Chapter 13 - Part 2

Anthony raised his hands and stepped out from the hatch.

"All right, all right," he spat at an unseen captor, turning his head to look back down into the hole. "I'm going as fast as I can," he grumbled, stumbling over the lip of the opening.

In the few seconds this ruse had afforded him, Anthony had clocked three men in the corridor. Two had been watching as he stepped out, their guns trained on his head the second it was visible. The third seemed to be sitting with his back to the hatch. He suspected his charade had about ten seconds max before they rumbled him. That left the concern of the third person. Dealing with two armed men was possible, but a third man could just shoot him by the time the second man was disarmed. Anthony, in the few seconds he had left, had a snap decision to make; continue with the current plan, or retreat. 

"Okay I'm clear. Let them go," he shouted back into the basement, infusing his voice with a quivering fear. 

The guard to the left of the hatch took the bait and peered down, curious to see what might be happening. 

In a second Anthony had sent an elbow into the nose of the man who had never taken his eyes off him since he'd emerged. Not pausing, he launched his body at the other guard, and winded him with a knee to the stomach. A swift palm to his throat left him incapacitated. Anthony then grabbed at the knife strapped to the guard's combat jacket, and slit the leather gun strap, enabling him to slip the semi-automatic weapon away and turn it to face the third man. Much to Anthony's surprise, he did not appear to have reacted to the commotion behind him. Tentatively Anthony tip-toed up to the man, still wary of who else may be nearby. A gentle prod with the muzzle of the gun on the nape of his neck gained no reaction. Lucky for you, pal, Anthony thought, any wrong move and the trigger would have been pulled. He crept cautiously to the left, keeping his focus directly on the sitting figure, the gun primed to shoot with any untoward movement.

The grotesque face that greeted him confirmed that the third man was no threat. His nose was crushed inward, his right eye socket empty. The upper lip had been ripped away, exposing his upper jaw. Poor sod looked like he'd been dropped from a great height and landed somewhere unfriendly. Probably one of the external guards, that, as Anthony had guessed, had been lifted upwards during the event. 

That's the best bloody news for days, Anthony snorted to himself, if this bugger had gone on a flying trip, so had anyone else outside. Now there was a little time to get sorted, he concluded. Ebbe and the others weren't coming back out from the basement entrance, so that would suffice as a cell for anyone left alive. A quick pat down revealed no evidence of ID or an employer. It was a faint chance, but Anthony never made assumptions. 

After relieving them of their weapons and radios, Anthony unceremoniously dumped the two guards into the hatch, not really caring what damage the fall could do. Work for scum like Atkins and think yourself lucky you're not dead, he figured. 

Now fully armed, Anthony started to feel normal again. I wonder how extensive and powerful the gravity event was, he pondered as he began a security sweep of the farmhouse. Before heading outside, he needed to be sure no bugger would come bursting from the house all guns blazing. With simple efficiency he secured the building within two minutes. Not another soul. Anthony paused in the front room and stared at the monitors, trying to assess the surroundings. One of his questions was answered, the Land Rover was lying on it's side, with what looked like the door twisted underneath. The extent of the damage was difficult to assess via the CCTV, but it confirmed that the event had extended far enough to lift the weighty vehicle from the earth. Anthony wanted Ebbe here now, to coldly explain the cosmological cause of such phenomena. She seemed to understand more about all this shit than anyone. The brass knew something. Whoever had sent Atkins knew something. But if they had understood it the way she did, would they have used her simply as a pawn to get entry into the basement? Probably, Anthony snorted with derision. The guys in chance had a way of misusing their greatest assets, and putting their eggs in the wrong baskets. You didn't get into power by being the smartest, but by being the most ruthless. Smart people had to hide in farmhouses, under threat of imminent assassination. 

Too much thinking buddy, he chastised, wary of time slipping by. Ebbe was somewhere below his feet, and the best he could do for her now was to get back to base and find out who or what was operating the cogs in this particular machine. The sons of bitches clearly came in some sort of transport. Hopefully they didn't all end up on their sides like the old Landy. 

