Body Shot

by Amy Jarecki

  “You’d better be.” She stretched up and kissed him on the lips, then pulled away and glanced at Luke. “You too, flyboy. If I say drop over the comm, you drop. Got it?”

  The pilot grinned and shifted his gaze to Mike. “Is this sheila always so bossy?”

  “You dunna ken the half of it, mate.”

  “Beauty,” said Luke. “Top dogs from the US, the UK and Down Under. We’d better not fail, else we’ll let down our countries.”

  “We’ll let down the world.” Mike shouldered his rifle and stepped into the inflatable. “Let’s roll before we end up with another Hiroshima.”

  “What?” Luke practically spat out his teeth.

  Mike gave the Aussie a wink. “You wouldna think we’d be giving you an initiation to wage war against the king of the fairies, would you?”

  Henri handed Mike her rifle then slid down into the boat. “We exist to take on things no one else can.”

  “And no one else kens about.” Mike returned her weapon. “If the media catches wind of this, we’ll be facing World War III afore dawn.”

  “Right-o, then.” Luke fired up the motor. “At least I’m not wasting my time.”

  “Hooah,” said Henri as she took a seat. The leader of this op, she turned on her mic. “This is Eagle Eyes, check. Sound off.”

  “Lionheart, check.”

  “Wombat, check.”

  The boat skidded through the shallows and up the beach. “Follow me,” she said before heading for the crag.

  The rain made the footing slick and NV worthless. Henri planted her boot, thinking she had a good foothold, but the rock rolled and threw her off balance. Her hip slammed into the stone wall as she flung out her hands to stop her fall.

  “You okay?” Mike’s voice came through her earpiece.

  Her hip throbbed like a son-of-a-bitch. “Fine.” She kept going and ignored the burn. She was a warrior, not a princess and she’d endured a hell of a lot more pain than a bruise on the hip. Hell, her shoulder hadn’t completely healed yet.

  They climbed on their bellies to the crest of the hill. The light in the control tower was like a beacon making their target shine. Interesting, both the truck and the car had returned.

  Chalk up another one to gut instincts.

  Mike scooted beside her. “You going to be able to take them out in this weather?”

  “Whoa, mate,” said Luke. “From here?”

  Henri gave them both a look. “Men...they always underestimate women.” She charged her weapon and flipped up a rubber stopper that covered her sights, using it as a rain guard. True, the deluge distorted things, but with the right focus, Henri’s mind could adjust. Wind was blowing a gale from the west at least thirty miles per hour. The guards in the tower were sitting—probably bored out of their minds and, without windows, they were every bit as cold, wet and miserable as she was.

  “Take your time, sweetheart,” Mike’s deep voice rumbled through her earpiece.

  “Silence,” she hissed as she trained the scope on her first target. She had to be perfect. A fraction off and everyone in the compound would know they were there. If she made a mistake now, they’d have no choice but to run for the boat.

  Henri focused on her breathing, becoming one with her Win Mag. She homed in on the target, seeing the first shot hitting its mark and the fraction of an adjustment she’d need to take out the second.

  In one fluid motion, she fired off two suppressed shots—the sound of the rifle completely muffled by the silencer and the rain. The targets dropped. The second one didn’t even flinch when the first shot hit. Bless the weather.

  “Holy shit,” said Luke, the awe in his voice unmistakable.

  Henri looked to Mike. “Ready for phase two?”

  “Born—”

  “Ready,” she finished. “You’re so predictable, dude.”

  “It works for me.” In a crouch, he led the team down the crag and across the open land. Rain splattered her face, but she embraced it. That very rain was providing them with a modicum of cover.

  Once they reached the building, voices came from inside.

  “Cover.” Henri and Luke pressed their backs against the wall and covered their ears while Mike threw a flash-bang to blind anyone lurking inside. “Let’s go.”

  He took point. A spray of bullets erupted from the darkness.

  Grunting, Mike dove for cover. Henri saw blood. “You’re hit.”

