Beyond Harry, a man slipped from the cover of one of the large pine trees on a small section of ground five feet higher than the sidewalk that bordered the lot. Steel tensed as the man ran toward Afia, arm extended, a gun visible in his hand. Harry and a few trees blocked Steel’s shot.
“Harry!” yelled Steel. “Get down, Afia!”
Afia gasped and crouched on the ramp. Bullets bit the wall above her head.
Whirling, Harry shot the shooter in the chest and head.
The attacker stumbled forward and fell off the raised ground, landing hard on the pavement bordering the lot. He didn’t move.
“Afia!” Harry waved her to the SUV.
Running bent over, Afia ducked into the back seat of the SUV.
Steel slammed the door into the attacker who was almost upon him. Half-dazed, the man still managed to push open the door and step out, swinging his knife backward at Steel.
Sliding behind the door, Steel shot the man in the side of the head, sending him to the pavement.
Three muted rifle shots hit the back window of the SUV, putting divots into the bulletproof glass. That sent chills down Steel’s back. Silenced guns. Pros. They had to get out.
“Go, Christie!” he yelled into his mike. “Meet at rendezvous A.”
The SUV roared toward the exit.
Turning, Steel aimed his Glock across the street. Fifty feet away a man holding a rifle stood in the middle of a dozen trees. He was already disappearing into the shadows as Steel fired two shots. What puzzled Steel was that the man could have shot Afia earlier if he wanted to. But maybe the ramp door blocked his line of sight.
He turned and watched the SUV rocket toward the lot exit. No shooter visible in the street. He glanced back across the street. The man with the rifle was gone.
A jarring crash of metal and glass filled his ears. The SUV had been broadsided in the middle of the road by a small, white pickup truck with a cargo bed cover.
Steel jumped off the stoop and ran across the lot.
Tinted windows hid the pickup driver. The truck had a metal pole on its roof, bent lower by a tie-down attached to the front bumper. The pole had shattered the SUV’s rear passenger window.
Steel swore. “Harry?”
“We’re okay.” Harry’s voice sounded stressed.
More rifle shots came from the shadows across the street, hitting the front driver’s side window of the SUV. Steel’s chest tightened over the possibility of Christie dying here.
“Christie!” Stopping, he aimed his Glock at the trees across the street, not seeing a target. The man with the rifle had to be hiding in the shadows. He hesitated to fire blindly in case there were pedestrians beyond the trees. “Christie!”
“I’m good.” She sounded calm.
“Stay in the vehicle! Get out of here!” Keeping his gun up and watching the trees, Steel stepped sideways toward the SUV, and froze.
The white pickup had backed up five feet. But a short man wearing a black hood was standing next to Harry’s smashed-in window, holding something inside the SUV.
Steel swung around to fire but checked his trigger finger upon hearing the man’s voice on their coms; “I have a bomb. If my finger comes off the trigger, we all die. Coms, phones, and guns on the back seat.”
Harry’s voice burst through Steel’s mike. “Don’t shoot, Jack! Don’t come any closer!”
Steel gripped the Glock, glancing back across the street. No shooter. He heard the man with the bomb say, “Get into the back of the pickup, Harry. Now!”
The rear passenger door opened and Harry got out. He walked past the hooded man to the rear of the pickup, where he climbed into the truck’s cargo bed. Someone shut the tailgate. In moments the truck took off down the street.
The man at Harry’s door had already entered the back seat of the SUV and shut the door.
“Harry!” Panicked that he had been too passive, Steel expected the SUV to take off. He sprinted for the vehicle, while the pickup sped away with Harry.
The white pickup took a right at the far corner, heading north. Expecting the SUV to take off too, Steel was surprised when it didn’t move.
Reaching the rear door, he shoved his Glock inside the corner of the broken window, relieved to see Christie and Afia alive. Christie’s face was pale as she stared at the back seat. Afia sat rigidly. They both eyed the same thing.
On the seat next to Afia sat the short man, wearing jeans, a black hoodie, and a black face mask. The front of the man’s hoodie was unzipped, revealing a vest with two C-4 blocks fitted with detonators. Wires led from the detonators to a hand switch.
The man’s thumb kept the switch depressed.
If the man’s thumb released the switch, the bomb would go off.
CHAPTER 2
A phone rang.
Beside the man a burner phone lay among Harry’s and Christie’s guns, smartphones, earpieces, and throat mikes.
“It’s for you.” The man with the bomb had a Latino accent and sounded young. The mask hid everything except his eyes and mouth.
Steel reached in and picked it up, answering it. “What do you want?”
“Put the phone on speaker and keep it on speaker.”
Steel complied. The caller had a Colombian accent, but he didn’t recognize the voice.
“Drop your gun, personal phone, and coms in the back seat, and get in the front. Tell Christie to drive away. If the police stop you before you leave Boulder, my friend detonates the explosives and we kill Harry. Take highway ninety-three south to six west, into the mountains. We’re all ready to die if you don’t obey.”
The caller hung up. The man’s accent seemed at odds with Muslim radicals trying to kill Afia. Steel guessed the caller was in his fifties. Possibly the man with the rifle he had spotted across the street.
