“Eagle One, this is Reaper,” she announced into the radio. “The pigeon has flown the coup. Reaper out.”
Jackie tossed the radio down and proceeded to refuel her helicopter. As she refueled, she saw a dark blue sedan speed away from the private airfield in the same direction Nevada had gone. Jackie eyed the departing car and appeared curious.
§
Nevada drove at a leisurely pace through the small town, keeping an eye on the dark blue sedan following her. She cursed softly under her breath then peered onto the back seat where the bound man with the hood over his head struggled against the zip ties binding him.
“We’re being followed,” Nevada announced, then focused on her driving. “You may want to consider keeping your head down if you don’t want to have it blown off.”
Once Nevada reached the edge of town, she picked up speed. The car following her sped up as well, indicating it was definitely following her. A black SUV suddenly joined the pursuit and rammed the dark blue sedan that had been on Nevada’s tail. Nevada glanced in her rearview mirror and cried out enthusiastically.
“Oh, yeah,” she exclaimed while laughing, amused at what she was witnessing. “These guys are eating their own.” She again glanced over her shoulder at the bound, hooded man across the back seat. “It’s going to get a little bumpy. You may want to hold onto something.”
Nevada flew off the main road, swerved sharply to the right, and turned onto a back road. The bound, hooded man cried out as he was thrown from the seat and onto the floor. Nevada took another sharp turn onto an old, abandoned dirt driveway, kicking up loose dirt and stone and leaving a dust trail behind her.
“Last stop, coming up,” Nevada cried out. “Look alive back there!”
An old farmhouse and barn came into view and was approaching fast. The two-story farmhouse was in desperate need of demolishing. Nearly all the paint was missing from what was left of the wooden siding. The porch had mostly collapsed, and the yard contained tall weeds. The old, three-story barn, on the other hand, appeared sturdy and in decent shape despite needing some paint. Both cars remained on Nevada’s tail. The black SUV rammed the dark blue sedan a second time, sending it flying into the cornfield on the right. Nevada barely slowed before the barn and busted through the large doors. A cloud of hay and debris seemed to explode out the large opening, indicating Nevada had possibly crash stopped the car. The heavily damaged black SUV approached the barn and slid to a stop not far from the entrance. Hawthorn leaped from the car with a semiautomatic, affixed with a silencer, in his gloved hands. He ran around the back of his SUV and hurried to the busted barn entrance.
A woman suddenly appeared from the cornfield with her own gun in hand. Judging by her stalking attire and the silencer on her weapon, she, too, was a paid assassin. Wilson, the woman gun for hire, was a slightly taller, athletically built woman in her early to mid-thirties. Her long, fiery auburn hair and her prominent cleavage gave her a sexy yet dangerous sort of appeal. Sex appeal aside, there was little to love about the hellcat trying to make her mark in a predominantly male field. The ruthless woman took cover behind Hawthorn’s SUV and aimed her weapon at the man now positioned alongside the barn opening.
“Hawthorn, you prick!” Wilson cried out, catching his attention right before she fired two shots at him.
Hawthorn turned and fired back at the woman he’d obviously met before. She returned fire from her secure position behind his car. Uncertain what to expect from the bounty hunter within the barn, Hawthorn ran to the side of the building for cover from the lady assassin. Wilson fired several more shots at him, splintering the wood near his head. Another shot nearly struck Hawthorn in the head, but this one came from behind him. He spun and saw Nevada running for the porch of the dilapidated house. She slid on her hip near the side of the house and was soon out of sight. Nevada now fired at Hawthorn from where she lay on the ground beyond the collapsed porch. Nevada’s hasty exit told Hawthorn everything he needed to know. Nevada abandoned Marco in the barn, and the barn had a back entrance!
