by Brent Towns
The bullets stitched a diagonal pattern across the fighter’s tactical vest. The hits stopped at his throat when the magazine emptied. He was left unbalanced, his arms wind-milling wildly.
Without any hesitation, Kane dropped the SA 80 and drew the H&K. It came up to firing position, and he squeezed twice. The slugs ruined the shooter’s face.
“Chip, are you OK?”
“Fucker got me again,” Chip groaned. “Save the targets.”
With the H&K still raised, Kane took the steps two at a time. When he reached the landing, he could see along the hall to the master bedroom. The door was open. Halfway along was the body of the man. His torso was riddled with bullet holes, his pajama shirt torn and blood-stained. A large pool had also formed on the carpet beneath the body.
Another high-pitched scream echoed along the hall, and further gunfire erupted. This time it was not suppressed: a handgun.
“Shit,” Kane snarled and raced along the hall.
He was almost to the doorway when the shooter appeared. Surprise registered on the killer’s face. Kane drove the muzzle of the gun forward so that it smashed into his mouth. As it made contact, he squeezed the trigger.
The intruder’s head snapped back, and blood sprayed from the rear of it in a fine mist. Kane shoved his way past, the killer’s body falling backward through the doorway.
Kane stepped over the fallen man’s boots and hurried across to the bed where the woman lay in her bloodstained pink pajamas. She’d been shot twice in the chest.
He checked for a pulse but found none. He cursed under his breath.
Both of their ‘protectees’ were dead. Six attackers were down, but so was Chip. And he had no damned idea if there were any more of the bastards still out there in the dark.
Back downstairs, Kane found Chip still behind the shot-up sofa. There were no more shooters, so he hurried to the fallen man’s side. “How you doing, buddy?”
“Hurts like a bitch. How’s things upstairs?”
Kane gave him a look that told the wounded man all he needed to know.
“Shit!” he swore in a bitterness-laced voice.
Kane patted him on the shoulder. “I have to do a sweep, Chip. We need to know if there are any more of them and see if Bennett is OK.”
Chip nodded. “Go. I’ll be fine. I’ve been hurt worse.”
Kane took his handgun, checked it, and stuffed it back in his hand. “I won’t be long.”
“Watch your ass.”
First up, Kane checked the three downed intruders in the living room. All were dead. Then he went through to the shattered kitchen and checked the two there. Same result. He did, however, find a map on one of them.
Kane moved to the gun safe and worked quickly. He selected one of the M4 Colts and retrieved a tactical vest from the bottom of the safe. Finding three extra box magazines for the carbine, he checked that they were fully loaded with 30 rounds each and stuffed them in the vest’s larger pouches.
His H&K was placed in a holster on his left side, and three full clips of .45 caliber ammunition were put in the pouches above it.
He took up the pair of NVGs discarded by the second intruder and walked out into the night.
Once outside, it took him twenty minutes of careful searching to secure the area and locate Bennett’s body, shot twice in the chest, next to the dog.
Something inside Kane troubled him. The phone call and the map. He reached into his pocket for the cell and tried Gilbert again.
It was the same as before. “I’m sorry, but the number you have dialed has been disconnected.”
A sense of unease came over Kane and then his anger built. “You bastard.”
By the time he reached Chip, his wounded friend had turned a pasty grey color and was beginning to shake. Chip looked up at Kane and gave him a wan smile. “Bastard must’ve got me worse than I thought, Reaper.”
“Hang in there, Chip, I’ll call for a meat wagon.”
Chip shook his head. “I don’t think it’ll make it in time, Reaper. I can feel the blood running out my back.”
Kane leaned forward. “This might hurt.”
He rolled Chip to get a good look at his back. His friend was right. There was a large hole from which blood ran freely. With medical help at least thirty minutes away, Chip was certain to bleed out before it arrived.
“I’ll get the kit and see if I can stop the bleeding. If we can get that hole plugged, you’ll be fine.”
“Don’t waste your time, amigo,” Chip said softly. “Listen. You know as well as I do that those bastards had to have someone tell them where we were, don’t you?”
Kane nodded. “I tried to ring Mike, and I kept getting told his number was disconnected.”
“You figure it was him?” Chip asked and then coughed a deep, wet cough.
“It looks that way. These guys were professionals, Chip. Ex-operators like us. Going by the hardware they were using, I’d say they were Brits. Fly in, do the job, and fly out the same night. I found a map on one of them. Showed the layout of the whole place.”
“Reaper?” Chip’s voice was weaker.
“Yeah?”
“Take care.”
Chip slipped silently away. His breathing grew shallow and then stopped altogether.
“I’ll take care, buddy.”
Kane called 911 on Chip’s cell and waited for the operator to answer. He then threw it on the floor beside his friend. He figured he had somewhere between twenty and thirty minutes before someone showed. In that time, he aimed to be a long way away from there.