  “Just nicked,” he said, pulling the pin from a grenade with his teeth. “This one will mess ’em up good.”

  Luke covered his head while Mike crouched over Henri, shielding her with his body.

  Boom!

  By the force of the blast funneling out the door, no one on the first floor could have survived.

  Mike signaled for the all clear and headed inside without facing more enemy fire. At least until they hit the stairs.

  Another volley of bullets echoed through the stairwell, sounding like thunder.

  Mike pulled out another flash-bang and tossed it down. “Cover!” The thing burst with a boom and blinding light, but didn’t have enough fire power to destroy the steps. Burying the bastards alive wouldn’t be an option until they got Flynn out. Afterwards, turning the bunker into a grave might just be the trick.

  Mike led with guns blazing, taking out two gunmen at the base of the stairwell.

  They used a triangular formation to make their way through the corridor, kicking in doors along the way. At the corner, Mike slowed, inching forward with the muzzle of his M16. Rapid fire erupted from the hallway where they’d been keeping Flynn.

  “The SEALs couldn’t find this guy?” asked Luke, his voice cracking.

  “Remember the hunt for weapons of mass destruction in Iraq?” asked Henri, whispering into her mic. “It’s not so hard to move stuff.”

  Mike motioned with his fingers, indicating Henri would go low, Luke above. Once they started firing, he slid into the open on his butt and swept a spray of bullets across the hallway, cutting down two more terrorists.

  “Clear,” he said.

  Henri sprang to her feet and took the lead, stepping over the two guards.

  In the same interrogation room where they’d found him before, Flynn hung in a chair, looking dead. Luke raced to him and pressed his fingers to the scientist’s carotid. “He’s alive.”

  Above, the truck’s engine started. Henri’s heart lurched. “Fadli!”

  “The bomb’s live,” Flynn rasped, opening his bloodshot eyes. “They threatened to torture and murder my kids...my wife. P-pictures...”

  Her gut turned over. “We can’t let the bastard fly the coop. Not this time.”

  “Go!” Mike raced down the corridor with Henri on his heels. They flew up the stairs taking three at a time. Tearing around the corner, Mike ran into fire. He leapt back, patting his Kevlar vest, searching for holes.

  Henri fired around the edge of the door. “You gonna live, Lionheart?”

  “I’m fighting fit.” He clambered to his feet.

  Henri took the lead, shooting rapid fire around the corner.

  The truck’s engine revved.

  Over her shoulder, she snatched a glimpse at Mike. “I’m making a run for it.”

  “Got you covered.”

  Bullets erupted from the Scot’s rifle as Henri dashed from the safety of the stairwell and raced for the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. “Guard at ten!” she shouted, darting outside as a burst of rapid fire drilled behind her. She could only pray the bullets had come from the Scot’s rifle.

  The rain had eased, but the truck was going nowhere, spinning its wheels in the sandy mud. When she caught Omar Fadli’s attention, his eyes bugged wide as if he’d seen a ghost. She squeezed the trigger just as the thug ducked beneath the dash. The windscreen shattered.

  Henri ran for cover behind the blade of the tractor, skidding to her butt. “You come out now and you’ll live!” she shouted, the words tasting like bile on her tongue. She want
ed nothing more than to kill the bastard. End it now. Without a trial, without wasting thousands of taxpayer dollars to keep him fed in prison.

  No sound came from the truck’s cabin.

  But Henri new better than to step into the open.

  She shifted her gaze for a split second as grunting and thuds came from inside the building. That was long enough for Fadli to fire a shot at the tractor aimed exactly where Henri was hiding. If she raised her head, he’d nail her between the eyes. That’s how it rolled. The more patient assassin won in the end. And she was too goddamned close to make a mistake. There had to be an angle. She looked upward. The tractor’s scoop had a six-inch notch—one cut for using a chain.

  Silently, she rose to her knee and slid the muzzle of the Win Mag through the notch, keeping it steady so it didn’t even scrape the sides. After taking a deep breath, she inched up high enough to peer through the scope. The edge of the tractor’s scoop partially blocked her vision, but she could see the open door of the cab well enough.

