Greg Rucka - The last run

The Benz had stalled in the intersection, bent metal and a cloud of steam, shattered glass glimmering on the ground. The three men in the lead had drawn their weapons, Zahabzeh already covering the driver, the one called MacIntyre, who was only now beginning to regain his senses. Behind him, Shirazi heard the whine of the van as Javed put it in reverse, backing it closer.

Behind the cracked windshield, MacIntyre righted himself, started to move, then saw the guns and arrested, raising his hands before laying them flat on the dashboard. Shirazi had a moment's relief that the man was intelligent enough to have read the situation, to have seen the inevitable outcome. He sincerely hoped MacIntyre wouldn't change his mind, decide now was the time to become a hero; if he did that, Shirazi would have no recourse but to order him shot, and his desire was very much that no one die. Not yet, at least.

Without ceremony or hesitation, Shirazi walked to the rear of the Benz. There was young Caleb Lewis, blood running down the side of his face, looking appropriately dazed and frightened. And there, too, was Tara Chace, slumped against him, and behind the glare of streetlights off the window, Shirazi saw her turn her head, blinking at him blearily, sluggishly. Shirazi tried the door, found it locked.

"Parviz!" Shirazi called, and the young man instantly holstered his gun, running around to join him. The baton was in his hand before he came to a halt, extending out with a snap of the wrist, and Shirazi stepped back to give him room, saw Caleb Lewis flinch, hand moving to shield Chace's head. Then the end of the metal baton hit the window, the glass exploding into fragments. Parviz rammed the baton against the side of the car, collapsing it, stowing it, then brought his gun out again.

"If he moves," Shirazi told Parviz in Farsi, knowing that Caleb Lewis would understand him, "kill him."

Parviz nodded.

"You can't do this," Lewis began. "This vehicle-"

"We are doing it." Shirazi reached into the car, unlocked the door, then yanked it open. Javed was out of the van now, moving to join him, and together they took Chace by the arms, pulling her from the vehicle. She didn't struggle, semiconscious, and once out of the Benz, became dead-weight in their arms. Together with Javed, they moved her to the van, laying her in the back of the vehicle.

Shirazi climbed in after her, Javed returning to his place behind the wheel.

"That's it," Shirazi called out to Zahabzeh. "We're done."

Zahabzeh, Parviz, and Kamal all began backing towards him, their weapons still held on the Benz and its remaining occupants. One by one the men climbed into the van, and then Javed had them moving again, even before Zahabzeh could close the doors. Shirazi sat down beside Chace, put his fingers to her throat, feeling for her pulse. She was staring up at nothing, her eyes unfocused, glazing, and her chest was rising and falling rapidly beneath the blanket she wore as a shirt.

"How bad is she?" Zahabzeh made the question sound like curiosity, rather than the vital matter it was. "Will she live?"

Bending his head to her mouth, Shirazi felt the woman's breath brushing his cheek. He could hear her over the sound of the engine, the rapid wheeze as she inhaled, exhaled, struggling for air, and he frowned, slipped his hands beneath her blanket, running them over her torso. Her skin was cold, clammy, but he could feel no wound.

"Help me," Shirazi told Zahabzeh. "Hold her head, we need to roll her."

With Zahabzeh's help he rolled Chace onto her right side, again slipped a hand beneath the blanket, now feeling his way along her back, her bare skin, her bra, and then something slippery and wet. He pulled his hand back, saw blood shining black on his fingers, wiped them on the blanket and then lifted it, revealing a tattered and bloody square of plastic stuck to her skin, the tape peeled back, exposing a narrow entry wound.

"The kit," Shirazi ordered. "Oxygen and an occlusion dressing. Quickly."

Kamal moved, staggering as the van made a turn, dropped to his knees between Shirazi and Zahabzeh. He dug in the medical bag, handed over a wrapped dressing.

"Get a mask on her." Shirazi ripped the bandage open, pulling free a thin sheet of shiny foil and gauze. He pulled the plastic from Chace's back, tossing it away, then lay the new bandage over the wound, pressing it firmly to her skin with his palm. "Quickly."

The small canister of oxygen was already out, Kamal moving with surprising speed, and in the back of his mind, Shirazi imagined that the young man thought this a potential redemption, a possible absolution for the murder of Hossein. Oxygen began to flow, and Shirazi took the mask from Kamal, pressed it to Chace's mouth and nose, pulled the strap around the woman's head to hold it in place.

"Lay her down. Gently."

Zahabzeh complied, and together they returned Chace to her back, and Shirazi spread her eyes open wider, looking at each of them closely, then took her pulse again. It was still racing, but stronger than before. The rapid movement of her chest had subsided, her breathing still shallow, but nowhere as labored.

"Tell Javed there's a change to the plan," Shirazi told Zahabzeh. "We have to go by ground."

"It's almost two hundred kilometers," Zahabzeh said. "The helicopter-"

"We put her on a helicopter, she will die, Farzan."

Kamal had shifted, preparing an IV, and now had Chace's left arm in his lap, searching for a vein. Zahabzeh turned to watch, his expression flat as the catheter went into the woman's arm. Her eyes were still open, and she blinked, but made no noise. Kamal handed the IV bag to Parviz, telling him to hold it up.

"By road, then," Zahabzeh said. "It's funny, though."

"What is funny?" Shirazi asked.

"We're working so hard to save her life when we're just going to kill her later."

Shirazi looked down at the woman on the floor of the van. The makeshift maqna'e had come loose, the blond hair it had concealed now spilling around her head. Shirazi saw that she was looking at him, and for a moment there was comprehension in her eyes, understanding, even pain. But there was no fear.

"First we will take what we need," Shirazi told Zahabzeh.

The red circuit had opportunity to ring only once before Paul Crocker had the phone to his ear. "D-Ops."

"Duty Ops Officer, sir, flash traffic from Tehran Station, Immediate and Urgent. Rescue attempt intercepted en route stop. Minder One taken by VEVAK forces and in custody stop. Number Two minor injuries stop. Require instruction as to how to proceed stop. Message ends."

"I'm…"

"Sir?"

Crocker coughed, feeling as if his head was beginning to spin, as if the room had suddenly lost its balance.

"Sir?"

He drew a breath, slowly, felt his heart pounding hard in his chest. "Send to Tehran Station, immediate and urgent, as follows: imperative you determine location where Minder One detained. Authorized to use all available means, including activation of network assets. Message ends. And Ron?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Tell MCO to get an open line to the Station, and bring in Minder Two, get him up to speed."

"Right away, sir."

Crocker set the handset back in its cradle, stared at it for a moment, and was about to key his intercom when the door opened, Kate standing there.

"She's at the embassy?"

"No." Crocker got up, took his suit coat from the stand, began slipping into it. "VEVAK hit the car before they made it in. Is C still in the building?"

"In her office," Kate said quietly. "She was waiting on… she was waiting for the good news."

"Tell her I'm coming up," Crocker said. For several seconds after Crocker was done speaking, C sat in silence, her face set in stone, impossible to read. Then it cracked, an overwhelming sadness settling on her, and she sighed.