The New World Order Act 1 Ch 3

A New World Order - Prologue

Author Note: I would like to offer my apologies for the delay in finishing this after committing to a timeline. Life hit me hard and 2 weeks went by with no writing. Plus this one took longer than anticipated. The next one is going to take much longer. Still the maximum gap I estimate is 2 months. I will try to post the next before the new year's. The next one would be the conclusion of this act. I promise though that I will see this story through even if the uploads get delayed.

Lives in balance!

The man drove at break neck speed towards the wharf. It wasn't far. It was constructed for civilians who needed to make their way to the docks. Much of the docks, however, was owned by the consortium that Thaye led and only the employees of the companies were allowed. During daytime boats ferried civilians with businesses to the main docks and back. The wharf was like a bus stop for those small motorboats.

Muang Sang was one of the 22 SEZs of Laos, the SEZ status was just to avoid scrutiny. For all intents and purposes, it was a privately owned town. Clearance levels were created for employees and civilians and nobody was allowed in a zone they weren't cleared for. As a result, most of the population comprised of employees of the consortium. Their families that didn't work for them or the town's civil services made up the civilians. The consortium wasn't entirely made of shady companies. The most influential of them were all shady though. However, the consortium itself was a coverup. The warehouse that the couple had investigated was on paper jointly owned by the consortium. However, only the goods Thaye's organization approved passed through it, which was an insignificant percentage of the total warehouse operations. The remainder of the operations of the warehouse were all Thaye's goods. One another thing that Muang Sang was known for is tourism. The delta region plus some of the geographical characteristics of the delta and the mainland surrounding it created a lot of spots for adventure sports. Moreover, being an SEZ the liquor consumption laws were relaxed. The tourism economy therefore was built as a cover to hide the illicit activities in plain sight. Family members of the cartel members owned and operated businesses which were used for money laundering and white washing the trails that could expose

The hellscape he had created had triggered first responders. However, it had been barely minutes after any report might have been made. The wharf wasn't too far. At top speed, he should be reaching any moment. The entrance came into view and his heart gave a lurch. There was a black SUV; which he recognized for law enforcement, likely detectives. With the front of the car dented from slamming into two guards and the injuries he had sustained. There was absolutely nothing he could do to talk his way out. But he couldn't just shoot them; the SUV would make a perfect replacement. Investigators on prowl for the couple; no one would consider why they are going in the opposite direction. Moreover, the SUV was armored so his pistol was ineffective against even the light armor that the SUV had. He wished he had taken those rifles for aa second from the guards but then built holes would arouse suspicion. He had to draw the cops out.

Muang Sang's law enforcement vehicles rivaled that of UAE, but the vehicle would often give away the rank or the unit. These type of SUVs were often assigned to Sergeants or Lieutenants in terms of ranks and Investigative units. The two inside had to be detectives. One of them had to be a sergeant given the response time.

He triggered the siren and the lights. They did too. He stopped at the text book distance from them that an officer would. He knew their patterns that is the one thing that was on his side. He was exceptional at preparation. The first few weeks he had just studied the city to such a detail that he could be confused for a local. He had made his wife do the same.

His wife, he had to quickly end this; boxes lined the ground that led to the wharf. It was a temporary storage space. By noon tomorrow, these would be gone and by evening, new ones would line the pathway to the wharf. From the outside; some distance away there was no sign but boxes were all he could see, she could be hiding for all he knew.

He waited in the cabin of his sedan. Arms on the wheel, still position. Eyes straight ahead. Protocol was senior officers would check on him. Him leaving the car was a probable cause for them to fire. He waited as minutes ticked by. This was a minor test. He passed as the doors opened. He had to wait or one of them would duck out under the cover of SUV. The detectives approached in contact and cover formation. He had to be smart here.

Once both crossed halfway, he opened his door. Both the detectives drew the pistols and aimed. They waited and observed thereafter. Cleanly stuffing the nose of the silenced pistol in his jean pocket and covering it up with his jacket while stepping out raising one hand and then other. He sold the act that his second hand was slower as it was on the wheel. It took a lot of effort to pace the rest of his body in order to do that. With his feet on the ground and arms raised, he stepped outside.

Officers in civilian clothes were normal. He had already thrown his vest in the backseat along with other stuff when he had departed the blazing warehouse. Wearing a jacket or a coat was common too in the town. So, neither of them aroused further suspicion.

"Detectives, I am coming from the burning warehouse. Tonight was my patrol duty in the area. I saw the man escape in a black sedan down this route."

The detective in contact position answered, "That sounds like a sensible explanation officer but you broke protocol by getting out."

"I am sorry but the due process would eat away seconds in which we can close the gap before he disappears," said the man

The detective replied, "Alright, show me some ID and we shall accompany you in pursuit although we didn't see him but he could have taken a turn somewhere down the road. We can call in a bird to search. But first I need to see an ID and an explanation for the state of the car."

The man countered, "I rammed it into a couple of bollards this evening. I was getting late so I decided to complete my route at the warehouse before turning. As for the ID its in the glove compartment. Let me get it out."

The detective confirmed, "Alright officer"

He bent down behind the door and quickly drew his pistol covering the motion with his body. Glancing towards the cops he took aim and then swiftly straightened out shot first to the cover who had direct sight to the man's head. He hit him in the head as he tumbled over. The contact detective fired and struck the door frame. By the time he could let loose a second the man had turned and fired. The bullet struck between the eyeballs.

