by L. T. Ryan
Fog filled the hallway quicker than Bear had anticipated. He wasn’t sure whether to move forward, hold his position, or retreat into the bedroom.
Two voices called out.
Bear dropped to the floor. The visibility was better. The first man cleared the stairs and entered the hallway. The red laser from his sight cut through the smoke a good five feet above Bear’s prone position. Bear followed the line to the source and squeezed the MP-7’s trigger. The laser spun circles through the fog and settled on the ceiling.
Bear didn’t wait to determine center mass on the next guy. Instead, he aimed at the man’s ankle and let loose three straight three-round bursts, planting the rounds in the guy’s shin, the bottom of his foot, and in his groin. The man writhed in pain, yelling out while bleeding out.
Bear didn’t stop to aim as he passed the man. He dropped his arm and squeezed the trigger, starting at the navel and not relenting until the weapon stopped spitting out ammunition. He dropped it and scooped up a new MP-7 from one of the freshly fallen men. Wasn’t like the guy needed it anymore.
Heading down the stairs, he held his MP-5 in one hand and the new HK in the other. Their positions were offset, allowing him to cover the maximum amount of ground. Did they only send four mercs? He stopped his mind from wondering who “they” were and continued down the steps with his back against the wall while focusing on his immediate environment and listening for movement beyond the limits of his sight.
The quickly repeating tinny sound didn’t immediately register as gunshots until one slammed into his shoulder. Bear dropped and rolled through the remaining stairs, fighting back the pain. His arm stood up to the test, though, and he managed to hang onto both weapons.
The man dressed in black gear seemed surprised to see Bear dive across the hallway. His inaccurate shot slammed into the three-hundred year old oak door, spraying tiny slivers of wood into the foyer.
Bear unloaded with both weapons, catching the guy in the thigh and stomach. There was no time to investigate whether the wound was fatal. Another man had entered the hallway from near the kitchen and opened fire.
Bear slammed through the pocket door that shielded the windowless room from view. He scrambled to the adjoining wall, closed his eyes and breathed deep and waited. He knew in this spot that the floorboard would move slightly when someone stood directly opposite the wall. Amazing the things he picked up in the place playing hide and seek with Sasha’s nieces and nephews. And if a forty pound five-year-old could give her position away, there was no doubt that a grown man could.
He placed the hand of his wounded arm on the ground. The quiet amplified the ringing in his ears. He glanced at his shoulder, surveying the damage. The bullet had grazed him. Didn’t appear to be any muscular or bone damage. He might need Sasha to stitch it up, though.
The floorboard rose. Bear pressed both weapons against the plaster wall and squeezed the triggers. White dust exploded out and coated his face. He adjusted each weapon about six inches and fired again. And then repeated the process twice more. Each time the man on the opposite side of the wall grunted until the moment when his lifeless body collapsed.
Bear dropped to the floor and wiped the plaster off his face and blinked his eyes to flush the debris. The burning would take a few seconds to pass.
On his feet again, he left the windowless room and checked the bodies in the hallway. Both were dead. As expected, neither offered clues as to the men’s identities.
Leaving the corpses behind, Bear swept the rest of the house and scanned the backyard. There was no one else.
He tucked one of the weapons away and pulled out his cell phone. His first call went unanswered. Where the hell are you, Jack? He had been unable to reach the man and hadn’t heard a word from him. After what had just happened in Sasha’s house, Bear was concerned a similar fate awaited Noble.
Bear then decided to place a call to a man he detested. They’d skirted the rules Frank Skinner had wanted them to play by, but it was time to bring him up to date on the situation. He punched in the number Brandon had provided to Jack and waited while his call routed through the Far East.
Frank answered on the second ring amid a bustle of chatter in the background. “Jack? What’s going on?” The other voices faded away.
“It ain’t Jack,” Bear said.
“Logan? That you?”
“Yeah.”
“What is going on? Why haven’t you guys reported until now?”
“You tell me what’s going on, Frank.”
There was a pause of several seconds. Frank cleared his throat. “I don’t have time for these games. Every second we piss away is more time for Ahlberg to get away from us.”
“Let me be more specific then.” Bear tended to his wound, wiping blood away with a dish towel soaked in peroxide. “I’m with Sasha right now—”
“God dammit, man. I told you not to bring her in.”
“I didn’t bring her in, man. Me and Jack split up.”
“You did what?” Frank’s breathing grew loud and fast and ragged.
“He had to run down a lead. I needed a day to take care of something. Came back here.”
Frank muttered something that Bear couldn’t pick up.
“Anyway, we were just attacked by six dudes dressed head to toe in black tactical gear. I only heard one of them, but the son of a bitch was from the States. Alabama if I had to pinpoint where he grew up. So I’ll ask you again, what the hell is going on?”
“Son of a bitch,” Frank said. “They must know and they tracked you back there.” The phone muffled for a few seconds and Bear picked out two distinct voices, though he was unsure what they were saying. Sounded like they were underwater. “Look, I need you to stay put for just a couple minutes. I’m gonna make a call.”
Bear hung up and tucked the phone way. “Stay put my ass.”
