Chronicles of War
Part 1: Way of the Storm
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"People are important. Without people there would be no tragedy,
no appreciation, no nation, no state, no power, no riches, no
poverty, and no meaning. Life is important; everything else is
chaff in the wind."
- James Rahn
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Chapter 25: To Dust
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Ed watch in horror as mercenaries popped out from behind cover. They
surrounded the hostages like a pack of rabid wolves, and everyone around
the guard froze. He only had a split second to lament the fact that
James didn't remind him about the final, obvious ambush, before said
assassin saved the day.
James blew past the stunned guard like a Olympic sprinter, focused on a
trio of evil-looking men. He hadn't bothered to even palm a weapon, and
charged at the group with each arm flapping in the air like a freshly
cut lizard's tail, screaming his head off. He looked like an idiot.
He was drawing all of the attention to himself.
Ed realized it as Carl and Jimmy and Kat did.
They opened fire.
It was over in seconds.
James stood over a trio of bodies, and the area was clear. Ed blinked,
finding his gun empty and not entire certain who or what he was shooting
at just seconds ago. Carl's face seemed to match the confusion ruling
Ed's thoughts. James was herding the hostages towards the door, still a
bundle of nervous energy.
Ed decided to put away coherent thought for a moment, sad that he'd
finally snapped. It was a shame, really. He had always enjoyed his
sanity. He would miss it terribly.
----------
Carl was falling behind, his leg not working right. His brain didn't
seem to be able to get into gear. The shock from the sudden assault, and
their decisive annihilation of said assault. It was wonderful; being
part of a team, working together to save lives. Wasn't that something
any man could be proud of. Isn't that what James--
"Hold on, dude. I've got you."
Was doing right now?
"You took one in the leg. Nasty, but you'll live." James looked him in
the eye even as his struggled to hold up most of Carl's weight.
"I'm in shock," Carl noted.
"Probably," James said. "But you're also in danger. We're getting out of
here, getting bandaged up, and then you can go home and take a nap."
James smiled, and Carl felt his face distort with a subtle smirk. The
two began limping towards the exit. Most of the hostages were outside
already. They were going to make it.
----------
Clark saw them first. The last word from inside came from a slightly
panicked Kate Dogson, telling the cops that they were on their way out.
A tall woman with long blonde hair came out first, a dark bandage over
her hair, her clothing soaking wet. A sallow kid that looked like a
stick figure given flesh followed her. Behind him came a tidal wave of
bodies. Clark found that he wasn't surprised to see them, but he was
relieved; the gunfire he heard a few seconds before their appearance was
something to worry about.
The police officers around him opened the barricades cautiously. The
woman in the lead locked eyes with him for a heartbeat, and somehow he
knew she was woman on the phone. Dogson. He'd get to her in a second. He
didn't dare count the hostages as they streamed out, some crying, some
hyperventilating. He mentally heaved a sigh of thanks to whoever had
picked these people; none were old or weak of heart. Every one of them
dashed across the car-filled asphalt of the parking lot to the police
line without missing a step.
So where was the blond, gun-wielding, bad-ass engineer who was at the
center of this?
"He'll be last one out," Cameins said casually, standing next to Clark
like he was soaking up some sun at the beach.
"Of course," Clark said. There was no need to think about who Cameins
meant.
Would Rahn sneak out the backdoor while the world watched the front?
The stream of people thinned out, then a massive man in a wet, torn,
pink security uniform with a missing sleeves opened the doors. He didn't
run, but actually stopped and held the door open for two more men to
come out. One was being held up by the other, and even at this distance,
Clark could see that one had an injured leg. The second man didn't look
so hot either. His clothes were also wet, and he had bundles of cloth
around both hands and his torso. He was shirtless and all manner of
bruises and cuts were plainly visible on his pale skin.
That was him. Clark would have bet everything he owned. And the man was
helping another wounded hostage out? It didn't fit. Maybe a play for
sympathy? Couldn't be. He was even urging the guard to run ahead,
screaming at him like a Drill Sergeant.
"Get the fuck over there, Ed! Fucking run, you dumb son of a bitch! Go,
God damn it! GO!"
The guard reached the cops, stopping in front of the Chief to throw him
a jaunty salute and say, "Sir, I don't think we're far enough away."
"I know that," Cameins snapped, then ran to help Rahn.
And the whole world exploded.
----------
The first sign that anything had gone off was a sound like a million
gunshots striking the eardrums of every person with a mile. James and
Carl were nearly knocked off their feet, and the fun had not even
started.
Flakes of concrete, most no larger than a piece of confetti, hit the
struggling pair like an instant sandstorm. Carl twitched, his arms
feeling like they were set suddenly on fire, a sharp pain driving across
his skin and up his shoulders. James forced him to the ground.
