AMIRA

by Matthew Betley

  Her heart pounded in her head, and she willed her heart to slow, although she wasn’t sure it had an effect. More sounds of movement, from her right this time, and she realized that the two men had separated in different directions once they’d entered the theater. Good. That makes your job easier. She had a simple choice – right or left – and she chose left, only because she’d already started moving back in that direction.

  A heavy breathing erupted from her right, twenty feet away, but she ignored it. As her father would’ve told her, neutralize the immediate threat first. He’d been in a shootout after a bank robbery in DC several years ago, when he and her mother had been engaged, and he’d shared with Amira when she was sixteen what it had been like, his story told in the form of a lesson.

  Amazingly, the bank manager had triggered the silent arm and not been killed by the robbers, unaware he’d signaled for help. When they exited the bank, Nick Cerone and his partner were waiting for the perpetrators, guns drawn, standing behind the open doors of their police cruiser. The two robbers hadn’t even hesitated – they’d opened fired with TEC-9 9mm automatic pistols with 30-round magazines, the street gangster’s weapon of choice at the time. Both Nick and his partner, a big African American named Lesley Brown who’d grown up on the streets of DC, ducked behind their cruiser as the bullets peppered the vehicle. In that moment, Nick’s fear had transformed into resolve, as he realized if they didn’t take down the shooters, innocent bystanders would die, and for the two DC police officers sworn to serve and protect, that was unacceptable. They waited until the magazines emptied, and both Nick and Lesley stood, aimed, and fired, striking each robber multiple times, ending the gunfight. The two robbers had both bled out within a minute on the sidewalk, and neither Nick nor his partner mourned their loss. The lesson for Amira had been simple: once you commit to a course of action that you know is right and true, you have to act, no matter what.

  Fully committed, she closed the distance and took several soft steps, moving in total silence. A half-muttered exclamation emanated from the dark no more than ten feet away. He bumped into the rear wall, which further honed Amira in on her target. She moved a few more feet and stopped as the man also froze, as if sensing her near him. Don’t. Make. A. Sound.

  She waited, the tension threatening to drown her once more, but the moment passed, and the man moved, only feet away from her. She heard his panicked breathing, and she realized he was directly in front of her, his arms likely facing to her left. If you’re wrong, you might get shot in the face, in which case, this will be over sooner than you know. But she was out of time and out of room. Now.

  Without the benefit of sight, she visualized the attack in her mind’s eye and pictured the man, his arms extended forward, the pistol held chest high. Amira sprang forward and reached out with both her hands, literally grasping in the dark, praying she’d estimated correctly.

  Her left hand crashed into a hard object, and she realized she’d struck the pistol. Her right hand struck something both hard and soft – his face – and she pushed as hard as she could, driving his head through the curtain and into the concrete wall. She was rewarded with a sickening smack as his skull collided with the concrete, but she didn’t care. She grabbed the pistol with her left hand, wrapped her fingers around the top of the gun, and dug her right hand deep into his thick, black hair. Like her father had told her, Unlike the movies, in reality, you make sure your enemy is down, no matter how many times you have to strike. She yanked backwards and then slammed his head against the wall with as much strength as she could muster. He’d already begun to collapse from the first blow, which provided Amira with additional vertical downward force. His head struck a second time, and she was fairly certain she felt and heard a crack. Good. He’s out of this fight. He crumpled to the floor and lay still.

  She pried the pistol from his limp fingers, ducked down into a squat, and slowly moved to her right, the pistol straight and out, scanning for a target, the way her father had instructed. She had no idea what kind of gun she held, but she kept her finger straight and off the trigger. Her father was right, once again – the hours of training with him on the range had automatically switched on when she needed them. There was something to be said for muscle memory in the height of chaos and combat.

  The second shooter whispered something in Chinese in an attempt to communicate with his partner. His only response was silence. He now knows he’s alone. You’re only going to get one shot at this.

