True Conviction (27 page)

Ha!

Do you know what? I’m not even remotely surprised…

I obviously had no idea Clara is Ketranovich’s daughter, but at this stage, nothing else can shock me.

“Your daughter,” I say, nodding as I process the information. “Of course she is...”

Ketranovich smiles and turns back to Clara.

“We must begin the next phase of the plan,” he says to her. “See that our friend here is comfortable then join me in the control room.”

“Yes, sir,” she replies.

He gives me one last look before walking off back down the long corridor.

“
Yes, sir
,” I say to her in a funny voice, mockingly. “You make me sick.”

“And very soon I’ll make you dead,” she replies, looking past me toward the long corridor.

I turn to follow her gaze and see Natalia walking toward us. She has a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other. And she looks massively pissed off.

Well…
this
isn’t going to end well, is it?

Clara signals to the furnace room with her gun as Natalia approaches. “Get in,” she says to me.

I walk in and turn right as the heat hits me instantly. The two of them follow me inside.

I suppose this would be the moment where she aims her gun at the back of my head and pulls the trigger. Game over.

Well, let me tell you, I have no intention of dying in this furnace.

I turn to face Clara. The darkness closes in around us, broken only by the orange glow from the fire behind her, which gives her a demonic aura, making her look all the more monstrous.

Natalia walks in and stands next to her. She turns to Clara and says something in Russian. Clara responds and turns to me.

“Have fun, you two,” she says with a mischievous smile.

“I’m sure we will,” I reply. “She’s gotta be more entertaining than you were.”

Clara rolls her eyes at my apparently wasted attempt at a hateful remark and walks out of the room, closing the door behind her.

I watch her go, and then turn to Natalia. “So,” I say. “How are you…?”

Like lightning, she raises her gun and aims directly between my eyes.

Shit, that was fast!

Small talk clearly isn’t going to help. Time to try plan B.

“Okay. Do you speak any English?” I ask.

No response.

“Y’know, you strike me as someone who has some unaddressed anger issues. Would that be a fair assessment?”

Lowering the gun slightly, she swings a left hook from her hip and connects with the right hand side of my face. I see it coming a mile away, but with my hands behind my back, there’s little I can do to avoid it.

Goddammit! That hurt!

But at least I know she can understand me.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” I continue. “Ketranovich was very complimentary of your abilities as a soldier. A person could be forgiven for thinking you were his favorite, the way he was talking.”

She pauses momentarily, presumably to think about what I’m saying, and then throws another left hook, that finds its mark.

Ah, shit—that one’s going to swell up like a bitch…

I haven’t really thought this through, have I?

Well, too late worry about minor details like a few bruises now.

“I only mention it because, as a fellow soldier, I thought it was strange he would choose Clara instead of you for the mission to manipulate me...”

She goes to hit me a third time, but I back away slightly, causing her to hold back and look at me quizzically.

“I’m just saying. I mean, I was very close to her all this time. She didn’t strike me as being very capable in the field. She was almost weak, when it came down to it. Whereas you, Natalia, are a stone cold professional. No hesitation, no doubt—you just carry out your orders with lethal efficiency. If I was Ketranovich, there’s no way I’d have cut you out of my plans like they did.”

It looks like she’s going to swing for me again, but instead she steps in closer, lowering her gun slightly. She’s no more than a foot away from me. In the poor light of the furnace room, this is the first time I’ve been able to properly see her eyes. They burn brighter than any fire could ever hope to. The anger that lies just beneath the surface is palpable. I keep my demons locked behind a big door. By comparison, I think little Natalia here keeps hers stored in a wet paper bag...

In a broken, heavily Russian accent, she finally speaks to me.

“I am twice the woman
she
is,” she spits. “I would never have let you get away with what you have.”

For a brief moment, I see a flash of that anger surface and I’ll be honest, it genuinely worries me. Given my hands are still tied behind my back, I absolutely believe that, right now, she’s very close to, and very capable of, killing me.

Which is all the incentive I need…

Do you know what the best thing about a head-butt is? It’s that no one ever expects them. More often than not, you hurt yourself more than the person you’re actually hitting, so it’s just assumed that nobody will ever bother to try one. But if you do it right, they’re lethal.

