WW3: Sinister Operations

WW3: Sinister Operations is the first story in the World War 3 series. Now, there will be some Call of Duty stuff, but a lot of it is original. Don't forget to comment. So without further adieu, here's the story.

Here goes nothing...

Prologue

Iniest, most horrific war ever fought.

To make matters worse, it was all started by the one world resource that every nation and terrorist leader could ever want: revenge.

My name is Olivia Coonz, and this is my story.

No, check that.  This is our story.

Act 1: The Eve of War

Chapter 1: Global Escalations

Olivia Coonz

I woke up shaking; it was prior to the start of the last hour of school in fifth grade.  Evidently, I had one of those nightmares that involved seeing my house blown to smithereens by an unmanned aerial vehicle from the US Army.   I had them a lot lately, ever since I heard of rumors that the war between the People’s Republic of China, the Islamic Republic of Iran and North Korea would spill onto American soil.

In case you don’t know what’s going on, I’ll break it down for you: in the years during the Cold War, specifically after the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, the entire Muslim Middle East formed this alliance called the United Islamic States (or UIS). 

And they detest us.  They want to destroy us really badly.

In other words: they want to annihilate us!

Well, technically, they want to annihilate Israel, AKA the Holy Land, but they see us, Americans, as stumbling blocks to their goal, so they want to destroy us first and then destroy Israel.

How are they going to do this, you ask? 

They’ll do it from with a little help from someone named Kaylyn Bigley.

Back in 2021, Kaylyn created this terrorist group called the Inner Light, which specialized in cyberwarfare (warfare with the Internet).  She also wants to see the Americans destroyed, but not because America opposes Islamic ideals like the Muslims.

In fact, she wants attention. 

Evidently, she believed that if she did something really big-especially if it involved the destruction of American cities-people would notice her. 

Why?  She was a hiding-in-the-shadows kind of person, always hiding in the crowd and committing petty crimes (she was a wanted criminal in America). 

She felt bored running away from authorities after committing crimes like robbing banks, mugging people, and other stuff and wanted something bigger, something attention-grabbing.

And to a soon-to-be-future-terrorist, what would be better than starting the next world war?

Yep, that’s right; she wants to start World War III!

As I rubbed my head, I looked out at my beautiful neighborhood outside the school campus.  In case you don’t know, I live in Beverly Hills, which is an affluent city in Los Angeles, California.

And if you want to know how in the blazes I got into high school as an eleven year old, I was born with a higher-than-normal IQ.  In fact, I was so smart, I was able to skip fifth and sixth as a ten year old and breeze through seventh grade as an eleven year old.

Residence-wise, I live in a mansion with an orange roof, yellow walls, and a swimming pool in the backyard.  To the right, there’s a pale gray house with a black roof and white walls, which is home to one of my classmates at school, Mason Davidson.

To the left, there’s a smaller building where my other classmate, a Russian immigrant named Lev Raskov, lives.  This building also had an orange roof, but with white and not yellow walls.  He also had a swimming pool.

Behind my house there were lots of other small and large houses of all colors, all with swimming pools in their backyards.  Because of all the swimming pools, most people called the area “Swimming Pool Alley”.  The area got popular in the summertime; lots of kids and adults would go swimming frequently during pool parties or leisure time.

I, however, swam whenever there was a heat wave.  Heat waves were getting frequent here in Beverly Hills, and during that time, any area with a swimming pool, especially a public pool, was bound to be crowded.

In the event of a heat wave, any pool-whether a private or a public pool-would be crowded with people trying to cool off in the heat.

Today wasn’t a heat wave day, which meant there was no need to go swimming, even though everyone else was planning to go swimming after school.

Yeah, I know; the school year was almost over and people were already itching to make plans for summer vacation. 

In case you want to know, I go to Beverly Hills High School, located on Moreno Drive.  Fortunately for me, I live right across the street from the school, on Moreno Drive. 

As of now, I’m a seventh grader, but I’m going to be an eigth grader next year-unless World War III breaks out until then.

On the bright side, though, today was the last day of school, much to the delight of everyone else in the 9^th grade class.

My last period at school is Study Hall; usually I start the school day with Keyboarding, which according to my mom shouldn’t be a school subject, ‘cause in her eyes, you don’t need to learn to type up documents.  Then I go to pre-Algebra and from there, I got to English 7.   After my lunch break, I go to Biology class, US History and finish the day with Study Hall. 

Study Hall was usually a killer, ‘cause Mr. Howard, a nice, but sometimes-terrifying guy with short hair and a voice that made anyone cringe would often yell out public announcements while everyone was busy with homework. 

That was the scary part; imagine how you’d feel if a teacher yelled something like, “TEN SECONDS!” or “Hey, no sleeping before testing!” while you were doing homework.

Fortunately, today I didn’t have any school-related homework, except the Summer Reading List, which we got every stinkin’ year.  Days like these were pretty rare during the school year itself, but towards the end of the school year, they started to get pretty common.

And on the last day of the school year, everyone at my school is happy ‘cause they get...wait for it...no homework!

“Fell asleep again, huh?” asked Lev Raskov, who was sitting right next to me; Lev was 5’6, the same height as me, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes.  He was an immigrant from Russia; he moved to the United States after his dad got a job offer here in Beverly Hills, which he readily accepted after losing his other job as a firearms manufacturer in his native hometown in Volgograd, Russia.

We were bosom friends since grade school.

“Hey, Lev,” I said, rubbing sleep gunk out of my eyes; I’d stayed up really late last night trying to beat my previous high score in a match of Call of Duty: Black Ops: Zombies, which pretty much took from 7:00 P.M. in the evening to 12:00 A.M. in the morning.

And in case you’re wondering how I managed to get away with it, I gave myself a sugar rush by drinking Monster Energy every five minutes while muting the game to make sure my parents wouldn’t hear me.

“You stayed up all night?” asked Lev.  “That’s bad, comrade.”

“I didn’t stay up all night.  I pretty much stayed up from 7:00 P.M. to 12:00 A.M. and then I overslept.”

“Good thing it’s the end of the school year, pal.  Otherwise you would’ve gotten a detention.”

I groaned; according to general school rules if you got more than four tardies each quarter, you were detained.  Too many detentions throughout the school year gave you in school suspension, or ISS. 

I never got a single tardy throughout the school year-except today, all because I woke up at about 5:30 A.M. and I was supposed to wake up at 6:50 A.M. and arrive at school by 7:00 A.M. (the tardy bell rings at 7:10 A.M.)

To the left was Mason Davidson; he was a high school senior and was the most intimidating guy in my class.  He was 6’5, had black hair, green eyes, and a medium build, even though from a distance he looked like a muscular, scary thug.

His dad, evidently, was pressuring him into becoming a lawyer like the rest of the Davidson Family (doing something that wasn’t dangerous, like being a lawyer, was a Davidson tradition), much to Mason’s disappointment; he wanted to join the US military, which was something his dad never approved of, as he felt it was too dangerous and that being a lawyer was “safer”.

I heard that he had a secret plan to run away from home after graduating from high school and then cover up his tracks to make it look like he was studying law abroad.

Whenever Mason spoke, it was always a in a low, deep tone that made everyone that was afraid of him cringe. 

I however, liked the guy; I viewed him as my role model.

Why?  Because I had a secret ambition too: I wanted to join the US Army, just like Mason.  Unlike Mason, my parents weren’t stumbling blocks.  In fact, they supported me in my little goal to join the Army.

My parents were like Mason’s parents, but with different goals; they were more laid-back and always tolerated my change of job ideas.  For example, I could walk up to them and say, “I’ve changed my mind.  I wanna be a nurse,” and they wouldn’t mind at all.

Unlike Mason’s dad, being hardcore law school all the way. 

Mason’s mom was a bit like my own mom in a way; she wanted Mason to follow in his dad’s footsteps, but respected Mason’s own personal opinion.  This resulted in arguments in the Davidson family; Mason’s father would ramble on and on about how he was insistent that being a lawyer was safer than being a soldier, whereas Mason’s mother would urge his father to not push him so hard.

These fights were almost 24\7 at the Davidson household, which kind of made me feel bad for Mason.

“Did you hear the news?” Lev asked me as I rubbed my eyes again.  “The US Army’s gotten stronger.  They’ve got drones that are protected against self-awareness.”  I groaned; Lev had been rambling about how my own dad, a Gulf War veteran, became a commander in the US military and controlled unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs).

My mom, unlike my dad, works in the Federal Bureau of Investigations, AKA the FBI.  She protects America from terrorism (yes, that includes cyber terrorism), combats public corruption, protects civil rights, combats organized crime, and any significant violent crime. 

Specifically, she investigates cyber crime, AKA computer crime, at the FBI Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch (CCRSB).  To be even more specific, she’s in the Cyber Division.

I initially planned to train for the CCRSB too, but after seeing some war movies prior to entering 9^th grade, I changed my job ambition to US military.

“Man,” Lev said, rubbing his head.  “This thing can’t seem to get any worse, can it?”  I groaned again and smacked myself with my binder.  Evidently, Lev could be a pain at times.

“I would appreciate it if you’d let me go back to sleep!” I growled before letting my head fall over and hit the desk. 

“What?” asked Lev.  “You haven’t been watching the news lately?”

“No,” I said exasperatedly.  “Why?”

“The Inner Light’s targeting America and China in order to destroy the two nations in the next world war.  It’s madness, I tell you.”

“I know!” I groaned.  “You told me about thirty-two times already!”

“And next thing you know, China’s probably going to strike first or something.”

“Stop it!” I said, looking at Lev with my face twisted into a grimace, which kind of worried him.  “Look, I’m tired of you talking about this upcoming war.  Chances are the war isn’t really gonna happen!”

“Suit yourself, Coon-dog,” Lev said, blowing into the air.  “When China invades America, you’ll be sorry.”

Well, that got me really irked.  “China’s not invading America,” I said firmly as the bell for dismissal blared.  “And don’t call me ‘Coon-dog, Lev!  It’s Coonz!”

Chapter 2: Rumors

“Bye!” Mason was screaming crazily as he ran down the lobby of Beverly High School.  “See ‘ya guys!”  Suddenly, as I cruised beside him, an empty Dr. Pepper can hit me on the head.  I screamed and turned around, looking into the tangle of excited students.

“Gotcha, Coonz,” someone with a Mohawk screamed, throwing another empty Dr. Pepper canister at my face.

“Hey, quit it, will ‘ya?” Lev blared behind the guy.  “Or else I’ll tear you down!”

Well, that sent the guy running, much to my delight. 

“Hey, Coonz,” peeped a voice behind me.  I turned and then laughed when Harper Michaels, a tall, skinny dude from the Junior class suddenly ran up to me like a living javelin (he won the Long Jump event at Track and Field Day earlier in the year) and then leaped clear over my head like a graceful gazelle-all while wearing a gray T-shirt and a pair of shorts.

“Err, Harper, you’d better stop that,” I heard Mason peep from my right.  “You’re gonna injure yourself, man!”

“Okay, okay, okay!  I give!” Harper squealed.  “I’ll stop, pal!”

I let and exhilarated shrug and ran out the school lobby and out into the parking lot, screaming, “Freedom!”  I looked behind me and then Harper was staring at me from the school doorway with a look of awkwardness on his face.  I rolled by eyes and turned around, screaming, “See ‘ya, guys!  Bye,” every five seconds, much to the delight of my peers, who were all waving at me and screaming in delight.

And then, Lev nearly crashed into me with Mason and Harper in tow, much to my surprise, as I had no idea what they were trying to do.

“Uh, hey,” I said awkwardly.  “Could you please move so I could, ah, reach my mom’s car or something-?”

“Hey, guess what?” Lev interrupted.  “You’re invited to my-err, I mean our-party!”

“You’re having a party?” screamed a random cute girl from the 10^th grade class to my right.  “Awesome!  Can I come?”

“Most definitely,” Harper said, during which he was throwing flyers out at curious people.  “Everyone’s invited!”

I groaned; in less than five seconds, the entire 9^th grade class swarmed around Harper, Mason, Lev and I, fighting for a chance to get invited, as there weren’t many invitations available.

I got home at about 3:30 that day.  Oh, and by the way my house is huge!  I basically live in a mansion with five flat-screen plasma TVs (one in my room upstairs, one in the basement, one in the guest room, one in the living room, one in my parent’s room and one in the attic), eight game rooms, a huge basement with an Xbox 360 hooked up to one of our huge flat-screen TVs, a satellite dish, and a backyard that’s been converted into a US Army-style shooting range.

The only boring thing about the house was that every nook and cranny was the same color: red, blue and white.  My mom planned to change the coloring a couple times, but evidently my dad liked it with red, white and blue.

I guessed he liked it ‘cause it made the house look “patriotic”.

Olivia Coonz

When I got to my room, which was in the attic and converted into a teenager’s dream, with a plasma TV, an Xbox 360, and all the Xbox games a teen could want, there was a text message on my iPhone 5 (I always left my phone at home while getting ready for school).

I picked it up and frowned; it was from Lev Raskov and, I had to admit, sort of startled me.

The message, in the form of a standard memorandum read:

TO:      Olivia Coonz

FROM:      Lev Raskov

DATE:      May 10, 2021

SUBJECT:      Imminent war with Bhutan

I was disturbed by what I heard on the news today after school.  Evidently, this girl named Kaylyn Bigley, who was raised by Bhutanese parents from the nation of Bhutan, wants to start this “Third World War” the way Raul Menendez started the Second Cold War in Call of Duty: Black Ops 2, only without a cyberattack on the Chinese Stock Exchange.

I’ll explain later!

L.R.

I was taken aback by the message; how did Kaylyn Bigley, who was now a 17-year old, want to start a war Black Ops 2-style?

Oh, and by the way Kaylyn was originally born to American parents, but they couldn’t afford to take care of her, as they already had lots of other kids to take care of, and turned her over to a rich Bhutanese family instead.

That explains why Kaylyn is ninety-one percent American and fifty-percent Bhutanese.

I picked up the phone and texted back:

So what?

Then I headed downstairs, where I saw my mom, age forty-three with brown hair peppered with gray, reading the news.  At the same time, my dad, a tall dude in his early fifties with sandy-brown hair mixed with gray, wrinkly skin, and a face like Boo Radley from the novel To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, walked into the living room and turned on the TV.

He was suddenly appalled by what was on the news; there was a series of news headlines in big, white print on the bottom of the screen while the TV showed a horrendously realistic collection of footage showing government officials from the People’s Republic of China signing some kind of treaty with the King of Bhutan.

The headlines read: “POSSIBLE START TO WORLD WAR III?!”

The King of Bhutan, mind you, is the richest guy in the country.  I heard he owned, like, fifteen million in US dollars or something.

As I watched my dad stare in awe at the footage with the Chinese and Bhutanese officials signing the “treaty”, I suddenly sank into a sofa, tired.

At the same time, my dad shut off the TV and muttered, “It’s happening.”

I looked up at him and asked, “What’s happening, Dad?  What’s with this ‘campaign?’”

“The People’s Republic of China just signed an agreement with the Kingdom of Bhutan, or at least that’s what it looks like,” Dad said ominously.  “The Chinese President has decided to give Bhutan half of its supply of rare earth minerals.”

Wow, I thought.  What a rather dumb decision! 

Dad nodded in agreement and I just got up from the couch for a moment, stretched, and sat back down.

The People’s Republic of China was, until now, the biggest supplier of rare earth minerals, owning ninety-five percent of the world’s supply.

Now they were giving half of it away to another country, and for seemingly no reason.

To me, this spelled trouble.

Two hours later, I met Lev Raskov at a Burger King nearby.  A friend accompanied him; this guy was from Auvergne and named Phillip Morrel, whom Lev and I nicknamed “Phil”.  Phil was about sixteen or seventeen with brown hair, hazel eyes, and a dimple in his chin.

He spoke with a heavy French accent and, according to Lev, always put cologne on himself after taking a bath, which was to “attract the girls”, as Lev put it.

“You want to know why I’m so antsy about China and America going to war?” Lev asked, his voice edgy.

“Hey, stop it!” I said.  “If Mr. Howard hears us talking about war, he’ll skin us for sure!”  Lev shook his head; he liked talking about the “impending war”, unlike Mr. Howard, who was a “Peace Man” and didn’t like hearing about war.

“Hey, Olivia, the whole world needs to know this,” Phil said.  “The Central Intelligence Agency knows that Kaylyn Bigley, being the nasty little bug she is, is pretty ticked off at America, as well as the European Union, whom she claims to be supporting America in campaigns against her and the Inner Light.”

“So you know about the Inner Light more than me?” I asked.

“Oui.  Pretty much correct, Olivia.  I also know that while America and the European Union are scrambling to find out why and how Kaylyn got so ticked off, the Chinese and Bhutanese are having problems getting along.

“Now, the politicians, they want both you Americans and us French to believe the whole so-called-!”

He made quotation marks with his fingers.

“-‘global conflict’ isn’t your ordinary war.  That is a lot of trash.”  He then extended his hand and grinned.

“Give me your phone, Olivia,” he said.

I obeyed, producing my iPhone 5 and my spare Samsung Galaxy, giving both to Phil.  He pointed at my iPhone and said, “This isn’t what they’re after.”

He then took my Samsung, took it apart, and removed a microchip processor that was, to my surprise, made out of Europium, a rare earth element.

“Rare earth elements,” Phil said.  “The whole stinky planet runs on this trash.  And who controls all of it?”

“China?” I guessed.

“Darn right, Olivia.  The Communist nation of the People’s Republic of China owns ninety five-percent of the world’s rare earth minerals.  Now, I’m sure you Americans have heard about the news saying China’s given away half of its supply of rare earth minerals to the Kingdom of Bhutan, no?” 

“Yeah,” I said, suddenly surprised.  “My family did too.”

“So did mine,” Phil said, reassembling my phone and then patting my shoulder.

“The idea here is that while Kaylyn is ticked off with America, China and Bhutan are planning something really big with this ‘rare earth element tradeoff’, as some Americans call it.”

“What does this mean?” I asked.

“This means that Bhutan’s planning to turn into the world’s next major world superpower.  It, like Kaylyn and the Inner Light, wants to see America destroyed in a third world war.”

I gasped; so this was the reason China gave Bhutan half of its supply of rare earth minerals.  The mere thought of Bhutan becoming the next major world superpower with an aim to destroy America sent chills down my spine; I was anticipating something big and mean and scary.

My next question was, Why does Bhutan even want to become the world’s next major world superpower and help Kaylyn destroy America?  I took a breath, ran a hand through my hair, and looked at Phil with a look of both horror and surprise in my eyes.

“Can we stop this war?” I asked, my voice suddenly quivering.

“Ask your teacher, Monsieur Howard,” Phil said, biting into a Whopper.  “I am betting he knows.”

“And why does Bhutan even want to become a world superpower and help Kaylyn anyway?”

“It’s the King,” Phil said after swallowing a bite of Whopper.  “He is very greedy and wants to create his own cyborg army.  He wants to get attention and is willing to do anything to make the world notice him.”

“He’s sick of being an isolated country in the middle of nowhere?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“And he’s trying to help Kaylyn destroy America because he sees our country as an obstacle in his road to fame, right?”

“Why else would he want attention and agree to the trade-off?”

“So, how did China agree?”

“The Chinese President made a rather unwise decision to trust the Bhutanese people after the King made a public statement saying that Bhutan is sick of being ‘isolated.’”

“They want attention?” I asked.

“Yes, and they want it in the form of something almost no other nation other than China possesses in large quantities.”

“So, how does Kaylyn come into the story?” I asked, hungry for more.

“She was persuaded by the Bhutanese government to assist them in the road to fame.”

“Which means...!” I gasped again.

“Kaylyn’s being used,” Lev finished for me.  “She’s being used as a pawn to destroy America.”

“Actually, Kaylyn sees it as a chance to put her scheme into action.” Phil said.  “She’s hoping Bhutan and China will form an alliance against America and destroy each other in a future war and she’s the ringleader of the whole thing.”

“Oh, wow,” I said, clearly surprised.

When I got home that day, I couldn’t help but wonder what Phil meant when he said that Kaylyn was the ringleader.  I had a couple of theories; one was that she was jealous of China’s power.  Another was that she was itching to get attention and felt that starting a world war would be the best method.

Then again, though, I could be wrong.

When I got home from Phil’s little meeting, the first thing I did was turn on the TV, hoping to see news confirming everything Phil told me. 

However, I got something totally different instead.

Chapter 3: The Inner Light’s Secrets

Olivia Coonz

When I turned on the TV, I learned that the whole conspiracy about China giving Bhutan half of its rare earth minerals was a big fat lie.  What was really happening was Bhutan was jealous of China because of its status as a world superpower-just like Kaylyn-and wanted to “demote” China and ruin its reputation as the richest nation. 

How were they planning to pull it off?  The Bhutanese king was planning to weaken-and eventually destroy-the People’s Republic of China’s Internet by hijacking the Internet and then crashing the Chinese Stock Exchange.

My first thought upon learning this was, I have to get the word out!

But then again, who would listen to me?  I was just a high school senior and governments don’t pay attention to high school seniors. 

I shut the TV off and walked out of the house, looking up at the sky and then down at my shadow on the ground.

“I’d better tell Mason,” I said to myself.  “Otherwise who else is going to raise the alarm?”

As I walked toward Mason’s house, which was located right across the street, I suddenly heard a car running and the next thing I knew, Mason Davidson himself roared up to me in his Ford Explorer, which was decorated with US Army desert camouflage.

I rolled my eyes; how in the world did Mason get enough paint to decorate a car? 

“Get in, Coon-dog,” Mason barked.  I felt like hitting the car door with my foot for calling me that.

“It’s not Coon-dog,” I growled.  “It’s Coons!  And please just call me ‘Olivia!’”

“Whatever,” Mason said.  “Just get in.”

“Why?”

“Get in!  Now!”

I shrugged and got into the car, muttering to myself, “What’s wrong with him?”

Suddenly, Mason slammed the gas pedal and the car lurched down the street; I had to hold on tight to the edges of my seat to keep from hitting my head on the dashboard.  Also, Mason had rock music cranked up really loud, meaning I had to yell over the noise for Mason to hear me whenever I wanted to talk to him. 

“Where are we going?!” I screamed.

“What?!” Mason cried, pretending to disregard my voice.

“I said where are we going?!”

“We’re going to a party!”

“Let me guess: end of the school year!”
“Uh-huh!”

“Was I invited?!”

“Yeah!  The whole class was!”

Mason then turned off the radio and sighed; evidently, he got tired of yelling above the loud music and decided to give me a break.

Mason roared up the street from my house and came to Lev’s house.  I got out, thinking that was the shortest car ride ever.

“Hey, guess what?” I heard Lev barking as I walked toward his front porch.  “I think Coons will totally freak after what I tell her!”

“Err, what?” Mason asked, walking up to Lev and ignoring me completely, which made me groan.

Lev walked over to Mason and whispered something into his ear, which made him laugh and the two of them turned around and looked at me.

“We’re going to fight!” Lev squealed, waving his hands in the air and running at me.  I rolled my eyes and turned to walk away, but Lev grabbed me and pulled me close to him.

“Guess what?” Lev squealed like a giddy little child, much to my annoyance.

“What?” I asked, apparently getting exasperated.

“I signed us up to join the military!” Lev cried, showing me a piece of paper containing a list of “soon-to-be future enlistments in the US Army”, as he called it.

And I was one of them, way, way down at the top of the list.

“Hello?” I said in surprise.  “I’m only seventeen and I’m joining the US military?”

“Not now, Olivia,” Lev replied.  “It’s for when you’re eighteen, assuming you want to run away from going to college or something.”

“College?  But-but I want to go to college too, Lev.  I don’t want to actually run away and escape college.”

“Oh, err, okay,” Lev said, whipping out a pen and scribbling down “after college” after my name on the list.

I looked at Mason and then at the sheet of paper, noticing that he was on the list too.  So was Harper.

“You’re planning something, aren’t you?” I asked.  “I mean, where’d you get the idea of running away and joining the Army behind your parents’ backs?”

“I did after watching some kind of TV show,” Lev said, smiling.

“Well, I don’t think that’s a good idea.  They’ll find out sooner or later.”

“Oh, even if they do, that won’t be for another ten or fifteen years.”

“Still,” I said.  “It’s a bad move.”

“Suit yourself, Olivia.  I can wait, but I’ll tell you: Mason isn’t.”

“He’s not,” I said, looking at Mason right in the eye.  “He’s not.”

“Yep,” Mason replied.  “First chance I get, I’m signing up for the US Special Forces or something.”

“Great,” I said.  “I’d rather join the FBI or something.”

“Nah,” Mason said.  “Audrey Hoving’s already done that.”

I started; Audrey Hoving just graduated last year and now she was in the Federal Bureau of Investigation.  I rolled my eyes again and then looked at Lev.  He was smiling again.

“Hey, you don’t have to join us right away if you don’t want to,” Lev said.  “It’s okay.  We’ll wait for you.”

I looked at Lev and then at Mason, feeling a deep urge after Lev’s previous statement; evidently I had this second thought that joining the US military with Lev and Mason would be pretty fun, even though I’d be shooting up enemy soldiers most of the time.

And after all, it was my biggest dream. 

But running away seemed dumb.  My parents wouldn’t like it.

So I decided to wait until after college to join.

“Suit yourself, kid,” Mason said.  “We’ll wait for you, unless you change your mind and join sooner.”  I smiled and then headed inside the house.

Chapter 4: Alien Virus

Olivia Coonz

My cell phone rang again as I entered Mason’s house, which was pretty much like mine, with all the pretty decorations and stuff.  However, he had a lot more video game systems than I did.  He had a Wii, a PS3, an Xbox 360 and a ton of video games that only a teenager could dream of having.

I had to admit, I was jealous.

I took out my phone and looked at who was calling, someone with the number 314-543-6432.  I sighed; who in the world had some number like that?

Probably someone from St. Louis, Missouri, I guessed.

Lev Raskov

As I was chowing down on a Snack wrap at a McDonald’s that day, I was approached by Nathan Lynn, a fifteen-year old teenager with black hair, hazel eyes, and a slightly heavyset build that made him look more like someone from the US military than a teen.  He had a newspaper in his hands and the headlines read:

College Students find mutant virus

The headline startled me well enough, but what really got my attention was the picture of a pathogen-or something similar to a pathogen-shaped like a bell, but with long, flowing tentacle-like flagellum at the end.  In the center of the bell-shaped body, I saw a single red cell.

That looks nothing like an alien virus, I thought.  More like a vicious mutant strain of bacterium or something! 

The most startling thought: this could be the next breakthrough in biological warfare!

Chapter 5: The Angolan Hostage Crisis

Olivia Coonz

I turned twelve and somehow, I ended up in the Marines (yeah, the US Marine Corps.  Apparently the war risk made the US President go to a seemingly dumb decision of drafting kids at the age of twelve).  Settling into Angola was no easy task; I suffered jet lag throughout the first week in the country.  My commanding officer, a guy by the name of Captain Grant Wilkins, who had sandy brown hair, blue eyes and a build like a Vietnam War-era Marine, was in command of my unit and this was my first mission.

I was to rescue Lev Raskov, as well as any possible tourists as hostages.  From what I learned, the Bhutanese were unwilling to negotiate with the US government to release the hostages.  In fact, if the ransom, which they demanded was $5 million dollars, weren’t paid by the next week, they would kill the tourists.

“So, you like this place, eh?” asked Mason, looking out with me into the Angolan wilderness.  “I mean, it’s sunny and all.”

“I like it,” I said, holding my head up high and looking at a couple of vultures circling the air above me.  “But the fact that there are Bhutanese people here kind of makes me uneasy.”

“Probably because you haven’t killed anyone before,” said Harper, decked out in Special Forces Operations Detachment Delta garb.  Harper joined Delta Force a few weeks back, which probably explained why he was all black and gray-ish.

“Probably ‘cause I haven’t.” I said.

Suddenly, I heard a guy scream and I turned behind me.  Some Angolan soldiers were moving away from a burning truck and there was screaming coming from inside. 

“You’d better help,”
said Mason, looking at the burning vehicle and then at me.  “Marines don’t leave their pals dying.”

“Good point,” I replied and ran to the vehicle.

When I reached the vehicle I nearly fainted when I saw a man’s hand-which was on fire-reach for the glass windshield.  The guy was screaming so loud, I just had to look away; it was too horrifying. 

Now let me say that I’ve seen people dying on TV, but right in front of me was a whole different story.  The guy was literally right in front of me and screaming which was enough to give me nightmares.

When I looked back toward the truck, I saw the burning man; he had his entire body on fire and was frantically hitting the glass to try and break it.  His face was black with charcoal and embers and his hands had burn marks all over it.

“Oh, gosh,” I gasped, turning back toward my compatriots.  “I need help over here!”  I then raised my foot and started kicking the glass, but-much to my disappointment-I barely made a dent.

“Hold on!” I squealed, still kicking at the seemingly indestructible windshield of the truck.

“Hey, Olivia!” I heard Mason call out from behind me.  I turned and saw Mason walking toward me-not with alarm, but with causality-with a machete in his hands.  A Russian dude accompanied him, decked out in a charcoal gray BDU with Russian military markings all over it, as well as combats boots.

“Hey, you’d better help her,” Mason said, pointing to me and then at the dying guy in the burning truck.  The Russian just ran over to me with a shovel, saying, “I do not think you can save him.”

“No!” I cried.  “I can save him!”  Then I began bashing the glass with the shovel, which succeeded in denting the glass real good, but it didn’t break.

Before I could hit the glass again, the burning man inside screamed again, writhed on the floor of the burning vehicle, and then died.

“The fire finished him,” I heard the Russian whisper in my ear as the man breathed his last.  I turned and looked at him in alarm.

“What?!” I cried.  “You mean there’s no way he could’ve been saved?”  I was having trouble processing this guy’s logic.

“Sometimes you can’t save a man.  We must move out, before we join him in death.”

He then reached into a sheath on his belt and yanked out a machete, giving it to me for usage.  At the same time, Mason walked over and handed me an FAL assault rifle with an ACOG scope, saying, “You’ll need it, pal.”

“Thanks, Mason,” I said. 

“Hey, I see you’ve met Captain Dimitri Sakharov,” said Harper, loading up his own FAL assault rifle with an ACOG scope and grenade launcher.  “He’s the leader of the Russian team.”

“He is?”

“You’ll have to excuse him for not helping you with the burning guy.  He saw it was too late for the poor soul anyway.”

“But-but I could’ve-!”

I decided not to argue, since it was against my soldier instincts to argue with a commanding officer, even if he was from a different nation than I was.

“Hey, kid,” said Harper, looking up at a Mi-24 Hind in the sky.  “That’s one of Dimitri’s guys.  His name’s Aram Korsakov.”

I looked up at the Mi-24 Hind and got a brief glimpse of this “Korsakov” that Harper mentioned.  He was a guy in his late or mid thirties with brown hair, blue eyes and a dimple in his chin.

“The rest of the Bhutanese army is holed up a few clicks north,” he said in my comms.  “Are you Olivia Coons?”

“Uh-huh,” I said in my comms as I mounted an Ural 4320 truck containing Russian soldiers.  “I’m Olivia Coons.”

“Good.  Now, let me tell you that the Bhutanese aren’t willing to let this go unanswered.  They will kill every foreigner they see, including us.”

“We got weapons, though,” I replied.  “We’ll surely kick them in the rear end!”

“You got that right, comrade.  Are your weapons loaded?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Excellent.”

Then, as the truck bounded over a hill up ahead, I heard a massive volley of battle cries and before I knew it, I was faced with a giant armada of Royal Bhutanese Army soldiers.

They were all wearing pale orange uniforms and red berets, as well as desert camouflage pants and boots.  They all started screaming in their native Bhutanese language as they charged up the hill, toward my assault team.

“Here they come!” cried Captain Sakharov.  “Here they come, comrades!  FIGHT, MY COMRADES!!”

I nodded enthusiastically and dismounted the vehicle, my FAL ready to wreak some havoc; I was waiting for this moment and finally I was going to have a taste of combat.

“Coons, there are some mortars up ahead,” said Aram.  “I’m also seeing some tanks up ahead!  You focus on the mortars and I will destroy the tanks for you!”

“Understood,” I said into my comms and ran at the army of Bhutanese soldiers.

“Die, you Bhutanese pieces of gobbledygook,” I cried, shooting my FAL fully automatic into the armada running at me.  “Die, die, die!”

I started running toward the soldiers like a raging bull, firing at the Bhutanese soldiers like a madman, all while taking cover behind Dimitri’s armored truck. 

“Olivia, target the mortar crews,” Dimitri roared, pointing at men at mortar stations up ahead.

“I got ‘em,” I squealed and began running to my right, where I saw an overturned buffel, some kind of South African armored fighting vehicle, and saw some Molotov cocktails-beer bottles that you light on fire and throw like a grenade-inside the back.

I hastily gathered the entire crate full and charged at the mortar crews located behind the barrels.

“BURN!” I screamed, yanking out a Molotov cocktail and throwing it over the nearest rock.

BOOM!  The Molotov exploded and the first mortar crewman hit the dust.

“Good job,” cried Harper, running up to me while firing his Colt M4A1 carbine.  “Now hit the other one!”

I lit another Molotov cocktail and threw it at the second man, but instead of hitting the guy, I hit the mortar just as it was about to go off.

KABOOM!  The mortar combusted into a raging firestorm and the guy was no more.

“You just cooked that guy like a turkey,” Harper roared as he laughed like a maniac; clearly something about war made him laugh and I didn’t know why.  “Good job, Coons!”

I ran further down the battlefield and saw Aram’s Hind blowing away a line of T-72s, Russian armored tanks, with missiles and machineguns while Mig29 fighter jets hosed down a group of technicals-pickup trucks outfitted with armor and machineguns-with bombs.

“Hey, they’re weak,” Dimitri suddenly cried.  “Olivia, use your comms to call in air support!  Hurry up!  We need to push past their front line!”

I looked past the burning tanks as I reached them and then saw what he was talking about; there was a huge line of soldiers all lined up in formation, wielding RPD light machineguns, AK-47 assault rifles, and Simonov SKS rifles with their bayonets unfolded.

It looked like they were preparing for some type of suicide run against our own armada.

I looked back at our own army of tanks, troops, helicopters, and fighter jets and suddenly grinned; it was like the Spanish Armada versus the British navy back in the 1500s, only it was Angolan\Russian\American war machines versus Bhutanese soldiers and their own war machines.

“What are you waiting for?” I heard Dimitri scream next to me as his truck passed by.  “Call in air support! Someone get her Aram’s remote chopper turret!”

In response, a Russian soldier gave me some kind of suitcase.

“Use it to control Aram’s mounted machinegun,” he said.  “It packs quite a punch!”

I shrugged, ran behind a huge boulder for cover, and then opened the briefcase, which-much to my delight-gave me full control of a mounted turret on Aram’s Hind.

It was like playing Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 again, only it was real!

“Olivia, you got control,” said Dimitri.  “Light them up, comrade!”

I looked down at the controls; there was a joystick to control fire from the mounted machinegun.  I also found the turret had a camera, which transmitted what Dimitri saw on the battlefield to my screen.

“Ha, ha, ha!” I squealed, pressing a big red button and swerving the control stick all over the place in some kind of strafing run, annihilating an untold multitude of Bhutanese soldiers.  “This! Is! Awesome!”

I started laughing like a maniac as I saw Bhutanese soldiers, tanks, and armored vehicles getting blown away by the machinegun, all while I was jerking the joystick left and right like a merry Call of Duty gamer.

But after a good ten minutes, the screen blacked out and I groaned in disappointment that my entertainment had been cut short.

“Sorry,” Aram said.  “The camera automatically deactivates when I get out of range of your signal.  Try again later.”

“Well, okay then,” I said disappointedly and charged down the hill. 

Suddenly, I heard an RPG (short for rocket-propelled grenade) go off and the next thing I knew, I was looking at a burning T-90 tank dead ahead.  I looked back and saw that an Angolan soldier had struck it with an RPG-7!

“Nice shot, son,” Harper said, patting the guy’s soldier and then looking at me.  “Olivia, push forward!”

I heard the Hind circling back again and I smiled; time for fun again!

However, before I could whip out that entertaining little computer, I suddenly saw that there was a line of technicals, pickup trucks fitted with armor and .50 caliber machineguns, roaring up the hill.

“Take out the trucks, comrade,” I heard Capt. Sakharov scream.  “They’ll endanger our men down there!”

I sighed and then looked at the trucks.  Surely, I could destroy ‘em with the remote turret.

“I’m on it,” I cried, ducking behind a rock and opening the laptop.

With the screen on again, I merrily began blasting away at the line of pickups while Aram sighted and destroyed several T90s coming up behind them.  It felt so good, I felt like doing it forever-until the screen got all hazy again, which meant the ten-minute run was over.

“They are weak!” Dimitri roared, raising an AK-47 with a black finish, an AK-74-style muzzle brake, an M4-style stock and side rails.  “We must finish them!  Death to the Kingdom of Bhutan!”

I ran toward the Russian general’s Ural 4320, got in the back, and then looked at Dimitri, who gave me an RPD, some kind of light machinegun.

“It’s a Ruchoy Puleymot Degtyraryova,” he said.  “RPD for short.  Russian light machinegun!”

“What am I supposed to do with it?” I asked. 

“Use it to spray at the Bhutanese!”

“Oh, okay!”

He then turned to his men behind him and as he did, he fired his AK47 into the air and screamed, “Our journey to victory has begun!  Death to the Royal Bhutan Army!”

At this, Harper cried, “Let’s go, guys!  Move, move, move!”

The entire Angolan\Russian\American army of tanks, trucks, and soldiers charged forward, bearing down on the Bhutanese soldiers, which began fleeing like cowering animals, leaving their destroyed or disabled tanks and vehicles behind to rust in the hot sun.

Man, this was my biggest dream; I was merrily firing at the Bhutanese forces with a Russian light machinegun while backed with Russian and Angolan soldiers, as well as my own buddies.

“Hey, Olivia,” Mason said in my comms.  “You’re doing okay, pal.  Just keep the field ahead clear!  Anyone getting within range of that truck is toast!”

“Got it,” I said.  “Let’s get ‘em!”

After a while, the battlefield was clear and Dimitri’s Mi-24 landed.  I dismounted the truck and began walking toward the vehicle like a child who just won his first round of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 Survival Mode.

Dimitri followed close behind me and he was laughing; I could tell he was having as much fun as I was.

“We killed a good number of men today, eh?  Da, we all did!”

Mason walked up to me and patted me on the back, smiling from ear to ear.

“Nice work, Marine,” he said.  “That’s what I call hardcore war!”

The two of us then joined Harper inside the Hind and looked at Dimitri anxiously.

“Where’s Lev?” Mason asked.

“The Bhutanese are not defeated,” Dimitri replied.  “Your rescue mission could be the most dangerous one yet!”

“Where is he?!” I roared over the whirr of the Hind’s rotors.

“He’s being held captive by the leader of a radical Muslim terrorist group.  Labeled by the American Federal Bureau of Investigation as ‘World’s Most Dangerous Man.’”

“Where is this guy?  Does he know anything about Lev?”

“Affirmative,” Dimitri said.  “He knows the Russian Motherland is after him after that bombing raid in Moscow back in 2015.”

“He’s a fugitive?” asked Harper. 

“Da, comrades.  He’s on the run from both the United States and Russia!”

“Let’s move, guys,” Harper said.  “If we hurry it up, we can probably catch this Muslim fanatic and see if he knows anything!”

As the chopper took off, I heard Dimitri holler over the din of the blades, “He may already be dead!  Be careful, comrades!”

Chapter 6: Scars from the past

Olivia Coonz

“You’d better be careful when you see him, comrades,” Aram said as we flew over the Angolan wilderness. 

“Why?” I asked.

“He can be a nightmare whenever he’s threatened or whenever he escapes from imprisonment of any kind.”

“You seem to know a lot about Lev.”

“In fact, I do.”

Aram then explained that he knew Lev because the two of them had been friends since grade school back in Russia.

He also explained to us that Lev had a habit of lashing out in a horrible rage whenever threatened.  He’d go crazy and have his very own “adrenaline mode”, as people who knew him put it, although Lev personally referred to it as his unique “rage mode”.  His eyes would get all red and tinted, his heartbeat rate would quicken exponentially, and he’d scream angrily whenever he attacked someone.

Aram’s explanation: he had an extreme vendetta against someone.

Whenever I heard this, I offered my best hypothesis of the cause: post traumatic stress disorder from a tormented past and Venom Energy.

For those of you who don’t know, Venom Energy is a brand of energy drink distributed and produced by Pepper Snapple Group. 

I figured that Lev had a tormenting past; after all he must’ve had some bad thing happen to him because only the most severe incidents in a person’s life would conjure up an extreme vendetta against someone else.

But then again, I thought I should focus on the mission first.

Suddenly, I heard a missile explosion and the next minute, I heard Aram screaming, “Incoming missile!  Hold on!”

I grabbed the edges of my seat, gritting my teeth just as a large Stinger smashed right into the chopper, sending it spiraling.

My whole world became dizzy as my field of view starting spinning wildly in a kaleidoscope of blurry pictures.  I could see Mason grabbing the edges of his seat too, as did Harper.

After a few minutes, I heard a crashing sound and I blacked out immediately afterwards, remembering nothing except the explosion in the crash.

Two minutes-I don’t know how long I was out-probably passed before I awoke to find Mason dragging me out of the crashed Hind with armed gunmen right behind him.

“Radical Muslim insurgents?!” I heard Aram scream while firing an AK-47 Kalashnikov rifle with Picatinny rails, a black finish, and an M4-style stock, as well as an AK74-style muzzle brake.  “What the heck?  How did radical Muslim terrorists get in Angola?!”

“That’s just what I’d like to know too, pal!” Mason squealed, yanking me behind a rock and then grabbing his M4A1 to return fire.

And then, I saw it; a huge flash of light was suddenly emanating from the sky and speeding toward the riverbank. 

“My gosh,” Aram gasped.  “Is that a lightning bolt?!”

“That’s no lightning bolt,” Harper said, observing that the “lightning bolt” was too big and fat to be a lightning bolt.

It seemed to resemble some kind of energy beam from a ray gun in outer space.

More like a space cannon.

The Bhutanese are using tesla cannons, I wondered.  Why is that? 

As the beam struck the ground, it exploded into radiant light, sending the radical Muslim insurgents flying and even incinerating some of them alive.

I was blown backwards and hit the river, drifting backwards in the water.

“Help!” I cried, trying to swim back to the surface, only to be knocked back underwater by a shockwave from the beam.  “Help me!”

Then I blacked out.

Chapter 7: Lilith

Olivia Coonz

I awoke to find the river’s gentle surf propelling me back toward the riverbank.  Everything was calm again, except for the low roar of flames ahead.  There was a large crater in the ground ahead of me and smoke was coming out of it.  The jungle trees along the banks were torched to nothing but a blackened husk and the air reeked of embers and smoke.

I looked around; Mason, Harper and Aram were nowhere to be found.

I was alone.

Or was I?

I started to crawl toward the crater, ignoring the mud and soot on my jungle camouflage BDU (battle dress uniform).  However, I heard movement coming from the crater and suddenly stopped.

Turning left I saw a large boulder and got to a crouch position, carefully making my way toward it.  As I did, I examined the crater and the area around it to make sure that there were no enemy patrols.

Then I heard voices.

Hebrew voices.  I knew Hebrew was the language of the nation of Israel.

Strange, I muttered.  How did Israelis fall out of the sky in a laser beam from outer space?

Later I heard English voices and eventually, I saw someone.

A beautiful young woman was lying down inside the crater.  She had blonde hair and gorgeously pretty blue eyes.

She was wearing a red tanktop and a pair of shorts.

“Hey, there, Lilith,” said another young woman, emerging behind the first.  She had brown hair and hazel eyes and vampire-like sharp teeth.

To my surprise, she also had inky black skin and leathery wings!

“Are these demons?” I asked myself quietly as I reached into my holster and pulled out my standard issue Beretta M9 pistol.

As I observed, the demonic creature’s wings disappeared, her fangs returned into normal human teeth and her skin became pale.

Lilith? I wondered.

“Hey, we have some live bodies on the beach here,” said the first creature.  “They look like radical Islamic fundamentalists.”

“Let’s see,” said the first demon, AKA Lilith.  “They must know about those Marines.  Get ‘em set up!  Find out what they know!”

I shuddered; the two demons knew about us?

How could this be?

I peeked behind the boulder, my Beretta raised in the air.  I was ready to aim my weapon at Lilith and fire, but what she did made me stop cold.

She leaned into the ears of the first Islamic fundamentalist and said, “I would normally kill you right now.”

The terrorist just screamed painfully, having been burned in the “fiery landing” and tried to crawl away, only to have Lilith stomp on his burnt hand, causing him to scream painfully a second time.

“On the other hand,” she said again.  “I’ll let you choose.”

“Choose?” rasped the dying triggerman.  “Choose what?  Are you American?”

“Oh, c’mon!” Lilith spat.  “What is it?”  She then reached into a holster and pulled out a large Beretta M9 pistol, similar to mine-only with a silver finish.

“Live or die?” she asked.  “Live or die, mister?”

The man didn’t respond, but groaned painfully instead.

“Hazel, take him away!” Lilith suddenly said, turning to her buddy.  “Let’s find a place and make this barnacle talk!”

Her friend-Hazel-nodded, bent down and began dragging the dying gunman away while he began screaming in pain so loudly, I could’ve sworn all of Angola heard him.

And like that, the two disappeared into the jungle with their prisoner.

I was about to run out and follow the two creatures, but a hand clapped over my mouth and yanked me close.  I screamed, but then looked up to find it was Mason, who’d crept up to me.

“Keep your voice down,” he said.  “They might hear you.”

I nodded and Mason released me, allowing me to get up and walk toward the crater.

“Who the heck were those two?” I heard Harper ask as he emerged from his hideout; it turned out that Harper and Aram had been hiding in the chopper wreck.

“I don’t know,” Aram said.  “But I do recognize the name ‘Lilith.’”

“Who is she?” I asked, my entire body shaking with terror from what I just witnessed.

“She’s a demon,” Aram said.  “I’ve read this book called the Alphabet of Ben-Sira.  She’s also in the Zohar.”

“Whoa,” Harper said, pulling out a Beretta M9.  “You’ve been reading too many fiction books.”

“No, I know the name,” Aram insisted.  “Lilith was the first wife of Adam, as the book claimed.”

“The first human,” I muttered; just so you know, I’m a Presbyterian Christian and I’ve read the Bible dozens of times in my childhood and teen years.

“She tried to get Adam to submit to her, but he refused,” Aram explained.   “As a result, she fled the Garden of Eden and plotted revenge on the descendants of Adam and Eve.”

Revenge, I thought.  Revenge is what Kaylyn wants?  Could these two want the same thing?

“Let’s move,” Harper said.  “Those foreign tourists are probably awaiting rescue.”

“Yeah,” Aram added.  “And let’s keep a lookout for Lilith.”

I shrugged and followed my buddies up the hill, where I was met with another surprise.

I saw Angolan prisoners being rounded up by Bhutanese soldiers and I guessed that these were rebels that attempted to fight against the invading Bhutanese, but were caught red-handed.

I also was in for a surprise when I saw that Lilith was there; she was hanging out with Hazel, the other demon I saw on the beach.

Both of them were now armed with Heckler and Koch M416 assault rifles with mounted ACOG scopes and grenade launchers.

“Make sure those Bhutanese pay for what they’ve done,” Lilith told Hazel.  “I want to see ‘em suffer.”

“Consider it done, milady,” Hazel replied as the Bhutanese soldiers marched on.

Then the two of them opened fire.

Almost immediately, the Angolans began scattering and the Bhutanese began returning fire, but I noticed that the two demons were indestructible, being evil spirits disguised as humans.

The bullets shot into their bodies, but they had no effect, as they went right through them harmlessly.

“My gosh,” Harper gasped.  “They’re immortal!  Those stinking creatures are immortal!”

Once the Bhutanese were dead, Lilith and Hazel moved on, leaving my squad to wonder what in the blazes they were doing in Angola in the first place.

And why kill us?  What did we ever do to them that incurred so much hatred?

Chapter 8: Al-Washir

le="font-family:"TimesNewRomanItalic"">

Cubango River Bank, Angola

Olivia Coonz

“Olivia, go on ahead and see if you can contact Captain Sakharov and get us some backup,”
Aram said to me, pulling back the cocking handle on his AK47.  “We’ll keep you covered.”

I nodded and started to walk toward the forested area up ahead.  I could see bodies-dead human bodies-all over the place.  Some were just lying around and ripe for decay and others were wrapped in tarps.

“This is a stinkin’ graveyard,” I muttered as I headed up a small road leading to a building with a huge radio tower on the rooftop.  “The Bhutanese are turning this place into a graveyard.”

“Don’t get cocky, soldier,” said Harper.  “I keep getting the feeling we’re headed into an ambush or something.”

I just nodded and headed up the hill, where I could see two houses up ahead, both made out of concrete.

“Keep an eye out,” Aram whispered in my ear.  “The Bhutanese probably know we’re here already, but I don’t know exactly.  Do not attract any unwanted attention.”

I just nodded and headed toward the two houses.

“You guys stay here,” I said when I reached the door of the first building.  “I’ll go in and see if there’s anything or anyone inside.”

No one said anything, so I kicked down the door to the building and peeked inside.

The room was dark, so I switched to my secondary weapon, an M4A1 carbine with underbarrel flashlight and an ACOG scope.

The room was deathly quiet.  It looked like a control room of some type, as I noticed radio equipment scattered all over the place.

“Clear!” I barked in the dark, finding no one in the room.

The minute the words left my mouth, I heard screams, which seemed to be coming from the second floor.

Someone was inside.

I guessed it was one of the tourists that got abducted by the Bhutanese.

Sure enough, it was.

As I listened closely, however, I realized I wasn’t hearing one voice but two voices.

I was hearing the voices of one girl crying and one guy yelling and both were coming from different parts of the same building.

“Go check downstairs, Coons,” Harper said, directing me to the door leading to the basement.  “Mason, Aram and I will secure the second floor.”

The screaming guy’s voice came from downstairs and it was the loudest, which kind of made me nervous.  I feared it was some crazed guy suffering from cabin fever and was about to kill anyone who entered the basement.

Even me.

As I scanned the area, I suddenly heard a noise and turned around.

When I did, I suddenly saw a piece of paper tacked to the wall. 

I approached it and when I read it, my stomach violently turned inside out.

The p his head, and a pair of sandals on his feet.

“Who are they?!” he thundered in Arabic, frowning.  “Get them out of here!”

“Relax,” my father said in Arabic, showing his visa.  “We are not Americans.  We are Russians.”

Osama examined our visas and then smiled, inviting us to sit down with him. 

“If you are interviewing me,” he said in Arabic.  “I will tell you that I will allow this interview, provided that you show it to the cursed United States.  I want all America to hear the answers I give you today.”

The local US camera crew nodded their approval and the cameras started rolling.

“Let us get started,” my father said, shuffling up his notes.  “First, I want to ask why you are issuing an edict, or fatwa, against Americans.”

“You mean the cursed Americans,” Osama replied.  “Well, for over seven years, America has been plundering the holiest lands of Islam-that’s Saudi Arabia, mind you-of its riches and using its land as a spearhead through which to fight against the Muslim population, as well as dictating to its rulers, terrorizing its neighbors, and humiliating its people.”

“And why do you consider this to be a crime, or sin, as you mentioned in the fatwa you published back in 1998?”

“It’s a clear declaration of war against Allah, his messenger, and Muslims everywhere.”

“Why do you say this?”

“To answer this question, I must say that I believe that there are two >Ali Omar Al-Washir. 

“Do not support America or her government,” he said to me sternly, as if he were trying to berate me.  “Say, ‘Death to America’ because this pleases Allah and his messenger.”

“And make sure you tell your friends in Russia what you heard today,” Osama added in Arabic.  “They should know.”

And with that, he released me to rejoin m

I tried to get Heather off me and as I did, I noticed she seemed flimsy and she could barely move.  Then I turned her over and saw she had a gunshot wound in her shoulder

“You’ve been shot!” I gasped.

Chapter 10: Mercenaries

Olivia Coonz

“They’re here!” I heard Heather scream painfully as she clutched her shoulder.  She was crying hysterically, her face streaked with tears and her lower lip bleeding.

“Wait a sec,” I replied.  “Who’s here?!”

In response, she weakly tried pointing out the window, which was now smashed and riddled with bullet holes.

I got up and looked outside.

In the brief glimpse I took in before I was forced to duck because of flying bullets, I saw armed commandos wearing inky black uniforms, ballistic helmets, and gas masks with goggles.

“Mercenaries!” I heard Harper scream.  “The Bhutanese have mercenaries!”

“You’re kidding me,” Mason screamed as he grabbed his M4A1 carbine and returned fire.

I wiped the blood off my neck and joined Mason at the smashed window, returning fire with my own M4A1 carbine.

“Keep your heads down!” I screamed to Athena behind me, who was dragging a hysterical Heather toward the back of the room.

Aram was a bit surprised too; even he had trouble taking in the fact that the Bhutanese were using armed mercenaries to fight us.

What alarmed us the most was that the commandos were Americans.

We were fighting our own?

Then I heard a door burst open and I looked behind me.  One of those mercenaries was charging toward me, a SCAR-U (upgraded version of the SCAR rifle by FN Herstal with a larger magazine capacity and upgraded firepower) in his hands.  The SCAR had some kind of arctic camouflage on it and on the side was the logo of an American black bear with the words Team Black emblazoned beneath it. 

The commando screamed, “You’re mine!” before trying to melee me to death with the butt of his SCAR, only to receive a kick to the stomach by me before being gunned down with my Beretta M9.

“Who are these guys?” I asked Mason as I got up.  “Don’t tell me we’re at war with our own people!”

“It looks like it,” Mason replied, returning fire.  Then he pointed at the two women behind me. 

“Coonz, take the two ladies outside!” he barked.  “We’ll catch up later!”

Suddenly, I heard another window behind me break and before I knew it, I heard both Athena and Heather screaming and scrambling for cover.

“Grenade!” I heard Lev scream while I ran for the two girls.

BOOM!  I heard the grenade explode and felt myself somersaulting before landing next to Heather, who wasn’t stirring.

“Heather?!” I screamed, getting up and grabbing her body, trying to shake her awake.  “Heather, are you OK?!”

Seeing that she didn’t respond, I checked her vitals.

She was still breathing.

I then turned to Athena, who seemed to be cut by shrapnel, as her face was all bloody and dusty from the amount of dust that entered the room following the explosion.

I checked her pulse and to my horror, I detected nothing.

She was dead.

“Die, you American traitors!” I heard Lev screaming as he unloaded his AK-47 on the “American traitors” besieging the building outside.  Ignoring Athena’s body, I ran to Heather and said, “Athena’s dead.  I’m sorry!” 

Almost immediately, Heather started crying.  Evidently, Athena’s demise hit her hard.

Then I heard a plane’s engine, followed by the sound of something burning.  When I looked out the window from which the grenade entered, I saw a huge C130 Hercules flying straight toward the building.

“Look out, comrades!” I heard Aram scream before the huge plane flattened the building.

I was met with a whole hailstorm of wooden beams flying, glass shards launching at me like knives, and rubble.  I did my best to cover Heather with my own body before I was hit by a wooden beam and knocked unconscious.

Chapter 11: The Crash Site

Olivia Coonz

When I woke up, I found myself back on the riverbank.  I could still see the building my team, Athena and Heather were all in earlier, which was now flattened to a pulp.  The huge C130 Hercules was gone and all that was left was a string of debris; pieces of its wings lay scattered all over the place and the air reeked with smoke and ash.  Tiny pockets of fire also littered the area and I began to hear sounds of the wounded and dying.

I leaped to my feet and searched for my rifle, but it was gone; I’d lost it in the crash and all I had was a bunch of hand grenades.

“Hello?” I called into the cacophony of roaring flames and injured people.  “Is anyone alive out there?!”

Nothing.

“Hello!” I screamed.  “Anyone alive?!”

I looked around; I was alone.  Mason, Aram and Harper were nowhere to be found.

Neither was Heather.

“Heather!” I cried.  “Heather, where are you?!”

Nothing but dying people screaming were the only sounds I heard.

Then there was a bloodcurdling scream of, “Help me!”

It sounded like Heather’s.

“Heather!” I screamed, running toward the source of the voice, which seemed to come from further along the riverbank.  “Heather, hold on!  I’m coming!”

“Help me!” the voice cried out again, but this time it seemed to get weaker.

“Hold on!” I cried, fighting back tears; even though I didn’t usually cry in combat, when situations like this sprang up, I had a habit of uttering a sob or two.

The screaming then gave way to quiet sobs as I came across a turn in the road.  To my right, I could see the massive fuselage of the plane, which was surrounded with jagged pieces of tail and propeller. 

“Help me!  Please!” I heard the voice cry out again.

I listened closely and noticed that it came from a part of the front half of the plane further down. 

“Heather!” I cried, recognizing the scream as Heather’s.

“In here!” the voice rang as I approached the plane’s front end, which included its nose and the cockpit.  Trashed seats littered the area and I could even see dead crewmen on the ground next to the cockpit.

“I’m under here!” I heard Heather’s voice sob as I turned to my right. 

There was Heather, lying on her back with her lower body pinned under a door inside a crater from the crash.

“Heather, I’m coming,” I said, running toward the poor girl.  “I’m coming!  Are you alright?”

“Yes!” she sobbed.  “But I can’t move!  I’m stuck!”

“Stuck?” I asked.

“My legs are pinned beneath the door!  Help me!”

I was running to help, but suddenly heard a voice scream, “Hey, we’ve got a couple live ones over here!”

I ducked down and started crawling up the side of the crater toward Heather, who was sobbing now. 

“This is Cobalt 5, we’ve got some fresh bodies on the riverbank here,” I heard someone bark.  I crawled forward slowly and then stopped cold; it was one of those black commandos again, AKA the “American traitors”.

“Roger that,” said another commando.  “Bring ‘em up!”

A third commando said, “They look like…yep, Marine recon members.  I can see their patches and tags.”

“Hey, there are two Russians here too!”

I started; the third man was talking about Lev and Aram.

I looked over the edge of the crater and saw three commandos, all looking around and examining dead bodies from the crash.

“Please,” I heard Heather sobbing beside me.  “Please, don’t let them see me!  Please!”

In order to avoid attracting attention, I clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Get ‘em set up!” screamed the first commando.  “Find out what they know!”

Then I heard a groan and before I knew it, Lev was stirring and so was Aram.

“One of ‘em’s moving,” cried a Black commando.

“Shut him up!” cried the first man.

BOOM!  The third commando produced a 9mm pistol and unloaded an entire magazine into Aram’s thrashing body, effectively killing him.

I gasped; the American commandos were killing Russians! 

Perhaps they weren’t just traitors, but American “terrorists”.

“That guy’s moving too!” I heard another man scream, pointing at Lev.

However, Lev stopped moving and began to play opossum to save himself.

“He’s dead already,” the third guy said, prodding Lev’s “corpse” with the barrel of his SCAR-U.  “Probably from his wounds!  Leave him!”

And with that, the three guys retreated into the jungle.

Chapter 12: Islam’s hatred toward the United States

You cannot qualify war in harsher terms than I will. War is cruelty, and you cannot refine it...

·      William Tecumseh Sherman (1820-1891)

Three days later…

U.S.S. Constitution stationed in the Persian Gulf, Middle East

Olivia Coonz

I don’t remember anything else after the black commandos left Heather and I, except for passing out (while Heather thought I was dead) and being rescued by a team of US Army Rangers.  Then I awoke in some kind of hospital surrounded by weird guys in white BDUs bearing some weird logo showing a bald eagle with two swords outlining its wings with the name Vulture Force emblazoned beneath the picture.

“She’s awake,” I heard a medic bark.  “The Marine’s awake!”

Several medics then leaned into my face and said quietly, “She looks like she’s fit for combat.  Hey, kid, you could’ve been injured, but you suffered minor injuries!  You were as tough as a rock!”

“I was?” I asked.

“It’s a miracle you got out mostly unhurt,” said a nurse, packing up to move to another patient somewhere else in the makeshift hospital.

A young woman, about twenty to twenty-one years of age with blue eyes and brown hair walked up to me, smiling with encouragement.

“How are you feeling, Private?” she asked, looking at me with her eyes sparkling.

“I’ve-I’ve been better,” I replied, looking around.  “Why am I on an aircraft carrier?  Where are the others?  Did the other guys make it?”

“Your friends made it,” said another Task Force Eagle member, a twenty-two year old male with brown hair and brown eyes.  “As for the foreign tourists, the rest of them got rescued by a joint operation of British Special Air Service commandos and Special Forces Operation Detachment Delta operatives.  You know ‘em as Delta Force, right?”

“Delta Force?” I asked.

The guy just nodded.  “I’m Commander Korey Hogan by the way,” he said before pointing at the young woman beside him.  “This is Field Commander Lexy Mae Kuper, your commanding officer.”

“My what?” I asked, puzzled.

“You’ve been debriefed from the US Marines, kid,” Korey said, his voice deep and authoritative.  “Welcome to The Force, AKA Vulture Force.”

“I’m a member of Vulture Force?” I asked, my face twisted into a state of surprise and shock. 

“The Marines decided to transfer you to our task force for unknown reasons,” Korey explained.  “They said it’s just that it’s time you stepped up a little.”

“Stepped up?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Lexy replied.  “Which is why you’ll be wearing this.”

She then produced some kind of modified Under Armor shirt colored bright green with the name Coons sewn to the left end. 

The logo showed a picture of a massive vulture with the words, VULTURE FORCE emblazoned across it. 

“Why am I wearing that?” I asked.

“It’s the new outfit for Vulture Force members,” Korey explained.  “And it comes with this.”

He produced a vest made of Kevlar, which looked a bit too thick for me.

“It’ll fit,” he assured me as the medical squad moved in to get me back into combat.  “Besides, you’ve already sustained some injury already.  This is just so you protect your injuries.”

“How will it protect my body?” I asked, sitting up in the bed.

“It’s got Kevlar padding underneath,” Korey replied, showing me the Kevlar on the inside of the shirt.  “You put this tactical vest on top of the shirt and you’re basically a nearly-indestructible warrior.”

“That’s awesome,” I said.

“Be careful, though,” Korey added.  “This thing works on small arms fire, but not on anti material rifles and rocket propelled grenades.  Watch your step out there.”

I just nodded.

I was later led into some kind of dressing room aboard the carrier, where I changed into my new outfit and got a new look at myself.

Because of the aircraft shootdown back in Angola, I had some bruises on my cheek, lower lip and neck.  I also had shrapnel injuries on my arms and legs, although they luckily didn’t shut down my maneuverability.

“I look good,” I muttered as I looked around. 

Then I saw a note on the desk, which read:

Dear Olivia:

Thanks for keeping me in one piece back in Angola.  I went home already, but I told my mom about you when she came to pick me up this morning.  She’s dying to meet you in person and thank you someday.

Your friend,

Heather

“You’re welcome,” I muttered as I left the room to head to the information room, which also turned out to be some kind of briefing room.  It had a huge map of the entire Middle East on it and was dotted with computers and people-sailors and soldiers alike-working on them.

“Olivia!” I heard someone bark behind me.  I turned around and saw it was Mason, who also didn’t suffer anything serious, except for some burns on his arms and a shrapnel injury on his lower lip.

“Glad to see you made it, man,” I said, walking up to him.  “So, what’s going on?”

“I heard we’re part of some paramilitary force now,” he replied.  “They call it The Force, or Task Force Eagle.”

