That left Roen with three guys. Every single one of them looked exhausted. They were lucky the Genjix never caught onto their trail. He doubted any of them would get far if discovered. Now would be a good time to be a leader. He wished he had read their bios more closely. He didn’t even know all their names.
Grant is the chubby one and the best cook. Stan is the nerdy-looking engineer and the most lethal with the rifle. Ray is the tall one with the crooked receding widow’s peak. Smartest of the bunch.
“Too many names.” Roen picked himself up and went to go help the one stacking the ammo cases. “Who’s crooked hairline guy again?”
I just told you: Ray. Worst memory ever.
He walked up to Ray, who was struggling with an ammo case and helped him carry it to a corner. He checked the contents inside. “How many did we leave behind?”
“Three, sir,” Ray replied, eyes glazed over like the walking dead.
He was about to pick up the next crate when Roen put a hand on his shoulder. “Stand down, Ray. I’ll take over from here.”
Roen dragged over the remaining crates and ordered the rest of the men to get some rest while he stood watch. Within minutes, they were all asleep. Roen leaned against the wall and kept watch out the window. They were in a corner unit of an old apartment complex. In its heyday, it had been a fully-stocked safe house. However, like all other budget casualties, the place had gone into disuse. He had hoped to restock their supplies since they left most of it behind, but the place was bare.
Twenty minutes later, Faust and Hutch returned with takeout American food: pineapple and chicken pizzas. He woke the team up, and they sat around the makeshift cardboard dinner table eating quietly while Roen continued keeping watch.
Just as they finished up, a hooded stranger burst into the room, holding an unconscious Jim. The team immediately reacted, guns trained at the stranger.
“How did I miss that?”
He did not come from the front entrance.
“This building has no rear. The roof then?”
Carrying a body over the rooftops?
Faust, pistol pointing at the stranger, stepped forward. “Let him go now and put your hands up. Slowly.” When the figure bent forward to put Jim down, Faust raised his voice again. “No sudden movements. Drop him and step away. Now!”
With a perceptible sigh, the hooded figure let go of Jim, who promptly plopped face first onto the ground.
“I’m closing the door behind me,” the hooded man replied, motioning at the entrance.
That voice, sharp and gravelly, sounded familiar. Nostalgia, good and bad, washed over Roen. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it. Both hands on his pistol, he crept forward past Faust and stopped a meter away from the mysterious figure. He knelt next to Jim, putting his finger on the unconscious man’s neck.
“Pulse faint,” he said. Then he stood up and jammed his gun into the stranger’s face. “Pull your hood back,” he ordered.
I think this is…
Roen could just make out a hairy chin covered with white tufts of hair sticking out of the bottom of the hood when the stranger suddenly disappeared from sight. Well, technically, he didn’t disappear. The faucets in Roen’s eyes turned on when the mysterious man flicked out his hand and struck Roen smack dab on the bridge of his nose. Before his team could react, the stranger charged forward. Roen saw the back of a hand fly toward his face. Instinctively, he dropped his gun and covered up.
Roen blocked the bitch slap, as he liked to call it, ducked under a follow-up punch, and countered with an elbow of his own that just missed the stranger’s face, instead punching a hole in the wall. Immediately, his ribs let his brain know that they had just eaten a crushing blow.
Watch for the trip!
Roen saw a flash of the stranger planting a leg just behind his. He sidestepped and grabbed his assailant by an elbow. Before he knew what was happening, the stranger swung his wrist in a whipping motion and reversed the grip, twisting Roen’s arm and flipping him onto his back. He landed with a hard thud, the impact knocking the wind out of him.
“Holy shit,” gasped one of his useless men, having just stood there while he got beaten up.
The entire melee lasted less than three seconds. The stranger brought his open palm down and stopped a scant inch from Roen’s face. He knew that if it had landed, the blow would have crushed his nose and probably pushed the cartilage up into his brain; a killing blow. The stranger’s hand hovered in the air before he offered it to Roen.
“Same clumsy oaf,” he growled, pulling back his hood.
“Silk reeling,” Roen groaned. “Always fucking silk reeling. I hate silk reeling.”
He took Lin’s hands. Halfway up from the prone position, Lin let go and dropped him again. Roen landed with an oomph back onto the floor. “I am not your father, and you are not a child. Pick yourself up.”
“You mean old bastard,” Roen barked. Lin gave him a look. “Master Lin,” Roen added hastily.
This time, Lin grabbed Roen by the wrist and pulled him up. Faust and the rest of the men still had their guns trained on Roen’s former teacher.
Lin looked at them with disdain. “Put your guns away before you get hurt.”
“Lin?” Faust said slowly. “The Cold War assassin?”
Lin tipped his hood. The rest of the team looked awed.
“It’s an honor to meet you,” Ray whispered as if a little girl to a teen idol. “You’re a living legend.”
“Wait, he’s still alive? The guy who took out nine Genjix Russian ministers?” Stan added.
“The one who singlehandedly handicapped the Soviet space program, so the States won?” Hutch gushed.
As someone who had had his noggin rung literally hundreds of times by Lin, Roen was a little less than impressed. “What, you want an autograph?” he snarled as he massaged his sore neck. He asked Lin in a more respectful tone. “What brings you here, Master?”
“I retired,” Lin snapped. “And came home. And what do you do, stupid boy? You bring the war to my front steps.”
“Still as cuddly as ever,” Roen grinned. “What happened to softening up with old age?”
Lin gave a rude bark. “With the way you are screwing everything up? I’m just getting ready for the end of the world.”
“Did Command get in touch with you?”
“What part of retired do you not understand? The Keeper tried to a few times. I didn’t return her call.”
“How do you not return the Keeper’s call? I hate her guts and I still come running when she beckons.” Roen paused and looked down at Jim’s still inert body, suddenly remembering that he had a man down. “What’s wrong with Jim?”
“Your ugly mug was plastered all over the television at the pachinko parlor. Once I got to the site, there was an army of police combing the area as if the ghost of Mao was on the loose. It wasn’t hard to follow. Then the world’s worst scout here got himself seen, and I had to rescue him.” He shook his head in disgust. “No wonder the Prophus are losing. Army of incompetents.” He watched as Faust and Ray went to check up on Jim. “He should be alright when he wakes. Ground hit him in the head when he jumped out of a second story window.”
Faust looked at him suspiciously. “Jim is a special ops sniper. Before that, he was an Army Ranger. You’re telling me he doesn’t know how to tuck and roll out of a five meter drop?”
Lin shrugged. “We were in a hurry, so I threw him off. He needs more training.”
Roen signaled for the men to stand down. “It’s been a long night. Grant, you have next watch. Then Stan.”