Punching Tickets: Book Five in The Mad Mick Series

by Franklin Horton

  Conor found his words and croaked them out. "No! Let her go! You don't want to do this!"

  "But I do," Abbas countered, letting go of the chair.

  As if in slow motion, the chair teetered for a moment before listing over backward. Barb screamed as Conor's voice rose into harmony with hers. His training kicked in and his body worked of its own volition. Conor's fingers manipulated the selector to the full-auto position and jerked the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  The rifle was empty and Conor couldn't waste time loading it. He had to see what had happened to his daughter. Tears gushed from his eyes and a pained mewling poured forth from his lungs.

  Conor sprinted toward the concrete railing. He didn't want to look but had to. He glanced over just in time to see Barb hit the water, the chair landing in the pool below. Conor glanced at Abbas, an expression of horror and shock on his face.

  "How fortunate.” Abbas grinned. “I hit the pool."

  Conor looked back to the water. Barb's screaming was silenced the second she plunged beneath the water, still bound to her chair and unable to swim. With a cry of rage, Conor picked up Abbas and shoved him over the railing. Abbas grabbed at Conor, protesting, begging, but Conor didn't even aim. If Abbas hit the water, that was fine. If he was impaled on an umbrella, that was just fine as well.

  Conor didn't wait for Abbas's landing. AK still in hand, he climbed onto the concrete wall and leapt for his daughter.

  53

  The Resort

  Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

  Barb thought she'd die of sheer terror when Abbas let her chair tip off the railing. It was something she'd thought about before, wondering if people who fell off tall buildings were still conscious and aware when they hit, or if they died of fear on the way down. She knew the answer now. There was no merciful respite from the panic of freefall, no passing out from fear. You were awake the entire time, counting the milliseconds until your body shattered and split on the ground like a ripe melon.

  She pinched her eyes closed and set her jaw against that final impact. Tears crushed from beneath her eyelids as all of her facial muscles contracted into a grimace. She screamed long and hard, but the impact that came was not what she expected. She hit the pool and plunged beneath the water, her scream silenced. She had no time to think about whether she was in the deep end or the shallow, or whether the water was deep enough to slow the speed of her impact.

  A fraction of a second after breaking the surface, the chair impacted the concrete pool bottom with enough force to splay the steel legs outward. While that absorbed some of the shock of her fall, the impact was still significant enough that she felt her spine compact and her head snap downward. It was like the sudden braking of a rollercoaster magnified a hundred times. A thousand times.

  There was no time to appreciate the small victory of survival. Every bit of air volume in her lungs had been expelled in her scream as she fell. She found one leg free, the impact with the pool bottom having snapped the zip-tie that secured it. She pushed with that one leg, propelling herself to the surface just long enough to suck in a vital gasp of air. She tried flutter kicking with that single leg, trying to tread water, but it was useless. She slowly sank back to the bottom, tiny bubbles of air escaping from her nostrils.

  The water to her side erupted with a thunderclap. Something rocketed by her, impacting from the bottom of the pool in a shower of air bubbles. Barb saw the pained expression of Abbas as he clawed his way to the surface. Barb pushed down with her free leg again, trying to shove herself back up for another breath of air, but this time she failed. The movement turned her chair over on its side and she was unable to right herself. She lay there staring at the multicolored lights embedded in the wall of the pool, her lungs burning, her vision beginning to go dark at the edges. She was dying.

  There was another thunderclap, the impact of a body on the water, and Barb saw her dad plunge toward the bottom. His legs were bent to absorb the shock, but he still hit hard enough that she saw him arch his back in pain. Even through that pain, she saw the desperation in his eyes as he scanned his surroundings. They went wide when he saw her on the pool bottom, still bound to the chair.

  Conor dropped his rifle and swam in her direction. He grabbed the collar of her hijab and kicked off the bottom, propelling them toward the surface of the pool. Barb was able to suck a quick gulp of air into her burning lungs, but Conor couldn't hold her there. The weight of the chair and her clothing made it impossible for him to swim with her.

