Absolute force, p.14
Absolute Force, page 14
“Well, I wouldn’t say that. But I’m awake, and since that’s the new standard for working, I’m working. And do you know why you love me?”
“You’re an excellent kisser?”
“You wish you knew how good of a kisser I was. But no, you love me because I can track Hadad. I went ahead and traced the electronic device he’s carrying. I’ll tell you exactly where to go and what to do. You have to just listen to mama, and everything will be okay.”
Jake laughed. “Wow. You’re on some good drugs, aren’t you?”
“Oh God, it’s wonderful. I’ll share some with you when you get back.”
“Sounds good. In the meantime, if he’s still carrying an electronic device, I’d like to confiscate it before he uses it to blow up more of Jerusalem.”
“Sounds good. Proceed forward for two hundred yards, then take your first left down the alley.”
“On my way.”
“Jake?”
“Yes?”
“When you get back. Not if. Got it?”
He smiled again. “I got it.”
“Good. Now go kill that son of a bitch.”
“That’s the plan.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jake pursued Hadad through the alleyways of Jerusalem for ten minutes before the terrorist emerged onto a crowded boulevard on the other side of the Wall. Incredibly, he continued back toward the wall. His detonator probably had limited range.
Dammit, they needed to stop him soon. If he reached the detonator’s range before Jake could stop him, then he would destroy more of the wall and kill who knows how many people.
He reached up to tap his earpiece and order his team to start evacuating the civilians, but there were too many. Even a massive, organized response would take at least a half hour to accomplish. He didn’t have that time.
Instead, he tapped his earpiece. “Zohan. He’s on the other side of the wall. Can you get to us?”
Zohan swore. “Not quickly. Dammit, we’re at least ten minutes from you.”
Jake looked back at Hadad to see him reach into his pocket. Too late.
“Get here as soon as you can,” he said.
Then he rushed forward. Hadad pulled a box similar to the first detonator from his hand. He began to move his thumb over the first of the two switches.
And Jake tackled him to the ground.
The crowd around them was thicker than the first crowd. Only a few people noticed the fight and since both men were in civilian-looking attire—Jake wore body armor, but the coat and pants he wore were a drab brown and not camo or “federal black”—the only reaction anyone gave was an irritable remark and a few laughs.
Hadad got to his feet and rushed away from the wall toward the alley he had just left. Jake rushed forward, grunting through the worsening pain and tingling in his body.
He caught Hadad just as the man reached the alley, shoving him to the ground again. He jumped on top of Hadad just in time to land on Hadad’s upraised knee. The blow hit Jake in the liver, and his body shivered as pain worse than anything he’d felt since St. Clair stabbed him rushed through his body. He staggered and only barely dodged the blow Hadad threw at his head. He didn’t dodge the foot Hadad stuck out though, tripping and staggering backward, giving Hadad time to get to his feet.
As the fight wore on, Jake kept waiting for instinct to take over.
There was always a point in hand-to-hand combat when he could stop thinking and just act. In most cases, hand-to-hand combat really meant knife combat. Short, brutal and effective. Jake had been trained more extensively in unarmed combat than most Marines, but it was never a priority. Almost no jarheads progressed past basic unarmed combat abilities. Absent specialized combat requirements, there was no need. That meant what they learned was simple, basic, and boring. If a Marine fought empty-handed, he was doing it wrong.
Jake had done a great deal more than that because of his regular forays into special forces work outside of the marines and his training with the Secret Service had further enhanced his skill set, but even in the Secret Service, Jake’s training almost always involved a weapon of some sort.
Jake tried to reach for his combat knife, but doing so left his left side open. Hadad landed another blow to Jake’s vulnerable midsection, and Jake cried out and collapsed to the ground. He was able to draw his knife, but Hadad quickly stomped on his hand and forced him to release the blade. He kicked it away and lifted his boot to stomp on Jake.
