Recon- the Complete Series

by Rick Partlow

  Was she a bad person? Did she have a father, mother, or children somewhere wondering where she’d gone and what had gone so wrong with her life that she’d had to run away from them?

  Those thoughts fled from me as I moved into action, pushing up from the ground and pouncing on her from behind in one, broad step. My right arm snaked around her throat and my left hand grabbed my right wrist, squeezing hard just before I threw her off her feet backwards. She went down hard and I landed on top of her back, planting a knee there and then twisting backwards with all the weight and strength of my upper body, jerking back on her neck until I heard the sickening crack, felt it through my arm and had to shut off the sickening twisting in my gut.

  The one in front had kept walking, seven or eight meters ahead, until he’d heard the thump of her body hitting the ground beneath me. He’d stopped then, starting to look around, unsure where the sound had originated.

  “Lara?” I heard him start to say, just before Lara’s neck broke and she went limp.

  I wanted to grab her gun, but there wasn’t time. Instead, I let her limp and lolling neck fall from my arm and I charged at him. His eyes finally settled on me, on the totally unexpected threat and the gruesome sight of his comrade lying dead; I couldn’t see them go wide because they were hidden by his night vision glasses, but I saw his jaw go slack and I saw the muzzle of his rifle begin to swing around.

  Seven meters. That’s what I’d been told in Force Recon training: if there was a threat within seven meters of you, human or Tahni, and you didn’t already have your gun pointed at it, safety off, you probably wouldn’t be able to get off an accurate shot before it reached you. We’d gone over that scenario in shoot-houses a few times and I’d gotten to where I could manage a shot even under seven meters, but my reflexes were pretty far above average. This guy wasn’t even average.

  I slammed into him with a full body block, smashing the receiver of his rifle into his face as I took him to the ground. He spluttered, tried to shout, but I had one hand pushing the gun against his face and the other wrapped around his throat. He had one hand trapped beneath the gun and was trying to hit me with the other, trying to grab at my eyes. I freed up my left leg and pistoned my knee up into his groin.

  The sound that escaped past the vice grip of my hand on his throat was a hoarse ululation of agony, and the strength went out of his hand where it was trying to wrap around my face. I ripped the rifle free of his hands and smashed the butt downward into his face. There was a crunch of breaking bone, and the beginnings of a scream before I brought the rifle down a second time, then a third, into his throat, his temple, his skull. Over and over until he wasn’t making any sounds, until he wasn’t struggling, or moving or breathing.

  Then I rolled off of him, wiping the blood out of my face, spitting and coughing at the taste of it in my mouth, trying not to puke at the coppery taste and the smell of the dying. Jesus, would I ever be done with this? Was this really the only thing I was good at?

  I clenched my teeth against the rising bile and the adrenalin-fueled shudders and began stripping the corpses of anything useful, working quickly to avoid anyone else wandering out there and noticing the movement. Their rifles were an old design, a century out of date. I’d never seen one outside a museum but they were childishly simple and easy to fabricate out of local materials and, more importantly, so was their ammo. They fired rocket-assisted rounds like my pistol, but these were totally unguided and you couldn’t control or adjust the warhead, or the range. A small, caseless charge kicked them out at a high enough velocity to kill point-blank targets until the rocket motor could take them up to their maximum speed. The sights were rudimentary, but they could be synced with the night vision glasses the guards had been wearing.

  I slung one over my shoulder and held the other in the crook of my arm as I pulled spare magazines from their tactical vests and stuck them in my thigh pockets. I grabbed the woman’s night vision goggles; the man’s were smashed into fragments. She’d had a knife as well, and that went into my jacket pocket. The man had been wearing a black, brimmed hat; it had come off when I’d hit him and I grabbed it and pulled it onto my head.

  I wanted to keep searching them, but time was ticking down in my internal clock and I knew I had to move. I rolled both of them onto their stomachs to reduce their heat signature and reflective surfaces, then sprinted across the open ground to the barn.

