No Remorse (42 page)

“I’m fine,” she said, then realized her mistake. “Actually, that’s nice. Thanks.” She leaned her head against his shoulder and put her arms around his waist. “Mmm, that feels good. Like we’re on a cruise.”

“Oh ha, ha.”

Jog, who was lying back with his head against the gunwale, said, “Ana was just telling me about how she became an assassin.”

Anastia gave a cynical laugh. “Yes…so when work for the Bulgarian Government began to, how you say, die up—”

Tally chuckled. “Dry up. Although in your case, that works.”

“That’s right, we were getting no work. So Anton, he looks for other business through a broker. Yuri.” She shrugged. “We kill some bad men. But I never kill women or children. We argue about that many times.”

“Well, you’re an amazing shot. We owe you our lives,” Mac said.

“Is unfortunate I could not use the telescopic sight. I wanted Khalid also, but could not get a shot. Was too risky at that distance.”

Tally gestured at Zodhami. “What would they do with him, do you think?”

Mac shook his head. “A show trial, perhaps? But he’d be a martyr.”

Anastia said: “The terrorists, they make more bombings if he’s kept in prison.”

Jog threw the dregs of his coffee overboard. “That’s why they dumped Bin Laden at sea. So the bad guys couldn’t build a shrine.”

“You get big reward?” Anastia said.

“My parents died in 9/11, Anastia. Do you think I care about a reward?”

“Oh Tally, please forgive me. I am truly sorry.”

“That’s okay.” She looked up at Mac. “You know, I think I understand you better now.”

“Oh, yeah? This’ll be good.”

“No, really. I know you’ll think this is a bit precious coming from me. But I really do admire you. Your commitment and determination. My folks were Vietnam-era. I grew up thinking wars are just about politics. Not that I’m blaming them for my opinions. But now I realize that you guys in the military are on the front line. Like cops. Every day you’re seeing and experiencing the evil you’re trying to protect us from. It… You must think that the people who haven’t lived that are so naïve.”

“In some ways I envy them. They’re the lucky ones.”

“Yes, they are.” She kissed him gently and stood up. “Please. Let me do this myself.”

She looked up at the brilliant stars of the clear sky.
For what I am about to do, I do not ask for forgiveness. I have no remorse. I only ask that you understand. For my mother and father and all of those who have died and those who protect us…

She climbed over to where Zodhami was bound by his wrists and ankles to the
Rabi’s
stretcher. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed the handles of the stretcher. Anastia stood up to help but Tally shook her head. The crew watched, fascinated, as she heaved one end of the stretcher onto the deck rail.

The terrorist leader turned his head and spat at her, but the wind blew the gob of sputum back in his face.

Tally was surprised to feel no hatred, only a profound sense of justice. She spoke in Arabic. “You are evil. You have no right to mercy.”

She grabbed the handles at the other end and levered the stretcher until it slipped over the side. It speared straight down, down to the black depths of Hell.

Mac squatted by the base of the falls and ate the last of the bananas he’d scavenged. He tentatively pressed his bandaged left thigh and tried to stretch the stiffness from the leg. The injured muscle trembled. It was on the verge of cramping after four hours of trudging from where he’d hidden the launch in a narrow inlet. Ziad’s bullet had only zinged the skin but it had still bruised the muscle. Yet each time his body cried out for him to rest, he saw the image of Scotty on the operating table, his eyes slowly closing. No, he couldn’t wait for Tally to contact Wisebaum and arrange a raiding team or useless negotiations. And Khalid wouldn’t be waiting. His new bomb-maker would probably have arrived by now.

But Mac had a plan. He had argued with Jog, who had wanted to come along. But there was no way he was going to risk Jog, after losing Scotty. His plan only needed one man.

