I’m coming. Grant sprinted, jumped, stumbled, and hurdled his way down the slope. Patricia, Tim, Robin, Alex, and Tabitha. Patricia-Tim-Robin-Alex-Tabitha. PatriciaTimRobinAlexTabitha.
Clutching the assault rifle he ignored the bullets strafing the jungle around him. He leaped the trunk of a downed tree. Another explosion slammed him to the ground. He hit on his stomach and face. Grit and grime flew into his mouth and the impact stole his breath. He gathered his legs and pushed with his arms. He ran, spitting out dirt, forcing his shocked diaphragm to suck in air. He. Would. Not. Fail. Them.
He finally reached the fence at the edge of the compound. Retrieving a set of wire-cutters from a pocket on his pants leg he began to snip. He waited on the bullet. Though some of the attention was no longer on Grant, the kidnapper’s still probed the trees with gunfire. Come on fellas, a little help.
As Grant peeled away a section of fence smoke began to billow among the guards. By the time he stepped through the gap in the fence a thick layer of cloud obscured the area between the guest house and main house.
Before the breeze could whisk away the smoke Grant dashed toward the guest house. He slid to a stop and leaned against the rear of the building, attempting to pull air into his heaving chest. Using a sleeve, he swiped the sweat from his eyes. The rear windows were barred, more than likely a recent addition to the décor. His best bet was the front door.
Grant edged his way to the corner and peeked around the side. Although the smoke was quickly dissipating it still afforded some cover, and no guards were visible nearby.
Skirting along the side of the little hacienda he approached the front door. After a quick look over his shoulder he tried the doorknob. No good. Locked. A gap in the door revealed that it was also secured by a deadbolt.
He studied the door and chose a spot between the knob and the deadbolt. Although he knew what he was about to do would draw unwanted attention, there was no other way. He took a few paces back and shot forward, delivering a step-behind side kick to the door. The impact was loud. The door splintered and buckled but remained in place and shut. Chuck Norris would be ashamed.
He spun at yells erupting behind him. Obscured forms raced toward him through the haze.
“I’m at the guest house.” Grant called into his radio. “And I’ve got a lot of company.”
He set his jaw, tucked the assault rifle to his shoulder, chose a target, and pulled the trigger. The shot scored but more and more forms emerged from the smoke. He sprayed fire into their midst, but several different men aimed in his direction at once. He chose the one nearest and ended his plans, but Grant knew he couldn’t get them all. He continued to shoot, waiting on the bullet that would end it all. Although until recently he believed death would be welcome, he didn’t want to leave Morgan’s family to the mercy of these villains. He had to survive, at least until he could get them to safety. An image of Jaime flashed through his mind. Maybe he had even more to live for.
As rounds began to shatter the air around Grant, smacking the guest house, breaking windows, he dove to the side to draw the fire away. He rolled onto his stomach and emptied his clip.
An explosion near the parked cars shot a ball of flame into the sky. The blast wave swept over Grant’s attackers, staggering them. The distinct sound of an MP-5 erupted. Bullets ripped into the group, further dismaying their attempts to send Grant to meet his maker. Tedesco and Evans.
Using the respite, Grant jumped to his feet and flew back toward the door, ramming in a new clip as he moved. He unleashed another kick toward the cracked wood inflicting further damage, but it required two more blows before it gave way. He shoved inside with a shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m here to—.
Before he could finish identifying himself, motion flashed in the periphery of his left eye. He raised a hand to protect his face as a lamp shattered over his forearm. Rolling away from the force saved his radius from the same fate as the lamp. While Grant scrambled out of the way Tim Peterson grabbed a kitchen chair and raised it over his head.
“Wait.” Grant allowed the gun to dangle from the strap on his shoulder and held his palms out in front of him. “I’m here to rescue you. I’m with Dr. Morgan and Scott Evans.”
Tim held the chair over his head. Though his eyes appeared hopeful he didn’t lower the improvised weapon. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
Grant nodded toward the rifle hanging at his side. “For one thing I haven’t shot you.” He stared the man in the eye. “We don’t have much time.” The sound of gunfire outside helped to drive his point home. “Your father-in-law is waiting. We have a boat.”
