Washington, D.C.

Hashim Osmani Residence

They say that a cornered animal is the most dangerous one, and Hashim Osmani felt that he was backed into a corner. As he predicted, the ‘High Council’ did organize an emergency meeting, the very one he was currently not attending. There was a high probability that he had already been sentenced to death, but he was wagering it all on a small chance that he could pull off a miracle. He even sent them a message, ensuring them that he will rectify everything and that the plan will be back on track, very soon. That is the reason why he was doing something he had never done before, actively participating in an attack.

He was not comfortable with it, yet he could not trust any of his subordinates not to mess everything up. The entire operation needed to go just right for him to survive the wrath of the ‘High Council’.

During his career, he had sent countless men to their deaths, it was the easiest thing in the world for him. Yet, exposing his own precious life to these levels of danger had been the complete opposite. This was all or nothing; if he failed today—he would be dead just the same. That is why he put everything he had on this last roll of the dice, every single man under his command.

Obtaining information on the location of the target was a stroke of luck. One of his highest-placed informers practically offered it; well, he did have some very incriminating files on the man. Trying to get in Hashim Osmani’s good graces was a sensible thing to do, he would have paid millions to acquire it. There was barely enough time to get all of his people in position.

Tonight, he would kill the President of the United States.

***

USA, West Virginia

George Washington and Jefferson National Forest

President's Lodge

President Craig Garner was sitting in a rich leather upholstered chair, with a glass of a twenty-year-old whiskey in his hand. For the first time in a long while, he felt relaxed; the events of the past few weeks have taken their toll on him. Everyone wanted an explanation, from the press and the public to the foreign powers that were concerned with the level of advanced technology displayed in the Millennial Sports Arena attack. They absurdly demanded information about the invisibility suits and advanced weaponry used.

Justifying their demands with concern that such imbalance could cause great shifts on the geopolitical stage. Not that he could tell them anything, except vague theories. Military Intelligence and alphabet soup agencies, could not find a single lead. If only that video did not leak out, his life would be so much easier right now. Therefore, he decided to take a little vacation from the constant chaos that his office transformed into. Two days without the constant stress and the daily grind of an entirely thankless job. Camp David would have been a logical choice, but he wanted a little more privacy.

It was a pity his wife was on a humanitarian mission in Africa, she loved their little hideaway. It was a timber lodge inside George Washington and Jefferson National Forest. A secret hiding place when the burdens of the office became unbearable. Of course, the secret was a broad term here since there were forty Secret Service agents with him. For them to allow him to come here so soon after that terrorist attack, took some serious convincing. Fortunately, additional accommodations had been built around the lodge, so there was enough space for them all.

He could not help but look back at how he ended up here; his life had taken a few sharp turns over the years. From his days in the Marines to a wide range of jobs he did after becoming a civilian again. Then, trying his hand at writing and discovering to his, and everyone else’s surprise, he was quite good at it. In the next few years, he turned from a wage slave to a respected author with more money in the bank than he ever thought he would have. He got his law degree late in life, just because it was on his bucket list. For some reason, he then turned to politics and in retrospect, that was not the smartest life choice he ever made.

His goal was to change things, to help people lead better lives. He watched as those who were supposed to lead the nation to a brighter future… sleep on the job. As if each new leader were a copy of his predecessor, not truly improving things, simply continuing the same old politics. Looking from this perspective, he was not sure if he could blame them anymore; trying to make a significant change was like swimming in molasses.

People did not realize how many limitations were inherited in his office. The real power was in the hands of old men who liked the status quo, the Senate was full of them. Moreover, they abhorred change, since they were living rich and comfortable lives, so all progress was looked upon with suspicion. Regardless, he could not throw in the towel, no matter what. He would still do his best and hopefully leave some kind of legacy that his children could be proud of.

It was getting late and fatigue of a long day was getting to him; a nice soft bed awaited him with the promise of a good night’s sleep.

That was when he heard the sound of rapid gunfire.

***

The Missile Silo

Michael was in his office, reading a report Jack has sent him about possible new recruits. A few of the names on that list he knew personally; old Army acquaintances and friends he lost contact with. Unfortunately, a few had failed to pass Max's thorough scrutiny.

“Michael, you need to get to the transporter right now, the team will meet you there!” Max shouted.

He heard the urgency in the AI’s voice and without waiting for explanation got out of his office. He had just entered the elevator when he saw Tyron running down the corridor, carrying two long cases in his hands.

“Do you know what is going on?” Tyron asked him as the elevator door was closing.

