“We’ve got company.”
Rae’s voice sounded out through the phone on the bench beside me, causing Skye to visibly flinch. In an instant she was on her feet, recoiling back from it as if it was a snake that might strike at any moment.
“Are you recording this?!”
I ignored the question as I took my feet, grabbing up the knife and the phone in either hand, my head swiveling from side to side.
“Who? Where?”
“One SUV,” Rae said, “black, northeast entrance. Retreating to the parking lot now.”
One black SUV, just like the people that had come to visit me at the hotel the night before.
Too much to be a coincidence.
“Moving now,” I said, stepping up onto the bench in front of me and starting at a diagonal back in the way I’d arrived. Glancing to Skye, I said, “Come on.”
I’d gone an additional three steps before stopping to look back, realizing she was still standing rigid in place, her arms held straight down by her sides.
“Hey, we gotta go. Now.”
There was no movement from her as she stood and stared back at me, a look of mixed fear and uncertainty on her face.
“Who was that? Why was she listening in?”
No part of me wanted to be having this conversation. The men that were coming for us no doubt had extreme training and capabilities, coupled with what was probably a wanton lack of concern for our health and well-being.
Already Rae was on the move. We needed to be joining her immediately.
“Are we seriously having this discussion right now?” I asked, letting annoyance creep into my voice. Seeing her continue to stand in place, I added, “You called us, remember?”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I called you.”
“And she’s with me,” I said, raising a hand and motioning back toward myself. “I’ll be glad to introduce you later, but right now we need to haul ass unless you want to end up like your friends.”
I knew the crack was foul even as I said it, but that didn’t make it any less true. She needed something with some edge to snap her out of whatever she was feeling and get us moving.
It seemed to work.
Like an automaton powering to life, Skye shook her head, a spasm of electricity passing through her body, no doubt spurred on by the images of what she’d seen in the van that morning. In quick order she moved back to the aisle and began descending, taking the steps one at a time.
Turning my own attention forward, I jumped from bench to bench, making it to the bottom just before her and taking off at a jog for the corner. Each of our footfalls echoed against the thin aluminum, the entire assemblage seeming to creak beneath our weight as we went.
Ten seconds later we both hit the concrete walkway leading from the bleachers to the parking lot, raising our pace to a sprint. From the opposite corner I could see Rae doing the same, her blonde ponytail flopping behind her as she went. With her elbows bent at ninety degrees, I could see the .45s in either hand flashing past, their barrels pointed toward the sky.
She moved in a direct line for our vehicles, sprinting hard, before stopping halfway across the lot. Turning her shoulders toward us, she began to walk sideways, raising the guns.
Opening fire in the middle of the afternoon would not be optimal, and we both knew it. Neither of the guns had silencers on them, would make distinct sounds that could be heard for a long way in every direction.
Still, I trusted her instincts implicitly, they having kept me alive on more than one occasion.
If shooting at them was the only way we made it out, that was a decision I was more than comfortable letting Rae make.
“You, with me!” I yelled over a shoulder, glancing back to see Skye laboring behind me.
My lungs fought for air as I raised my speed one more time, tearing across the open expanse of asphalt, yellow lines passing by underfoot. Behind me I could hear Skye coughing loudly, her footfalls slapping hard against the ground.
For a moment I considered yelling back some words of encouragement, inciting her to move faster, to cover the last bit of ground, before thinking better of it.
I needed my own wind. Like a lifeguard that was instructed to put the rescue victim between themselves and a pylon when caught in a heavy swell, I could be of absolutely no use to anybody if I was in a suboptimal state by the time I reached the truck.
Skye knew how dire the situation was. She didn’t need me going Tony Robbins on her to suddenly incite some level of urgency.
With my course set for the driver’s side of my truck, I shifted my attention to the far end of the parking lot. A flash of light crawled across the front windshield of the SUV Rae had spotted as it entered from the far end.
Moving at a steady pace, it set a diagonal course, coming in our direction without facing us head-on. Aiming for the back of the lot, it accelerated slightly before slowing fast, the driver’s corner of the rig facing toward us.
Having considered an exit like this might be necessary, I’d left the cab of the truck unlocked. Swinging around the front grille, I jerked the door open and snatched the keys from above the visor.
With the driver’s door open I stood for a moment, staring at the SUV as it idled to a stop, sitting in plain sight, making no effort to come closer.
“It’s boxing us in,” I whispered, dawning creeping over me as I saw the position and glanced to either end of the lot. Raising my voice, I yelled the same words over again, this time loud enough for Rae to hear me as she covered the last few feet before reaching her own ride.
The blonde ponytail snaking down her back moved several inches up her spine as her chin lowered itself down, a single heavy nod her only response.
On cue, orange blossoms opened from the tips of both guns in her hand, the sharp sound biting through the cool air, the smell of cordite and smoke soon following it.
At the sound of gunfire, the first shots I had heard in ages, a low hum settled into my ears. My breathing leveled out and my heart rate reached a steady, if not slightly increased, pace.
