Terror: Zeb Carter Series, Book 4

by Ty Patterson

  One of them, bearded, big, patted a mother’s bottom as she passed, pushing a baby stroller. She whirled on him and cursed in Ukrainian. He grinned lazily, got to his feet and squeezed her breast. His head rocked back when she slapped, but the insolent look didn’t disappear. More cursing and shouting from the red-faced woman. Passersby didn’t stop. They bent their heads and hurried as if the altercation wasn’t happening, as if a woman wasn’t being molested in broad daylight.

  The second gang member watched for a moment, grinning, and then grabbed his friend’s hand and led him away.

  ‘Those two,’ Meghan lifted an eyebrow at the receding men, ‘need to learn some manners.’

  Chapter Forty-Four

  They attacked on the third day, after the night shift had left for Chernihiv.

  They parked their pickup trucks a mile away from the farm’s perimeter, in the canal bed, out of sight from any passing vehicle.

  One hour to inflate the balloons with helium. And once they rose majestically in the air, Beth and Meghan took over, maneuvering them, using controls on their screens that manipulated the onboard motors and propellers. Line-of-sight data link when they were visible, which switched to satellite relays when they were out of view.

  Zeb, Broker and Chloe, racing to take position in the canal bed at the front of the house. Bwana, Bear and Roger to the rear. The twins following at a slower pace as they navigated the balloons to just over a thousand feet, above tree-top level. And then got them to circle wide and approach the house from the rear.

  Multi-hued, streamlined shapes against the blue sky, their baskets empty but for the motors. They drifted until they were tiny specks in the distance.

  Zeb climbed up the slope of the canal, lay prone and peered above its top. The farmhouse jumped out at him through his binos. No signs of activity outside.

  ‘In position?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ came the replies.

  ‘GO!’ he ordered.

  The twins turned the balloons around and headed them back to the house. A speed of five miles an hour. Forty minutes to reach the farm.

  Zeb brought the scope of his HK to his eye. An insect droned in his ear. The earth smelled warm. Pollen floated past him. He went through the attack plan in his mind. All depends on how good those bratva men are. Tverskoy will have sent his best, to guard the engineers.

  ‘Fifteen minutes away,’ Beth called out.

  There, the balloons were. Bright in the sky, hanging low, coming from the rear of the house, towards each leg of its L.

  No one gawked and stared because there was no one about.

  ‘Eight minutes away.’ Beth’s voice, bored, as if she was reading out the weather.

  Zeb couldn’t help grinning. There’s nothing much for her and Meg to do until the balloons land.

  The first sign of movement in the house. The front door opened. A man stumbled out and ran around the right leg of the L. He stopped and stared at the sky. Zeb saw his lips move. A shout. Another man ran out. Brought his AR-15 to his hands but there was no one to shoot at.

  The balloons were much lower, hundred yards from the ground. Growing in size as they came close.

  ‘These dudes,’ Roger chuckled. ‘They’ve come out at the back as well. Shall we take them out?’

  ‘No,’ Zeb replied. ‘Stick to the plan.’

  It still wasn’t the point of maximum surprise.

  That came a few minutes later.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The balloons crashed against the house, a perfect landing for the twins. It was accompanied by the chatter of the AR-15s as the bratva men fired at them ineffectively, in an attempt to ward off the collision.

  They didn’t succeed.

  The baskets smashed against the rear walls. Windows shattered. And then the balloons, eighteen hundred square yards of nylon, eight hundred pounds in weight, each, settled on the roofs of the two legs. Tiles fell off the roof. Another window cracked. The chimney toppled and rolled down the roof.

  And the coils inside the balloons acted like a Faraday Cage, jamming all phone signals inside the house.

  ‘Now!’ Zeb commanded and brought his HK up, his scope settling on one of the two men at the front.

  But Tverskoy’s men reacted instantly, before he could fire.

  They rushed inside the house.

  ‘What?’ Bear exclaimed, ‘They ran inside before we could fire. Why?’

  They got their answer when two men raced out again and jumped into a truck at the front. They drove it at speed, heading towards the canal bed at the front.

