by Ty Patterson
The fire-alarm detectors on the ceiling caught his eye.
He shot them out in tight bursts and got another idea. He took thin spoons from the kitchen, shut the doors of all the rooms in the hallway and jammed them tight by wedging the spoons underneath them.
‘All the gunmen outside have moved in now,’ Bear warned him. His voice grew taut. ‘Shooter on your nine. None of us can take a shot. Too much interference.’
No cover ahead. No cover behind. I jammed all the open doors shut.
Cover worked both ways. Zeb counted down to two in his mind and opened up with his Glock, firing through the separating wall, left to right, top to bottom.
He followed up with another burst, and when he had finished, he leapt high in the air with his legs outstretched.
He jammed them against the two opposite walls, grabbed his gun between his teeth and using his hands to power himself, spidered up toward the ceiling.
People registered objects at eye level first; even trained operatives. High up versus eye level. It gave him an advantage.
He cocked his head and listened and watched. No gunman appeared.
‘He’s down. About four feet ahead of you, on the floor. He isn’t moving.’ Bear called out.
Zeb fired another burst in the direction of the body, crabbed forward and used the cable camera around the wall. The shooter was dead.
‘You doing that Jackie Chan thing again, aren’t you?’ Bwana’s voice was low and steady as if it was another day at the office. ‘They are seven down now. That many more left. The three of us will take our shots. We might get lucky and get a few.’
The living room was empty but warm when Wasserman entered. The fire crackling away was the only sound in the house.
He had heard shooting in the corridors, but he knew Carter had come out on top. The lack of comms was crippling and the enormity of the ranch added to his problems.
Grudgingly he admitted that so far Carter had beaten all his planning.
He had gotten one of his men to peer out using NVGs to see if the snipers could be located. That man was lucky to be alive. The bullet that appeared had grazed his cheek and had gone through two walls.
Wasserman lowered his gun arm and headed to the fireplace to stir the logs. He picked up the poker and bent over the fire and stilled when the voice came from behind a couch.
‘Quite the place you have here.’
Zeb rose from behind the couch nearest to a window, his gun trained on Wasserman. He gestured silently and the poker dropped.
Wasserman’s gun dropped at another voiceless command. He stared silently at the man who had started it all.
Not quite, but he was the executor.
Wasserman met his gaze, his green eyes steady, strands of his long white hair waving and bending from the hiss of the flames.
‘Mr. Carter, I presume,’ Wasserman’s eyes flicked sideways for a moment.
That hair’s too long. That voice!
A second voice came from behind his left shoulder, a rich voice that he was more familiar with. ‘You’re not the only one who uses decoys, Carter.’
Zeb threw himself backward, and crashed through the window when the first shot blew a hole through where he had been.
More spits of flame lanced out and followed his flight, but he had dropped to the ground and rolled away in the darkness.
‘Sorry, Zeb,’ Bwana was apologetic. ‘Neither drone picked him up. My scope can’t see through walls.’
A head popped out of the window Zeb had exited through, and snapped back hastily when a round burst through the remaining glass.
Need to get back in.
Bear and Roger read his mind and directed him round the curving wall of the ranch, to a room that didn’t have any glowing thermal sign. Zeb rose cautiously, tried the window, it swung easily.
Hot night, open windows. Or a trap?
‘Can anyone of you see me?’ He spoke for the first time.
‘I got you dude,’ a Texan voice drawled. ‘Hop right in, I’ll cover you.’
‘I’ve got an idea. Bear, Rog, why don’t you get one drone on Wasserman, using his heat sig. The other can circle and spot the remaining shooters.’
Bear swore softly at Bwana’s suggestion. ‘Man’s got brains. But why didn’t you think this up sooner?’
‘I carry the gear. I do the shooting. You want me to do the thinking too?’
Bwana’s voice trailed off and seconds later a heavy round crashed far behind Zeb. ‘Got one. But, Zeb, this isn’t fool proof.’