Grant eased to the door and peered out. The kidnapper’s remaining forces were coalescing, concentrating on Tedesco and Evans’ position. “We need to hurry.”
Tim nodded. “Robin. It’s okay. You can come out.”
A pretty blond stuck her head out of the bathroom door, two tear-stained angelic faces peeked around her legs.
Grant realized they must be terrified and his appearance couldn’t be helping matters. He knelt on one knee and smiled. “Your poppy sent me. He’s here to take you home.”
Robin spoke. “Dad? He’s here?”
A regal white-haired lady stepped past Robin and the children. Patricia Morgan. She stared at Grant. “Alfred is actually here?”
“Yes,” Grant said. “But we really need to go.”
She nodded. A tear leaked from her eye and the ghost of a smile played on her lips. Ms. Morgan grabbed her grandchildren’s hands. “We’re ready.”
The family gathered in the middle of the room and Grant issued instructions. “Tim you take Alex. Robin you carry Tabitha. Keep their heads pressed to your shoulders, your hands over their eyes.” The parents nodded in understanding and leaned down to grab their children.
Grant activated his radio. “Evans, do you read?”
“Affirmative.”
“We’re coming out. Clear us a path.”
“We’ve got you covered. Don’t worry.”
Grant turned to his charges. “Stay with me. Right on my six.” He shook his head. “Sorry. Stay right behind me. You’re going home now.” Tabitha squirmed, freeing her face from beneath her mother’s hand. She turned her blue eyes on Grant. “Mister. Are you an angel?”
Grant almost choked. “No … I’m … uh …”
She smiled and nuzzled her head into her mom’s shoulder. “Maybe not. But I knew you would come. I’ve been praying.”
Her grandmother reached over to stroke the little girl’s hair.
“It’s going to be loud and scary.” Grant spoke for the kids as well as the adult’s sake. “Just stay with me.”
Grant knelt by the front door and the family gathered behind him, the assault rifle panned the area in front of them. More smoke grenades erupted among the kidnappers forces, which had shrunk to less than ten men. The blast of another C-4 charge scattered them.
“Now.” Grant waved his hand, motioning the group outside while he covered their exit. He ushered them toward the perimeter fence and away from the fire fight. “Evans, we’re on the move.”
Grant kept a position between the family and the compound’s remaining guards, alternately running sideways and backwards. He ignored the pain in his side and his burning lungs. The smoke began to dissipate again and shots began to hit near them.
Grant shouted. “Keep going. Run.” Dropping to a knee he searched for the source of the attack. Two men ran from the direction of the guest house. Both men fired from the hip, running towards him, spewing bullets in Grant’s direction. Grant attempted to ignore the maelstrom of death swirling around him. He expelled his breath and lined the center dot of his scope’s reticle on the lead man’s forehead, tracking him as he ran. Grant squeezed the trigger and re-aligned his scope as the man dropped, his leg took one final step before his body realized a bullet had pierced the brain, entering at the frontal lobe and exiting at the parietal lobe. As his companion stepped over the body, Grant fired an
other round, with the same result.
Grant stood, spinning to sprint after Morgan’s family. He realized his left shoulder stung. A glance told him a bullet had furrowed a gash in his deltoid. Within twenty yards he caught up with his wards and moved into position to cover their flight. They passed through a flowerbed thick with palms and hedges. Grant ran ahead and instructed the group to stop in the shelter of a tall bush.
Grant leaned around the shrub and scanned the area. Evans and Tedesco were to his right thirty yards north. “Evans, we’re about to exit a flowerbed just south of you.”
Evans swiveled his head towards their position and Grant held up a hand. Evans nodded and turned back to cover their retreat.
“All right we’re on the last leg,” Grant said. He replaced his used clip and inserted a new one, then removed one of the SIGs, the smaller P226, from a holster. “Do you know how to use one of these?” He held the weapon toward Tim.
The man nodded and accepted the gun.
