Chapter 6

 

Gone was the harmless-looking man whose appearance had suited his bookkeeping job. The man holding the gun was still stocky, still with thinning hair, but his eyes were cold, his mouth was drawn tight, unsmiling.

‘I am–’

‘Abdul Zubair. I know,’ Bear cut in. ‘You have been hunting me.’

Zubair regarded Bear curiously. ‘How did you know? There was nothing on that phone. I knew I made a mistake by leaving it there, but I figured…’

His voice trailed off as he straightened. ‘That woman. Your lady friend. She told you. There was no one else you spoke to. I listened to every call of yours, even at night, when you thought I was sleeping. I crept next to your room and listened. No one but she could have warned you.’

He looked away, thinking, a far off expression on his face. ‘Yes, she was there,’ he whispered, almost to himself. ‘My people said there was a woman with you that day. I knew the names of all of you, but her. I asked a lot of people, but no one knew who she was. It could only be her.’

He came closer, circled Bear as if he was a piece of meat and stood in front of him. He struck without warning, laying the barrel of his gun on Bear’s temple. Viciously. Bear rocked with the blow but didn’t stagger. He felt his skin split and blood stream down the side of his face.

Zubair watched a drop fall on Bear’s shoulder and touched it with a finger. He held it to the light and scrutinized it as if it was a laboratory specimen. ‘Call her,’ he whispered. ‘I have been hunting her too.’

‘CALL HER,’ he screamed, showering Bear with spittle.

Never. ‘I can’t,’ Bear answered truthfully, ‘I don’t have her number.’

‘YOU LIE,’ Zubair screamed and rained blows indiscriminately on Bear’s face. A wicked glancing blow opened the wound in his temple and sent him into darkness.

 

 

He was secured to a chair when he came to. His head throbbed as if a million hammers were beating inside. He shook his head to clear them and groaned at the sudden movement.

It drew Zubair’s attention who crouched in front of him and forced his chin up. ‘You’re awake. Good. Now we can begin.’

Begin what? Bear gazed blearily at his captor. Zubair wasn’t alone anymore. There were five more men in the room, all of them armed with automatic rifles. They were relaxed, some of them murmuring among themselves.

‘Afghani Americans,’ Zubair said proudly, reading Bear’s gaze. ‘Afghanis first. The most feared fighters in the world. You know, no one conquered Afghanistan. The Russians came. The British. Americans. They all came. They occupied us briefly. But they all went back with their tail between their legs.’

‘My people,’ he gestured grandly at the five men, ‘they are the ones who attacked you. I know you have a lot of questions. I will answer all of them. But first, call the woman. I can finish this off in one night. It has been a long hunt. It’s time to end.’

Bear didn’t reply.

‘You are the strong type, aren’t you?’ Zubair chuckled. ‘He’s strong isn’t he?’ he asked his men, who agreed. ‘But for how long? Everyone talks in the end. You will call her. It might take some time, but I am in no hurry.’

He flicked his fingers and a man brought forward a leather case. Bear had seen such cases before, in Afghanistan. They were used by barbers who packed their implements in them and stropped their razors on the leather.

Zubair opened the case to reveal razors of various kinds. Long blades, short ones, curved, as well as straight ones. There was a pair of pliers. A needle. A large knife whose edge had been polished to a fine edge.

‘That one,’ Zubair pointed to the knife. ‘I used that one to cut Phil and Mackay’s heads. It was good. They made a lot of noise. They died slowly.’

‘MY MOTHER ALSO DIED SLOWLY. DID YOU KNOW THAT?’

‘We didn’t kill your mother,’ Bear didn’t flinch at the sudden outburst. Don’t show fear. Make him talk. ‘Your men opened fire on civilians. They killed your mother. Your government investigated the incident and they were satisfied that we were not responsible. There were UN Inspectors. They too reported the civilian deaths were by your people.’

‘LIES. THEY ARE ALL LYING.’

‘Let’s see how long you continue lying,’ Zubair hissed, and cut a sliver of skin on Bear’s cheek.

 

 

Bear didn’t know how much time had passed. He knew he was bleeding from several cuts on his face and on his arms. Zubair had gotten around to talking about himself, proudly. How he had fled to America when he was young. Smuggled into the country along with several other migrants. He had grown up on the streets of Los Angeles, and joining the Zetas had come naturally for a boy used to crime and killing.

He had a natural affinity for numbers and that had elevated him to the bookkeeper’s role. He started siphoning funds from the Zetas and used that to locate the operatives who had killed his brother. Simca had discovered the misappropriation, and terrified for his life, Zubair had gone to the cops. With Simca behind bars, Zubair had gone back to his vengeance mission.

Years passed, but Zubair didn’t give up. He traveled all over the country, meeting military personnel, posing as a former soldier. He greased palms and bribed officials, and finally located Phil in New York, and Mackay in Texas. He killed them and when he returned to Los Angeles, discovered Simca’s likely release.

