Matt felt his face first. A sharp pain. Then another. When he finally opened his eyes Nick was over him, slapping him hard. Matt drew enough strength to grab Nick’s hand.
“Stop,” he said, his vision swirling with blurred images of tree limbs.
“You with me?” Nick said.
Matt tried to move and that’s when he felt his left leg. “Ah!” Matt let out a sharp cry. He looked down and saw an image which didn’t make sense. His leg went in a direction it wasn’t meant to go. His tibia shot out from his skin sideways, the bone was exposed and glistening with cartilage and blood.
“Shit,” Matt grunted, leaning his head back down and trying to gather himself.
“Stay put,” Nick said.
Matt forced his head upright and saw the vehicle mangled into a stand of trees, smoke drifting from its frame.
“Benton’s dead,” Nick said. His voice was soft and urgent. “I’ll be back.”
“Wait,” Matt said, taking in Nick for the first time since the explosion. Nick’s forehead was bleeding, his shirt ripped, his arm sling gone. “What are you doing?”
“I need to find Barzani while there’s still time.”
“You can’t, I need to come,” Matt said.
“Don’t be an idiot. Help is on the way.”
“You can’t,” Matt gasped, but wasn’t sure what he was trying to say. What he wanted to say was, ‘You need me,’ but one more look at his leg and he realized he was worthless.
Matt nodded. “Okay.” He searched the ground around him. “My gun?”
“There’s no time. Stay still.” Nick raised his eyebrows. Matt understood. Whoever was following them was still back there. Matt needed to stay tucked under the cover of the woods and maybe he’d be overlooked. He wondered if he’d actually landed this far from the vehicle or if Nick had pulled him into the forest. Either way, he needed to let Nick go and allow him the slim chance of finding Barzani in time.
“Get going,” Matt ordered with as much force as he could muster.
When Nick hobbled away, he looked like a peg-legged pirate stumbling between trees and finally following the road. They’d both known an IED was a possibility, but there was no time for caution. Nick was in the same position now and Matt thought he might never see his partner ever again. Haste was an FBI agent's worst enemy.
Matt leaned his head back down and tried to think of some way he could help. He felt completely helpless and his adrenalin kicked in giving him the strength to get to his elbows. Nick was out of sight and the forest was devoid of sound. Matt wondered whether his hearing was damaged from the blast or the aftermath had scared the animals into a stunned silence.
As these thoughts ran through his mind, a man crept out from the woods and into a clearing just ten yards away. He looked like an ordinary citizen without any striking characteristics, but for the gun in his left hand and the casualness in which he carried it. He looked down at Matt and seemed to regard him with a hint of pity.
“Today is just not your day, Agent McColm,” the man said with a thick Russian accent.
• • •
Nick hurt everywhere. His neck and his legs throbbed, but his left shoulder was flashing a pain so harsh, he had to lean over and force himself to breathe. He was a worthless wretch with limited mobility about to enter a terrorist’s lair which had been set up months ago.
Somewhere nearby Nick could hear the Salt River flowing. Roosevelt Dam was on the other side of a huge hill and out of sight, but he could smell the lake. He spotted the stand of oleanders up against the side of the hill and immediately knew what he’d find behind them. The maintenance door.
When he squeezed behind the bushes, he saw the door ajar. He didn’t know how to feel about that. Like the spider offering the fly an open invitation. With his pistol out, he stood against the wall next to the door and pushed it open with the muzzle of his gun.
He waited. Nothing happened, so he got to his knees and peeked inside. It was dark, but the sunlight allowed him to see the brown corridor extending into the hillside. He was aware of the time and felt an unhealthy sense of duty nudge him into the tunnel.
Nick slowly shut the door behind him and allowed his eyes to adjust. The tunnel was large, maybe ten feet wide and seven feet high. It was lit with dim amber lights hanging along the wall which allowed him to see down the winding corridor. The temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees. There was a noise ahead of him echoing into the body of the tunnel. It was a man’s voice. As his words reverberated off the walls, Nick recognized who was speaking. It was President Merrick. Somewhere, there was a radio broadcasting the President’s speech.
Nick crept down the dirt path; a deep musty aroma forced him to breathe through his mouth. He followed the President’s voice taking careful steps, heel to toe, his gun out in front of him.
Stiff-legged and panting from pain, Nick saw the tunnel split in two. The radio broadcast was coming from the left tunnel, the same direction Benton had told him to take. He inched his way down the dirt shaft until he saw an opening on his left. It appeared to be an intersecting tunnel, but as he got closer, the President’s voice seemed to amplify. The opening was more illuminated than the other parts of the tunnel and as Nick approached, he understood why. The opening was a room of sorts. A small cave with no outlet.
Nick suddenly felt claustrophobic. There was no turning back now, though. He either found Barzani and stopped the terrorist from detonating a bomb, or he became another casualty of the KSF’s pronounced death sentence.
The President was getting ready to announce his support for Turkey. He was glorifying past alliances with the Turkish people and offering his sympathy for the turmoil the Turks had to endure. It was only a matter of moments before Merrick would declare his unequivocal endorsement of the UN peacekeeping troops in Kurdistan, leaving Barzani no doubt that his threat had fallen short of its target.
It had been so long since Nick cleared a room by himself, he felt naked. He and Matt had such a system down, such a smooth rhythm of checks and balances. Now he was forced make a charge and gamble. The clock was ticking.
He leaned back against the wall and took a long breath. His heart pumped so loud it made his eardrums throb. In one swift move he turned into the opening and swept his gun across his field of vision, left to right, by the book, his gun lined up directly with his view.
The cave was empty. Nick exhaled. The room looked to be ten by ten and contained a wooden bench against the far wall. In front of the bench was a short, folding table, like something the kids would sit around for an outdoor party. On the table was a black portable radio with a single antenna sticking all the way up. The President had just given his word that America would never be intimidated by terrorist threats, nor would he ever negotiate with people who didn’t respect America’s freedoms.
Next to the radio was an ashtray full of cigarette butts. Nick didn’t need to examine them to know which kind they were. The smell of stale cigarette smoke lingered throughout the small confines. He’d trained himself to listen for anything he couldn’t see, but he never heard his attacker plow into him from behind and smash him against the cave wall. His gun flew loose from the impact and he found himself on the floor in severe agony. His shoulder had taken the brunt of the collision and he couldn’t help but clutch the tender joint.
A tall man with a Mediterranean complexion and a weathered face picked up Nick’s gun and sat on the wooden bench. He held up a pair of hiking boots, then dropped them to the floor to put them back on his stocking feet. There was no doubt in Nick’s mind who was sitting in front of him.
“I have done a lot of research on you in preparation for this moment,” Anton Kalinikov said with a Russian accent. “I am retiring after this job. My wife wants to live near a beach and I never disappoint my wife.”
Nick’s survival mode kicked in and he tried to get to his feet.