Infidels (26 page)

And now
here she sat, this time not alone, a single guard sitting in a chair facing the
door and her, she sitting beside the door, her back to the wall so he had a
clear view of both.

And
again nothing was being said to her, but this time it was clear these men were
scared.

And
you should be. When BD gets his hands on you, you’re all dead.

At least
that was her fantasy. From time to time she’d find herself closing her eyes,
visualizing BD and his team rushing into the building she was now in. Their guns
would be blazing, her captors dying horrible, painful deaths, then BD would
burst through the door, killing her guard and freeing her, taking her in his
arms and laying a kiss on her that would melt her to her very core.

But it
was just a fantasy.

Several
loud thumping sounds from below had her heart racing, the bored guard suddenly
sitting upright in his chair. More loud thumping, then several shouts were
heard from below, all in what sounded like Arabic.

Gunfire
from the other side of the door was unmistakable. Feet pounding on flooring,
more shouting, her guard leaping to his feet, drawing his weapon from its
shoulder holster, nervously eyeing her and the door. More thumping, closer now,
a loud thud as something heavy hit the floor.

A
body?

Something
was shouted and the guard began to shake as he slowly raised his gun toward
her, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

She was
going to die.

It had
to be BD attacking. If it were police there would have been sirens, megaphones,
orders in French.

This was
silent. All she had heard so far were the odd thumping sounds and shouts from
her captors. Whoever was attacking them was doing so silently.

Stealthily.

Like
Delta operators would.

Footsteps
pounded in the hallway, these approaching her as gunfire was exchanged.

It
has to be him!

“BD!”
she cried as she pushed herself back in the chair, hitting the wall, there nowhere
to go.

The man
raised his weapon and she screamed, closing her eyes.

Loud
pops on the other side of the door caused her to nearly faint, the door only
inches away from her head splintering loudly. She opened her eyes slightly to
see her captor standing, shocked, red stains spreading on his crisp white shirt
as the door flew open, two men rushing in, each firing at the guard as he fell
backward onto the floor.

“Maggie!”

Sobs
immediately racked her body as BD spun toward her, dropping to his knees as he
grabbed her in his arms and hugged her. Her hands were suddenly free and she
wrapped her arms around him, never wanting to let him go as her fantasy had
come true, her savior rescuing her just as she had imagined.

She
pushed back, looking into his eyes, eyes filled with concern.

And
kissed him.

“I’m next.”

Niner
watched as Dawson and Maggie reunited, a little envious, it having been a long
time since a woman had ever shown such genuine affection for him. But he was
happy for them, Dawson definitely deserving someone like Maggie in his life.

And he
had nearly lost her.

Man,
I don’t know if he’d have ever gotten over that.

Maggie began
to laugh as the kiss ran its course, she resting her forehead against Dawson’s,
holding the back of his head as she caught her breath.

“Thank
God you’re here.”

Dawson
helped her to her feet and looked her over. “You’re lucky we found you.”

She
looked over at Niner as he covered the door.

“I’m
still waiting,” he said.

She
laughed and walked over to him, kissing his cheek then patting it. “Thank you.”

He
frowned. “His was better.”

Tires
screeched outside and Dawson rushed to the window. “We’ve got company. Two
vehicles, at least eight men.”

“Nothing’s
ever easy.”

“Let’s
get the hell out of here,” said Dawson, stepping out into the hallway, weapon
in one hand, his other gripping Maggie by the arm, as if he’d never let her go
again. There was pounding on the door downstairs, then the sound of a shoulder
being tossed against it. “We’re not getting out through the main floor.”

“The
roof next door?”

Dawson
nodded, already heading down the hallway toward the window at the end of it. The
door downstairs burst open, shouts reaching them as the new arrivals rushed
into the house. Dawson threw open the window and looked out.

“It’s
doable.”

Maggie
leaned out, fear in her eyes. “Maybe for you.”

Dawson
tried to reassure her with a smile. “I’ll go first, you’ll see how easy it is.”
He stepped out on a small roof covering the window below then pushed off,
disappearing from sight, Maggie gasping as Niner stepped over to see Dawson
rolling to a stop on the roof below. It wasn’t far, not even five feet
separating the two buildings, and only about a five foot vertical.

To the
untrained however, it would appear daunting. He stepped out onto the roof and
held out his hand for Maggie as footsteps pounded up the stairs. “Come on, you
can do it.” He tried to keep any pressure out of his voice, and to her credit,
Maggie stepped out with him. “Ready?”

“No.”
Her eyes were jammed closed. “Throw me.”

“Open
your eyes.”

“No,
throw me.”

“I will,
but you need to open your eyes.”

She did
and he grabbed her by the belt and tossed her like a sack of potatoes,
immediately following as gunshots rang out behind them. Maggie screamed the
entire way, Niner enjoying the ride as he prepped himself for the impact.
Dawson caught Maggie just as she hit, taking her in his arms and falling
backward, absorbing the impact as Niner rolled beside them.

He
immediately drew his weapon and aimed at the window they had just come from.

A face
appeared.

He
placed a hole in its head.

“Let’s
go!” ordered Dawson as he grabbed Maggie by the hand, racing along the flat
roof, ducking under clotheslines and telephone wires. Niner followed, backward,
still aiming at the window, their pursuers a little more reluctant to show
their faces now that one of their own had been removed from existence.

A shot
rang out from the street below, a brick chimney beside them hit, shards of
razor sharp stone exploding in all directions. Maggie yelped as they all
ducked, Niner taking a shot at the road below as Dawson and Maggie,
hand-in-hand ahead of him, jumped to the next roof.

Good
girl!