He put his personal mission on hold and went back to the cops with evidence. It was in the police HQ’s corridors that he heard about Bear. A couple of cops had been discussing a Hollywood star who had a former operative for close protection.

Zubair made further inquiries and couldn’t believe his luck when he discovered that man was Bear. It helped that Zubair’s life was genuinely at risk. The Zetas hit on the LAPD’s secure house, made it easy for him to sell his story to people who knew other people. The story reached Bear and everything fell into place once he accepted.

He bought a phone when Bear left him alone and used it to inform his Afghani shooters every time Bear arranged a deposition. It was only Bear’s quick thinking and fast reflexes that saved him, each time. His men couldn’t attack the apartments they were holed up in. That would have been too suspicious.

 

 

‘That woman,’ Zubair admired his handiwork and wiped the blade on the soft leather. The floor was splotched with blood and the room stank of sweat, but Zubair didn’t seem to notice. He was in his private universe, talking, cutting Bear every now and then, screaming at other times, demanding that he call the woman.’

‘I will kill her slowly. The way she came to your rescue,’ he shook his head and clicked his tongue in admiration at Chloe. ‘Such a woman should not die quickly.’

‘GET HER HERE,’ this time the blade cut deep in Bear’s shoulder making him yell hoarsely.

‘I can go all night, like this,’ Zubair crooned softly like a lover. ‘Make it easy for yourself. Once she’s here, I’ll finish you quickly.’

Bear knew he would break. His mind was already starting to drift. He had to make an effort to anchor it and stay conscious. He had tried his bonds several times, but there was no give in them. The chair appeared weak, however. Maybe it would break if he flexed his muscles. He couldn’t lose any more body strength, for that to work. And he needed a distraction.

‘You talk big when you have men behind you,’ he taunted Zubair, forcing himself to speak normally. ‘And you call yourself an Afghani warrior. Warriors?’ he scoffed at the armed men. ‘You are just cowards. You had so many chances and yet you couldn’t kill me. One man. You couldn’t get one man.’ He laughed harshly.

Zubair and his men froze for a moment and then one of the hoods rushed forward with an indistinct curse. Zubair sent him back with a look. ‘Let him talk. He will die soon. What does he know of Afghans anyway?’

Bear scraped his chair closer to his captor and thrust his face forward. ‘You are not a warrior. You are nothing. That woman, she’s a real warrior. You are lucky she’s not here. She would kill you before you blinked. Did you see how she opened up on your men? One woman bested your Afghani warriors. Shame on you,’ Bear spat.

The words struck home. They pierced Zubair’s ego. He growled in rage and scrabbled for his leather case. He withdrew the large knife and jabbed it at Bear, just as a shot sounded.

 

 

The Barrett’s round pierced through the apartment’s wall as if it was made of paper. It punched through one of the hoods, blew a hole through him and embedded in the wall behind.

Bear moved without thinking, his body reacting before his mind had processed the development. He hurled himself back and the chair toppled. He gritted his teeth and flexed, trying to break the chair’s legs.

Zubair reacted faster than his men. He turned back to Bear, grasped what his victim was trying to do and with a thin scream, lunged with the knife.

The second round missed Zubair by an inch. It blew back a second Afghani shooter and made Zubair hesitate. The distraction was all that Bear needed. He roared and strained and one leg broke. He kicked free and lashed out at Zubair who stumbled back.

Bear fell to his side. The shooters recovered and two of them unlimbered their weapons. Bear rolled desperately, trying to free his second leg. One more shot, please, one more.

The unknown shooter obliged. A third hitter went down but now, Zubair and the two remaining Afghanis were readying to counterattack.

‘HE’S MINE,’ Zubair howled and pounced on Bear, his knife slashing. Bear evaded the first thrust, his movement constrained by the chair’s remains. He dove awkwardly at Zubair, going beneath his knife arm, and brought the man down.

Zubair snarled and twisted away, jabbed an elbow in Bear’s face and got to his feet swiftly. His knife came sweeping, low, and deadly, and halted swiftly when Bear rose. The chair’s back was still strapped to his body. It became a weapon when Bear swung around and crowded Zubair with its frame.

Zubair wasn’t done. He wove, ducked, and slashed and his knife pierced Bear’s thigh from behind. He withdrew it quickly and grinned maniacally at the sight of blood on steel.

Focus on him, Bear reminded himself as he turned to face his assailant. Forget the other shooters. Zubair exists. You exist. You should live. He was conscious of the other hitters shooting blindly, before his training kicked in. The room greyed out and all that remained was Zubair in front of him.

He feinted and when Zubair stepped back, followed through, sweeping his leg up wickedly fast. Zubair slashed at it and tore through fabric and skin. Bear compartmentalized the searing pain. His blow slammed into the bookkeeper like a tree trunk.

Zubair went down but didn’t lose his knife. Bear jumped on him and twisted his head just in time as the knife sailed past his neck. He head-butted the bookkeeper whose nose broke. Zubair retaliated and slashed across his chest, deeply. Bear smashed with his head again and got a tortured groan from the Afghani. Bear settled his weight on Zubair, partially immobilizing him. Trying to finish the fight quickly, knowing that his own strength was draining, his vision was dimming.

