John Ringo: Ghost

Mike peeked around the coffins and tried not to laugh. The tango was huddled by the coffins, AK gripped with white knuckles, shaking like a leaf, looking towards the open area. Mike leaned forward and gently but firmly pressed the warm barrel of the sub-gun into the back of the subject’s head.

“Lie on the ground with your hands behind your head,” the former SEAL said in his very best Arabic.

The target froze for a second, then the AK slid into the open area and he flattened himself to the ground, legs spread and hands on the back of his head, fingers interlaced.

“Clearly you’ve been watching Fox,” Mike said, trying not to chuckle. He grabbed the tango by the back of his collar and yanked him to his feet, pushing him into the open area with the barrel of the MP-5.

“Oh, God. Oh, God!” The blonde had slid as far away from the bodies as her bonds permitted her and now was bent in a fetal position. But she’d looked up at the steps and now her eyes were wide. “Oh, thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” Mike said, kneeing the muj into a kneeling position, then lowering him back face down on the floor.

“Who are you?” the girl managed to gasp between coughs.

“No one of consequence,” Mike said, then barked a laugh. “God, I always wanted to use that line. Do me a favor, and be quiet for a second, okay, honey? I need to talk to this young gentleman.”

There was a pile of tie-ties, plastic handcuffs derived from cable ties, on the table and Mike used two of them to secure the terrorist.

“Is there any way you could let me go ?” the girl asked as he rolled the muj over.

“Not at the moment, I’m in a hurry,” Mike said, sliding the barrel of the MP-5 down to point at the tango’s balls. “You speak English?”

“Yes!” the kid said, quickly. “I am speaking good English! I am student!”

“Great,” Mike said, sliding the barrel down to the terrorist’s knee. “Now, here’s the deal. The first time I think you’re lying to me, I’m going to shoot you in the knee. Now, that really hurts and you’ll be permanently crippled. So try very hard not to lie to me. Okay? I’m basically a very bad man and I’d like to hurt you. A lot. But, I’m also an honorable one and if you don’t lie to me, if you give me good answers, I won’t shoot you. Okay?”

“Okay,” the tango said, desperately.

“Where did they take the girls?” Mike asked, mildly.

“I do not know!” the boy said. “All I know is an airport.”

“Hmmm…” Mike murmured then fired a round through the kid’s leg. “Don’t believe you.”

He waited until the screaming, from both the tango and his erstwhile rapee, died down then pointed the barrel at the other leg.

“Care to go for two?”

“I don’t know!” the kid screamed. “They not tell us, tell us not to ask! Maybe is in papers. Hazzah is handling papers! A file, on the desk!”

“Hmmm…” Mike said, going over to the desk. “What’s your name, Blondie?”

“Ashley,” the girl said, whimpering. “Oh, please tell me you’re not going to hurt me!”

“Hell, no,” Mike snorted, searching through the papers. “I’m one of the good guys. Sort of. I’d like to, mind you. Girls all tied up and covered in blood are a real turn-on.”

“What… who are you?” Ashley asked, desperately. “What the hell are you?”

“Nobody you want to remember,” Mike replied, picking what looked like a bill of lading out of the pile. “Look, the police are going to be on this like flies on shit. I’d really appreciate it, as the guy who just saved your miserable cheerleader ass, if you’d tell them you have no clue who I am. I’m a short, tall, fat, thin, blonde brunet with greenish brown eyes. Got it?”

“You’re not with the police?” the girl said, totally confused.

“Oh, come on,” Mike scoffed. “I know you’re an airhead, but use at least one brain cell. Do the police commonly shoot people through the leg to get information?”

“Well, they beat people up,” Ashley said, with relentlessly liberal logic.

“Did those guys beat you?” Mike asked, gesturing at the dead terrorists.

“Yes,” Ashley said, sobbing gently.

“Would you like me to shoot you through the knee so you can tell the difference?” Mike asked, puzzling over the load list.

“NO!”

“Then, trust me, police don’t kneecap people for information. It’s really obvious. It looks like they were taking them to the Atlanta airport,” Mike said, dropping the manifest. “Okay, I’m going to cut part of the way through your bonds,” he continued, pulling his knife back out. “As soon as you work yourself free, call 911 and report all of this. When they get here, remember…”

“Short, fat, thin, tall, blondish brunet?” Ashley said, nodding. “Got it. What about him?” she asked, gesturing with her chin at the gently sobbing and moaning muj.

“What about him?” Mike asked, pulling her upright and applying his knife to the tough plastic. “If he bleeds out or dies of shock, it’s no skin off my nose. Let me ask you, do you really care?”

“No,” Ashley admitted after a moment’s thought.

“Congratulations,” Mike said, changing his mind and cutting the bonds on her hands completely free. “You’re half way to conservative already. Remember, Vote Cliff.”

“I’m not that far,” Ashley said, smiling faintly. “Why’d you cut me free?”

“Give me ten minutes,” Mike said. “After I’m gone. Then call. And tell them Atlanta airport.”

“You’re going to get in trouble for this, aren’t you?”

“It is not inside my normal mission parameters,” Mike admitted without really lying. Let her suggest to the police that he was some sort of spook. “Yeah, if they figure out who it was, I’ll be looking at, well, murder one, torture, you name it. They’ll probably throw the book at me. So… be uncooperative, okay? Just tell them you want to talk to an attorney or, barring that, the news media.”

“What’s your name, please?” Ashley said, leaning forward to drift a kiss across his cheek as he worked on her ankles.

“Look, killing makes me really horny,” Mike said, tightly. “So do tied0up half-naked, damned good-looking blondes. And if you really must know, it’s the Dread Pirate Roberts.”

“What?” Ashley said, pulling her ankles up to her as soon as they were free and rubbing at the marks from the strips.

“Haven’t you ever seen The Princess Bride ?” Mike asked, aghast.

“No?”

“Good Lord, woman.” He stood up, shaking his head, and headed for the door. “Rent it. You owe me.”

“I will,” Ashley said.

“Ten minutes,” Mike said, then paused. “Crap.”

“What now?” Ashley said, looking around wildly.

“Well, two things,” Mike admitted. “No wheels and I need to check on the other girl.”

The coffin had not been hit and the girl, who was apparently drugged, was fine. Mike checked her pulse and had to really restrain himself from copping a feel. It wasn’t like anyone would know. Then he looked at his hands, which were covered in cordite residue and blood, and shook his head. Okay, so they’d know. He was already looking at murder one. No, down.

He left the top propped up and searched the pockets of the terrorist who seemed to be the boss on the basis that he’d be the most likely to have his own vehicle. Sure enough, he turned up a set of keys, with an electronic opener, for a Ford. He hunted around and found a couple more MP-5 mags and came back to find Ashley collapsed into the station chair that had been rolled away from the desk. It had a couple of bullet holes in it but she didn’t seem to mind.