Smoke and Shadow (28 page)

Tears fell from his eyes when he
realized he would never see Samantha again. At least he got to talk
to her one last time and hear her smile over the phone. He said ‘I
love you’ and he got to hear her say it too. Why not call her now?
What else could be more important? He took out his phone and wiped
the blood from the screen with his sleeve. He still had a signal.
Why not spend the last few minutes with the one person who made him
happy? The image of her smile caused more tears. He wanted to hear
her smile again.

But what could he possibly say to
her? Could he call her and say he was waiting to die? Would her
last memory of him be a tear soaked voice coughing out his last
pitiful whimpers before someone put a bullet in the back of his
head? Or would they make it last longer and force Sam to listen to
him grovel and beg for his life?

No. These men
were professionals. They wouldn
’
t waste time with torture for its
own sake. They were probably prepping the girls for extract right
now. They
’
d be
down in the state room focusing on their mission. They
wouldn
’
t forget
about Hudson, but they saw him bolt the door shut. They knew he was
too scared to threaten them. Either they would ignore him and leave
him to drift out into the ocean alone, or they
’
d finish him off in a final sweep
before they moved the girls.

Hudson knew how
they thought. He met men like them. He served in the same military.
He knew what they did to get on board and he knew what they would
do to extract. He could use their tactics against them. He could
turn the tables and fucking kill them. If Apone was right, there
were only two men. They couldn
’
t free the girls and guard the door
at the same time. He could sneak up on them. He could kill them and
those bitches they wanted so bad. When their cigarette boat came
back for them he could hijack it. He could make the driver take him
to shore and then kill him too. He
’
d have to figure out a way to get
back to the real world, but he
’
d cross that bridge when he came to
it. The important thing now was to attack while he still had the
element of surprise.

He put away his
phone and worked the slide of his MP5 to ensure a round was loaded.
He turned off his flashlight, allowing his eyes to adjust to the
faint glow of moonlight coming through the port.
He
’
d be better off
with night vision goggles, but he didn
’
t waste time worrying about what he
didn
’
t have. He
unlocked the door to the engine room and slid the barrel of his
weapon into the darkness ahead of him. The red emergency lights
gave the hold a hellish glow, but Hudson pushed himself down the
stairs before fear and doubt made him change his
mind.

Hudson pressed his back against the
bulkhead as soon as his feet hit the bottom of the stairwell
ladder. He scanned left and right with the muzzle of his weapon,
looking for any type of movement in the shadows. He slid sideways
across the wall like a crab, unwilling to expose his back to any
potential attack. He raised and lowered the gun to aim at every
angle a threat could approach. Hudson forced himself not to run. He
forced himself to breathe. He tried to put one foot in front of the
other and keep his noise to a minimum.

He recognized the
boot sticking out from a shadow in front of him. He wore the same
boot a couple of sizes bigger. He stopped to take a long look into
Vasquez
’
s empty
eyes. Hudson couldn
’
t see where she
’
d been shot, but her corpse lay in a wide pool of blood. He
stepped around her to avoid leaving a trail of bloody footprints,
then he remembered how much blood he walked through on the bridge.
Anyone following behind him with a light would know exactly where
he was headed. Well, he couldn
’
t change that now, so he
didn
’
t try. He
pressed on another twenty feet with his back to the wall before he
reached the stairwell leading up to the
stateroom.

Ripley lay face
down at the bottom of the stairs. Two neat holes in the base of her
spine and behind her heart bloomed with an aura of wet black. Her
rifle, like Vasquez
’
s, sat by her side. Whoever killed her
didn
’
t see the
need to take their guns. What would be the point? He, or they, had
suppressed weapons, probably custom jobs they fired day in and day
out and knew as well as they knew themselves. They came up behind
their victims and fired two slugs at point blank range. Ripley and
Vasquez died without feeling it or even knowing it was happening.
Hudson wanted the killers to die the same way. He
wasn
’
t going to
let his squad go down like a group of amateurs. They brought him
into their group. They welcomed him and took care of him. He
wasn
’
t going to
just let them die in the shadows. Hudson crept up the carpeted
stairwell to the dimly lit corridor outside the
stateroom.

The door to the
plush bedroom was held open by Apone
’
s corpse. He sat at an odd angle,
his head and neck wedged near the door frame in a painful position.
But Sarge didn
’
t
feel any pain anymore. His eyes bulged out of his head in the same
angry grimace Hudson came to hate, but he didn
’
t have a nose or mouth to complete
the facial expression. The bottom part of his face exploded onto
the carpet when the killer got behind him and put a bullet in the
back of his neck. Hudson always wanted a way to shut
Apone
’
s mouth. He
missed the growling voice now. He needed it to block out the smell
of gun smoke and the whimpering in his head.