  "Hold your breath, Barb!" Conor choked out.

  She sucked in a deep breath and they went under again. Conor dropped to the bottom of the pool and launched them at an angle this time, toward the edge of the pool. Conor latched onto the concrete coping with one hand and locked his legs around Barb's chair. With his free hand, he retrieved the fisherman's knife from his belt.

  "Another breath, Barb!"

  She sucked in another breath and Conor released the pool coping, the chair slowly sinking again. She felt her dad wrestling with her hands, trying to cut the zip-ties without cutting her in the process. She felt pressure, then one wrist was free. There was more pressure on her other wrist as he pulled the blade against it, then it was free too. She was still anchored to the chair, though, and couldn't swim with a leg bound to it. She flailed at the water with both hands, trying to generate enough lift to get herself above the surface, but it was futile.

  Conor dove again, latching onto the chair with one hand. With the other, he threaded the blade through the zip tie and sliced with a tug of the knife. Suddenly free, Barb swam to the surface while the chair sank to the bottom of the pool.

  "Are you okay?" Conor gasped.

  "I guess," Barb said, stroking toward the edge of the pool. She wasn't so certain though. Her spine and tailbone had taken a hard blow, she was having trouble hearing out of one ear, and her ankle felt tweaked. She'd live but she might be banged up for a little while. She reached the edge of the pool and latched on with both hands. There was no way she was going under that water again.

  Conor's look of relief gave way to rage and he swam toward the shallow section of the pool, his knife still gripped in his hand. Abbas stood at a set of concrete steps leading down into the pool. He was holding onto the stainless steel railing, sobbing in pain. He stood on one leg like a well-dressed flamingo while clutching his left arm, his shoulder cocked at an odd angle.

  Two waiters were standing at the edge of the water, one of them resting a hand on Abbas's shoulder, trying to figure out how to help him. Conor had his own plans for the man and they didn't involve helping him.

  When he reached the steps, he grabbed Abbas by the collar and tugged him back into the water. Abbas screamed in pain when his dislocated shoulder and broken ankle ground and grated against irritated nerves. Conor shoved Abbas beneath the water, his face a mask of fury as the man in his grip choked and fought.

  "You could have fucking killed her!"

  Abbas could no more answer the accusation than he could breathe.

  Watching from where she clung to the edge of the pool, fighting to recover her strength, Barb was startled by a hand latching onto her from above. She whipped around and stared up into the face of Sydner.

  "Let us help you," he said.

  She stuck out her hands and clasped one of his, the other wrapping around Sandy's. They heaved her from the water and she stood there for a moment gasping as water poured from the heavy hijab. Her movements sluggish, she struggled out of the garment. Beneath it, she wore the fisherman's pants tucked into her socks and a tank top. No shoes, no weapons. She'd have rather been naked than defenseless.

  Sydner threw an arm around Barb and guided her toward the shallow end of the pool. "Come on! We have to get out of here. Security is upstairs looking for Abbas but they'll figure it out in a moment."

  "I'm going to make sure the jet skis are in position," Sandy said, sprinting off the end of the patio and down toward the beach. He needed to get
them into the surf and make sure the keys fit.

  "Come on, Dad!" Barb cried. "We have to get out of here."

  In the pool, Conor was still venting his rage on Abbas. It would take him some time to recover from the image of his daughter tipping over that railing. He wasn't certain he'd ever forget the look in her eyes as she fell toward what she felt was certain death, that feeling of thinking he'd lost her.

  When their voices finally cut through his frenzy, Conor cast his eyes from the submerged Abbas to Sydner and Barb.

  "Pull the plug, Conor! We're done here!" Sydner shouted. "We have to go now!"

  It was done. They were done, the mission was done, and Abbas was done too. Conor yanked the blubbering Abbas back above the water one more time. The man choked and spat out pool water.

  "When you get to Hell, tell the devil that the Mad Mick sent ya," Conor hissed.

