Chapter 14

Jamal rushed to the anteroom outside the underground pool. He had heard the alarm and the gunfire. Inside the communications room, they told him that an intruder had entered the compound and was trapped in the swimming pool area. It had to be the American woman, Tracy Parker. He cursed himself for not being present at the kill as he approached the crowd of his followers gathered around the body of the stupid whore. Lack of information, an irresponsible informant, wretched weather, all this plus a moody female companion had conspired to catch Aziz unaware. The result: some dead followers, confusion, and embarrassment. Luckily, the whore had been finished; his bomb, safe.

"Why didn't you wait for me and Justine?" he half-jokingly asked Khalid as he pushed past the silent terrorists gathered in the anteroom. Khalid looked at Jamal Aziz with fearful eyes; he said nothing. Aziz sensed that there was something wrong as he turned his gazed down towards the body of the woman on the floor.

The floor was puddled with blood and bodily fluids. "A true massacre," Aziz remarked to himself as he regarded the torn and battered body of the young woman on the floor. All around on the walls, Aziz noticed even in the gloomy darkness that quantities of blood were splattered and dripping. Aziz was impressed by the number of rounds required to kill the woman; she must have been determined; her suffering extraordinary. The body itself was on its back; numerous wounds punctured the thighs, and her legs were full of bloody holes, the feet twisted in some strange contortion; the pelvis and genitals of the dead woman were covered in large, oozing wounds: some small holes, others ripped, bloody muscle and flesh; the same was true for the midsection, the navel indistinguishable from the entry and exit wounds of the several dozen bullets that were fired in, through and at the unfortunate target.

"Ah, a loss," Jamal commented sarcastically as he examined the once pretty breasts. The body of the woman on the floor was so badly disfigured by the ripping and tearing of his soldiers' bullets that the breasts were practically torn away, their location indicated by lumpy, bleeding masses of raw, exposed muscle and fatty tissue, the blood mixing with the milky contents of what he had seen in the picture to be very lovely breasts. Yet, despite the ugliness of the carnage, the body of the woman was very attractive to him -- thin but shapely. Aziz hoped that his followers had remembered to leave the face and head untouched. Why weren't they saying anything? Aziz crouched down close the fresh corpse; he reached forward with his left hand to move the mass of tangled, dark hair that covered the face; at once, she reminded him of Justine.

"Aiyeeee! Nooooooo!" Jamal screamed with shock and then rage as he pulled away the hair from the face of the woman only to discover Justine's dead, beautiful eyes staring emptily upwards unto his. So tortured was her death that the expression on her face seemed frozen between a scream and laughing grimace, her teeth showing from behind curled lips, blood still bubbling out of either corner of her mouth. "Who did this!?!?" Aziz was insane as he grabbed the man closest to him, looking for an answer to his terrifying question; Jamal shook man after man by their shoulders in turn; his burning, screaming eyes searched for the telltale sign of fear that would betray the destroyers of his woman. "Who?!?!" Khalid and 3 other men avoided his eyes. Aziz knew.

"Khalid," Aziz composed himself, queerly suppressing the rage exploding within him as he motioned for his old comrade Khalid to draw near. "Who did this to my beautiful woman? Didn't anyone see it wasn't the American whore?" Jamal seemed to ask almost matter-of-factly, his eyes glittering in insane emotion. Khalid smiled feebly and started stammering about something. "It wasn't... The light... It was impossible... We thought..." Khalid stumbled for a plausible combination. Aziz pushed the idiot backwards very roughly, drew his own pistol and neatly fired one shot through the forehead of his old friend; 3 more shots similarly aimed at the other 3 men who had avoided his gaze and stayed silent found their mark, as well. "You have caused a great loss and a great embarrassment to me, you old fool." Aziz icily remarked to Khalid's body as it slowly slid down against the wall, lifeless; the other 3 lay in widening puddles of blood where they had stood a moment before -- witness to Aziz's terrible temper and perverse sense of justice. He was now past the point of insanity; his only desire was to torture the American, Tracy Parker, to death very slowly; to inflict unholy pain; to make her pay not only for the loss of Justine, but more importantly, the humiliation he now felt in front of his followers that was caused by this blunder. A woman could be had anytime. But, respect? It was a limited commodity.

"Traceeeee Parker!" Jamal screamed at the top of his lungs his voice seeming to echo into every dark, wet nook and cranny of the underground complex. He and a few of the terrorists ran into the swimming pool area. There was no sign of the sweet SOU. "Traceeeee Parker!" Aziz screamed again. "Come here! I will kill you very slowly now! You will die! Die!" Aziz wanted Tracy now; his uncontrollable rage had made him very hard; his desire to cause the young American great suffering was more compelling than any moment of lust he had felt with Justine. He pulled off his shirt revealing the muscularity of his chest, sweaty and glistening, grabbed an AK-47 from one of his terrorists and strode quickly out and away from the swimming pool.

Tracy didn't hear a word. She was approaching the other side of the narrow underwater passage -- a side that opened again in the room containing the bomb -- Aziz's atomic bomb. The passage went from light to dark and back to light indicating the nearing of the end, the pool in the bomb room. Tracy's mind quickly computed lines of attack and the probability and use of doors strong enough to hold off Aziz's terrorists long enough for her to get the 1st job done. Quietly, her head rose above the surface of the water; in her ears, the volume of the electric bells suddenly and painfully increased adding to the electric tension of the situation.