I stand up straight and bring my head back slightly, then lurch my shoulders and neck forward, relaxing so my skull becomes a dead weight. Natalia’s smaller than me, so I have to aim it just right to compensate for the height difference. As my forehead comes arching down, I bend my knees slightly and connect with her right between the eyes on the bridge of the nose.

I hear the bone shatter, and the warm blood sprays across my face. Her entire body visibly stiffens as consciousness leaves her, and she falls straight backward to the floor. As she lands, I hear her head crack against the concrete. She’s out for the count.

Straight away, I crouch down next to her, turning my body slightly so I can reach her knife with my hands behind me. I adjust it in my grip so it’s at the right angle and use it to slice through the ties around my wrists.

I bring my hands up and rub each wrist in turn, trying to stimulate the blood flow once again. I stretch my arms and shoulders, feeling them crack. I pick up her gun and pocket the knife, standing and looking down at her, unconscious on the floor of the furnace room.

It would be so simple to just put a bullet in her head and move on. But after what these bastards have put me through, she deserves to suffer—at least a little bit.

I take aim and shoot her in her right kneecap. Her leg almost blows apart and her body jolts violently as she flashes in and out of consciousness. Blood pools around her, as she lies motionless once again.

“See you in hell, bitch,” I say.

I leave the room, locking the door behind me.

When this place goes up in flames, it’ll be taking her with it.

WITH NATALIA OUT of the picture, I’ve just got her brother Gene, Ketranovich and Clara left to take care of. I’m not too worried about bumping into any other personnel, given everyone seems to be murdered the moment they’ve served their purpose. If there
is
anyone else left, I’ll simply recommend they walk away, while they still have the chance.

Armed with Natalia’s gun and knife, I make my way down the long corridor, away from the furnace rooms and back toward the main control center. My priority right now is contacting Josh to warn him about the trap waiting for all the GlobaTech and US troops.

As I approach, I drop to one knee and sneak a peek through the window of the left hand door. The room looks empty. The large screen that displayed the radar battle between missile and plane is off. The main computer hub isn't manned.

I nudge the door gently and wait to see if it provokes a reaction. I wait a minute but get nothing. I’m happy the coast is clear… I stand and walk through into the control room.

God knows where those three are, or what they’re doing...

Anyway, I’ll deal with them later. I run over to the control panel and look for a means of communication. There are consoles and screens everywhere, but nothing that resembles a phone. I look around the room in desperation, but I can’t see anything. I check my phone again and there’s still no signal.

Damn it!

If Josh were here, he’d have sorted this by now…

I glance around again one last time. In the corner along the north wall, I notice something flashing on one of the screens. Clutching at straws, I head over and look at the computer terminal. It looks like a communications system of some kind. The screen says satellites are offline and that there’s an active signal emanating from the compound.

That must be why there’s no cell phone signal in the area—they’re manually jamming it!

I look around the room at all the doors to make sure I’m still alone before I sit at the console. I’m not exactly a complete beginner with computers, but I’m not exactly Josh either. I click through the various menus and, after a couple of minutes and a bit of luck, I manage to find a way to disable the jamming signal. I check my phone and see that it’s re-established contact with the cell phone network and I’m getting a signal again.

Jackpot!

I quickly ring Josh.

“Adrian!” he yells as he picks up. “Where the hell have you been? It’s all gone to shit up here!”

“I don’t have time to explain right now,” I reply urgently. “Just listen to me. We’ve been played from day one—this whole thing is a set-up for GlobaTech and we’re playing right into their hands.”

“Yeah, we figured something was up when the airstrike failed. What the hell happened?”

“They had SAM sites armed with Hawk missiles.”

“Jesus! Where did they get that kind of hardware?”

“I’m guessing with the funds they got from GlobaTech before Clark did the internal re-shuffle and cut off their allowance.”

“But how did they know about it in the first place?”

I pause and take a deep breath, knowing that saying it out loud for the first time is going to hurt. “It was Clara,” I say. “She’s been with Dark Rain this whole time.”

Josh falls silent. I make a note of the time and date, as this doesn’t happen often…

“Well,” he says, finally. “What a fucking bitch!”

