Blaze (18 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

THE MCINTYRE RESIDENCE, ROMEO, MICHIGAN

I
nstead of Blaze's face being the last thing Diem saw before she hit the sack, it was the 9 mm Beretta on her nightstand. The pistol didn't give her quite the same comfort as her man by her side, but it was the next best thing in his absence. She didn't always keep it out and loaded, but she had a premonition and was feeling particularly vulnerable. The whole day had seemed draped in heavy malaise and she felt a gnawing, irrational sense of pending terror since morning. She would lock the door before lying down to sleep. She didn't want the boys to be able to get in with the loaded gun lying out in the open.

Diem felt a chill to her bone. Outside her window, the wind was roaring and the trees were blowing. She sipped some hot chamomile tea. It warmed her body but did nothing for her soul. She stared at the gun. She hated the thought of having to use the gun, but yet that is all she found herself thinking about. Diem was a good shot—Blaze made sure of that. But she was prepared only out of necessity.
Her mind was reeling.

Is this what I'm in for again? A cold piece of steel keeping me safe at night instead of the warm flesh and blood of my husband? Lord, why did I let him go back in? I should've fought him. I should've stood my ground. I should've trusted my instincts. Why did I let him convince me? Why am I supporting this? I'm alone. Again.
Diem tried to shake her doubts. The wind blew stronger. She glanced at her iPhone on her nightstand to check the time. 11:21 pm.
Will I ever get any sleep tonight?

She took some melatonin pills and sipped more tea. She began to feel small, exposed. Her loneliness was creeping with strength. She didn't feel safe, even with the firearm by her side. She tried to force her mind to focus on pleasant things—cooking, sunny days, nature, and ice cream. She tried this for a few minutes and gave up. The tactic did not work. She wished her life could be simple again, like when Blaze was home.
Blaze doesn't like simple.
This contrast had been a barrier in their marriage from day one.

She decided to change out of her flannel pajamas. She walked to the closet and undressed. She stood in her purple lingerie as she began to reach for her silk robe. The moonlight hit her figure directly. She turned her back towards the window, concerned of how visible she was.

She heard some shuffling outside her window. She grabbed a flashlight from inside the drawer in her nightstand and walked over to see what it was. She saw nothing. She heard it again—the crackling of sticks, ruffling of leaves and scuffling of dirt and rock. She felt uneasy.
Is there someone out there? Is it some terrorist coming after me to get revenge on Blaze? A burglar?
She felt silly for having such thoughts, insane really. She brushed off her paranoia.
Must've been a squirrel or some braches falling.

Still she felt funny.
Is someone from the agency out there? Someone checking up on me? Someone Blaze sent to watch after me? …or is it someone from the agency spying on me for some other reason? Maybe someone at odds with Blaze?
Diem didn't trust the CIA or the federal government. If it wasn't for her trust in Chuck Gallagher, she doubted she would've signed on to Blaze getting back in to the game. Blaze had always stressed to her that they needed to be guarded against the potential malice of the bureaucracy. He'd seen too many strange things happen to colleagues. He knew that the CIA, and the government as a whole, had large pockets of corruption just like any other power structure. He was always watching his back. He knew that moles got in. Diem knew one of Blaze's biggest fears was that the ultimate enemy would emerge from within the agency. Blaze was known, and usually mocked, by his colleagues for his paranoia about moles in the agency.

She walked away from the window.
Its nothing. Just the wind. I need to get some rest.
She got under the covers, turned out the lamp on her nightstand and laid her head on the pillow. As soon as she closed her eyes, she heard a knock on her bedroom door. She quickly rose out of bed and went and unlocked it.

“Shane! What's wrong honey? Can't you sleep?”

Shane stumbled in the bedroom rubbing his eyes. He was clearly upset. He ran to hug his mother. Diem scooped him up and propped him beside her on the bed, after putting the gun away in the nightstand drawer. Not that the sight of a gun was at all unusual for the McIntyre children.

“I had a nightmare, mom. There were wolves chasing me. Flying monsters too. I couldn't get away from them. I was screaming. One of the wolves was just about to eat my leg. Then I woke up.”

