by S L Shelton
Wolf turned and faced down the hallway. “Check him.”
Seifert dropped his rifle on its lanyard and pulled his SIG from its holster. He cleared the room quickly then went to Loukis. He touched his fingers to the man’s neck. “He’s warm and has a pulse.”
“Cut him loose and let’s get out of here.”
As Seifert holstered his weapon, the ceiling crashed down on them and someone dropped through. Wolf had just turned to assist him when the hallway filled with automatic small-arms fire. Struck in the back, he dropped backward and fired over his head with his rifle. The attackers rushed, shooting short bursts as they moved. Wolf rolled to the side, two full turns, firing through the entire maneuver before jumping to his feet and back into an adjacent billiard room.
The pair had closed the entire distance. Wolf blocked the barrel of the first with his own rifle, firing once more before the bolt locked back. Kicking the other attacker’s rifle away from his body, he pressed his finger to the magazine release, letting it fall to the floor.
The first attacker, obviously a Jagger at this point, dropped his rifle and pulled a pistol, holding it close to his body. Wolf yanked his rifle, snapping the nylon link holding it to the lanyard, and swatted the pistol away before trapping the Jagger’s arm with the pistol grip. With his free hand, he pulled the SIG from his hip and fired up into the face of the second Jagger. The knife in the second Jagger’s hand dropped to the floor.
“Some help!” Seifert called from the first room.
His voice sounded desperate, panicked. It was the first time Wolf had heard that level of distress in a SEAL’s tone.
The Jagger that Wolf continued to struggle with seemed to find humor in Seifert’s tone, an angry smirk prying at his lips as he parried Wolf’s pistol away and stomped the rifle from his hand. A long blade appeared in his hand as if conjured from thin air and jabbed at Wolf’s chest.
Letting his body armor take the hit unchallenged, Wolf reached across the Jagger’s face and yanked him sideways, opening his side. He then trapped the knife-wielding hand between them and took the blade, shoving it deep under the Jagger’s body armor through the bottom two ribs.
When the attacker attempted to turn away from the wound, Wolf spun him to the ground, following him down and pulling the knife across the enhanced killer’s abdomen, opening it wide.
“I need you!” Seifert screamed.
As Wolf turned to rise, the Jagger raised his knee to strike, sending Wolf to the floor, off-balance.
“Seriously? That’s what you’re going to do with your last few seconds?” Wolf asked, lurching backward, dropping an elbow on the man’s chest, then plunging the thin, double-edged blade up through his chin. “I admire your tenacity,” Wolf said as he twisted the blade. “But at some point, reality has to kick in.”
He yanked the blade free and stumbled to his feet in the rush to Seifert. As he cleared the door, he found Seifert on his back with the Jagger locked between his legs, one arm extended beyond his grip, but being rather effectively held at bay. The Jagger’s hand held a blade, identical to the one Wolf had just stripped from and killed the other Jagger with.
Seifert’s predicament was clear; his entire effort being exhausted in restraining the Jagger, if he shifted any part of his posture, the Jagger would plunge the double-edged blade into his eye.
“I’m losing it!” Seifert yelled.
Wolf stepped behind the Jagger, straddling his back, then hooked his arm around the arm of the assailant. After clapping his hand on the back of the Jagger’s neck like he had the female Jagger in the front yard, he peeled the man backward off Seifert, sitting them both down on the Jagger’s legs.
Trapped.
“Keep hold of that arm,” Wolf said.
Seifert lay still a moment, catching his breath while grasping the Jagger’s other hand with both of his own. He looked at Wolf and nodded. “You were right. I was wrong.”
“I don’t know. I think you did pretty damn good, considering.”
Seifert laughed in a breathy scoff and rolled to his knees. Blood poured down one side of his face.
“How bad are you hurt?” Wolf asked, nodding toward the side of his face.
Seifert wiped his cheek on his shoulder and winced. “He got me pretty good.”
At that, the Jagger attempted to yank himself free from Wolf’s grip. Wolf clamped down tighter on the man’s neck, bending his head forward more.
