A vine-and-weed covered fence separated the generator building from the Information Center. We peered through leaves while our two perimeter observers sent their drones around for a look at the roof and upper-story windows. They reported back dead quiet. Which was scary as hell.
Mercury tugged my sleeve. Every office on the ground floor has a Russian in it. The weakest link is third window on the right. It’s an all-or-nothing play on Strangelove’s part, no one in the floors above.
I gave everyone instructions and ran to crouch below the specified window. When everyone was in place, I smashed a rock through the glass and emptied a magazine over the wall. There was no need to aim; they were small offices. After spraying left to right, I peeked over the sill. One scared, young soldier scrambled to bring his muzzle up. I shook my head. He took my warning and raised his hands instead of his rifle.
I gave the others the signal. The main door and six windows were breached by flashbangs, which are hell on Russian night vision goggles. My whole team entered the building at once.
I pulled the kid up by his collar, keeping my pistol hard against his eye socket. “Do you speak English?”
“Angliyskiy? Da. Yes.”
“Where is Strangelove?”
He froze in fear. Answering the question was a capital crime.
“Three … two,” I pushed the barrel harder, “one…”
“Pogreb, podval.” He stammered for the word in English. “Cellar? One floor down.”
I stabbed him with a dart.
“Nordfeldt reporting.” Our east side Swedish observer reported in. “Police barracks mobilizing.”
It was the report we feared most. He calculated ten to twelve minutes for them to form up and travel the distance. Not much time for a rescue.
We met up in the lobby. There was only one set of stairs going down. The first man would have no chance of survival. We stared at the door. No one spoke. After a moment of silence, Pavel raised his hand.
“I go first.” He took a deep breath. “Uniform could trick them. Da?”
The US Army and Sabel Security are not the only organizations to keep a live comm link for fire teams. The Russians we’d subdued were all wearing them. And that meant everyone in his former unit heard Pavel berate his captain. But Pavel knew he was the guy who led us into the generator station, blowing our element of surprise, which allowed Strangelove to ready his final snare. It was Pavel’s act of redemption.
Pavel’s a good man, not to mention brave. Mercury shook his head. Hey, homie, there is one unmanned basement window. Follow me.
I split the team. Pavel and the Swedes mounted the frontal assault. Miguel, the Major, and I went through a thick rose bush and found the basement window. On my signal, Pavel dropped a flashbang down the steps inside. We slid into the window opening.
“What is that smell?” Miguel asked when our noses were assaulted on the first intake of breath.
Mercury said, Russians love gardening. And that means they also like to compost. Why do you think no one checked the window in this room?
I glanced around. We stood ankle deep in someone’s composting project.
“Larsson reporting.” Our outside observer alerted us. “Car has arrived. Passenger is entering the building. Unarmed.”
The last detail was all I needed to know to discard the information.
To the sounds of open warfare close by, we mucked our way to the hallway. Around a corner, a large open area lit up with muzzle flashes, mostly from the Russians. Pavel lay on the steps, his contorted body resting on his face. Mercury was right—he had been a brave man. The Swedes fired from the landing above. Six soldiers poured ammo into the cement, its soft composition minimizing ricochets.
What was missing bothered me. No commander. No general directing his men. That could only mean one thing.
Behind me, Miguel opened fire down the hall. With only a glance for communication, the Major and I rolled into the main room. We opened fire on the Russians from behind. The Swedes instinctively knew the drill and dropped down the stairs.
We won the battle. But. We were in Strangelove’s grip.
The Major looked at me. I pointed down the hall. Miguel had been firing at something but hadn’t joined us in the main room. We snuck a look out the door and saw Miguel pointing to a closed door. Two other doors stood open near him. He slid into one.
“Larsson reporting.” The lookout’s voice cut into my comm link again. “Identified car occupant from rental papers: Alan Sabel. He’s in your building.”
In unison, Miguel, the Major, and I said, “Shit.”
“Let’s get this done before he gets here,” the Major said.
The Major and I took up positions on either side of the door. Our Swedes carried a dead Russian for a battering ram. We gave them a count, they smashed through and tossed the body inside. No one fired. The Major and I ran in, crouching and aiming. The Swedes stood at the door frame, covering us.
Strangelove sat at the far wall scratching a long scar on his neck with a pistol. Next to him, Ms. Sabel was bound at the ankles and wrists. A gag was tied tight in her mouth. One of her eyes was wild with anger. The other, swollen shut. Her face and body were bruised and swollen. Behind her, on the left, was the giant X where she’d been tortured.
Positioned around the room were eight Russians. One in each corner, two next to the door, and two behind Strangelove. Some had the look of well-trained veterans, but they couldn’t take their eyes off the body of their comrade. Our brutality shocked them.
Nervous soldiers with loaded weapons are not a good thing.
“Lay down your weapons,” Strangelove said.
“Why?” the Major asked.
“So we can wait for Alan Sabel in peace.”
“We forgot to bring him.”
We were in the worst of all battlefields: an enclosed space with too many weapons. Twelve automatic rifles in a space the size of a living room. Any gunfire was as likely to take out one of our own as one of them. The same was true for the Russians. Which made them even more nervous.
I trained my sights on one of the soldiers. The Major kept her barrel focused on the general. The Swedes had picked out one each as well. Even with Miguel, our secret weapon in the room next door awaiting his cue, we were several rifles short of a winning combination.
Mercury said, Good news, my man. The Swede watching the boats was a medic. He realized the Russians gave Tania and Dhanpal heroin. He always keeps Naloxone, the antidote, with him. They’re going to come through that blacked-out window in five minutes. Nobody pulls a trigger til they get here. You got this, bro.
