Fallout
Part 3
Disclaimer: Don't own'em
A/N: Again, you'll notice a bunch of dialogue from Persian Gulf in this part, but I changed some of it around to mix things up and make it fit the story. I don't know much about spy equipment, but anything's possible, right?
--
Georgetown
Saturday
0841 Local
"Keep walking, Sarah. By the grace of Allah, it is a beautiful day, is it not." His words oozed through the line. Mac clutched her phone tightly and took a breath. She really did hate his voice.
"It's a bit cool for my tastes." She replied evenly, searching the street for any sign of him. She reached behind her below the beltline inside her jeans, as surreptitiously as she could, and activated the wire she'd put on that morning, courtesy of the CIA. She silently thanked the agency for delivering it last night.
"Ah yes, you were born in the desert, weren't you." Sadik continued in a conversational tone. "We are not that different. I too was born in the desert." He paused. For effect, she guessed. He was one dramatic bastard. "We have a lot in common, Sarah."
"The only thing we have in common is that we both intend to kill each other." She figured her best chance at dominating Sadik was to keep him off kilter. She'd be as irreverent as she could. It was a risk, but it was one she was more than willing to take.
"I do not want to kill you, Sarah."
"Then we have nothing in common." She replied. She wondered how honest he was. Not very, she would guess.
"We are both far from our country, cut off from our roots and our traditions. Existing in a world not meant for us." Before she could respond, he continued easily. "Throw your purse into the bush next to you."
Mac stopped, and hesitated.
"Now." He commanded. For the first time during their conversation, his voice hardened. "There is a bench, about 15 feet in front of you." He continued when she didn't respond to his order.
Mac looked up, and caught sight of the bench. A man was seated on it. He was thin and wiry, his blond hair covered by a tweed cap. His blue eyes were watching her. He looked eerily familiar, yet was a complete stranger. His lip curled into an arrogant, malicious smile, and that was when she recognized him. Sadik.
Mac forced herself not to react to the sight of him. He had no hold over her. She was in control. This was not Paraguay. She searched past her panic for her anger, and found it readily waiting.
He lifted the jacket that was draped over his lap and looked down. She followed his gaze only to encounter the steel mouth of a gun, pointed right at in her.
"Very impressive, Sadik." She said in a tone that indicated she thought it was anything but.
"Thank you. Throw away your purse and your phone, Sarah. And come walk past me."
She fanned her anger into a steady rage. She would not show him a single weakness. He was not going to get anything from this encounter but impotence. She viciously suppressed the sudden onslaught of sounds and smells, the memories of the last time she'd seen him. Clay's screams. Her begging. Two gunshots that killed the missionaries. Blood. Dirt. Oppressive heat. The glint in his eyes. His snide smile and his grating voice.
She looked him in the eye as she threw her purse and phone into the bushes and walked towards him. The adrenaline pumping through her made her feel invincible. This bastard was hers. One way or another, he was hers. Even if this was her blaze of glory against impossible odds. She regulated her breathing, no point in letting Sadik see how ready and willing she was to face off with him. She knew what was at stake. She knew she needed to be able to think clearly. She'd been waiting for this since she'd heard Clay's first scream. This bastard was hers.
--
Safeway, Georgetown
Saturday
0852 Local
The first thing Harm was aware of was the throbbing in his head. The second was the small rocks in the asphalt that were digging into his cheek and his hands. He felt someone turn him onto his back, and he struggled to open his eyes.
Harm blinked at the sudden bright sunlight that greeted him. A shadow fell over him. He looked up, trying to remember what the hell was going on.
"Agent Higgins. CIA. We spoke on the phone." The man standing over him identified himself. Harm frowned. CIA? Phone? Something important was happening, something crucial, he could feel it in his gut. He was wasting time.
"Can you sit up?" Higgins put out a hand, but Harm waved it away.
Harm nodded, even though he wasn't really sure if he could, and immediately regretted moving his head. He waited for the spots in front of his eyes to dissipate. God, his head was pounding.
"We caught the guy who knocked you out." Higgins jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
Harm frowned in confusion. Last thing he remembered, he'd been looking for Mac...