A trickle of blood seeped from his shoulder. He pulled the severed skin apart and gauged the depth of the wound. On second glance it might not need stitches. He’d ask Sasha soon enough.
Perhaps sooner than he thought.
“Get off me.” The scream came from the tunnel inside the windowless room. No doubt the voice was Sasha’s.
Bear raced from the kitchen into the hallway and past the open pocket door. The bookcase was cracked open two feet. Had he closed it when he exited the tunnel? He couldn’t recall anything from his last visit in the room other than shooting the wall. He took two steps toward the entrance then froze in place upon seeing the blonde-haired woman’s reflection in the mirror standing in the spot he had occupied minutes earlier. She had him covered with her weapon, and he doubted she’d miss from this distance.
“That’s it,” she said. “Don’t move.”
CHAPTER 47
Frank Skinner stared at the pile of intelligence they’d printed so far. It had come from a tiny fraction of Brandon’s files, but Frank couldn’t get too excited over what they’d found despite the fact that it all but served his ultimate target up on a platter.
“What’s going on, boss?” Rugg asked. The thirty-three-year-old ex-Ranger had been Frank’s top operator since he had taken over the SOG.
He looked up from the papers and stared at his man for a moment. He filled his lungs, blew out forcefully. “We lost the entire team.”
Rugg’s eyes widened. He stepped closer so the men were face to face. “All six men? What the hell were they up against?”
“One pissed off mountain of a man.” Frank noticed that all eyes in the room had fallen on him. The men who worked for him would undertake any mission he asked of them, and all knew the possibility of death surrounded them, but when an entire team was wiped out in an afternoon, they all felt it. “I gotta step outside for a minute.”
He exited through the backdoor and took a short walk across the yard and into the woods. Twenty feet into the leafy canopy his phone rang again. He answered expecting to hear Logan’s voice.
“You lost a lot of men here today,” the w
oman said.
“Yeah, where the hell were you?” he said.
“Outside,” she said. “Where it was safe.”
“Where are you now?”
“Inside, where it’s safe.” She paused a beat and said something to someone present with her. “We have the large man and his wife. We’ll see you at the pre-arranged location soon?”
Frank grunted his confirmation, hung up and then called in to have the Gulfstream V ready for takeoff within the hour.
CHAPTER 48
It wasn’t safe to remain in Sasha’s house following the small war that had taken place within its walls. The blonde-haired woman who looked like Ahlberg and the Middle Eastern looking man with salt-and-pepper hair bound and gagged Sasha. They secured Bear’s wrists with flex-cuffs and wrapped his legs with rope. His refusal to go willingly had been met with a strike to the head with a metal club. The blow didn’t take Bear down, so the guy hit him again. This time Bear dropped to a knee. The third strike sent him to the ground amid Sasha’s pleading for them to stop hitting him over the head.
Anywhere but the head.
When Bear came to, he was being dragged through the house by the man. The guy was a hell of a lot stronger than he looked. Bear thrashed and nearly knocked the guy over. The man dropped Bear’s bound feet and retrieved his sidearm.
“There’s a chance you will survive this if you stop acting like an idiot,” the man said. He sounded like a Saudi. Bear had an idea as to his identity. “We have no fight with the woman or her organization. We do not want to deal with them, but we will if necessary. So take this as your final warning. Cooperate or your wife will be shot in the head and dumped in the river.”
Bear looked beyond the man and saw that Ahlberg had Sasha secured. Next to them on the wall was a portrait of Mandy. Ahlberg shoved Sasha against the wall, knocking the framed picture off its hook.
God, don’t let them notice the girl.
He reminded himself that the girl was safe. They’d have to torture the both of them to get her location, and so far, they had no reason to pursue that course of action.
Play along, Bear.
The woman aimed her pistol at the back of Sasha’s head.
Not much time had passed since Ahlberg had left the hotel and her body double was murdered. Perhaps fearing she had been filmed she had decided to dye her hair back to avoid detection. Or maybe she just didn’t care anymore.
“Understand?” the man yelled. His voice was gruff and heavily accented. The shout roped Bear back into the current situation.
Bear could withstand any torture or punishment they doled out for him. But he couldn’t watch Sasha be subjected to it because of his refusal to comply. He’d have to see where this led. He nodded and raised his hands, which were still conjoined via a pair of rubber flex-cuffs. He knew from experience that it would be near impossible for him to escape from them. He’d rather have chains draped around his wrists. At least he could use those as weapons against his captors.
The Saudi leaned over and cut the rope that bound Bear’s legs. “Don’t get any ideas. This is not so you can attempt an escape. We have to move quickly in the event that someone overheard the shootout and the police are en route.”
Bear rose to his feet, said nothing. He contemplated taking the man on, but even if he reached the guy, there was nothing he could do to stop Ahlberg from shooting Sasha. Hell, she’d sold her twin sister out. The woman’s heart was made of ice.
The guy looked back at the women and nodded. Ahlberg led Sasha through the door. A moment later the four of them stood at the edge of the rectangular green lawn. Bear didn’t hear the helicopter until it appeared over the woods behind the house. It was an executive model, built for passengers and speed.
