“Satellite phone,” explained the lawyer. “We’ve already got the Scorpion dialed in. If the submarine is within three thousand miles, they’ll get the transmission.”
“So we’re doing this?” asked Bettencourt, slapping a hand on Jonah’s shoulder.
“You see another way out of this for me?” asked Jonah. “Not the toughest decision I’ve made recently.”
“I imagine not,” admitted Bettencourt. “Let’s get this call done; we’ll work out the details later. Medical, dental, 401k, all that jazz.”
“Can’t thumb the company employee manual with my fuckin’ hands tied,” joked Jonah, nudging his zip-tied wrists toward Westmoreland. “You mind?”
“Not happening,” said the colonel, crossing his arms.
“We have a deficit of trust to overcome,” said Bettencourt. “But Jonah — believe me when I say this phone call is the first step towards a beautiful friendship.”
“Just bring the phone over here,” said Jonah.
The lawyer stepped forward, pressing a green button on the interface as he held the phone to the captive’s face. It clicked and the line went live. Jonah listened but didn’t hear any sound from the other end. Bettencourt motioned for him to start talking.
“This is Jonah Blackwell,” he said. “Is anyone there?”
The silence on the other end of the phone turned into a shuffling sound, then was replaced by a voice on the other end.
“Jonah!” exclaimed Dr. Nassiri, his aristocratic accent unmistakable despite the crackling interference. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere! Are you safe?”
Shit, thought Jonah. The Scorpion should have been long gone. He hadn’t expected the doctor to stick around, not after he got what he came for. A dead line or a fleeing submarine would have left him with some time to bluff — the doctor’s newfound loyalty had manifested itself at a highly inconvenient time.
“You’re looking for me?” said Jonah, incredulous. “You’re still in the area?”
“Of course we’re still in the area—” began Dr. Nassiri.
Jonah cut him off before he could continue.
“Are you kidding me?” shouted Jonah. “Get the fuck out, fucking now, run!”
Too slow, the lawyer yanked the phone away from Jonah, but the damage was already done. The line went dead.
“Now that was really annoying,” shouted Bettencourt, pinching the bridge over the top of his nose.
“I almost respect him,” Westmoreland said with a laugh as he unfolded his arms. “His friends wouldn’t have lived through the recapture of our asset.”
“They still won’t,” mused Bettencourt. “This is more of a shame than a setback; it really is. We’ve recently received some supplies from some… associates. Anti-submarine warfare detection equipment and munitions, to be exact. Sonar, depth charges, acoustic torpedoes, fun stuff. We’ll get her back or put her on the bottom trying. Colonel Westmoreland — we’re done here.”
With that, Charles sat at the folding desk and flipped up the laptop screen, blocking his view of his prisoner. Jonah no longer mattered to him, any utility he might have had now expended.
Colonel Westmoreland grinned as he reached for Jonah with his two beefsteak hands. He motioned for One-Eye and Babyface to assist him.
“Take this fucking nuisance behind a sand berm,” Westmoreland ordered. “If you put less than a magazine into him each, don’t bother coming back. The fucking hyenas that find his body will be picking lead out of their teeth for days.”
The two men nodded. One-Eye grabbed Jonah, dragging him out of the tent and towards a long wall of sand.
They’ll sing songs of my deeds for a thousand years, laughed Jonah to himself. But now there were no more jokes, no more schemes. Just him, the two mercenaries, a few steps over a sand berm, and a bullet to the skull. A shallow grave in a shit part of the world — an inevitability when one stopped to think about it. Pleading for his life would have been embarrassing, the supposed job offer reeked of bullshit. At least he could pretend Klea and Alexis and Dr. Nassiri and his mother made their way home, long as their odds still remained.
Jonah briefly wondered what Klea would think of him now. She’d probably still think he was an asshole.
“Can I at least bum a smoke?” asked Jonah as Babyface shoved him over the top of the sand berm at the edge of the dry lakebed.
Babyface responded by kicking Jonah’s legs out from underneath him. Jonah crashed face-first into the sand, tumbling to the base of the berm and out of the sight of the camp.
“Stupid question,” mumbled Jonah, pulling his knees up to his chin as he sat at the bottom of the hill shaking sand out of his hair and ears. “Nobody smokes anymore.”
Hell, Jonah didn’t even smoke, never did and never wanted to. He just didn’t want the ride to end, wanted any excuse to hang on to life for a few moments longer.
“Stick of gum maybe?” asked Jonah, wincing as he rose to his feet. “I’d go for pretty much anything but Big League Chew.”
Babyface sneered as he drew back the butt of his assault rifle for a vicious blow.
ZZZZZZZip.
Jonah braced for the impact, but instead watched in total surprise as the back of the man’s head erupted in a puff of pink mist. Babyface toppled backwards to the sand, eyes wide and unseeing, both front teeth missing where a sniper’s bullet had passed into his open mouth and through his skull.
Jonah sprang forward towards One-Eye, propelled by fear and rage and hate and adrenaline, slamming the second man to the ground with a shoulder tackle. Hands still ziptied behind his back, he flipped around and slipped the plastic binding around One-Eye’s throat. Jonah squeezed the back of the man’s head against his tailbone as he fought and kicked, slapping his hands at Jonah’s feet.
Eyes darting for the source of the sniper’s bullet, Jonah strangled the mercenary until he felt the windpipe collapse. For good measure, he snapped One-Eye’s head to the side, enjoying the sickening sound of the cervical column breaking.
There it was — the glint of a sniper’s scope, a hundred and fifty yards distant under the shade of a scrubby tree on top of a small hill. The sniper had picked his spot well; it gave him total oversight of the entire military encampment.
Hands still behind his back, Jonah fished a sheathed Ka-Bar knife out of One-eye’s vest and sawed through his zip-ties. They released with a snap, and Jonah closed his eyes and sighed as he rubbed his wrists, blood flowing back into his fingers. He felt comfortable, relaxed even, like he could briefly enjoy a moment of contemplation as his unknown guardian angel kept watch. The mercenaries probably wouldn’t be back to check on the missing men, at least not for a while. The single shot had been well silenced, no cause for alarm.
Unembarrassed, Jonah theatrically saluted the sniperscope glint in the distance as he slipped out of his sarong and tribal shirt. Babyface’s outfit may have fit him better, but the body lay face-up in a pool of blood which had now soaked into most of the clothing. Jonah opted to strip Oneeye instead, taking boots and pants and silently hoping the dead man hadn’t shit himself when he’d expired. Smoothing out the legs to his new pants, Jonah snapped the clasp to the pants shut and reached for the assault rifle.
ZZZZZZZip.
The weapon spun out of his hands, torn away by the snap of an unseen force as Jonah jerked back like he’d been hit with a cattle prod. Jonah stood frozen, allowing his eyes alone to drift to the cast-off rifle. A single smoking bullet hole stood out in the center of the weapon’s receiver, rendering it useless.