The man acted quickly. He made a beeline to the ground, inside the gate and straight to the wharf, nobody was there. His heart sunk. In shock he didn't realize he jumped on the wharf; skipping the stairs leading to it. He looked around and saw no sign of his wife. Despair filled him as he walked to the end of the wharf and sunk on his knees. Then he saw her, tangled in the ropes; head slumped over, the legs flailing in the stormy waters. He quickly dived in. The cold water burned his wounds.

He willed his focus by leaning into his emotions and focused on untangling his wife. She was shot -

"Fucking hell - "

He didn't have the time to think about her assailant. He needed to rescue her. She was breathing shallow, not to mention the baby. He held on to the pontoons with all his might and worked thee other hand to untangle her. Anticipating that the force of the stormy river could carry them downstream or hurt her further at the very least; when she was released from her restraints, he decided to secure himself first. He left her for a bit and held on to a tyre that was tied to a pontoon and stretched the binds to create some space. He inserted his leg through the tyre, securing himself by locking his leg in between the pontoon and the tyre tied to it tightly. His leg straining under the force of the stormy waters being locked in place with tight restraints of a rubber tyre pushing into a solid polymer pontoon. He ignored the pain.

He undid his belt and removed it. He then put her left arm over his left shoulder, in a manner that he hugged her. He then used his belt as a makeshift harness and tied himself to her in a diagonal manner; it went over his left and her right shoulders and under his right and her left shoulders. For extra security he wrapped one loop around his left and her right arm with the belt before passing it under his right and her left and through the buckle. Locking it to secure it. Then with his right he worked on the remaining restraints. Bracing them while in a hugging position. The makeshift harness could strain her bullet wounds. Pulling her up could also cause muscle tears; the extent to which he could aggravate her injuries; he couldn't foresee. He didn't see any other viable option so he would have to take that risk.

The moment she came free, he strengthened the grip on her shoulder as well as his left leg; the only thing keeping him and his heavily pregnant wife secured to the wharf. Using all of the remaining stamina and strength he kicked his right leg out of the water and planted it on the roe tying the tyres to the pontoons, as a temporary foothold. Using this foot as a planted spring he pushed his left onto the pontoons and then using that as a planted foot he used one final push upward; knowing that just a forward push might cause him and his wife to trip on the pontoon; her landing on her ass and him landing with his upper torso on hers but the rest of the body sideways. It looked very risky for his wife, given her condition, but one he couldn't survive without. Trying to stay on his feet might cause a stumble backwards to doom.

His very first action, as soon as they were on the wharf was to check her, on instinct. Still breathing, shallow but breathing. For the moment they were safe, he let go of everything, to catch his breath and take a breather. She was strong enough to take the weight he was putting on her for a few moments. It's the force of the fall that created the risk.

Taking a moment to breathe, he thought of the next steps. He couldn't rest. Not until they were safe. But how could they get to safety. He could see fireballs erupting from the mammoth warehouse in a distance. He knew vehicles would soon come his way. It's a miracle they hadn't yet. With the SUV and his cruiser and the bodies on the road, he would soon be caught,

He got up and undid his belt. He changed positions; with him hugging her from behind and created a makeshift brace to secure her He then dragged his yet unconscious wife to the stairs and slowly and as gently as he could pulled her up them. It wasn't too many stairs and the loading area was barely a few feet higher than the wharf. Once in the loading area he gently placed his wife against the fence after undoing the brace.

Running outside, he dragged stuffed both the bodies in the trunk of the cruiser. He parked the cruiser inside deeper in behind the boxes, out of sight. He took their jackets, badges, vests and ID. He then drove the SUV inside and close to the fence. He then lifted his wife gently and dragged her into the SUV. He got in with her and with the supplies he had checked her wounds. The bullet seemed safe; the wound had stopped bleeding. The wound had opened up while he extracted her from the river but wasn't bleeding now. She was covered in scrapes and bruises and some cuts across her leg. Only after he was certain she was breathing stably did he allow himself to look at his own injuries. He couldn't stay long; every second spent in this loading area raised the risk of discovery.

The cold had dulled his pain but the moment he pressed a wad of gauze against the knife wound in the shoulder; it burned like a bitch. He held it in place until it stuck then awkwardly wrapped his shoulder in bandages. Hopefully, that would stop his bleeding. He stuck some patches on the remaining wounds he had that were serious and ignored the rest. His hands begin to shake; the exhaustion felt heavy. He injected a shot of morphine and epinephrine one after the other. He knew this could have consequences; he couldn't care yet. He let his head rest on the window of the SUV; he needed to allow the chemicals to take effect. He closed his eyes, careful as to not pass out, he held on and waited, bracing himself.

***

Somewhere beyond the river, she fell. Not through air. Through silence and nothingness. She tried opening her eyes - nothing. She couldn't move; she was just there. Falling through darkness. Somewhere in distance, someone called out to her....

"Mommy...."

She could reach the sound but it filled her with the power to hold on. She braced herself

***

He woke up and instinctively checked his wristwatch and checked his surroundings. He breathed a sigh of relief. Just a few minutes had passed. He got out and walked to the driver's seat and got in. He glanced behind. He took her hand in his.

"Don't you dare leave me now. I have got too much to apologize for. There's just too much left to say and we have got an amazing child on the way."

He looked forward and gripped the wheel.