With one semi strapped across his chest, a second grasped in his hands, a pistol strapped to his thigh, and a knife slotted into his sheath, Anthony furrowed his brow with determination and made his way to the front door. 

The CCTV had not revealed any obvious sign of life in the immediate surroundings. That made him nervous. It would be much better to have seen a body or two lying face down, having suffered a similar fate to the guard, still solemnly guarding the basement hatchway. If not that, guards patrolling, or hiding in the shadows. But both were notable by their absence. Anthony feared this meant there were no such guards, but instead snipers who were well out of sight, possibly far away enough to have escaped the weightlessness. Too many damned unknowns were piled up on this balls-up of a mission. Anthony hated being in the dark. It was dangerously close to losing. Anthony didn't like losing.

There was no way around it. He would just exit the building as if he was the boss. His prisoner ruse would fail in the scope of a sniper, primed and ready to splash his brains on the driveway. The ruse now was to be disconcertingly confident. 

The fractured wooden door creaked open and Anthony strode out, back straight, guns at his side casually. His assessment of the exterior via CCTV had already informed his route. He did not show surprise as seeing the toppled Land Rover. He barely gave it a glance. Moreover he looked into a thicketed area to the far right and gave the area a smile and a nod. If there were a sniper, that's where he'd be. There were several trees tall enough to provide a good view of the whole house and driveway. Plus, with the thick foliage, enough cover to hide. Not too close, but close enough that if sniping became impossible, such as a close quarters fight, he could bail on his rifle and get to the fight on foot within minutes. 

That right buddy, Anthony smiled to the potential sniper, I'm the fucking boss and nobody shoots the boss. Something else stirred Anthony's courage further. It was an odd, immeasurable sensation that Ebbe, somehow, was watching. Logic and common sense told him that was ridiculous, yet he couldn't shake the feeling. 

"Ebbe," he said out loud, wanting to externalise his thoughts, "if you're watching, check the bushes at 2 o'clock and sort any son of a bitch who may be about to crack my skull open would ya?" Curling his lips into a foolish smile, he told himself off for letting all the spooky business turn him into a crack pot. A week ago I'd have kicked my own arse for thinking such hippy crap, he cursed. 

No bullet yet. Brain was still intact. Skull was not shattered. Moreover the cool morning air, thick with moisture, was invigorating. What did his mum used to call it? The breath of God? That was it; she used to say God was blowing away the night, and just like when you blow with your lips pursed, the breath was cool. She said, once the darkness had been blown away, God let out a sigh, and warm breath would replace the cool. 

God had done a good job of clearing the night this morning. Anthony could see no apparent clouds in the heavens, only pastel blue from horizon to horizon. He paused in his tracks, staring up, the concerns over the guards, or the sniper temporarily forgotten. His eyes scanned back and forth intently, his face wrought with bemusement. If it was morning, if there were no clouds, where was the sun, peeking over the horizon to the east? Where was orange, red, dark blue, and shades within? There was simply blue. One shade. From east to west, from north to south. The sky was merely a blank canvass this morning, upon which the artist had yet to start.

Ebbe, Ebbe, where are you woman? Nothing makes sense any more. Was it even morning? He had assumed as much only due to the blue sky and the light mist lifting from the surrounding fields, having deposited jewels of dew upon the blades of grass. But the scene was frozen. It was as if he were walking through a paused nature documentary. 

Shaking his head in frustration, effectively trying to fling the bafflement aside, Anthony forced his focus back to the potential, unseen threat he could still be walking towards. The consolation currently, was that every footstep took him closer towards the bushes, theoretically meaning he was one step further from being shot. If he was going to shoot, why not earlier? If he was waiting, it would soon be too late, Anthony would be too close for a rifle shot.