Zeb nodded in the darkness and clambered into the room. An unused bedroom going by the pristine condition of its furniture.
He peered through the darkened corridor and ran the layout of the ranch in his mind from what he had seen. He positioned himself and headed back in the direction of the living room.
That room commanded the best view, that room was where Wasserman would be. He knows I want him alive. He will draw me in.
Wasserman trapped him.
The first sign of it was a yell in his ears and then came a stream of shots through the walls from way behind him.
Zeb raced to the end of the hallway, checked out empty rooms, rejected them for not enough cover or escape routes.
He entered a game room, navigated a pool table and headed to another exit. He poked his head through the door and ducked back rapidly.
Two gunmen, Wasserman, the real one, between them.
A gunman, somewhere behind, shooting through walls. More will join either end.
The shooters with Wasserman opened up; a barrage of rolling thunder that made holes through the wall and struck equipment. A ball punctured and bounced limply on the floor. A baseball bat shuddered.
The gunmen were efficient. They changed magazines one at a time while the other continued firing.
The barrage became a roar when the shooter behind was joined by more and sought to pin Zeb down.
Zeb bent to a crouch, then fell flat and considered his options.
There weren’t any.
The two exits were covered. There were no windows. Dust and wooden splinters flew through the air.
My men aren’t shooting. Probably don’t have the angles.
Bullets came closer to where he was. Seeking him at ground level.
This place will have more holes than Swiss cheese and I’m right in its center.
‘I give up,’ he yelled.
‘What’re you doing?’ Bear roared in his ears.
‘I surrender,’ he shouted again and one gun fell silent. He repeated his words again and after a pause Wasserman replied.
‘Throw your gun out. Show yourself. Hands raised. You know the drill.’
‘Don’t, it’s a trap.’ Bwana warned.
Zeb flung his Glock through the doorway. He rose and thrust one hand out cautiously, then another and at Wasserman’s command, emerged fully.
Wasserman, about ten feet away, jerked his head and one of the gunmen came forward and patted Zeb down.
‘Stop shooting. We have him.’ Wasserman yelled at his men. A muffled reply came back and the shooting from behind stopped.
The gunman relieved Zeb of his magazines and Benchmade and at their sight, Wasserman’s eyes narrowed.
‘Just those? Search him thoroughly. He’ll have more weapons on him.’
The shooter shook his head. ‘That’s all he’s got.’
‘How do you communicate with your snipers?’
Zeb didn’t reply; the shooter found the bone phone and smashed it. He looked into the bodycam in the front, raised his middle finger at those watching the feed and smashed it. He destroyed the rear camera and went back to Wasserman.
‘Shall we kill him?’
Wasserman didn’t reply; his green eyes were narrowed and when he spoke, his voice was thoughtful. ‘You knew we wanted you alive. That’s why you surrendered. What game are you playing, Carter?’
‘Does he have explosives on him?’ He snapped at the searcher.
> ‘He’s clean, boss. He can’t do any harm.’
Wasserman pursed his lips thoughtfully but didn’t come closer, didn’t leave the sanctuary of the two men beside him. ‘Secure him,’ he snapped an order and the same gunman stepped forward.
He took two steps forward, paused when a barrage of shots sounded from both the front and the back of the house. He looked back at Wasserman who jerked his head impatiently and came on.
He slung his HK behind his back when he was clear of the two behind him. Plastic ties came out of his pockets and he had his arms outstretched when the bullet shredded the wall on his right, tore through his chest cavity and embedded in the next wall.
The second man with Wasserman gaped in shock and took a step forward to take a better look.
‘No!’ Wasserman shouted and grabbed him, but it was too late. Another round burst through the wall and killed the second gunman.
The shooter started falling sideways, but Wasserman moved swiftly to intervene. He grabbed his man by his collar, hauled him upright demonstrating tremendous strength and used his body as a shield.
Wasserman peered from behind his shield and trained his gun on Zeb.
