Jack Coughlin - Running the Maze

“We’re going to shoot them while they’re asleep?”

“No. We’re going to kill them while they’re asleep. Don’t wuss out on me now, Coastie. Remember what these assholes did to your brother. They are no longer human beings. They are targets, and they have guns.” He gave his magazine one final tug to make sure it was secure, then rose to his feet.

Beth Ledford did the same. “What did he see, Kyle? What did Joey see?”

Swanson exhaled and sucked in a deep breath, ready to move. “He didn’t see anything at all at this bridge, other than it being a curious reminder of when you were kids, Coastie. So he went deeper up the valley toward the new bridge before they stumbled into trouble. His team probably did not even realize they were tripping hidden sensors as they went. Someone was watching.”

SERGEANT HAFIZ ESCORTED THE New Muslim Order—the NMO—team into the sick bay area, their footsteps hushed by soundproofing. The place was clean, with pure filtered air, the room temperature kept low by a thermostat on the central air and heating system. The almost sterile environment bore no resemblance to the outside world. Ayman al-Masri walked directly to the narrow bed where Chief Engineer Mohammad al-Attas lay tied like a goat, dirty and bloody, his eyes closed. “What happened?” he asked Hafiz.

“This little man escaped last night and killed some of our people before being captured. He was once very important, but something happened in his head.”

Al-Masri bent over to put his face near that of the engineer. “That is a shame. From everything we had heard, the man was brilliant.” He tapped the chief engineer on the skull. “Can you hear me in there? You did some wonderful work. Even the Commander knew about you, and sends his compliments.”

The dark eyes of al-Attas flew open, so wide that the NMO inspector stepped back in surprise. The whites shone bright around the pupils, which darted everywhere, taking in his surroundings. “I’m thirsty,” he said weakly.

Hafiz moved closer. “Don’t be fooled by this mild manner. He is a heartless murderer when the other personality, the one he calls the Djinn, seizes him. Then he is uncontrollable.”

“Sergeant Hafiz! My friend!” The grating voice of al-Attas grew stronger. “Why am I still a prisoner?”

“See?” Hafiz said. “He remembers nothing of his murderous actions.”

The inspectors gathered around, examining the engineer as if he were a specimen on a laboratory table. “So he cannot be used at all?”

“No. The breaks in memory and behavior have become too erratic and sharp and are increasing in frequency. In addition to the danger he poses to anyone around him, his work would be suspect, too.”

“What a shame,” said al-Masri. “ Insh’Allah. God’s will.”

“Insh’Allah,” Hafiz agreed.

The inspectors, having seen enough, moved away at Hafiz’s suggestion that the infirmary staff guide them around the elaborately equipped medical clinic. Wounded fighters might receive attention on the operating tables, but the infirmary had been specifically built to serve the special needs of Commander Kahn.

Hafiz glanced back and saw the hot eyes of the Djinn boring into him. He filled a cup with water and helped the bound man sip the liquid. Then he laid the head back down, pulled a cloth screen around the bed, and returned to the tour.

“When you’ve seen enough here, we can go to the control room, and then the communications suite, so you can see the heart of this place,” he suggested. “Then we can do the tunnels, the living quarters, and the individual defense systems.”

The inspectors moved to their carts, none giving a second thought back at the screened-off chief engineer. He was already dead to them. The infirmary was deemed more than adequate for the needs of the Commander and his senior staff.

BETH LEDFORD’S HEART WAS pounding so hard it seemed that everyone around could hear the thumps. She kept her eyes glued on Swanson’s back, not the targets, and he moved like a panther through the half-buried boulders and over tree stumps, silent and swift and determined, as they closed on the campsite. Her CAR-15 was pressed against her shoulder, the safety off. Coming up on sleeping men who were about to die was a lot different than shooting a boat from a helicopter. It didn’t seem right. Maybe they should just capture them instead. She instantly banished those thoughts. Fairness has nothing to do with it, Kyle had told her during their brief training. Stay focused, girl. Follow the Gunny. Don’t think about Joey or helicopters or anything else. The greenish images in the goggles grew in size. The man standing by the fire had not heard a thing. They are targets, not people.

Suddenly, she was totally in the moment, and nothing else existed in her life. Back a few steps, confidence had replaced nervousness, and her training kicked in. She knew she could depend on the gunny to do his job, and she was as good with a rifle as he: Annie Oakley in combat boots. In the zone. Can’t miss. You bastards are going to die.

Kyle slowed and stopped, and she came up beside him. “On my count,” he said quietly into the mike. Both had their guns up, and the flames of the fire glowed on the sleeping faces. “Three… two… one…”

They fired simultaneously, with no more sound than a pair of cricket chirps, and two bodies on the ground twitched under the impact. By then, they had tracked to their second targets and squeezed off another pair of silenced shots, and they both hit the standing man at the same time, and he bucked backward and fell away from the fire. Five men lay dead in less than three seconds.

Swanson moved forward, dropping his rifle, which dangled from a D-ring on his harness, while drawing his silenced Colt .45 from its holster. He stalked into the semicircle of downed men and fired one shot into each head. The center mass hits had all been accurate, but the head shots provided total insurance. He put the pistol away, then unsnapped his canteen and took a long drink of water.

Beth stepped near the fire and felt its warmth. She had been so wrapped up in the mission that she had not noticed the night had gotten chilly. She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing to get warm.

“Grab one of these blankets if you’re cold,” Swanson said. “Matter of fact, let’s take several of them to throw over any more cameras that pop up.” He knelt and rolled a body over, snatching out the bloodstained blanket beneath it.

Beth balked at the idea, and Swanson threw the blanket at her. “Use it!” he snapped. “It’s too late for second thoughts, Coastie. We are in a fight now, and the bad guys know where we are. The blankets can also cut down on our heat signatures if they are using thermal sights. Get down here and check them for anything else we can use. We’ve got no more than a few minutes, then we head up the trail, so get your ass in gear.”

HAFIZ DEFTLY STEERED THE cart down the broad light blue hallway that was lined on each upper corner with fluorescent lights. Color-coded arrows and signs were painted on the walls at every intersection and branch to guide traffic, and he followed a wide green line that led to the control room. The guard at the sealed door snapped to attention.

So far, Hafiz had no doubt that Ayman al-Masri of the NMO was impressed with the tunnel complex, and he had yet to show him the weapons, the mess facilities, the troop barracks, the repair shops, and the private living quarters. “After this stop, we’ll take a break and go to the dining hall. I’m certain you and your men could use some hot tea and some food after your long journey.”