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Midway Island
14 February
Amidst the muffled sobs and prayers for salvation, the sound of zip ties tightening echoed in the small room. Several reporters looked nervously at Spectre as he used his teeth to pull the slack out of his Flexcuffs and tightened them down around his wrists.
“What are you doing?” a male reporter whispered.
“Stay calm,” Spectre said before he gave the loose end a final firm tug with his teeth. Spectre rolled to his knees with his hands in front of his waist. He took a deep breath as he raised his hands in front of him and straightened his arm.
The room fell silent as the reporters watched Spectre. He paused momentarily as he held his breath and then swiftly and violently brought his bound wrists to his waist as he exhaled, breaking the zip ties with a loud pop.
Spectre stood and rubbed his wrists. The red light on his watch was still blinking, indicating the Search and Rescue (SAR) function of the survival watch that Charles “Ironman” Steele had given him before their meeting with a Chinese assassin in Tampa was working. Project Archangel had long since been shut down, but he hoped someone was still monitoring the beacons. At present, it was his only hope of getting a cavalry he trusted to show up.
“You’re going to get us all killed,” the nervous reporter hissed.
“You can stay here if you like,” Spectre said as he took off his coat and set it aside. “They’re going to kill you either way.”
“You don’t know that,” the reporter replied. “They could let us go.”
Spectre laughed as he pulled his tie off, untied it, and unbuttoned his collar. They had taken the last girl violently. Her name was Miriam Kagel. Spectre recognized her from one of the cable news channels. She had tried to resist and fight, but the man taking her easily overpowered her. He was certain they had killed her. These men did not seem to be the type to let people go.
“What’s your name?” Spectre asked. He turned toward the objecting reporter as he shoved the tie in his pants pocket.
“Michael Salvo.”
“Ok, Mike, let me ask you—”
“Michael,” Salvo corrected smugly.
“Michael,” Spectre repeated. “In the last fifteen years, have you ever seen this go well for hostages?”
“Well, no, but—”
“And in the last five, have you done any feel-good stories where the hostages were just let go with their heads still attached?”
“No,” Salvo replied softly. “But we’re being held with the President of the United States! Surely they’re going to send the SEALs in to rescue us!”
“Like I said, you can stay if you like. I don’t really care,” Spectre said. “Die on your knees or die on your feet – your choice.”
“We don’t have to die at all,” Salvo mumbled.
“Ok,” Spectre said. “But if you get in my way or impede me in any way, I’ll kill you myself.”
Spectre searched the room for ways to escape. The walls were thin. He could hear the guards talking outside. He had counted their footsteps as their boots clacked against the concrete floors each time they entered the room.
For their part, the guards charged to watch them had been fairly humane. They had given the hostages food and water and checked on them at regular intervals. Each time, Spectre counted roughly twenty-six paces and a click of a deadbolt to warn of their entry. Assuming the four remaining reporters stayed relatively quiet, it would give him enough advance warning to make his move.
But confrontation was not Spectre’s first choice. If he could get himself and the remaining four hostages out without alerting the guards, he could buy them more time to escape. He could buy himself more time to get them to safety. And more importantly, he could buy more time to find Decker.
Spectre continued to work his way around the room, looking for a suitable exit. The walls were cinder block from floor to ceiling. The ceiling tiles had been removed in most places, exposing pipes and electrical conduit. There didn’t appear to be any crawl space to get to the next room. The front of the room was where Spectre assumed the chalkboard of the tiny classroom had once been. He could barely make out the outline and see where its mounting brackets had been drilled into the walls.
There was a small supply closet near the back corner of the room. Spectre tried the doorknob, but it was locked. He turned to the windows at the back of the small classroom. They were boarded on the outside, a relic of what was probably hurricane preparation years earlier. At the bottom of the windows were three panes that opened inward six inches. Spectre opened the middle pane and pushed against the plywood. It would take time to make it a viable escape route.
As he considered his options, he heard the sound of boots approaching. Spectre started counting as he closed the window and searched the classroom. Twenty-five... Twenty-four... As the sound grew closer, Spectre searched the room for a weapon – anything that could be used against his captors.
“You need to sit down and hope they don’t see that you’ve broken your restraints,” Salvo warned.
Twenty-one... Twenty... Spectre ignored the reporter as he continued his desperate search. The footsteps grew closer, causing his adrenaline to spike. Avoiding the threat was no longer an option and negotiating would never work. It was time to kill.
“Sit down!” Salvo hissed.
Ten.... Nine... Eight... Spectre could hear talking. Two of them! He had to formulate his plan quickly. As his eyes scanned the room, he found his ambush location. The door opened inward near the right side of the room, leaving him just enough space to crouch and hide behind the door when they opened it.
Spectre made his way to the corner of the room and put his finger up against his mouth to warn Salvo and the other reporters to keep their mouths shut. His plan relied on surprise and speed of execution. He pulled out the silk tie from his pocket and wrapped each end around a hand as the door lock clicked open. Spectre focused on his breathing. He could feel the onset of slight tunnel vision as his heart rate sped past one hundred forty beats per minute.