“Not a clue, but whatever it is… it can’t be good.”

A minute later, they were entering the transporter, only to see that Alice, Elizabeth, Pete, and Al, were already seated with fastened seat belts.

“Grab a seat and buckle up, this is going to be a bit rougher ride than usual.” Max’s voice sounded from the transporter’s speakers.

Normal takeoffs in a transporter were smooth and stable; one could barely feel the initial acceleration. This takeoff was anything but smooth; the aircraft shot out of the garage and into the air, like a bullet out of a rifle. The inertial dampeners lessened its great acceleration to an extent, but they could all feel g-forces having an effect on them. In no time, they broke the sound barrier and kept accelerating. Michael could see that they were on a sub-orbital course and the aircraft's flight smoothed out to somewhat normal levels when they reached the apex of their trajectory.

“Okay, Max, what’s this all about?” Michael asked.

“I will explain everything, but while I’m doing that, everyone should start putting on your battle-suits.” The AI’s voice was more of a command than a request. They looked between themselves and got up, opened the crates and did what they were told.

“I have searched for the bearer of that name, Osmani, ever since Ziad uttered it. There were several candidates, but one stuck out. Hashim Osmani, a scion of a very wealthy family and at first glance, just one more privileged playboy born with a silver spoon in his mouth. His luxurious lifestyle reflected that fact, but that was all meticulous cover he maintained all of his life. By everything I could dig up, his wealth is quite more than anyone believes, and most of it is off the books. I planned to inform you tomorrow about him after I gathered more information, now I think I should have acted sooner.” Max sounded remorseful.

“There is a good chance that he is one of the ‘High Council’ members, and as Ziad said, directly responsible for the Millennial Arena attack. The problem was that I could not find him anywhere since he disappeared off the radar a day after the attack, and I tried every trick in the book with no results. Therefore, I backtracked, looking for any connection between Basim, Ziad, Murat al-Rashid, and Hashim Osmani; and I struck gold. Several of the contacts that interacted with some of them had their phones activated. The strange thing was that for the past day, all of them were in the middle of the George Washington and Jefferson National Forest.”

“What are they doing there… camping?” Al asked.

“Nothing so benign; I used their phones as listening devices, and I learned that they were hiding there, waiting for someone to arrive. Michael, they somehow discovered the information that the President of the United States is there right now. They are planning to kill him.

“How sure are you about this? The President is not so easy to kill, everywhere he goes security is extensive.” Michael asked.

“It is apparently some sort of a retreat he rarely goes to, and I don’t think security he has with him will be enough. There are eighty terrorists close to the site, heavily armed. And they started jamming all communication frequencies a while ago, so the President’s detail cannot even call for help.”

“Shit! That puts a new spin on things. How long would it take for official help to get there?” Michael asked.

“Fifteen minutes until they notice that something is wrong and then twenty more minutes before the nearest reinforcements can arrive at the scene. By that time, it will be too late. We will arrive in five minutes… so what is your call?” The AI asked.

Michael looked at the others and received nods of confirmation from all of them.

“We’re going in.”

“As I thought. OK, Elizabeth and Alice, there are two flechette sniper rifles for you to use from here in the transporter, you will be the overwatch. They had been modified after the arena attack for long-range precision. Close to the edge of the transporter, there are two new openings that are the right size for a sniper; your job is to take out the terrorist from above. For the rest of you, there is a hatch in the center of the aircraft and you can use it to jump out of it so we do not even need to land. It is going to be a 30-foot drop, but your reinforced skeletal systems can handle that with ease.”

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, it would seem that we were once again called to save the day,” Pete said boastfully while caressing his rifle.

“Your relationship with that weapon disturbs me on a very deep level,” Al commented shaking his head.

It felt like mere seconds before they were above a big timber lodge in the woods. To their eyes, the terrain below looked like the remains of a war zone. Elizabeth came close to Michael and touched his chest for a second before she ran to her sniper position.

Michael took a step out of the hatch and fell into the open air. For a moment a flashback of a time when he dropped into that entrance shaft flashed in front of his eyes, but it was gone the next instant when his feet touched the ground. The landing was jarring, but nothing that would debilitate them for the fight.

His HUD marked enemies with a red halo around them, it was the same effect Max used during their training. Although, even Max never threw so many opponents at once. Red silhouettes were all around them. Not wasting a second, he aimed his gun and started taking down targets.

“This is what they call a target-rich environment,” Al said over the comm links, while doing the same thing as Michael—making red human silhouettes into gray ones.

