Blood Oath (2 page)
Authors: Christopher Farnsworth
Then his radio crackled to life. “Stand ready,” the CO told the unit. “We’re going to open the package.”
The sun vanished completely behind the horizon. The dark came down like a sudden rain.
Wayne switched his scope to night-vision and checked on the Wolf Pack again—and nearly jumped back. One of the Serbs was staring right up into the window. As if he could see him there.
Impossible. He was totally concealed. The Serb would have to be able to see in the dark. He looked back through the scope.
The Serb was still staring. Had to be a coincidence. People stare at things, look around aimlessly, when they’re bored. It didn’t mean anything.
Then the man made a gun with his thumb and forefinger, and pointed it directly at Wayne. And winked.
Wayne’s finger twitched involuntarily on the trigger, because every instinct he had screamed to kill the man.
Despite the cold, Wayne started to sweat.
The man moved out of the range of the scope. Wayne dialed back the magnification quickly, to get a view of the whole courtyard.
Another man was being dragged by two of the Serbs. He was dressed in all-black Special Forces fatigues, without insignia—the kind the spooks loved to wear, even in broad daylight in the desert, when the temperature got above 120 degrees. Then they bitched about how the dust and sand got all over the neat creases in their clothes.
Some covert ops cowboy, and they’d have to bail his ass out. Still, Wayne wondered—where did he come from? They had the area staked out a mile in every direction, and he’d never seen the guy arrive. Sure, he could have missed it ... but there would have been some radio chatter. Something.
He shoved the thoughts away, along with the cold and the fear that had seized him a moment before. It all vanished as he went through his pre-shoot rituals. The world narrowed to the field of focus through his scope. It was comforting.
The Serbs kicked the operative to the ground. Wayne winced—that looked like it hurt—but the man didn’t. He didn’t even seem bothered. Or scared.
He was dragged up, and then kicked down again—made to kneel before the leader of the Wolf Pack. The Alpha Male, Wayne guessed. The biggest guy in the group, a wildly bearded man at least six-five, packed with muscle. He looked like he could eat everyone else in the courtyard for lunch.
Wayne heard a burst of Serbian through his earpiece. The spook was wired with his own radio, broadcasting on the Rangers’ channel.
The operative’s mike picked up the sound of the Alpha’s laughter, and Wayne felt cold again.
“Please don’t attempt to speak in my language,” the Alpha Male said. “It’s insulting.” Crisp, clear English.
The man shrugged. “Fine,” he said. Wayne was impressed. This guy didn’t sound the least bit scared. “You’re the Vukodlak, then?”
“We are. But you do not appear to have what I want.”
“I need to confirm that you have the object.”
“Why don’t you ask your soldiers? They’ve been here all day.”
That’s when the Alpha pointed up into the air—directly at Wayne, then at the positions of his fellow Rangers, all around the apartments.
Impossible, Wayne thought.
Totally frigging impossible ...
Totally frigging impossible ...
He clicked his radio on. “Sarge, we’re made—” Panic in his voice, despite his best effort.
“Shut up,” the sergeant snapped back. “Maintain radio silence.”
Because of this exchange, Wayne only caught the tail end of what the Alpha Male said.
“—your big plan? They would come running to your rescue? We will be chewing on their hearts before they pull their triggers.”
The Serb turned back toward Wayne. This time there was no doubt. The Serb stared right at him. And smiled, with perfect teeth that glowed in the night-vision scope.
It took everything Wayne had not to get up and run.
More laughter. All the Serbs were practically howling now.
The operative spoke after the tumult died down.
“You’ll get the cash, as we agreed, once I have the item.” He sounded bored.
Brass balls, Wayne thought.
The Alpha considered this for a moment. Apparently he wanted the cash. He nodded, and two of his thugs went into a tent.
They emerged a second later with a metal box, marked with U.S. Army stencils. Wayne couldn’t read them with the scope, but it looked like the sort of thing you didn’t want to open.
The Alpha opened it.
For a moment, a light bloomed in Wayne’s scope. It played hell with the optics, like the night-vision didn’t know how to adjust for it. Then it cast an eerie glow around the courtyard.
Oh, Christ, Wayne thought. They have a nuke. The secrecy all made sense now. The army would do anything to keep a nuke out of the hands of terrorists. Even send a whole Ranger unit into an ambush.