Wolf nodded toward the SIG lying on the floor a few feet away. “Get that weapon.”
Keeping one hand securely gripped around the Jagger’s wrist, Seifert reached up and pried the knife from the Jagger’s fingers, tossing it across the room. Instead of going immediately for the weapon, he yanked the Jagger’s overextended arm down toward the other shoulder, snapping it from its socket.
Snarling, and gnashing his teeth in response, the man seemed more animal than soldier.
“Sorry,” Seifert said insincerely, then leaned backward, and with his fingertips dragged the SIG close enough to pick it up. Once firmly in hand, he rested it against the Jagger’s temple.
Wolf pushed the Jagger forward onto his belly and grabbed his free arm, trapping it against his chest as Seifert handed him the pistol. As soon as Wolf had the barrel firmly pressed to the back of the Jagger’s head, Seifert stood and ran to Loukis.
“Are we taking them both with us?” Seifert asked as he lifted the ceiling debris from the Combine board member.
“I’m not sure yet,” Wolf said. “How’s Loukis?”
Seifert checked for a pulse then looked back and gave a terse nod.
“Cut him loose, then get me something to tie this fucker,” Wolf said.
Seifert busied himself freeing the unconscious Loukis.
Even the suggestion of being taken alive seemed more than the Jagger could handle. He began thrashing and pulling, seemingly renewed for battle. Wolf weighed his options but before he could make a decision, a blade sprung from the sleeve of the Jagger’s trapped arm, slicing across the back of Wolf’s hand.
Wolf squeezed the trigger without a second thought, startling Seifert as the Jagger’s brains formed a bloody pool on the floor.
“No. I guess not,” Wolf said, standing holstering the SIG and checking the new wound on his hand.
“I’ve never come across anything like that before,” Seifert said as he pulled more debris away from Loukis. “Oh, shit. He took one in the chest.”
Wolf shook his head as he picked up his rifle and slammed a fresh magazine in the well. “I’ll clear the house. See what you can do for him.”
Without waiting for a reply, Wolf picked up the night vision goggles that had fallen from his head during the struggle and began clearing rooms one at a time. Seifert appeared a moment later, carrying Loukis across his shoulders.
Wolf lifted Loukis’s head. “Hey,” he said, tapping him on the cheek with his bloody, gloved hand, leaving a handprint there.
Loukis’s eyes rolled open and strained to focus.
“The accountant. Who at Prince-Underthall is taking your money?” Wolf asked, patting his cheek a few more times.
“My money,” Loukis coughed. “Collins.”
“I know, Phillip Collins is taking your money, but Prince-Underthall is dispersing it. Who’s in charge of the accounts?”
Loukis looked confused and shook his head. “My family.”
“Your family won’t have any money if we don’t find the accountant. Who is the Prince-Underthall account manager handling your money?”
Loukis coughed again, this time accompanied by a bloody spray from his mouth. “Collins.”
“Shit,” Wolf muttered.
Seifert looked down the hall. “We need to get out of here before local law enforcement shows up. That was a lot of small-arms fire.”
“Okay. Let’s go.”
As Seifert made his way to the front door, Wolf pulled blocks of plastic explosive from his pack and tossed them into rooms at regular intervals afte
r arming each. When they got to the front door, Wolf went first, sweeping his rifle left and right. Once out, they carried Loukis between them toward the low terrace wall where they had entered.
At the boundary to the property, they sat Loukis on the ground and Wolf pulled the remote trigger from his pocket. As he inserted the tethered key and prepared to ignite the villa, Loukis began coughing thick globs of blood on the ground. “Coffin,” he sputtered.
“What?” Wolf asked, shaking him. “Coffin?”
Loukis shook his head. “Goughin…Mmm—” he coughed again, curling into a ball.
Wolf looked at Seifert. “What did you hear?”
“Goughin.”
“That’s what I heard too,” Wolf said, then lifted Loukis’s head again. “Goughin? Is that the accountant?”
A spasm that might have been a nod tipped Loukis’s head forward before he fell still.
Wolf pressed his fingers to the throat of the now motionless Loukis. “He’s gone.”