In the temporary silence the soft whirring of rotors could be heard and from behind Wasserman, Zeb made out the dark shape of a drone in the hallway.
That’s how Bwana got his ‘eyes.’
‘Your sniper doesn’t have the angle to take me, does he?’ Wasserman’s visible green eye gloated at Zeb. ‘Too bad. He won’t get another chance.’ He raised his gun and fired.
It clicked on empty.
The eyes widened for a moment and dropped to Zeb’s gun that lay between them.
Zeb dived for it but lost vital moments in avoiding the dead shooter Wasserman thrust his way.
Wasserman got his hand on the gun and was raising it when Zeb snapped it out of his hand with a cutting blow that would have broken another man’s wrist. He kicked the gun behind him and faced Wasserman.
The two men stood poised for a moment, the air vibrating and throbbing between them.
‘I have to hand it to you, Carter. I throw everything at you, but you keep coming. But it ends here. I’ll take you apart and when I’m done, your men will have to search for your pieces.’
He attacked without warning, coming in low, going for Zeb’s throat and abdomen using feints and decoys to disguise his attack.
Zeb fell back against the ferocity of the onslaught, his movement restricted by the shooters’ bodies.
He narrowly avoided a blow to his throat, rolled and caught it on his shoulder. His side flamed into fire. He ignored it, trapped Wasserman’s hand on its return, and applied a lock.
Wasserman broke the lock easily and his lips curled when he read Zeb’s eyes.
‘You’re not the only one who’s trained in rare fighting skills, Carter.’ Before he had finished, his left leg rose in a paralyzing blow.
Zeb parried, but Wasserman was lightning; he anticipated the move, reversed and a hammer sank into Zeb’s middle.
Zeb doubled over and Wasserman applied a chokehold. Zeb let his body sag before the hold tightened and the sudden weight caught Wasserman off guard.
Zeb slipped out of the hold and went on the attack, but Wasserman wasn’t there.
The mercenary had stepped back and was dancing lightly on his feet.
Zeb drew air through his lungs, whirled round and fled when Wasserman surged forward to attack.
An incredulous laugh rose from Wasserman and he followed.
Zeb timed his steps and at the third, he rose in the air, pivoted off the wall and turned on Wasserman.
The sudden move caught the chasing man unaware and he slowed and then Zeb was on him.
He chopped at the mercenary’s body, catching him on the neck. He numbed his thigh with a brutal kick.
Wasserman fell back and for the first time he went on the defensive.
That didn’t last long. Barely had Zeb landed when he launched an attack.
‘What’s with you, Carter?’ He punctuated his words with a hammer blow that caught Zeb on the side of his head.
‘What drives you? Who was Petrova to you? You think you are Batman?’
His leg whirled in a spinning kick; Zeb blocked it, but couldn’t evade the hard edge of Wasserman’s palm to his ribs and dimly he felt something crack inside him.
Have to end this soon.
‘You’re on a vengeance mission. Because something happened to you?’
The words burned through the air, seeped through him and he hesitated for a moment.
Wasserman grabbed the opportunity to repeat the blow on his cracked rib.
White heat lanced through Zeb and his breath caught.
Wasserman’s eyes were narrow behind his constantly moving hands. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? You lost someone? Your family? What happened to them?’
He whirled like a dervish, his arms and legs swinging like a deadly scythe, creating a spinning force Zeb couldn’t penetrate.
‘Someone killed your wife? Kids?’
The ranch flew away, wall by wall.
Barren earth took its place.
Darkness covered them. Thick. Heavy. Oppressive.
‘You know what I do to wives? I rape them, and then I cut their breasts.’
A hand flashed. Zeb caught it on his cheek. His ears rang.
‘Nothing subdues a man quicker than seeing his wife’s breasts stuffed in her genitals.’
Wasserman’s words came to him from a distance over the roaring in his ears.
The darkness bore down on them. Slowed their movements as if they were underwater.
