the Light
Chapter 8 (Pt 2)
A series of gunshots shook the air, stopping them cold in their tracks. Their gazes met, a single expression of worry burning in their eyes. "It's them."
Not waiting any longer, Harm dashed outside, followed closely by his friends. The sight that opened to them confirmed Harm's worst suspicions.
One of the guards was dead, shot in the head right in the doorway. The other was wounded, pinned down behind a marble pillar. Everyone else who was unfortunate enough to be in the hallway at that moment lay face down on the floor, hands on their heads, afraid to move, afraid to look up. And amidst all that mayhem stood Akhbar and the two men Harm spotted earlier. One of them, who was training his gun on the people around him, was bleeding profusely from his right shoulder, and Harm silently congratulated the guard on the successful hit. The other was busy removing chains from Akhbar's wrists and ankles.
Crouching down behind a column that stood near the door, Harm waited until he was certain that the gunmen's attention was away from him and reached for the dead guard's weapon.
"What are you doing?" Webb hissed behind his ear.
"Trying to level the playing field," he bit back, taking careful aim.
Several more shots echoed in the deathly silent lobby, and the two Gunmen dropped to the ground, dead. Akhbar fell too, shielding
himself behind the prostrate bodies and letting forth a stream of curses directed at Harm, as he cradled his bloodied wrist.
"I think I managed to piss him off," the young aviator stated calmly, checking his weapon.
As in response to that a bullet whizzed in his direction, chipping a tiny sliver of marble from the column inches away from his face.
Damn!
"I'd say that's an accurate assessment of the situation, Rabb," Clay's comment came through muffled, as the agent was lying flat on the ground, his face buried under his hands.
"Sir," Harriet's shaky voice broke the momentary silence that followed. "Have you seen little A.J.? H-he ran out before me t-to use the restroom..."
Cold fear gripped the Commander's heart. Turning to the distraught woman who crouched in a frightened ball behind him, he reached for her hand, trying his best to reassure her.
"I'm sure he's fine, Harriet," he stated with the assurance he did not feel. "The police are probably on their way. This will all be over
before you know it."
"But that man-"
"He won't do anything. He's trapped."
Harm was about to add something else but stopped abruptly when he heard Akhbar's voice calling out his name.
"Rabb! ... American!"
Harm felt his muscles tighten. The voice grated on his already raw Nerves like a piece of sharp metal on the glass.
"What do you want?"
"To leave here! You and guard put weapons down now and I leave! Everybody happy!"
"I got a better idea," Harm countered, getting a tighter grip on his gun. "You drop YOUR weapon and put your hands in the air, and I
promise I won't shoot you like your buddies there."
A short pause followed, during which some commotion was heard, and then Akhbar's voice rang out again, this time with a venomous hiss to it. "No good, American. How about I start shooting those people here? I can start with this boy-"
An agonizing shriek pierced the air, and, before Harm could react, Harriet jumped to her feet, dashing forward to get to her son.
Thankfully, Mac was quicker, as she grabbed on to the other woman's dress and jerked her forcefully back down on the ground.
"Are you crazy?" she hissed, holding her down, as Harriet tried her best to get out of her iron grip. "He could have shot you!"
"It's my SON he's holding, Ma'am," Harriet cried out, the sheer panic in the young woman's voice making Sarah wince in sympathy. "I have to get to him. That man-"
"-Won't do anything," Harm finished the sentence for her, his own voice tight with barely suppressed anger.
Coming slowly out from behind his makeshift cover, his gun trained on the Afghani's head, he said coldly, accentuating each word,
"You let the boy go, and I'll come with you as a hostage. You'd love a chance to get your hands on me anyway, so here you'll have it."
Mac, Clay, and the Admiral spoke simultaneously behind him, voicing their objections, but he ignored them, his eyes never leaving the other man's face.
"You let him go, and we leave here - just the two of us. No one else will have to get hurt."
Akhbar stood with his back pressed against the opposite wall, holding little A.J. in front of him, his gun pointed at the frightened boy's head. The cold dark eyes narrowed in concentration, as he thought over Rabb's offer.
"If I refuse?"
Harm gritted his teeth in frustration. "Then I blow you away right here, right now."
"And risk hurting the boy?"
The Commander shook his head. "I won't miss," he stated calmly. "But I would much rather not have your brains splatter all over my little friend. So what do you say?"
The Afghani nodded slowly. "Very well. You and guard put down guns and -"
"No," Harm snapped in a voice that allowed no room for objection. "You let the boy go first. THEN it'll be our turn."
"How do I know you won't shoot me as soon as I let him go?"
"You have my word."
The Afghani gave a short contemptuous laugh. "Your word?"
"It's the best you're gonna get," Harm bit back, his impatience growing with every second.
Another tense moment of silence followed, and, finally, Akhbar nodded again in agreement, pushing the terrified boy toward Harm. The latter motioned for him to keep coming, watching the Afghani. "Come on, A.J. Don't be afraid, kiddo. Keep walking."
Behind him he felt Harriet begin to rise again, and he held out his Hand, halting her move. "Stay down," he whispered, without looking at her. "He's okay. He's coming."
Once the shaken boy was safely enclosed in the arms of his mother, Harm placed his weapon on the ground before him, motioning for the guard to do the same, and walked toward the Afghani.
"Harm!" Mac called out behind him, in a last desperate attempt to stop him. He turned around, meeting her worried gaze.
"It'll be all right," he said calmly. "Just wait for my call."
With that he headed out of the building, followed closely by his gun-wielding captor.