AMIRA Matthew Betley (english novels to read TXT) 📖

brought the pike end of the savage-looking weapon back up and knocked Amira’s pistol away as the pointed pike buried itself in her forearm.

The weapon discharged, a deafening sound in the enclosed space, and she dropped it from the pain that shot up her arm.  She grunted through the white hot agony as Trevor pulled the weapon free from her arm.  He swung the axe down and backwards in a wide circle as he tried to bring it down on top of Amira, but she reached up with her fully functional left arm and grabbed the handle just above his right hand, stopping the axe at its apex.  While her right hand might have dropped her pistol reflexively, the hand still worked, and she balled it into a fist and smashed it into Trevor’s face.

Trevor brought his left arm up to defend against the blows, but several punches landed, dazing him.

Amira sensed the momentary weakness and slammed his right hand against the cockpit plexiglass.  She delivered a knee to his left side and felt his body weaken, even though he still held the axe handle.  She slammed his hand one more time against the Plexiglass and held it in place as she punched the underside of his right wrist as hard as she could.  The result was instantaneous, and his hand reflexively opened, releasing its grip on the axe.

The axe fell, and she caught it in her left hand, ending its freefall.  She spun like the ballet dancer that she once was in a perfect pirouette, pike end of the axe flashing around her in a flat arc.

Trevor sensed the motion and dropped down into a crouch, and the pike sailed over his head and buried itself into the Plexiglass of the cockpit.

Amira yanked on the axe, and the pike freed itself, tearing a chunk of Plexiglass away.

Trevor launched a sharp uppercut, but Amira moved her head, partially slipping it.  The force of the punch was still enough to send pain shooting along her left jawline, but she ignored it and brought the end of the axe handle straight down into the middle of his back.  While it wasn’t sharp enough to pierce his body, the chisel and wire-cutter handle shot pain up the middle of his back, and he dropped to his knees.  She struck him again, and he fell face-down on to the yellowish-beige carpet, which was soaked from the leaking hydraulic fluid and aviation kerosene.

Time for the killing blow, Amira thought, tossed the axe from her left hand to right, and raised her arm high over her head.  She paused for the briefest of moments as memories of her experiences with her mentor, the man who’d recruited her into the shadowy world of the CIA, flickered through her mind like images in a child’s View Master.  She still remembered verbatim the first conversation she’d had with him, how he’d seen into her unlike any person she’d met before, had known what she was, even before she fully realized it.  As much as she despised the traitor who lay at her feet, she was grateful for the patriot and man that he’d once been.  She was torn, and she wavered between action and inaction for the first time in her life, and then she recognized it for what it was – the uneasy feeling of doubt.  The epiphany struck her harder than any blow Trevor had landed.  But what will you do, now?  Kill or capture.  It’s what it always comes down to, and it always will.  She wasn’t sure, and she faltered, acutely aware that time was slipping away like a dark, endless tide.

A loud groan suddenly built into a roar, and Amira recognized the impending catastrophe before it happened.  She leapt towards the opening to the presidential quarters as the beds exploded under the weight of the ruined helicopter.  The cockpit lurched forward further into the airplane, the Plexiglass cockpit landing on the lower back of Trevor Emerson, pinning him to the carpet like a bug on display.  He was facedown, his arms and legs sticking out from under each side of the cockpit.  He screamed in pain and looked up at Amira, tilting his head as high as it would go.  A dull flicker appeared from above the cockpit, blossoming into a flame that licked at the cockpit’s surface.

“Please,” Trevor implored, panicked eyes pleading for mercy.  “Help me.”

Amira stared down at her former mentor and then looked around the ruined display.  “I just did.  Because of the man you once were, I held my hand from driving this axe into the back of your head.  But I guess fate judged you differently,” she said, sweeping her arms across the room.  “You got yourself into this mess.  If you can get yourself out, you’ll still go to prison for the rest of your life.  But I’ll give you that chance, for old time’s sake, for the man you used to be, not the ruined one before me.”  Amira tossed the axe on the carpet and picked up her pistol, which lay at her feet.  She holstered the weapon, and said, “Goodbye, Trevor.”

She walked out of the display as the fire grew in intensity, ignoring the pleas and screams behind her, and exited the airplane with a clear conscience.  I bet they won’t put that on the Air Force One Experience, she heard John’s voice quip inside her head and smiled at her lover’s imagined voice.

Amira walked a safe distance away and sat on the pavement as the fire engulfed the plane, a flaming beacon for all to witness as night fell across the National Harbor.  Just as she’d done on the night she’d survived the attack at the University of Maryland, she sat in silence and relished the victory in the aftermath of the battle.

You won again, and it feels good because you were on the right side.  This is who you