Post by penguinpyro on Jan 16, 2022 20:58:15 GMT -5
US Immigration Customs and Enforcement Detention Facility, Classified Location
Hank Sokolov walked through the doorway. The handcuffed Russian giant dwarfed the two uniformed officers escorting him. They each held a hand on his shoulders, like a pair of twigs propping up a car. He paid them no mind and strode forward with purpose.
He ducked under a doorway. It was tall, but Hank was taller. As Hank walked in, his orange jumpsuit obscured the entire entrance.
Before him lay a bare table with a third police officer sitting on the opposite side. An empty chair presented itself on Hank’s side.
One of the escorting officers shoved hard at Hank, to absolutely no effect. Hank took the hint, however, and sat at the table. He heard two sets of footsteps growing distant behind him. The door slammed and locked shut, leaving just him and the man across the table.
The officer across the table smiled and folded his hands. The man was dark-skinned, with close-cropped curly hair. Yet he seemed oddly comfortable one-on-one with someone three times his size.
“You are not immigration agent,” said Hank.
“Oh? What makes you say that?” asked the man.
Hank ignored him and squinted. No identification or badge on this man. Hank’s eyes darted to and fro around the room. No camera domes in sight, unlike every other room he had seen so far. And again, no escorts, no protection.
“What is this?” asked Hank. He allowed his eyes to wander around more. “This cannot be standard procedure.”
The man smiled. “Let’s call me Barker, shall we?”
“You did not answer me, Barker.
“Andrei Sergeivich Sokolov. Better known as ‘Hank’,” said Barker. “Former professional wrestler, last seen working for the Alta-”
Hank stood up. He towered at least four feet above Barker’s sitting form. He could snap his handcuffs in a single gesture. He’d done it before. He glared down at Barker. The smaller man made no move and kept his hands above the table.
“Hank. Please. Sit down,” Barker did not look up. “If I meant you harm, you would not have even made it to a conversation.”
He made a nonchalant wave of the hand.
“Cut straight to point, American,” said Hank. “Why are we alone without surveillance? This is against your procedures. If I meant you harm, you would be mince before anyone could walk through the door.”
Barker seemed more amused than anything. “‘American’? Really? You request asylum here and don’t want to be American too?”
“My patience grows thin, Barker,” Hank spat.
Barker’s voice grew soft but still controlled. “Hank. Sit down and we’ll get straight to business.”
Hank remained standing and continued to scrutinize Barker. Barker seemed normal for the most part, aside from the conspicuous calm. He wasn’t visibly armed. Hank had the reach to be across the table and on him in under one second.
Hank considered his next move.
“Very well,” Hank conceded and sat down. To its credit, the chair somehow held his weight without complaint. “Some balls on you, American. Speak.”
Barker cleared his throat and said, “Hank, you and your ‘Altan Ord’ have done some real damage all over Africa and the Middle East. A lot of people upstairs think you’re a liability. They don’t want you here. They want you kicked out, locked away, or ‘vanished’. Your surrender to American forces has put you in danger, Hank.”
Hank nodded.
“You’ve stated your demands clearly. For anyone, even a Russian national, we could make it happen. You’re an asset, Hank.” Barker leaned forward and lowered his voice. “My people don’t give a damn what you did. We believe in second chances. Let’s say we give you one. Then what?”
“I wrestle. It’s all I’ve known. In Russian circus, in America, in battle with third-world militia and army. The enemies, they always change. The act? Always remains the same. I break people.
“But,” Hank tilted his head down. “I do it in American ring for good now. Americans profit, I profit, I have purpose in life. Win-win. I don’t look over shoulder every night. I don’t think about screams and smell of burning flesh. I don’t think about bullet with my name on it, putting me into the ground of some country no one ever heard of.”
Barker listened impassively. Just a flicker of a sympathetic frown flitted across his lips and eyes, then he was all business again. “That’s well and fine, Hank. I can make all that happen...”
He trailed off.
“...but not for free.”
“Sell me,” said Hank with a frown.
“A single favor. Back to your old stomping grounds in Africa just this once. Without your ‘Ord’. Just for us. In exchange, we forgive all sins. Totally clean slate, like Christ after the Passion. You can become a picture-perfect US citizen, a total innocent, an absolute angel. Or a wrestling superstar, breaking people to your heart’s content. Whatever you want.”
Hank grunted and grit his teeth. “If I leave borders of United States, how do I know I will return?”
Barker leaned back. “You’ve watched too many Hollywood thrillers, Hank. We’re not in the habit of burning good assets just because. There’s too much to lose. Your remaining friends in the Altan Ord would be pissed. Nor do we want you running into the arms of our shirtless horse-riding friend in the east.”
“He is not my friend,” Hank muttered.
Something made a chime. Barker slipped a phone out of his pocket and looked. He showed a wide line of pearly teeth. “Good news if I ever heard it. Let’s make this deal interesting.” He made eye contact with Hank. “Another friend of yours from the Ord is taking this mission.”
Hank’s eyes widened. His mind went wild with possibilities. Which of them made the same deal? He couldn’t imagine the khan would but- maybe he did! Or one of his other lieutenants!
Barker’s voice brought Hank back to the present. “They can do it with or without you, Hank. Your choice. But this is your best shot. Otherwise, it’s going to be months to years in our very busy immigration system. We may not have a second opportunity for you, and who knows if someone less friendly may interve-”
“I’ll do it,” said Hank. There can be no question now.
