Twenty Years and One Day Earlier...
The hurricane which had so perfectly provided cover for Nathan's mission now drastically hampers his escape as the lashing rain and wind fight hard to resist his forward movement. Racing through the flooded back streets of Managua, Nicaragua his lungs burn as he gulps in the cool humid night air. Convinced his heart will explode if he doesn't soon find some place to hide Nathan considers sneaking a glance over his shoulder to gauge the distance between himself and his pursuers. But the sound of gunfire, and whir of a bullet passing close enough for him to hear, then a second, and third ricocheting off the brick wall of the building to his left change his mind.
He cuts a hard left at the end of the brick wall and down a narrow alley way as more gunfire erupts and three more bullets strike the opposite wall spraying chunks of shattered brick back at him. Pressing hard he finds another gear and breaks right into another narrow passage less than a hundred feet from where he had just entered. Nathan momentarily loses his balance as his foot lands in a pothole unseen in the ankle deep water covering the streets and alleys sending his body smashing into the hard stone building wall.
Nathan rolls out of the hard crash keeping his forward momentum and sprints toward the street maybe a hundred yards ahead. " I've got a chance If I can make the street before Cordova's men round the corner behind me.", he thinks to himself.
Halfway down the passage headlights fill the street ahead from Nathan's right and a military transport streaks by then skids to a halt what sounds like several hundred feet to his left. Nathan drives to the ground landing hard with a splash and lays prone just fifty feet from the street's edge.
"Damn!", Nathan curses under his breath as he considers his limited options. Reaching under his jacket he unholsters the Glock 17 and ejects the clip for a quick ammo check. "Five rounds in the clip—one chambered—six shots—two dozen, maybe more men after me." Nathan thinks to himself not liking the odds. Six rounds, and the survival knife sheathed on his chest, we're not going to be enough weaponry to get him through this alive.
"Can't go back the way I came—can't go out on the street..." Mind racing Nathan hurriedly asses his options in the narrow passage way and spies a wheeled dumpster a few feet behind him big enough to hide in. Knowing it would be the first place he'd look under the circumstances, "Hell, I'd pump it full of lead before I even opened it.." he surmises, but it may be his only chance to get a jump on his pursuers.
Just as Nathan presses his hands flat to the alley floor to push himself up his feet he catches a glint from the back wall under the dumpster. He scurries to the wall and sidles up beside the dumpster, then wheels it away from the wall a few feet revealing a narrow basement window peeking up at him from the alley floor. It's small blacked out form blended against the rain soaked dark stone wall and was nearly invisible except for the small chip in the glass that captured Nathan's glance.
Nathan removes his coat, wraps his arm and hastily smashes the tiny window. He removes his holster, flack jacket, and remaining gear dropping it inside the dark filled room behind the window. Hearing the thud he knows the floor is not to far below, but if he is going to keep this camouflaged he has to make certain the dumpster is pulled back into place.
Nathan unbuckles his belt and loops it around the dumpster's back center wheel. With a death grip on his belt Nathan forces his muscular frame through the constricted rectangular window. Small shards of glass rip and tear at his flesh as Nathan soaked and exhausted guides himself stealthily to the floor below gently pulling the dumpster tightly against the wall behind him.
Nathan's squats probing the floor for his flack jacket and holster. Finding them he immediately dons the jacket, unholsters his weapon, and pulls the knife from its sheath. He presses his back flat to the wall beneath the window—and listens.
The pounding splashing footsteps come almost immediately. So quickly in fact, Nathan expects a hail of gunfire to erupt through the window any second. Along with the footsteps Nathan can hear the racket of several men barking orders in Spanish, with the sounds seemingly coming from different directions. Suddenly, the pounding stops, replaced by a shuffling wading sound, and the chatter grows quieter. Nathan can hear the men conversing but the wind and rain still overpower the voices so he cannot make out what is being said. Then automatic weapon fire explodes with the distinctive sound of bullets ripping through steel and ricocheting off hard a stone surface.
Nathan crouches, twists hard to his left, and springs away from the wall slamming his back to the floor leveling his pistol at the window and flipping the knife in his other hand to a throwing position. Eyes trained on the narrow window, survival knife cocked back ready to throw, he waits for the dumpster to move. Nathan hears the squeak, then ting as the dumpster's lid is flung open and slams against the stone wall.
"Nada!" one of Cordova's men loudly proclaims as he checks the dumpster expecting to find a bullet ridden corpse.
"Ondele ondele!" another voice screams in Spanish, "He's got to be around here somewhere." the same voice continues in English. "Tell your men we'll have to start searching the buildings soon if they can't find him."
The English voice is familiar to Nathan, but hard to discern how over the roar of the wind and rain. At any rate, Nathan hasn't the time to consider this any longer. The pounding and splashing resumes, but fades fast as Cordova's men distance themselves from the alley.
"I've got to make my way through this building and find an exit before Cordova's men make their way inside." Nathan considers.
The inside of the basement is pitch black and slow going as Nathan must feel his way about in total darkness. He supposes the power is probably out, but knows also the use of any light would be ill advised under the circumstances. He makes his way along the cluttered wall encountering shelves, boxes, furniture, and some things he can't determine exactly what they are—until he finds a door. It's unlocked, and yielding no sounds from the other side, so Nathan slowly opens it and passes through.
Reaching both hands out to either side he presses against cold hard walls with each and guesses this is a corridor, or hallway of some sort. Just a few feet ahead he finds a staircase leading up and carefully ascends the steps using the right wall as his guide—gripping the Glock in his left hand.
