the Light
Chapter 9
A heavily wooded two-lane stretch of road on the way to a private airfield.
They were speeding along the nearly deserted highway in a '99 Ford Mustang that Akhbar "borrowed" from some unfortunate young man who happened to stop at the traffic light near the courthouse.
The Afghani kept an almost constant watch on his hostage, turning away for no more than mere seconds to check on the road behind them to make sure they were not being followed.
Harm stared straight ahead, pretending not to notice the barrel of a gun that was pointed menacingly at his head. Despite his cool
composure, however, inside he was anything but calm. A little while ago he had managed to slip his left hand inside his side pocket, where he had his cell phone, and, having felt for what he hoped was the right button, speed-dialed Mac's number without alerting the Afghani. The connection to Mac's cell phone was open, and he could only hope that she had understood him back there in the
courtroom and that she'd manage to have this line traced.
However, right now his main concern was the man sitting next to him. Harm knew that the airfield they were heading for was only minutes away, and he had no intention of letting Akhbar get there. But on an empty stretch of highway with no police back-up, there was not much he could do without risking having his brains blown out. And, regardless of how reckless some people may think him to be, the Commander was not prepared to sacrifice his own life without ensuring first that there was a very VERY good chance that, if he were to die, he'd take Akhbar with him. All he needed was an opportunity to act, something to distract Akhbar's
attention. But, so far, that opportunity had not presented itself.
He glanced over at the Afghani, who was watching him like a hawk, and sighed inwardly, praying for some kind of divine intervention.
Akhbar sneered, noticing his unease. "Ironic, is it not, American? You become my prisoner once again, after all this."
Harm turned his attention back to road, pretending not to care, while the Afghani added spitefully, "This time I make sure to finish you. It will be my pleasure." The dark eyes flared with black fire of hatred.
The Commander merely shrugged, seemingly unruffled by this threat. "Whatever floats your boat, Ali... I'd tremble with fear, but I'm afraid to lose control of the car."
The cold metal of the gun barrel pressed sharply against the naval officer's temple. "Don't provoke me, American!"
"Or what? You'll shoot me right here instead of a little later? Be forced to drive the rest of the way on your own? Fly the plane all
by yourself? Now that would just be AWFUL, wouldn't it?"
Instead of a reply, Akhbar jabbed the gun hard in his ribs, making him gasp in pain.
A string of curses followed, to which Harm paid no attention. His ribs smarted from the blow, but inside somehow he felt almost as good as if he were the one doing to punching. He got to Ali; made him lose his cool. And that was as good a gratification as any.
Suddenly, a large 18-wheeler appeared from around the bend ahead of them, and Harm saw his chance to act. As the truck came closer toward them, he turned the wheel sharply into the direction of the oncoming traffic, making the car swerve violently at that.
The truck honked deafeningly, and Akhbar wide-eyed grabbed hold of the dashboard, his face turning pale at the sight of the monstrous semi that was moving implacably toward them.
"What are you doing?" he rasped, tearing his terror-filled eyes momentarily from the oncoming truck to look at his hostage.
"Moving up the date of your meeting with the Maker," the latter replied through clenched teeth, flooring the gas pedal.
The driver of the truck slammed hard on the brakes, and the large vehicle twisted around, pulled by his own weight, and blocking off the whole road, skidded sideways toward the little red Mustang.
His gun forgotten, Akhbar tried to grab a hold of the wheel, but Harm jabbed his elbow in the man's face, pushing him back in the seat.
The Afghani howled in pain, covering his bloody nose. "You will die for this, American!"
"You first." With that Harm let go of the wheel, pushing his door wide open, and jumped out of the car, rolling off to the side of the road.
Seconds later, the Mustang rammed into the side of the trailer, exploding on impact.
The debris scattered on the grass around him, and Harm put his hands up in front of his face, trying to shield himself.
The whole left side of his body smarted from the fall, and he was almost positive that his left arm was broken. But it didn't matter. Through the veil of pain and the overwhelming heat that emanated from the wreck scorching the very air around him, one thought kept spinning in his head - "It's over. It's over. It's finally over."
He stood up slowly, gritting his teeth. Taking deep ragged breaths to dull the pain that shot up his leg at that movement, he stared in
odd fascination at the burning heap of twisted metal.
The driver of the truck was running toward him, screaming something to him. It took Harm a few seconds to process what he was saying.
"Are you all right, mister?"
He nodded wordlessly. Yes. Yes, he finally was. Something happened today. Seeing his friends in danger snapped him into action, breaking whatever psychological barrier that still remained from his days in captivity. He acted without a second thought, without hesitation. And only now, as he stood on the side of this semi-deserted highway, he realized with a start that he was finally free. The darkness had released him.
"The police are coming." The truck driver pointed somewhere behind Harm, and the latter turned around, cradling his throbbing arm. The man was right. Harm saw several police cars moving rapidly in their direction. They traced the call, he realized. Way to go, Mac!
"Oh, man, looks like you took quite a beating from that fall," the trucker noted, shaking his head. "You should have that arm looked at."
Harm nodded again absently, watching the cars pull up.
"I'll be all right," he whispered, as he saw Mac jump out of the back seat of the first car.
The bright smile of relief lit up her face when she saw him standing there, and she ran toward him, anxious to pull him into her arms.
***
Minutes later, they stood on the same spot, leaning into each other, and Harm held her tight against his chest with his good arm, having forgotten for a time about his aching body. The rest of the world was shut out for them.
Harm looked up at the sky, squinting contentedly at the bright rays of sunlight, relishing the sun's warm caress on his skin. Then looking back down at the brown-eyed woman in his arms, he smiled - a bright carefree smile.
"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"
Sarah nodded, her eyes brimming with happy tears. And as he leaned in to kiss her, making her almost dizzy with happiness, in the seconds before his lips touched hers, Sarah Mackenzie whispered blissfully, "It is, Sailor. It most certainly is."
The end.