Death Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE



Curtains of rain poured down relentlessly from the charcoal sky, drenching the Russian soldiers standing outside a supposedly abandoned airbase roughly fifty miles outside Moscow. Over the past two months they had slowly transformed it into an office, prison, barracks, and torture chamber in anticipation of this day—“the greatest day in Russian history” as Vladimir Putin had christened it. It was of the utmost importance to the Motherland—and more importantly to its government—that the President was personally making the long trip from the Kremlin with the precious cargo. Not even the onslaught of a torrential downpour and some of the worst conditions Russia had seen in years could stop this monumental event from happening.



They stood silently, two-hundred strong and shoulder to shoulder. Their gray faces lined the runway, expressionless in the dreary, nonexistent sunlight. At the end of the runway stood Putin’s most trusted Special Forces unit awaiting his motorcade’s arrival. Standing at attention as headlights rounded the corner of the muddy dirt road, the soldiers saluted a procession of six cars as they flew down the runway, spraying water all over them as they waited. The Russian Special Forces commander Mikhail Nichev walked mechanically over to the motorcade and opened the door. The President slowly got out of his black Cadillac limousine, and strolled across the tarmac to the front of an idling Russian supply truck.



“Today,” he shouted over the roar of the rain, “Mother Russia has achieved the greatest victory of her long, tumultuous history. Our conflicts with the United States, Georgia, and Uzbekistan have been hard fought, with the outcomes just as pointless as the causes. However, I can assure you sons of Russia that this war ends today.” He paused; the faintest trace of a smirk flashed across his face, then disappeared. He motioned for the Special Forces to come unload the truck and stood stoically as they opened the hatch door and pulled the tarp back, revealing seven of America’s most recognizable girls: the daughters of America’s most renown (and disgraced) marine, and the nieces of the President of the United States. He treated these seven like they were his own, especially after their father was sent to federal prison several months ago.



The commandos grabbed the blindfolded girls, steering them across the asphalt to a nearby hangar covered in ivy. Ice-cold jets of rainwater cascaded down from the roof and hit the paved ground with crashing force. The girls—still wearing the clothes they had on at the time of their abduction—shivered violently as they were lead through the pouring rain. The soldiers jerked them harshly if they strayed too far away, while others callously fondled their breasts and scoffed their inaudible sobs. The group marched down several long corridors flanked by an occasional storage room on either side, while the unfinished drywall and cement floors echoed their hurried footsteps as the girls paced to keep up with their captors. It was air conditioned, and the fact that they were soaking wet from the rain outside only magnified their shivering.



They were marched into the last room at the end of the hallway, their blindfolds were removed and they were violently shoved inside. The door slammed behind them, and the sound of the tumblers in the lock echoed sharply within the chamber. Their eyes strained at the violent brightness of the room they now occupied. The cell was approximately ten feet long by fifteen feet wide; the walls were approximately twenty feet high and sloped inwards towards the top. They were painted bleach-white, which contrasted harshly against the coal-colored concrete floor. A single, dingy spring mattress with one of the coils exposed sat upon a rusty metal cot on the far side of the room. Several fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling, amplifying the room’s brightness even more, while steel toilet stood alone in the corner across from the cot; a hose protruding from the wall provided the only means of hygiene within the cell. The incessant buzzing of the fluorescent lights, coupled with the soft rumbling sound pouring from the air duct in the ceiling combined to create an almost eerie lulling sensation. It was obvious these girls were either going to die quickly or be treated very cruelly.



“Not only has this base become a target for the Americans, but once these hostages are safe, everyone on this site and anyone involved in any form will become a target,” the Russian President said sternly. A crash of thunder rumbled in response to his declaration. “To hell with America!” He stood grinning as he waited for the applause to die down. “From this moment on, this base is on lock-down! No unauthorized military personnel may get in, any and all intruders must be shot on sight, and the hostages must never escape our custody. It is my ultimate goal to kill them all and end America’s arrogance. Tonight will be the longest night of your lives, but tomorrow Russia will have been declared the victor of the Russo-Georgian War, and the once-great Iron Curtain will be rebuilt!”



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With White House aides running in and out with new information regarding the kidnapping, Secret Service Agents escorting the Joint Chiefs, and the President pacing impatiently behind his seat, the Situation Room had not been this busy since September 11th. The President was finally coaxed into his seat as the last member of his most trusted military group, the Phantom Five, arrived and took her seat. The lights dimmed, and a single row of lights above the table blazed brighter, their silvery orbs of light reflecting off the conference table’s highly polished mahogany surface. Televisions flashed to life on the walls around the table, displaying maps of Russia, photographs of the girls, and scrolling tickers of line after line of tactical data, background information, and up-to-the-minute newscasts.