  Amira and the second gunman were locked in a Mexican standoff, and both knew it. She had to assume he knew she had his partner’s weapon, and whoever fired first would reveal the other’s position. She needed to create a diversion and force her enemy to act.

  She reached down and grabbed the first thing she touched – the fallen man’s shoe – and pried it off his foot. She cocked her arm back and threw it as far as she could towards the opposite corner of the Black Box. The shoe landed with a thud and tumbled two more times before coming to a rest.

  There was a movement to her left and in front of her, but no shots came. He’s smart. He won’t be tricked that easily. He also might know where you threw it from. Move.

  Amira’s mind and body were in complete synchronicity, and she moved to the right as quickly and quietly as she could. She covered ten silent paces and stopped as she heard more movement as he crept towards where his partner lay against the wall.

  More shots rang out from the lobby.

  What’s going on out there? The cops can’t be here yet. It doesn’t matter. Be patient, no matter what. Something will give. It always does, her father’s voice said soothingly. You’ve already evened the odds, and he may be scared because he knows he underestimated you. He’ll make a mistake, and then he’s yours.

  The fact that she welcomed the feeling, the anticipation of potentially vanquishing a second opponent who wished her harm, registered, but she pushed it aside, and waited.

  Her terror had transformed into a fierce determination, that no matter what happened, she would not lose this fight, not to some interloper who’d assaulted her and Susan in the place they considered their second home, their sanctuary. It would not stand.

  The entrance to the theater suddenly opened, and the lights from the corridor pierced the darkness, the amber glow freezing the scene inside the Black Box in the dull light. Multiple events occurred at once, and Amira acted without hesitation.

  A man suddenly appeared in the doorway, crouched low as he moved, his silhouette shifting the shadows like living ghosts around the funnel of light inside the Black Box. Amira turned towards the light and spotted her adversary, the man she’d disarmed in the lobby. He stood thirty feet away from her, but his attention had turned towards the door. He raised his pistol, said something in Chinese, and waited for a response. Amira shifted the pistol towards her attacker, but time seemed to slow. She knew what was about to happen and prayed for another second to act.

  The newcomer didn’t reply, which sealed his fate.

  He knows this new guy isn’t one of his. He’s going to shoot him. A coldness burst in Amira’s chest at the knowledge that she had no choice, that she had to take a life to save a life. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

  Amira screamed, “Get down!” and fired, pulling the trigger smoothly several times.

  The gunshots roared inside the confined space, the muzzle flashes bursting before her eyes with each squeeze of the trigger, but she held true and aimed at her target through each buck of the pistol. His body jerked as the bullets struck him in the side, left shoulder, and neck, moving in the dim light like a spastic ballerina. In his death throes, he managed to pull the trigger, but the man in the doorway had heeded Amira’s warning and flung himself to the floor as she’d begun to pull the trigger. The Chinese attacker’s final act in life, an attempt to kill another human being, ended in failure as his round went high and struck the door frame. He crumpled to floor of the Black Box and twitched as his lifeblood escaped and death co
nsumed him.

  Amira’s adrenaline spiked, and a roar unleashed itself inside her head, mixed with a buzzing triggered from the deafening gunshots. Everything was muffled, but she breathed through it, knowing her hearing would return. The man she’d saved shouted at her, but she couldn’t discern the words, drowned out by the sound of her heartbeat and the buzzing inside her head.

  The man in the doorway moved into the Black Box, and he looked at her, his pistol aimed at the floor but in her direction, just in case she might be a threat.

  A dam burst inside her head, and sound roared in with an intense split-second of vertigo, although the buzzing loudly remained.

  “Ms. Cerone, I said, ‘Are you hurt?’ I’m with the FBI. Is there anyone else in here? And can you please lower that weapon?”

  He knows my name. How? And then it hit her – Susan. She made it out and somehow got help.

  The revolutions in her mind caught back up to the pace of reality, and she lowered the pistol, a flood of relief that the violent encounter had ended. You did it, Princess. I knew you could. The love she felt in that moment for her father enveloped her.