In an automated response programed years before, adrenaline fed into my bloodstream, my senses all growing heightened in a matter of seconds.
The first shot hit the pavement just shy of the SUV, skipping up into the undercarriage, a single spark indicating contact had been made. The second slammed into the well above the driver’s tire, the clear sound of metal-on-metal contact ringing out.
The third and fourth both hit true, one each finding either side of the wheel, air escaping the rubber membrane audible in the wake of the gunshots.
On the opposite side of my truck the passenger door wrenched open, Skye spilling in, pulling my attention her way. Shoving papers and wrappers aside, she slammed the door shut and threw her body across the seat, raising both hands and smashing them down over her ears.
“Why the hell is she shooting?!”
I ignored the question, watching the SUV, waiting as Rae reached the driver’s side of her car and ducked inside. A moment later the engine came to life, followed by a squeal of tires and a puff of smoke, the smell of burnt rubber soon finding its way to me.
As she moved, there was no visible response of any kind from the SUV, Rae tearing across the parking lot and heading toward the same entrance they had used just a moment before.
Jumping into the truck, I smashed the door shut and dropped the gear shift into drive, peeling out in the same direction Rae had, an even heavier cloud of white smoke in our wake.
Sweat streamed down my face as we both panted for air, the enormous block engine of the truck bucking beneath us, propelling us forward. Leaning hard on the gas, we exited the sports complex and wound through a pair of side streets before hitting the freeway and really opening things up, reaching eighty mph in an under a minute, leaving St. Louis behind us.
Throughout our departure Skye kept herself curled into a ball on the seat, a series of indiscernible sounds rolling out of her.
Knowing it was
probably her first brush with such things, I opted against saying anything, content to let her work things out herself.
My bigger concern at the moment was how the hell everybody seemed to be having such an easy time finding us.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Sir, we’re taking fire.”
Parked a half mile away from the Moose Buckalew Sports Complex, Dawson heard the shots even before the voice of Myles Henry came in over the line. In quick succession, he counted four before the sound fell away.
“How bad?” Dawson asked.
“Small arms,” Henry replied. “Single shooter, looks to be carrying a pair of large caliber handguns.”
“Wynn?”
“No, the girl,” Henry replied.
Just as Dawson had figured, Sommers was with him, armed and proficient in using them.
“We lost the front tire,” Henry reported a moment later. “Looks like we’re grounded for the time being, sir.”
Given what little they’d had to work with, the plan had been pretty simple. Never before had any member of the team been to the sports complex, relying on nothing more than a map from the general webpage as a means of recon.
According to it, there were two entrances to the parking lot facing the stadium, one on either end. There would be no way of knowing whether or not Wynn and Sommers would use the lot, but it bore to reason they would, wanting to have their modes of escape as close as possible.
His first inclination was to simply have one SUV take either entrance, block it off and see what happened. After a moment’s consideration the idea was scrapped, based on the assumption that right now Wynn was on the run, would not hesitate to lash out if he felt it necessary for survival.
Like a cornered animal, they had to remember that a different set of rules were in play for their current opponent. They couldn’t approach things logically, they had to also consider the frame of reference of their opponent.
After that, the idea was to send in the second SUV first. To let themselves be seen, to make a slow looping movement that appeared to funnel them in the opposite direction.
There would be future opportunities for direct confrontation. Right now, Dawson wanted to see exactly who he was up against, determine how they responded to certain situations.
From there he would be able to better formulate a plan for things moving forward.
“No sweat,” Dawson replied. “You guys good?”
“All clear.”
The SUVs they were parked in were completely bulletproof against small arms fire, the tires being the only things that were even remotely penetrable. As long as his men stayed inside, they had no need to be concerned, able to sit and watch things play out as if in the front row of a movie theater.
“Sit tight,” Dawson said. “We’ll come give a hand when the smoke clears.”
“Roger that.”
Dawson lowered the walky-talky and watched in silence as a silver SUV tore out of the parking lot. With only a single person behind the wheel and Texas plates on the back, he knew it to be Rae Sommers, the partner of Wynn.
Through the lenses of his binoculars all he had been able to definitely make out were tanned bare arms and a flash of blonde hair, but that was more than enough to tell him what he needed to know.
Keeping the binoculars in place, Dawson sat and waited for what he knew was likely coming next. One minute later he was proven correct, Laredo Wynn leaving in an even bigger rush, the sound of squealing tires finding its way to them.
Driving the same truck he’d been in since the Come On Inn, Dawson watched as Wynn lurched away from the sports complex, the weight of the body swinging onto the outer tires for a moment before leveling out, the backend fishtailing just slightly from the exertion.
The windows of the cab were tinted a shade too dark to make out anything, but again there was little doubt about who was inside.
There was no physiological response from Dawson as he sat and watched them both go, no increase in heart rate or breathing pattern.