Normally, that would’ve been reassuring, but tension rippled through the room like static before a lightning strike. We were in a deadly game of chicken. The first one to blink would lose.
“I’m here.” Alan Sabel’s baritone boomed angrily behind me. He stepped around the Swedes and into the room. Still in his business suit, he strode to the center and faced Strangelove. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Alan, get out of here.” The Major smacked his shoulder.
Strangelove gave Alan a sick grin and scratched his scar.
The soldier at the back corner trained his weapon on Alan. Sweat ran down the boy’s forehead into his eyes. He wiped his face on his shoulder. Way too nervous. My Russian, the one in my sights, moved his aim from the Major to Alan and back. He was calm. A guy who’d seen action a time or two.
In my peripheral vision, I could see two Russians beginning to quiver. They knew how close we were to mutual annihilation.
I moved my sights to the edgy kid aiming at Alan. Sweat coated his upper lip.
I was cold. Adrenaline cold. I had ice in my veins.
He was boiling over. He was young. New. Untested.
I knew how the kid felt, every shiver and quake. Any time I wanted, I could instantly recall being the jumpy teenager in his first firefight. It’s not something you can forget. Scared and lonely, I had been seven thousand miles from Iowa surrounded by hundreds of strangers trying to kill me before I killed them. Adrenaline had amped me up to the point where my body felt like it was in a paint-shaker. All the sounds in the world had stopped. The only thing I could hear was the last sentence I’d laughed to my mom: I promise, I won’t get killed. A lie. A big, huge ugly lie that only revealed itself the instant the first rifle cracked. I could die. Snap. Just like that.
It took many missions and an idle god to harness my adrenaline. To get cold.
This kid was on his first mission and had no gods at all.
“My demands are simple.” Strangelove chambered a round in his pistol and took the safety off. “Your kompromat on Viktor.”
“I don’t have any. Pozdeeva gave us reams of information, none of it relevant.”
“Why did you clean out your caches?” Strangelove asked.
“For kompromat on Chuck Roche. He’s the only one I’m worried about.”
“You lie.”
In my ear came an update from Nordfeldt, our observer on the east side. “Sixty police, armored vehicles, leaving their compound.”
“Let my daughter go,” Alan yelled. “Take me instead.”
“Nyet.” Strangelove scowled and waved his pistol around. “You commit suicide. Then they go.”
“Not falling for that trick.” Alan leaned forward, aggressive and steaming. “Let her go, or my people open fire.”
“Go ahead.” Strangelove shrugged. “Give orders.”
A ripple of anxious glances circled the Russians, each man looking to his buddy. I prayed to Jupiter for calm. Our team had all served in war zones. Half the Russians were well-trained but untested. The adrenaline rush felt like an old friend to me. It made the Russian’s hands shake, and their fingers twitch on the trigger. Their vision narrowed to a tunnel that fixated on the target. Their minds raced through a thousand scenarios. None of them good.
One trigger pull would light the fuse.
Mercury said, Dude! You gotta get everyone to chill out here. Tania and Dhanpal will storm those windows, but not for another three minutes. Two at best. Say something.
I racked my brain for something relevant to say that wouldn’t sound like “fire” in Russian. Nothing came to mind since I didn’t speak Russian. I stole a glance at the Major and could see the same search for words going on in her head.
Pia Sabel’s face shook from side to side. Angry and horrified at the same time.
Mr. Sabel remained under the delusion he could save his little girl. In the world of fatherhood, there is no calling as sacred as saving your child. That calling pulled a magnitude harder for him. He swayed with indecision. Call the Russian bluff or light the candle?
“You saved little girl once.” Strangelove raised his pistol to Ms. Sabel’s temple with a sick grin on his face. “Now you watch her die.”
Alan leapt at him.
The twitchy soldier pulled the trigger. His bullet pierced Alan Sabel’s head just above the eyebrow. A palm-sized piece of his skull opened like a hinged lid. A chunk of brains flew out with a spray of blood. Snap. Just like that. He was dead before his body hit the floor.
Pia Sabel screamed through her gag.
The Major put a bullet between Strangelove’s eyes. His head cracked open like a melon.
I put down the nervous soldier.
Miguel heard the shots fired and burst through the wall. All Russian eyes turned to the crashing plaster and batting. The perfect distraction: we opened fire on the Russians.
Two basement windows opened. Tania, Dhanpal, and Emily dropped in from outside. An instant later, the Russians were dead and dying.
One of our Swedes was wounded.
The Major had a bullet hole in her thigh.
I gave the order. “To the boats.”
Ms. Sabel had not stopped screaming since watching her father’s head fall apart.
I couldn’t stand to see her in agony.
I ran to her, stabbed her with my last Sable Dart. Her eyes fixed on me the instant before the paralysis set in. There’s a minute or two of lucid awareness before the sleep medication takes over; the victim knows what’s going on but can’t do anything about it. In those moments, her eyes filled with grief before rolling slowly back in her head.
Maybe it was the wrong thing to do. But it was done.
Miguel picked up Alan’s body.
I put a shoulder under Ms. Sabel and hoisted her up.
Tania helped the Swedes carry their man out. Emily and Dhanpal helped the Major make her way. There was no time left to retrieve Watson.
We ran for the boats on the river’s edge as police searchlights lit up the building behind us. I handed Ms. Sabel to the man on the boat and climbed in. The boats pushed off and ran silently away from shore on electric power. As soon as we cleared the city limits, they cranked up the outboard motors and ran full throttle out to sea.
I looked into the crisp, cloudless sky at the infinite array of stars. When I brought my gaze down, it landed on Mercury, sitting on the pontoon.
I jumped up and pounded on him with my fists. How the hell could you let that happen?