The door opened slowly. Spectre waited for both men to enter. He needed them as close together as possible for his plan to work. The first guard walked in carrying a bag. Spectre waited as he walked to the center of the room. Shit! The other guard stayed outside.
Spectre’s mind raced through his options as the guard stopped and placed the bag down on the floor. He bent over and unzipped it, pulling out orange jump suits. The guard stopped, seemingly realizing that something was out of place. As he looked around the room, Spectre heard footsteps fading away. The other guard was moving on.
“Where is the other one?” the guard asked in broken English.
Spectre leapt into action, pushing the door closed with his shoulder as he darted toward the guard. Before the guard could turn, Spectre had the tie over the guard’s head and around his neck. Once secure, Spectre crossed his right hand under his left and turned, pulling the guard up onto his shoulder as he leaned forward. The guard struggled against the choke initially, but as Spectre dropped to a knee, the man’s body fell limp.
Satisfied that the man was dead, Spectre wasted no time in removing the man’s handgun from its holster. He didn’t recognize the manufacturer, but it appeared to be a Chinese variant of the Beretta 92FS. He ejected the magazine and confirmed that there were fifteen rounds of 9MM and one in the chamber before tucking the gun into his waistband at the small of his back.
Spectre searched the man’s pockets for other weapons and found a switchblade knife along with a set of keys. He walked over to Salvo and flicked the knife open.
“Your choice,” Spectre said, holding the knife blade over the restraints. “I can leave them on and you can stay here if you like.”
“I’ll go with you!” a brunette female reporter said next to them. “Take me!”
Spectre turned and freed her of her restraints and then started helping the other two before returning to Salvo.
“I’m Mary Valone, by the way,” the enthusiastic brunette said. “Thank you so much.”
“Staying or going?” Spectre asked as he stopped in front of Salvo.
“Going,” Salvo reluctantly replied.
Spectre cut the Flexcuff restraints and retracted the blade before sticking it in his pocket.
“You do exactly as I say. Move when I tell you to move. Stay when I tell you to stay. That goes for everyone. Do you understand?”
Spectre waited as the three other reporters nodded. Mary Valone grabbed Spectre’s arm with both hands, causing Spectre to withdraw slightly. “I’ll do anything you want,” she announced.
“Who the hell are you, guy?” Salvo asked.
“Do you understand or not?” Spectre snapped.
Salvo nodded nervously.
“Stay here,” Spectre ordered before turning back toward the door. He listened for any voices or movement in the hallway. When he heard none, he slowly opened the door. He peeked out into the hallway, searching for the other known guard. The hallway was clear to the right. It appeared to end at another door.
Peeking around the corner to his left, Spectre found the remaining guard. He was standing at another set of double doors that led to a courtyard. He appeared to be talking on his handheld radio.
Spectre observed the man for a moment, waiting for any indication that he intended to check on his friend. He was only twenty feet away from him – close enough that he could strike before the man could retrieve the rifle slung across his back or draw his sidearm. Spectre had the other guard’s handgun, but he didn’t want to get into a shootout and alert the rest of the unknown number of guards that he and the reporters had escaped. A silent kill seemed to be the only viable option. Spectre pulled the switchblade knife back out and flicked it open.
Sneaking out into the hallway, Spectre made deliberate steps. He moved quickly and quietly toward the guard, hoping to catch him with his back turned. As Spectre closed to within a few feet, the guard suddenly turned toward him. Spectre could see the man’s eyes widen as he saw Spectre bearing down on him.
Spectre rotated the knife in his hand, transitioning from a downward grip to a blade-up grip. Startled by Spectre’s advance, the guard sent a wild punch toward Spectre. Spectre parried, deflecting the man’s arm before driving the blade forward into the guard’s throat.
As the guard stumbled forward, Spectre withdrew the blade and sidestepped the guard. He used the back of his right hand to push the guard away as he reached around the guard’s neck with his left. Spectre covered the man’s mouth and pulled him backwards as he shoved the blade into the man’s back toward his right kidney.
The man gurgled and fought weakly before Spectre’s final stab. His body fell limp. Spectre dragged him to the corner of the hallway and pulled the AK-47 from around his neck. Like the first guard, Spectre checked this most recent victim for other weapons and useful items. He clipped the man’s radio to his belt and stuffed two spare AK-47 magazines in his pockets.
The guard had a handgun similar to the first. Spectre retrieved it from its holster and carried it with him back to the classroom.
“Friendly,” Spectre said softly as he opened the door and entered.
“Thank God you’re ok!” Valone said as she rushed to Spectre.
“Jesus, what happened to you?” Salvo asked, staring at the blood-soaked shirt Spectre was wearing.
“Are any of you comfortable with a weapon?” Spectre asked as he closed the door behind him. He took off and discarded the bloodied shirt, leaving only his white undershirt.
“I have my handgun qualification license in Maryland,” the elder male reporter announced.
“What’s your name?”
“David Williams,” he replied.
Spectre handed him the weapon. “Ok, David, don’t point it at anything you don’t intend to shoot.”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied.
Spectre readied the AK-47 as he prepared them to leave the classroom.
“Ok, let’s get out of here,” he said.