Thinking to himself, "Maybe if I had factored in the assassin or maybe if I had done something differently... maybe.... maybe", he was spiraling.

He closed his eyes and drew a long breath. Then he turned the key into ignition and pushed the accelerator.

***

Awareness filled her. She felt as if she was. None of her senses were active yet but she did feel a faint vibration. Somewhere at a distance. Someone was reaching for her. The cold, the pain, the heartache, the fear; they all felt distant emotions. The vibration felt stronger...

"Mommy..."

Whiteness enveloped her. She could see nothing but atleast she could see. Her ears buzzed with static but she could hear. She could feel the water. She could smell the sea. She tasted the salty water.

For a second she felt as if she had come loose from the wharf and floated away into the ocean.

However, the lack of wounds and pain made no sense. She considered that she was dead but somehow it didn't felt as if that's what it was.

She had heard about it from her colleagues but it was her first time going through it. A place between life and death. A place where the experiences actually take place and at the same time they are in one's head. Where paranormal and normal become one and the same. Dreamscape; a realm that everyone creates for themselves in their own shape. The way its built has some connection to one's deep sub-conscious. However, the ones who lived to tell the tale couldn't figure out the connection. Atleast the ones she knew.

The water held her effortlessly. She observed the horizon; turning around she saw a beach at the distance. A narrow crescent of pale sand. Behind it rose a mountain with a perpendicular cliffside. A sheer wall of black stone, vanishing into the white sky. At its base; at the junction of beach and the mountain was a cave, surrounding it on both sides, extremely dense forest. A deeper look at the cave and it seemed like a tunnel led deeper across the border. But it wasn't clear given the pitch-black entrance. As if light never crossed the threshold of the cave.

Then she saw the child; her child waiting for her. Impossible patience that only the children possess. Clothes fluttering in wind. Small feet resting on the dry sand. She tried to focus on the face, but the more she focused the more her focus drifted away. She couldn't also pinpoint her gender. She let it be.

She swam, relentlessly, impatiently, with all her might. Towards him. The current resisted immediately. Stroke by stroke; inch by inch she moved closer. The breathing became harder, the arms grew heavier, the beach never seemed closer.

She had to stop to catch her breath several times. The current welcomed the stoppages, carried her away.

"Mommy...", she felt she could hear him. Again, and again. His voice - soft, small, afraid. She tried swimming forward again. She kept struggling. Forward, then backward and again. Eventually her toes found the sea bed. She bounced some, against the current. Until her feet were planted firmly. She waded forward. Chest Deep. Waist Deep. Knees Deep. Ankles Deep. She fell on her knees; out of breath; deep long breaths.

Then she pushed herself upright and stumbled forward across the wet and eventually into drier sand. She fell to her knees and started weeping. Streams of tears flowed relentlessly from her eyes as she hugged her child.

"I am sorry my dear! Mommy's so so sorry kiddo!"

She continued sobbing....

***

The SUV lurched in the road slick from rain.

He gripped the steering wheel hard. He followed the reflectors on the road lining the ribbon on the asphalt.

He was driving towards the docks. The entire district was an SEZ. It was spread across an entire delta. While the delta was made up of several large islands and some small ones, most interconnected through bridges., the mainland it cut through was merely two narrow strips of land made up of small hills and valleys through which streams flowed. Those hills were also connected through bridges and wherever possible mainland and the delta were connected with bridges. The connectivity within the region had been built by the cartel when the whole SEZ was being constructed. The sea facing side of the mainland would have been perfect to construct trade docks on. However, the geography of the mainland made it impossible for transportation between docks and the warehouse district. Hence the main docks were constructed extending from the peninsulas surrounding the delta. Following it 100s of bridges were constructed across the delta. Some to merely facilitate tourist traffic and some for moving goods. However, because of it the watercraft that could traverse the delta was limited and cargo ships couldn't enter, even though the depth across some portions of the delta made it possible. The goods hence were moved both through trucks over land or smaller craft via the river into the warehouse district.

He was driving towards the docks. Originally, he had planned to stow away on a ship with her in a container and then when the ship landed in international waters, they would jump ship on an escape craft and sneak back into the abandoned portion of the district where he had a 30ft fast cabin cruiser that he had stolen and stowed away in an old municipal maintenance shed. From there they would escape back to open sea. Such crafts were often rented by wealthier portions of tourists and upper middle class and above sections of the district's population. These crafts traveled both inland in adventure boating trips and on open seas for fishing trips and parties.

With the condition of her wife, that plan was out of the question. However, the cruiser was still the best way out. He first had to create a distraction. He needed supplies, the first aid kit had enabled him to self-treat and create field dressings but he still needed some injections to stabilize his wife and boost himself. The plan now was to steal some supplies from a ship. However, he would leave tell tale signs of burglary to signal that the docks are where he would be escaping from. They would search all the ships and open seas. However, after the theft he would double back to the cruiser, escape inland and lay low at a friend's place who had settled down in Laos, a serene house in the middle of a forest near a hill station and on the banks of a distributor of the river that fed into a lake further inland in the middle of the hills. There he would lay low until the heat died down. Given their condition, he prayed that they could survive long enough to deliver the child. Hopefully, the child survives and they would have succeeded as parents. As much as it pained him, things looked glum for them and survival for them seemed a far-out possibility.

