Transfer of Power

THE MP-10 WAS on the ground in the corner and had been replaced by the silenced 9-mm Beretta. Rapp stared at the gun.

Angry beyond comprehension, he felt like punching a hole in the wall. He told himself to bring it back a notch. Too much anger led to poor judgment. But Rapp hated thugs, people that took from others, animals that did what they wanted to do with little or no thought of what their actions did to fellow human beings.

Mentally, Rapp was gone. The decision had been made.

There was no turning back. The woman in the other room was somebody’s daughter, probably somebody’s wife, and maybe some poor kids mother, and there was no way he could allow himself to sit in the safety of the bulletproof room and let it happen.

The secure field radio spurted a quiet beeping noise, and a green light on the panel began to flash. Adams reached for the handset, and Rapp stopped him.

“Don’t answer that.”

Adams slowly withdrew his hand. He no longer recognized the man sitting next to him. Rapp reached out, turned the power switch on the radio to the off position, and pulled his headset down around his neck. Standing, he retrieved his matte-black combat knife and kept it in his left hand.

He looked at the pistol in one hand and the knife in the other and paused. Standing, Milt Adams licked his dry lips, and with a worried expression on his face, he asked, “What are you going to do?”

Rapp looked sideways at him and after a short pause said, “I’m going to go out there and kill that piece of shit. It’s not what I should do, but it’s what I’m gonna do.” Adams swallowed hard and with a nod said, “Good Then after a second, he added, “Do you want me to help?”

Rapp shook his head and closed his eyes.

“No… Turn off the lights, and open the door. Then stay here, and be quiet.” Adams did as he was told. He couldn’t see Rapp, but could feel him as Rapp slid through the passageway and into the closet.