The hot and humid room was not brightly lit, but was light enough in which to read. The pool was on the far side of the 20' X 20' room and shadowed by a rocky overhang; from above, a constant rain of warm water cascaded noisily into the pool, probably from run-off from the surface or one of the many hot springs throughout the underground compound. Any more exposed, and Aziz's followers would have been able to detect Tracy's exit from the water and crouching approach. Any sound she had made was covered by the clanging of the electric alarm bell and the splashing water in the pool. She was no longer pondering, thinking, or feeling. Her training had now overridden everything -- calling on the programming and conditioning of the last 2 years of her life. In its emotionless menu of probabilities and solutions, there was little room for failure. Only completing the mission mattered. The American beauty could not and would not recognize the small, screaming human voice in her mind pleading "Get out! Save yourself! You're going to die!" Her heart was pounding, every nerve raw. Events now seemed to come as in a series of sharply focused still photos -- to be examined, noted, and then acted upon.

Tracy, rinsed clean by the water, hid in quietly dripping, naked beauty in a deep shadow. Slowly and silently, she pulled her pistol out of the holster and examined the entrances to the room. Metal bulkhead doors were open on one end of the room leading back towards the commotion in the main passage; another was closed. That door lead to the utility corridor and back towards the power room from which Tracy had made her original entry. She considered the number of bodies that would have to be taken out before she could quickly close and bar both entrances. 5 stood at guard; 3 men, all dark and wearing well-worn tank tops -- obviously Middle Eastern, probably Palestinian, stood in front of a coffin sized crate; 2 women stood with them. One was a pale brunette, thin and flat chested but pretty. She wore a halter top, very short and tight demin cutoffs, and was barefoot; the other, a dirty blond, was taller with large soft breasts barely contained by a similar halter top, Bermuda shorts, and dirty sneakers. Both looked European. All were armed with AK-47s. Tracy drew a breath and aimed.

"Punt-Punt," Tracy's pistol kicked quietly in her hands. The thin woman and a male jerked as a bullet each hit the backs of their heads. "Punt-Punt-Punt," 3 more bullets left the chamber for her pistol the moment the others' attention were drawn away from Tracy as the other 2 started to fall. Tracy put one shot through the lower left breast of the dirty blond, a shot through the throat of another man, and a shot through back of the 3rd. The 3rd man was able to turn and look at Tracy as she fired 2 more rounds into his head; the top of his skull popping off as the pressure of her hollow-point bullets released inside. He fell like a marionette with cut strings. Tracy moved quickly out of the shadows and to the open door to the passage. Sliding it shut, she threw a large lever and secured it. Running, now back to the utility entrance, Tracy did the same. The room was now sealed from outside interference. She looked around.

Tracy's body was pouring with sweat. Inside this room, the air was a very humid 100 degrees. Tracy wiped her face and brushed back her wet hair. Putting down her pistol on a chair, she noted the bodies lying in various positions around her. The thin woman had fallen backwards, draping a fallen chair; her broken skull bled from the ears, nostrils and open mouth, eyes half-closed. The other woman was about 10 ft. away. As the bullet hit her in the heart, she must have had time left in her life to drop her gun, rip open her halter, revealing the soft roundness of her large breasts, the left one already bluing from the small hole in it and the massive internal damage caused after the bullet entered; the left nipple appeared swollen and purple, the right was soft and small. The other 3 men were lying in various twisted positions. Puddles of blood formed around each of the bodies; in some cases, the blood mixed with urine from suddenly relaxed bladders. They were all dead. Tracy noted the sights without commentary and moved towards the crate they had once protected.

Jamal stopped short. "Why is this door closed?" Aziz demanded. The unfortunate follower shrugged his shoulders and shook his head panickedly. "Open it!" Aziz ordered as several of the terrorists tried to push and then pull the heavy metal door open. Instantly, Aziz knew that Tracy Parker, now the object his malignant and fantastic sexual desire and depraved masochistic pleasure, his living symbol of shame, was barricaded inside.

Tracy looked up at the door leading to the main passage way; fists pounded on it; it was being kicked and shoved. "It'll hold for long enough," Tracy said to herself stifling any natural tendency towards fear as she opened the crate. Inside was a large metal box. Painted in a military olive drab, it was clearly some form of ordinance. Tracy undid the fasteners that sealed it and lifted the cover. Inside was a medium sized bomb. A marvel of late Soviet technological achievement, it was a small nuclear bomb meant to be dropped from unsophisticated aircraft pylons in regional conflict. It was clearly marked as a nuclear device. "So, there you are," Tracy said under her breath as she carefully hefted the dangerous package and lifted it out of its cradle.

Placing it on a work table next to her, the naked SOU became an engineer, knowingly unscrewing the cap from the small 20 lb. warhead and cautiously placing it on the floor near the table. Loud banging and thumping on the doors continued. Time was flying by. Returning, Tracy regarded the collection of circuit boards that were packed into the body of the atomic device. This step required concentration and patience; it also required time to follow the wiring and circuitry. Perspiration was running into her eyes. She wiped her face and shook her head to try without success to remove extra moisture from her head. Her hands were wet from the perspiration and the swim. A full 10 minutes passed before she was able to remove enough components safely to uncover the primary trigger mechanism. Blowing on her fingers, she reached in and tried to pull a single 1" X 3" wafer covered by small memory chips. Suddenly, from the opposite door leading to the power room, Tracy realized there were hard scratching and banging noises. She was startled. "I'm trapped," as she understood both doors were under attack from Aziz's men. Her fingers stopped moving as she looked around. Inside the room there was little cover: some chairs, a large table, a transistor radio, some tools, the bomb and the pool. Large vents were positioned on either side of the room, high on the walls. How to get out alive? Tracy's mind was beginning to race; her body began to grow hotter. If not for her powers of concentration, she would now be falling into a state of debilitating panic.