I looked at my own outfit and then at Mason, noticing that he was wearing the same outfit, only he had a black Under Armor shirt with a Kevlar vest on top.  He also had Kevlar kneepads and elbow pads too, which I felt were necessary if we were some kind of commando unit.

Korey Hogan mounted some kind of stage in the middle and announced to everyone in the room, “Alright, guys, listen up!  The mastermind behind the Angolan Hostage Crisis is still at large.”

A picture of Ali Al-Washir appeared.  Lev Raskov, who was right next to me, just flinched and muttered in Russian, “The dog is back.”

“Your mission, guys,” Korey said.  “Involves heavy duty fighting.  Al-Washir is rumored to be in this area right here.”

Then a satellite map of the Arabian Peninsula showed up. 

It later zoomed in closer to reveal the cities of Mecca and Medina.   I knew those cities; they were revered to be sacred in Islamic tradition.

“Oh, no way, mate,” A British guy said to me.  He had red hair, blue eyes, and a Cockney accent.

“What?” I asked.

“They’re all holy cities,” the guy replied, turning to me and then pointing at the two cities on the giant screen.

“I know,” I replied.  “Hey, what’s your name anyway?”

“Staff Sergeant Harris,” he said.  “Doug Rochester Harris, former British Special Air Service.”

“You’re from the British SAS?”

“Yeah, mate.”

Before I could respond, the giant map zoomed in even closer to reveal a large building in the center of the city.  I murmured, “The Muslims will be all over us for this.”

“You’re telling me,” Doug replied, having heard me by accident; I guessed I was too loud.

Fifteen minutes later, I was back in my room, which was basically some kind of cabin with a bunk bed (which I shared with my new friend, Doug Harris).  According to Korey Hogan, the mission was to invade Mecca, Saudi Arabia, and find Al-Washir, who was rumored to be hiding in the area.

The problem: today was the Ramadan, a sacred Islamic holiday or something. 

For those of you who don’t know, Ramadan is basically one of the Five Pillars of Islam.  In the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, Muslims worldwide are to fast from 29-30 days based on the visual sightings of the crescent moon.

And we were supposed to invade a holy city during this holiday; if Al-Washir or any other Muslim found out about this, they’d not only be ticked off, but start viewing us as monsters.

I looked at the calendar in my room; it was September, the ninth month of the Islamic calendar. 

“Darn this,” I heard Doug Harris mutter as he entered my room.  “The United States Secretary of Defense has given the order to invade Mecca tomorrow.”

“Which is exactly why Islamic radicals hate us,” I replied.

“Actually, the roots go much deeper,” said Doug, throwing me two stapled pieces of paper.  “Just read this stinking document.  I printed it off a website.  It’s all about hatred toward you Yanks.”

“Excuse me!” I said suddenly.  “Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry,” Doug said, shrugging.  “Didn’t think it’d tick you off, but seriously.  You should read this.”

He then reclined on his bed and said, “Just listen to this trash Islam’s talking about on the news.”

“What trash?” I asked, skimming through the document. 

“Islamic fundamentalists want Israel and America wiped off the map,” he said.  “And I heard that the US government and other nations that care for Israel, AKA the Holy Land of Judaism and Christianity, are making an alliance to protect the tiny little pipsqueak.  Pardon my language, but I think Israel’s pretty weak enough to be called a pipsqueak.”

“Hey, stop offending the Jews,” I said.  “They’re God’s people, goshdarnit.”

“That’s what you Christians and Jews always say,” Doug said; evidently it became clear this guy was no Christian at all.

“If only you’d learn to respect Israelis,” I said, looking at the bottom of the bunk above me. 

“Don’t worry,” Doug said.  “Those Jews, with us on their side, will be protected.”

“How many countries are joining?” I asked, looking at him.

“Oh, the main leaders are you guys, the Americans-which is why Al-Washir despises the US government so much-Russia, China, and us, the British.”

“Russia, China and America are all in this together?” I asked.  “I thought Kaylyn wanted to wage war against China.”

“And break the alliance, yes,” Doug replied.  “But apparently, whatever she’s going to do won’t shatter the alliance, but strengthen it.”

“How is this possible?”

“Well, America, China and Russia, as well as the UK, have all pledged to protect Israel.  In return, Israel’s Mossad-their intelligence agency-will help them invest in cyber security.”

“Cyber security?” I asked.  “The Israelis are getting this generous?”

“Uh-huh,” Doug replied.  “And Al-Washir hates you Americans and us, the British, because of the fact we agreed to this alliance.”

“Why is Kaylyn involved?”

“That rat is taking advantage of the Islamic hatred problem,” he said.  “She sees this as a way of destroying the alliance and making Israel stand alone.”

“Alone?” I asked.

“Yeah, so the Muslims can annihilate the country.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, sighing.  “Just let me go to sleep.  I’m tired.”

“Come to think of it, mate,” Doug replied.  “I’m tired too.  ‘Night, cadet.”

I just started sawing logs.

“War is cruelty,” I heard Doug mutter in his sleep.  “And you cannot refine it…”

I knew who said it; the famous Civil War general William T. Sherman, of the Union Army.

As I was dozing off, the sound of Korey Hogan entering my room suddenly awakened me.

“Sorry to bother you,” he said.  “But there’s been a change in the program.  You guys aren’t going to Mecca.”

“Why not?” I asked, shrugging.

“Apparently, Commander Kuper and I realized another strike force would take Mecca,” he explained.  “You’re going somewhere else.”

“Where?” I asked sleepily.

“Sulaymaniyah, a town in Iraqi Kurdistan, Iraq.”

“Why?”

“There’s something else you guys need to take care of.  I’ll explain when we get to Sulaymaniyah tomorrow.”

Chapter 13: Old memories

MH60 Blackhawk headed for Sulaymaniyah, Iraqi Kurdistan, Iraq

Olivia Coonz

The next day, I was on an MH60 Blackhawk headed for Sulaymaniyah, Iraqi Kurdistan, joined by a huge armada of Russian, Chinese, and European military aircraft.  Evidently, this became a multinational combat operation.  I could see cargo planes from China, the United States, Russia, and the European Union and fighter jet escorts from all three nations accompanying them.

As I looked at the city in the distance, which was already crawling with US Marines and other members of The Force, I suddenly thought about my friend living there, Irena Bin-Sa’id.  I dug into the pocket of my sweat pants and took out a photograph of her taken last week, according to her parents.

As of now, she was eighteen, the same age as me (we were both born in 2002).

I couldn’t she much of her face because of that niqab, a face veil required by Islamic law, but I could see her black eyes and Middle Eastern dark skin.

“You miss her, huh?” I heard Doug Harris whisper behind me.

“Uh, yeah,” I replied, looking at him and then at the photo.

“How long have you two been friends?”

“Since she first came to the United States,” I said.

“When was that?”

“Back in 2005.”

“Oh, wow,” he said.  “So you’re friends with a Muslim.  I thought Al-Washir didn’t like foreigners.”

“That was before he came to power,” I said.  I knew that Al-Washir was planning on seizing power on the Persian Gulf.  I heard he started in Iran by overthrowing the previous President and installing himself as the dictator of that country.

The radical Islamic terrorist cell Muhammad’s Army also became its main form of law enforcement.  It was like the new Taliban of Iran.

“I’m betting Al-Washir’ll kill you if you two get caught hanging out!” Mason barked behind me.

“Whatever,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

Chapter 14: Sulaymaniyah

Olivia Coonz

The minute my chopper and the massive convoy of multinational aircraft reached Sulaymaniyah, Iraqi Kurdistan, it was chaos.  First, I heard someone scream, “RPG!” before seeing a flash of light whiz toward the nearest fighter jet, an American F-16 Fighting Falcon, destroying it on impact.

“Azure Five is hit!” cried a US pilot.  “He’s going in hard!”

“Stay with it!” screamed the pilot of a Russian Mig29.

“All foreigners!” cried a loudspeaker in the city as my aerial convoy began firebombing the city.  “Your presence here is a sin to Allah and his Messenger!  Leave immediately or face the wrath of our God!”

“‘The Wrath of our God?’” I joked.  “More like the Wrath of their Idol!”

“Coming up on the drop point now!” I heard the pilot shout in everyone’s comms.  “Hold on!”

As I examined the cargo planes, they started dropping hundreds of soldiers into the sky, all of whom began parachuting into the city below, which was now alight with gunfire and antiaircraft flak.

“Down the rope!” cried a Marine when our chopper reached our destination.  “Go, go, go!”

I grabbed the rope as it was being let down to me and slid down, my gloved hands feeling like they were being ripped apart.

“Gosh, man!” I heard Doug say as I hit the ground.  “These ropes feel like knives!  I swear, man, one of these days I’m going to injure my palm if I keep going like this.”

I looked behind me and saw Lev and a battalion of Russian soldiers parachuting into the city below. 

They were so large in number they looked like an infinite amount of human-sized raindrops on a sunny day.

“Hey there, Private Coonz!” Korey suddenly barked behind me, slapping me on the back.

I turned and saw Korey in his Vulture Force garb, smiling.  He had his M4A1 carbine with EOtech holographic sight hanging down by its sling, something I heard he always did.

I looked around; Sulaymaniyah wasn’t that bad.  It was just a city in the middle of a hot summer, last time I checked.  The heat felt scorching, so I had to use a portable fan to cool myself down.

“Did you hear about this evil genius named Ben Hoving?” he asked, throwing me a copy of The New York Times newspaper he evidently brought from home. 

The headlines read: Evil genius creates “time bridge”!

“What gave him the nerve to do this?” I asked, examining a mugshot of Ben Hoving, a fifteen-year old guy with brown hair and blue eyes.

“I dunno,” Korey said, shrugging. 

“Can you tell me anything about the idea he’s got behind this ‘time bridge’ of his?”

“He created the idea after watching some sci-fi movies,” Korey explained.  “Then he came up with a math formula-he’s a genius at math, mind you-and found a way to connect the real world with the fictional world by separating the fictional world into different dimensions and then bridging all the fictional worlds.”

“And?” I asked.

“He’s able to warp people from the fictional world and into this world.  You know, people from video games, movies, and famous novels.”

I laughed; I couldn’t picture someone like Captain Nemo and his Nautilus from the Jules Verne novel suddenly appearing in the real world.

Fifteen minutes later, I was shown Fort Hyacinth, a huge military base-our home base, if you will-that housed pretty much everything.

The place had ten thousand hangars, an untold multitude of hangars and so many barracks that I felt like I was going to faint trying to count them.

The place must’ve cost at least trillions of dollars to build, I thought.

I was ushered into one of the barracks, a large building filled with rooms.  The place even had its own lounge and swimming pool, much to my delight.

Being an eighteen-year old girl who was supposed to go into college, but ended up joining the Marines instead, this place really felt like a college-only without the usual college stuff like exams.

Just combat.

As I got settled into my living quarters, I found that I was sharing a room with Doug Harris again.  This room, unlike the cabin on that aircraft carrier, had blue-painted walls, and a cold tile floor.

“Wow,” I said.  “I never knew this place was supposed to be air conditioned.”

I could feel the cool air blowing against my face, which felt real good, considering the fact that it was about a hundred degrees outside.

“This place feels real good,” Doug said, collapsing into a couch.  “It’s a young soldier’s dream.”

“Uh-huh.”

Suddenly, Korey barged into my room.  He looked really excited, which kind of made me look confused.

“Commander Ross wants to see you,” he said.  “You’re next for weapons training.”

“Weapons training?” I asked.  “But I just got here.”

“Don’t worry,” Korey said.  “It’ll be fun.”

I sighed; weapons training and my own awesomeness went well together after all.  I feared, however, that my awesomeness would interfere with weapons training and vice versa.

“Great,” I said flatly.  “Weapons training.  How fun!”

Chapter 15: Weapons Training

Fort Hyacinth Training Facility, Iraqi Kurdistan, Iraq

Olivia Coonz

I entered some kind of armory\shooting range, which smelled of spent gun shells and desert sand.  But this room, like my dorm, was air conditioned, which took care of heat problems.

It was here that I met Field Commander Amanda Ross.  Ross looked about my height and my age, but with blonde hair and green eyes.  She was wearing a digital camouflage BDU, a Kevlar helmet and a black Kevlar vest over her digital camouflage T-shirt.

“Good to see you, soldier,” she said, her voice having a European lilt-a British accent.  “Take one of the rifles from the table.”

She pointed to a table to my left, where I could see a large rifle painted with an OD green paint job, the standard paint job of the US Marines.

The weapon had a compact design, a retractable stock, a flat top receiver, and green iron sights.

It looked like a compact, carbine variant of the SCAR rifle family.

“The newest weapon in SCAR history,” Ross said.  “SCAR-U.  Special Combat Assault Rifle Upgraded.”

“A compact version of a SCAR,” I muttered as I lifted the weapon, which felt lightweight.

“It was built two years ago,” Ross explained.  “Replaced the M4A1 used by US Special Forces.  Now everybody uses it.”

“Everybody?” I asked, surprised. 

“Yeah, mate.  Take your pick: US Special Forces, the Chinese People’s Liberation Army, the Russian military, you name it.”

“What kind of ammunition does it shoot?” I asked.

“Nine-millimeter Saber rounds,” Ross replied.  “Developed by US military specialists.”

“Oh.”

I walked over to the shooting range, which was automatically popping up targets for recruits to shoot at.  I noticed that Mason Davidson was also firing this SCAR-U, only it had a black finish.

“Check it out, pal!” he yelled above the weapon’s loud firing noise.  “It works like a killing machine!”

I looked at the targets, aimed down the iron sights, and fired.

BOOM!  The weapon kicked back against me, hitting my shoulder. 

“Ah, man!” I cried, my eyes all teary from flinching after the recoil hit me.  “It feels like a cannon.”

“Yeah, recoil takes a while to get used to,” Ross said, laughing.

I fired another shot.

BOOM!  I downed another target.

Then the weapon clicked empty.

“Err, how do you reload this thing?” I asked.

“I have a way,” Ross replied, taking the weapon and then pressing the magazine release button while taking out a new magazine with her free hand.

“You flick the old mag away with the new mag while you press the magazine release button,” she said, demonstrating as she spoke.  “Then you slam the new mag into the chamber and pull back the cocking handle to start shooting again.”

She then gave the weapon back to me and lead me back to the table of weapons. 

“Check this guy out,” she said, throwing me a larger assault rifle, this one resembling an ACR, or Assault Combat Rifle, which was built by Remington Arms.

“It’s called the Beowulf,” she said.  “You know, from the story in Norwegian folklore.”

“Oh, I get it,” I replied, hefting the weapon, which felt heavier than the SCAR-U.

“It fires three-round bursts,” Ross explained.  “It’s a Russian weapon too.  Manufactured by Ustinov Arms, a new firearms company in Russia to replace Kalashnikov Arms, where the classic ‘ole AK-47 was built.”

“Huh,” I said.  “Interesting.”

“This rifle fires 6.8mm SPC rounds,” Ross said.  “Go ahead and try this guy out if you’d like.  But be warned: this guy can do some serious damage.”

I hefted the weapon as I made my way to the shooting range.  I noticed that this gun had a dark gray finish, something I rarely saw on firearms other than the M4A1.

BABOOM!  When I pulled the trigger, the recoil was slightly softer, but hard nonetheless.  It made my shoulders sore.

On the bright side, I did manage to hit a target.

“That one takes some practice with too, in terms of getting used to recoil,” said Ross.  “Alright, Coons, follow me.”

I was directed to another table, this one containing a small gas-operated machine pistol resembling an MP7.  I looked at the manufacturer logo emblazoned on the side.

It read Norinco Arms, the manufacturer of Chinese copies of various other weapons. 

“This is the standard issue machin epistol for our operatives and the People’s Liberation Army,” she said.  “It’s called the Tangshan Type 25.”

“Named after a Chinese city,” I commented.  “That’s a pleasant surprise.”

“This gun’s coveted by the black market,” Ross explained.  “Rumor has it that the source of this greedy crave is in the gun’s high rate of fire and readily available ammo.”

“I can imagine why,” I said as I aimed the weapon at the target range and fired it at the targets.

The weapon seemed to jerk around and its firing sound made me laugh; it sounded like Ack-Ack-Ack-Ack! 

“This gun cracks me up,” I managed to articulate despite my laughter after the weapon clicked empty.

Reloading the weapon, I was later led to a second Tangshan Type 25, only this one with an EOtech holographic sight and extended mags. 

“This is called a Spec ops Type 25,” Ross said.  “Used by our Special operations commandos.”

“What a fitting name,” I muttered.

“The extended mags allow for more ammo space, allowing you to shoot longer,” Ross continued.  “The holographic sight allows you to aim from medium to long range distances.”

“Wow,” I said.  “Do I get to keep any of these cool gadgets?”

“All of ‘em are yours,” Ross said.  “Just make sure you keep them cleaned and ready to roll, otherwise you’re dead meat.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, turning to leave, but not before whipping out my standard issue K-Bar knife from the USMC and slashing a watermelon with it, cutting it in half.

“Nice!” Ross called out.  “Your fruit killing skills are unmatched!  Anyway, head outside.  You’re needed for demolition training.”

“How fun is demolition training compared to weapons training?” I asked aloud as I left the building, the Spec Ops Type 25 in my leg holster.

Chapter 16: Demolition training

Fort Hyacinth Training Facility, Iraqi Kurdistan, Iraq

Olivia Coonz

“Hey, grunt,” I heard my new instructor, a former US Army Ranger lieutenant in his early forties with brown hair mixed with gray and dark skin.  I guessed he was an African American.

I was wrong; he was Peurto Rican.

“I’m Lieutenant Bill Vasquez,” he said.  “I was told you needed demolition training!”
“I, uh, was told I needed demolition training too,” I said, a bit awkward in my tone of voice.

“Step up, pal!” he cried, pointing to a Beowulf rifle fitted with a grenade launcher leaning against a box.  “Grab that Demolition Beowulf over there!”

I started; they called weapons with grenade launchers “demolition” weapons?

That was new.

Apparently, I remembered Ross telling me of a regular Beowulf’s destruction, but surely a demolition Beowulf would really do some serious damage.

I picked up the weapon and looked at the demolition course, which consisted pretty much of a bunch of unused civilian cars.

“Fire at those cars over there!” cried Vasquez. 

I fiddled with the grenade launcher, trying to find the trigger.

Then I saw it, right under the barrel.

Holding the grenade launcher with my left arm and the gun’s pistol grip in my right, I aimed at a pickup truck and fired.

BOOM!  The truck burst into flames, setting the cars around it on fire too.

Vasquez swore as he laughed.  “That must’ve been a full tank of gas!” he cackled.

I started laughing too; the truck went up in flames in such a short amount of time, it was nothing more than a burnt crisp in less than a second.

“Alright, now look over there!” Vasquez blared, pointing at another car to the right of the torched truck.

“Smoke ‘im!” I heard Vasquez roar like a raging bull.

KERPLUNK!  I fired the grenade, but it didn’t explode.

I knew why; thinking back to my USMC days I remembered that grenade launchers needed proper arming distance to explode.

I aimed a bit higher and fired at the car again.

BOOM!  The car went up in flames easily, which made me jump in delight!  This Beowulf really was an effective demolitionist!

“Nice work, pal!” cried Vasquez, his own face beaming.  “You passed my little test!  Now report to Korey Hogan for duty!  He needs ‘ya!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” I squealed happily, saluting him and then heading for another metal-framed building that had windows on the top near the roof.

Inside, I was met with Lev Raskov, Harper Michaels, Doug Harris, and Mason Davidson, all clad in jet-black UnderArmor shirts and combat fatigues.

Even Amanda Ross was there.

“It’s the new cadet!” squealed one Task Force member, a Russian guy in his thirties.  “Hey there, cadet!”

“Olivia,” I corrected.  “Just Olivia.”

“Okay, sorry,” the guy said, shrugging.

“Good to have you aboard, Coons,” Commander Ross said, smiling.  “Most of my guys are already speaking highly of you.  Stink, most of ‘em are downright scared of ‘ya!”

“That’s because of my awesomeness,” I replied, smiling. 

“Awesomeness is just the thing we need right about now.”

“Why?” I asked.
“’Cause we need your awesomeness to destroy the enemy, shame this radical Islamic cell that wants to destroy us so much.”

“I’m game, then,” I said.

Chapter 17: CryNet Systems’ War on Islam

Olivia Coonz

“We just got word that the French Special Forces have landed with the Chinese People’s Liberation Army in Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, and Saudi Arabia,” Commander Ross explained.  “They’re all converging on Iran, Ali Al-Washir’s place of residence.”

“He lives there?” I asked.

“Yeah.  And apparently he’s ticked off because of the fact that we invaded during a religious holiday.”

“I can see why,” said Doug.  “All those Muslim radicals don’t give a stink about who invaded which country.  They just want to kill, kill, and kill some more.”

“Darn right,” Mason replied.  “I mean, look at ‘em.”

“We also have a new situation,” said Ross.

She then directed us into a room with a huge flat-screen TV.  Turning it on, Ross introduced us to a huge man in his late twenties with brown hair and hazel eyes.  He was wearing a digital camouflage outfit with the words Lockhart sewn on the right shoulder.  He appeared to give a speech, but I could barely hear anything.

“CryNet Systems,” said Ross.  “Ben Hoving’s time bridge warped an entire organization from a video game called CryNet Systems, along with its main private enforcement unit, CryNet Enforcement and Local Logistics, otherwise known as C.E.L.L.”

“C.E.L.L.” I repeated.  “Probably named after those microscopic things in our bodies.”

“What’s their aim?” asked Doug.

“Destroy Islam and turn the Middle East into a dictatorship.”

“And?” asked Lev.

Amanda produced a huge poster showing Ben Hoving and the words Iron Hand written beneath it.  The logo depicted a huge hand made of iron ore beneath the name, with a huge sledgehammer on top of it.

“Iron Hand has a lot of rulers,” she said.  “First it was founded by Luke Knudsvig, a helper in the Angolan Hostage Crisis.  But he went rogue and so did the Iron Hand.”

“So the Iron Hand is a terrorist organization now?” I asked.

Amanda nodded.

“And they want to take over the entire world.  Folks are saying they’re using C.E.L.L. as a helper.”

“C.E.L.L. is helping them?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Anything more about the Iron Hand?”

Amanda showed us a photo of Luke Knudsvig, a Norweigan-looking guy that looked about fifteen years of age with blue eyes and brown hair.

The second photo was of a fifteen-year old girl with blue eyes and blonde hair.

“Elayna Niermeyer,” said Amanda.  “After Luke went rogue and Iron Hand became a terrorist group, Elanya Niermeyer overthrew Mr. Knudsvig and tried to lead...”

She then pointed to Ben Hoving’s picture on the poster.

“…only to be demoted by Ben Hoving, who is now the current leader.”

“Anything else we should know?” asked Mason, clearly getting excited about all this information.

“Yeah.  The Iron Hand split after Ben took over.  Now there are several branches of the Iron Hand with the same goal led by different people.”

“Such as?” asked Doug.

“Ben leads the main branch of the Iron Hand, Luke commands the special operations unit, Elayna commands the commando unit.”

Another picture was shown, this one of a girl with brown eyes and black hair about the same age as Elayna Niermeyer.

“Karah Pierce,” she said.  “Elayna’s cousin.  She commands another branch of the Iron Hand.  The airborne division.”

“Iron Hand is a terrorist unit with paratroopers?” Doug Harris exclaimed.  “Wow.  I’m jealous.  I wish I was like her.”

“So C.E.L.L., CryNet Systems, and Iron Hand are in this together?” I asked.

“Yeah,” said Amanda.  “Pretty cool stuff, eh?”

“I call it scary,” said Doug.

“Alright, guys, you’re dismissed.  I’ll notify you if there’s a mission on hand that requires our assistance.”

As I left the room, Doug looked at me and said, “You really think C.E.L.L. and CryNet Systems will take over the planet?”

“You’ve been playing too much video games,” was my only response.

When I got outside, my cellphone buzzed again.  I dug into my pocket and saw that it was a text message from Korey Hogan.

My first thought was, How the heck did Korey get my cellular number down?

The text message read: Meet me at the diner across the street from Fort Hyacinth immediately.

There’s something you should know about.

I sighed; evidently whatever Korey was planning would be something strange and probably a waste of time.  But nonetheless I decided to trust him.

Chapter 18: The Abduction

Unknown diner in Sulaymaniyah, Iraqi Kurdistan, Iraq

Olivia Coonz

I took a cab to the diner that Korey mentioned, which was basically a five-star restaurant of some kind.  Personally, though, I thought it was weird to have a diner like this in this part of Iraq.

It didn’t seem natural.

I located Korey’s spot at the back of the place and casually walked over.  As I did, I looked around; the place had blue all over and an ornately decorated carpet, which made the place look like a luxurious hotel.

I sat down and instantly had a hunger pang; I noticed Korey was eating a shawarma, some kind of Middle Eastern sandwich.

“Want one?” he asked, offering me a sandwich.

I groaned; I hadn’t eaten anything since demolition training.  Heck, I didn’t even remember eating breakfast this morning.

“So, what’s this about?” I asked, feeling a little uneasy about Korey’s little presentation. 

“I’ll show you,” he replied coolly and then showed me a photo of a fourteen-year old girl, which kind of felt awkward, considering the fact I was an eighteen-year old that was supposed to be in college, but joined the Marines and then got transferred to Task Force Eagle instead.

She was four years younger than me.

I studied the photograph carefully; this girl had dark brown hair and hazel eyes, kind of like me, only I had blue eyes.

“Daughter of the director of a French counterterrorism agency.  RAID.  You know, that…”

“Sorry for interrupting, but I know what RAID is,” I said. 

“Okay.  Anyway, this girl was kidnapped by Muhammad’s Army,” Korey said.

My eyes went wide.

“Why?” I asked.

“Retaliation against France and the Alliance for invading the UIS.”

“And what is Muhammad’s Army anyway?” I asked.

“Remember those radical Islamic terrorists you encountered in Angola?” asked Korey in response.

I nodded.

“They’re a radical Muslim terrorist cell aiming to destroy the alliance that guards Israel in order to destroy the nation.”

“So they’re retaliating against us?”

“Yeah.”

“What are their ideals?  I mean, are they fundamentalists or what?”

“They’re fundamentalists,” Korey replied.  “And they believe they’re being called by God, AKA Allah, to assist Muhammad, their one true prophet, in destroying the alliance we Americans made with the rest of the world.”

“Huh.  Sounds like a delusion,” I said.

“That’s what I’m thinking too,” Korey replied.

“Okay, back to the girl.  Where’s she being held?”

“A construction site north of here.”

“Oh.”

“Her name is Andrée Barret, daughter of RAID director Phillipe Barret.”

“Andrée Barret,” I repeated.  “Daughter of RAID director Phillipe Barret.”

“And look at this.”

Korey showed me a card with the words Shadow Force written on it.  The logo consisted of the silhouette of a frigate bird with the company name above it. 

“Shadow Force?” I repeated.

“An organization of teenage hackers and PMC units,” Korey explained.  “The funny thing is it’s all girls.”

“An all-female organization of fighters and hackers?” I asked, surprised.

Korey nodded.

“What’s this go to do with the girl?” I asked, biting into my shawarma. 

“She’s a member of Shadow Force,” Korey explained.  “You should talk to this girl here if you want to find out more.”

He then showed me another photo, this one of a seventeen-year old with blonde hair and blue eyes.

“Another Shadow Force member,” Korey said, sliding the photo over.  “Her name is Kimberly Steelman.”

“Wow,” I said, amused.

Then I heard my phone buzz.

“Uh, I’d better answer this,” I said.  “Excuse me for a sec.”

“I’m in no hurry,” Korey replied, sipping a Dr. Pepper can while I answered the phone.

“Is this Olivia Coonz?” asked a girl’s voice on the other end.

“Err, yeah,” I replied.

“It’s Grace Hogue.”

I started; last time I checked Grace Hogue was a sophomore at Crosspoint Christian School, the one place I went to prior to my move to LA.  She was an old friend.

“Gracie?  Hi, buddy.  How are ‘ya?”

“You happy I got into Shadow Force?”

“That’s weird, ‘cause I got into Task Force Eagle.  I’m former USMC, 1^st Recon Division,” I replied.

“Wow!  I’m jealous!” Gracie squealed. 

“Uh, okay.  Hey, did you hear about the abduction?”

“Andrée?  Yeah, I did.  She is one of our chief hackers.”

“She is?  Wow.”

“You thinking of rescuing her?”

“I dunno.”

“You thinking of a rescue mission?”

“Well, now I am, now that you mention it.”

“Oh, okay.  Hey, if you get an idea of what to do, tell me about it.”

Click.

Korey looked at me with curious eyes, as if he was wondering what I was up to.

“It was Grace Hogue,” I said.  “She’s a Shadow Force member too and she told me Andrée is a chief hacker over there.”

“She is?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, err, okay.  To tell you the truth, we were thinking of a plan too, but it’s too risky.”

“What is it?”

“Raiding the construction site.”

“How’s that risky?”

“Place is too heavily guarded.”

“Oh, okay.  Well I’d better go.  I’m tired and I need some rest.  Hey, thanks for lunch, by the way.”

“Hey, no prob, soldier,” Korey said, smiling as he packed up his stuff.

Chapter 19: Islam’s wrath against CryNet Systems

Olivia Coonz

When I reached my room back at Fort Hyacinth’s barracks, I was surprised to see Lev Raskov sitting at my desk working with my laptop.

“Mind if I borrow this?” he asked.  “And sorry for just barging in like this, but you weren’t home.”

“Err, okay,” I said awkwardly.  “Uh, Lev, I’m thinking that…”

“I think you need to see this,” Lev cut in.

“What?” I asked, joining him at the laptop.

I grabbed a swivel chair and slid over to Lev’s right as he scooted over to give me more space.  Lev was on YouTube, something he didn’t usually do except when he was on summer vacation back in LA.

“You should see this,” Lev said, clicking on a video link that instantly brought us to a video showing Ali Al-Washir and another guy, who appeared to be Lebanese, with dark hair and hazel eyes, standing behind a tied up C.E.L.L. commando wearing black fatigues.  He looked rather beat-up, judging by the bruises and cuts he had on his weathered face.

“The jerk to Al-Washir’s right is named Solomon,” Lev explained.  “He got warped into the real word from the game Battlefield 3 via Ben Hoving’s time bridge.”

“A video game character,” I said dryly.  “How interesting.”

Al-Washir was looking directly at the screen with an evil glare, which kind of paralyzed me with terror; my whole body was shaking.

“Shame!” he cried.  “You have murdered our men, women and children, desecrated our mosques, plundered our holy land, and burned down our holy places, yet we are the terrorists when we try to protect our nation and our people?”

Solomon jerked the C.E.L.L. guy’s head up as Al-Washir continued.

“…this act requires a brutal and righteous judgment!  Your deed here will not be tolerated among Muslims and Islamic ulema, as well as Allah himself!  This man shall be an example to you!  Death to CryNet Systems!  Victory to Islam!”

Then the gross part occurred; Solomon produced a huge dagger and in one smooth blow, decapitated the man’s head, sending blood flying and causing me to look away from the screen, gagging.

“Allahu Akbar!” I heard Al-Washir scream before looking back at the screen, only to jerk away again when I saw the beheaded C.E.L.L. operator’s head being displayed inches from the camera screen.

Then the video ended.

I was surprised to see that Lev hadn’t flinched at all during the execution.

Apparently there was something inside him that prevented him from feeling the nausea I felt when the man was beheaded.

“Curse Islam,” he muttered in Russian before closing the window and getting up.

“I just lost my appetite,” I managed between gagging noises.  “How ‘bout you, Lev?”

“It’s nasty,” he replied calmly.  “But it doesn’t compare to my grandparents dying in 9\11.”

“Your grandparents died in 9\11?  How?” I asked.

“They were on the fourth flight, United Airlines Flight 93.”

“And?”

“They joined the revolt on the flight to retake the plane.”

“That’s what killed them?”

Lev nodded.

“I’m sorry, pal.”

“Don’t be.”

Then he stood up and said loudly in Russian, “God will give me justice!”

I groaned; he evidently watched The Count of Monte Cristo as a kid.

Chapter 20: Solomon

Olivia Coonz

“Olivia!” Korey barked as he entered my room an hour later.  “There’s something you should see.”

I groaned.  “What now?” I asked.

“Just come look at this.” Korey replied.

I shrugged and followed Korey into an interrogation room, where I saw a US Marine in his mid-twenties with blue eyes and brown hair wearing a digital camouflage US Marine outfit.

He looked kind of like my younger brother, Sam Coons.

“Mornin’ Blackburn,” Korey said.  “This is Olivia Coons, a Marine transferred to the Force recently.”

“Hi,” I said shyly.

“Mind telling me what this is about?” asked the Marine, AKA Blackburn.

“Well first of all, eighteen hours ago I get a call from Homeland Security saying there’s a Marine framed for killing his commanding officer who is in detention now and I need to talk to him.”

“And?”

“This man claims he has knowledge of some kind of terrorist plot against the United States because recently we formed an alliance with China, Russia, and the European Union to protect the tiny little country of Israel from the radical Muslims that want to destroy it.”

“Wait, the US has an alliance?” I asked. 

“Didn’t you hear on the news?” asked Korey.  “The US President just announced it a few hours ago.”

I groaned; I must’ve lost track of time in that room watching the execution video of that C.E.L.L. operative.

“This is tasty,” I muttered quietly.

“Now,” Korey continued.  “The best part is, he says it’s going to happen soon and on American soil.  Heck, he claims the perp of this future terrorist attack boasts that 9\11 will be a footnote in comparison.  This guy-by that, I mean you-claims he has information to stop it.”

“Yeah, right,” Blackburn spat.  “If you want to make a point, make it!”

“You look jetlagged,” said Korey.  “And by that I mean you look like garbage.”

I groaned; the guy did look tired, judging by his weathered face.

“I need you to answer some questions we have and if you cooperate you may get out of this world of misery that you currently inhabit.”

“Okay,” Blackburn said. 

“And why am I involved?” I asked, curiously studying the Marine’s features.

“Back off, Coondog!” Blackburn spat.

I started; how’d this guy recognize me?  My answer came soon enough.

“This guy claims to know you,” Korey said.  “That’s the odd part that surprised us too.”

“How’d the heck did this guy hear about me to begin with is what I’d like to know,” I said, looking at him begrudgingly. 

“And he claims to know Solomon, whoever he is,” said Commander Ross, entering the room with her jet-black field commander uniform, complete with a baseball cap.

“Who is this?” Korey asked, sliding a photograph over to Blackburn.  The picture showed a man in his late twenties with brownish hair and hazel eyes.  He also seemed to have a crooked nose, but I couldn’t tell.

“That’s him,” said Blackburn.  “That guy’s Solomon.”

“And you still believe he’s planning an attack on the United States and the Alliance?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because he said so.”

“And why, mind if I ask, did he mention me?” I asked, leaning into his face and growling like a grouchy person who didn’t have his nap lately.

“I read the files,” said Korey.  “He’s trying to save his own pet mule.”

“No, wait,” said Ross.  “This idiot doesn’t know what we want!”

“Hey, just hear me out,” said Henry, looking at me begrudgingly the same way I looked at him earlier.  “You want to bury me afterwards, go ahead.”

“I don’t need to bury you!  You’re already dead!” I spat.  “This Solomon guy, you claim, says he knows me!  Why, you leech?  Why?”

“Olivia, this isn’t a good idea,” Korey ventured, but then he kept quiet, seeing I wanted to get my point across.

“I’ll pursue this lead,” I said.  Then I looked down at Blackburn with a look that I could’ve sworn made him want to cry for his mom and dad.

“What you’re going to do is help us clarify the attack scenario you claim will happen,” I said.  “All you need to do is fill in the blanks.  Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Henry said, finally admitting defeat.

“When did you first hear about this Solomon guy anyway?” I asked, a bit calmer now, but still secretly having a sense of distrust toward the guy.  “And how the heck did he know about me?”

“Last month,” he said.  “Operation White Elephant.  Tian Shan Mountains, Kazakhstan.”

“You were in Kazakhstan, when this happened?  Who was with you?”

“I was working together with the Russian dude’s brother.”  He then looked at Lev.

“I thought you were an only child,” he said.  “You have siblings.”

“I am the middle child.  Dima is the first oldest now, but he’s technically the second oldest.  Dimitri, who is dead now, was the first oldest.”

“Oh.”

“Did you have any interactions with Audrey Hoving?  She’s a friend of mine,” I said.

“The Dutch girl?” asked Henry.  “You know her?”

I nodded.

“Wow.  I guess we have something in common.”

“Yeah, anyway let’s focus on the question.  Who else was with you and your unit?  No, give me the full story.  What were you doing in Kazakhstan?”

“I was tracking Ali Al-Washir, the Iranian dictator of the region during that time.  I heard he still is right now.”

“Hey, he was in Angola,” I said.  “I saw him.”

“Did you see Solomon?”

“No.”

“Then I guess he wasn’t there.”

“But how’d he get into Tehran?  And what was Al-Washir doing there?”

“It’s a long story, guys,” Henry said slowly.  “I’m not sure if I can…”

“Just tell us everything you remember,” said Korey.  “Unless you can’t remember anything at all.”

“Actually,” said Henry.  “I do remember some things.”

“I’m listening,” I said eagerly.

Chapter 21: Kazakhstan

Henry Blackburn

“So what was Operation White Elephant?” I asked, curious.  Henry looked at me and rubbed his tired eyes.  I could tell he just wanted to go home and get some rest.

“A rescue mission,” Henry said.

“You were sent in to rescue whom?”

“Actually, I was sent in to help protect the United States President.”

“Why?”

“Secret Service just wasn’t good enough with all the Muhammad’s Army activity.  The US Army was sent in to help them out.  That meant us too.”

“Really?” I asked.

Henry nodded.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Some idiots wielding rocket launchers shot down Air Force One.  We went down in the Tian Shan Mountains really hard.  I woke up with bruises and scratches all over me.”

“Did you do anything else, besides examine the scenery?” I asked.

“No.  I got up and continued my mission to protect the President.  He was en-route to a meeting in Hamburg, Germany.”

“I’m listening,” I said.

Henry Blackburn

“Get up!” I heard someone scream.  I looked up and saw a Secret Service agent.  “We have to find the President!”  I looked at the guy and nodded, getting up.  The plane was wrecked; pieces of fuselage and engine were scattered everywhere.  I was standing on a snowfield and the sky was black.

It was nighttime, evidently.

I don’t know how long it’d been between the time space had been between the time radical Islamic Chechens first hijacked the plane and the time I woke up from the crash.  When I woke up, I lost track of time.

“You alright, man?” I heard fellow soldier Brian Valdez ask.  Brian was about my age (twenty-three) with black hair and brown eyes.  He was Puerto Rican, as evidenced by his dark skin.

I looked at myself; my suit and tie were all covered in snow and I wiped it off as I got to my feet.  My good shoes were all wet from the crash, but I didn’t care; I got my shoes wet all the time as a kid.

I followed Brian outside, where I saw tons of Secret Service agents swarming the place and herding wounded Cabinet members everywhere.

“My gosh!” I squealed.  “These people are all banged up!  I wonder if there’s any support?”

“Nope,” said Brian.  “I’m ‘fraid it’s just what’s left of us and the Secret Service.  Let’s go!”

I nodded and ran toward my commanding officer, a thirty-something-year old guy named David Welsh.  This guy was my new CO ever since I stepped into that portal, got transported out of my home world in 2014 and ended up in 2020.  I thought he was a real likable guy.

But for some reason everyone else hated him.

“Alright, regroup and reload!” he cried.  “Team 4, this is Captain Welsh.  Status report!”

“The President is injured, but he’s stable,” I heard a Secret Service agent respond in my comms.  “Get over here!  We need some assistance!”

“On our way,” said Captain Welsh.  Then he turned to me and threw me an AK-47 possessing a black finish, a muzzle brake, a Picatinny rail, and an M4-style stock from a dead Chechen terrorist.  “That gun’s your life, man.  Use it wisely!”

We then followed the heavyset Marine captain through the mountainous area, where I saw burning aircraft pieces and wounded Secret Service agents all over the place.

“Sending a flare from our location,” cried a Secret Service agent.  Then a flare fired.

“Right side,” said Capt. Welsh.  “There’s our flare!  Right side!”

I rushed toward the flare, which was flying above some kind of base with a hangar, two barracks, and an airport control tower.

Then it happened; Chechen gunmen rushed from the barracks and began firing at us.

“Return fire!” Capt. Welsh squealed.  “Return fire!”

I opened fire on the Chechens with my AK-47, but they seemed to be overwhelming us.

“Team Three, moving!”  I heard a Marine squeal before seeing a team of Marines, AKA Team 3, running from the trees to my right, flanking the Chechens.

“Stink!” I heard Brian scream.  “Open fire!  Open fire!”

To the left, I saw more Chechens pouring out of the huge hangar, chanting the infamous takbir, AKA the fearsome phrase Allahu Akbar.

“This is deep,” I muttered as I returned fire on the Chechens; these guys were apparently devoted to their religion, even if it meant having to blow themselves up.

“Push forward!” I heard Capt. Welsh roar.  “Valdez, Blackburn, we got more Chechens behind those trees!  They’re pinning down the President!  Take ‘em down!”

I nodded and turned to Brian, who was already sprinting like crazy toward the trees where the other Marines came from.

It was here that I saw it; a battalion of US Marines doing their best to protect the Secret Service and the President, Vince Morrow. 

I looked at the guy; he looked to be in his early forties or fifties with graying brown hair and a wrinkled face.  He was wearing a black suit, which was now bloodied, a white collared shirt and a shredded red tie.

“Mr. President!” I roared, running to the guy.  “Get down, Mr. President!”

I yanked the President down, just as an RPG (rocket-propelled grenade) whizzed over my head.

“What’s going on, son?!” the President demanded.  “And where’s my daughter?!”

“I don’t know,” I replied.  “I’m sure she’s okay, though, sir!”

I flinched; Sabina Morrow was sixteen years old.  Therefore she was definitely terrified of this fight, wherever she was.

BOOM!  I heard an explosion and the trees behind me combusted into flames.  I started; the Chechens were firing mortars down on Welsh’s guys to halt their advance.

I had to stall them.

“Take ‘em down!” I heard Brian roar, mowing down the Chechens with his M240 light machinegun, distracting me from my little plan to go back for Welsh.

Suddenly, I heard Capt. Welsh scream, “Marines!  Hold your fire!  Hold your fire!”

The Marines ceased fire, as did the Secret Service agents, and then Capt. Welsh ran up to me, his face all beat-up and bloodied.

He had survived the mortars, but that left his face all bloodied and beat-up looking.  Nonetheless, I was glad he was alive.

“Mr. President, we have to get you out of here!” I cried to the President, just as I heard a helicopter’s rotors whirring. 

“Where’s my daughter?!” he demanded.

“I don’t know, but-!”

“She’s being secured, sir!” Capt. Welsh interrupted.  “We need to move you ASAP!”

The chopper landed. 

I looked at the vehicle; it was a Russian Mi-35M Hind, as evidenced by the Russian markings and the familiar design of the cockpit.

“Get the President inside!” I heard Capt. Welsh roar.  “Blackburn, open the door!  Hurry!”

I opened the door, just as Welsh commanded.

I suddenly froze in my tracks; emerging from the chopper was a man in his early to mid forties with a height between 5’7 and 5’11 with graying dark brown hair and different-colored eyes; one eye was green and the other was blue. 

I knew the cause; heterochromia iridum, which was a difference in coloration in the eyes, hair or skin, was a result of either excess\lack of melanin, an inheritance from a parent with the same condition, or either mosaicism, chimerism, disease, or an injury.

As of the guy, I remembered him from a video game called Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3.

My first question was, What’s this guy doing here in reality?

BOOM!

A FN Five-Seven pistol in his hand went off, but I dodged, causing the bullet to hit Brian instead.  I tried to slug him in the face, but he blocked my swing and kicked me to the ground so hard, I felt like my bowels would explode.

“NO!” I heard Capt. Welsh squeal.

He and a couple of Secret Service agents returned fire, only to be gunned down by the guy’s goons, which were also dressed up in inky black tactical sweaters and Kevlar vests.  I noticed that some of them wore hockey masks for headgear, which kind of surprised me.

One of the guys in the black Kevlar getup rushed to the President and grabbed him while the Russian dude walked over to Captain Welsh, who was slowly dying of blood loss and attempting to reach for his fallen Beretta M9 pistol.

BOOM!  The gun went off again and put Welsh out of his misery.

“You know who I am?!” the man demanded, walking up to the President.

“No,” Morrow replied.  “But I have a good idea of what you’re going to do!”

“Chechnya will dominate all of America, even if it must stand upon a pile of ashes!”

He then holstered his weapon, marched right up to the President and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

“I need the codes for the drones!” he demanded.

“You’ll never get them!” Morrow blasted at his face.

The man just grinned sinisterly and released Morrow from his grip.

“Take him away!” he roared.  Then he looked down at me while Morrow was being forced into the Hind.

“As for you, my young friend,” he said, leaning into my face until I could smell his breath, which reeked of cigarette smoke; evidently this guy had been smoking.

“You need to know something,” the guy said in my face.  “We do not differentiate between civilians and soldiers.  As far as I am concerned, you Americans are all targets.  I can hardly wait until the day I will see you writhe in torment at my feet.”

Then he boarded the chopper, leaving Brian and I to die in the snowfield.

Olivia Coonz

“Unless your sources are incorrect, it looks like you had a face-to-face encounter with Vladimir Makarov,” I said, my own voice a bit uneasy.

“Vladimir Makarov?” repeated Henry.  “You mean that I-?”

“Yep,” I said, showing him a photo of Vladimir Makarov, who looked pretty much unchanged; he still looked the same as Henry described in his flashback.

“Ben Hoving warped him into the real world via his ‘time bridge.’” I explained.  “Ben wanted him to work together and fight against us, mostly because the two of them shared the same goal of turning America into a dictatorship or something.”

“But his plan didn’t work,” Ross added.  “Makarov went rogue and betrayed Hoving.  The poor guy never knew that Makarov was planning to turn America into a part of Russia.  What a conspiracy freak!”

“That explains why he wanted the drone codes,” Henry said.  We all looked at him.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“My CO and I had a pretty harsh ordeal,” he said, suddenly changing the subject.  “As for Captain Welsh, he was put out of action for weeks.  I got off scot free.”

“Probably because he didn’t hit you that hard in the stomach,” I guessed.

“Yeah, and thank God I didn’t die.”

“So what about this Solomon guy you mentioned earlier?” I asked.  “You didn’t remember seeing him?”

“No,” said Henry.

“Okay,” I said. 

“Okay, so that’s the only thing you can tell us?” asked Korey.  “Are you sure you don’t remember anything else happening afterwards?”

“Yeah,” said Henry.  “Except for me being sent here.”

“Alright, you may go,” said Korey.  “We’re going to try and work with what we have.”

“Thanks,” he said and then he just got up and left the room, leaving us staring at him indifferently.

Chapter 23: The Jihad on America

“I want war. To me all means will be right. My motto is not ‘Don’t, whatever you do, annoy the enemy.’ My motto is ‘Destroy him by all and any means.’ I am the one who will wage the war!

-                    Adolf Hitler (1889-1945)

Fort Hyacinth, Iraqi Kurdistan, Iraq

Olivia Coonz

“I’m going to talk to this guy,” said Mason as we walked outside.  “The Marine dude just talked about Makarov and nothing about Solomon, except for his goons.”

“Yeah, okay.” I said, feeling a bit indifferent about his comment.  “You go do that.”

Then I met Lev, who was just as calm as me.  I looked at him with surprise. 

===“You seem awfully calm today,” I said. ===

“Al-Washir is a sick psycho,” was all he said in response.  “He wants war on America just like Kaylyn wants war on America and China.”

“Yeah,” I said.  “But he just wants war on us.  You can’t…”

My voice trailed off.

“Oh, never mind,” I suddenly said.  “You probably won’t believe me anyway.”

“Actually, I believe you,” Lev said.  “He just wants war on us, yes, but I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I read from the news shortly before we came here that Al-Washir wants war on the entire West, not just the USA.”

“He’s like

“Why?” I asked.

“He hates us more than Israel.”

“He does?”

“Da, my friend.  He is no friend of the West, as far as I am concerned.”

“But why wage this jihad war on the entire West?” I asked.

“If we ever get a chance to beat the ever loving guts out of him, feel free to ask him that yourself,” Lev said and then walked away.

As I walked on, Mason Davidson suddenly pulled me aside.

“Korey Hogan wants to show you something,” he said.

I sighed.  “Does this have to do with the jihad war on America?” I asked.

“Nah, it’s something else,” said Mason.  I groaned and walked back toward Korey’s office.

Chapter 24:

Fort Hyacinth, Iraqi Kurdistan, Iraq

Olivia Coonz

I knocked on Korey Hogan’s office door, hoping I didn’t come at a bad time.  As it turned out, I didn’t, but what really caught my attention was that Korey had been expecting me.

That, in my mind, was odd; Korey wouldn’t usually expect anyone to come into his office without an appointment or without summoning that specific someone first.

This was surprising.

“Yes?” came Korey Hogan’s voice behind the door.  I took a deep breath; I was determined to figure out what Doug was talking about when he kept mentioning this real odd organization called “Black Syndicate”.

“Uh, it’s Olivia,” I said.  “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Korey’s response rang, which sounded enthusiastic.  “Come on in, buddy.”

I opened the door and found Korey looking at a laptop while drinking his usual can of Mello Yellow soda.

“Uh, thank you, Commander,” I said.  “I heard the Israeli Defense Forces will be leaving any minute to help the rest of the Alliance take the rest of the United Islamic States.”

Later, Korey just slid over a photograph of Al-Washir, who looked no different than how I saw him in Angola, only he now had dyed his hair brown.

“Why dye his hair brown?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” said Korey.  “But look at this.”

Then he showed me a newspaper clipping that said: HUMAN TRAFFICKING SYKROCKETS!!!

“Human trafficking?” I asked.  “This guy is practicing human trafficking?”

“Apparently, yes,” he said. 

“When’d you first hear of this?”

“A few minutes ago, actually.”

“And?”

“It brings me to what I’m going to do with you.  You see, we need a new field commander.  Our old one retired from an accident.”

“Well, okay,” I said.

“I heard you were awesome,” Korey said.

“Well, duh!” I barked.  “Doesn’t anyone know this?”

“Everyone here at Vulture Force knows,” said Korey.  “Which brings me to my next point.  Since we need a new field commander and you’re the most awesome girl here, I’ve decided to promote you.”

“Promote me?”

In response, Korey pinned some kind of object with a bunch of bars on it.

“You are now Field Commander Coons,” he said.  “Don’t worry about the others.  They already know you’re perfect for the job.  They just need to know how awesome you are.”

“Uh, I’m delighted, sir,” I said awkwardly.  Then I walked away, grinning; today, I thought, just got better.

Act II: World War III begins

Chapter 25:      Changing times

Olivia Coonz

After some time in Iraq, we were transferred to a new Vulture Force base, this time located in London, England on May 1, 2020.  Both the British military and Vulture Force shared Fort Sparta, the new forward operating base for us.  Apparently, Korey felt there was no need to occupy Iraq, since it appeared that the US military already had it under control, so we moved out and switched to London, England, which was a lot better for me considering the fact I didn’t have to deal with the heat of the desert.

Whenever I wasn’t in an active combat role, however, I stayed in the Hilton Grand Hotel in London one block away. 

If you want to know what happened in the last few months, the USA, China, European Union (now called the European Confederation) created an alliance dedicated to protect the tiny country of Israel from Muhammad’s Army, which they called the One World Alliance.  The governments of those three main superpowers promised to allow the trade of weaponry and whatever materials necessary to help Israel defend itself from its hostile Islamic neighbors, all of whom wanted to wipe Israel off the map.

Presidential elections were held that May.  The candidates: some guy named Bill Patton and a girl (can you believe my own school friend would run for President) from my school named Madison Elizabeth Young.  I had to admit, though, when I found out that Madison was running for President, I was surprised; she was only sixteen years old and yet she was running for President?

It was kind of weird for my old friend to run for President at sixteen years of age.

Now many of you don’t know this, but Madison is actually the wealthiest girl alive.  Yep, she’s a tycoon\trillionaire.  In fact, she’s so rich and famous all of America idolizes her!  Don’t worry, though; she isn’t treated like some kind of “Earth goddess” or something.

And on top of that, she has become the leader of an enormous multinational organization called Cordis Die (Latin for “Of the Heart Day”).

Now in case you’re wondering if this is some rip-off from Call of Duty: Black Ops II or something, I’ll tell you that you’re half right.

Yep, Ben Hoving tried to warp Raul Menendez, Black Ops 2’s villain, into the real world, but he died trying to step through the machine (rumors started floating around that Ben accidentally heated the machine too hot and it cooked Menendez alive as he tried to transfer himself and the organization into this world).

Therefore, Cordis Die was left with no leader for quite some time until good ‘ole Madison Young, my best buddy from school (who was a trillionaire at the time), decided to step in and become Cordis Die’s new leader.

And to tell you the truth, she got the job and now everyone expects her to do everything she can to solve the world’s problems.

In particular, everybody wants her to figure out some way to remove that Iranian jerk Ali Al-Washir from power in Iran (yes, he is now a dictator).

Now if you want to know how all this happened before the election, I’ll give you the whole story in a nutshell:

A week before Ben Hoving tried to warp Raul Menendez into the real world Ali Al-Washir became a power-hungry freak in Iran.  In addition, after Ali’s encounter with the rest of us back in Angola, he somehow became a hero among the Iranians.

People started spreading rumors and myths that Ali actually beat the living daylights out of Lev (when, in fact, the opposite happened) and later Ali became the new President of Iran in the most extreme way ever: a coup dé át (a violent overthrow of a government by the military or some dictator).

Yep, he kicked the current Iranian President out of office and took power himself, promising to unite the country.  He succeeded and turned the United Islamic States into the Amalgamated (fused) Islamic Caliphate (or AIC, for short).

On the other side of the world, Madison Young’s father had died of lung cancer, but he left behind $74.1 trillion in cash and an estate in Arlington Virginia in his will.

Madi took the money, but decided to give the estate to her younger sister, Lydia, instead.  She then studied politics and later got a master’s degree in microbiology, rocket science, and military science.

Finally, she decided to run for President after learning that a new election was overhead and lost.  However, she did earn a place in society as the world’s youngest billionaire.

Kind of weird, huh?  I thought young billionaires were rare, but now I was starting to have second thoughts.

The real shocker was that she accumulated the biggest arsenal of weapons ever.  Yep, she had untold multitudes of nuclear missiles, tanks, fighter jets, and foot soldiers at her disposal.  In addition, her biggest dream was to become a dictator and take over the planet!

In short, she was a military power freak, AKA Shakespeare’s Macbeth’s modern day equivalent.

And if you want to know what else happened in regards to Ben Hoving’s time bridge, the failed experiment on Raul Menendez and Cordis Die brought some “uninvited guests”; yep, the guys from the Call of Duty: Modern Warfare series, John Price and Soap MacTavish (who were both field commanders in their respective games’ Task Force 141), along with a variety of other Call of Duty characters were also taken.

John Price and Soap ditched Task Force 141 and later joined Black Syndicate, the first two among various other characters from Call of Duty.

As for Madison Young, the minute she was elected as Cordis Die’s new leader, she went mad with power and initiating this thing called Operation Lightning Spear, which really ticked off Al-Washir.  She teamed up with CryNet Enforcement and Local Logistics and ordered Cordis Die to invade the Amalgamated Islamic Caliphate.  Using the nation of Saudi Arabia as a spearhead, Madison had naval vessels and aircraft stationed off the Arabian Peninsula, as well as 5,000,000 troops stationed in the nation itself.

In short: After the withdrawal of US troops from the Caliphate, C.E.L.L. and Cordis Die maintained a presence of 5,000,000 troops stationed in Saudi Arabia. One of the responsibilities of that force was another operation called Operation Lightning Raid, which enforced a series of no-fly zones over Iraq set up after early 2020, and the country's oil exports through the shipping lanes of the Persian Gulf were protected by Cordis Die’s 5^th Army, based in Bahrain.

Since Saudi Arabia houses the holiest sites in Islam (Mecca and Medina) — many Muslims were upset at the permanent Cordis Die and C.E.L.L. presence in the area.  Their complains reached Al-Washir’s ears and in response, Al-Washir threatened to nuke New York City (which, in my opinion, was a puny move).

As for me, I was starting to feel more awesome every day.

The best part: I got to see Philip again!

If you’re wondering how in the blazes Phillip ended up in the French military, it was because he was drafted sometime after he got a degree in Rocket Science while studying abroad in Arlington, Pennsylvania.

When I met Phillip, I noticed that he changed a lot!  Instead of sandy brown hair like he had the last time I saw him back in LA, he now had dark brown hair.

He also sported a scar on his left cheek, which was (according to him) caused by a car accident during his time overseas.

“You’ve changed a lot too,” Phillip said.  “My comrades tell me you’re awesome!  Is this true?”

I nodded.

“Brilliant!” he cried.  “I’m thinking we should hang out during missions or something.”

“Hang out?” I asked.

“Oui.  I mean, if you want to.”

“Uh, sure,” I said.

“Oh, and congratulations on your promotion.  I had no idea your awesomeness allowed you to be an effective leader.”

“Yeah, surprised me too,” I said. 

Then I was pulled aside by Korey Hogan.  He looked really excited for some reason.

“Hey,” he said.  “Come look at the TVs.  They’re televising a statement from Madison against radical Islamists.”

“Islamists?” I asked.

“Just c’mon,” he said and dragged me toward my room.

When we reached my room, I looked around; it was no different from my room back in Sulaymaniyah, only it now was painted brown everywhere.  There also was an air conditioner and a TV, which was turned to CNN.  The rest of my battalion was gathered around it, along with some French guys.

“This is deep,” I heard Phillip mutter in French.  Then I looked at the TV and saw what he was talking about.

Chapter 26: The drive against Islam

London, England

Olivia Coonz

I was horror-stricken at what Madison Young was talking about; she wanted war against the entire Amalgamated Islamic Caliphate and in order to do this, she decided to publish a statement against the Amalgamated Islamic Caliphate and Ali Al-Washir, hoping to either humiliate or destroy him on the inside.  As I stared at the TV set in my quarters, Madison suddenly began grinning like a child who just received his favorite plaything or something like that.  She stood on that podium and faced the audience of 6.3 million French, American, and British Cordis Die supporters and military commanders like a boss while a set of French subtitles began appearing on the bottom of the screen with every English word she said.  She was wearing a black suit, a red collared shirt, black dress pants, and black shoes, as well as a red tie.

As she prepared to speak, however, I noticed something different.  She no longer had the jovial, optimistic, kind-hearted voice she had when we were hanging out in grade school.  Rather, she sounded dark, evil, negative, hateful, and resentful.

I wondered what happened in the time space between the last time we hung out and now.

“Praise be to the God of Abraham,” she said.  “The God of Jacob, the God of America, and the God of this nation!”

“Wow,” said Lev.  “She’s good.”

“The United States and Israel have never—since God made it flat, created its desert and woods, and encircled it with seas—been stormed by any forces like the radical Islamist armies spreading in it like locusts, eating its riches and wiping out its plantations. All this is happening at a time in which nations are attacking Americans and Israelis like people fighting over a plate of food. In the light of the grave situation and the lack of support, you and we are obliged to discuss current events, and we should all agree on how to settle the matter.

“No one argues today about three facts that are known to everyone; we will list them, in order to remind everyone:

“First, for over seven years the Amalgamated Islamic Caliphate has been harassing the United States and Israel, plundering their riches, dictating to their rulers, humiliating Israeli and American people, terrorizing each nations’ respective neighbors, and turning the bases in Mexico and Canada into a spearhead through which to fight the neighboring American peoples.

“If some people have in the past argued about the fact of the oppression and harassment, all the people of the United States have now acknowledged it. The best proof of this is the radical Isamists’ continuing aggression against the Israeli people using the Qu’ran as an excuse to slaughter Jews, even uncaring to differentiate between civilians and soldiers.

“Second, despite the great devastation inflicted on the American people by the Islamist alliance, and despite the huge number of those killed, which has exceeded 1 million... despite all this, the Islamists are once against trying to repeat the horrific massacres they did in 9\11, as though they are not content with suicide bombing the World Trade Center and the Pentagon.

“So here they come to annihilate what is left of this people and to humiliate their American neighbors. Third, if the Islamists’ aims behind these wars are religious and economic, the aim is also to serve the Muslims’ pipsqueak state and divert attention from the USA  and murder of American Christians there. The best proof of this is the Islamists’ eagerness to destroy America, the strongest neighboring Western nation, and their endeavor to fragment all the states of the region such as Idaho, New York, Los Angeles, Missouri, and Hawaii into paper statelets and through their disunion and weakness to guarantee America’s destruction and the continuation of the brutal Islamist harassment of the United States.

“All these crimes and sins committed by the Islamists are a clear declaration of war on God, His Son, and Christians.  

“On that basis, and in compliance with God’s order, we issue the following fatwa to all Americans, Alliance members and Cordis Die:

“The ruling to kill the Islamists and their allies—civilians and military—is an individual duty for every Cordis Die soldier, Alliance member, and American who can do it in any country in which it is possible to do it, in order to liberate the Capitol Building and the Church of Christ from their oppression.  This is in concordance to Adolf Hitler’s words in a book called Hitler and Nazism:

‘I want war. To me all means will be right. My motto is not ‘Don’t, whatever you do, annoy the enemy.’  My motto is ‘Destroy him by all and any means.’ I am the one who will wage the war!’

“Therefore, we—with God’s help—call on every American, Jew, Alliance member, and Cordis Die member who believes in God and wishes to be rewarded to comply with God’s order to kill the Islamists and plunder their banks wherever and whenever they find it. We also call on Christian warriors, leaders, youths, and soldiers to launch the raid on Satan’s Islamist troops and the devil’s supporters allying with them, and to displace those who are behind them so that they may learn a lesson.

After that last horrible statement, the speech ended and Madison was met with thunderous applause.  I froze; evidently this girl was a hardcore hater of all Muslim radicals, just like Lev Raskov was.  The question I wanted to

“There’s a simplicity to war.  Attacking is the only secret.  Dare and the world yields.”

·     John Price in the intro cutscene of a Modern Warfare 3 campaign level.

Olivia Coonz

Sometime after that speech, I was out wandering t

“Uh, sure,” I said.  Then my stomach rumbled; hearing that statement, for unknown reasons, kind of made me hungry. 

I shrugged and sat down, thinking that this was going to be another one of those friend-to-friend talks we had back in school.

But I was wrong.  This talk was actually about Madison’s war against Islamic terrorism, which-to my surprise-was similar to the future war Kaylyn wanted with the US and China.

“The Islamists have been harassing us too much,” she said, which kind of made me frown.  “I, for one, am happy to be leader of Cordis Die.  But I must ask you, my friend, why the scowl on your face?  I thought…”

“You’ve changed,” I replied with concern in my voice, sitting down.  Madison just harrumphed. 

“No, really,” I said.  “You’ve really changed.”

“I have?” she asked, surprised at my words.

“Yeah,” I said.  “You used to be all cheery and positive and uplifting in the past.  Now you’re all negative, evil-sounding and resentful.  And why are you calling every American, Jew and supporter of your little ‘inner circle’ to kill Muslims?  What makes you hate them?”

“They are our enemies,” Madison replied calmly.  “They hate us because we support Israel.”

“Yeah, but not all Muslims are evil,” I said.  “Only the…”

“I know the radicals hate us,” Madison said.  “It’s time we fought back.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked.  “Use a nuclear missile to fry the entire Muslim world or something?”

