Gorra, Abdallah, whatever name he wanted to call himself, growled suddenly, his voice rising into a pure scream of rage as he pulled a gun from his waistband and whipped it up.
Anselm shifted his aim instantly, squeezing the trigger once, and sent a five point seven millimeter round into the terrorist before the pistol was even half way up. The round tunneled into Gorra’s right arm, shattering the ulna and lodging deep in the bone as the man went down and the gun clattered to the ground.
“Not that easy, you son of a bitch,” Anselm growled as he closed in and kicked the gun away. “You’ve got a lot to answer for, and there’s a line up around the block for the right to put you down.”
Gorra howled and screamed obscenities at the Interpol officer as he wrenched the injured arm around and used flexi-cuffs to bind it tightly to the good one. Then Anselm jerked him to his feet and began to shove him back down the hall.
“Raymond Gorra,” He said as his voice echoed through the corridors, “You are under arrest under the Munich Act. You do not have the right to an attorney, you do not have the right to remain silent, and you do not have the right to a speedy trial.though I have a feeling you’ll get the last one anyway.”
Anselm and his prisoner blinked into the light as they stepped out of the dimmed artificial light inside the facility and into the bright sunlight that shone down through the glass encasement of the facility greenhouse. A sound above them caused them both to look up just as three American Commanche attack helicopters flashed by above them, weapons pods deployed as the sleek looking birds buzzed angrily overhead.
There was the sound of explosions in the distances to tell him that the fight wasn’t over yet, but his part of it was done, or would be as soon as he could turn his prisoner over to the proper authorities. Anselm could already feel the tension high he had been riding begin to flee him, even as he fought tooth and nail to keep it going strong.
It wasn’t time to relax just yet, he knew, as he pushed Gorra ahead of him toward a huddle of people. Anselm quickly recognized one of the men at the front and waved.
“Mackenzie!”
“Interpol,” The SAS man nodded, a half smile on his face as he recognized Anselm, but a serious look in his eyes.
Anselm looked past him to see a man lying on the ground while another in yellow hazmat gear knelt over him.
“Guffrey,” the SAS Sniper grunted, following Anselm’s gaze, “He got a lungful of that shit, making sure that no more of it got out than could be helped.”
Anselm winced, but nodded. “Is he”
“Not looking good.”
The Interpol man let it drop at that, and just gave his prisoner a harder shove than he’d been using. Gorra cried out as he went to his knees and then slammed his injured arm into the ground, but Anselm didn’t spare him any sympathies.
“This the guy”
Anselm nodded, looking around. “Yeah. Raymond Gorra, AKA Abdallah Amir himself.”
The sniper glared at the terrorist, his fingers playing around with the trigger of the rifle cradled easily in his hands. “You sure you want to bring him in.like that”
Anselm didn’t have to ask what `that’ meant, he just nodded. “Yeah.”
“Too bad.” Mackenzie replied.
“What’s the sitch” Anselm asked finally, slumping into a tourist bench as he kept an eye, and a gun, on his prisoner.
“Major and his team just finished up with an assault group trying to get the water stopped,” Mackenzie snorted, “No one told em that it was already too late, I guess. Your Interpol team has the rest of the hostages free on the other side, I don’t know if they lost anyone.”
Anselm nodded dully.
“Oh, and that local inspector pulled through, in case you’re interested.” Mackenzie went on, “She’s doing some talking with the few local authorities who don’t appear to have been part of the plan.though I guess we’ll be checking them out when this settles.”
Anselm nodded again.
Oh yes, there would be a lot of `checking out’ done before this one died down completely.
“Other than that, well the army’s here I guess,” Mackenzie jerked a thumb skyward as another Comanche buzzed past, “And even if they ain’t Aussie, they seem to be ripping the ever living hell out of anyone dumb enough to keep fighting. Buck up, Interpol. Good guys won.”
He nodded one last time, flipping open the Consulate portable he was carrying. “Thanks, Mac.”
“Anytime, Interpol.”
Anselm only knew one thing for sure.
This was going to be one hell of a pain in the ass to put down in his mission debrief.
Three days later, Anselm stepped softly into a familiar office, smiling slightly as he watched the sole occupant of the police station bent stiffly over her desk working furiously on some piece of work that he was willing to bet was probably inconsequential.
Gwen Dougal looked up tiredly as the shadow loomed over her, only nodding in recognition. Three days after the final bursts of violence were finally stamped out, and she’d barely managed six hours sleep and was running on less than fumes.
“Hey, Anselm,” She said as weakly as she felt. “I heard you’re leaving.”
“Yeah,” The blond man said as he pulled a chair up and straddled it across from her. “They’re finally getting the escort detail down here, and I’m heading it up.”
“Good.” She said flatly, “I want that piece of dirt out of my town.”
Anselm half smiled in agreement, and noted that it was truly `her town’ in some ways now. Gwen was the only surviving member of the police department who had proved clean. Most of the others had been found dead in various places, their bodies left where they dropped. There was a plan for a large memorial funeral, of course, though men like Ryan Emmerson and his lot were obviously being left out.
He caught a tremor in her hand as she gestured, however, and the smile died on his lips. He reached out quickly and caught her hand, “You need sleep, Gwen.”
She shook her head, “Too much to do.”
“Gwen.” He growled in warning.
She looked at him, and he matched her stare for stare even as her other hand trembled against the desk until he reached out and covered it with his own. She looked down then, shaking.
“I can’t,” She admitted, “Been having nightmares.”
“Normal.” He proclaimed, “Start with a sedative, then talk to someone when you wake up. Don’t leave anything out either. You’ll feel better.”
She laughed bitterly, “Talk to who”
He looked at her for a moment, then pulled his portable out of his pocket. He flipped it open, quickly locating what he was looking for, and highlighted it. “Copy that to your system. It’s the name of a good councilor; she helped me through some tough times a few years ago. I’ll let her know to expect your call.”
Gwen looked at the portable with the highlighted name for a long moment, the nodded slowly. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.”
Again she laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “God. It’s all nothing, you know”
He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow, but she didn’t go on until he spoke up, “Know what”
“We invested.everything. Our lives,” She said, “into this place. The City, the Tower.it was supposed to be a showcase for a better future. Clean, crime free.God, they were here the whole time! We were making a.a weapon! A weapon for them.How can we fix that thing now”
Anselm looked out the window of the station, eyeing the pillar that touched the sky far above them, and sighed.
“People forget,” He said after a moment.
This time is was Gwen who had to speak, “What”
“People forget,” He repeated, then went on, “that technology.all technology.is just one set of tools after another. Technology isn’t good or evil. It’s an extension of who we are.”