A knife-edged hand came his way, floating slowly, he bent under it, caught it, but it slipped away. A second hand followed. He parried just in time. He tried to attack, but his limbs felt leaden.
‘If that doesn’t tame men, I go after their children.’
He saw Wasserman’s mouth move. The lips shaped to form words. Then the words reached him.
He read them. Processed them.
By then Wasserman had dived past him. A slow motion move, strangely elegant, his body aimed like an arrow, his green eyes unblinking on Zeb.
Zeb turned slowly to face him.
Wasserman’s hand reached the gun. His fingers curled around it. Started raising it.
‘Pity, you don’t have a wife or kids. I checked.’
‘Imagine what I would have done to them.’ The mercenary’s voice faded in and out. The gun rose, turned slowly in Zeb’s direction.
‘Bet you would have a pretty wife. Just thinking of her-–’
Zeb didn’t know when he moved. His chest was tight with a pressure he had never felt before. His legs moved of their own volition. Then he was on Wasserman looking down into his eyes.
His hands wrestled with the gun in the mercenary’s grip.
‘I would have made you watch.’ Wasserman’s voice was strained as he threw his weight behind the gun.
The barrel inched toward Zeb.
‘I would have made you see her face.’
The darkness compressed into a thin line.
It snaked and sped its way to Zeb. Entered him. Spread through him. Engulfed him till he became darkness.
Wasserman’s words came slower. ‘I would have then started on your children.’
The darkness moved.
It crushed Wasserman’s wrist.
It snapped his elbow like a matchstick. It dislocated his shoulder and turned the limb to jelly.
The darkness flew inside the gun. Became the bullet.
It turned into flame and motion and speed, and death flew out.
Chapter 30
The Uinta County’s Sheriff rolled up early in the morning to investigate flashes and pops that neighbors had reported.
He was met with blank faced men, dressed in dark suits, wearing shades even though the sun hadn’t risen. They spun him a tale and handed a phone to him. The sheriff spoke into it briefly, decided he had other bat
tles to wage and his patrol car disappeared.
Bwana walked around the ranch with Roger and Bear when the sun rose and inspected his shooting.
He rapped on a wall with his knuckles. ‘Cedar, maybe pecan too. Probably cut from trees on the ranch. Solid looking, but unfortunately not good enough against armor piercing rounds.’
‘You’d planned to shoot blind all along?’ Bear poked a stubby finger through a bullet hole and shook his head at the size of it.
‘Zeb and I had discussed it. We had enough live practice, but every mission is different. I took the first shot randomly and when I found it worked...’ He shrugged.
Once Wasserman’s shooter had smashed Zeb’s bodycams and bone phone, Roger and Bear had raced to the ranch and had taken out the remaining gunmen. Bwana had remained in hiding to pilot one drone and fire whenever opportunity arose.
He had seen every detail of the fight on his monitor, played silently since the drones didn’t have audio pick up capabilities.
He had shouted the question uppermost in their minds when they finally reached Zeb.
‘Do you have a death wish?’
His friend had stared back at them with those dark eyes that had depths no one had plumbed.
Roger kicked the hard ground when they stopped to bathe in the sun, looked at the ranch and shook his head in disbelief. ‘I can’t believe he didn’t surround the ranch with better protection.’
Bear’s grin was white through his beard. ‘Good for us. He probably thought he would never be found and saw no need. Besides, don’t forget this was also a dude ranch. It had to be as authentic as possible.’
They went inside, walked past a specialist recovery team that the Agency used to sanitize incidents and joined Zeb who was looking over Meghan’s shoulder.
She was running Wasserman’s hard drive through a decryption program while her sister and Broker were working on other electronic trails. Chloe was working on the paper trail, her petite frame almost invisible behind heaps of files.
Broker, Chloe, and the twins were camped in Evanston when the takedown happened and had rushed to the ranch as soon as Wasserman had been killed. Broker had barred the rest of the crew from helping them.
