Nightmare Army Read online

  “Yeah—hold her head.”

  Scott settled heavily on her chest, making her wheeze under his weight. Her struggles weakened, he immobilized her head while Alcaster unstrapped her hands and then bound each one to the sturdy iron railing at the head of the bed. Then he grabbed the belt, went to the smaller railing and tied her feet to it. “Okay—she’s not going anywhere.”

  Only then did Scott feel secure enough to get off. Katar strained against her bonds, arching her back as she tried to pull free, but they held. She sank back on the bed, panting heavily as she glared at the two men with furious eyes.

  “Lusine, do you know what’s—” Scott looked over at where she had been, only to find the corner empty. “Figures. I suppose I wouldn’t hang around, either, with all this going on. Do you think the other girls were affected?”

  Alcaster shook his head. “Well, mine wasn’t, as far as I know.” He glanced up at Scott as the same thought occurred to both of them. “Josh...come on!”

  The two closed and locked the door to Scott’s room, then crept over to the one Tyrell had disappeared into several hours ago.

  “Shit, shouldn’t we get some weapons?” Scott asked

  Alcaster frowned. “No time. Besides, where you gonna find one, one of those fake swords on the wall in the bar?”

  “I was just saying—”

  “Just back me up.” Alcaster reached out and knocked on the door. “Josh...you in there, buddy?” He put his ear to the door. “I can’t hear anything.

  Scott followed suit as his friend knocked again. “Josh? Answer the door, man!”

  “I think I heard someone move,” Scott whispered.

  “We gotta go inside,” Alcaster whispered back, trying the doorknob, which turned under his hand. “Come on.”

  Slowly opening the door, the two stepped inside, trying to let their eyes adjust to the dim light coming in through the eastern window while being ready for someone to leap out at them from the shadows. Clothes were strewed around the small room, and the night table had been overturned. Spotting a huddled form moving back and forth on the bed, Scott nudged his friend, and they took a step closer.

  Alcaster peered through the dimness. “Josh...you awake?” Just then, Scott went back and turned on the lights.

  Blinking at the sudden glare, Scott was close enough now to see a head of brunette hair at the top of the bed. He smiled as he stepped to the side of it. “Look, I understand you want one more go, but we’ve got a serious—”

  He trailed off as he saw the large, dark stain on the mattress and pillow. As he did, the prostitute he knew as Anoush turned to face him. Her mouth and jaw were covered in fresh, red blood.

  And lying underneath her was Josh Tyrell’s body, with its throat ripped out.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Voski Mardikian was not having a very good night.

  For starters, the moment Sevan and his people had returned home, he’d been placed on gate duty for the next month. On their last night in Italy, he’d accidentally drank too much grappa and made a drunken fool of himself in front of their partners in crime to the southwest. Mardikian was fortunate he’d already been with Sevan for several years; newer additions to the crime family often only got one or two chances before punishment of a more permanent nature, such as arms or legs broken or fingers getting cut off, was inflicted. Plus, it really was his first major screw-up since he’d joined the Sevan mob after leaving what would be the equivalent of the eighth grade in Armenia.

  Still, the thought that he had screwed up and made the boss look bad weighed on him. Dragging heavily on his cigarette, the guard cast a wistful glance back up at the house. There were three levels of security in the village: a newcomer started on the wall, staring out at the endless valley hills. Once the newcomer had proved himself by using brains, guts or both, he could get promoted to gate guard, making sure Sevan’s personal residence was secure at all times. That was a big step up from wall duty, but the novelty wore off quickly there, as well, and then the newcomer became part of the crew walking back and forth in front of the big iron gate, waiting for who knew what, since nobody in the village would be crazy enough to try to take out the man who had modernized the whole place when he’d established his base of operations here a decade ago, installing such luxuries as regular electricity, a working water supply and satellite television.