It was a slaughter.

With their enhanced reflexes, HUD overlays to guide them and the sheer destructive power of flechette rounds, the terrorists' numbers were falling by the second. From above, Elizabeth and Alice were dealing with all the stragglers, not directly in the team’s line of sight. Their high vantage point gave them a unique and unfair advantage.

Yet, their opponents did not stay still, waiting to be killed. After the initial surprise, they realized someone was killing them and then started to fire in a panic, in the approximate direction from where the noise of supersonic rounds came from. The bullets they were firing in the team’s general direction actually managed to kill some of their own, but they did get a few hits on the team; not that it mattered since the battle-suits were designed to withstand bullets from a much bigger caliber. Michael and his team did not slow down.

Sooner than anybody expected, it was over; not one terrorist was left alive. Unfortunately, the numerous bodies of Secret Service agents told the story of how they held their ground, giving their lives to protect the man that leads their country.

Max’s voice cut through the silence, “There are still some terrorists inside the lodge, run!”

***

USA, West Virginia

George Washington and Jefferson National Forest

President's Lodge

President Craig Garner was seething with anger, looking at a monitor as the brave Secret Service agents gave their best to stop the horde of mindless terrorists… and failed.

As the first shots were fired, two of his bodyguards rushed into the room and carried him down his basement, into a panic room. This was the second time he was undergoing such extraction in the last month, and he felt it was an omen of darker times on the horizon.

On one wall, in the tight space, several monitors were showing the images from outside, so he was able to see how his entire Secret Service detail was murdered; all but two agents that were with him. They did not sell their lives cheap, dozens of terrorists were killed in the assault, but the bad guys had a surprise factor on their side and were using grenades and RPGs. He had no illusions about what his fate would be and was thinking how his wife and children would cope with his death. A part of him was glad that the order of succession was so well established, there would be no ruling vacuum at the top their enemies could exploit; the country would endure.

In an instant, exactly as it happened with the Millennial Arena attack… everything changed. The normal sounds of gunfire were muffled with a new sound. It was as if several different sources were merged into one loud explosive noise. The effect on the terrorists was devastating, they started dying in great numbers.

He had a suspicion who was killing those terrorists so quickly, but he was not sure even they could help him now. For the last few minutes, five terrorists were connecting blocks, of what seemed to be plastic explosives, onto the panic room’s door.

***

Hashim was not pleased how things had turned out, too many of his people were sacrificed to enable him to reach inside the lodge. He was aware that there was a half an hour window in which the operation needed to be finished, and he was already running behind schedule.

The biggest problem he had now was that the President escaped into an armored room. Fortunately, he planned for that eventuality and fifty pounds of C4 were being connected to the metal door; more than enough to finish the job. It still was not as good as capturing the man and filming his death, to be put on the air for the entire world to see, but it would have to do. The detonator was set and one of his men volunteered to press the trigger. Remote detonation had failed him once, he was not taking any chances. Since the man was in an advanced stage of cancer, he did not have anything to lose.

As they were preparing to leave, sounds of continuous gunfire could be heard from outside, and it was not the same sound the guns he equipped his fighters with, made… these were much louder. Secret Service reinforcements could not have arrived so soon, he made sure that all external communications were jammed.

Hashim ordered the four men with him to go and see what was happening, while he stayed near the explosives. If this interruption to his plan was what he suspected… well, it is a good thing he came prepared.

***

Michael, followed by his team, was running through the ruined lodge door. They split up on the ground floor; Pete and Al going upstairs while he and Tyron went down to the basement level. Max has already sent them internal plans for the building, but he couldn’t access security cameras since they were in a closed system.

The sounds their boots made on the wooden floor must have given them away; suddenly, a hail of bullets intercepted their path. Not even stopping, Michael gunned down two targets and saw Tyron finishing the remaining two. They proceeded to the back of the basement, where, if the plans were correct, the safe room was located. They both slowed down considerably, pointing their weapons in front of them, watching for potential enemies.

Michael was the first to enter the narrow corridor before the safe room; he could see a man sitting in front of the large metal door with a hell of a lot of explosives attached to it. The thing that immediately drew his intention was a handheld detonator in the man’s hand, connected to the explosives. He was thinking of ways to disable him, while walking slowly inside, when something cracked beneath his feet.

“Stop right there, or I will activate the explosives! I know you are invisible!” The man yelled.

From the pictures Max showed them, Michael recognized Hashim Osmani. Only, in those photos the man was well dressed, smiling, and confident. The creature in front of him, dressed in military fatigues, had the wild look of a madman.

