Chapter 15

In the initial confusion and melee, it had taken Jamal Aziz and his terrorists over 20 minutes to realize that the doors to the room containing his bomb were locked. It had taken an additional 20 minutes before some of Aziz's men could crawl into the air vents on either side of the room to investigate what was going on inside. Now, after a 10 minute firefight with the unseen intruder, his followers had lost 7 more companions. Accurate automatic fire from underneath the protective overhang of the room's pool continued to prohibit more aggressive efforts to remove the grates over the room's vents and any attempt at entry through them.

Aziz paced impatiently in front of the main door to the room. Alternating between encouragement and ugly threats and curses, he was amazed at how badly he had been surprised. The incomplete information from the Minton woman not withstanding, Aziz had assigned 15 of his followers in various positions around the island; 2 more were posted in the grotto where McKeeson had been ambushed. There were no more entries into the complex of which he knew. Of course, Aziz refused to accept his fallibility; there was nothing wrong with his plans. It was equally obvious to him that his followers had somehow failed. He was totally ignorant of the way the various pools in his complex were interconnected. "She is trapped," he notified his struggling terrorists as they tried for the last time to open the main door. "Prepare a charge." Aziz was taking a chance. If the explosives were too strong, he might damage the bomb in the middle of the room; too little and the effort would be wasted. But, he needed to get in; and there was no chance that the intruder could get out. "I'll see the American suffer," he gloated in his mind, fantasizing about the tortures he'd inflict on Tracy.

Tracy was nearly delirious from the effects of the drug and the intensity of her life and death predicament. Part of her wanted to bolt in panic; but there was no where to go. In her mind, the pain caused by the foreign object thrust into her body, blending with the nervous excitement caused by the drug, inexplicably resulted in her remaining alert and able to analyze the rapidly changing tactical situation. It was obvious that Aziz didn't know how the pools in the complex were interconnected; otherwise, he would have ordered someone to try that entry, as well. All told, Tracy figured that she'd taken out 16 of his followers. That left 34 or so. Some would remain in their positions around the island; they'd have to. Tactically, there could be more SOUs on the way, Aziz had to figure.

To move them from their positions would leave him potentially exposed to outside attack. There were 15 terrorists imaged by the SD-5 manning those positions. The number against her had dwindled to 19. Those 19 distributed against her on the front door, on the back door and in the vents meant, maybe, 4 or 5 per position. The other rooms were clear. As long as they didn't rush her at once, this meant that she had a chance. Tracy balanced the options against her drug-influenced abilities. "Let 'em come up the middle," she said to herself. "We'll get these odds down a little, then." Just then, the front door blew off. 3 of Aziz's men rushed in firing in fully automatic mode, spraying everything -- the bodies of their fallen comrades, the crate, the metal case of the bomb, the walls, and the table. The little transistor radio disintegrated in the volley of bullets. Tracy crouched down low, the hot water pouring freely over her tingling, naked body. As the first rounds stopped, she quickly peered over the lip of her cover to see 6 terrorists standing in various ready positions at the main entrance. "Stupid," Tracy told herself. "They're all in the open." Tracy swiftly lifted the barrel of her submachine gun over the lip and sprayed a silencer masked shower of bullets over and around the stunned terrorists. All 6 jerked and jumped as the bullets found their marks; including, unknown to Tracy, a very surprised Jamal Aziz.

Aziz had followed in behind the first 3 men into the room. Hearing the rapid gunfire halt gave him his cue to step in and review the damage; 2 others followed him. Jamal looked up at the grates. Wide enough for only 2 persons to crouch side by side, the covers over the vents had been secured against entry. It was taking time to remove them. Tracy's returning fire againsttheir positions had taken a toll; there were only 3 terrorists left in each of the vents. As Aziz surveyed the jumble in the room -- the bodies, the debris, the blood -- he suddenly heard a muffled, rapid puffing from the vicinity of the pool. Almost immediately, he felt the fiery daggers of 2 bullets hit him in the left arm and glance off his left rib cage; reflexively, he spun away in the opposite direction of the force of the impacting bullets. His eyes clouded and he fell outside the door, stunned and dizzy. As he fell he saw the other terrorists -- 4 men and 1 woman -- jerking violently; the bullets from Tracy's gun injuring them far more seriously.

The followers in the vents tried to return fire on Tracy's position. She crouched down low again as their many bullets tore all around her. At the first lull, she rose above the cover of the pool's edge and discharged a long and steady stream of fire towards the vent to the right. The sparking and ricocheting bullets silenced the ones in front and injured the one farther back and behind. Tracy noted with satisfaction as the now silent vent on the right side started to drip with someone's blood. Turning over on her back, she pulled out her clip to count the number of rounds left. It was empty. She threw it away and inserted her 2nd and final clip, pulled the bolt, and turned back over. Bullets flew from the vent on the left. Tracy peered over the pool's edge and noted the flashes from that position and made sure the bodies in the main entrance weren't moving. From the other door, she could still hear concentrated efforts to open it. "If it'll hold a few more minutes, I've got a chance," Tracy told herself. Suddenly, the odds were getting better for her.