“Excellent. You head out at four in the morning. We’ll upgrade you to one of the nice cells so you can have a proper sleep. The briefing will be on the flight. Enjoy, American.” Barker made a playful wave.
The door opened behind Hank. Officers marched in and hustled him out of the room. Hank turned his head to examine Barker’s face while he still had a line of sight.
He could see nothing of suspicion in Barker’s demeanor, and that bothered him more than anything else.
----
A bored, average-looking man in a dress shirt served as Hank’s sole companion on the flight. He began briefing Hank on his task, ignoring anything Hank replied.
“This is your target. Wali Shaheen”, the other man lectured, as if he repeated it for the hundredth time. “A local VIP of considerable influence, with suspected connections to ...”
Hank didn’t hear much of it. He was deep in thought. He clasped the photograph of his target. His eyes stared at it, but his mind pictured his old Ord and sifted through possibilities. Which of them would have taken the same deal I did? I cannot imagine.
The man continued, “...we just need a message given to him. Leave him alive. What happens to the rest of his men is of no importance...”
Priority. Find my ally. That will improve my chances.
“… very heavily guarded. Satellite imagery here. Aerial photography of his estate...”
I’ll make plans if this turns south too.
“...don’t call us, we’ll know when you’re done, we’ll call you first. On this burner cell phone. If you are captured, we have no idea who you are….”
---
They touched down.
Hank’s mind raced. He had returned to the nightmare that was war. So much for goodbye.
Most of the briefing’s details had escaped him, but he recalled the essentials. Find powerful man here, break into estate, deliver message, leave him alive.
The smell of the air and the temperature this evening told him this was somewhere in the very north of Africa. It was uncomfortably hot and humid. Hank had been given a drab set of military fatigues, which didn’t help much. Although, they surprisingly fit well, considering Hankwas a dozen sizes north of "large".
He departed the plane and walked into the darkness.
----
His Ord contact was late. The briefer said they’d be here at this cave an hour ago. He was running out of nighttime. Cover of darkness favored close-quarters attacks, the kind the Ord excelled at. The sky was still dark, only a hint of the moon sticking out among the clouds, but how for much longer? Then again, perhaps the other Ord member couldn’t see him?
He considered making some kind of signal. He carried little. A few flares, a smoke grenade, rations, water, a cell phone, a map. To be fair, he had vanquished many enemies unarmed. Perhaps the Americans had that much faith in him. Or they did not care if he failed. He shrugged. It made no difference. He would honor a deal first, then get revenge if they did not.
A moving figure blocked a few stars in the night sky. Hank turned to face it. Whatever it was, it noticed his quick movement and darted out of his field of view. Hank guessed its velocity and lunged to his side to intercept it.
The intruder yelled and Hank felt contact. Then a dull pain at his arm. It was too dark to see. He seized the attacker and threw it straight up to buy a moment. He stood up and caught his attacker, then pinned it to the ground.
He seized a flare, tore it open with one hand, and pressed the light close to its face.
He saw in his hands a girl with short wavy hair, dark blue eyes, and pale skin. She wore military fatigues, the same as Hank. Her large eyes opened even wider when she saw Hank.
“Comrade vampire,” he whispered. He released her.
“Hey, Hank. Geez, you got faster since I saw you”, she coughed as she stood up. “I didn’t realize you’d, you know, charge at the first thing you saw.”
“You are late, comrade vampire. Anything could have happened. I could not be sure it was you.”
“I got lost.”
Yes, that sounds right, Hank thought. Our leader did all the navigating. I, and THNG, the vampire, were merely his strongest henchmen. Scarcely even officers. Perhaps that is why we failed.
“Hank, you alright there?”, asked THNG. She seemed frail and a little confused, but Hank knew better.
“I am fine, Comrade vampire. A lot to think about lately.”
“You? Thinking? Wow, things have changed!” She beamed.
Hank matched her smile and tapped her shoulder with his fist. “Easy now comrade vampire, you bit me once already.” The bite in his arm seemed a little red but did not break the skin. He extinguished the flare, removing all sight of her.
THNG smiled back. “Sorry about that, Hank. You hit me in the teeth.”
“My apologies, comrade vampire. But we do have to move on. Our ‘sponsors’ may have patience, but the night does not. Our advantage against our enemy’s men will vanish at dawn. Very good to see you nonetheless, comrade vampire.”
“Good to see you too, Hank. Who even were those people anyway, Hank? CIA? NSA? TSA?” THNG followed Hank out of the cave.
“No idea and it is better that way. Come. And be silent, anyone may be listening.”
----
Thirty minutes later, they came across the borders of Wali Shaheen’s mansion. The compound alternated between intricate curves and imposing angles along its warm, off-white walls. The lush garden and grass lawn stood out, considering the surrounding land was stone or desert. A healthy portion of barbed wire, reinforced gates, and a few dragon’s teeth barriers reminded the two they were not welcome. The half dozen rifle-toting guards walking the perimeter completed that impression. Floodlights inconsistently grazed the outer perimeter, but the buildings themselves were minimally lit.
Hank whispered, “What can you see?”
THNG squinted in the darkness. A vampire’s eyes were much better suited to the poor lighting.
“Hm, there’s not a lot of guys on guard. They look tired and bored. I think we can blow through them easily. Hmm, wonder why our ‘sponsors’ didn’t give me a weapon. Did they expect me to bite everyone?” said THNG.