“Okay,” Grant said. “You sprint to the dock. No matter what happens, don’t stop. The beach should be clear. I’m going to get into position to cover your retreat. There’s a boat at the end of the dock waiting for you. Keep running until you’re on board.”
Tim nodded his understanding.
“Let’s go,” Grant urged them forward. The group ran toward the gate leading to the beach. “Evans, we’re on the move.”
Grant’s eyes darted, attempting to see everywhere at once. The group covered the distance to the gate and they ran through. “Keep going.” Grant stopped and sheltered behind a stone gate post. “Evans. I’m at the gate. Fall back.”
Within a couple of seconds Evans and Tedesco sprinted along the walkway toward him. Grant held his rifle to his shoulder searching out targets. For a moment it remained quiet. The two men reached his position without drawing fire. Tedesco took a spot behind the opposite gate post and Evans crouched near Grant.
“There’s no more than three or four left,” Evans said.
Grant nodded. “Okay, let’s get out of h—”
Before he could finish the sentence a heavy burst of gunfire issued from the front of the main house. All three men stared. Through the smoke and haze of their firefight, dark figures emerged. Their movement precise, utilizing available cover. As one moved forward, the rest of the team defended their advance, moving toward the gate in a leapfrog fashion.
You’ve gotta’ be freakin’ kidding.
Grant peered through his scope, the military gear, and short-cropped hair of the advancing team caused the hackles on his neck to rise. Somehow Colonel Cane’s men had found them.
They had about two seconds. Grant gripped Evans’ arm. He locked eyes with the ex-Ranger. “Get them out of here. The plane’s burned. Don’t go back to it.” Grant turned toward the dock. Jaime stood about halfway down, gun in hand, covering the family’s escape. “Take care of them.” He swallowed. “Of her.”
Evans gripped Grant’s shoulder. “I’ll move up the coast to Mazatlan. Its two-hundred miles give or take. I’ll arrange transportation. You should be able to get there in a couple of days. There’s an old hotel at the beach. The … uh …” He snapped his fingers. “The Costa de Oro.”
Grant nodded and turned his attention to the approaching figures. “You guys go. Now.”
“Remember. The Costa de Oro,” Evans called over his shoulder as he sprinted away.
Tedesco didn’t move. “I’m stayin’.”
Grant ground his teeth and tried to come up with a plan. He heard Jaime’s voice raised in alarm and turned to see Evans pulling her down the dock by the arm.
Tedesco suddenly opened fire. His first shot struck a man in the chest, who stumbled backward, but didn’t fall.
Body armor. Great.
Grant raised the assault rifle and strafed the advancing soldiers. His shots stalled them but return fire still smacked into the gate post. Tedesco lobbed a grenade into their midst, but they scattered. When it exploded little damage was done. With every exchange their attackers drew closer.
Dammit.
Grant leaned around the post and poured a full clip into their midst, doing his best to buy time. Another volley of return fire forced him to duck behind the gate. Through the cacophony the sound of the boat’s engine being throttled up still reached his ears, and then the higher pitched whine as the craft picked up speed. At least they were safe. For the moment anyway.
Gunfire ripped into the gate post, puffs of crushed stone plumed in the air. Grant knew while he ducked they would be coming ever closer. Tedesco dropped the MP-5 in his hand and ripped free a pistol.
Grant’s heart pounded, adrenaline boiled in his system, his mouth tasted of copper. His body sending a loud and clear message his conscious brain only just now recognized. He wanted to live. To do that, they had to move. A grenade rolled through the gap in the gate. “Lookout.” Grant dove to the side, closed his eyes, covered his ears with his hands, and pressed his body into the sand. He felt the radio at his belt crack, its plastic case splitting apart.
Even with closed eyes and covered ears he felt the whoomp of the explosion and saw a bright flash through his eyelids. A flash-bang.
He jumped to his feet. Tedesco lay on his side. He blinked his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision and his hands covered his ears. The sensory overload would leave him severely disoriented for a few seconds at the least. Grant ran over to him, firing as he moved.
