Washington, D.C.

Hashim Osmani Residence

Hashim Osmani was livid and the state of his trashed office could attest to that.

All those years of planning, uncounted millions in expenses and bribes… it was all for nothing.

The Millennial Sports Arena attack was supposed to be the crown of his career, something that would get him the top position of the ‘High Council’ hierarchy, but now everything was ruined.

It was not the lost money, time, and assets, which troubled him the most. It was the reaction from the ‘High Council’, the consequences of this failure will have on him. This was his plan, he was the one that sold them on it, and the amount of money they were about to lose was obscene.

Everything was prepared for the United States retaliation towards those they would have found guilty, all the fabricated evidence would have been damning.

It was a brilliant plan, utilizing predictable human responses to certain situations. Events after 9/11 were a cheat sheet of how to manipulate the decision-makers in this country. At first, the death of so many civilians would have created considerable fluctuation in the stock market and that could have been exploited. Inevitable wars would have started, and wars were always profitable. Weapons, medicines, food, supplies… as wars are an expensive endeavor. They could have made a ridiculous amount of wealth, especially by supplying both sides.

Trusting him to get the job done, the ‘High Council’ had invested dozens of billions, by buying factories, stockpiling weapons, investing in stock markets… the list was extensive. The only situation he never considered happening… there would be no war.

Oh, a limited response will happen, but nothing like what he was counting on. Those barrels of nuclear waste he acquired, at a considerable price, would have made sure of that.

He was watching it all on live TV, with a glass of champagne in his hand, and toasting Murat al-Rashid for a job well done. In his head, he was already imagining the ceremony in which the ‘High Council’ was awarding him with more power, and influence. In turn, that would have made possible his final play, for the position of the Primus.

Then, in a split second, all his hard work was undone. Hashim saw his carefully chosen patsy collapse the moment he finished his speech. A few small holes appeared on the man’s forehead, and Murat’s eyes glassed over as if someone had turned off the light behind them.

At first, he could not believe what was happening, to be thwarted so close to triumph was unthinkable. He pulled himself away from the shock and jumped from his chair; champagne glass falling to the floor and breaking into hundreds of pieces. Hashim did not care about a cut crystal glass or the priceless Persian rug that was soaking up the wine; he was moving as fast as he could toward his office desk, and the burner phone he kept there.

He believed that Murat al-Rashid would not fail him; the man was an insane religious fanatic with the death wish. At the same time, for precaution’s sake, he had ordered one additional trigger to be installed on the truck bomb. A trigger that was programmed to activate when it received a call from this particular phone number. With trembling fingers, he dialed the number and pressed the little green button… and nothing happened. The TV continued to show a live feed with an image of three bound people. There was no explosion, no matter how many times he furiously mashed the button. That was the moment when he realized that for all intents and purposes… he was ruined. About that time, he started smashing everything he could reach in his office.

When he calmed down, Hashim tried to find out how his plan came undone and was met with another failure; not one of his sources knew anything. All of his connections, sleepers in various agencies, and high officials he held in his pocket, couldn’t provide one iota of information. Taking all that into account, he suspected that whoever was responsible for an attack on Ariz Rama, was also responsible for this. The same complete lack of information drew too many similarities to be disregarded. In his mind, only someone from the ‘High Council’ had that much resources and knowledge of the operation. This was an attack on him directly, someone wanted his position and would go to great lengths to achieve that. He was all alone, and nobody could be trusted.

As things stood right now, Hashim knew that he could not go to the next Council meeting. They would never allow him to leave the castle alive. Failure of this magnitude was unacceptable, so he needed to change the situation. To do something so drastic that would put his plan back on the track again. And he needed to do that soon, the ‘High Council’ was bound to organize an emergency meeting as a result of this disaster.

He was running out of time.

***

Transporter 001

Destination: Ozarks Mountains

A few weeks later, Michael, Tyron, Pete, and Al, were sitting in a transporter, heading toward his grandfather’s cabin. It was the day Michael has waited for a long time. By Max’s calculation, today the ship would be finally free from that incredibly tough crystal matrix it had been surrounded with, and Max will finally be mobile. It was an incredible material; besides being harder than diamond, it was also impervious to radiation, and no signals they tested could pass through it. Max was sure that in time he will be able to reproduce it, and they could put it to good use.

They already said goodbye to Dr. Ross, or Ben how he insisted everybody to address him. He joined the team and was on his way to start a research group under Genesis Corporation with the task of finding solutions to the problems they would be facing. Theoretically, of course, as far as the rest of the world or even the research group is to know. More than anyone else, Ben was in constant communication with Max, exchanging ideas through his CEI, which he got as soon as he found out about upgrades. Of course, he did not get the full upgrades the team had, but a civilian version that lacked some bells and whistles he did not really need.

His son-in-law, Adam, came around quite confused. When he lost consciousness, he was being held by Somalian pirates, missing one hand and feeling that all hope was lost; now he was complete again, but in a very strange place. Luckily, Mary calmed him down and explained what they had been through, and how they ended up in a silo. In the end, they both decided to follow Ben and help him establish a research group. Both of them being theoretical physicists, they had a lot to offer to that effort.

