Changing POV - One bullet too many
A/N: I apologise to my readers for the time it took me to write this chapter. Life is getting very troubled again with the coronavirus and I have only a few snippets of time to write.
This chapter is packed with action, if you like it leave me a comment, it really motivates me!
191043RJUN17
"I'll come and get you" he'd said to the doctor, and he meant it. He just needed to get Jo and himself out of that hell.
They had run for a couple of blocks then 87 had stolen a car and driven back to the presidential love nest.
"Isn't it dangerous? Al-Bayati may talk." had asked Jo.
It was a valid objection so he had explained: "It's a calculated risk. They'll want to take him to a safe place and dress the wound. Remember that they need him alive. And we've lost all weapons except those we're carrying on us. We've got no choice."
Fortunately the house was not only a love nest, it was also a stockpile of weaponry and high-tech gadgets. As soon as they entered, 87 shut himself into the security area and left Jo outside. He needed to think straight and he did it better without her around. He logged onto the pc and set it to track the GPS he'd hidden in Al-Bayati's shoes. The signal indicated that they had stopped moving. 87 located them by using the satellite: they were in a building on the coast, about 20 miles north. He found some military pictures of the house and a recent blueprint of the construction in a classified database.
Bloody hell
It was a nightmare. From what he could see, the security system in that place was very advanced, it was basically a fortress. Moreover, its isolated position and its architecture made it impossible to reach it from the road unnoticed.
But I could get there by sea.
reflected 87: the speedboat would be providential but he would need to wait for the dusk to prevent the risk of being spotted. In the meantime he should get ready. When he inspected the armoury a tight-lipped grunt of satisfaction escaped him. There were revolvers with suppressors, automatic guns, sniper's rifles, knives, hand grenades and flashbangs. He couldn't have asked for more. He had the perfect vehicle and all the weapons he needed. The only problem was that he didn't have a plan. Or better, he did have a plan, but it was a suicide mission. The only way to get out of that fortress alive would be to have another man to cover the roof.
Or a woman.
Shit.
He instinctively rejected the idea. Until that moment he'd done all he could to keep Jo safe, accepting from time to time her help but always in low-risk situations which he could control.
Nonetheless you've nearly got her killed this morning.
But the danger this time was too high, too unacceptably high. He just could not ask her to go with him.
You won't need to ask, she'll volunteer the moment you allow her to speak, and you know that.
He knew it. Jo was brave, she had always been eager to pull her weight, and he was sure that as soon as he left the armoury and went back to the living room she'd offer to go with him.
No way.
It was a strange feeling. For a change, his emotional part, the one which should not exist, the one which was getting stronger and louder and which up to now had always managed to convince him to take her with him everywhere, that part this time vigorously protested against the idea, while his rational side quietly but firmly pointed out that it was not an option, he really needed her. As far as he could see, having another gun on the roof was the only way for him to get out of there alive – possibly with Al-Bayati.
Possibly but not necessarily.
He knew he'd said that he would save and protect him but what really mattered was that the Syndicate didn't manage to take him away and make him revive the Agent project, so if he'd have to kill the man to stop them, he'd do it without hesitation.
Which probably Jo wouldn't mind too much…
It was full afternoon when 87 came out of the security area. Jo had let him work in peace. She didn't want to be in his way, she knew that for the most part she was a liability to him and she really feared that that time things had really gone too far. She hadn't been able to take Al-Bayati away, they had had to leave him, 87's plan had gone to the dogs, and she was the only one to blame. She only hoped that he'd give her another chance to make up.
When he entered the living room Jo noticed immediately that there was something strange in his behaviour. He pointedly didn't make eye-contact with her and walked to the window.
Is he angry with me? I couldn't blame him….
87 inhaled deeply, took a pause and then announced:
"Jo, I'm going to try to rescue Al-Bayati this evening. I'm leaving in four hours' time and I'm taking the speedboat. You can keep the car, I'd suggest you leave now and drive west."
He's dumping me.
Jo felt a stone settle in her stomach. Not that she hadn't expected it, but still the sound of 87's dry tone left her breathless for a second. She knew he was right, she knew that she should just accept his decision, but she also was sure that if she didn't at least try she'd regret it for ever, so she offered:
"Can't I go with you? Is there really nothing I could help you with?"
His answer was a bit too heated: "I can't take you with me, Jo! It's gonna be too dangerous. It's going to be a hell there and I really can't protect you this time."
She moved closer to him and replied with energy "I know, and you won't have to. You've done it enough times. I'll look after myself, I promise."
At this 87 turned and his eyes met hers with a strange, dark look. If it weren't impossible she'd say he seemed sad.
"No, Jo. Not this time." He said in a breath.