Fourteen steps up—another door. No light creeps in from the tiny gap between the floor and the bottom of the door. Nathan listens, but hears only the sound of rain and wind beating against walls in the distance. Grabbing the knob, Nathan gives it a twist, but it's locked—from the outside.
He presses hard against the door but it doesn't budge. Nathan grips the knob tightly and tries to wrench it open but to no avail. He will have to bust the door open. Something he knows he's quite capable of doing, but he has to do it in a such a way that it doesn't alert any of Cordova's men who might be in earshot of the building.
He assumes, based on the amount of goods in the basement, this is some kind of business, or warehouse, and it's unlikely he'll encounter anyone inside the building. Still, timing is everything if he's going to conceal his whereabouts.
He holsters his gun, and sheathes the knife. Taking a deep breath Nathan reels back and prepares to lunge shoulder first at the door when he sees the splash of light from under the door and hears the distinct sound of a key being inserted in a lock.
"Damn!" Nathan curses in his mind, "Cordova's men must have entered the building already." Gripping his pistol and listening intently he thinks this may be only one man. It seems unlikely they would search in anything less than pairs, but even if it is two he's got the jump on them and the pistol would give up his position. Nathan retreats his grip on the Glock and slowly embraces the hilt of the survival knife as he unsheathes it.
"Only one man?" he repeats in his mind again somewhat puzzled. It's important because he can easily kill a man, two men, or three if necessary before they know what's hit them. But if he's going to escape he's got to use their clothes, and he's got to kill with as little blood as possible.
Nathan presses his back tightly against the left side wall as he positions himself opposite the door knob so the door will shield him as it swings in. The clicking tumblers may as well be screams to Nathan's ears as they release and the door unlocks. The heavy wooden door creaks and groans as it tugs at rusted oilless hinges that shrill to life and pierce the stagnant silence of the stairwell. A gush of light floods the stair and momentarily burns Nathan's eyes as they struggle to adjust.
"One set of footsteps." Nathan decides as he tightens his grip on the knife's handle. Through blurred watery eyes Nathan catches the silhouette of the man with the flashlight in one hand, and something else, a bayonet perhaps, in the other, but washed out by the light he's unable to tell for sure. As the man passes the doors edge and starts down the stone stairs Nathan's moment is upon him ... he must strike before his enemy knows he is there and can alert the others.
Nathan springs at the man with tremendous force reaching around from behind to cup his mouth. Startled by the sudden attack the man tries to scream but his cries are muffled by Nathan's huge powerful hand now clamped over his lower jaw. Nathan's upper body slams hard against the man's back and the flashlight flies through the air as Nathan's adversary flails his arms vainly trying repel the attack.
Both men crash hard against the opposite wall with an audible gut wrenching crunch. A gush of air tries to escape the man's lungs through his mouth but is repelled by Nathan's vise grip and is forced through the nostrils instead.
Nathan feels the warm droplets of blood spray his hand as the man's lungs expel their contents from the force of the crash, and knows the crunching sound was that of the mans ribcage collapsing in and piecing the lungs.
From the instant Nathan had grabbed the man something didn't feet right. His size, his body, and his reaction were not that of a soldier. And now his clothes, Nathan could tell, were a much softer material than the rugged jungle fatigues Cordova's men wore. Whatever the reason, whoever he was, it was too late for him ... Nathan was committed.
Nathan followed through the crash and rolled left against the wall wheeling the man around with him still forcibly held in his grasp. Nathan plunged the knife first up under the right ribcage, then left, just missing internal organs to limit bleeding, but deep enough to puncture both lungs. The ribs had probably already done the work for him but Nathan had to be certain the lungs would collapse.
With no air in the lungs he'd be unable to scream, and would eventually suffocate.
Nathan lowered the man's crumpled form to the cold stone stairs. The only sounds now in the stairwell were the gurgling that severed fluid filled lungs make as they fight for air. Nathan quickly went to the top of the stairs and looked through the doorway. Still no lights anywhere in sight, and the only sound was that of the rain and wind spattering the outside walls.
Shutting the door, Nathan descended the steps to retrieve the flashlight. With the doors closed at both ends the stairwell should hide the light well enough to allow Nathan to change into the man's clothing—hopefully his means of escape.
The flashlight had landed hard spilling its guts out on to the short hallway floor at the bottom of the stairs. Nathan managed to feel around and find all the pieces to reassemble it but it only sputtered now providing very little in the way of illumination for Nathan's purposes.
"Dammit!" Nathan cursed softly as he clicked the light off to conserve what little power may remain in the batteries, "I'll have to play dress up in the dark!"
Nathan's foot kicks something else on the stairs as he ascends to where his adversary lay dying. "The bayonet." he thinks to himself as he reaches to retrieve the object.
Even in the absence of light this object is undeniable in its form—and Nathan feels sick in the pit of his stomach. Object in hand Nathan slowly makes his way toward the gurgling sounds of the dying man. Kneeling beside him, Nathan runs his hands over the man's clothes trying to dispel the growing sickness welling deep within him, but instead—his fears are confirmed.
A weak trembling hand reaches out of the darkness and contacts Nathan's arm, then unsteadily makes its way to his shoulder, and with a tender squeeze urges him closer to his victim.
Nathan leans in and the silhouetted face of his victim gives way, not to the hardened face of a drug lord's henchmen, but to that of a kindly fragile elderly man. His lips move trying to form words as bloody bubbles of air and foam escape them and run down his cheeks to pool on the steps. Nathan resists leaning in further but the man reaches in to gently guides Nathan's ear to his mouth.
Barely audible, the three guttural words the man speaks will haunt Nathan Darke from this day forward, and forever change his life, "I—forgive—you."
With that—one priest dies—and another is born.
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