Six soldiers sprinted toward them. Grant put shots into the chest of the closest of them, forcing them to slow their advance. Grant grabbed Tedesco by the arm and attempted to drag him to safety. No good, he was too heavy. But the attention drew a groan.
“My pocket.” Tedesco hissed. “The detonator.”
As Grant dug through the man’s pants pockets the team was busy covering the final distance, firing while they moved.
Grant located the detonator and pulled it free.
“Give it to me.”
He pressed the device into Tedesco’s hand. “Stay down.” Tedesco’s thumb moved over the device’s surface. He located the correct button and pressed it. The main house bloomed in fire. A concussion wave and flying detritus blew over them.
Grant dropped on top of Tedesco, shielding him from the blast. The explosion a result of the little surprise Tedesco planted in the case.
Using the momentary distraction Grant stood and helped Tedesco to his feet.
“I’m okay.” Tedesco shook his head and swallowed hard. “I can see. My ears are ringing though.”
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Grant said.
Tedesco bent, picked up his pack, and slung it over a shoulder.
Grant led the way north on the beach, running toward the shelter of the jungle. He pumped his legs as hard as he could but the thick sand ate his speed. Grant angled toward the edge of the water and the packed wet sand at its edge.
Just as they reached it and began to gain a little distance from their attackers, the water, and the sand around them erupted with bullet impacts. Grant turned, firing until he spent his clip, and jammed his last one in place. He aimed. A head shot took a man down, but Grant had to move as gunfire tracked toward his position, wasting the rest of the assault rifle’s ammo as he went.
They started running again and Tedesco removed a block of C-4 from his pack. “Last one.” He turned, flinging the block like a discus. It landed about half the distance to the soldiers’ position. Tedesco turned to run and pressed the detonator, aiming it back over his shoulder. Sand blasted into the sky in a plume of flame, providing a momentary barrier.
Arms pumping they reached the jungle’s edge, gunfire following them. Grant had serious doubts about their chances of survival.
“Take cover,” Tedesco yelled.
Grant moved behind the thin trunk of a palm tree and leaned against it. A little shelter was better than none. He dropped the empty assault rifle and ripped his SIG P229 from its holster.
Tedesco held the de
tonator. When the group came abreast of the yacht, he mashed the button. A boom cracked the air. The yacht and the quay disappeared in a ball of red and yellow flame. Heat washed over Grant’s face. Blazing bits of boat and chunks of dock splashed to the water and rained down on Cane’s men.
“That should give us a head start,” Tedesco said.
Night vision momentarily ruined by the blast, the two men stumbled up the slope, into the shelter of the jungle.
EIGHTEEN
Wind whipping her hair, a knee propped on the boat’s passenger seat, Jaime stared toward shore. Her hands clutched the backrest, the leather wrinkled and puckered beneath her hands. The flare of the yacht’s incineration reflected a yellow glow on the bay. Flaming rain poured across the beach and the water.
“He’s going to be fine.” Evans removed a hand from the steering wheel and patted her arm. “Now. Have a seat, and hold on.”
Jaime stared for another moment before she plopped down in the seat. This is the way Grant would have wanted it anyway. The chance to die saving someone else. For some reason this made Jaime even more miserable than the thought of his death. The fact he would want to die … to leave her … again. As stupid and sophomoric as it was, the feelings she had for him, feelings she fought to stifle, had bloomed in full flower. Her emotional attachment to Grant survived sixteen years, and a brief yet tumultuous marriage. Her husband was a good man, movie star handsome to boot, but within a year the magic dissipated. He needed a wife, children, but to be honest she hadn’t been ready for it. Any of it. The bureau gave her the excuse to be an absentee wife. She volunteered for assignments that would keep her away from home. In his defense, he did his best, stuck with her. And he wasn’t stupid, he realized long before Jaime did that she didn’t want to be married. At least not to him. Though she dated some in the years since, there hadn’t been anyone special. But when she walked into Tedesco’s bar and saw Grant standing there. Well … her biological clock just counted down to zero.
The Assassin's Case Page 14