Jake burst upwards, driving one fist in between Hadad’s legs. The man’s eyes popped open, and he released a thin wail like a tea kettle just about to boil. Jake landed two quick blows, one to Hadad’s liver and another to his jaw. The man dropped to the ground, but when Jake jumped on top of him and reached for the detonator, Hadad grabbed Jake’s wrist and switched his hips, rolling him onto his back with Hadad on top.
The weight on Jake’s midsection was staggeringly painful. More importantly, it didn’t feel to him like he could get his head wrapped around the situation enough to take definitive action. The instinct he hoped for wasn’t coming to him. He realized grimly that despite his extensive combat experience, he wasn’t used to fighting hurt. He couldn’t find the rhythm he typically could because his body wasn’t used to operating under this kind of pain.
How fucking ironic would it be if I died here? The only Marine on Earth to be beaten by pain.
There was an old proverb used by Marine Corps drill instructors that said, “Pain is weakness leaving the body.” Jake sincerely hoped that was true because if it was, he’d leave this engagement looking like a powerlifter.
He could hear civilians. There was laughter and conversation. There was joy. There was some grief and anger sprinkled throughout too from mourners who came to weep over the devastation of the last attack.
But there was no fear. The civilians remained completely oblivious to the fight happening in close proximity. They remained completely unaware of the stakes of the battle as well.
Jess’s voice came over his earpiece. “Jake, don’t overthink this. This is what you were trained to do. Just pretend this man is trying to assassinate the President. Actually, you don’t have to pretend. He’s tried three times already. Protect the President.”
Jess’s exhortation broke through the pain-induced fog in Jake’s brain. Instinct took over finally. He bucked his knee up, trapped Hadad’s elbow and ankle and rolled over. When he was on top of Hadad, he drove his fist into the man’s face once, twice, three times.
With the third blow, Hadad’s eyes rolled back in his head. Jake steadied himself and reached for the detonator again, but Hadad came to before Jake could take it from him. With a cry, he kicked Jake off of him.
Jake rolled to his feet, but the impact with the ground caused his teeth to chatter. The pins and needles in his body were more like spikes and drillbits now. He must have suffered nerve damage, either a lingering effect of the virus or caused by his several combat actions since Hadad’s first attack on the President.
Hadad reached his feet the same time Jake did. He threw a haymaker, and Jake ducked to avoid it before launching himself forward at an angle. His shoulder impacted Hadad's solar plexus. Hadad's breath rushed from his body. That felt satisfying. Now you know how it feels.
Hadad staggered backwards, gasping for breath, but Jake didn’t come away from the confrontation unscathed. A wave of nausea coursed through him, and any advantage Jake might have gained from ramming against Hadad.
He backed away, swinging wildly. That was pathetic, even for someone with limited hand-to-hand experience, but if he could at least keep Hadad away while he recovered, it would be worth it.
He felt pleasantly surprised that his fist struck Hadad's jaw. Unfortunately, it was only a glancing blow, and there wasn't much strength behind it. It irritated Hadad more than anything else. Hadad lashed out and landed a glancing blow against the side of Jake's head. Both men slowed. Hadad took a step back to collect himself, and Jake stepped back in the opposite direction.
What the hell? Is Bard offering combat classes to Trident friends and family?
The unpleasant thought occurred to him that Drew actually could train people in combat. Where was Drew? He had been around during the attacks in Washington, D.C. and Paris, but he hadn’t shown any sign of himself so far.
He didn’t get to speculate long on that though. A left hook from Hadad spun him around, and he had to focus on not going unconscious and firing back a right uppercut of his own. The uppercut hit Hadad, and the terrorist staggered backward, but either the pain in Jake’s midsection had stolen his punching power or Hadad had a legendary chin.
Where’s George Foreman when you need him? Jake thought.
It didn't make a lot of sense to him that the fight felt like one of those boxing movies. The end of the main event fight always worked the same way. The main character was tired. The opponent was tired. Some other character made a comment about the fight. It was down to who wanted it more. In those movies, it always came down to that.