Hawthorn bolted for the back of the barn to locate the rear entrance while avoiding gunfire from both women. Wilson suddenly panicked, coming to the same conclusion, and was now worried Hawthorn would reach Marco first. Wilson fired at Nevada as well while running for the destroyed front entrance and disappeared inside. Despite being abandoned, the barn contained several bales of old hay, which had been exploded when the gray car collided with them. The large barn was mostly open with a few old stalls on the right side and a hayloft above. Cobwebs clung to the tall rafters and a few old trinkets that were lying around. The car had stopped in the center of the barn, surrounded by piles of loose hay and a few solid bales still in front. Wilson looked around the dimly lit barn and immediately ran for the back of Nevada’s car, taking cover from Hawthorn, who had to be somewhere in the back of the barn. Perhaps that had been Nevada’s plan all along. Let Wilson and Hawthorn kill each other.
When Wilson didn’t see Hawthorn, she made her way around the car while keeping low. She pulled open the back door of the vehicle and aimed her gun at the back seat. Marco was gone. Just his hood remained. Wilson spun around with her gun aimed and scanned the barn. She needed to find Marco wherever Nevada had stashed him while also avoiding Hawthorn. She pressed her back against the side of the car and made her way closer to the front end while keeping her gun aimed and ready for whatever Hawthorn had planned. As she reached the front of the vehicle, she aimed her weapon toward the dimly lit back section of the barn. Hawthorn lay face down not far from the back door, and his gun appeared to be missing. Wilson quickly crouched near the front fender of the car, keeping alert, and scanned the area. Marco was somewhere within the dimly lit barn, and he was now armed!
Old hay suddenly pelted her from the hay loft. Wilson straightened and aimed her weapon toward the dark rafters above her. An old bale of hay fell from the loft and came straight for her. She screamed and leaped out of the way of the falling, fifty-pound bale of hay. Wilson backed up along the side of the car and scanned the dark rafters with her finger on the trigger prepared to fire. It was too dark, keeping her from seeing anything. There was a loud, metallic bang from the roof of the car alongside her. Wilson jumped with surprise and spun with her gun aimed at the car roof. A booted foot kicked the weapon from her hand, startling her. Wilson barely had time to react when Bogart went for the return kick, striking her in the shoulder. Wilson was thrown backward and into the nearby support beam. She regained her balance and looked around the hay covered floor for her weapon. When Wilson turned, she saw Nevada standing in front of her while wearing a slightly twisted grin on her face.
“I know you,” Nevada announced almost cheerfully as if happy to see the woman.
Nevada then spun into a roundhouse kick and struck Wilson in the face. Wilson was thrown to the ground, knocked out cold.
Nevada sneered at the unconscious woman with a look of disgust. “Never did like you,” she muttered.
Bogart jumped off the roof of the car alongside Nevada and indicated the unconscious woman. “Another bounty hunter?” he asked.
“Worse,” Nevada informed him, then sneered. “Killer for hire.”
Bogart seemed surprised. “She’s a hitman?” he asked, then reconsidered. “A hitwoman? Lady? What’s the politically correct term?”
“Bitch,” Nevada informed him.
“What do we do with them?” Bogart asked, then indicated the unconscious man across the barn.
“Tie them up,” Nevada replied, then smirked while removing several zip ties from her pocket. “Seeing how they can’t stand each other, I say we tie them up together.” She then indicated Hawthorn. “Drag his sorry ass over here. Once we have them tied, we’ll split up. You can take the black SUV out front. We’ll rendezvous with the others when we’re sure we’re not being followed.”
“I’ve had a lot of experience at shaking tails,” Bogart informed her while grinning.
Bogart dragged Hawthorn’s
unconscious body closer to where Wilson remained out cold. Nevada now appeared exhausted and somewhat cranky. Bogart eyed her as she fumbled with her zip ties.
“Are you okay?” Bogart asked.
“Yeah,” she muttered. “Flying commercial from the East Coast has finally caught up with me. I’ve been up almost twenty-four hours now. I’m going to crash and burn soon.” She shook her head. “I need some coffee.”
“You need to get some sleep,” Bogart informed her.
