The New World Order

A New World Order - Prologue

Escape or not?

The woman ran, holding her pregnant belly. Her boots hammered the concrete floor, each footfall echoing as she navigated the passages. The strained echoes conveyed her condition to her pursuer, who, arrogantly, kept pace with her regardless. Her feet were now straining, her lungs screaming, and her vision blurring in and out of focus. Blinding a corner, she slammed shoulder-first into a pillar and stumbled. With great effort, she managed to stay upright. If it wasn't for the training and years of field experience drilled into her muscles, she probably would have fallen and miscarried.

Her shoulder bled; the rusted pillar had a sharp edge. Thankfully, it wasn't dislocated, but the pain was immense. Her body was already battered and couldn't possibly take another combat with her pursuer. Her gasps were already reassuring for him, but the screams were like icing on a cake for him. She, on the other hand, kept going on sheer will, channeling it from her belly through her right hand holding it and using that feeling as fuel to drive forward.

The warehouse was a monstrosity; they had estimated it to be at least 12 Sq. Km. worth of space spread across an area of 1 sq. km, including loading areas, parking etc... It needed to be given that it housed two worlds within itself: one where it claimed to be the biggest hub for distribution of luxury items of all kinds across Asia, which it was and the other where it was known to be the biggest hub in the world for smuggled weaponry, technology and the headquarters of a shadow syndicate. Spread across several wings of different sizes, housing multi-storey storage spaces that could house what ranged from aircraft to mountains of crates containing all kinds of weapons and explosives, from wings that could house cars to tanks that housed fuel. With about 10 to 15 floors above ground and 5 to 10 below, the floor count varied across sections of the wings. The office wings, though all had 25 floors. It was a superstructure. Some rooms within were as large as some warehouses in the warehouse district of the country's sole FTZ.

The warehouse wasn't just huge it was a fortress. Its private militia was large enough to be considered an army of a small country. It was due to this reason that they couldn't take the same route. Therefore, she was traversing through the dark part of the warehouse, that was reserved for secret stuff. Hence, parts of it stayed abandoned for months. This section was the rear and was only available for use as permitted by the one. It being mostly empty the present night allowed her to escape with only resistance exerted by her pursuer. It was still spooky.

She was on the first floor now after navigating alleys and going down stairs and then some more dark alleys. She could still hear his footsteps, even as her lungs burned, her legs ached. Her body was close to its limit but the steady sound of footsteps drew all the fumes she could spare and kept her going. What made the sound of footsteps echoing eerie was that they were unhurried, never catching up but also never receding, just steady and calm. This eeriness and the life that her right hand held kept pushing her.

She looked back. He had closed in; she was getting too slow. She saw him wipe off the dried blood from the left side of his face with his right hand, blood she had drawn to create the opening she needed to escape. His right hand held a suppressed Sig Sauer P226. A squeak and she could be done for. Turning forward she turned around the corner and seeing some crates piled up she slowed down and pulled down a few blocking the alley. He could easily jump over them. She took a moment to catch her breath and grabbed her tummy. Whispering to herself she said, "I am still here, don't you worry. I will burn every fume in my body to survive!"

She turned and started running. She knew she needed to say that out loud but she knew that she was running short on fumes too. Every muscle in her body was strained to its limit. Her top was soaked with dried blood and bruises covered every inch of her body that could be tortured without damaging the fetus.

Another thing that worried her was her focus, the moment her concentration dropped even in one area, be it her awareness of her condition, her surroundings or anything else. The moment anything dropped, it would break the strained threads that held her body together. She feared silence of her mind because she would loose herself and her child. She feared what the loss of both would do to him.

Her pace faltered until the sprint became a run and then turned into a walk as she stumbled through the dark corridor, seeing moonlight illuminate a steel walkway ahead. Her breathing now felt like broken glass scraping her chest. She knew what was happening; although she was no longer losing any blood, she had lost a lot of it. Her body was shutting down. Her knees gave away and she pushed her palm against the wall to break her fall, but her knees hitting concrete still drew blood. Her bruised palm also lost blood.