The twins, Natalie and Lee went with them. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, they were a legitimate family now. Max created new identities for all of them, and those could safely pass all the tests; he did mention in passing, how he hacked all the relevant databases. It was sad, watching them leave, the girls made the silo a happier place; Michael would never say a word about it, but he saw Tyron wipe a few tears from his eyes.

Right now, they were in Austin, Texas. Max rented a research facility for Ben there and bought a big house for them all to live in. They choose that location because of the proximity to the Center for Space Research at University, fertile ground from where to recruit the types of people they needed.

Pete and Al were looking at their tablets, and while Pete was reading a book about the vampires and dragons on his, Al was playing a video game; by his expression and occasional swearing, he was killing endless hordes of bad guys.

Max's face appeared on the transporter’s wall. “I have detected an anomaly near the cabin.”

“What kind of anomaly?” Michael asked.

“It would appear that someone flew a drone up there and parked it facing the cabin, it is camouflaged the same as the ground and it’s quite hard to see. There’s a good chance it has a surveillance camera attached.”

“So how come you didn’t detect it sooner? Like… when it first arrived there.” Pete said, raising his head from the tablet.

“Since the move, the security on the cabin’s location had dropped in priority. The area around the ship is still heavily monitored, but the cabin only receives occasional sweeps by satellite surveillance,” the AI answered.

“We can assume that someone found it, not that surprising really since that is the reason why we moved,” Michael said and smiled. “Gentlemen, if someone went to all that trouble to find us, I would hate to be the one to disappoint them.”

“We are willingly walking into a trap,” Al said while pausing his game, “it should be fun to spring it.”

“The cabin itself is clean. I placed several sensors inside. But once that surveillance drone transmits your image, there is a good chance that someone will come calling.”

Max parked the transporter a mile from the cabin, and they, dressed only in regular clothes, proceeded toward it. The AI had already done a thorough sweep of the whole area and could only detect the drone. Two satellites were now in stationary orbit above them, observing for any irregularities.

Acting like a bunch of guys without a care in the world and enjoying a weekend trip, Michael and the team arrived at the place he considered as his home. They purposefully chose a path that would put them in the field of view for the drone’s camera. The only suspicious thing to those watching would be that they did not arrive by car, but Michael hoped the backpacks they were carrying would make the watchers assume the group has been hiking.

He unlocked the front door and closed them when everybody was inside. After opening a few windows and putting some music on the stereo, they exited the cabin through the back door and ran back to the transporter.

It was a good thing that Elizabeth insisted they bring their full gear, packed in the trunks. Originally, Michael didn’t see the point in that since they weren’t planning to be in action, but now he was grateful for her foresight. It took no time for them to put on the battle-suits, and under active camouflage, return to the woods around the cabin. Now, they could enjoy the old military tradition of ‘hurry up and wait’.

It was two hours later when Max informed them, “There is an SUV coming up the road.”

***

Ziad was in an emotional turmoil, ecstatically happy and deeply enraged at the same moment. Ever since that day when he had to run away in disgrace, he could not find a moment of peace, and every once in a while, his hands would start shaking. He finally had to admit to himself that he had felt fear, and that was a blow to his self-image. The only thing he could think of was killing Michael Freeman.

Yes, he found his nemesis name; it took some time and a hefty bribe. A corrupt law enforcement agency officer ran the picture he gave him through facial recognition software and came up with the name… Michael Freeman. Ziad had repeated that name a thousand times, and every night he fell asleep with the different fantasy of killing the man. Nevertheless, deep inside he knew that they were all fantasies; he saw into those eyes and was not planning to give his enemy any time to respond. Quick and dirty, that was the key.

Bringing Michael Freeman’s head to Hashim Osmani was not important anymore. He saw how spectacularly the Millennial Arena operation failed and he did not have much faith in Mr. Osmani’s life expectancy anymore. Even someone as powerful as Hashim Osmani answered to those above him, and they were not known for being forgiving.

All that was irrelevant now, the surveillance drone he had flown close to the cabin had shown him that his enemy had finally returned, with a couple of friends. Ziad rushed, in another stolen car, far above speed limits.

He was throwing all caution to the wind with only one thought running through his mind… how he will finally end the source of his fear.

***

Ozark Mountains

The Cabin

Michael was standing beneath the big tree, some two hundred feet away from the cabin. His camouflage was active, but he still felt more comfortable behind a cover. Pete, Al, and Tyron have equally spread around, for the most effective field of fire. The last two hours were rather boring, but now his heart started beating faster, preparing his body for action.

The SUV parked a long way from the cabin, and he immediately recognized the tall man who exited it. The last time he saw him was on that day when Dave and he were shot, at the recycling plant. Michael’s grip on his gun intensified, and if his face could be seen underneath the camouflage and the helmet, the spectator would step back from his angry sneer and a low growl that had started in his throat.