Mac! Shit. Shitshitshit.
"Mac?" He asked urgently. "Did you find Mac?"
Higgins shook his head.
Harm jumped up, and had to put a hand on Higgins' shoulder to steady himself.
"How long was I out?" He said, still feeling the effects of the blow.
"Just a few seconds." Higgens replied, his hands supporting Harm.
"Where is she? Where's Mac, the Colonel?" Harm waved the man away. His eyes flitted to the end of the alley and back.
Higgins shook his head. "She's not here. And he's not saying anything." He pointed towards a young bearded man dressed in oversized jeans and a jacket. His hands were cuffed behind his back and another CIA operative was holding him against the wall. "We think he's the only one here, but we're sweeping the store."
Harm strode towards the man, grabbed his collar violently and slammed him into the wall. "Where the hell is she?" He demanded, crowding the man, trying to intimidate him.
The man spat out an answer in a language Harm did not understand. His self-righteous hatred though, was evident. Harm tightened his hold on his collar, ignored the throbbing in his head.
"Arabic. I think he's quoting the Quran. He won't say anything else." The operative holding the captive supplied, eyeing his prisoner with distaste. "We'll have to question him."
"He's not going to give us anything, and we don't have time to waste." Harm pulled his hands away from the man, giving him one last glare. He faced the entry to the alleyway and shut his eyes for a moment. He willed his head to stop pounding. He couldn't think.
Focus, Hammer. She needs you to think straight. He eyed the man who'd knocked him out. He wanted to do nothing more than pummel his face in until the asshole gave up Mac's location. Until he felt bones break and skin rip beneath his knuckles.
Breathe, he coached himself. Think.
This is not as bad as Paraguay. You know these streets. You've driven them often enough. This is not Paraguay where you went in half-cocked with no idea where to begin looking.
Harm looked out over alley, at the building tops. Where did you go, Mac.
"She was talking on her cell phone," Harm said to the Higgins.
"We're putting a trace on it now." Higgins replied.
Good, Harm thought, good. A place to start.
Higgins' phone rang. The agent grabbed it from his pocket and flipped it open.
"Higgins, here." The agent paused to listen. Harm held his breath, as though that might help him hear what was being said on the other end.
"Shit." Higgins swore, and Harm's heart stopped beating. He clenched his fists, wished he was listening in on the phone call.
"Damnit. Where? ... We're on our way." Higgins took off on a sprint down the alley before even flipping his phone shut. Harm broke into a run alongside him, ignoring his light-headedness at the sudden movements.
"What happened?" He asked, not entirely convinced he was prepared for the answer.
"Her phone was thrown into the bushes two blocks south." The agent turned left onto the street, not slowing his pace. "Her purse was nearby."
Damn. That pretty much screwed their chances of tracing her through her phone.
As they neared the location, Harm saw two agents on the sidewalk, crouching by a thick clump of bushes. He noticed a bench located a few feet from where they were standing. He could hear kids shouting and music blaring from the skate park across the street. Someone had to have seen something. As they reached the bushes, one of the agents handed the purse to Harm while Higgins took Mac's cell phone from the other agent.
Harm grabbed Mac's purse and searched it. Maybe she'd left them a clue. The first thing he saw was her handgun. That meant she was unarmed. This kept getting worse and worse. What the hell was Sadik going to do to her? Kershaw had said intel didn't think he was out to harm Mac. But the image of her strapped to that damn table was engraved in his brain, etched onto his retina.
"Her gun is in her purse." Harm said out loud, still not quite believing it. She wouldn't go into this kind of situation unarmed.
Higgins who had been speaking on his phone flipped it shut. He looked at Harm, his worry evident.
"Last call was from a disposable phone." He told Harm. "Untraceable."
Harm continued digging through Mac's purse. He needed something, anything that would break this cycle of bad news. He found it or rather, he didn't find it.
"The panic button isn't in here." He looked from Higgins to the other two agents. "Did she press it?"
"No." One of the agents replied reluctantly. All three CIA agents were scowling.
"Does the panic button have a tracking device?" Harm wasn't ready to give up just yet.