Wary, Steel set his gun, earpiece, throat mike, and phone on the back seat, and got into the front.
Christie quickly drove away. She glanced at Steel, her hair in disarray like her black pant suit and white blouse. Her green eyes were steady though.
Steel saw the bullet divots in her window. A powerful rifle would have punched through. The shooter had just wanted to scare Christie, keep her attention focused on the window. He wiped sweat from his brow.
Christie brushed back strands of her brown-and-blond streaked hair and lifted her chin to him. He gave her a slight nod.
Sirens could be heard in the distance. Christie stepped on the gas.
Steel twisted to study Afia.
“I’m all right,” said Afia. She appeared calm.
“No talking!” said the man in the back seat.
Steel searched for answers but couldn’t find any. Too many things didn’t fit. The man Harry had shot tried to kill Afia. If these men wanted to kill her, why go to all this bother? Were they handing Afia off to someone for torture or to videotape her beheading? Maybe Harry was collateral to force their cooperation.
Their kidnappers wanted something, otherwise they would have blown up the SUV already. Maybe they wanted to torture him, Christie, and Harry too—to make an example of anyone protecting someone with a fatwa on their head.
Or maybe they just wanted Harry out of the way. The more he thought about it, he began to suspect that these men might not be connected to Afia and the fatwa.
He twisted to face the man in the back seat. “What do you want?”
“Shut up. Speak one more time and I release it!” The man held the switch in his hand a few inches higher.
Few people had the ability to become suicide bombers, but the young man fit the profile. Steel guessed he was in his twenties. Easy to brainwash. And the man’s tone held an edge of vehemence Steel had heard before in people willing to die for causes. He turned around and kept his mouth shut.
He glanced at Christie, regretting bringing her—
he had to shove that aside and focus. He was missing something, but when he ran through possible enemies he couldn’t find a fit. Trying to think of a way to deal with the man in the backseat proved fruitless too. He had to wait for an opportunity.
Christie dropped her right hand onto the divider between the bucket seats. Steel grasped and squeezed it. She squeezed back several times before releasing him.
While she drove, he ran through every possible scenario he could think of to get free of their situation. There was always a way out of seemingly impossible situations—Kobayashi Maru didn’t exist for him. All of his virtual reality training centered on placing himself in impossible situations until he found a solution.
His own personal motto, Stay calm, assess options, wait for a solution, guided him when things got ugly.
In a half hour they were on highway six, headed west into the mountains. It was dark and the traffic was light. Christie flicked her gaze to the rearview mirror several times. Steel understood. They were being followed.
The phone rang and he answered.
“Phone on speaker.” The Colombian.
Steel complied.
“Park at the next scenic overlook and turn off your headlights. Stay on the phone and roll down all your windows.”
Christie powered down all the windows, letting in the cooler air. In a few minutes she rounded a curve and pulled off the road into a scenic overlook.
The small parking area was empty except for two sedans parked at the far end. When Christie cut the headlights, darkness surrounded them. The full moon gave them some light.
A small pickup pulled off behind them.
Steel readied himself. Slowly he worked his right hand to the horizontal belt-sheath built into the back of his belt. It held a Benchmade 3300BK Infidel auto OTF blade. He pulled it out. Transferring it to his left hand, he placed his right hand close to the door handle to be able to open it fast.
He still had to account for the man with the bomb. He didn’t have a solution to him. But if the kidnappers planned to kill them here, he resolved to do something.
A man appeared in his side-view mirror, wearing a black hood and holding a sawed-off shotgun aimed at his head. Through the driver’s side passenger window he glimpsed another man on Christie’s side. Identically dressed and also holding a sawed-off aimed at her.
Both men stood five feet back from the front doors to minimize any chance of attack. Professionals.
“Jack Steel.”
Steel glanced over his shoulder at the speaker, whose voice fit the man on the phone. The man’s height and general build also fit the rifle shooter in the trees.
“Face forward,” the man said roughly.
He did—and considered opening the door and ducking low.
“If the door so much as cracks open, I step back and shoot you.”
Steel swallowed. He believed the man.
“Here’s the good news, Steel. You’re all going to live. All three of you are going to get into the closest sedan parked at the far end. When you reach Idaho Springs, pull off the highway at the first gas station you see. Then open the trunk. There’s a phone inside. Have someone pick up Miss Afia. She isn’t part of this. I admire her courage. I’ll call with instructions. Do as you’re told or your brother dies. You do want to see Harry again, don’t you, Christie?”
Christie glanced over her shoulder at him, biting her lip as she faced forward. “Yes.”
“Call in the police or any law enforcement, and Harry’s dead. We’re monitoring everything. We so much as see a police car or roadblock on the road and Harry’s finished.”
Both men backed up from the doors. The man on Steel’s side said, “Get out. Leave the burner phone on the car seat. Go to the sedan. Hurry or I won’t be so nice.”
Steel exited the SUV along with Christie and Afia, keeping his knife hidden behind his leg as he faced the man with the shotgun.
The shotgun had a pistol grip, and the Latino held it stiffly to absorb recoil, sighting on him, both arms up, left leg and arm forward. He knew what he was doing. Maybe ex-military.