  ‘Shall I take them out?’ Chloe, eye to sight.

  ‘No,’ Zeb replied. ‘Let them come closer. I’ve got a better idea.’

  The initial plan had been to snipe down the men as soon as the balloons landed and then breach the house. They expected fierce combat.

  But the gunmen’s unexpected reaction had taken them by surprise.

  ‘Why that vehicle?’ Broker asked.

  ‘They suspect whoever’s behind the balloons is hidden here. No other place offers concealment.’

  ‘Why’ve they sent only two, then? And why did they disappear inside the house?’

  ‘They suspected a sniper attack. They’re smart. And as for those two, they only have six guards. They can’t send them all. Here they come.’

  The truck threw up dust and dirt as its wheels dug in the soft soil. It turned as the driver steered it to run parallel to the fence as he and his companion looked sharp, searching the canal.

  A hundred yards away from Zeb and Chloe. Approaching fast.

  ‘Hold fire,’ he warned. ‘We want at least one of them alive.’

  ‘Gotcha.’

  Fifty yards.

  ‘I can shoot their tires,’ Broker said mildly.

  ‘Stick to the plan,’ Zeb snapped.

  Twenty-five. Then ten and then the vehicle was past them. It turned, and a second later its wing mirrors disappeared from view.

  Zeb and Chloe lunged out. She went to the right of the vehicle, crouching low, Glock in hand, surging fast. He went to the left.

  The driver’s head popped out. Spotted him and his eyes widened. He yelled. His AR-15 came out. A burst of firing from the other side of the vehicle but Zeb didn’t give it any thought. Chloe can take care of herself. He hurled himself beneath the line of fire, grabbed the hot barrel and yanked hard. The driver’s teeth gritted, he let go of the weapon suddenly and for a moment Zeb was flailing and then he grabbed the door and pulled himself up and forward towards the window, hanging on as the bratva man swerved the vehicle to the right, to the left, in an attempt to shake him and then another burst of fire and that distracted the driver who looked away for a fraction and that gave Zeb the opening.

  He reached inside and clobbered the man with his fist and kept punching until he groaned and slumped and Zeb was aware of Chloe grappling with the second gunman at the other door but he couldn’t pay attention because he had yanked the door open was climbing in, shoving the fallen driver away and then he was inside, the wheel in his hand, straightening the vehicle which was careening wildly and just as he looked to his right, a shot.

  The second gunman fell forward and then sideways. Chloe, who had fired, climbed in. Disheveled, hair astray, face smudged, panting, but managing a wink.

  ‘You got a plan?’ she asked.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  ‘Igor?’ the radio squawked, a concerned voice. ‘What’s happening? We heard shots.’

  Zeb drove with one hand, following the fence around the farm. His free hand jammed his Glock in the driver’s side who had revived when they had taken control of the vehicle. His attempts at fighting back had ended when he saw the dead bratva man on the seat.

  ‘Answer him,’ Zeb whispered. ‘Be creative.’

  The Russian licked his lips, turned to look at Chloe and shrank when he saw her produce a wicked-looking knife.

  ‘Everything’s under control, Andrei. Two men were flying the balloon
s remotely. They were hiding in the canal. They lost control and that’s why those crashed on our roof.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘Dead,’ he winced when the gun dug painfully in his ribs. ‘Petrov and I shot them. Those are the shots you heard.’

  ‘Who were they?’ Andrei asked irritatedly. ‘Did you check that they weren’t police? There’s something strange with these balloons. They have wires in them. They have blocked out all signals. I had to come out several hundred feet from the house to call.’

  ‘Geologists. Trial balloons. New technology,’ Zeb lipped.

  ‘Geologists. Trial balloons. New technology,’ Igor repeated, faithfully.

  ‘Alright. Check the rest of the perimeter and head back.’

  Zeb snatched the radio from the mafia man’s hands and smashed it against the truck’s side.

  ‘Any movement?’

  ‘A man came out the front. Saw your truck, watched it for a few moments and then went inside.’ Beth replied.