Higgins studied Harm carefully as he answered. "It's only activated when the panic button is pressed."
Harm suppressed the sudden wave of dread that threatened to overwhelm him. He'd be damned if he went all the way to goddamn Paraguay and lost his wings and the Navy only to have her kil—let something happen to her in Georgetown because he was too angry to keep an eye on her like he was goddamned supposed to do. Harm clenched his jaw, felt determination steadily simmer in his gut. Nothing was going to happen to her. He would not let anything happen.
He looked at the skate park across the street. All teenagers, all too engrossed in their activities. He looked at the apartment buildings and townhouses surrounding the skate park. All two- to three-storey buildings. What were the chances someone saw something. They had to start looking for her. But where, how? If only his head would stop pounding so he could concentrate.
The shrill ring of Higgins' cell phone cut through the heavy silence shrouding the four men.
The lead agent whipped out his phone. "Higgins." He paused to listen and his scowl transformed into a look of surprise. Harm held his breath.
"What?" Higgins said into the phone.
Harm thought he heard relief in the man's voice.
"She did? Good." He nodded briskly into his phone. "ASAP," He flipped his phone shut and looked at Harm.
"She was wearing a wire." He was almost smiling.
Harm's eyes widened. "What?"
"She activated it a few minutes ago. We just got the signal." Higgins' relief was palpable. "The van is on its way. We can listen in. It could lead us to her."
It meant she was still alive. Harm thought. Why the hell hadn't she pressed the panic button?
It hit him then: she was going to do this on her own.
Damn it. He knew she wasn't stupid, knew she didn't take useless risks. She was always the one with a plan, was able to keep her emotions from affecting her on the job. Could handle stress like few he'd met before. Except for when someone she cared for was involved, or when he pushed her buttons. What the hell was wrong with him, he shouldn't have ... damnit. A part of him knew that no one could throw her off kilter as well or as thoroughly as he could. After their confrontation in the grocery store, he couldn't be sure she was in the right frame of mind. And it didn't help that she was facing the bastard who'd ... Harm paused in mid-thought. Christ. He really had no idea how she was dealing with the whole Paraguay thing. Nor what exactly had happened before he'd burst onto the scene in that forsaken country. They hadn't exactly been on speaking terms since. What he'd seen of her since yesterday morning made his gut clench. He didn't have a good feeling about this, about any of this. Damn it, Mac, he thought desperately. Press the goddamn panic button.
--
Unknown Location, Georgetown
Saturday
0901 Local
Sadik led her along the streets of Georgetown until they reached an apartment building a few blocks from where she'd dumped her purse and phone. He cast a glance behind him as they entered the building.
"It's not an ambush." She told him, making sure to sound unimpressed by his excessive worry about being followed. "I came alone."
He looked at her as they made their way up the stairs to the second floor. "You do have courage." His tone held a proprietary pride, which made her want to retaliate. So she did.
"What did you expect. I'm a United States Marine." She emphasized the last part, just to irk him.
To her disappointment, he did not react.
"Exactly what I expect. I appreciate the Marine mentality." He said evenly. He directed her into an apartment. She could see the skate park from the window. She looked out the window, trying to make out any location markers that would make it easy for whoever was listening in on the wire to find them. Once she was ready to be found, that is. She had not yet pressed the damn panic button. She was hardly panicking, after all.
The skate park Mac saw was rather large and impressive, occupying the farthest corner of the park, just at the edge of a leafy forest. The skate park was filled with kids, a stereo was blasting, loud shouts and laughs could be heard, even from where she stood. She remembered what activities kids got up to in parks bordering forests, at least back when she was a kid.
"Give me your coat." Sadik ordered, still pointing his gun at her. Mac removed her coat and handed it to him.
"Do you have any weapons on you?" He asked.
"Do you see any place I could hide one?" She replied cheekily as she turned to face him. She thought she saw something flash in his eyes as he gave her a once over. Recognition struck; that was it. She'd just found his weak spot. Asshole. Now she knew him. She fought from grinning at her newfound knowledge, instead she raised her arms, deliberately goading him, her voice playful, her posture anything but innocent. "Don't you want to search me?"
