7
The feel of the stock of the AK-47 against his cheek felt good. Something about the solid feel of a Kalashnikov made it obvious why this was the most popular assault rifle in the world. The weapon felt like what it was: reliable.
Jack Gregory thumbed the infrared laser power on and peered out through the scope, which made the targeting dot visible. This was a sniper modification he had added to the rifle to fit this particular purpose, one that he had zeroed in exactly four hours before.
Jack had hand-loaded a hundred rounds of ammunition using the press and loading die he had found in Priest's basement. He always loaded his own ammunition if given the opportunity. A bullet's trajectory brings it out of the barrel of a rifle up through the sight line, continuing to rise several inches for the next hundred-plus meters. Then the round begins to drop, passing back down through the line of sight before running out of energy. Only by loading the exact measure of gunpowder into each round and by using the same weight and shape of slug can a shooter know precisely where the round will hit.
Priest had never bothered with such details. Jack did.
A three-burst crackle of static on the small radio at his side let him know that the truck had just rolled past Bronson's position and was rounding the curve that would shortly bring it into Jack's sight line. Jack had picked this spot so that the first shot would take the driver while the truck was still on the curve, causing it to veer off the road at that point. That would force the man riding shotgun to reach for the wheel, exposing him for the second shot.
As the twin high beams of the refrigerated truck swept around the bend, the driver's face swam into view, illuminated in the infrared scope by the lights from the truck dashboard. The laser dot steadied on the driver's mouth. At this range, the bullet would strike an inch above the dot. Jack's gloved finger squeezed the trigger smoothly, his shoulder kicking back with the recoil as the sound of the weapon split the night air like thunder.
The truck swerved and then straightened as the other man in the truck grabbed the steering wheel. Jack let the natural resistance of his body rock him forward again as smoothly as if he were on springs, his aim-point steadying as his finger squeezed off the second round.
The sound of screeching metal mingling with the echoes of the second gunshot as the truck veered off the road and plowed into the rocks and trees on the far side. The trailer jackknifed past the truck cab, twisting and flipping over as it came to a sudden halt.
Jack was already halfway across the highway by the time the trailer rocked to a stop. A quick glance to his left revealed Janet lying prone a few feet off the road, her rifle leveled and ready to provide covering fire.
Jack reached the far side of the highway and plunged down the slight embankment. The cab of the truck had sandwiched itself around the thick trunk of a pine tree, the lower branches of which were illuminated by a headlight that had somehow survived the impact, although it now pointed skyward. A strong scent of diesel hung in the air.
Jumping up on what was left of the driver's-side running board, Jack tugged at the door, which yielded reluctantly to his second effort. The inside of the cab was a ruin of shattered glass, crumpled metal, and blood. The driver's head was wedged between the spokes of the steering wheel, a large chunk of the rear and top of the skull blown away by the exiting bullet.
Jack cut the seat belt strap and heaved the body out of the cab and onto the ground below. As Jack climbed farther inside so that he could cut the seat belt off the guard, the man's head turned, revealing a perfectly round hole just above the junction of the man's eyebrows. The eyes fluttered open.
Jack cut the strap, grabbed the guard's shoulders, and pulled hard, sliding the body across the wrecked cab and out to fall beside the body of the driver. Jack jumped down, landing just beyond the two men.
If he hadn't already watched the miraculous healing powers displayed by the nanites that had infested Priest Williams’ blood, the sight of the bodies of two men who should already be very dead trying to repair themselves would have shocked him to his core. Already, the wound at the back of the driver's skull had begun to knit itself closed although the damage was so severe that the operation would take some time, assuming the nanites could overcome the loss of brain tissue.
But the slug that had passed through the head of the guard had not created such a large exit wound. The man was beginning to show signs of recovered voluntary movement; his eyes followed every motion as Jack bent down, grabbed the driver's body, and turned it over so that it knelt, face to the ground, toward the west.
Jack repeated the process, positioning the guard's body next to that of the driver. Then, he drew the long, curved Saracen Sword from the sash that bound it to his waist and prodded the sharp point into the small of the guard's back. The body arched involuntarily, trying to move away from the poking blade, and as it did, the fellow's neck rose, raising his head with it.
In a motion so swift that the eye could barely follow, Jack brought the Arabic weapon around in an arc that swept the guard's head from his shoulders. The head rolled across the ground, chased by a large arterial spray of blood as the body collapsed forward once more.