“I might as well,” said Madison.

“I think that’s wrong.”

“It is?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Because if you kill thousands of innocent people, then you become a terrorist, not a hero!”

“My friend,” Madison said.  “I think it’s time you knew something.  What if I were to tell you that the more things change, the more things stay the same.”

“What?” I asked.  “That’s a paradox, isn’t it?”

“No,” said Madison.  “The more things change the more they stay the same. Boundaries shift, new players step in, but power always finds a place to rest its head. We fought and bled alongside the Muslim Mujahideen in Afghanistan, and we shoulda’ known they’d hate us for it.

“History is written by the victor, and here I am thinking we won. But you bring down one enemy and they find someone even worse to replace him. Locations change, the rationale, the objective. Yesterday’s enemies are today’s recruits, train them to fight alongside you and pray they don’t eventually decide to hate you for it too.”

I drew a blank; this girl was using a quote from a video game to justify killing radicals?  I had a feeling this was something t

To this, Madison took a deep breath and said, “It was something from my childhood.”  I raised my eyebrow in surprise.

“Something from your childhood,” I repeated.  “What is that something?  Was it terrible?  Was it so terrible it turned you around?”

“My other friends,” she said. “They were deceived.”

“Deceived by who?” I asked.

“Al-Washir.”

I tensed; Al-Washir was a master of deception?  How come I didn’t know this?

“Who are these ‘other two friends?’” I asked.

“Two sisters,” said Madison.  “I’ve just recently met them.”

“When’d you two meet?”

“Last month.”

“What happened to these two sisters?”

“They were last seen here in London and disappeared.”

The minute she said this, I remembered what that newspaper back in Iraq said about human trafficking rates suddenly skyrocketing and wondered if the two had a connection.

“Who were these people?” I asked.  “I mean, you told me they were two sisters.  Who are these two sisters?”

In response, Madison showed me a photograph showing two girls, one with dark brown hair and hazel eyes and another with green eyes and blonde hair.

“Brooke and Dawn Connor,” she said.  “Brooke’s seventeen and Dawn is twelve.  The two of them and I met during my time in college.  Brooke was a high school junior during the time.”

“How’d these girls end up being victimized by human trafficking to begin with?” I asked.

Madison was about to respond, but was interrupted by a loudspeaker announcing, “ATTENTION ALL MILITARY PERSONNEL!  PLEASE REPORT TO THE SITUATION ROOM ASAP!!”

“That’s my cue,” I said, getting up to leave after Madison left the waiter a receipt. 

“I’m coming with you,” she said.  “I want to know what happened to my two friends.”

“And I want to clear up this mystery,” I said, getting up and walking toward the base.

Chapter 28: John Price

SAS base, London, England

John Price

I saw Olivia Coonz as she walked into the building.  She had blonde-brown hair with blue(ish) eyes and what appeared to be freckles on her nose and cheeks.  Her friend had brown(ish) hair and blue eyes.  Olivia was wearing a bright green UnderArmor shirt with a Kevlar vest on top of it. 

Madison Elizabeth Young, on the other hand, wore a black suit, a white shirt, dress slacks, and a pair of dress shoes. 

I looked at myself in a mirror and admired myself; at age 43 I still looked pretty tough and mean with my shaved face, my brown hair and hazel eyes.

I was tempted to tell Olivia she just got demoted by a former Special Air Service guy that had the potential of replacing Olivia Coonz as the most awesome soldier, but then I decided against it.

After all, my awesomeness was pretty low and I heard that Olivia’s awesomeness had climbed off the charts recently; it wouldn’t be fair if I suddenly grew in awesomeness and replaced her just like that.

“Oh, Olivia, I’m so happy you came,” said Korey Hogan, whom I learned was Vulture Force’s forward commander.  Then he walked toward me and introduced me to the two girls.

“Nice to meet you, Price,” said Olivia.  “Just so you know, buddy, you can’t replace my awesomeness ‘cause it’s permanent.”

“So I’m told,” I said and turned around.  “Well, I’m not going to even try.”  I then walked away.

Olivia Coonz

John Price seemed like a really likable guy.  After all, he was kind of like me with the gutsy look and stuff.  However, he was never awesome enough to replace me.  It was a well known fact that I was awesome and no one could deny that, not to mention try to replace me as the most awesome soldier.

“The Connors will see you now, Olivia,” said Korey, walking up to me.  “There’s been a missing persons case reported.”

That hit me hard; it made me remember that headline that said that human trafficking skyrocketed. 

“This better be good,” I said as I followed Korey into the next room.

“So who disappeared?” I asked.

“Two sisters,” said Korey.  “Dawn and Brooke Connor.”

I froze; those two were the exact same girls Madison was talking about. 

“What is it you want me to know about this case?” I asked.

            Korey was about to respond, but a British SAS guy screaming, “Hey, mates, we’ve found a breakthrough,” interrupted him.
            “What breakthrough?” John Price asked.

            “We found out the truth behind those girls’ disappearance!”

            “What happened?” asked Korey.

            “They haven’t just disappeared.  They’ve been kidnapped!”

            We all seized the moment and ran into the next room with John and Korey.

            Chapter 29: The Abductions

SAS Base, London, England

John Price

All of us were gathered around a Mac laptop, which was on a youTube video showing the abduction of the Connors.  The guy at the controls was none other than John “Soap” MacTavish, a guy in his early to mid thirties with short, brown hair and hazel eyes.

Soap and I met in the SAS back in the Call of Duty world and we were fast friends ever since. 

Soap had a fifty-four year old man and a forty-four year old woman accompanying him.  Both of them sported graying brown hair and green eyes.

“Hey there, Price,” said Soap.  “Come meet the parents.”  Then he pointed to the forty-four year old woman and the fifty-for year old guy.

“This is Jennifer and Oscar Connor, Price.” He said.

“And who are you exactly?” I asked Mr. Connor.

“We’re Brooke and Dawn’s parents, sir,” Oscar said, shaking my hand.  “Pleasure to meet you, John Price.”

“So,” said Olivia.  “What are these people doing here?”

“We’re here to show ‘em evidence,” said an SAS soldier.

“Evidence?” asked Jennifer.

“Your daughters, it appears, didn’t just disappear,” said another SAS soldier.  “They’ve been kidnapped by human traffickers working for Solomon.”

Olivia froze; evidently she recognized the guy and so did we.  Solomon was originally from the game Battlefield 3, but Ben Hoving warped him into the real world with his time bridge.  From there, he teamed up with Ali Al-Washir and together they started a human trafficking business.

“You mean that Chechen guy who threatened to nuke New York?” asked Oscar.

“Nah, that was Al-Washir,” said Olivia Coons, joining the two parents.  “This guy is his associate.”

I tensed; Al-Washir was indeed making threats to the United States lately.  Like Olivia said, one time Solomon threatened to launch nuclear missiles at New York City.

“Does he lead an organization or something?” asked Oscar. 

“Yes,” replied Olivia.  “He leads this group he formed called the Chechen Mujahideen.”

I froze; the Chechen Mujahideen, I heard, were the second most powerful terrorist organization next to al-Qaeda.  Apparently, they shared ideals with Muhammad’s Army; both wanted to annihilate America, Israel, and their allies and claim the entire Middle East-and eventually the West-for themselves.

Personally, I thought Solomon had been a pain in the neck; MI6, I was told, had been chasing him down for days and, up ‘til now, they never caught him.

“Who filmed this?” asked Karen.

“Someone working for British intelligence,” Soap replied.

“Roll the film,” Doug called out from behind Olivia.

Korey nodded and pressed PLAY on the video screen.

The footage showed Brooke, aged 17 and Dawn, aged 12, walking toward Canary Wharf while a conspicuous black Range Rover and a Chevorlet Avalanche pulled up behind them.  Three armed Mujahideen members disguised as dock workers wearing a mixture of dark blue, pale gray, and bright orange jumpsuits and gas masks jumped out from the Rover and clamped their hands over the girls’ mouths, arms, and legs.  I could hear the girls screaming for help before one of the men shouted, “SHUDDUP,” and then produced a roll of black duct tape.

“Holy shoot!” Soap and I both exclaimed in unison as the footage progressed, showing the kidnappers wrapping the duct tape around the girls’ mouths, wrists, and ankles and pulling hoods over their heads.  As we watched, the Mujahideen dragged the still-screaming girls into the back of the truck and locked them in the trunk.  They then boarded the vehicle and nodded to an oddly familiar guy in the driver’s seat.

“Wait a sec!” I cried.  “Korey, rewind it!”

Korey obeyed and we all looked carefully at the man’s face as he replayed the footage of the goons boarding the vehicle over and over.

It looked cleanly shaven and I could recognize the blue eyes, the black hair, and the young, soft-looking face.  I also recognized the voice when he started speaking to one of the goons, who was about to climb into the front seat.

“That’s him,” said Henry Blackburn, joining us; he’d obviously been watching the clip from a distance.

“That nasty son of a gun!” Oscar shouted.  “He took my kids!”

Korey stopped rewinding the tape once we were done looking at Solomon and let us watched the rest of the video; first the goons entered the truck, then the guy in the front seat said something to Solomon in Arabic before the guy himself sped off into the streets.  The whole thing, I realized, took less than twenty seconds!

“That’s your evidence?” asked Jennifer after the video ended.

Korey nodded.

“Alright,” he said later.  “Vulture Force and Black Syndicate, listen up!  We’ve got a new assignment: rescue those girls!  I’ll brief you on updates as they become available!  Dismissed!”

I turned to look at Jennifer as Olivia and the others hastily left the room to go pack for their new mission.

“Jeez,” she told me.  “What in the world is going on?”

“I was just about to ask that myself,” I replied.  “And I have no stinking idea whatsoever, Mrs. Connor.”

“I’m just praying for their safety, possible rescue, or possible release,” she said, about to tear up.  “And please, call me Karen.”

“Alright,” I said.  “And you can call me John.”

Chapter 29: Startling Discoveries

Olivia Coonz

I ran into Korey Hogan at Thames House, where Mission Intelligence 5, AKA MI5, was stationed.  He seemed a little concerned about the mission, apparently, and I was wondering what was going on with the guy.

“I just got word that the Iron Hand has human traffickers too,” he said.  “And I’ve been told Andrée Barret isn’t who we think she is.”

I started; if Andrée Barret wasn’t real, then who was she?

“It’s been confirmed her real name is MeKenna Weida.  Her photo I showed you in Iraq was actually a fake one.  The real photo looks like this.”

He then showed me a photograph of “MeKenna Weida”; she actually had brown hair, but the eye color was the same as the false photo.

“Anything else?” I asked, my voice laced with surprise.

“She’s been kidnapped for a month now.  Her Muhammad’s Army captives have given up on her and transferred her to the Iron Hand’s human trafficking trade.”

“And?” I asked.

“They’re in North Korea.  They’re apparently allies with Bhutan and their alliance.”

“Wait, Bhutan has an alliance?” I asked.  “Slow down, pal.  Why is Bhutan suddenly involved.”

“I should start over,” Korey said.

Then he rubbed his head and began with, “Bhutan’s so ticked off with America for talking China out of that deal, they made an alliance with pretty much every country, communist or not, that had a dream of invading the United States and destroying it.

“Set up like that, Ben Hoving’s Iron Hand decided to ally with them.  So Ben’s guys are in North Korea and helping the Korean People’s Army in North Korea traffick children, as well as adults.”

“Surely you can’t be serious,” I said.

“I am serious,” Korey replied.  “And don’t call me Shirley!”

I rubbed my head and said, “Any update on the Connors?”  Korey suddenly paled at my question and looked at me with surprise.

“Funny you ask that,” he said.  “’Cause I just found out that that video I had you guys look at back at the base wasn’t recent.  We all thought it was, but it turned out that it wasn’t.”

“Oh,” I said.  “Then how old is it?  When did these girls get kidnapped?”

“This actually sounds pretty odd,” Korey said.  “But they’ve been missing for a whole month, just like MeKenna.”

“Then that video was shot, when, last month?”

Korey nodded.

I tensed; the whole time I thought the kidnapping had been recent and now here was Korey saying the kidnapping happened last month?

We were still in Iraq.  I realized we should’ve done something!

“Sorry I didn’t tell you back in Iraq,” Korey said apologetically.  “It just didn’t reach my ears until we reached London.”

“So…what do you want me to do?” I asked.

“Your mission, that is, should you choose to accept it…!” he said.

“It’s what?” I asked.

“…find and rescue both that Shadow Force operative and the two Connor girls.”

“Will I have a team?” I asked.

“Of course you will,” Korey said.  “You’re teaming up with Shadow Force commander Liz Johnson.”

“I heard that,” I heard a voice peep behind me and turn around.

Standing before me was none other than Liz Johnson, a seventeen-year old with brown hair and blue eyes and wearing a distinctive jet-black shirt with a Kevlar vest possessing ammo pouches on top of it.

“You must be the totally awesome Olivia Coons,” she said, walking forward to shake my hand.  “I’m Captain Liz Johnson, field commander of Shadow Force.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said, shaking her hand and feeling her tactical shooting gloves.

“I was told you were the new field commander of Vulture Force,” she replied.  “I look forward to working together with you.”

I then spotted a familiar figure with brown hair and brown eyes walking behind her.  I smiled at her and she smiled back, like she always did.  The first thing I noticed about her was…well, she was older than the last time I saw her, during which she was sixteen.

“Audrey recently turned seventeen,” Liz explained.  “She got a promotion too; she gets to work right alongside me as assistant field commander.”

“Congratulations, buddy,” I said, patting her shoulder and then hugging her (which, I had to admit, felt awkward, considering the fact I didn’t see her for a real long time; the last time we met was sixth grade).

“Thanks,” she said.  “Being team leader’s always pretty cool.”

“I can tell,” I said.

“Anyway,” said Korey.  “It’s time to kick off stage one of the rescue operation.  The British cops have been alerted to the kidnapping and you are the lookouts.”

“And?” I asked.

“You are to go to that building over there,” he said, pointing to a building adjacent to the Wharf.  “If Solomon comes by, you intercept him by shooting out his tires.”

“Shooting out his tires?” I asked.

“It’ll slow him down,” Korey explained.  “And notify me if you see him grabbing anyone else from off the street.  British police are on high alert because of what’s happened to the Connor girls.”

“He’s not going anywhere,” I said confidently.

Then Korey gave me a large, long-barreled sniper rifle resembling the Heckler and Koch PSG-1, but was a lot bigger and had a larger magazine capacity.

“It’s the newest version of the PSG-1,” he said.  “A XPR-20.” 

“What does it do?” I asked.

“It’s designed to stop armored vehicles and puncture people’s getaway cars’ tires.  One shot to the wheels of any getaway car and it’ll almost always slow down and eventually come to a complete stop.”

“Does it work?” Liz asked.

“Oh, yeah,” said Korey.  “We’ve done field testing with this thing and no failures have been reported in any of them.  It should work.”

“Where’s this mission gonna go?”

“North Korea.”

“Why there?” I asked.

“It’s where the Bhutanese and Korean People’s Army have their way in terms of human trafficking.  My best guess: the Korean People’s Army is using human trafficking to their own advantage.  I think it was Bhutan’s idea.”

“Wait a minute,” I said.  “Bhutan and North Korea are leading an alliance against both us and the radical Islamists?”

“Uh-huh,” said Korey.  “And they’ve been wanting to do what the Islamists also want.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Destroy America because of its democratic ideals.”

“Why?” I asked.

“If you haven’t heard, the Bhutanese king’s really smart.  He can manipulate entire governments.”

“He must’ve had a real high education,” I said.

“I heard that he did,” Korey replied.  “Anyway, he’s got real good persuasive talking skills.  He’s kind of like Mark Antony from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar.  I’d say the King has a ‘mean and hungry look’, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” I said.  “I haven’t seen him.”

Korey showed me a picture of the Bhutanese king, a forty-five(ish) year-old man with black hair, brown eyes, and typical Asian-looking skin.

Below it was a caption that read: DOWN WITH AMERICA!  VICTORY TO BHUTAN!  DEATH TO DEMOCRACY!

“Why does this guy hate democracy?” I asked.

“Ask him,” was all Korey could say.  “You can ask the cheap weasel when you find him and bring him to justice.  In the meantime, we’d better get to North Korea.”

Olivia Coonz

Forty-eight hours later, we were on the rooftop of a ten-story apartment building overlooking an entire North Korean army base.  The area was full of people, particularly Korean People’s Army soldiers.  The ride from London to North Korea had me suffering from jet lag again, just like when I first arrived in Angola during my time in the Marines, but this time my awesomeness helped me cope.

“So, this is it, huh?” asked Audrey.  “We’re going to spend the rest of our lives as female fighters working for the US government.”

“Yeah, but we’re still friends,” I said.  “Nothing will change that.”

“Duh,” Audrey replied.  “Hey, you know what troubles me?”

“What?”

“It’s that Solomon fellow.  Why is everyone afraid of him?”

“All the girls apparently think of him as a monster,” I said.  “They all want to stay away from him.”

“What about men?”

“The men are different,” I explained.  “They feel tough enough to take him on.”

“So…you’re not afraid of him?” Audrey asked.

“Why should I be?” I asked in response.  “It’s simple: I’m awesome!”

“Uh-huh,” Audrey replied.  “But here’s the thing: so am I.  It’s just that I feel your awesomeness and mine are the same.”

“How so?” I asked.
Audrey then stood her own rifle upright and used the left hand to compare her awesomeness with mine, which was symbolized with the right hand.

“You see, I’m up here,” Audrey said, putting her hand way up into the air. 

Then she said, “You’re up here,” and put her right hand a tad bit higher than her left.

“Huh,” I said.  “That’s never come to my mind before.”  But before Audrey could answer, something caught her eye.

I expected it to be Solomon’s black Range Rover and the Chevy Avalanche pickup truck pulling up to grab some other girl and carry her off into the night.

But I was wrong; what caught her attention was a girl in her teens with hazel eyes and dark brown hair strolling around the sidewalk and talking with another girl, this one with blonde hair and blue eyes, walking right next to a military barracks.

“That girl over there is Sabina Andersson,” Audrey whispered in my ear.  “Her dad’s a Colonel in the Swedish military.”

“Huh,” I said.  “And my dad’s a US military commander too.”

“You know what else I’m told?” asked Audrey.

“What?” I asked.

“Al-Washir, the Iranian dictator guy, ordered a hit on this girl because her dad’s a military worker and he’s determined to kill anyone connected in any way, shape, or form, to the military.  He’s even willing to kill kids.”

“Oh, my God!” I gasped.  “This guy’s a monster.”

“I know.” Audrey said.  “That’s what I’m thinking too, Olivia.”

“Who’s the other girl?” I asked, pointing to the second girl walking next to Sabina, who looked about fourteen or fifteen.  “You know, the one with the blonde hair and blue eyes?”

“Uh, I heard she was also the daughter of some guy in the British military.  I’m told the girl was adopted from Bulgaria.”

“Who’s the guy?”

“Someone by the name of-what’s his name?”

“Can’t remember?” I asked.

“I think his name is John Price or something.  I was told my evil brother Ben warped him from Call of Duty: Modern Warfare or something.”

“You mean Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare?” I asked.  “You’re kidding me, pal!”

“Uh, no,” she replied.  “I’m not.”

Then I saw it; behind the girls was the black Range Rover from that video clip.  However, this time I noticed that the black Range Rover had its headlights turned off.  And instead of an Avalanche like in the clip, I saw a large truck with a trailer holding a massive container being hauled behind it.  Both vehicles were disguised as Korean People’s Army transport.  My question was: how in the blazes did Solomon get two American-built cars into North Korea?

Oh, well.  I guess I would never answer that question.

“Strange,” I muttered.  “That wasn’t in the clip.”

I turned to Audrey.

“What to you make of this?” I asked.

She just shrugged

I quickly snatched the radio and said, “Korey Hogan, this is Olivia Coonz!  Rabbit vehicle in sight!  Repeat: rabbit vehicle in sigh!  There’s a large truck following the vehicle instead of the Avalanche from that clip, though!”

“Roger that,” said Korey.  “He must’ve changed vehicles.  Watch what Solomon does!  If he emerges and grabs another victim, shoot him on sight!”

“Affirmative,” I said and aimed my sniper rifle at the car.

“Does Solomon usually drive with his headlights off like that?” asked Audrey, pointing at the Rover.  I looked at her and shrugged.  Evidently, I had no idea how Solomon drove, but whatever his driving style was I had a feeling he would use it to attack with the element of surprise.

Demilitarized Zone, North Korea

Sabina Andersson

I had no idea how to answer my new soul mate, Svetlana Price, a seventeen-year old girl with blonde hair and blue eyes.  When asked what my father did for a living, the only honest answer I could come up with was, “My dad is part of the Swedish Army.  What about yours?”

“Funny you say that,” Sveltana said, her voice possessing a thick Bulgarian accent.  “My dad also is part of an army.  It’s called the Special Air Service.  Ever heard of that?”

“I actually have,” I said.  “But that was a long time ago.”

“How long ago was this?” Sveltana asked.

“Last month,” I said.

Sveltana’s adoptive dad, John Price, actually commanded both the Special Air Service and this new PMC unit called Black Syndicate.

It sounded more like an evil terrorist organization than a PMC unit owned by the US government, but Sveltana reassured me that Black Syndicate didn’t terrorize people.

She also told me about Cordis Die and how Madison Young, an average sixteen-year old teenager who, thanks to her deceased father’s inheritance, turned into the world’s youngest trillionaire.

The part where Madison became a trillionaire was too much of a coincidence; I was also a friend with her too.  In fact, I met Madison a week after her installation as Cordis Die’s new commander. 

I thought that since Madison was a trillionaire with enough military power to destroy any country, I kind of wished she could help my father deal with Al-Washir, who had been harassing us lately. 

Like I said before, Svetlana was Bulgarian, but was adopted by the Price family.  Her real name was Svetlana Dimitrova, but after the Price family adopted her, the last name was ditched and “Price” became her new last name.  We met last month; apparently my family was conducting a missionary trip in London (yes, my mother is a missionary for church) and we met while witnessing to Svetlana parents, who were all atheists.  Svetlana herself was also an atheist, but thanks to our witnessing the entire family received Christ as their Lord and personal Savior.

Later that month, they were baptized and became regular churchgoers.

Ever since then, the two of us had been fast friends.

We hung out together a lot; apparently we hung out so much, our parents caught on and soon they were hanging out together often too.

Pretty soon, our whole family became attached to the Price family.

As I strolled down toward a Korean People’s Army barracks, I suddenly looked up and saw two women, one wearing a bright green UnderArmor shirt and another wearing some kind of black T-shirt, wielding high-power sniper rifles and wearing what looked like black tactical vests on top of their getups.

I wondered if the two sharpshooters were terrorists trying to blow our heads off, but seeing that they were not shooting at us as we looked at them, we guessed they weren’t terrorists.

Then we heard a car screeching to a halt behind us and turned.

I froze when a black Range Rover and a jet-black truck carrying a huge container behind it on a trailer suddenly appeared in front of me.  Both of them had their headlights off.

“Odd,” said Svetlana.  “What kind of idiot drives with headlights off?”

I was about to answer, but stopped when I heard someone shouting in a foreign language.

Listening closely, I realized it was Arabic.

Suddenly, four men wearing a mixture of dark blue, pale gray, and bright orange jumpers wielding submachine guns and wearing gas masks jumped from the Rover.

One of them clamped a hand over my mouth and screamed, “Allahu Akbar,” as he wrapped his other arm around my body.

The other three followed suit, grabbing Svetlana and repeating what the first man had done to me while screaming the Islamic takbir, only she was slammed face-first into the door of the truck, her face smashing into the hard paint.

I heard a bone-jarring crack as my friend screamed painfully while the men, who looked like Chechens, grabbed my hair and started yanking it back toward me.

One of the intimidating thugs looked into my eyes, shouted something in Arabic, and began wrapping duct tape around my mouth, wrists, and ankles, despite my screaming.

I was then dragged toward the back of the enormous truck and shoved inside it, hitting the floor face-first, with Elaine on top of me. 

Once they were done taping Svetlana’s mouth shut, they dragged us into the large container.

I tried screaming through the muzzle, but someone had cranked up the radio loud enough to drown out my cries.  My nose felt broken and I realized with my mouth tape shut, I could easily asphyxiate.

My solution: I faked losing consciousness and pretended to faint, when in fact I was trying to suck in enough gulps of air into my bloody nose to stay alert.

I was sure there were no witnesses to the abduction, as the event happened in less than twenty seconds.

But I was wrong; a few minutes before the men re-boarded the truck and drove away, I could hear the sharpshooters from earlier talking into their radios, but I couldn’t really hear what they said because of the fact the revving of the car engine, as well as the loud radio, was preventing me from hearing.

The only lines I did hear from the sharpshooters were, “…Target acquired!  Repeat: we have sight of Solomon!”

A second voice cried, “Roger that!  Chase that vehicle down ASAP!  I’m alerting police forces now!”

Then I heard loud gunshots coming from outside, which seemed to be hitting the vehicle.  As the car drove off, I heard the sound of a bullet hitting one of the tires and blowing it out, slowing the car driver’s frantic attempts to get away.

Another gunshot rang out and I heard another car tire blowing out, followed by the sound of what seemed to be scraping noises coming from the tires.

Ignoring the noises, I reassessed my injuries; I felt sure my bloody nose was broken and my left knee was burning with pain, probably because of the scrape I took when I was dragged inside the container.

I could see a huge stack of rectangular shaped boxes inside the container, all lined up in a neat row on top of each other along the walls of the container.

In the middle of this line of boxes to the back of the container was a third box, a bit bigger and wider than the others but still the same shape.  I could see shipping labels all over the box, which were in French, English, German, and Russian.

Someone had evidently chained the box down between where one stack of boxes ended and another began, but before I could get a good look at the chain links, one of the men pulled a hood over my head.  I heard another thug pull a hood over Svetlana’s head as I was dragged toward this larger, wider box.

I heard Svetlana whimpering and crying through her gag as our captors opened the lid of the large box and shoved us all inside like animals.

I felt my head hitting the floor of the box before hearing one of my captors close the lid.

My mind was swimming with questions; how did those North Koreans not see our abduction?  Did they even react?

Now we were alone and I was praying that those sharpshooters had alerted the authorities.

Demilitarized Zone, North Korea

Olivia Coonz

“Follow that truck!” I screamed after Audrey and I disembarked from our post on the rooftop and piled into the back of a waiting pickup truck.  Doug was in the back and Lev Raskov was in the driver’s seat.

“Roger!” Doug roared as Lev floored the accelerator and the truck sped off.  “Did you see him?”

“Yeah,” Audrey replied.  “We all did!”

“All right,” Doug replied.  “Hold on.  This is going to get bumpy!  Olivia, do you have any other weapons?”

“I’ve got this,” I replied, producing an S-22 Orion pistol from my waist holster.

“That won’t do anything,” Doug said.  “We need something that’ll puncture tires, but still fire rapidly.  That’s why I brought this.”

He then reached for a gun case, opened it, and produced two medium-sized machineguns resembling an M60, but bigger and longer.  Each of the weapons also had an ACOG scope attached to it.

“It’s the newest type of light machinegun,” he said.  “It’s called an MK90 Mod 0!”

“Who built it?” I hollered over the roar of the truck’s engine. 

“Apparently, it was Colt, the same firearms manufacturing company that built the M4 carbine and the M16.”

“I like it,” I said, taking the weapon.  I then turned to Audrey.

“Let’s kick some rear ends, pal!” I cried.

“You said it,” Audrey screamed back, taking the second machinegun and aiming it at the truck.

“You ready?” I asked her.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Audrey replied enthusiastically, her finger on the trigger and ready to fire.

“Alright,” I said.  “Let’s roll!”

Lev had originally planned to bring us alongside the truck, but for safety reasons (we were in a street filled with people on both sides), he decided not to.  In addition, I heard police sirens behind us and looked around.

There was an entire armada of British military vehicles, all filled with British SAS commandos armed to the teeth with shotguns and submachine guns following us, which made me relieved.

It was the most support we had since the Angolan Hostage Crisis months ago.

“FIRE!” Doug cried, squeezing off some rounds from his SCAR-U.

I started pelting the truck’s container with my MK90, but apparently, the metal door seemed too thick for bullets.

“Armored,” I cried.  “That container’s armored!”

“Okay, let’s go to plan B,” said Doug.  Then he looked at Lev.

“Hey, Lev, bring us alongside the truck so Olivia can take out the driver!” he cried.

I started; Doug wanted me to kill the driver of the truck?

“Shoot,” I said.  “Why me?”

“’Cause,” said Doug.  “You’re awesome!”

I suddenly smiled; I was apparently awesome enough to take down a truck driver!

I loved it!

When Lev was alongside the cab of the truck, I was surprised to see that Solomon wasn’t in the driver’s seat.

Rather, it was one of his goons from earlier.

“Take him down, pal!” I heard Doug scream as the driver turned around to look at me.

Instinctively, I pulled out my Type 25 machine pistol and began shooting one of the rearview mirrors.  However, the man thought I was shooting at him and started to duck.

After I’d shot up the rearview mirror a good amount of times, I reloaded and waited for the man to turn around.

Then I jumped him.

Chapter 30: Hardcore Brawl

Demilitarized Zone, North Korea

Olivia Coonz

I raised my pistol again, but the man suddenly saw me in one of the glass shards from the blasted rearview mirror and punched out at me. BLAM! The gun went off and I heard the man screaming in pain. Looking at his hand, I saw that it was bleeding. I’d actually shot his hand while he knocked my aim off, apparently. The Orion dropped to the floor, but before I could retrieve it, the driver kicked it out of the door I’d come in, which was open, and knocked toward it, intending to force me out of the truck. Nice try, I thought. But I’m too awesome to die!

Grabbing onto the side railing, I launched myself back inside the truck and slugged the man across the face, slamming his head right into the window and smashing it. As I tried to push against the man while grabbing hold of the steering wheel, I heard a gunshot and looked toward the window, only to see Solomon’s Range Rover pulling up alongside the truck. The big shocker: Solomon himself was actually in the driver’s seat and shooting at me with a .44 magnum revolver. Ignoring the gunshots, I continued pressing down on the guy’s head. That was, until he managed to elbow me really hard in the face, sending me reeling backwards. “Nice try,” I muttered and then ran at him again, this time wrapping my arms around his neck and trying to snap it in order to kill him. Well, I had to admit that was a dumb decision; the guy had a viselike grip and was fighting really hard to wrench me loose. Besides, I had one hand on the steering wheel and one hand wrapped around his neck, which made things really problematic for me. The terrorist screamed the takbir aloud and then flipped something underneath the seat to send me flying backwards-with my hands still wrapped around the guy’s neck and the steering wheel. I lost my grip on the wheel, allowing the man to swing his leg over and whack me in the face, releasing his head from my grip. He turned back toward the steering wheel, but I surprised him again, this time by clamping my legs around the man’s head and slamming him really hard into the dashboard. CRACK! I heard a bone-breaking smash and suddenly realized that I’d broken his nose. However, that wasn’t enough to persuade him I was too awesome to die. He swung at me with his left arm, hitting me square in the mouth. He then grabbed my Kevlar vest and punched me again in the face, sending me flying toward the dashboard. I ran at him again, but he kicked out at me. CRASH! I went through the windshield and out of the truck, disappearing underneath the wheels. Now, I must tell you that even though it appeared to everyone observing the cab brawl that I was run over and killed, I wasn’t. I was actually underneath the truck, grabbing a tire iron to keep from skidding across the road. As I hung on to the tire iron, I heard Doug screaming, “What in the blazes? Where’s Olivia?” “I think she’s gone,” I heard Korey Hogan crackling in his comms. I grabbed my comms and said, “This is Olivia, guys. I’m okay. I just grabbed onto a tire iron at the last second, but he sent me out of that cab.” “Jeez, pal,” Lev, his voice laced with emotion, said. “Everyone thought you were dead for a second!” “Huh,” I muttered as I started climbing toward the side of the container from underneath. “I’m too awesome to die and everyone thinks I’m dead already. How weird is that?” I reached for a foothold for my hand, feeling for anything for me to grab onto. At first, I couldn’t feel anything. Then I touched something sturdy and shaped like a ladder’s rung and grabbed it. When I let my feet fall and swung out from beneath the truck to where I could see the street again, I turned and found there was a small ladder built into the side of the container. “Huh,” I said. “Thank God for smart engineers.”

Then I started climbing.

Demilitarized Zone, North Korea

Sabina Andersson

Even though I had the hood over my head, I could tell it was dark. I felt alone, but Svetlana’s quiet cries of despair reassured me I wasn’t the only prisoner. On the other hand, her despair touched me. I had no idea why some Chechens would go to London and snatch the two of us just like that for seemingly no reason at all. The sounds of the fight earlier didn’t soothe my fears either; I heard a young woman (whom I guessed was one of the snipers from earlier) climbing into the cab of the truck and what seemed like a fight going on inside the cab. Then I heard the woman being thrown out of a window and after that, nothing at all. I knew the woman was trying to rescue us, but on the other hand I felt like she failed; hearing her getting thrown out of that window made me think she did her best to save us, but ended up dying a horrible death in the end. She died honorably, I thought. They’ll probably give her a hero’s funeral. I was cramped with Svetlana with little room to maneuver in that little box. But after a few minute of lying still in the dark, I began to feel the duct tape over my mouth beginning to lose some of its adhesion. To test my theory, I pushed at it with my tongue. To my utter delight, it loosened a little. I opened my mouth as I continued to push at the tape until it came loose and I could speak again. “Svetlana, are you all right?” I asked. “Can you hear me?” I heard Svetlana moaning quietly as she tried to respond and a few minutes later, I heard her tape gag falling off too. “AAGH! I think my bloody lip softened it and it came off!” she screamed. “I-I don’t know if I’m all right, but are you OK?” “Uh, I don’t know either,” I replied. “I think they broke my nose.” “Same here,” she said. “Do you have any idea where we are or where we’re being taken?” I asked, surprisingly calm and steady, despite Svetlana’s apprehensive and shaky voice. “I-I don’t know,” Svetlana said shakily. “The men were Chechens, and that’s all I know in terms of identification. In terms of where they’re taking us, I don’t know. But I did hear the fight.” “You think that woman really did try to save us?” I asked. “Judging by the fact her comrades were trying to get her alongside the truck and that she fought honorably to stop the driver from reaching wherever this thing’s headed, I think so.” “Gosh,” I said. “You really did think she was trying to save us? Could we have signaled her?” “No,” said Svetlana. “Not with the tape over our mouths like that.” “I’m really sorry I got you into this situation,” Svetlana said, about to cry. “Dad told me to be careful; he was probably targeted because of his military work. Sometimes the kids are taken to get to the parents.” I suddenly thought of something. “My father said the same thing about wives,” I said. “They sometimes take the wife as a means of getting to the husband.” “Yes, but if that were true, why couldn’t these Chechen idiots take our mothers and not us?” asked Svetlana. “I don’t know,” I said. “Dad told me Mother was out of town. So they had no choice but to take us. Is your mother out of town? My mother is in Nottingham.” “Yes,” Svetlana said. “My mother is out of town too. She’s with a couple of friends ministering in Hereford.” “And Dad is in London,” I gasped in realization. “No wonder they took us, comrade. Our mothers weren’t home, so they took us as an alternative.” “But what do we know about what our fathers do?” Svetlana asked. “I know nothing about how the Special Air Service works. I mean…” She stopped and gasped in both alarm and realization. I held my breath, waiting impatiently for words. “That’s it!” she cried. “They took us because they thought one of us knows how Black Syndicate works!” “You mean you think you are the one being targeted?” “Yes! They probably wanted to get to Dad, but they grabbed you along with me simply because we were together and they couldn’t tell who was who, so they took us both.” “Wait a minute,” I said suddenly. “My father is a military commander just like yours. Could it be that they took us because both of our fathers worked in the military?” “Hmmm…” “Never mind,” I said. “Can you stand up? I mean, even though it’s cramped, can you stand up?” “I don’t know,” said Svetlana. “I can try, but I can’t see a thing with this bag over my head and I can’t tell if this thing’s high enough for a person to stand in, but I’ll see if I can do anything…” The next few moments involved me hearing my friend moving around and feeling her perspiring body touching me. Later, she said, “I’m kneeling and braced in a corner. I couldn’t stand. I’m sorry. What do you want me to do?” “Sit tight,” I said. “I’ll see if I can move my arms to the front.” I scrunched my knees up and stretched my arms back as far as possible, and then pulled my taped wrists down over my buttocks and my thighs. I then rolled on my back and drew my knees up to my chest, pulling and pushing until I got my hands forward of her feet and, eventually, above my knees (which kind of hurt, considering the fact my fingers were numb from lack of circulation). “I did it!” I cried triumphantly, but painfully. “It was painful but I managed to get my hands in front of me! Now let’s see if I can take this bag off me.” I was sore, but that didn’t stop me from finding the end of the tape that held the hood over my head. After a few minutes of tugging, I lifted the sack off my head, revealing a dimly lit wooden box interior with my friend braced against a corner in a kneeling position, her body reeking of sweat; it was obviously getting hot at this time. I looked outside through a peephole and saw that there was some light coming from passing cars outside. I could barely see the other boxes in the dark. “Hey,” Svetlana said. “Sabina, do you see anything?” “I can’t see a thing,” I said. “It’s too dark.” “I can’t see a thing either,” Svetlana replied. “I still have this bag over my head.” Suddenly, I heard someone climbing outside. “Is that who I think it is?” Svetlana asked, her voice on the verge of breaking with emotion. “I think the girl survived,” I said. “That must be her climbing up the side of the container.” “Can we signal her?” my friend asked. “I mean, even though we can’t see, we can still talk to her, right?” “Listen,” I said, shushing her as I listened to her words outside. “Mason, this is Olivia,” the woman was saying. “I’m currently on my way back up top. What’s your ETA?” “I’m right above you,” said a second voice-a male one. “Hang tight. I’ll be dropping in with a parachute.” “Just be careful not to land on me, OK?” the woman said. “You got it,” the man said before I heard a radio click and the conversation ended. “You hear that?” Svetlana asked, now excited. “I think we’re getting rescued!” “I think so too,” I said. Then I just held my breath and prayed that my guess was correct.

Chapter 31: Meeting the Koreans

Demilitarized Zone, North Korea

Olivia Coonz

I had been climbing for the past several minutes and had now reached the top of the truck, at the same time that Mason Davidson landed, accompanied by John Price, Soap MacTavish, and my old friend, Henry Blackburn. “Blackburn, what are you doing here?” I asked as everybody shoved off his or her parachutes. “They invited me along,” was his only reply. “They did?” I asked. Henry nodded. “Huh,” I said. “And I thought I was the only Vulture Force member here, aside from Lev and Doug.” “So,” said Price. “Is the driver still there?” Before anyone could respond, a searchlight suddenly blinded us. The driver suddenly slammed the brakes and I looked to my right and my left; we were in an open forest now. I’d hardly noticed the change in landscape from a large military base to a large area filled with trees. Someone shouted in Korean and the next thing I knew, I saw KPA paratroopers landing on either sides of the truck and airplanes flying overhead. One of them walked up to the Chechen driver, pulled out a QBZ-03 assault rifle (a Chinese rifle made by Norinco, a China-based firearms company), and shouted in Korean into his face, using his free hand to wrench the door open. I saw a soldier climbing to the top of the truck, who was wearing a Colonel’s jacket, a Colonel’s hat, and a bandolier around his waist. I guessed he was the commanding officer of this regiment of soldiers. He pulled out a Makarov PM pistol and aimed it at my face, between my eyes. We promptly pulled out our own firearms, but he barked in perfect-but heavily accented-English, “Drop your weapons and get down on the ground!” “What’s going on?” I demanded, thrusting my SCAR-U into my assailant’s face. “TALK!” “SHUDDUP!” the man cried. “NOW GET DOWN ON THE GROUND NOW OR I’LL SHOOT YOU ALL!” Now I was shaken; I put my weapon down, as did everyone else and got down on the ground. “What’s this about?” I asked. “You’re under arrest!” cried the man with the Makarov PM. “Arrest?” I was puzzled. “For trespassing!” The guy waved his gun. “Trespassing?” asked Lev, his arms spread-eagled across the floor of the container. “There must’ve been a mistake,” said Price. “We were just-!” “What were you doing on that truck?” barked the colonel. “We were investigating reports of human trafficking, sir,” I said. “Intelligence from the United States suggested this truck carried human trafficking victims.” The man lowered his Makarov and then looked at his men. Then he looked at us. “Come with me,” he said.

Demilitarized Zone, North Korea

Sabina Andersson

“Oh, my God!” gasped Svetlana. “The truck stopped! Where is the woman from earlier?” I looked at her and shook my head. “I don’t know,” I replied. “She didn’t come in, apparently, because I heard Koreans shouting.” “North Koreans?” asked Svetlana. “Are they here to save us or hurt us?” “I don’t know,” I replied. “I don’t know what they want or if they are even on our side.” “Oh, please!” Svetlana started crying. “Sabina, please don’t leave me hanging!” Suddenly, I heard a guard shouting in Arabic as a Korean soldier forced the door open and started shooting at the man with a high-power rifle. Peering through the peephole, I saw a man wearing a military commander’s jacket and a hat shooting the guard with a pistol. “Oh, my God!” I gasped. “He’s killing the guards! I think we’re saved!” I held my breath as the man approached and soon opened the lid on the box. I looked up at him as he pointed his pistol at my face, his eyes twisted into a look of suspicion. “Don’t hurt us,” I said. “Please! Don’t hurt us! I don’t know what you want, but whatever it is we don’t have it! Please!” The man nodded and put his pistol away. Then he produced a knife and sliced through my bonds. “Come with us,” he said in perfect English, even though he had an accent.

He then led the two of us outside, where I could see where we were; we were standing in a forested area with Koran soldiers all around. In front of us, I saw the woman that was trying to rescue us earlier. She had blonde-brown hair and blue-green eyes. She looked to be about seventeen or eighteen. I suddenly recognized her as the sharpshooter from earlier. Pointing at this girl, the man barked, “Are these yours?” “Uh, no,” the woman said. “They are not ours.” “Liar!” the man cried and slugged the woman across the face, sending her sprawling across the ground. “NO!” I cried. “No! Sir, please! She was trying to save us!” “Save you from whom?!” he demanded. “Those Chechens,” Svetlana said, her voice choked with emotion. “They were abusing us, they put us in a box, and they strapped our mouths with tape! Please listen to us! They are innocent!” “Idiot,” I heard the man mutter and then he gestured to one of his men. He whispered something in Korean to the man’s ear and he nodded. Immediately after, the Korean commander looked at us and said, “Come with us to the forward operating base not too far from here. You’ve got some explaining to do.” “Explaining?” asked the woman, who was still sprawled across the ground like a ragdoll. “What do you mean by explaining, sir?” “You have some misunderstandings to clear up,” he replied. Then he turned to us. “As for you two,” he said. “You’ll have to be detained until we can find out who you are and where you are from and what you’re doing here?” He turned to the armed brigade of soldiers and yelled, “Take them away!” That was the last time I ever saw my friend Svetlana, at least for a while.

Demilitarized Zone, North Korea

Olivia Coonz

The next few hours had been spent riding back to the base while being handcuffed and hooded. I had the sickening feeling that I was going to be executed as the men dragged me into some kind of interrogation room or something. I sighed; first I was to intercept Solomon and now Koreans were interrogating me because they thought my squad and I were “trespassing”. The hood was lifted off my head and I found myself cuffed to the armrests of a chair in a room with white walls and a wooden floor. The man threatening me earlier returned, his Makarov now back in his holster. “Sorry about the harsh treatment earlier,” he said, suddenly friendly and kind-hearted and nothing like the way he spoke earlier. “I usually act that way toward strangers. My name is Colonel Kim Seong Moon, by the way.” “Perfectly understandable,” I said. “And hi. Where’s everybody?” “Your friends are all in another room being interrogated by other officers like me,” he said. “You want to see them, you’ll have to wait.” I nodded. “Now, about this trespassing issue…” I ventured. “Yes, that,” Colonel Moon replied. “But first, identify yourself.” I took a deep breath and said, “My name is Olivia Coons. I am a member of a US government-owned private military company called Vulture Force.” “You’re US government?” he asked. I nodded. “Okay. Now, about those girls and the car chase…were you threatening them? Did you mean to chase that truck onto our restricted area?” “No,” I said. “I was just watching them. As for the car chase, I was planning to intercept that truck because someone kidnapped those two girls and we thought they were connected to another recent kidnapping last month.” “And?” the man pressed. “The United States sent us to investigate this incident, sir. I’m sorry, but we didn’t know we were trespassing. Even if you did have a sign post, I don’t read Korean.” “You don’t?” he asked. I shook my head. “All right,” he said. “About this man here…who is he?” “A Chechen terrorist named Solomon,” I said. “I’ve heard of him,” he said. “He has a human trafficking ring, last time I checked.” “Do you have any idea if there’s anyone who can help us track down this guy?” I asked. “No,” he replied. “I do not. But what I can tell you is that this man here that you speak of is highly dangerous. He is wanted by both the United States, North and South Korea, China, Russia, the European Confederation, and Israel for human trafficking charges.” “Who are those two girls anyway?” I asked. “Did you question them?” “No,” he said. “But we are about to.” I sighed. “Am I done here?” “No,” he said. “You must be put in solitary confinement until we can get a positive fix on your ID and confirm everything you’ve said. I’m sorry, but it needs to be done.” “I understand,” I said.

Suddenly, I heard an explosion coming from outside and a KPA soldier barged into the room, carrying an Izmash AK-74M assault rifle. “What is it?” he demanded in Korean. The Korean soldier rambled on and on and on about how Solomon’s Chechens attacked a barracks and took away the two girls we were just talking about. In addition, he mentioned “American terrorists”. Kim shouted something in response, also in Korean and the man left. “Change of plans,” he said. “I’m going to let you loose so you can track down this man.” “Really?” I asked. “Yes,” he replied. “Uh, okay,” I said. “And who are the American ‘terrorists’ you guys mentioned?” “The Inner Light,” the man said. “Led by none other than Kaylyn Bigley.” I started; Kaylyn Bigley was here? How in the world did she even know about my being here? I ran outside and found myself in the middle of crossfire. I could see men in uniforms ranging from bright yellow to jet-black and wearing Kevlar helmets, gas masks, and tactical sweaters running around and shooting the KPA personnel while blasting things left and right with explosives. “Do you see her?” Colonel Moon called out behind me. I looked around and at first I couldn’t see her. Eventually, I caught sight of he-even though I couldn’t see very well through the smoke-running toward a hovercraft and firing at the KPA with an AKS-74u submachine gun she stole from a dead guard somewhere. “Yeah,” I said. “I do!” “Then she’s in this,” Moon said. “Take her down and bring her back for interrogation! Use any of my hovercrafts if necessary.” I wanted to ask how this guy managed to get an armada of hovercrafts into the KPA’s arsenal, but then I decided against it and turned to run, but he stopped me. “You’ll need this,” he said, slamming a watch of some kind into my hand. “Compliments of Shadow Force and Vulture Force. It’s a watch that houses a hidden grenade launcher. If you turn the face, it’ll fire an invisible grenade that will explode on impact with anything.” “Nice,” I said. “Thanks.” Then I started running, leaving Colonel Moon to deal with the army of Inner Light PMCs. Rounding the bend behind a torched barracks, I suddenly ran into one of Kaylyn’s goons, who knocked me down and whacked me with the butt of his SCAR-U. I was sent sprawling across the ground. “GET UP!” he shouted, pulling me to my feet. I tried to punch him, but he blocked and two other soldiers restrained me, holding me back. “Well, well, well,” I heard an unmistakable voice bark from behind a wall of smoke. “What have we here? My archenemy has returned.” Then Kaylyn herself appeared, wearing a military commander’s jacket, a Kevlar vest, and a jet-black T-shirt underneath. I had to admit, she looked kind of different. Her hair had been dyed blue, which was a little odd since the last time we saw each other (and harassed each other, which was back in 2006) Kaylyn had brown hair. Now, fourteen years later, the two of us were facing each other again. And this time, it was personal.

Chapter 32: Punishment

Demilitarized Zone, North Korea

Olivia Coonz

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Kaylyn hissed, pulling out an M4A1 carbine, which was surprisingly painted neon blue, something I almost never saw in a rifle. “So have I,” I said. “I suppose you’re here to grill me about bullying you in 8th grade. Well, go ahead. Give it your best shot.” In response, Kaylyn just grabbed me, wrenched me loose and body-slammed me right into the ground like a ragdoll. “Ha! You think I would just grill you like that?” she hissed. Then she flipped me over and leaned right into my face, her breath reeking of gunpowder. “Listen here, you nasty little piece of work,” she snarled. “I don’t care what you plan to do to me. You’re going down!” She then reached into her holster and pulled out a Sig Sauer P228 pistol and aimed it right at my face. “Any last words?” she asked. I just stared her right into the face and said, “Nice try, but I’m too awesome to die.” Then I reached forward, gave my watch’s face a hard yank, and watched the show. BOOM! Something exploded right behind Kaylyn and her goons and they went flying across the ground like ragdolls. I shot up to my feet and started running. As I did, I saw Kaylyn getting up, her face all dusty and bloodied from the explosion. “Get back here!” Kaylyn roared. “I’m not done with you yet!” I ignored my enemy’s screams and instead ran for the nearest hovercraft. As I revved up the engine, I saw Kaylyn running up to another hovercraft-a large one-and slaughtered the occupants with her Sig Sauer P228. “Now,” I said. “How to you start these things?” I reached for what I thought was the ignition, and switched it on, causing the engines to roar to life. I settled into my seat and reached into a gun case I saw behind me. Opening it, I saw that it contained an Ingram Mac10 machine pistol. “Nice,” I said. “The perfect weapon for awesome people like me.” I then pushed the throttle forward and the hovercraft sped toward Kaylyn like a missile with a propeller. “Die you PMC suckers! DIE!” I squealed, merrily firing at the Inner Light soldiers as if I were in a video game. It was just like that remote turret I had back in Angola; I had ten times more fun doing this “Korean clean-up op” than I did pulling off a massacre of multitudes of Bhutanese people back in Angola with a remote controlled machinegun turret. I started speeding toward Kaylyn, but then turned and saw Colonel Moon standing on a hovercraft similar to Kaylyn’s. He was looking back at the destruction and then at Kaylyn’s getaway vehicle. I grinned; it was time for awesomeness.

Chapter 33: Hovercraft chase

Demilitarized Zone, North Korea

Olivia Coonz

I was accelerating toward Kaylyn, grinning like a genius. However, Kaylyn had seen everything that I’d done in that short amount of time and was ready to fight back. As I steadily approached the vehicle, I suddenly saw Kaylyn walking toward my vehicle with some kind of rifle, shaped like an XM25 grenade launcher, but much bigger and deadlier. BOOM! One grenade smashed into the ground right behind me. Then another hit the dirt in front of me. A third smashed into the dirt to my right side. Nonetheless, I kept my eyes on Kaylyn, who was gesturing to her men and directing them back toward me. Two of the hovercrafts turned around and their drivers started shooting me with Uzi submachine guns. “Nice try,” I muttered. Then I pulled out my Mac10 and emptied it right into a mine next to the hovercraft to my left. KABOOM! The vehicle went up in flames. The second one rushed toward me like a missile, but I crashed into it, ramming my own vehicle into my opponent’s side until I could see the driver, his eyes wide with terror. “See ‘ya,” I cried and grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, throwing him out of the hovercraft like a ragdoll while the second man looked on. That was, until the hovercraft hit a tree and exploded. “HA!” I laughed and pulled out my Mac10 machine pistol, emptying it into the nearest soldier next to Kaylyn. “Beat that, dupe!” I roared, laughing hysterically as I drove behind a grove of trees, where I could easily hide myself from Kaylyn, who was surely watching me like a hawk by now. I was right; I heard a machinegun firing and turned to see Kaylyn firing a mounted Browning .50 caliber machinegun at me, trying to shoot through the bushes to get a better look at me. “DIIIIIIEEEEE!” I heard her screaming as I sped behind the trees and out at the back where the grove ended. I turned to watch Kaylyn again, only to see her produce a futuristic-looking flamethrower and fire it at my vehicle, torching some trees and, eventually, entire acres of forest to my right side. I turned to look at her and she gestured at me angrily, her blue eyes burning with hatred. “I’m still here, Coondog!” I heard her scream maniacally. “This isn’t the end of it! I will get to you eventually! I’ll get to you!” “Not on your life,” I said to myself before flooring the accelerator and driving into a forested area, which had a sign warning that there was a minefield ahead of me.

No problem, I thought.  I’ll just shoot the mines and everything will be fine!  Then I looked at the road ahead of me.  Sure enough, there was a mine there.  Looking ahead, I saw that the mine was part of a whole line of minefields and that if my hovercraft touched one of them, the whole line would explode.

“Ha!” I cried. “Nothing to it!” Then I veered over to the right side and fired at the minefield. Sure enough, the mines exploded and they allowed me to progress through the path unharmed. However, my maneuver had put my hovercraft right in front of Kaylyn’s. I turned and saw Kaylyn looking at me, an evil sneer on her face while she shouted in Icelandic (yes, she can speak Icelandic just like me) at one of her soldiers in the driver’s seat, who was evidently an Icelandic commando or something. Her hovercraft suddenly lurched forward and rammed into mine, causing her to laugh like crazy. I just sneered and turned my hovercraft hard right, slamming me right into the front. Just before my hovercraft flipped over and was eventually crushed beneath Kaylyn’s enormous behemoth of a vehicle, I bailed and leaped onto the hood of Kaylyn’s own hovercraft, unloading my Mac10 into the driver of the vehicle and then leaping aboard. Kaylyn looked a little startled to see me, but before she could react, I blasted at her, causing her to duck and allowing me to gain entry on board the vehicle. “HEY!” I heard a voice scream and I turned. Sure enough, lying on the floor in front of me were Sabina Andersson, the very same girl I saw earlier back at the base, and her friend. Both of them were all beat-up and bloody, presumably from being abused by Kaylyn and her goons. Apparently, these girls were either rescued by the KPA and then recaptured by Kaylyn, or they were transferred to Kaylyn’s goons from the KPA. “Help us!” screamed the other girl, who looked Bulgarian. “Ma’am, please!” I started to respond, but abruptly turned around and saw Kaylyn aiming a Desert Eagle at me! “Ma’am, please!” Sabina was crying, her whole face wet with tears. “Help us!” I turned to get up, but heard a round discharge from the weapon and slam into my chest. “NO!” I heard Sabina sobbing. “No! Please!” Her friend was shouting in a foreign language-which I guessed was either Russian or Bulgarian-and pushing Sabina toward the floor so that she wouldn’t get hit. I was about to cry out, when I looked down and saw that the round hadn’t affected me. Two more rounds started hitting my body, both at the places protected by my Kevlar vest and at the unprotected areas. I suddenly gasped; my awesomeness was making me immortal! Surely, if my awesomeness rendered me immune to bullet damage, it would probably protect me from being beaten up by Kaylyn. I was wrong about that; when Kaylyn’s Desert Eagle went dry, I took off my Kevlar vest, exposing my bright green Vulture Force shirt. I used the Kevlar vest to smack Kaylyn, but she grabbed it and kicked me as she chucked the vest out of the vehicle. She then booted me really hard in the chest, sending me flying backwards. I expected my awesomeness to deflect the blow, but that didn’t happen. As a result, I was sprawled out across the top of a box resting on the hovercraft. I got up again, only to be kicked in the face by Kaylyn. Grabbing the collar of her uniform, I slugged her across the face, only to have her whirl around and boot me in the face again. “Come here, you!” I squealed, lunging at her and grabbing the collar of her jacket again, this time with both hands. “You’re underestimating me, sucker,” she hissed. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” “Oh, really?” I replied. “Who told you to kidnap girls?” Then I slugged her in the face, sending her flying toward the dashboard. I looked at the two bound girls hiding beneath the dashboard and suddenly realized that with Kaylyn right in front of them, they could be threatened. But I was wrong; she grabbed that flamethrower she used on me earlier and screamed, “Goodbye, Olivia,” before firing it at me! I ducked, hitting the deck and crawling toward the controls. I could hear Kaylyn’s heavy breathing as she followed me, the hot barrel of the flamethrower inches from my face. When I reached the controls, I got up and turned. Kaylyn was pointing her flamethrower right at me! “Ma’am, please!” Sabina started crying, getting up. “Don’t hurt her! She was trying to save our lives!” “Screw it!” Kaylyn roared. “This piece of trash made me miserable in 8th grade! She dies here and now!” “NO!” Sabina was sobbing, falling to her knees. “She is innocent! She tried to save us from the Chechens!” “Bah! Whatever!” Kaylyn cried, now ditching the flamethrower and aiming the Desert Eagle (the one she shot at me earlier) at her. “Who are you to say that that girl over there’s innocent?” “She saved our lives,” the Bulgarian explained. “Or at least tried too. Please, ma’am, I know she may have been troubling you in the past, but please don’t kill her!” “Psychos,” Kaylyn roared. “Whatever you two say isn’t changing a thing! She’s dying today!” Then she raised her Desert Eagle and sneered. “End of the line, Coondog,” she hissed. “Not yet,” I replied calmly and then floored the accelerator, sending Kaylyn flying backwards. Dropping the Desert Eagle, Kaylyn swore and started running at me, but I kept flooring the accelerator. It was then that Kaylyn and the two girls on the floor started to scream. I stared at the huge doorway right in front of me and grinned; I was about to drive this thing into the door and kill Kaylyn, which was something that made me feel good, considering the fact that Kaylyn had been my enemy the past few years. CRASH! The hovercraft smashed through the gate and plummeted over a huge waterfall. Kaylyn was still screaming, but by this time the two girls and I had bailed out.

Chapter 34: I meet Olivia

Demilitarized Zone, North Korea

Sabina Andersson

I was busily attempting to search for the same young woman who saved us from the Chechens hours earlier; she’d just now saved us again from the rogue female gunman that was threatening us back in the hovercraft. However, I couldn’t see anyone except for my friend, who was on top of me. “Can you please get off me?” I asked. “I think my back is hurting from that fall.” “OK,” Svetlana replied, rolling off my back. “But I don’t see the woman anywhere! She couldn’t have just run off.” “She’s around here somewhere,” I said. “Keep looking…” I was interrupted by a groaning sound and turned right. There was the girl, sprawled out across the ground on her stomach. Above us, I could see a large bell with a huge mallet hanging off it, which I guessed was used to ring it. It was here that I realized we were in some kind of Buddhist temple overlooking a massive waterfall. “Hello?” I called out to the still body of my rescuer. “Are you OK?” In response, she just groaned and muttered, “I thought my awesomeness could handle rough falls.” I ran up to her and tried to shake her awake, fearing that she was unconscious and needed to be revived. Eventually, she slowly got up and looked at me, her face twisted into a look of relief. I also noticed she had cuts and bruises on her arms, face, and hips. “Are you OK?” I asked her again. “I’ve…I’ve been better,” my companion said between gasps. “Who…are…you?” “My name is Sabina,” I said. “Sabina Andersson.” I then pointed at my friend, who was walking toward us. “That’s my friend, Svetlana. She’s a Bulgarian.” “So I’m told,” my new friend replied. “Who are you?” I asked, looking back at my companion. “Coonz…Olivia Coonz.” She extended her hand and said, “Hi. It’s nice to meet you in person. My commanding officer told me about you.” “Really?” I asked. “You are-err-a soldier?” She nodded. “Is that why you tried to save us from the man driving the truck earlier?” “Uh-huh.” “What are you doing here in North Korea?” I asked, climbing onto a nearby boulder and sitting down on top of it. Olivia joined me and said, “I’ve been sent to do two things: one is rescue you two, which I’ve already done, and two is to investigate a possible human trafficking ring that goes worldwide.” “You heard this place has become a human trafficking location?” I asked. “Yeah,” Olivia replied. “Intelligence from one of our agencies pointed to Solomon, the guy who kidnapped you two, as the head of this business.” “Anyone else running this ‘business’ you speak of?” I asked. “Yeah. An Iranian dictator by the name of Ali Al-Washir, to be specific, is the head of the whole thing. A friend of mine told me he ordered a hit on you.” I suddenly paled and my face twisted into a look of horror. “Herrgud,” I said. “Oh, my God! Did he order a hit on me?” “Not to my knowledge,” Olivia replied. “But that’s what I’m afraid of. If that guy lays one finger on you, Sabina, chances are you’re dead meat in an instant.” I was terrified. My knees started to shake and my eyes began to water. I started thinking of my family, how they’d feel if they discovered that this horrible Iranian man got his hands on me and turned me into a human trafficking victim and\or sex slave for life. I looked at my friend and said, “Please, Olivia, you have to protect me from this madman. Make sure he does not lay a finger on me, or else I’m dead.” Olivia just smiled and put her hand on my shoulder. “Count on it.” She said, smiling.

Chapter 35: The Terrorist Plot

Demilitarized Zone, North Korea

Olivia Coonz

I was happy to have two new friends, but now I had bigger things to worry about; assuming that what Audrey had said about Al-Washir ordering a hit on Sabina Andersson was true, I had to get her away from Al-Washir as soon as possible. I climbed down from that boulder, with Sabina following after me and then I turned to her. “Look,” I said. “About your kidnapping: Solomon’s probably looking for you right now. I’d better get you out of here.” “Good idea,” Sabina replied. “But I don’t…” She was interrupted by a sudden shout and I turned, drawing my S-22 Orion and aiming it at the trees. “There they are!” I heard a Middle-Eastern accented voice scream and suddenly, I saw two Middle Eastern gunmen and several Chechens running towards us with weird-looking submachine guns resembling the TDI Vector, a US-made submachine gun made a few years ago. BUZZ! I was hit by a sudden burst of electromagnetic energy, which sent me sprawling on the ground, dropping my weapon. I could hear Sabina screaming. “Olivia!” she cried. “Olivia, no!” Then she was zapped too. I groped for my fallen pistol, but my arm was racked with pain from the EMP blast. “AAAUGH!” Sabina was crying. “Olivia, help me!” Before I could respond, I got zapped again, rendering my whole body immobile for what seemed like an eternity. Any attempt to move during that time was sabotaged by a sudden cascade of excruciating pain, which racked every inch of my body. As I lay there, helpless on the ground, I saw Solomon (yep, the guy himself from that car chase earlier) walking toward me, a Colt Anaconda .44 magnum revolver in his hands. “Ha!” he laughed. “I’ve been wondering how I’d find you! I should just kill you right now, but on the other hand…” He stopped to reload his weapon and then pointed it at my head before finishing. “…I have a better idea: I’ll let you choose.” “Choose?” I gasped. “Choose what?” “Oh, c’mon,” he replied. “What is it? Live or die? Live or die, missy?” “L-live,” I said shakily. “I-I c-choose to l-live, sir.” “Very well,” he said. Then he gripped me by the underarms, despite my painful screams, and looked directly into my face. “But be warned,” he said. “The EMP blasters my men shot you with are designed to keep you immobilized for some time. If you make any attempt to escape, you’ll probably regret it later.” Then he waved to his men and some of them began handcuffing my wrists behind me. Beside me, I could hear Sabina and her friend crying as they were also cuffed in the same manner. I was forced up to my feet and a hood was thrown over my head. “Alright,” said Solomon. “Zap her again.” Then I was hit by a third blast from the EMP blasters, which knocked me out senseless.