It took him a moment to regroup. "Lower your arms," He said with disgust. "Try to behave with the dignity I'm sure your grandmother had." He threw her coat onto the table in the centre of the room, and stood a few feet away from her.
She had him. Triumph coursed through her, bolstered her. She got to him.
"You wouldn't have liked my grandmother, Sadik." Mac schooled her voice to impudence. She was going to exploit his views for all she was worth, she had the perverse urge to really piss him off. Besides, he might speak more than intended if he was angry enough. He had brought her here for a reason, she knew. She was going to figure that reason out. Then she'd break him.
"She refused to wear hijab," Mac continued, watching him carefully, "And she would've been very proud that an Iranian woman – a Muslim – accepted the Noble Peace Prize without wearing the headscarf."
"An atrocity." Sadik scoffed, visibly irritated by her words. He waved his gun dismissively. "An insult to the devout."
"It's the future." She stated with confidence.
"Ah, yes." He paused to study her. "You wish for equality between men and women. Well now, see were that equality has gotten you, Sarah? There is no man here to protect you, because you've stepped out of your place in society."
"If I'm so unprotected, then why are you still holding the gun on me?" She eyed his gun, eyebrow raised in challenge.
He held her gaze for a moment, and then made a dramatic display of uncocking the handgun and putting it into the inside breast pocket of his jacket.
She studied him carefully. What was he up to? She couldn't understand why he went out of his way to get her alone. It seemed stupid and dangerous, two things she would not have associated with him. CIA intel had it right for once, it seemed. He was distracted – by her. It amazed as much as unsettled her. She decided on the blunt approach.
"What do you want, Sadik. What are you after?"
"Are you making me an offer, Sarah?" His voice was smarmy. She didn't think he'd be so blatantly transparent about it. She forced herself not to react to his question. She had him, she reminded herself. She had him.
"Do I have something you want?" She asked innocently.
"You are an intelligent, beautiful woman. All men want …" He trailed off, studying her almost reluctantly.
Mac hated where this was going. She had a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, could feel it all the way to the tips of her fingers. She felt cheapened. No. No. She was using his weakness against him, not the other way around. She was in control. She had the bastard in her sights.
"All men want..." She raised her eyebrow, tried to play coy. She wondered how far she could push this before his sanctimony won out over his confused lust. "What?"
He kept studying her, his watery blue eyes never leaving her face.
"What their mothers could never give them." He finally said. He was hedging.
"What do you want?" she persisted.
"I want..." He trailed off. His eyes drifted down her form, and back up. When they reached her face, she raised her eyebrow and fought her smirk. It was coming, she could feel it.
"Ah, I see." She needled him, her tone careless. She scoffed. "You'll what? Convert me to Islam" She pretended to give it some thought. "Of course, you'd want to humiliate me first. Torture me, once you'd convinced yourself that I'm a whore … maybe then you'd find your manhood, Sadik." She disdained, voiced her utter contempt of him. "You would be afraid of this body; you would use me and throw me away."
She watched the vein at his temple tense, watched his hands clench at his side. She was getting there. Making him lose control.
"You revealed yourself to me when we were in Paraguay, Sarah." His tone was calm and measured, almost cajoling. It belied the tension in his bearing. His smugness irritated her, but she tried to suppress her reaction. "You were pretending to be a man's wife, pretending to be carrying a child. But when I saw through the illusion, I realized you are pretending to be a woman. You are without a husband. Without children. You live a barren life in a prison of fear." He paused, spread his hands in a gesture of peace. "I've helped many others to understand that only in Islam can you be truly free."
Like she was buying that drivel.
"Freedom for you, Sadik, means control." She replied bitterly. "It means taking away choice. That's not freedom." She ground out the words, struggling to remain in character. She needed to focus, not let him anger her. She still didn't know what he was after, what his next big mission was.
"If you lived a true Muslim life, you would be free in your soul." He stepped closer to her, standing much too close for comfort. His ever present calm firmly in place. "You would still have all your strength, but also, you would have purity. You would wear hijab and live with dignity, not dress like a whore and live like one."