“No kidding,” she scoffed in irritation then indicated Hawthorn. “Get that one to his feet.” Nevada then groaned and shook her head. “I’d kill for a hot shower right about now.”
“We passed an out-of-the-way motel--”
Nevada glared at Bogart and snarled, “That wasn’t an offer.”
Bogart was slightly surprised then raised an arrogant brow. “I wasn’t offering,” he snapped back. “You really are cold-hearted, aren’t you?”
She sneered at him then indicated Hawthorn. “Just get him to his feet.”
§
A little while later, Hawthorn opened his eyes and saw Wilson just inches from his face staring at him with an annoyed sneer. He groaned when he saw her, shut his eyes, and rested his head against the support beam behind him.
“Get the hell away from me,” he muttered.
“Believe me, I’d love nothing more,” she snarled in response.
Hawthorn’s eyes suddenly opened, and he realized his wrists were bound around the support beam behind him. To make matters worse, Wilson’s wrists were zip-tied around his midsection and behind the same beam, keeping them snuggly against each other. Wilson cried out as Hawthorn struggled against his bindings.
“Stop it,” she lashed out. “Our wrists are tied together as well as around the pole.”
“We can’t stay like this,” he launched in anger. “Deal with it!”
As he once more fought to free himself, she again cried out from the pain he was causing her. Wilson thrust her knee into his thigh, causing him to yelp.
“How do you like it?” she snarled in anger.
Each time he struggled, causing her pain, she rammed her knee into his thigh. He finally stopped struggling and groaned with defeat.
“Your wrists are against the pole,” she snarled in anger. “See if you can slice through the plastic against the corner of the beam.”
“We’re going to be here all night,” he scoffed.
“So stop talking and start working,” she snapped back while attempting to look anywhere but at the man’s face only inches from hers.
Chapter 24
Jackie’s helicopter touched down at a second, remote private airfield not far from the first one. Once again, the side door was thrown open before the rotors stopped. Kirk jumped out of the helicopter with a duffel bag over his shoulder and pulled a bound man wearing a hood from the back. He practically dragged the much shorter man away from the helicopter and into an awaiting SUV, much the same as Nevada had done. The brown, late model SUV had seen better days, and the doors creaked when opened, but that didn’t stop Kirk. Beggars weren’t choosers. Kirk tossed the duffel bag into the back with his prisoner, then jumped in the driver’s seat and sped away from the airfield. Jackie again refueled the helicopter while casting looks around the surrounding area. A newer, black sedan, parked outside the private airfield, pulled away and followed Kirk. Jackie also spotted a gray compact car and a dark blue sedan joining the pursuit.
“Enjoy your wild goose chase, boys,” she muttered, then smirked.
It didn't take much to fill the fuel tank since she had just refueled at the previous stop thirty minutes earlier. She then took a moment to move onto her hands and knees and search the underbelly of the craft. She spotted Nevada’s tracking device, where Zack had replaced it when he turned it back on, and pulled it free. Nevada’s tracking device was easily hackable, which the team had used to their advantage to lead the others on a wild goose chase. The tracker had served its purpose, allowing a few of their fans to pursue them, but it was now time to say goodbye to being followed. Jackie headed into the small, mostly empty terminal building. A man sat at the desk and smiled at the attractive woman. Jackie returned the smile and headed into the ladies' room. She dropped the tracking device into the toilet and flushed it. If the device was waterproof, the thought of others attempting to follow it was quite amusing.
§
Kirk drove through the small town while keeping watch through his side and rearview mirror on the black sedan and gray compact cars that were following. The man on the back seat cast his bindings aside and removed his hood to reveal Zack. He remained on his back, stretched out on the seat, and looked almost comfortable.
“Are we being followed?” Zack asked and shut his eyes as if about to take a nap.
“We’ve got two bogeys on our tail and possibly a third hanging back a little further,” Kirk replied while seeming a little too relaxed as well. “I wonder how long it’ll be before they discover one another?”