Fifteen hours later…

Rome, Italy Olivia Coonz

That EMP blast must’ve knocked me out for quite a long time, ‘cause when I finally came to my senses fifteen hours later, I was no longer in North Korea’s demilitarized zone, but a hotel suite in Rome, Italy. The hood was lifted off my head as soon as I stirred, allowing me to take in my surroundings. I was handcuffed to a chair in a room with brightly colored yellow walls and a black carpet. I saw Sabina and Svetlana duct taped to two chairs side by side, Sabina on the left and Svetlana on the right. Both of them had duct tape running across their mouths, ankles, and wrists, along with another strip running across their stomachs, and they were all looking at me with wide, tearful eyes. I could even hear Sabina crying. I wanted to speak, but suddenly realized my own mouth was taped shut too. I started struggling, which brought the attention of my captor. I had no idea what gave Solomon the idea of knocking us all out in North Korea and then shipping us all the way to Russia, but I had a feeling that if I had become a victim of human trafficking, it would be permanent. I looked at myself and screamed; my bright green Vulture Force uniform was gone. Instead, I was wearing a short white dress of some kind. “Hello,” I heard a voice utter, feigning cheerfulness. Then another man entered the room. I suddenly realized this other guy was Solomon’s associate, Abu Rafar. This guy looked like he was in his thirties or forties with black hair and dark eyes. “Miss Coons, is it?” He looked at me and then at the two girls with glee, as if he wanted to see the two of us all tied up like this. “Americans, and their souvenirs,” he said, producing a photograph of my brother Sam. For those of you who don’t know him, Sam is thirteen years old, but he’s part of Black Syndicate too (the youngest operative alive, according to sources) and he has dark brown hair and hazel eyes. “Is this a photo of your brother?” he asked me. I nodded. “Ha!” he started laughing as he read the caption. “Americans! What’s with them? ‘Americans rock and Muslims suck!’ What’s with that?” He then put the picture down and looked at me. I tried talking through the tape, but all that resulted was muffled nonsense and gibberish. “You think you’re so smart, Olivia?” he taunted. “You do realize this isn’t diplomacy anymore, do you?” I nodded and uttered a muffled, “Yes.” “Good. ‘Cause this is war! Ha, ha, ha! As Adolf Hitler once said, ‘I want war! To me all means will be right! My motto is not, ‘Don’t, whatever you do, annoy the enemy.’ My motto is ‘Destroy him by all and any means!’ I am the one who will wage the war!’” He then looked at me and said, “He wanted war with Jews. Now I am following his trend, only I…” He stopped and gave the duct tape a hard yank, successfully tearing it away from my skin. I gave a brief scream and started taking a deep gasp. “…I am the one waging war on you Americans ‘cause you support the Jews!” I screamed again, then gasped and coughed twice before looking at him and said, “I can’t die, Abu; I’m too awesome.” “Uh-huh,” said Abu. “You’re too awesome to die, eh? Now let’s see if we can prove that. Are these two girls awesome?” He pointed at the two girls, who were all shaking their heads and whimpering tearfully at him. “Of course, the answer is this: they are not!” He started laughing again, which prompted the girls to start crying through their muzzles. “You, on the other hand, only claim that you are awesome,” he said. “But you’re obviously not!” “You think you can disprove my awesomeness?” I asked. “I actually can, believe it or not,” he replied. He then punched me in the face, sending my head flying into the chair. Both Sabina and Svetlana screamed; the brutality, it seemed, was too much for them. I looked at him angrily; how could this guy try do disprove my awesomeness as a fraud? I mean, it was obvious that on that hovercraft, I was protected from Kaylyn’s gunshots. Unless that was a dream, and I was certain that what happened to me was not a dream. Abu sneered and produced a MP443 Grach, a Russian pistol, and examined it carefully. Svetlana looked at the weapon, then at me, and started to sob hysterically and shake her head at me, begging me with her eyes. “Do you want to see how this Grach works, Olivia?” he asked, racking the slide of the weapon and then putting it to Svetlana’s knee, despite her crying. “If you shoot that thing into her, I swear, I will kill you!” I hissed. “Oh, will you?” asked Solomon. “Will you, Olivia? ‘Cause I have a feeling you won’t!” “I swear to God, Solomon, if you touch her again or shoot her with that gun, I will kill you!” I cried. “I’ll freaking kill you, you son of a gun!” “You’re trying my patience, Olivia,” Solomon said angrily. “Stop!” Boom! The Grach went off and Svetlana’s knee was blown open. I screamed and so did Sabina. A bloody hole appeared in Svetlana’s knee and she started screaming painfully through her gag. Sabina broke down and began crying hysterically through the duct tape wrapped around her mouth. I completely lost it. “CURSE YOU, RAFAR!” I screamed. “You snake! You killed her! You stinking killed her!” “Ha, ha, ha! That’s right, Olivia, the weapons are back!” Abu laughed. “Back to bring me back to the state where people die day and night! Can you blame them really?” “You blockhead!” I roared. “I swear to God, I’ll kill you, sucker! I’ll kill you!” “Huh,” Abu said. “Well, I’d like to see you try that. ‘Cause your friend over there is next!” Sabina started shaking her head and then looked away, crying and closing her eyes, apparently aware of what was coming. Only it didn’t come to her. Rather, the end came to him. BOOM! A gunshot echoed through the room, accompanied by the sound of a body thudding to the floor. I looked away; fearing that whoever fired that shot would target me as his next victim.

Hotel suite in Rome, Italy

Sabina Andersson

This Middle Eastern terrorist had just murdered my best friend, the one chap I’d known since grade school, and now he had almost certainly shot me. Only the gunshot didn’t match the gun he was holding. I opened my eyes and started screaming through the gag when I saw blood and gore on my T-shirt and pants. I looked around, searching for a wound, but didn’t find any. When I saw the gunman dead on the floor, I realized the gore and blood was not from a gunshot wound in my body, but from the dead man instead. “Cordis Die officers!” I heard a voice screaming. “FREEZE!” The voice sounded American and my hopes shot up. If they hurried, I could tell them about my dead friend. I heard a door being kicked open and two men clad in black suits, white collared shirts, and tactical vests entered the suite, guns drawn. They were scanning the room and eventually saw my American friend, the dead Middle Eastern gunman, my dead Bulgarian friend, and me. “Aw, there are civilians in here. And I think one of ‘em’s dead.” I heard one of the men saying into a radio. “Honeybadger, what do you make of this?” I thought, who in the world was Honeybadger? “This is Honeybadger,” said a female voice on another radio. “I’m on my way. Make sure you check the room for any sign of hostiles. Out!” When the call ended, another man, one in his mid to late thirties with brown hair and hazel eyes wearing a getup similar to the two other agents, only without the tactical vest, stepped into the room. “Shoot,” he said. “They’re still alive, sir!” “Yessir!” cried another man-a British one. “I acknowledge.” The man then revealed himself to be someone in his forties with graying brown hair and hazel eyes. He had a small beard on his face. “My God,” he gasped. “What happened here?” “Doesn’t matter,” said the American. “I’ll check on our operative.”

Hotel suite in Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

I started crying; seeing one man wound a girl like that and then get shot and killed by a hidden shooter was too much for me. I looked at the man, who approached me with a look of pity on his face. “Aw, man. You all right?” he asked. I nodded. “Hold on,” he said and then turned to Sabina, removing the tape gag from her mouth and stroking her messy hair from her face. “Are you all right?” he asked, cutting her out of the chair. “Y-yes,” Sabina asked shakily. “But my friend…!” The other guy turned to me and said, “You must be Olivia Coonz. I’m Oscar Connor. Remember me?” I nodded. “Hey!” I heard the unmistakable voice of John Price scream, interrupting the first man from cutting Sabina’s wrists loose. “This girl still is moving!” Price was pointing at Svetlana. “What are you waiting for?” asked the second guy, turning to Price and ignoring Sabina’s bound wrists. “Get her out of that seat!” “Wait a minute…” Price said. Then he drew his Desert Eagle and shot Svetlana right through the head!

Hotel Suite in Rome, Italy

Sabina Andersson

“NO!” I screamed. “No, you blockhead! You killed her! You killed her, blockhead! How could you?” The British man looked at me and then at my dead friend. “I just realized something,” he said, looking at the American agent. “She’s not real.” I started; my friend was not real? She was totally real to me! “Wait a second,” the American replied. “What do you mean she’s not real?” I was asking that same question in my head. In response, the British man looked at my dead friend’s body and then ripped the duct tape away, revealing an area of skin that looked nothing like Svetlana. “See?” he asked. “This girl is a fake, mate. The idiot must’ve used genetic mutations one of his friends to make her look like the other girl’s friend.” My heart skipped a beat; how could this man say that? I’d never heard of genetic mutations being used to recreate the face of someone else. The British man took a flap of skin from the corpse and ripped the whole covering of skin off, revealing a totally different girl-one with blonde hair and pale skin-underneath! “Crap,” muttered the American agent. “She was a cover-up?” “Yeah,” said the British man. Then he turned to me. “Sorry if we startled you,” he said. “We should’ve told you first.” “You-you killed her because you knew she was not my friend? Then where is my real friend? I want to see her!” “She’s not here,” said the American. “She’s been taken by the Chechens somewhere else.” “Where?” the British agent asked, his face twisted into a look of confusion “I don’t know,” said the American.

Hotel suite in Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

“Olivia!” I heard the unmistakable voice of my old friend bark as she barged through the door, a FN Five-Seven in her hand. “Are you all right?” “Please,” I sobbed. “Please tell me this is a nightmare!” “I thought it was a nightmare too,” Madison replied, cutting my arms and legs loose and then hugging me in her arms. “That was, until Captain Price confirmed that it was not.” “Oh, my God,” I cried. “I can’t tell how happy I am to see you!” “Same here,” Madison replied. Then she turned to her men. “Get the bodies out of here,” she said and then she turned back to me. “What’s this all about?” I asked. “Okay, this may be a bad time right now, but I think we’ve uncovered a large terrorist plot during our little mission to get you out of here.” I froze in terror. Sabina looked at me with her eyes wide with terror. She then looked at my friend and said tearfully, “Is this true?” “That’s what I was told,” Madi replied. Sabina began to cry again; apparently the suspense was too much. “And what of my friend?” My other friend asked tearfully. “What will happen to her when this is all happening?” “I hate to say this,” Madi said. “But your friend will probably die before this all happens.” I just looked at Sabina and then at Madison, thinking about this so-called “terrorist plot” that was just announced in front of me. “We have to save her,” Sabina sobbed. “We just have to save Svetlana before they pull off whatever they want to do! When will they do this?” “They plan on doing it either after selling her into sexual slavery, during her time in captivity, or after she’s dead.” “Herrgud,” Sabina cried. “Olivia, we have to find her!” “Where is she at the moment?” asked Price. “I don’t know,” said Connor. “But getting to your daughter is our top priority.”

Chapter 36: Nikki Rhames

• I define a “terrorist” as a non-state actor who attacks civilian targets in order to strike terror into the hearts of the enemy community... A “state terrorist” is a state doing the same thing. Michael Mann, Professor of Sociology, UCLA in Incoherent Empire, p 159

Rome, Italy

Svetlana Price

First I was forced to watch my captor threaten my friend in the hotel room window and now I was forced into a huge van with my mouth, wrists, and ankles wrapped with duct tape, all well being alone and paranoid about being sold into sexual slavery. Things couldn’t get any worse, could it? “Where is the other girl?” demanded one of the guards. My ears perked up; if they were putting an inmate inside this van with me, I thought, I’d feel better. We could probably find a way to escape from this awful fate. I struggled to a kneeling position, looked outside and saw a man wearing one of those creepy uniforms shouting to another man. Both of them were wearing bright orange jumpers, sweat pants, and gas masks. Both of them carried guns. “She is right here,” the second man said. Then he gestured to a third man behind him and he brought out a second girl, this one with blonde hair and hazel eyes. She was wearing a blouse with a windbreaker on top of it, both of which were bloodied and tattered. Her wrists were handcuffed together and her blonde hair was matted with blood. I could see more bloody specks from injuries sustained on her face and neck, as well as a blood-spattered nose, which I suspected was broken. A bleeding cut on her lip started oozing blood, which made me flinch. “Remember,” said the first man, producing a roll of silver duct tape. “We need all of them alive.” “No! Please,” the woman started screaming. “Don’t hurt me!” “Ha! As if!” laughed one of the men. The first man then ripped off a six-inch slab of tape and plastered it over her mouth while his friend started laughing. The second man steadied her against a wall and threw a hood over her head, all while still laughing. I flinched; these people were sick. “All right, now let’s get this girl in the van!” one of the men shouted before both of them dragged the poor girl toward the van. I let myself fall to the floor and listened to the two Chechens opening the door of the van and shoving the girl like a ragdoll inside the back before shutting it. “The boss will be happy now,” I heard one of the men shouting as they boarded the vehicle. “I’d better give Solomon a call.” “Do it quickly,” his friend replied, this time in Arabic (earlier, both of them were speaking in Russian). “We don’t have much time, comrade.” I ignored the rest of the conversation and turned toward my new inmate. She started looking toward me with wide, terrified eyes, as if she thought I was threatening me. In reality, however, she knew that we were both prisoners. The words Help me were clearly displayed on her face of terror, but I could do nothing. Bringing my hands to my face, I tried my best to grasp one end of the tape covering my mouth and then yanked it off, the painful ripping of skin echoing throughout the vehicle. “AAUGH! That feels better,” I said. Then I turned to my inmate. “Ma’am, are you all right? Can you hear me?” My inmate said nothing at first, but then uttered a muffled sob later. As I watched, she started struggling, crying through the tape and kicking at the door with her legs, which were duct taped together just like my own. Later, I heard her pushing against the tape with her tongue and opening her mouth in order to loosen it. I suspected the blood from her lip softened it and caused it to lose its adhesion. My theory was confirmed when I heard the tape loosen some more. To give her a little help, I reached over and ripped the tape off her lips. “AAAUGH! Thanks, buddy,” she said. “My bloody lip must’ve softened it! I-I guess I’m all right, but I think they broke my nose. Are you OK?” “I don’t know,” I said. “My wrists feel numb from lack of circulation, but I guess I’m all right otherwise. What’s your name?” “Rhames,” my friend said. “I’m Nicole Rhames. But my friends call me Nikki. And you are?” “My name is Svetlana,” I said. “Svetlana Price. Any idea where we are, who the men are, or where they’re taking us?” “I have no clue,” my companion replied. “But my instincts are telling me those men are Chechens. Probably part of Solomon’s Mujahideen or something.” I was amazed at this woman’s vocabulary; until now I’d never heard of words like Mujahideen or anything like she’d mentioned. “I do not recognize that term,” I said. “What does it mean?” “It’s Arabic,” Nikki said. “My Arabic’s a little rusty, but I think it means strugglers or people doing jihad or something.” Jihad, another term I didn’t know. I looked at her in confusion. “Jihad means ‘strugglers in the path of Allah.’ That’s their Islamic God.” “Huh,” I said. “That’s original.”

Nikki then started tugging at the tape on her neck, which was attaching her hood to her head. When that came loose, she pulled the bag off her head and shook her hair out of her face. “Gosh,” she said. “Why did I ever take that job?” My eyes went wide again.

Chapter 37: Operation Thunderbird

Rome, Italy

Svetlana Price

“What job did you have?” I asked. Nikki sighed and said, “Okay, I admit it: I’m a member of a private military company called Cordis Die!” “Cordis Die?” I repeated. “The one that put that trade embargo on the Caliphate and imposed sanctions against Iraq, Iran, Syria, and Jordan?” “Yes. That’s the one, pal.” “So…what was your job?” “I was part of the military portion of Cordis Die. The air force, I mean.” “Cordis Die has an air force of its own?” I asked. “Yeah. On top of that, I was part of Cordis Die’s own operation. They called it Operation Blue Spear.” That name kind of sounded familiar, but I couldn’t tell. "I think I've heard of this operation, but that was a long time ago," I said.

Nikki just grabbed a paper towel from the floor of the now-mobile van and started wiping her bloody nose and mouth.  She then looked at me and said, "How long ago was this?"

"About five weeks ago, I guess," I said. "So what'd you do? What was your mission?" "It's complicated…" Nikki began, but her voice trailed off. "How was it complicated?" I asked. "What made it complicated?" "No," she replied. "I mean, the details are really complicated." "Just explain it as best as you can," I said. "I'll play catch-up myself as you go along. Just tell me what happened during this 'Operation Thunderbird' that you speak of." "Uh, okay. I'll try to narrow it down for you best as I can. The roots of this mission go back to reports of Al-Washir stealing the Lost Gospels and the oldest manuscripts of the First Century Documents." "Why steal the Lost Gospels?" I asked. "I don't know. I just heard they have powerful words that can wreak havoc if they're in the wrong hands." "When'd you first get sent out?" I asked. "Last month. And actually, I didn't get sent out myself. My old friend, Heather Wallace, was sent out ahead of me." Heather Wallace, a name I didn't know. "She was?" I asked. "Yes," Nikki replied. "Anyway, I tagged along with her later that same month, but during the first half of last month, it was just her."

One month earlier…

Panera Bread Company in St. Louis, Missouri

Nicole "Nikki" Rhames

"There's too much to be said to discuss at one time," I said to my old friend Heather Wallace, a girl of about sixteen with dark hair and blue eyes. Just so you know, Heather's been my friend since Kindergarten, the grade we met each other.

I looked around.  "I don't know who is within earshot here."  The Panera Bread Company seemed quiet enough on this average Wednesday afternoon, but I couldn't really be sure.  I leaned closer to her.  "You are the only one I can trust with this information."  

She then laid it all down; there was something about a supposed “Islamist” terror plot named Operation Thunderbird, which was kind of freaking people out considering that I heard rumors that this would “rival 9\11 in terms of both death toll and ferocity”. "Even if it is true?" Heather asked me. She hesitated, not wanting to dissuade her. She sat back in the booth with a gesture of resignation as I sipped my soda and took a spoonful of my Thai Chopped Salad. "I know you need my help," I said. "So what can I do, Heather?" She looked around the room again and said, "We have to verify this information. You'll join me later. But someone has to go to Italy to get a first hand look and make the contacts. You know it'd look too suspicious if we all went at once." "I can arrange it," I said. "We'll go as tourists and that should get us both in without any suspicions. How soon?" "As soon as you can make the arrangements," Heather said. "The key lies in Rome. I don't know if you'll have to go to the Vatican or not. You'll need to go to Venice too." She looked anxiously across the room at the dark haired man who had just sat down with his coffee and a scone. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I know it's dangerous here. I'll get you the information about the theft of the lost gospels and the secret first century documents, but you'll have to remember it all somehow." "Read and destroy it?" I asked, taking another sip of soda and looking out into the parking lot. "Yes," she said, nodding. "It's the only safe way to do this! Now when can you go?" "How about the sixth," I said. "No need to call too much attention to my leaving. I can tag along with my mom and dad and act like it's a family vacation. I heard Dad say we need one this summer." "Good idea," said Heather. "Remember, we don't know who stole the documents and we don't know why, except for this plan the Chechen Mujahideen has of terrorizing America. And if those Lost Gospels end up the wrong hands..." "Who knows what might happen," I finished. My question was, how in the blazes was I going to convince my Mom and Dad to go with me to Italy? Initially, I hated the idea, thinking I didn't have time. Now I'd have to do a believable 360, which seemed impossible by my standards.

I finished my salad and Heather took out a notebook. She started writing things down with a pen and then highlighted them with a blue ink highlighter. "The information will arrive by E-mail tomorrow. Let me know when you've read it and we'll meet again before you leave." She smiled. "It's really simple. All we gotta do is save the Pope and prevent those airliners from being bombed while at the same time making sure the Lost Gospel and the First Century documents don't become weapons against humanity." "Sounds good," I said. Then I got up and paid for my lunch. "I'm game. I'll be in touch. Ciao."

Present day…

Rome, Italy

Svetlana Price

"Wait, that was Operation Blue Spear?" I asked. "No," Nikki said. "That was how we planned it. The actual operation didn't exactly go according to plan." "Oh, my God!" I gasped. "Don't tell me those Islamists succeeded!" "No," Nikki replied. "They didn’t-yet." "So…you didn't tell me about Operation Thunderbird. What was that?" "That was the name of the plot the Islamists wanted to kick off. That was the one where they'd terrorize America." "Dear God," I said. "Now I really want to get out of here, reunite with Dad, and stop the plot, whatever it is." "You want to help me?" asked Nikki. I nodded. "But first," I said. "Tell me the rest of the stuff." "Okay. So, I'd left the Panera Bread Company in Washington, Missouri and when I got home, there was a note for my dad written by an Israeli guy, whom my Dad knew, called Yaakov Ben-Gurion." "Oh," I said. "Who is this Ben-Gurion?" "He's in the Israeli Defense Forces." "What was he doing writing a note to you?" "I didn't know," Nikki replied. "That was, until I read it myself."

One month earlier

St. Louis, Missouri

Nikki Rhames

The note was typed, but it was clearly distinguishable. It was addressed to my dad, who used to work in the US Air Force, but now worked as a commander in Cordis Die. It read:

Dear John Rhames,

I regret to inform you that we have a bigger situation than we did earlier. It appears that the perps of Operation Thunderbird-whoever they are-based the darn thing after this other thing called the Bojinka Plot. If you want to know what this is, it’s a terrorist plot that was foiled by the US government in the 1990s, which was eventually replaced by 9\11. The following information is from Wikipedia. It’s the best source I could find: The Bojinka plot (Arabic: بجنكة‎; Tagalog: Oplan Bojinka) was a planned large-scale three phase Islamist attack by Ramzi Yousef and Khalid Shaikh Mohammed. The attack would involve a plot to assassinate Pope John Paul II, an air bombing of 11 airliners flying from Asia to the United States[1] and their approximately 4,000 passengers, and a proposal to crash a plane into the CIA's headquarters in Fairfax County, Virginia.[2]

Ramzi Yousef Despite careful planning and the skill of Ramzi Yousef, the Bojinka plot was disrupted after a chemical fire drew the Philippine National Police's (PNP) attention on January 6-7, 1995. Before the plot was disrupted, Yousef detonated "test" bombs in a mall and theater, injuring scores of people, as well as Philippine Airlines Flight 434, killing one person and nearly causing enough damage to lose the entire aircraft. The plot was funded by al-Qaeda.[citation needed]. In addition to this information, I’ve discovered that the actual plot of Operation Thunderbird was inspired by the stages of the Bojinka Plot, which are listed below:

Phase I, Pope assassination plot[edit] The first plan was to kill Pope John Paul II when he visited the Philippines during the World Youth Day 1995 celebrations. On January 15, 1995, a suicide bomber would dress up as a priest, while John Paul II passed in his motorcade on his way to the San Carlos Seminary in Makati City. The assassin planned to get close to the Pope, and detonate the bomb. The planned assassination of the Pope was intended to divert attention from the next phase of the operation. About 20 men had been trained by Yousef to carry out this act prior to January 1995. Phase II, Airline bombing plot[edit] The details of Phase I were found in the evidence discovered in the investigation into Room 603 in the Doña Josefa. If Phase II of the plot had been successful, it would have been, in terms of casualties, the most devastating Islamist terrorist attack in recent history. The next plan would have involved at least five terrorists, including Yousef, Shah, Murad and two more unknown operatives. Beginning on January 21, 1995, and ending on January 22, 1995, they would have placed bombs on 11 United States-bound airliners which had stopovers scattered throughout East Asia and Southeast Asia. All of the flights had two legs. The bombs would be planted inside life jackets under seats on the first leg, and each bomber would then disembark. He would then board one or two more flights and repeat. After all of the bombers had planted bombs on all of the flights, each man would then catch flights to Lahore, Pakistan. The men never needed U.S. visas, as they only would have been on the planes for their first legs in Asia. United States airlines had been chosen instead of Asian airlines so as to maximize the shock toward Americans. The flights targeted were listed under operatives with codenames: "Zyed", "Majbos", "Markoa", "Mirqas" and "Obaid". Obaid, who was really Abdul Hakim Murad, was to hit United Flight 80, and then he was to go back to Singapore on another United flight which he would bomb.[5][7][9] Zyed, probably Ramzi Yousef, was to target Northwest Flight 30, a United Flight going from Taipei to Honolulu, and a United Flight going from Bangkok to Taipei to San Francisco.[5][10] The explosions were to be timed by the operatives before they disembarked from the plane. The aircraft would have exploded over the Pacific Ocean and the South China Sea almost simultaneously. If this plan worked, several thousand would have perished, and air travel would have been shut down worldwide for days, if not weeks. The U.S. government estimated the prospective death toll to be about 4,000 if the plot had been executed. (For comparison, about 3,000 were killed during the September 11 attacks in the United States.) Bomb[edit] The "Mark II" "microbombs" had Casio digital watches as the timers, stabilizers that looked like cotton wool balls, and an undetectable quantity of nitroglycerin as the explosive. Other ingredients included glycerin, nitrate, sulfuric acid, and minute concentrations of nitrobenzene, silver azide (silver trinitride), and liquid acetone. Two 9-volt batteries in each bomb were used as a power source. The batteries would be connected to light bulb filaments that would detonate the bomb. Murad and Yousef wired an SCR (silicon controlled rectifier) as the switch to trigger the filaments to detonate the bomb. There was an external socket hidden when the wires were pushed under the watch base as the bomber would wear it. The alteration was so small that the watch could still be worn in a normal manner.[5][9][11] Yousef got batteries past airport security during his December 11 test bombing of Philippine Airlines Flight 434 by hiding them in hollowed-out heels of his shoes. Yousef smuggled the nitroglycerin on board by putting it inside a small container, reputedly containing contact lens cleaning solution.[12] Airports planned to be targeted[edit] Asia[edit] • Kai Tak Airport(renamed Hong Kong International Airport), Hong Kong • New Tokyo International Airport, Narita, Chiba Prefecture, Japan, near Tokyo • Ninoy Aquino International Airport, Pasay City/Parañaque City, National Capital Region, Philippines, near Manila • Taiwan Taoyuan International Airport, Taoyuan, near Taipei, Taiwan • Singapore Changi Airport, Singapore • Gimpo International Airport, Gimpo, South Korea (Now a part of Seoul) • Bangkok (Don Mueang) International Airport, Bangkok, Thailand United States[edit] • Honolulu International Airport, Honolulu, Hawaii • John F. Kennedy International Airport, New York City, New York • Los Angeles International Airport, Los Angeles • Chicago O'Hare International Airport, Chicago, Illinois • San Francisco International Airport, San Francisco Targeted flights[edit] • Dennis Piszkiewicz, author of Terrorism's War with America: A History, said that "Zyed" was probably the codename of Ramzi Yousef. "Zyed" was to attack a Northwest Airlines Manila-Seoul-Los Angeles flight, then a United Airlines Seoul-Taipei-Honolulu flight, and then a United Taipei-Bangkok-San Francisco flight. Zyed would then flee to Karachi, Pakistan.[13] • "Majbos" was to attack a United Airlines Taipei-Tokyo-Los Angeles flight, with him disembarking in Tokyo, and then proceed to a United Tokyo-Hong Kong-New York flight. After disembarking in Hong Kong, he would have fled to Karachi, Pakistan.[13] • "Maroka" was to attack a Northwest Airlines Manila-Tokyo-Chicago flight, with him disembarking in Tokyo, and then proceed to a Northwest Tokyo-Hong Kong-New York flight. After disembarking in Hong Kong he would have escaped to Karachi[13] • "Mirqas" was to attack a United Airlines Manila-Seoul-San Francisco flight, with him disembarking in Seoul, and then proceed to a Delta Air Lines Seoul-Taipei-Bangkok flight. After disembarking in Taipei he would have escaped to Karachi[14] • "Obaida" was to attack a United Singapore-Hong Kong-Los Angeles flight and a United Los Angeles-Hong Kong-Singapore flight which would become a Singapore-Hong Kong-San Francisco flight. After arriving in Singapore, Obaida was to flee to Pakistan[13]

Phase III, CIA plane crash plot[edit] Abdul Hakim Murad confessed detailed Phase III in his interrogation by the Manila police after his capture. Phase three would have involved Murad either renting, buying, or hijacking a small airplane, preferably a Cessna. The airplane would be filled with explosives. He would then crash it into the Central Intelligence Agency headquarters in the Langley area in Fairfax County, Virginia. Murad had been trained as a pilot in North Carolina, and was slated to be a suicide pilot. There were alternate plans to hijack a 12th commercial airliner and use that instead of the small aircraft, probably due to the Manila cell's growing frustration with explosives. Testing explosives in a house or apartment is dangerous, and it can easily give away a terrorist plot. Khalid Sheik Mohammed probably made the alternate plan. A report from the Philippines to the United States on January 20, 1995 stated, "What the subject has in his mind is that he will board any American commercial aircraft pretending to be an ordinary passenger. Then he will hijack said aircraft, control its cockpit and dive it at the CIA headquarters." Another plot that was considered would have involved the hijacking of more airplanes. The World Trade Center (New York City, New York), The Pentagon (Arlington, Virginia), the United States Capitol (Washington, D.C.), the White House (Washington, D.C.), the Sears Tower (Chicago, Illinois), and the U.S Bank Tower (Los Angeles, California), would have been the likely targets. Abdul Hakim Murad said that this part of the plot was dropped since the Manila cell could not recruit enough people to implement other hijackings in his confession with Filipino investigators, prior to the foiling of Operation Bojinka. This plot eventually would be the base plot for the September 11, 2001 attacks which involved hijacking commercial airliners as opposed to small aircraft loaded with explosives and crashing them into their intended targets. However, only the World Trade Center (which was destroyed) and The Pentagon (which suffered partial damage) were hit.

I overheard public statements that these unknown perps planned to do something bigger with this “Operation Thunderbird” plot, but by using Operation Bojinka as a base. However, I’ve notified the US government about such a plot and they’ve decided to take action against the Caliphate for defensive measures, assuming the claims that the conspirators are Islamists are correct. Until then, we will continue investigating this plot and notify you of any other details.

Truly yours,

Yaakov Ben-Gurion, Israeli Defense Forces Commander

Present day…

Rome, Italy

Svetlana Price

“So that was it, huh?” I asked. “That’s all you know about this ‘Operation Thunderbird?’” Nikki nodded. “Gosh,” I said, shifting my bound wrists to get more comfortable. “This is terrible! I really want to get out of here now.” “Hold on,” said Nikki. “Let me think about this.”

Two hours later…

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

Two hours later, I was with John Price and the other guys. Apparently, Sabina had been freaking out about this “unknown terrorist plot” and was starting to become paranoid about it, despite my assurances that we were doing everything we can to avert the threat. The American guy that accompanied Price turned out to be Oscar Connor, the same guy who accompanied us in watching the footage of the kidnapping of Brooke and Dawn Connor. “I didn’t recognize you,” I said as we strolled down a street in Rome to meet up with some guy who claimed to know about the terrorist plot. “Huh,” Oscar replied. “I’m kind of surprised you didn’t recognize me.” “So,” I said. “Why is Solomon just snatching people left and right?” “Uh, I don’t know,” Oscar replied. “I’m still trying to solve the mystery of why he’d take my kids.” “Well, okay,” I said. “But why in the blazes would he take both of them? I mean, Dawn’s only twelve and Brooke is, what, sixteen?” “Yeah, but she’ll turn seventeen in a couple of months. Her birthday’s three months from now.” “Interesting,” I said. “So, what about Svetlana Price? What does she have that Solomon wants real bad?” “My best guess is information,” said John. “He probably wants to take Svetlana just so he can beat the information out of her.” “How old is Svetlana anyway?” I asked. “Seventeen,” Price responded. “Yeah, she’s a high school senior.” “But Brooke’s only a junior,” I said. “There’s no way Solomon could’ve ordered his men to take both of them unless…” I suddenly stopped, searching for words. “Unless he what?” asked Oscar. “Unless he wanted to get to you guys,” I said. John and Oscar both looked at me and then at each other. “Why us?” asked John, looking back towards me. I thought for a little bit, and then remembered something my mom told me back in grade school. “My mom told me sometimes they take the wife as a means of getting to the husband, but I was told your wives were out of town, so they took the kids as an alternative.” John swore. “You mean you think we are targets?” “Uh-huh,” I said. “It’s the only reason I can think of as to why they’d take the kids.” “Yeah, but what would Solomon want to do with us?” asked Oscar. “What did we ever do to him?” “Uh, that part I don’t know,” I said. “But I’ll ask the blockhead when I find him.”

A few minutes later, we were in a café. And it was here that we met our contact.

Chapter 38: The Real Truth

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

Man, I thought as I sat down at a table to meet this contact. This is our contact? This woman looked like she was in her late thirties with brown hair and brown eyes, which seemed darker because they had eyeliner on them. “I was hoping you’d arrive,” she said with an Italian accent in her voice. “My name, by the way, is Barbara Andreoli. I’m an undercover agent for Italian intelligence.” “Huh,” I said. “How many intelligence agencies are involved in this trash?” “You mind telling me what this is about?” asked Price. Barbara nodded. “There has been another kidnapping,” she said. Price seemed to freeze in his seat and Oscar seemed to turn pale in absolute horror. “You’re kidding me!” The two men cried in unison. “Who is it now?” I asked. In response, Barbara just took out a fact file about a young woman in her twenties with auburn hair and hazel eyes. “Jessica Ellen Price,” she said. “Your oldest daughter, John.” John seemed to completely lose control of his temper. “Blockhead!” he cried. “He really is a blockhead,” Barbara said quietly. “I was right,” I mused. “Solomon’s taking kids because he feels they possess more information about their parents.” “Are they trying to get to us?” asked Oscar. “Is that why Solomon snatched the kids?” Barbara nodded. “Stink,” Oscar muttered. Price looked me in the eye and said, “That’s it, Olivia. I am finding this blockhead and I’m going to break his arm!” “Good luck with that,” I said. “I was told he’s as solid as a rock. No one’s able to beat him in a fight. That is, unless I’m there. ‘Cause I’m awesome.” “Does this have anything to do with Operation Thunderbird?” John asked. “Yes,” Barbara replied. “The perpetrators have been revealed.” “Solomon’s behind this,” muttered Price, but Barbara cut him off. “Actually,” she said. “It’s not an Islamist plot. The conspirators are neither Middle Eastern terrorists nor Chechen Mujahideen members.” “Then who is behind this?” I asked impatiently. Barbara just looked at me and said, “Your archenemy, Kaylyn Bigley.”

Chapter 39: Gear up!

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

I felt like I was going to throw up; I was so sure Solomon was the conspirator, but to hear that it was my archenemy Kaylyn Bigley as the conspirator was enough to make me throw up. “You serious about this?” I asked. “Uh-huh,” said Barbara. “That’s why Madi Young sent for you.” We all looked at her in complete silence and anticipation. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it…” Barbara began, but then she stopped, looked around and then stared at us with eyes burning with excitement, which was a little weird for the rest of us. “…Rescue Solomon’s captives and stop Operation Thunderbird!” she finished. At this, Sabina started crying tears of delight while the rest of us started grinning. “All right,” I said. “We accept, but do we get any weapons or something?” “Just follow me,” Barbara said, getting up.

Five minutes later, we were in a large room in the back of the café, which was packed with weapons. I started grinning; this was the biggest weapons cache I’d seen in years.

“You’ll need this,” Barbara said, giving me a suppressed sniper rifle. I recognized it instantly; it was a Remington RSASS, or Remington Semiautomatic Sniper System. Simply put, it was designed by Remington with a little help from JP Enterprises Company, and was built with JP-made components like a side-cocking receiver and trigger group. However, it was sold and supported by Remington.

John Price got the Israeli Desert Eagle by Magnum Research. I heard the weapon was really popular in movies, which kind of made me jealous. After all I was awesome and therefore guns like the Desert Eagle were perfect for my type.

Oscar Connor got a Remington 700 bolt-action sniper rifle. Made by the same company who made the RSASS (obviously), this weapon was commonly used by hunters and law enforcement officers (in other words, cops). “Wow,” I said. “This is really cool.” Barbara just looked at me and smiled. “Are we planning on blowing Solomon’s head off with sniper rifles or something?” asked John. “No,” Barbara replied. “You’ll tear him apart with these sniper rifles.” “Oh, yeah,” said Oscar. “Time for some payback!” “So…who are we going after first?” I asked. “That’s easy,” Sabina said, tears running down her eyes. “Let’s get my friend out of there.” “Uh-huh,” Price added. “Hey, Olivia, do you have a driver’s license?” “Yeah,” I said. “Why?” Price just checked his wrist-mounted GPS system and smiled. “I think we just found Solomon’s getaway car.”

Chapter 40: I meet Howard Stivey and the future of cars

Let's just say my relationships don't seem to last. - Halle Berry in the movie Die Another Day (2002)

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

Five minutes later, we were in a large underground garage underneath some kind of cathedral. It was brightly lit and I could hear churchgoers singing hymns above me. I looked at the space before me, which was empty. Then I heard a button being pressed and later, a car materialized seemingly out of nowhere. A British voice called out, “You guys like my new car? I just got it today!” I turned to my right and saw a large man in his fifties with brown hair and blue eyes walking toward John Price. “Huh,” said Price. “That’s a funny looking-vehicle you got there.” “It’s the newest Ashton Martin Vanquish V12,” the other guy said. “Like I said, I just got it today.” “Nice,” I said. “A car that can turn invisible.” On the license plate, I saw the name HOWARD STIVEY engraved in large, black letters. “Howard Stivey,” I repeated. Then I turned toward the guy. “That your name?” “Yeah,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Miss…” “Coons,” I said. “Olivia Coons.” “Ah, the young female soldier of awesomeness,” my new friend mused. “Weren’t you in North Korea or something?” “Uh, yeah,” I said. “Then I got captured and moved to Rome, where I found out about this so-called terrorist plot you guys called ‘Operation Thunderbird.’ What are you doing here anyway?” “Same as you,” Howard said. “I’m trying to help you stop Operation Thunderbird.” He then turned toward the car. “I’m thinking this thing will help you out.” “What does it do?” I asked. “Turning invisible is just the tip of the iceberg, mate,” he replied. Then he entered the vehicle and pressed a button on the dashboard. My jaw dropped; a pair of Browning .50 caliber machineguns emerged from the hood. Howard pressed another button and spikes began appearing on the tires of the vehicle. “Wow!” I cried. “Howard, I’m jealous!” “Tire traction,” said Howard. “With these spikes, the car can climb uneven surfaces. Heck, I’d imagine it can even climb Mount Everest!” “Seriously?” I asked. Howard nodded and got out of the vehicle. “I’ll let you use it for your mission,” he said. “Just make sure you don’t bring it back with a lot of bullet holes.” “Oh, okay,” I said, getting into the vehicle. “Thanks.”

I then slid into the driver’s seat and looked at the dashboard. There were a lot of buttons; one read MINIGUN, another read MACHINEGUN, a third read TURRET, and a fourth read GRENADE MODE. On the steering wheel was another button that read MINE. “That one deploys minefields,” Howard explained, pointing to the button I was looking at. “Those other buttons activate various types of weapons.”

“What does this button do?” I asked, pointing at the button labeled TURRET. “That one activates a minigun in the back. You want to see it?” Howard asked. “Sure,” I said. Howard then pressed a button on the wall to expose a wall-mounted target and then he nodded toward me. “You can press the button now,” he said. I nodded and pushed the button, causing a large cannon of a minigun to emerge from the top of the trunk door and start firing at the target. I started laughing. “This is fun!” “I know,” Howard screamed above the din of the minigun. “I’m hoping you’ll find it useful!” “I’m sure I will,” I said, pressing the button again, which deactivated the minigun. “Thanks!”

Then I heard a radio turning on and later, a small screen on the dashboard turned on, revealing the face of Korey Hogan. “I’m the one who told Howard to give you the car,” he said. “He’s got another one just like it. This one’s yours, Olivia.” I smiled. “Yay! Thanks! This is great! Just what an awesome girl like me needs!” “I can tell you love it,” said Korey. “But don’t get carried away. You still have a mission to complete.” “Yeah,” I said. “But this will make my mission a blast!” “I knew you’d like it,” said Korey. “All right, Olivia. Solomon’s little getaway car containing Svetlana Price and her friend is coming your way in about five minutes. Once I give you the signal, the mission is a go.” “What mission?” I asked. “And who’s her friend?” “We’re suspecting that Svetlana and her friend Nicole Rhames-that’s her friend-may have information Solomon wants, which may explain why he grabbed them.” “Solomon took both of them at the same time?” I asked. “Nah, Solomon took Nikki first and Svetlana was next.” “Seriously?” I asked. Korey nodded. “Use the car to your advantage,” he said. “You’ll need it in order to stay in one piece for this one. And I don’t think I told you this, but I think this car has become the future of vehicular combat.” “It has?” I asked. “Why else would they outfit this baby with so much goodies?” Korey asked. I just laughed as the screen switched off. Okay, Svetlana and Nikki, I thought. Get ready to meet my new car.

Chapter 41: Brutal treatment

• All we have gained then by our unbelief is a life of doubt diversified by faith. For one of faith diversified by doubt; We called the chessboard white,— we call it black. Robert Browning, "Bishop Blougram's Apology", ll. 212–215. In Men and Women, 1855.

Somewhere in Rome, Italy

Svetlana Price

“Nikki, are you married?” I suddenly asked after an hour of silence. “How old are you?” Nikki looked at me and nodded. “I’m twenty-two,” she said. “And yeah, I’m married. Why?” “I-I just thought of something,” I said. “My adopted father said sometimes they take the wife to get to the husband, but my mother’s out of town. So I’m thinking maybe they took you just so they could get the information they wanted, assuming you were taken after I was. I may be wrong, though.” “Actually, you’re right. I was taken long after you,” she replied. “And seriously? Your mom’s out of town?” I nodded. “Well, that last part you got right,” Nikki, feeling a bit restless, replied. “Sometimes they do take the wife as a means of getting to the husband. But I think your analysis is partially correct.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “They wanted to take you because I think you know more about your dad’s support of Madison Young’s actions against the Caliphate.” “And where is your husband?” I asked. “Is he military?” Nikki nodded. “He’s stationed in the Middle East. Iran. His last mission was in Tehran, Iran’s capital.” “Tehran?” I asked. “Iran’s capital? Why is he there?” “He’s probably trying to hunt Al-Washir down.” “And then he orders Solomon and his homies to kidnap you in order to get to him,” I said. “I think he’s protecting Al-Washir.” “You think?” Nikki asked. “Uh-huh.” “Where is he now?” “He’s on leave,” Nikki said. There was another moment of silence before I asked, “Where do you think we are, Nikki?” “I have no idea,” Nikki replied, wiping her still-bloody nose on the sleeve of her jacket, uncaring about the red stain it made. “I don’t have a road map with me.” “I think this thing’s been driving a little over four hours,” I said. “But I’m just guessing. I don’t have a watch.” Nikki thought for a moment and then said, “Hey, Svetlana, I suddenly got this urge to call my husband and let him know what happened to us. But I left my cell phone in my purse and they took it.” But then she felt in her jacket pocket and then gasped. “Hey, I found it! I forgot to put my cell phone in my purse today and I still have it! Ha! I’m so forgetful sometimes.” I watched her fumble with the zippered pocket inside the left breast pocket of her jacket using her bound hands, but eventually she retrieved it. “We’ll be fine,” she said, flipping the phone open. “If my husband or a friend of his answers, they might alert the authorities and we’ll be rescued soon. Just hold on.” She then scrolled to the speed dial number of her husband’s cell phone and waited for the call to ring at the other end. Later, she heard a voice. “Nate!” I froze; her husband’s name was Nate? That name sounded awfully familiar. However, I couldn’t remember where I heard the name last. Nikki’s heart sank after she discovered that it was a recording, which said the number she was attempting to reach was out of the area. “Oh, no!” she cried. Then she turned to me. “He didn’t answer.” I produced my iPhone 5, which was hidden in the pocket of my shredded blue jeans. However, the battery died, much to my disappointment. “Stink,” I said. “I must’ve forgotten to charge it the day before I was kidnapped.” “What do you want to do?” Nikki asked. “I want to call someone, preferably either Dad, my sister, or a friend I can trust,” I replied. “You have a circle of friends?” Nikki asked. I just nodded. “Here,” Nikki said, sliding her phone over to me. “Use mine. It’s full.” I took the phone in my bound hands, went to the keypad and punched in my dad’s number. However, I was disappointed to find that he wasn’t available. “Shoot,” I said. “Dad’s unavailable. I can try my older sister, Jessica, though.” “Jessica?” Nikki asked, surprised. “The first oldest in the family,” I said. “I’m the middle child.” “Who is the second oldest?” Nikki inquired out of curiosity. “My older brother,” I said. “He’s in the British Special Air Service. His name’s Jeremy and he’s twenty-three.” “Oh, okay. How old is Jessie?” “She’s seventeen.” “And you?” “I’m fourteen right now, but I’ll turn fifteen in two months. My birthday is in July.” I then punched in Jessie’s number in the keypad and this time, to my relief, she answered. “Svetlana?” Jessie asked on the other end. “Sis, are you there?” “Jessie, it’s me,” I said. “I’ve been kidnapped!” Upon hearing this, Jessie sounded completely distressed. “Kidnapped!” Jess exclaimed. “Kidnapped by whom?” “Solomon,” I said, my voice breaking with emotion. “Solomon took me.” “Anyone else taken with you?” Jess asked. “Yes. There’s an American named Nicole Rhames. She’s a Cordis Die agent!” “Whoa! You got kidnapped alongside Nicole Rhames?” I paused; she evidently knew this woman. “You know her?” I asked. “Yeah, she works alongside Dad!” Jessie explained. “They’re best friends.” “Stink,” I replied. “How come Dad never told me about this?” “He obviously didn’t tell you,” Jessie said. “Anyway, what happened?” “First Sabina and I were kidnapped exploring North Korea and then I got moved, but not before being forced to watch Sabina getting tortured by one of Solomon’s goons.” On the other end, Jessie gasped in terror. “Go on,” she said. “After I was moved, I met Nicole Rhames.” I looked at Nikki, who gave me a look of surprise; she apparently was stunned when Jess mentioned the fact that Dad worked with Nikki for a while. “She’s your inmate?” Jessie asked. “Yes!” I replied. “Help us, sis! Please help us if you can!” “I’ll get to that,” Jessie said. “Do you have any idea where you are or where you’re being taken?” “No, and no,” I said. “Nikki and I are clueless! Jessie, please! Please, sis, I’m begging you! Do something!” “Okay, I’ll tell Dad,” Jessie said. “In the meantime, stay calm and when they interrogate you, don’t give any information. Do you understand?” “Yes!” “I’ll say it again: no matter how much they pressure you during questioning, you do not tell them a thing. Understood?” “Yes, Jessie. I understand.” “Okay, good.” Click.

Nikki and I looked at each other, apparently nervous about what was to come. “Do you think I’ll ever see my husband again?” she asked. “Yes,” I said. “I’m pretty sure. And…I never knew you and Dad were colleagues.” “I didn’t tell you?” Nikki asked. I shook my head. “You didn’t, apparently.” “I guess I forgot,” Nikki said, shrugging. I checked my watch; it was already 11:30 A.M., but for some reason, I was tired after that phone call with Jess. I put my head to the floor of the van and pretty soon I was asleep.

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

The door leading out of the garage swung open and Doug Harris entered. John Price and I looked at each other and then at Doug, who had a look of anxiety on his face. “Excuse me,” he said. “Is this a bad time, Price?” “What is it?” John asked. “I think there’s been a situation, sir,” Doug explained. “Our guys traced a call from your daughter, Svetlana.” John sprang up from his seat next to my Ashton Martin and his face betrayed excitement and anxiety mixed together as one emotion. “Svetlana called?” he asked. “What phone was she using?” “She was using the phone of Nicole Rhames.” “Nicole Rhames? That’s…!” Price’s voice trailed off. “You know her?” I asked. “She’s my colleague!” Price cried. “She wouldn’t call unless…” Suddenly, his phone rang and John answered it promptly. “Hello?” he asked. “Dad, it’s me!” cried a girl’s voice on the other end. John apparently recognized it as one of his kids, but I didn’t. “Jessie?” he asked. “Jess, is that you?” He then covered the phone and whispered to me, “Jessie is my older daughter.” “Huh,” I whispered back. “You must have a lot of kids.” Ignoring my comment, John went back to the phone. “Sorry,” he said. “I was talking to a friend of mine.” “Okay,” Jessie said, her voice laced with anxiety. “Svetlana has no idea where she and Nikki are or where they’re being taken, but she did tell me that she was taken by Solomon’s goons.” “I know that too,” said John. “I told her that if she was interrogated, she was to keep quiet,” Jessie went on. “I told her not to tell her captors a thing about you or your job.” “That’s smart,” John said. “I’d do the same in her shoes. Anything else?” “No, and she told me to call you,” Jessie said. “That’s why I’m talking to you.” “Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” John said. “We’re currently working on a plan right now.” Jessie took a deep breath on the other end and said, “Okay, you do that. I’ll alert the cops if it’s possible.” “Sure,” John said. “We’ll need all the help we can get.”

Somewhere in Rome, Italy

Svetlana Price

“Are you OK?” Nikki asked me as I lay on the floor of the van. I stirred and woke up. I twisted my wrist to look at my watch. It was 2:30 P.M. I’d been asleep for three hours, which felt pretty good, to be honest. Nikki sighed. “I need to get cleaned up,” she said. “Look at me. I have blood all over me!” “I know,” I said. “Once we get out of here, the first thing we’re going to do is get you to a hospital.” “If there is one around here, that is.” Nikki said. Suddenly, the van stopped and the door slid open. “Up!” cried one of the Chechens that took Nikki earlier, pointing at both of us. “Get up now!” I struggled to stand up, but was suddenly yanked to my feet by two of the Chechens from earlier, as was Nikki. When I got outside, I saw we were in a street, with cars on both sides. However, there were no people. That meant we couldn’t cry out for help. Even if we could, we’d probably be silenced with duct tape again. We were later dragged into a building and inside we could see what looked like a basement. There were two chairs in the center and a table with five more Chechens guarding it. They were all carrying Kalashnikov AK-74M rifles (I saw these weapons before in a war movie once). The room stank of cigar smoke, indicating that this place was a popular place for people who liked smoking. “Sit down!” cried one of the Chechens. “Sit! SIT!” We were then forced into the two chairs, me in one and Nikki in the other. Bringing out two coarse strands of rope, the men forced our wrists behind us and tied them behind our backs while more of the men lashed our feet to the legs of the chair. “What are you doing with us?” asked Nikki, her voice almost breaking with tears. “Don’t hurt us!” “Hey, you! NO TALK!” cried one of the Chechens. I looked at the Chechen men tying me to the chair and said, “Don’t hurt me. Please, guys! Don’t hurt me. I’m just a girl.” “Hey, you! NO TALK! NO TALK!” roared the Chechen who dragged us all into the room. I started to protest, but the man reacted by grabbing me by the hair and slamming me into the back of the chair. “NO!” Nikki was crying. “Please, sir, don’t! She’s only a child!” “NO TALK!” cried a Chechen terrorist, who grabbed her by the hair just like the other man did with me and began hitting her with his fists. “No talking!” the men began screaming as they beat us with their fists. “No talk! I hear talk, I kill you all!” I started crying as the man who tied me up continued hitting and slamming me into the back of the chair until an American-sounding voice behind them shouted, “Hey! Is that any way to treat girls? Show some respect, will ‘ya?” Our hopes perked up; we were praying that this person was trying to save us from this awful torment. I started praying that whoever said the voice was a mole in this agency of terrorists and was plotting to rescue us. “Now, guys,” the voice said. “These are girls, not animals. We’re not here to manhandle them. Now untie them immediately.” “But…” protested one of the men who tied us up, but he was interrupted. “Do it!” the voice hissed. “That’s an order!” Grumbling amongst themselves, the men obeyed and stepped aside, giving me a good view of who was talking. She was another woman in her late twenties with blonde hair and blue eyes. “Okay,” she said. “Now leave us alone. I want to have a talk with them.” The men begrudgingly marched out of the room, leaving the two of us with the woman. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Those men are rude.” “Who are you?” Nikki asked. “You sound almost American. What do you want from us?” “Nothing,” the woman said. “I just want to take a look at you.” I jumped up and said, “Don’t make me break your nose! I know tae kwan dao, you know!” “Now, that won’t be necessary,” replied the woman, smiling. “Now, Svetlana Price, you will sit down and listen to what I have to say.” I cringed; who in the blazes was this woman and how did she know me? “Now,” she said. “Don’t think for a minute that I ordered a hit on you, ‘cause I didn’t.” “What do you want with us?” I asked, my voice now shaking with fear. She didn’t answer.

Chapter 42: The Truth Behind Operation Thunderbird

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

The footage on the security camera we were watching a few hours later that was bugged by Doug Harris showed a twentyish-year old woman talking with Nikki Rhames and Svetlana Price. I recognized her immediately because of her blonde hair. She was Avril Lavigne! “Avril Lavigne?” asked Doug. “What’s she doing here in Rome with these two girls?” “She’s probably trying to help,” I said. “Yeah, but something tells me she’s just trying to worsen their torment,” said Price. We all sat fixated at the screen as we watched the scene unfold.

Rome, Italy

Svetlana Price

“All right,” the woman said, leading us through a door that took us to a large room with a bunch of boxes and crates. Two chairs and a desk were in the center. The woman directed us to sit down in the two chairs, but this time she didn’t tie us up. “Let’s talk turkey here,” she said. “Who are you girls?” “My name is Svetlana Price,” I said first. “I am…” I stopped, remembering what Jessie said in that phone call earlier. “You’re what?” she asked. “I’m…fourteen years old,” I continued, deciding not to tell her my role in Cordis Die. “I turn fifteen in two months.” “Huh,” she said. “Interesting. I’m Avril Lavigne, by the way. You may recognize me as a pop singer.” “So…who are you?” Nikki asked. “Are you a terrorist?” Avril was silent for what seemed like an eternity, looking at us with cold, blue eyes. Finally, she said, “It’s complicated.” “What do you mean by ‘it’s complicated?’” asked Nikki. “You may not understand the real truth of my being here,” Avril said slowly. “And yes, I admit it: I am a terrorist.” I felt like punching her in the face upon hearing these words, but I managed to pull myself together. Nikki just looked at her in shock. “I am not the usual kind of terrorist, however,” she said. “I only terrorize other terrorists, not innocent people like you.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “I work for an organization,” Avril explained. Then she gave me a card with a picture of a black fist made of iron with the words, BLACK IRON FISTS written in block letters below it. The fist on the logo was put against the backdrop of a pair of crossed swords, which were colored blood red. “You work for an organization called the Black Iron Fists?” I asked. “It’s called B.I.F. for short,” Avril replied. “We terrorize other terrorists for a living.” “Then, why are we here?” I asked. “I thought you were saving us from those Chechens.” “Well,” she began, but then she went on to reiterate what she said earlier. “It’s complicated.” I looked at her in horror. “You can’t just open your friend’s cell phone and call someone. You have to make sure it wasn’t tracked. Jessica Price. Now we know.” I almost screamed. “The call was tracked?” I roared. “Uh-huh,” said Avril. “While you were kidnapped, I took the time to bug your phone. Pretty neat, huh?” “You blockhead!” I screamed at her. “Listen,” Avril said. “Jessica is still alive. I overheard Solomon discussing a way to kill you both but I convinced him otherwise. However, Jessie’s seen me. She’s in as much danger as you, Svetlana. She’ll probably die in less than a week. That is, unless you can tell me, what did you and Jessie talk about? “I know you two were talking on the phone. It was after I bugged it. Did Jessie know about Kaylyn and me? Is that why she told you not to give us anything? Did you hear it correctly? Did anyone else hear it other than me? Did she know about the work I’d done? “Could I be compromised at Cordis Die?” I didn’t respond, but just stared at Avril in horror. She was a mole? How come Commander Young didn’t catch this? “You bugged my phone?” I asked. “And you’re a mole?” “Svetlana, pay attention!” Avril said, snapping her fingers. “Pay attention, pal.” I started to look at her with bitter hatred in my eyes. “Did Jessie know I was a mole?” Avril asked. “Did she know that?” “You were a terrorist all along,” I said. “That’s how you bugged my phone and spilled the secret about our phone conversation. You bugged my phone! How could you do this?” “I thought you two could talk,” Avril said. “But I wasn’t gonna let your dad, of all blockheads, undo the work I’d done. I took action, Svetlana, on behalf of the entire working families of Canada and America, the armed forces, the White House. “I’ve had enough of your dad and his plan plan against me. Your dad, he’s just a blockheaded poster boy. Solomon grabbed you and Nikki just like he wanted and then what? “Solomon’s a fucking weed. You cut him out and two more springs up just like him the next day, Svetlana. Arrest him and then what? You use him. Collaborate with him. “And it’s Operation Thunderbird. In forty-eight hours, the cursed Caliphate will suffer a devastating cyberattack from me and the stock market in that region will crash. Then I will team up with Kaylyn and assassinate the Pope, Felix II. Then we’ll bomb eleven airliners bound for the United States from Europe and Asia and hijack a twelfth plane, fly it into the CIA Headquarters in Arlington, Virginia. Bang! That goddamn blockhead of a CIA director Oscar Connor will die. “And when the dust settles, the Caliphate will be framed, UN Security Council gets a report by this time tomorrow. We’re invading the Caliphate in one big armada together with the Alliance, Cordis Die, and CryNet. We’re talking total unmanned aerial vehicular warfare against the entire Islamic extremist community. And when the war ends, our country will have to do what it does best: clean-up, infrastructure, democracy wins. Islam is crushed like a little blockheaded bug of a cult group. “Israel lives on, America dominates, Islam is no more, Jews live happily ever after, everyone’s happy.” I could barely talk; Avril had just exposed what I thought was the biggest terrorist plot since 9\11. “What did you and Jessie talk about?” Avril pressed. “You tell me and Jessie walks.” My jaw dropped. “What do you mean ‘Jessie walks?’” “I’ve tapped into your phone and according to the information I’ve gathered, the only other family member who knows of Operation Thunderbird aside from you and your dad is Jessica, your older sister. But don’t worry about her…I’ll make sure she’s nice and snug.” “You kidnapped her?” I burst into tears. Avril just smiled, nodded and said, “You never cease to amaze me.” “Where did you take her?” I demanded. “Tell me or I swear I will kill you!” “Relax,” Avril said, getting up. “She’s right here in the same building as you. Just on a different floor.” “Let me see her!” I cried. “I want to see her! Take me to her!” Avril was silent. “I want to see her!” I cried. “I won’t tell you a thing until I see her, hear her voice! I want know she’s alive somehow!” “Of course,” she said, smiling. I took a deep breath, barely managing to keep myself from going into a terrible rage and beating the ever loving stink out of the young woman, whom I thought was a friend, but had just now revealed herself as an enemy. I thought back to when I fell asleep on that van; I figured that during the time I fell asleep, Avril and her thugs kidnapped Jessica and brought her here. Later, I heard a door open and two men, clad in inky black uniforms with what looked like tactical vests, kneepads and elbowpads with weird-looking helmets, entered the room, wielding Kalashnikov AK-103 assault rifles. Avril was holding an Uzi submachine gun and pointing it at a bound and hooded girl wearing a bloodied T-shirt that said I LOVE NY on it. Her hands were tied behind her with nylon straps. “W-where are you taking me?” she asked. “Where am I?” I recognized the voice immediately. “Jessie!” I screamed, which made my older sibling jump. Avril cut Jessie’s ties and removed the hood. Jessie’s face was a mess; her nose looked like it’d been struck with a hammer multiple times and was bleeding. Her golden-brown hair was all messy and matted with sweat. She had broken a tooth and dried blood from her bloody nose caked her face. Her blue eyes were wide open in absolute terror. Avril turned her loose and we both ran at each other after she left the room. I wrapped my arms around Jess and started crying a river as we hugged each other. “Are you all right?” she asked. “I’ve…been better,” I replied shakily. “They did terrible things to me,” Jessie sobbed. “Oh, God! They did things you can’t imagine.” “What happened?” I asked. “My college professor turned me in,” Jessie sobbed. “They interrogated me and…” “And what?” I asked. “I broke! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Svetlana. Please!” “It’s okay,” I said. “Was it accidental?” “No. I had no choice,” Jessie said. “They were hitting me with a sledgehammer and threatening to harm you if I didn’t say anything. One of ‘em threatened to torture you in front of me!” I looked behind me and saw that Nikki was looking at us with a surprised look on her face. “That’s your sister?” she asked. “Wow, I thought she was a lot prettier than this.” “It’s a long story,” Jess replied, still hugging me. Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

Price was losing it; seeing his daughter all beat up on the screen was enough to make him go ballistic. “That’s it!” he was raving. “I’ll kill her! I will kill this nasty little piece of crap!” “Price, get ahold of yourself,” said Doug. “We’ll get them both out. I promise.” “It’d better be soon,” Price grumbled. I was thinking about other things, however; what Avril said about Operation Thunderbird-launching a cyber attack on the Caliphate, assassinating the Pope, bombing eleven airliners bound for America from Europe and Asia, and then flying a Boeing 757 into the CIA HQ in Arlington, VA-was nerve wracking. It even sent Oscar Connor into a state of shock after he listened to the conversation between Svetlana Price and her captor. However, once Jessie entered the room, that’s when all of us started thinking Avril had been planning a cover-up. She wanted to kidnap the girls in order to throw us off her back, allowing her to plot Operation Thunderbird with Kaylyn. “This is deep,” Oscar commented after approximately five hours of silence. “I mean, does she really want to throw us off her back.” “It’s starting to look like it,” I said. “All right. Enough talk. Cm’on, guys. Let’s make things happen.”

Chapter 43: The Revelations of Jessica Price

Rome, Italy

Svetlana Price

“What happened?” I asked. “Jessie, what happened during your time with Avril’s goons?” Jessie looked like she was going to break into hysterics, but instead she just buried her head in my chest and started bawling quietly. I sighed; it wasn’t like her to act like this. Normally, Jessie was composed and calm. Now she was freaking out like crazy. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she sobbed. “It’s too horrible!” “What do you mean it’s too horrible?” I asked. “They did things you can’t imagine! I told you that!” Jessie cried. “What happened between you and Avril’s goons?” Nikki asked. “You can tell us. We’re not going to turn you in.” Jessie looked up at me with her tear-streaked eyes and said, “Whatever happens, sis, you do not-repeat: DO NOT-tell this to anyone else, unless the information is leaked. Got it?” “I got it,” I said. “Now tell me what happened.”

“I…I was dragged into a room with Avril and a few other guards looking at me,” Jessie began. “They…they interrogated me for hours. They asked me about Dad, what he did, what he planned to do, everything. I didn’t want to break, but then they started making threats at me. They threatened to harm both you and Dad. “They threatened to torture you in front of me, sis. They wanted to kill us both. Solomon wanted us both dead, but Avril convinced him otherwise. I-I thought she told you…” “She told me,” I said. “She told me about Solomon’s plan to kill us both and how she talked him out of it. Go on.” “That’s what I thought,” Jessie answered. “Anyway, they tortured me and tried to get me to talk. That’s…that’s when she-Avril-started talking to Solomon.”

