Chapter 1
Crimson droplets splattered on the concrete floor of the warehouse. Coarse ropes bit into her wrists and ankles as she writhed around, reminding her of her helplessness. Any sliver of chance of fleeing this hell was diminishing drastically. Her breathing was rugged and became desperate to fill her lungs with all the oxygen she could muster. Her left eye was swollen shut with the continuous assault on her broken body. The busted lip served as a reminder that the captors were not there to piss around.
Their identities were swallowed by black balaclavas. But one in particular sent a shiver down her spine. He donned a pattern of a skull on his, and he was the most ruthless out of them all.
“Ready to go again, love?”
Fuck me...
15 hours earlier...
The air felt crisp and bitter against his skin. His breath forming clouds of mist as he kept a brisk pace for his morning run. Captain John MacTavish was admiring the sun rise as he jogged along the army base somewhere in the United Kingdom. Always at the service of Her Majesty as a Special Air Service operator, suddenly he found himself at the service of a United States Army general as the commanding officer of Task Force 141.
“Jesus, MacTavish, you’re getting lazy. Pick it up!”
MacTavish rolled his eyes. Last he checked, the chain of command required that his second-in-command would simply shut the hell up and show some respect. Of course, that never happened when it involved his XO. The lieutenant was the bane of his existence, and he made sure to remind him every second of his waking moment.
“Sod off, Ghost,” he replied.
He could feel the lieutenant smirk under that bloody mask that, probably even in his death, you would still not manage to peel it off his face. It was a simple black balaclava with the imprint of a skull on it.
None of the members of the 141 knew the deal behind the mask, just MacTavish. Knowing what Ghost has gone through leading to the constant wearing of the mask, the least he could do was not bother him about it. Everyone had skeletons in their closets and the way they dealt with them was their personal choice as long as it did not involve harm to themselves or others.
After their PT, the soldiers made their way to the showers except for MacTavish and Ghost. Being the CO had its perks, including a personal bathroom adjoining his sleeping quarters.
Boiling water cascaded over his body washing away the suds and sweat. The peace did not last long, as he put an army green t-shirt over his head, a beep was heard coming in on his laptop. The general was waiting from him in the briefing room. He sighed as he checked himself in the mirror one last time: smoothing down his Mohawk, his blue eyes piercing him through his reflection.
He hurried through the corridor, shuffled downstairs, passing by the recreation centre where he could hear his men enjoying breakfast. He could kill for a cup of coffee but there was no time. When the general asked for you, he needed you ready yesterday.
Usually, in a UK base, the buildings would surround a central parade ground, and they would be divided according to administration, finance, armoury, living quarters and so forth. But since the 141 is a spec ops group, they were given a private area to themselves at the very back of the barracks.
It is out-of-bounds for the other soldiers, and you would need special permission to access it. So, the offices were confined in the same block apart from the armoury, ranges, and the medical centre where you would need to travel across an expanse of tarmac.
Officially, it was a NATO base on British soil. Unofficially, it was where Task Force 141 disappeared between missions.
He crossed the block and halted in front of a door labelled ‘Ops Centre’. MacTavish knocked and entered. He paused abruptly, not realising that he was not the only one called for the briefing. Ghost was leaning over the table, and on the other side, another familiar face was staring back at him. Sergeant Gary ‘Roach’ Sanderson, nodded at the captain and turned his attention back to the general. He leaned against the operations table situated in the middle.
“Sir.”
“Captain, thank you for joining us.”
The general was donning the US army service uniform with ‘SHEPHERD’ written on a black tag pinned on his chest and three stars embroidered on the epaulets. His ice-cold blue eyes resting on manila folder in front of him, containing an orange folder. MacTavish shifted uncomfortably; orange was the ‘top secret’ designation for the US army, meaning that the mission was going to be hot.
“Goes without saying,” continued Shepherd, “that anything said in this room, will not leave its walls. Understood?”
They all nodded in acknowledgement and huddled closer to the ops table. On the large screen across the room, information was being shown, and a photo popped up. A man of what looked like of Middle Eastern descent stared back at them. Deep brown eyes, a cleanly trimmed beard, sporting what looked like a suit that cost more than their monthly budget.
“Hadi Al-Jabbar, known armaments supplier to the most prolific terrorists over the globe. Subject is a known terrorist himself, ranked among the most wanted fugitives by U.S. intelligence.”
Another photo splattered on the screen in front of them. A woman, with black eyes was staring back at them. Her black, straight hair reached her shoulders framing her soft, round face. Another photo came up, this time from far away. She had a petite frame hidden under a grey suit.
“This female is known to have close ties with Al-Jabbar. She holds intel related to him and I want it.”
A map showing New York on it came up on the screen.
“The female HVT is currently situated in New York.”