“If we play it right,” Zack casually announced from his comfortable position on the back seat, “maybe they’ll kill each other.”
“Want to have a little fun and lead them around town a while?” Kirk remarked while grinning. “Give them time to see one another?”
“Is there someplace with drive-through service?” Zack then asked. “I’m starving.”
“Yeah, me too,” Kirk announced, although he always seemed to be starving. He then nodded up ahead. “There’s a hamburger joint down the road.”
“I’m kind of in the mood for tacos,” Zack informed him.
Kirk cast a look over his shoulder and into the back seat. “This is a small town,” he scoffed with a scowl on his face. “Consider yourself lucky they have anything with a drive-thru window.”
“Fine,” Zack groaned and placed his hands beneath his neck. “Get me a couple of burgers.”
§
Zack and Kirk finished their take-out food while leisurely driving around town. Once they were finished, Kirk fiddled with the GPS on his burner cell phone while Zack remained out of sight on the back seat. Zack opened the duffel bag on the floor and removed an assault rifle.
“According to GPS,” Kirk announced to his partner in the back, “there’s state game land nearby. You know what that means?”
Zack chuckled and cocked his weapon. “Hunting season,” he teased.
“Time for a little nature hike,” Kirk announced and drove out of town.
The moment they were out of town and away from people, Kirk floored the gas pedal, sending the car flying along the back road toward the game land. The black sedan and a gray compact car following them now picked up speed. Quite possibly having seen each other earlier, the vehicles following them reacted to each other, attempting to run the competition off the road. While they were busy trying to eliminate the opposition, Kirk was able to put some distance between them and the cars following them. He made a sharp left hand turn onto an old roadway of sorts within the game land and raced down it until he reached the woods. The brown rental car skidded to a stop. The older car had no sooner stopped when Zack and Kirk jumped out. Zack tossed Kirk the assault rifle, grabbed one for himself, and slung the duffel bag over his shoulder. Both men ran into the woods and took a stake-out position.
They waited for the first car to approach. The black sedan stopped several yards from Kirk’s borrowed car. A man, who was easily pegged as a hitman, leaped out of the car, kept low to the ground, and hurried for the older, brown vehicle with his weapon in hand. The hitman, Nolte, was a tall, somewhat muscular African American man in his early forties. He kept his head shaved bald but wore a goatee, giving him a bad-boy biker look. Nolte straightened and aimed his weapon at the driver’s seat, but there was no one there. He looked in the back seat, appeared alarmed, and then looked toward the woods. Zack and Kirk remained still and silent with their weapons aimed at the man. He was still partially hidden behind the car, and they wanted a clea
n shot before advertising their position.
The gray, compact car suddenly appeared, flew up the old lane, and nearly rammed Nolte’s car. Two casually dressed men in their mid-thirties jumped out and immediately fired at Nolte, who ran to the front of Kirk’s brown rental car and took cover. He was quick to return fire on his hitmen brethren. Zack and Kirk remained hidden behind their respective trees and exchanged glances.
“Should have brought some popcorn for the show,” Kirk muttered.
Zack then cast a look across the field and gave a tiny nod. “Oh, look,” he announced casually. “The third act just arrived.”
A dark blue sedan raced to join the party, purposely spun sideways, and rammed the gray compact car the two men had been taking cover behind. They fired at Nolte in front of them and ran for cover in the opening in front of their vehicle to avoid the new arrival. The man in the third car jumped out, took cover behind the front panel of his sideways car, and exchanged gunfire with all three men. The newcomer, Slade, was in his early forties. He wasn’t exceptionally tall and was neither athletically nor muscularly built. Slade’s medium brown hair was businessman short, and he kept his goatee neatly trimmed. The average looking man was easily unnoticed and just as easily dismissed, making him almost invisible. While the two men stranded in the middle fired in both directions, Nolte sneered at Slade.
Witness Protection 9: S.N.A.F.U. Page 18