  He jammed his knife into Abbas's throat, then ripped it out the front. There'd be no repairing the damage. He shoved the dying man away from him and waded toward the steps.

  The terrified waiters backed away, cowering as Conor sheathed his knife. There were shouts from the upper balconies now and people were looking out onto the scene. Voices were raised in alarm, some shrieking at the sight of their prince floating in a cloud of bloody water.

  Sandy came sprinting onto the patio and waved the three in his direction. "Everything is ready. Let's go!"

  "Take her," Sydner said, handing the limping Barb over to Conor. "I have to call the boat."

  As they hurried to the beach, Sydner dug out his sat phone and punched in a number from memory. "We need exfil now!" Sydner shouted into the phone. "We're leaving the beach on the jet skis." He covered his ear to listen to the response while the rest of the team shoved their jet skis into the surf.

  Shouts were getting closer now. Conor glanced back toward the resort and saw a flash from the patio. "They're shooting at us! Get moving!"

  Rounds hit the sand near them, sending a stinging spray in all directions. Sydner was shoving the sat phone back into its waterproof pouch when a round caught him in the calf, nearly taking his leg out from under him. He cursed and limped toward the water, throwing himself across the back of his jet ski. He twisted the throttle and powered away from shore, falling in behind the rest of the team. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he yanked a square of gauze from his blowout kit and jammed it into the wound.

  "You need help?" Barb asked, pulling alongside him.

  Sydner lit a penlight with one hand, glancing down at the wound. "I can't see."

  Barb could see it and didn't like what she saw. The wound looked bad, but it was hard to tell with their clothing soaked with seawater. "Let me ride with you!"

  Sydner slowed and Barb bumped her jet ski into his, then climbed over.

  "Hold on!" he shouted.

  She held on with one hand, the other going for the blowout kit on his belt. She felt for the tourniquet in the packed pouch, trying to locate the capstan. When she found it, she pulled it free of the pouch, then used one hand and her teeth to unfurl it.

  "Hold steady!" she yelled, hoping he'd understand that meant to lay off any sudden acceleration while she was working on him. She deftly looped the tourniquet around his leg just below the knee, secured it with the Velcro, then gave the capstan two turns before locking it down. His flinch of pain as she twisted told her that she'd gotten it tight enough. "Mark the time. I don't have a watch."

  Sydner glanced at his watch, repeating the time to her.

  "What's the plan?" Conor shouted, veering alongside them. "Do we have one?"

  "The patrol boat was offshore, waiting for our call. They should be here any minute," Sydner shouted. He'd forgotten something in the chaos of being shot, but he recalled it now. He reached into the cargo pocket of his pants and extracted an unwrapped chemlight. He handed it over his shoulder to Barb. "Crack this and keep it visible. It's infrared."

  Barb did as he asked, holding the lightstick in her upraised hand like some battered Statue of Liberty. They slowed down, but it made them uneasy. As word of their escape spread, the Saudis would no doubt send out choppers and boats of their own. Conor and the team weighed that against blindly running their jet skis headlong into their own rescue boat.

  "Kill your engines!" Sydner shouted.

  One by one they turned their keys off and then they heard it, the low thrum of the patrol boat cruising in their direction. Bracing herself on Sydner's shoulder, Barb stood up and waved the IR chemlight, hoping the patrol boat had spotted them. A change in the pitch of the engines buoyed their hopes.

  "I think they see us!" she shouted.

  In seconds, the boat was pulling alongside them and the crew assisted each member of the team onboard. No sooner was the last of them on deck than the boat accelerated away at full throttle. They were whisked below deck where a medic went to work on Sydner. Blankets were handed out to the rest of the soaked team.

  Conor collapsed onto a bench alongside Barb and rested his head back against the wall. Rivulets of bloody water ran down his face. Barb couldn't tell if it was sweat or seawater.

  Without moving his head, Conor cut his eyes at Barb. "I thought I'd lost you, girl."

  "I thought you'd lost me too. That was messed up."

  "Abbas paid," Conor said. "He died hard."

