Crossfire

by James P. Sumner

  Collins chuckled. “Yeah, kid, she always gets mad when we blow stuff up. But we got ya back safe and sound, so I reckon she’ll forgive us. Just this once.”

  Julie looked quickly over her shoulder and saw the girl had curled up in a ball and tucked herself into Collins’ side. She turned her attention to him and smiled before looking back at the road.

  “It’s only a half-mile to the docks,” she announced. “Our boat’s waiting for us.”

  Jericho rested a hand on the dash, steadying himself against the suspension as they raced across the uneven road.

  “Did you say you hit some trouble on your way in?” he asked her.

  She nodded without taking her eyes off the road. “A Jeep came up on me out of nowhere. Two guys in the back were taking pot-shots at me all the way up from the coast. It’s as if they knew where to find me.”

  Collins leaned forward slightly, resting an arm on the back of her seat. “D’ya think we slipped up somewhere? Maybe our client sold us out?”

  Jericho shook his head. “Not likely. He wouldn’t endanger the life of his daughter by telling her kidnappers we were coming. The way I figure it, this is Mexico. Someone snatches a kid and brings them here… doesn’t matter who’s behind it. There’s always somebody higher up the food chain you gotta clear it with. Best guess, one of the cartels had look-outs and made us the second we came into port.”

  Julie slammed her palm on the wheel. “We should’ve been more careful…”

  Jericho nudged her arm gently with his hand. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Jules. Bottom line, we came here, rescued the girl, and we’re getting out again. We did our job and handled the drama.”

  “Amen,” said Collins, smiling.

  Julie sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I just don’t like—”

  Another car appeared from their left at speed and smashed nose-first into the rear side of their vehicle. The collision was deafening. Julie wrestled with the wheel as they spun counter-clockwise across the road, the tires locked and scraping loudly on the gravel.

  “Shit!” she yelled.

  They came to an abrupt halt as the passenger side of the Range Rover hit the wide, thick trunk of a tree. Jericho flew against his door and Julie into him. On the rear seat, Collins instinctively dove sideways to cover the girl with his body, trying to minimize the effects of the impact on her small frame. Hunched over, his shoulders and upper back slammed against the door. He grunted and fell forward, putting his hands out so as not to crush the girl with his weight.

  The sounds of twisting metal and chaos faded. The engine died. Silence fell. Julie pushed off Jericho and sat back in her seat, blinking hard and often to re-focus. Jericho adjusted himself and did the same.

  Collins pushed himself up off the seat and looked at the girl. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut, and her hands were over her ears. She was curled into a ball, lying on her side. He carefully placed a hand on her arm.

  “Hey, Jessie, you’re safe now. It’s over.” His touch startled her, and she screamed as she snapped her eyes open. He backed away, holding his hands up. “Hey, hey, it’s all right. Shush now. I’m here for ya.”

  She fell silent, taking deep breaths. Collins moved over and sat back in his seat, grimacing as the impact stung his shoulders. “Everyone okay?”

  “Yeah, I think we’re good,” replied Jericho before nodding toward the girl. “How is she?”

  Collins glanced sideways. Jessie was sitting straight, staring blankly ahead.

  “She’s fine,” he said. “I think she might be going into shock, but it’s nothing we can’t deal with. Physically, she’s as good as we could hope for. Jules, what the hell happened?”

  Julie stared at the wheel, still feeling a little dazed. “I don’t know. That other car, it… it came from nowhere. I didn’t see it.”

  Jericho placed a hand gently on her leg, patting it to offer some comfort. “Don’t worry about it. Everyone here is okay, which is what matters. I’m gonna go check on the other car, see if anyone was injured.”

  He pushed open his door, which required some force as it was misshapen from the crash. He climbed out and quickly looked around. The car that had hit them had stopped just a few yards farther along the road, side-on so that it covered both lanes. As Jericho began walking toward it, all four doors of the other car swung open in unison. Men emerged holding automatic weapons.

