by Blake Banner
By now there were shouts everywhere: “Oscar and Jones are down!”
“Get some guards on the back of the house! Now!”
“He’s out the front!”
“Pete’s down!”
“Where the fuck is he? Where is the motherfucker!”
And then, what I had been wanting to hear: “He’s gone into the vineyards! Get after him! Get the motherfucker!” and the running tramp of many boots.
I glanced over my shoulder. Six guys were swarming over the fence. They were fifty yards behind me. I fired twice without aiming and ran for the shed, faking a limp. They saw it as they were supposed to and thundered after me, shouting that I was hit.
I came to the shed and wrenched the door open so it was blocking their view of what I did next. I let off four more rounds in their general direction, sprinted around the back of the hut and scrambled through the hedge. Then I sprinted another twenty yards and threw myself down in the dirt. I lay still and slipped on my night vision goggles. The world turned an eerie green and black. I listened and watched, immobile. I could just about make out the moving bodies through the scraggy hedge. They had gathered around the shed and were shouting, training their weapons on the wooden structure.
“Come out with your hands in the air!”
“Drop your weapon and come out!”
Another guard was approaching, running up the path, shouting, “Don’t kill him! Take him alive!”
I smiled. That was seven of them. From what I could see, they were all pressed up against the sides of the hut, with a couple kneeling in front with their guns trained on the door. I pulled out my cell and dialed the burner. The explosion was spectacular.
The bodies vanished in a fireball of gasoline and ammonium nitrate. I covered my head as burning, splintered boards showered flaming out of the sky. The hedgerow caught fire and, through the flames, I could make out a staggering, dancing humanoid form, like some kind of horrific fire demon made of flames. Finally it went down on its knees, then lay down and died.
I scrambled to my feet and ran back toward the fence of conifers that hid the fields from the back of the house. There were burning, splintered boards caught in the trees. There were voices shouting and screaming, feet tramping and bodies running. In my mind I was counting as I ran: two down at the back by the pool, one down in the drive was three, plus seven at the shed made ten. That was the number they had posted outside. So whatever they’d had inside, that was all they had left.
I dropped to my belly back where I had left the bow, telling myself Wellington, the Iron Duke, would have been proud of me. Now I had another battle to fight, and speed was of the essence. I scanned the back of the house. There was nobody there. That meant they had withdrawn inside and were keeping watch from the windows. If I stepped onto that lawn I’d be riddled like a colander before I took two steps.
I crouch-ran along the hedge to where it made a right angle down the side of the house. I lay down, inched between two tree trunks and scanned the wall of the building. It made logical sense that if they had been protecting the people on the inside, they would have put no less than half their men on the outside, as sentries, as a first line of defense. It would follow logically, then, that they had about ten men inside, plus the Omega brass and Captain Bob. I counted four windows along the second floor and another four along the bottom. They would want at least four men with the brass, so that left six or seven men, spread thinly around the building, guarding the entrances and the windows. It was a big building, and not many men.
I scanned the lawn. There was a chestnut tree halfway between the hedge and the house. I had spotted it with the drone, and it was the reason I had chosen this side of the building for my approach. I pulled the remote control from my pocket and triggered the EMP on the roof. I had maybe two seconds while they registered that their earpieces and radios were not working. I sprinted for the chestnut tree and flattened myself against the trunk. There were no shots. Nothing happened. I didn’t wait. I sprinted again for the side of the house, just short of the corner. I stood flat against the wall, nocked an arrow and looked up at the windows. There was the slightest of movements. I drew and targeted where I guessed he would lean out. I steadied my breath and waited. A moment later his head and shoulders appeared. I loosed, counted one, two and the aluminum barb thudded home through his skull.
I nocked a fourth arrow and peered around at the front door. There was nobody there.
My hunch was they would want to lure me inside the building. They would fall back around the Omega brass and force me to confront them as a body, where I could not pick them off one by one.
I dropped the bow and my remaining arrows, stepped away from the building and put a round through the nearest window. It shattered and made a lot of noise. If there were any guards at the door, the sound of breaking glass might draw them away long enough for me to get it.
I sprinted to the entrance, put a slug into the lock and kicked the doors open. There was no hail of lead, no barrage of fire. I peered around the door and scanned the galleried landing. There was nobody there. It was looking as though my hunch had been right. I looked over at the arch which led down into the big living room with the copper fireplace. I was certain they were not in there. It was wide open on two sides and very exposed.
I thought about the rooms on the far side of the living room. They had windows that exposed them to potential sniper fire and grenades. These guys had no idea what weapons I had. They’d be looking for the least exposed, easiest spot to defend.
I looked again at the galleried landing. The high ground is always the best place to meet an attack, so they had barricaded themselves on the top floor, on the outer corner, where they could cover the approaches from either side, and up the stairs.
And another thing I could be certain of: They had already called for reinforcements. I was on the clock more now than ever. I had to act, and I had to act real fast. I spent a moment examining the door from a safe distance, then ran.