“Obviously,” the President began tapping his finger rapidly on the table, “this is a move that was made in haste by Russia. However, it is also obvious that it was premeditated and implemented precisely as they had planned. It is also obvious that Russia knows we will not seek a diplomatic solution to this situation, so this ‘prison’ will be heavily guarded, and any attempt to reach the girls—if noticed—will result in their execution and that of the rescuer.” The President bowed his head and removed his glasses, rubbing the marks left on his nose. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, his eyes closed tightly as if burdened with an intangible pain. “I have been informed this location is a Soviet-era airbase. If you would please open the files in front of you, you will see the location, layout, and basic information if you are not already familiar with it. Let it be perfectly clear: I want my nieces safe and secure when an assault on this installation is made. To be quite frank, I want the whole thing blown to fucking hell. Being who you all are, you know more about the tactics involved. But let it be clear: the final decision on what we’ve got to do and how we’re going to do it remains with me.”



“Mister President, sir?” General McDevin queried without so much as glancing at the information in front of him. “Because of the speed with which the Russians executed this plan, I believe the best and most effective plan would be a rapid-response, all-out assault on the base through the hangar. We can send in a marine extraction team and—”



“That’s suicide!” a muscular black man at the far end of the table disdainfully chortled. He was sporting a pair of gray cargo pants, a baseball cap, and a baggy sweatshirt with a Grim Reaper insignia on its back. A necklace with a cross-shaped pendant dangled from his neck, nearly touching the polished tabletop as he studied the photographs of the base obtained via intelligence satellite. Wrapped around the cross was a snake clutching a ribbon that read, “Regrets Ruin Lives; Live With None.” It was the motto of his former commanding officer, now serving time in a federal penitentiary in Montana for a crime he never committed.



“These schematics show the corridors are very narrow and you’ve already said the base is well guarded. Therefore, you won’t have a numbers advantage when you’re confined in a space only two or three bodies wide, regardless of how many soldiers you’ve got. If by some ridiculous stroke of luck, you somehow manage to get close to the girls, the security operator, way back here,” he said pointing to a small outlined room at the far end of the building, “will have picked you up on camera or received the report from the men engaging the marines. He’ll sound the alarm, walk about ten steps and order the girls executed. Not that any of that would matter. . .” 



“Our agent in the Kremlin has reported that there are approximately one hundred men stationed on site, and another two hundred to five hundred are stationed twenty minutes away,” the National Security Advisor reported in agreement with the black man.



“Exactly,” the man continued. “So by the time your frontal assault has gotten in, you will be surrounded and butchered. A frontal assault is both what the Russians expect and want.” He pushed the file away and leaned back in his chair. Satisfied with his contribution, the black man smiled sullenly and waited for someone else to speak up. After several tense seconds, the President spoke.



“Well, do you have a better idea, Sam?” the President said, looking wearily at the black man. The President’s eyes gazed sorrowfully at him, and he could tell the President was doing all he could to maintain his composure.



“It just so happens, I do,” Sam Cruz (codenamed “Grim Reaper”) said smiling. “Well, we do,” he corrected himself, gesturing at his companions to his right. Sophia Edwards was an eighteen-year-old recruited straight out of high school into the Phantom Five, and to her left sat Sakura Takahashi, a seventeen-year-old of Japanese heritage.



“Wonderful. Mind sharing with the rest of the class?” the President asked, growing impatient.



Sophia Edwards stood up pulling her skirt up a little to cover her undergarments. She was wearing a white V-cut shirt, emblazoned with a leaf and rain drop pattern. She smiled at the looks of apprehension on the faces of the Joint Chiefs: she knew she was attractive and she wanted everyone to know it. Most of all, nobody could touch her without her permission because beneath her seemingly fragile exterior lay the strength and determination of a skilled soldier. She tossed her blonde hair from one shoulder to the other. A crimson beret sat atop her head, and she was covered with necklaces, bracelets, rings, and earrings. She had striking blue eyes and a perfect smile.



“We are proposing a more covert solution to the problem. As you all know, the base ventilation system provides access to every part of the facility. It’s large enough to fit a typical marine, say six-foot-two, two hundred and forty pounds, inside it. We know that the girls are being held in this room here . . . it’s a straight shot down from the ventilation shaft on the roof.”



“What are you saying, girl?” General McDevin questioned sardonically. “We send in one man to take on an entire Russian company?”



