Williams was about to light his fifth cigarette of the day when the report came in. The admin assistant who came rushing toward him nearly tripped and fell in her rush to provide Williams with something which she thought would make his day. He looked up at her and smiled, almost laughing as she came tumbling towards him, her hands full of papers, trying desperately hard to stay upright in her heels.
‘Agent Williams,’ she puffed as she got closer to him.
‘Careful there, Vanessa,’ he warned, jumping to break her fall, ‘what’s the problem? I’m sure it’s not worth breaking your neck over. Or preventing me from having a cigarette break, come to think about it.’
She tried a smile, unamused by his comment but determined to be the one to break the news. He helped her by taking the papers from her and looked inquisitively at her as she tried to speak.
‘Agent Williams, we have the latest satellite imagery from our Algerian contact. Ain M’lila Airfield seems to be active and fortifying its position.’
‘You what?’ he exclaimed, looking stunned at her as she spoke. ‘You’re joking right, is this Rachel trying to take the piss?’
‘I don’t know what you mean sir, but these are the images just in,’ she said sternly as she directed Williams to the relevant page.
‘My god, what the hell are they doing?’ he asked, shocked.
‘We don’t know yet.’ Rachel’s voice from behind them made them both turn to look. ‘Looks like they are preparing for world war three from what we can gather. This place has been demilitarised for some time now so we’re curious about what they’re up to.’
Williams looked, horrified through the series of satellite images as he looked to Rachel for answers.
‘Come on,’ she said, grabbing the cigarette from him, ‘I’ll fill you in on the way.’
They both walked towards the ops room and Williams’ eyes widened as she explained.
‘Twelve hours ago, some heavy weapons were spotted by out Aerial Reconnaissance Drone after the locals complained of building noise coming from the airfield. Naturally this information reached our ears, and we conducted an over flight. Several armoured vehicles and a large number of troops were seen entering the base under cover of darkness. Intel suggests several large garrisons seem to be fortifying their positions.’
‘Yeah, but fortifying them against what?’ Williams asked.
‘We don’t know yet. We’ve checked with local intelligence and nothing seems out of place, no fall outs, no gang issues, and no political differences we know of.’
‘You think this has something to do with Azidi?’ he asked her, looking suddenly interested.
‘Possibly. He was sighted in Algeria last year, in fact, he spent three days there before returning to Syria, and then we lost him for a while.’
‘Well I have to get out there now, this could be our only chance to get him,’ he insisted, making a move towards the direction of his office to pick up his weapon.
‘Hold your horses, Nathan,’ Rachel said, holding his arm, ‘we have to wait for authorisation from the Algerians first. Until we know exactly what they are up to, our orders are to stand down and await further intel.’
Agent Williams was not a fan of ‘waiting for authorisation’. He was more swayed towards acting on information received, especially if time was a factor. And he WANTED Azidi, and he wanted him badly. He would not pass up an opportunity to take him out, even if it cost him his job.
‘Listen, Rachel,’ he placated, putting his hand on her shoulder patronisingly. ‘I know you and I have had our differences, but I have been after this guy since before you came here, I KNOW him, I know how he thinks, how he acts, what he does, everything.’
She pushed his hand off her shoulder, glaring at him with a look that reminded him whatever had happened between them before this job meant nothing now, and she was still his superior.
‘Agent Williams,’ she said quietly but firmly, staring at him all the while, ‘may I remind you I am your senior agent and superior; you will NOT try to undermine my authority!’
Williams gulped, realising he had pushed her too far. But he still would not back down.
‘I want answers,’ he hissed at her, his body language suddenly changing as he stood taller, shoulders back, back straight, almost in a defensive stance.
‘I understand that,’ she replied in a slightly more relaxed tone, ‘but it won’t get us anywhere If we burst in there, guns blazing and not asking questions.’
Williams sighed. He knew she was right, but it didn’t make him feel any better.
‘What did you have in mind?’ he asked. She smiled as she motioned him to follow her.
The rooftop looked like a war-zone as Mark and El Toro wandered through the sprawl of bleeding, dead corpses. Smoke grenades that had been fired aimlessly at moving targets sat slowly smoking, the smoke blowing gently across towards Mark and El Toro, making it difficult for them to see. They both stood around staring at the carnage that lay before them. El Toro spoke.
‘The massacre of Cabrera,’ he sighed, almost weeping at the amount of death before them.
He’d left this life behind many years ago and had lived on this island in relative peace and quiet. Retired to a life of happiness, laughter and history, El Toro felt the familiar pain which always used to precede a firefight. Now it seemed this man, this friend of his closest friend and ally Nial Atkinson, had brought death and destruction to this once peaceful safe-haven. He didn’t blame Mark though, he blamed his old enemy and shed a silent tear that someone he used to call ‘brother’ had still not learned from the mistakes of the past. Lundon still believed anything or anyone he couldn’t control or understand had to be shot at, blown up, pursued across the world, and killed. It didn’t bear thinking about.
