The olive-skinned man, no more than twenty years old, with dreadlocks and facial hair stubble, stepped over to the window with his gun pointed at me. The acrid smell of gunpowder gusted into the car. My heart beat fast. The young man was thin, about five foot eight inches in height, and wore a heavily wrinkled khaki shirt and trousers.
“Bathar, this is Dr. James. He’s one of us. Tell our men to protect him.”
He pointed to five men hiding in the shadows of the hospital maintenance building. All were small, thin, bare-headed, and clad in khaki shirts and trousers. “Your soldiers,” Bathar said, nodding at the men. “We were just attacked. Men in blue jumpsuits. Heavily armed.”
Speaking in Arabic, Keyes gave Bathar instructions. I didn’t know what to do. I just kept my mouth shut.
A barely audible gunshot came from the direction of the hospital. Bathar suddenly dropped to the ground. Half his head was blown away. We could see men running from the hospital. They were big guys, muscular, like football linemen, each weighing more than 200 pounds, dressed in navy blue cotton coveralls, the uniform of the Jackson City Hospital maintenance workers. “Those are Waters’ men,” I said.
One of Keyes’ soldiers started firing his M-16.
In the distance, we heard sirens.
They’ll never make it in time. I don’t care if I end up looking like a terrorist. I have to stop this.
Keyes seemed unfazed. She texted a quick message: TARGET IS EMERGENCY DISASTER BUS BEHIND HOSPITAL. ALPHA CHARLIE’S LOCATION UNKNOWN.
She reached back and pulled out a Ruger .38 from her gym bag. Turning to me, she said, “Take out your gun and cover my back.”
I snapped a clip in the Browning. I hoped I could handle what was about to happen.
Keyes and her men ran for the Emergency Disaster Unit. I followed with my pistol.
Two more of Waters’ men suddenly stepped out from behind the bus. Their loud automatic weapons cut down the first of Keyes’ soldiers. Keyes dropped to one knee and fired the Ruger .38 twice. Both men fell. Keyes didn’t flinch.
One of Keyes’ men was dragging a four-foot section of heavy pipe with welded handles, filled with fifty pounds of lead. Another soldier came up from behind him, grabbed one of the handles, and together they slammed the battering ram into the door of the bus. The aluminum door collapsed and the ram went sailing into the trailer.
Keyes and her men ran inside and there was a sharp firefight. Gun smoke drifted out of the RV’s door. Waters’ man inside and the two with the ram were dead.
Suddenly shots came from the woods.
As Keyes stepped out the door, a man in a blue jumpsuit popped out of nowhere and pointed his gun at her back. Reflexively, I raised my pistol and shot. The man fell dead.
It was that easy.
“You didn’t mention I’d have to kill people,” I said.
“Musta’ slipped my mind.”
More shots came from the woods. Machine gun fire strafed the RVs and killed the last two of Keyes’ “soldiers.”
Then, from the exit behind the hospital, I saw a tall muscular man with a ponytail emerge. He was carrying an M-79 grenade launcher.
It was Brightman.
But whose side is he on?
My question was answered when Brightman launched a series of grenades at the shooters in the woods. There were four carumps as the grenades exploded, and the shooting ceased.
Brightman barked out, “Got’em, Celena.”
Brightman ran toward the Emergency Disaster bus. A man in a blue jumpsuit appeared at the far side of the buses and shot. Blood trickled from Brightman’s head. He staggered backward and fell just outside the door. Blood slowly leaked into his blonde hair as he lay motionless.
Keyes swiftly spread her feet, crouched, and seeing the bulges of a Kevlar bulletproof vest inside the shooter’s jumpsuit, delivered a thunderous shot straight into his neck. The man keeled over.
I looked at Brightman. “I hope he isn’t the bomber who was supposed to wipe out Waters.”
“No. When I give the signal from my cell, someone else will come with a car full of explosives.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Waters sat in the rear of the Emergency Disaster Unit, working his controls. His eyes remained fixed on the three twenty-five-inch screens in front of him. He never looked away.
Keyes approached slowly, pointing her gun at Waters, who was sitting on the other side of a large pane of glass. I followed. The smell of gunpowder was intense. Waters was so focused on the monitor he barely even noticed her. Suddenly, Keyes raised her pistol and fired six shots at Waters.
Waters did not fall. Instead, he laughed and pointed at the glass. “State of the art bulletproof glass, my dear. Very thin, but still effective. You’re going to have to do better than that to get me.”
Keyes reached into her pocket for her phone to alert Quasart and Farok that she’d found Waters and the control center. She had only to press “8” and “Send” to have the ISIS bomber sent.
Suddenly there was motion to the right. Keyes turned quickly. A trap door in the floor sprang open and a large, muscular man — Jefferson, Waters’ security man — appeared out of nowhere and slapped her gun away. He grabbed her from behind and held her so tightly that she struggled to breathe. She grunted as her phone fell to the floor. I recognized Jefferson and pointed my pistol, but he used Keyes as a shield.
I could see through the door in the floor that there was a passageway to the Sub-Basement, the secret entrance to the hospital Keyes and the rest had been unable to locate.
I was shaking and unsure of what to do next. I had my Browning on Jefferson, but didn’t have a shot.
“Drop it,” Jefferson said, ducking his head behind Keyes’ head.
I pressed my finger on the trigger, but hesitated. This was a man I’d talked with many times when I’d gone to Waters’ office. He wasn’t just an anonymous enemy. He was a man I knew and had once called my friend.
“Drop it! Or I’ll kill her!” Jefferson demanded.
I kept my finger on the trigger for a moment, but then dropped the gun.
“Excellent job, Jefferson.” Waters said. “The doctor’s no threat without a gun. He belongs to me. I want him to watch my gaming skills and see how I made my fortune for a few minutes before he dies. Then, after I’m done here, I want the pleasure of pulling the trigger on him.”
“The authorities are on their way,” I said. “Game over, Alpha Charlie.”
“Ha! You’re going to be just another part of your own massacre by the time they get here. So glad you could join us here, Dr. James.”
“I’ve been in contact with Pete Harris.”
Waters continued his focus on the target screen, but laughed as though I were a naive child. “Scott, this is just like the video games we used to play. Look at the upper-right screen. That’s a video replay of the incident that got me this job.”
The black-and-white image showed a deuce-and-a-half-ton truck driving in the middle of an American convoy along a road near Kirkuk. Suddenly, a huge explosion completely destroyed the truck.
“This happened three hours ago. The bomb was an IED planted in the gravel road by ISIS. The American military truck was carrying General Harold Bushey and twelve of his men. Bushey is, or I should say was, the command officer of the Third Infantry Division.”
Keyes squirmed and kicked in Jefferson’s grasp. She had to press “8” and “Send.”
Ignoring her, Waters continued. “Today, my Reaper is armed with four Hellfire missiles. A hit gets me a check for $30 million, immediately deposited into a foreign bank, and I’ll never be taxed on a penny.”