Jake definitely felt tired. It seemed to him the only thing keeping him on his feet was determination. Maybe he really did just need to want it more.
Hadad appeared to be in similar or even worse shape. Jake mustered his strength and launched himself forward again. He jabbed twice toward Hadad’s face. The man dodged wildly. It gave Jake an opening to land a very hard blow to Hadad’s abdomen. He grunted as the air left him again. Jake felt another rush of satisfaction seeing Hadad’s hands move to cover his injured stomach.
He followed up with a second blow to Hadad’s jaw. He wasn’t fighting on instinct anymore, but he was winning. That’s all that mattered.
Hadad managed to land a wild blow to Jake’s face. It staggered him, but it didn’t matter. The battle was over or would be soon. Hadad had used up all the energy he had. Jake would likely have to spend some time recuperating after this fight, but he had enough energy to finish it.
He moved forward. Hadad performed a weakly executed kick at his legs. Jake easily stepped out of the way and landed two jabs to the terrorist’s face. He landed a third as Hadad backed up, a stunned look on his face.
Then, as though just remembering he still had it, he reached for the detonator.
Jake lunged forward.
Tried to lunge forward. A wave of dizziness hit him. His vision grew blurry, and as he staggered backwards, his eyes fell. His shirt was soaked in blood. He realized dimly that he’d torn open the still-fresh scar from the knife wound he’d suffered in Paris.
He cursed, squeezed his eyes shut, and opened them again. He knew he’d pay for pushing through this, but the detonator took away any other choice.
Jess had said when, not if, he came back. For the second time in his life, Jake was sure he would have to break that promise.
Hadad flipped one switch. He reached for the other, and with a primal yell, Jake yanked the detonator from Hadad’s hand, threw it on the ground and stomped on it.
If he had taken the time to think of that action, he wouldn’t have done it. Many detonators had a failsafe that would trigger the bomb if the detonator was damaged.
Hadad’s didn’t. He stared in utter disbelief at the broken pile of wire and plastic. Then he looked up at Jake. “You asshole!”
Jake laughed. Maybe it was blood loss. Maybe it was pain. Maybe it was just the utter absurdity of Hadad’s claim. “Oh yeah,” he said, “I’m the asshole.”
Hadad stepped forward. Then, for some reason Jake couldn’t figure out, his eyes widened. Instead of finishing Jake off, he turned and ran.
Jake took a step forward and immediately fell to his knees. He felt strong arms around him and opened his mouth to say something.
But darkness took him first.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Hospitals were the same everywhere. Jake didn’t imagine that his thinking was particularly clever. For that matter, he didn’t think his thinking was particularly clear. The blood loss affected him, and whatever medicine they had given him probably rivaled the painkillers that had Jess flying high at that very moment.
Or maybe not at that very moment. He had no idea how long he’d been here. The sense that his life hung in the balance seemed strong. He experienced too much clarity, though. If he knew his thinking was muddled, it wasn’t really muddled, right?
“You just concentrate on getting well, Jake,” Sheila said. He turned his head and saw her. He smiled as a rush of joy too powerful for any pain to drive away filled him. “Sheila,” he whispered.
She smiled, and the love in her eyes made his painkillers utterly unnecessary. “Yes, baby. I’m here.”
There wasn’t worry on her face. There was sympathy. That meant his life didn’t hang in the balance.
Wait a minute. He’d just arrived at the hospital. She wasn’t allowed in the ambulance, was she? When has she arrived? Why was she here? How long had he been here?
He tried to sit up, but she put a hand on his shoulder. “Wait,” she said, “let me help you.”
She took hold of a remote attached to a thick, coiled cord. A moment later, he felt the top half of the bed angle upward. It lifted his torso to a reclining but no longer prone position. She handed him the remote. "Green arrow up does this," she said. "Yellow arrow down puts it back. The blue button turns on the television. The circle is channels. The triangle is volume. The little speaker button calls the nurse.