"And you're taking it upon yourself to set me free." She scoffed at the contradiction, forced herself not to move away from him. "I do remember a verse my grandmother taught me, from the second chapter of the Quran: 'Let there be no compulsion in religion'. I'm guessing you don't follow that one?"
Sadik watched her, his eyes hardening. Closer, she thought. Almost there.
"Look at those people," Sadik said abruptly, looking out the window towards the skate park. "Tell me: What do you see?"
She didn't bother glancing out the window, focused on watching him instead, trying to read him.
"Kids having a good time," She responded dismissively, confused by the sudden shift in conversation. She'd been getting somewhere, she knew, she'd been close to something. "Enjoying a Saturday."
"To me, they look like the walking dead." His voice leaked derision. "You quote the Holy Book to me, but you do not see what festers in this society that you think is yours." It was an accusation. She waited in silence.
"You know what those children do once it gets dark." He gestured towards the forest, "What they hide in that forest. Do you approve of the drinking, the drugs? The way they treat their girls. Like whores." He did not give her room to answer, his voice was thoughtful, disapproving, full of hatred.
"And these are the children who grow up, intervene in our land and corrupt everything they touch." His voice raised only slightly with indignation. "Tell us what to think, how to live. Through the barrel of a gun and their 'superior' weaponry. They even brainwashed you. And you talk of compulsion."
He turned to face her, his veneer of calm once again in place. "I am offering you a choice, Sarah. There is always choice. If you want to live like those people, then the only purification you can hope for is death."
She struggled to regain her footing in this conversation, to push him off balance. He was too calm and focused for her to have any chance of leading him to reveal his plans, or of gaining the upper hand.
"I'm beginning to see." She replied, her tone matching his, pretending to have all the answers. "What attracts you to me is the same thing that angers you: My independence. Those kids are free to choose how they want to live, and you can't stand that. So what are you going to do? Kill them?"
He stared at her, unflinching, but she could see the vindication behind his eyes.
Shit.
"My God, you are…" Her eyes widened, panic thumped in her chest. She again thanked whoever was responsible for the wire she was wearing. If nothing else, Sadik was not going to kill any innocents in that park. She felt a perverse sense of satisfaction; he would not be pleased that his plans were thwarted. He was going to lose this round.
"Would you like to know the secret of America's downfall?" His eyes flicked to hers momentarily, his tone conversational. "Here everything is for sale. The government goes to the Middle East to look for weapons of mass destruction ... everyone knows the weapons are here. And like everything else, they can be bought. Here."
He cocked his head to side, and studied her. He glanced back towards the park. He shrugged lightly. Something primal glinted in his eyes. "The direction your country is taking defines the direction I must take."
When the hell was he planning this for. She needed to think clearly. Get more information out of him.
"You plan to attack a skate park? Full of innocent people? Children?" She tried her best not to show her worry, her fear for the lives of those children. She was in control.
"No one in America is innocent!" Sadik yelled, catching her off guard – so this is what it took to unhinge him. "Wake up, Sarah! Isn't yours a government of and by its people?" His voice was loud and thin, flattened by his rage. "So, when your government kills from a great distance with their smart bombs, and their missiles in the most cowardly manner … isn't the blood that is shed on your hands? And theirs? You believe in the death penalty, yes?" He took a breath, calmed himself. "So do I. 9/11 was only the beginning."
She directed her shot carefully, now knowing where two of his weaknesses lay. "Using U.S.-made Stinger missiles in Paraguay to blow up a civilian airliner out of the sky, slaughtering a bunch of kids while you watch in the distance ... It seems to me that you aren't above acting in a 'most cowardly manner' either. How does that sit with the warrior in you?"
He smiled slightly at her, as though he could read her thoughts, knew what she was trying to do.
"My strength can be your strength. I want you to witness this so you would believe the truth: you are not safe unless you are under my protection. I can strike anywhere I desire. Here, or in a supermarket parking lot. In the very heart of America." He pursed his lips in thought, then continued. "Perhaps, you are familiar with the term 'Permissive Action Link'?"