Her fear
of jumping seemed gone, or at least overwhelmed by her fear of getting shot.
Niner jumped after them, skidding awkwardly as he landed on clay roofing tiles,
several slipping away under his feet. More shots rang out as they scrambled
across the angled roof before jumping to another flat roof.

Dawson
stopped behind a shed housing rooftop gardening implements as he fished out his
cellphone. Niner took a bead on their pursuers below, five on foot, two in the
vehicles. He ducked as someone fired. Maggie cried out in fear as Dawson talked
with someone, giving them their location and status.

“Police
are being notified,” said Dawson, slipping his phone back into his pocket.
“Let’s say we even the odds a bit.”

“Sounds
like a plan.”

Niner
leaned forward, firing three shots, sending those below scrambling for cover
and allowing Dawson to aim. Two groups of two had a tire from each vehicle
hissing in defeat as they rushed to the next rooftop, this one a gap of less
than two feet. Niner quickly took up position behind a chimneystack and aimed
at the still regrouping men below. He squeezed off two rounds, one of the men
dropping, the others bravely jumping for cover.

A police
siren suddenly sounded, it clear they were nearby. Niner fired two more shots,
taking out another man cowering behind one of their disabled vehicles, not
clear on the concept that regular car glass didn’t make for much of a shield.

Tires
screeched farther down the road. Niner glanced quickly to see a police car
skidding around the corner, lights flashing, siren wailing, a second close
behind. He stepped back, out of sight, as the remaining Saudi’s fled in the
opposite direction. He looked at Dawson.

“How
about we get the hell out of here before they cordon off the area?”

Dawson
swept his hand across the horizon. “Something tells me they’ve got their hands
full.”

Niner
shook his head and Maggie gasped as they took in the sight. The entire city was
covered by a dull haze of smoke, dark plumes dotting the horizon as fires of
varying size continued to burn out of control. It was a devastating sight.

Even
Hitler left Paris alone.

“What’s
going on?” asked Maggie.

Niner
looked at her for a moment then realized she had been in captivity the entire
time. She had no way of knowing what had been going on since her kidnapping.

“The
world’s falling apart,” he said as Dawson wrapped an arm around her. “And we’re
stuck in the middle of it.”

Boulevard de la Villette, Paris, France

Pascal gripped the carving fork in one hand, the butcher’s knife in
the other. His younger brother Marcel stood beside him, pressed tightly against
his body, trembling with fear as their parents were massacred on the other side
of the closet door.

It had
happened so fast they hadn’t been prepared.

His
father had barricaded the front door of their apartment, locked all the windows
and taped all the panes so nothing could be thrown through them. They were on
the second floor so the only way really in was through the front door.

Which
was exactly how they had come.

It had
happened so fast.

His
father had gone to the bathroom, leaving the family in the tiny living room,
all the lights turned off, the television on low so they could see what was
happening outside.

The
picture-in-picture was tuned to the lobby camera.

His
mother saw them first.

There
was about ten of them.

Only
ten.

If
everyone in the building had stood together, they would have been able to stop
them.

But
instead they all cowered in their own apartments, awaiting death, alone.

They had
heard the screams less than a minute later in the apartment below.

Madame
Dion.

She
lived alone, with her cat.

At least
eighty years old.

The
screams became progressively quieter as they worked their way down the hall
below, the sound of doors being kicked down, angry shouts, screams, then
silence.

Until
the next apartment.

He had
peed his pants.

And it
had happened so fast.

In less
than fifteen minutes they were on their floor. Their mother’s desperate
attempts to call the police were futile, the lines all busy. His father began
to pull the tape off the window in the bedroom, realizing his error, finally
taking an antique chair, handed down for ten generations, and smashing it
repeatedly against the window in a desperate attempt to get through.

They
were at their door.

And it
happened so fast.

“Get in
the closet!” hissed his father, pointing at the closet in the master bedroom.
He had shaken his head, not wanting to leave his father alone, too scared to be
lone himself. “Go! Now! Take care of your brother!”

Pascal
looked at his younger brother, tears streaking down his face, and nodded.

“Here,
take these.”

The only
weapons in the house were from the knife block. He looked down. A carving fork
and a butcher’s knife. His father hurried them into the closet, their mother
refusing to go with them, instead taking one of the knives in her hand,
determined to stand at her husband’s side and defend their children.

But it
happened so fast.

The door
burst open, the tables piled against it tossed aside as if they weren’t there.
Shouts erupted, men screaming “Allahu Akbar” at the top of their lungs.

His
father shouted.

His
mother screamed.

Somebody
cried out, not his parents.

Then
there was a thud. A sickening thud, as if something hard and heavy had hit
something soft.

His
father cried out, his pain obvious.

His
mother wailed in fear, begging for them to stop.

Another
thud, and another.

And
another.

He
pushed the closet open slightly to catch a view out the door and into the
living area.

And
regretted it immediately.

Two men
were hacking his father to pieces, long blades he had only seen in movies,
raised high above their wielders’ heads, then dropped hard and fast into the
meaty pulp that had been their protector, their provider.

Their
father.

And they
kept swinging.

Their
mother suddenly appeared from behind the wall, throwing herself over their
father’s body, begging them to stop, a hand held up to block the blows.

Her arm
was cleaved off.

Pascal
closed his eyes and stepped forward.

Marcel
grabbed him, pulling him back inside, shaking his head, a knuckle in his mouth
as he tried to stop himself from crying.

Then
there was silence.

“Search
the apartment!”

Pascal
made a split-second decision. He shoved the closet door open, grabbing his
brother by the hand and rushed toward the bedroom window. Jumping on the bed,
he threw himself at the glass, the already weakened window giving way and he
plunged through, his brother dragged along. As they fell he dropped his
weapons, their only defense, and braced himself for what was sure to be broken
bones.