Hellooooo, my lovelies! It has been awhile, hasn't it? Thank you for all the reviews and alerts checking in on me – my summer swallowed me up, but now that things are calmer, I thought I'd get back to the story.
So guess what? We've got two chapters left, and we're done! I am excited to wrap this thing up – it's been two years, after all – but also a little sad to see it go.
With that said, I'll be posting the final chapter – and epilogue – in a day or two. It's already written, so you won't have to wait!
A million thanks and a gigantic shoutout to my fantastic beta – and friend – the writer you know around here as some1tookmyname. Be sure to check out her work. She's an amazingly talented writer and her stories are among my very favorites around here. Plus, she makes a mean cake.
So then. On with the chapter. Drop me a line and let me know you're still out there. I might be convinced to post that final chapter a little sooner….
Chapter 38
From his tenth-floor window perch, tucked away within the skeletal remains of the bombed-out textile factory, Booth smoldered. The temperature in Aleppo had exceeded the century mark hours before, and as he waited and watched the sun begin to set, he mopped his face with his sleeve and fought the flood of wandering thoughts that the endless boredom brought. He'd been here for hours, arriving before noon and waiting in the sweltering Syrian heat all afternoon, his headset silent for much of the day. His team checked in only sporadically to convey the news that there was no news, and, aside from that, the only thing he could do to pass the time was to block out thoughts of everything but the task at hand.
Al-Qadhi had either gotten word of their plan, which was unlikely, or he was running on terrorist standard time, Booth thought wryly. He'd been on enough of these missions to understand that the hardest part of a sniper's job is often the waiting, the having to remain alert for hours on end, to be ready to fire at a millisecond's notice. He could not afford to let his thoughts wander, and yet the oven-like heat and the stifling, stale air made his post less than pleasant.
He was ready to get this over with. He'd been in Syria twice as long as he'd expected – al-Qadhi had delayed this meeting twice. It was the end of Booth's second week of "hurry up and wait," and he was frustrated. The sooner he could take out this bastard, the sooner he could move on with his life – whatever that looked like. He'd called her once, but had only left a message to say that he'd been detained, that it was going to take longer than they'd expected. The guilt rose like bile in his throat at the thought of being on the other side of the world from her – of abandoning her once again - and he wiped his brow and tried to shake off the ever-present memory of her face. The street below remained silent.
Somewhere over the city the adhan sounded, its jarring call alerting the faithful to evening prayers, and Booth breathed a prayer of his own for al-Qadhi to hurry the hell up.
As if on cue, his earpiece crackled.
"Booth, heads up. Vehicle approaching from the south."
Within seconds, a black SUV appeared at the end of the street. It slowed as it approached the building in which he waited, then came to a stop on the curb directly beneath him. He remained tucked into the shadows, taking advantage of the cover the ragged decay of the window provided, and watched as all four doors of the SUV opened simultaneously. The meeting was to take place in the building directly across the street from his position, so getting a clear shot as the terrorist and his compadres entered the building would be a lead-pipe cinch.
He crouched into position, gun in place on the ledge, finger on the trigger, eye ready to sight. He heard the doors shut on the car and waited a beat, expecting to see them as they made their way across the street. After a beat, when they did not, he inched forward on his perch to assess the scene below, and was dismayed to find they had disappeared.
Shit.
His earpiece hissed. "Booth. Heads up! They're in your location. Repeat – they're in your building! We've got you covered. Adjust your position."
"I'm on it," he confirmed as he scrambled off of his perch. Leading with his rifle, he moved into the hallway and quickly opted for the south stairs, which were likely more intact than the better-hidden but nearly impassible north stairwell by which he'd entered.
"We've got the entrances covered," Finley said in Booth's ear. "Take it slow, Booth. We don't know which of them is wired."
It was widely known that one of al-Qadhi's men always wore a suicide vest in the event that capture was near. Picking them off from across the street was one thing; getting blown to smithereens along with the target was not part of the game plan.
"Roger that," Booth muttered.
He reached the stairwell and entered silently. Outside, the sun had nearly set, plunging the passageway into complete darkness. He covered his tactical flashlight with his palm and flipped it on, and then began his descent into the darkness below, guided by the red of the glow through his hand.
When he reached the landing of the second floor, he switched off his light and paused. As the silence settled around him, he began to make out the echo of voices still quite a way away from him. They were likely in the large, main room of the factory – which was good for him because of the vast amounts of machinery he'd have as cover.
He made his way down the last flight of stairs and was about to step out into the half-light of the first floor when he heard the shuffle of feet just inches from him, followed by the distinct scent of a cigarette.
Al-Qhadhi's goon picked a bad time for a smoke, Booth thought. He waited until the man stepped in front of the stairwell door, and in one motion, had al-Qadhi's first bodyguard in a chokehold. A swift blow to the temple ensured that the man was immobilized, and Booth made quick work of his zip ties and a rag that was conveniently nearby to keep him quiet and secure. Satisfied that the man was free of explosives, Booth stepped out of the stairwell and closed the door behind him.
Booth held his breath and listened again. The men's voices echoed through the building, more heated than not, although Booth could not discern how many men or what language they spoke.