As he walked to the falls, he thought about a lot of things. About Bob and Elena, who would soon have Sophia back. About Danni’s folks, who would be left wondering. And about Scotty’s family and his daughter, Sandra. But mostly he thought about Tally. He’d felt something special when she’d put her arms around him. His skin had broken out in goosebumps as a whole lot of conflicting emotions had flooded through him—joy that she was alive, guilt that he’d not been there to protect her, happiness that she was with him. God knows what abuse she’d suffered. Now, as he thought about her, his eyes welled up, and he felt ashamed at the selfishness his emotion represented. He wasn’t sure whether there was any future at all for him, but if there was, he’d be happy if Tally wanted to be a part of it.

Arriving at the waterfall, Mac didn’t waste any time. He stripped off his shirt and checked the SOCOM pistol he’d taken from their equipment crate on the
Rabi
, with four fully loaded magazines and also a flashlight. The place was on the left side at the base of the waterfall. It was deeper there. Taking a huge breath, he dived down into the black. It would be easy to become disoriented and run out of air. Suddenly, he felt the ceiling rise and found the metal grate. He ran his fingers across the metal until he found a bolt. The metal was stiff and he needed to wriggle the bolt to slide it out. He almost had it, but his lungs were bursting, demanding he inhale.

He refused to obey his body’s demands and forced himself to keep wriggling the bolt. Finally it slid out and the grate swung down towards him. He surfaced into a cramped passageway and frantically sucked in the warm air to fill his lungs. This tunnel was much narrower than the one they had used before, which led back to the resort and had been specifically excavated as a ventilation shaft.

He was still crawling half an hour later when he heard a low rumble and felt the ground vibrate. Dust fell from above. A blast of air rushed past him, back the opposite way to the usual ventilation draft. The tunnel filled with dust, making it difficult to breathe. They were using explosives, probably sealing the other exit where he and Tally had gotten out. Fortunately, they couldn’t seal this one—it was their ventilation.

His throat was killing him from the dust. At the end of the shaft, it joined a metal duct and went off in three directions. The left duct would take air into the air conditioning unit. The one straight ahead ended at the interior of the fortress and was now covered by a heavy steel grate. Impossible for him to shift. Taking the right-hand duct, after about forty feet he came to another metal grate of lightweight aluminum. Maybe they didn’t know about this grate or hadn’t got around to reinforcing it. He pushed against it and it slipped off. He peered out. It was a different part of the fortress from where he and Tally had first escaped. He levered his body out and dropped to the floor.

He crept along the cavity and opened an access panel at the back of a cupboard in the maintenance building. There was nobody inside. Moving stealthily to the door, he opened it a crack and peered out. The access tunnel leading to the resort had been sealed off by a massive concrete door. That meant the fortress was operating autonomously, and the only way in or out was through the sea tunnel. They would only seal the tunnel if Khalid was in the fortress.

Two submarines were berthed at the dock and two guards stood smoking near them, their weapons at the ready. The hatchway was open. Someone must soon be leaving in a submarine. Two more guards were posted outside the control building. As he watched, the door to Khalid’s quarters opened and Ibrahim limped down towards the dock, carrying one of the bomb backpacks. The new bomb-maker was here. Ibrahim must have been protecting him in the fortress that morning during their attack on the resort.

Mac closed the door. Shielding the flashlight, he found a mask, weight belt and an air tank ready to use. He took a star flare from a metal storage container. Timing his move to when the guards were all watching Ibrahim loading the backpack into the submarine, Mac slipped out the door and along to the massive storage area extending back behind the dock, separated from the rest of the fortress by a six-foot concrete wall with open access at both ends. In front of him were rows and rows of six-foot-high bottles of LPG. At least a hundred, he estimated. Enough gas to power the generator for a year or more. Or to destroy the place.

Mac put on the scuba tank and began to breathe. He then began to twist the valves to release gas from the cylinders. The soft hiss of the cylinders was not loud enough to be heard over the generator, but the trick was trying to judge when to stop opening the bottles, in case one of the smokers ignited the gas prematurely.

After opening twenty-five bottles, Mac quietly approached one of the access openings. His stomach dropped. Two guards were standing right outside, and both were smoking. He couldn’t risk firing the pistol. His only hope was surprise.

