Page 3 of The Perfect Stranger

I watched as the children scurried out of harm’s way and disappeared down the tunnel.

Jase crossed the courtyard and joined me as we entered the foyer. A women walked through the opposite entry carrying brown paper bags filled with groceries. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw us and disappeared the way she came.

“Up the stairs, the hall goes to the left and right,” Zero warned.

I signaled for Jase to watch the right while I took the left. He nodded and followed me as we made light work of the concrete stairs.

Loud, muffled, foreign music blasted from behind closed doors. The foul stench of boiled meat wafted through my balaclava. Scanning the surroundings, my rifle jerked toward a man in a grimy tank top exiting his apartment. He was startled by our appearance and apparent threat and quickly retreated back through the door. He wasn’t my target. No, my target had what was coming to him. My target wouldn’t even run. He knew his time was up and he would die pride intact.

Trusting that Jase had my back, I picked up the pace and until we reached the next flight of stairs.

“All clear, Zero?”

“Target’s still in location,” he confirmed.

Taking two steps at a time, I found this level worse than the one below. The stench was almost unbearable, and I shallowed my breathing for fear of dry-retching. The walls were spray-painted with what seemed to be layers and layers of imagery—most of it vulgar. What looked like to be animal feces dotted the garbage littered floor. Avoiding most of the filth, I made my way outside apartment 305B.

This was it.

Jase rounded on me ready to kick the door open.

“You’ve got that look in your eye,” he observed quietly, and even though I couldn’t see his mouth, I knew he was smiling. I raised my eyebrows in acknowledgment. “Eyes as black as night,” he continued. “Hate to be the fuckers on the other end.”

I moved to the side as Jase took a step back and booted the door with a force to be reckoned with. The latch stood no chance, the wood splintering as the entry cleared. We stormed in, rifles poised at the three men caught off guard. They faltered, eyes wide in horror, surrounded by enough evidence to put them away in Guantanamo for life.

“Drop it! Drop it now!” Jase bellowed to the oldest of the men who gripped a black duffle bag. He hesitated, considered his diminishing options before dropping the item on the floor.

“On the ground,” I ordered in my calm, detached voice. Three sets of eyes flicked to me, my tone having had the desired effect. They swallowed in unison when I pointed my rifle to the floor.

The oldest man held my gaze while rambling to the others. They lowered to their knees, but I had the feeling he was telling them a whole lot more than to just follow my instructions. The youngest looked between his leader and me, his nerves obvious.

“What’s he saying?” Jase muttered under his breath. I didn’t speak Arabic so I had no idea. But I didn’t have to, to know that they were trying to get the upper hand.

“Face down on the ground. Hands out in front.” They complied with my instructions and with the limited room they had, the men fell to the grimy floor.

“Hands out,” I instructed again. The youngest eyed me from below, something more sinister than normal passing through his eyes. “Now!”

And that’s when it all started.

All he had to do was listen, and he would still be alive. Not that he deserved to live.

We were standing in a huge bomb waiting to the go off. The room was filled with chemical bombs, suicide vests, IED’s, conventional firearms, grenades, sticks of dynamite and half a dozen M42 rocket launchers. On the table in front were a line-up of cell phones and keys to vehicles that would act as car bombs in the busy city streets.

Failing co-operation, the youngest man’s hand darted underneath, and I fired without hesitation. The bullet pierced his temple. The entry was a tidy wound, but the bullet’s exit at close range created an explosion of brain matter. Dark red sprayed the equipment behind his now limp body. The two left were now bellowing at each other despite only being less than a ruler length apart.

“Quiet!” Jase yelled, but his instruction went unheard. The men were in a hyper state, all feelings of common sense gone.

I fired another shot, this time toward the ground only inches from their faces. As expected, they stilled, their lips forming a snarl.

“You’re both under arrest for suspected terrorist plotting.” They continued to stare, a red-blooded hatred pouring from Yusuf’s Alamand’s soulless eyes.

“You just killed an innocent man,” Alamand raged.

“He got off lightly, unlike you. Keep your hands stretched out.”

Jase lowered his rifle and pulled his cuffs free from his vest. I watched while taking in the scene around me. There was enough material to this one room to kill thousands of people. And yet, this find didn’t even make up one percent of the cell networks out there plotting their attacks in rooms just like this. Not only that, they were in housing commission. The State, the US government paid to house these people who boasted in tearing us apart.

The men didn’t struggle. The cuffs slid over their barely exposed wrists with ease.

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