“I have suspicions, comrade. But you can handle them without biting?”
“Sure. Biting humans is gross anyway.”
“Okay. You are not contagious? I want to be sure.”
“Nah. The Ord never ran into other vampires, right?”
“Okay, good. Let’s do this.”
----
Mahveen was ….well ... the best term he could think of was “bored shitless”. It sounded right, the Westerners and their television came up with it. Sometimes, just sometimes, they had good ideas. He cradled his AK-something and for the 229th time, tonight turned around and walked in a straight line exactly as he had been paid to. Thrilling. It could have been worse, he could be working for Ali Can instead. Shaheen was pretty good all considered, he didn’t boil his me-
A meaty arm wrapped around Mahveen from behind but didn’t cut open his throat. As relief washed over his soul, Mahveen heard a strange deep voice whisper “Shhhh” and then babble incomprehensibly in English. In the universal sign language for “I am not paid enough for this shit”, Mahveen dropped his gun and raised his arms as best as his assailant’s hold allowed. Which was not at all. Man, this guy is strong. And sweaty, was all he could think. Then he blacked out.
-----
Hank checked the guard’s pulse and found it. He seemed nice, at least for the three seconds that he and Hank nonverbally interacted. Hank moved the unconscious man to a nearby hedge in a position that could be mistaken for a sneaky nap.
Hank couldn’t move with grace, but he at least had speed. Across the compound, he saw a walking guard suddenly pulled into a bush. THNG was much more comfortable at night. What kind of vampire wouldn’t be?
Another guard went to investigate the rustling. He started to get warmer, then THNG dropped straight down on him. The victim went still. She gingerly dragged him out of Hank’s sight.
Hank started to move again when he heard a set of footsteps around a building’s corner. He darted to the corner.
A curious guard paused and then peeked out of the corner. He was not nearly fast enough. Hank shoulder checked him, dropping the man without further ado. Hank moved him to the hedge with his friend.
More guards, laughing, stumbled out of a darkened doorway beside Hank. Hank’s eyes widened.
One of them looked straight at Hank and froze. Hank did not hesitate. He leaped the distance far faster than anything his size should and threw a sharp haymaker. His enormous fist caught all three guards in its path before any of them could make any sound. Well, any voluntary sound. The clatter of their guns and bodies against the concrete made quite a fuss.
In a panic, Hank picked up the laid-out guards and tossed them behind the hedge too. That made even more sound. Hank heard cursing in some language he did not recognize, and the bustle of guns clacking and boots hitting the pavement, which he did.
Hank ducked behind a low garden wall, which he realized too late couldn’t hide his immense size. A lot of flashlights shined at him.
He heard guns readied. He started to crawl in desperation, when he heard another set of footsteps, running fast. The guards hesitated, and a few flashlight beams left Hank to search for the noise.
Hank took the smoke grenade from his pocket, dumped it over the wall, and prayed for the best. Gunfire started rocking the ground around him as the smoke filled his position. He heard someone scream and land hard, then the sounds of gunfire were not directed at him. The faint shape of a vampire flitted through the smoke, followed by a man’s scream. Hank thanked his gods for his ally and felt his way through the smoke. He tossed aside any unlucky gunmen in his way like they were small children. His fingers soon touched the tall cool walls of a building.
More shouting and cursing filled the area. Armed men streamed out of doors. Building windows lit up. A PA broadcast something urgent-sounding.
Hank continued to slide his way along the building’s exterior, occasionally ducking when a bullet pinged near him, until he felt an entrance. He burst in and ran into a robed man loading his rifle. Hank snatched away the gun and pinned the man against a wall.
“English?” he yelled at the guard.
The guard frantically shook his head.
“Wali Shaheen? Wali Shaheen!?" Hank yelled repeatedly. He raised a fist to remove any ambiguity.
The guard pointed a trembling finger out the doorway, at the tallest building in the compound.
Hank growled. The man flinched but didn’t change where he was pointing.
Satisfied, Hank shoved the man’s head against a wall, just enough to knock him out.
The battle raged on outside. Hank was grateful for the distraction. THNG zipped from shadow to shadow, as guards failed to track her for more than a second. She held a piece of steel railing with a spot of blood and many dents on it. Smoke and fire obscured the battlefield wherever she had to cover open ground.
And so Hank took advantage of that as well. He stepped out and ran full tilt into a slide behind a ceramic statue. A bullet shook the statue, then more followed. Hank picked up a rock and threw it hard enough to blow a man off his feet. Another time and the bullets stopped. He sprinted out of cover to his target. Bullet holes erupted in his wake as gunners spotted him and tried to catch him.
Shaheen’s building did not have doors on this side, so to escape the bullets, Hank dove through a large window. Glass went everywhere, a woman screamed and Hank sailed onto a table. It shattered and sprayed several men and women in the room with splinters. They screamed and clutched at the wooden fragments. Hank punched them one by one to silence them. The last one was a teenager who breathed heavily in Hank’s grasp, fear keeping the boy’s eyes as wide as they could go.
“Wali Shaheen!” Hank yelled again and again.
The wounded teenager pointed upstairs and held up a hand to protect his face. Hank dropped him and moved on. The Russian heard nearby shouts, doors kicked open and boots beating the ground. He would not have long.