Seifert shook his head. “We don’t still have to carry him back to the car, do we?”
“No,” Wolf replied, lifting Loukis onto his shoulders. “I have a better idea.”
He fireman-carried Loukis’s body to the villa and kicked the back door open. After returning the Combine board member to his bedroom, he dropped him across the body of the Jagger on the floor.
It only took a few seconds for him to return to Seifert. “Okay. Let’s get back to the vehicle before we blow this sucker.”
The two made quick work of the non-tactical retreat, arriving back at the Mercedes in a matter of minutes rather than the nearly hour-long trek it took to get there. The first purple patches of morning sky had just appeared over the sea as they got in.
“A name,” Seifert said, shaking his head. “All that for just a name…and we don’t even know if it’s the right one.”
Wolf smiled and turned the trigger key to unlock it. “No. The name was a bonus. We came to get Loukis if he was still alive and make the breach look like revenge.” He pressed the trigger and watched the yellow and orange mushroom cloud burst upward from the ridge across the wooded ravine.
“Well, you for sure as shit accomplished that,” Seifert said sarcastically as the sound of the explosion reached them.
“Get us out of here. I’ll dress your wound while you drive.”
Seifert started the Mercedes and backed up the dirt trail to the two-lane road above. As they straightened out and headed back toward Pesaro, a line of emergency vehicles passed them headed toward the villa. What they would find would cement the charade Wolf had laid out. Combine would believe this was personal and that Scott Wolfe was coming for each of them.
“So, if I counted correctly, you killed eight guys tonight, the EMP got one, the Jaggers got one, and I got one,” Seifert said as Wolf began treating his injury.
“The way I see it is we killed eleven tonight…five and a half each.”
“Does that last Jagger count as my half?”
Wolf laughed as he poured iodine over the gash on Seifert’s temple. “Yeah…you get credit for that.”
Seifert winced from the sting. “Okay, then.”
**
3:15 p.m.— Nicolaas Maesstraat, Two blocks from the US Consulate, Amsterdam, Netherlands
JOHN TEMPLE sat in the back seat of a BMW sedan parked on a street near the US Consulate. Next to him, Adolphe BeauLac napped with his head against the door.
“This is stupid,” Mac said from the driver’s seat. “Just sitting here, cameras all around, and me without a fuckin’ weapon.”
“At ease, sailor,” Temple said without out looking up from his phone. “No weapon means we don’t get shot down at the door.”
“If you say so,” Mac muttered.
The message Temple had just sent would either open the door to a world of hurt or their salvation. In either case, his part in this rebellion would be over in a matter of minutes.
“Monkey Wrench is gonna be hot when he gets back to Lyon and finds an empty house,” Mac said, glancing up in the rearview.
“He’s a big boy.”
Mac turned and hooked his arm over the seat, staring at Temple with agitation. “You should’ve told him…and Seifert. It’s wrong to just leave ‘em hanging.”
Temple didn’t respond. He just continued to stare at his silent phone.
“Hey!” Mac snapped. “Don’t ignore me. They’ll be showing up in Lyon in a few hours with another prisoner and god knows what wounds.”
Temple looked up and glared at Mac. “Petty Officer McIntyre, in the first place, it’s highly unlikely they’ll have another prisoner. Combine isn’t that stupid. Second, we have a live asset who’s flipped and talking. That takes priority over a black bag Op. And third, and more apposite to the moment, we are about to come in from the cold and you’re snapping at me, a senior CIA officer, like you’re some cur with a case of the ass.”
“The chief is with Monkey Wrench! We left them with no support…that’s wrong at every rank. So don’t go gettin’—”
Temple’s phone rang, interrupting Mac’s rant. “Yeah,” he answered.
He nodded. “Five minutes to the back door.”
As soon as he ended the call, he sent one more text then looked at Mac. “Do you need me to drive?”
Mac’s lip curled in anger, but he turned around and gripped the wheel. “Say when…and make sure it’s what you want because it’s the last order I’m ever taking from you.”