"Yes, I know what that is. It's the trigger device of a nuclear weapon." Mac was fed-up with his stupid games, with the way he was looking at her, trying to instigate her. "Do you have one?" She asked bluntly.
"Soon … from your arsenal, bought and paid for with your diamonds."
"Who's it for?" She tried bluntness again.
"Someone who will put it to good use." He responded vaguely. He gave her an arrogant look. "Do you see how you need me to protect you?"
She ignored his question.
"So somebody has a nuke, but they don't have the PAL to set it off. Where are you getting it from?" She tried bluntness yet again. Third time's a charm, she crossed her fingers.
"I've said enough." He eyed her, the suspicion in his eyes told her to try a different tack.
He saw her was weak, he saw her as strong. She did not know which persona he wanted to see now. She guessed weak. The fucker was all about being in control. Wanting to protect her, dominate her.
"I am impressed … just bombing a park seemed out of character for you. So, when's this," She waved her hand towards the park, "Going to happen?"
"In less than 10 minutes." He responded easily.
She stared at him. How long would it take the CIA to alert the local authorities and start an evac? She didn't have much time, and she had to distract him in case he had a back-up plan in place.
"Ten minutes?" She repeated, and stepped closer to him. She shrugged off her disgust with herself. She was in control. "Sadik, how can I make you call this off?" She placed her left hand on his right arm, his shooting arm, and softened her voice. She looked him in the eye. "What can I do … there must be something?"
She watched him as he watched her. He was wrestling some inner battle with his more puritanical side, she guessed. She heard sirens in the distance and hoped he wouldn't notice, knowing that he would.
"What is that?" He looked up suddenly, then turned his head to look out the window, alarmed. His look of alarm was the first sign of vulnerability on his part, and it made satisfaction and vindication burst violently in her. She had him. Bastard. She took advantage of his distraction to reach into her pocket and press the panic button. Not that she was panicking. She also reached behind her to deactivate the wire. It was her turn for the next three minutes. Just her and Sadik.
"What's what?" She asked innocently, a victorious, smug grin on her lips.
Sadik turned to look at her, and caught the expression on her face. A panicked fury transformed his features, and she knew that whatever he would do next would be rash and clumsy and unplanned. The pitfall of being a control freak; he couldn't handle deviations from the script.
He jerked his arm to reach for his gun, but she tightened her left hand over his arm to hold it in place. At the same time, she swiftly thrust her right palm upwards, jamming it into his nose. The sickening crunch gave her such a deep sense of satisfaction, it was almost a struggle for her to force her concentration back to the fight at hand. His head jerked back and he yelped. She took advantage of his loss of balance and swung her foot behind his leg, sending him crashing to the ground on his back. He held his nose between his hands, his eyes watering.
She knew she had to get the gun from his jacket pocket before he did. She dropped herself to her knees, straddling him, one hand on his neck as the other reached into his pocket. Just as she wrapped her hand around the butt of the gun, he hurled his fist into her shoulder. Her arm flung back under the force of his blow and she lost her grip on the gun, sending it clattering to the floor a few feet from them.
She could not let him get on top of her. She had to get that gun. Mac aimed her fist for his throat. He caught her hand in mid-flight and shoved her off of his prone form. He rolled her over and pressed himself on top of her. His one hand held her by the throat, while the other reached blindly for the gun. The blood from his broken nose trailed down his chin, and splattered in large drops on her neck and chest.
Mac struggled to breathe as his hand pressed down on her neck. She needed to get out from under him. Her eyes flitted to the gun on the floor; it was just beyond his reach. She slowed her struggle, hoping it would get him to loosen his hold. It worked. Sadik leaned slightly away in an attempt to get closer to the gun, and Mac took advantage of his inattention. She butted her forehead into his nose, hooked her foot behind his knee and put every ounce of her into rolling him over. He screeched in pain, but succeeded in grabbing the gun just as Mac shoved him onto his back. She reached quickly to her ankle, under her pants, for the knife she had concealed in a sheath. Mac heard him cock the hammer of his gun and shot her left hand out to grab his wrist, putting all her weight into to keep him from aiming the gun at her. His free hand reached for her throat. This was not an even fight, she knew. She didn't have much time before he got the upper hand.