Hank dashed up a flight of stairs, punching aside men in his way, or bashing them against convenient walls.
He threw open a door to find a squad of men with AKs pointing in his direction. Behind them stood a well-groomed tan-skinned man in a suit, looking very much in charge. He looked just like the photograph that Hank was given.
“Wali Shaheen,” said Hank. He raised his hands over his head.
The man’s expression changed when he heard Hank’s accent. “Impressive, you’re still alive after all that,” said the suited man. “I didn’t think the Russians would act so directly to silence me. It looks like they sent their best.”
Then Hank realized what camouflage pattern he was wearing. It was a Russian uniform.
He wanted to laugh, except that if he made a sudden move, he would be riddled with lead. It all made sense now. The mission. The message he was given. Everything.
And that message? “ ‘You should never have talked, Wali,’ ” recited Hank.
“Maybe, maybe not” sneered Wali. “My men tell me your troops tore through them. But I am getting out of this. You are my hostage now. You die if more men breach this building. Tell your men. Tell Putin. I’m done with him.”
“Very well. You win, Wali,” Hank pretend to withdraw a walky-talky, holding the imaginary device in such a way to be concealed by his enormous hands.
<Comrades, we have to stop fighting, he has me hostage.> He said in Russian over the imaginary radio. He pretended to listen for an answer, then ‘replied’ in Russian, <What do you mean, you aren’t in charge?>
Silence. Hank continued, <I would not care if your babushka’s life was at stake, you will follow orders!>
Both Wali and the gunmen bore confused frowns at the Russian behemoth yammering in a language they couldn’t begin to understand. A few of them lowered their rifles.
Wali interjected, “What is taking so long, you-”
Mid-sentence through his imaginary conversation, Hank tore the door off its hinges and threw it like a frisbee into the distracted firing line. Men and rifles scattered like bowling balls. Wali narrowly ducked out of the way.
Hank wasted no time and beelined for a nearby window. He rammed his way out, shattering both glass and masonry.
He landed heavily a floor below and had unusual difficulty standing up. He then saw blood and realized that he was bleeding from several gunshots. They had been there for some time.
“Damn. And I was doing so well,” he muttered as adrenaline ebbed. A very familiar pain started to reach into his body. He dragged himself forward as fast as his shaky limbs could manage. He faintly heard shouts from the building behind him, and gunfire in the distance. The cellphone in his pocket rang, but it sounded as distant as the gunfire and the shouting.
The earth surged up to meet him. He groaned and pushed hard to stop it coming closer, but it was not enough. As his cheek met pavement and the world grew black, he heard the deep pulse of his heart pounding…
----
“Barker. The Russians just made an attempt on my life. We narrowly defeated them. It seems I have no choice. You have my full cooperation”, said Wali Shaheen.
“Outstanding, Mr. Shaheen. You have my guarantees of safety. We’ll keep in contact,” replied Barker.
“Much appreciated,” said Wali.
Barker turned off the screen with Wali’s face on it.
“Mission accomplished,” Barker said with a grin. “And not a single American citizen’s life at stake.”
Hank blearily opened his eyes at the sounds of speech.
“Oop, you probably weren’t supposed to see that, Hank.”
Hank knew he was horizontal, tied down, and thirsty. What he thought was his pounding heart turned out to be helicopter rotors. He looked to his side and saw THNG in a similar setup, tied down with an IV line and blood-soaked clothes. Her eyes were closed and she looked a lot rougher than Hank felt.
Hank turned his head back around to stare at Barker.
“What happens now?” was all he could get out.
“Truth be told, my bosses told me to dispose of you two,” said Barker.
Hank closed his eyes and nodded. The bottom of his stomach dropped, but he knew this was coming. He’d do the same in a-
“Fuck ‘em,” said Barker.
Hank opened his eyes again.
Barker leaned down to Hank. “I don’t believe in screwing people who did me a favor. Even only for practical reasons. Quid pro quo. Look at America now! Half the world hates us because we cut and run on them. I can’t fix everything, but be the change you want to see, right?"
Hank weakly nodded and pretended he followed.
Barker smiled. “You and your friend got pretty badly mauled, but damn if you didn’t do a good job first. Still not sure how you two took on fifty people at once, but damn if that doesn’t justify us staying on your good side.”
Hank glanced at the helicopter window and saw cities and crop fields passing in the distance.
“Mr. Sokolov, welcome to America.”
----
One week later:
THNG bounced up and down. She was swaddled in bandages and moved slower, but her face remained full of life. “Wow, back home! I mean, I was American before, and then I guess I got disowned while I was in the Ord and now I’m a citizen again? Well, we’re law-abiding citizens now, Hankie! Come on, let's go, let’s go!”
“One moment, comrade vampire, I need to get my things from locker.”
Hank peered into the container of his formerly confiscated goods. One thing drew his eye in particular. His old red and yellow USSR leotard. Hank debated whether to keep it. Good memories. Bad look. Then he noticed a postcard on top of it. It was from his old circus back home.
“Have not seen these in twenty years”, he mumbled. “Did I always have this?”
On the postcard was written in Russian: “We should talk, Comrade Sokolov” Below that was an address and a date three days into the future.
Hank’s eyes widened in alarm. “You know what, comrade vampire? We should get going. I have interview for wrestling position with Fireside… and another meeting with… friends.” He glanced again at the postcard.
