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But I’m not a better man, and Marat is nothing but a cockroach to me.
It’s the morning of our seventeenth day of the stakeout. The air is still as the sun comes over the distant mountains, which would usually be the time of day that I enjoy the most: when everybody is silent.
Today, the silence is unwelcoming, even foreboding.
There’s no reason for it, nothing I can place any blame on until I hear the front door of Marat’s compound open and slam shut.
My head whips towards the jarring noise, and River is awakened by it, damn near jumping out of her skin. “What was that?” she whispers harshly.
I hold up my hand to silence her, refusing to take my eyes off what I see.
Marat has released a prisoner. They’re wearing a white pillowcase over their head, and in their right hand is a white flag.
A surrender?
River tries to join me, easing herself up out of bed to get a better look. “He let someone go?”
I glare at her. Can’t she see I’m trying to figure out what the fuck is going on?
Just as I’m about to call out a raid on the house, I hear gunfire pierce the air, shattering the peace that once was as the encampment is being rained on by bullets.
We immediately return fire, and River curls up in the back of the van, screaming as the shots ring through the air.
The man with the flag is the first to go down, but a few of Marat’s other soldiers grow emboldened, storming out of the building and firing directly on us.
It’s impossible to say how many casualties we sustain in such a short period of time, but as soon as the shots stop, I motion for every able-bodied person to move in on the house and kill every person they see until we find Marat.
“Identify each other, know your enemies, and follow me!” I shout to my fleet as we sprint towards the house from all directions.
It truly feels like an act of war, and in my world, the stakes are just as high. I can’t afford to lose anyone, especially not with so many of Santiago’s men gone.
I almost trip over the dead hostage in my haste, but we make it into the house miraculously unharmed. I can only assume that Marat’s men are poorly trained and have no tactical experience whatsoever. They base their whole strategy on their ego, firing at will with no direction or guidance.
The inside of the house is already ransacked as if Marat and his men had gone crazy and flipped tables and couches out of sheer frustration. There’s some strange, unintelligible writing on the walls, which is a clear indication that at least one person has lost their shit.
It was probably the man on the steps outside.
That’s why they used him for bait.
I snap out of my musings as more shots are fired in the room next to me.
Holding my gun a little too tightly, I listen closely for any indication of who is winning the firefight inside of that room. When I hear Erik’s voice, I move into the next few rooms until I’ve determined that everybody else has been killed or fled the scene.
Everyone except Marat.
I’ve canvassed the entire house at this point, so I send Erik and Gregory around the perimeter again twice. I scan each room for any indication of a trap door or secret compartment where he could be hiding, likely in one of the lower levels.
Santiago approaches from behind. “You not finding him? I can’t find the fucker either. It’s not like he was able to phase-shift through the walls into Alaska.”
I sigh. “No, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t in here. We just have to find a way to get him out without having to rip up the entire house board by board.”
A devious smile crosses his face. “Do you know the recipe for mustard gas?”
I glance over at him, my expression a combination of confusion and suspicion. “I don’t because I’m not a war criminal, but I have the feeling that you might know it.”
He laughs like he’s possessed by the devil. Perhaps he is. “You would be correct. I learned it ten years ago, and I’ve been dying to use it ever since. Keep your eyes sharp, and I’ll be right back.”
I keep my weapon trained on the doorways in front of me while he slips through the broken glass patio doors behind me.