I found the kitchen more or less where I had expected to find it, down some stone steps to the right of the dining room. I ransacked the drawers and found a ball of cooking twine. I sprinted silently up the stairs, made a loose slipknot at the end of the string, and silently approached the door where I thought they were barricaded in. Without making a sound I slipped the noose over the handle. I then left the ball of twine on the floor and explored the rooms down the right wing of the house. I was pretty sure the guys by the pool would not have their weapons with them. The retreating army would have made sure to deprive me of those. But I figured I had shot the guy in the window after they had retreated into the room.
I was right. He was lying slumped on the windowsill with my arrow through his skull, and his rifle was on the floor, where he had dropped it. I hunkered down and picked it up. I raised an eyebrow. It was a Remington ACR. A weapon made only for the military. Its semi-automatic sister was made for civilian use by Bushmaster. This selective fire version was only for the military and law enforcement.
I took the ACR, and the ball of string to the opposite corner of the galleried landing. I left the string loose, so that it was not pulling on the handle, but allowed the slipknot to tighten enough not to fall off. I then took my Swiss Army knife and returned silently to the door.
This was what I had noticed from downstairs: the door opened outward, so the hinges were on the outside. Working fast, I removed the nine screws that held the hinges to the frame. The hinges were wedged in and probably glued, so the door did not immediately drop off, but I was confident it would not take a lot of pressure.
Now I ran back to where I had the ACR and the ball of twine. I was diagonally across the patio and concealed behind the banisters, with a clear view of the room, and of the stairs leading down. The next part was the gamble. They had said they wanted me alive, but I figured the odds were good that they had changed their minds on that score by now. I tugged gently on the twine and rattled the handle. What followed was e
xactly what I had hoped for and expected.
The door erupted in a hail of lead that not only shredded the wood but blew it right off and half way down the landing. They must have been pretty sure they had killed me. But they could not see clearly, partly because of the shower of splintered wood and partly because they were shooting into a darkened passage. Also, having seen the handle rattle, they had expected me to be on the other side of the door. So all of their attention was focused right there, on that one place.
The last place they expected me to be was diagonally across the patio, twenty yards away in the shadows. But that was exactly where I was. I aimed low with short, controlled bursts. It took them a full five seconds to realize where the fire was coming from. By that time I’d taken out five of them. When they started returning fire to the right place I shot out the overhead bulb and moved down to the section of the landing that ran at right angles to their door.
At a rough guess there were five of them left, including the captain. Twice I had brought them to my battle, but my options were running out. Their reinforcements could not be very far away. With their resources there might be choppers about to land at any moment. I needed to get into that room and take out five trained soldiers and four Omega top brass, and I needed to do it in the next few seconds.
And the only way in was through the door.
Their only light now came from the lamps in the entrance hall downstairs, and the thin moonlight that was filtering through their window. I took out the light in the entrance hall with a shot and almost total darkness engulfed the upper floor. I fitted my goggles and sprinted around the gallery until I was directly opposite the room. I knew there was a woman and two kids in there, and I was struggling, trying to ignore the fact.
I dropped silently to my belly and started crawling forward through the strange, green light. Two black shapes moved in front of the doorway. They moved slowly and cautiously. Their posture suggested they were holding weapons. The Remington spat twice and they went down. According to my estimate, that left three.
I squirmed forward again, keeping my eye on the door. Nothing moved. I stood and ran, flattened myself against the wall. Still nothing. I peered in to the left of the door, saw nothing and hunkered down to peer around to the right. There were four of them, all holding weapons. They were clustered in the far corner of the room, forming a semi-circle around a group of people. They could not see me.
Now it would get ugly. Now the kids would suffer, and so would their mother. But I could not turn back. If I did, Abi and the kids would pay the price.
I crawled in and counted them off as I shot them: a double tap to the far right, half a second and a double tap to the far left. Three of them standing, charging forward. Double tap to the right and he went down; double tap to the left and he went down. One remaining and he was jumping, roaring, screaming. I knew the voice. It was Captain Bob.
I rolled away. He landed next to me with a painful whoomph and I rammed the butt of the Remington into his side. Then I was on my feet, kicking at him savagely. He was tough. He grabbed at my foot and tried to twist. I smashed him on the head with the rifle and backed away to get a clear line of fire. He couldn’t see me, but he knew where I was and charged, bellowing at me. He was fast and strong and I took two blows to my belly that almost winded me. I staggered back and a third scraped my face. If it had connected it would have cost me my life.
Next thing, he had the ACR in his hands and was struggling to wrench it free from my grip. At the same time, he was attacking me with his knees and trying to head butt me. He was in a frenzy and I knew if I was going to survive I had to do something.
I dodged a head butt, took a knee to my floating ribs and thumbed the magazine release. I let the weapon go and as he staggered back I pulled the Fairbairn & Sykes from my boot and lunged at him, gripping the back of his neck with my left hand, bringing the blade over the rifle and ramming it home into his throat. Death by suffocation is one of the worst ways to go. So I cut hard left, severing the artery, and unconsciousness and death came fast, as the blood drained from his brain.
