Anthony Waugh

Here are two more excerpts —one from ‘The Mahdi Initiative’ and the second from ‘Donna’, an, as yet, unpublished, story

Excerpts from Issi and some new stories

             Jenkins nodded and crawled off to the right, waving to the SWAT unit that had just arrived to get down. Ortiz went left, taking two SWAT members with him, and hooked up with the two IPD officers at the rear. When he was happy that they had the noose tight, he crawled back to the front of the house, and then took cover behind the SWAT van. As he got there, he heard the hum of rotor blades and saw the chopper hover into view.

His radio crackled to life a few minutes later.

“We have one live body right in the middle of the building, not moving. There’s another body lying near the window. The heat signature is low. I think he or she is dead.”

Ortiz exchanged glances with Jenkins, who had joined him behind the cover of the SWAT van.

“We only fired at the suicide bomber. Could a ricochet have hit someone inside?”

“It’s possible but very unlikely. We fired maybe eight to ten shots and I’m pretty sure that our friend took at least three of them. Maybe a stray ended up in the house.”

“It’s academic now. A least we only have one more to deal with. Our optimum result is to take him alive but the odds are slim. At the very least he’ll kill himself before we can get to him but I’m betting that he’s trying to figure out how to take a few of us with him.”

From ‘The Mahdi Initiative’

“Excuse me. I need to order a drink.” She didn’t speak as much as purr.

I stepped aside and she brushed her body across mine as she leaned in to the bar. I noticed her body then and the first thing was, believe it or not, that she was about an inch taller than me. I looked at her feet, idiot that I am, and saw that she was wearing low heels so the height thing was not artificially enhanced. My eyes followed a natural course back to her face, to find her looking back in a wickedly suggestive fashion.

             “Did I pass inspection, sir?” she said in a voice as smooth as a fine cognac, and about as intoxicating.

I managed to mumble something in reply, like a kid caught glancing up Auntie Annie’s skirt, and she laughed. She got her drinks—I wondered why she was buying—and walked over to where Mr. ‘Hot Under The Collar’ sat glaring in my direction. She put his pint of beer down in front of him, said something that made him adopt a ‘what me?’ expression and then she walked back to the bar.

She raised her glass as if in a toast and I raised mine in response.

             “So, where are we going after we finish these,” she asked.

             “Wherever you want,” I somehow managed to reply. I was not at my finest, I agree, but she had me on the defensive.

Email: Tony@athonywaugh.com

From ‘Donna’