Afia and Christie hurried around the rear of the SUV and joined him. Christie carried her small purse.
The younger man with the bomb got out on the other side of the SUV, still holding the switch. He didn’t look experienced like the other two men—who were also huskier and taller.
Steel turned to go, but the older man’s voice made him pause.
“Steel, one last reminder. You and Christie are on your own. Call in anyone else to help—outside of picking up Miss Afia—and you can say goodbye to Harry and everyone you both love. When we talk, I’ll explain that last point in detail. And if you and Christie split up, same result. You’ll be watched.”
Steel tensed over the threats but said nothing. Wanting to get Afia and Christie away from the men as fast as possible, he strode across the dirt to the sedan. He glanced at the other car parked a little farther away. Empty.
Christie took the driver’s seat, he the front passenger seat, while Afia ducked into the back. The keys were in the ignition. In seconds Christie pulled the car onto the highway. They rapidly pulled away from the SUV and armed men.
Steel put his knife away. After a few miles he concluded the sedan didn’t have a bomb hidden in it.
“That was strange.” Afia sat up and fanned her face with her hand. “But I give thanks that we’re all still alive!”
Steel agreed on both counts. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Afia.”
She sat back. “Thank you for protecting me at the auditorium, Jack and Christy. I hope Harry will be all right.”
“Glad we were there to help,” said Steel.
“Why Harry?” Christie sounded shaken. “Do you know any of those men, Jack?”
“I didn’t recognize their voices.” Once more he ran through all the contacts and people he knew. The Colombian’s accent reminded him of the Serpent Op in Colombia last year.
A Colombian cartel leader had threatened him with retribution. But these men and their orders didn’t strike him as originating from a cartel. They would have killed Afia. Other connections to the Serpent Op didn’t fit either.
He checked his sideview mirror, but in the dark it would be hard to see if any of the three men were following them. He assumed at least one was.
They drove to I-70 and arrived at Idaho Springs in twenty minutes. Christie pulled into the first gas station. Steel asked her to back the car into the shadowed rear corner of the large lot.
They exited the car, and he told the two women to move away before he checked the undercarriage and engine compartment for any sign of a bomb. Nothing.
After pulling the trunk release, he crouched and carefully opened the trunk. No explosion.
There was a large zippered duffel bag inside, which he opened. He gaped. It was full of weapons. Two Glock 19s, two Sig Sauer P320s, and three SIG MCX Rattlers—rifle-caliber machine guns with optical sights and carry straps. Along with silencers, ammo clips, knives, zip ties, duct tape, two night-vision goggles, binoculars, gloves, and two black face masks.
Ten thousand dollars in weapons and accessories. The Rattlers had folding stocks and were easy to conceal. The guns also told him the Latino had experience with weapons, supporting his earlier guess of ex-military. It made his mouth dry. His first thought was that he had to get Christie out of here.
A phone lay next to the bag. He grabbed it, zipped up the duffel bag, and shut the trunk. Apprehensive, he rejoined Christie and Afia.
“What’s in the trunk?” asked Christie.
“The phone and a few other things. I’ll show you later.”
Christie nodded. “I’ll call Clay and Dale. They’ll take care of Afia.”
He handed the phone to her. “Alright. And maybe they can search for Harry.”
“Agreed.�
� She hesitated, staring at the phone.
He understood and took it back. Taking off the back, he examined the interior, then put it back together. “I don’t think it’s bugged.”
“Thanks.” She walked away to make the call.
He didn’t want to call the police or FBI. Not with Harry in play. And not until he understood the kidnapper’s threat to his family. At least Afia would be safe. All of Christie’s brothers had military backgrounds.
He turned to Afia. “Can I ask a favor?”
“Anything.” She looked up at him, her brown eyes serious.
“I would appreciate it if you just told the police that your head was down the whole time so you don’t know where we are. Tell them we’re worried and still checking on other concerns so we dropped you off with Christie’s brothers. I don’t want them chasing us, since that man threatened to kill Harry if the police are brought in.”
He shrugged. “It’s a lot to ask.”
“Hah. You just saved my life! I am happy to do that.” She stepped closer. “I worry for you, Jack. Take care.”
“Thank you, Afia. I admire your strength.”
Her voice lowered. “Violence never solves anything, and revenge only makes things worse. I hope these men can see that soon.”
“So do I.” He doubted that would happen.
“The mountains are so beautiful, Jack, but this is ugly.”
He grimaced. The weapons in the trunk promised things were going to get a lot uglier.
CHAPTER 3
Christie returned. “They’ll be here in twenty minutes. I told Clay that Harry was kidnapped and we needed their help to get Afia out of here. I left out the rest of the details. Otherwise Clay would have questioned me for a half hour.”
“Good.” Steel remembered the first conversation he had with Clay, her oldest brother, nearly a year ago. A week after he and Christie had survived a harrowing Op in Hawaii, Clay had asked him if he could keep his sister safe.
At that time Christie wasn’t going with him on Greensave field assignments. She was just doing the planning. He had answered Clay by saying whatever Christie did, it was her choice. But Clay’s words had always nagged at him.
Steel Force Page 31