As he went over the plan in his head, miles behind him he could still hear the explosions in distance. The warehouse was tearing itself apart. He couldn't think of the disaster he was leaving behind. The unborn infant held more importance than criminals and their associates. He could hear the sirens at a distance. The SUV was an excellent choice; any little amount of traffic had ignored them. Probably pursing enemies.

If the bulk of the emergency services hadn't been pulled to the warehouse, this would have been far too risky. The catastrophe he had created was working in his favor. He glanced at the rear-view mirror to check on his wife. A terrifying moment of absolute stillness passed and made his heart lurch. Then her chest rose and fell. Weak breathing but enough for now.

Months ago, when studying the patterns of the district he had created a minor emergency. It was a fake response that had later been covered up as a drill. His wife wasn't yet pregnant and so, there was no way she would leave behind any way to trace that emergency to them. The response had given them invaluable intel; Sedan bearers were the first responders, but SUVs were the ones managing everything on ground. As the barricades would come up, a lane would be left empty and SUVs were never stopped, in fact, if they stopped, it was trouble for the sedan officers.

Exactly as he had feared, the district had already begun locking down. When he was in the sedan, a worry had flown through his brain. Then he couldn't dwell on it. Now he thanked his stars. He sped past the barricades without a worry. He knew, with the chaos, the SUV wouldn't have been reported missing yet given the credentials of the man. He was a tracker kind of officer, specializing in pursuit. So, the registration no worked more in his favor.

He could get to the ship without being detected but the way back, the roads he had planned were disappearing.

Anxiety should have gripped him. Fear should have eaten him up. But his demeanor reflected zero change. For he had the solution - Water.

The coast guard rarely ventured inside the delta; they were his puppets to help keep control of the cartel. To monitor everyone was operating as they reported and no one was doing more or less than that. Hiding anything from him. Therefore, coastguard was hyper active at night. Daytime was their official job but nighttime was when they worked for him. You'd think that would be a detriment but stealing a coastguard boat from their maintenance dock was the simplest then because the officers overseeing the maintenance manned HQ and coordinated operations. The rest of them were on raids. Plus, he didn't need any special overalls for infiltration, getting the jacket of a maintenance worker wasn't too tough.

The streets narrowed. The commercial district was here. Warehouses gave way to towering container yards. Gantry cranes loomed like steel giants. There silhouettes disappearing into the stormy cloud cover; further blurred by the downpour. Cargo ships loomed at a distance with their lights roaming over the dock to provide light for the workers.

He drove, searching for one with the lights turned off. Such a ship would symbolize that loading was complete and departure scheduled for the next day. Crew resting onshore. Skeleton crew on the ship but most sleeping. Don't get spotted by the bridge and you could go anywhere on the ship. The storm would hide him from the bridge even if he were in the direct line of sight. He just had to not push his luck and be quick regardless.

His vision blurred.

"Fuck! Not Now! Please not now! Just let me get them to safety......"

He blinked hard. The adrenaline was fading and with it came the pain. Every cut, every bruise and especially the worst wounds throbbed hard.

Beside him, she remained unconscious and breathed shallow. Steady, but shallow. She was still dangerously fragile. He looked at her and remembered the memories they shared. The laughter. The sex. And everything else as well. He saw her firm breasts rise slowly. He reassured himself, seeing her fight. Having kept his feet and hands steady these past moments, he turned his focus to the road. His wife had blindly followed his plans through the investigation. He had built those plans with far more intel than he needed for them. He built contingencies for all his plans. Ones he never had to bank on. Now, the intel he gathered was invaluable. This was the last contingency. At any point if it failed. It couldn't.

One chance. One family.

At a distance loomed the dock with the ship matching his needs.

***

The relief of hugging her son had broken her. She had accepted oncoming death. She presumed that her husband had saved her but she was still on the brink; given that she was in dreamscape. Enough of her colleagues had told her about their near-death appearances for the tell-tale signs to be visible to her. She knew it was exactly what she thought it was.

VIBRATIONS

She suddenly saw the grains of sand vibrate slightly, turning behind the water had calmed down. There were no waves but there were ripples. Looking up the sky had darkened into light gray. All of a sudden, an indescribable ghastly presence flew past her and about halfway to the horizon settled over the water. Floating above it but her wings had folded. She was standing.... no.... levitating. It was covered in a cloak from head to toe. Arms and legs invisible beneath the cloak. The cloak had a long hood that covered its face completely, if it had one. The wings were draconic. A scythe floated beside it.

It was an indescribable feeling; it was about halfway but the distance felt unmeasurable. She couldn't estimate the distance. The see was rippling from it. Everything had seemed to have paused. Everything was motionless. The moment she had flown above her, the whole environment changes rapidly in just those handful seconds and now everything had paused. The ripples were not moving. Light gray cloud cover was static. White skies were ghastly white.

Suddenly, the ripples dispersed as she raised her hand. The sea became supernaturally still before the water just ahead of the figure darked gradually. She saw something break through the surface. Rather, water parted to let it through but the movement of water was too clean. No ripple, no splash. A figure now stood over the water, one feet planted, another kneed. A knuckle planted and a palm trailing behind.

She stood up and flash teleported to the shore in a minute. She was wearing a hooded black cloak with a black mask covering her face. With only her eyes visible which were pitch black. If it wasn't for her pale white face, her eyes wouldn't be distinguishable. Black boots and gloves covered her. She was tall, perhaps six feet. Long throat, her breasts were big and the only feature that accentuated the cloak, giving away her gender. She had a slender waist, tapering into wide hips.