He walked around the back of the house to where the Chevy Tahoe was and put the M4 in the rear of the vehicle then climbed in. He dropped the visor and found the spare keys. He tried the ignition, and the SUV started first try. He turned on the headlights, slipped it into drive, and, with a minimum amount of wheelspin, took off.
Kane’s face was illuminated by the dash lights, and his determined expression was visible.
He wanted answers and knew where to get them. It would take two hours to get to Gilbert’s home just outside of Charleston. Someone would pay.
Chapter 2
Charleston
A trembling hand poured another large whiskey into the tumbler. The ice was long gone. Now, it was just a matter of refill after refill. Some of it splashed onto the expensive, polished-hardwood desk. Mike Gilbert cursed his clumsiness.
The cell on the desk rang and caused the big, thin-haired man to jump. He reached out with a ham-sized fist and picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Is it done?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I haven’t heard from them.”
“Well fucking call, them. How hard can it be?”
“I tried. They won’t pick up.”
The line went eerily silent.
Then: “Do you like life, Mr. Gilbert?”
“I like it just fine.”
“Well, find out what the fuck has happened! This is your mess. You hired them. You said it was simple.”
“You can’t blame me.”
“I already am. And if this has all turned to shit, I’ll kill you, your family, even your fucking dog. Do you understand me?”
“I understand.”
The line went dead.
“I don’t have a dog.”
Two minutes after the phone call ended, another cell rang.
“Hello?”
“Something’s gone wrong. Do it now.”
The call disconnected.
After the connection was broken, Gilbert sat in silence for a minute or so before saying in a casual voice, “You killed them, didn’t you?”
There was movement as Kane filled the doorway to the lavishly furnished study. He stepped inside, the H&K, now complete with a silencer, in his right hand. His voice held an icy edge to it when he said, “Every last one of them. Who were they? Brits?”
Gilbert nodded and took
a sip from the glass in front of him. He placed it back on the desk and said, “Yes. I thought so when I never heard. I guess I underestimated you all.”
“Who was your friend on the phone?”
“Colin O’Brien.”
Kane nodded. “He’s the feller we were guarding them against? The Irish Mob Boss?”
Gilbert nodded.
Kane’s face grew grim. “Why, Mike?”
“They had something over him.”
“Not them, Mike. You betrayed us. Why?”
Gilbert stared at the H&K in Kane’s hand. He sighed. “Money. The company is all but broke. Damn it, Reaper! No one from this company was meant to get hurt.”
Kane’s voice became like granite. “Why don’t you tell Chip or Bennett? That’s right; you can’t. They’re fucking dead!”
Gilbert flinched. He bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Reaper.”
“How much did he pay you?”
“What?”
“O’Brien. How much?”
“Two million.”
Silence.
Gilbert looked at Kane. “They know about your sister, Reaper. Hell, they know everything about all of us.”
Kane’s face screwed up into a mask of rage. “You son of a bitch. You gave them our files, didn’t you?”
“I had no choice. It was either do that or …”
“Where can I find him?” Kane snapped.
“What?”
“Come on, Mike, where can I find the bastard?”
“You can’t just go after him. He’s too well protected. You wouldn’t get within twelve feet of him.”
Kane raised the H&K and shot Gilbert in the right shoulder.
Gilbert lurched in his seat and cried out, “What the fuck, Reaper? You shot me!”
“Where, Mike? The next one goes between your eyes.”
“He’ll kill me if I tell you.”
“I’ll kill you if you don’t,” Kane promised.
A thin bead of sweat formed on Gilbert’s brow as the pain from his wound increased and his fear intensified.
“He’s got a restaurant on Fifth Avenue. It’s where he makes all his deals. Likes to take his clients up to the rooftop to impress them.”
“It’s a high-rise?”
“Yes. It’s vacant except for the top floor. That’s converted to the restaurant. You’re crazy if you think you can get to him.”
“You’ve left me no choice.”
The crunch of tires on gravel in the driveway was audible from the study. Kane noticed the look of alarm on Gilbert’s pain-filled face.
“You expecting someone?”
Gilbert shook his head. Then realization hit home. “The bastard didn’t waste any time.”
“You mean whoever it is, is here for you?”
“The son of a bitch is Irish. He’s mean, he’s bad-tempered, and he don’t much like mistakes. He must’ve had someone close at hand just in case.”
Kane moved to a position beside the window and peeled back the curtain a crack to look out. A large black SUV was parked in the drive, and two men were climbing out. One was a huge man with broad shoulders while the other was slim and tall.
“There’s two of them,” Kane said.
“Is one of them a big feller?”
“Yeah.”
Despite everything, Gilbert chuckled. “That’s Bannon. He’s O’Brien’s enforcer. I guess he means business.”
“So do I,” Kane grated.
“Get out of here, Reaper,” Gilbert ordered him. “They’re here for me. After all I’ve done, I guess I deserve it. Go make your sister safe.”
“Thanks to you, she won’t be safe until O’Brien’s dead.”
“Then go do it.”
Kane heard the doorbell ring.
“Last chance, Reaper.”
Kane cursed. “I came here to kill you, Mick.”
