The Lion's Den

Chapter 21

     "Move in!" I yelled to the armed men behind me. Today's the day. 'One shot. Don't blow it Nova,' Feliks' voice rings in the back of my mind. This is our one shot to get him back. If he isn't dead already... 

     I shake the thought from my head. I have to remain hopeful. The Italian men surround the steel doors of the German mobs compound, strapping red sticks of dynamite to it. Behind one of these doors is Zivon. Dead or alive... The thought brings a rush of excitement and fear to me, and I feel the urge to move quicker. 

     Stepping back, I watch as the doors are blown from their hinges. Taking this as our cue, we all rush in, guns drawn. 

     I'm coming Zivon...

2 Days Ago...

     I meet up with Feliks in the small control room, carrying with me an arms full of food and water. Feliks has decided it's best everyone believes he's dead until the operation is over. 

     "I've made contact with the Italians," Feliks says, and I hand him the food I brought. He nods his head at me appreciatively, and I sit in the chair at the other work desk. 

     "They have agreed to help us , on one condition. You have to lead the attack," he continues. 

     "What? Why? I can't. I'll mess it all up," I speak quickly, panicking a little. 

     "Nova, they think you are the one they are corresponding with. They need someone with power to lead, and right now that's you," 

     The truth is, I will do anything to get Zivon back. I have to. Without him, I'm lost. "I'll do it. But I gonna need some pointers," 

     A smirk grew on Feliks' face, "Of course."  

Present Time 

     Shuffling through the corridors of the German fortress, I tried to remember all Feliks had taught me. My gun was clutched tight in my hand, and my nose tingled at the strong chemical smell in the air. 

     There are doors everywhere, the white steel contrasting the dark stone walls. I have no idea which door Zivon is behind, and now it's a guessing game. Over the past few days, Feliks and I have studied the old warehouses layout, allowing us to narrow down which hallway he likely on.  If only I had some sort of tracker on Zivon... Stupid German Mobsters. 

     At this point, I realize the only name I have for the Germans is 'German Mobsters', but that's long and boring. They need a nickname.. 

     "Split up, but stay close," I commanded in a deep voice, one very foreign to my own. Coldness was the only way I could prevent the torment of emotions in my own mind from seeping into my voice. 

     It was quiet, the Germobs moving in a large shipment of cocaine to the second warehouse. We had a few minutes at most before they returned. OMG, that's perfect! Germobs...

     Within a few seconds, all the doors were opened. None holding Zivon. He's not here... My heart sinks into my feet, leaving a pit in my chest. My head begins to spin. This was the one shot. Panic courses through me, and I frantically look around. 

     Then, something catches my eye. A Germob. At first, just one turned the corner. Then another. And another. Surprise of our presence halted them, before shouts for backup erupted.  A blaze of gunfire roars, and I feel myself knocked into one of the rooms. 

     I hold my gun up to shoot at my attacker, but I'm to slow. The gun is snatched from my hand. 

     "Stop it, would ya?" The familiar voice whisper-yells to me. 

     "Feliks?!" I hug him, "How are you here? Your supposed to be back home."

     His chest shakes in a laugh, "You didn't really think I'd let you shoot a place up alone did ya?" 

     I'm about to respond to him, but our pep talk is interrupted by a Germob. I jump, and without any hesitation Feliks shoots. The man falls to the floor, blood rushing from his chest. I fall backwards, the blood is to much. The gunfire, the blood, Zivon not being here- its all just to much. 

     I crumple into a ball against the back wall of the room, farthest from the doorway with the dead man. Cold steel stings my skin, and I tuck my head away from it all. I let the panic wash me away, carrying me in its treacherous waves. 

     My mind is brought to a sudden halt. My back is pressed against cold, slick, steel. Not rough stone. I'm sitting against the last door in the hallway. 

     It's clever, really. Put the door to your hostage inside another guarded room. "Zivon," I gasp, rocketing to my feet. I yank at the handle, it wont budge. Fuck. These sons of bitches locked the door. 

     For the first time, I really looked at the room I was in. The stone walls matched the rest of the building, but white tile composed the floor. A wooden desk sat in the corner closest to the door. Files sat on it, but a glint of metal caught my eye. The key. 

     I ran over to the desk, plucking the keys off the wooden surface. I shoved the key into the lock, desperately fumbling with shaking hands to unlock it. 

     The gunfire outside had slowed, and I knew almost all the Germobs were dead now. Our men greatly outnumbered theirs, the Italians and Russians VS Germans  is no match. 

     I finally get the lock undone, and fling the door open. I pray to find Zivon alive, because know that's all I can do. I am at the mercy of fate, and I can only hope it does me well...