MacTavish furrowed his brow, unsatisfied with Shepherd’s brief. He gave a side glance to Ghost who most probably was thinking along the same lines.
“What do you need us to do sir?” inquired Ghost.
“I need you to capture and interrogate her.”
“HVT’s name?” asked MacTavish.
“Need-to know.”
The captain’s eyes narrowed, bewildered.
"We need to know sir!”
“All you need to know is that our target is an insomniac and loves to jog at the early hours of the morning around her apartment block in New York.”
“Permission to speak, sir?” asked Roach.
Everyone snapped their heads toward him. For a moment, they forgot he was standing there alongside them.
“Granted.”
“We are going to operate on US soil, and I am guessing that this mission is unsanctioned.”
“You guessed correctly.”
Roach rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Does this mean, that if we get caught, we can get arrested and court-martialled?”
“I suggest you don’t get caught then,” Shepherd replied casually.
“Christ,” muttered MacTavish.
“Is there a problem here?” asked Shepherd, visibly losing his temper. “I chose you because you are the top tier operators in Task Force 141.”
“We’ll get this done, sir,” he said adamantly.
"Good. Then start packing. You will leave tonight on the red eye.”
MacTavish took one last look at the photo on the screen. A petite woman such as the target should not create problems for three burly special ops operators like themselves. They will be back soon enough.
Eight hours later, the private jet’s tires landed on the strip with a screech. MacTavish, Ghost, and Roach grabbed their bulky bags and exited the plane. A beat-up blue van was waiting for them, and they drove to a motel close to the target’s jogging route. Shepherd provided them with everything; transport, accommodation, equipment and the warehouse where the interrogation was going to take place. All they needed to do was come with a plan to capture the High-Value Target. That was the easy part, the execution is what worried MacTavish.
Roach was cleaning his Sig Sauer P226, and Ghost was loading ammo in the magazines. Not that they needed any of it as was a covert operation, but they still needed to be prepared for any eventuality.
MacTavish analysed the map in front of him. With this kind of missions, they would usually observe the HVT over at least a couple of days and get the feeling of their routine. However, Shepherd wants them to act fast. Unsure of his hurriedness, MacTavish decided against arguing with him. They had their orders and that was that. No point in mulling over it further.
“What are we going to interrogate her about if Shepherd barely gave us any intel?” asked Roach, holding a blackened cloth in one hand and the pistol slide in the other.
“Shepherd said to wear her down and then he will carry out the rest of the interrogation himself,” responded Ghost.
“We could have spent the day tailing her,” continued Roach, cleaning the pistol slide. “Get more intel on the HVT.”
“I had suggested it to Shepherd, but he refused,” said MacTavish. “He claimed that we could risk being made.”
Thus, they spent the whole day in the motel prepping for the capture. Roach left the room momentarily to get them some sandwiches from the bottega down the street. Ghost and MacTavish spent their time going over the plan and making sure that everything was tight and contained no loopholes.
Night had fallen and MacTavish took the wheel in their beat-up van. Roach and Ghost settled at the back. The captain looked at his digital watch and marked 0340hours. They had already spent well over an hour driving around the block. He prayed that HVT was not sleepy that night and decided to go for a run like she usually did.
“And if she decides not to go for a run?” Roach asked.
“Then this would have been all for nothin’,” grumbled Ghost.
“Jackpot!” exclaimed MacTavish. “Gold Eagle Actual, this is Bravo Six, how copy?”
“Bravo Six, send traffic.”
“We have eyes on the HVT.”
“Roger that, Bravo Six. Proceed as planned.”
“Rog’. Bravo Six out.” He put down his ski mask and turned to the others. “Let’s do this.”
Roach peaked out the windscreen and spotted her donning a sports bra and shorts before she disappeared around the corner. He pulled down his ski mask and felt for his taser and the cuffs on his belt. Ghost held the lock on the van’s side door. MacTavish put the pedal to the metal and swerved around the corner. He slammed the breaks, and the door flew open before coming to a screeching halt.
The HVT came to an abrupt stop and her eyes opened wide not comprehending in time what was happening. Ghost hit her on the side of the head, and she fell on the hard pavement with a groan. He grabbed her from underneath her arms to carry her. As Roach reached for her legs to assist his buddy, the HVT’s eyes reopened and snarled.
She used Ghost’s strength to hold her firmly as she raised her lower body and kicked Roach straight in the chest. He spluttered as he collapsed on the ground. The HVT then pushed forcefully Ghost backwards and slammed him into the light pole. She jammed the back of her head into his nose and Ghost grunted in pain as a scrunching noise echoed around them.
She managed to break free and started running away when Roach grabbed his taser and pulled the trigger. The prongs attached firmly on her back, and she tensed up, as 2000 volts travelled throughout her body. She collapsed in a heap, and they hastily threw her in the van.
“Go, go, go!” roared Ghost.