Without waiting for even a second, the man reached back into his car and pulled out an RPG, which he immediately fired in the direction of the cabin. Flechettes that Michael fired at the man, in an attempt to ruin his aim, arrived a split second too late. The thermobaric warhead had already exited the tube and flew directly into an open cabin window.

It exploded into a fiery inferno, while the man responsible for it was falling down, with multiple punctures from the flechette rounds.

Michael could only watch as the cabin his grandfather built, a place of his fondest memories and the only place that felt like home, was destroyed. He started walking towards the man, filled with rage. A few feet away from the fallen assassin, he turned off his camouflage.

“Who are you?” Michael asked through clenched teeth.

The man was having trouble breathing, the bloodstain on his chest indicated that one of the rounds must have punctured a lung, yet there was still easily recognizable hate in his eyes.

“Ziad… what kind of a Shaitan are you?” He answered, breathing heavily.

To the man, Michael looked like a nondescript human figure dressed all in black, so he used a new addition Max installed on all helmets, the holographic ability to mimic transparency.

Ziad’s eyes opened wide and that look of rage intensified and mixed with madness. But there was something else in it now; there was a trace of fear.

“You!… Michael Freeman… Damn you to hell!” Ziad shrieked.

“Ah, I see you know who I am, that doesn’t explain why you tried to kill me right now, or your attempt before. If you wouldn’t mind explaining…” It was a long shot, but there was no harm in asking.

“You’re supposed to be my ticket to the big league, at least your head was. You killed Ariz Rama and his people, did you think there would be no consequences. You and everyone close to you are marked for death.”

Michael looked at the pitiful man, so riddled with hate that he was making threats even defeated. Then Ziad looked again at Michael, and a new realization came into his eyes.

“It was you… that suit makes you invisible… you’re responsible for our failure at the Millennial Sports Arena.”

“Were they friends of yours? My sincere condolences, but you know how they say, live by the sword and die by the sword.”

The man coughed, and trickles of blood ran from the corner of his lips. Even so, that fanatical look was back in his eyes. “You may have sealed Mr. Osmani’s fate, but that doesn’t matter right now, one way or the other, your life is over.”

He started laughing, in spite of the fact that his lungs were clearly filling with blood. One hand, which Michael thought was pressing down on his wound, started rising. Michael heard a distinctive sound, it was the same sound he had heard many times in his life, a click that grenade makes during its activation.

There, in Ziad’s hand was a shape he recognized, not that he saw one in recent years, but some things you never forget. A V40 Mini-Grenade, smaller than a golf ball, but this was the case where size did not matter. He knew that there was a four-second delay before the detonation.

The most sensible thing now would be to run, but that smile on Ziad’s face infuriated him; this man has disturbed his life, shot Dave, and destroyed his home. He had a score to settle, and that grenade was standing there on the palm of the murderer’s hand, as an offering. Using a move he has seen once before, Michael grabbed that grenade and utilizing his intense strength shoved it into the man’s mouth. He could feel Ziad’s teeth breaking around his fist, and the jaw dislocating by being stretched beyond its limit. He jammed the grenade in the assassin's throat. It was a similar move Tyron performed on the gang leader, but with a very different result.

There was one last look of disbelief on Ziad’s face before Michael jumped over the hood of the car. As his feet touched the earth on the other side, he heard a loud explosion and felt an immense pressure pushing on his back.

If he wasn’t wearing the helmet, he would literally be eating dirt right now or may even be dead. The suit detected several points of impact, mainly on his upper back and on the back of his head. Nobody ever said that it would be healthy to stand too close to an exploding grenade.

The team was by his side in seconds, helping him to stand up.

“Boss, let’s not do that again,” Al advised.

“Yeah, one second you were talking to him and the next you’re jumping the car, with a red cloud of destruction on your ass.” Pete talked to him while trying to clean some patches of grass that were stuck on his battle-suit.

“Duly noted,” Michael said. “Pity about the cabin… I’m going to miss this place.”

“Well, maybe there are things you can salvage from it, the garage looks all right. Why don’t you and Tyron do that while Al and I clean up this mess?”

“Yeah, thanks, guys. Max, see if you can find anything on this Mr. Osmani. That is the only clue we have.”

“OK, when you finish here come to the ship, it’s almost time.”

Michael used the water hose to put out a few remaining fires. Since the explosion was from the inside, the pressure had managed to knock out most of the walls and made a big unholy mess. Regardless of the damage, there were still things that could be salvaged.

Pete and Al were standing by the car and looking at the body of the dead assassin, at least the parts that were left.

“So… he really lost his head,” Al murmured.

“Yeah, blown a gasket,” Pete retorted.

“Flown off his handle.”

“Blown his top off.”

“Went Ballistic.”

“Blown his stack.”

“Went to pieces.”

“Blown his fuse.”

Al looked at Pete, “I’m not so sure about that last one.”

“Well, grenade - fuse, it kind of makes sense.”

“We better find a shovel; this is going to be messy.”

“Want to flip for it?”

“Yeah, why not.”

----------------

" If you can see the whites of their eyes, somebody's done something wrong."

Schlock Mercenary maxim

;)