  My shoulder hit it harder than I’d intended and I winced at the solid thump it made. The livestock doors were closed, but there was a side door open, a smaller one for workers, and I could see that it was dark inside. I edged through it, pushing it shut gently behind me, hearing the click as it closed. I waited there for a moment, scanning around with my night vision lens but seeing and hearing no one.

  The floor was bare concrete, the interior walls cement block, and I could see the bales of hay piled from floor to ceiling just this side of the main doors. Somewhere deeper inside, a horse snorted and another whinnied softly in reply. I brought the rifle to my shoulder and stalked slowly and carefully down the center aisle, everything lit an incandescent green through the infrared filter of the cheap night vision glasses.

  I could see the swaying motion of the horses pacing restlessly in their stalls, could see the glowing glint of the eyes of a barn cat where it sat watching on a stall divider, tail swishing fitfully, but of people there was no sign. The elevator to the lab was unguarded, and why wouldn’t it be? Those doors would take kilos of hyper-explosives to breach, and they’d only open willingly to Gramps.

  I left them and moved towards the front exit, still trying to gather the threads of the plan hanging loose in my head. I needed to get to the others and get them out, get them armed and take out the laser defense net so Kane could bring the ship in and we could get the hell out of here. I didn’t have anything more detailed than that because I didn’t know anything else. I didn’t know if they were still being held in the same building, didn’t know if they’d be conscious, didn’t even know if they were still alive.

  I should have been panicking. If I’d had any sense at all, I would have been panicking. I was probably going to die, and as I wracked my brain trying to figure out which bad decision had led me to this, I thought at first that it had been when I’d agreed to take Yassa to Gramps to warn him about the weapon. But then I realized that he’d already had the others rounded up by that point, probably before I’d even had a chance to talk to Yassa. Maybe he’d have let me roam free a bit longer or maybe not, but he never intended to leave anything to chance from the minute he’d found out why I was on the planet.

  Which meant the bad decision that had started all this in motion was trusting Gramps with the truth in the first place. There was something liberating in that. If I couldn’t trust Gramps, then I’d have to treat him like an enemy. And if there was anything I knew, it was how to deal with the enemy.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I could see the storage shed from where I crouched in the shadows inside the front entrance to the barn. I was about two meters back from the door, staying out of the harsh glare from the floodlights on the back of the ranch-house maybe fifty meters away. There were two guards in front of the shed, and I recognized them from the truck ride out here: Julio and his partner, decked out in armored tactical vests and carrying rifles. They milled around, appearing and disappearing from view as one or the others would lean against the side of the shed or walk around the side.

  Why only two, I wondered. If they were still holding everyone in the shed, why wouldn’t they have the building surrounded, just in case? Hell, why wouldn’t they have every available gun out waiting for me?

  Because you’ve been gone nearly two full days, I reminded myself. They think you’re either dead or on the run, and they’ve probably searched this whole place from bottom to top four times, if I know Gramps.

  I sat still for a moment and tried to think the way he did. He’d sent people to check for me at the sonic fence, and when the
y hadn’t found me there and hadn’t found me hiding on the grounds in the canyon, he must have assumed I’d gone down the wadi, maybe climbed up the side to hide from their vehicles. They might still be looking there, for all I knew. He had a lot of men here, but he didn’t have an unlimited number, and they had to eat and sleep too.

  Unless he’d had time to call in extra people from town…

  Shut up, I snarled at myself. That line of thought led to paralysis by analysis.

  I had to take a risk.

  I thought about just sniping both guards from here. It would be a tricky shot because they were walking back and forth, screened by the side of the shed about half the time, but if I timed it right, I might be able to get both of them. But these rifles weren’t exactly silent, or low signature, and Gramps probably had security cameras at the back of the house. Maybe no one was watching them right now, but if anyone heard a shot, they’d start checking them. People would come, and I didn’t have enough firepower to take on all of them.