Tracy ducked just in time as a volley of rounds from the left vent struck over her head. She waited for a pause and in a split second rose up and fired a long burst at the vent on the left. She heard an anguished scream as one of her bullets found its target. The solitary gunner in that position stopped firing; the sound of retreating scuffling in the vent was clearly heard. Tracy crawled quickly out from under the overhang and crouching low moved rapidly towards the main entrance of the room. Pulling herself close and pressing her bare back against the warm wall, she stopped long enough to get her bearings. Tracy's body was glistening wet; every muscle was highlighted and defined. Her breasts were full and magnificent; her face seemed to radiate beauty and determination. The adrenaline in her system blocked out any sensations at all; the SIMM, so violently inserted into her body wasn't noticed; unknown to her, the implant still functioned. Tracy's chest heaved from the violent exertions; her throat was dry; her eyes burning with the insane desire to live. She waited for a counter attack from the main passage. Behind her, the door to the power room stubbornly refused to open.

In the wet dark of the shadows in the passage outside of the dorms and hidden by the unceasing din of the electric alarm, a small moan went unnoticed. Leta regained painful consciousness; her body feverish and her breathing difficult and painful. She thought she had seen her father. He was standing outside of his car as a group of bearded men rushed up and enveloped him in a mass of raised fists and sticks. She thought she saw his eyes again as they stared at her in pain and pleading only to disappear again behind the angry crowd. She was sure she had seen her mother rush out from the passenger side of the car and into the confused mass of bodies. She was beautiful, Arabic, with dark hair and eyes and a small, shapely body. Leta imagined that she saw all of this as her head pounded and waves of sickness and fever swept through her injured body. Now, more awake, she tried to move. The punctured right lung burned inside of her; she was drawing breaths in thin, hesitant gulps. Her nose bled. As her hands worked up her body, Leta instinctively pressed her left hand over her abdomen; it felt bruised and sticky. Very slowly, she got to her feet.

Tracy peered from around the other side of the doorway. The alarms still rang; but the passage was empty. She did not notice that only 5 bodies were in the threshold; the 6th had vanished. Tracy looked to her right; all clear. Around the corner to the left, the dark passage curved out of sight and towards the stairs leading to the surface, the cove and rescue. "Maybe I was wrong after all, Suzy-Q," Tracy told herself. She slipped out and to the left staying close to the wall. Tracy did not notice that the path was already laid out ahead by a trail of freshly spilled blood.

As Leta struggled to her knees, she noticed the figure of a staggering but quickly moving man reach the foot of the stairs. She was having trouble getting to her feet. The loss of blood plus the shock of having been shot twice was more than anyone, let alone a 16 year old girl, could bear. Still, incredibly, she somehow managed to prop herself against the wet wall in the dark; her mind projecting the pleading look of her father's eyes ahead of her. She coughed a bloody cough; her nose was still bleeding freely. Over her right breast, a black and blue entry wound bled a small trickle; her halter top wet from perspiration and blood. She looked up and saw the figure of an armed and naked woman reach the foot of the stairs. Leta staggered forward.

Tracy looked up at the flight of stairs. She started up 2 steps at a time. Ahead, the electric lights of Aziz's warehouse grew brighter. She reached the landing and crouched down behind the cage door separating her from the few remaining stairs and the surface. Tracy was panting; sweat dripped in profusion from her body; her feet were slippery from blood and sweat; her joints ached and her heart pounded rapidly, painfully from the exertion and stress. Preoccupied with the next step of going through the cage door, she didn't notice the small wheezing noise approaching her from below on the steps.

Leta pulled out her holstered pistol. A Russian 7.62mm, it was small and light; perfect for a girl, Aziz had told her. Now in her unsteady right hand, the safety off of the first time, Leta pictured the dead eyes of her father and mother -- beaten to death by the mob of angry men in front of her. And from inside her young heart, compounded by the physical pain caused by the naked woman above and in front of her, a burning hatred burst into flame. She quietly aimed at the crouched figure ahead of her.

As she squeezed the trigger, she observed the way the fair-skinned and naked woman panted, the very beautiful shape of her back and buttocks, the way the bones in her neck disappeared into a small valley down the middle of her back. She was wearing a belt with a holster; wrapped around the naked woman's waist was a thin strip of tape, and her hair was dark and in a pony-tail.

"Just get to the surface, Trace," Tracy told herself as she prepared to open the cage door and move to the warehouse. "Aziz's men are still downstairs; it'll be pretty clear until you get outside." Tracy reached for the latch.