Five hours earlier…

Rome, Italy

Jessica Price

For the past five hours, I’d been interrogated mercilessly. They asked me about Dad, about Svetlana, and how she was taken way before I was. Whenever I refused to give them what they wanted, they either threatened to kill Svetlana, torture me in front of her, or kill Dad. I strained against the bonds strapping me to the chair. I looked around at the room; there was a table with operating instruments to my left and a large TV system to my right. I could see my interrogators shouting at Avril in Arabic and English through the window. I wanted to scream at the men, but I could say nothing; a muzzle was strapped across my mouth. Then I heard Avril saying, “I want them alive, gentlemen. You tell Solomon that or else I’ll shoot you all for being disobedient.” “Solomon’s orders were to-!” began one of the thugs, but Avril cut him off. “I don’t give a crap what he says!” she screamed. I jumped; I had no idea Avril swore. Never in my whole life did I hear a swear word come out of Avril’s lips. “You tell him to call off the assassination or I’ll blow his goddamn head right off his body!” she continued. “Oh, all right,” said a Chechen angrily. “But you owe us!” “You won’t have to,” said Avril. Then I saw her produce a Smith and Wesson pistol and shoot one of the men. I screamed through the gag upon hearing the gunshot. “Move it!” she cried to the second man. “Now, or else you’re next!” The man nodded and quickly hurried away. Later, Avril herself entered the room, just as Solomon came on the air on the radio feed. “You want to me to spare the two women?” he asked angrily. “Get outta here, dim-witted piece of crap!” Avril cried. “I’ll handle this piece of scum myself!” “You want to die with them?” Solomon blew. “Your choice, sucker!” “Back off, you pigheaded blockhead!” Avril cried. Solomon fell silent and she turned to me. “Now he won’t be harassing you,” she said, undoing the straps sealing the muzzle around my mouth and removing it, allowing me to talk to her. “You pigheaded piece of crap!” I spat. “Are you trying to save me, or worsen my torment?” “Actually,” said Avril. “I wanted to tell you that your sister, Svetlana, is alive.” I froze; Svetlana had been kidnapped too? “Solomon’s guys kidnapped her, intending to kill you both,” Avril went on. “But I told the damn guy to spare the two of you.” I broke down into tears and begged, “Take me to her! Take me to her! Please take me to her! I want to see her!” “Okay,” Avril said, freeing my wrists from the chair. I raised a fist and slugged her right across the face while wrenching my other wrist free. I then started walking across the room and out the door, where I could hear people screaming in torment. This place was Hell, as far as I was concerned, and I wanted to find Svetlana and get her out of here.

Present time…

Rome, Italy

Svetlana Price

“You were looking for me?” I asked. Jessica nodded as she hugged me again. “You really were trying to save me?” I asked. She nodded again. “But I didn’t reach you. I was ambushed by Avril and knocked out. She then told me about you and that you wanted to see me, but she had other ideas. So here I am.” I sighed; this woman, Avril, was nice despite the fact she was a terrorist. I wondered how she managed to balance her two separate personalities. “Gee,” I said. “Where is Avril anyway?” I later heard Avril say something to one of her henchmen and then drive off in a car. “I think she’s taking a little vacation,” Jessica said. Then her face suddenly lit up. “Now, let’s find a way to get out of here, shall we?”

Chapter 44: No longer just kids

• War is a biological necessity of the first importance, a regulative element in the life of mankind which cannot be dispensed with…. But it is not only a biological law but a moral obligation and, as such, an indispensable factor in civilization. Friedrich von Bernhardi, Germany and the next War (1911), Chapter I.

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

“Guys, I got a fix on your girls’ location!” Howard Stivey suddenly rang out from the back room. “They’re still in Rome, but they’re on the other side of the city!” “Stink,” I muttered as I looked at the steering wheel of the Ashton Martin. “That’s pretty good intelligence for a Cordis Die agent.” Suddenly, I heard Howard muttering, “Huh, this is new.” Price jumped up and ran at him. “Don’t tell me Avril’s gone and brutalized my sweethearts!” he roared. “Nah, it’s nothing like that,” Howard replied. “It’s just that…there’s been another kidnapping, but this time two of the victims are adults.” “Adults?” I asked, now getting out of the car and joining Howard and Price at a computer system, which logged the profiles of two young women. “Adults,” I said. “But it’s another female, right?” Howard nodded. “There’s one odd thing about this one,” he said. “The adult involved is…” I looked at him impatiently, itching for an answer. “Is what?” I pressed. “One of them’s an Israeli,” Howard said quietly. “The other two are…Russian and American.” I nearly threw up; first Solomon was grabbing random American and European girls off the street and now he got an Israeli adult woman and two Russians? This was new. “Anything else about this case?” I asked. “It’s…odd,” Howard said. “I thought Solomon was the kidnapper, but it’s changed now. This time Avril is the kidnapper.” I nearly fainted; first Solomon and now Avril. Avril was a terrorist, but I had no idea she advocated human trafficking. “Does she advocate human trafficking?” I asked Howard, just to make sure I was right. “Nah, she’s against it,” Howard said. “But the motive for this one is the same: she’s trying to throw us off her back so she can launch Operation Thunderbird.” “Seriously?” I asked.

Lev suddenly barged into the room and said, “Let me see the victims.” Howard looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t see you come in,” he said. “But sure. You can see them.” “How many of them are there?” “Three.” “Avril took three of them all at once?” “Nah, the Russian was taken sometime after Avril left the facility holding the Price girls. The American and the Israeli were taken together one hour later.” When Howard uploaded the photographs of the women who were kidnapped, Lev nearly lost it. “What in the blazes?” he cried. “Those…one of them is my sister!” I looked at Lev. “Seriously?” “Uh-huh,” he said. “Take a look yourself.” I looked at the photographs of the women. The Russian had blonde hair and green eyes and the other had auburn hair-much like Jessie-and blue eyes. The first woman was identified as Valentina Ivanovich Raskova. According to her profile, she was twenty-one years old with a medium build and she was 6’5. The rest of the profile gave some kind of biography; she was born on August 3, 1999, the second of five kids. Her younger sister, Petra, came first, Valentina came second, Lev came third, Dima came fourth, and some other guy named Dimitri came fifth. At age 13, she won her first Student Council election while attending a public middle school in New York City, New York and became treasurer for the entire school year. During her eighth grade school year, she ran for vice president and lost, but the following year in ninth grade, she won the position of secretary of Student Council. She currently resided in Volgograd, Russia. I looked at the profiles of the American and the Israeli together. The name of the Israeli was Eden Rhozhdestvenski and she had black hair and dark eyes. As of now, she served as an Israeli Defense Forces operator. Where she was stationed, I didn’t know. The shocking part was that she and the American were friends for…wait for it…four years in a row! Upon reading the Israeli’s background information, I was amazed. Eden was born on January 3, 1999 and her current age was twenty-one, the same as Valentina. She was an Israeli, but she was originally from the country of Afghanistan (explaining her dark skin and hair), having immigrated to Israel in 2001, a few months after 9\11. She was married two years to some Russian guy named Vladimir Rozdestvenski and the two of them met while studying abroad at the UCLA (University of California Los Angeles)-the very same college Madison Young wanted to attend-where they were studying different subjects; Eden wanted to study aviation and become a pilot and Yaakov was studying engineering. In the years leading to their wedding, the two lovebirds dated on and off during their college career until 2011, when Yaakov went to join the Israeli Defense Forces. During the time he was gone, Eden got a degree in aviation and went on to become a pilot for the Israeli Defense Forces. During a mission in Iraq, the two met again and afterwards, they dated once more. They married on August 4, 2018. When I read the American’s profile, I nearly fainted again; the American was called Dyan (the American spelling of the French name Diane) Blackburn. She was born on April 5, 1991 and her current age was twenty-nine. I looked at her profile picture; she looked like an older version of me, with the same hair and eye color, only her skin tone was lighter than mine. Even she was married. Her husband was some guy in the Marines named Henry Blackburn, who was warped by Ben (accidentally) from the video game Battlefield 3. I fainted; her husband was the exact same guy I talked to back in Iraq! Just like Eden’s, Dyan’s profile mentioned that the two women were friends for four years straight. What amazed me was how the two women met to begin with; Yaakov met Henry a couple of years Henry’s warping into the real world and it was Yaakov who suggested to Eden that they should try and meet with the Blackburns and get to know each other. He was right on; both of the families became fast friends and enjoyed hanging out. Yaakov and Henry enjoyed stopping terrorism together and the two women enjoyed shopping and enjoying each other’s company. The profile also mentioned that they liked to talk about religion; apparently Dyan had been a Christian for four years and Eden had been a Jew for the same amount of time. “Pretty deep, huh?” asked Howard after I was done reading the profiles. “It’s pretty cool, I know. Who would’ve thought that the two women were friends for two years straight?” “I didn’t,” I said. “Now, is there any footage of the kidnapping? And what were the two women doing in Italy?” “Vacationing,” Howard explained. “Their husbands were on furlough and the two families decided to vacation here in Italy. They planned on touring Rome, Florence, and Venice. And yes, there is footage.” He then took out a laptop and opened it, then accessed the Internet and went on YouTube. “The public decided to get this on YouTube,” he said. “Well, actually some witness shot the footage and put it on YouTube, the US, British, and Russian governments all analyzed it and declared it to be genuine. Next thing you know, Avril Lavigne, the world’s most popular Canadian pop singer-turned terrorist is on the wanted lists of the CIA, Interpol, the British Secret Service, and the GRU. “In addition to this, the Italian government has declared that Avril is also a wanted terrorist, so the Italians are after her too.” “So she’s both America, England, Italy, and Russia’s most wanted?” I asked. Howard nodded and played the footage. “This was shot from the guy’s balcony across the street from where the kidnapping happened,” Howard explained as the video played. “Is there any sound?” I asked. Howard shook his head. On the screen, the two women, the Israeli and the American, were walking and appeared to be talking together when a large car appeared behind them. Later, a van appeared beside them and stopped. Suddenly about ten armed men and women-I could tell females were involved because of their long hair and womanly build-clad in black Kevlar vests over black UnderArmor shirts and sweatpants leaped out of the vehicle with what looked like a variety of weapons. On their backpacks, I could see the letters B.I.F. written in white. John swore. “They must be Avril’s thugs,” he said. As I watched, the four operatives clamped their hands over the women’s mouths, wrists and legs and dragged them into the van, but not before violently slamming their faces into the door of the vehicle. “Ouch,” I muttered and then flinched when I saw that the women’s noses were all bloody and swollen. I judged that the violent maneuvers had broken their noses. As I watched, poor Eden and Dyan were shoved on top of each other on the sidewalk while the commandos tied bandanas around the women’s heads, tied their hands behind them with nylon ties, and pulled cloth hoods over their heads. They were then dragged into the van as it drove off, ending the video. “Deep stuff,” Howard said as he clicked on another video. “This one shows the abduction of Valentina Raskova.” This footage was longer, but it looked similar, only there was no car involved. However, it was equally disturbing. On the screen, Valentina was just walking casually when Avril’s thugs ambushed her, grabbing her and wrapping duct tape around her mouth and then pulling a hood over her head. The commandos then duct-taped her wrists and ankles and carried her off into a large building to the right. Afterwards, the video switched frames and cut to a large building that looked awfully familiar. Then it hit me; it was the same building that the Price siblings and Nikki Rhames were imprisoned inside. Inside, I could see the men entering the room, where they regrouped with the ones who snatched the Israeli and the American. Later, all three of them were shoved against a wall and left there to die in the room. The video then skipped a few frames later, where it showed Valentina struggling to get the hood off her head. It took about five minutes, but eventually, she got it off and was also able to remove the tape from her mouth. It was here that I could hear sounds. “Hello?” she started calling out into the darkness. “Anyone there? HELP!” Dyan, who was right next to her, moaned quietly as she tried to respond. As I listened carefully, I could hear her trying to get the tape off her mouth. Valentina turned to her “inmate” and yanked the hood off her head. She then threw the bag away and said, “You all right?” Dyan nodded and then tried to talk through the gag in her mouth. “Here,” Valentina said later. “Let me get this off.” She then tried to untie the gag, but with her bound hands, she couldn’t do anything and eventually gave up. However, Dyan leaned forward, nudged against the wall, and managed to get the gag off herself. “I’m OK,” she said. “But I think my nose is broken. Are you all right?” Valentina nodded. “Who are you anyway?” Dyan asked. “I’m Valentina Raskova,” replied the Russian. “Who are you?” “Dyan Blackburn. Any idea where we are or who are captors are?” “Uh, I have no idea,” Valentina said shakily. “But I did notice the captors looked either American or Canadian. It’s so strange. Why would Americans-or Canadians-take us? I thought they were our friends.” “That’s what I was thinking too,” Dyan replied. “But I’m thinking those guys were probably either Iron Hand operatives disguised as ‘B.I.F. commandos’ or Team Black mercenaries.” “Is your…err, Israeli friend all right?” Valentina asked later. Suddenly, the Israeli started talking through the gag in her mouth. Even though it was muffled, the subtitles read, “I’m okay! I’m okay!” Valentina scooted over and removed Eden’s hood while Dyan removed the gag. “I can’t believe we were kidnapped by Americans,” Eden gasped. “I feel so betrayed right now.” “Those were not Americans,” Valentina said. “Those were private military companies working for whoever B.I.F. is.” “I think it’s a name,” Dyan said. “But I can’t be sure.” “I have a suggestion,” Valentina suggested. Then I heard her say jokingly, “Big Idiotic Fatboy!” All of us started laughing when she said that; we all knew from that earlier clip with the Price girls that B.I.F. actually meant “Black Iron Fists”, but I had to admit that what Valentina said was pretty hilarious. “That’s my sister,” Lev managed between guffaws. “She’s got a great sense of humor.” “What kind of name is ‘Big Idiotic Fatboy’ anyway?” Price cried. “I don’t know,” Howard replied, still guffawing. “But it sounds hilarious!” Suddenly, I heard the unmistakable voice of Jessica Price scream, “Hey! I hear someone!” We all froze in our seats; the women were imprisoned right next to the girls. They were just separated by that wall. Svetlana’s voice was heard screaming, “Hey! Help us!” “Wait a second,” we heard Nikki bark. “They’re not soldiers. I think they’re fellow inmates.” “Great,” said Jessie. “Just as we’re about to hatch a plot to get out of here, we hear new arrivals. What could be better than this?” Then the video ended. I looked at everyone and said, “Enough talk. Let’s find this maniac.”

Chapter 45: The Plan to Stop Operation Thunderbird

I thought you could get her back. But I wasn't going to let Brassel, to let all people, undo the work I'd done. I took action, Ethan. On the behalf of the working families of our country, the Army force, the white house. I've had enough of Brassel and his sanctimony. IMF director, he's an affirmative action poster boy. You grabbed Davian like he wanted, then what? Davian's a weed. You cut him out, two more spring up he's just like the next day. Arrest him, then what? You use him. Collaborate with him. And it's Christmas. In 18 hours, the Rabbit's foot will be sent to its Middle East buyer, and we'll have credible Intel to prove it. UN security counsil will get a report by this time tomorrow, we're talking a military strike in a week. And when the sand settles, our country will do what it does best: clean up, infrastructure. Democracy wins. - Billy Crudup in the movie Mission Impossible III

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

“Okay, guys,” said Howard. “This is how Operation Thunderbird works. First, Avril will assassinate the Pope.” As he said this, Howard brought up a photograph of a guy in his fifties wearing a white Pope’s outfit. He looked kind of like Pope Benedict XVI. “Pope Felix Horvat,” he said. “Raised in Croatia.” “He’s the target?” asked Mason. “Yeah, and apparently they’re planning on killing the Pope so they can throw the government off their back.” “And how in the blazes are they going to do it?” I asked. In response, Howard took out a photograph of the Colosseum, or Flavian Amphitheater. Situated just east of the Roman Forum, this baby could seat 87,000 people and the audience could watch gladiators fight or, in ancient times, animals kill Christians (which was kind of disgusting, but you get the idea). “The Pope meets here,” said Howard, pointing at the center of the amphitheater. Then he pointed at the seating area. “The assassins plan to strike from the audience. And Commander Hogan’s planning to put you in the audience so you can keep an eye on the activity.” “Okay,” I said. “And if the assassins start acting weird?” “Shoot anyone acting suspiciously,” said Howard. “That’s the game plan.” I laughed. “I like it!” “But,” said Howard. “First things first: let’s find those girls and get them out of there.”

Chapter 46: The Raid

“Quite frankly, I didn't even want to use you guys, with your dip and velcro and all your gear ****. I wanted to drop a bomb. But people I had the standard Colt M4A1 carbine, decked out with an M68 Aimpoint reflex sight, a Knight’s Armament RAS hand guard and vertical foregrip. However, I also had futuristic weapons too; for a secondary weapon, I had the SCAR-U, the very weapon the M4A1 was replaced by. “Intel checks out,” said Mason Davidson. “There’s the building.” Sure enough, the building in the video and the building in front of us turned out to be a precise match. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s move. Those girls won’t survive for long.” “Why? Under threat of execution?” asked Lev. “Uh, yeah,” I said. “I heard sometimes kidnappers kill the captives instead of freeing them.” “Oh, jeez,” Doug said.

Rome, Italy

Svetlana Price

Everyone in my cell had been asleep for about five hours, which was pretty long considering the fact we were really tired after our “day of abuse”. I half opened my eyes; the cell was quiet. I was the only one awake. I looked around; my sister and Nicole were still asleep. I could hear people talking outside. A lot of people.

Suddenly, the door opened and two Chechens led another girl into the room. This one had dark hair and looked kind of like the young girl Nikki told me about in her story about Operation Thunderbird. Unlike the other prisoners I’ve heard in the past several hours, this one wasn’t screaming. She was actually unconscious. The men shoved her against the wall, grabbed her wrists, which were cuffed together, and began chaining them to a nearby pipe. I couldn’t talk; I was just sitting there, rooted in fear like some dumb idiot who was too afraid to do anything. The men then began tearing her clothes, which was a bit sickening and disgusting in my opinion. They ripped open her tattered and bloody jacket, revealing a pink spot on her chest. The men then laughed and left the room, leaving this new prisoner in her new cell. With me watching, of course. Nikki stirred, but the men suddenly grabbed her, taking her completely by surprise. “Where are you taking me? Where are we going?” she asked in surprise, tears running down her face; she was obviously terrified of the men. “You’ll see,” replied one of the men and they started dragging Nikki out of the cell. She was crying in terror and screaming hysterically. I looked away as they shut the door. Nikki’s screams just faded away, though they were still ringing in my ears when I looked toward the door again. Then I turned toward this new inmate of mine, who was starting to awaken. The minute she found herself in the cell and me staring at her, she broke down, crying her eyes out. I wanted to know if this girl was the same person that Nikki mentioned. I thought back for a moment; Nikki said that her friend was a sixteen-year old by the name of Heather Wallace. She had dark hair and blue eyes. This one also had dark hair and blue eyes; I began wondering if this was the same person. She just stood there, chained wrists strung above her, mouth sealed with duct tape and eyes red from all that bawling and sobbing. I suddenly looked away in disgust; she’d been stripped to her tank top, which was all bloody. Her nose, like Nikki’s was all bloody and smashed. Some of it coated the duct tape covering her mouth. Her forehead was also bleeding, suggesting that someone had hit her in the head really hard. “Are you okay?” I asked, approaching her. She looked around the room, then looked at me and started screaming. “No, no, no, don’t,” I said quietly. “Don’t scream or they will hear you.” Immediately, she quieted. “Did they hurt you a lot?” I asked. She nodded. “Do you know where we are?” She looked around and then shook her head. “Do you have any idea if our kidnappers wanted something?” She shook her head again, eyes about to tear up once more. “Okay, don’t move and don’t scream,” I said. Then I touched the edge of the tape and tried to remove it, but she screamed in pain. Apparently, I was hurting her by trying to remove the gag. “It hurts?” She nodded. “But if I want to talk to you…” The girl just shook her head again, but I was already touching the edges of the tape. She started whimpering and closed her eyes. “This’ll take a second,” I said. And I ripped the tape off. “AAAH! Don’t do that!” she was crying from the pain I caused her when the tape was forced from the skin. “It hurts!” “Is your lip bleeding?” I asked. “Y-yeah,” she said. “It is. I got punched in the mouth twice in a row.” “No wonder,” I said. “What’s your name?” “My name is Heather,” she said. “Heather Wallace.” I suddenly hit myself on the head; she really was Nikki’s old friend. “Is Nikki here?” she sobbed. “I-they took her,” I said. “I’m so sorry.” She then started crying. “Are you the only one here?” she sobbed, looking down at the floor. I shook her head and pointed at the two girls sleeping on the floor behind me. “They’re inmates too,” I said. “Oh my God, first they grab Nikki, then they take me and put me here in her place?” Heather sobbed. “What is this? Why do they keep moving us around? Why am I here? I want to get out of here!” “I do too,” I said. “But I can’t. Not without the guards noticing.” Suddenly, Heather looked me right in the eye. “What’s your name?” “My name is Svetlana,” I said. “Svetlana Marie Price.” “When did they take you?” Heather asked. “Two days ago,” I said. “You’ve been in here longer than I’ve been,” Heather said, trying to hold back the tears. “I’ve been in this rotten building for a week. They took me last week and put me here.” “What were you doing when they grabbed you?” I asked. “Stopping Operation Thunderbird,” Heather said, calming down now. “I was trying to get information about the assassination of the Pope.” Suddenly, it all came rushing back; the plot to assassinate the Pope, Felix II, the bombing of the eleven airliners from Europe to the United States, the crashing of a plane into the CIA HQ in Airlington, Virginia. Everything. “Uh, Heather,” I said. “Your friend mentioned the Lost Gospels being used as a weapon against humanity. Is this true?” Heather nodded. “Do they have, like, supernatural powers?” I asked. She nodded again. “At least that’s what they say they have.” “And if they’re wrong?” “I couldn’t take chances,” Heather said. “I had to get those Lost Gospels back whether they were supernaturally powerful or not.” “Did, err, someone steal them?” Heather nodded again. “The bandits who stole them probably wanted something out of them. Thought they could control the whole world with them.” “What’s that got to do with Operation Thunderbird?” I asked. “They’re saying that if the Lost Gospels remain in the hands of terrorists, they could occupy the government long enough for them to shut off all airport security, paving the way for the airline bombings.” “What about the assassination of the Pope?” “They can use the words of the Lost Gospel against the Pope,” Heather explained. “So they can do two things at once: they can assassinate the Pope and bomb the airliners at the same time.” “So that’s what you were doing here? You were trying to get the Lost Gospels back so their supposed powers can be back in the hands of allies?” “Yes,” Heather said. “But they took me to slow my friends down.” “You mean there’s other operatives engaged in the same mission?” I was surprised. “All of Cordis Die’s involved,” said Heather. “Madison Young, my commanding officer, has made it a top priority to recover the Lost Gospels.” “Okay,” I said. Then I stopped; Nikki never told me anything about the Lost Gospels, but I did hear about them. And I did hear about the Apocrypha. Specifically, though, I heard about the Testament of Solomon. In this story, Solomon used a ring to enslave an army of demons in order to build God’s temple. That, to me, sounded like bogus; God normally wouldn’t associate with evil spirits and He certainly wouldn’t use evil spirits to build His temple. “So…the Testament of Solomon,” I said. “Is that their source? Is that their driving force to commit these atrocities?” Heather nodded. “That’s what I was told.” I then began looking around my cell, ignoring my slumbering sibling. Heather looked at me hopefully while I searched the area. “What are you looking for?” she asked. “A key,” I said. “Because I’m getting you out.” “I have a key,” Heather said. “I stole it from a guardhouse, which is why they put me here. Surprisingly, they didn’t take the key back.” “Where?” I asked. “It’s in my jacket pocket,” Heather said. “You’ll have to dig.” “All right,” I said, running to her and feeling into the left breast pocket of her jacket. It took a while, since my hands were still tied, but I eventually found it. I looked at the key and then at the keyhole on Heather’s handcuffs. “Okay, don’t move,” I said. Then I inserted the key into the keyhole and turned it, opening the shackle and freeing Heather’s left wrist. I repeated the procedure on her right wrist and Heather was free. As she rubbed her sore wrists, she looked at me and smiled. “Thanks,” she said.

Chapter 47: Kidnapping Charlotte

Rome, Italy

Vinnie Ferguson

I stared at the profile of my kidnap victim, smiling to myself. The information was all there. It was never wrong.

Name: Charlotte (last name unknown)

Nationality: American

Skin color: Dark

Hair color: Brown

Eye color: Brown

Status: Alive (aged 16)

Occupation: Cordis Die agent

Avri Lavigne was smiling on my laptop’s video chat app as I looked at the profile. The kidnapping op, which was personally done by me, had been a success. However, I felt that duct taping her mouth was unnecessary. Oh well, I thought. Charlotte’s here. We move forward with the plan. Avril then ended the video chat, leaving me with Charlotte, who was beginning to stir in the back of the van I was in. I could hear her moaning as she tried to move. Then I heard her crying as she realized she’d been kidnapped.

Chapter 48: Escape

Rome, Italy

Svetlana Price

After I’d uncuffed Heather, she took out a knife hidden in her back pocket (I had no idea how she had one, or how she’d managed to sneak a weapon like that past the guards) and cut the nylon ties that bound my wrists. While rubbing my sore wrists, I looked at the walls, then at the door and back again. Heather looked at me and then at the walls in curiosity. “Svetlana, what is it?” she asked. “What are you looking for? We’ve got to get out of here!” I turned. “I know. I’m trying, Heather. Okay? Let me see something really quick.” Then I continued scanning the wall while Heather took anxious glances toward the door. I was still scanning the wall when Heather suddenly whispered in my ear, “Are you looking for a weapon to kill one of the guards?” I shook my head. “Then what is it you’re trying to find?” Heather asked. I just scanned the wall some more and then gasped in excitement, which made Heather brighten up hopefully. “I found one,” I cried. “What asked Heather?” “I found an air vent!” “You found an air vent?”

Giddy with excitement, I ran toward Jessie, searching her jacket pockets. My sister stirred and she looked sleepily at me, her eyes heavy with fatigue. “What are you doing?” she asked, rubbing sleep gunk out of her eyes. “Jessie, do you have a screwdriver anywhere?” I asked. “No,” Jessie said, now wide-awake. “Why? And who is this?” I turned to Heather and said, “This is Heather. Heather, this is my older sister, Jessie.” “Err, hi,” the two of them said awkwardly. Jessie then looked at me. “Was this your idea or hers?” “It was mine,” I said. “Why are you doing this? I don’t have a screwdriver.” I looked up at her and stopped rummaging her jacket pockets. Suddenly, Heather felt in the pocket of her shredded, bloody jeans and said, “I have a screw driver!” She brought out the tool and gave it to me. I had no idea how she managed to sneak that past security either. “You’re a genius,” I said and began unscrewing the nails on the edges of the ventilation door.

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

John Price began smiling, which was a bit awkward for the rest of us. I looked at the TV screen in awe; I had no idea Svetlana could solve problems on her own. Personally, though, I would’ve done that myself in her shoes. “C’mon,” I said. “We should give them a little help.” “How?” asked Lev. “I can help guide them.”

Rome, Italy

Svetlana Price

I managed to get the door to the air vent open and looked inside. It was small, but had enough room to fit everyone. Heather smiled; she was obviously impressed by my ingenuity. Then she heard someone coming and paled. “Someone’s coming! Quick! Hide the opening!” I nodded and sat down in front of the door, just as one of the men who’d dragged me into the cell days earlier entered. “Are you girls comfy?” he asked. Then he looked at me. “I was surprised you, Svetlana, could get your new inmate out of her cuffs.” “Why are you doing this?” Heather asked. “Is this about our families?” The man sighed and said, “Not necessarily. It is about them, but it’s also about you.” “How is it about us?” I asked. “You have knowledge I need,” he said. “Information that Avril and the rest of B.I.F needs.” Then, for the first time, Heather swore. “Not happening. You won’t get crap from us.” “If that’s what you plan on doing, then I guess I have no choice,” the man said. Then he slammed Heather against the wall. “Where are the others?” he demanded. “Wallace. 86234598,” Heather said shakily. The man sighed. “You know, American, the Geneva Convention is a nicer idea than here, no? Why don’t you save yourself the trouble and simply answer my question,” he said. “You won’t get crap from me,” Heather swore again, now getting angry. “Beat me up all you want, but you’re not getting anything.” “Fine, if that’s what you want,” he said. Then he produced a .475 Wildey Magnum pistol, something I’d seen from a video game, from his belt and aimed it at my face, grabbing Heather’s neck with his free hand. “Last chance,” he said. “Or your friend dies.” Jessie immediately paled. “Where are the others?” the man demanded again. Heather just looked at him angrily. Then she sank his teeth into the man’s wrist as he screamed, dropping the pistol. Heather’s leg kicked out and slammed into the man’s groin. Then she drove her left fist into the man’s face, shattering his nose and sending him crashing to the floor in a lifeless heap. Grabbing at his hand, Heather took the .475 Wildey Magnum and slammed it into my hands.

I just looked at the weapon, examining its long barrel. “This is a .475,” Heather said. “Wildey Magnum. It’s a high powered pistol used by hunters.” Then she turned and said, “Don’t point at me,” after she saw me angling the gun at her stomach. “Sorry,” I said, angling the weapon down as Heather checked on the opening to the air vent and then at the unconscious guard. “It holds seven to eight rounds,” she continued. “When the mag is empty, the slide will lock back like this.” I heard a locking sound and saw what she meant. “To reload, push this button,” she said, pointing to a round, black button on the side of the gun near the trigger. “The empty mag falls out and you shove the other one in, like the kitchen flashlight’s batteries. Then release the slide.” She then gave me a full magazine and slammed it into the receiver. “How do you know so much about this?” I asked, watching Heather take another gun, the familiar S-22 Orion pistol, and jam it into the small of her back. She didn’t reply, so I tried another tactic. “Why are you giving me a gun?” I asked. “People could’ve heard what happened,” said Heather. “If you need to use it, first identify your shooter and stay low. Point and shoot. Very simple. Just point and shoot.” I sighed; this girl had watched a lot of action movies. “You first,” Heather said. I nodded and crawled through the air vent. Then I turned to Jessie, who was right behind Heather. “You coming?” I asked. “I’ll stay with Heather,” she said. “You go. We’ll stay behind and cover your escape.” I nodded and crawled through the vent as Heather resealed the entrance.

Rome, Italy

Charlotte

I started crying as the man who’d grabbed me off the street started dragging me by my underarms across the floor and then began lashing me to a chair. “All right,” he said, sitting across from me. “I think you already know why I’m doing this.” I shook my head, indicating I didn’t know. “You really want to know, eh?” he asked. I stared at him for a brief moment and then nodded. “Good, now listen to me very carefully. Are you listening?” I nodded. “Good. Now the reason I grabbed you was because of Avril. This whole thing was her idea,” my captor explained. “You, Charlotte, have sensitive information that may prove detrimental to us. We need this information.” I stared at him in horror; this guy had evidently hacked my profile and exposed everything. “Now tell me,” he said, peeling the tape from my mouth. “Tell me everything you know about Cordis Die.” “I’m not giving you anything,” I gasped. “No way after you kidnapped me.” “You really are tough,” the guy said. “Just trust me, Charlotte. It’s the only play you have left. That is, unless you’d rather die.” I shook my head. “All right,” he said. “Now…” Before he could continue, something fell from above and hit him on the head. I looked up and saw a girl with dark hair and light blue eyes staring down at me from a hole in the ceiling. “Did I hit you?” she asked me, her voice possessing a European accent, possibly Bulgarian. “Uh, no,” I said. “And, err, thanks.” “You’re welcome,” my new friend said. “Who are you?” “My name is Charlotte,” I said. “I’m a Black Syndicate agent.” “I’m Svetlana,” my new friend said. “Now don’t move.” As I watched her climb down, I looked around the room; it was white all over and the locked door was pitch black. As she unstrapped me from the chair, I looked up at the whole and then at the unconscious man that had kidnapped me. “You did that?” Svetlana nodded. “Uh, okay.” “Did he hurt you?” Svetlana asked. “No,” I said. “And how old are you anyway?” “Fourteen, but I turn fifteen soon. You?” “Sixteen.” “That’s nice. Any idea how I can join you in the hole leading to the vent?” “Uh, I think so. Is there a ladder?” I searched the room and found a small ladder that was high enough to reach the air vent. Positioning it so it could touch the vent, both of us climbed into the hole and made our way forward.

Rome, Italy Svetlana Price

My new friend had tousled, bloody brown hair and brown eyes. Her slightly dark skin made her overall appearance resemble that of a Hispanic. “Are you claustrophobic?” Charlotte asked. I turned. “No. Why?” “’Cause I’m claustrophobic,” Charlotte replied, her voice shaky with anxiety. “It’s okay,” I said. “Just stay behind me.” Charlotte then looked at the Wildey pistol in my hand. “Who gave you that?” she asked. “A fellow inmate that helped me engineer this escapade,” I said. “Oh, okay,” Charlotte said. “But it’s dark. Are you sure you know were to go?” I nodded, taking note of the dim lights from grates on the floor, which illuminated our path. As we made our way forward, I heard people talking in different languages. Both of us froze. “I think they’re guards!” Charlotte hissed. “We should try a different route.” I just put my ear through a grate in the vent. I saw four people-three men and one woman-armed with guns and wearing bright green shirts with tactical vests, as well as elbow pads and kneepads. “Okay, so I think Svetlana’s up there,” the woman was saying. “But how in the blazes are we going to get to her?” “I don’t know,” said one of the men, who was a Russian. “But I think…” I wanted to cry out and signal to the soldiers, but before I could the grate suddenly dropped and I fell forward. Charlotte screamed and so did one of the male soldiers as I fell to the floor on my back. “OW!” I cried. The woman, who had freckles, a blonde-brown hairdo and brown eyes, looked down at me. “I think we found her,” she said.

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

“Commander, this is Olivia Coonz,” I said. “Package secure, but she just dropped out of the ceiling.” “Wow,” Korey said in my comms. “That’s never happened. Anyway, find out if she has the other Price kid with her.” “Copy,” I said. Then I looked down at the girl. “Are you Svetlana Marie Price?” The runaway nodded. Suddenly, she gasped and I hit myself on the head; I didn’t recognize her at first, but she was the Svetlanta Marie Price Sabina told me to look for. And on top of that, she was still with me. “Hey, ah, your friend’s here,” I said. “Your other one.” “Who?” Svetlana asked dreamily. Suddenly, Sabina’s voice brought her back to her senses. “SVETLANA! I’M COMING!” At first, Svetlana looked at me in confusion. Then Sabina Andersson, her “other friend” ran over and hugged her, sobbing hysterically. “Uh, this is kind of awkward,” Lev whispered in my ear. “We should just get out of here.” I was just standing there, looking at the two buddies hugging each other. That was, until I noticed the gun that had dropped with the girl. “Is that yours?” I asked, picking it up. Examining it closely, I saw that it was a Wildey pistol with a five-inch barrel. Turning, Svetlana nodded. Sabina looked at her and said, “We have to get out of here! They might’ve seen you!” “Who else is with you?” asked Doug. Svetlana just pointed to another girl looking down at us through the hole in the vent.

Chapter 49: Meeting the Mercenaries

Rome, Italy

Svetlana Price

I was thrilled to see Olivia and Sabina again, but now we had to escape. I heard guards shouting orders and footsteps approaching, which suddenly gave me this horrifying feeling that we’d be discovered. Charlotte dropped down from the ceiling and asked, “Are you okay?” I nodded. Suddenly, Olivia seized my free hand and said, “Come with us if you want to stay alive.” I nodded and began following Olivia down the hallway.

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

With the SCAR-U in my hand, I ran down the hallway and started gunning down several guards near a door. Behind me, Lev blew the lock off the doorknob and ran ahead of me, kicking it down. “Where’s Jessie?” I asked Svetlana, who was running out of breath. “She’s still in my cell,” she replied. “But I don’t know which one. It didn’t have a number!” “Why is she not with you?” asked Lev. “She decided to stay behind and cover my escape.” “Any others with you, other than this other girl?” asked Doug, pointing at Svetlana’s new friend. She nodded. “There’s two other girls: Heather Wallace and Nicole Rhames.” “And they’re with your sister?” I asked. “No. They took Nicole and left Heather with Jess. I think they’re still there, but…” She was interrupted by a scream, followed by a volley of gunfire. Suddenly, a door to my right flew open and two dead guards somersaulted across the floor. Later, two other girls, armed with Benelli M4 Super 90 shotguns, emerged from the door. The first girl had dark hair and blue eyes. The other had brown hair and hazel eyes. “Stink,” cried one of them. Then the first girl aimed her shotgun at me. “Don’t move,” she cried. “I have a gun! Don’t make me shoot you!” “Relax, buddy,” I said. “We’re US Special Forces. We’re here to help you.” Lowering the weapon, the second girl said, “Lemme see some credentials.” I just flashed my Vulture Force badge at the girl’s face, which made her nod and turn toward the next door directly ahead. “Are these your other inmates?” Doug asked. “Uh, yes,” Svetlana replied. Then she pointed to the dark-haired one. “That’s Heather,” she said. Then she pointed to the girl with the brown hair. “That’s Nicole.” “Huh,” I said. “I’m impressed you girls got away by yourselves.” “It was, err, her idea,” Heather said. “I just…was alone for the ride.” “How’d you get out?” Mason asked Nicole. “I was interrogated ruthlessly by the guards,” she replied. “Then Heather came and bailed me out. She couldn’t leave me hanging.” “And neither could she,” Heather added. “Wow,” Lev said. “You’re tight. You’re inseparable. HA! I’m amazed!” “Where’s Jessie?” asked John Price, feeling impatient. “Where is she? Was she taken? Did she escape?” “She’s been recaptured,” said Nicole. “What?” Price exploded. “They took her away, didn’t they?” “Uh-huh,” Heather said. “We were just about to rescue her anyway.” “Let’s go!” Price cried. “I want that blockhead Avril dead before she hits the floor!” Then the door behind them flew open and two people burst out. These guys wore urban camouflage fatigues with orange, black and white markings. They also wore brown balaclavas and goggles. Some of them also wore Kevlar helmets. They had shoulder patches that read MERCENARIES in big, black letters. “Mercenaries?” asked Mason. “Lower your weapon!” cried one of the men, whom I guessed was an Arab because of his accent. “Identify yourselves!” “Mercenaries?” asked Svetlana. “Oh, God, I’m scared!” “Mercenaries working for whom?” Doug asked. “They’re with the Chechens!” I cried. “Take them down!” At the exact same time, another Arab soldier, AKA “mercenary”, said, “They’re with the Inner Light! Take them down!” Then all of us began firing on each other. Svetlana ducked behind me and began shooting at them with her Wildey pistol. She seemed to flinch whenever the gun kicked back with recoil and I started to wish she had a better gun. “What do we do?” asked Mason, gunning down the enemy soldiers with his SCAR-U. “Just shoot ‘em!” I cried. “They’re with Chechnya! Shoot them!” Mason nodded and killed the man who shouted at us to surrender. I killed the other guy, ran to his dead body and grabbed an XM8 assault rifle from it. Examining the rifle, I found that it also had the “bloodshot”-like camouflage on it. Looking down, I saw that the others had weapons with the same bloodshot-like camo on them. I then threw the XM8 at Sabina, who caught it in midair. I grabbed an AK-47 from another dead guy and threw it at Heather. “Use that ‘cause it shoots faster,” I said. Heather nodded, stole some magazines from the dead man, and loaded her weapon up. As we emerged from the door, we came to a large room filled with Chechen Mujahideen members. They turned and raised their weapons, looking surprised. Then the mercenaries that attacked us earlier gunned them all down. Some of the were shooting at us from a nearby gangplank, probably because they thought we were affiliated with some other enemy organization. And we were doing the same to them, thinking they worked for the enemy. “Wait a sec,” said Mason. “If these guys aren’t Chechens, then they’re mercenaries for whom?” “I dunno,” I said, chucking a grenade at the Chechens and firing at the Mercenaries. “If they’re not working for Solomon, maybe they’re with Ben Hoving’s Iron Hand.” “I thought Ben already had mercenaries,” argued Harper. “Maybe these guys are it,” I said. The men were all dead by now and we were running toward the exit when… BOOM! What sounded like a suppressed pistol went off and Mason doubled over in pain. “Darn it!” I cried. Then I grabbed my comms. “We have an injured!” Doug squealed. “An injured! Repeat: we have an injured!” I turned and saw the shooter; she was a woman, about five-foot-four with blue eyes and blonde hair. She was holding a silenced Makarov PM pistol. “Darn it!” Mason groaned painfully. “She must be their CO!” I turned to face the woman, raising my SCAR-U. Before I could fire, however, a voice rang on some kind of loudspeaker. It sounded like a Russian and, just like I’d expected, it was another woman. “That’s it, gentlemen,” she said. “We have them. Chloe, kill them both!” “What the…?” I said, but then “Chloe”-who turned out to be the woman with the Makarov-fired again. I looked behind the other girl with the Makarov, just in time to see another woman wearing the same outfit as the rest of the mercenary army, with an AN-94 assault rifle. “GET DOWN!” Mason cried. But it was too late; the woman with the AN-94 opened fire. I ducked, but the other woman with the Makarov fired again. I turned and grabbed the MM1 grenade launcher I had strapped to my back, and then fired at a stack of explosive barrels behind the French shooter and below the post of the Russian shooter. BOOM! The barrels went off, sending the French fighter somersaulting and the Russian reeling. Both were screaming in pain. I, however, was screaming in delight; there was no possible way those two would ever bother me ever again. That was, until the French girl got back up, clutching her chest. Her breathing came in deep, heavy and painful gasps. The Russian girl was also injured; she had shrapnel riddling her BDU. “Die, you American bar stewards!” The Russian began screaming while firing a fully automatic Glock at us while dragging her injured buddy to safety with her other hand. As the French fighter was dragged away, she began firing at me with a fully automatic M4A1 with a red dot sight. Suddenly, more mercenaries barged out from the left, wielding submachine guns. “I’ll take the left flank!” I screamed, crashing through a door to the left. “Mason, Harper, Lev, you’re with me. Doug, John, take the girls!” “Copy that,” said Mason and the other two followed me down a large hallway while John and Doug took the other girls to safety.

Chapter 50: Ferocity meets The Peace Man "Come on! I wanna see the color of your guts, boy!" —When Alcatraz prepares to enter Lockhart's location during "Eye of the Storm” in Crysis 2

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

As I ran down the hall, I heard a door open and the next thing I knew, the Russian was right in front of me, aiming a MP-443 Grach (some type of Russian pistol) at my face. “Let’s end this now,” she said, her eyes burning with hatred against me. Apparently, she wanted to kill me after having seen what we’d done in the hall earlier. I took this moment to examine her carefully; she was about 5’7, an inch higher than me, with flowing brown hair and green eyes. Her nameplate, which was stitched to her urban camouflage BDU, read ROZHDESTVENSKI. “Okay, we don’t have to do this,” I said. “Just put the gun down and we won’t have to…” Before I could finish, Rozhdestvenski fired. I ducked, then returned fire with my SCAR-U, forcing the Russian agent to retreat down the hall. “Hazel Section, what in the blazes do you think you’re doing?” cried a familiar voice in my comms. “This is Mr. Howard, the Peace Man! I order you to cease fire!” “Ah, screw it, Peace Man,” cried the Russian. “The Americans die here!” “You fools!” cried Mr. Howard. “I’m the Peace Man! You’re not supposed to shoot people! You should be hugging! Cease fire immediately!” “Why should I hug them if one of them nearly toasted my best friend?” The Russian demanded as she ran down the hall. I shrugged and began following her, leaving everyone else staring at me in complete shock.

Chapter 51: Matching interests

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

I followed the Russian woman, AKA Rozhdestvenski, down the hallway, firing my SCAR-U at her while she ran behind a door and disappeared. Reloading my SCAR and then switching to my S-22 Orion sidearm, I searched the area, scanning for her presence with my keen eyes. If she wanted to ambush me, my awesomeness would take care of her. As I searched the room, I suddenly heard a voice talking in Russian. I recognized the voice as my friend Madison Young, which then threw me into confusion. No way, I thought. Madison is my best friend! That is, unless she suddenly betrayed me and ordered this group of “mercenaries” to kill me! I heard Rozhdestvenski arguing with her CO, but Madison seemed to be pretty adamant about her agenda, which apparently concerned me. I assumed that Madison was trying to protect me and let out a sigh of relief. After the conversation ended, I was once again in silence. “I’m still here, Team Leader!” I heard my opponent scream as I entered the door to the next room, which had a bunch of boxes and crates lined up against the walls. There was a gangplank above me and another room to my left. I froze; how could she know I was leader of a team of soldiers? Oh, well. It didn’t matter; I had to put this girl down or else she would destroy me. “I know you are there, American,” I heard her hissing at me. “Come out, or else I will personally come over there and beat you into a bloody pulp.” “Really?” I called out into the darkness of the room. “Do you have any idea who I am?” Nothing. Then I heard a gun cocking sound and turned around. Sure enough, there she was. She was aiming her new weapon, an FN FNP made by the Belgian FN Herstal, right at me. “You think I’m that big of an idiot?” I asked her. “I knew you were up there the whole time.” Rozhdestvenki just kept her gaze fixed on me, her finger on the trigger of her gun, just like I was. However, we just stood there, eyes fixated on each other and ready to open fire at any moment’s notice. That was, until Rozhdestvenski swore in Russian and opened fire. I shut my eyes. Then I opened again. Surprisingly, I was still alive. I wasn’t hit.

Turning, I saw that Rozhdestvenski had shot a Chechen Mujahideen member instead of me. His AKS-74u had clattered to the floor and was right beside him. “You should’ve been next, Team Leader,” she hissed, the gun pointed at me again. “Aw, great,” I said. “First you try to kill me, but then you save my life in the end? What kind of person are you?” “I could’ve just let him kill you and run off,” Rozhdestvenski replied, a Russian lilt in her voice. “But I didn’t want to, seeing that it was you who massacred several of my men and not him.” She was now pointing at the dead Chechen with her FNP. “Screw him,” I said, my Orion at my side. “This isn’t about him. It’s about you!” “Of course it is about you,” my opponent replied. “It’s about all of us.” “On the other hand,” I said. “Maybe the guy was trying to shoot you and I could’ve let him do that too. Could’ve kept my hands clean, ‘ya know.” “That was not on my to-do list,” said Rozhdestvenski. “My new priority is you, Team Leader.” She then holstered her FNP and I did the same with my S-22. “Why me?” I asked. “And do you seriously work for Madison Young, my friend with whom you talked to earlier?” “Da,” she replied. “I am a mercenary. We all are. And yes, Madison pays us.” “You are…paid by Madi?” I stuttered. “W-what? What was your mission? Why are you here? Who in the blazes are you anyway, Rozhdestvenski?” She didn’t reply.

“Why’d you fire on us?” I asked.  

“It was a mistake,” she said. “I wasn’t aware you were allies with us. You first appeared to be…hostile.” “What in the blazes?” I gasped. “Who did you think we were?” “Mercenaries for the Iron Hand,” she answered. “I thought the same for you,” I said. “I guess we were both kind of confused or something.” Rozhdestvenski sighed and said, “My name is Alexandra Rozhdestvenski. And…I know who you are, Team Leader. You are Olivia Coonz, Vulture Force’s new CO. Madison told me everything.” “Everything?” I asked. “Even the part where I’m awesome?” She nodded. “So…you will kill me anyway?” “That depends on whether you’re cooperative,” I said. “So explain before execution?” “Pretty much.” “We are running out of time, you know,” Alexandra said, her fingers grasping the butt of her FNP again. “What do you mean by ‘running out of time?’” Then, out of the blue, Alexandra said, “I’m not a traitor.” “Who said you were a traitor?” I asked. She took a deep breath. “It’s complicated, Olivia.” “Alexandra, listen to me. You’re not a traitor, you told me that. Now prove it. Who framed you and what’d he frame you for? Why’d he frame you?” She looked confused. So I tried another approach. “Okay, sorry for being so confusing. Let’s start over. Who are you? What are you?” “I told you,” she replied, getting a bit agitated. “No, I mean, who exactly do you work for and why are you here? I know Madison heads Cordis Die, but where do you fit in the picture?” “I’m part of Cordis Die’s network of mercenaries,” she said. “We’re paid for certain missions. Like this particular one.” “Which is?” I pressed. “Rescuing Jessica and Svetlana Price.” My jaw dropped; we were on the same mission? Could this get any weirder? “You were paid to rescue John Price’s kids?” I asked. Alexandra just nodded. “Uh, okay. Do you have any other objectives?” She nodded again. “Find and kill a rogue soldier named Dimitri Mayakovsky, AKA Prophet.” “Prophet?” I asked. “Prophet-that’s Dimitri’s callsign-defected from CryNet Enforcement and Local Logistics out of anger. The man who framed CryNet was Solomon, leader of the Chechen Mujahideen. CryNet Enforcement and Local Logistics commander Dominic Lockhart asked Madison to help him take Prophet down.” “Why kill him?” I asked. “He is becoming a danger to himself and innocent people.” “And why’d he defect anyway?” “He went into a rage after he found out that a C.E.L.L. team kidnapped his sister, who also has the same first name as me.” “And who is this girl?” “Alexandra Mayakovsky.” “Okay, and then what?” “He stole a futuristic suit of armor owned by Jacob Hargreave, who directs Hargreave-Rasch Biomedical. Lockhart and Madi sent me after him and…well, we thought you were one of his men.” “He has his own inner circle,” I mused. “Yes. He also wants to get revenge on Lockhart for ‘kidnapping his sister.’ He has no idea he was framed.” “And how’d you get framed?” “Well…” Alexandra said quietly. “It’s a long story.” “How’d it start?” I asked. Alexandra was silent.

Chapter 52: Framed

“The President has initiated Ghost Protocol. The entire IMF has been disavowed.” - The Secretary of IMF during Mission: Impossible: Ghost Protocol Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

“So, how in the blazes did you get framed for a crime you didn’t commit? And what happened afterwards?” I was now itching for answers. “Like I said,” Alexandra replied. “It’s a long story.” “Who framed you?” I asked again. “And why? How’d they do it? Why’d they do it?” She just took a deep breath. “I was in Chicago, Illinois, trying to stop it from being targeted by Iron Hand terrorists.” “And?” I asked. “We all got framed.” “When was this?” I asked. “Last month,” she said. “And where were you?” I asked. “Were you a part of this legion of mercenaries?” “Only part time,” Alexandra said. “It was only after the incident that I applied for a full-time job.”

One month earlier… Chicago, Illinois Alexandra Rozhdestvenski

Learning about a terrorist attack was enough to make me jump. But being on a train during an actual terrorist attack was different. I could hear passengers screaming and men in inky black collared shirts and ski masks screaming, “Nobody move! We have a bomb on board! We take control of the train!” Okay, now that was very alarming. If the terrorists really did have a bomb, we’d really be toast. I looked out. The Brown Line was part of the Chicago ‘L’ rapid transit system. It had twenty-eight stations between Chicago’s Albany Park and the downtown area. Running completely above ground, it was almost entirely grade-separated. We were now being herded to the rear of the train by the hijackers, one of them wearing a jet-black T-shirt and a ski mask and wielding a knife. In his holster, he had a gun. “Sit down!” the man screamed once we reached the rear of the train. “Sit down and shut up!” The terrorist forced me into the nearest seat, with another man in his thirties with brown hair and hazel eyes right next to me. I wanted to grab the pepper spray in my purse and spray the terrorist in the face, but then I decided against it, fearing he’d use the gun on me. Then I saw the leader, a man in his twenties with dark, short hair and dark eyes get up from his seat and turn to his comrades, who were all wearing balaclavas. “Let’s go,” he said, seemingly in Arabic, and then he led his men to the front of the train. I heard more passengers scream just as the team leader and his makeshift army of terrorists enter the engine of the train and begin shooting the conductors. “Stink,” I muttered. The female passenger to my left, who looked pretty young (about eleven or twelve) with dark brown hair and light blue eyes, looked at me, eyes wide with terror. “Does he really have a gun?” she asked me, her voice a bare whisper. I looked at the terrorist who was now moving back toward the rear of the train. I was then zeroing in on the gun he had in his holster. Then I turned to the girl and said, “Uh, yes. He does.”

Present day…

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

“You met a twelve-year old?” I asked her. Alexandra shook her head. “I couldn’t tell if she was eleven or twelve,” she replied. “She looked, ah, either twelve or thirteen. Possibly younger.” “So…what’d she do?” “She just buried her head in my shoulder and cried out of fear. She was obviously really traumatized.” After she said this, Alexandra sat down in a chair to her right. “So…what’d you do?” I asked. “I just sat there and waited for the authorities, but apparently they didn’t get the word until after ‘it’ happened.” “What is ‘it?’” I asked, now curious. “An attempt to fight back,” said Alexandra. “We were planning to rush the hijackers.” “Rush the hijackers?” Alexandra nodded. “A couple American tourists decided to fight back, but they didn’t have the firepower and all I had was a small pocket knife and a taser I always kept in my purse.” “Huh,” I said. “Who gave these other American tourists an idea to fight back?” “One of them was a friend of someone else, someone who died in the September 11 Attacks.” “Oh?” I asked. “Who was the guy?” “Oscar Connor,” she said, which made me freeze. “Oscar Connor was on that train that was hijacked?” Alexandra nodded. “The twelve-year old girl turned out to be his daughter, Dawn Connor.” I was speechless; these people were on the same stinking train? I suddenly thought back to the kidnappings of the two Connor girls. Could it be an act of revenge for foiling this terrorist plot Alexandra was talking about? “Okay,” I said. “What’d Oscar say or do that made the passengers want to fight back?” “He said, ‘We have to do something. They’re probably trying to repeat 9\11 with this thing.’” “Are you sure that’s what he said?” Alexandra just nodded.

One month earlier…

Chicago, Illinois

Alexandra Rozhdestvenski

Fighting back, I thought after Oscar Connor mentioned fighting back against the hijackers. There’s an idea. The twelve-year old-who turned out to be Dawn Connor-readily agreed. However, she was a bit nervous; she’d apparently never fought anyone, except during school fights, which she always lost. When she asked me if everything would work out, I said, “I’m pretty sure there is enough people to overwhelm the hijackers. We will survive…and you will win your first fight ever.” “It’s just that…” Dawn ventured, a Russian accent in her voice, just like mine. “…I’m not a killer.” “I was the same when I was your age,” I said. “But things are different now. We are at war…and you have to kill in a war.” Then I handed her a crowbar, which I found on the floor, and said, “If they try anything funny, strike them with this.” Dawn was hesitating, but then she took the crowbar in her shaky hands. “Are you sure about this?” I nodded. “Just hit them as hard as you can.”

Oscar had been arming other passengers with other makeshift weapons. The man himself had a canister of hot water for a weapon, which he planned to use to throw at the terrorist with the gun. I planned to get his weapon and use it on the others, apparently. “Okay, guys,” Oscar said, turning to the rest of the passengers. “Let’s roll.” I recognized that line; United Airlines Flight 93 passenger Todd Beamer used that line during a similar attempt to fight against terrorists after Al-Qaeda terrorists hijacked the plane and tried to drive it into an unknown target (I heard it was the Capitol Building). I looked behind Oscar and saw pretty much every other passenger (both tourist and resident) assembling behind him. In his hands, he clutched the metal can of hot water. I followed the passengers in what started out as a slow advance toward the hijacker with the gun and knife, who was looking at us suspiciously. Then his expression turned to horror as we all ran at him in one huge mob. Whipping out my pepper spray, I blinded the terrorist with a full blast to the face as Oscar popped the hot water container open and hurled the boiling liquid at his face. Screaming in pain, the man tried covering his eyes. That was when we all jumped him; Oscar and two other male passengers grabbed him, pinned him to the door leading to the next train car and then forced him to the floor of the train while Dawn started bludgeoning the man to death with her crowbar as Oscar and his army of male passengers held him down. I soon joined Oscar and his makeshift army of passengers and together, we clubbed him to death. The rest of us advanced toward the next train car, where the other three terrorists were lying in wait. It was as if they knew the revolt was coming. One terrorist ran to the engine while the other two ran toward us, only to be blasted by me with the pepper spray simultaneously. Oscar grabbed the first man while the other man grabbed his gun, only to be run over by me. Dawn drove the crowbar into the man’s stomach and, much to my surprise, ended up skewering him with it and killing him. Oscar and his army of male tourists started beating the other terrorist to a bloody pulp much like we all did with the first one and then we made our way to the engine. However, the terrorist who’d run into the engine had locked the door. The leader was still there, at the controls. I froze upon seeing the dead bodies of the conductor; the terrorist leader had apparently shot him to death. I also saw that the other terrorist had a suicide bomb vest! He was trying to blow up the train, apparently.

“Go, go, go!” Oscar started screaming. “Get in there! Get to the engine!” The terrorist leader immediately turned and shouted at his companion to barricade the door. However, he was too late; Oscar charged through the door and the entire army of passengers ran at the two terrorists in one big wave of people, all yelling and screaming. I bowled over the terrorist leader while everyone else started clubbing the man with the bomb to death. That just left the terrorist leader and the rest of us. The terrorist leader turned back to the road ahead and looked at himself. Then I saw it; even the terrorist leader had a bomb. “Allahu Akbar!” he screamed, mere seconds before the rest of us jumped him. “GET THE BOMB!” Oscar started screaming. “GET THE BOMB!” After that, it was all Hell; Dawn and half of the entire mob of a hundred some passengers started grappling the terrorist leader while the rest of us tried to hit the brakes. “GET THE BRAKE!” I started screaming. “Someone hit the brake!” Suddenly, Oscar started swearing. “Damn it! Go for his throat! Go for his goddamn throat!” I began to reach for the brake, which was right in front of me. “I can’t reach!” Dawn started sobbing hysterically. “I can’t!” I saw the brake and began to reach for it. And I hit it! However, it was too late; the train exploded.

Present day…

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

“So you stopped the train and Oscar killed the guy with the bomb?” I asked. Alexandra nodded. Then I had the most unexpected thought ever; if Alexandra Rozhdestvenski could beat a terrorist to kingdom come, maybe I could too! No, it wasn’t a question of maybe; I was awesome! Of course I could beat a terrorist to kingdom come! “So, err,” I said. “How’d you get framed?” “Turned out the train had a nuclear device,” Alexandra replied. “And, ah, the authorities found it. They thought I was the one who put it there.” “And?” I asked. “They found the detonator on the dead bomber, as well as the terrorist leader. The thing was that my fingerprints were found on the trigger. As for the explosion, I only survived because the explosion threw me out the window.” “It didn’t kill you,” I mused. “Why?” “I don’t know,” Alexandra said. “It must’ve been some kind of miracle or something.” “Oh?” I asked. “Was that the only mission that got you framed?” “Uh, no,” Alexandra said. “I was on another mission, this time to Moscow.” “Really?” I asked. “Uh-huh.” “Okay,” I said. “So what happened there?” “I was trying to find the nuke, which could clear my name if I’d found it.” “So…did you find it?” I asked. “It’s a long story,” Alexandra said. Then she took a deep breath. “It was a few months later,” she said. “After the nuke was discovered, the Islamists tried another tactic. They stole the codes that controlled unmanned aerial vehicles owned by the United States and Russian military and then obtained IEDs from Iran then tried to smuggle the codes out of Russia while hiding bombs. Almost immediately, there was a bomb threat in Moscow’s major airports. I was sent in to find both the bombs and the drone codes.” “Did you find them?” I asked. “No,” Alexandra replied. “The bombs went off. Al-Washir made off with the drone codes.” “Where were the bombs?” I asked. “The Kremlin. That’s where they hid it. But, ah, we were led down the wrong path.” “Did they make up a location for the bombs?” “No, they put a fake set where we thought the real ones were, all while hiding the real ones inside the Kremlin.” “Wow,” I said. “And you said they went off?” “Da,” Alexandra replied. “And this time we really were in trouble.”

One month after train bombing attempt… Kremlin, Moscow Alexandra Rozhdestvenski

We were disguised as regular tourists. My friend, a twenty-four year old Russian by the name of Petya Harkov with black hair and blue eyes, turned to me as I headed down a hallway. To my left was thirty-three year old Ian Livingston, who looked kind of like Petya’s American counterpart; only he had dark brown hair and hazel eyes. The mission was simple: find the bombs and get the drone codes away from the Iranians. However, no one knew it would involve a lot of heavy-duty work. First, we had to find the bomb carrier, who would also know where the nukes were. The problem was that I had no idea where in the blazes he was. For the past few hours, we’d successfully evaded security and had been very fortunate to get inside the Kremlin. There, we were able to find some documents pertaining to a “large-scale terrorist attack that would rival 9\11 if it succeeded”, according to the document itself. We’d gotten the information we needed, but now we just had to get out of the Kremlin, find the bomb carrier and intercept him, and then find the drone codes and retrieve them before the Iranians could use them against the United States, something Ali Al-Washir always wanted. We were on the Moscow Metro now, scanning for any potential targets. Petya was right behind me and Ian was to my left. I had a bunch of people right in front of me. When the train stopped at Alma Atinskaya Station on the Zamoskvoretskaya Line, Ian got off and the rest of us stayed on. Once there, Ian was all by himself, since I remained on the train. I felt that something was up.

Present day…

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

“You felt something was up?” I asked, now surprised. Alexandra nodded. “How in the blazes did your friend Petya know what he was looking for, and why did Petya disembark from the train?” I added later. Alexandra took a deep breath. “It was a letter drop, Olivia. Classified file. It should have been a simple intercept, but something went wrong.” “What?” “We knew the train the bomb carrier was on, but there was one thing we didn’t know: who the carrier was.” “Did you find him?” “It was a woman,” Alexandra said. I was now really caught off guard. “Did you find the drone codes?” I asked. Alexandra nodded. “But she stole it.” “Who is this ‘she’ you keep mentioning?” Alexandra just sighed.

One month after train bombing attempt… Kremlin, Moscow Alexandra Rozhdestvenski

Petya knew there was a courier aboard the train, but what he didn’t know was that the courier was not an Iron Hand member, but a mole for some other organization. Back on the train, I’d located one of Ben Hoving’s associates, a man with brown hair and hazel eyes, who looked European, possibly German. The man suddenly turned and drew a Makarov PM pistol on me, causing the passengers on the train to scream. “Get down!” I screamed, just as the man opened fire. I ducked and yanked out my MP-443 Grach, shooting the man’s knees out and sending him sprawling on the floor while bawling like a baby. I sighed; even the toughest fighters cried like babies when their knees were destroyed by gunfire. “It’s now or never, Alex,” Petya said in my comms, just as I aimed the pistol at the man’s face. “The courier!” I cried. “Who is he?” “Go ahead!” the man groaned painfully. “SHOOT ME, IDIOT!” “We are out of time,” Petya said on the platform. Then he turned around and saw a stream of people disembarking from a train that had just stopped. “I need a name, comrades! I can’t track all these people at once!” Out of anger and frustration, I swore (something I usually did in situations like these). “The courier! Who is the damn courier?” “…Habib Al-Washir!” the downed man cried. “For the love of God! It’s Ali’s son, Habib Al-Washir!” I then said in my comms, “You got it?” “Habib Al-Washir! Got it!” Petya replied, and then he looked around the platform. “Searching now.” The eye cam he had drew a facial match; Habib Al-Washir was about twenty with dark hair and a shaven face. He also had dark eyes. The minute he saw Habib, Petya said, “I’ll take it from here,” only to see Habib pull out an MP-443 Grach of his own and shout to some of his men in Arabic, causing the passengers on the platform to scream and start running. All while Petya was aiming at him from behind a wall with a tranquilizer. “Get down!” he screamed in Russian as the two men traded gunshots with each other. Habib was still shooting, but then Petya was able to nail him with the tranquilizer, instantly putting him to sleep. Walking over to his unconscious body, Petya examined Habib’s body and saw the article he was looking for: a pale gray suitcase. It had Arabic writing on it, but Petya knew it was the target. “File secured,” he said. But someone else, who was a Muhammad’s Army associate, had seen the action and was now walking toward Petya, his hands gripping a Beretta M9 in his holster. “Stink,” he muttered. “Alex, someone’s just crashed this party. I’m not alone.” I sounded distressed. “Who?” “Armed hostiles,” Petya said, just as the man began running at him. Petya took off down a hall and up a staircase, which led to the street. As he did, Petya pulled out his Grach and nailed the man in two shots as he pursued him up the stairs. Then he broke left down an alley, where his eye cam suddenly triggered a warning. The young woman pulled out a suppressed Makarov PM pistol, just as Petya raised his Grach. But it was too late. With Petya dead, the assassin quickly scooped up the suitcase and ran off. Present day…

Rome, Italy Olivia Coonz

“Okay, so Petya is on the train, but you stay on board.  He sees Habib, intercepts him, grabs the package and gets to the street, only to be shot to death by some female assassin or something?” I recapped.