Carl struggled to move the assassin. He had a coat on, James wasn't even
wearing a shirt. Carl knew he should have been on top. What sort of
mad--
The second explosion hit them like a giant sledgehammer. The second of
silence that followed was absolute. Carl couldn't even hear his heart
beat. Then Debris fell around them like hail. Ears still ringing from
the concussive for the blast, Carl watched the debris bounce and skitter
across the asphalt while the ground under him shuddered.
Another explosion went off, then another, and another. The last two rang
out together, like a god had reached down and up-rooted a nearby
mountain. Carl watched in awe as a chunk of steel plate appeared in the
parking lot surface not three feet from him, embedded the ground as if
shot from a cannon. Then broken glass landed around them like snow.
And slowly, he could hear things landing on the cars and ground around
them. Before even these sounds faded, he could make out the sound of
hundreds of car alarms signaling their displeasure at the disturbance.
People were shouting incoherently in the background as he grabbed James
by the shoulders.
"Are you okay?" He moved his mouth, barely able to hear his own words.
James gave him a thumbs up, rose quickly to his feet, and offered Carl a
hand. Carl settled his weight onto his good leg as he took the offered
limb. Moving the shot leg felt like he was waving a blow torch over his
skin.
The dust was awful. He couldn't see the mall. He could barely see the
police. Cars disappeared into the distance all around him in neat little
rows.
James gestured at the instant fog cloud surrounding them. Carl could
just hear, "Concrete plus explosion equals dust cloud."
The bombs had vaporized the mall.
If he wasn't in so much pain, Carl would have laughed. Something about
the situation now struck him as simply hilarious.
----------
The EMT's were in a hurry to treat James' wounds, declaring him the most
injured of the entire mess. Cameins beat them to the punch, however,
deflecting their attention to the hostages first. James might have been
largely covered in blood, but he was standing on his own two feet and
had all but dragged the other man away from the mall.
The Chief grabbed James' elbow in a steel grip. "I'm Jesse Cameins."
"James Rahn. A pleasure."
"Perhaps," the Chief looked ready to say more, but paused. An older man
in a suit immediately appeared by his side and took James' other elbow.
"I'm afraid we'll have to take you into custody," he said in a tone that
rumbled with authority.
James looked past the Chief's shoulder and saw Dave. Dave was many
things, James' friend for one, but more importantly, he was a man to be
trusted. Especially now. Dave slowly rotated his left hand at the wrist,
as if trying to stretch some taunt muscles. The simple movement was part
of an elaborate non-verbal language the two had developed over the
years. Dave was telling him not to let himself be lead off to jail. Not
now. James set his shoulders as if in resignation, signaling Dave that
he understood but didn't have an out right now.
Dave looked in the general direction of the mall, and coughed once.
James' cell phone began to ring.
"Is that yours?" the Chief asked James.
"I think so."
Cameins let go of James' arm to shifted his stance slightly, making
himself a smaller and harder to hit target. With his freed hand, James
answered the phone.
"Hello?"
The familiar voice was back with a razor edge of anger. "You like to
live dangerously."
"I think the choice you gave me," snapped James, "Was live dangerously
or not at all."
"Then you made the wrong choice," the voice hissed.
"Those bombs weren't designed to be disarmed, where they?" No answer.
"Did you tell your men that?" No answer. James switched to boasting.
"You can't hide, little man."
"And you can't touch me. Mr. Rahn, if that is your real name, your life
is over."
James looked at the suited man, who stared back. "You wanna talk to the
terrorists?"
The suit looked at Cameins, who gestured to James. Goddamn police,
thought James, passing the buck. The voice apparently knew he was
through with the interruption, and continued. "Continue to play this
little charade, whoever you are. It no longer matters. The gentleman in
the suit will have you in cuffs within seconds and deliver you on a
silver platter by dinner. Which reminds me, should I reserve another
seat?"
"Only if you're buying," James said.
"At least you earned that comedy license," the voice said, then drew a
breath. "Mr. whoever, I think it's time we change our plans. Since your
showing off in the mall cost me a lot lives, how about you begin to pay
me back."
"Oh, I've got all kinds of payback waiting for you, buddy," James said
with a savage smile.
"You're cute," the voice deadpanned. "There is a Buick T-Type in the
parking lot. Powder blue, case of dynamite in the back. Little timer
hidden on the car. I advise you to keep your hands clear of the
detonator and make your first stop the Pasco airport in...say, twenty
minutes?"
"What about dinner?" James asked, still smiling.
"I changed my mind. And you should know better than to let the cops
spoil your fun."
The line went dead.
James pointed to the phone. "Little fuck's out of his mind." He turned
to the suit, "And you are?"
The man smiled. The grip on James' arm became like iron. "Jason Clark,
FBI."
"Excellent. I'll take two Quarter Pounders with cheese, small fries--
small, not a large--and...oh, how about a regular coke, and one of those
cookies."
"It's sad that you think you're funny," Clark said in almost a growl.
"I'm as good as dead, surrounded on all sides by enemies and their
sympathizers. I'm cut, bruised, shot, tired, hungry, and frustrated. All
I've got left is my sense of humor. It may be black as a good cup of
joe, but it's mine and it's welcome."
