John O'Brien - Reckoning

“Well… so be it,” she murmurs, placing the radio, through which she had been monitoring events, on the table and resting her hand on the gun in her lap.

The three from Alpha arrive and I direct them to watch the hall to our front. I want to take the corridor to the right, toward the room with the light showing. It may be a trap or it may have been left on as someone hastily departed. However, it is the only sign of human presence that I’ve seen since we entered this section, which means we may be getting closer to those that have to inhabit this place.

With our backs covered, we enter the side hall with our M-4s ready. We check each office and door we come to, trying not to focus on the light ahead. I feel the desire to rush to it, forgoing our security, and have to force myself to be patient.

Looking in each window as we pass, I think that it would be nice if this night vision carried the ability to see in the thermal spectrum as well. The rooms we pass are smaller in nature and the lack of many furnishings makes it easy to see if someone is hiding inside. The doors without windows are checked with a fiber optic camera and reveals only partially empty storerooms. It takes time to cover and check them all but we gradually inch closer to the light.

The lit room is the next one on the left. I crouch and make sure none of the others stray into the light, yet can still provide cover in either direction. Though the three from Alpha are out of sight covering the main hall, there’s still a chance that someone can come out of the doors we checked. Without knowing if there are connections between the rooms, it’s possible that we could be circumvented.

I peek into the room at the corner of the window. I don’t use my mirror as it may reflect light back inside and truly act as a signal mirror. That would kind of defeat the purpose. The quick glance reveals either a conference or lunch room. Against the far walls are cabinets above long counters with a sink in the middle of one. It’s sparse, but it’s kind of on par for the course with what I’ve seen so far. In the middle of the room is a round table with chairs tucked in around it. And…seated on the far side is a woman clad in fatigues, staring directly at me.

She doesn’t move, scream, or make any other sign that she has noticed me other than to maintain her gaze. She knows that I’m here, and it seems as if she was expecting for me to look in from this exact location. I’m a little startled. Realizing that the need for secrecy is up, I stand.

Motioning to the rest of Red Team, I let them know of the person in the room. Positioning Henderson and Denton to cover the hall, I boldly walk into the light with Gonzalez trailing. Turning the handle, we enter, covering the woman with our carbines, my finger rubbing along the trigger, watching for the slightest move. If she blinks wrong, I’ll send a burst into her at point blank.

Gonzalez sidles to the right of the room, covering the woman from separated positions so, if she decides to take us under fire somehow, she won’t be able to get both of us. Gonzalez, her lips drawn tight, keeps her M-4 barrel pointed unwaveringly at the woman. The woman remains seated and smiles at Gonzalez’ move.

“Captain Walker, I presume,” the woman states with a slight accent.

“And you must be Nahmer,” I reply, to which she nods.

“Please remove the gun from your lap and place it slowly on the table,” I say, with my red dot centered on her chest.

She tilts her head slightly and her expression alters to that of a quizzical nature.

“Your right shoulder is sagging. Only a very little but enough to give you that extra quickness and so that it won’t betray your actions as much when you go for it,” I say.

She smiles again and moves her hand. My hand tightens on my carbine and I feel the pressure as my finger squeezes harder on the trigger. I hear Gonzalez move a step and she gives a low growl. If it didn’t involve me having to look away from this woman, I would turn to stare at Gonzalez. Granted, we haven’t worked that long together but, in all of our actions, I’ve never heard her give a menacing growl of warning at anything. It’s probably because she is remembering Allie and is just itching for a reason to fire. Here is the woman who, in all likelihood, gave the order that ended with Allie’s life being taken; unceremoniously dropped to a sidewalk, lying in her own blood.

The woman, Nahmer, pauses, and then very slowly lifts a handgun from her lap with two fingers holding the trigger guard. She places it with equal slowness on the table next to a radio that is periodically broadcasting low voices over the airwaves.

“With your left pinky finger, slide it across the table,” I say, to which she complies.

“Gonzalez,” I say, indicating for her to retrieve the weapon.

Gonzalez moves closer and retrieves the handgun. She then moves to a position slightly behind and to the side of the woman, looking her over to see if she can observe any other weapons. She looks up and gives me a subtle shake of her head.

“Before we go on, I should ask if you have any other weapons on you,” I state.

“There are no others,” she replies.

“You know that, if I search you and find others, any further discussion we may have will be over.”

Nahmer nods her understanding but makes no move to remove anything else. I call to one of the Alpha team members to join us. Upon his arrival, I have Gonzalez search Nahmer, coming up with nothing more.

“Satisfied?” Nahmer asks, following the search.

“For the moment,” I answer.

More voices sound from the radio. The volume is turned down, so I can’t make out the individual words, but the ones I do hear seem confused and worried.

“So, Captain Walker, where do we go from here?” Nahmer questions.

“Well, you order your troops to surrender and we’ll have more discussions once that happens,” I reply.

“And why should I do that?” she asks.

“You are still trying to play cards you no longer hold. If you don’t, everyone in here will be dead within the hour. You and I both know that, so quit trying to play a game in which you’re no longer at the table.”

“Why should our casualties and what happens to us concern you?”

“They don’t, but I’ll lose people trying to root them out. We’re prepared to do that, but if that happens, you won’t like the way you die,” I state, staring directly into her eyes.

So far, she hasn’t tried any womanly wiles. I’m sure she knows the affect that can have on some but perhaps knows that it won’t be a player here. And, even though she is still trying to play the game, deep down she knows that she is hanging on by only a very thin thread. A wrong step and that thread will snap like it was never there.

“So, Captain Walker, you are offering me a quick death instead, then?”

“No. I may be offering you the only hope at life that you have. But I’m tired of playing this game.”

“Very well. What can I say? You won, I lost. That means you get to dictate what happens. May I use the radio?” she asks, nodding to the radio in front of her.

I get the feeling that she brought the radio here knowing full well what it would be intended for and how this was going to go down. At one time, we may have worked together, but events have transpired that make that impossible. Sitting in front of me is a person who was a ghost in all senses of the word; more of a fairy tale than real. If half the stories of her are real, or if the stories are only half real, then there is a remarkable mind behind those eyes.

“It had better be a clear and short conversation. If I get a whiff of any code being used, it will not end to your liking. Do we understand each other?” I ask.