Every movement of hers possessed supernatural precision. Underneath the cloak, it seemed as if she wore black sweater and black jeans. Her feet left no footprint. The water refused to touch her. She lifted her head and directly looked at the woman and more specifically the child behind her. She had put herself between the hooded woman and her child.

She knew at once that the woman at sea was death and the woman that faced her was a minion that had come to take her and her child into the water, which she understood to symbolize afterlife.

Eureka!

That was the understanding she needed to deduce her way out of the dreamscape. To escape she needed to get into the tunnel. Maybe not the dreamscape but certainly to survive she need to escape into the tunnel.

Easier said than done. She knew the minion was an undead. But no ordinary one. She might have been a top-grade spy and an excellent fighter on earth but this woman totally outclassed her in every way possible. If she did breathe, there was no telltale signs, but for the woman, all her limitations on earth were applicable here.

Her instincts recoiled all of a sudden. She walked. Too graciously. Closer to the woman; the minion stopped. Tilted her head imperceptivity and struck for the child. Instinct screamed before the thought dawned on her. The attack, not borne of hatred or threat, only purpose. Not with anger or haste, just flawless purpose. She spun around and using the momentum, pulled her child out of the way. She fell on the sand and rolled away. Holding her child tightly. The strength of the attack shocked her; and the minion's attack hadn't actually made contact, still she was reeling.

The child clung to her.

"Mumma"

The child resonated somewhere the roots of fear itself lay.

Her foot dug into the sand as she stood up. She looked at her child's eyes; so full of fright.

The fight for her life had begun!

***

The SUV rolled to a stop in between containers. With any luck, it wouldn't be discovered until the ship had departed and the plan would work.

He changed clothes in the car, as swiftly as his wounds allowed him. He wore the jeans he had worn at the warehouse and the spare t-shirt the officer stored. It was a bit big for him, but that was ok.

The dashboard clock glowed faintly through his bloodshot eyes. His vision blurry. He blinked and smacked his cheeks. His vision sharpened.

His mind and body battled. He was at his limit. His heart resolved. Right here, right now, he would surpass his limits. As many times as he had to. His family's survival depended on him doing that.

He stepped out, cold air and rain lashed against him. His legs wobbled. He stayed still and peeked at the backseat.

"You're a stubborn bitch; you know that. But you know what, I am your man so I have to be more. I will save you even if it kills me" he whispered under his breath.

He walked away....

A few minutes later...

The cargo ship towered above him. Thick mooring lines stretched from the steel bollards and disappeared on the ship.

He climbed the gangway, straining himself. One step, then another and another. He slipped but stayed upright, gripping the railing tight. Steadying itself he continued.

The deck was deserted, as expected. At this point, skeleton crew manned the ship. Some in the bunks, rest on the bridge. All of them either fast asleep or dozed off.

He slipped between containers. Stopping. Listening. Then moving to the next.

Rain and wind broke prevented silence from enveloping the ship.

He made his way through the ship slowly. Silently. Past cabins. Past the galley. Past the entrance to lower decks. Past the communications room. Just before the entrance to the accommodations wing, he reached the infirmary.

The one room that couldn't be locked. He entered. He moved quickly through the cabinets. Found epinephrine and injected himself. His heart slammed against his chest, breathing quickened, several moments rolled by before it all subsided. Repeated doses carried risks. He couldn't care. Then he found a bottle of painkillers, took some and stuffed the rest in his jeans. He found some bottles of water, grabbed one and emptied it down his throat. He found the stapler for stitches and bit down on the empty bottle and stitched his cuts.

He grabbed the bag he had stolen from the SUV and threw another couple of adrenaline injectors in it. He replaced the dressing on his wound. The blood-soaked dressing and the CCTV footage would be the evidence that he had stowed away on the ship. Distracting his pursuers to search the route he should have taken. He was smarter, he would rather take the risk and have

the element of surprise than go down the obvious route and risk being discovered.

He filled his bag with some trauma dressings, hemostatic gauze, tourniquet, saline bottles, trauma shears, tape, bandages, IV Fluids, analgesia, broad spectrum antibiotics, some blankets, some bottles of water, emergency trauma kits, painkillers, oxygen masks and a couple of smaller portable oxygen cylinders.

He took only as much as he needed and no more.

One last looks around the room.

Everything looked as if it was untouched. Only a closer look would reveal theft.

The ship would depart as planned. The SUV's discovery would get the authorities to radio it. It would turn back. It would be searched top to bottom. By the time they realized that they were on the incorrect trail, he would have reached safety. Dead or alive.

He slipped outside back into the rain.

***

She held her child tightly. As her grip tightened, she winced in pain. A sharp pain rose in her shoulder. Warmth seeped into her clothes from her left shoulder.

By rolling away she had put a few feet between her assailant and herself. She stood up and put her child behind her and then grabbed her aching shoulder.

Argh! Fuck! She cut me deep!

Her hands had become red with her blood. She put pressure, she was useless for a few minutes. If she was in reality she wouldn't be because her fucking opponent wouldn't be supernatural.

To her surprise, the minion sheathed the knife.

A realization dawned on her! It sent chills down her soul!

She hadn't dodged or got her child out of the way. Her assailant had succeeded in exactly what it wanted. Immobilizing her. She was after the child. The mother inside her was pissed but the now helpless woman outside was torn in anger and fear; she braced herself. She would keep distance.

She went on her knees; while staring at her opponent.