There was absolute stillness. I pulled the Sig from my belt, stepped into the room and flipped on the light.
SIXTEEN
There was a woman sitting on the floor, in her thirties, in jeans and a blouse, pressed into the corner, hugging two children. Her eyes were bright with anger, confusion and reproach. The kids were beyond the point of weeping, but their faces were wet with tears and they were clinging to their mother, watching me with small, terrified faces. In that moment I knew with absolute certainty that what I was doing was wrong, on the deepest level. But I was equally certain that I had no other option.
I said, “Where are they?”
She stared, like my question was the most insane thing she had ever heard. “Where are they?” She looked around the room. “You have killed everybody!”
“Alpha, Beta, Delta…your…”
I couldn’t say it. She shook her head. “You’re insane. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Where is your husband?”
She shook her head again. “No… No, I will not tell you!”
I realized I had my Sig in my hand. I put it in my waistband, behind my back. “I am not going to hurt you.”
She pulled her kids closer, curled her lip and spat the words at me, “Fuck you!”
Realization dawned, and with it rage. I said, “He sent you here, with the kids, with Captain Bob, but he stayed in Malibu.” I said it half to myself. “Son of a bitch.” Then I focused on her face, the tortured mix of fear, hatred and confusion. “You don’t know, do you? You don’t know who he is. He told you you’d be safe here. Did you come in convoy? A display of strength, the car with his family in it. It was all designed to draw me into a trap. He used you, his wife and children, as bait.”
Her face had gone like stone. In the distance I could hear choppers. I shook my head. “I am not your enemy. You’re sleeping with the enemy. Take my advice, get a divorce, get away from him, get your children to safety. He is not who you think he is.”
I ran down the stairs and burst out through the door. It was too late. There were three of them, hovering over the woods, making the trees bow and toss in the downdraft. Clouds of dust billowed from the parking lot. Then their spots came on and blinded me. I jumped down the steps, trying to find cover somewhere, so that I could run for the trees. But I knew it was hopeless. A voice in my head told me this was where it ended. Jim had been prophetic after all. He had told me, die well.
I came up on one knee, aimed the ACR into the blinding spotlights, through the choking dust, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. The magazine was empty. I pulled my Sig from my waistband and prepared to charge. If I was going to die, then I would take them with me.
And that was when the heavy, 50 caliber machine gun opened up, tearing the night in half, screaming like torn steel over the whine and throb of the turbines. Stuttering savagely its message of merciless death. I should have thrown myself to the ground. I should have sought cover. But there was in that moment a berserker rage on me that I could not control. I screamed and hollered and bellowed like a demented demon, emptying my small, 9 mm slugs into invisible enemies hiding behind a furious, blinding glare of light. The heavy machine gun hammered in my ears, but I was immortal, indestructible in my rage and not a single bullet hit me, or even fell near me.
And next thing my Sig was just clicking, empty, but the sky was filled with exploding fireballs, and tortured, twisting, screaming steel was raining down on the forest and on the parking lot. Waves of burning air hurled me back. I covered my head and my face with my arms and ran, falling back to the shelter of the house, telling myself I had a shot in a million and punctured a fuel tank.
Another explosion shook the building. The 50 cal kept stuttering, spitting. Rotors stuttered, a turbine whined out of control and a third chopper hit the ground and exploded.
Then everything was silent, but for th
e angry roar of flames. I rammed another magazine in the Sig and stepped out. The sky was orange with fire and the woods and the parking lot were littered with the shattered, twisted remains of three helicopters, and the burning, mangled remains of the men who had come to kill me.
I had not done this with a lucky shot from a 9 mm.
Then I saw him and almost laughed. Njal, all six foot six of him, with a 50 cal machinegun on his shoulder, walking toward me through the wreckage with a smoking cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth.
He raised a hand. “Hey hey, all good?”
I shook my head. “No. We have to get out of here. Every cop in the state is going to be swarming over this place in the next twenty minutes. You just shot down three choppers.”
He shrugged. “Yuh, you so slow. They would have got you. You should have been out five minutes before.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Thanks.”
“OK.”
We started walking back toward the drive. I said, “Fenninger wasn’t there. He used his wife and his kids as decoys to lure me here.”
“So where is he?”
“I’m guessing he’s at home.”
He stopped on the path and pointed into the trees. The flames from the choppers were dancing in his eyes. “My vehicle is here. You gonna go an’ get him? You need help?”
I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’ve got this now.”
He smiled. “OK. Do it this time, yuh?”
“Yeah. I will.”
He disappeared in among the shadows and the undergrowth and I ran the rest of the way to my car. I brought back the Emperor and threw it and the rest of my stuff in the trunk. I reversed out of the trees and sped silently back toward the Old Topanga Canyon Road. Far off in the night I could hear the wail of sirens. I forced myself not to speed, to drive at a leisurely pace, winding down out of the mountains with my heart pounding and the vast glow of L.A. rising over the darkness of the hills on my left, and the vast blackness of the ocean ahead of me. I stabbed a Camel in my mouth and lit up.