She needed a few minutes, minutes she didn't have but her body didn't care. She blacked out, instinctively, falling on her shoulders and bracing her tummy. She lay sprawled on her back thanks to the instinct.

In her dreamscape, her mind could see the way ahead. The steel walkway connected the office wing to the final section of the warehouse' rear. A series of walkways. If she wasn't being pursued, she could stealthily navigate them to the stairs that led to the dock where he had left the dinghy for her escape. But with her condition being what it was, she wasn't going to make it. However, the windows were possible. She could brace her tummy and smash through glass if her body carried momentum. Had she not been pregnant, it would have been easy; she was athletic enough to hop the windowsill. Now, however, she couldn't... a vision. She had glanced a few crates stacked against the window in a step manner.

Such intricately designed warehouses made efficient utilization of space in construction. What that translated to basically is small spaces were at a premium, spaces which were often needed to store goods for a few hours whenever unexpected delays occurred in loading areas. These delays could stretch to hours in such a huge warehouse. Smaller warehouses often left buffer zones. However, for such a warehouse, the concept of buffer zones was an extreme necessity, that helped her case.

Hope... She could escape... she opened her eyes and got up while dazed. Scraping through the broken glass, from the light panel that should have illuminated this corridor. She grabbed a rod of solid iron lying nearby and used it as a support to stand while she regained her bearings.

Her abductors were certainly smart. They were obviously men who worked for the man who ruled the warehouse. It wasn't just their cover that was blown but also the entire situation. She understood now that while they were probing the warehouse for weakness, the investigators had been investigated, their weaknesses identified and exploited. Normally, they likely would have targeted her husband, given his lack of field experience and his nature as an analyst. Made him the perfect target. The situation being what it was though they knew this would be counterproductive. A father's will is too strong. He would rather die than betray his child.

A pregnant mother though would betray her child if it gave him a chance at survival. Unfortunately, she had experience with much worse and unless they did something that put her child in even a little danger, she knew she wasn't going to crack. The setup had given away the limitations of her interrogators. They couldn't risk miscarriage or any risk to her life. As long as she didn't talk, she was safe. The problem was they were closing in on the sweet spot where the danger to her child became sufficient to make her talk. However, her husband surprised her and them.

He had infiltrated the warehouse undetected. A series of fortunate coincidences and lucky timing had helped him but it was created only because he had carved a window where this could happen through extensive research and studying of patterns of people at the warehouse. They had escaped, separate ways. He had to draw attention elsewhere and by the time they realized she wasn't with him she would have escaped to the rendezvous he had planned for. Alas the assassin had regained consciousness and somehow manage to track her and not get baited by him. Up until they that point, he had succeeded in being underestimated by the enemy. Being mistaken for just a desk officer.

That's how she landed in her current predicament. She saw moonlight from the windows illuminate the metal walkway and the boxes stacked against the windows and her heart leaped with joy. The grime covered window would serve as her escape route. She didn't like the idea of a 28 ft drop but she could survive it. Going for the dinghy, the assassin would surely catch her.

Now alert suddenly, she turned her head only to see him, barrel raised. She was too late. Fear gripped her as the acceptance of loss settled in but her maternal instincts kicked in. She felt the rod and grabbed it tighter putting on a show of it being a crutch. She stumbled forward.

The assassin followed the barrel through her stumble.

She had sold her act. She was used to selling more complex feints. This was easy considering her situation.

Her left leg twisted crossing her right from behind and planting it as a pivot. Her right uncoiled and struck the wall to initiate a midair twisting dive as her upper body coiled and released like a spring.

The rod struck the gun as it flew out of his hands as a result of the twisting strike.

That's when a technique she had learned while a rookie came in handy to stay on her feet. This was a maneuver that had caught many of her assailants off guard.

The key was that she should have landed on her back but she had trained to adjust the movement to an axis where she landed on her legs. The moment her right had bounced off the wall her left had uncoiled into a hop but stayed as close to the ground as possible while twisting. So, she landed back on her pivot foot breaking her fall and her right completed the arc a feet behind her left pivot.

Had she not been pregnant, she could have pulled herself upright using her agility.