Alexandra nodded and I looked at her with compassion in my eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. “Now you do,” Alexandra replied. “So…who was the courier anyway?” “It was someone working for the Iron Hand, or at least an ally of the Iron Hand,” Alexandra said. “But I’ll get to that later.” “Were there any witnesses?” I asked. “No,” I said. “Did you find the body?” “Yes.”

One month after train bombing attempt… Kremlin, Moscow Alexandra Rozhdestvenski

“No!” I screamed after finding Petya’s dying body lying in his own blood in the alley where the woman shot him. I checked for a pulse, but detected nothing. He’d stopped breathing too. He was dead. “Alex, we have to go,” Ian said, aiming his P226 around the alleyway. “I think whoever’s doing this is trying to frame us or something! We have to go now!” I turned and pleaded, “I can’t leave him!” “We have to leave him,” Ian said firmly. “C’mon, let’s go!” I was on the verge of breaking down, but reluctantly followed my friend. Then I heard it; the sound of a jet liner screaming through the air. I looked up at saw an enormous Boeing 757 soaring over the city, flying dangerously close to the ground. It was so low, I could feel the hot wind blowing against my face. As the plane suddenly banked right, Ian grabbed my hand and cried, “We have to go! That plane’s probably been hijacked or something!” I nodded and sprinted out of the alley, just as the plane disappeared behind the Kremlin, apparently appearing to fly straight toward it! I gasped; this was a terrorist attack!

As we both watched, the plane suddenly throttled to maximum power while flying 2,200 feet, aimed toward the Kremlin. Ian grabbed my hand, leaving his gun on the floor, and we both started running again, just as the plane barreled right through the Kremlin Senate! The only thing I remembered was the enormous explosion from the crash before falling to the floor. After that, I remembered nothing.

Present day… Rome, Italy Olivia Coonz

“Holy shoot,” I gasped. “Someone actually hijacked a passenger airliner and flew it into the Kremlin?” “Yes,” Alexandra said, her voice shaking with anxiety. “The thing was that it seemed to much of a coincidence that the plane was hijacked at the exact moment my friend was murdered.” “Okay,” I said. “So then what? The plane hits the Kremlin, you and Ian are both unconscious. Then what?” “We woke up in a hospital,” said Alex. “I was treated for minor injuries and released a few days after the bombing. Only then did we find out that someone framed us.” “And…you didn’t tell me who it was yet.” “I had no idea who would want to do this,” Alexandra said. “But eventually, the answer came to me.”

One week after terrorist attack on Kremlin… Somwhere in Moscow, Russia Alexandra Rozhdestvenski

I was alone in the middle of nowhere and Ian had apparently caught a flight and fled back to the United States in order to avoid getting caught by the Russians, who would most certainly blame us. It was about 7:00 P.M. at night and I was pretty shaken up after what had happened after the Kremlin bombing. Ian and I were now wearing a black T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants; contrary to the urban camouflage we wore during our time in the field. After about five minutes of waiting, a Chevy Suburban pulled up and I was surprised to my CO and some other person inside the vehicle. “Commander Young, I wasn’t aware you were in Russia,” I said. “I’m not,” Madison replied. “Not since a Russian passenger jet blew up the Kremlin.” As the car drove off, I could just look at Madison in disbelief. A passenger jet liner just blew up the Kremlin? I just saw one such event! “Yesterday, I flew in to accept the order of friendship from the Russian President,” Madison explained. “Now I’m headed back to Washington to hand the President my resignation.” “Did this have to do with the plane I saw blowing up the Kremlin?” “You saw it?” asked Madison. I nodded, and then my gaze traveled to another young woman beside me, looking about the same as me, same height, same eye color (blue-green), but different hair color. I had brown hair, but she had blonde hair. “My chief analyst,” Madi said. “Sveta Warszawski.” “Uh, do you have a pen?” I asked her, just as she extended her hand. I shook it anyway. “Pardon?” she asked. “A pen?” “Uh, yes,” she replied and then produced a BIC pen for me to use. “Alex, what happened in the Kremlin?” Madi asked as I scribbled a drawing onto a legal pad and then showed it to Sveta. “Who is this?” I asked. “She is seventeen years old, she has dark blonde hair, brown eyes, 5’6”, skinny build, medium skin tone and freckles on the face. Who is she?” “Crude drawing but by your description, that could be Alex Ready,” Sveta said. “Older sister of another girl named Erin Ready. Part of an Iron Hand-led coalition called the Anarchists. Wanted for cyberterrorism and other types of terrorist deeds.” I suddenly had a hunch. “The courier. I think either Erin Ready or this ‘Alex Ready’ is the courier. What was inside that case that Ian had?” “Drone codes for the United States and Russian military’s unmanned aerial vehicles,” said Madison. “Why do you ask?” “I think the plane crash in the Kremlin and the drone codes had a connection,” I said. “Either Alex or Erin must’ve ordered a group of terrorists to crash the plane into the Kremlin to cover up their tracks. It could be weeks before the Russians know it’s missing, unless we tell them, Madi.” Madison just took a deep breath. “The Russians won’t listen to us. As far as they are concerned, we just destroyed the Kremlin. The tension between the US and Russia hasn’t been this high since the Cuban Missile Crisis. And the blame, right or wrong, points to Cordis Die.” I gasped; it turned out we were framed after all. “What about my dead comrade?” I asked. “That was part of the cover-up,” said Madi. “After the successful attempt to stop a nuke from blowing a Chicago train, the death of Petya Harkov, and the airplane attack, the Russian authorities found Ian’s gun.” “And?” I asked. “It had his fingerprints on it,” Madison said. “This implicates you in the attack, as well as the airplane hijacking.” “The plane was hijacked?” I asked. Madison nodded and then produced a large orange box-like CVR. “This black box was recovered from the crash site soon after the plane crashed,” Madi said. Then she played what appeared to be a hijacking in progress. First, I heard people screaming and then what sounded like terrorists shouting and stabbing random people. Then I heard a voice scream, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have some planes. Just stay quiet and you’ll be fine. We’re going back to the airport. If you try to make any moves, you’ll endanger both yourselves and the plane, so just stay put!” Then I heard another passenger scream and a few hours later, the same voice said, “Nobody move! We are going back to the airport! Don’t make any stupid moves!” Later I heard what sounded like a male hijacker utter, “Okay, put it down, pal. Put it down.” “Put it down?” asked another male hijacker. “Yeah! Pull it down!” The hijacker was heard sighing and then screamed, “Death to Russia!” Wind was then heard shrieking, which seemed to drown out the screams of the passengers. Then nothing. When the tape ended, Madison looked at me. “Sounds like 9\11 all over again, doesn’t it?” I nodded. “The plane was an Aeroflot Airbus A321-300,” Madi went on. “Anarchist terrorists hijacked it and crashed it into the Kremlin to cover up their tracks in stealing three nuclear devices.” “Okay,” I said. “So what happens now, ma’am?” “The President has initiated Operation Specter. The entire Cordis Die has been disavowed. We’re on Russia’s most wanted list.” “And?” “I’ve been ordered to take you back to Washington, and the US Department of Defense will label everybody as a rogue extremist and you’ll take the blame for the attack. But I’ll allow you to escape from government custody.” “Okay?” I said. “Then what?” “If anyone on your team is caught or killed, they’ll be branded terrorists out to incite a war between America and the rest of the world.” “Holy shoot,” I said. “I know,” said Madi. “It’s extreme, but you can fix that.” She then took out a USB drive and plopped it in my hands. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find Erin Ready and her posse of Anarchists and bring her to justice. Stop the war the two terrorists plan to start. That will clear your names.” “It will?” I asked. Madison nodded. Then she looked at me with compassion and pity. “You were my best agent, Alex, and I’m sorry it’s come to this. If we don’t meet again I just want you to know, I’ve always been, and always will be, your friend.” I smiled; I had to admit that was a bit comforting.

Chapter 53: The Punisher, the assassin, and the awesome people

Present Day

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

“So that’s why you’re here?” I asked. “You’re here to find Erin and take her out? How’d you think she was here?” Alexandra sighed. “We all thought she was here, but I guess she wasn’t.” “You found us instead? You thought we were, like, mercenaries for this ‘Erin Ready’ fellow?” Alexandra nodded. “Oh, gosh,” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t, ah, know anything about this. I was completely unaware of this.” Suddenly, the rest of the team burst into the room, only this time Heather and Nikki were gone and only Svetlana Price and Sabina were present. “Where’d everyone go?” I asked. “Jessie’s okay,” Nikki replied. “Heather and Nikki got her out.” “And, ah, what about you guys?” I asked. “You guys okay?” “We’re fine,” Svetlana said. “But, ah, who’s that?” “Ah, it’s a long story,” I said. Then I turned to Alexandra, who was, for some unknown reason, smiling from ear to ear. “You just gave me an idea,” she said. “What?” Svetlana asked. “You tried to blow us away earlier.” “Well, now I won’t,” Alexandra replied. “And please…call me Alex.” “What’s your idea then, Alex?” asked Sabina. “We’re going to stop this op, and we’re going to do it today!”

Frankfurt Airport, Frankfurt, Germany

Erin Ready

I was at the information panel for Terminal 1 of Frankfurt Airport. I knew what I had to do; I had to get to Italy and find out where Cordis Die was, so I could destroy them.

The plan to destroy the Kremlin and kill one of my archenemy’s buddies worked out really well; I just strolled over to poor Petya Harkov and shot him to death before he could do anything.

Now I, Erin Ready, had the drone codes in my possession and Al-Washir wanted it. This was going to be my war. My war, not theirs. Before I get too far off, let me just say that I command the Iron Hand-led coalition of anti-American countries called “Anarchists”. Yep, you heard me; the Anarchists. We are dedicated to destroying the United States democratic system and turn it into an Imperialist system so we can help the Iron Hand boss Israel and other countries around. I was a mole for the Anarchists, which explained why I betrayed the Mercenaries and then framed them by ordering a bunch of my guys to fly an airplane into the Moscow Kremlin. It was fun; I loved destroying things. That was because I loved being evil. I’d already booked a flight to Rome, Italy, where I would begin my hunt. As I waited for my flight, I was thinking that maybe my enemy Alexandra Rozhdestvenski had help in evading the authorities, which would almost certainly try to pin the blame on Cordis Die and arrest all of its members. Then I saw her; Olivia Coonz, age seventeen-and-a-half, going into college, and regarded as the “most awesome soldier of them all”. She had blonde-brown hair and blue-green eyes. The profile listed her as five-foot-six and according to the news report, she’d been seen with Alexandra Rozhdestvenski and suspected of collaborating with her to betray the USA and suicide-attack the Kremlin. As I watched the TV screen showing Olivia Coonz, I could not help but envy her. But then again, taking her down would just be as easy as taking down Rozhdestvenski. Being a terrorist was fun, but it also had its own problems. For example, yesterday I’d managed to hack Olivia Coons’ FaceBook account, allowing me to learn everything about her. However, that also meant that the US government was after me. I would not only be persona non grata back in the USA, but a very much-wanted person. Everybody would come after me. And that would most certainly include Olivia Coonz.

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

“Holy smokes!” I screamed as I rounded the bend, just as a strikingly familiar guy entered the room. “Nadroj, how’d you get in here?” Nadroj was actually a guy named Jordan Portner, but a lot of his buddies preferred to call him “The Punisher”. Okay, if you think I’m confusing some guy from Marvel Comics named Frank Castle with Jordan Portner, a heavyset seventeen-year old guy with brown hair, hazel eyes, and a tattoo of a skull on his arm, you’re half-right. Jordan Portner, AKA Nadroj (his first name spelled backwards), became the Punisher at age fifteen. He apparently found a shirt with Frank Castle’s signature Punisher skull on the front. Surprisingly, Jordan Portner’s story was similar to Frank Castle’s. At age 13, Al-Qaeda terrorists killed his parents and then at age seventeen, the Chechen Mujahideen kidnapped his girlfriend as she vacationed in Italy. I heard they did it because they wanted revenge on Jordan, just because they wanted to kill him after murdering his parents, but Nadroj kept evading their assassination attempts. In other words, the kidnapping of his girlfriend was done to draw him out of hiding. Anyway, ever since then Nadroj had this “drive” to put himself above the law and punish evildoers, just like Frank Castle had done in the Marvel Comics series. “Whoa, pal!” Nadroj cried. “I can’t believe it! Olivia, you’re here! You’re actually here, buddy!” He burst out laughing, which provoked awkward stares from Alex Rozhdestvenski, Sabina Andersson, and Svetlana Price. “Don’t kill us,” Sabina cried. “We have guns! Don’t even think about it!” Nadroj just looked at them and smiled. “I don’t kill good people. Only evildoers.” “Like…Iron Hand?” Alexandra asked. “And Anarchists?” “Are they evil?” Nadroj asked in response. “Duh,” Alex said dully. “They framed my team! You don’t call that evil?” “That really is evil,” Nadroj said, his smile fading. His voice sounded like it was strained with anger. “So, are you on our side or the enemy’s?” asked Svetlana, her voice shaky with fear; apparently Nadroj’s deep, authoritative voice shook her really badly. “Shoot, I’m a good guy,” he said. “I’m on your team. And I’m sorry for the mean voice, guys. I normally sound like that.” “You do?” asked Sabina. Nadroj just nodded. “Why in the blazes are you here?” I asked. “I’m here to find out if Al-Qaeda’s around,” Nadroj said. “I know,” I said. “They took your sister. Well, I don’t think she’s here.” “Darn!” Nadroj roared, which made Svetlana and Sabina all jump. “I was sure they’d be here! Maybe my intel was off!” “Maybe it is,” I said. Suddenly, I heard an explosion and voices coming from the other room to my right. “Shoot,” Nadroj said. “Armed hostiles.” “Is there a way out of here?” Svetlana asked me. Then she turned to Nadroj. “Please, mister! I’m scared! Is there a way out of here?” Nadroj smiled, produced out an M240 light machinegun from his back, and said, “Yes, there is.” Then he kicked down a door to our left and said, “Follow me!”

Chapter 54: Escaping the chamber

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

“Guys, I think they want to destroy this building,” Doug said on my comms. “We have to leave now!” “Yeah, okay,” I said. “Just hold on! We’re coming to you.” “No, we’re coming to you,” I corrected. “Just sit tight, guys. We’ll…” I was interrupted by a loud burst of gunfire coming from up ahead. I raised my SCAR-U and began firing at the Chechen Mujahideen forces flooding the room. Then I kicked down a door to my right and ushered everybody inside it, all while priming a hand grenade and throwing it at the attacking Chechens. We were now in a narrow hallway. Alex ran ahead of us and looked through a peephole on a door on the end of the hallway. “I see a fence!” she cried. “We must be outside!” “Okay, ah, hold on,” I said. Then I turned to the other two girls. “Stay right behind us,” I said. “We’re heading out now.” We then charged out the door and looked around, expecting to see the others. We didn’t. Instead, we just saw a large fence encircling what appeared to be a parking lot. “Sorry guys,” peeped Mason Davidson on the radio. “I think we lost the others but, ah, hold on…” Then I heard someone screaming and Mason shooting at someone. “Come here, bar steward!” I heard Lev screaming a few minutes later. There was the sound of a fight on the radio, which continued for about five seconds before hearing a gunshot and someone screaming. “Darn it, Lev!” Harper cried, which made Svetlana and Sabina all cringe and then gasp. “You shot her!” “Wait a second,” said Sabina. “Who shot who?” “Who’d I hit?” Lev asked. “You shot Jess!” Mason exploded. Then he started swearing. “You shot Jessie, you bar steward!” I listened carefully and heard Jessica screaming in pain in the background. “Let me see,” Harper said. Svetlana started sobbing, apparently paranoid about the possibility of a lethal wound. There was a slight groan and then Harper was heard sighing with relief. “You shot her in the leg, man,” he said. “Good thing your S-22 wasn’t a high-caliber weapon.” “Oh, thank God!” Svetlana gasped. Then I grabbed her and pulled her toward the right, toward a gated area of the fence ahead. Pushing it open, I ran out into the darkness with the other girls and Nadroj following behind me. And then I ran into Mason, who was huffing and puffing crazily. “Holy shoot, guys,” he gasped. “I was getting worried. C’mon! Extraction chopper’s coming! We have to get to the LZ now!” I nodded and followed Mason into the darkness, just as Avril Lavigne’s voice suddenly peeped on a loudspeaker behind us. “All units, this is for all units,” She cried. “Take ‘em down, gentlemen! Maximum force! I want this abomination ended now!” Suddenly, armed Black Iron Fist troopers burst from the building, firing assault rifles. “Stink! Get down!” Nadroj screamed, pulling out an M249 light machinegun and mowing down the soldiers with it. “Get down! GET DOWN!” I ducked, the other girls piling on top of me. “Just go,” Nadroj screamed at us later. “Go, go, go! I’ll catch up later!” I nodded, then dragged the girls to their feet and hurried them along, with Mason right behind me. “Is Dad here?!” Svetlana screamed over the roar of the gunfire behind us. I just turned and nodded as we made a left turn and eventually saw the chopper. It was a British Special Air Service MH-60 Blackhawk that was flying in the air. And inside the cockpit was none other than Doug Harris. “Holy shoot!” I cried. “Doug, I didn’t know you could fly!” In response, Doug landed the chopper and Soap MacTavish opened the door. “Where’s my Dad?” Svetlana screamed. “And where is Jessie?” “Uh, they’re coming,” Soap replied, also having to shout above the helicopter blades. “I don’t know how long it’ll take for them to get here, but your dad’s coming!” “Okay, tell make it quick,” I said. “Avril’s got the entire mercenary unit after us!” The minute the words left my mouth, I heard Price screaming on my radio, “We got her! We got her!” I turned and then saw Heather Wallace tearing through a wall of smoke, with Nikki right behind her. However, I couldn’t see John Price, or Jessica for that matter, anywhere. “Jessie!” Svetlana began screaming. “Dad, where’s Jessie?” John pointed behind him and then Lev emerged through the smoke, grabbing a battered and bleeding Jessica Price behind him. “Lev, what in the blazes happened with her?!” Price demanded. “Sorry, comrade,” Lev replied. “I, ah, shot her by mistake! She was caught in the crossfire.” “Darn it!” Price screamed. “Be more careful, mate!” “Sorry,” Lev said again, shrugging. Then the two of them helped Jessie into the chopper, just as Avril’s commandos emerged from the column of smoke and began shooting at the chopper. John turned to Doug. “Get us out of here, mate!” “Roger that,” said Doug. Then he took the chopper into the air and away from the building. “What happened to the American, my sister and Israeli from earlier?” Lev asked after we were clear of the building. “I got them out,” Price replied, smiling. “Don’t worry. I had one of my guys airlift the three of them out of here before coming for you guys.” Lev breathed a sigh of relief. “How is she doing? How’s my sister?” “She’s banged up,” Price replied. “But she’ll make it.” “Let’s get out of here,” I hollered over to Doug, who nodded and flew us in the direction of the downtown area of Rome. I was so tired from all that running, I fell asleep the whole ride home.

Chapter 55: Not just a mere conspiracy

One day later…

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

I suddenly awoke in the hotel room of the Hilton Rome Airport Hotel. If you want to know how I got from a building in the middle of nowhere to an hotel connected to the airport via walkway, I’ll tell you that I had no clue how I got here. But I liked the hotel. I groaned as I got out of bed; I was pretty tired after that mission in Rome. At the same time, I felt homesick. I missed my mom and dad, my whole family in fact. I also missed swimming at the pool back in Beverly Hills. And I missed my thirteen-year old brother, Sam Coons. Okay, I didn’t totally miss him; I heard he joined the Marines just like I did, only he didn’t get transferred to some random sci-fi (ish) government owned task force like I did. Still, I felt kind of lonely without him; I used to be his “best sister in the world” to him. Now that I was half a world away in Italy and he was God-knows-where, I felt empty. I was just about to turn on the TV and check the local news channel when my cellular phone suddenly buzzed. Looking at the caller ID, I saw that it ready ZVONIMIRA. “Who in the blazes is Zvonmira?” I asked myself. That’s when I saw it; a typed note written by an anonymous person to some random guy. However, it was gibberish, so I couldn’t read it really well. But when I looked at it closely, the message became clear. It was a list of people who were “Immortal”, according to the heading on top. And I was happy to discover my own name on that list. The downside: it was listed fourth. “Hold on,” I muttered. “I’m awesome so I should be first.” However, I was surprised to find Audrey Hoving on top. I thought, How in the blazes did I end up being forth and Audrey ended up first? I looked at the caller ID and read the name again. Whoever this “Zvonmira” was, she obviously wanted something from me. But the trouble was, I didn’t know how to even trust this girl, considering that she was someone I’d never actually met in my whole stinking lifetime. However, out of curiosity, I hit the ANSWER button anyways. “Hello?” I said into the receiver. “You know who this is, Olivia Coonz,” hissed a voice on the other end. “I hacked your FaceBook account, so now I know everything about you and your ‘awesomeness.’” I groaned; whoever this “Zvonmira” was, she was obviously an idiot. Who in the blazes would hack my FaceBook account anyway? “Okay, look Zvonmira,” I said. “I don’t know who you are or how you managed to hack my FaceBook account, or get my phone number, but I’m coming after you for this!” I heard a laugh on the other end. “I can’t believe I fooled you!” Now I was getting irritated. “What? Who are you? And how did you even get this number?” “It was on your FaceBook Account, which I’ve hacked like I said before.” I growled angrily. “Who are you really?” “My name, if you really want to know, is Erin Ready.” I tensed; Erin Ready? The same girl who framed Alexandra Rozhdestvenski and her team of Mercenaries? “So…it was you who framed Rozhdestvenski,” I said. “She told me everything, Erin.” “Ha! You really are a blockhead,” She said. “Now listen closely…” “No. You listen closely,” I said. “I’m coming for you, Ready.” “Haven’t you heard, Olivia?” she asked. “They say the war is on.” “My war begins with you!” I hissed. “Like it began for Lieutenant Rozhdestvenski?” Erin hissed. “Tell me, Coonz, how long did it take me to frame her?” For a moment, I was speechless as she droned on and on. “I’ve destroyed your world piece by piece. It’s only a matter of time before I find you.” I whistled through my gritted teeth. Then I said, “Try to find me, Erin. And try to beat me. I can break you like a twig, you know.” “I’d like to see you try,” Erin said. Then she clicked off.

Rome, Italy

Mason Davidson

Harper Michaels woke me up, which was unusual for him, as I was usually able to get up by myself. I looked around the hotel room; I’d been asleep for apparently five hours. It felt good, considering I was so tuckered out after our getaway from that prison last night. “W-what?” I asked. “Is there…” “I just found out the most shocking thing ever, pal,” Harper said. “It’s about Operation Thunderbird. It’s not just assassinate the Pope, bomb eleven airliners, and then fly a plane into the CIA HQ anymore.” “It’s not?” I asked. Harper shook his head. “Then what is it about now?” I asked. Harper took a deep breath.

Then he said, “The Iron Hand and their allies are apparently modeling this thing after what 9\11 could’ve been, not just the Bojinka Plot like weommercial airliners instead of small planes with bombs. “Now the 9\11 Commission states that Mohammed envisioned a major plot where twelve planes are hijacked on both the East and West coasts and for eleven of them to be crashed into New York’s World Trade Center, the Empire State Building, the Pentagon in Arlington, Virginia, the White House and the Capitol Building of Washington D.C., the George Bush Center for Intelligence in Langely, Virginia, the US Bank Tower in LA, California, the Willis Tower-formerly the Sears Tower-in Chicago, Illinois, the Government Plaza in Binghamton, New York, and the Columbia Center in S know you are a part of us.” “So wait a second, this whole thing was planned just so we could, what, die horrible deaths?” Harper nodded. “Is Kaylyn Bigely part of this plot?” “That’s the real scary part,” Harper said. “Not only is she part of the plot, but she incorporated this whole thing into her ultimate ‘plot of revenge.’” “She wants to annihilate us all. She is taking advantage.” I said. “What targets do they want?” I asked. “They want to fly each plane into one workplace where each of our parents are,” said Harper. “My parents work for the FBI, so they’re demolishing the FBI headquarters in Arlington, Virginia. Your father works for NORAD, so they’re planning to fly a plane into the NORAD HQ at Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado Springs, Colorado.” “What about Doug?” “His parents are MI6, so these Anarchists want to fly a plane into the MI6 HQ in London, England.” “Lev?” “Lev’s brother Dima works for C.E.L.L. and they’re based in New York.” “And my family’s off the hook.” “Your mother isn’t, apparently. She’s been targeted because she’s part of CryNet too. She works, where, in Chicago?” “Yeah,” I said. “She does.” “Stink,” said Harper. “They want to kill both us and our parents.” “She hates us this much,” I said. “And so do the Anarchists? Why-why the Anarchists?” “Because the Anarchists all know we support American democracy and they want to get rid of us for that.” “Really?” I asked. Harper nodded.

At the exact same time, Doug Harris suddenly barged into the room, his face twisted into a look of anxiety. “What’s going on?” I asked. Doug looked pretty freaked-out. “There’s been another kidnapping. Two actually.” Harper and I looked at each other. “Who is it now?” Doug said, “I don’t know. I hear it’s a friend of Erin Ready’s.” “And who is the other girl?” I asked. “A German college student studying abroad.” Doug paled. I looked at Doug and then at Harper. “Looks like we got a new mission,” I said. “And there’s another thing,” Doug added. “Apparently the kidnapping of the two Connor sisters weren’t perpetrated by Solomon.” Now we were really surprised.

Chapter 56: The Anarchists

Rome, Italy

Mason Davidson

“So,” I said to Korey Hogan as we gathered in the lobby five minutes later. “What’s the mission, pal?” Korey looked at me. “I can tell you’re enthusiastic about this mission,” he said. Then he showed me a photograph of some guy resembling the English actor Richard Armitage. He had dark hair and blue eyes and the file attached to the photo said he was a former MI6 agent and was now a member of the “Anarchists”. The very same group Harper mentioned. “This guy commands the National Imperialist Army. It’s a part of the Anarchists,” said Korey. “So…what’s that got to do with the kidnapping of the Connor sisters, or Operation Thunderbird?” “Well, two things,” said Korey. “First, he was the guy who helped Ben Hoving engineer the whole thing. Second, he was the guy who kidnapped the Connors. He just used Solomon’s Chechens to help him out.” “So this was not just with Chechens?” I asked. “That’s what I’ve been told,” said Korey. “And frankly there’s a lot of media to prove that theory.” “So…what about this guy?” I asked. “I’ve got a way to make this guy talk,” Korey said. Then he showed me another photograph, this one of a girl of about thirteen or fourteen with dark hair and hazel eyes. “Edith Hamilton Stark,” Korey said. “Fourteen-year old adopted daughter of Trevor Stark. That’s the name of this Richard Armitage-ish guy.” “Stink,” I said. “How are you going to make this guy talk and how is she involved?” “I want you to kidnap her,” Korey said. “I want you to kidnap the daughter of the leader of the National Imperialist Army.” My jaw hung open. “You sounded like a terrorist just then.” “Did I?” asked Korey. Then he shook his head. “Seriously, guys, I believe it’s the only way to make the guy talk. And he is the guy who kept threatening your family, Harper.” Harper looked Korey right in the eyes and said, “Really? He’s the one pestering my family? Why? Anyone else involved?” “Doug’s family and Olivia’s family,” Korey answered. “This guy just wants to kill them all off.” “Why?” I asked. “Well, this guy was former MI6, British intelligence,” Korey said. “Trevor Stark was deployed to the Middle East to find and kill Al-Washir. However, some guy in his own agency ratted him out and betrayed him, leaving him to be captured by the Iraqis.” “And then what?” Harper asked. “Sources say your families were responsible and now he’s hungry for vengeance. All he wants to do is kill, kill, and kill some more until everyone in your families is dead.” My jaw dropped. “My dad is a lawyer. How’s he going to go after my dad?” “He’s not going after your dad, but he’s after your mom, who works for the FBI.” “Shoot,” I said. “Well, my mom is an analyst after all, so I can see that.” “You can see that?” asked Korey. “You can see how Trevor hates your mother because she’s an analyst?” “Well, she was an ex-Marine, so yeah,” I said. “He’s also kidnapped the Connors just so that poor Oscar will fall on his knees and beg him for mercy.” Korey was now frowning. “He views Mr. Connor as his archenemy.” “Why’s Oscar involved?” I asked Korey. “Oscar was supposedly the man who led the effort to betray him,” said Korey. “This guy treats Oscar like his worst enemy.” “So…how does Edith Stark fit into this op?” “We kidnap Edith Stark and hold her until Trevor gives in and stops threatening us.” “Uh, that sounds a little mean,” I said. “I feel it’s dishonorable.” “Not if the girl is a part of the enemy,” said Korey. Then he took out a USB drive from his pocket and slid it over to us from across the table. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it,” Korey said. “Find Edith, grab her and get out of there before Trevor’s security guys know what happened. Then you are to interrogate her for information and then hold her until Trevor gives.” I took a deep breath, looked at Korey and then grinned. “I accept.” Suddenly, Olivia Coonz appeared, along with Audrey Hoving, whom I haven’t seen in a while. Audrey looked pretty cool, with blue highlights decorating her blonde hair. For some unknown reason, she also wore a red T-shirt and shorts, which was pretty unusual. Usually Shadow Force operatives wore jet-black clothes, but I guess Audrey got sick of black, so she wore red. Either that, or she was off-duty.

“Audrey’s taking me to see something really nice,” Olivia said. “You guys wanna come?” “Uh, no,” I said. “I’d rather hang out here. I hear it’s pretty hot out.” “You sure?” asked Audrey. “I have a real cool car you guys might like. Well, it’s my dad’s but he kind of lets me drive it.” “Thanks, but no thanks,” I said. “Maybe later. I’ll check it out later.” “Well, okay,” Audrey said, smiling. “But you’re missing out.” Then the two girls walked out of the lobby and toward the parking lot. I watched them until they were out of sight and then turned to Harper. “Why a new car?” Harper asked. I shook my head. “I think Audrey’s gone off the deep end.” “You think?” Harper asked. “We’re dealing with Anarchists and Audrey comes along talking about a car? What good does this do?” I asked him. “Beats me,” said Harper.

Chapter 57: The Car

Rome, Italy Olivia Coonz

In the hotel’s parking lot, I looked at the car before me, which had a red paint job. For some unknown reason, Audrey Hoving had a look of indifference. “The 1961 Ferrari 250 GT California,” she said. “Less than a hundred were made. My father spent three years restoring this car. It is his love, it is his passion…” “It’s his fault he didn’t lock the garage,” I said. Then I walked toward the car and admired its red paint job. “What are you talking about?” asked Audrey. “Olivia, my father loves this car more than life itself.” I sighed; apparently Mr. Hoving’s priorities were out of whack. He hated his kids, but he loved the car. “Well, a guy with priorities so far out of whack doesn’t deserve such a fine automobile.” Audrey’s eyes widened. “No, no, no. Olivia, apparently you don’t understand! He never drives it! He just rubs it with a diaper!” I shrugged; apparently this mission to rescue the Connors wasn’t going to work out. “I’m sorry Audrey.” “Why?” Audrey asked. Then I said the first swear word ever. “Al-Washir would never believe your dad would drive this piece of crap.” “It’s not a piece of crap,” Audrey replied. “It is a piece of crap.” Then I got into the car. “He knows the mileage, Olivia,” Audrey said. “That’s easy,” I said. “Whatever mileage we put on, we take off.” Audrey looked confused. “How in the blazes are we gonna do that?” “We drive home backwards,” I said, revving up the engine. “No!” Audrey screamed. “Olivia, no! That’s it! You’re gonna have to think of something else! I’m putting my foot down!” I just floored the accelerator as Audrey said, “How ‘bout we rent a Cadillac? My treat. We could call a limo! A nice stretch job with a TV and a bar! How ‘bout that?” I backed the car up and said, “C’mon! Live a little!” “Okay, fine!” Audrey sighed and then joined me in the car.

Chapter 58: Target: Alliance

Rome, Italy

Mason Davidson

Wow, I thought. Not bad. I was at a sidewalk café on Via Veneto, Rome. And I was eating a pizza, which didn’t taste much different from the pizzas I ate back in the States. Oscar Connor sat across from me, and he didn’t look pretty happy for some reason. “Why the long face, pal?” I asked. “Something’s up,” Oscar replied. “I just got an anonymous tip saying things have changed. Operation Thunderbird isn’t targeting Italy and the USA anymore. It’s targeting us and Russia.” I took a moment to chew a wad of pizza and then said after swallowing, “Russia? Why in the blazes would these ‘Anarchists’ target the Russians?” Oscar said, “Apparently Trevor Stark has officially recognized that China, Russia, and us are the main leaders of this global alliance to protect Israel.” “And?” I asked. “They see both us and Russia as the main leaders. They want to kill us for it.” “So…why target Russia?” I asked. “Remember the hijacking of that flight that destroyed the Kremlin and framed Cordis Die?” asked Oscar. I nodded. “Well, it was all staged,” Oscar replied. “Apparently, the Anarchists, with whom Erin has partnered with, only attacked the Kremlin to kick start Operation Thunderbird.” I was about to bite into my pizza again, but then I stopped and dropped the pizza. “What? You mean that was Operation Thunderbird right there?” Oscar nodded and then produced a piece of paper. Flattening it out against the table, I suddenly gawked; the whole plan for Operation Thunderbird was right in front of me. Stage One: drive a plane into the Kremlin and frame Cordis Die. Stage Two: Hijack five planes and fly them into various random landmarks across the globe. Stage Three: Hijack Russian President’s airplane. Stage Four: Kidnap the Russian President and interrogate him about USA’s unmanned aerial drone codes. Stage Five: Hijack US airliner and kill US President by flying it into Capitol Building.

After reading it, I looked up at Oscar and said, “Why kill the US President by flying a plane into the Capitol Building?” “Because apparently the President is about to have a summit about two weeks from now,” Oscar replied. “It’ll take place inside the Capitol Building and apparently these ‘Anarchists’ think it would be convenient to kill the President by flying an airplane into the Capitol.” I gasped. “Stink. How are we going to stop this attack, pal?” “Okay, so Stage Two is hijack various airliners from various countries and then fly them into whatever major landmark they see, right?” asked Oscar. “That’s what the report said,” I replied, nodding. “There you go. Find out who is doing what and intercept him.” “What about the other stages?” I asked. “We’ll worry about that when we get there, buddy.”

Chapter 58: Hijackers, bombers, and kidnappers

Air Combat Command HQ, Langely Field, Virginia

Don Coonz

I felt like I’d been missing out; my eleven-year old daughter was hanging out with a US government-owned agency called Vulture Force, I was stuck here at the Air Combat Command (ACC) post in Langely Field, Virginia. I specialized in helping ACC function as the primary force provider of none-nuclear combat airpower to America’s war fighting guidelines. I also help train, equip, and maintain combat-ready forces for rapid deployment and employment while ensuring strategic air defense forces are ready to meet peacetime air sovereignty and wartime air defense’s challenges. Today, I was tired and homesick. I wanted to see my beautiful wife and son again. I also wanted to travel to Italy and check on my daughter. But not today; I had bigger fish to fry.

As I stroked my graying brown hair, I suddenly heard someone barging into the room. I looked around my office, which pretty much contained a desk full of papers, a bunch of pens and pencils, and a coffee mug. Then thirty-five year old Ernie Hanson, a guy with medium length brown hair and hazel eyes with an Arnold Schwarzenegger-like build, entered my office. “Sir!” he barked. “You need to see this!” My face paled; each time someone alerted me to a new mission, I started worrying about my kids. I felt like either my son or daughter (or maybe both of them) was in serious danger. “What’s going on?” I asked Ernie. “The Federal Aviation Administration picked up some strange activity in New York. I think we have another 9\11 on our hands.” Ernie said, his voice anxious. “Holy shoot!” I gasped. “What in the blazes are you talking about, Ernie?” “The situation here is that we may have another hijacking.” Ernie said. I quickened my pace and barged into the room, where my guys suddenly looked up at me. “What’s going on here?” I demanded. “You know that flight, American Airlines Flight 531?” asked fifty-four year old Gerald Stein, a guy with graying chestnut hair and hazel eyes. I sighed; American Airlines Flight 531 had departed from Los Angeles International Airport at 5:30 P.M. today. I looked at my watch; it was 8:30 PM, three hours and thirty minutes after that flight took off. The destination of the flight was supposed to be Boston, Massachusetts. “What happened to it?” I asked. “It appears that Flight 531 has been hijacked, sir,” said a US Air Force officer, barging into the room. “They just announced it. FAA has released a tape recording of the event.” I took a deep breath and then I said, “Stink. Okay, Barnes, show me the tape!” Barnes nodded and returned to his post, then came back a few seconds later with the tape recording. Putting it into a tape recorder, I listened to the action in absolute disbelief; first a guy was heard pulling out a knife while passengers screamed and then there was the sound of someone being stabbed to death in the cockpit. “Nobody move!” screamed a heavily accented voice (I guessed it was Russian). “We are going back to the airport! Stay quiet and you will be OK!” A woman was heard screaming, only to be silenced by what I perceived to be a gunshot! Then there were a few minutes of silence before the tape recorded, “DEATH TO AMERICA!” Amidst the sounds of screaming passengers and howling wind, I heard another guy screaming the Islamic takbir repeatedly before the tape cut off. “We lost it,” said Ernie. “But I believe the plane crashed.” “Crashed?” I asked. “Where?” In response, Ernie just grabbed a remote and turned on the TV, where it showed CNN footage of the unthinkable; a Boeing 757 or some other aircraft nose-diving right into the Capitol Records Building in Los Angeles, California. Ernie and I both swore in surprise. “Did you see that?” I demanded. “Did anybody see that?” “What in the blazes?” screamed a US Marine, barging into the room, just as CNN replayed the footage of the 757 hitting the Capitol Records Building. “Did something just hit the Capitol Records Building?” “Holy smokes!” squealed another Airman. “That’s sick, man! Ernie, are you seeing this?” “Yeah, I saw it!” Ernie cried. “Jeez, man, look at that thing!” “That’s incredible,” I said. “I didn’t think the Anarchists were experienced pilots.” “Someone get me NORAD!” Ernie barked. “Now! I think history’s repeating itself here!”

Rome, Italy

Madison Young

The text message on my phone shook me to the point where I almost knocked over the bottle of soda I was drinking in a sidewalk café across the street from the Hilton hotel Olivia Coons was staying at.

DID YOU HEAR, the message read.  I brought up the keypad and typed in, NO I DIDN’T.

A few minutes later, Lev Raskov texted, ANARCHISTS JUST STRUCK THE CAPITOL RECORDS BUILDING WITH A 757 IN LA! I froze; a bunch of Anarchists did what? While looking at the message, I suddenly received another one from Harper. This one read, HERE’S THE STORY: A TEAM OF ANARCHISTS HIJACKED AN AMERICAN AIRLINES 757 AND THEN FLEW IT INTO THE CAPITOL RECORDS BUILDING IN LA! AND A LOT OF PEOPLE DIED! EVERYONE ON THE PLANE DIED! I texted, REALLY? I waited a few seconds and then Harper texted back, GOSH, MADI, WHAT IS GOING ON? I thought for a moment and then texted, IDK, PAL! I THINK THIS IS ANOTHER TERRORIST ATTACK! Suddenly, Oscar Connor exclaimed, “Whoa!” I turned and saw the TV screen, which made me freeze in my tracks. There was the Capitol Records Building, exploding as the 757 flew right into it. “Ah, shoot,” I gasped. “How in the blazes did these Anarchists get experienced suicide pilots?” “I don’t know, pal,” Oscar replied, eyes still fixed on the screen.

Los Angeles International Airport, LA

Carl Young

Okay, Madison Young was in Italy, so that meant I was stuck here in Los Angeles working for the airport’s control tower. But today, I had bigger plans to worry about; as I looked at the flight tracker and then outside the tower, Delta Airlines Flight 22, a Boeing 757 with about forty passengers, suddenly made a turn from its flight path from LA to its destination at JFK International Airport, New York City, and began turning hard left. At exactly the same time, a Russian Aeroflot 767, Flight 523 that had just arrived from Moscow International Airport, made a hard turn right and veered off in the direction of the University of California Los Angeles. “Shoot,” I muttered. Then, as if completely on cue, the plane exploded in midair. “Holy shoot!” I cried. “Guys, did you see that?” “Was there a bomb aboard the flight?” asked another air traffic controller. I looked back toward Delta Airlines Flight 22, which suddenly veered hard right and then seemed to disappear behind the Bank Tower. That was, until the Bank Tower exploded. “Stink!” cried an air traffic controller. “Holy stink! Did you get that?” “Yeah, I did,” I said. “Jeez, is this another hijacking?” “Hey, we lost Flight 44,” cried another air traffic controller. “We lost Flight 44!” I groaned; American Airlines Flight 44 was supposed to land here from Newark International with his dark skin and all that. “You all right, man?” he groaned painfully as I got up. “I…I guess,” I replied. “But I think my nose broke. What about you, Daryl?” “I don’t know,” he said painfully. “My head feels like it got hit with a real hot iron.” “You look like you got hit with a real hot iron,” I said, helping him up. I began to hear ambulances and sirens in the background. Then I turned to Daryl. “You’re gonna be okay, son.” “I sure hope so,” Daryl groaned as we made our way to the terminal.

Two hours later…

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

I could hardly believe what had happened; first an American Airlines 757 is flown into the Capitol Records Building in LA, then a Delta Airlines 767 and a Russian Aeroflot 767 were all hijacked simultaneously, with the former being flown into the Bank Tower in LA and the latter being bombed out of the sky. And to top it all off, American Airlines Flight 44 is bombed and shrapnel hits the tower, killing almost everyone in the tower of LA International Airport. Except Madison’s dad, that was. And it all happened within the space of two hours, which made it even more unbelievable. However, it was real.

Chapter 55: Not just a mere conspiracy

One day later…

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

I suddenly awoke in the hotel room of the Hilton Rome Airport Hotel. If you want to know how I got from a building in the middle of nowhere to an hotel connected to the airport via walkway, I’ll tell you that I had no clue how I got here. But I liked the hotel. I groaned as I got out of bed; I was pretty tired after that mission in Rome. At the same time, I felt homesick. I missed my mom and dad, my whole family in fact. I also missed swimming at the pool back in Beverly Hills. And I missed my thirteen-year old brother, Sam Coons. Okay, I didn’t totally miss him; I heard he joined the Marines just like I did, only he didn’t get transferred to some random sci-fi (ish) government owned task force like I did. Still, I felt kind of lonely without him; I used to be his “best sister in the world” to him. Now that I was half a world away in Italy and he was God-knows-where, I felt empty. I was just about to turn on the TV and check the local news channel when my cellular phone suddenly buzzed. Looking at the caller ID, I saw that it ready ZVONIMIRA. “Who in the blazes is Zvonmira?” I asked myself. That’s when I saw it; a typed note written by an anonymous person to some random guy. However, it was gibberish, so I couldn’t read it really well. But when I looked at it closely, the message became clear. It was a list of people who were “Immortal”, according to the heading on top. And I was happy to discover my own name on that list. The downside: it was listed fourth. “Hold on,” I muttered. “I’m awesome so I should be first.” However, I was surprised to find Audrey Hoving on top. I thought, How in the blazes did I end up being forth and Audrey ended up first? I looked at the caller ID and read the name again. Whoever this “Zvonmira” was, she obviously wanted something from me. But the trouble was, I didn’t know how to even trust this girl, considering that she was someone I’d never actually met in my whole stinking lifetime. However, out of curiosity, I hit the ANSWER button anyways. “Hello?” I said into the receiver. “You know who this is, Olivia Coonz,” hissed a voice on the other end. “I hacked your FaceBook account, so now I know everything about you and your ‘awesomeness.’” I groaned; whoever this “Zvonmira” was, she was obviously an idiot. Who in the blazes would hack my FaceBook account anyway? “Okay, look Zvonmira,” I said. “I don’t know who you are or how you managed to hack my FaceBook account, or get my phone number, but I’m coming after you for this!” I heard a laugh on the other end. “I can’t believe I fooled you!” Now I was getting irritated. “What? Who are you? And how did you even get this number?” “It was on your FaceBook Account, which I’ve hacked like I said before.” I growled angrily. “Who are you really?” “My name, if you really want to know, is Erin Ready.” I tensed; Erin Ready? The same girl who framed Alexandra Rozhdestvenski and her team of Mercenaries? “So…it was you who framed Rozhdestvenski,” I said. “She told me everything, Erin.” “Ha! You really are a blockhead,” She said. “Now listen closely…” “No. You listen closely,” I said. “I’m coming for you, Ready.” “Haven’t you heard, Olivia?” she asked. “They say the war is on.” “My war begins with you!” I hissed. “Like it began for Lieutenant Rozhdestvenski?” Erin hissed. “Tell me, Coonz, how long did it take me to frame her?” For a moment, I was speechless as she droned on and on. “I’ve destroyed your world piece by piece. It’s only a matter of time before I find you.” I whistled through my gritted teeth. Then I said, “Try to find me, Erin. And try to beat me. I can break you like a twig, you know.” “I’d like to see you try,” Erin said. Then she clicked off.

Rome, Italy

Mason Davidson

Harper Michaels woke me up, which was unusual for him, as I was usually able to get up by myself. I looked around the hotel room; I’d been asleep for apparently five hours. It felt good, considering I was so tuckered out after our getaway from that prison last night. “W-what?” I asked. “Is there…” “I just found out the most shocking thing ever, pal,” Harper said. “It’s about Operation Thunderbird. It’s not just assassinate the Pope, bomb eleven airliners, and then fly a plane into the CIA HQ anymore.” “It’s not?” I asked. Harper shook his head. “Then what is it about now?” I asked. Harper took a deep breath.

Then he said, “The Iron Hand and their allies ares leaders like the modified versions of Phases II and III of the Bojinka Plot, which called for commercial airliners instead of small planes with bombs. “Now the 9\11 Commission states that Mohammed envisioned a major plot where twelve planes are hijacked on both the East and West coasts and for eleven of them to be crashed into New York’s World Trade Center, the Empire State Building, the Pentagon in Arlington, Virginia, the White House and the Capitol Building of Washington D.C., the George Bush Center for Intelligence in Langely, Virginia, the US Bank Tower in LA, California, the Willis Tower-formerly ks for CryNet, Olivia and the rest of us are part of the government owned Vulture Force, and Olivia’s dad, as well as my dad, are all intelligence officers.” I gasped again. “You mean-?” “Yep,” said Harper. “They want us, man. They want to kill all of us. Including our parents. They also want to kill you because they know you are a part of us.” “So wait a second, this whole thing was planned just so we could, what, die horrible deaths?” Harper nodded. “Is Kaylyn Bigely part of this plot?” “That’s the real scary part,” Harper said. “Not only is she part of the plot, but she incorporated this whole thing into her ultimate ‘plot of revenge.’” “She wants to annihilate us all. She is taking advantage.” I said. “What targets do they want?” I asked. “They want to fly each plane into one workplace where each of our parents are,” said Harper. “My parents work for the FBI, so they’re demolishing the FBI headquarters in Arlington, Virginia. Your father works for NORAD, so they’re planning to fly a plane into the NORAD HQ at Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado Springs, Colorado.” “What about Doug?” “His parents are MI6, so these Anarchists want to fly a plane into the MI6 HQ in London, England.” “Lev?” “Lev’s brother Dima works for C.E.L.L. and they’re based in New York.” “And my family’s off the hook.” “Your mother isn’t, apparently. She’s been targeted because she’s part of CryNet too. She works, where, in Chicago?” “Yeah,” I said. “She does.” “Stink,” said Harper. “They want to kill both us and our parents.” “She hates us this much,” I said. “And so do the Anarchists? Why-why the Anarchists?” “Because the Anarchists all know we support American democracy and they want to get rid of us for that.” “Really?” I asked. Harper nodded.

At the exact same time, Doug Harris suddenly barged into the room, his face twisted into a look of anxiety. “What’s going on?” I asked. Doug looked pretty freaked-out. “There’s been another kidnapping. Two actually.” Harper and I looked at each other. “Who is it now?” Doug said, “I don’t know. I hear it’s a friend of Erin Ready’s.” “And who is the other girl?” I asked. “A German college student studying abroad.” Doug paled. I looked at Doug and then at Harper. “Looks like we got a new mission,” I said. “And there’s another thing,” Doug added. “Apparently the kidnapping of the two Connor sisters weren’t perpetrated by Solomon.” Now we were really surprised.

Chapter 56: The Anarchists

Rome, Italy

Mason Davidson

“So,” I said to Korey Hogan as we gathered in the lobby five minutes later. “What’s the mission, pal?” Korey looked at me. “I can tell you’re enthusiastic about this mission,” he said. Then he showed me a photograph of some guy resembling the English actor Richard Armitage. He had dark hair and blue eyes and the file attached to the photo said he was a former MI6 agent and was now a member of the “Anarchists”. The very same group Harper mentioned. “This guy commands the National Imperialist Army. It’s a part of the Anarchists,” said Korey. “So…what’s that got to do with the kidnapping of the Connor sisters, or Operation Thunderbird?” “Well, two things,” said Korey. “First, he was the guy who helped Ben Hoving engineer the whole thing. Second, he was the guy who kidnapped the Connors. He just used Solomon’s Chechens to help him out.” “So this was not just with Chechens?” I asked. “That’s what I’ve been told,” said Korey. “And frankly there’s a lot of media to prove that theory.” “So…what about this guy?” I asked. “I’ve got a way to make this guy talk,” Korey said. Then he showed me another photograph, this one of a girl of about thirteen or fourteen with dark hair and hazel eyes. “Edith Hamilton Stark,” Korey said. “Fourteen-year old adopted daughter of Trevor Stark. That’s the name of this Richard Armitage-ish guy.” “Stink,” I said. “How are you going to make this guy talk and how is she involved?” “I want you to kidnap her,” Korey said. “I want you to kidnap the daughter of the leader of the National Imperialist Army.” My jaw hung open. “You sounded like a terrorist just then.” “Did I?” asked Korey. Then he shook his head. “Seriously, guys, I believe it’s the only way to make the guy talk. And he is the guy who kept threatening your family, Harper.” Harper looked Korey right in the eyes and said, “Really? He’s the one pestering my family? Why? Anyone else involved?” “Doug’s family and Olivia’s family,” Korey answered. “This guy just wants to kill them all off.” “Why?” I asked. “Well, this guy was former MI6, British intelligence,” Korey said. “Trevor Stark was deployed to the Middle East to find and kill Al-Washir. However, some guy in his own agency ratted him out and betrayed him, leaving him to be captured by the Iraqis.” “And then what?” Harper asked. “Sources say your families were responsible and now he’s hungry for vengeance. All he wants to do is kill, kill, and kill some more until everyone in your families is dead.” My jaw dropped. “My dad is a lawyer. How’s he going to go after my dad?” “He’s not going after your dad, but he’s after your mom, who works for the FBI.” “Shoot,” I said. “Well, my mom is an analyst after all, so I can see that.” “You can see that?” asked Korey. “You can see how Trevor hates your mother because she’s an analyst?” “Well, she was an ex-Marine, so yeah,” I said. “He’s also kidnapped the Connors just so that poor Oscar will fall on his knees and beg him for mercy.” Korey was now frowning. “He views Mr. Connor as his archenemy.” “Why’s Oscar involved?” I asked Korey. “Oscar was supposedly the man who led the effort to betray him,” said Korey. “This guy treats Oscar like his worst enemy.” “So…how does Edith Stark fit into this op?” “We kidnap Edith Stark and hold her until Trevor gives in and stops threatening us.” “Uh, that sounds a little mean,” I said. “I feel it’s dishonorable.” “Not if the girl is a part of the enemy,” said Korey. Then he took out a USB drive from his pocket and slid it over to us from across the table. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it,” Korey said. “Find Edith, grab her and get out of there before Trevor’s security guys know what happened. Then you are to interrogate her for information and then hold her until Trevor gives.” I took a deep breath, looked at Korey and then grinned. “I accept.” Suddenly, Olivia Coonz appeared, along with Audrey Hoving, whom I haven’t seen in a while. Audrey looked pretty cool, with blue highlights decorating her blonde hair. For some unknown reason, she also wore a red T-shirt and shorts, which was pretty unusual. Usually Shadow Force operatives wore jet-black clothes, but I guess Audrey got sick of black, so she wore red. Either that, or she was off-duty.

“Audrey’s taking me to see something really nice,” Olivia said. “You guys wanna come?” “Uh, no,” I said. “I’d rather hang out here. I hear it’s pretty hot out.” “You sure?” asked Audrey. “I have a real cool car you guys might like. Well, it’s my dad’s but he kind of lets me drive it.” “Thanks, but no thanks,” I said. “Maybe later. I’ll check it out later.” “Well, okay,” Audrey said, smiling. “But you’re missing out.” Then the two girls walked out of the lobby and toward the parking lot. I watched them until they were out of sight and then turned to Harper. “Why a new car?” Harper asked. I shook my head. “I think Audrey’s gone off the deep end.” “You think?” Harper asked. “We’re dealing with Anarchists and Audrey comes along talking about a car? What good does this do?” I asked him. “Beats me,” said Harper.

Chapter 57: The Car

Rome, Italy Olivia Coonz

In the hotel’s parking lot, I looked at the car before me, which had a red paint job. For some unknown reason, Audrey Hoving had a look of indifference. “The 1961 Ferrari 250 GT California,” she said. “Less than a hundred were made. My father spent three years restoring this car. It is his love, it is his passion…” “It’s his fault he didn’t lock the garage,” I said. Then I walked toward the car and admired its red paint job. “What are you talking about?” asked Audrey. “Olivia, my father loves this car more than life itself.” I sighed; apparently Mr. Hoving’s priorities were out of whack. He hated his kids, but he loved the car. “Well, a guy with priorities so far out of whack doesn’t deserve such a fine automobile.” Audrey’s eyes widened. “No, no, no. Olivia, apparently you don’t understand! He never drives it! He just rubs it with a diaper!” I shrugged; apparently this mission to rescue the Connors wasn’t going to work out. “I’m sorry Audrey.” “Why?” Audrey asked. Then I said the first swear word ever. “Al-Washir would never believe your dad would drive this piece of crap.” “It’s not a piece of crap,” Audrey replied. “It is a piece of crap.” Then I got into the car. “He knows the mileage, Olivia,” Audrey said. “That’s easy,” I said. “Whatever mileage we put on, we take off.” Audrey looked confused. “How in the blazes are we gonna do that?” “We drive home backwards,” I said, revving up the engine. “No!” Audrey screamed. “Olivia, no! That’s it! You’re gonna have to think of something else! I’m putting my foot down!” I just floored the accelerator as Audrey said, “How ‘bout we rent a Cadillac? My treat. We could call a limo! A nice stretch job with a TV and a bar! How ‘bout that?” I backed the car up and said, “C’mon! Live a little!” “Okay, fine!” Audrey sighed and then joined me in the car.

Chapter 58: Target: Alliance

Rome, Italy

Mason Davidson

Wow, I thought. Not bad. I was at a sidewalk café on Via Veneto, Rome. And I was eating a pizza, which didn’t taste much different from the pizzas I ate back in the States. Oscar Connor sat across from me, and he didn’t look pretty happy for some reason. “Why the long face, pal?” I asked. “Something’s up,” Oscar replied. “I just got an anonymous tip saying things have changed. Operation Thunderbird isn’t targeting Italy and the USA anymore. It’s targeting us and Russia.” I took a moment to chew a wad of pizza and then said after swallowing, “Russia? Why in the blazes would these ‘Anarchists’ target the Russians?” Oscar said, “Apparently Trevor Stark has officially recognized that China, Russia, and us are the main leaders of this global alliance to protect Israel.” “And?” I asked. “They see both us and Russia as the main leaders. They want to kill us for it.” “So…why target Russia?” I asked. “Remember the hijacking of that flight that destroyed the Kremlin and framed Cordis Die?” asked Oscar. I nodded. “Well, it was all staged,” Oscar replied. “Apparently, the Anarchists, with whom Erin has partnered with, only attacked the Kremlin to kick start Operation Thunderbird.” I was about to bite into my pizza again, but then I stopped and dropped the pizza. “What? You mean that was Operation Thunderbird right there?” Oscar nodded and then produced a piece of paper. Flattening it out against the table, I suddenly gawked; the whole plan for Operation Thunderbird was right in front of me. Stage One: drive a plane into the Kremlin and frame Cordis Die. Stage Two: Hijack five planes and fly them into various random landmarks across the globe. Stage Three: Hijack Russian President’s airplane. Stage Four: Kidnap the Russian President and interrogate him about USA’s unmanned aerial drone codes. Stage Five: Hijack US airliner and kill US President by flying it into Capitol Building.

After reading it, I looked up at Oscar and said, “Why kill the US President by flying a plane into the Capitol Building?” “Because apparently the President is about to have a summit about two weeks from now,” Oscar replied. “It’ll take place inside the Capitol Building and apparently these ‘Anarchists’ think it would be convenient to kill the President by flying an airplane into the Capitol.” I gasped. “Stink. How are we going to stop this attack, pal?” “Okay, so Stage Two is hijack various airliners from various countries and then fly them into whatever major landmark they see, right?” asked Oscar. “That’s what the report said,” I replied, nodding. “There you go. Find out who is doing what and intercept him.” “What about the other stages?” I asked. “We’ll worry about that when we get there, buddy.”

Chapter 58: Hijackers, bombers, and kidnappers

Air Combat Command HQ, Langely Field, Virginia

Don Coonz

I felt like I’d been missing out; my eleven-year old daughter was hanging out with a US government-owned agency called Vulture Force, I was stuck here at the Air Combat Command (ACC) post in Langely Field, Virginia. I specialized in helping ACC function as the primary force provider of none-nuclear combat airpower to America’s war fighting guidelines. I also help train, equip, and maintain combat-ready forces for rapid deployment and employment while ensuring strategic air defense forces are ready to meet peacetime air sovereignty and wartime air defense’s challenges. Today, I was tired and homesick. I wanted to see my beautiful wife and son again. I also wanted to travel to Italy and check on my daughter. But not today; I had bigger fish to fry.

As I stroked my graying brown hair, I suddenly heard someone barging into the room. I looked around my office, which pretty much contained a desk full of papers, a bunch of pens and pencils, and a coffee mug. Then thirty-five year old Ernie Hanson, a guy with medium length brown hair and hazel eyes with an Arnold Schwarzenegger-like build, entered my office. “Sir!” he barked. “You need to see this!” My face paled; each time someone alerted me to a new mission, I started worrying about my kids. I felt like either my son or daughter (or maybe both of them) was in serious danger. “What’s going on?” I asked Ernie. “The Federal Aviation Administration picked up some strange activity in New York. I think we have another 9\11 on our hands.” Ernie said, his voice anxious. “Holy shoot!” I gasped. “What in the blazes are you talking about, Ernie?” “The situation here is that we may have another hijacking.” Ernie said. I quickened my pace and barged into the room, where my guys suddenly looked up at me. “What’s going on here?” I demanded. “You know that flight, American Airlines Flight 531?” asked fifty-four year old Gerald Stein, a guy with graying chestnut hair and hazel eyes. I sighed; American Airlines Flight 531 had departed from Los Angeles International Airport at 5:30 P.M. today. I looked at my watch; it was 8:30 PM, three hours and thirty minutes after that flight took off. The destination of the flight was supposed to be Boston, Massachusetts. “What happened to it?” I asked. “It appears that Flight 531 has been hijacked, sir,” said a US Air Force officer, barging into the room. “They just announced it. FAA has released a tape recording of the event.” I took a deep breath and then I said, “Stink. Okay, Barnes, show me the tape!” Barnes nodded and returned to his post, then came back a few seconds later with the tape recording. Putting it into a tape recorder, I listened to the action in absolute disbelief; first a guy was heard pulling out a knife while passengers screamed and then there was the sound of someone being stabbed to death in the cockpit. “Nobody move!” screamed a heavily accented voice (I guessed it was Russian). “We are going back to the airport! Stay quiet and you will be OK!” A woman was heard screaming, only to be silenced by what I perceived to be a gunshot! Then there were a few minutes of silence before the tape recorded, “DEATH TO AMERICA!” Amidst the sounds of screaming passengers and howling wind, I heard another guy screaming the Islamic takbir repeatedly before the tape cut off. “We lost it,” said Ernie. “But I believe the plane crashed.” “Crashed?” I asked. “Where?” In response, Ernie just grabbed a remote and turned on the TV, where it showed CNN footage of the unthinkable; a Boeing 757 or some other aircraft nose-diving right into the Capitol Records Building in Los Angeles, California. Ernie and I both swore in surprise. “Did you see that?” I demanded. “Did anybody see that?” “What in the blazes?” screamed a US Marine, barging into the room, just as CNN replayed the footage of the 757 hitting the Capitol Records Building. “Did something just hit the Capitol Records Building?” “Holy smokes!” squealed another Airman. “That’s sick, man! Ernie, are you seeing this?” “Yeah, I saw it!” Ernie cried. “Jeez, man, look at that thing!” “That’s incredible,” I said. “I didn’t think the Anarchists were experienced pilots.” “Someone get me NORAD!” Ernie barked. “Now! I think history’s repeating itself here!”

Rome, Italy

Madison Young

The text message on my phone shook me to the point where I almost knocked over the bottle of soda I was drinking in a sidewalk café across the street from the Hilton hotel Olivia Coons was staying at.

DID YOU HEAR, the message read.  I brought up the keypad and typed in, NO I DIDN’T.

A few minutes later, Lev Raskov texted, ANARCHISTS JUST STRUCK THE CAPITOL RECORDS BUILDING WITH A 757 IN LA! I froze; a bunch of Anarchists did what? While looking at the message, I suddenly received another one from Harper. This one read, HERE’S THE STORY: A TEAM OF ANARCHISTS HIJACKED AN AMERICAN AIRLINES 757 AND THEN FLEW IT INTO THE CAPITOL RECORDS BUILDING IN LA! AND A LOT OF PEOPLE DIED! EVERYONE ON THE PLANE DIED! I texted, REALLY? I waited a few seconds and then Harper texted back, GOSH, MADI, WHAT IS GOING ON? I thought for a moment and then texted, IDK, PAL! I THINK THIS IS ANOTHER TERRORIST ATTACK! Suddenly, Oscar Connor exclaimed, “Whoa!” I turned and saw the TV screen, which made me freeze in my tracks. There was the Capitol Records Building, exploding as the 757 flew right into it. “Ah, shoot,” I gasped. “How in the blazes did these Anarchists get experienced suicide pilots?” “I don’t know, pal,” Oscar replied, eyes still fixed on the screen.