  The best of Sevan’s guards ended up working in the house itself. Responsible for security of the villa and the grounds, they were expected to be on duty pretty much 24/7, but in many other respects they were almost like Sevan’s guests, free to indulge in whatever the house had to offer when they were off duty.

  Until his demotion Mardikian had planned on sampling some of the most recent shipment of exotic beauties that had come back with them from the Urals, Chechnya and places farther east. Sevan and his men broke in the girls before sending them off to earn their keep in one of a hundred brothels scattered across Europe. He still could have gotten his rocks off at the one established in town for the guards, if not for the second thing bothering him—he was coming down with something.

  “Goddamn Italians...” he muttered, wiping his sweat-soaked, balding forehead for the tenth time that evening. Mardikian didn’t know what he’d come down with in Italy, but it was driving him nuts. He’d been fine yesterday, but now felt sick. The fever, the sweats, the head and muscle aches, and most of all, he was just so damn irritable. Whatever it was, the last place he wanted to be was sweating his nuts off while tromping back and forth all night in front of his boss’s house.

  His guard partner, Kevork Ardzruni, was making that damnably irritating high-pitched whistle again...

  “For the last goddamn time, would you stop that whistling?” Mardikian wiped his forehead again and rubbed his ears. “You’re driving me crazy!”

  “And for the last time, you ass, I’m not whistling!” Ardzruni shook his head again as he stomped over to his partner, who was already bristling at being called an ass, and got right in his face.

  “Clean out your ears or get them checked, but get off my back!”

  Mardikian was already pulling back his fist to punch the idiot’s sweating face, but before he could unload, he was distracted by someone coming down the street. “Who is that?”

  The figure wobbling toward them on high heels turned out to be Siran, one of the more recent arrivals from the last shipment. Mardikian never bothered to learn their last names, as they were usually gone too quickly for him to care. Tossing his cigarette on the ground, he nodded at the gate. “Stay here. I’ll see what is up with her.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned and headed down the street to intercept her. The girls weren’t supposed to be out of the brothel unless they had been requested by Sevan, in which case they were escorted to the house under guard. Even in his weakened state, Mardikian found himself looking forward to punishing her. Siran was lean and lithe, with high full breasts that nicely filled out the fabric of her cheap sleeveless blouse. Her pleather skirt barely covered her hips, revealing long legs and tiny feet. As she stumbled toward him, the Armenian caught the odor of cheap liquor the girls often used to pass out after a night servicing the guards and occasional tourists.

  “What are you doing out? You know the rules! No one leaves the house alone!”

  “I came...to get help...everybody at house is sick...” She pressed a palm to her forehead. “Everyone is hot...and bitchy...”

  Mardikian sighed. “I suppose I should look into it, but first...” Taking her by the arm, he led her toward a nearby alley. “You’re going to have to pay for walking the streets alone.”

  “No, please...I was only trying to...get help...” She clutched her forehead with both hands. “My head hurts...so much...”

  “I do not make the rules, little one, but I must enforce them.” He pulled her roughly dow
n the narrow, garbage-strewed corridor until he found a reasonably clean spot and then unzipped his pants. “Get down there and don’t stop until I’m done.” Siran didn’t protest or answer. Ignoring his order, she stumbled forward and nibbled his neck—then she bit down hard. Grabbing her hair, he pushed her away. “You bitch, how dare you bite me!” With his free hand, he backhanded her across the face.

  Glowering, her eyes sullen, the prostitute attacked, biting his face. The pain was so intense he could barely think. Grabbing her hair again, Mardikian tried to pull her off, but that hurt even more. Blood leaked from her mouth along with low, guttural noises as she gnawed on him.

  Screaming in agony, he punched her in the face over and over, blacking an eye, breaking her nose. But no matter how hard he hurt her, she would not release him.

  “What is— Goddamn! What is she doing to you?” Ardzruni’s startled voice pierced Mardikian’s near-blinding haze of pain, and he turned to see the other man lumbering toward them.

  “What do you...think! Get her off me!” As he said that, Siran arched back, tearing off a good chunk of his cheek.