  ‘There’s a gunman at the back,’ Broker said, ‘holding a radio in his hand. He checked out the rear with binos. Didn’t spot us.’

  ‘I have thermals inside the house.’ Meghan, who after crashing her balloon, was flying the drone. ‘Two men, one at the front door, one at the back. Five bodies in that computer room.’

  The drone’s cameras and sensors was unaffected by the Faraday Cage they had created. It watched, heard and transmitted to the twins’ screens.

  ‘Any traffic on the road?’ Zeb asked. Someone in Chernihiv could have seen the balloons. The six men who left, could return.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘This dude’s returning to the house.’ Broker said. ‘Shall I take him out?’

  ‘Standby. We’ll do this the polite way. Attack when you hear shooting.’

  ‘You’re Americans?’ Igor blurted in Russian; his eyes wide.

  Zeb didn’t reply. He turned the truck towards the house, ran through the moves in his head as they approached.

  ‘How many guards inside?’ Chloe jabbed her knife at the Russian.

  ‘Three.’

  ‘The programmers –’

  ‘They don’t leave their room. They are not violent.’

  Zeb traded a glance with Chloe. Igor’s suddenly helpful. I bet he’s figuring out a way to warn his crew. She nodded imperceptibly, evidently having the same thought.

  Igor tensed beside them as they neared the house. Bumped over the uneven field and then the ride smoothed as they hit the driveway.

  ‘Don’t,’ Zeb warned when he saw the Russian bunch his fists from the corner of his eyes. ‘You’ll live longer.’

  Igor subsided.

  ‘Take the wheel,’ he ordered and climbed behind the seat along with Chloe. ‘One false move and you know what’ll happen.’

  ‘Da,’ the bratva man swallowed.

  The Russian drove, stopped in front of the house. He climbed out and moved jerkily to the door.

  It swung open before he could knock.

  ‘You took your time,’ the man who opened it, grumped.

  Two things happened.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  ‘ANDREI!’ Igor yelled out a warning and shoved the man back inside.

  Zeb and Chloe exploded from the vehicle and raced towards the open door.

  Andrei reacted instantly.

  He shouted, alerting his gunmen. Leaped back inside the house. His AR-15 came up. Igor reached behind the door and turned around, snarling, gripping an assault rifle.

  Too close to them. Zeb dived, crashing his shoulder against Igor, bringing him down on the floor. Smashed the butt of his rifle against his forehead.

  ‘WATCH OUT!’ Chloe screamed.

  He rolled away desperately. Just in time as Andrei shot into the floor where he had been. Concrete splinters flew in the air.

  Another short burst, a different weapon. Chloe, who unloaded her rounds into Andrei. Zeb got to his feet. Looked down at Igor, who was unconscious. Kicked his AR-15 away. Took in the house swiftly.

  Entrance lobby, where they were standing. A hallway. He signaled to Chloe who fell behind him. Kicked the door open and dropped to a crouch. Living room. Couches. TV. Empty.

  ‘Approaching from the rear,’ Bear, laconic in their headsets.

  The house was silent. Unnaturally. It was dark, the heavy balloons blanketing light from the top.

  There should be one more gunman. Surely, those engineers would have heard the shooting.

  Another door at the end of the living room. Open. He snapped a glance and drew back. Entered it cautiously. A second living room. Bare.

  Moved to the next door. A passage. Short careful steps. HK in front, every sense alert, Chloe behind to provide cover.

  Another door. Large. Wooden. He shoved it open and ducked back.

  ‘No need for that,’ Bwana’s voice was smoky. And there he was, along with Bear, Broker and Roger, tall, confident, ready for explosive violence. In the dining room, which opened to the back from where the rest of his team had approached.

  It was an open plan room. Kitchen on one wall. Openings on either side, leading to passages to the legs of the L.

  Roger held a finger up. Zeb nodded. ‘One more,’ he whispered.

  ‘Can’t see him,’ Beth, frustrated, in their earpieces. ‘Signal’s poor. The tech room is to your right. Two doors down-’

  Zeb looked down the passage. Movement.

  He threw himself against his friends. Body-slammed them and brought them down.