He took out the folded leotard and the postcard and tucked them under his arm. He limped after THNG out of the immigration facility.
END
Hank Sokolov walked through the doorway. The handcuffed Russian giant dwarfed the two uniformed officers escorting him. They each held a hand on his shoulders, like a pair of twigs propping up a car. He paid them no mind and strode forward with purpose.
He ducked under a doorway. It was tall, but Hank was taller. As Hank walked in, his orange jumpsuit obscured the entire entrance.
Before him lay a bare table with a third police officer sitting on the opposite side. An empty chair presented itself on Hank’s side.
One of the escorting officers shoved hard at Hank, to absolutely no effect. Hank took the hint, however, and sat at the table. He heard two sets of footsteps growing distant behind him. The door slammed and locked shut, leaving just him and the man across the table.
The officer across the table smiled and folded his hands. The man was dark-skinned, with close-cropped curly hair. Yet he seemed oddly comfortable one-on-one with someone three times his size.
“You are not immigration agent,” said Hank.
“Oh? What makes you say that?” asked the man.
Hank ignored him and squinted. No identification or badge on this man. Hank’s eyes darted to and fro around the room. No camera domes in sight, unlike every other room he had seen so far. And again, no escorts, no protection.
“What is this?” asked Hank. He allowed his eyes to wander around more. “This cannot be standard procedure.”
The man smiled. “Let’s call me Barker, shall we?”
“You did not answer me, Barker.
“Andrei Sergeivich Sokolov. Better known as ‘Hank’,” said Barker. “Former professional wrestler, last seen working for the Alta-”
Hank stood up. He towered at least four feet above Barker’s sitting form. He could snap his handcuffs in a single gesture. He’d done it before. He glared down at Barker. The smaller man made no move and kept his hands above the table.
“Hank. Please. Sit down,” Barker did not look up. “If I meant you harm, you would not have even made it to a conversation.”
He made a nonchalant wave of the hand.
“Cut straight to point, American,” said Hank. “Why are we alone without surveillance? This is against your procedures. If I meant you harm, you would be mince before anyone could walk through the door.”
Barker seemed more amused than anything. “‘American’? Really? You request asylum here and don’t want to be American too?”
“My patience grows thin, Barker,” Hank spat.
Barker’s voice grew soft but still controlled. “Hank. Sit down and we’ll get straight to business.”
Hank remained standing and continued to scrutinize Barker. Barker seemed normal for the most part, aside from the conspicuous calm. He wasn’t visibly armed. Hank had the reach to be across the table and on him in under one second.
Hank considered his next move.
“Very well,” Hank conceded and sat down. To its credit, the chair somehow held his weight without complaint. “Some balls on you, American. Speak.”
Barker cleared his throat and said, “Hank, you and your ‘Altan Ord’ have done some real damage all over Africa and the Middle East. A lot of people upstairs think you’re a liability. They don’t want you here. They want you kicked out, locked away, or ‘vanished’. Your surrender to American forces has put you in danger, Hank.”
Hank nodded.
“You’ve stated your demands clearly. For anyone, even a Russian national, we could make it happen. You’re an asset, Hank.” Barker leaned forward and lowered his voice. “My people don’t give a damn what you did. We believe in second chances. Let’s say we give you one. Then what?”
“I wrestle. It’s all I’ve known. In Russian circus, in America, in battle with third-world militia and army. The enemies, they always change. The act? Always remains the same. I break people.
“But,” Hank tilted his head down. “I do it in American ring for good now. Americans profit, I profit, I have purpose in life. Win-win. I don’t look over shoulder every night. I don’t think about screams and smell of burning flesh. I don’t think about bullet with my name on it, putting me into the ground of some country no one ever heard of.”
Barker listened impassively. Just a flicker of a sympathetic frown flitted across his lips and eyes, then he was all business again. “That’s well and fine, Hank. I can make all that happen...”
He trailed off.
“...but not for free.”
“Sell me,” said Hank with a frown.
“A single favor. Back to your old stomping grounds in Africa just this once. Without your ‘Ord’. Just for us. In exchange, we forgive all sins. Totally clean slate, like Christ after the Passion. You can become a picture-perfect US citizen, a total innocent, an absolute angel. Or a wrestling superstar, breaking people to your heart’s content. Whatever you want.”
Hank grunted and grit his teeth. “If I leave borders of United States, how do I know I will return?”
Barker leaned back. “You’ve watched too many Hollywood thrillers, Hank. We’re not in the habit of burning good assets just because. There’s too much to lose. Your remaining friends in the Altan Ord would be pissed. Nor do we want you running into the arms of our shirtless horse-riding friend in the east.”
“He is not my friend,” Hank muttered.
Something made a chime. Barker slipped a phone out of his pocket and looked. He showed a wide line of pearly teeth. “Good news if I ever heard it. Let’s make this deal interesting.” He made eye contact with Hank. “Another friend of yours from the Ord is taking this mission.”
Hank’s eyes widened. His mind went wild with possibilities. Which of them made the same deal? He couldn’t imagine the khan would but- maybe he did! Or one of his other lieutenants!
Barker’s voice brought Hank back to the present. “They can do it with or without you, Hank. Your choice. But this is your best shot. Otherwise, it’s going to be months to years in our very busy immigration system. We may not have a second opportunity for you, and who knows if someone less friendly may interve-”
“I’ll do it,” said Hank. There can be no question now.
