Death Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE



With no windows to view the outside world with, and the constant blinding light of the fluorescent bulbs bearing down on them, it was impossible to tell what time of day it was. All they knew was that they were becoming extremely tired, so it must be approaching sometime after midnight.



The door slammed open once more as the Russian President, Special Forces Commander and several guards entered the tiny holding cell. Putin observed the scene through squinted eyes as Nichev stepped forward to address his prisoners.



“This is quite simple, really . . .” he began, his wrinkled leathery face warped in a sickening sneer. “In a short time we shall begin subjecting you to various forms of excruciating pain before executing you once every hour until your uncle agrees to pull his troops out of Georgia.” The girls watched in stunned horror, trembling uncontrollably as he spoke. Ashley, on the other hand, continued her defiant stare at him, determined not to show fear of any kind.



“One of you shall be taken in under twenty minutes, but we haven’t decided which one of you to kill first . . .” he said walking over to Chastity and snatching Makenna from her arms. “That is where you come in, little one.”



“What are you doing?” Chastity screamed. Nichev wheeled on her, backhanding her across the face with his free hand. She cried out in pain, and fell backwards onto the bed.



“Silence, you little whore! If I hear a single word out of you again, I will not hesitate to put a bullet in each one of your heads.”



“Just get this over with Mikhail,” Putin said impatiently. “The Americans are poised to strike, and I would prefer to be in my office when the counterattack begins.”



“Yes sir.” He turned and faced the small girl in his arms. “Makenna? Is that your name?” She stared at him scared senseless, frozen in terror. “Answer me when I am talking to you, whore, or I will smack you so hard you’ll forget who you are! Now is that your name, or not?”



“Yes,” she whispered, nodding her head violently. Chastity and Ashley wanted to do something, but getting shot themselves would not help the situation or their younger sisters.



“Alright sweetheart,” Nichev said, smiling his characteristic sickening grin. “Can you help me with something?”



“Okay,” she whispered.



“Good. I need you to pick which one of your sisters is going to die first.”



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The Black Hawk helicopter roared deep into Russian territory, having taken off from aircraft carrier Tripoli three hours prior. They had been flying at the chopper’s service ceiling of 19,000 feet to avoid detection by the Russian’s advanced low-altitude radar system. It was well past midnight, and they were flying through thick storm clouds that shimmered like ethereal vapor in the chopper’s dim lights. It was terrible weather for flying, but this chopper’s cargo was the girls’ only chance at salvation. The wind whipped over the open doors and the clouds swirled like fog as the chopper’s blades sliced through them.



“Death, listen to me for once—” Sophia said seriously. It was common knowledge amongst the Five that Death had a nasty habit of getting himself shot to the point of near-death during missions, and still fighting on as if he were invincible. This amounted to some nearly fatal encounters over the years, and his comrades often feared for his safety. Death cut her off with a smile. He generally disregarded their concerns as unfounded, preferring to maintain his “indestructible” persona. 



“Babe, in all the years I’ve been doing this, you still don’t believe I can handle things alone?” he questioned with a chuckle. “I’ve been around the block a couple of times . . . don’t go frettin’ your little heart out over me . . . You know me.”

         

“Nate, that’s the thing. You can handle things alone, but you can’t handle yourself. I already know how things will play out: you’ll charge in there, out to be the hero, and then when you get shot and shredded, you’ll refuse medical treatment, because ‘pain is a display of weakness,’ because you never show weakness no matter what the cost.”



“Sophia—”



“Don’t you ‘Sophia’ me. I can’t bear to see you get hurt again and I already know that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”



“Soph,” he said smiling as he got up and walked across the helicopter sitting down next to her. “Don’t worry about a thing. When I get back—and get out of the hospital,” he added with a chuckle, “we’ll do whatever you want for our next date. Until then, this’ll have to do.” He grabbed her shoulders quickly and began kissing her passionately. Cruz cleared his throat loudly.



“Sorry to ruin the party,” the pilot’s scratchy voice announced into their helmets, “but we’ll be approaching the drop zone soon.” The copilot’s scratchy laughter could be heard over the headset as well.



