OMEGA SERIES BOX SET: Books 5-8

by Banner, Blake

My mind turned to the fight I was facing when I got there. I had no idea how many Omega men I would be up against. There could be anything from three or four to a dozen or more. If Alpha and Beta were going to be there along with Delta and Epsilon, after the damage they had already sustained, they would be most likely to err on the side of caution. I had to expect at least a dozen men, plus Captain Bob; assuming he could still walk and wasn’t singing soprano in the California State Choir by now.

  In addition, they would almost certainly be armed with assault rifles. They would be patrolling the grounds and they would be in touch with each other by radio. If any one of them went down, the others would know about it pretty soon. So the choices seemed to be either get in, take out as many of the Omega brass as I could and leave without the guards noticing, or take on everybody and kill everybody. I wondered what Sergeant Bradley would advise.

  He’d say, “Never take on a fight you’re not sure you can win.” He’d wag his finger at me and say, “The Iron Duke, mate, the Duke of Wellington, he never lost a battle in his life. If he wasn’t sure he could win, he withdrew…” and he’d lean forward and stare at me with his diabolical Kiwi eyes. “And he’d draw the enemy to a place where he could annihilate them. Duke of Wellington, mate. People say Napoleon was a genius, but Wellington beat seven bales of shit out of him.”

  Draw them to my battlefield.

  And then there was the other thing: the thing I was trying not to think about because there was nothing I could do about it. Fenninger’s wife and kids.

  They would be there.

  I put it out of my mind and headed for the nearest gas station. I needed two gallons of gasoline and a disposable cell.

  Fifteen

  The moon had risen a little earlier that night than the night before. It was sitting, wan and mocking, half an inch above the tree line in the east. I was parked among the trees, just off the Old Topanga Canyon Road, about a quarter of a mile from the Spanish villa. I had taken the Emperor from the trunk and set it on the roof of the Zombie. Now I was seated in the car with my laptop and the remote control, maneuvering the drone high above the treetops toward the house. I had not thought to equip it with an infrared camera, but the house and the grounds around it were floodlit and the guards were clearly visible. It seemed, at first sight at least, that they were more concerned with scaring me off than trapping me or killing me.

  From what I could make out, there were two guards at the back, on the lawn by the pool. They were armed with assault rifles, they were stationary and constantly in sight of each other, covering the sliding glass doors that allowed access to the house.

  At the front there were four, two stationed in the parking lot and two on the steps outside the front door. Besides these six men, there were two more pairs on each side of the house. These were not stationary but patrolling back and forth

  That was a total of ten, a small army, all brightly lit and all in clear view of each other. As well as these, there would be an unknown number inside the house guarding the Fenningers, but above all guarding the Omega top brass. They had no shortage of resources.

  Normally, in a situation like this, you would make extensive use of fire and explosives to disrupt the defensive position, but I had assumed I would be operating within L.A., and I had not brought any C4 with me. My heavy artillery was going to be limited, and once used, I was going to have to act fast, in case the Fire Department or the sheriff responded.

  I had a look at the roofs of the house. It was a complex combination of tiled gables set at right angles to each other to form the galleried patio where we had sat in the dining room and, beside that, on the left, two long gables set side by side, where the large living room was and, I figured, two other rooms beside that. The roof of the living room was going to be the ideal spot to set the drone down, on the chimney of the copper fireplace. I landed it nice and quiet, left the remote control on the seat and went to get my stuff from the trunk.

  I took my backup Sig, two spare magazines, the night vision goggles and the bow. I had seventy-two rounds and twelve barbs against a small army with automatic weapons. It should do.

  I took a long, circuitous route through the woods to the vineyard where I had fought with Fenninger. With me I had two gallons of gasoline. I made my way to the shed, opened the door just enough to slip in, and switched on my pencil flashlight. I smiled at what I saw. Against one wall there was a dozen sacks of ammonium nitrate. I didn’t need them, but it had been even chances they would be there, and they were a definite bonus. I stashed the plastic gasoline containers up against them, soaked a rag and hooked it up to a detonator I’d rigged from the disposable cell. Then I slipped out again, leaving the door ajar.

  Behind the shed there was a sparse hedgerow beyond a ditch. I scrambled across and, using my knife, I hacked a hole in the hedge big enough for me to squeeze through. Then I loped silently down to the row of conifers that separated the back of the house, where the pool was, from the fields and the vineyards. I found two trees that were sufficiently far apart for my purposes and hunkered down. Through the gap I had clear sight of the two guards standing in front of the sliding doors. What I did next was going to have to be fast, precise and very accurate.

  I took two arrows, nocked one, took careful aim at the farthest guard and loosed. I didn’t wait to see if it hit its mark. I knew it would. I immediately nocked the second arrow, drew, aimed at the nearest guard and, as the first barb thudded home into his chest, I loosed the second arrow. It whispered. The nearest guard frowned at his partner, who was holding his chest, staring down at the feathers in his hand. Slowly he kneeled down on the grass. The second arrow found its mark and punched right through his sternum and his heart.