“Excellent. You head out at four in the morning. We’ll upgrade you to one of the nice cells so you can have a proper sleep. The briefing will be on the flight. Enjoy, American.” Barker made a playful wave.
The door opened behind Hank. Officers marched in and hustled him out of the room. Hank turned his head to examine Barker’s face while he still had a line of sight.
He could see nothing of suspicion in Barker’s demeanor, and that bothered him more than anything else.
----
A bored, average-looking man in a dress shirt served as Hank’s sole companion on the flight. He began briefing Hank on his task, ignoring anything Hank replied.
“This is your target. Wali Shaheen”, the other man lectured, as if he repeated it for the hundredth time. “A local VIP of considerable influence, with suspected connections to ...”
Hank didn’t hear much of it. He was deep in thought. He clasped the photograph of his target. His eyes stared at it, but his mind pictured his old Ord and sifted through possibilities. Which of them would have taken the same deal I did? I cannot imagine.
The man continued, “...we just need a message given to him. Leave him alive. What happens to the rest of his men is of no importance...”
Priority. Find my ally. That will improve my chances.
“… very heavily guarded. Satellite imagery here. Aerial photography of his estate...”
I’ll make plans if this turns south too.
“...don’t call us, we’ll know when you’re done, we’ll call you first. On this burner cell phone. If you are captured, we have no idea who you are….”
---
They touched down.
Hank’s mind raced. He had returned to the nightmare that was war. So much for goodbye.
Most of the briefing’s details had escaped him, but he recalled the essentials. Find powerful man here, break into estate, deliver message, leave him alive.
The smell of the air and the temperature this evening told him this was somewhere in the very north of Africa. It was uncomfortably hot and humid. Hank had been given a drab set of military fatigues, which didn’t help much. Although, they surprisingly fit well, considering Hankwas a dozen sizes north of "large".
He departed the plane and walked into the darkness.
----
His Ord contact was late. The briefer said they’d be here at this cave an hour ago. He was running out of nighttime. Cover of darkness favored close-quarters attacks, the kind the Ord excelled at. The sky was still dark, only a hint of the moon sticking out among the clouds, but how for much longer? Then again, perhaps the other Ord member couldn’t see him?
He considered making some kind of signal. He carried little. A few flares, a smoke grenade, rations, water, a cell phone, a map. To be fair, he had vanquished many enemies unarmed. Perhaps the Americans had that much faith in him. Or they did not care if he failed. He shrugged. It made no difference. He would honor a deal first, then get revenge if they did not.
A moving figure blocked a few stars in the night sky. Hank turned to face it. Whatever it was, it noticed his quick movement and darted out of his field of view. Hank guessed its velocity and lunged to his side to intercept it.
The intruder yelled and Hank felt contact. Then a dull pain at his arm. It was too dark to see. He seized the attacker and threw it straight up to buy a moment. He stood up and caught his attacker, then pinned it to the ground.
He seized a flare, tore it open with one hand, and pressed the light close to its face.
He saw in his hands a girl with short wavy hair, dark blue eyes, and pale skin. She wore military fatigues, the same as Hank. Her large eyes opened even wider when she saw Hank.
“Comrade vampire,” he whispered. He released her.
“Hey, Hank. Geez, you got faster since I saw you”, she coughed as she stood up. “I didn’t realize you’d, you know, charge at the first thing you saw.”
“You are late, comrade vampire. Anything could have happened. I could not be sure it was you.”
“I got lost.”
Yes, that sounds right, Hank thought. Our leader did all the navigating. I, and THNG, the vampire, were merely his strongest henchmen. Scarcely even officers. Perhaps that is why we failed.
“Hank, you alright there?”, asked THNG. She seemed frail and a little confused, but Hank knew better.
“I am fine, Comrade vampire. A lot to think about lately.”
“You? Thinking? Wow, things have changed!” She beamed.
Hank matched her smile and tapped her shoulder with his fist. “Easy now comrade vampire, you bit me once already.” The bite in his arm seemed a little red but did not break the skin. He extinguished the flare, removing all sight of her.
THNG smiled back. “Sorry about that, Hank. You hit me in the teeth.”
“My apologies, comrade vampire. But we do have to move on. Our ‘sponsors’ may have patience, but the night does not. Our advantage against our enemy’s men will vanish at dawn. Very good to see you nonetheless, comrade vampire.”
“Good to see you too, Hank. Who even were those people anyway, Hank? CIA? NSA? TSA?” THNG followed Hank out of the cave.
“No idea and it is better that way. Come. And be silent, anyone may be listening.”
----
Thirty minutes later, they came across the borders of Wali Shaheen’s mansion. The compound alternated between intricate curves and imposing angles along its warm, off-white walls. The lush garden and grass lawn stood out, considering the surrounding land was stone or desert. A healthy portion of barbed wire, reinforced gates, and a few dragon’s teeth barriers reminded the two they were not welcome. The half dozen rifle-toting guards walking the perimeter completed that impression. Floodlights inconsistently grazed the outer perimeter, but the buildings themselves were minimally lit.
Hank whispered, “What can you see?”
THNG squinted in the darkness. A vampire’s eyes were much better suited to the poor lighting.
“Hm, there’s not a lot of guys on guard. They look tired and bored. I think we can blow through them easily. Hmm, wonder why our ‘sponsors’ didn’t give me a weapon. Did they expect me to bite everyone?” said THNG.