Los Angeles International Airport, LA

Carl Young

Okay, Madison Young was in Italy, so that meant I was stuck here in Los Angeles working for the airport’s control tower. But today, I had bigger plans to worry about; as I looked at the flight tracker and then outside the tower, Delta Airlines Flight 22, a Boeing 757 with about forty passengers, suddenly made a turn from its flight path from LA to its destination at JFK International Airport, New York City, and began turning hard left. At exactly the same time, a Russian Aeroflot 767, Flight 523 that had just arrived from Moscow International Airport, made a hard turn right and veered off in the direction of the University of California Los Angeles. “Shoot,” I muttered. Then, as if completely on cue, the plane exploded in midair. “Holy shoot!” I cried. “Guys, did you see that?” “Was there a bomb aboard the flight?” asked another air traffic controller. I looked back toward Delta Airlines Fliim up. I began to hear ambulances and sirens in the background. Then I turned to Daryl. “You’re gonna be okay, son.” “I sure hope so,” Daryl groaned as we made our way to the terminal.

Two hours later…

Rome, Italy

Olivia Coonz

I could hardly believe what had happened; first an American Airlines 757 is flown into the Capitol Records Building in LA, then a Delta Airlines 767 and a Russian Aeroflot 767 were all hijacked simultaneously, with the former being flown into the Bank Tower in LA and the latter being bombed out of the sky. And to top it all off, American Airlines Flight 44 is bombed and shrapnel hits the tower, killing almost everyone in the tower of LA International Airport. Except Madison’s dad, that was. And it all happened within the space of two hours, which made it even more unbelievable. However, it was real.

Rome, Italy Erin Ready

I was smiling from ear to ear; the bombing\hijacking of those airliners worked like a charm. But I still wasn’t done yet. I clutched my AMD-63, a Romanian clone of the Russian AK-47, in my hands as I approached a thirty(ish) year old guy relaxing next to a Renault Magnum, a French-made truck, in an alley. Surprisingly, he didn’t see me approach. As I walked forward, a silenced sniper rifle round suddenly popped the guy’s head right open. I smiled and looked to my right. There was my big sister, Alex Ready. She was pretty good at sniping. But her biggest strength was stealth. She could stay quiet for a real long time and the enemy wouldn’t even know she was there. After ditching the dead guy’s body, I climbed into the back of the truck and began loading my seemingly enormous stockpile of weapons inside. Once that was done, Alex and I climbed into the truck and we drove off. I thought over my plan; the US President was going to D.C. real soon in order to hold some kind of summit with other Alliance members in order to wipe out the Anarchists. My group of Anarchists. “Screw the President,” I muttered. “Down with democracy.” I began to smile; killing the US President seemed too much like treason. But I didn’t care. I was evil. I didn’t give a stink about what other people thought about my so-called “terrorist attacks” on society. In fact, I secretly hated killing the US President. Yeah, that last comment was sarcastic. But since I was a mole, I had to fake it. I turned to Alex, who was reading a profile of some random girl in her twenties. Alex handed the file to me and as I read it, I smiled. The picture showed some young girl with blonde hair and blue-green eyes. I thought she looked like a younger version of Abigail Breslin or something. Her smiling photo kind of made me want to laugh. According to the file, this girl was born on August 3, 2008. As of now, she was twelve years old, but she’d turn thirteen in about two months. Her name: Adrianne McNamara. “I have an idea,” I told Alex, who was driving. “Let’s lure the President out of hiding by…” Alex frowned; she knew what I was thinking and apparently hated it. “Why kidnap his daughter?” Alex asked. “I mean, what will we gain by doing this?” “I have an idea,” I said. “You just watch and I’ll do the dirty work.” However, Alex was still frowning at me, which made me a tad bit uncomfortable. “Why kidnap her?” Alex asked. “Are you, like, using her as leverage to get to the President and kill him that way?” I nodded. “Okay, but how in the blazes are we going to get the authorities off our backs?” Alex asked. “I have an idea,” I said, smiling.

Five minutes later, we arrived at a random McDonald’s restaurant a few blocks away from where we killed the guy and stole his truck. I was cool about the killing of the truck driver, but apparently Alex was paranoid that we’d get caught. I assured her, however, that we wouldn’t be caught. The cops would be too dumb to notice. Alex pulled out a nickel-plated Sig Sauer P228 pistol and said quietly, “Okay, fine. I’ll help you out on this, but we have to find a way to get the authorities off our backs first. Besides, I’m getting kind of hungry.” I groaned. Apparently Alex was always hungry when she was nervous. “Okay, fine. I have some bombs in the back too. Let’s see if we can, like, blow up a building or something. I don’t know.” After I said this, I veered off to another street and came to a McDonald’s at the very end of it. I had to look for it because it was hidden between two other restaurants, but I eventually found it. Parking the truck, Alex and I entered the restaurant carrying backpacks. Unbeknownst to everybody else, the backpacks contained C4. Putting the backpacks under our table, I used Alex as a screen as I placed the bombs under the table legs. Once that was done, we went to take our orders. Seconds later, I was munching on a McWrap while Alex was eating a Big Mac (something she always went for at any McDonald’s). She and I spoke quietly, as to not reveal our plan to everyone else. Luckily, that was easy ‘cause there were numerous other people talking over us. “Okay,” I whispered. “I got the C4. When we get out of here, we’ll blow them.” “Not yet,” Alex said quietly. “Let’s wait until we’re a considerable distance from the place and then we’ll blow it.” “Yeah, okay,” I said. “But, ah, what if the police notice?” “The cops won’t notice a darn thing,” Alex said. “They’re too dumb to notice anything.” “Who said anything about dumb cops?” I asked. Alex laughed. “I did.”

After we were done a few minutes later, we put more explosive C4 underneath the truck and then hopped aboard a bus, leaving the truck where it was. When the bus got a considerable distance from the McDonald’s, we blew the charges. Now it was only a matter of time. Half a block away, twenty-one year old Adrianne McNamara began screaming.

Air Combat Command, HQ, Langely Field, Virginia

Don Coonz

The news bulletin startled the blazes out of the entire crew; a pair of teenagers apparently ate at a McDonald’s in Rome, Italy, and then blew up the place with C4. I rubbed my head; I was beginning to think everything that’d happened today was a dream. However, it wasn’t. No matter how many times I slapped myself or bit my lip, the news report about the bombing was still there. The words at the bottom of the news bulletin said EVIDENCE POINTS TO EXTREMIST GROUP. “Could Muhammad’s Army be behind this?” I asked myself quietly. “No. No way. Last time I checked they didn’t really have anything against Italy, unless they were pro-Israel.” But then again, those two girls didn’t look anything like Middle Eastern people. Rather they looked…American.

No way!  American terrorists?

Rome, Italy Olivia Coonz

My first theory about the bombing of that McDonald’s café was to frame the Islamic Caliphate, but then again I could’ve been wrong. I had no idea what was going on. First several airliners are destroyed 9\11 style by being flown into buildings, then another airliner is bombed in midair and a McDonald’s is bombed. Someone must’ve really hated us.

Then I heard my phone buzz and I looked at the caller ID when I took it out. It was Korey Hogan who wanted to talk to me and apparently it was urgent. “No time to explain right now, Olivia,” Korey said when I answered. “Just get to the base and I’ll break everything down for you.” I groaned; if this was a new mission that required an awful lot of dirty work, I was going to fall asleep.

Five minutes later, I was at the Vulture Force base with the rest of the team. Korey Hogan apparently looked pretty concerned about the matter at hand, as evidenced by his look of discomfort. “What’s going on, mate?” asked Doug. “There’s been another kidnapping. Two, actually,” Korey said. “And the surprising part is: they were done simultaneously on two different people.” “Holy shoot,” gasped Mason. Then Korey showed us a photo of a guy in his late twenties with dark hair and hazel eyes. The name of the guy was clearly written on the bottom left hand corner of the photo.

“You serious?” asked Doug. “This guy is called ‘Alejandro Rojas?’” Korey nodded. “Age twenty-three with brown hair and hazel eyes. Wanted for drug smuggling operations.” “So…what happened with this guy?” I asked. “He apparently orchestrated a double kidnapping with this other dude right here.” Korey then showed us another photograph. This one showed another dude that looked African, but was the same age as Rojas. He looked bald. The photo caption here just read, ROJAS’ ASSISTANT. However, his real name was written on the bottom of the photo in a little box. “Pedro Santos,” said Korey. “Best friend of Rojas. The two guys used to own a drug cartel, but they got busted by the DEA one time and fled to Russia, where they tried to cover up their tracks by trying to bomb a Russian airport in Moscow in an attempt to kill the US President, but they got busted there too.” “CIA got to both of ‘em, I guess,” I ventured. Korey smiled at first, but then he frowned. “The thing is that this Rojas guy has a grudge against both the US government and the Egyptian government and the Russian government.” “Holy shoot! What?” asked Doug. “Why are the Egyptians involved?” “If you want to understand this, go back to a few months earlier. Iran’s got the Caliphate going strong, but Al-Washir’s ticked off because one of his dearest friends went rogue on him and became his enemy. They seceded from the Caliphate and joined the Alliance thanks to a pro-West Egyptian President.” He then showed another photo of a guy in his forties with dark Middle Eastern-looking skin and brown eyes. “The new President of Egypt, Abdullah Al-Assad. He supports America, unlike the rest of the Caliphate, who hates us.” “And?” I asked. “He apparently joined the Alliance, so Al-Washir is ticked off to the point where he begins plotting against the guy. At the same time, Rojas is planning a vengeance scheme of his own because of something from his past.” “And that is?” asked Mason. “During a mission to bust Rojas and Santos’ terrorist attack on Russia-with the Egyptian intelligence and the Russian FSB assisting us-one of our CIA operatives tried to chase him down while Rojas’ girlfriend, who was also Santos’ dearest sister, tried to cover their escape,” Korey explained. “And?” asked Lev. “One of the Secret Service guys protecting the President ran over Rojas’ girlfriend and killed her while pursuing Rojas and his buddies.” Korey said. “The whole thing was an accident, but Rojas and Santos both took it as a deliberate assault on both of them, so now they’ve plotted against us.” “How?” asked Doug. “That brings me to the current matter,” said Korey. “The two of them, with a little help from their friend Erin Ready, tried to avenge their dead loved one by kidnapping the daughters of both the Pakistani and US President.” Then he showed us photographs, one showed a blonde-haired and blue eyed twenty-one year old by the name of Adrianne McNamara. The other showed a dark haired, dark skinned, hazel-eyed girl. Her name was Gamila Yousef. Her profile said she was an Egyptian. She was also shown to be currently residing in the capital, Cairo. Her age was thirteen, a year older than Adrianne. Mason gasped and my jaw dropped. “Did they make any demands?” asked Doug. Mason paled. “Yeah, they demanded that the US President hand over some kind of folder containing a computer software program that acts like a virus. They want to use it to infect the US Army’s supply of unmanned aerial vehicles and wage war on America with her own weapons.” “All for the sake of their dead loved one?” asked Doug. “Wow. Sounds harsh!” “It is harsh,” said Korey. “That’s where you come in. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find and rescue the daughters of the two Presidents and get ahold of that virus before Rojas does.” “Sounds kinda hard,” said Mason. “We’ll need technical support.” “I’ll provide those,” said Oscar Connor. “And by the way, my two daughters also have a connection to this Rojas guy.” “What?” asked Doug. “The only other friend Rojas has besides the Ready siblings is Trevor Stark,” said Oscar. “Stark and Rojas engineered the kidnapping of my two daughters together, just so Stark could do his own thing without us knowing. Same with Rojas.” “So…he’s planning on murdering everyone connected with the death of his girlfriend?” asked Doug. “Pretty much,” said Oscar. “Okay…” I said. “Now things are going to get a little complicated, don’t you think?” Doug turned to me. “I guess so. Anyway, where are those girls held?” “Switzerland,” said Korey. “The Swiss Alps.”

Chapter 59: Tragic incident

One day later…

Swiss Alps, Switzerland

Adrianne McNamara That knockout drug must’ve been pretty powerful, because I was unconscious for a full day. The only thing I remembered the day before was that some Hispanic looking dude attacked us and drugged us before I lost consciousness. Now I was here, wherever here was. I looked around; I was in some kind cell in what I thought was a penitentiary with gray walls and a cold, hard tile floor. There was only one window, which was barred. My throat was also dry; I’d been deprived of water ever since my abduction. I tried to scream, but a thick strip of duct tape had been plastered over mouth and muffled my cry. I looked down at my wrists; they were tied together with nylon straps. I was scared; I had no idea what was going to happen to the two of us or where we were. Gamila Yousef and I had been hanging out at a shopping mall and now we were in the middle of nowhere in the Swiss Alps. A building, perhaps? I felt hopeless. What about my dad and mom? I thought. Do they know I’ve been kidnapped? Will our kidnappers make demands? Will my parents be taken next? My biggest question was whether they planned to hold me for a while and then kill me later, or just keep me in captivity for a duration of time and then turn me loose after a significant amount of time had gone by. I felt so alone, so afraid, and so helpless. Especially without my friend Gamila, with whom I’d been a friend with since 2003, the year we met when my family and I went to Egypt for a vacation. I began to sob.

Geneva, Switzerland

Olivia Coonz

My entry into Geneva, Switzerland, was pretty cool. The flight to Geneva was a bit bumpy, but it was worth it. The best part: I got to live in a large multi-million-dollar apartment built on the slopes of the Swiss Alps! It also had a safe, which helped to hide my gun. The building had a hundred and fourteen floors and I lived on the 103rd floor. My room had a flat-screen TV, a king-sized bed and free WiFi Internet. And I even had a swimming pool and a spa! The other best part: I got to meet the US President! President Josh McNamara looked similar to a younger version of actor Michael Rooker or something. At age forty-seven with graying brown hair, he looked like a charismatic guy. “I, uh, I’m sorry about your daughter,” I said to him while I was dining alongside the President and his entourage of Secret Service guards at a café across the street from the hotel later that day. The President looked at me. “You must’ve heard.” “I did,” I said. “My commanding officer gave me the heads-up. We’re, ah, doing what we can, sir.” “I like that,” said McNamara. “Anyway, do you have any idea why a bunch of ragtag ex-drug cartel owner like Alejandro Rojas would want to kidnap my girl?” “I know,” I said. “Apparently my guys think it’s because of some incident that resulted in the death of his girlfriend.” “Oh,” said McNamara, apparently surprised. “You don’t mean the incident, do ‘ya?” “What do you mean by that?” I asked. “No, I have a better question: was it a Secret Service agent, an Egyptian intelligence agent, or a Russian FSB agent that killed his girlfriend?” “It was me,” said a young woman with a petite build in her late twenties with brown hair and green eyes. She walked over to me. “I’m the one who killed his girlfriend.” I looked at her in surprise. “Who the heck are you?” “Special Agent Rebecca Winters, FBI,” she said, extending her hand. “FBI?” I asked, shaking her hand. Then I turned to the President. “You never told me the FBI was involved?” “Sorry, I must’ve missed that,” McNamara said. “So, you were the one who killed Rojas’ girlfriend?” I asked Rebecca. “Yeah, and I have to admit I feel pretty guilty about it.” She replied. “Lemme guess,” I said. “It was an accident.” Rebecca nodded. “What’d you plan to do?” I asked. “Rojas was supposed to bomb an airport terminal,” Rebecca said, ignoring my question. “He succeeded in sneaking the bomb past security, but then was caught trying to escape. I was the one trying to chase him down.” “And?” I asked. “Rojas’ girlfriend was trying to cover his escape, but I was right behind him, intending to shoot him in the leg or something and slow down his run, but she ran in front of my vehicle.” I began to shake with anxiety. “Then what?” “I slammed the brakes, but it was too late,” Rebecca said. “Before I realized what I’d done, Rojas’ aficionada lay sprawled on the road before me, dead.” “You were the one who hit her?” I asked. Rebecca nodded. “Don’t worry about that, sport,” said another FBI agent, a guy in his thirties with brown hair and light gray eyes resembling the actor Robert Redford. “She knows it was an accident.” “Oh, c’mon,” Rebecca spat. “You’re not helping.” Then she turned to me. “Fellow agent Preston Woods. He’s always a pain in the neck to me.” “I can see that,” I said.

Chapter 60: Coercion and verbal abuse

Geneva, Switzerland

Olivia Coonz

When I got back to my hotel room, my cellphone suddenly buzzed, indicating I had a text message. I groaned; normally I didn’t receive texts from anyone. I only received calls and that was it. Well, I did receive texts before I joined the stinking military to begin with, but after I joined, I stopped getting texts and kept on getting calls. That was, until now. The text sender was unknown, and the number was one I didn’t recognize. The number was 212-443-2212. What kind of number is that? I clicked the message and froze. The message was in quotation marks and it was in all caps. And it had a picture of a chainsaw attached to it. COME AND GET ME, it said. On the bottom were the words A.D. “Man,” I muttered to myself. “Who the heck is this guy?” I stared at the message carefully, expecting to catch something noticeable. But I didn’t find anything. Just three big letters with the words A.D. on the bottom and that was it. “Stink,” I muttered. “Whoever this guy is, he’s messing with the wrong person.”

Swiss Alps, Switzerland

Adrianne McNamara

After being still in the darkness for well over two hours, I began to realize the tape covering my mouth had begun to lose its adhesion. When I opened my mouth and spread my jaws, the tape loosened a bit. I guessed that my saliva had caused the tape to lose its stick and to test my theory I drooled on it. Sure enough, I was correct; when I opened my mouth again after drooling on the tape for a few seconds, the tape loosened some more. I opened my mouth again and then pushed at the tape with my tongue. To my utter delight, it came loose and I could speak. I looked around, examining my surroundings and looking for a way to escape. Then I cried out, “Hello? Can anyone hear me? HELP!” Nothing. Then, I heard it; someone was crying softly. Oh, thank God! I’m not alone! If I can talk to this cellmate… I quickly turned around and then saw that I’d been sitting up against some kind of box or cage or something. And inside, I saw a girl. I looked at this new fellow for a long, long time and then a thought clicked into my mind: escape.

Geneva, Switzerland Olivia Coonz

“Who is A.D. anyway?” I wondered aloud. I began to think that this person was trying to replace me as the “awesome one”, so I began to think about what action to take if my assumptions were correct. I should tell that guy to his face who I am, I thought. After all, he doesn’t even know me! But then again, that guy (assuming he was a guy) probably didn’t want to mess with me and was probably harmless. However, I didn’t want to take any chances with this person. But if he were trying to replace me as the awesome one, I’d probably have to beat him to a bloody pulp in order to show my dominance over the guy. Come on, Olivia! Think! But just then, my mind automatically switched topics and I suddenly began thinking about getting something to drink. My phone buzzed again and I feared it was A.D. trying to threaten me again. Instead, it was Mason Davidson, telling me to meet him at some bar across the street for a drink. Nah, I texted him back. I’m not a drinker. I waited a moment and then Mason’s response came: LAL, Olivia! Live a little! I texted back the following: Getting drunk’s a bad idea, pal. After a few minutes of silence, Mason responded with, We’re not drinking beer or anything, buddy! We’re just hanging out and drinking energy drinks! I suddenly smiled; energy drinks sounded fun, but I didn’t want to get hyperactive. But then again, a night of fun was pretty much what an awesome girl like me needed. After all, even awesome people needed fun, right? I texted back, Okay, I’ll be right there, and headed out the door.

Swiss Alps, Switzerland Adrianne McNamara

This other inmate of mine looked about the same as me in terms of physical appearance, with the same color hair and eyes. However, she looked younger, possibly college age or maybe even younger than that. When she saw me, her eyes went wide and she suddenly began whimpering through the tape covering her mouth and struggling against the nylon bindings on her wrists. “It’s okay,” I said softly. “It’s okay. I’m here. It’ll be fine.” The girl just kept on making that whimpering noise, as if my presence freaked her out. Okay, I had to admit that I probably did freak her out because I turned around so quickly. I must’ve startled her, I thought. “Are you all right?” I asked her. She just cocked her head slightly to the right and looked at me blankly as if she had no idea what I was talking about. So I tried another tactic. “Here, let me get this off you so we can, you know, talk.” She nodded slowly and I reached through the bars of the enclosure, slowly peeling the tape from her mouth. As I did, she let out a faint groan. When the gag was off, she started coughing. “Are you okay?” I asked her again. Looking up at me, the cellmate nodded, smiling. “Thanks,” she said quietly, a European lilt in her voice-what I thought was a French accent. “It was getting pretty lonely in there anyway.” “Same here,” I said, looking back toward the door to make sure no one heard me talking. My cellmate looked pretty nervous, so I tried to get her mind off of whatever was troubling her by talking to her, which seemed to help at the moment. “Who are you?” I asked, now in a hushed tone just like her. “My name is Diana,” she whispered. “Diana Lambert.” She looked behind her and stared at the back of her enclosure before looking back at me. “And you are?” “Adrianne McNamara,” I replied quietly. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?” She shook her head. “I’ve no clue.” “Neither do I.” I quickly eyed the door again and turned back to my new friend. Then I moved closer to the door and then asked Diana, “Do you have a key?” She shook her head. “That’s okay,” I said, producing a key of my own. “I use this all the time. I’m surprised the guards never found it on me.” “I’m surprised you even managed to keep it hidden up until now,” Diana said, smiling. I slid the key into the keyhole and turned it until I heard the door unlatching and I swung the door open. Light from my cell allowed my new friend to see my whole body, and I had to admit that she was pretty surprised. “You’re only a child,” she said, gasping. “And…err, how old are you?” “Twelve,” I said proudly. “I’ll be thirteen in two months, though. How old are you?” “Fourteen,” she said. “You look about older,” I said. “You looked almost seventeen.” Diana snickered. “I’ve heard that before. Everyone thinks I look like an adult.” I took out a knife and cut the ties on Diana’s wrists. She rubbed them to work circulation, and then used my knife to cut my own bonds. “Man, that feels better,” I said between sighs of relief. “Thanks, pal.” “No, thank you,” said Diana. “Anyway, where do you think we are?” “We’re in a prison, but I don’t know what part,” I said. “At least I think it looks like a prison. What does this place look like to you?” “Oh, I don’t know.” Diana shrugged. “It looks more like a torture chamber.” I suddenly shuddered fearfully, and Diana looked concerned. “Should I not have said that?” She asked. I nodded. “The very word gives me chills.” “Sorry,” Diana said. “Now, we need to find a way to get out of here. Do you have a plan?” “No,” I said. “I thought you had one.” I groaned. “Let me guess…you were watching me.” She nodded. “Okay,” I said. “I don’t have a plan. I mean, not right now. But let me think.” “I was thinking of a way to get out of here too, now that you mention it,” said Diana. “Maybe we could, ah, work together on this?” I leaped at the idea. “Brilliant! Hey, you’re pretty smart for a fourteen year old.” Diana was about to respond, but a curt voice cut her off. “Hey, no talking!” cried a guard outside. “You talk, I will shoot you!” “Oops,” Diana hissed. “I didn’t watch my volume. I’m sorry.” “Uh, you’re fine,” I whispered. “Just…please watch your volume.” Diana nodded and then looked behind her again. I started looking back toward that large door behind me and then at my new friend. “Why do you keep looking at the wall?” “Why do you keep looking at the door?” Diana asked in response. “I keep getting this iffy feeling someone’s gonna walk through that door and take me to a torture chamber or something,” I said. “Same here,” Diana said. “I feel like someone wants to get me through the wall. It’s been scaring me a while now.” “Really?” I asked. She nodded.

Geneva, Switzerland

Olivia Coonz

“So,” I heard Mason uttering softly in my ear at a Burger King a few blocks away from the hotel five minutes later. “What’s this I hear about some guy named ‘A.D.’ leaving weird messages on your phone?” I turned and shrugged. “I don’t know. Whoever this guy is, he’s probably thinking I’m one of those people that are easy to mess with.” “Maybe he’s trying to be a friend,” suggested Harper. “Yeah, but what kind of friend texts ‘Come and get me?’” I asked. “Okay,” Harper said. “Correction: he’s probably threatening you.” “The odd thing is that this guy got my number down somehow and I never give my number to strangers,” I said. “Something’s up.” “If this guy works for Rojas, then I definitely think he’s threatening you.” Mason said, cocking his head to one side. “How is ‘Come and get me’ a threat?” I asked. “Well, this dude probably wanted to get rid of you,” suggested Mason. “Personally, I think he’s jealous ‘cause you’re awesome and he’s not.” At the same time he said this, my phone buzzed again. I groaned; if that guy were threatening me again, I’d have to give him a piece of my mind. Otherwise he was probably going to keep on threatening me with offensive text messages until I killed him or something. As expected, there was another text message from “A.D.” Only this one said; EVERYTHING I DO HAS A REASON! YOU’D BETTER PAY ATTENTION, SPORT! Jeez, I thought. What is with this guy?

Swiss Alps, Switzerland Adrianne McNamara

I glanced toward Diana, who was sitting up against the barred door of the cell and looking at the back wall, as if waiting for something to come out of it. “Are you okay?” I asked. Diana didn’t respond for a moment, but a few minutes later she turned around and nodded. “Are you, ah, waiting for something to get you from the wall again?” I asked. Diana shook her head. “I’m just thinking.” “About what?” I grabbed the bars and looked at her hopefully; I was expecting her to say something about an attempt to escape from this prison cell. She took a deep breath and said, “I’m just so scared, Adrianne. I’m so scared it’s sometimes hard to think, but I try to anyway.” “What are you thinking about?” I asked. “I want to escape, just like you, but I’ve also considered the alternative: waiting to be rescued.” “Why?” I asked, my eyes wide. “You don’t want to try to escape?” “I’m not that much of an escape artist.” Diana admitted. “I mean, I have never tried escaping anything before. I usually just sit and wait for someone to help me. But I guess that’s not an option now, is it?” “I don’t think anyone knows we’re here anyway,” I said. “Is that why you want to escape?” Diana asked, turning to face me. “You really don’t think anyone will come for us?” “My dad is the President,” I said. “Surely he must’ve thought of something. If only I could call him…” “What happened to your phone?” Diana asked. “Is it dead?” “They took it,” I said. “Rojas’ guys took my phone away when he kidnapped me. Do you still have yours? I want to call my dad, let him know what’s happened.” “No, I’m sorry,” Diana said. “They took my phone away too.” Upon hearing this, I got angry. I stood up and grabbed a rock, then threw it at the stone-hard wall of the cell. I then ran toward the wall and kicked it with my foot, screaming angrily. “Adrianne, don’t!” Diana cried. “You’ll hurt yourself!” “You know what? Forget it,” I said angrily, walking back toward Diana’s gated cell. “You’re right. I gotta take a stand.” Diana looked confused. “What? I never said anything about taking a stand against Rojas.” “I’m just a kid. I’m only twelve, goshdarnit! I put up with everything,” I said. “Rojas took advantage of that, kept pushing me around! I never say anything!” As I paced back and forth, Diana looked at me with concern in her eyes. “Adrianne, please!” “Well, he’s not the problem,” I said. “I’m the problem! I have to take a stand, against him!” Diana kept on looking at me with confusion. “What do you mean?” Then, for the first time, I swore. “I am not going to sit on my butt as the events that affect me unfold to determine the course of my life. I'm going to take a stand. I'm going to defend it. Right or wrong, I'm going to defend it!” Diana blinked and then looked behind her again before looking at me. “And how are you doing this?” “I’m not going to let Rojas take advantage of my age and push me around!” I cried. “I’m gonna fight back! I’m gonna show him I’m not going to comply with whatever me wants me to do anymore! I’m gonna rebel.” Diana’s expression turned gloomy. “You’re going to fight back?” “Yeah, that and I’ll show Rojas I mean it! I’m rebelling.” I then walked toward a part of the wall to my right and looked at it angrily. Then I swung my foot forward and kicked it really hard. Then I screamed again. “I’m so sick of his crap!” Diana gasped. “Adrianne, what are you doing?” I kept on kicking the wall. “I can’t stand him, and I hate this freaking cell!” Kick! I cried, “Who do you love?” Kick. I squealed the same question: “Who do you love?” Kick. I started raving, “You hate me, you love no one! NO ONE! You son of a toad!”

I then kept kicking the wall furiously, screaming at every hit I registered on the wall.

“Adrianne, don’t,” said Diana. “You’re going to get yourself killed. Don’t do this.” I ignored her, kicking the wall furiously until my feet began to hurt. Then, with my final reserves of strength, I kicked the wall again really hard. My strength gone, I collapsed against Diana’s cell. I was silent for a moment, reflecting upon whether what I’d done would actually do anything to my kidnappers if I did the same to them. Then I started crying. “Who am I kidding?” I sobbed. “I’m only twelve! Rojas is, what, in his forties or something? I’m just a kid! I’m no fighter!” Diana hugged me through the bars. “I’m only fourteen and I’m not a fighter either. I’m not even a coordinated person.” I just cried softly for what seemed like an hour. Maybe I was right. I wasn’t going to get out of here. I’d probably never get out of here. I would probably rot in this prison cell for all eternity, unless Rojas felt so guilty about what he’d done he’d decide to let us all go. And I thought about Gamila. What was she suffering at this moment? Could Rojas have killed her already? Surely not… Then I changed the subject. I turned to Diana and said through my tears, “Do you think Rojas has a good side?” Diana looked surprised. “Why do you ask?” I thought for a moment. “Well, I was thinking and, ah, I thought that maybe Rojas would probably regret what he did and…” “Release us?” Diana finished. I nodded. Diana thought for a moment. “No. He’s a bar steward. He cannot be trusted.” “You sound like he’s pure evil,” I said. “As if, like, he didn’t have a good side at all.” “Of course!” Diana barked, now getting angry herself. “He kidnapped us and dumped us here to rot in this prison cell! He doesn’t have a good side! He is a hundred percent pure evil!” “How do you know this?” I asked quietly. Diana calmed down and took a deep breath. “Because I’ve heard he’s a monster. My mother told me this, a few days before I was kidnapped.” “And…what happened? Is this the only bad thing he did to you?” I asked. “Mon Dieu, it’s terrible, what he did. He-he took away my family.” “What?” I asked. “Killed them,” said Diana. “He killed my family.” I gasped. “All of them?” Diana nodded sadly. “I don’t know about my brothers and sisters. I feel like I am the only member of my family left. Aside from my father, that is.” “Your family’s gone, except your dad?” I asked. “But…why would he leave you alive and bring you here?” Diana shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because he…liked my young age, perhaps?” “Huh, I can see that,” I said. “Considering the fact you’re fourteen and I’m twelve.” Diana thought for a moment and then changed the subject. “Do you really want to get out of here?” I looked up at her. “Yeah, I do.” Diana looked at me intently. “You said you wanted to take a stand against him. Maybe we can. I mean, I’ll help if you let me.” “I thought you weren’t an escape artist or a fighter,” I said. “I’m not, but now would be a good time to try and become one.” Diana grinned. I smiled, but then frowned. “But how in the blazes are you going to help me if you’re stuck in this cell?” Diana thought for a moment again and then said, “I lied when I told you I wasn’t a fighter. I’m actually a pretty good fighter.” My eyes went wide. “Really?” “I have been trained in close quarters combat,” Diana explained. “My father, he’s a part of the GIGN.” I cocked my head to one side and scratched my head. “What?” “It stands for Groupe d’Intervention de la Gendarmerie Nationale,” Diana explained. “National Gendarmerie Intervention Group in English. It’s the French Military Police Forces’ elite counter-terrorism\tactical unit.” “Okay,” I said. “And, what, did your dad teach you this stuff?” Diana nodded. “He taught me self-defense.” I smiled. “He seems like a smart guy.” Diana smiled back. “He is.” I sat back against the thick bars of the cell and said, “I’m, err, feeling kind of tired. I need a nap.” “I’m not stopping you,” Diana said. After hearing that, I fell asleep.

Geneva, Switzerland

Olivia Coonz

I was getting fed up with A.D. and his text messages concerning me. While hanging out with Mason and the other guys at that Burger King, I began to think that maybe A.D. was being verbally abusive. “Come and get me” seemed more like a deliberate threat than a random message, now that I thought of it. If Mason’s analysis were to be correct, I’d have to show this guy that he was messing with the wrong person. But then again, he could be wrong. Suddenly, my phone buzzed again. I grabbed it, thinking that A.D. was trying to threaten me once again. This time, however, it wasn’t him. The number this time was 501-345-3321. This message read: Nothing personal, Olivia; A.D. is acting like her old self again. I froze; A.D. was a girl! Okay, so A.D. was a girl. So what? She’d still have to answer to me for that threatening message. And who was this person anyway? I looked at the signature on the bottom of the message. S.M. My jaw dropped; who in the blazes was S.M.? Did she have a connection to A.D.? And for whom were these two people working for anyway? How’d they get my number? How’d they even know who I was? As I sat pondering this, another text message from S.M. appeared on my phone. This one said: Sorry for not identifying myself right away. My name is Samantha McCoy. No hard feelings? Samantha McCoy? That name rang a bell. I texted back, Who the heck are you and how’d you know my identity? And who is A.D. anyway? I waited a few moments and then “Samantha McCoy” came back with, Well, have you seen Texas Chainsaw 3D? She’s in that one. I recommend you do your research. I’ll give you a hint: “Do your thing, cuz!” “Maybe I will,” I muttered as I sipped my can of Root Beer. Then another message appeared on my phone, only this one came from none other than my arch nemesis, Kaylyn Bigely. I’m coming for you, Coondog, The message read. Did you think I wouldn’t be here? Okay, that was pretty shocking; Kaylyn somehow knew I was here. If she wanted to wipe me off the face of the earth because of what I did to her in eighth grade, then she’d have to be beaten to a bloody pulp. I texted back, What do you want? Kaylyn came back with, Do you think I wanted this? I rolled my eyes; Kaylyn was getting somewhere and I needed to find out where, or else I’d be beaten to a bloody pulp first. Do I think you wanted what? I answered. Kaylyn seemed to take a long time to respond, so I killed off the time by sipping my Root Beer and then checking my other messages. Then she came back with, I know what you’re thinking. You probably didn’t want it to come to this, but I’m afraid it has. I’m going to find you, Olivia, and when I do you’re gonna die sooner than you think. “Whoa,” I murmured quietly. “I’m awesome. I can’t die.” Then I texted back, I’m awesome, though. You can’t kill me. I’ve destroyed your world piece by piece, Kaylyn responded. It’s only a matter of time until I find you. And when I do, you’ll be the first to die. Good luck with that, I replied.

Swiss Alps, Switzerland

Adrianne McNamara

I awoke to find myself on the cold hard ground a few minutes later, which surprised me. I got up slowly and realized I wasn’t in my cell anymore. My guess: I’d been moved. I was now in an even bigger cell, only this one had pale blue walls and a checkered tile floor. The ceiling was black. However, everything else was the same; barred door, and a grated window. I looked around; Diana was nowhere in the cell, which got me worried. Did they move her, or did they kill her? I started crying; aside from Gamila, Diana was the only other friend I had left in this filthy prison. If she was dead and I was going cold turkey, I’d fall apart. “Please,” I sobbed quietly. “Please, please, please…don’t let her die! Oh God, don’t let her die!” As I lay there on the floor, crying my eyes out, the door suddenly opened. I looked up and gasped when the man came in. I immediately recognized him as my captor, the guy with the baseball cap, short-sleeve shirt, and weird-looking bulletproof vest, who had kidnapped Gamila and I back at that shopping mall. “Rojas,” I said angrily through my tears. Then I sprang to my feet and backed myself up against the back wall. “Listen, Adrianne, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Rojas said calmly. “I won’t hurt you.” “I’m not stupid!” I cried. “I know there’s a lot to be afraid of! Most of all people like you, bar steward!” Rojas pulled up a chair, sat down and leaned into my angry, tearful eyes. He was smiling, which freaked me out. I wanted to punch him in the face really hard, but I just had to restrain myself; I had to conserve my energy for any real chance to escape. “Why are you doing this?” I sobbed. “I…I didn’t do anything to you! And what did you do with Gamila and Diana?” Rojas’ smile faded. “Your Egyptian friend, Gamila Yousef, you mean?” I nodded. “What else could I possibly mean?” “I killed her,” Rojas said sarcastically. “Blockhead!” I cried. “You’re lying! I can feel it in my gut! She’s alive! You’re just lying!” “I guess I am,” Rojas replied, his smile returning. “No, I didn’t actually kill her, or Diana for that matter. I just moved them to a different cell.” “Why?” I sobbed, looking into his eerily calm eyes. “Why’d you move them?” “I felt like they spent too much time with you and needed some time alone,” said Rojas. “In the meantime, I have a new inmate you’d enjoy.” “I hate you!” I screamed. “You kidnapped me! You’re gonna have to answer for this to the authorities!” “It’s true I’m a kidnapper,” he said. “But I assure you, it was all for the greater good.” “Why are you doing this?” I asked again, this time quietly. “I already told you,” said Rojas. “But what do you mean by ‘greater good?’” I asked. “I mean, you saying that you’re doing this to benefit yourself?” Rojas shook his head. “Not exactly, Adrianne. I’m doing this because of your father.” My heart skipped a beat and my jaw hung open. “Dad? Why him? What’d he do to you?” “Ha! I knew you would catch on,” Rojas said. “Your father took away what I considered irreplaceable. And so, I took you because I knew your father viewed you as his ‘irreplaceable one.’ So I’ll make him suffer.” I started to sob again. “What?” “I’ll make your father suffer for what he did to me!” Rojas stood up and announced in a loud voice. “What did he do to you that makes you hate him so much?” I asked. Rojas took a deep breath and sat back down. “He killed my girlfriend. Well, not personally, but one of the American federal agents did.” “Federal agents?” I asked. Rojas nodded. “Your girlfriend…I didn’t know you had one,” I said. “Well, I did, and because of your father, I have to do this to you. I’m sorry, but it just had to be done,” said Rojas. “The circumstances left me with no choice.” “Why are you sorry now?” I asked. “You seemed totally evil earlier!” “Because I am,” Rojas said. “I’m your father’s worst nightmare.” “He’s going to come for me,” I said. “He’ll send guys after you and they’re gonna rescue me. I’ll go home and you’ll be in prison for life, probably.” Rojas laughed. “Nice try, but I don’t think the intelligence people back in America know where this mansion is!” I cocked my head to one side. “Where’s my family?” “Planning a rescue mission that’ll never work,” Rojas said honestly. “Because I have security. And a lot of it. They’ll never stand a chance.” “My dad’s gonna bring a lot of spec ops guys in here and they’ll kill you!” I spat. Rojas smiled. “Nice vocabulary for a twelve-year old.” “Will you at least tell my dad I’m okay?” I asked. “I mean, does he even know you did this?” “I’m sure he does,” Rojas said. “You’re his daughter after all. And, ah, I will notify your father about your condition…eventually.” “You mean, you’re going to surprise him?” I asked. “Si. And, ah, you look thirsty.” Rojas looked kind of concerned. Diana was right; he really did have a good side. “Oh gosh, yes,” I gasped. “I haven’t had anything to drink in a while. I’m dying for a glass of water right about now.” “Then drink this,” he said, throwing me an ice-cold water bottle. “And by the way, that new inmate I mentioned is just outside. I’ll bring her in now.” Then he left, locking the door behind him. As I stared at the bottle, I thought about Gamila and Diana; if they were still alive, I’d do anything to get to them. But a new inmate also sounded pretty nice; we could come up with an escape plan together. But then again, Rojas did mention he had a lot of security. We wouldn’t really stand a chance against his guys, considering I was just twelve. “I’ll show him,” I muttered angrily. “I’ll show him I’m no ordinary prisoner.”

Geneva, Switzerland

Olivia Coonz

Five minutes later, I was back in Vulture Force headquarters. Korey Hogan had apparently gathered new intelligence about the kidnapping of twelve-year old Adrianne McNamara and her Egyptian friend, Gamila Yousef. “Okay, so what do we have?” I asked. “We’ve pinpointed the location where the two girls are being held,” said Korey. “They’re here.” He pointed to a satellite image of a large mansion resting on a ridge in the Swiss Alps. “Wow,” I said. “Must be cold up there.” I began pointing at the snow-capped peak. “Rojas has a mansion?” asked Lev. “That’s new.” “He apparently inherited this baby from his dad, who used to vacation in the Swiss Alps during the summer months,” Korey explained. “Now Rojas practically owns the place. The thing is this: he’s got heavy security, so we’re going to need all the backup we can possibly have.” “And how are you going to manage that, sir?” asked Mason. “The Federal Bureau of Investigation has decided to help out,” said Korey. “In addition to this, we have the Russian GRU, the French GIGN, and the Russian FSB.” “GIGN?” asked Lev. “Why are they involved, sir? And what about the GRU?” In response, Korey pulled up two pictures. The first showed a Russian guy in his forties with black hair and blue eyes. When Lev looked at the photo, he suddenly smiled, as if he recognized the guy. “Yuri Gavrilov,” Korey said. “Commander of the Russian FSB. Ex-Spetsnatz.” “Hey,” Lev said. “He’s my cousin!” We all looked at him. “Seriously?” I asked. “He’s your freaking cousin? Dude, you never told me this!” “Well, now I did,” Lev said proudly. “Anyway,” said Doug. “Why the heck is this Yuri Gavrilov guy involved in the operation?” “Because of his girlfriend,” said Korey. “A few hours after Adrianne McNamara and Gamila Yousef were kidnapped, the Red Hand thugs abducted his girlfriend, Tat’yana Nazarova.” Another photo appeared, this one showing a young woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. “Dude, you never told me your cousin was dating,” said Mason. “I guess I forgot to tell you that, comrade,” said Lev. “And what about the GIGN?” I asked. Korey pointed at the second photo, which showed a French guy in his fifties with graying brown hair and hazel eyes. “Phillipe Lambert he said. “Commander of the GIGN.” A fourth photo appeared, showing a woman with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. “This is his daughter Diana,” Korey said. “She was kidnapped by the Red Hand a few hours before the abduction of Yousef and McNamara.” “Why kidnap all these people?” I asked. “It’s not like they had a connection with the death of Rojas’ girlfriend, right?” “Actually they all have a connection,” said Korey. “The French and Russian guys both supplied intelligence that led to the mission at that airport. So Rojas kidnapped the French and Russian girl in order to slow down the Russian and French authorities’ efforts to hunt him down.” “And what about the Egyptian and the American?” asked Lev. “Same thing,” said Korey. “So…these guys will help us get our hostages back,” I said, pointing at the photos of the French and Russian dudes. “Yeah,” said Korey. “Oh, and one more thing.” He pulled up a fifth photo. This one showed another Russian dude, only he looked more like a guy from Tajikistan or something. “Amir Kablukov,” Korey said. “Forty-five year old male, black hair and hazel eyes. Part Russian, part Jordanian, part Tajik.” “That explains why he’s got a dark skin tone,” said Mason. “This guy tried to rescue the French and Russian girls as part of a quick-reaction force, but was captured and imprisoned in the same fortress as the girls. We’ve been instructed to help the Russians break him out too.” “Okay,” I said. “Any other male prisoners?” “Yeah, this guy,” Korey said. Then he pulled up another photo, this one showing a guy everybody recognized. The reason: he was a celebrity. At age 47, Charlie Sheen still looked like he could kick someone’s butt, just like he used to do in the movies. “He’s part of TAC. Tactical American Coalition,” said Korey. “The odd part, it’s made up almost entirely of celebrities. You know, Tom Cruise, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Chuck Norris. Those guys.” “And…who is this person exactly?” Lev asked. “Charlie Sheen,” said Korey. “You may know him from the show Two and a Half Men.” “And this Kablukov guy,” said Harper. “Who is he?” “Informant for TAC,” said Korey. “Who leads it?” asked Harper. “We don’t know at this moment,” said Korey. “We just found out about this organization last week. Tom Cruise, a lieutenant of TAC, notified us first.” “Okay, so TAC wants to help us,” I said. “Anyone else besides them, the GRU, the GIGN, and the FSB?” “Other than those guys, it’s the FBI and the CIA,” said Korey. “The CIA and FBI are teaming up for this operation.” “Wow,” I said. “Interesting.”

Swiss Alps, Switzerland

Adrianne McNamara

I began to hear the sounds of someone being dragged down the hall, followed by loud, harsh voices. I’d been lying down on the cold, hard floor of the cell and suddenly turned my head toward the locked door of the cell, where the footfalls started to get louder and louder until… They were fully audible behind the door. “Move it!” I heard an accented voice scream. “Get in there!” Then the door flew open and Rojas returned, a bound and gagged young woman behind him. I sat up and looked at Rojas’ goons, who were all Hispanic-looking, much to my surprise. The goons dragged her to the center of the room where I was and one of them put a gun to her head. “That is your new inmate, Adrianne,” Rojas said. “She’s Russian. Ever heard of the FSB?” I shook my head. Rojas just grinned and led his men out the door, locking it behind him while I walked up to this new inmate. When I approached her, she screamed through the tape covering her mouth. “Shh. It’s okay,” I said soothingly. “I’m not going to hurt you. How can I hurt you anyway?” Immediately, she calmed down. Bright blue eyes stared at me, wide with and horror. She then began to search the room, her eyes continuing to extend as she took in the scenery. She looked at me, examining my tattered, bloody clothes. I looked into her eyes, which betrayed absolute terror. She was obviously tramautized by whatever Rojas did to her recently. “Are you hurt?” I asked. The young woman whimpered and shook her head. She then scooted awkwardly up to me to get a closer look at my face, as if she’d never seen anyone like me in her entire lifetime. Okay, I had to admit this was the first time I’d ever seen a Russian, but oh well. As I continued to examine her, I noticed something surprising; as I talked to her, I discovered I could automatically read her body language. Whether that was instinct or something I learned from childhood, I didn’t know. “Do you know where we are?” I asked, hoping to test the theory. No, I have no idea, her eyes said. “Do you have any idea why Rojas took you?” She shook her head. “Okay, listen to me. When Rojas brought you here, did you see any escape routes?” She nodded, but then looked toward the locked door. “Yeah, I know,” I said. “He locked the door. He always does that, being a kidnapper and all. I’m just asking.” When she turned back to me, I suddenly smiled, which made her confused. “You know what?” I asked. The lady looked up at me expectantly. “Let’s get out of here,” I said. “Together. What do you say to that?” As I said this, I noticed the edges of her mouth curling up into a smile and I smiled back. I was finally getting out of here.

Chapter 61: An underworld and a marriage

Geneva, Switzerland

Olivia Coonz

I walked into my hotel room, where Mason Davidson had a portable cabinet filled with weapons sitting on a desk. I looked at him in surprise, which made Mason look confused. “How’d you sneak that past hotel security?” I asked. “Oh, you know me,” said Mason. “I’m pretty sneaky.” Mason handed me an MP5K submachine gun. “Ever seen that before?” I grinned and nodded. “Sure. I’ve seen it many times.” “Really?” Mason asked. Then he pulled out a Beretta 92FS Inox pistol and smiled. “Rojas won’t stand a chance with a gun like this.” “Looks old,” I said. “Anyway, about A.D., I have reason to believe she may have an accomplice. Her name’s Samantha. And I have reason to believe A.D. is a girl.” “Really?” asked Mason, grabbing a SCAR-U from the portable armory. I smirked. “Yeah, that’s what Samantha said.” “Wait,” said Mason as he was about to reach for an AK-103 assault rifle. “Samantha?” “Well, her full name’s Samantha McCoy. Does that ring a bell?” Mason thought for a moment. “Kind of does, to be honest. I heard she went off the grid after graduating from high school.” “Just like Erin Ready,” I said. “Anything else you know about her?” Mason nodded. “She’s a wanted fugitive. The Anarchists, Iron Hand, Muhammad’s Army, the Chechen Mujahideen, they all want to blow her away.” “Why?” I asked. “I dunno. Whenever you see her, I recommend you ask her,” Mason said. “When’d you first hear about this girl?” I asked. Before Mason could respond, Jordan Portner entered and said, “I told him about her.” I turned and saw Nadroj standing there, wearing a black jacket and a Punisher T-shirt with a black pair of sweatpants. “Whoa. Nice outfit. Is that your, ah, new Punisher uniform?” “Sure is,” he said. “Anyway, I know Samantha ‘cause she used to be in my class once.” “Was that during the senior year?” I asked. “Yeah,” said Nadroj. “Hey, did you, err, hear about TAC member Emma Stone?” “You mean the ex-actress?” asked Mason. “Yeah, I have. What about her?” “She married Zach Hopkins.” I froze; Zach Hopkins was my friend from 9th grade. He was pretty intimidating with his big muscles and all. With his hazel eyes and black hair, I felt like he was the younger equivalent of Arnold Schwarzenegger or something. “When was this?” I asked. “Uh, a few months after the two of them joined the CIA. They met a while back and they’ve been dating for a long time.” “And they just recently got married?” I asked. “Uh, no. They got married two months ago.” Nadroj said. “Wow,” I replied. “That’s pretty cool. So they’re both CIA agents?” “Uh-huh,” said Nadroj. “And you want to know something about me? I own the Underworld!” My jaw dropped. “You own an Underworld?! Nice, man!” “I know,” said Nadroj. “And, ah, I have a lot of people as minions, ‘ya know!” “Minions?” asked Mason. Then he laughed. “So you’re like GRU from Despicable Me!” “Yep, pretty much.” Nadroj said, smirking. “Any word on Adrianne McNamara’s status?” I asked. “Nothing yet,” said Nadroj. “But, ah, they’re still doing everything they can, pal.” Then he put an envelope on my desk. I looked at Nadroj in confusion. “CIA guys sent it,” he said. “You might want to read this.” Then he left the room.

Chapter 62: Internal Pressure

Swiss Alps, Switzerland

Adrianne McNamara

“Okay,” I said, having decided to talk to this girl in order to get her mind off fear. “I’m going to take the gag off so we can talk, but don’t scream. Promise?” The young woman looked at me, whimpered and then nodded slowly. I reached forward and slowly peeled the tape from her mouth, then slowly took out my nail clipper, asked her to turn around, and cut the ties on her sore wrists. She rubbed her wrists, sucked in a deep breath and then coughed before looking into my eyes again. “I’m Adrianne, by the way,” I said. “What’s your name?” “My name is Tat’yana,” she said quietly, a Russian accent in her voice. “You are-err-an American?” I nodded. “Why are you here?” my new buddy asked me. “Is it because of that barnyy styuard Rojas?” I nodded. Tat’yana suddenly started to cry, which concerned me. “You okay?” She nodded. “I’m sorry. Prosti. It’s just that…Mne tak strashno. I’m so scared.” “Why?” I asked. “Vnutrenneye davleniye. Internal pressure,” she said between sobs. “I feel paranoid about what they will do to me.” “Same here,” I said. “I have no idea what they plan to do to any of us.” “Do you have a family?” Tat’yana started hugging her knees. “Yeah. My, uh, mom is the First Lady and my dad’s the US President. What ‘bout you?” “My father is a part of the FSB,” Tat’yana replied. “That’s the, err, Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation. My mother is a nurse.” “Are you an only child?” I asked. Tat’yana shook her head. “I am the youngest of four children. I have two brothers and a sister.” “Okay…and how old are you?” “Sixteen,” Tat’yana rubbed her hands together and then went back to hugging her knees. “I’m twelve,” I replied. “Almost a teenager. You’re the first Russian girl I’ve ever seen.” Tat’yana blsuhed. “Seriously?” I nodded. “Are you an only child?” asked Tat’yana. “Nah,” I said. “I’m the middle child. I have a younger sister, Becky, and she’s six. And my older brother Daryl, well, he’s seventeen.” Tat’yana suddenly changed the topic, going back to my little plan of escaping this prison together. “When you said we could escape together, did you mean it?” I nodded. “You liked it, I could tell.” “I do,” She replied. “How long have you been here?” “I got here day before yesterday,” I said. “Huh, I have been a prisoner longer than you,” said Tat’yana. “I got here five days ago.” Then she looked up at the barred window. “I really want to get out of here.” She looked back at me. I started smiling. “You want to escape, I want to escape. We could work together! I mean, we’d make one heck of a team!” “You think?” Tat’yana asked hopefully. I smiled. “Yeah, I do.”

Chapter 63: Moles and memos

Swiss Alps, Switzerland

Brooke Connor

After several long days of being cramped in a car trunk, tortured, interrogated, and abused while being tied up, I woke up with my wrists tied to something above me. I couldn’t see anyone or anything because a bag had been thrown over my head. And I couldn’t speak either; a thick strip of duct tape had been plastered over my mouth. I began screaming, but no one heard me. I struggled against my bonds, but they were so tight my wrists began to feel sore after a while. After a few minutes of standing there in the dark, I heard footsteps approaching. And then the hood was removed. I looked at my visitor, a young lady with dark hair and blue(ish) eyes. My eyes suddenly went wide when I discovered her nametag read WATSON. Only one person popped into my head when I heard that name: English actress Emma Watson. I mean, she was in the Harry Potter movies, the movie The Bling Ring and the movie The Tale of Despereaux (based on the book by Katie DiCamillo). “You comfortable?” she asked. I just looked at her uncomfortably. Then she removed my gag. I tried to say something, but then coughed. “Careful,” she said. “Don’t rush yourself. What’s your name, anyway?” “Connor,” I gasped. “Brooke Connor. Are you one of them?” I began staring at the bloody hand emblem on her two-piece suit. Emma shook her head. “You Americans never can take a joke, can you?” “Hey, I’m serious,” I barked. “Are you one of them?” Emma was silent for a moment, but then she said quietly, “It’s complicated,” before taking out a knife and cutting me loose. “What do you mean by ‘It’s complicated?’” I asked her. “I mean it’s really complex,” Emma whispered. “I really shouldn’t tell you.” “Tell me!” I hissed. “Are you genuinely one of those goons with those bloody hand emblems?” I began working my wrists to restore circulation. “Well, it’s a long story,” Emma whispered as softly as she could in my ear. “I’m actually a mole. You know, a spy.” “Really?” I asked. “And I know what a spy is, buddy.” “Good,” said Emma. Then she forced me into a chair and then began strapping me to the armwrests. “Hey,” I barked. “I thought you were letting me go.” “I can’t,” Emma whispered. “I mean, not right now. But soon. Just be patient, all right?” I nodded, just as Emma replaced the bag over my head. Then she leaned into the hood and took a deep breath. “I’ll let you know when it’s safe for me to break you out, that is unless someone else breaks you out first,” she whispered. “In the meantime, just stay put. Okay?” I nodded, but then began sobbing. “When are you going to let me go?” “Just be patient,” Emma said softly. Then I heard her leave the room. For a moment, I believed her when she said to be patient. But then I started doubting. What if she was lying? What if she really was working for my kidnappers? I began to sob.

Chapter 63: 24 meets Chuck

Geneva, Switzerland

Olivia Coonz

The CIA’s little memo shocked me; it mentioned the TV shows Chuck and 24 and the celebrities Kiefer Sutherland, Elisha Cuthbert, and Zachary Levi. And the CIA called the organization from 24 Counter-Terrorism Unit (CTU). My thoery: Ben Hoving warped these guys into the real world with his time bridge. And boy, was I wrong! The memo stated that what really happened was that Korey Hogan hacked the time bridge’s mechanism and used it to warp pretty much every character in both Chuck and 24 into the real world. “Smart move, kid,” I muttered. But then Korey Hogan came in. I looked at him and frowned, which made Korey pretty uncomfortable. “What?” he asked. “Did what I do give you some chills or something?” I threw the memo onto my bed. “Why’d you do it?” “What? I thought Mr. Chuck Bartowski and Jack Bauer could help us out somehow.” Korey said. “Yeah, but you should’ve asked me first,” I barked. “Lemme guess: you don’t like Jack Bauer,” Korey ventured. “It’s not that I don’t like this ‘Jack something,’” I said. “I just…feel like it’s not convenient. How the heck will these guys help us rescue Adrianne anyway? And who is Jack Bauer anyway?” “Look, I did it for your own good,” Korey said. “And stop being judgemental about these guys before you get to know them. And Jack Bauer is the main character of 24.” “I’m not judging them,” I said. “I’m just saying that it’s a bad idea to include guys like them. It’s…barbaric. Besides, I’ve never seen 24.” “Whoa,” a voice peeped behind Korey. “Who said I was ‘barbaric?’” Korey stepped aside, revealing someone resembling the actor Zachary Levi with dark hair and hazel eyes. His nametag read BARTOWSKI. I groaned; I had a feeling I’d have a hard time working with this guy. “I think you two should talk,” Korey said before he left the room. I glared at this Bartowski fellow. “Chuck Bartowski,” I said awkwardly. “You say I’m barbaric?” the guy demanded. “STOP JUDGING ME!” “Listen, pal. I don’t know what your story is, ‘Chuck Bartowski’. But I’m going to find out soon,” I said. “And don’t even think about replacing my awesomeness.” “Huh,” said Chuck. “I knew you were smart, buddy. Hey, I can be awesome too!” “You’re not as awesome as me,” I retorted. “You think,” Chuck said. “Anyway, I met Jack Bauer from that Fox TV show. He’s actually a pretty cool guy. You should, ah, talk to him.” “Yeah,” I said, pushing past Chuck and walking out the door. “Maybe I will.”

Chapter 64: Close encounters of the celebrity kind

Geneva, Switzerland Olivia Coonz

Five minutes later, I was with Lev Raskov and apparently he had his own opinions about this “Jack Bauer” Chuck mentioned. “So…do you really think Jack Bauer is worth hanging out with?” I asked him as I strolled along the streets of Geneva. “I mean, the way Chuck describes him he could jeopardize my ability to effectively continue being awesome.” “How so?” Lev was perplexed. “Well, think about it,” I said. “This guy could have enough awesomeness to, like, replace me. And that can’t happen.” “Don’t worry about it,” Lev reassured me. “You’re fine. You just need to get used to this fellow, okay?” “Yeah,” I said. “Sure.” And then, I saw him. Jack Bauer himself was walking toward me-or so it seemed. Just when he was about to make eye-contact with me, he suddenly turned left and went into a coffee shop. I groaned. Maybe this guy could replace me as the most awesome person. No! That won’t happen! Olivia, you were meant to be awesome! You will forever stay awesome! Okay, maybe I was bragging that time. Or maybe boasting about myself, which was something I rarely did at all. I went to the coffee shop window and analyzed this guy. I noticed he really looked like Kiefer Sutherland. I noted that Jack had light brown hair and hazel eyes. His overall appearance made him look like he was in his mid to late thirties or something. “Maybe you should, ah, talk to him,” Lev whispered in my ear. “You think?” I hissed. “That guy could squash my brains into oblivion. No, check that. I’m awesome. I can’t die. But still…” “But still what?” Lev whispered. “There is no way a fellow like him could tower over a young woman like you, crush you and replace you as the awesome one.” I laughed sheepishly. “Yeah, right.” “But still,” said Lev. “You should talk to him.” I rolled my eyes. “Maybe you should talk to him.” “No way,” replied Lev. “You talk.” “Whatever,” I said. Then I turned and walked into the coffee shop, hoping to get a piece of me into this guy’s friggin’ brain. I entered the bar and then, for the first time, I swore under my breath. “Crap. You think you can replace me? Think again, sucker.” I then sat down at a window, which was (much to my surprise) right across from Bauer’s seat. As I sat there, Jack started to look at me, his eyes unflinching and his expression deadpan, which sort of freaked me out. I thought he was going to reach over, grab me, and beat me to a bloody pulp for a minute. I pretended not to notice, instead looking out the window, but then I couldn’t help myself and began staring right at him. But still, he didn’t look bothered. We stared at each other for a long time. I broke the silence by saying, “I don’t know what your story is, Jack Bauer, but I’m gonna find out.” The guy looked kind of surprised, but then acknowledged me. He just harrumphed and said, “Good luck with that, Olivia Coonz.” I froze. How’d this guy know who I was? Then he said, “Cigarette?” I pretended not to hear him, but then said, “Thanks, but no. I’m clean.” “Oh, you’re not a smoker?” Jack asked. “No, and I don’t plan to,” I said adamantly. “And frankly, I don’t even know why you’re looking at me.” “Why don’t you just leave and go back to your apartment or whatever?” asked Jack. “Or go home.” “I live in Los Angeles, half a world away,” I said. To my surprise, Jack brightened. “I live there too, but that’s back in my home world.” “Why don’t you just stop talking?” I asked. Jack was silent, but then started to look at the eyeliner on my eyes. “You remind me of someone,” he said. “Someone who wears eyeliner daily.” “Who?” I asked, feeling indifferent. “Someone I used to know that moved away long time ago.” Jack replied. “Oh, really?” I asked. “You have a problem?” Jack asked. “’Cause I’ll leave if I’m bothering you.” “Why do you care?” I asked. “I just wanna know,” Jack replied coolly, which freaked me out; this guy was good at being cool whenever other people weren’t. It was sort of freaky. “Surely you can’t be serious,” I said, then looked out the window. Jack smiled. “I am serious, and don’t call me Shirely,” he laughed. “All right,” I said, giving up. “You want to know my problem? It’s you.” Jack stopped smiling. “What?” “I keep getting this feeling you’re gonna replace me as the most awesome person, which is a position I’ve held for a long time and won’t give up so easily.” “What do you care if I replace you?” Jack asked. “Why should you even ask that?” I said in annoyance. “I’m awesome. I can’t be replaced.” “What gave you the idea I could replace you as the most awesome person?” Jack asked, getting kind of irritated like I’d been since I first heard of this man. “You look like you have the potential to replace me,” I said. “I see,” Jack said, calming down. “So you’re ticked off because you think I have the guts to replace you and become awesome, then force you down the pecking order, huh?” I shrugged. “Pretty much.” “Then your problem’s you,” Jack replied. I gasped. “What?” “You may not know this, but I actually don’t plan on replacing you,” Jack replied. “So stop freaking out ‘cause you think I’ll replace you, ‘cause I can’t. Even I know of your awesomeness. I found out about it when I first got here.” My irritated expression disappeared. “You serious?” “Uh-huh,” Jack replied. “In fact, I’m awesome too, but not as awesome as you. I can’t even think about replacing you ‘cause it’s just not possible.” “How’d you know this?” I asked, surprised now. “Who told you?” “Your dad,” said Jack. “Your dad and I have talked and I learned about your awesomeness and that you were irreplacable.” I harrumphed. “So that’s why you know me so well?” Jack nodded. “So, what’s your story?” “I’m the CO of a government-owned task force called Vulture Force.” “I know that too,” Jack replied. “Korey Hogan told me that. He’s your, ah, superior officer, right?” “Uh-huh,” I said awkwardly. “But, err, I have a feeling we, ah, are going to have a hard time getting along. I mean, assuming you have awesomeness too, but like you said you’re not as awesome as me.” “Actually I lied when I said that,” Jack replied, which made me freeze. “I just realized we’re on the same level. Our awesomeness levels are the same.” My jaw dropped. “You really are more awesome than me.” “Actually, no.” Jack said. “We’re the same.” “Man,” I said. “I had no idea. You could, ah, wreak havoc.” “Yeah, I know.” Jack said. Then he looked at his watch and swore. “I gotta go. Late for work. Nice meeting you, Olivia Coons.” Then he dashed out the door. I suddenly groaned; that was the most awkward moment of my life. Then another guy entered, this one resembling actor Tom Cruise, only with gray eyes and not brown eyes. He also had blonde hair. As for his height, he looked to be 6’5”. He looked at me with the eyes of an apex predator. He kind of sent chills down my spine, unlike Jack Bauer, who merely intimidated me. This guy’s predatory look vanished and was soon replaced with a smile. I looked at him awkwardly. “Jack Reacher,” he said, extending his hand. I shook hands with this new companion, feeling a bit suspicious about this guy’s motive for seeing me. “Sorry for that mean look,” he said apologetically. “But I heard you and that ‘Bauer’ guy talking.” “You mean Jack Bauer?” I said. “Yeah, I was talking to him.” “Guess what?” said Reacher. “Korey Hogan just gave your squad the go-ahead to go in there and rescue the President’s daughter. But, ah, he’s letting Bauer and I help.” My eyes widened. “Seriously?” “Yeah,” said Reacher. “He said we’d make a heck of a team.” “Did he really say that or did you just make that up?” I asked suspiciously. “I’m serious.” Reacher began looking back at a TV in the back of the tavern. “He really wanted Bauer and I to help.” I groaned. “Yeah, okay. Anything else you wanna tell me?” “Yeah,” said Reacher. Then he reached underneath him and pulled out a small, black metal box. The words RED HAND were printed on the top in big, red block letters. “You stole that, I presume.” I said. Reacher nodded. “I did, to be honest. I used a faux account and bought it off of e-Bay. It was on sale. Rojas wanted to sell this baby to someone else, but I got to it first.” “What’s inside?” I asked. “And how do you know about Rojas?” “Your CO told me when I first arrived in your homeworld,” Reacher replied. “And that’s the surprising, yet kind of disappointing part.” Then he opened the box. Inside was a Makarov pistol and a bunch of US dollars.