The helicopter touched down in the middle of the yard. The grass bent flat in swirling patterns under the heavy gusts produced by the rotors. The pilot must have been previously instructed to keep the bird ready to fly.
The doors swung open and a man dressed similar to the six Bear had disposed of hopped to the ground. Bear spotted another man dressed the same waiting inside the craft. They ordered him inside first. He soon after found himself covered by three armed men who watched him even after he fell back in his seat. The pilot got in on the action, too. Ahlberg had done her homework on Bear. Or someone had filled her in recently.
They placed Sasha next to Bear only after securing his legs together again. They strapped his torso to the seat. She received the same treatment. Her hair brushed his face as she rested her head against his shoulder while the Saudi, Ahlberg, and one of their black tactical gear-clad guards discussed their next move with the pilot.
Bear considered their current location and distances to mainland Europe. It was possible that the helicopter held enough fuel to make the crossing. The weather was fair and there would be little risk traveling over the channel. If they were going to cross to the Netherlands, it was about a hundred miles over water.
“Where do you think they’re taking us?” Sasha’s breath felt hot against his already-burning ear.
He shook his head slowly, keeping his eye on the group outside the helicopter.
She leaned in even closer. Her lips grazed his earlobe. “I tripped the switch.”
Inside the hidden section of the bookcase was a small lever that once flipped would alert her boss at MI6 that something had happened at the estate. She had a similar device in her flat in London. They were coded separately, and her boss would know exactly where to send the security team. The problem was that the bookcase was meant to be closed and not reopened — and especially not left open after one member of the team had left the passageway. Knowing that the odds of reaching Sasha were slim, the tactical team would attempt to secure the house before entering the windowless room, where they would find the smashed pocket door, the opened bookcase, and soon after realize that Sasha and Bear were not present.
Also troubling was the fact that the team would have to come up from London. Even driving recklessly after making it out of London traffic, it would take them ninety minutes.
Minimum.
“When?” Bear asked, turning his head slightly toward her.
Her head rolled off his shoulder, she scratched at where his beard had tickled her face. She glanced up at him. “When that asshole led me out.”
Bear took a deep breath and held it in despite the burn in his chest. He calculated how much time had passed. Not enough. A moment later he expelled the air. “They’re over an hour away.”
Presumably Sasha was already aware of this. She leaned in close again and whispered. “They’ll see what happened, and they’ll find us. Trust me.”
Although trust never came easy for Bear, he had welcomed Sasha into his life and accepted her words and actions without question. This, however, was too much for him to take on a leap of faith.
“Appreciate the optimism,” he said. “But we’re screwed.”
Ahlberg, the Middle Eastern man and the security detail piled into the bird. They were in the air, flying low, eastbound into the darkening sky, and soon after, out over the sea.
CHAPTER 49
After their initial evaluation, neither of the highly skilled George Washington University Hospital trauma surgeons currently operating on the frail man thought he would survive the single gunshot wound to the chest.
In fact, he had already died once after arriving. The ER staff had managed to revive him. Had it been a few minutes prior to the helicopter landing, they might’ve left him dead on the stretcher.
His only chance at survival was the emergency surgery necessary to repair the network of arteries, blood vessels, organs, bones, and muscular tissue that had been destroyed by the bullet.
As they closed the surgical incision after spending the previous eight hours doing all they could to fix the man, they shared a knowing look that it had all been in vain.
Brandon Cunningham, they feared, would be dead by morning’s first light.
CHAPTER 50
The soft glow from lights mounted high on the warehouse walls cast the open space in a dim yellow wash. The room smelled like a fishing pier at the close of business on a good day. Water lapped against the wooden sides of the empty boat slip inside the structure. The lane of water took up a quarter of the room. The exterior wall extended below the surface, perhaps all the way to the ground to prevent anyone from swimming under to get inside.
They’d restrained my feet to the legs of the chair, my arms behind my back, my chest to the seat back. And they used a device that forced my chin to my chest and held my head in place. I still managed to turn it enough to the side to get a good look at the place in my peripheral vision.
I’d started coming to about an hour ago. It was a slow process full of wondering what the hell had happened since I was chemically knocked out again. No one had entered the room except for a family of rats as large as Chihuahuas. The biggest of them walked across my foot and for a moment I expected him to make a meal out of my big toe. After wiggling my feet for several seconds, avoiding his teeth in the process, he gave up and ran off to join the others.
I attempted to create a timeline of the events in an effort to determine my present location and the current time of day. My last conscious moments were on the coast. I looked out over the water as the sun descended into the Atlantic. That was at approximately seven p.m.
Presumably we were in France at that time based on the position of the setting sun directly to the west. The mental map in my head said we could’ve been in a few spots in Belgium, and possibly the Netherlands, but given the time of day and how long it would have taken to reach the coast from Leipzig, the northern coast of France made the most sense.
At one point during the ride from Germany to the coast I had awoken in a lucid haze. Memories from that moment were fleeting. They administered another dose of the chemical before I had a chance to gather my bearings. Hell, were we even in a car at that point? Perhaps we’d flown out of Germany. There were plenty of private airstrips where no one would have taken notice of them carrying my unconscious body from a car to a plane.