“Actually sir,” Sophia replied bitterly, “that is exactly what we are proposing.” She looked away from McDevin and turned to face the President. “We propose sending in one of our most experienced, well trained marines. One with a record of excellence longer than that of everyone in this room, combined.” She shot a cold glance at General McDevin, who opened his mouth to speak but was cut off. “After the girls are safe and secure we can send in the esteemed general’s frontal assault. The Five would be happy to lead it. Then you can blow the base to hell with remote-detonating bombs once we get the Black Hawks out of range.”



“This marine you mentioned earlier . . . I don’t suppose you have a suggestion for whom that may be as well?” the President inquired, resting his head in his hands. He knew what was coming next, and almost hoped she was going to say the name he didn’t want to hear.



“Mister President, sir?” Sakura replied. Her hair was lustrous, cut to shoulder-length, and black as night. She was wearing a pair of loose denim jeans and a white-and-pink-striped polo shirt. The President turned to face her. “If we want to act fast, the best way through this is to release our Commander and let him do what he does best. Any other means would take too long and he’s the most qualified for these situations. With the war in Georgia we can’t afford to take even one man off the frontlines, especially not our best soldiers.”



“You’re proposing that we release a convicted federal prisoner, and allow him to rescue the President’s nieces from a serious hostage situation on foreign soil?” McDevin questioned, leaning forward in his chair. Outraged, he looked at the President for an answer.



“Quite the contrary,” Sophia retorted, shooting a glare at her least favorite of the Joint Chiefs. “We are proposing that we take a marine—who was thrown in jail for a crime he never committed—let him go, and allow him to do what he does best: protect his family.”



The President sighed, cutting off the general before he could retort. “Sophia, Sakura, Sam: follow me. We’re going to Montana.” The President pushed the button on his intercom and a soft female voice responded.



“Yes, Mister President?”



“Miss Joyce, would you please inform the Secret Service to prepare Air Force One for my arrival?”



“Sir!” McDevin shouted, standing up and rushing over to the President. “Think things through! You’re too emotionally involved. You’re rushing into a decision that’s doomed to end in failure. We’re not making the safest choice here!”



“Move,” the President barked, pushing the General out of his way and walking into the hall. Sophia, Sakura, and Sam followed closely behind. “Dammit Tom, you know full well I didn’t get where I am today because I took the safe route. I got here because I took risks, and those risks paid off. You’re right, I’m rushing my decision! But the lives of my nieces depend on a quick decision! Not to mention when Nate . . . I mean, Death, took the fall for that fiasco in Korea . . .” His voice trailed off. He looked absentmindedly at the wall. For several excruciating seconds the group stood in silence, awaiting the President’s next words.



“Three years ago, my only daughter was kidnapped by North Korean extremists hell-bent on getting their hands on a nuke. Death was called in to rescue her, but things went downhill quick. He’d been through worse before, but not like this. The building was booby trapped and he was outgunned five-to-one. My daughter died during that mission, and Death never forgave himself for it. He agreed to take the fall for the political aftermath, and I swore to him that I would see to his daughters’ safety. Now I’ve failed him. This time his children are on the line. I lost my only child . . . imagine how hard it would be to lose seven. Now go to the Pentagon and clean out your office, because you’re fired. I am going to hire somebody who isn’t afraid to make tough choices.”



“Y-you can’t do that,” the general stammered.



“I believe I just did.” He smiled and turned, walking down the hall with Sophia, Sakura, and Sam close behind. “I’ve waited so long for an opportunity to do that,” he confessed with a laugh.



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“Where are we, Ashley?” the youngest girl said, gazing at her oldest sister in the corner of the room for guidance. She had curly brown hair that fell straight down to her shoulders, and brown eyes like those of her father. They were deep, thoughtful, and passionate. In fact, she was like her father in almost every way, and once she put her mind towards something nothing could stop her from achieving it.



“I don’t know Makenna,” Ashley replied taking off her rain-soaked sweatshirt and tossing it aside. “I really don’t know.” Her straight blonde hair had turned dark brown in the rain and hung in thick strands down to her cheeks. Her green eyes darted around the room, quickly inspecting the area around her, trying to determine any possible escape routes. She had a tattoo of the Marine Corps logo on her back. Above it in calligraphic script read the phrase “We Will Never Forget” and beneath it read “The Corps’ Most Valuable Soldier - DEATH.”



“What are we going to do then?” a fifteen-year-old girl asked. She was wearing a short black skirt that hung well above her knees and a white tank top with a partially zipped-up jacket over it. She was captain of her school’s cheerleading squad, and the most sought after girl, despite only being a freshman. She was also soccer captain and the point guard for the basketball team. “We obviously have to get out of here!” she whispered hysterically, the desperation in her voice was magnified in the cavernous space. “They’re going to kill us!”