“I have suspicions, comrade. But you can handle them without biting?”
“Sure. Biting humans is gross anyway.”
“Okay. You are not contagious? I want to be sure.”
“Nah. The Ord never ran into other vampires, right?”
“Okay, good. Let’s do this.”
----
Mahveen was ….well ... the best term he could think of was “bored shitless”. It sounded right, the Westerners and their television came up with it. Sometimes, just sometimes, they had good ideas. He cradled his AK-something and for the 229th time, tonight turned around and walked in a straight line exactly as he had been paid to. Thrilling. It could have been worse, he could be working for Ali Can instead. Shaheen was pretty good all considered, he didn’t boil his me-
A meaty arm wrapped around Mahveen from behind but didn’t cut open his throat. As relief washed over his soul, Mahveen heard a strange deep voice whisper “Shhhh” and then babble incomprehensibly in English. In the universal sign language for “I am not paid enough for this shit”, Mahveen dropped his gun and raised his arms as best as his assailant’s hold allowed. Which was not at all. Man, this guy is strong. And sweaty, was all he could think. Then he blacked out.
-----
Hank checked the guard’s pulse and found it. He seemed nice, at least for the three seconds that he and Hank nonverbally interacted. Hank moved the unconscious man to a nearby hedge in a position that could be mistaken for a sneaky nap.
Hank couldn’t move with grace, but he at least had speed. Across the compound, he saw a walking guard suddenly pulled into a bush. THNG was much more comfortable at night. What kind of vampire wouldn’t be?
Another guard went to investigate the rustling. He started to get warmer, then THNG dropped straight down on him. The victim went still. She gingerly dragged him out of Hank’s sight.
Hank started to move again when he heard a set of footsteps around a building’s corner. He darted to the corner.
A curious guard paused and then peeked out of the corner. He was not nearly fast enough. Hank shoulder checked him, dropping the man without further ado. Hank moved him to the hedge with his friend.
More guards, laughing, stumbled out of a darkened doorway beside Hank. Hank’s eyes widened.
One of them looked straight at Hank and froze. Hank did not hesitate. He leaped the distance far faster than anything his size should and threw a sharp haymaker. His enormous fist caught all three guards in its path before any of them could make any sound. Well, any voluntary sound. The clatter of their guns and bodies against the concrete made quite a fuss.
In a panic, Hank picked up the laid-out guards and tossed them behind the hedge too. That made even more sound. Hank heard cursing in some language he did not recognize, and the bustle of guns clacking and boots hitting the pavement, which he did.
Hank ducked behind a low garden wall, which he realized too late couldn’t hide his immense size. A lot of flashlights shined at him.
He heard guns readied. He started to crawl in desperation, when he heard another set of footsteps, running fast. The guards hesitated, and a few flashlight beams left Hank to search for the noise.
Hank took the smoke grenade from his pocket, dumped it over the wall, and prayed for the best. Gunfire started rocking the ground around him as the smoke filled his position. He heard someone scream and land hard, then the sounds of gunfire were not directed at him. The faint shape of a vampire flitted through the smoke, followed by a man’s scream. Hank thanked his gods for his ally and felt his way through the smoke. He tossed aside any unlucky gunmen in his way like they were small children. His fingers soon touched the tall cool walls of a building.
More shouting and cursing filled the area. Armed men streamed out of doors. Building windows lit up. A PA broadcast something urgent-sounding.
Hank continued to slide his way along the building’s exterior, occasionally ducking when a bullet pinged near him, until he felt an entrance. He burst in and ran into a robed man loading his rifle. Hank snatched away the gun and pinned the man against a wall.
“English?” he yelled at the guard.
The guard frantically shook his head.
“Wali Shaheen? Wali Shaheen!?" Hank yelled repeatedly. He raised a fist to remove any ambiguity.
The guard pointed a trembling finger out the doorway, at the tallest building in the compound.
Hank growled. The man flinched but didn’t change where he was pointing.
Satisfied, Hank shoved the man’s head against a wall, just enough to knock him out.
The battle raged on outside. Hank was grateful for the distraction. THNG zipped from shadow to shadow, as guards failed to track her for more than a second. She held a piece of steel railing with a spot of blood and many dents on it. Smoke and fire obscured the battlefield wherever she had to cover open ground.
And so Hank took advantage of that as well. He stepped out and ran full tilt into a slide behind a ceramic statue. A bullet shook the statue, then more followed. Hank picked up a rock and threw it hard enough to blow a man off his feet. Another time and the bullets stopped. He sprinted out of cover to his target. Bullet holes erupted in his wake as gunners spotted him and tried to catch him.
Shaheen’s building did not have doors on this side, so to escape the bullets, Hank dove through a large window. Glass went everywhere, a woman screamed and Hank sailed onto a table. It shattered and sprayed several men and women in the room with splinters. They screamed and clutched at the wooden fragments. Hank punched them one by one to silence them. The last one was a teenager who breathed heavily in Hank’s grasp, fear keeping the boy’s eyes as wide as they could go.
“Wali Shaheen!” Hank yelled again and again.
The wounded teenager pointed upstairs and held up a hand to protect his face. Hank dropped him and moved on. The Russian heard nearby shouts, doors kicked open and boots beating the ground. He would not have long.
Hank dashed up a flight of stairs, punching aside men in his way, or bashing them against convenient walls.