  The problem?

  Fadli wasn’t there.

  But then she saw it. The black muzzle of a rifle pointed at the tractor. Where is Fadli? Hidden under the wheel?

  Unsure, her only option was to wait it out.

  Henri used shallow breathing and waited. Her thighs started burning from holding herself up an inch higher than her knee could reach the ground. Her arms tortured her from holding the Win Mag off the metal. A bead of sweat slipped into her eye. Blinking, she steeled her mind to her own pain.

  Something moved—something black. Then a face inched up. Henri took the shot, but her hand tremored ever so slightly.

  Fadli grunted, then his gun fired on automatic. Henri dropped and crouched into a ball while bullets pummeled the scoop. When his rifle clicked twice she knew she had seconds to move in while he reloaded. Pushing up, she went on the offensive. With blood streaming down his face, Fadli rose to his knees with a pistol in his hand. Before he shifted the muzzle her way, Henri shot the hand. Moving in, she laid waste to his body, shooting with rapid fire until he collapsed on his face.

  She stopped a foot away from the truck’s door.

  Dropping her arms, numbness filled her. She’d lost two years of her life because of this man. An innocent ambassador had been cut down. Countless other Syrian citizens had been murdered by this man. That’s right. Fadli had proven time and time again nothing would ever stop him from his madness. Henri hated killing. But she hated tyrants more. Any man who craved power through the destruction of others deserved Fadli’s fate.

  The rain had completely stopped.

  But a chill coursed up the back of Henri’s neck when no sound came from the building.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  There could only be two reasons for the silence. Either everyone was down or there was a standoff. And Henri wasn’t about to consider the first. Reloading her Win Mag, she whispered into her mic. “Lionheart?” When there was no response, she tried Luke. “Wombat?”

  Nothing.

  Crouching, she moved in beside the door of the building. She froze as a volley of gunfire erupted—the shooter was on the first floor and it was darker than midnight inside.

  No question. The perp wasn’t a good guy.

  She’d learned Mike’s first rule of war in boot camp years ago: Strategy. And that meant the warrior who chose the easiest, most direct path should expect to be destroyed.

  The Native American in her heart took over. Like Grandfather had taught, Soaring-Eagle didn’t make a sound as she slipped around to the south side and shouldered up beside a paneless window. She slipped the wire of an infrared borescope camera onto the sill and slowly swept it across the room until she found the shooter.

  The perp had his back to her, standing at the entrance to a stairwell, rifle in hand. He had black hair and was tall and thin. Not Mike, not Luke and definitely not Thomas Flynn. Fear oozed off this man. He knew his minutes were numbered. Henri made a quick adjustment and the camera zoomed to his wrist as he lifted his rifle to his shoulder. A tattoo of an ISIS flag told her who he was. Melvut Amri’s hand slid down the barrel while he took a step as if he were going to move into the stairwell and go in for the kill.

  Wrong.

  Henri dropped the camera and slipped the Win Mag through the gaping hole. “Hey!” she yelled, barely able to see his outline without the infrared.

  The shooter spun but before his rifle shifted around, Henri squeezed her trigger. For the first time in her career, she couldn’t be sure where she’d hit him but Melvut Amri dropped to his back, his weapon inches away from his fingers.

  Henri raced around to the door. “Mike! Where are you?”

  “Stairwell,” a strained voice came over the comm.

  Before charging through the door, she had enough sense to slide her hand around and flip on the light. A single lightbulb came to life as Amri reached for his gun. Henri shot the man’s fingers first, then lodged a bullet between the bastard’s eyes.

  She panned her Win Mag across the room, doing a 360 before she moved to the stairwell. As soon as she determined it was clear, she tore down to the landing and dropped to her knees beside Mike.

  Blood was everywhere.

  “Where are you hit?” she asked, checking arms, legs, hands. There was just too much blood to see where it was coming from.

  He grinned, blood between his teeth. “No vitals hit. Got about fifty flesh wounds.”