  “Oh my God!” Clutching his ruined face, Mardikian slumped over, vainly trying to stem the gushing blood with his hands. “Kill her!”

  As Ardzruni drew his pistol, Siran spit out the piece of flesh and rose to face him. “Do not come any closer, whore!”

  Bloody teeth bared, she leaped at him. Still shaken by the freaky scene, the guard fired, but missed his target. Before he could correct, she was on him, grabbing his arm and sinking her teeth into his gun hand.

  “Goddamn it! Get off me!” Forced to drop the gun, Ardzruni cocked his free fist and swung. Still off balance, he only grazed her head. The smaller woman savaged his hand, then spit it out and went for his face with her fingers curved into claws.

  Mardikian watched his partner try to fend her off, but she seemed to have the strength and endurance of five men, shrugging off his blows, while scratching and biting at his face. She got hold of his nose with her teeth and shook him the way a dog would a rat. All the while the larger man rained punches down on her, but they had no effect.

  Suddenly light-headed, Mardikian tried drawing his own pistol, intending to shoot the woman before he died, but the grip slipped out of his blood-soaked hand and fell to the ground. Ardzruni had pushed her away, losing the end of his nose in the process, which now poured blood down his chin and shirt. He tried charging Siran, who met his charge and buried her face in his neck. His scream turned into a gurgle as he collapsed to the ground, arms outstretched, legs twitching. The woman sat astride his chest, worrying his throat like a wild dog.

  Mardikian slipped to the ground, his arms and legs feeling as if they weighed a ton. Seeing his pistol through blurry eyes, he reached for it, intending to at least fire a warning shot for Sevan. Someone had to warn them about what was happening. He would. He just had to rest for a moment...

  Fingers only inches from his gun, Mardikian succumbed to his blood loss and passed out.

  * * *

  HER FACE BLOODY and bruised, one eye nearly pulped from the abuse from the two men, Siran punished Ardzruni’s face and neck until he was nothing but unrecognizable pulp. By then he’d stopped twitching, and she left the body to go in search of something else. All thought of trying to help the other girls at the brothel had left her mind, replaced by a singular, subconscious urge to find another person and pass on what now lived inside her.

  Rising to her feet, she stalked out of the alley, where she saw a few other people emerging from their homes in the early morning light. Siran started after the nearest one, but when she got closer, she realized that he was just like her; a friend, not an enemy to be destroyed.

  Hearing a noise from the other side of the black iron gate nearby, she turned toward it along with everyone else. Perhaps there they would find someone who could stop this incessant, shrill noise in her head...perhaps then she would be able to get some peace and quiet....

  CHAPTER TEN

  Even Bolan’s combat-honed reflexes weren’t fast enough to dodge the flying vase. He was saved by his night-vision gear, which absorbed the impact as the missile shattered against its casing in a spray of ceramic chunks.

  Distracted and off balance, he tried to stay with Sevan, but the other man seized the distraction to grab his knife hand and lever it away from his throat. He was stronger than Bolan expected him to be. Sevan brought his other clenched hand around and clocked him in the jaw, then shoved him away, hard. Bolan stumbled back against the wall, where he regained his balance in time to see the entire blanket fly toward him.

  “Run!” he heard a woman say in translated Armenian.

  “To hell with that, I’ll kill him myself!” a man replied. “Guards!”

  Clawing the blanket off, Bolan drew his pistol, hoping he could salvage the situation without shooting Sevan. Rising to his feet, he saw the other man, large and fit and dressed in nothing but silk boxers, going for his pillow.

  “Damn it, where are my guards?” Sevan bellowed as he reached under it.

  “Freeze!” Bolan aimed his pistol’s muzzle right between the big man’s eyes. “Move that hand and you’re dead!”

  The other man froze on his hands and knees, one hand still under the pillow, his head swiveling to regard Bolan with appraising, slate-gray eyes. He had curly, shoulder-length black hair streaked with gray. “You’re not here to kill me?” He wrinkled his nose. “My God, you stink.”