"You are under arrest for aiding--" Clark cut off as another phone began
to ring.
Clark glared at James, who shrugged. Cop and FBI agent scanned the crowd
of emergency workers and confused ex-hostages that were moving around
them in a symphony of perfectly organized chaos.
"Cat got your tongue?" James said to Clark.
"Help me cuff him," the agent said to Cameins.
The Chief didn't move to help the agent. "He needs medical attention
first."
"He can get that under armed guard," Clark returned.
"We aren't done here and I'm not dividing my forces even more."
The two men glared at James, who shrugged. "I don't even have a coat; I
ain't going anywhere."
Cameins called to the Emergency Medical Technicians, demanding a blanket
for James.
Then Dave walked up the Chief, holding onto another cell phone. "Uh,
sir? There's another phone call for James." The tone of voice he used
suggested that the engineer was living on borrowed time.
James took the phone with a smile as an EMT draped a heavy gray blanket
over his shoulders. After a heartfelt thanks, he answered the phone.
"Disaster and Mayhem Incorporated, hostage situations and unauthorized
explosive demolitions vaguely, James speaking; how may I help you?"
There was a pause as James' face fell like a gingerbread house under a
wrecking ball. "Mom? How did you get this number?!"
"She can be...trying," Dave said to the Chief of Police.
James held the phone at arm's length. "If the pope calls, we'll have
ourselves a bona fide party."
"That wasn't funny," Clark said.
A bald man with a well-trimmed beard came up to the chief and whispered
in his ear. The man finished and Cameins nodded to him just as James
hung up his phone.
"Chief," James begin.
"I know," the Chief replied. "But what's a T-type?"
"Think a mini Olds Eighty Eight with a rocket under the hood. Two door,
turbocharged, fuel injected V6. Real torque monster," Dave said in a
burst of words.
Cameins stared at Clark for a moment, then started speaking quickly to
the group. "James, find that car. I assume you know what it looks like?"
"Of course, Jesse."
"We can't help you, but I'm putting this parking lot in order anyway. He
can't seriously expect us to just stand here and do nothing."
James almost opened his mouth to suggest that the mystery man couldn't
be happier if the EMTs and police actually stopped helping people.
"Clark," the Chief continued, "can you start checking the airport? Get
some people over here, get in the computers, whatever it takes. Find out
who is going where and doing what. Bates can get you hooked up with our
people."
Clark looked like he'd swallowed a quart of bad milk, but let go of
James and offered him a good luck.
"Thank you," James said, honestly meaning it.
"Dave, get the hell out of my hair, and let Limbaugh talk to James'
mother. I'll introduce you in a minute. Someone get me the fire
department." Cameins looked in the direction of the mall's remains. "We
need to see if anyone is left alive inside of that disaster area."
"James?" a new voice said.
Everyone turned to face the newcomer. He was a stocky man wearing a
ponytail and a leather jacket.
"Who are you?" Clark asked.
"My name is John Bakker. With two k's, and you can't pronounce it right
so please don't try."
"You know this man?" Clark pointed at James.
"We went to high school together," John said.
Clark shook his head, "What is this? A reunion?"
James chuckled darkly. "No, and I hope none of ours are like this."
"Well," John drawled, "If any did wind up like this, at least we'd know
who to blame."
James shrugged and handed Dave his phone.
"Gentlemen," the chief cut in. "Car and bomb?"
James sighed. Loitering in the frying pan or jumping into the fire? It
wasn't as if he liked either choice, but there were few times in the
last years that he did like his choices. "Get me a first aid kit and a
coat," he said to the chief, "If John wants to talk to me, he can ride
shotgun."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Cameins said.
James shrugged, then began moving away from the mall. "If I remember
right, the freeway is in this direction."
Cameins ducked into a patrol car and came out with a first aid kit. Dave
pulled off his coat and handed it to James as the Chief returned.
"What's going on here?" John asked.
"We can't reveal that to you at this time," Clark said automatically.
James took the first aid kit from Cameins and replied, "There's very
little we know for certain. But enough about me, I never do anything
exciting." James put on the coat.
John looked helplessly at Clark, then Cameins.
"Son, I suggest you stay right here, but I can't technically stop you
from going with your friend."
"His driving doesn't scare me," John quipped.
"His driving isn't the problem," the Chief said.
"His driving is most definitely a problem," Dave insisted.
"There it is!" James declared. "Are you in or out, John?"
"I'm in."
"You shouldn't--" Clark started to say, then stopped himself. "It's
dangerous."
"I'm in," John repeated.
Clark shook his head.
James took a step towards the car, then turned back to the Chief. "Mr.
Cameins? One didn't make it. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."
James rubbed at his eyes and cursed the dust. Cameins set a hand on his
shoulder. "Good luck, James."
"Good luck, Jesse." James began walking towards an angular blue car. He
called back over his shoulder, "In case this is the last time you see me
alive, pretend I just said something witty yet deep."
John followed without a word.
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