Richard Castle: A Bloody Storm

Hasan was fiddling with the large truck battery that was next to her. Reaching over, he connected one of the wires from the battery terminal to the metal chair that she was sitting in. He held the other in his hand. Now that she was awake, he was ready to begin. He held the clasp in front of her face. “Where is your smart tongue now? Do you wish to stick it out at me?”

She clenched her jaw.

“Let me think,” he said, clearly enjoying himself. “Where should I clip this?”

Although her wrists were handcuffed and her right foot was attached by a leather collar and chain to the floor, Showers’s left foot was free. She aimed it for his groin and kicked. Her curled bare toes hit their mark, causing Hasan to instantly double over, gasping in pain. “You bitch!” he sputtered

“Careful,” she said. “You might shock yourself.”

Hasan lunged forward from his crouched position, extending his left hand. Just as he was about to grab her injured right arm, a loud boom echoed from outside the room, followed quickly by five other identical booms and then two deafening explosions that made Hasan believe the entire building was collapsing.

Dilya peered through the smoke caused by the flash bangs and spotted a dazed man standing ten feet inside the building with an automatic rifle at his feet where he’d dropped it. Both of his hands were on his ears. She fired a burst from her AK-47 and his body fell backward.

Casper charged down the hallway, stepping over the dead sentry, and burst through a half-opened door into the room where Showers was being interrogated. In an expert move, he dropped to one knee while simultaneously shouldering and firing his shotgun. The blast literally blew the guard closest to him from his feet, ripping a gaping red hole in his chest. The second guard was still drawing his sidearm when Casper’s second round of buckshot sent him crashing dead to the floor.

In a panic, Hasan reached for his satchel.

Showers screamed: “Look out!”

But when Casper swung his shotgun toward its new target, Hasan yelled, “Don’t shoot!” and immediately raised his hands.

Dilya and Storm rushed inside and tended to Showers, retrieving the handcuff keys from Hasan, freeing her hands, and removing the collar from her foot.

“Did he hurt you?” Storm demanded.

“Yes, but I can move. He broke my collar bone again.”

Storm swung and planted his right fist squarely in the torturer’s jaw, cracking it and causing Hasan to spit out a tooth and cough blood as he staggered sideways.

“How gallant,” Casper deadpanned.

Dilya said, “There’s no time for this! Let’s go!”

Casper aimed his shotgun at Hasan.

“You just can’t shoot him in cold blood,” Showers said.

“Wanna bet, sweetheart?” Casper replied.

“He was torturing you,” Storm said.

“Just handcuff him,” she pleaded.

Storm reached for the handcuffs that he’d tossed on the concrete floor, but before he could retrieve them, Casper unloaded a round of buckshot into Hasan’s head, literally causing his face to disappear.

Showers gasped.

“We won’t be needing those handcuffs now,” Casper said, grinning.

Storm flashed Casper an angry look.

“Now, now, now,” Casper said as if he were lecturing a small child, “let’s not get your panties in a wad. Remember Jones put me in charge of this rescue.”

“Time to move,” Dilya yelled. They ran from the room, down the short hallway, and outside into the parking lot where a nervous Oscar was pacing with his gun drawn. Dilya took the wheel while Casper jumped into the front seat. Both handed their weapons — the AK-47 and the shotgun — to Oscar, Showers, and Storm, who were in the back seat.

“There’s a medical kit in the rear compartment,” Dilya announced.

Oscar put the rifles in the back and grabbed the kit. “I have first aid training.”

“Finally, something you’re good for,” Casper.

“Give her morphine,” Dilya ordered. “For her shoulder.”

As their vehicle began to exit the lot, a blast of bullets peppered the car’s front hood, blowing out the SUV’s front tires and causing steam to burst from under the hood.

“Who’s shooting at us now?” Oscar yelled.

“On the roof!” Storm replied. “Another tango!”

Casper shoved open the front passenger door and leaped out shoulder first, twisting in the air so that he was now facing the building behind them with his handgun raised. He’d emptied the semi-automatic clip by the time he hit the packed ground.

Casper’s shots, however, sailed by the lone figure on the roof, completely missing him. The shooter aimed his AK-47 at the helpless America prone on the ground. Just as he was about to unleash a fatal burst, Storm emerged from the SUV with his Glock drawn. Firing upward, his first round struck the tango’s chest with such force that it lifted him off his feet, causing him to instinctively squeeze the AK-47’s trigger.

Bullets smacked into the ground around Casper, but the shooter’s aim had been misdirected and the worst that the CIA-trained killer suffered was the sting from bits of flying dirt popped loose from the hardened terrain.

The rooftop assailant fell dead.

Casper rose slowly, with a torn shirt and a bleeding scrape on his massive shoulder but no busted bones. Their vehicle hadn’t fared as well.

“We’re done with this ride,” Dilya declared as she stepped from behind the wheel. “Nice shot,” she added.

“He saved your life,” Showers hollered at Casper as she exited the rear seat, followed by Oscar.

Reloading his handgun and brushing off his arms, Casper looked at Storm but offered him no thanks.

“Grab the gear,” Dilya said. “We’ve got to keep moving.”

“Let’s take their vehicle,” Oscar said, pointing to a new Range Rover parked by the slaughterhouse.

“No!” Storm objected. “It’s too easy to track.” Eyeballing the street, he spotted a half dozen Russian-made, Lada 4 x 4 SUVs parked about a block away. They were part of a delivery fleet for a national chain of Uzbekistan bakeries.

Storm ran to one, forced open its door, and hotwired the ignition. “She’s ugly,” he yelled, “but the engine sounds solid.”

They carried their weapons and equipment to the well-worn Lada.

“I should’ve known better than to trust INTEL. Every time I do, it nearly gets me killed,” Casper complained. “If I’d had my shotgun, that son of a bitch on the roof never would have gotten the drop on me.”

“It’s not the size of a gun that matters,” Flowers said flatly, “but the man using it.” She smiled appreciatively at Storm.

“You’re just damn lucky someone was willing to save your ass,” Dilya added.

Storm took the wheel. About a mile from the slaughterhouse, a white police car with bright green and blue stripes came speeding toward them on the opposite side of the two-lane road. Once again, Casper drew his Glock but the car zipped passed without slowing.

“They didn’t give this old truck a second glance,” Storm said. “Must have figured we were making a morning delivery.”

“Good choice of getaway vehicles,” Dilya said.

Addressing Showers, Casper said, “Now you know why I didn’t leave any witnesses behind, sweetheart. The cops won’t have any idea what happened and probably will blame it on terrorists. If there was a witness, they’d know it was Americans.”

Showers didn’t reply. The morphine was taking hold and her eyes were growing heavy. She began to nod off. Somewhere in the distance, she felt a man’s hand move her head onto his shoulder. Storm had moved into the backseat, turning over the driving to Dilya.

She leaned against him and slept.