She struggled to keep the barrel of the gun facing away from her, and bring the knife up to where it could do some damage. She grunted as she heaved herself upwards and jabbed the knife into his gut, shoving it in with everything she had. Sadik's finger jerked on the trigger of his gun. The loud crack of the bullet firing rang in her ears, and the recoil jolted her hand where it held his wrist. But all she was concentrating on was the surprise in his eyes as he looked down at the blood seeping through his shirt and covering her hand. She held on tightly to the handle of the knife, the blade embedded to the hilt inside him.
He looked up at her, as she sat atop him. She heard the gun clatter to the floor but paid no heed to it. She leaned forward and looked him in the eye. She wanted him to see the full extent of his defeat.
"You're the one who's weak." She whispered, the adrenaline pounding in her ears. Her voice was low and steady, levelled by all the rage and helplessness she felt in that shack. She twisted the knife.
That was when she saw it. In his eyes. In that one moment where he realized he was going to die, his eyes flickered from surprise to shock to fear ... terror.
"Just like that," she said, looking him in the eye. He stared back. She pulled the knife out and let it drop to the ground. She shoved herself away from him, and stood up. She stared down at him, her hands hanging by her side, as he bled onto the hardwood floor. His eyes never left hers.
The doors burst open and a sudden flurry of activity surrounded her, but she paid no heed to it.
Through the sudden tumult and noise, her eyes held Sadik's, while his held surprise, disbelief, fear. The movement around her took on a surreal quality. It was as though she could feel every sound wave, every vibration in the air. She could feel the movement around her against her skin. But her attention remained focussed only on Sadik. She watched the fear in his eyes slowly give way to smug acceptance. His face was again transformed by arrogance. He smiled at her.
She watched the smile spread on his face. He could smile, she thought, but she knew. She knew he felt that moment of terror in the face of death. That doubt. She knew how important death was in Islam, how it lived in the space between each heartbeat. She knew also how preparedness and acceptance was a part of life. He could smile now, but he had doubted, and that was enough for her. They both knew she won. Bastard had it coming.
Her view of Sadik was cut off by the sudden crowd of men in civilian clothing that surrounded him. Their eye contact broke, but Mac kept staring at where his eyes had been.
"He has a pulse!" Someone yelled out.
Mac blinked, and focussed on the men surrounding Sadik. Civilians? It took her a moment to remember that she was on a CIA op.
Then the words she'd just heard registered: he had a pulse. She didn't know if she wanted him dead or alive. She didn't ever want to have to hear his voice again, hear him say her name.
Mac felt a hand on her elbow. Absently, she moved her arm away. She watched the agents mill around Sadik. Was he dead? She needed to know. It was important that she know. She didn't care whether he lived or died, she got what she wanted from him. But Clay needed him to be dead. It would be better for Clay if he were dead.
"He's fading! Where's the bus?" Another voice shouted.
It angered her that he couldn't even die without being dramatic about it, without prolonging the uncertainty. It surprised her a bit that her anger was still there. The helplessness. She supposed it would take time to fade, a delayed reaction. Like powering down a generator, whirring and sputtering long after the switch was pulled. Anger was still there, bubbling beneath the surface, beneath the odd sense of detachment that made everything around her move in slow motion.
She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, and didn't bother shrugging away this time. She could feel the warm wetness of Sadik's blood through her blouse and on her hands, on her neck. It was cooling rapidly, thickening and starting to stick to her skin. It felt uncomfortable. She looked down at the dark patches of blood that stood out in marked contrast against the white of her shirt. She should've used a gun. It would've been a lot less messy.
She wondered if it would have felt more satisfying.
--
"Mac." Harm called her softly, his hand resting on her shoulder. She was staring at the mass of CIA agents swarming around Sadik's body. Her expression was intent but he couldn't read it, which worried him. At least she wasn't reacting negatively to being touched.
"Mac." He tried again more forcefully when he saw her look down at the patches of blood on her shirt. He reminded himself that the last time she'd stabbed a man after he'd threatened her, it had taken awhile for the reaction to set in. She tended to bottle things up, hold them inside, suppress them.
