He was unraveling, releasing all those compartments, all the pain and the frustration and the guilt. Letting it all pour out of him until he was an empty vessel to be filled by Chry and the love she had for him, filled by the knowledge that the brotherhood would never let him down, filled with the certainty that he couldn’t control anything but his own mind, comforted by his brother’s sacrifice and commitment to him. He was confident that he understood what had been holding him back all these years. Ten years of holding on to the grief of his younger brother’s death, the horror of killing Pierce, the hatred he had for the man who, through violence, had sired him. He might have been born in violence, dedicated his life to carrying out the orders from his superiors to take that violence to others who would hurt them, but he was more than that. So much more with her. He needed her, the other half of him. He rocked her against him, whispering her name and holding her.
In spite of the shape she was in, there was always hope. He wished like hell he could stop feeling as if they were living on borrowed time.
12
Iceman looked over Striker’s shoulder and said, “What is it you’re working on?”
“A plan to get us out of here as safely as possible.”
“Ha. The sheer number of Bears out there isn’t boding well for a clean getaway.”
“I know. But we’ll do the best that we can.” He leaned back and rubbed his hands over his face. He’d been up working out the details and doing some late-night recon to get the lay of the land. Banja Luka might be the capitol of Republika Srpska, but it was a small city compared to Sarajevo. The middle of town only took up a small amount of the city. He’d ghosted to the consulate but couldn’t get close enough to talk to anyone there. The Bears were thick around the structure. He was sure the consulate was aware of the added numbers of bikers but were in the dark about why. Unless he was mistaken, the Navy wasn’t going to announce to the diplomats there were SEALs in the area that might need sanctuary.
It wouldn’t matter. As far as he was concerned, going to the U.S. Consulate was their best hope right now. “Preacher, Aella. Front and center.”
The two adults came out of the bedrooms, both in different levels of waking up. Striker wasn’t sure what to do with Alek. He wasn’t a combatant like the rest of them. He was a kid, not exactly innocent in that he had helped 2-Stroke and Chry escape and brought the wrath of his uncle down on him. His uncle had lumped Alek in with the rest of them. An enemy he needed to eliminate.
He explained his plan, and after their agreement, he headed off to the safehouse. He was a little wary of seeing his brother again after their heated argument had brought up so much they needed to talk out regarding their past. But the gates were finally open and once they got everything out, they could begin to heal.
Striker thought about what it was going to mean for him once they went to the consulate and were caught up in the political machine. 2-Stroke was right. He could lose his command and his trident, but he wouldn’t change a thing in striking out into the forbidden Republika Srpska to save his brother, to let Neo know how important he was to him. Whatever it took, he wasn’t going to let down his brother again.
He slipped out of the hotel and noticed a whole phalanx of riders roaring down the thoroughfare. Before long, they were going to be staking out the hotels. Zasha didn’t really know for sure whether the SEALs were in Banja Luka, but he was sure she and her partner were cooking up plenty of nasty surprises for them.
He would be a fool to underestimate her.
He went to the back door of the house and knocked. Before long, 2-Stroke came to the door, his gun drawn. He relaxed when he saw it was Striker.
“Hey,” he said as he entered the kitchen. “I need to run a few things by you, Marta, and Saint.” 2-Stroke called up the stairs and soon the two of them came down. “How is Chry?”
“Responding to treatment. Her fever is down but hasn’t subsided. I expect it to break tonight. That’s my hope,” Saint said.
“And her ability to travel?”
“I still say she needs at least two more days to recover from the effects of the fever. We don’t want her too fatigued. Then another day for some additional healing. It wouldn’t be enough, but sufficient to allow her to travel. I know time is of the essence.”
“That’s good news.” He leaned against the counter. “So, I’ve done some recon on the consulate, and we’re going to have to clear a path. Once inside, we’ll need to contact our government pronto. I have a feeling Darko and Zasha aren’t going to honor the sovereignty of the building. They are straight-up thugs who have no compunction about thumbing their noses at traditional and lawful rights of us as American citizens, even in our own consulate.
There was a collective agreement.
“All right, then we should be set for three days from now. I will check in with you before we finalize the plan to make sure Chry can be moved.”
Saint and Marta headed back upstairs to tend to Chry.
“We good, bro?” Striker asked.
“Yes, but I’m still concerned about the number of Bears who are filling up this town. It’s going to get hairy if they start house searches or find you guys at the hotel. I’m worried about Alek.”
“I get your concern, but we’re going to have to hold out as best we can. Get in touch with me if you get any kind of funky vibe. We’ll need to be fluid here because of Chry’s injury.”
They fist bumped and Striker left the house.
Two days later, Striker was just about to eat some lunch when his comm went live.
“Master Chief, this is Iceman. We’ve got a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“We had a run in with the Bears… We’ve got ourselves the leader here.”
“Where is that?”
“In the hotel basement, off the beaten path.”
“I’ll be right there,” he growled. “Recon isn’t snatch and grab, Ice.”
“I know that, boss, but we got a window of opportunity, and Preach and I grabbed him up. This might be a good thing. We could get information out of him.”
“Potentially. If he talks.”
Striker went down into the bowels of the hotel away from people and activity until he found them holed up in a small storage room. The Pope was tied to a chair and his face was bloody, his lip split and still bleeding.
He pulled out his sidearm and a short cylindrical tube. He started to screw it onto the sidearm.
“I’m going to ask you just once for information. If you give us what we want to know—”
“You’ll let me go,” The Pope said in a gravelly voice, then laughed softly. “We all know I’m not leaving here alive.”
Striker finished tightening the silencer onto the handgun. “Okay, you’re right. We can’t let you go. So, my offer is to make this as painless and quick as possible. Your choice.”
“Some choice,” he spat out blood onto the floor and worked his jaw. He was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “I have no allegiance to Darko Stjepanić and Zasha Vasiliev. Both of them are anarchists. My pledge is to Russia, and nothing I can tell you will compromise the motherland. What is it you want to know?”