He threw open a door to find a squad of men with AKs pointing in his direction. Behind them stood a well-groomed tan-skinned man in a suit, looking very much in charge. He looked just like the photograph that Hank was given.
“Wali Shaheen,” said Hank. He raised his hands over his head.
The man’s expression changed when he heard Hank’s accent. “Impressive, you’re still alive after all that,” said the suited man. “I didn’t think the Russians would act so directly to silence me. It looks like they sent their best.”
Then Hank realized what camouflage pattern he was wearing. It was a Russian uniform.
He wanted to laugh, except that if he made a sudden move, he would be riddled with lead. It all made sense now. The mission. The message he was given. Everything.
And that message? “ ‘You should never have talked, Wali,’ ” recited Hank.
“Maybe, maybe not” sneered Wali. “My men tell me your troops tore through them. But I am getting out of this. You are my hostage now. You die if more men breach this building. Tell your men. Tell Putin. I’m done with him.”
“Very well. You win, Wali,” Hank pretend to withdraw a walky-talky, holding the imaginary device in such a way to be concealed by his enormous hands.
<Comrades, we have to stop fighting, he has me hostage.> He said in Russian over the imaginary radio. He pretended to listen for an answer, then ‘replied’ in Russian, <What do you mean, you aren’t in charge?>
Silence. Hank continued, <I would not care if your babushka’s life was at stake, you will follow orders!>
Both Wali and the gunmen bore confused frowns at the Russian behemoth yammering in a language they couldn’t begin to understand. A few of them lowered their rifles.
Wali interjected, “What is taking so long, you-”
Mid-sentence through his imaginary conversation, Hank tore the door off its hinges and threw it like a frisbee into the distracted firing line. Men and rifles scattered like bowling balls. Wali narrowly ducked out of the way.
Hank wasted no time and beelined for a nearby window. He rammed his way out, shattering both glass and masonry.
He landed heavily a floor below and had unusual difficulty standing up. He then saw blood and realized that he was bleeding from several gunshots. They had been there for some time.
“Damn. And I was doing so well,” he muttered as adrenaline ebbed. A very familiar pain started to reach into his body. He dragged himself forward as fast as his shaky limbs could manage. He faintly heard shouts from the building behind him, and gunfire in the distance. The cellphone in his pocket rang, but it sounded as distant as the gunfire and the shouting.
The earth surged up to meet him. He groaned and pushed hard to stop it coming closer, but it was not enough. As his cheek met pavement and the world grew black, he heard the deep pulse of his heart pounding…
----
“Barker. The Russians just made an attempt on my life. We narrowly defeated them. It seems I have no choice. You have my full cooperation”, said Wali Shaheen.
“Outstanding, Mr. Shaheen. You have my guarantees of safety. We’ll keep in contact,” replied Barker.
“Much appreciated,” said Wali.
Barker turned off the screen with Wali’s face on it.
“Mission accomplished,” Barker said with a grin. “And not a single American citizen’s life at stake.”
Hank blearily opened his eyes at the sounds of speech.
“Oop, you probably weren’t supposed to see that, Hank.”
Hank knew he was horizontal, tied down, and thirsty. What he thought was his pounding heart turned out to be helicopter rotors. He looked to his side and saw THNG in a similar setup, tied down with an IV line and blood-soaked clothes. Her eyes were closed and she looked a lot rougher than Hank felt.
Hank turned his head back around to stare at Barker.
“What happens now?” was all he could get out.
“Truth be told, my bosses told me to dispose of you two,” said Barker.
Hank closed his eyes and nodded. The bottom of his stomach dropped, but he knew this was coming. He’d do the same in a-
“Fuck ‘em,” said Barker.
Hank opened his eyes again.
Barker leaned down to Hank. “I don’t believe in screwing people who did me a favor. Even only for practical reasons. Quid pro quo. Look at America now! Half the world hates us because we cut and run on them. I can’t fix everything, but be the change you want to see, right?"
Hank weakly nodded and pretended he followed.
Barker smiled. “You and your friend got pretty badly mauled, but damn if you didn’t do a good job first. Still not sure how you two took on fifty people at once, but damn if that doesn’t justify us staying on your good side.”
Hank glanced at the helicopter window and saw cities and crop fields passing in the distance.
“Mr. Sokolov, welcome to America.”
----
One week later:
THNG bounced up and down. She was swaddled in bandages and moved slower, but her face remained full of life. “Wow, back home! I mean, I was American before, and then I guess I got disowned while I was in the Ord and now I’m a citizen again? Well, we’re law-abiding citizens now, Hankie! Come on, let's go, let’s go!”
“One moment, comrade vampire, I need to get my things from locker.”
Hank peered into the container of his formerly confiscated goods. One thing drew his eye in particular. His old red and yellow USSR leotard. Hank debated whether to keep it. Good memories. Bad look. Then he noticed a postcard on top of it. It was from his old circus back home.
“Have not seen these in twenty years”, he mumbled. “Did I always have this?”
On the postcard was written in Russian: “We should talk, Comrade Sokolov” Below that was an address and a date three days into the future.
Hank’s eyes widened in alarm. “You know what, comrade vampire? We should get going. I have interview for wrestling position with Fireside… and another meeting with… friends.” He glanced again at the postcard.
He took out the folded leotard and the postcard and tucked them under his arm. He limped after THNG out of the immigration facility.
END