He could see the weird glow reflect on the operative. He looked too young to be out in the field alone. His features were perfectly calm—way too calm. Maybe they had doped him up, so he didn’t know he was going to be a sacrificial lamb.
Wayne peered intently inside the box. It seemed too small to hold a nuclear weapon, but he heard they could fit those things inside suitcases now. Maybe this was just the next generation. The glow made it hard to see, but he could have sworn the eerie light was coming from something shaped like a human hand....
Whatever it was, the operative nodded, and the Serbs closed the lid. The glow switched off like a lamp, and the scope’s optics went back to normal.
The operative looked at the Alpha Male. “Some things shouldn’t be touched,” he said.
The scorn in the Alpha’s voice came through Wayne’s earpiece. “Then you should have been more careful with it.”
“You’re right.” The operative stood. “Drop it,” he said into his radio.
Across the courtyard from Wayne, about ten stories down, there was movement in one of the blown-out windows. He saw a guy from his unit toss the black duffel bag.
It landed a few feet from the Serbs. One went over to it, pawed it open, and examined the contents.
He displayed the open bag to the Alpha, showing the stacks of cash.
The Alpha frowned. “We really prefer euros,” he said.
“You get what I have.”
The operative picked up the box by its handle, and turned to go.
Wayne couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be that simple.
Of course it couldn’t. The Serbs closed ranks, blocking the man’s path out of the courtyard.
“I don’t think so,” the Alpha said, with his perfect enunciation.
The operative didn’t turn around to face him. His shoulders sagged for a moment, as if he was very tired. Then he straightened up again.
“Don’t be stupid.”
“I promised my boys some sport. American soldiers ought to be able to hold out longer than our usual game.”
The Serbs were closer to the man now. Moving in. Wayne didn’t know why he was so close to panic again. This made no sense. None of them had pulled a weapon. They didn’t seem to have any guns. They were covered by an armed force in a superior position. They should be the ones who were afraid.
And yet, they seemed ready to tear the operative apart with their bare hands.
“Walk away now,” the operative said. His voice was stern, like he was being firm with an unruly child.
The Alpha snarled. “You don’t order me around,” he said. “Your teeth aren’t sharp enough.”
“Perhaps not,” the operative admitted. Quick as a blink, he whirled and brought out a knife. It reflected silver in the moonlight. “But this is. Walk away now, and you get to live.”
The Alpha took a step back. He seemed more frightened of the knife—a simple KA-BAR, from what Wayne could see—than of all the heavy artillery around him.
He still shook his head. “Only one of us gets to leave here alive tonight.”
“You’re right,” the operative said. He put the box down.
Then they were on him.
In spite of himself, Wayne shouted, “Jesus Christ!” and prepared to fire.
The CO’s voice came loud and clear over the channel. “Hold your fire!” he screamed. “Do not fire! Damn it, do not fire!”
It was insane. The Serbs were going to kill the man. They were like rabid dogs: growling, snarling, flecks of foam at their mouths.
Then the first Serb went flying out of the mob. He landed hard on a pile of rubble, his head nearly cut off by a jagged slash at his throat. Dead.
And then another, launched out of the pack like he had been fired from a cannon. He clutched a bloody stump where his hand used to be.
There were several more already on the ground, like broken dolls. Wayne could see the operative now—barely. He was a blur inside the trench coats, stopping only when he sliced one of them. Then another Serb would fall over.
Wayne noticed the Alpha Male standing back, watching. He didn’t look pleased, but made no move to help his crew.
The operative ducked, and kicked, and a Serb howled with pain, holding his knee where the lower leg flopped uselessly, shattered. The howling stopped, the operative’s knife blurring away from the Serb’s throat, blood floating in the air in its wake.
The Alpha Male turned, the bag of cash in his hand. He was going to leave.
The operative saw this. But he was still dealing with the other Serbs, who didn’t know or didn’t care that their leader was about to abandon them. They threw themselves back into the scrum, even if they were missing limbs. As if they felt no pain.
The Alpha Male began to walk. He was going to get away.
The hell he was.
Wayne flipped his scope to focus solely on the Alpha.
He aimed, breathed out smoothly and pulled the trigger.
The sound of the M24 was a polite cough.
