Gary Ponzo - A Touch of Deceit

Kharrazi’s truck flew up over a rise and seemed to gather speed. Now it was a game of chicken. Kemel Kharrazi was a shrewd, conniving terrorist with sinister desires and malevolent aspirations.

But Nick Bracco was prepared to die. He was drained and weary and welcomed the repose that death offered. He was ready to go to the other side and apologize to Silk in person.

Nick slammed his foot down on the pedal and the truck lurched forward. Kharrazi also appeared committed. The front end of his truck jerked upward from acceleration.

They were twenty yards apart, both engines screaming into the night sky. As the intensity of Kharrazi’s lights blinded Nick, Julie’s face flashed in front of him. She was smiling. Nick had finally put a long awaited smile on her face.

Just before impact, Nick clutched the steering wheel with both hands, closed his eyes and pressed forward. It took a beat longer than he anticipated, then the devastating explosion of the head-on crash jolted him forward. And then there was nothing.

Nick could’ve been unconscious only moments, but when he came to, he was disoriented. His mouth tasted of dust and his head throbbed unmercifully. A horn was blaring relentlessly. He had trouble focusing. He was sitting upright, strapped in by his seat belt and his hands felt pinned to his lap.

It took a moment to realize that the air bag had deployed. He could taste something powdery in his teeth and shards of glass blanketed the cab, including the dashboard, which was much closer than it should have been. His side view mirror lay cracked in his lap along with a couple of branches. That horn. He tried to move his left arm and found that to be a useless chore. With his right hand he pushed up and moved the bag from his face.

When he tried to turn his head, he yelped involuntarily and grabbed his neck. He looked down to inspect his body, but his world went spinning and he lay his head back and shut his eyes. The horn was coming from behind him. He was confused. How did Kharrazi get behind him?

Nick opened his eyes, twisted his entire torso around to the right, and followed the sound of the horn. Where the back window used to be, a clear opening existed. Shards of remaining glass clung to the border of the aperture. Through the opening Nick could see a truck just into the woods, its back end still sticking out into the road. The front end encircled a massive pine, which had stood its ground against the speeding mass of the truck. Nick couldn’t see anyone in the cab of the truck. He instinctively reached for his gun even before his brain had the time to understand why.

Just before contact, Nick had shut his eyes and didn’t see it happen, but Kharrazi must have turned at the last possible moment. Nick had continued into a large tree. He hadn’t even thought about the air bag, but it certainly had saved his life. At least until Kharrazi found him.

Nick saw steam wafting upward from under the hood of Kharrazi’s truck. The horn still pierced the air. He was able to unholster his gun with his right hand. His left arm and shoulder were useless. Liquid dripped down the side of his neck and when he touched it with the back of his gun hand, he came back with blood. He looked up to see himself in the rear view mirror, but it was gone. He pulled the side view mirror from his lap and saw lacerations streaking the left side of his face. They were already beginning to coagulate down to a slow ooze.

The truck’s engine was still running, but when he stepped on the accelerator, nothing happened. Everything looked real promising.

He was a sitting duck if he didn’t force himself out of the truck. First he unsnapped his seat belt harness and rolled to his right onto the bench seat. His legs seemed to be working properly, so he boosted himself up and, using only his right hand, he opened the passenger side door and hobbled outside of the truck.

Nick scoured the perimeter. He didn’t see or hear anything, but the truck’s horn dominated the sounds of the night. He wondered if Kharrazi had purposely managed to leave the horn blaring. It would cover up any peripheral noise Kharrazi might make from the woods. It was precisely the kind of thing Kharrazi would do.

Nick found himself favoring his right leg as he limped toward Kharrazi’s truck. He worked his way there from a wide semicircle. Keeping his attention on the cab of the truck, he slithered between trees and undergrowth. It was an older model truck and didn’t appear to have air bags. When he was even with the driver’s side door, he saw something move inside the cab. An arm maybe, or maybe a branch moved from the other side of the cab. He stood motionless and saw it again. An arm seemed to be banging against the dashboard. No, not the dashboard, the steering column. Kharrazi was pounding his fist against the horn, trying to get it to stop. Nick watched cautiously, trying to evaluate Kharrazi’s condition before approaching him.

A moment later the horn stopped.

It left a sudden void, which was filled with an eerie silence, like just before a hurricane was about to hit. Only the hiss of the torn water hose remained. Kharrazi simply sat there, his left hand pressed up against the side of his neck. Nick thought he heard moaning. It was an older, foreign truck and he noticed the windshield was smashed. Kharrazi didn’t appear to be wearing a seat belt and there was no air bag. He must have catapulted through the windshield, then rebounded back into his seat.

Nick thought about firing a couple of rounds at Kharrazi. He was close enough. The man didn’t deserve a warning. Not Kemel Kharrazi. Finish it.

Hesitation, doubt, indecision: these were all things that got FBI agents killed. Nick had to decide, then commit to the decision. Slowly, he stepped out of the woods and approached the truck. His right arm was fully extended, his left arm was limp by his side. His gun seemed yards ahead of him.

“How did you find me?” Kharrazi said, without turning his head.

“You even scratch your nose, I’ll blow your head off,” Nick said through clenched teeth.

Kharrazi finally turned his head and Nick got a good look at his damaged face. His right eye was swollen. Streaks of blood ran down his face like a map full of rivers marked in red. Kharrazi’s left hand kept constant pressure against the side of his neck, yet blood still seeped between his fingers.

“Get your right hand up on the steering wheel,” Nick closed in.

When Kharrazi didn’t move, Nick fired a shot directly across his face and through the broken windows of the cab of the truck. Kharrazi quickly placed his hand on the steering wheel.

“I’m going to kill you, Mr. Bracco,” Kharrazi’s voice was raspy.

Nick had a million questions, but he was so relieved to be alive, he shivered. His teeth were actually chattering. He noticed the blood saturating Kharrazi’s left shoulder. Kharrazi must have nicked his carotid artery when he went through the windshield. He needed attention soon, or he would bleed out.

Kharrazi gave Nick a deadly stare. “You have just condemned your wife to a life of fear and ultimately a painful death.”

“You’re going to prison for the rest of your life, Kemel.”

Kharrazi seemed appalled at the accusation. “You think for one minute that I don’t have the funds to acquire the best team of attorneys money can buy? You think I left fingerprints, or any trails that lead back to me?”

Nick considered this for a moment. What evidence did they actually have that Kharrazi was the one who was giving the orders. Everyone in the Bureau knew it was him, but how much physical evidence did they actually have? Who in the KSF would ever turn on Kemel Kharrazi?

Kharrazi sneered, “You don’t think I can get to you from prison?”

That was the clincher. Yes, Kharrazi could reach Nick from prison. Unmistakably, unequivocally, and with little effort.