  “There’s another one behind you,” Amira replied, pointing with her left hand, the pistol in her right. “I don’t know if he’s dead. I slammed his head against the wall pretty hard.” She heard the crack of his skull in her own head and shook it off. “Who are you?”

  “I’m with an FBI task force, but I’ll explain later. First, is there a light switch in here? Also, the man you shot, you think you can kick that pistol away from him, if you’re up to it? I need to secure this other guy in case he wakes up.”

  Up to it? Before she could catch herself, Amira shot back defiantly, “I shot him. I think I can take his gun, too.”

  The man paused at her confidence and fierceness, stared at her briefly, as if seeing her truly for the first time. He nodded, and said, “I’m Trevor Emerson. And I have no doubt you can.”

  Chapter 4

  The aftermath of the combat – which is how Amira’s mind catalogued it – felt like a Sunday drive of serenity compared to the chaos and violence of the encounter. She and Susan sat on the couch in the main lobby, the same one she’d kicked the first attacker over, as College Park Police, federal law enforcement, and paramedics swarmed over the scene in the lobby and the Kogod Theater. The final body count had not fallen in favor of Susan’s abductors – three had been killed, and the one Amira had knocked unconscious had been airlifted to DC’s MedStar Washington Hospital Center trauma unit. His skull was fractured, and the paramedics weren’t sure he’d survive a lengthy ambulance ride.

  Unbeknownst to Amira and Susan, once they’d fled into the Black Box, the gunshots they’d heard in the lobby had been Trevor Emerson and his FBI partner engage and neutralize – fatally – the two additional attackers they’d seen approach the entrance. Shattered glass and the two bodies, covered in white sheets, lay just inside the double set of doors.

  FBI Special Agent Carter Johnson had immediately informed Susan that her parents, who lived in northern Virginia and worked in DC, were safe under the protection of a team of FBI agents.

  “You know why they targeted me, don’t you?” Susan asked Special Agent Johnson.

  He was in his late-thirties, short brown hair, deep lines under his eyes for a man his age. He exchanged a look at Trevor, who shrugged and nodded, and responded, “I do. I think some of it should come from your parents, but what I’ll tell you is that these men worked for the Chinese government, specifically, their intelligence service, and they were trying to use you as leverage against your parents. But I think the rest should come from them. You should know you and your parents aren’t in any more danger. The US government is going to ensure that. In fact, your parents are very brave, honorable people, but like I said, you need to talk to them.”

  Susan nodded and pulled tighter across her shoulders the warm blanket the paramedics had offered. With the front doors propped open and shattered, the cool November air had invaded the space, creating a chill that touched everything in the lobby.

  Amira squeezed her friend’s hand. “At least this is over.”

  Susan looked at her friend, her eyes welling up. “I owe you my life. Thank you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. She reached out and hugged Amira, forging a bond the two would never break. “Love you,” Susan added with sincerity and no awkwardness.

  “Love you, too,” Amira replied.

  “Ms. Cerone, can I speak to you separately?” Trevor asked.

  The two girls disengaged, and Amira looked up at Trevor. “Sure. My parents won’t be here for another fifteen minutes or so.”

  Amira had called her father as soon as she’d retrieved her dance bag from the Kay Theater. She’d conveyed to him the basic outline of what had happened, he’d told her how proud he was of her, that he loved her, and then he’d let her mother, Amara, talk to her, comforting her in a way that only a mother could. She’d tried to explain to her mother that she was fine, but her mother had insisted that they’d come and get her at the Clarice. While the FBI would be keeping a protective detail on Susan until her safety had been ensured, Amira had acquiesced to their demand to drive her back to the apartment when the police were finished taking their statements.

  Trevor led Amira to the top of the steps in the back of the lobby, where the upper pavilion overlooked the enormous space. Trevor took a seat in a plush chair and motioned for Amira to do the same.

