Christopher Nuttall - A Learning Experience

But it had. He’d seriously thought about refusing, when the message finally arrived, but he knew there was no escape. Agents had gone native before, he’d been told, and they’d always been betrayed. The lives they’d built for themselves would be shattered, whatever happened, and they’d never be able to resume them. All they could do was serve their home country and pray they managed to escape there before the Americans reacted.

He parked the van near the clinic and glanced back at his two brothers. Both of them had been trained intensely for covert operations and urban insurgencies — it would have seriously upset the Americans if they’d realised that all three brothers were veterans of the Iraq War, Iranians who’d fought on the other side — and knew just how to act. Besides, New York might take terrorists seriously, but America was still an open society. It would take time for them to clamp a ring of steel around New York and, by then, he hoped to have their target well and truly out of the city.

“God is Great,” he said, softly.

He saw the look in his brother’s eye and cringed, inwardly. They’d all been tempted by America, but Abdullah had truly fallen. His wife and children would not get out of the city, no matter what happened. They knew nothing about Abdullah’s past or his secret mission, but the American authorities wouldn’t take it into account. Abdullah’s family would be very lucky if they didn’t vanish into a secret prison where they’d be tortured, then murdered. It had happened before.

“Don’t worry,” he said. It was a lie, but it had to be said. Somehow, he doubted Abdullah would ever see his family again. “We’ll get them out too.”

Abdullah eyed him nastily, then opened the case at his feet. It hadn’t been hard to sneak the weapons into the city, let alone the high explosives they’d bought for the diversion. He’d thought about trying to purchase additional weapons from American sources, but there was too much chance of running into either a patriotic gun dealer or an FBI sting operation. That, too, had happened before.

It had surprised him, when he’d gone to look at the clinic two days ago, that there was almost no security at all. The Americans were truly a proud folk. But, given the capabilities of their new technology, perhaps it wasn’t that surprising. They probably thought they could teleport their people out before it was too late. And if the Americans were right, Abdul knew, his team was about to expose itself and destroy their American lives for nothing.

He picked up the cell phone and pushed a button. “Open the doors,” he ordered. “Go.”

The explosions bellowed out in the distance as he jumped out of the vehicle, followed rapidly by Abdullah. Americans, New Yorkers with long memories of terrorism, scattered as he fired a handful of shots above their heads, then crashed into the clinic. He bellowed orders for the Americans to get down on the ground — better they believed it to be a simple hold-up as long as possible — and led the way into the inner room. The doctor was easy to recognise, thanks to the endless newspaper articles on her. She was Japanese-American, surprisingly short compared to her famous husband…

And she was reaching for something at her belt. Abdul threw himself at her and slammed a fist into her face, knocking her to the ground. The device, whatever it was, fell and hit the ground with a sharp crash. Abdul searched her rapidly, depositing everything she was carrying on the ground, then picked her up and fled back into the waiting room, tossing a handful of incendiary grenades behind him. If they were really lucky, the assumption would be that the doctor had died in the fire, rather than kidnapped, although he wasn’t holding out any hope. The Americans were experts at forensic science.

He’d feared Americans trying to stop them, but the explosions and gunfire seemed to have left the witnesses thoroughly unmanned. No one tried to bar their path as they jumped back into the van. Amir, who had kept the engine idling over while his two brothers raided the clinic, gunned the vehicle forward as soon as they slammed the doors closed. Abdul let out a sigh of relief, then carefully searched the doctor again, resisting the temptation to grope her small breasts. This time, he found nothing.

“Tie her hands,” Abdullah suggested. “And pray the van performs as advertised.”

Abdul nodded and bent down to secure the doctor’s arms behind her back. The delay had been caused by the need to prepare the van for its mission. If their intelligence was accurate, no one could teleport through a haze of electronic static — or, they hoped, spy on them. The Taliban leadership had relied on stealth rather than heavy shielding and paid for it. If the intelligence was accurate, they had a chance of getting away. But if the intelligence was inaccurate…

“Poor little thing,” Abdullah suggested, as the van moved through panicky streets. They’d have to change vehicles before they headed down to the docks. The explosions might have shocked the NYPD, but it wouldn’t be long before they realised they were nothing more than a diversion. “She doesn’t deserve this.”

“That’s the American in you talking,” Abdul snapped. “Have you forgotten what we are?”

But they’d had to, he knew. They couldn’t afford to comport themselves like strict Muslims, not when it would draw attention. They’d grown lax, relaxing into American ways, eating pork and drinking alcohol. But it was time to put such things aside and remember what they were.

He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You are an elite member of a special unit, fighting an age-old war,” he reminded him. “I would suggest you kept that in mind at all times.”

The thought made him scowl. If their handlers realised that Abdullah was having problems, it would be unlikely he would ever be allowed to leave home again. Instead, if he were lucky, he would be permanently retired. And if he were unlucky…

“Besides, we’re committed now,” he added. “But then, we always were.”

Shadow Warrior , Earth Orbit

“You should have been fucking keeping an eye on her!”

Steve glared at Mongo, feeling his hands clenching into fists. “Why the hell was she left so exposed?”

Mongo somehow managed to keep his voice very calm. “She didn’t want an army surrounding her,” he reminded Steve. “And she didn’t want any form of additional protection.”

Steve stared down at the deck, feeling an odd helplessness he hadn’t felt since 9/11. Mariko was his lover, his partner, his wife in every way that mattered… and she was missing, presumed kidnapped. Stave had no illusions about just how many enemies he’d made since he’d stepped up to the UN and rubbed their collective faces in their helplessness. One or more nations might well have decided to kidnap Mariko to avenge their humiliation, or to try to gain leverage over him, or… merely to show that he could still be hurt. If the latter, he knew, it was unlikely that Mariko would survive much longer.

“They took her, right,” he said. “They didn’t kill her?”

“Yes,” Mongo said. “We have footage of her being yanked out of the clinic, before the grenades started to detonate. She’s a prisoner, Steve, but she isn’t dead.”

Steve hastily reviewed the footage through the interface. The whole attack was breathtakingly simple, which was probably why it had succeeded. No attempt to sneak into the clinic, no attempt to pose as someone terminally ill, just a simple smash and grab. It was very professional , with all the variables cut down as much as possible. That, he decided, suggested that whoever was being the attack represented a country, rather than a terrorist group.