"Baby climb on mommy's back. Put your right arm over mommy's right shoulder and your left under mommy's left and hold on tight to mommy. She stood up with her child braced to her back. She was on the defensive now, determined to ensure that her opponent didn't so much as lay a hand on her child.

"Mumma..."

The command was clear. Her motherly instinct took over. Her focus became laser sharp. Nothing else remained.

Protect him.

The only thing that mattered was this.

She moved but stopped a few paces away.

"She stopped! Why? Does she want me to attack? No, she couldn't possibly think I am this foolish? Or does she want me to surrender? No way"'

Unfortunately, she had grossly underestimated the minion's true intentions.

The strike came out of nowhere. She knew she was out of the minion's range but the minion moved at speeds she couldn't comprehend. The minion grabbed her right hand. Instinctively, her left hand braced her son. Her shoulder wincing, meant she couldn't use it more than that.

The force with which she grabbed her hand bushed her slightly backward. Her heels dug into the sand. The strength of her grip, it existed beyond resistance. It was so perfect. Not bone breaking tight. Not loose enough to twist out of. Perfect, just perfect.

She started dragging her and her child towards the sea.

"Hang in there sweetheart! I will save you two even if it kills me!"

Her resolve reinforced she twisted and escaped her grip. The wound that had closed up, opened again. Fresh clots that had just formed broke apart under the strain. Despite the pain, her left arm kept her child secured tight to her.

The masked woman struck again. She dodged. Another strike. Dodged. Then another. The dance had begun.

The woman was now reaching for the child.

She understood, if she got the child, mother would follow.

One of her strikes made contact, in response she curled in and struck with all the force her kick could muster. The collision hurled her against the stand and her child flung a feet away from her.

PAIN!!!

The beach blurred for a terrible instant. Before I could refocus her hands scrambled to grab her child. They found him and bulled him into her bosom. She breathed a sigh of relief as her vision focused. The minion had stumbled backwards but was otherwise unaffected. She scrambled to her feet, keeping her child behind her.

The world jolted violently. The child looked toward the tunnel. Hope filled his face as a smile appeared on his face.

Somewhere in the great beyond someone was fighting to save them.

Her attention had shifted from the minion to the tunnel momentarily due to a jolt that the minion too should have felt. She didn't she was still fixated on taking the woman and the child.

That was enough as the woman grabbed her. The grip felt ice cold., She felt the minion drag her but she moved but a few paces, albeit at an impossible speed. However, in the same moment, the world lurched. The sea rushed closer. Instincts took over. Instead of resisting being dragged she used the moment to slide down; her knees striking the woman's, her ankles striking the woman's The tight grip and her footing being attacked meant she went flying 270-degree arc and fell on her back, midway her grip released. The woman waited no longer, having caught the minion off guard she rushed to her and helped her stand. Winded and disoriented. On e kick sideways in the torso to disorient her further. Then one kick in her torso and an immediate follow-up in the center of her chest right from the front to send her stumbling backward in the sea.

The sudden burst of power came from inside as a result of the child's frightful shout.

"Mumma!"

The attacks succeeded so brilliantly on the minion because death had lost its patience and shifted the landscape. Terrain transformation. A power only the immortal supernatural and the owner of the dreamscape could exert on the dreamscape. One of the laws of the mythical realm that governed the ability of a person to survive near death experiences. None barring death knew of it. Not that it mattered.

The two together created the opening. Her assailant floated away from her, still reeling from the attack.

The mother took over. She looked at her child. Crying. Frightened. She drove her feet into the sand in the water and stumbled forward to her child. Her wound had torn further. Agony was already tearing through her. The sea was gripping her. She fought through it and broke through on dry sand and finally closing the distance gathered her child in her arms.

Every step away from the sea was stolen from death. The masked woman was no longer reeling but floating. Halfway between her and death. She looked at her child and the blood that had trickled down her arms and dripped on the sand. Each drop dried as soon as it hit the sand. The sand took it as offering. Her bleeding slowed and stopped. Her wound still pained but the pain receded to the background.

She looked up towards the tunnel. It seemed closer. Close enough to seem promising yet far enough to trust. Somehow, it felt harder to reach it. Far beyond the darkness of the tunnel, she felt the man fighting to save them. His resolve gave her strength. The stubbornness that made her fall for him was still there. Still strong.

"We are still here my love...", she whispered.

She turned. The masked woman had not moved. She didn't need to.

Exhaustion crept on her without any warning. Her grip on her child faded as she fainted from the dreamscape and into the reality.

The mountain. The beach. The tunnel. The sea. Death and its minion. Her child. All of it vanished.

***

The SUV would have been useless from this point on. The boat of coast guard would have been a good option. Amidst the chaos it wouldn't have been discovered. However, while he would only be taking it to the cruiser, it was still a trackable craft. It was a risk he could pull off and was going to. Until he spotted the truck, one with his mark on the bonnet of its cabin.

During his intel gathering, he had seen this, time and again. The mark, whichever vehicle had it; they were never stopped. Period. Funnily, he knew where Thaye had picked up this system. A legend originating from India tacked about a private empire; one that supplied the money which parties used to win elections. One that supplied the resources to keep power and play the political game. In exchange, the empire's mark was granted immunity. Nobody could stop a vehicle with that mark or touch a person with that mark. The mark was above the law. The legend talked about how officers would arrest people with that mark in the public and then behind the closed doors of the station apologize to them and let them go, recording bail that was never recived but the paper trail for it existed. The legend, was called as the legend of Salaar. Whether the story was true or not the concept was smart to implement in a district that essentially housed the underworld.