  That left only one thing to do, and it was stupid and ballsy enough that it just might work. I straightened up, pulled the brimmed hat low over my face and walked out the door, carrying my rifle loosely, casually, my gait slow and unconcerned. I was less than ten meters from the shed when they noticed me, and I could see the one I’d punched squinting against the glare of the floodlights as he looked my way. He still had a nasty-looking bruise on the side of his face.

  “Ben?” He asked doubtfully. I didn’t know who Ben was. Maybe he was the guy I’d taken the hat from.

  “Julio,” I grunted quietly. His piggish face relaxed a little as he received confirmation that I was who he’d thought I was, and his brain filled in details he couldn’t make out yet.

  Five meters.

  The thinner guy, the one who wasn’t Julio, turned towards me a bit more and frowned.

  “Hey…” He started to say something, and I had the sense that it wasn’t going to be anything I wanted to hear.

  I was at three meters when I levelled the rifle at them and they both froze, stock-still, confused.

  “What the fuck?” Julio blurted. “Watch where you’re pointing that!”

  “Sling your weapons,” I told them. “I don’t want to have to kill you, but it won’t keep me up nights if I do.”

  Julio gaped at me, only just then realizing who I was.

  “If you shoot us,” the other guy said, not obeying but not pointing the gun at me either, “you’ll have everyone out here looking for you.” He was trying to sound defiant, but the tremor of fear in his voice spoiled the moment.

  “I’d rather not have that happen,” I admitted. “But I’ll take my chances if it does.” I let the corner of my mouth turn up. “I can guarantee neither of you will be around to see whether or not they kill me.” I jerked my head toward the door of the storage building. “Or, you sling your weapons, open up the door and we all go inside. I tie you up, leave you there alive, and unharmed, and I’m somebody else’s problem.” I shrugged. “They’ll probably get me anyway, right? But you two will be safe.”

  I tightened my grip on the rifle and put the slightest pressure on the trigger pad. If one of them made a move, I thought, maybe I could shove the muzzle up against their body to muffle the shot.

  Julio was sweating, and the other guard, who I was starting to refer to in my head as “not-Julio,” was glancing furtively back and forth between the two of us; I thought he was wondering if he could count on Julio to back him if he tried to take me on. I had a sense of shifting probabilities, a feeling of the balance of the situation changing that maybe came from the Marines or maybe from my more recent experience as a cop. I acted, taking another risk.

  I crossed the distance between me and not-Julio in a step, then bent at the knee and swept his legs out from under him with a swing of my calf across his ankles. He went down on his back and I pinned his rifle against his chest with the sole of my boot, still pointing my own weapon at Julio, who’d taken an instinctive step back. The one on the ground wheezed as I pushed the breath out of his chest, putting more of my weight onto the foot against his rifle’s receiver.

  “Julio,” I said quietly and calmly, “sling your weapon and open that door before I lose my fucking patience.”

  Julio gave a jerking, hesitant nod, and slowly and carefully took his hand off the rifle’s pistol grip, using the fore-end to move the weapon to his shoulder, and raising his hands palms up. I motioned towards the door again and he slid over sideways towards it, still facing me. He reached over and threw the bolt back, the sound solid and metallic, then gave it a solid push. The door swung open with a squeal of protest, and I found I was holding my breath, hoping desperately that they were still inside.

  “Munroe?” I heard Bobbi Taylor’s voice and felt the breath hiss out of me. “Is that you?”

  She was curled up in a corner, arms hugging her knees, and propped against the wall next to her were Victor and Kurt, and all three of them looked like they’d been worked over; fresh bruises marked their faces and arms and their fatigues were torn. Ibanez and Sanders had been huddled together in the opposite corner and both looked scared, though Ibanez was doing a better job of hiding it. I wanted to ask them what had happened, but I forced myself to concentrate on the business at hand.

  “Inside,” I told Julio, motioning with the barrel of my rifle. He stepped hesitantly through the opening and Bobbi unfolded from her spot in the corner and jumped up to meet him, a look of determined fury on her face and her fists balling up. “No,” I said sharply. “Just take his gun and get him tied up.”