Mark was breathing heavily and struggled to see through the plumes of smoke which almost engulfed him as he staggered to his feet, after dispatching the last of the dying men, with his Kadet knife. He was giving no mercy if someone tried to kill him or El Toro, especially as these soldiers, brave though they were and had put up an extraordinary fight, had been sent to kill and followed orders blindly, without thinking about the consequences of what they did, nor who or what the ‘enemy’ were and asking themselves if perhaps THEY were the bad guys. Mark felt like a bad guy as he stumbled over falling weapons, pools of blood and spent shell casings towards where he could make out the outline of El Toro. Once he reached him, he put a friendly and supportive hand on El Toro’s shoulder and the two men gazed around them in silence at the scene of utter devastation.
The smoke grenades were dying down as Mark left El Toro to wander the bodies to see if anyone else was still alive, and to collect any ammunition, weapons, radios and anything else which could prove useful. These men had families and their loved ones deserved to know where they were. Mark was considering how best to pile the bodies up and how they would explain all this if the authorities came calling.
It was all too much for Mark to bear and he collapsed to his knees, head in his hands, trying to make sense of it all; all this needless killing and suffering, for what? For the good of mankind, to make Lundon feel better or to amuse those who pulled the strings, knowing they had conditioned these men, and probably thousands of others like them, to lay down their lives for a cause they didn’t even fully understand. Lundon wasn’t the master of some powerful organisation, and Invictus Advoca wasn’t some shadow government with the weight of worldly decisions on their shoulders, they were a group of power-mad playground bullies, driven mad by the lust for control, dominance and perceived superiority over anyone who would serve them.
Mark wasn’t mad anymore, or angry, or vengeful, he was sorry. Sorry for Lundon, sorry for Marie and the children, sorry for El Toro, dragging a war to his doorstep which had nothing to do with him, and above all, sorry for himself for believing he had no option other than to follow this path until he found Marie’s killer. He didn’t expect this feeling to suddenly overwhelm him and he was unprepared for it.
He looked up and El Toro was busy taking dog tags from around the necks of the dead and putting them in his top pocket. Now THERE was a man who had seen wars. Wars no one else should see and probably didn’t even know about. Here was a man who had suffered and seen suffering at its most prominent, and yet he maintained a steely, cold silence as he stood, knee deep in blood, death and carnage, yet seemed to still stand tall and let it all wash over him. How he managed it, Mark thought to himself, he didn’t know, as he searched around for dog tags and useful items. The smell of the smoke grenades caught the back of Mark’s throat and he coughed, reaching for his cigarettes in his pocket and lighting one up. El Toro whistled at him and Mark looked up, just in time to catch El Toro’s hip flask. Mark gratefully drank heavily from it, hoping it would numb him enough from the surrounding sights. It didn’t, but it quickly made him feel less ‘there’ and slightly more spaced out.
Mark heard a noise a few feet in front of him. A cough mixed with a splutter; and he froze, looking around him to see where it was coming from. He saw movement and slowly moved over to where the noise had come from. As he crawled across the bullet-ridden concrete, he realised what it was, and suddenly hardened again; he slowly drew his weapon and released the safety catch with a ‘click’. He found the soldier, wounded but alive, trying to get up and the soldier froze when he saw the barrel of Mark’s suppressed pistol, right in his face, almost touching his nose. The soldier looked up and saw Mark’s dirty, tear-soaked face with his bloodshot eyes from the smoke grenade and prepared himself for his imminent death.
It felt like a lifetime for Mark to reach the soldier, like time had slowed down and he was moving in slow motion. He thought it might have been the drink El Toro had given him, but his co-ordination seemed fine, it was just that everything else seemed to vanish into a white haze and all Mark could see was the soldier, staring at him in fright, his flak jacket torn and with several visible bullet holes punched into the chest protector. All Mark could think about was that someone who tried to kill him was still alive and Mark had to defend himself. Mark tried to stand up on his shaky, weakened legs, and they trembled as all he could do was lift himself up to his knees. He leaned back a little further and closed one eye, taking aim at the soldier who had propped himself up on the body of someone who had fallen next to him and probably saved his life by doing so.
The two men’s eyes met and widened. Mark’s were those of a possessed madman. The soldier thought Mark was suffering from being ‘trigger happy’. He knew it was a form of hysteria when someone couldn’t stop firing, even when everyone around them was dead. If this were the case, this man pointing a gun at him would likely kill him, so he propped himself up on his elbow and leant against the body behind him, ready to face his enemy. He watched as Mark’s finger slowly moved towards the trigger and glared at Mark for all he was worth.