  “Fifty?” Tears stung her eyes as she gently held his cheeks between her palms.

  “That’s what it feels like.”

  “I’m going to get you out of here.” Steeling her nerves, she kissed his lips.

  “Mm,” he growled like he wasn’t hurt. “I’m counting on it, lass.”

  She looked to the basement doorway. “What about Fox and Flynn?”

  Mike threw a thumb over his shoulder. “They’re back there someplace.”

  “Any more shooters?”

  “I think we got ’em all.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  He winked. “I’ll be here.”

  Henri rushed down the steps as she shoved up her sleeve and pushed the call button on her ICE watch.

  “Report,” Garth’s voice came immediately.

  “We need an ambulance.”

  “Who?”

  “Mike’s nicked.”

  “And he needs an ambulance?” Garth’s voice shot up.

  “There’s a lot of blood...” She found Luke and Thomas Flynn propped against the wall, alive, but barely conscious. “Make it three ambulances.”

  “Holy Christ.”

  “You got the holy part right.”

  “What about you, Anderson?”

  “Fighting fit, sir.”

  “And Fadli?”

  “Deader than roadkill. So are his men including Melvut Amri. On top of that, after you call the medics, call in the bomb squad. There’s a hot nuke in the back of a truck that needs to be defused.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah? You might try ‘thanks’ next time, sir.”

  ***

  Mike’s mouth felt like goo. Machines beeped in the background. Machines that could only mean one thing. He was on his back in a bloody hospital. That’s right. He’d been shot in the line of duty. Thanks to Eagle Eyes, they’d completed their mission.

  God, that woman was amazing.

  But now the relentless beeps refused to stop. Couldn’t hospital equipment come up with a more pleasant tone about three octaves lower? Gulping down the goo in his mouth, Mike opened his eyes. Clothing rustled before Henri’s smile came into view. “Hey you. They tell me you’re gonna live.”

  She had the most dynamite smile. His heart squeezed and as she grasped his hand, he gripped her fingers tightly. Jeez, they were so soft and cool against his overwarm flesh. Heaven help him, he didn’t want to let go. “What are the damages?” he asked.

  “Bullet removed from your thigh—you’ll need some R&R and rehab for that. Everythi
ng else was superficial but the Doc said he’d never seen so much shrapnel in his life.”

  Mike swallowed again, too proud to ask for water. “What about Fox and Flynn?”

  “Luke has a concussion—got knocked out after a doorframe fell on his head. He’ll be fine.”

  “And the scientist?”

  “He’s still hooked up to an IV. Aside from a broken arm and bruises, he was dehydrated. Another day in the airfield basement and he probably would have been dead.” She reached for a pitcher of water and poured a glass. “You thirsty?”

  She could read his mind. “Parched.”

  After taking a long drink, Mike’s head cleared a bit more. That’s when he noticed a butterfly bandage just below Henri’s hairline. “That looks bad.”

  “It’s just a nick.” She ran her smooth fingers along his cheek. “I...ah...well...” Her eyes trailed aside.

  Mike chuckled, which caused pain in too many places to name. “You were worried about me?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  He squeezed her fingers and drew them to his lips. With his kiss, his heart started thumping again—that kind of thumping a person experiences when they realize how close they came to losing someone special. “You’ll never ken how worried I was when you were out there facing Fadli alone. I couldn’t get past Amri.”

  Her eyes glistened as she cupped his cheek. “You’ll never know the terror I felt when I realized you were still in that building. And then no one replied back to me.”

  “Sorry. I was a little preoccupied trying not to die.”

  She kissed him gently, then smiled. “Likely excuse.”

  He took another drink and straightened. “When are they planning to unhook me? I’ve already had enough of this place.”

  She tsked her tongue. “Awake for two minutes and already asking for leave.”

  “I’m not a fan of hospital.”

  “I figured the same.” Henri ran her fingers through his hair. “You want to go through rehab in Saint George, or wherever it is you live in Scotland?”