  The scene momentarily froze. The men slowly took their aim as Jericho processed what was happening, trying to comprehend that the crash clearly wasn’t an accident. A noise behind him snapped him back to reality. He turned to see Julie opening her door and climbing out of their vehicle. He waved her back.

  “Get down!” he managed to shout as the bullets began to fly.

  The staccato roar of gunfire filled the air. Jericho instinctively dropped to the ground in a spin and scrambled back behind the Range Rover, desperate to find cover.

  Julie dove back inside and pressed herself against the front seats, placing her hands over her head. In the back, Collins once again threw his body over Jessie, sliding them both as low as he could into the footwells. The hail of bullets seemed never-ending, and the noise was interrupted only by the repetitive dull thunk as another round made a hole in the bodywork of their vehicle.

  Jericho scurried on his front toward the wreck of their Range Rover. “Julie! Weapon!”

  A moment later, his FN SCAR-L rifle slid across the gravel toward him from under the open door. He wrapped his hand around the polymer stock as he struggled to his feet and sought cover behind the car. Bullets kicked up countless plumes of dust around his feet as he ran. He slid around the crumpled hood like a baseball player and crouched low, slamming his shoulder against the fender. He checked the mag, flicked off the safety, and held his weapon ready, waiting for his moment.

  Collins stared at his own rifle as he shielded Jessie. It was resting on the floor in the foot-well, behind the passenger seat. He reached for it and pushed it through the gap between the two front seats.

  “Here, Jules,” he shouted as he rested it beside her. “Use this and give ’em hell—I hate getting shot at!”

  She twisted on the seats, keeping as low as she could, and grabbed the rifle. She instinctively went through the same routine Jericho had: checking the mag, flicking the safety off, and adjusting her grip, ready for action.

  She turned onto her back and shuffled down, so her legs rested over the edge of the driver’s seat.

  “Jericho, where are you?” she called out.

  “Getting ready to shoot these assholes,” he replied. “You?”

  “Ditto. On three?”

  “Count it.”

  Julie took a deep breath. “One…”

  “Two…” said Jericho.

  “Three!”

  Using her lower legs for leverage, she sat up and leaned out, moving her rifle around the frame of the car and taking aim. She opened fire at the exact second Jericho did. They both took their shots expertly and efficiently, timing their controlled bursts and hitting three of the four men between them in the first few seconds.

  The remaining assailant, who was farthest away from them and shielded by his own vehicle, dropped out of sight. An unnerving silence descended on the area, broken only by the sound of three lifeless bodies slumping heavily to the ground.

  “On me.” Jericho moved out of cover and across the road, his body partly crouched, his weapon aiming forward, finger hovering over the trigger.

  Julie circled away from the crash site, moving across the road to provide cover from the opposite angle.

  As they approached, the remaining man popped up, screaming. Before he had a chance to fire, Julie and Jericho each unloaded another short, controlled burst, both hitting him in the chest. He flailed backward, sending his weapon flying away from him.

  “Clear,” said Julie.

  “Clear,” confirmed Jericho.

  A moment later, Collins appeared beside them, holding the girl with one hand
as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder. They both turned and nodded to him.

  He glanced around the area before looking at each of them in turn. “Can we please get the hell outta here now?”

  “I’d love to,” replied Julie, “but our ride’s totaled.”

  Jericho pointed along the road ahead of them, which stretched away to their right and out of sight around a bend. “It can’t be more than a mile or so to the coast. Maybe not even that. Our boat’s there, waiting for us. I say we stick to the edges and make our way on foot. We’ve already taken out… what? Ten guys? We stopped two more vehicles full of assholes back at the house, but they might be working their way around to us. We can’t afford to waste time staying in one place while we wait for an emergency evac.”

  Julie nodded. “Agreed. Bottom line, we have the daughter back, but I’ll bet my last dime there are more people en route.”

