circuitry and a hostage situation, he was much better suited for going on the hunt. That was true even in normal circumstances, the adrenaline surging through him only exacerbating it.

  The hand remained on his arm a long moment before being released, Nio giving him a light shove forward. “Do not come back here without my sister.”

  The words still hung in the air as Thorn took up the shotgun and bounded down the stairs, the tapestry swinging back into place behind him. His feet touched down only twice before he was back on the main floor, jogging out into the center of the room and staring in every direction.

  Despite having spent hours staring down at the layout of the grounds, he had no indication of where anything inside the home was located. The hallways were too many, the options too vast, for him to ever decipher it on his own. Instead he stood in place and turned in a slow circle, making two full revolutions before finding what he was looking for.

  “Hey! Wait!”

  At the opposite end of one of the hallways were two people, a man and woman, both dressed in black. The woman stared in abject fear as he bounded down the hall at them, the man beside her tugging in earnest on her arm.

  “Wait!” Thorn repeated, the word sounding more harsh than intended, reverberating down the hall as he sprinted forward.

  In front of him the couple pushed on for the door on the opposite end, the man urging his wife forward. Thorn continued to run as hard as he could, watching as
they reached the door and began to peel it back before raising the Glock and putting a pair of rounds into it. Splinters of wood sprayed back into the man’s face as they both stopped, the woman pushing out a shrill scream. Both of her hands shot up to either side as she went rigid, her voice a yelp as she managed, “Please, don’t shoot!”

  The man by her side turned, his cheeks flushed, disgust on his face. “For Christ’s sakes man, we’re unarmed. We only work here!”

  Matching the expression Thorn slowed to a walk, closing the last few feet between them. “I’m not going to shoot you.”

  The man’s visage made it apparent he didn’t believe a word Thorn said, though he remained silent. Tears pooled beneath the woman’s eyes as she continued to stare at the guns in Thorn’s hands and said, “Please, we haven’t done anything.”

  Ignoring the comment Thorn drew in a deep lungful of air, slowing the breathing in his chest. “If somebody were being kept prisoner here, where would they be?”

  The question seemed to catch both unawares, each staring at him as if he were crazy.

  “Please,” Thorn said, focusing on the man. “I don’t have time to explain. The Asian guy, with the fedora, where would he hide someone?”

  “You mean Ling?” the woman asked, raising a hand to her chest, a trace of fear crossing her features.

  “Yes, Ling,” Thorn said, saying the name out loud to cement it in his mind. “If he had a prisoner, where would he take her?”

  It was clear from the posture both took that they were familiar with Ling and the work he did. It was also quite apparent that they had seen it firsthand, their entire stance shifting at the mention of his name.

  “He’s not here, he’ll never know,” Thorn said, not knowing if either statement was true but needing to put them at ease. If there was any hope at him extracting the information it had to come now, while there was still some bit of time remaining.

  “Couple days ago,” the woman said, glancing to the man by her side before lowering her voice to a whisper, “one of the other maids said she saw Ling carrying a young girl in a bikini. I didn’t think it was true though.”

  Thorn waited a moment for her to continue and when no words escaped prompted, “Where?”

  Once more the two exchanged a doleful look, the woman leaning forward at the waist and burying her face in the man’s chest. On reflex the man reached up and wrapped an arm around her head, his fingers laced through her hair.

  “There’s an underground tunnel system two halls over,” he said. “I’ve never been there, none of us have, but we’ve all heard rumors.

  “If she’s here, she’s down there.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Without pausing to try the handle, Thorn slammed the heel of his foot into the door. It exploded backwards on contact, sending splinters of wood and sawdust flying as it swung open and he stepped through.

  With the Glock raised in one hand and the shotgun in the other, Thorn emerged onto a long hallway. The walls were made of solid concrete block, a row of single bulbs hanging from the ceiling casting an eerie glow. Every five or six feet stood a plain steel door, many appearing to have not been opened in years.

  “Sonuva...” Thorn muttered, stepping past the first few doors slowly, his pace picking up speed.

  A dozen doors filed by on either side as Thorn reached a break in the hall, a wider thruway extended out to the left. Peering the length of it he could see there were no doors, but rather a series of hallways like the one he had just traversed.

  Feeling his pulse increase, Thorn positioned himself in the middle of the lane and walked forward. Going as slow as the situation would allow he walked forward, his shoes making no sound against the brushed concrete floor.

  Every ten yards a new hallway extended to either side, Thorn approaching slowly and extending a glance to each direction. His only hope was somewhere in the labyrinth there was some sign of where Iggy might be located, some small indicator to point him in the right direction.

  Otherwise there was no way he could hope to check every door, simple math adding into the hundreds as he pushed past one hallway after another.

  The indicator he was hoping for came on the fifth hallway.