“It's okay honey, even adults get scared sometimes. Really. We all do. But it's okay. We have nothing to be afraid of. We're safe here. The Lord is watching over us and He'll give us strength to protect ourselves from any harm. Including your bad dreams.”

“Thanks mom. That helps, but I wish dad was here.”

“I know, honey. I do too. We all do. But right now you need to get back to bed. We all need to get some good rest.”

“Good night, mom.” Shane kissed her on the cheek.

“Good night, Shane. I love you.”

Shane went back to bed and Diem did the same. Diem fell asleep quickly, barely getting through half a prayer. She had felt about as safe as she was going to feel for now. Rest could no longer wait.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

ESFAHAN, IRAN

B
laze shook to it and gained consciousness to the piercing sight of an overhead hot lamp bearing down on him. Temporarily blinded, he could see nothing else, but could hear frantic arguing in Farsi between the two men in the room with him.

As his vision adjusted and recovered from the hot lamp, he got a visual on the men in the room. One was the prick guard that head locked him and gun butted him. The other looked to be a supervisor of sorts based on his wearing a different uniform. Both looked like they didn't know what the hell to do about Blaze.

Blaze felt disoriented and lightheaded from the trauma of the gun butting he endured, as well as the other abuse of the scuffle. He rolled his neck several times to attempt to get his blood flowing and psych himself up for a viable plan to get his ass out of Esfahan.
Fuck this. I ain't gonna die in some two bit, half ass Iranian nuke joint. There's gotta be a way to jam up these ass clowns trying to hold me here.
As he rolled his neck maniacally, he noticed out the window to his right that his truck still sat exactly where he left it.
If they ain't moved the truck, I couldn't have been knocked out very long. Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes.
The place was clearly on lock down, but they still hadn't managed to move or quarantine his truck.
I bet they're in the warehouse going through the crates. I gotta get outta here before they find that C4.
Blaze peered down at his feet, which remained unbound. His arms were still tied with rope.

The ass clown supervisor-looking-guy turned and smirked at Blaze and said, “You will die in here, I hope you know.”

Asshole speaks English, good to know.
“Is that right? I wouldn't be too sure about that, ya meatsnake.”

Supervisor guy walked towards Blaze and kneeled down to whisper in his ear. “Allah has given you to me and me alone. You understand? None of my superiors even knows you're here yet. You are all mine to kill how and when I see fit.”

No sooner did he finish annunciating his last carefully intimated word in Blaze's ear, when Blaze snapped his neck around and went full blow Mike Tyson on this poor chap. He bit the ass clown's ear clean off and spit it on the floor in fury.

The supervisor screamed for his bloody life as he curdled in shock. The other guard began to charge. Blaze quickly lifted his arms up surrender style, leapt as high as could, and landed the free rope in between his bound arms directly onto the coat hanger above him, suspending him. Now hanging firmly from the coat hanger, back against the wall, feet securely free and elevated, he crunched his legs upward and kicked the incoming guard squarely in the face before the ass clown knew what hit him. He then issued one final brutal punch in the face to the crouching, bloodied, earless supervisor, just to button things up with closure.

With both ass clowns out of commission, Blaze ran like hell towards the truck. On the way out, he busted a window and used the edged broken glass that lay in tact to cut loose the rope that bound his hands.

He managed to get to the truck without being stopped. He hopped in and fired it up without hesitation or mistake and slammed his boot on the gas pedal. Steering with his left hand, he reached under the seat and grabbed the C-4 detonator with his right.
These bastards are going to have their noses deep into my payload right as it reaches out to bite them.

As Blaze's vehicle sped toward the gate, he just missed plowing over some guards heading towards him—all while being inundated with a hail of undisciplined gunfire by guards late to the party. Several bullets hit the windshield, leaving it just short of shattered. Only one whizzed passed his head. Other bullets pounded the side of the truck. His truck was still fairing well, thanks to it being bulletproof. His boot stomped heavily on the gas pedal and floored it just as a slew of even more guards began heading towards the truck with automatic weapons fully engaged.