The truck with the mark of Salaar was a better bet. Safer for his wife, given her condition and for him across the journey. His luck worked better because the cabin housed a spare cap and a laborer's jacket. Those two articles gave him a getup that wasn't uncommon to see driving a vehicle with that mark.

The trailer was half filled with boxes. Bottommost layer of boxes filled the length of the trailer, above it the stacks filled only half the length. The boxes were all secured with restraints. With more than enough space to create a narrow shelter for her, he folded some tarpaulin and over that layer of folded blankets.

He then drove the truck close to the SUV and parked it such that the trailer faced the containers. He then walked to the SUV.

"Hang in there sweetheart! I will save you two even if it kills me!"

He extracted her from the SUV as gently as he could and moved her into the trailer of the truck. Over it all he laid her.

He then checked the SUV and extracted the weapons and supplies he would still need.

He got into the trailer, he checked her breathing again, watching the shallow rise of her breasts. He pressed two fingers against her neck, weak pule, still there.

The wound beneath her right shoulder blade had reopened during the extraction. He pressed fresh sterile gauze against it, holding firm pressure until bleeding eased, then secured it with a compression dressing. He checked her other wounds and reinforced the dressing where needed.

Then he came to the shoulder wound. The bullet remained lodged. He couldn't remove it. The grazes, bruises and shallow cuts across her body; he cleaned and left them as they were. He also fed her antibiotics and painkillers.

She was freezing, he wrapped a thermal blanket around her carefully. It wasn't enough to warm her but it would slow further loss of heat.

Just before exiting the infirmary, he had stuffed a stethoscope too in his bag. He pressed the stethoscope against her abdomen, struggling to distinguish anything over the noise around him, He heard a faint heartbeat, hope filled him and reinforced his conviction.

He secured her with rope loosely tied to ensure she didn't move much or rolled away and also the rope didn't dig into her or put any pressure on her dressings. He then laid an oxygen cylinder close to her and put a mask on her. This would help her breathing.

He packed the remaining supplies back into the infirmary bag, he would need them enroute.

He placed the bag filled with flashlights, gloves, toolkit, pistols, a shotgun and a rifle with spare magazines for each.

He transferred the remnants of the initial first aid kit into the infirmary bag; gauze, dressings, bandages, tape& antiseptic wipes, He then placed the infirmary bag beside the weapons bag and secured the cylinder and the 2 bags with the remaining rope to the cargo.

Then he climbed out and pulled the trailer doors shut.

This wasn't treatment. It was borrowed time. He got into the cabin and drove away.

The cargo terminal disappeared behind him as the truck wound through the maze of container yards and service roads. Towering gantry cranes gradually gave way to lower warehouses, fuel depots, and forgotten maintenance buildings. The smell of diesel and salt lingered in the rain as the road climbed onto first of several bridges linking the countless islands scattered across the delta.

Below, broad shipping channels carried dark water towards the sea and couple of cargo boats ventured inland from the docks. Even through the storm the silhouettes of anchored freighters loomed against the horizon, waiting for daylight and harbor pilot to guide them to deep water docks.

He barely noticed them. His attention remained fixated on the road. The second injector had steadied his hands. However, it hadn't steadied his thoughts. Every few seconds they drifted to the woman lying in the trailer behind him.

Every bridge carried him away from the commercial waterfront. Every turn narrowed the roads a little more until heavy traffic gave way to sparse vehicles and abandoned industrial estates-built decades before the port had outgrown them.

Months earlier, he'd driven these roads enough to know them without thinking. That was how tight his preparation had been.

These roads were memorized by him simply because that's how he worked. Stuff which even the best operators shrugged off, he did, he wanted to always be prepared for every situation. For him preparation didn't stop at the perfect plan, it never stopped, because it was about making sure that failure never became the end. It was to ensure there was always another escape.

The rain swallowed everything beyond the windscreen. He went back over everything. If anyone reconstructed the escape, docks and the ship would be the end point. That was the intended distraction. The truck's manifest had told him that its destination was the warehouse. Not only that it was due earlier in the day. He hoped that for all intents and purposes it would be assumed that the truck was delivered.

He had seen the driver passed out drunk and hastily given him another strong anesthetic to ensure he didn't wake up until the ship had departed. He had also covered him with a perforate tarpaulin.

Every trail would point to the sea, exactly where he wanted them looking. He turned into an alley, where the cracked asphalt disappeared below the overgrowth of weeds. However, the uneven roads were no match for the truck's suspension.

Ahead, hidden behind the skeletal remains of the collapsed loading canopy, lay an abandoned dock, exactly where he remembered it.

Hidden between two derelict warehouses, rotten timber had given away and the collapsed roof along with the uncovered floor had been covered by weeds growing out of cracks in the concrete. Rusted mooring bollards lined the dock like forgotten sentries overlooking the river.

The building was perfect. It could never be a refuge spot. Nobody searched places which possessed no obvious value. Which made it the safest to hide what he needed to hide here. Earlier, his plan had assumed arrival by water, now he had arrived by land. Thankfully he could navigate either route with his eyes closed. He got out of the cab and was lashed by the rain and the wind.

He walked to the edge of the dock and dived into the water. The lack of lighting meant that the water was pitch black and the only illumination in the area was through the truck's headlights.