  She looked like she wanted to argue with me, but she grabbed the rifle off his shoulder, and then pushed him back against the far wall. With Julio disarmed, I reached down, grabbed the rifle off of not-Julio’s chest, and used the sling around his back to yank him up off the ground. He squawked in discomfort but managed to get his feet underneath him. I pulled the rifle off of him and used its muzzle to shove him none-too-gently into the storage building.

  The others were had come to their feet now, and Victor and Kurt took not-Julio by the arms as he stumbled inside, following Bobbi’s example and patting him down for weapons. I took a careful glance around outside before I pulled the door partway shut and moved into the shed. Bales of hay and tubs of soy and spirulina were piled into the center of the room, and stray bits of dried grass littered the bare cement of the floor, but there was nothing handy that I could see to use to tie up the two men.

  “Here,” I handed Victor not-Julio’s rifle, then tossed the one I’d been carrying slung over my shoulder to Sanders. He caught it almost gingerly, but seemed to come to himself as he began checking the load and the safety.

  I saw that Bobbi and the two brothers had stripped the tactical vests off the prisoners, so I pulled out the switchblade I’d pulled off the woman I’d killed and passed it to Carmen Ibanez.

  “Cut their shirts into strips,” I told her, “and use them to tie them up and gag them. Hurry.”

  I turned to the others and motioned to the tactical vests that Bobbi and Kurt were holding. “Sanders, Bobbi, put those vests on, and their night vision glasses, and get outside, just in case someone happens to be watching from the house.”

  They wouldn’t pass more than a cursory examination, but it was better than nothing, and they sure looked a hell of a lot more likely than the giant Viking Brothers.

  Once the two of them were posted outside the door, I went over and supervised Ibanez and the Simak brothers ripping the guard’s shirts apart and binding them tightly. Julio seemed relieved that I was keeping my word but not-Julio was angry and frustrated almost as much as he was afraid.

  “Where’s Captain Yassa?” I finally allowed myself to ask, worried I already knew the answer.

  Victor and Kurt shared a look. Then the older brother swallowed hard and answered.

  “We haven’t seen her since they took her out of here yesterday morning,” Victor admitted.

  “What?”
I blurted, shocked. “She was in here? She was alive?”

  Ibanez frowned at the question. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t she be? She thought they killed you.” She looked at Victor and Kurt. “I was pretty sure they were going to kill us all.”

  “Who beat you two and Bobbi up?” I asked Victor.

  “Constantine,” the man snarled, yanking on the knot he was using to tie Julio’s hands and drawing a gasp from the man. “We tried to get in the way when he took Yassa out, and he took all three of us on himself, didn’t even let the others in.”

  “You’re lucky he didn’t rip your fucking hearts out,” Ibanez growled at him. “Or just have you shot. Fucking idiots.”

  I couldn’t help but stare at Ibanez; I hadn’t heard her speak a cross word to anyone the whole time she’d been on the team. She was scared and angry.

  Victor was about to put a gag on Julio, but I stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “Julio,” I said, moving around to look the man in the eye. “Where did they take the woman? The one who was with me?”

  “Constantine has her somewhere,” he said, shaking his head. “I haven’t seen her since he hauled her off. He has her somewhere in one of the rooms we don’t go into, like Abuelo’s office, or maybe the basement.” Not-Julio glared at him, but didn’t say anything, probably because he was already gagged.

  “Constantine has her?” I repeated, frowning. “What about Abuelo? Where’s he?”

  “I haven’t seen him either,” the man admitted. “Not since you got away.” He made a face. “Honestly, things have been kind of…strange lately with the Boss.”

  I nodded to Victor and he slipped the gag over the man’s mouth and tied it tight.

  “Munroe,” Kurt asked me, giving me a look I’d seen before way too many times, a look like he wanted me to give him all the answers, “what the hell are we going to do?”

  “Come on,” I said, waving towards the door.