In his rearview, facility vehicles were now heading after him with vigor. Two trailed him neck to neck and were closing in behind his truck within fifteen yards. Shouting and chaos blossomed all around him. He shot two guards while his truck swerved all the while. He was fast approaching the gate. Smoke, fire, and now blood coalesced throughout the facility as Blaze's gunfire connected with his enemies via his Glock 18. His arm extended out the passenger side window as he pulled the trigger on his G18, a few yards away from the gate. Another guard met his fate with Blaze's bullet. Straight through the heart.

As if on queue, the C-4 finally exploded at the precise moment that the front grill of Blaze's truck met the locked gate at the exit point. Although he could not afford to look back, he heard the explosion of the raw materials warehouse as he crashed through the gate fleeing the now-chaotic Esfahan plant.

Alarms rose above the sounds of the chaos. Blaze smiled.
It's safe to say there ain't gonna be any uranium fluoride gas comin' out of Esfahan for a while.

Blaze waited until he was heading southwest on Rt. 51 near Garmase to call Gallagher and give him the 411 on the happenings.

“What the hell happened Blaze?” Gallagher knew that some hiccup was bound to occur on Blaze's first comeback op.

“Language issue. They speak Farsi, and I failed to. Red flags went up and bullets flew. And they had me caught and bound for a minute. But I out played them and broke free. They still have me in hot pursuit though. I'm on my way to secure the getaway vehicle now. Gotta get my ass to that safe house ASAP.” Blaze was out of breath and talking with a concise, fast cadence.

“Everything's all prepared. You know the plan.”

“Gotta go. Talking is slowing me down.”

“Roger that.”

He could hear the helicopters, although they trailed. He wasn't far enough ahead of the ground vehicles pursuing him to create the cushion he needed for the next vital step in his escape. He stepped on the gas heavily as he made his way to the getaway vehicle's location. Blaze bobbed and weaved through the unsuspecting traffic that clogged Rt. 51. He could see quite a few angry faces screaming at him as he put all vehicles around him in complete peril. Horns were honking all around him. Exhaust smoke filled the air. Tension, sweat, and anger was palpable.

Miles later, Blaze had managed to put the traffic behind him while those who followed him were apparently entangled in it. He banged a hard left into the tight alleyway that harbored the garage holding his getaway vehicle.

He parked the truck, double-checked the second batch of C-4 packed in-between the passenger seat cushions, and punched in the security code to gain entrance to the garage hidden behind the atrocious smelling industrial garbage dumpster. He stifled a gag as his nose filled with the smell of rotten butcher trimmings.

Wow
. Blaze had heard about this bike, but seeing it and sitting on it gave him an entirely different sense of awe than merely hearing its description. The bike was a modified version of the Dodge Tomahawk. The military engineers had enhanced it for the CIA with a host of button-ready weapons and distraction functions. With 500 BHP, a Viper Engine V 10, and a slick, futuristic design slapped with sharp chrome and black accents, Blaze felt as if he was unworthy to sit on this thing without a cape. It was the closest thing on earth to Batman's bike in
Dark Knight.
With all its functionality and power, it still maintained a relatively sleek design, which Blaze suspected would come in handy as he proceeded to the safe house. The bike was documented to have reached speeds as high as 300 mph in its testing. As enticing as that stat was, Blaze vowed to keep it under 120 mph as he didn't trust his own judgment at any speeds, in any vehicle, above 120.

Blaze's slack-jawed, fan-boy reaction to the bike did not last long. As he began rolling the bike out of the garage, a black Cadillac Escalade was doing its best to enter the alleyway and it did not give him a good feeling. He backed the bike out from behind the dumpster and re-positioned it towards an open forward path with one quick movement—a turn of the handlebars and a re-positioning of his feet.

Just as he pushed the start button, he heard quickening footsteps and the sound of an AK-47 assault rifle, which was apparently the preferred weapon of his enemy. In the bike's left rearview mirror, he saw the three men charging from the black Escalade .

Blaze had planned for this. The bike rocketed forward like a metallic cheetah made in the factory of the War Gods. As the Tomahawk screamed with triumph, Blaze's second round of C4 decimated his truck and rocked the Escalade while hurling the mangled bodies of two of the assaulters into the side of the vehicle. The other was launched onto the hood. Their pursuit of the imposter at Esfahan ended in a spiral of smoke, fire, auto parts, and debris. All three died instantly upon impact.