She pressed on, "Andrew, you've saved my life, at least five times including today, and I know there's nothing I can do to even the score…"
87 shook his head vigorously and remonstrated "Jo, you don't…"
But Jo went on in a last, desperate, attempt, scarcely breathing for fear of being interrupted: "I know, I know, you don't expect me to and I'd never be able to pay off my debt with you even if I tried….and I certainly don't want to be a burden or a trouble but, please, please, and be honest with me, is there really nothing I can do? Do you really need no help there? If so that's fine. I'll stay here, or go somewhere else and wait for you." And at that she paused just for a second to breathe but also to make it very clear to him that she was not going to just drive away and goodbye end of the story. Then resumed her plea: "But you said it yourself, it's going to be a hell there, are you really sure I can't help you?"
87's eyes bore into hers for a few, interminable, seconds and Jo tried with all her might to hide the fear that was slowly climbing up her throat and almost choked her. Fear for what might happen, fear of not being good or brave enough, fear of letting him down, fear of being captured or injured, fear of dying and also, quite distinctly, fear that, if he refused to let her go with him, she might never see him again.
He turned his back to her and looked out of the window for a long while then said, slowly, as if against his will: "When I'm inside, shooting my way to the doctor, they will try to extract him by air. … I need someone on the roof to stop them."
"I can do it" she answered without hesitation even though, suddenly, she felt the urge to run to the toilet and pray to the porcelain god.
Fortunately 87 didn't allow any time to her fear to ripen into real panic. He made her try different weapons, opting finally for the classic M4, which at least she knew well. She was conscious that she'd never been exceptionally gifted at shooting – just decent to be generous – and 87 didn't seem particularly impressed by her aim when he made her fire a few rounds. However, with some little adjustments to her position and settings she grew considerably better in a short time. With such a teacher she felt she could almost do everything.
Almost.
Soon it was about 7 pm and they had to get going, sunset time being at 0824 hours that day. 87 gave her a black neoprene scuba suit and rock climbing shoes to wear and put their clothes in a waterproof bag. He also insisted that she ate a roll and, even though her stomach protested fiercely, she didn't voice any objection.
In less than 20 minutes they were ready: they went through the trap door and down the ladder conducting to the boathouse, jumped in the speedboat, and, after securing the cargo, 87 pushed the throttle lever forward smoothly. When they were out of the small bay he gave more gas and the boat took off, nose high, slapping noisily over the water while the last light of the day quickly sank down into the sea. She had never been on a speedboat, the wind splashed salty water over her face and the glimmer of the waves had a silver hue; it would have been beautiful, but Jo was not in the mood to feel romantic. She might be dead before a new dawn rose from the sea.
Or maybe sooner.
When they arrived in view of the enemy's hideaway, 87 slowed down and coasted the steep, almost vertical wall on whose top the fortress melted with the surrounding rocks. It was difficult to assess the height of the cliff but 87 had said that it was 54 meters…
Jesus Christ! A 15-floor building!
He tied up the speedboat and, with one single movement, he jumped from the prow onto the crag and started climbing, as fast and lithe as a panther. His raven scuba suit and the black rucksack in which he carried his weapons and equipment were almost invisible against the dark rock and in a matter of minutes Jo was no longer able to distinguish him. She was alone.
She carefully left the boat and began her ascent, pulling herself upwards with her hands and feet, slowly and laboriously. Soon all her muscles were aching with strain and tension, the M4 sling cutting into her shoulder and her palms blistering under the gloves. The fear that had been coiling in her stomach like a snake finally sprang to her throat and she realized she was gasping. She stopped for a second, resting against the rock wall to recover but it was a rookie mistake: her leg muscles started to shake and she realized with horrible lucidity that, though she was only halfway, she was simply too tired to make it. What was left to climb was a single smooth slab of rock, too vertical and too long to clamber in one last desperate sprint. She should rest, hoping to summon up enough strength, but her position, almost on tiptoes over a minuscule rock spur, was going to tire her even more. Jo was sure that in a handful of minutes her legs would give way and she'd fall. She couldn't stay there but she knew that her chances to make it to the top were almost non-existent. The only feeling that remained in her, except the panic, was rage for allowing herself to be caught so utterly unprepared.
After all he's done for me, I'm going to let him down precisely when he needs me, and all because I'm too weak. Damn!
All of a sudden something fell from above with a swishing noise and tumbled down a few inches on her right, and Jo realized in a flash of excitement and relief that it was a rope.
Thank God!
The feeling of gratitude that filled her heart at 87's thoughtfulness almost overwhelmed her. That rope was a real game changer: after she had secured herself with it, she resumed her climb, using it to steady herself in the most difficult passages. Without the fear of falling into the void at the first misstep, she went up faster, surer and more fluidly and her tension withdrew. In something like thirty minutes she finally crawled onto the helicopter platform at the top of the cliff.