Jack moved to the driver, once again prodding hard into the man's back with the tip of the sword. However, this time the body failed to respond. Apparently, even nanites had their healing limitations, at least within the amount of time he had allowed them. Jack repositioned the driver slightly so that he could place a foot on his back. Then, grabbing a handful of hair, Jack simultaneously lifted and chopped. It took three short strokes with the sword before the head came free.
When a person is beheaded, blood does not gush or flow; it spurts forth, powered by the rapidly dying pump of the heart. And it is not brain or nerve death that kills the heart. It is the lack of sufficient fluid to fill the chambers.
Jack had been eight years old when he had seen his first man beheaded. It had been in the central square of Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, a place euphemistically known by the foreigners in the Saudi capital as Chop-Chop Square. Jack had watched as the man had been forced to kneel so that he leaned over the chopping block.
At the last instant, a second Saudi had jabbed the kneeling man in the back with the tip of a knife, the involuntary reaction automatic. The man arched away from the knifepoint, the movement extending his neck. And the mighty sword had descended, sending the man's head tumbling into the basket that waited below. The heart of the dead man pumped the life blood from his body in one great pulse, followed by another much weaker jet, before extinguishing itself in a final set of small spasms.
Jack had watched it all from the front row of the gathered crowd, he and his mother guests of honor. The man had been his father.
Draped in the shadows produced by the headlight-illuminated branches above, Jack moved quickly to reposition the bodies in the kneeling position in which he had first placed them. The heads he placed two strides to the west facing back toward their respective body.
Then, retrieving a small plastic baggy from a pouch at his side, Jack extracted a section of fingernail and two hairs.
Hair and nails continued to grow long after a corpse was dead. Jack had taken these particular strands of hair and the accompanying piece of a fingernail from the corpse of Abdul Aziz after pulling the body from Priest's well earlier in the day. They would now serve a higher calling than they would have achieved had they remained attached to their previous owner.
With a quick scratching motion, Jack embedded the fingernail fragment beneath the skin of the driver's right wrist. He then dropped the two hairs onto the man's blood-soaked shirt, letting them attach themselves to the sticky garment.
Done with this portion of the crime scene setup, Jack glanced at his watch. 01:13. The cyan digital numbers winked up at him, as if urging Jack to move faster.
A handful of powerful strides carried him around the jackknifed rig to a spot at the rear of the trailer. It lay on its side, the silver metal warped and twisted, but intact.
As Jack expected, the rear doors were closed and secured with a high-grade lock. Not that it mattered. C4 had a way of dealing with locking mechanisms that was nothing short of spectacular. In this case, Jack used a foot-long strand of det cord, wrapping it through and around the locking mechanism before attaching the detonator.
Unreeling a strand of paired wires, Jack backed around the side of the trailer, securing the wire ends to a small green device with a handle. A quick twist of that handle sent another loud explosion echoing through the night, a sound that would cue Janet to abandon the over-watch position and move back to the helicopter.
The blast had torn open the downside door of the overturned trailer, allowing the refrigerated air to flow out, forming a slow-moving river of condensing fog. Jack switched on his flashlight and stepped inside.
It did not take him long to find what he was looking for. Priest's frozen corpse had been wrapped in a body bag and encased in a thick plastic box. Having been thrown open by the force of the impact, the case had spilled the body onto the overturned equipment that lined the wall of the refrigerated truck, a wall that now formed the floor.
Jack unzipped the bag, scanning the contents with his flashlight just long enough to satisfy himself that it contained the autopsied corpse and severed head of Carlton “Priest” Williams before zipping it closed once more.
Tugging the body bag clear of the wreckage, Jack glanced at his watch. 01:18. Time enough for one last task before departure.
Jack withdrew a needle from his robes as he moved back to where he had positioned the corpse of the driver and the guard. Then, attaching first one Pyrex tube and then a second, Jack extracted a vial of blood from each of the two corpses.
Making one final circuit of the area to ensure he had not overlooked anything, Jack returned the sword to its spot at his waist and tossed the body bag containing Priest's body over his shoulder. By the time he made his way back to retrieve the AK-47 rifle, Jack could hear the helicopter engine winding up on the ridge above the highway.
High above, stars spilled across the moonless night sky, the Milky Way pointing a trail back toward the waiting chopper. With a deep breath, Jack hitched the corpse higher on his shoulder, then moved out, his powerful legs propelling him up the steep slope and into the darkness beyond.