“Chastity,” Ashley said bluntly looking her in the eyes. The look said it all, and she didn’t want to scare Makenna. Ashley was wearing a black T-shirt that revealed her lean stomach, and her stunningly beautiful abs. Her black camouflage cargo pants had doubled in weight from the rain water and the black beanie on her head was beginning to feel like an icepack. A diamond-studded choker collar shimmered around her neck in the fluorescent light. She played small forward on the high school team which was ranked number one in Washington, D.C., and fifth in the national standings.



“Sorry Ash,” Chastity answered as she walked over and sat on the cot next to Makenna. She had straight brown hair that fell over her shoulders, and deep brown eyes, filled with a burning desire to get out and do something actively engaging. She removed the pink “Put-In Bay” cap from the top of her head and gazed at it sorrowfully—it was her father’s last birthday present to her. She set the hat on the musty mattress and touched the silver necklace she had gotten from her twin sister Allison last year.



These simple gifts were her most cherished possessions.



“It’s okay,” Makenna said lying down on the bed. Chastity took the revolting covers, pulled them up over Makenna to her chest and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Daddy will come and get us; he always shows up when we need him the most.” Makenna was wearing Ashley’s black pullover sweatshirt, embroidered with several small white flowers on each sleeve and the outline of one large flower over her heart. Like Ashley, she too was wearing a pair of khaki cargo pants. Around her lilywhite neck hung a golden locket. Her father’s favorite saying he had always told her before she went to bed was engraved on the back: “When you’re in trouble, my angel, nothing will stop me from coming to rescue you.” Inside was a picture taken before her mother died when she was seven years old. In it, she stood beaming on the beach flanked by her equally happy mother and father. She could still remember after that picture was taken, her father had scooped her up and thrown her into the ocean, then jumped in as well and chased her sisters and her around in the salty spray.



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Death grinned as his cellmate tossed him the pipe he’d been hiding in his cell. He caught it as the guard knelt before Death having lost the fight, and the war.



“You stupid bastard,” Death said, hitting the guard directly across his back, sending him plummeting to the ground, and writhed with agony. “I warned you that if you ever so much as said a single word about my daughters again I would kick your ass till you couldn’t see straight. But you had to go and test me, didn’t you? Dumbass . . .”

The next devastating blow went right to the head, knocking him out cold. Death circled the unconscious guard and spat on the ground as the mob of inmates crowded closer yelling obscenities and cheering on the beating. He tossed the pipe aside and yelled at the guard.



“You should have realized that threatening to rape a battle-hardened marine’s daughter was going to get you seriously messed up! You really need to learn when to shut your mouth. But no, you had to keep tormenting me . . . you had to go find out my daughter’s name and phone number, and then you had to recite all of those things to me . . .”



Death heard shouts coming from the crowd as the other guards finally started to make their way through the circle of inmates that had formed around the fight. Death kicked the guard in the side until he turned over on his back, and then continued to brutally kick him in the side three . . . four . . . five times. He continued his attack, stomping the man’s torso a couple more times and then turned to face the guards who were a mere twenty steps from where he was standing.



“I’ve got no quarrel with you,” he said kneeling down and putting his hands on the back of his head. “At least until you make the same mistake he did.” The inmates, upset that Death we surrendering without a fight, began booing and throwing rocks and clods of dirt at him from the dusty ground of the prison yard. The first guard to reach him put him in handcuffs while the next proceeded to beat him with nightsticks until he was unconscious. However, they didn’t do nearly as much damage to him as he had done to their comrade.



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“How the hell are we going to get out of here?” Chastity’s twin sister demanded, the anger clearly present in her voice. She was wearing a pair of black-and-white striped shorts, and a matching black-and white-striped tank top with a black-and-white polka dotted ruffle underneath it. She had been dressed in preparation for a trip to the water park with her friends when the kidnapping occurred. She was co-captain of the cheerleading squad and soccer team, and she was the basketball team’s second best player after her sister Ashley.



“We can’t, Allison,” Ashley said, clearly upset with her inability to protect her sisters. “I’ve been trying to find some way to escape, but they did their homework . . . the only way out is through that door.” She nodded at the gray metal door. “Even if we managed to get out, they’re sure to have this entire base under surveillance, and none of us know the way out.”



“But Ashley, we have to do something,” Allison implored. “Let’s face it. Dad isn’t coming to save us, and a few hours from now they’re going to kill us!” She pulled her band out of her hair and began scrubbing her hair in an attempt to dry her soaking scalp. She had deep brown eyes, like those of her sister. She wore a pearl necklace that Chastity had bought her for her birthday, a charm bracelet, and two diamond studded earrings that her dad had bought for her as well.