She still wasn't answering him. An agent handed Harm her jacket, and he draped it over her shoulders. The act made her look over her shoulder at him, her expression oddly blank. He looked her in the eye, tried to convey strength and calm.
"It's over, Mac. Let's go outside, get some air."
She frowned at him momentarily, and then seemed to shake herself from her stupor.
"I'm fine." She said as though he were asking her if she wanted bread to go with her salad.
"I know you are." He replied gently. He nodded towards the floor where Sadik lay surrounded by CIA agents. "But we need to give them room to work."
That seemed to satisfy her. She moved towards the door suddenly, causing his hand to fall from her shoulder. He followed her out, eyeing Sadik's prone form as he left the room. Mac had a tough road ahead of her. He hoped she didn't lose herself along the way.
She was already standing outside, leaning against the side of the building when Harm caught up to her. He'd just made it to her side when an agent came up to them both.
"We have an ambulance on the way. They'll treat you both for your injuries."
"What about Sadik?" Mac asked. She looked hard and worn, and was wearing a determination so strong it looked like anger to Harm.
"He's dead." The agent replied, looking at Mac. Harm noted the admiration in the man's eyes. And the worry. He hoped Mac didn't pick up on it, he didn't know how she'd react to that in her current state of mind.
Mac simply nodded and turned her head to stare down the street, her eyes fixed on some point where the sky met the road.
The agent glanced at Harm, his worry deepening, and then headed into the building.
"Check us both for injuries." Mac repeated quietly, still looking away from him. It was not a question, but a statement. He watched her, and waited.
She finally turned to look at him, and studied him curiously.
"Sadik mentioned something about striking in a grocery store parking lot." She could have been commenting on the weather. "You hurt?"
"Just a knock to the back of the head." He dismissed the concern she seemed about to cleave herself to. He knew she would use it to distract herself.
She frowned as she straightened, pushing herself off the wall and tightening her jacket around her. It was still draped over her shoulders, she hadn't bothered putting it on properly.
"Are you alright? Do you have a concussion?"
He thought she sounded excessively worried, and knew she was using it to avoid thinking about what had happened up there. He also knew that she'd catch him out if he lied.
"I was out for a couple of seconds. Head hurts. No dizziness." It was just a bit of a lie. Mostly the truth. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, his head was starting to throb and he was worried that any sudden movements would make the world spin.
She searched his eyes. He wondered if she could detect his slight fib. "They'll probably want to keep you overnight." She finally said.
He shrugged, and opted to shift the focus to her.
"Are you hurt anywhere?"
She shook her head slightly. "A few bruises."
"We found your purse. With your gun in it." He added the last part without knowing why, without intending to.
She hesitated, uncertainty clouding her face. He wondered why until he realized that she was deciding on whether he was commenting or criticizing.
"Had a knife on me." Her reply was firm, and left him no room to continue this conversation without forcing it.
He nodded. He wanted to ask her why she didn't press the panic button. On one level, he knew why she hadn't. But for reasons he couldn't explain, he needed to hear her say it. Maybe if he said something, she'd think twice before she did anything that stupid again. He'd heard most of her conversation with Sadik before the connection had been cut. He knew she was driven by something other than reason in that room. Maybe if he said something, she'd think about why she had done what she did, and start dealing with it.
Before he could decide how to broach the subject, Mac's gaze shifted over his shoulder.
"Ambulance is here." She glanced at him before walking across the lawn, towards the bus.
He watched her walk away. She looked uncharacteristically frail with her coat draped over her shoulders, her steps small and tired. They needed to talk. They would talk. Once they were cleared by the paramedics and debriefed, he vowed. Even if he had to hunt her down.
He remembered Holbarth's death, and knew that if he'd shot the man to avenge Diane's death his satisfaction wouldn't have lasted much longer than it took for the heated muzzle of a gun to cool down. She shouldn't be alone when all of this hit her, once the shock wore off. She was probably expecting closure with Sadik's death, and he knew she wouldn't get it.