Sending the other SUV ahead wasn’t so much a decoy, because it wasn’t meant to draw them into a trap. It was rather a chance to see how they would respond, gauge how attuned they were to anybody that might be nearby.
Just as he expected, it had been spotted within seconds and acted upon.
“Plan?” Roush asked.
“Let them go,” Dawson said, the binoculars still raised to his face, the tail end of the truck just disappearing from sight. “We interrupted their meeting, that’s all we can do out here right now anyway.”
“Roger that,” Roush said, letting out an exhalation of air, the natural reaction to the body coming down from a moment of adrenaline.
“Any idea who the girl is?” Henry asked, his voice emanating up from the device still balanced across Dawson’s thigh.
With Wynn and Sommers both gone from view, Dawson let the question hang a moment as he lowered the binoculars and stowed them back in the middle console, before taking up the handheld device again.
“Name’s Rae Sommers,” he said. “Samson’s crew flushed her out from Texas. She met up with Wynn in Kansas last night.”
All of the information he had already passed along to the team after meeting with Celek, a bit of surprise showing in his voice as he rattled it off again.
“No, not her,” Henry replied. “I mean the girl, the small Asian chick riding shotgun with Wynn.”
This time, Dawson felt a jab of something roil up within him. Starting low in his stomach, it passed through his chest, prickly bits of palpitations working through each of his organs.
“Say again? The truck windows were too dark to make anything out.”
“Right,” Henry replied. “We just caught a glimpse of them as they were piling in, somewhat hidden behind Sommer’s SUV. What we could see, Wynn was behind the wheel of the truck, a small girl running to catch up before jumping into the passenger seat.”
Glancing over to Roush, Dawson felt his brows come together slightly. Nothing in the file had mentioned any friends in the area, certainly not a small Asian female.
“Can you ID?”
“Negative,” Henry replied. “Too far away, moving too fast.”
“Shit,” Dawson replied, his gaze still locked on Roush. “I guess now we know who they were there to meet.”
“Yeah, we just don’t know who she is,” Roush replied, voicing the next thought on Dawson’s mind.
Feeling his brow draw together even tighter, Dawson nodded. Since the encounter in Iowa, Wynn had spent the last twelve hours collecting assets. He’d driven through the night to meet up with Sommers, who no doubt showed up heavily armed.
Now he was having secret meetings outside of St. Louis, choosing a time and place where he knew whoever was following him wouldn’t be able to act on anything.
If not for the fact that he was being paid to track and eliminate the man, Dawson reasoned he might have something starting to border on respect building for Wynn.
Might.
Given the situation, what everything seemed to indicate was that at the very least Wynn was gearing up for something. What that might be, Dawson could only speculate at, though it was pretty obvious Wynn was cutting a path directly back toward Chicago.
“We’ve got something else too, Boss,” Henry said over the line, Dawson and Roush both glancing down at the handheld still balanced between them.
“Go ahead,” Dawson replied.
“There’s a rusted Mazda sitting here between where Wynn and Sommers were parked. We couldn’t see if before, with them both sandwiching it in.
“Total pile with Illinois plates.”
For a moment, Dawson remained silent, considering the car, where it was parked, and what it could present. The odds were it was probably stripped clean, but at the very least, it could tell them who Wynn had come so far to meet with.
They wouldn’t get so lucky as to find an old credit card receipt lying around, but license plates, registrations, even a
VIN number, could all give them something useful.
“We’ll be there in one.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Springfield,” I said into the phone, a single word delivered into the butt end of the device held a few inches from my face.
An instant later Rae responded, “Roger.”
“Airport or mall. Your call.”
“Roger.”
The conversation over, I cleared the line, disconnecting the call. First chance we had we would pick up some burn phones, something prepaid that nobody knew about or could trace us to.
Until then, we would keep communication to a minimum, intent not to help anybody that might be listening in.
“You two speak your own language, you know that?” Skye said from the passenger seat, her arms folded across her chest as she sat and stared out through the front windshield.
I did know that, didn’t feel the need to respond in any way.
It had taken a full ten miles for Skye to scrape herself up off the seat beside me and return to an upright position. When she did, whatever progress had been made over the course of our conversation at the stadium was gone, she again having reverted back to the scared little girl.
With wet eyes and puffy cheeks, she made no attempt to straighten the tangle of stray hairs resting on either side of her head.
Every so often she would sniffle deeply, the sound of phlegm being pulled upward audible, before falling silent again.
After that it had been another half hour before she’d said a word, her voice settling back into the same even monotone she’d used when we first met.
“Who is she?” she asked after a few moments, finally figuring out I wasn’t going to reply to her first question.
Of everybody I’d ever met in my life, nobody was more fiercely protective about herself or her private life than Rae. If she were here I wouldn’t say a word, allowing her to answer however she saw fit.
Since she wasn’t, and at the moment I was asking Skye to exercise some level of trust and trying to pull her back out of her shell, I had no choice but to share.
The Subway ; The Debt ; Catastrophic Page 47
