Jonah caught Hassan by the collar, dragging him behind a server, forcing the pair to bob and weave through the forest of computers as the colonel and his heavilyarmed mercenaries stacked up at the hangar-door entrance, ready to move in.
“Go to the main terminal!” hissed Jonah. “Run!”
Hassan followed Jonah as both men sprinted the last length of the room, throwing themselves to the ground and sliding to a stop underneath the desk. Jonah risked a quick glance at the progress bar. The download had been interrupted less than ten percent into the process. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.
Hassan ripped the vent-cover off the wall to reveal an opening that wouldn’t fit a five year old.
“Now this is a proper cock-up,” said the doctor.
“We’re not getting out this way,” Jonah said into the radio. “Alexis — you know what to do.”
Alexis started to speak, but Jonah ripped out his earphone and stomped it to bits before she had a chance to say anything.
“The vent looked big enough according to the building plans,” said Hassan.
“But it’s not,” said Jonah. “We’d probably just get shot in the ass while crawling away anyway.”
“This is bad.”
“It gets worse,” agreed Jonah. “They’ve got us cornered and they know it. We should be dead already — they’re trying to take us alive.”
Hassan grimaced and pointed to his gun and then to Jonah. “We could… you know… each other…” said the doctor.
“Are you shitting me?” said Jonah. “No, I’m not going to let you shoot me. Let’s play this out. Jesus, man.”
Footsteps approached, combat boots clicking on the white plastic floor.
“Jonah fucking Blackwell, I presume,” boomed Colonel Westmoreland’s voice. “No doubt joined by your tagalong doctor. You’re a couple of tenacious bastards, I’ll give you that. What was that old ruse you pulled with the submarine? The junk shot?”
“Thought you’d want your men back,” shouted Jonah at the unseen mercenary as he played for time. “Sorry they were in so many little pieces.”
Colonel Westmoreland laughed. “That’s the problem with using a seventy-year-old trick,” he boomed. “Body parts and a fake oil slick. I knew I’d been had when I inspected a severed arm you sent floating to the surface. But by then it was too late. I’ve only seen one tattoo that reads ‘Rats get fat while bastards die’. Nice coloration, really great fucking artwork with the death’s head. Of course, I liked it a lot better when it was attached to a friend of mine. Begs the question — are you a rat or a bastard? Because right now, you’re hiding like a fucking rat.”
Jonah shook his head and didn’t answer. In the cover of darkness under the desk, his body pressed up to Hassan, his pistol covered the room, searching for a target. The colonel’s voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
“I want to make sure your situation is perfectly fucking clear,” continued the colonel. “First — whatever you were trying to accomplish, my nerds have already stopped it. Second — I can shoot the left nut off a cat’s ballsack at a hundred yards. That means I had to go far out of my fucking way to avoid shooting you as you ran off like a couple of little fucking schoolgirls.”
“Much obliged,” shouted Jonah back to him.
“So here’s the deal,” said the colonel. “If I give the order, my men are going to come in shooting and put you both the fuck down. It will be for keeps this time, that much I promise. Or — toss the peashooters and we’ll settle this like fucking men. Fight it out hand-to-hand. In fact, I’m feeling so generous this fine morning, I’ll let you both take me on. If you tap out, I’m throwing you in zip-cuffs and hauling you upstairs to meet the boss. And let me tell you — he’s pissed. But if I tap out… you’re free to leave.”
“Utter nonsense!” exclaimed Hassan. “What will Charles Bettencourt have to say about that?”
“This is between us,” said the colonel. “He can blow it right out his fancy ass. This is the fairest deal you’ll ever get.”
“The two of us against him,” Hassan whispered. “How hard could it be?”
“Hard,” answered Jonah, taking Hassan’s handgun from him. “Assuming the deal is legit to begin with. But I don’t see another fucking option at this point. You ever do any fighting?”
“Not since primary school,” admitted Hassan.
“This won’t be a schoolyard throw-down,” said Jonah. “Aim for soft points. Don’t bother playing fair. And for Christ’s sake, keep your thumbs on the outside of your fists.”
Jonah took his pearl-handled 1911 and Hassan’s military pistol and threw them across the floor, sliding them to the other side of the long white room. Colonel Westmoreland emerged from the shadows, stepping on the 1911 to stop it. The colonel picked the weapon up and inspected it, nodding in approval before handing it to an associate along with his personal assault rifle and customized H&K pistol. With a sinister grin, he stepped forward, massive in his body armor, arms wide open and inviting Jonah and Hassan to attack. The other mercenaries backed out of the server room, holding Jonah and the doctor in their iron sights until the hangar doors slid shut, locking the three men in the impromptu gladiatorial arena.
“End it fast,” whispered Jonah. “Go for the legs. I go left, you go right. Take him off his feet. I’ll hold him, you kick his face in.”
Jonah and Hassan crossed each other, picking up speed as they ran to intercept. Their adversary hunched down and charged like a linebacker. Colonel Westmoreland grunted in surprise as both legs were knocked out from underneath him. He slammed against the ground chest first, arms splaying. Before he could flip himself over, Jonah jumped on his back and wound an arm around his neck with a vicious chokehold.
But before the doctor could strike, Colonel Westmoreland jumped to his feet, Jonah hanging onto his back like a rodeo cowboy. Hassan stood in stunned silence, the mercenary towering over him.
Westmoreland raised his right leg and kicked Hassan square in the solar plexus, sending him flying back into a server, knocking both over with the brutal, crashing impact and the tinkle of broken glass. Reaching behind his head, he smashed Jonah in the face with a fist and threw him to the ground with both hands. Jonah rolled away just as the man stomped the ground where his face had just been.
Hassan drew himself to his feet, moaning and clutching his chest. Grimacing, he adopted a fighting stance, unwilling to let the pain slow him down.
“Motherfucker, you are fast for a drunk,” said Jonah, whipping a fleck of blood off his lower lip.
“And you’ve got a smart fucking mouth for a dead man,” came the retort. “And you, Doc Haji — what are you so pissed about?”
“You killed my mother and my cousin,” said Hassan, jutting his chin out in anger. “And I promise you this — you’re not leaving this room alive.”
On their feet, Hassan and Jonah circled Westmoreland like a pair of hyenas, flanking the colonel on either side. Jonah snapped a nod to Hassan and both men prepared to charge.
“You two are off to a shitty start,” barked Westmoreland, cracking his neck and his knuckles. “I’ve had better fights from women.”
The colonel absorbed the full force of the doctor’s flying tackle as he simultaneously caught Jonah by the throat. Using Jonah like a battering ram, the colonel pinned Hassan against a server, repeatedly punching Jonah in the face with a free hand, sending the back of Jonah’s head smashing into Hassan’s unprotected face.
Jonah managed to wiggle free and jumped on Colonel Westmoreland’s back a second time. The mercenary grabbed Jonah’s wrist, wrenching it as he flipped Jonah over his shoulder and to the ground. Before Jonah could react, the mercenary thrust a shinbone into his face.