  Eyebrows rising in surprise, Bolan shook his head. “No. I’m here to take you and your organization down.” As his translator program broadcast his words in Armenian, Bolan scanned the rest of the room, trying to locate the woman who’d thrown the vase.

  “What? An American?” Sevan replied in lightly accented English. Even with the muzzle of Bolan’s pistol a few inches away from his head, he didn’t look too worried. “That will be more difficult that you think. Besides, I don’t see how this sort of illegal kidnapping is going to stand up in any court.”

  “I’ve already gotten inside here, and I’ve got you,” Bolan replied. “Don’t worry, where you’re going, a courtroom or lawyer is the last thing you’ll be worrying about.”

  Sevan frowned. “I thought your CIA wasn’t rendering anyone anywhere anymore.”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Take that hand from underneath the pillow—slowly. Twitch or try to shoot, and I will blow your head off.”

  The Armenian still didn’t move, as if he was actually considering his choices. “Very well, you seem to hold the advantage—for now.” He removed his empty hand from under the memory foam pillow.

  “Please.” Bolan waved him back with the pistol. “Kneel on the bed.” He reached for the pillow and flipped it over, revealing a stainless-steel 9 mm Heckler & Koch P-9 pistol. “I’ll hold on to this for now.”

  Tucking it into his belt, he walked to the end of the bed and leaned over to check the floor, but it was empty. He scanned the rest of the room for movement or anyone hiding, but saw nothing. “Where did your woman go?”

  Sevan looked around. “If she is smart, she went to find out where the hell my guards are. They are going to tear you apart when they get here.”

  “Not with you as my hostage, they won’t,” Bolan replied, although he did wonder where exactly the Armenian’s guards were. From what their surveillance had showed, his security wasn’t that poor. “Hands above your head.”

  Sevan did as ordered. Holstering his pistol, Bolan removed a plastic zip tie from a side pouch and secured the man’s hands behind his back.

  “Oh, come now, surely you’re going to allow me to get dressed?” Sevan said.

  “Nope.” Drawing his gun again, Bolan pulled the other man off the bed. “Base, this is Striker. Package is in hand, beginning extraction now.”

  “Affirmative, Striker,” To
kaido replied in his ear. “Flight is awaiting your arrival and delivery of the package.”

  “I figured a big, tough man like you can handle a chilly morning,” Bolan said. “Besides, we’re not going far, just down to your SUV.”

  “And you think you’ll just be able to drive out of here like nothing even happened?” Sevan snorted as he nodded toward the door. “Even now my men are taking up positions outside that door. You’ll be lucky to leave this room alive.”

  “Many people have told me that before, yet here I am.” Grabbing the other man by the arm, Bolan prodded him in the back with his pistol. “Let’s go.”

  They were halfway there when a heavy fist pounded on the door. At the same time, Bolan caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Before he could turn, a dark shape came out of nowhere to land on his back, clawing at the night-vision goggles and tearing them off.

  Reacting instinctively, Bolan closed his eyes to protect them while bending at the waist. At the same time, he let Sevan go, reaching behind his head to grab his attacker. Finding a mass of long hair, he pulled hard, flipping his attacker over his head to land with a crash on her back.

  Opening his eyes, Bolan stared into a woman’s very attractive face. Her almond-shaped eyes glared back at him. It was accompanied by a foot flying at his head. He took the kick and straightened so she couldn’t hit him there again, then returned the favor with a short kick behind her ear, which stunned her enough so that he could escape. Blinking to adjust his vision, Bolan saw the Armenian half facing him as he grabbed at the doorknob with his bound hands.

  “Sevan, no!” Bolan raised his SIG-Sauer as a large shape barreled into the room, brushing the mob leader aside as he headed straight for Bolan. With the op blown, and not wanting the Armenian to escape, Bolan lined his sights up on the bodyguard and squeezed the trigger twice.