He uncapped the flare and pulled out the detonation cord. Put on the mask. Stepping out behind the men, he brought the butt of the pistol down on the back of one’s neck, then swung around, hitting the second man in the face. He ran the few paces to the dock and pulled the cord of the flare. As he jumped into the water he tossed the flare over the wall of the storage area.

The blast hit an instant after he submerged. He blacked out for a moment. It was like being thumped with a giant table-tennis bat. The surface of the water curved down from the force of the blast and the air above flashed as bright as the sun. He closed his eyes. His ears popped from the change in pressure. Small stones and dirt tumbled into the water past him as he drifted down in the black depths of the staging area.

Searching with the flashlight among the boulders littering the seabed, he located his flippers and the sea scooter. Now he needed the proximity key. Hopefully the hatchway would still close after the blast, so that the barrier grate would lower and allow him out the tunnel. As he hunted around in the sand, two brilliant lights switched on above him.

A submarine was coming.

Holding the proximity key, Mac ducked down behind the boulders. The submarine submerged and maneuvered just behind the grate, waiting for the hatchway above to close. Through its transparent hull he could see Khalid at the controls. He must have been sealed inside the sub when the blast hit. The thermobaric explosion would have sucked all the oxygen from the air inside the fortress, but apparently wasn’t sufficient to damage the submarine.

And now Khalid was about to escape with one of the backpack bombs. Or more.

The hatchway started to close.

Mac uncoupled the two spear guns and the spare scuba tank from his Sea Scooter and swam up towards the rear of the sub. As he neared the propeller it suddenly started up, forcing him back against the wall. The sub shot forward, ramming its bow against the grate. Did Khalid know how to operate the vessel? Mac could see a bandage over Khalid’s busted nose and another wrapped around his head as he looked around, as though familiarizing himself with the controls. Suddenly, a spotlight dazzled Mac’s vision. He’d been spotted. The sub began to turn slowly around. Moments later two giant metal claws stretched out from the sub towards him. If they managed to grab him, Khalid could tear him apart. He easily dodged past the claws and swam underneath the sub, giving Khalid the finger.

Above him, the hatchway closed and the grate lowered. Khalid turned the sub to face the grate, then edged the craft slowly forward. As it passed over him, Mac shoved the spare scuba tank into the propeller. The force spun the tank until it became jammed against the propeller’s protective cage. The propeller seized up. Inside the sub, Khalid was glancing around, no doubt wondering why the sub wouldn’t move. The propeller began to spin slowly in reverse, until the tank locked the other way. The sub was positioned half over where the grate had previously closed.

Mac saw an opportunity. He swam quickly down to the bottom and swiped the proximity key against the panel. The grate shot up and rammed the sub upwards until it became jammed between the top of the grate and the roof. Now Khalid was trapped. The grate made a terrible grinding vibration as its gears kept trying to force it closed. Under the enormous pressure, a tiny circular crack was forming along the acrylic hull.

Mac powered the Sea Scooter through the space between the grate and the ceiling created by the trapped sub. Mac could see that Khalid was beginning to panic, shaking his arms and obviously yelling abuse. Khalid revved the throttle forward, then in reverse, but the sub didn’t budge.

Mac left the Sea Scooter and swam up to the acrylic hull. Gave Khalid a wave. He was enjoying this.

Through the open hatchway came a splash as a figure jumped into the water.
Ibrahim!
Fully kitted up with scuba tank and a spear gun. Mac unhooked the two spear guns from his Sea Scooter and crouched behind it. Ignoring him, Ibrahim signaled Khalid to stop the motor.
Fuck!
The bodyguard was going to clear the scuba tank.

The hell he would allow Khalid to escape! Mac powered the Sea Scooter back through the space above the grate, heading straight at Ibrahim. Ibrahim ducked behind the propeller and aimed his spear gun. About three body lengths away, Mac released the Sea Scooter and aimed his spear guns. The Sea Scooter deflected off the propeller cage and began to drift down to the seabed. Mac fired the first spear. Missed. He aimed the second spear and fired. Ibrahim raised his arm and knocked the spear aside as though it was a toothpick.