“All good,” she said laughing, blushing slightly. “Nate, don’t get your ass shot.”



“I don’t usually make promises,” he said jokingly. “All I can say is tomorrow, you and I will be together again.” He smiled reassuringly back at her as Cruz released another throaty cough.



“All right you two lovebirds, we haven’t much time and I still need to brief you. I know you hate briefs so I’ll make this as quick and painless as possible.” He reached behind him and pulled a large metal container from the chopper’s cargo rack. He placed it on the floor, opened its bolted latches, and produced a shotgun with a long barrel and modified stock. The weapon only weighed about eight and a half pounds, but it had enough force to knock over a 175-pound man.



“One Benelli M4 Super 90,” he said like a short-order chef calling up orders. “A personal favorite, I might add.” He reached into the bag again and removed two smaller weapons. “We’ve got two MP5 Uzis, because you never leave home without them. In addition, because I know you so well, I equipped you with a silenced Browning 9mmx19. Oh, and don’t forget your body armor.” Death grabbed his equipment, loaded the weapons into their appropriate holsters on his jumpsuit, and turned to go. “And one more thing,” he said with a look of concern on his face. “Try not to get shot.”



Death smiled wryly.



“I’m glad you all have faith in my ability to avoid getting shot every time I go out on a mission.”



“That’s because you always get shot.” Sophia laughed softly, trying to hold back tears. “Prove us wrong this time, okay?”



“We’re three minutes out,” the pilot radioed.



“All ready Death?” Sakura called. “Any last words?” She had been silent through the whole trip, gazing at the clouds outside the helicopter doors, her thoughts immersed in other matters.



“No, I’m just afraid that the girls won’t to be happy to see me . . . I mean, it’s been far too long and—”



“Nate, shut up,” Sakura snapped. “You know that’s total bull. Your daughters love you more than anything on earth. You’re the perfect father, and you’ve never done anything but right by them. All they ever do is talk about you.”



“Nate.” Sophia placed her hand on his shoulder. “Listen to me. Ashley’s low self-esteem took a major hit when you got thrown in jail; Chastity and Ally’s performance in at school sports fell drastically when they looked up in the stands and noticed that for the first time ever you weren’t up there watching them; Alexa wouldn’t play football with anyone because it wasn’t the same as playing with you; Brandy quit everything that you told her she needed to do even if everyone told her she couldn’t because you weren’t there backing her up and making sure she kept going;  Madison smokes, drinks, and has had sex at least five times since you left; and then there’s Makenna. She took it the hardest. She hasn’t slept for more than three hours a night, we try to help her, but we can’t help with the monsters, and when we got rid of the monsters we couldn’t help with the nightmares. She tries to be strong like you because she loves you so much, but we’ve heard her at night—when she thinks nobody’s around—and she cries herself to sleep. She spends hours a night questioning God, asking Him to bring you back, or at least help her understand why He had to take you away. In other words, I think you’re not going to have to worry about your daughters: worry about the Russian’s instead.”



“Nate,” Cruz said patting his friend on the back, “it’s time to go. We’ll see you in a couple hours.”



“See you later,” he said with a laugh. He winked at her and smiled from the corner of his mouth, then jumped out of the helicopter backwards. They stood there silently, watching the spot he had been at just seconds ago. The pilot kept the helicopter stationary, hovering above the drop zone for several more seconds to ensure that Death was clear of the prop-wash before speeding away again.



“I hate it when he leaves,” Sophia said crying. “I already know what’s going to happen…”



“Sophia,” Sam said trying to comfort her, “don’t worry about Nate. You know he’s got that uncanny ability to avoid death no matter how many times he gets shot. Where do you think he got his nickname?”



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“I need an answer sometime today, little girl,” Nichev snapped impatiently.



“No,” Makenna said as tears poured down her cheeks onto her shirt. “I can’t.”