Making his way towards the machine floor, he hugged the wall. Al-Qadhi was shouting now, and Booth's adrenaline spiked at the thought of finishing the job. He crossed quickly to the doorway leading into the main room, flattened to the wall, and then entered the room. As he swept a wide arc with his gun, movement caught his eye in the left of his periphery.
Suddenly, he was taken to the ground in a side tackle with the force of a freight train, knocking the wind from his chest and sending his rifle skidding across the factory floor. He gasped for breath and swung wildly, his fist meeting a jaw that felt like solid lead. His attacker didn't flinch, but raised his fist and aimed squarely at Booth's face.
Booth struggled, then kicked upward into his attacker's chest, attempting to knock the man off balance. The other man barely budged, but it was enough to give Booth time to reach his utility knife. Ripping it from its sheath in his belt, he heaved himself forward and swung the knife, missing his target.
An iron fist landed squarely on Booth's jaw, snapping his head backwards into the cement, and Booth found himself pinned, the cold steel of a gun muzzle pressed into his forehead. Booth blindly swung the knife upward until it met warmth. He twisted it until he saw red, felt the heaviness on his chest give slightly, and heard a gurgling sound above him. Finally, the pressure on top of him gave way, and the bodyguard rolled to the factory floor.
Booth gasped for breath and blinked the stars from his vision as he staggered to his feet. Al-Qadhi's man was near death, Booth's knife having found his neck. Booth regained his footing and snatched up his rifle.
"Two hostiles down," he choked into his mic as he stumbled forward.
"We've got infrared on the site, Booth," came Finley's voice."Looks like your guy is in the northeast corner of the room with two others."
"Copy." Booth made his way down a row of large machines, ducking around giant skeins of fabric hanging tattered and ragged from their rusted arms, reaching for him like ghosts in the fading light.
The conversation at the corner of the room grew heated once more, and Booth took advantage of the crescendo, grateful for the distraction as he moved closer. Swiftly and silently he rounded the corner of the machine row and ducked behind a half wall.
Al-Qadhi and his companions were less than fifty yards away. They were shouting now, al-Qadhi and another man nose to nose, and Booth used the moment to move in closer, taking cover behind another row of machinery. It was nearly dark. He'd be able to close the gap quickly now.
"Booth, hostile behind you…"
He swung around in time to see the shadow of a small-framed man fast approaching him, gun raised. The man shouted something in Arabic, but he went unheard as the voices on the other side of the row continued to argue.
Booth trained his laser on the man's chest and advanced towards the man. The bodyguard shouted again, this time silencing the other two voices. Another shout of alarm from al-Qadhi, followed by approaching footsteps, and Booth knew that he was surrounded.
"Drop the gun," seethed al-Qadhi from behind. Booth heard the click of a gun safety.
Booth considered his options. The remaining bodyguard was likely wired up with explosives. It was too dark to see. Al-Qadhi had a gun trained on Booth's back. Booth could take out al-Qadhi, but would risk getting blown up. On the other hand, if he opted for the bodyguard with the bomb, there were no guarantees that the bodyguard had the detonator. Knowing al-Qadhi, he held it himself.
He needed time. Finley and his men were watching. They'd storm the place, but he knew he needed to get that detonator first.
"I'm putting down my gun," he said, and slowly bent down and set it on the floor, then stood and turned to face the terrorist, arms raised in surrender.
"You are American," said al-Qadhi. Dim light from the street outside shone through a high window, illuminating a patch of floor between them. Al-Qadhi gestured to it. "Step into the light."
Booth took a step forward. Al-Qadhi raised his gun and aimed at Booth's head.
"I do not care who you are. I do not want to know why you are here. Get on your knees."
Booth complied. "The place is surrounded, al-Qadhi. You're done."
"I believe you. But if they try to take me, they will only die." He held up a small device, confirming Booth's suspicions. "In the meantime, I will take great pleasure in sending you on your way ahead of your brothers."
He stepped forward and pressed the gun into Booth's temple and pulled back the hammer.
Like lightning, Booth ducked and barreled headfirst into al-Qadhi's stomach, sending him flying backwards as he squeezed off a desperate shot at the ceiling. The detonator clattered across the floor into the shadows, and Booth rolled off of the terrorist and sprung to his feet as al-Qadhi struggled to recover from Booth's blow. A shot rang out from behind, ricocheting off the machinery, and Booth ducked to his right and retrieved his rifle, making quick work of taking down the bodyguard who was firing at him. A crash, followed by the sound of dozens of boots at the other end of the room told Booth that help had arrived.
Booth swung to face al-Qadhi, who snatched up his gun and stood. Booth squeezed off a round, taking the terrorist's gun – and the hand that held it. Al-Qadhi staggered but did not fall, screaming curses at Booth as he advanced toward him as blood spurted from the mess that used to be his hand.
Blinding beams from fifteen powerful flashlights suddenly erupted from all sides as Booth's backup team surrounded them, every weapon trained on the lone terrorist. Al-Qadhi froze, then dropped to his knees, raising his good hand in the air.
Booth stepped towards the terrorist, rifle trained on the man's head.
Al-Qadhi glared at Booth. "I will not go with you."
He opened his raised hand, revealing the small black detonator.
Booth took the shot.
Then the world exploded.