The confused and
helpless cries of the women held inside the bedroom
didn
’
t make sense
to Hudson. Why were they still here? And where were the killers who
came to free them? No one would board a luxury yacht, kill the crew
and the security team, and then abandon ship without the most
expensive cargo, right? So where the fuck did they go? Were they on
the upper deck looking for him? Did they already find their way
into the bridge? Was someone behind him following his bloody
footprints? Hudson swung his muzzle back and down the stairs behind
him, but no one emerged from the darkness. He
couldn
’
t be sure
where the killers were, but they weren
’
t here.

Hudson pointed
his barrel back into the stateroom. The slender arms of the six
slaves drank in the glow of the moonlight. The shackles binding
them to the column glistened in the half light. All the girls were
naked from the waist down. They curled and crossed their legs in a
fearful attempt to keep him away. But Hudson
didn
’
t want these
bitches. He wanted Sam. If he couldn
’
t have his woman, no one would get
these women.

He stepped over
Apone
’
s body and
aimed his MP5 at them with a growl. He had a new plan now.
He
’
d shoot a
couple of these whores to get the killer
’
s attention. The sound of the
bullets and the screams of the living girls would get them to come
running. Hudson would cut them down when they stepped through the
door. If they were the cautious killers he imagined them to be, he
could still use the girls as a negotiating chip
to
…

The movement on
Hudson
’
s right
didn
’
t register in
his conscious mind. He didn
’
t see it or hear it. He sensed it in
the same way he learned to sense an IED in the road to Jalalabad or
the incoming crack of a sniper rifle. Hudson took a step to orient
his body towards the unseen threat and squeezed the trigger of his
weapon.

The wrong sound
came out of his gun. Hudson wanted to hear the angry bark of his
SMG and see the explosive muzzle flash light up the room to reveal
his target.
 
He wanted to feel the hot casings bounce off his arms and
smell the tang of cordite fill the room.

Hudson heard the
angry spit of a suppressor. His world cantered until the ceiling
came into view and wet carpet pressed against his cheek. He
couldn
’
t feel his
arms, but he did see his weapon slide out of his hand when a black
boot kicked it away. Hudson saw a figure step over him towards the
girls, but his vision began to blur around the
edges.

“
Sideline, this
is visitor. The game is over. Final score: Visitor eight, home team
zero. Over.
”

Hudson
’
s
military mind sorted through the jargon while his blood soaked into
the carpet. The voice of the killer didn
’
t fit. He spoke with a soft, gentle
rhythm Hudson found soothing even as it got harder to hear. The
response on the other end sounded cold and professional by
contrast.
”

“
Good game,
visitor, but why did we need to go to overtime?
Over.
”

“
The home team
rallied their defense and threw up a Hail Mary. I had to wait to
see where it came down.
”

“
Understood. How
did the crowd respond?
”

“
The end of the
game left them stressed, but I think they
’
re ready to go home with this
victory.
”

“
Roger that.
Head to the parking lot and we can get everybody home for the post
game show.
”

“
Understood. I
’
ll see you at the after party.
”

Hudson
couldn
’
t feel his
legs. His mouth filled with something thick but he
couldn
’
t swallow.
But his ears still worked. His mind registered the conversation as
he lay dying. He
’
d
miss parties, and football. Most of all, he was going to miss Sam.
He wondered if she would wonder what happened to him or if
she
’
d just forget
him and follow her father
’
s wishes.

The
operator
’
s soft
voice reached Hudson
’
s fading hearing although the words weren
’
t directed at him.
“
Ladies, ladies, I know
some of you can
’
t
understand me, but everything
’
s going to be ok. My name is Chu,
and I
’
m here to
bring you home.
”

Hudson heard the
Chinese name and coughed up blood trying to laugh at the irony. He
died hating Chinese men for reasons that had nothing and everything
to do with Samantha
’
s smile.

Interlude: Risk
Benefit Analysis

“
You
can
’
t sit there
and compare the marginal success of a few saved girls to the damage
your operations have caused. You can
’
t ignore the suffering we create
every time you send them out into the field.
”

Rose was in full angry drunk mode
now, slurring her words and waving her arms around like a puppet
with tangled strings. Baker watched her with amusement, but he
continued to engage her in calm rational conversation as if she
could still understand a logical argument.

“
We
’
re taking
risks to help women no one else will help, women who
can
’
t help
themselves. We
’
re
making progress and we
’
re being compensated well. It seems like the success is worth
the potential risk, don
’
t you?
”

“
No. A few girls
here or there doesn
’
t justify what happened in Barmeja. You bring up the
successful ops, but what about the village? Was that worth the
risk?
”