  Bullets whined through the air and embedded in a wall. The attacker, pale-faced, skinny, fumbled with his magazine. Zeb brought his HK up. Sighted. His finger curled around the trigger. He paused.

  The shooter didn’t look like a bratva man. Is he…?

  ‘DROP IT!’ he shouted in Russian.

  The gunman hesitated. Looked nervously in his direction, at Bwana and Bear who now got to their feet, looking ominous.

  ‘PUT YOUR GUN DOWN,’ Chloe roared.

  The shooter decided on attacking. His barrel swung up. Rounds smashed into the wall and floor as he fired nervously.

  ‘Don’t kill,’ Zeb said, almost to himself and feathered his trigger. The gunman staggered back with a cry, his weapon falling, holding his shoulder.

  Zeb lunged forward, Chloe close behind, as the man tried to duck inside a room. Three long strides to reach him, twist his arm around in a lock, a scream rising from the man. A fast take-in of the room through the open door.

  Four men. Scared faces. Computers.

  Running footsteps. His team.

  No, who was that, behind them?

  ‘DOWN!’

  He didn’t know how his HK came up or when, but there it was, firing as if it was an extension of his arm, his body jerking as something slammed into his chest, but Zeb kept triggering, emptying a magazine into the last shooter who had come up unnoticed from the rear.

  Silence except for the clicking and clacking as he fast-changed his magazine. Gunsmoke in the air. Someone moaned. A man whimpered. Roger got up from his floor sprawl, checked out the shooter cautiously.

  ‘Out,’ he said and then his face narrowed. ‘You’re hit?’

  Zeb brought his palm to his left shoulder. It came away wet, red. A round had grazed it. ‘Nothing serious,’ he said. Didn’t a round hit me? He looked down and saw a blade on the floor and worked out what had happened. The last shooter had tried a knife throw. He probably wanted to maximize his stealth approach before opening up with his rifle. Wrong tactics. He should have come in gun blazing.

  Running footsteps. They turned, relaxed when Beth and Meghan approached.

  ‘Okay?’ the younger sister asked, her eyes flicking to his shoulder.

  ‘Yeah, a scratch.’

  She shouldered past him, into the room where Broker covered the programmers with his HK.

  ‘Let’s ask some questions.’

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Zeb, Bwana, Bear and Roger broke away. They s
plit up into two teams and checked out the rest of the house.

  Mattresses on the floors of some rooms. Dirty bathrooms. Stacks of guns and ammos. Radios and cell phones, batteries. Newspapers, beer cans and bottles strewn on the floor. No gunmen.

  Zeb went to the front door and knelt over Andrei. He had seemed familiar, and now he knew why. Grigor showed us his photograph. And Igor, his picture too.

  He bound the driver and headed back to the dining room.

  ‘Clear,’ Roger said when all of them met at the back. He went to the kitchen counter, selected an apple from a fruit basket and bit into it.

  ‘What?’ he said in an injured tone when he felt their glares, ‘I’m still growing. I need all the nutrition I can find.’

  Zeb led them back to the computer room and stopped when he saw Meghan’s pale face.

  ‘It’s worse than we thought. Much worse.’

  * * *

  The injured man, who had fired on them, was one of the programmers who had some knowledge of weapons. He sat in his chair, clutching his shoulder, sobbing quietly. The remaining four, in the center, in their chairs. Sweat and fear in the air.

  Zeb took in the room. Screens on desks. Server racks against a wall, lights blinking on them. Cables on the floor. Opaque glass windows on the wall to the hallway. The engineers, pale-faced, scared, looking at him.

  ‘Sebastian,’ the older sister pointed to one of the men. ‘Team lead. Vlad, Eldar, Cyril and that’s,’ she pointed to the shot man, ‘Alexei.’

  ‘We got only their names before you came in, but look at this,’ Beth turned to the array of screens.

  Zeb felt cold, empty when he saw the faces and names of all the killers on a dashboard. They were organized under three headings. Europe. Asia. America. Numbers.

  They’re recording the killings as wins, he thought bleakly. A contest between the three regions.