It was a beautiful shot. It should have split the Alpha’s head right at the temple.
Except the Alpha Male wasn’t there anymore.
Impossible. A hundred yards, a bullet traveling at twenty-eight hundred feet per second ... he would have had to move before the noise of the shot could reach his ears. Faster than the speed of sound.
Frantically, Wayne scanned the courtyard, trying to reacquire the Alpha.
He didn’t have to look far. The Serb leader stood just a few feet away. Scowling. At Wayne.
He looked seriously pissed.
Before Wayne could fire another shot—before he could even think about it—the Alpha was gone again.
Dimly, he realized his sergeant was shouting at him over his earpiece:
“—You fucking idiot, Denton, move, move, get out of there—”
“—You fucking idiot, Denton, move, move, get out of there—”
He noticed the operative was dealing with the last two members of the Wolf Pack. The only survivors. But the operative spared a glance up at the window. He looked almost as pissed as the Alpha had.
Wayne stood, began to stow his gear. His legs were like wood. His movements were clumsy and slow.
Then he heard something in the stairwell. Something coming.
His mind shut down. He didn’t care anymore that it was impossible. That no one could climb thirty-two flights of stairs in less than thirty seconds.
All he knew was the Alpha Male was coming for him.
He lurched toward the door, his legs rubbery, his rifle in one hand, the rest of his gear on the floor.
The door shattered open before he got there, flying off its hinges.
The Alpha Male stood in the doorway. His wild beard had grown, joining the fur at his chest, on his head. His shape was twisted under the long coat, his arms and legs longer than anything human. He opened his mouth, and that’s when Wayne realized he was looking into a snout, filled with the sharp, jagged teeth of a dog.
No. Not a dog.
Sometimes, during firefights in Iraq, everything would slow down. Wayne would remember things. Like how an insurgent’s headband had the same colors as a football team he used to play against in high school.
This time, it was something more immediate. He remembered what Vukodlak meant.
It didn’t mean “wolf pack.” It meant “werewolves.” It was the Serbian word for werewolves.
He smelled the blood and meat on the breath of the Alpha, and realized it wasn’t just a nickname.
He raised the rifle, and heard, rather than felt, his fingers break as the Alpha tore the gun away.
He was on his back, throat exposed, before he even knew how he’d gotten there.
The long teeth were above his neck, and he felt saliva dripping from the Alpha’s mouth, smelled the feral stink of its excitement.
He was going to die.
There was a scrabbling noise, then movement at the window. Cold air rushed past Wayne, and the weight of the monster left him.
The Alpha was knocked across the room, slamming into the crumbling plaster wall.
Somehow, the operative was there, between the nightmare thing and Wayne.
He’d covered sixteen stories almost as quickly as the Alpha—only he hadn’t used the stairs.
Struggling to find words, Wayne pointed at the gun, trying to tell the man to use it.
The operative ignored him. The Alpha got to his feet—Wayne noticed, for the first time, they were bent at an angle, like a dog’s hind legs. He hesitated, growling, a long string of drool hanging from his muzzle.
He spoke, his words rough and high-pitched at the same time. Exactly like a dog that’s learned to talk, Wayne thought.
“My pack,” was all he said.
The operative smiled. “You should have kept your boys on a leash.”
The operative still had the knife, gleaming bright where it wasn’t covered in blood.
The Alpha Male looked at it, a challenge in his eyes.
The operative nodded, and flung his weapon down. The knife thudded into the floor.
The Alpha Male released a howl that became a scream as he leaped, growling and snapping, eyes burning with rage.
The operative didn’t move.
Other books
The Veiled Dragon by Denning, Troy
Cougar in Texas: 3 (Rugged and Risque) by Fox, Calista
Hills End by Ivan Southall
Flight of the Swan by Rosario Ferré
LS: The Beginning by O'Ralph, Kelvin
Deep in the Valley by Robyn Carr
Jews vs Zombies by Rena Rossner, Ofir Touche Gafla, Shimon Adaf, Daniel Polansky, Sarah Lotz, Benjamin Rosenbaum, Anna Tambour, Adam Roberts
The Wolf's Captive by Chloe Cox
Ancient Guardians The Legacy of the Key by Morgan, SL
The High Ground by Melinda Snodgrass