“My thoughts exactly. But listen, you
have
to get GlobaTech to call off the ground assault. If they come in here, they’re all going to die.!

“No can do, Boss. It’s already underway. In addition to Clark’s little army, Secretary Schultz has brought in more official troop support too. Because the assault on the F-22s took place on U.S. soil, it’s being treated as an act of domestic terrorism. Gives them just cause to intervene and make this more than just a private matter.”

“Shit. How many soldiers?”

“You’ve got a hundred and fifty GlobaTech personnel, plus another two or three hundred U.S. military troops.”

“Holy mother of God...”

“What?”

“Josh, they don’t have any nukes here. They don’t have missiles of any kind. They don’t even have any soldiers. Everything you know about Dark Rain is a lie. It’s just Ketranovich, Clara and the Salikov twins. Everyone else, they kill after they’ve served their purpose.”

“So, what exactly
do
they have, besides themselves?”

“What they have are five rooms, each of which has a furnace the size of a house, which were apparently used for disposing of chemical weapons fifty years ago. Each room also has about three hundred pounds of C4 attached to the ceiling. The particular section of the compound that’s rigged is directly under the main yard. You can probably see where this is going...”

“Christ almighty!”

“I know.”

He starts thinking out loud, piecing things together as I did earlier. I let him come to it on his own.

“Blowing the entire compound like that would leave a crater a mile wide and eviscerate everyone who was in the area—no question! But when it was just GlobaTech troops, it would all be looked at as a minor conflict that would be explained away by the media spin-doctors with no problems. But if the U.S. army is sending men in and
they
die, then we have a much a bigger problem than that. Adrian, this could cause a war!”

“Hence the urgency of me contacting you. You need to do something—anything. Just stop them coming in here, Josh. Whatever it takes.”

“I’ll get on the line to Clark right away.”

As he says that, the main entrance door opens and Gene Salikov walks in.

I turn and our eyes meet. He stops in his tracks, clearly confused. I can see him working it all out in his head. His sister, Natalia, was sent to kill me, yet here I am, and she’s nowhere to be seen. He’s staring at me, free as a bird, talking on the phone. Logic would therefore dictate that his sister is injured or worse, and that it’s my doing.

After a few seconds of silence and confusion on his part, he screams something incomprehensible at me in Russian and reaches for his gun.

“Josh, I gotta go,” I say, as the first bullet whizzes past my head.

I duck behind the desk, throwing my phone down and pulling Natalia’s gun out, instinctively checking the magazine. It’s practically full, which is helpful. I reach up and blind-fire one round in the direction of the main door, just to try to get an idea of where he is.

There’s a moment’s silence before he stands and resumes screaming, squeezing off round after round in my direction. He starts walking toward me, firing, and yelling. I stick my head around the corner of the desk and catch a glimpse of him. His eyes are wide with rage. He isn’t thinking about anything other than putting a bullet in me. Which I can understand, given what I’ve just done to his sister…

However, he has me pinned down and I can’t stay here without increasing the risk of getting shot. I fire another round blindly, trying to make him hesitate, buying me some valuable seconds. I look around the room at my options.

None presents themselves.

Shit.

His gun clicks on an empty chamber.

I breathe a small sigh of relief. I don’t know how many spare magazines he has, but I have no desire to find out. Straight away, I stand and walk toward him with my gun aimed squarely at his chest.

“Put your gun down,” I say. “It’s over.”

I have him dead to rights, and he knows it. He stops where he is, on the other side of the center console about thirty feet from me. He tosses his gun down on the floor, seething with rage and staring at me with an unblinking gaze of hatred on his face.

He stands casually; seemingly oblivious to the fact I have a gun on him.

“Why don’t you throw your weapon down too?” he asks me in a slow, thick Russian accent. “Fight me like a real soldier!”

He cracks his knuckles and smiles, before switching into a fighting stance, similar to that of a boxer. Left foot forward, up on the balls of his feet. Hands high, guarding his face.

Despite my occupation, the concept of honor and tradition isn’t lost on me. I understand that sometimes you just have to prove who’s best. Anyone can pull a trigger, but it takes a true warrior to fight it out with someone, unarmed, to the death.