The lack of either surviving members of Atkins' team, or their bodies, was still playing on his mind. Had they simply flown off and never returned? Just what had happened whilst they were duking it out below? Unknowns, and unknown unknowns. All bloody useless. Anthony could extrapolate information from most combat situations. This one was unreadable. As blank and illogical as that stubbornly blue sky above him.

Rather than get concerned about that again he focused on the tree he suspected the sniper would be ensconced. It was a chunky oak with plenty of thick branches to provide support for a man and his weapon. If there were a sun he would be looking out for a glint of glass from the scope. But there was nothing, and wishing for tools you did not possess was not wise.

More steps. Still no bullet. Within a few steps he would be too close for a sniper rifle. 

Three. Two. One. Anthony broke out into the best approximation of a sprint his tired legs would allow. If, for some reason, the sniper had been waiting for him to get closer, Anthony wanted to be upon the tree as swiftly as possible. He had already concluded that the only thing he could expect in this mission, was the unexpected. So although he expected there to be a sniper, what that ultimately led to was hard to quantify. 

Within a minute he reached the gnarled trunk of the oak, half smothered in a creeping vine, slowly extracting the life from the leviathan. 

"Throw down your weapon," Anthony hollered, having already spotted a foot peeking from the undergrowth. No response, no movement, no noise. "I said thrown down your weapon,or I'll shoot," he yelled again. Nothing. "God damn it," he cursed. Why didn't anything work as it should any more? What kind of moron stares at his enemy through a rifle for ten minutes without shooting, then refuses to act when threatened? 

"Fella! This is your final warning." Again, nothing. Anthony raised a gun and primed it to shoot directly into the foliage at the approximate position the sniper's head ought to be, Anthony was not one for idle threats. If he says he will shoot, he'll shoot. 

But the gun was lowered. It wasn't right. It was bloody foolish and Anthony had to check it out. 

"I'm gonna regret this," he told himself, before releasing his weapon and grasping at a low lying branch. With a few grunts, he pulled himself up the tree and peered through the dark green leaves, trying to discern the figure of the man he had partially spotted below. There! A limb resting upon a thick, twisted branch extending towards the drive. Andrew twisted his body and dropped a toe onto the joint, where the branch merged with the trunk. A quick kick to the foot garnered no reaction. 

Jesus, maybe he's only here because he fell here after the gravity returned. Maybe all the bodies he was expecting to see had been dropped into the trees and bushes! Shaking away wild theories that had no evidence to back them up, Andrew carefully stepped further out onto the limb. Wary of toppling over, he balanced on his worse-for-wear legs, and leaned over the torso of a sturdily built man. He could see the man had his fingers grasping a long-range sniping rifle, his face propped against the scope, as if he were about to release a killer shot. Curiosity building up to bursting point, Anthony leaned further forward, straining to see the man's face. 

The face was pale, eyes open, still staring vacantly into the distance. But there seemed to be light in the pale green orbs. These were not the eyes of a dead man. Anthony held a shaky hand close to the sniper's nose, swiftly withdrawing it when he felt a hint of hot breath upon his cold digits. Anthony withdrew and stood to the back of the branch, steadying himself against the rough bark of the trunk. What the hell was going on? He stared at the motionless man, unable to comprehend. His eye was attracted to a dark patch of matted hair in the rear of the skull. With shaking hands he leaned back over and gently rubbed the skull with his thumb. There was a bullet hole! Anthony stood back up with a start, almost toppling from the tree in the process. He turned to looked behind, concerned about another sniper, a rival team perhaps. But all he could see was thick branches and foliage. Nobody could see into the damn tree. And the sniper would have known if someone was in the tree long enough to move away from his gun. Besides the bullet hadn't even passed out of his skull, that was evident from his brief look. Even a stray bullet from another sniper would have torn part of his face out. 

Somehow this highly trained sniper had been victim to an attempted assassination twenty feet in the air, by an invisible assailant, who hadn't bothered to stay and finish the task at hand.