Michael looked at the floor in front of him and saw that there were hundreds of hollow glass beads tossed all over.

“Show yourself, or we will all die!” Hashim shrieked.

One didn’t need a lie detector to see that the madman was telling the truth, so he deactivated his camouflage and appeared in front of the terrorist.

“Hashim Osmani, I presume… Ziad sends his regards.” He said to the sitting man.

Hashim’s eyes were wide open, as he looked at the apparition before him, then his face turned into a scowl the moment he heard the name of his assassin.

“Ziad… so you made him talk… I will kill him for that.”

“There is no need to exert yourself; he had an unfortunate accident with a grenade exploding in his mouth,” Michael replied.

Hashim held up the detonator showing it to Michael, his finger was touching the big red button.

“Drop your weapon and take off that helmet, I want to see your face.”

Max spoke through his implant, “with such an amount of explosives in an enclosed space, even your battle-suit may not be able to keep you alive. Use your judgment, but know that Hashim is not a fanatic per se. Judging by his psychological profile, he very much wants to get out of there alive.”

Michael lowered his gun on the floor and took off his helmet. “I’m curious, why the glass beads?” He asked.

“I saw that video and carried them with me. Never in my life would I thought that I should watch out for an invisible man.”

“Oh… that’s very smart. Tell me, Hashim, why would a member of the ‘High Council’ go through all this trouble? What is the reason behind it all?”

Hashim’s face paled. “You… you are not connected to the ‘High Council’… I was wrong…” he murmured, and then his face turned into a mask of rage. “You do not understand what you have done. This was supposed to go according to my plans, and we would have earned hundreds of billions; that is until you interfered… damn you!”

Michael looked at the furious man, “Aw, shucks… I’m sorry?”

The look that Hashim gave him could melt down iron.

“What are you going to do now, Hashim? I don’t think you planned this through.”

“Now the President will come out,” he pointed with his head at the camera above the metal door, “or I will activate this C4 and he will die anyway. Then the two of us are going to walk out of here and you will do nothing to stop us.”

Hashim had the look of the man who had found a life vest while drowning in the sea. This crazy plan, which he probably just thought up, was his way out, and he was holding onto it. Michael was waiting for one thing… the right moment.

“You really think— “

The lock on security doors clicked and Hashim looked in that direction.

This was the moment Michael was waiting for.

One of the things Max recently made, in his never-ending crusade for new improvements, was a very special knife. Made to look like a standard Ka-Bar, it had one distinctive feature… It was very sharp. Maybe sharp was too mild of a word for its monomolecular edge since it could cut through almost anything. Its edge was maintained by nanites, whose job was to keep it always in perfect condition.

The moment Hashim turned his head away, drawn by the door’s lock; Michael grabbed the knife strapped behind his neck and sent it in Hashim’s direction. He carefully calculated the force of the throw, the spin, and the position of his target—so the knife hit exactly where he wanted it. Right at the wrist of the hand that was holding the detonator.

The hand separated from the body and Michael, using all of his enhanced speed, managed to catch it before it hit the floor. It felt creepy prying open a still warm severed hand, but that detonator had to be secured.

Hashim was looking in shock at his bleeding stump as if he could not believe that his hand was missing. That didn’t stop Michael from banging his head against the wall and knocking him out. He kneeled before the plastic explosive and started pulling out detonator caps.

Two Secret Service agents exited the room with their guns aimed at Michael, yelling at the top of their lungs. “Put your hands in the air!”, “Lay on the ground!”

Michael didn’t turn around, he just continued what he was doing. “Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as not to distract me while I’m disarming enough plastic explosive to send us all to kingdom come, I would be much obliged. Besides, putting my hands in the air while trying to lay on the ground sounds quite physically challenging; you need to sort out between yourselves what you really want.”

Two agents shared a confused look, still aiming their guns at the kneeling Michael.

“Stand down!” The voice of President Garner hollered through the small space.

The agents looked at the President, not changing their stance.

“I said stand down! If he meant us any harm, he would have done it by now. He could have stood aside and we would be just as dead. Now lower your weapons—that is an order.”

As Michael was standing up after finishing his task, he could see that this time two agents did as ordered. He looked at the President of the United States and had to stop himself from saluting. After so many years in the service, standing in front of the commander-in-chief almost activated that gut reflex.