I look him up and down. He has a good, solid stance. He’s light on his feet for a guy as muscular as he is. He seems to subconsciously put more weight on his front leg, which makes me think he has an old injury of some kind on his other, which could be useful. He’s right-handed and holds his backhand slightly lower than his front, which means he favors a strong right knockout blow. Easily avoided, but deadly if it found the mark.

I look into his eyes. That rage is still burning bright. Ultimately, I all but killed his sister about ten minutes ago, and he knew it. Someone in a fight to the death, with hate as their fuel and revenge as their motive, would be capable of immense things.

Then I assess my own personal situation. I have some pretty severe bruising on my ribs and back, and have suffered two fairly significant concussions in as many days. I’ve also been on the business end of a car bomb less than twenty-four hours ago, so it’s safe to say I’m not exactly firing on all cylinders physically.

I consider his proposal a moment longer. “Nah,” I say, pulling the trigger twice.

I aim at his chest, but because he’s standing slightly side-on in his boxing stance, the first bullet grazes across him and hits his shoulder, doing nothing but making him stagger backward a little.

The second bullet, however, hits him in the face. His head disappears in a cloud of pink mist that sprays the ground behind him. His body drops with a dull thud. I tuck the gun into my waistband and pick up the phone, dialing Josh again.

“Sorry about that,” I say as he answers.

“What happened?” he asks. “Have you been making friends again?”

“Gene Salikov just started shooting at me because he figured out I’d killed his sister.”

“You’ve taken out Natalia? How?”

“I knocked her out, shot her in the leg, and locked her in one of the furnace rooms. I’d like to think that’s game over.”

“I’m assuming Gene’s beef with you has now been resolved amicably?”

“Gene no longer has a head.”

There’s a moment’s silence before he responds.

“Yeah… that’d do it.”

I make my way out of the control room and down the main corridor toward the stairs that will lead me up to the courtyard outside.

“You had any luck with Clark or Schultz?” I ask.

“I got a hold of Clark, but he’s not convinced. He says their intel can’t be that wrong.”

“It is, trust me. If they send the cavalry in here, everyone will die, Josh. Tell him to swallow his pride, reprimand his intelligence division and pull all the ground forces way back.”

I climb the last flight of stairs, push open the metal door, and step outside into the yard. The glare of the sun stings my eyes after being underground for so long. I squint until they adjust to the light. I look around, but I can’t see any sign of Ketranovich or Clara.

“How long ‘til they get here?” I ask.

“Just under twenty minutes,” replies Josh.

“Shit. I’ve lost The Mad Colonel and his bitch of a daughter. I’m assuming he has the detonator with him.”

“Hold up. Daughter?”

“Oh, yeah—forgot to mention that, didn’t I? Clara is Ketranovich’s daughter.”

“Jesus Christ. I officially hate her.”

“Join the club.”

I hear the mechanical groan of the hangar doors opening again to my right.

“Scratch that—I’ve found them. Do what you can to buy me some time,” I say before I hanging up.

I run over to where my Berettas are still lying on the ground, near the SAM sites. I pick them up just in time to see Clara emerge from the darkness on a motorcycle, with Ketranovich walking out behind her. They both stop to look at me before turning to look at each other, clearly panicked.

“Go!” yells Ketranovich.

I aim one of my guns and fire at the front tire of the motorcycle, causing Clara to slam her brakes on and slide to a halt.

“Don’t even think about it, either of you,” I say, aiming a Beretta at each of them.

“You’ve lost, Adrian Hell,” says Ketranovich. “You can’t stop this.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve said that already. And now you’re two Salikovs down and I’m still standing here, so I’d say I’m doing a pretty good job of winning so far.”

Clara revs her engine.

“Clara, I swear to God, I would give vital parts of my anatomy right now if it meant I could shoot you dead, so be a good girl and get off the fucking bike!”

Ketranovich raises his right hand into the air. He’s holding something in it.

“I don’t think so, Adrian Hell,” he says, before turning to Clara. “Get out of here. I will see this through to the end.”

After a split second’s hesitation, she nods and revs her engine again.