“I know –’
The H&K came up and coughed twice. Twin eruptions spurted red on Gilbert’s chest as he jerked in his seat from the impact. A third shot smashed into his head.
The doorbell rang a second time as Kane slipped silently from the house.
“Hello?”
“He’s dead.”
“Good.”
“We didn’t do it. Someone beat us here.”
Silence.
“What do you want us to do?”
“Kill the girl.”
“She can’t hurt us.”
“Kill her anyway.”
2 days later
“Hello?”
“She’s gone.”
Silence.
“What now?”
“Her brother must still be alive. My contact says the count came up one body short.”
“Do you think he killed Gilbert?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want us to do?”
“Come back to New York. I’ll see if he can be found.”
The line went dead.
Maine
It looked like an early fifties hunting lodge at first glance. Surrounded by tall pines, it sat in a secluded cove on the rocky fringes of Moosehead Lake.
Really, it was a home for the sick and terminally ill.
Kane watched his sister in silence. The slow steady rise and fall of her chest, the peaceful look on her face. In addition, the steady beep of the heart monitor as it ticked along registered all sixty plus beats per minute. It was always the same, never changing.
There was movement beside him, and an older man in his fifties said, “She looks so peaceful, John.”
“I just wish she’d wake up, Doc.”
“How long’s it been now?”
“Five years.”
Melanie Kane was twenty-eight. She’d been a bubbly twenty-three-year-old with her whole life ahead of her when a car wreck had killed her parents and left her in a coma.
Kane had been on deployment when he’d been notified. His immediate reaction had been one of stunned silence. Half of his family, gone in the blink of an eye.
The details at first were sketchy. However, when he arrived stateside, he found out that his father had suffered a heart attack while driving and swerved in front of an oncoming truck.
His parents had died instantly while his sister had suffered brain trauma and never woken up.
The doctors were at a loss why. The results of all the scans that she’d undergone over the years showed no reason for her not to wake up.
Ever since, she’d been institutionalized.
“Are you sure this is OK, Doc? It’s short notice, and these guys could find her.”
David ‘Doc’ Harper patted him on the shoulder. “She’ll be fine, John. She’s registered under a different name. No one but me knows who she really is. Besides, I owe you. I’m glad you called.”
Harper was referring to a time, four years before when he was a doctor with the 33rd Medical Battalion posted in the Congo on a U.N. humanitarian mission. Kane had been there too, though not officially. He and his team were running covert operations against the rebels, who at the time, were killing civilians hand over fist. A call went out about a large contingent of them closing in on a party of U.N. medical staff in a small village. Kane’s team was the only help within thirty miles, and they’d been directed there.
By nightfall on the day of their arrival, they were surrounded.
Under the cover of darkness, the recon marines had slipped out and carved a broad path through the besiegers in almost total silence. When the sun rose the next morning, the rebels had hightailed it and left their dead behind.
“I’ll check in weekly, Doc. Money’s not an issue now that it’s fixed to be paid automatically.”
“Hell, John, even if you had no money, I’d take care of her. It’s the least I can do. I’ve just got something else to do, and I’ll be right back.”
Harper left the room, and Kane moved over to stand beside his sister’s bed. He picked up her right hand and held it in his own.
“I’m sorry I won�
��t be able to visit so often, Mel. But there’s something I need to do to keep you safe. Then I’ll have to disappear for a while. Don’t worry none, though. Doc Harper will take good care of you.”
Kane leaned forward and kissed her forehead. He straightened up and ran a hand through her hair. “You keep fighting, Mel. I love you.”
Ten minutes after he’d left, Doc Harper returned to the room to find Melanie Kane on her own.
New York, 1 week later
Kane kept surveillance on the place for four nights before deciding to make his move. O’Brien had five men with him at any one time. When he arrived at the restaurant, two of his thugs stayed on the door. The remaining three accompanied him to the top floor, one of whom was his hired man, Bannon.
This was Kane’s dilemma. The elevator would be a death trap. More than likely they’d have CCTV cameras in it and see his approach. He could always parachute onto the rooftop, which meant that he’d only have to get down from up there. Both were bad ideas.
That left the third, and more likely option. Kane had observed that every night, once O’Brien and his entourage were dropped off, the driver would park under a street lamp thirty meters away from the building. After finishing in the small hours, O’Brien and his escort would make their way down to the car. Not once did he see the car drive to meet them.
On the fifth night, Kane put his plan into action. He’d walked by the building’s entrance earlier, and as he’d passed under the street light, drawn his silenced H&K and shot out the globe while still on the move.
Then he returned at midnight to await the arrival of Colin O’Brien.
O’Brien and his entourage were late. Much later than usual, and when they did arrive, they had an extra man with them. Not that it mattered to Kane much. If he had to take down an extra man to get to the mob boss, then so be it.
Then he noticed it. When they were about to go inside, Bannon and the new guy turned enough to reveal the gun in Bannon’s hand, pressed into the newcomer’s back.