The cold hit him hard, his muscles began seizing. He took a moment to relax his muscles and then dived deeper. He'd rehearsed the retrieval dozens of times in broad daylight. Not in darkness. Never wounded. Never half blind through the darkness. He didn't need to. The dives had helped him memories. Three pilings. He counted. One. Two. Three. His fingers brushed rough timber. Good. Left support. He reached across. Nothing. Further. Still nothing. His lungs started tightening. He shifted lower, ignoring the pain tearing through his shoulder as his fingers searched for the crossbeam.

Splintered wood. Algae. Cold Steel. Relief came too soon. His hands caught the rope. He wrapped the line around his hand and pulled. It didn't budge. The capsule had settled deep into the riverbed over the months buried between layers of silt. He pulled harder. His wound reopened, Warm blood seeped into the water and disappeared, dissolving into the river water.

His lungs screamed. He planted his feet against the pilings and pulled with all his might. The river held. His vision started blurring. One more pull and the riverbed surrendered. The weight shifted. He pulled. The river tried to pull it back deeper. He pulled. All at once, the capsule lurched free. Momentum carried him upwards. His shoulder slammed into a submerged beam. The impact drove all the remaining air from his lungs.

Disoriented he scrambled for the way up. His fingers almost released the rope. He managed to hold on. He pulled the rope and clawed upward, kicking the water to swim upwards. His head finally broke the surface.

He erupted from the river coughing violently. Holding on to the rope with all his mind he breathed hard. Once his condition stabilized, he dragged the capsule ashore. He opened the mechanical latch of the waterproof capsule. Iside lay resources they would need if they managed to survive. Two fake passports, three burner phones sealed in vacuum bags, a bag with bundles of cash in multiple currencies, a sat-phone, maps, encrypted storage drives, medical records, unregistered handguns, magazines and suppressors, He transferred everything into a bag and threw the empty container in the water. He secured the third bag in the trailer and after closing the doors again, he walked to the cab and slipped behind the wheel. He reversed the truck and got back on the road.

Everything had been planned months ago. While it hadn't gone as per plan. He was glad he had put all the pieces in place. He knew there was no going back to their original lives. The agency was a no go. Someone had betrayed them. The kidnapping was a dead giveaway. If it wasn't for their overconfidence and them wanting to know everything the investigation had uncovered. If it wasn't for that they would have been dead. They might have been killed the moment she had answered the cartel's questions. The torture had been crafted carefully to create a false sense of security. She had been told that she won't be killed, nor would he. He had been told the same. Unfortunately, their desperation for survival didn't make betrayal acceptable. Furthermore, he had heard their plans when he had infiltrated, hiding in the vents. He had also heard about the mole who had sold them out.

Given the warehouse's destruction, even if the mole hadn't framed them. The warehouse's destruction itself created problems. The biggest warehouse, housing key economic resources in the biggest SEZ of Laos had been destroyed. Going back to the agency meant answering to the agency on the reason for executing an unsanctioned operation.

If it had been an official investigation, they could have talked themselves out of the situation. They could have argued their case. But a black op for a spy organization meant that any inquiry on their operation would be off the books. Such an inquiry would never go their way.

He kept driving onward. The route carried him farther inland, leaving the commercial shipping lanes behind. The bridges were smaller, now connecting shorter channels. They were also more frequent. The road wound through bridges across industrial islands that were more or less abandoned and stitched the delta together each separated by narrow but deep waterways that were swollen due to rain. These were channels traversed only by occasional fishing boats, tourist boats and maintenance craft. The cargo craft were almost nil, only smaller craft carrying lighter but higher value cargo. While the cache was one, the routes from it were alternates. No single failure would trap them. Given the circumstances, the shortest route was the best route. Moreover, this route had barely any checkpoints. Not that having more would make a difference given the mark that the truck carried.

He kept driving and navigating the delta until finally he saw it. The abandoned municipal shed. Old, derelict and full of wear and tear but still operational. There lay the stolen 30 ft luxe fast cabin cruiser.

He exited the cabin. First order of business, reversing the boat from the maintenance shed. Thankfully, the day he had stored it, he had fueled it to the brim. He had inspected it over and over. Now he just went to the helm station and pushed the boat's motor into ignition and reversed it. Once out of the shed, he transferred the bags from the trailer into the boat.

Back when he had stored the boat, he had stocked it with all the supplies he could find in the shed. He had emptied the fuel tanks of the shed into the boat and then fuel containers which were already on the boat.

Mooring ropes, dock lines, tarpaulins, repair tools, engine oil, compass, life jackets, blankets & first aid kit were the supplies he had found in the shed and loaded on the boat. Now all he had to do was move his wife on the boat. He first moved the oxygen cylinder, then carefully he moved his wife. She was cold. Most likely she had become hypothermic.

Inside the cabin of the boat he reinforced her dressings, covered up with all the blankets he had. He placed the oxygen mask again and went back to the dock.

He jerry rigged the truck to drive straight off the dock and into the river and exited the cabin. It was a while buy the time the truck sunk below.

There was nothing anywhere they had been after the ship that could indicate that they were there. Vehicle tracks were pointless without the vehicle.

The explosions now sounded distant. Only the howling of the wind and the thundering rain remained.

He went back into the boat on the helm station and navigated the boat out of the dock and onto the river.

They had escaped their enemies but they hadn't yet escaped death...