He twisted his body and slammed his shoulder into Zubair’s chest. His muscled joint and the chair’s back crashing into the fallen man. Zubair wasn’t done. He jabbed and Bear couldn’t hold back the cry when the knife dug inside his shoulder.

Ignore. Repeat. He slammed again. Thought he felt a crack. Not from me. From him.

Again. A head butt that blinded Zubair. Another shoulder slam. The knife thrust repeatedly on his shoulders and chest but didn’t pierce deep. The Afghani was losing power. Bear poised for another slam, when a voice yelled.

‘STOP. GET OFF HIM,’ it was one of the shooters, his gun pointed at Bear’s head.

Bear didn’t get off Zubair. He held the shooter’s eyes and flung his upper body on the bookkeeper. Kill me. He didn’t know if he uttered the words aloud. It didn’t matter. I will kill him before you get me.

‘STOP.’

Slam. You’ll go after Chloe, will you?’

‘I WILL SHOOT.’

Slam. You’ll kill her slowly, will you?

The shooter’s finger whitened. Bear’s vision started turning dark. Just once more. One last body slam. He will die. Chloe will live.

He drew his breath. Something moved, behind the shooter. A figure. Too far away for Bear to make out. Or maybe he was too far gone. No matter. He poised his body. Urged his muscles to do one last bidding.

Another figure appeared. Someone seemed to shout. The shooter seemed to turn. Someone fired. Yet another shot.

Then Bear was falling. His body, a hammer, as it smashed into Zubair. I will die for her.

And Bear died.

 

 

He woke to silence, in a white room. Just him on a bed, no one else. Bandages and strappings all over his chest. Something that felt like stitches on his face. His thigh, plastered. He tried to remember what had happened, but other than slamming into Zubair, he had no recollection.

He turned his neck and winced. Nothing else in the room. It looked like a hospital room, but there was none of the hustle on the outside. The silence was deep and comfortable. So I didn’t die. He slipped back into sleep on that thought.

There were two people in the room when he awoke. One was Chloe, looking gloriously radiant, her hair loose and swinging freely, a small smile on her lips. He thought his heart couldn’t take any more, but he was wrong. It started pounding at the sight of her, and he feared she might hear it.

He recognized the other man immediately. Carter. Here? How? Why? Wait, didn’t I see two figures before I blacked out? Chloe and Carter?

‘Bear,’ Carter smiled a rare smile. ‘When someone points a gun at you, it’s a good idea to do what he says.’

Bear flushed and attempted to sit upright. ‘I wasn’t. I couldn’t.’ He floundered and stopped talking. He hoped Carter could read his eyes. See that he couldn’t let Zubair live and be a threat to Chloe. He couldn’t say that, not in her presence.

Carter seemed to understand. ‘You are very lucky. And have the constitution of an ox. Your cuts, even the deep ones, will heal. No vital organs damaged.’

‘Zubair?’ Bear asked.

‘He’s dead. You may not remember, but you killed him. The Zetas won’t be a problem either. His testimony will send Simca back.’

‘You spoke with Hall?’ Bear ventured.

‘Yeah, I spoke with Jeffrey. You are good. Chloe too.’

Jeffrey, not Hall. Shows how close Hall and he are.

‘How did you find me?’ Bear asked both of them.

‘I knew Zubair was hunting us. It took me a while to work out Cardovo was Zubair. Jeffrey told me about Chloe. I called her.’ He gestured as if to say Chloe would fill the rest in.

‘Thank you, Carter.’ Bear said gratefully.

‘Zeb. It will be Zeb from now on. In any case, I was looking after my interests.’

Bear looked at Chloe who was equally mystified. ‘Your interests?’ they echoed at the same time

‘I need you. Both of you. I work in a covert unit called The Agency. I am putting together a team of the best operatives to work with me. I want you in my team. Think it over and let me know.’

‘No thinking required,’ Chloe answered quickly. ‘We’re in.’

‘We?’ Carter asked quizzically, ‘Bear doesn’t get a say?’

‘Yes, we. Nope, he doesn’t.’

Carter looked at her for a long time and smiled slowly, his eyes turning warm. ‘I guess he doesn’t. It’s been a long time coming.’

‘Get him well and get to New York, soon.’

 

 

‘What did he mean by that?’ Bear asked hesitantly when Carter left. ‘Something about a long time coming.’

Chloe came to him and grasped his hand. Hers was warm and soft. Heaven, Bear thought. Maybe I am dead.

Her lips curved as if she knew what he was thinking. ‘You will die for me, huh?’

Bear turned red, flustered. ‘How did you–’

‘You were yelling. Even the neighbors could hear.’

Bear turned his eyes away from her steady gaze and those lips. ‘What did he mean?’

She bent over him, so close that he could see the flecks in her eyes and feel her hair sweep over his face.

‘It means,’ she breathed softly, ‘that you and I are going on a date.’