  I ran. I left the bow and the arrows where they were. It was a matter of seconds before the two bodies were found, and by the time they were, I had to be somewhere else. I vaulted the first log fence onto the vineyard path, then the second onto the driveway, right in front of the two guards. As I landed I had my Sig in my hand. I swore loudly, like I hadn’t expected to see them there. I let off four rounds in two double taps. The first two took off most of the nearest guard’s head. The second two went through the creeping Russian vine and narrowly missed the two guards at the front door. I turned and ran back the way I had come, vaulting over the fence and running up the path toward the shed.

  By now there were shouts everywhere: “Oscar and Jones are down!”

  “Get some guards on the back of the house! Now!”

  “He’s out the front!”

  “Pete’s down!”

  “Where the fuck is he? Where is the motherfucker!”

  And then, what I had been wanting to hear: “He’s gone into the vineyards! Get after him! Get the motherfucker!” and the running tramp of many boots.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Six guys were swarming over the fence. They were fifty yards behind me. I fired twice without aiming and ran for the shed, faking a limp. They saw it as they were supposed to and thundered after me, shouting that I was hit.

  I came to the shed and wrenched the door open so it was blocking their view of what I did next. I let off four more rounds in their general direction, sprinted around the back of the hut and scrambled through the hedge. Then I sprinted another twenty yards and threw myself down in the dirt. I lay still and slipped on my night vision goggles. The world turned an eerie green and black. I listened and watched, immobile. I could just about make out the moving bodies through the scraggy hedge. They had gathered around the shed and were shouting, training their weapons on the wooden structure.

  “Come out with your hands in the air!”

  “Drop your weapon and come out!”

  Another guard was approaching, running up the path, shouting, “Don’t kill him! Take him alive!”

  I smiled. That was seven of them. From what I could see, they were all pressed up against the sides of the hut, with a couple kneeling in front with their guns trained on the door. I pulled out my cell and di
aled the burner. The explosion was spectacular.

  The bodies vanished in a fireball of gasoline and ammonium nitrate. I covered my head as burning, splintered boards showered flaming out of the sky. The hedgerow caught fire and, through the flames, I could make out a staggering, dancing humanoid form, like some kind of horrific fire demon made of flames. Finally it went down on its knees, then lay down and died.

  I scrambled to my feet and ran back toward the fence of conifers that hid the fields from the back of the house. There were burning, splintered boards caught in the trees. There were voices shouting and screaming, feet tramping and bodies running. In my mind I was counting as I ran: two down at the back by the pool, one down in the drive was three, plus seven at the shed made ten. That was the number they had posted outside. So whatever they’d had inside, that was all they had left.

  I dropped to my belly back where I had left the bow, telling myself Wellington, the Iron Duke, would have been proud of me. Now I had another battle to fight, and speed was of the essence. I scanned the back of the house. There was nobody there. That meant they had withdrawn inside and were keeping watch from the windows. If I stepped onto that lawn I’d be riddled like a colander before I took two steps.

  I crouch-ran along the hedge to where it made a right angle down the side of the house. I lay down, inched between two tree trunks and scanned the wall of the building. It made logical sense that if they had been protecting the people on the inside, they would have put no less than half their men on the outside, as sentries, as a first line of defense. It would follow logically, then, that they had about ten men inside, plus the Omega brass and Captain Bob. I counted four windows along the second floor and another four along the bottom. They would want at least four men with the brass, so that left six or seven men, spread thinly around the building, guarding the entrances and the windows. It was a big building, and not many men.

  I scanned the lawn. There was a chestnut tree halfway between the hedge and the house. I had spotted it with the drone, and it was the reason I had chosen this side of the building for my approach. I pulled the remote control from my pocket and triggered the EMP on the roof. I had maybe two seconds while they registered that their earpieces and radios were not working. I sprinted for the chestnut tree and flattened myself against the trunk. There were no shots. Nothing happened. I didn’t wait. I sprinted again for the side of the house, just short of the corner. I stood flat against the wall, nocked an arrow and looked up at the windows. There was the slightest of movements. I drew and targeted where I guessed he would lean out. I steadied my breath and waited. A moment later his head and shoulders appeared. I loosed, counted one, two and the aluminum barb thudded home through his skull.

  I nocked a fourth arrow and peered around at the front door. There was nobody there.

  My hunch was they would want to lure me inside the building. They would fall back around the Omega brass and force me to confront them as a body, where I could not pick them off one by one.

  I dropped the bow and my remaining arrows, stepped away from the building and put a round through the nearest window. It shattered and made a lot of noise. If there were any guards at the door, the sound of breaking glass might draw them away long enough for me to get it.

  I sprinted to the entrance, put a slug into the lock and kicked the doors open. There was no hail of lead, no barrage of fire. I peered around the door and scanned the galleried landing. There was nobody there. It was looking as though my hunch had been right. I looked over at the arch which led down into the big living room with the copper fireplace. I was certain they were not in there. It was wide open on two sides and very exposed.

  I thought about the rooms on the far side of the living room. They had windows that exposed them to potential sniper fire and grenades. These guys had no idea what weapons I had. They’d be looking for the least exposed, easiest spot to defend.