“Shoot,” I muttered. “That’s a lot of cash. And why the gun?” Reacher smiled. “That’s what I was asking too. Why hide a gun amongst a huge stash of money?” I shrugged. “I’m guessing he’s planning to sell the gun with whatever else is in this box.” Then my gaze traveled to the bottom part of the lid and then froze; there were explosives inside. Things like hand grenades, Claymore mines, C4, and even a blowtorch. “This is amazing. But why hide all this in a box?” I asked in amazement. “I don’t know,” said Reacher. “My guess is that he wanted to blow stuff up with this thing.” I shrugged. “Maybe he does want to blow stuff up. But why? For what purpose?” “Don’t worry,” said Reacher, closing the box. Then I heard him swear for the first time. “I’ll ask the sucker when I find him.”

As Reacher was wrapping stuff up, my cellphone rang. I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was my dad calling. I groaned; I hadn’t heard from him since I first joined the Marines. Why would he even bother calling me if he had such a good time hanging me out to dry? But just to be nice, I answered anyway. “Hello?” I said into the receiver. “Olivia!” My dad’s voice barked. “I’m sorry I haven’t been checking on you lately, but I’ve been…busy lately.” “Huh,” I said. “Is that right? And where are you?” “I just landed in Geneva, sweetheart,” Dad replied. “This thing with the President’s daughter being kidnapped is grabbing the attention of pretty much everybody. You know, with my experience as a former FBI agent and all, your guys thought I’d be a great help in getting Adrianne McNamara back.” I rolled my eyes. “Okay, Dad, you really didn’t have to say that. Anyway, I heard there was another kidnapping. It seems like Rojas is doing this just to keep us off his back while he does…whatever he plans to do.” My heart suddenly skipped a beat. “What? Who? When?” “Rojas grabbed another one, and you’re not gonna believe this but…” Dad seemed to trail off. “But what?” I pressed. “The victim is your cousin, Sophie.” Dad said sadly. I felt like I was going to scream. First Rojas kidnaps the daughter of the President and her Egyptian friend, then he grabs the girlfriend of Lev’s cousin and some French girl named Diana Lambert. And now he had my cousin? This was too much. “Uh, you want me to come over?” I asked after taking a moment to pull myself together. “I mean, do you think I should?” “Uh, no,” said Dad. “I’m fine here. But you may be needed later. I’ll keep you updated.” He clicked off after that.

Reacher looked back at me with special concern. “You okay, Olivia?” “Yeah,” I said. “It’s just that…Rojas kidnapped another person.” “Who is it now?” Reacher asked out of curiosity. I took a deep breath to make sure I wouldn’t have a breakdown during my response. “My cousin, Sophie Isabelle.”

Chapter 65: A meeting of enemies!

Swiss Alps, Switzerland

Adrianne McNamara

I’d been asleep for more than half an hour after talking with Tat’yana, but now something woke me up. As I listened, it sounded like someone was being dragged down a corridor. My cell was dark, so when I looked out the peephole of my locked door, I couldn’t see anything properly. But I heard footsteps coming closer, so I backed away from the cell door, just as Alejandro Rojas threw it open and marched in, accompanied by Pedro Santos and two thugs. Santos looked at me scornfully, as if he thought I was trying to escape or snoop. “Sorry,” I said shakily. “I was just trying to see what was going on.” Santos then smiled. “You really are an honest child, Adrianne. I am impressed.” Then he grabbed Tat’yana, which made her scream. “What are you doing?!” I demanded, just as Rojas grabbed my arm. “You are being moved,” Rojas said quietly. “Now come on!” He then herded us like animals down a long corridor and then a flight of stairs. I could hear fellow prisoners screaming and crying hysterically, which freaked me out. I held Tat’yana’s free arm. “I’m scared! What is this place?” “I don’t know,” Tat’yana whispered fearfully. “This place is a dungeon,” said Rojas. “Every castle has one.” “This place is a castle?” I asked. Rojas nodded. “It used to be. I refurbished it and turned it into my own residence. Pretty nice, isn’t it?” “Why are all those people screaming?” I asked Santos. “How long has your, err, friend kept them here?” “Oh, for a long time,” Santos said. Then he laughed. “So long, in fact, I’ve lost track of exactly how long.” We eventually came to another door and Rojas opened it, revealing a long, wide room that was filled with pipes and air ducts. “It’s your new room,” Rojas said. “Pretty cool, isn’t it?” “Uh-huh,” I said sarcastically while looking around. “Pretty cool.” Then Rojas gestured to his two thugs and they brought in another young woman, this one wearing tattered clothes with her wrists shackled with handcuffs. Her mouth and ankles were duct taped. “Who is she?” I asked, my voice betraying terror as the thugs shackled the thrashing and screaming lady to a pipe. Rojas ignored me for a moment, but once the thugs managed to shove her into a darkened corner of the wall, he turned to me. “She’s the cousin of one of my enemies’ daughters,” he said. “Do you know a girl named Olivia Coonz?” I shrugged. “Never heard of her.” I also began listening to the goons and heard what appeared to be a door opening, then closing, and what I interpreted as shackles clicking together. “Well, this girl here is Olivia’s cousin. Her name is Sophie Isabelle. And Olivia herself is the daughter of Donald Coonz, although a lot of people call him Don. Don runs the Air Combat Command.” Rojas was smiling the whole time he said this. “I don’t know what that is,” I said in confusion. “That’s because you’re just a child. You’ll figure it out soon enough.” Rojas then gestured to his men and they left the room, leaving just the four of us. “Why do you keep moving us?” I asked fearfully. “To keep you from getting any ideas of escaping,” Rojas replied. “You see, I never let anyone compromise my mission.” “And what is it?” Tat’yana asked fearfully. “To rain fire on the United States for what they did to me.” Rojas laughed and then left the room. Tat’yana and I looked at each other. We were a little hesitant to check this girl out, but in the end I was the one who was able to work up enough courage to walk over there and see this woman for myself. I went down the room and saw a large door with the words AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY written in both English and Swedish. There was a peephole on this door, and when I looked through it I saw what the sign meant. I saw pressurized air tanks inside the room and more pipes on the walls. It looked like some kind of steam junction or something.

In the far back, I saw the woman. She looked twenty and had blonde hair and light blue eyes, and to be honest she looked kind of cute. Her wrists had been strung above her head and shackled to a pipe. She looked at me with curiosity, as if she’d never seen another human being before. And then she began to study the room. “Huh,” I murmured to myself. “She looks pretty interesting.” Tat’yana looked at me suspiciously. “What are you doing?” “I’m just trying to see if there is any way I can communicate with her,” I said quietly. Tat’yana then joined me at the door. “Oh, my gosh,” she gasped. “She’s the second American I have ever seen.” “You mean I’m the first?” I asked her. Tat’yana just nodded and went back to her spot next to the door of this new prison. I, meanwhile, studied the door handle. It was circular, one of those things you’d find on ships and boats. The overall shape of the door made the place look more like a ship’s cargo hold than a castle dungeon. “Hello?” I said through the window. “Can you hear me?” The lady looked right back up at me and then nodded slowly. She could understand me, at least. “Is this door locked?” I asked her. She shook her head. Huh, I thought. Either that’s a no, or she doesn’t know at all. “Are you okay?” I asked. “Did those thugs hurt you?” The woman shook her head again. I then tried to turn the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge. So it really was locked. I then looked back toward the prisoner and said, “Okay, I just found out the door is locked. Any idea how to unlock it?” She shook her head a third time. “Okay,” I said. “Hold on. I’ll be right back.”

I then ran back to Tat’yana. She looked at me hopefully, as if she thought I had an idea to get out of here or something. “Did you find a way out?” she asked me. “Did you see anything in that room that could be a potential escape route?” “No,” I said, shaking my head. “All I saw was a chained up woman, some pressurized air tanks, and a bunch of pipes.” Tat’yana sighed, but then looked at the ceiling. Examining it carefully, she saw an air vent, which made me cringe. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Tat’yana asked me. “You don’t like air vents?” “No,” I said. “It’s just that air vents make me nervous.” “Why?” Tat’yana asked. “I’m afraid of heights,” I admitted, studying the vent. “But the door to the other prisoner’s cell is locked. I feel like I have no other choice, assuming that the vent actually does lead to the other cell.” I then looked at Tat’yana. “You thought you could, what, get out using the vent?” “I am thinking of using it as a way to escape and to get the other girl out with us.” “How?” I asked. “We’ll need a ladder,” said Tat’yana. “Do you see any?” I looked around, seeing nothing at first. Then I caught sight of a mettalic object leaning against the wall in the corner.

“I think we can use that.” I pointed at the ladder.  Tat’yana ran over and examined this curious tool.

“It looks like a step ladder,” she said. “This better work.” “Wait,” I said. “You want me to go up there? I’m scared!” “I could go up there,” Tat’yana said. “If I escape, maybe I could bring help.” I then shook my head. “Maybe I should go there. I’m willing to do anything to get out of this psycho’s castle.” “Then you first,” said Tat’yana, positioning the ladder so I could reach the vent. She then looked around. “We’ll need a screwdriver to open it, though.” She searched her pockets, but couldn’t find anything that could unscrew the entrance of an air vent. “Wait,” I said. “Maybe I can use this.” Then I searched the floor and found a strand of discarded cable with a plug on the end of it. I smiled to myself. “This should work.”

I then climbed the ladder and tried to use the end of the plug to unscrew the lid on the vent. I had to admit that it was hard; my wrists were shaking so bad from anxiety, I’d almost dropped the cable several times. But eventually I was able to open it and slowly removed the vent cover from its place. “Okay, I got it.” I said. “Stay here. If I get out, maybe I’ll bring help.” “Just be careful,” Tat’yana said nervously as I climbed the ladder and entered the vent. Geneva, Switzerland Olivia Coonz

“Why take my cousin?” I asked Korey Hogan, whom I found hanging out by himself in a tavern across the street from my apartment several hours after I’d left Reacher. Korey thought for a moment. “Only reasons I can think of are either Rojas knows your dad and your cousin were both involved in the killing of his girlfriend or that your cousin’s parents were working against Rojas ever since that incident.” “Either way, I’m willing to do anything to get her back,” I said. “I treat her like she was my own sister or something.” “I wonder if Trevor Stark has anything to do with this,” said Korey. “I keep thinking the two of them have a connection.” “You mean Trevor and Alejandro want the same thing?” I suggested. “Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking.” Korey replied. “But what did Trevor have against anybody?” I asked in curiosity. “I have a theory,” said the unmistakable voice of Jack Bauer. I looked up at him. “And your theory is?” Korey asked. “He wants me,” Jack said. “Couple weeks after I came into the real world, I financially ruined Stark’s business by crashing his bank account, then I contributed to the death of his girlfriend. Now both of them are after me.” “Huh,” said Korey. “And where does Olivia’s cousin fall into this?” “Oh, it’s my own daughter, Kim. She’s friends with your cousin, Olivia.” I froze. “Wha-?” “Yep. The two girls have known each other for two years. I’m starting to think your cousin was used to get to my family, since Sophie kinda hangs out with Kim more than anyone.” Jack admitted. “Those two are pretty close.” “And…Kim’s your daughter, you say?” I asked. Jack nodded. “Okay,” I said. “I have a new theory: Rojas kidnaps my cousin to get to Kim Bauer, then his next move will be to grab Kim to get to you. When you go out there to get both girls out, that’s when Rojas and Stark work together to wreak their vengeance on you.” Jack and Korey both considered my theory for a good two minutes. Then Korey said, “Pretty nice theory, Olivia, but you may be wrong. I think you forgot an important thing.” “What?” I asked. “How did Kim Bauer get involved?” Korey asked. I shrugged. “Maybe she was a witness, but Rojas mistook her for an accomplice.” “Nah, I think she was an accomplice in Rojas’ eyes,” Jack said. “After all, she was part of the team.” I looked at him. “What exactly are you talking about, buddy?” Jack thought for a moment. “Kim was supposed to help with the extraction. She saw those FBI guys run over Rojas’ girlfriend. And she was seen near the body, trying to get it away from the crime scene. So Rojas thought she was involved somehow.” “And yet she wasn’t?” I asked. “Not directly, no.” Jack replied. “So my cousin…how was she involved?” “She was a witness,” said Korey. “That’s what her father told me. Rojas is trying to kill anyone involved or connected with the incident in any way, shape, or form.” “So my cousin has a connection? That’s why Rojas grabbed her?” I asked. Korey and Jack both looked at each other. Then they both looked at me and said, “Yes, that’s what I think is going on here.”

Swiss Alps, Switzerland

Sophie Isabelle

I let out a yelp just as the young girl dropped from an open vent above me and landed inside my cell. I had no idea how in the blazes she managed to get in here, but she was smart to come here, wherever here was. The girl before me had blonde hair and blue eyes, and compared to me, she was pretty tough. I was scared almost all the time since I got into the cell, but she seemed a lot tougher than I was. We stared at each other for nearly an eternity, studying each other’s physical appearance, before I finally said something. Or at least I tried to. I wanted to say “Hi,” but what came out instead was, “Hmn.” My visitor looked at me and said, “What? I, uh, can’t understand you with that thing on your mouth.” I moaned softly. “Mmmm….mmmm.” Then I stopped, realizing that with the tape on my mouth, any attempt to say something was pretty much useless. So I tried something else; I used my eyes to direct my friend’s attention to the tape covering my mouth. “Okay, don’t move,” my companion said and then peeled the tape off. I licked my lips and then spat on the floor next to me in order to get the gooey stuff from the tape off my lips and looked back at this new youngster. Then I started to shake hysterically. “M-my name is Sophie Isabelle, I’m twenty-three years old, I have a mom and dad…!” “Whoa!” cried my new inmate. “Slow down, buddy. It’s okay.” I looked around. “Where am I? Who are you? Am I…?” “You’re in a room full of pipes and pressurized air tanks,” my friend finished for me. “And I’m Adrianne McNamara.” I studied her eyes, which were pretty calm compared to mine. I was so terrified I couldn’t even breathe normally. I started to scream. “Oh, my! You serious?” Adrianne nodded. “I think this is a steam junction of some kind. Not that bad.” “Not that bad!” I started looking at the pipes and the pressurized air tanks she described, which were scattered around the room. “Oh my, if this really is a steam junction and if those really are pressurized air tanks, then we’re gonna die in here! We’ll either be steamed alive, or blown to bits!” I started to cry. “And you’re only a child, but you’re so brave to come here!” “I’m almost a teenager, pal,” Adrianne said fearlessly. “And I really am a gutsy girl.” I tugged at the chains binding my wrists. “Can you get me out of these? They’re hurting me! I wanna get out of here! I wanna go home!” “So do I,” Adrianne replied. “But I don’t have a key.” Then her gaze traveled to something I had in the pocket of my jacket. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to a shiny object in the pocket of my bloody, torn jacket. “I didn’t notice that before,” I said. “It looks like a key. I wonder why I didn’t see it earlier.” But when Adrianne grabbed the object, it turned out to be something else. Instead of a key, it turned out to be a screwdriver. “How’d that get in there?” I asked. Adrianne shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe someone plopped it in thinking you’d need it.” “You think it can get these cuffs off me?” I began tugging the cuffs on my wrists again. As I did, I almost screamed; the chains actually hurt. “I don’t know,” I said. But before I could say anything more, I heard footsteps. Adrianne gasped and we looked at each other with fear written on both of our faces. “Oh my, the guard’s coming!” I hissed. “Go away! Go hide somewhere! Leave me! Come back later!” Without saying anything, Adrianne ran behind one of the pipes and hid, grabbing a crowbar to use in case someone attacked her. The footsteps got louder and then, Alejandro Rojas got into my cell.

Swiss Alps, Switzerland

Adrianne McNamara

“Adrianne’s here, isn’t she?” I heard Rojas barking. “You helped her escape, didn’t you?!” I held my breath; Sophie Isabelle, the very person I was trying to help escape from this place, was now being accused of helping me escape. I thought, I didn’t even leave, idiot. I just visited another inmate. “I wasn’t trying to help her escape!” Sophie was sobbing hysterically. “Please! Please don’t hurt me! I didn’t help her escape! I swear!” “You’re lying, aren’t you?” Rojas barked. As I peered between the two pipes I hid behind, I saw Rojas start slapping Sophie, which made me cringe. “Where is she?!” Rojas demanded. “You helped her escape! WHERE IS SHE?!” “I swear! She didn’t leave,” Sophie cried between slaps. “I was just…!” Rojas didn’t let her finish. He began kicking, punching, slapping, cursing, and yelling. He was uncontrollable. For a moment, I thought he had some kind of “rage mode” inside of him or something. And then the worse happened; Rojas produced a roll of duct tape and began wrapping it around Sophie’s head several times, then unshackled her and taped her wrists behind her. And then he beat her again until she was almost out cold. He then left the room, leaving me shaken to the core. And then, for some unknown reason, I fell asleep.

Chapter 66: Castle raid

One day later…

Geneva, Switzerland

Olivia Coonz

I was now in the Vulture Force armory (which was basically a long corridor with weapons cabinets on both sides), having been briefed on the mission (and, frankly, I loved it and hated it all at the same time). My team was to work together with Jack Reacher while Captain Price’s Black Syndicate worked together with Cordis Die. Liz Johnson and her Shadow Force guys were supposed to provide air support if necessary, which was fine by Liz. She loved flying, in addition to wreaking havoc from the air.

I grabbed an AKM, the newest and upgraded version of the AK-47 developed by Kalashnikov Arms. I’d learned that this weapon was introduced into service with the Soviet military in the late 1950s and it’s the most ubiquitous variant of the entire AK series of firearms. In other words, it’s used by a lot of people. The next weapon I selected was the DSR-50. This was one heck of a gun, having been manufactured in Germany. It was an anti-material rifle, and basically it was an upscaled version of another, similar rifle made by the same company, DSR-Precision GmbH, called the DSR-1. And in case you don’t know what an Anti-material rifle means, it means a rifle that can penetrate military equipment, rather than people (called anti-personnel rifles). It was heavy, but I didn’t care; my awesomeness somehow made carrying such a burdensome weapon much easier. For a sidearm, I grabbed the Desert Eagle, the ever popular gas-operatic semiautomatic pistol made by Magnum Research in America, even though the weapon also came from Israel. This weapon is unique in a sense that it uses a gas-operated mechanism normally found in rifles, instead of the short recoil or blowback designs seen in normal pistols. When a round is fired from this weapon, gases are ported through a small hole in the barrel near this thing called a breech, which is a chamber integral to the rear portion of a gun’s barrel that receives the shell, cartridge, or ammo. These then travel forward through a small tube underneath the barrel to a cylinder near the front of the barrel. The bolt carrier\slide has a small piston inside the cylinder and when the gases reach it, they push the piston backwards. The bolt carrier rides backwards on two rails on either side of the barrel, operating the mechanism. Mason obtained the IMI Negev, also made by Israel. This was a light machinegun developed by the same weapons company that made the Desert Eagle. It replaced the Galil ARM LMG, because the barrel would overheat if fired for too long. Harper and Doug both grabbed SCAR-Us and Captain Price obtained the Beretta Px4 Storm Sub-Compact, which is basically a sized-down version of the Beretta Px4 Storm pistol. But he was a stealthy guy, so he put a silencer on his weapon. As for me, I put a silencer on my DSR-50 and then obtained an MP5A2 that already had a suppressor attached to it, as well as a vertical foregrip. For a finishing touch, I put a red dot sight on mine.

We were then loaded onto an MH60 Blackhawk, which would transport us to the place Adrianne McNamara was being held. Korey Hogan was briefing us, which was pretty annoying since I felt he seemed to lack the ethusiasm. “Okay, guys,” he barked. “You know the mission: grab the President’s daughter, her friend and any other prisoners you find in there, and get out! Watch your fire. There may be other prisoners inside the complex!” “How do you know that?” asked Reacher, cradling a suppressed MP5A2 of his own, only without an optic. Korey just grabbed an MM1 grenade launcher from his back. “I just know ‘cause I saw Charlie Sheen in there.” Jack Bauer laughed. “Seriously?” “Nah, not really,” Korey admitted. “I just saw him in a missing persons photo.”

Five minutes passed and pretty soon, we saw Rojas’ complex. It was huge, looking more like a castle than a mansion. I heard it had a hundred and fifteen floors, as well as its very own dungeon. I also heard it was standing since the Middle Ages or something. All the windows had been painted over, indicating that whatever Rojas was doing to the daughter of the President, he didn’t want anyone else to know. “Okay, guys,” said Korey. “I’ll let Olivia and Reacher off here. Bauer, you’re with Black Syndicate.” Jack Bauer shrugged. “Whatever you say, boss.” “Remember, we need the President’s daughter alive,” I told Jack Reacher as the Blackhawk landed on a ridge not far from the castle. Reacher smiled. “Don’t worry. I got this.”

After getting out of the chopper, the two of us dropped to a crouch and carefully advanced toward the castle while the chopper went to another part of the mountainous area to drop off the rest of the team. “All right, Reacher,” I said. “Keep up or I’ll leave you behind, buddy.” Reacher nodded and followed close behind me as I made my way to a small wall. Peeking over the edge, I saw two of Rojas’ Red Hand goons, clad in inky black uniforms with Kevlar helmets and pale gray cargo pants, talking to each other. Both of them wielded AK47s and flashlights. “If we get caught in those lights, we’re toast before we started.” I said. “Jack, do you have eyes on?” “I see ‘em,” said Reacher. “You take one and I’ll take the other. On you.” I nodded and dropped the first guard at the same time Reacher killed the second guard. Up ahead, I saw two other guards, wearing the same outfits. “What’s with these guys?” I muttered. “They look like professional street gangs than terrorists.” “You’re telling me,” Jack replied, then he shot the two guards in rapid sucession when their backs were turned. I turned to Jack and smiled. “You’re pretty good,” I said, walking toward a small courtyard. Jack followed close behind me and pretty soon, we were facing a whole army of Red Hand and Anarchist soldiers. The Anarchist guys wore a mixture of pale gray, jet black, bright red, dark green and light yellow uniforms and some of them wore gas masks. Others wore goggles and Kevlar helmets. All of them wore Kevlar vests and backpacks labeled ANARCHISTS on them. Some of them even had guard dogs. It looked like this place was some kind of garage sale or something. I saw cars and trucks parked everywhere and a helicopter flying overhead, towing an armored jeep. “Holy shoot,” whispered the voice of John Price in my comms. “I see twenty plus on foot, and they’re bringing in a large army.” “John, what’s your status?” whispered Reacher. “I’m in position,” said Captain Price. “But there’s a whole army in front of us.” “No way we can sneak past ‘em,” said Jack Bauer on another comms system. “What are we gonna do?” “Don’t worry,” said John Price. “Soap and I have brought some friends.” The minute he said this, the helicopter towing the armored jeep exploded in midair, as did the jeeps and the trucks. Jack Bauer began laughing. “Surprise! Ha, ha! John and I rigged the whole place with explosives! How do you like it?” “I love it, mate!” Soap cried. “Die, you filthy rats!” Then a burst of gunfire appeared to the right of the smoking vehicle column and pretty soon, I saw Jack Bauer and Soap MacTavish leading a full-blown charge toward the fleeing Red Hand and Anarchist soldiers. “That’s our cue,” I said. “Let’s go, Reacher.” Jack nodded and we joined the party.

Swiss Alps, Switzerland

Adrianne McNamara

I awoke to the sound of people shouting and explosions going off outside, as well as what I thought were guns firing. I gasped, then backed away toward the pipes. Apparently, someone had set off a bomb outside the mansion somewhere and was now shooting at something. My first guess was that someone was executing prisoners inside the building, but then I realized that I was actually listening to an actual gunfight between Rojas’ goons and some other random person outside. Either that, or Rojas’ guys were fighting a whole army of intruders. I looked toward Sophie, who was unconscious. I began to freak out. Was Sophie dead? When I heard a weak groan and saw her body moving later, I realized she wasn’t dead. I sighed with relief, then screamed again as another explosion thundered outside.

Swiss Alps, Switzerland

Sophie Isabelle

My wrists felt numb and so did my ankles. When I came to, my vision was blurry, but gradually came into focus. I began licking the tape covering my mouth, even though it tasted horrible. When I stirred, Adrianne grabbed me and started shaking my shoulders. “Sophie, get up!” she started barking while grabbing a small bladed object from the floor of the cell and cutting my ankles loose. “C’mon. Get up!” “Hmm?” I tried to say something through the tape. Adrianne just helped me get to my feet and then propped me up against the back wall. “There’s something going on outside,” Adrianne said. “Here, let me get this off you, okay?” I shrugged and then nodded while Adrianne slowly moved the metallic object up to my cheek, then slid the sharp end between my cheek and the tape. I then heard the tape go slack and Adrianne gently peeled it from my head. I took a deep breath, then coughed up blood on the floor. “Are you okay?” asked Adrianne, a look of concern on her face. “Did he hurt you?” I shook my head. “I think I have a bruise on my cheek. Do you see anything on it?” I then turned my left cheek to her and she analyzed it carefully. Then she gasped, which made me freeze up in my tracks. “What is it?” I asked impatiently. “You have a cut on your left cheek,” Adrianne replied. “He really did hurt you, Sophie.” Then she asked me to turn around and sliced the duct tape binding my wrists. While working my numb hands to restore circulation, I listened to the explosions and gunfire going on outside. “What do you think is going on?” Adrianne asked, her voice tight with fear. “Well, I think someone’s trying to break into the building and, err, Rojas is defending the place. I mean, it sounds like a gunfight is going on.” I scratched my head. “But who is attacking?” “Whoever’s outside, I hope he’s here for us,” Adrianne said in a terrified whisper. “I’m dying to get out of here.” “So am I,” I said. “I’ll do anything to get out of this place.” “What was that?!” Adrianne hissed suddenly. Apparently she heard something, but I couldn’t tell what it was. It sounded like a mix between glass breaking and an explosion. Maybe both. Then I looked toward the door and noticed that it was unlocked. I deduced that after Rojas beat me up, he closed the door, only to forget to lock it. I looked toward Adrianne, my face suddenly beaming. “He forgot to lock the door!” I said excitedly. “We can get out!” Adrianne smiled. “If we meet whoever’s shooting outside, maybe he’ll help us! C’mon!” She grabbed my hand and pulled me along behind her as she opened the door and made a run down the hall.

Swiss Alps, Switzerland

Adrianne McNamara

Sophie looked around. “Where do you think we are? I mean, I know this place looks like a dungeon, but what part of the mansion are we in?” “I think we’re in the basement,” I said. “Or maybe an underground system of tunnels.” Sophie gasped. “Oh my, if this is an underground tunnel network, it could come down on top of us any second. I mean, those explosions are making the place unstable!” “You think?” I asked, looking ahead of me. “I think so,” Sophie replied. “This place looks like it’s been here for a long time. Maybe the explosions are destablizing the place.” “But if Rojas brought us here, he’d probably die too,” I argued calmly. “Now c’mon. We have to find Gamila.” “Who’s Gamila?” Sophie drew a blank. “My friend. She’s from Egypt.” I explained. Then I started to get worried. “I’m just hoping she didn’t run off outside. She’d get killed.” “Do you know where you’re going?” Sophie just couldn’t stop talking. “I think so,” I said. “If we’re running in a complete circle, then we’re doomed!” Sophie wailed. “We’ll die here!” “I’m trying to find the staircase that leads to down here,” I said calmly. “Just stay right behind me.” “How come you can stay cool under pressure?” Sophie was frantic now. “Because my dad promised he’d send someone to get me out of here,” I said, stopping to catch my breath. “I trust him. My dad always keeps his promises.” We kept on going until we saw a large door at the end of the tunnel. It looked really old; I could see rust on the door’s metal handle. “Great,” I said. “Maybe he locked it.” “I don’t think so,” said Sophie. “It doesn’t look like it’s locked.” She then ran forward and tried to turn the door handle. But it wouldn’t budge. She turned back to me. “It’s locked!” She cried. “Oh dear, we’re trapped!” “Hey, stop,” I said. “We just need to find another way.” “Which way?” Sophie’s voice was pleading. She semeed really creeped out by the dark tunnel. “We’re trapped.” I looked around, then saw another door to my left. When I pushed it, it came open easily. “This way!” I grabbed Sophie and pulled her down the pathway until it suddenly ended in a wall. “Great,” I said. “Dead end.” Sophie looked like she was going to cry, so I went back and looked at her hopefully. “It’s okay,” I reassured her. “I’m sure there’s a way over it.” “I don’t think so,” Sophie tried to stifle a sob. “It’s too high up.” “Can we dig under it?” I asked. “No,” Sophie shook her head. “No room there either.” Suddenly, I heard a voice coming from behind the wall. I froze, thinking it was either Rojas or Santos trying to get to us. But listening closely, I heard a voice that sounded nothing like Rojas or Santos barking. “Reacher, you go this way,” The voice said. “I’ll go this way. Remember, we need Adrianne McNamara alive!” “Got it,” said a second voice. “And, uh, Olivia. You’ll need this.” I heard the second guy giving the first guy something. “Uh, what is it?” I heard the first guy asking. “Thumper,” said the second guy. “Handheld grenade launcher.” “Great,” the first man said. “Thanks, buddy.” After that, I heard the first man hurrying off while the second man said, “I’ve breached the tunnel, Bauer. What’s next?” I heard a muffled third voice later and then the second man said, “Copy. I’ll contact you when I find them. You’re behind the wall, right?” I gasped. There was another person behind the wall! As I listened to the muffled third voice, I began to feel really excited. “Okay, good. Probably leads to the cell where Adrianne is,” The second person said. “I’ll talk to you later when you find her.” I started beaming. “They’re coming for me! I knew it! I knew they’d come for me!” Sophie wasn’t so sure. “Are you nuts? They’re probably part of Rojas’ gangster squad!” “They didn’t sound like they wanted me dead or wanted to recapture me,” I said. “Don’t you see? This is my big break!” “But I don’t think we can get past that wall,” Sophie said, trying to be reasonable. “And whoever was talking back there probably won’t be able to breach the wall either.” “I think you mind want to stand back,” said a voice behind the wall. I was going to reply, thinking the voice was talking to me, but then I was interrupted by a loud explosion! “DUCK!” Sophie grabbed me and shoved me to the floor, then piled on top of me while wood shavings began raining down on me. When I looked up, the wall was gone! And in its place was a girl, though I couldn’t tell if it was Gamila Yousef, Diana Lambert, Tat’yana Lazarova, or anyone else I knew. I could only see her outline against the smoke from the explosion. She was holding some kind of tube that had smoke pouring from one end. Sophie looked up, as if she recognized the girl. Then she cried, “Hey, cuz! Oh, thank God! Thank God!” I looked up at her in confusion. Cuz?

The girl standing in the gap where the wall used to be suddenly moved, and I could see blonde hair and sparkling green-blue eyes. She was wearing a bright green T-shirt of some kind with the words COMBAT ARMOR written on one side. On the other side was the name OLIVIA COONZ and on her shoulder was some kind of patch with the name VULTURE FORCE stitched onto it. Besides this shirt, she wore a jet-black vest and a pair of sweatpants. The girl with the weird looking outfit suddenly smiled and ran toward Sophie, then looked down at me. “Are you Adrianne McNamara?” She asked me. I nodded while smiling. “I’m Olivia,” The girl with the green shirt held out her hand, which had a glove on it. “I’m this other girl’s cousin.” I got up and then looked at this curious fellow, then at Sophie and back again. “You two are COUSINS?” “Uh-huh,” Sophie replied, getting up behind me. “I, ah, forgot to tell ‘ya that. Sorry.” Later, a guy showed up, sporting blonde hair and hazel eyes. In one hand, he held a gun. “Who’s this?” He pointed at Sophie, then at me. “Uh, Reacher, that’s my cousin,” said Olivia, smiling awkwardly. “Sophie, Adrianne, this is Jack Reacher. Well, I call him Reacher, ‘cause he shares his first name with some other guy from a TV show.” I laughed. “Seriously?” “Uh-huh,” Reacher replied”. Then the guy turned to me. “So, Adrianne, Olivia over here tells me you have three other girls inside this prison. Can you give me their names?” “Yeah,” I said. “There’s an Egyptian girl I’ve been friends with for a long time named Gamila Yousef, a Russian girl named Tat’yana Lazarova, and a French girl named Diana Lambert. Those names ring a bell?” Jack smiled. “Uh-huh.” Suddenly, another explosion opened up a hole in the wall to my right, and two men walked out of it. The first man looked like one of those muscular bullies I used to run into at school, and he sported a mohawk. The second guy had blonde hair, blue eyes and a small beard. Both of them looked like they were from Britain or something. “Did we miss anything?” Asked the bearded guy. “Nope,” said Olivia. “You’re right on time.” The guy with the mohawk looked at me. “I’m John MacTavish, but for some reason, everybody calls me ‘Soap.’ The other guy other there’s my buddy, John Price.” “And how long have you two been friends, exactly?” I asked the man with the beard, who identified himself as John Price. “Since the Stone Age,” John said scarcastically. “I’m serious,” I said. “Actually we’ve been friends since 2011,” Soap admitted. “Now c’mon, let’s get out of here before Rojas shows up.” “Yeah, that, and let’s find this ‘Gamila Yousef’ you mentioned,” Price added. I grinned. “That sounds like a great idea.”

Swiss Alps, Switzerland Olivia Coonz

With my cousin, Price and MacTavish, Reacher, and McNamara right behind me, I dashed out of the tunnel and found myself back in the courtyard with the torched vehicles, which were now burnt to a crisp. I had to admit that Jack Bauer was pretty good at wreaking havoc. I heard people say he was “Pro-terror”, whatever that meant. “Jack Bauer, where are ‘ya?” I said in my comms. “I’m inside the castle, currently looking for that Egyptian girl Gamila Yousef. Nothing yet,” said Bauer. “And, ah, since when did you have a cousin named Sophie Isabelle anyway?” “Since I was born,” I replied. “Anyway, good luck finding the girl. I’ll join ‘ya later. Right now I have to get these guys out of here.” I turned toward Adrianne and Sophie, then back to my comms system. “Be careful out there, buddy,” I said. “And don’t get too rough on this Yousef fellow. Remember that Adrianne and Gamila have been friends since kindergarten.” “Pre-school,” Adrianne corrected behind me. “Right, what she said,” I responded. “Hey, since when do I bang up young girls?” asked Jack. Then he clicked off. I turned to Sophie and Adrianne. “Okay, guys, you two have to get out of here. I’ll go find Gamila, Adrianne. Okay?” Adrianne nodded. “Just promise me you’ll bring her back in one piece, okay?” Her voice was heavy with emotion and she looked like she might cry. “I promise,” I said, then turned to Price, Reacher and Soap. “Look after them, okay?” “We got this,” said Price, smirking. “Okay, good,” I said, then took off toward another part of the building.

Swiss Alps, Switzerland

Adrianne McNamara

“Come on,” Sophie yelled, then grabbed my hand and followed the three guys toward a road leading away from the castle. I turned to her with a hopeful look on my face. “I told you we’d get out,” I said. “Dad promised to send someone for me and he kept his promise-in the form of the biggest army I’ve ever seen.” “I’ve seen bigger ones,” Sophie replied. “You have?” I asked in surprise. “Yeah.” She said.

We eventually came to a small trail leading up a cliff not too far from the mansion. Jack Reacher turned to me and then looked at Soap and Price. “We’ll keep a lookout here, then join you on the other side,” he said. “You go up first.” “Yeah, okay,” said Sophie, walking toward the mountain trail. “C’mon, Adrianne. Let’s go.” I turned toward Jack and said, “You’re a good friend, Reacher,” then joined Sophie at the mountain roadway. At the same time, a helicopter flew past us. I looked into the cockpit and saw a guy wearing some kind of headset at the controls. “That’s not Rojas,” I said. “His guys don’t look like that.” “Heck, he’s not even wearing the proper outfit,” Sophie added. We then climbed up the ridge, which looked pretty steep. But I was determined to get as far away from the mansion as possible. I kept on going until I reached the top of the ridge. Then I turned to Sophie. “Have you been mountain climbing before?” I asked. But Sophie was breathing so hard, she couldn’t reply. She was too busy catching her breath. “I need to catch my breath; I’m not too athletic. And I’ve never been climbing.” Then she looked down and gasped. “Oh my! That’s pretty steep!” “Just don’t look down,” I said, continuing to climb up. We kept on going for a little bit longer, and then we reached the top of the cliff. But then we looked down and Sophie nearly screamed. “I can’t make it down there! God help us!” I froze. The cliff ended in a steep plunge toward the bottom. The only things I could see were some tree branches sticking out from the precipice. Everything after that was just sheer cliff. “We have to find another way,” I said. Then I turned to the left and saw another mountain pathway, only this one was almost narrow and overlooked the entire cliff. “Oh, no!” I said. “It’s too narrow. I think I should go and you should stay here.” “Adrianne, you can’t,” Sophie said just as I appraoched the narrow pathway. “You’ll fall to your death. You can’t do it.” “I’ll try,” I said with determination. “We’ve come this far. We can’t give up now.” I then grabbed a boulder to steady myself and took a step toward the pathway. Then I hugged the wall and slowly inched down the path. “Please be careful,” Sophie said worriedly. “I have to try,” I said, resolving to get past this obstacle once and for all. At the same time, the helicopter came back, only this time, it was joined by a fighter jet. “Holy smokes,” I gasped, the cold wind blowing against my face. “I’ve never seen those things before.” The fighter jet accompanying the helicopter was what my dad called an Mig-29. I’d seen them on TV before, so I recognized what they looked like. The jet flew by so quickly, I almost lost my footing. I gripped the rock face behind me, but then I heard a rumbling sound below me. Another fighter jet flew by and this time, it was so close, I was startled by its sudden appearance. I gasped, but then my finger slipped and I fell forward. “Oh, no! Adrianne!” Sophie cried as I plummeted down the cliff. “Help me!” I screamed, trying to grasp the tree branches sticking out in order to break my fall. But nothing held and I was pelted by bits of snow and ice. Closing my eyes, I felt like I was going to die when… I suddenly landed on a metallic object and opened my eyes slowly. It took me a few minutes to realize I’d landed on the helicopter I saw when I first started my ascent up the cliff. “Hold on tight, comrade,” cried the guy wearing the headset, who was looking right at me. I scrambled to get a good foothold, but the helicopter was moving so fast, I couldn’t hang on tight enough. The cold air was now blasting my face like needles. I shut my eyes, but they stung, so I forced them back open. Suddenly, the glass cockpit of the chopper opened and the man reached out. “Grab my hand!” I obeyed and the man hauled me toward the controls. I held to the man’s hand tightly and then grasped what looked like a dashboard. “Hey, thanks,” I shouted over the roar of the helicopter and the howling wind. “But…!” “But what?” asked the man at the controls. “I feel like my stomach is hurting. Oh, man, the pain!” I used my free hand to clutch my stomach while the man in the helicopter took me down the mountain. Suddenly, the dashboard beeped. “What was that?!” I cried fearfully. Before the man could respond, I saw something explode behind the chopper and the whole world suddenly started spinning. “HOLD ON!” the man cried, grabbing my arm tightly while I grabbed his wrist. I shut my eyes, expecting to be blown to smithereens when…. I suddenly felt myself being hurled from the man’s grip and began screaming. I flew through the air, the spinning chopper right in front of me. Then I hit the ground and blacked out, but not before I heard something explode.

Swiss Alps, Switzerland

Sophie Isabelle

I was crying. For all I knew, Adrianne was dead, killed instantly when the chopper that saved her life was shot out of the sky by a missile. I felt like she was the only thing I had left, besides my cousin Olivia. And now Adrianne was dead. I was mad at myself for not accompanying her. Otherwise I would’ve done something to keep her from falling off that cliff to begin with. But there was nothing I could do. I felt helpless. So I just stood there and cried my eyes out while staring at what remained of Adrianne’s savior.

Swiss Alps, Switzerland

Adrianne McNamara

I awoke to what I thought was a voice barking nearby. I slowly and painfully opened my eyes and saw that it was nothing but the roar of the flames and the howling wind. I also felt something warm and wet run down my arm. I looked and saw that my left arm was bloody. I must’ve cut it when I fell to the cold floor. I looked around and saw that my T-shirt and jeans were ripped, my jacket was in tatters, and my boots were smothered with dirt. And the left side of my head was bleeding. My leg was riddled with cuts and bruises and my lower lip was bleeding. I examined my surroundings and saw that I’d landed in a snowbank. My fingers felt numb and my eyes stung. I tried to stand up, but a sharp pain shot through my ankle and I fell down screaming again. I slowly crawled toward the crashed helicopter, hoping the pilot was still alive. When I reached the chopper, I noticed the pilot wasn’t there anymore. I looked around and searched for the pilot. I began shivering; it was so cold, I felt like I was going to die of hypothermia. Suddenly, I heard voices and looked behind me. There was no one there, but I heard footsteps approaching rapidly. I began to think Rojas or maybe Santos found me and I was officially a prisoner again. I looked away, expecting either of them to grab me and drag me back to the mansion to imprison me all over again. But it wasn’t them. I heard a voice screaming, “Adrianne! Oh, thank God! Adrianne, I’m coming!” I thought it was Sophie, but it didn’t sound like her. It sounded…Middle Eastern. Gamila!

Swiss Alps, Switzerland Olivia Coonz

First I heard from Jack Reacher that we lost Adrianne, but then I heard from Jack Bauer that Adrianne had survived a helicopter crash. I was confused; who was telling the truth here? “Guys, where the heck is Gamila Yousef?” barked Lev Raskov. “Doug, you see her anywhere?” “Negative, mate,” said Doug. “I think she ran off.” “Where?” asked Jack Reacher on the comms system. “I don’t know. She must’ve heard the crash and ran off to check on her friend.” Lev replied. “My cousin’s inside the chopper. I’d better go.” I heard footsteps and then saw Lev taking off below the ridge I was on. “If she’s dead…” ventured Jack Bauer, but Reacher cut him off. “Look, she is not dead,” he reasoned. “I saw her. She was moving!” “Guys, she’s hurt,” said Korey Hogan. “You’d better get a team down there and find out where that chopper is.” “On it,” said Lev. Then he gasped. “Wait a second. I see something! It’s a girl! She’s headed for the chopper too!” “She is?” I asked. “Da,” Lev replied. “If she’s headed there, Adrianne is alive and that means my cousin is alive too!” “Okay, fine,” I said. “Let’s get over there before Rojas finds the chopper first.”

Chapter 67: Endgame

Swiss Alps, Switzerland

Adrianne McNamara

As I strained to see through the blinding wind, I began to realize the voice I was hearing wasn’t Gamila Yousef. Rather, it was my other friend, Diana Lambert. Diana was wearing a tattered T-shirt with shackles on her wrists, their chains broken and smashed. She was also wearing a rather oversized jacket as a blanket. In addition I saw that her right ankle was cut with something sharp and that her injury created a bloody train in the snow. “Oh, thank God,” I heard her gasp. “Adrianne!” I started waving my good arm. “Diana, over here! I’m over here!” Diana just ran over and then looked at me. “My word, what happened?” “I was in a helicopter crash,” I explained. “How’d you get out? When?” “I got out yesterday,” Diana explained. “I was chained to a bed and Rojas tried to beat me, but not before he told me you’d died. In a horrible rage, I broke free and beat him until he was unconscious. I ran through the building, calling your name to see if you were still alive!” “How did you find me?” I asked. Diana was crying as she held me close, then noticed the bloody arm. Taking off her oversized jacket, she ripped off a piece from the fabric and wrapped it around my bloody arm. “How did you find me?” I asked again. “Gamila Yousef,” Diana replied. “She said you were alive and that you’d already escaped. I asked her where you were, but she did not know. We then escaped together and tried to find you, but then we heard gunshots.” “And?” I pressed. “We ran, but then one of Rojas’ men shot me in the leg to hinder my escape. We kept running, but my injury slowed me down. Gamila went to go get help and she told me to find you. She told me you were somewhere here in the mountains.” “You saw Gamila?” My eyes went wide. “Was she okay?” “She is okay now, but she was banged up. She needed medical attention. I think Rojas raped her!” Diana began to cry again. Suddenly, I heard footsteps and turned abruptly, but I only saw Olivia Coonz, my rescuer. “Uh, who are you?” Olivia was gesturing to Diana. “Her name’s Diana,” I said. “She was my inmate, but now she’s my fellow runaway.” “Hi,” Diana said awkwardly. Suddenly, a gunshot rang out and Diana pulled me down, then whipped out a gun of her own. It was a pistol of some kind, but it was yellow-black. “It’s a Taser,” Diana explained.

Olivia kept her eyes on the assailant, who fired another shot from behind a boulder before walking toward us. Olivia opened fire with her weapon, but then her attacker shot her in the leg. I heard her scream and double over painfully. I then looked at the assailant, who had dark brown hair and strikingly bold blue eyes. “NO!” I screamed.

Swiss Alps, Switzerland Olivia Coonz

“Do you really think it’d be that easy?” Barked the girl with the gun as I lay there with a bloody leg. “I’m the one who has been posting threatening messages on your phone. You know what that means? I’m gonna crush you!” I suddenly recognized her as A.D., the one who posted those threatening text messages on my phone. I groaned painfully as I got up. “You’re A.D.!” “At last,” the woman waved her gun. “I was beginning to think I never guess. And you didn’t come to find me like I told you to.” “AAGH! You were serious?” I barked. “I was,” A.D. hissed. “And my real name, in case you don’t know, is Alexandra Daddario!” I froze; Alexandra Daddario? The famous, but not-so-awesome actress? “Hey, you forgot something,” I groaned painfully. “I’m awesome. You overlooked that!” “I actually didn’t,” Daddario hissed, then she kicked me in the chest and in the face. “You see, I have awesomeness too. So get up and fight, Coonz, unless you’re too afraid.” Suddenly, another gunshot rang out and Alexandra ducked. As I looked, another girl with brown hair and hazel eyes appeared, holding a Glock 26 pistol.

“Screw you, Dadadrio,” she said. “Who gave you the ability to be awesome?” “Stay out of this, McCoy,” Daddario replied. “This isn’t your fight!” I looked at Daddario, then took out a knife and lunged, intending to run her through. But before I could, the French girl named Diana shoved Alexandra out of the way, prompting Adrianne to scream. Diana wrestled with her attacker, only to be punched to the ground and then kicked in the stomach. “No!” I heard Adrianne screaming. “Diana, no!” Diana grasped the fallen Taser and then tried to fire it, only to be rammed by Alexandra and then punched in the stomach again. “AAUGH!” Diana screamed painfully as Alexandra wrenched the Taser from her grasp and then shot it into Diana’s stomach. She began to sob, and Alexandra grabbed a knife and shoved it into Diana’s leg. “NOOOO!” Adrianne began sobbing as Diana screamed in pain again. I looked away, expecting to be shot next. And then I heard another gunshot, but this time it was Alexandra who screamed. Then I looked and saw the other girl-McCoy-punching and kicking Alexandra like crazy. I began crawling for the Glock 26 that McCoy had dropped. But then McCoy was violently thrown to the floor and as I grasped the pistol, Alexandra stomped on my hand and took the pistol from me. “No, wait,” I said. “You don’t have to end it like this!” “Yes I do,” Alexandra barked. “Like I said, I’m gonna crush you!” “Hey, you forgot something!” I barked. “I’m awesome!” “Lucky punk,” Alexandra hissed. “And who’s side are you on?” I added. “Why should you know?” Alex hissed. And then she was shot again, this time by Harper Michaels and Doug Harris, who were charging out with dual S-22 Orion pistols in their hands. “DIE, YOU PIGS!” Alex roared, then brought out what I thought was a tranquilizer gun. The next few moments were a blur; first, Harper doubled over and then Doug screamed and stumbled. Both men then slumped to the ground, having been seemingly killed by Alex’s dart gun. “NO!” I cried, grabbing my own knife and then throwing it at Alexandra, only to miss by an inch. Screaming in pain, I got up and grabbed my own S-22 Orion. However, Alexandra just laughed. “Go on. Shoot me and be done with it, unless you’d rather try something else.” For a moment, I just stood there on the snowy ground, my gun aimed at Alex and my finger on the trigger, but I couldn’t fire. It felt like my finger was paralyzed. “What are you waiting for?” Alex teased. “Do it! Do it, or else-!” Before she could finish, her body lurched and she began convulsing like a crazed animal, screaming in pain. And then she went limp. I looked around, trying to see who shot her. It couldn’t have been Diana. She was just sitting on the floor, dazed and groaning painfully. I staggered over to her and then looked at the knife buried in her leg. “No!” Diana cried when I reached for it. “No! Don’t touch it! Oh, please don’t touch it! It hurts so much!” “I have to,” I said. Then I grabbed the knife and forcefully yanked it out, the pain sending Diana into a fit of wild sobs. Quickly, I grabbed gauze from my tactical vest pocket and wrapped it around her leg. Diana looked at me. “Thank you so much,” she gasped between sobs. “You are a godsend, Olivia.” “Uh, you’re welcome,” I said. “Is she dead?” Adrianne asked, walking up to me and then hugging me to keep warm, all while pointing at the limp body of Alex Daddario. “Nah, I think she’s just unconscious,” I said. “C’mon, let’s find the others.” BOOM! Another gunshot rang out, and Diana screamed as a bullet struck my arm. Crying out in pain, I dropped my weapon and dropped to the floor. “I knew you’d be here,” hissed a Spanish-accented voice. I looked up and saw who it was: Alejandro Rojas, the one who kidnapped the girls to begin with, who was now looking right at me with an AK-47 in his hands. “No!” Diana cried. “Oh, no! Please!” “I’ve been waiting for this,” Rojas cried. “You, Olivia Coonz, helped them escape. For that, I will certainly punish you myself!” I just retrieved my S-22 Orion and pointed it at Rojas’ head. “You’re dead, Rojas. You know that. You are so-!” Before I could finish, Rojas was shoved violently to the ground and then tackled football-style by none other than Jack Reacher. “AAARGH!” I heard Rojas scream painfully. “I’m gonna kill you!” However, Reacher grabbed Rojas in a bear hug and shoved him against a rock. Then he punched Rojas to the ground and began beating him with his fists. “Whoa,” gasped Adrianne. “He is a professional, right?” I just watched Reacher club Rojas to the ground and then pick him up and throw him into a boulder, his face smashing into the hard surface. “Ouch,” I grimaced as Reacher grabbed a rock and bashed Rojas repeatedly in the face with it, stopping only when he heard a satisfying cracking sound. Rojas was dead in an instant.

“What about Santos?” I asked when Reacher got up and walked toward me. “Is he still alive?” “I don’t know,” Reacher shrugged. “I’d better find him and kill him too.” “He is still around?” Diana asked fearfully. Reacher just nodded. “Oh, no!” Adrianne gasped. “Diana, come on! Let’s go!” “You’re not going anywhere,” hissed a Latino-accented guy. I turned to my right and there was Pedro Santos, wearing a black sweater and tactical vest and wielding a Desert Eagle. Adrianne was pretty freaked out, but she still stepped forward. “Give it up, Pedro. Your friend is dead. It’s over.” “Is it really over for me?” asked Pedro. “I can still continue my plot to get that virus and kill America’s cyber network.” My jaw dropped. “Virus? Kill the cyber network?” “Why, yes,” said Pedro. “That is why Rojas and I kidnapped Adrianne in the first place. I just took those other girls to keep you occupied.” “You failed,” Reacher barked. “You tried everything.” “Not yet,” Pedro was smiling. “I have one more card to play.” He then cocked the hammer back on the pistol when… PFFT! A silenced gunshot rang out from behind Pedro and his body lurched forward, a gaping hole in his stomach. I raised the Orion pistol when… PFFT! A second silenced gunshot rang out, splitting Rojas’ head open and sending gore splattering everywhere. And oddly, the round also hit me; the bullet passed through Rojas and slammed into my left shoulder, sending me backwards while crying out painfully. “No!” cried Adrianne. “No, Olivia, don’t die! Please don’t die!” But instead of falling backwards, I managed to keep my balance. To my utter surprise, my savior was a Red Hand operative. And that operative was Erin Ready.

She stood on a cliff to my right, but later began climbing down and walking toward me. She was wearing a red Anarchist outfit and was holding a suppressed RSASS sniper rifle. Flinching in pain, I looked at Pedro’s dead body and then at Erin, who I could’ve sworn was my enemy. That was, unless she turned into an ally all of a sudden. To my surprise, Erin was smiling. I didn’t know how to respond at first, but I eventually decided to give her an awkward stare instead of returning the smile. “What was that all about?” I asked. “I thought you were a terrorist!” “Well, I think it’s time you knew the full story,” Erin said, giving me a cockeyed glance. “What full story?” I asked. “You drove some airplanes into some buildings, then blew a plane out of the sky with a bomb.” “True,” said Erin. “Anyway, if you hate me so much, why couldn’t have you just killed me, kept your hands clean?” “I need answers,” I replied. “Clear answers, Erin. Then I’ll decide whether to kill you or not.” Erin was undetterred. “Did you think blowing up that McDonald’s back in Rome was just a random act of terror. I actually stole those bombs from Muhammad’s Army.” My jaw dropped. “What?” “Well, when your friend Madison Young made that speech about killing Muslim terrorists, it made me want to do something.” Erin smiled. “I decided to frame them.” “Wait a second,” said Adrianne. “So you orchestrated the kidnapping? You hired Rojas to kidnap us?” “Nah, that was only Rojas,” Erin said. “I persuaded the Egyptians to secede from the Caliphate. I wanted set Rojas up. I told Rojas to bomb an airport, then I was to cover it up, make it look like the radical Muhammad’s Army did it.” Reacher looked at her skeptically. “Go on.” “And then you guys came in and…well, that’s when my plan started to fall apart.” Erin frowned. “The part where Rojas’ girlfriend was run over was completely unintended. I didn’t expect you to actually fight against Rojas back at that airport.” I took a deep breath. “So you were the one who orchestrated the thing that got Rojas’ girlfriend killed.” “I never wanted that twelve-year old daughter of the President kidnapped anyway,” Erin said. Then there was hurt and anger in her voice. “It was never even supposed to be like that.” I looked at Adrianne, then back at Erin. “Did you frame Alexandra Rozdhstvenski and her assault team back in Moscow? Was that you?” “Yes, I did attack the Kremlin, but that was aimed at the Caliphate too. I had no idea Russian agents would be at the scene. The Russian authorities acted like complete jerks.” Erin laughed. “The Russian agent Alex killed was mistaken to be an Islamist. So was that other Russian girl you mentioned. I ended up framing the wrong people.” “So wait a second,” I said. “The bombing\suicide attack with the planes, the set-up at the Russian airport, the framing of Rozdhstvenski…that was all originally intended to be used to frame the Islamic Caliphate?” Erin nodded. “And the accidental death of Rojas’ girlfriend was never intended to begin with?” Reacher asked. Erin nodded again. “So all along it was you who got me and my buddies kidnapped?” Adrianne asked. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that,” Erin said. “I’m serious.” She turned back to me. We looked at each other for a long time. I was completely shocked. All along it was Erin behind the attack on the Kremlin, the framing of Rozhdestvenski’s assault team, everything. It just resulted in the kidnapping of Adrianne McNamara, which was never even supposed to happen to begin with. Then I asked, “What about Operation Thunderbird? The kidnapping of the Russian President, the 9\11 style attacks.” “Rojas was supposed to give the go-ahead while McNamara was in captivity,” Erin said. “By killing Rojas and Santos, the Red Hand can’t launch the operation. ‘Cause they never do it without orders from the bosses.” “So you stopped Operation Thunderbird?” asked Adrianne. “Yeah,” Erin said. “You don’t have to worry about it. Not now anyway.” “How can I trust you?” I asked. “You’re still a terrorist.” “Technically, I can be called a terrorist that kills other terrorists,” Erin replied. “I terrorize other terrorists.” “You’re still a terrorist nonetheless,” said Reacher. “But based on my performance, I presume now I’m against you.” Erin then started looking at Adrianne. “I’m sorry I got you into this, buddy.” Adrianne walked over to her. She seemed to understand, which was pretty shocking considering she was only twelve. “It’s okay,” she said. “I know now what’s going on.” Erin was silent for a while. Then she said, “I’m not a traitor. It may seem like it, but I’m not.” “That’s what you think,” said Jack Reacher, his hand gripping the butt of his holstered Beretta M9A1 pistol. “Prove it,” I said, aiming the S-22 at her head. “Or else you’re gonna die.” “I betrayed Rojas,” Erin said. Then she surprised us all. “I’m not even a Red Hand operative. I’m a mole for another organization.” My jaw dropped and I lowered the pistol. “What organization?” Erin took a deep breath and said, “TAC. Tactical American Coalition.” “And that is?” I asked. “A task force owned by the US government,” Erin explained. “Much like yours, Olivia. I guess my guys back at home base accidentally miscalculated the consequences of my mission to frame the Caliphate. I was inserted into the Red Hand as a mole.” Reacher swore. “You should’ve told us!” “Sorry if I didn’t sooner,” Erin said. “I-I just wanted you to know.” “Does Korey Hogan know?” I asked. “No,” said Erin. “Who is he?” “My superior officer,” I said bluntly.

Swiss Alps, Switzerland

Adrianne McNamara

I heard helicopter blades whirring and pretty soon, a large helicopter touched down. I then looked to the right, toward the smoldering chopper wreck and saw that the pilot that had saved my life earlier was now crawling out of the chopper. He looked pretty banged up, with a bloody nose and bruises all over his face, neck and body. Olivia ran to him and helped him up as one of the men approached me. He was wearing a green T-shirt with a black vest on top, just like Olivia. The other guy, however, wasn’t. The first man whispered something in Olivia’s ear, then went back aboard the vehicle. The second guy, who looked kind of like the actor Kiefer Sutherland, went up to Diana and helped her into the aircraft while I looked at this new, curious woman who stated my kidnapping had been an accident. “I didn’t get your name,” I said as I walked toward the helicopter, a blanket drooped over my head and covering my body. “It’s Ready,” she replied, extending her hand. “Erin Ready.” I shook her hand and then hopped inside the helicopter. I heard Olivia say to the pilot, “I thought I told you this was a one-way trip.” “Looks like it still is,” said the pilot, who was a girl with brown-red hair and blue eyes. “Is Gavrilov okay?” “Yeah,” said Olivia. “He’s okay.” I looked at the pilot’s nametag as she turned around to look at me, which read ELIZABETH JOHNSON. “Where are we going?” I asked her. But she ignored me. She just kept talking to Olivia. “They’ll be looking for us, you know.” I heard her bark in Olivia’s ear. “Is Brooke okay?” asked Olivia. “Brooke Connor?” “Brooke’s fine,” I heard Elizabeth bark. “I had some other Shadow Force pilots get her out of there while you went for the President’s daughter.” Erin Ready then got into the chopper and sat to my left while Olivia got inside and sat across from me. Another guy, whose nametag read MASON DAVIDSON, entered the chopper. “You made it,” he told Olivia. “And I’m sorry about Doug and Harper. I heard they were killed by Alex Daddario. Man, I thought she was on our side for a minute.” Olivia faked a laugh. “I guess not.” Mason turned to me. “How ‘ya doing, pal?” “I’m fine,” I said. “Thanks.” “You look pretty shaken up after your big adventure,” Olivia said. “Don’t worry. We’ll take you home soon. We just need to get out of here before Rojas’ buddies show up.” “Good idea,” I said, then turned to Erin Ready, who was holding my hand in hers. “Guys, we have to get this girl out of here,” She told the Russian guy from the crashed chopper, whom I learned was called GAVRILOV. The man turned around and smiled as the chopper took off. “Da. I know a place.” By that point, however, I was starting to get tired. I really wanted to see my Dad, wherever he was. I looked back at Erin and she smiled at me. Then the helicopter left the snowy ground and began flying over the Swiss Alps. Then she said, “Close your eyes, buddy.” “I’m Adrianne,” I said. “I thought you knew.” “I know,” Erin said. “Just close your eyes.” I wanted to protest, but Erin said, “Just do it.” Then she wrapped her arms protectively around me. I wanted to argue again, but then I yawned. So I closed my eyes. And pretty soon, I was asleep.

Epilogue

Two weeks later….

Swiss Alps, Switzerland

Olivia Coonz

I was back in my apartment again, which felt pretty good after the adventure it took to kill Rojas, get the President’s daughter out and get out of her little prison in the Swiss Alps. Adrianne was returned to the President and they apparently left Switzerland just yesterday. As I swam in the pool in the back of the apartment, which overlooked the snowcapped Swiss Alps, I also started to think about Kaylyn. What became of her? Did she still hate me? Does she still hold those bullying incidents against me? I also started to think of MeKenna Weida, the German agent. What became of her? Did she get rescued? Or did the Muhammad’s Army guys kill her off? Maybe I would never know.

After I got out of the pool a few hours later and dried myself, I went to go take a shower and pretty soon I was in my room, watching TV, although nothing interesting came on. So I switched it off and then looked outside, admiring the scenery when… “I see you like it here,” came Madison Young’s voice behind me. I turned and saw that she was wearing a two-piece suit and a pair of black khaki pants, as well as a tie and belt. “Hey, you never told me what made you so negative,” I said, still staring at the window. “Is it because of some other guy hurting you?” “I just…fell into a depression during the summer break before you joined the Marines,” Madi said. “And started thinking negatively because of that.” I smacked myself on the head. How come I never knew that? “Okay,” I said and then took a step closer to my best buddy. “Why are you dressed like that? Rough day at the office?” Madi groaned. “Tell me about it. I had to get up at 6:20 A.M. this morning to go to work. And I’m pretty tuckered out, to be honest.” I walked over to her and looked her in the eyes, and for the first time Madison smiled. “Are we still friends?” I asked. “Of course,” Madi said. “Did you think a depression could make me your enemy? Where’d that come from?” I laughed. “I don’t know. But hey, I have a feeling this ‘Third World War’ is going to rage on for quite some time.” “Why?” asked Madi. “No major invasions occurred yet. I mean, aside from the Bhutanese invasion of Angola a few months ago I don’t think anything big has happened.” “Do you really think the kidnapping of the US President’s daughter was part of a series of sinister operations?” I asked. Madi shook her head. “I think it’s just an isolated incident.” I thought for a moment, then said, “You know what? I’m glad we’re friends. I always have someone to talk to.” “And I’m pretty sure this war gave you other friends too,” said Madi. “You think things will go back to normal soon?” I asked. Madison smiled. “Of course, Olivia. Count on it.” And then we hugged each other for the longest time.

END OF BOOK ONE!