Free The Asset by Shane Kuhn

of the room. In the corner were stacked boxes with French words written on them, and what appeared to be a safety instruction sign, also in French, was riveted above a wall-mounted first aid kit. If he was in France, rather than North Africa, then it was possible the opening in the ceiling was put there originally as a bomb shelter escape hatch. Hundreds of old buildings in France and England had them during the endless German bombing raidsof World War II. And they were often in the basement—the equivalent of a concrete-fortified bunker. If he was right about the location, and if this building were World War II era, and if it indeed was a bomb shelter door . . .
    Kennedy’s deductions were interrupted when he heard the heavy zipper rip open the duffel bag. The bearded one reached in and handed his heavyset associate a long serrated knife. Then he handed the runt a video camcorder. As they zip-tied his hands, Kennedy understood why the ISIS beheading victims he had seen in photographs just before their execution looked like deer in headlights. He was going to be slaughtered like one of the pigs mocking him at the end of a metal hook. The panic racing through his veins nearly made him pass out, but he bit his tongue hard, drawing blood, and the pain kept him conscious.
    The heavyset man grabbed Kennedy by the hair and showed him the dirty knife.
    â€œI will ask you questions, yes?” said the bearded man.
    â€œYes,” Kennedy said, trying to sound strong.
    â€œIf you do not give me the answers I want, he will cut off your head like one of these pigs and your American friends will see you on CNN.”
    The man with the knife grabbed a hanging pig carcass and sawed its head off in a few sickening strokes. Kennedy tried not to puke.
    â€œIf you tell me what I want to know, I will shoot you in the head and you will die quickly, with honor.”
    â€œI will cooperate,” Kennedy said.
    The runt with the camera started arguing with the bearded man. It heated up quickly, and the bearded man backhanded him.
    â€œHe says you are a soft little woman who knows nothing and I should kill you as a political statement,” the bearded man said. “I hope you have something useful to say.”
    â€œWhat do you want to know?”
    â€œTSA security-pad codes for every major airport in US. Highest-level access.”
    Kennedy felt the blood rush out of his face. He hadn’t memorized them. There were too many. And his TSA contacts usually escorted him around anyway. It must have been written all over his face because the runt started in again, pointing and shouting at Kennedy. He and the bearded man almost came to blows again. The bearded man angrily bellowed atboth of his cohorts, and they all went back outside the meat locker, where they got into a violent shouting match.
    Kennedy knew it was time to do or die. He brought his arms under his butt and wriggled until he could step through and get his hands in front of him. Then he raked the zip tie on a bone saw blade until it cut through and freed his hands. He grabbed one of the loose carcass hooks from a metal basket and slipped the hook tine through the latch on the door, locking it from the inside. It would hold, but not for long.
    Moving quickly, he grabbed the bone saw and a long extension cord hanging near the prep table. As he ran to the back corner of the room, the men shattered the glass on the door’s porthole window and opened fire, but they didn’t have a clear shot through all the carcasses. Kennedy took cover and looked for a way to get up to the panel on the ceiling. One of the pig carcasses was hanging on a chain next to it. He plugged in the bone saw and secured the cord so it couldn’t come unplugged, then slung the saw and extension cord over his shoulder and climbed up to the top of the carcass.
    He ripped into the ceiling panel with the bone saw, cutting through the ancient plaster with ease and revealing the