“Ally, shut up,” Chastity shushed pointing to Makenna, who was fast asleep on the bed. Makenna had been unable to get much sleep since their father had been set to prison, and now she slept soundly believing he was on his way to save them. “They aren’t going to kill us . . . we’re too valuable to them. We’re clearly being held for ransom. America is winning the war, and they’re giving up hope. This is a last ditch effort . . . they want to trade us in exchange for a peace treaty . . . It makes sense.”



“That’s exactly why they will kill us,” Allison replied looking her sister directly in the eye. “Chasee, they aren’t here to be nice, they’re here to get results. Uncle Kevin isn’t going to stop the war! He’s going to keep it going and try to send some marine unit like the Phantom Five to come save us. They’ll be completely outnumbered, and when Uncle Kevin refuses to end the war, the Russians are going to start killing us one by one until they get results.” She gazed at the ground, and her face soured at the bitterness of this new reality.



“Ally?” one of the triplets asked in a barely audible whisper. She had cherry blonde hair that flowed straight down to her shoulders and green eyes, smart and questioning. She’d much rather be found in jeans and a T-shirt than a short pair of shorts or a skirt.



“What, Alexa?” Allison asked, turning to look at her younger sister.



“You’re right. They aren’t going to send Dad,” Alexa said with a sorrowful voice.



“Don’t say that, Alexa . . .” Ashley said, lowering her voice to a comforting whisper.



“But Ash,” she asserted, “they can’t send Dad! He’s in jail! There is no way for him to get here. Dad isn’t going to come anytime soon, as much as I want to see him again. The Five is our best bet at the moment.” Being the tomboy of the family, she was wearing a personalized black and gold jersey that her dad had bought for her.



“Alexa, I sure hope you’re right,” another one of the triplets said. She had curly blonde hair that came out from underneath her beanie and fell down just past her shoulders. Her green eyes sparkled when you looked inside them.



“Why? What’s wrong Madison?” Alexa asked following her sister’s gaze directly to the door knob. The tumblers clicked, the door flew open with a thud, and seven Russians walked into the room.



“That’s why,” Madison said frowning as the Russians shoved the girls back towards the bed. She was wearing a pink zip-up sweater with hearts on the front and back, and a pair of black shorts. She watched with frightened apprehension as the sneering Russians got closer, their faces contorting with wicked grins.



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The Boeing 747’s four turbine engine roared in the hot afternoon breeze as it touched down on the makeshift runway behind Black Creek High Security Prison outside Fulton, Montana. The Secret Service swarmed into the prison, agents taking up positions on the roof and around the building as the marines and the President awaited confirmation that the area was secure. The President was clearly anxious, tapping his fingers rapidly on his armrest as he gazed out the window into the late afternoon sun.



“Mister President, sir,” Sophia said, trying to calm him down. “Don’t worry about it. Nothing is going to happen.”



“How can you say that?” the President demanded incredulously.  “I signed off on a deal to send him to prison for life. I blamed him for Makayla’s death when he did everything he could have done to prevent it! I passed the blame for Korea onto him in order to save myself and my administration! He has every reason to hate me!” He looked away from her and smiled sentimentally. “Yet somehow, he found a way to forgive me and completely forget the whole thing. How can anyone do that?”



“Because, Kevin, Death is a, shall we say ‘interesting’ individual. He always has been. The only people he can’t forgive are those who would hurt his family, and you’ve never done that. He agreed to take the fall for Korea, he agreed to save your presidency, he agreed to his prison term, and he never even tried to fight it. He pled guilty on all counts, and the one condition of the whole thing was regular phone calls to his family, and the knowledge that his daughters would be placed in the custody of the people he could trust: you, me, and Sam. This was his way of trying to earn your forgiveness for losing Makayla . . . his way of making sure you knew that he’d do anything for you. She looked down at the floor and wiped a tear from her eye. “It was his chance for redemption.”



The turbines continued their high-pitched roar, as a Secret Service agent opened the pressurized door to the cabin. The plane’s staircase descended, and he motioned for the President to proceed. He helped the President out, then helped Sophia and Sakura as well. Sam Cruz nodded his head at the agent, ducked his head, and stepped out.



“Showtime,” he said, laughing as they walked across the grassy field to the prison gates. There was not a single media member in sight. The prison, which sat some two hundred yards away from the plane, had been locked down for their arrival. The Secret Service had received a shoot- to-kill order for any unauthorized personnel. They were not taking any chances with this one.