  Barb nodded somberly. "Good. He deserved to."

  "It's over, Barb. I hope it is anyway. We got Abbas. Congresswoman Shoe is dead. The big players have been pulled from the game. My guess is that Abbas was acting alone within the royal family. They'll sweep this under the rug and the conspiracy will crumble."

  "What about the rest of the American traitors and the families that are here in Saudi Arabia?"

  "I guess they'll continue living here until they decide to return to America. The Saudis will probably buy their silence in order to prevent any further embarrassment."

  "There are still traitors at home who wanted these people to succeed. How do we know they'll give up the fight?"

  Conor considered this. "We don't know that, but that's not our job either. There are other people paid to worry about that kind of thing. I just weld, run some machines, and kill a few folks when Ricardo asks me to."

  Barb smiled at that. It was an apt summary of her father. "Speaking of Ricardo…"

  Conor's face clouded. "Aye, now there's a bit of a mystery, dear."

  54

  Conor's Compound

  Jewell Ridge, Virginia

  Wayne stuck around Conor's compound to help Shannon and Ragus clean up. Although Wombat hadn't made it into the secure spaces, like Conor's ready room, he'd taken full advantage of the places he'd entered. He'd sampled food and made messes. He'd left lights on and drained the batteries on the solar power system. He'd cut the fence near the gate and had severely damaged the door he broke down with the steel beam.

  Focusing on the important things first, Wayne patched up the two young folks, bandaging their wounds. He shook his head as he took stock of their injuries. There was only so much he could do for Ragus's broken nose and the possible concussions they might have suffered. Some things would just have to heal on their own.

  "What?" Ragus asked when he saw Wayne’s expression.

  "I wondered for a moment if we'd be able to sweep this under the rug and not tell Conor, but I don't think that's a possibility. These facial injuries are going to take weeks to go away. Either you tell him the truth or you make up some lie about fighting with each other."

  "I vote for the lie," Shannon said. "He's going to be so mad. Can we fix things up so he won't know?"

  "We can clean up this mess," said Ragus, "but we can’t fix that doorframe in a way he won't notice. You know how obsessive he is about details. He notices the least little thing."

  Shannon wrung her hands, worried about the consequences of Conor's anger.

  "It's not like he's going to throw you out," Ragus said, dismissing her concern. "We just need to be honest and face the medicin
e. That's the best plan. We made some bad decisions and hopefully we learned from them."

  With a regretful smile at Shannon, Wayne nodded. "I agree with Ragus. Better to tell him now than have him figure it out later. He'll respect you more if you're honest with him up front. Own your mistakes. The lie, or even the omission, won't sit well with a man like Conor."

  Shannon collapsed onto the couch and started crying. Wayne and Ragus looked at each other in a panic, neither certain about how to handle this development.

  "Uh, maybe you should fix some sandwiches," Ragus suggested, patting Shannon on the shoulder.

  Wayne sucked in his breath and lowered his head with disappointment. He knew the poor boy had screwed up royally and there was no saving him. What the hell was he thinking?

  Shannon's tears shut off immediately and her eyes ignited with fury. She swatted Ragus's hand off her shoulder. "Tell me you didn't just say that, Ragus? Tell me you just didn't go there? Sandwiches? Really?"

  "I-I thought Wayne and I might be able to work on the door and maybe you could stay inside and fix something to eat. I was trying to be helpful. I wanted to give you the easier job."

  Shannon shot to her feet. "You know what would be easy, Ragus? Slapping your face right off your thick head. If you ever suggest I make you a sandwich again, I'll kick your ass from one end of this compound to the other. Do you hear me?"

  Ragus nodded, still not certain what he'd done wrong.

  She cupped a hand around her ear. "I didn't hear you."

  "I'm sorry," Ragus said. "I apologize."

  "Just to be certain you mean it, how about you go make me a sandwich, Ragus. Wayne and I will get the fires going in all the buildings since that asshole let them go out. Hopefully, nothing was damaged by the cold."