Her throat was on fire and her whole body just wanted to lie down on the ground and stretch out, but she had her orders, so she forced herself to stand up and move. 87 had given her precise instructions:
"On the left of the helicopter landing area there are some irregular rocks. Look for a good cover, a place that gives you a good view on door, platform and sky, and get yourself into a comfortable position. You'll be tired and you'll have to stay still for some time, try to get rested."
And that was precisely what she meant to do: she moved, she found a good place, sat down, drank a sip of water, positioned the M4 and then finally stretched her legs and arms. Now she only had to wait.
The silence on the cliff was almost unreal, every now and then a gust of wind brought up the sound of the waves but for most of the time it was so still and quiet that she could distinctly hear her heartbeat. It was impossible to believe that 87 was inside the fortress, "shooting his way to Al-Bayati" as he had said.
Suddenly from inside the building came the noise of a few gunshots. She counted three single rounds then the silence came back, enveloping her in her thoughts once again. What did those three shots mean? Were they a good sign or a bad one? What if they had found him? Captured him?
Killed him?
What would she do in that case? She shook her head, as if to banish the possibility. After all, if he didn't make it, it was just a matter of time and she'd be dead too. There was no point in worrying about it. After a few more minutes came the sound of breaking glass and smashing furniture.
He's fighting!
Thought Jo, in a mix of relief for the proof that, at least, he was still alive, and renewed worry at the idea that he might be facing God only knows how many enemies. It was all she could do to keep from running to his help … But she had her orders.
"For no reason you must leave your position. There is nothing you can do inside. I need you there."
So she stayed where she was, her imagination free to evoke pictures of 87 injured at every new noise. Then the commotion died down but that time the silence lasted for just a few seconds before a man flung the door open and stepped onto the platform. It was a Syndicate operative who, a machine gun in his arms, stood next to the door and surveilled the sky. Jo's first impulse would have been to shoot … But she had her orders.
"Wait until they come out in the open with the doctor. The moment you open fire you give away your cover. Make it worth it. Shoot to kill."
So she stayed still. She would never have expected that she'd be the one looking through the scope of a firearm waiting for the right moment to pull the trigger.
She didn't have to wait for long. At last a group of Syndicate assets ran out of the door, two of them supporting Al-Bayati (who was limping heavily from the morning's injury) and other two covering the sides. From afar, came the noise of an approaching helicopter. It was the moment she had been waiting for. Jo opened fire, targeting the man closer to where she was. He went down with one shot.
The others ran for cover inside the building then started firing towards her position. Fortunately the rocks gave her a decent protection and she was able to shoot back for a good while. After a few minutes, however, one of the operatives managed to sneak out of the door and get to her side so she had to crawl and crouch behind a small boulder and found herself pinned down by the enemy fire.
They didn't waste their window of opportunity: the helicopter approached and they ran towards it as it landed on the platform.
Fucking shit!
She couldn't let them leave with Al Bayati so she tried one desperate move. She slid towards a small fissure in the rock on her left, inserted the barrel of her gun and opened fire. Another man went down but the operative who was shooting from her right side pinned her in that position. She couldn't move an inch. It was from that hole in the ground, squatting and helpless like a crab, that she saw the two remaining men and Al Bayati get on the helicopter and lift up off the ground in it.
Only then, the door burst open once again and 87 ran out of it. Without even slowing his pace, he aimed at the man who was shooting at her and downed him. Jo stood up and ran towards him, relief and shame investing her and threatening to moist her eyes. But 87 wasn't looking at her, he was watching intently the helicopter which was flying away towards the horizon.
"I'm so sorry! I've let you down." Breathed Jo.
87 gave a curt shake of his head, put his rifle against his shoulder and shot 4 single rounds. For a few seconds it seemed to Jo that his bullets had just gone lost, the lights of the helicopter getting smaller and smaller into the night, but suddenly a bigger light emanated from it and then an explosion broke it down into two parts and it fell into the sea.
Oh my God, it's over!
She couldn't believe it! She turned and finally looked at 87 closely: he was a mess, there was blood on his face and on his hands, his scuba suit was torn on the back, his upper lip was cut and so was also his left eyebrow. But he was alive! She made a move towards him, she just wanted to throw her arms around his neck … when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of light followed by a bang and 87 sprang towards her to pull her down.
Someone had opened fire. The moment they touched the ground 87 spun and, with a single bullet, he killed the operative that Jo had thought to have downed when the shooting had started. But Jo had felt the impact of the shell through 87's body. She knew what it meant: he had been hit. He had taken a bullet for her.
Oh God, no, no, no!