  I looked again at the galleried landing. The high ground is always the best place to meet an attack, so they had barricaded themselves on the top floor, on the outer corner, where they could cover the approaches from either side, and up the stairs.

  And another thing I could be certain of: They had already called for reinforcements. I was on the clock more now than ever. I had to act, and I had to act real fast. I spent a moment examining the door from a safe distance, then ran.

  I found the kitchen more or less where I had expected to find it, down some stone steps to the right of the dining room. I ransacked the drawers and found a ball of cooking twine. I sprinted silently up the stairs, made a loose slipknot at the end of the string, and silently approached the door where I thought they were barricaded in. Without making a sound I slipped the noose over the handle. I then left the ball of twine on the floor and explored the rooms down the right wing of the house. I was pretty sure the guys by the pool would not have their weapons with them. The retreating army would have made sure to deprive me of those. But I figured I had shot the guy in the window after they had retreated into the room.

  I was right. He was lying slumped on the windowsill with my arrow through his skull, and his rifle was on the floor, where he had dropped it. I hunkered down and picked it up. I raised an eyebrow. It was a Remington ACR. A weapon made only for the military. Its semi-automatic sister was made for civilian use by Bushmaster. This selective fire version was only for the military and law enforcement.

  I took the ACR, and the ball of string to the opposite corner of the galleried landing. I left the string loose, so that it was not pulling on the handle, but allowed the slipknot to tighten enough not to fall off. I then took my Swiss Army knife and returned silently to the door.

  This was what I had noticed from downstairs: the door opened outward, so the hinges were on the outside. Working fast, I removed the nine screws that held the hinges to the frame. The hinges were wedged in and probably glued, so the door did not immediately drop off, but I was confident it would not take a lot of pressure.

  Now I ran back to where I had the ACR and the ball of twine. I was diagonally across the patio and concealed behind the banisters, with a clear view of the room, and of the stairs leading down. The next part was the gamble. They had said they wanted me alive, but I figured the odds were good that they had changed their minds on that score by now. I tugged gently on the twine and rattled the handle. What followed was exactly what I had hoped for and expected.

  The door erupted in a hail of lead that not only shredded the wood but blew it right off and half way down the landing. They must have been pretty sure they had killed me. But they could not see clearly, partly because of the shower of splintered wood and partly because they were shooting into a darkened passage. Also, having seen the handle rattle, they had expected me to be on the other side of the door. So all of their attention was focused right there, on that one place.

  The last place they expected me to be was diagonally across the patio, twenty yards away in the shadows. But that was exactly where I was. I aimed low with short, controlled bursts. It took them a full five seconds to realize where the fire was coming from. By that time I’d taken out five of them. When they started returning fire to the right place I shot out the overhead bulb and moved down to the section of the landing that ran at right angles to their door.

  At a rough guess there were five of them left, including the captain. Twice I had brought them to my battle, but my options were running out. Their reinforcements could not be very far away. With their resources there might be choppers about to land at any moment. I needed to get into that room and take out five trained soldiers and four Omega top brass, and I needed to do it in the next few seconds.

  And the only way in was through the door.

  Their only light now came from the lamps in the entrance hall downstairs, and the thin moonlight that was filtering through their window. I took out the light in the entrance hall with a shot and almost total darkness engulfed the upper floor. I fitted my goggles and sprinted around the gallery until I was directly
opposite the room. I knew there was a woman and two kids in there, and I was struggling, trying to ignore the fact.

  I dropped silently to my belly and started crawling forward through the strange, green light. Two black shapes moved in front of the doorway. They moved slowly and cautiously. Their posture suggested they were holding weapons. The Remington spat twice and they went down. According to my estimate, that left three.

  I squirmed forward again, keeping my eye on the door. Nothing moved. I stood and ran, flattened myself against the wall. Still nothing. I peered in to the left of the door, saw nothing and hunkered down to peer around to the right. There were four of them, all holding weapons. They were clustered in the far corner of the room, forming a semi-circle around a group of people. They could not see me.

  Now it would get ugly. Now the kids would suffer, and so would their mother. But I could not turn back. If I did, Abi and the kids would pay the price.

  I crawled in and counted them off as I shot them: a double tap to the far right, half a second and a double tap to the far left. Three of them standing, charging forward. Double tap to the right and he went down; double tap to the left and he went down. One remaining and he was jumping, roaring, screaming. I knew the voice. It was Captain Bob.

  I rolled away. He landed next to me with a painful whoomph and I rammed the butt of the Remington into his side. Then I was on my feet, kicking at him savagely. He was tough. He grabbed at my foot and tried to twist. I smashed him on the head with the rifle and backed away to get a clear line of fire. He couldn’t see me, but he knew where I was and charged, bellowing at me. He was fast and strong and I took two blows to my belly that almost winded me. I staggered back and a third scraped my face. If it had connected it would have cost me my life.

  Next thing, he had the ACR in his hands and was struggling to wrench it free from my grip. At the same time, he was attacking me with his knees and trying to head butt me. He was in a frenzy and I knew if I was going to survive I had to do something.