  Collins looked at Jessie, who had her eyes closed. He smiled, amazed at the difference between an adult’s mind and a child’s mind. Despite having been kidnapped and stuck in the middle of a gunfight, the eight-year-old girl had managed to fall asleep, no doubt drained from the stress. A small puddle of saliva stained the shoulder of his shirt.

  He smiled to himself and whispered, “That is badass…”

  Julie nodded to him. “You ready?”

  “Aye, let’s go. I’ll leave the shooting to the two of ya, if it’s all the same.”

  Jericho smiled, turned on his heels, and set off walking, holding his rifle up and resting it on his shoulder. As Collins followed, Julie moved alongside him.

  “It suits you, y’know?” she said, smiling. “Being a father figure.”

  Collins rolled his eyes. “Hey, less of that kinda talk, lady. I’ve a reputation to maintain.”

  She nudged his arm playfully. “Your secret’s safe with me, jackass.”

  She pushed the pace to catch up with Jericho, and the three of them walked on, the crunch of their boots on the dirt road the only sound.

  CROSSFIRE

  BOOK 1 IN THE GLOBATECH SERIES

  1.

  September 25, 2019

  Moses Buchanan stood with his arms folded across his barrel chest. Resting against the edge of his desk, he stared patiently at the large video conferencing screen mounted on the wall in front of him. He looked younger than his years, a testament to his disciplined approach to exercise—a mindset instilled in him long ago, during his time serving in the Special Forces. His skin was black as coal, and his voice boomed with a natural, smooth growl.

  “Mr. Hyatt, if you would let me explain,” he said.

  The man on the TV screen shook his head furiously. “I paid you a small fortune to protect my daughter. Not only did you allow her to be taken, but you put her in the middle of a gunfight! What the hell kind of operation are you running over there?”

  “Mr. Hyatt, please…” Buchanan pushed himself away from his desk and paced slowly toward the screen, clasping his hands behind his back. “Your daughter is safe, which is our primary—”

  “She was safe! Then you let her get kidnapped!”

  Buchanan ground his teeth until his jaw hurt, suppressing his growing frustration. When he replied, he spoke firmly.

  “And then we got her back. And for the record, we didn’t let anything happen to her. Bad people—which you neglected to mention might be a factor, I hasten to add—ambushed our security team and took her, killing four of my men in the process. I had to send a specialist unit into Mexico to get your daughter back alive—which they did, at great physical risk to themselves.”

  The man on the screen fell silent. Ulysses Hyatt sat behind a desk in his own office, some three thousand miles away in Montreal. He wore a shirt with an open collar, his tie loosened around his neck. He looked disheveled and sleep-deprived. Bloodshot eyes stared unblinking into the camera at Buchanan. He didn’t respond but simply nodded once, conceding the man’s point.

  Buchanan continued. “Mr. Hyatt, I understand this is a difficult time for you, but you hired us to protect your family, and we are doing so, to the very best of our ability.”

  When Hyatt finally spoke, his tone was much quieter and more subdued than before.

  “How is my baby girl?”

  Buchanan relaxed and smiled. “Little Jessica’s fine. Our medical team checked her over when she arrived back here about an hour ago. We have contacts who work in the U.S. government’s Witness Protection Program, and we’re moving her to a safe house later today. She will be under twenty-four-hour watch for as long as you need, at no extra cost to you.”

  Hyatt stood and moved around his desk, sitting on the edge, leaning close to the camera. He let out a tired breath. “Thank you. I… I appreciate you giving my case your personal attention, and… and I’m sorry for my outburst earlier.”

  Buchanan figured the apology wasn’t easy, so he swallowed his own pride and waved his hand dismissively. “Water under the bridge, Mr. Hyatt. You’re under a lot of pressure, and I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through. I’m just glad we can take one of those concerns away from you. Now if you need anything else, you call me, okay?”

  Hyatt nodded. “Actually, there is something. I have a meeting in a few days, which I’m hoping will signal the end of this current business deal and the trouble that’s gone along with it. I’m happy my daughter is safe, but after the attempt to kidnap her, I fear my own life will now be on the line until this is concluded.”

