A Bloody Storm: A Derrick Storm Short (8 page)

She clenched her jaw.

“Let me think,” he said, clearly enjoying himself. “Where should I clip this?”

Although her wrists were handcuffed and her right foot was attached by a leather collar and chain to the floor, Showers’s left foot was free. She aimed it for his groin and kicked. Her curled bare toes hit their mark, causing Hasan to instantly double over, gasping in pain. “You bitch!” he sputtered

“Careful,” she said. “You might shock yourself.”

Hasan lunged forward from his crouched position, extending his left hand. Just as he was about to grab her injured right arm, a loud boom echoed from outside the room, followed quickly by five other identical booms and then two deafening explosions that made Hasan believe the entire building was collapsing.

Dilya peered through the smoke caused by the flash bangs and spotted a dazed man standing ten feet inside the building with an automatic rifle at his feet where he’d dropped it. Both of his hands were on his ears. She fired a burst from her AK-47 and his body fell backward.

Casper charged down the hallway, stepping over the dead sentry, and burst through a half-opened door into the room where Showers was being interrogated. In an expert move, he dropped to one knee while simultaneously shouldering and firing his shotgun. The blast literally blew the guard closest to him from his feet, ripping a gaping red hole in his chest. The second guard was still drawing his sidearm when Casper’s second round of buckshot sent him crashing dead to the floor.

In a panic, Hasan reached for his satchel.

Showers screamed: “Look out!”

But when Casper swung his shotgun toward its new target, Hasan yelled, “Don’t shoot!” and immediately raised his hands.

Dilya and Storm rushed inside and tended to Showers, retrieving the handcuff keys from Hasan, freeing her hands, and removing the collar from her foot.

“Did he hurt you?” Storm demanded.

“Yes, but I can move. He broke my collar bone again.”

Storm swung and planted his right fist squarely in the torturer’s jaw, cracking it and causing Hasan to spit out a tooth and cough blood as he staggered sideways.

“How gallant,” Casper deadpanned.

Dilya said, “There’s no time for this! Let’s go!”

Casper aimed his shotgun at Hasan.

“You just can’t shoot him in cold blood,” Showers said.

“Wanna bet, sweetheart?” Casper replied.

“He was torturing you,” Storm said.

“Just handcuff him,” she pleaded.

Storm reached for the handcuffs that he’d tossed on the concrete floor, but before he could retrieve them, Casper unloaded a round of buckshot into Hasan’s head, literally causing his face to disappear.

Showers gasped.

“We won’t be needing those handcuffs now,” Casper said, grinning.

Storm flashed Casper an angry look.

“Now, now, now,” Casper said as if he were lecturing a small child, “let’s not get your panties in a wad. Remember Jones put me in charge of this rescue.”

“Time to move,” Dilya yelled. They ran from the room, down the short hallway, and outside into the parking lot where a nervous Oscar was pacing with his gun drawn. Dilya took the wheel while Casper jumped into the front seat. Both handed their weapons—the AK-47 and the shotgun—to Oscar, Showers, and Storm, who were in the back seat.

“There’s a medical kit in the rear compartment,” Dilya announced.

Oscar put the rifles in the back and grabbed the kit. “I have first aid training.”

“Finally, something you’re good for,” Casper.

“Give her morphine,” Dilya ordered. “For her shoulder.”

As their vehicle began to exit the lot, a blast of bullets peppered the car’s front hood, blowing out the SUV’s front tires and causing steam to burst from under the hood.

“Who’s shooting at us now?” Oscar yelled.

“On the roof!” Storm replied. “Another tango!”

Casper shoved open the front passenger door and leaped out shoulder first, twisting in the air so that he was now facing the building behind them with his handgun raised. He’d emptied the semi-automatic clip by the time he hit the packed ground.

Casper’s shots, however, sailed by the lone figure on the roof, completely missing him. The shooter aimed his AK-47 at the helpless America prone on the ground. Just as he was about to unleash a fatal burst, Storm emerged from the SUV with his Glock drawn. Firing upward, his first round struck the tango’s chest with such force that it lifted him off his feet, causing him to instinctively squeeze the AK-47’s trigger.

Bullets smacked into the ground around Casper, but the shooter’s aim had been misdirected and the worst that the CIA-trained killer suffered was the sting from bits of flying dirt popped loose from the hardened terrain.

The rooftop assailant fell dead.

Casper rose slowly, with a torn shirt and a bleeding scrape on his massive shoulder but no busted bones. Their vehicle hadn’t fared as well.

“We’re done with this ride,” Dilya declared as she stepped from behind the wheel. “Nice shot,” she added.

“He saved your life,” Showers hollered at Casper as she exited the rear seat, followed by Oscar.

Reloading his handgun and brushing off his arms, Casper looked at Storm but offered him no thanks.

“Grab the gear,” Dilya said. “We’ve got to keep moving.”

“Let’s take their vehicle,” Oscar said, pointing to a new Range Rover parked by the slaughterhouse.

“No!” Storm objected. “It’s too easy to track.” Eyeballing the street, he spotted a half dozen Russian-made, Lada 4 x 4 SUVs parked about a block away. They were part of a delivery fleet for a national chain of Uzbekistan bakeries.

Storm ran to one, forced open its door, and hotwired the ignition. “She’s ugly,” he yelled, “but the engine sounds solid.”

They carried their weapons and equipment to the well-worn Lada.

“I should’ve known better than to trust INTEL. Every time I do, it nearly gets me killed,” Casper complained. “If I’d had my shotgun, that son of a bitch on the roof never would have gotten the drop on me.”

“It’s not the size of a gun that matters,” Flowers said flatly, “but the man using it.” She smiled appreciatively at Storm.

“You’re just damn lucky someone was willing to save your ass,” Dilya added.