“Well if you can’t, I will for you,” Nichev said apathetically. He raised his arm and pointed at Madison, who hid behind her sister, longing to melt away into nothing. “She would be a great place to start . . . Then, after her, we can go on to Chastity, and then we can take her . . .” (he pointed to Alexa). Better yet, I could make you watch each and every one of them die if you can’t bear to make a simple decision. Now choose, dammit!” His terrible will overwhelmed her, and she was clearly distressed.



“No!” she yelled up at him, her eyes bright red with tears. “I hate you! Don’t take them; take me!” Madison, Chastity, and Ashley all were taken aback by her sudden outburst and completely shocked at what she was telling them. Unfortunately, they were too stunned with terror to say or do anything to help the situation.



“All right darling, we’ll play with you first . . .” He laughed coldly. “Then you’re next,” he said pointing at Chastity. “You look like a whore; you might actually enjoy this. Follow me,” he said leading Makenna out of the room, tightly gripping her arm. Makenna glanced at her crying sisters as she was dragged away, a look of absolute terror on her face. Nichev, Makenna, Putin, and two of the Russian Special Forces left the room. The remaining three guards shut the door, and drew their weapons, sending a clear message to the girls that they would not be leaving the room anytime soon.



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Death landed on the gravel tar roof of the building, took off his parachute, and pulled out the silenced pistol with quickly, passionate hatred burning in his eyes. The base was completely dark: Putin didn’t want his location to be identifiable from the air, and he didn’t want any approaching ground units to be guided towards them by an errant spotlight. Fortunately, Death had his standard-issue night vision goggles on that allowed him to drift down silently onto the rooftop without being spotted by the patrolling night guards below.



“Show time,” he whispered to himself, his breath appeared like foggy clouds of vapor in the damp night air. He crouched, and crept over to the ventilation shaft protruding from the rooftop. He reached into one of the various pouches on his jumpsuit and withdrew his switchblade. Death quickly began removing the screws around the outer edge of the vent, until the grating was removed, exposing the open shaft downwards. He hoisted himself up, and quickly lowered himself down into the vent. It was a tight fit but he pulled it off.



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The President stepped of his private elevator and walked into his office hidden below the Pentagon. He passed the lounge outside, and smiled at his secretary who was busy at work on her computer typing up memos.



“Evening, Kari. What’s going on now?”



“General Smith is waiting for you in your office, Mister President. I’ve had the bar stocked with beer and cola, and your favorite brand of cigars is waiting for you on your desk. I’ve also rerouted all calls directly from the White House to here.”



“Kari, you’re the best.” He smiled, grabbing some files from the inbox, and turning to enter his office.



“I know,” she said laughing at her brother as he opened the door to the office. “You always say that Kevin.”



The President’s office emanated executive authority: an artificial putting green adorned the right hand side of the office, while large oak bookshelves stood against the left wall. A polished billiards table with crimson felt top stood before the shelves, and a large sunburst rug lay beneath it. A large gas fireplace stood against the wall directly behind the President’s desk and several paintings of landscapes, along with family portraits flanked the fireplace on the same wall. In the corner of the room to the right side of the desk stood a panel of televisions, each tuned to a different news network, each showing the same exact feed.



“Common Jake, give me some good news . . .” the President said strolling over to the mini-bar, and pulling out a cola. He was trying not to get drunk too early in the evening; it was going to be one hell of a night. He grabbed a cigar from the wooden box on his desk, bit off the end, spat it into this ashtray, and pulled his Zippo lighter out of his suit pocket.



“Sorry,” the General said meekly. “The Russians have hijacked all the major networks’ satellites and are broadcasting a direct feed from Russia. They have Makenna, and are talking about how your ‘arrogance and inability to surrender and withdraw our troops from Georgia is going to result in deaths of your nieces.’ They’ve got her strapped onto a metal table . . .” His voice lowered and he turned away from the televisions to address the President directly. “Then we have one hour to get out Georgia or they will kill another one of your nieces, and so on and so forth.”



“Where the hell is Death?” the President exclaimed impatiently. “He should be there by now . . .” He began puffing on the cigar anxiously, jets of smoke issued from his flared nostrils.



“Don’t worry Mister President, he’ll be there . . . you know how he is.”