“When we go, hang a left onto Johannes Vermeerstraat, then the next left on Tenierrstraat. When we dead-end, hang another left and go for the gate. They’ll be waiting for us.”
“Whatever,” Mac muttered. “I hope you at least tell them there’s a live Op going right now in case they need help.”
Temple shook his head. “We wouldn’t be doing them any favors letting the consulate know we have team members performing an unsanctioned breach on a wealthy and respected EU citizen.”
Mac was clearly at the end of his ideas. He sat gripping the wheel and shaking his head.
A chime sounded on Temple’s phone. He read the text and looked up. “Go. Don’t stop for anyone.”
Mac pulled out of their parking space and merged onto the street, blending with afternoon traffic. When they got to Johannes Vermeerstraat, they sat in the center of the intersection waiting for an opportunity to turn. Temple tapped his fingers nervously on the back of the seat as he leaned forward.
He held his tongue when Mac missed an opportunity to go, knowing he was still in a good deal of pain from his belly wound. If everything went as planned, Mac would be tended to by competent medical personnel shortly. All they had to do was turn twice more.
When Mac pulled through the intersection finally, it was onto a quiet residential street one block over from the back of the consulate. They were the only car moving on the street as they drove past diagonally parked vehicles in the center between lanes. It wasn’t until they reached Tenierrstraat that Temple looked over his shoulder. Two SUVs approached them from behind, driving slowly.
He waited until Mac turned before looking back again. The two SUVs had sped up, closing the distance. “We have a problem,” Temple said calmly. Take the next left. Don’t wait for the dead-end.”
Mac looked up in the rearview mirror. “How do we know they aren’t State?”
“We don’t,” Temple said. “But I’m not taking any chances. We’re not armed.”
“If only we’d thought to do something about that.”
“Shut up and turn,” Temple snapped.
Mac pulled the wheel hard left onto the street that ran behind the consulate, tires squealing through the turn as he accelerated. BeauLac woke and looked around confused.
“What now?” Mac asked.
“Right at the intersection then turn onto the bike path in front of the gate…try not to kill any bikers.”
“Aye, aye, captain.”
At the intersection, Mac did as ordered, but in
stead of finding a clear street ahead, two more SUVs raced toward them on the wrong side of the street, chasing startled commuters out of the lane and onto the sidewalks.
“We need to get to that back gate, Mac. We have to punch through.”
Mac swerved to avoid the first SUV, driving up on the sidewalk and scraping the passenger doors along the iron fence surrounding the consulate. The second SUV cut him off, sending Mac back into the street. As they zipped around and past the silver Land Rover, the occupants of the first SUV began firing automatic weapons.
“Definitely not State Department vehicles,” Mac said as he cut hard right to enter the bicycle path.
The shooting had already cleared the paved bike trail, with its former occupants seeking cover wherever they could along the path. Mac aimed the nose of the BMW for the gate just as one of the SUVs that had initially followed them, appeared ahead. It was a race to the gate, with Mac stepping hard on the accelerator.
“Are we going to have security waiting for—?”
His question was answered in the form of four armed Marines charging out of the gatehouse and lining the road in front of the consulate. They aimed first at the BMW, but all four shifted their attention toward the oncoming SUV when something unintelligible blasted over the loud speaker at the gate.
The Marines parted as the BMW approached then fell back inside the gate, just before it slammed shut. There the Marines remained, pointing their weapons, though not firing, at the SUV as it sped past on the bike path.
Mac drove under the covered portico and left the engine running for a moment. “Anyone hit?”
Temple shook his head. “We’re both good back here.”
More than a dozen security personnel and Marines swarmed the vehicle, weapons drawn and pointing at the occupants. Mac casually turned off the engine and slowly raised his hands. “I hope you’re right about this. Because I seriously doubt we’re getting a do over.”
“We’ll be fine now,” Temple said, smiling as he turned and patted the leg of a terrified BeauLac.
The doors opened, and a cacophony of shouted orders poured in, all of it in some form or another of calls to exit the vehicle with their hands up. Only BeauLac seemed nervous, but Temple remained in the back seat as Mac and the elder Combine board member exited.
