Page 7 of Rush

“Have you said anything to any of the other men?” asked Rush.

“Never. I know the rules, and I do not want to piss anyone off. Especially your family. You’ve been one of the best, Rush. I shit you not. You’re second, maybe only to Trak Redhawk. Someone else you’re familiar with.”

“That’s quite a compliment, sir, thank you.”

“Get what you need and do your thing. Reach out if you need anything at all, but I’ll be here to support you with a team if needed. I just think this is a one-man job.”

“It is a one-man job, but I look like I stepped off the boat with Erick the Red, not Suleman the Great.”

“Keep a hat on,” smirked the colonel.

Rush saluted the man and left to gather his gear. His last mission, if he lived. He could go home and finally speak to Caroline. He could finally tell her why he’d held back, why he was so scared to start something with her.

He just hoped he got the chance.

Rush had the unique ability, despite his size, to blend in. He always sat when he could and made sure he wore a stocking cap. He often carried makeup to darken his face and hands, not wanting anyone to see the white of his skin.

He also was trained in flying jets and helicopters. Getting from Palermo to Ankara would be relatively easy, but then moving around would be more difficult. It wasn’t just finding where Grigoryan was located. It was maneuvering around the damaged buildings and roads from the earthquake.

With approval to leave the military helicopter at the base in Ankara, he was given a jeep and set out to track down his man. He suspected they were northeast of city, near Gicik.

Parking the jeep, he wandered around the small villages, carrying only his backpack. The weapons were concealed beneath the stealth netting provided by Aunt Montana in his Christmas pack. The others stared at him when he opened the gift, but he could only laugh. Only in his family.

“Coffee,” he said to the waiter.

Nodding, he went inside and brought out the small cup of piping hot energy jolt. He dropped the small sugar cube into the cup and then a splash of milk. He ordered a small platter with olives, dolma, sliced lamb, and fresh tomatoes. Finishing it all, he left enough cash with a small tip on the table and walked further into the village. As he moved, he realized everyone was staring at the giant.

He knew that someone was watching him, following him, and he was content to let that happen. He couldn’t pull out all the stops now. So, when two men stood in front of him, their weapons pointed at his head. He froze.

“What are you doing here?” they asked in English.

“I’m just here to help with the aftermath of the earthquake,” he said. “I’m an engineer. I was separated from my group, and I’m making my way into Ankara.”

“You’re lying,” said one of the men.

“Friend, I don’t lie. Ever. Now, if you’ll get out of my way, I have to get to Ankara, or nothing is going to move.” He tried to move around them, then felt the presence of more men at his back. He looked over his shoulder and shrugged. “Okay. But your president is going to be angry when his roads aren’t fixed.”

Rush knew he had to play it cool for as long as possible. If these men took him to Grigoryan, he’d be face-to-face with the man everyone had been chasing. Instead, they locked him inside an ancient jail cell. There were bars on the windows and doors, but the mud hut was crumbling from the aftershocks of the earthquake.

His pack was lying on a small desk just out of arm’s reach. When the two men left him alone, he gripped the bars and shook hard. The crumbling ceiling and walls cracked, falling to the ground. Three more good pushes, and he’d be free.

Grabbing his pack, he stared out the front to see two men seated on the sidewalk. It was dusk, and if he could get out the back, he’d be able to make it into Ankara.

“Well, let’s see if my old Hulk routine will work,” he frowned.

Taking a running start, he rammed his shoulder into the back wall, watching the crumbling foundation crack. He backed up and ran at it again. This time, the wall fell into pieces, but so did the ceiling. The deafening noise had everyone ducking, thinking it was another earthquake.

Rush took off as fast as his long legs would carry him, trying to reach the winding streets behind him. He felt a sting at his shoulder but continued running until he reached the jeep. Tossing his gear beside him, he took off and then realized his shoulder was bleeding like a stuffed pig.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

Digging into the pack, he pulled out a handful of gauze and packet of wound sealing powder. Gritting his teeth, he poured it over the bullet hole and then slapped the gauze on beneath his t-shirt.

He made it into the city center as darkness fell. It would play well for him, considering most of the power had not returned within the city. But when his jeep suffered a flat from the fallen debris, his luck was running out.

Slinging the pack over his good shoulder, he started walking. Up ahead was a group of men that didn’t look friendly, nor did they appear to be with the Turkish Army.

“Shit,” he muttered.

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