  Twenty yards down on the left a lone guard sat on a metal folding chair, his legs extended before him, feet crossed at the ankles. He didn’t so much as glance up as Thorn peered around the corner and spotted him, his attention aimed on a magazine open on his lap.

  Retreating back a few steps, Thorn pressed his body back against the wall, drawing in even breaths through his nose as he cast a look around. There was no way for him to cover the open ground between he and the guard without putting himself into the open for too long a period of time. He could attempt to shoot the man where he sat, but in the event he missed he would be alerting the guard to his presence. Doing so would potentially be even worse, starting either a shooting match in an enclosed space or a true hostage situation as the man stepped inside with Iggy.

  The thick concrete construction and position beneath ground had served as sound insulation for him thus far, stifling his entry through the front door and any stray noises on his approach. Assuming that he was now close enough to be heard, Thorn unstrapped the heavy Kevlar vest and pulled it over his head, hefting the thick black material in his hand. Bouncing twice on the balls of his feet he raised it high above his head and smashed it down against the concrete floor, the wicked sound echoing down the hall.

  Leaving the vest on the floor Thorn pressed himself back against the corner of the intersection. Measuring the seconds, he waited as the sound of steps appeared and grew closer, gripping the barrel of the shotgun in his right hand. Waiting until the sound was so close it threatened to overtake him, he spun out on one knee and swung the shotgun as hard as he could, lashing out just a foot and a half above the ground.

  The stock of the gun connected square with the guard’s knee, the sickening crunch of splintered wood and bone ringing out. A pained cry shot from the man as his legs crumbled beneath him, his body pitching forward across the floor. Screams of anguish rolled through the tunnel as Thorn stepped forward and drew up the shotgun, smashing the butt of it into the man’s jaw. On contact the man’s eyes rolled back as his head dropped to the floor, a string of bloody spittle oozing from his mouth into a pool by his ear.

  For a long moment Thorn stood over him, feeling the wrath within, aching to send another decisive blow at the man, before taking a step back. With the toe of his shoe he kicked the man’s weapon away, the gun disappearing into the darkness, the sound of metal scraping over the ground fading within seconds.

  Leaving the man lying in the center of the intersection Thorn turned and ran for the chair positioned along the wall. Grasping the metal handle on the door beside it he wrenched upward, the groan of rusted metal echoing out as the lock disengaged and the door cracked open a few inches.

  Using his shoulder, Thorn pressed his upper body through and forced the door all the way open, the sight before him bringing another stab of anger to his stomach.

  Lying in a heap in the middle of the floor was Iggy, still wearing barely more than a bathing suit. Water dripped from pipes lining the room and stood in pools on the floor, drenching her body. Twin shackles were secured to either wall, keeping her arms extended from her side, forcing her to hold a pose like a macabre crucifix.

  “Jesus,” Thorn muttered, dropping the shotgun and stepping inside. He reached Iggy in three short steps, pushing back wet hair from her face. “Iggy?”

  There was no flicker of life as Thorn stared into her face, taking in the black and purple bruising that marred much of her face, the lines of dried blood than ran from both nostrils and painted her lips maroon.

  “Iggy?” he repeated, pressing his index and middle finger to her throat, just the slightest hint of a pulse present.

  Drawing his mouth tight to keep from screaming in anger, Thorn stood. For a moment he considered going back to the guard for the keys to the sh
ackles before thinking better of it and lifting her right arm from the floor. Placing the muzzle of the Glock against the last link in the chain he pulled the trigger, the shot like a cannon blast in the tiny room, reverberating off the walls as the chain clattered to the ground, water splashing against Thorn’s legs.

  Holding Iggy’s limp body against him Thorn moved to the opposite side, pulling her a foot to his left to raise the chain from the floor. Pressing her face into the crook between neck and shoulder, he removed the second chain in the same way, the shot leaving his ears ringing.

  Not once was there the slightest hint of a response from Iggy.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Half of the screens in the room were active as Thorn entered, the remainder still blacked out. In front of them Nio sat pecking away at a keyboard, his back to the outside world as he worked.

  “What have you found?” Thorn asked, lifting Iggy over the arm of a chair and setting her down atop it.

  At the sound of his voice Nio spun around, shock on his features giving way to fear as he stared at his sister. “Oh, sweet Jesus.”

  “She’s alive,” Thorn said, bypassing all other discussion. “What have you got?”

  Behind the desk Nio rose, moving to come closer.

  “No,” Thorn said, holding a hand out towards him, stopping Nio’s progress. “Not right now. What have you got?”

  For a moment Nio’s features darkened, incredulity creeping in.

  “She’s alive, but we have to hurry,” Thorn said. “Get what you can and let’s get her out of here.”

  “No need,” Nio said, staring back at Thorn, seemingly undecided how much anger to aim in his direction. “England, France, and Italy were just the beginning. They’ve also marked Germany, Russia, and Japan.”

  “For what?” Thorn asked.