“How long?”
“About four hours.”
He didn’t speak. He’d slipped in and of consciousness. He thought he’d only been in the hospital for fifteen or twenty minutes. That was better than the two weeks he’d gone out in Paris, at least.”
“And what about…”
“Hush,” she said. Just in case he didn’t intend to obey, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. “You just hush. Jess is working on things in Washington, D.C. Let her work.”
“What about Jerusalem? Is everyone—”
“Everyone’s safe. They found the bomb. It’s some sort of advanced plastic explosive, but it’s got nothing inside of it that can cause it to detonate anymore. It’s completely inert. You stopped him.”
He hadn’t stopped Hadad. It was good to hear that he had temporarily foiled him, but as long as the man was at large, he hadn’t stopped him. “Did they catch him?”
“Not yet.” Her voice took on a touch of sternness. “No more work, Jake. You need to rest.”
“But…”
She kissed him again to cut him off. There was a great deal of passion in her kiss, and he wished desperately that he were in any condition to do something about that passion.
She pulled her mouth away. “Hush. Jess can handle what needs to be handled right now.”
“Okay,” he said glumly.
Sheila smiled. “And now that you’re awake, she’s allowed to call you in an hour or so. I promised her I’d let her know. So, you won’t be left out of the loop, but you’re not getting up, and you’re not leaving the hospital. You have to let somebody else save the world for a while, okay?”
“All right.”
He said the words, but he knew there was nothing that would keep him from getting back into the fray if he had to. He knew Sheila knew that as well. She didn’t call him out on it, though. Maybe she thought she could outsmart him and keep him here.
She said, “I’ll call Jess, and then I promised to go call Dad. As for you, you don’t have to be the one who saves the world. Not every time. Sit this one out for a while. You’ve done your part. Trust that other people are as capable of doing their jobs as you are of doing yours.”
He didn’t respond. He didn’t want to make another promise they both knew he wouldn’t keep.
“There are Mossad agents outside of this room with strict instructions to keep you here if you try to leave,” she said.
So he was right. She thought she had outsmarted him. Hell, maybe she had. If he couldn’t handle a two-bit arms dealer in a fight, he had less than zero chance against two trained Mossad agents. Hell, even if he was in top form, he probably didn’t stand a chance. Mossad was one of the few agencies on Earth that actually did prioritize hand to hand unarmed combat in their training.
She leaned forward and kissed him softly again. She stood and surprised him, reaching into her pocket and pulling out his phone. She set it on the tray that held a pitcher of water and a plastic cup. “In case you decide to shock the world by not listening to me, you can involve yourself over the phone. But you don’t leave this bed.” She pushed the tray a little forward. “Green arrow up. Yellow arrow down.” Then, after one last kiss, she left.
He stared in wonder after her. He looked at the remote device, but he didn't turn the television on. He considered it so he could potentially glean information from the local news, but before he could, his phone rang. Jess. He answered and she said, "You sound horrible."
“Thanks.”
It’s been an hour and a half. I wanted you to rest.”
“An hour and a half?”
“Since Sheila called me.”
He smiled. Sheila had called Jess even before he woke up. She knew he would want to dive right into the problem the moment he was awake.
Dammit, he loved that girl.
“What do you have for me?”
“Art is busy with damage control,” she said. “The fact that Dalton made it into headquarters and all the way to my office unopposed revealed at best very poor security and at worst, the possibility that there are more insiders helping him.”
That, unfortunately, made sense. “So he’s combing through the ranks to find a traitor.”
“Or traitors. I put a trace on everyone’s phones and emails—personal and Service—and I have my friend at the NSA working on everyone’s communications for the past year.”
“Good job,” he said softly.
“That’s it. You need to rest.”
“No. I’m good. Are you good? You were hurt too.”