  Trevor Emerson had a lean physique, a short beard, hair swept backwards and parted on the left side, a little longer than a banker or some other executive might wear it, and deep blue eyes that revealed an awareness and heightened level of intelligence. He was in his mid-forties, but he looked several years younger than his appearance.

  Amira studied the man for a moment, who sat quietly watching her, and blurted out, “You don’t work for the FBI, do you?”

  Trevor smiled. “What makes you say that?”

  “My father is a DC homicide detective. He told me that most of the FBI agents are clean-cut, by-the-book types in dark suits. You, with that beard, your hair, your entire demeanor, you don’t strike me as that kind of guy. You’re something else, aren’t you?”

  Trevor’s brow dipped for a barely perceptible moment. “I have to be honest. I’m trying to figure out what to make of you.”

  It was Amira’s turn to raise her eyebrows, slightly offended, a tinge of anger filling her. “After what happened here tonight, that shouldn’t be too hard.” There was a steel to her voice that hadn’t been there before, and she welcomed it.

  Trevor suddenly leaned forward in the chair, his deep blue eyes fixing on her pale ones with intensity. “Let me ask you something – how do you feel about what you did? At twenty-years-old, you took a life, committed the ultimate act of depriving another human being the remainder of their existence. It’s something you’ll carry with you for the rest of your days.” He paused to allow the gravity of the words to sink in. “Your skills exceed probably everyone your age and most of the people already in my line of work. I assume your father trained you, but it’s more than that. My guess is that you’re one of the driven, people who are called to excel at everything they do. I’ve seen it before, but I have to admit, usually it’s cultivated, developed over time. But you, you somehow activated it on your own, and it saved your life tonight, at the expense of others. So I ask you again – how do you feel?”

  Amira had been pondering that very question since her adrenaline had subsided. How am I supposed to feel? I killed another person. She thought society dictated that she felt some kind of guilt over it, over what the Catholic Church considered a mortal sin. But she didn’t feel guilty, not even the tiniest bit. In fact, she was proud of what she’d done. She’d protected and defended herself and Susan, and she’d beaten four men with bad intentions who likely would’ve killed her. No guilt in that. And then the word struck her, and she knew it was the right one.

  “Triumphant. I feel
triumphant. I did what I had to do, and I don’t feel badly about it. Some might argue I should, but I don’t. If I hadn’t acted, Susan would’ve been kidnapped, and God knows what these men would’ve done to her and her parents. And once I confronted them, I knew they’d kill me. So I did what I had to do, and I’ll never second-guess myself. Ever.” The finality in her voice was filled with power and confidence.

  She’s a warrior, and she’s just now realizing it, Trevor thought in awe at the beautiful, fierce, young woman before him. “What you feel, it’s similar to what soldiers feel after combat, after they’ve vanquished an enemy trying to kill them. It’s normal. It’s what they trained for, and the fact that you somehow know it, without being in the military or law enforcement, that makes you special.”

  Amira nodded, accepting his praise quietly and with self-realization that what he spoke was true.

  “And to answer your initial question, no. I’m not with the FBI,” and he smiled, warmly grinning. “I’m with that other agency that people don’t like to talk about.”

  “The one where they always say that stupid joke: ‘I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you?’”

  Trevor laughed. “Yes, but I can tell you, and we only kill people – like you did tonight – when it’s necessary.” The smile faded at the declaration of truth. It was a hard business he practiced, where transactions were often made in blood payments. “So here’s the deal: you’re a junior, and you have your senior year left after you make it through this one. I have no doubt you’re an outstanding dancer, probably one of the prized students here. But what you just went through, I believe it changed you, and I think you know it. And if I’m right, I want to offer you a different way of life than the one you have planned. I don’t want you to answer me now. I think it will become evident to you in the coming months. It’s a hard life, and you’ll have to make sacrifices. It can be dangerous, depending on which way you want that path to go, but in the end, there’s nothing more rewarding than serving your country and protecting those who can’t protect themselves, just like you did here tonight.”