Storm took the wheel. About a mile from the slaughterhouse, a white police car with bright green and blue stripes came speeding toward them on the opposite side of the two-lane road. Once again, Casper drew his Glock but the car zipped passed without slowing.

“They didn’t give this old truck a second glance,” Storm said. “Must have figured we were making a morning delivery.”

“Good choice of getaway vehicles,” Dilya said.

Addressing Showers, Casper said, “Now you know why I didn’t leave any witnesses behind, sweetheart. The cops won’t have any idea what happened and probably will blame it on terrorists. If there was a witness, they’d know it was Americans.”

Showers didn’t reply. The morphine was taking hold and her eyes were growing heavy. She began to nod off. Somewhere in the distance, she felt a man’s hand move her head onto his shoulder. Storm had moved into the backseat, turning over the driving to Dilya.

She leaned against him and slept.

They drove South from Jizzakh toward the Molguzar mountain range, with everyone except Showers taking turns behind the wheel, so the others could sleep. Daybreak found them still traveling, following directions on the handheld GPS navigation device that had been programmed with the coordinates that would take them to the gold. Their course eventually brought them to a gravel road that snaked up the mountain. Eventually, they were forced to leave it and make their own trail. The ride was slow and jarring as the four-wheel delivery truck climbed over the rough terrain, often being forced to detour because of boulders that had fallen and downed trees that blocked their route.

As they came nearer and nearer to their destination, they began to feel a sense of anticipation. It was hard to imagine so much gold bullion in such a desolated spot, hidden for more than twenty years.

Dilya stopped the vehicle at what looked like a landslide about a tenth of a mile from where the cavern of gold was reportedly stashed. They would have to walk across the rocks. They exited the old truck.

It was now Oscar’s turn to be in charge, and he grabbed his backpack of geological gadgets and demanded the GPS from Casper, who had been navigating as Dilya drove. Casper relinquished it begrudgingly and fell in step behind him, with his shotgun slung on his shoulder. Dilya went third, while Storm held back with Showers.

“You feel okay to walk?” he asked.

“Just point me to the start line.”

They began crossing the rocky terrain together. “I haven’t thanked you for rescuing me,” Showers said.

“Nothing I won’t be bringing up in front of you every day of your life,” he said.

“So what do I have to do to pay my debt?” she asked.

Storm thought for a moment about how she’d tricked him in London after they’d been drinking in a pub. He’d believed they were going to spend the night his hotel room bed, but she’d innocently asked him to fetch her a cup of coffee, and when he stepped into the hallway, she locked the door.

“The next time we check into a hotel together, I get to keep all the room keys,” he said.

“What makes you think that will happen again—us checking into a hotel room?”

“I’m an optimist.”

“An optimist would have come up with something better than having control of the room keys.”

“Okay, how do you feel about whipped cream and pickles?”

“Pickles?” she repeated.

“Kiwis.”

She shook her head in disgust. He was impressed at how well she was taking this.

“Ouch!” she cried, suddenly lifting her heel.

He hurried to her, taking her left arm to steady her.

“What did you step on?”

She kissed his cheek. “Not a thing,” she said, breaking free.

Showers started walking and said, as if nothing between them had just happened, “What’s the story about the gold? I know we are looking for bullion, but that’s about it.”

“If the coordinates from Lebedev’s cell phone are correct, we’re about to find sixty billion in gold that once belonged to the old Communist Party in the equally old Soviet Union. It was hidden here by soldiers after the KGB snuck it out of Moscow before a failed 1991 coup.”

Showers said, “How are five people—one with a bad arm—supposed to haul sixty billion in gold out of here in a Chevrolet?”

“We’re not. We’re just supposed to confirm it is here. Jedidiah Jones has a plan to haul it out with helicopters from Kazakhstan. We look, but don’t touch, and definitely don’t sample.”

“Jones is going to do this under the nose of Uzbekistan authorities?” she asked skeptically.

“Jedidiah wasn’t real forthcoming about that, but he did mention several times that we had to keep our hands in our pockets.”

“That should be a familiar location for your hands,” she replied.

Storm had been so focused on rescuing Showers that he had not dwelt much on what might happen when they actually found the gold. Each kilobar was worth at least fifty-seven thousand dollars, and his job on this trek—according to Jones—was to make certain no one got greedy.

He drew his Glock and handed it to her.

“I already know you can shoot left-handed,” he said.

“You think I might need to add some notches on it,” she asked.

“Jones warned me that I might. I don’t trust Oscar, and I’m not even sure how Dilya is going to react to that much gold.”

“And Casper?”

“I told you once that I got wounded in Tangiers. I’ve always suspected that someone sold us out. Someone betrayed us. Casper was on the kill team that Jones sent in. He went off the grid right after that mission went bad. If I had to guess, Casper sold us out.”

“But he’s blaming you for Tangiers.”

“The best defense is a good offense.”

“Do you have a plan if someone gets sticky fingers?” she asked, quickly adding, “I’m talking about the gold bars, not your pockets.”

“It depends on who it is. Oscar isn’t much of a threat, but Casper and Dilya know how to use weapons and have killed before. They’re the ones we have to watch.”

“And what about you?” she asked. “Should I be worried about you and the gold?”

“I’m not a big fan of gold,” he said. “Or diamonds.”

“Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”

“Lucky we’re searching for gold then. I’d hate to have to shoot you, especially since we just rescued you.”

“I knew you’d find a way to bring that up again.”

“After that kiss, I’m rethinking the whole whipped cream and pickles fantasy. Maybe adding some ice cream and pie, too. Or a female midget.”

“You are sick.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes because the altitude was stealing their breath. Storm said, “Jones said he had a reason for sending everyone on this mission. Everyone but you had a purpose. He told me that he didn’t trust the others.”