He nodded his head and said, “Mister President.” Then, looking at the two agents, he continued, “If you have any intention to interrogate Mr. Osmani here,” he pointed with his chin at the unconscious man. “I would suggest you tie that stump. I don’t think he has much blood left to spare.”

“Do it.” The President ordered his agents.

One of the agents approached Osmani’s body and used a zip tie to stop the blood flow.

The President suspiciously looked at Michael, “how did you know that they would attack here?”

“We were searching for Hashim Osmani there,” he pointed at the terrorist. “Tracking the phones of his people and that led us to here.”

“Well, I have to thank you for saving my life. What’s your name?” The President asked.

Michael considered for a moment, and then realized that the cat was already out of the bag, so he simply answered, “Michael.”

The President offered his hand and Michael shook it.

“Thank you, Michael. Additionally, thank you for saving so many lives in the arena, the whole nation owes you. Why don’t you step into the open? You could make a real difference to this country, they desperately need a hero.”

Michael shook his head, “I don’t care for the accolades Mister President; they have no meaning to me. My goals lay in a different direction; thank you… but no.”

A small frown appeared on the present face, “If you don’t care, why do you involve yourself at all, at the Millennial Sports Arena, and here?”

“Because I can’t ignore the bad things that happen to innocent people, not when there is something I can do to stop it.”

“So join me, this country is hurt and needs to heal, so many people already consider you their guardian angel, you can help it heal.”

A shadow of sadness crossed Michael’s face, “I don’t think it’s just hurt… I think it is broken. Once it had the dream and funny enough, everybody called it the American dream, but little by little that dream turned into a nightmare. Now everything revolves around money and power, big industries, and accumulation of wealth. It’s not only this country, the same thing is happening all over the world. As if the whole of humanity is infected with some sort of disease, and I don't know if there is a cure.”

Michael paused, then shook his head, “I think you are an honorable man, but that puts you in a minority of your colleagues. I hope you can fix the cracks in the foundation that holds this nation together, but I am not sure if those who oppose you would ever allow it. How many politicians, those who are responsible for leading the people, are honorable? How many would do the right thing without first looking for their own self-interest?”

The President kept silent, knowing that the answers to those questions were the reason for his many sleepless nights.

Michael pointed at Hashim. “That same hunger for money and power was the cause of everything this sorry excuse of a human being has done. The arena, this attack on you, and many more crimes were committed by him on behalf of an organization that calls itself the ‘High Council’. They are hidden power players on the world stage, causing an unbelievable amount of death and suffering; provoking wars and disputes between nations, and they’re not doing it for some religious belief or a higher purpose. They are doing it solely for money and power.”

The President listened to him with a thoughtful expression on his face. “That’s one more reason for you to help us, bring their crimes into the open.”

Michael closed his eyes, “I will try to stop them myself, without coming out into the spotlight. They have people everywhere and my anonymity protects me from their reprisal.” He took a deep breath and realized what he needed to say. “You said that you and this nation owes me a debt, then repay it by not interfering with me. Those that follow me and I have a dream; we want to start over, to learn from the mistakes of the past and do better. We will not interfere with you, or this country in any way, in fact, we will help you as much as we can, but our ultimate goal is to find new frontiers… like our forefathers did before us.”

The president looked somewhat confused and a bit disappointed, but he nodded acceptingly. “I can’t say that I understand what you’re planning, but I see that you are set on your path, so I will do everything in my power to, as you say, not interfere with you. Michael, you must understand that even as the President of the United States I don’t make all the decisions, sometimes all I can do is minimize the damage.”

“I’ll settle for that,” Michael said with a smile.

The crunch of the glass beads indicated that someone else had entered the room, the two agents started to raise their weapons, but a wave from the President stopped them. They all watched as a barely perceivable apparition got a hold of the knife embedded in the metal security door and pulled it out; a second later the knife itself disappeared too. The apparition picked up Michael’s gun and helmet, and then handed them to him.

A deep, rumbling voice said close to them, “Michael, we need to leave.”

“He is right, the Secret Service reinforcements are closing in on your location, you need to get out of there ASAP,” Max added through his implants.

While the agents and the President could not see Tyron, they could almost instinctively feel his massive presence.

“Mister President,” Michael said, and then he put the helmet on his head, activating its camouflage. In the next instant, he too disappeared from their sight.

Only the sounds of their footsteps gave any indication to the President and the two agents that Michael and Tyron were really walking away; their eyes told them that they were staring… at ghosts.

----------------

"There is no 'overkill.' There is only 'open fire' and 'I need to reload.'"

Schlock Mercenary maxim

;)