Now she pulled back the rod and struck the ground with the end that she had used to hold sliding upwards to grab the other end and using it as a crutch to push herself upright.

Her instincts realizing the opportunity reacted. On reflex her right hand repeated the action in reverse now having pushed her towards an upright position. Her hand slid back to the end she had used as a handle, as the other end flew forward and struck the assassin underneath his jaw. He fell back.

She was dazed, but her maternal instincts again took over as she turned and ran. Still gripping the rod. She quickly covered the short walkway and threw the rod at the window when close to it. She used her whole body to jump high and land on the first crate, the next row stacked higher she used another hop and then another to land on the window sill. Her weight crushed the glass but pieces of glass cut through her boots some even deep enough to graze her legs.

She could see her escape laid out for her and jumped, intending to go feet first into water. Alas, that wouldn't be.

The assassin had recovered, with face already starting to swell, he pulled out his backup. Same make and model, only unsilenced. He shot in succession of three. He had broken into a sprint to get her in his range.

The bullets struck her. One in the back, stopped by a rib it got lodged in. One in the arm, again lodged in the bone. One grazing her neck. It was only through maternal instincts that she twisted herself while falling. Landing hard on her back instead of the tummy. She sunk deep into the blackness, blacking out.

The assassin arrived at the window and saw nothing in the stormy river that lay below. He was supposed to catch her alive. He had failed. He turned tail intending to gather his belongings and make his escape letting go of his pending renumeration in hopes of survival. His employer would surely kill him for this utter failure. With some luck he could make it out alive, his livelihood though was gone. The only saving grace was he had a healthy retirement fund to mooch off of while living off the grid.              

Survival or not?

The woman, however, sinking deeper and deeper into the darkness, her brushed her tummy, sparking the kaleidoscope of emotions that triggered release of hormones. For several long seconds though the river stuck to its stormy rhythms. Beneath its black surface, she drifted motionless towards the darkness. Disoriented.

The hormonal cocktail took its own sweet time but the moment it came into effect, it shocked her system and suddenly her survival instincts took over. Alertness filled her as she realized the burning sensations, pains that wrought her body. She felt the bullets lodged in her. Blood leaked out of her wounds still. As long as she was in water, her nerves would go number but her wounds won't close.

Her chest burned! Air, she needed air!

She kicked and flailed helplessly...... She had taught so many to survive worse. She had survived worse situations than what she had taught.

She flailed again and again. Kicking. Instincts made her ascent slower in an attempt to ascend while protecting the foetus. Her arms tried to balance it. The bullet dug deeper but the agony was nothing in the face of a mother's will.

She burst through the surface with a violent gasp. The stormy currents had carried her away from the warehouse. She gasped and kicked and gasped and kicked.... Air had never felt so precious.

She looked around while fighting to stay afloat and above water. Sinking several times and then clawing above again and again. Glimpsing each time.

By now her right arm had been claimed by the bullet. She fought with her 3 limbs. With every ounce of will and energy and inched closer and closer to the banks. She knew the banks were useless. The concrete banks with groves to protect inflatable dinghies from crashing into them or the hulls of speed boats and transport boats. They would have been perfect escape route if not for the stormy waters and the grills that lined them which would prevent a pregnant woman to climb and jump over.

Her only shot at escape would be the wharf that she knew she was closing on. A third of the way to the main docks where the canal widened into a channel for larger.

Her left arm wouldn't suffice to catch it even though it was likely wrapped with net and tires to provide sufficient protection from the hull. She was going to lose her right arm but she would survive. She didn't have much left in her but now she could see it. She braced and in on swift motion willed her right arm to grab it. The sudden inertia loss tore through several muscles of her right arm. It would be a miracle if it would still be functional.

The shearing stress drained her instantly she knew in minutes if not seconds she would pass out. She used the remnants of her determination to twist such that she faced away from the wharf to protect her belly. She then used her left arm and tangled both in the net of the wharf. Both the arms tangled in the net that wrapped the polymer made pontoons; she wouldn't sink further. There at least was a chance that the baby would survive. She let go and blackness consumed her. The stormy waters raged on threatening her arms at least and the two lives that flailed against them at most.