  “You need personal protection,” said Buchanan. It was an observation, not a question.

  “I’ll pay extra, of course.”

  “I will send two of my very best. They can be with you as early as this evening.”

  Hyatt’s body relaxed. His shoulders slumped forward as he exhaled heavily with relief. “Thank you, Mr. Buchanan. I really do appreciate everything that you’re doing.”

  “All part of the service. My people will be in touch.” He reached for the remote beside him and clicked off the screen, terminating the call. He sighed. “Asshole.”

  He sat in his chair and spun it around to gaze out the window. The late morning sun beamed down, bright and pale, shining through the glass and challenging his air conditioning. He leaned back and let out another sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. He felt exhausted, and these brief moments of reprieve, where he could simply stare out of the window in silence, mindlessly watching the world pass by, were all that kept him going over the last couple of months.

  Buchanan had been elected as the new CEO of GlobaTech Industries shortly after the murder of Josh Winters. It wasn’t a position he had ever considered for himself and certainly wasn’t one he wanted, given the circumstances of his promotion.

  He had served in the Green Berets, as part of the 1st Special Forces Group until the late nineties. He was forced to retire from active duty after taking a bullet to the hip during a routine patrol in Iraq. Despite making a full recovery following surgery, his long-term mobility was affected, and he never received medical clearance to return to the field. Feeling he still had a few good years left in him, he used his payout to set up his own private security firm. His goal was simply to provide an affordable service to people who needed help.

  He knew many private companies preferred to specialize in one particular area, with personal security and bail enforcement being the two main fields. He wanted his company to do it all, and he knew with his training and his selective recruitment process, he could deliver any type of security service he was asked for.

  With the economy in decline, he struggled financially, eventually relenting and selling his company to GlobaTech in the summer of 2002. He was assigned a senior position overseeing logistics for their own security force, which back then was only a quarter of the size it is today.

  He was dedicated, passionate about his job, and successful in every way possible. Shortly after 4/17, when Josh Winters took control of the compan
y following Ryan Schultz’s impromptu election to President, Buchanan was called up to serve as one of Josh’s top advisors. Between them, they continued to reinforce GlobaTech’s presence, establishing them as not only America’s but the world’s peacekeeping force. They were free from Congressional oversight, financially self-reliant, and thanks to their efforts stopping former president Charles Cunningham’s terrorist plot, GlobaTech quickly became the largest and most powerful company on the planet.

  He had adapted well to his new role and responsibilities, but that took nothing away from how difficult his life had become. That’s why moments like this one, where he could sit, lost in his own thoughts, were so precious to him.

  Ulysses Hyatt had made contact a little over a week ago. He had explained he was going through a difficult and troubling time at work, and he had reason to believe the safety of his daughter might be in jeopardy. He paid top dollar to hire a team of private security experts from GlobaTech to protect her for the next few weeks, until his current business was concluded. However, the team Buchanan had assigned to the detail was attacked and killed, and the daughter was taken to Mexico. Ransom demands had been made less than twelve hours later.

  Hyatt didn’t feel comfortable involving the police, so Buchanan sent a small elite unit to Mexico to retrieve the girl at all costs. They had been successful but not without attracting a little attention along the way. Now he was waiting for them to arrive, so they could deliver their report.

  The intercom on his desk buzzed, disturbing him from his brief moment of respite. He spun around and pressed the flashing button. It was his secretary, Kim Mitchell.

  “Yeah?”

  “They’re here, Mr. Buchanan,” she replied professionally.

  “Thanks, Kim. Send them in, would you?”

  A moment later, the door to his office opened. Julie Fisher walked in, with her head held high and a confidence in her step earned through hard experience. Behind her, Ray Collins sauntered in with a smile on his face, followed by Jericho Stone, who stooped slightly as he entered, then closed the door behind him. They lined up in front of Buchanan, standing casually.