Of Patriots and Tyrants

by Alex Ander

  “Double check the hook.” Hardy gave his woman the rope. “Cruz is next.” Getting no confirmation, he tipped his head back. “What’s the hold up?”

  The line ran through her hands. “Uh, Hardy?”

  He heard the sound. “Pence?” Twenty seconds later, a head appeared.

  “I found a better spot to secure the grappling.” Pence flashed a thumb. “You’re good to go.” He waited a beat. “I also found the way out.”

  … … … … …

  “I was right.” Cruz pointed with her forehead. “That was rain we heard.”

  After making their ascent without incident, she and Hardy had followed Pence through a short and winding stretch that led to the entrance of a cave; a sheet of water covered the mouth. Beyond the opening, everything was dark. A heavy rain made the threesome raise their voices.

  “You’re both right. If I’m correct,” Pence pointed behind him, “the ocean is that way. That would put the speedboats,” he motioned, “that way.”

  Hardy studied the weather. “How far?”

  “Less than two miles.” Watching the rain, Pence thought of the night vision goggles in his bag.

  Cruz held out an open hand. “We can’t go that far in this.”

  “We have to.” Hardy pulled a thermal blanket from his go bag and gave it to her. “The decreased visibility and increased noise will give us cover.” He eyed Pence. “Your NVG’s will be useless though.”

  The elder man pursed his lips and nodded. “I still know my way around the island. If we stick to the shoreline, we’ll come to the main road that will take us to the boats. The closer we get to that road, the better the chance of getting spotted.” He paused. “But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

  Pence spied the two in his charge, a blanket draped over their heads and bodies. “Stay behind me and try not to make too much noise. I shouldn’t have to tell you that the rain helps, but it doesn’t make us completely silent. Are you ready?” After getting two nods from them, he headed for the wall of water. “Let’s go.”

  … … … … …

  Forty-five minutes later

  Laying at the edge of a cliff, the ocean behind them, Hardy lifted his head and stared at the Land Rover’s headlights. His gut was doing somersaults. He wanted to jump up and make a run for the vehicle. Helpless. I can’t stand this.

  Seeing his death grip on the sand, Cruz slithered closer, put an arm around his shoulders and pressed her lips to his ear. She stared at the blackness, and the spot she last saw Pence. “He’s right. There’s nothing you can do. Your presence would have taken away the element of surprise.”

  Hardy clenched his fists tighter. Wet sand oozed between the fingers.

  “This is one of those times,” she whispered, “when you have to let someone else help you.” She patted his back. “Remember, you’re not any less of a man for doing that.”

  Her words taking the edge off his guilt, he swallowed and pushed the lump farther down his throat. He scowled at the darkness. This waiting stuff sucks.

  … … … … …

  Pence climbed into the back seat of the Land Rover. “Man, can you believe this weather?” He flapped his hands and wiped his face. “How long have you guys been out here?”

  The driver barely rotated his head. “Too long.”

  “Amen to that,” said Pence, glancing around the area outside the vehicle. “Have you seen anything?”

  “Nothing,” replied the passenger. “They’re probably holed up somewhere…waiting out this storm. That’s what I’d be doing.” He leaned forward and turned up the heater fan.

  Pence nodded. “I’m with you on that.” He paused. “Any other patrols in the area?”

  The driver turned down the heater fan. “We’re the only ones on this side of the island, not counting the men guarding the boats.” He glimpsed his partner, “Can’t take the cold?” before glancing out his window, “What are you, a—”

  Pointing his pistol at the base of the driver’s skull, Pence pressed the trigger and drove his knife into the passenger’s throat, producing an instant kill and a slow, gurgling death. Snaking between the front seats, he opened both front doors, pushed out the bodies and flashed the headlights three times.

  … … … … …

  Hardy heard a pop, and saw a flash of light come from inside the SUV. Seconds later, the headlights flashed three times. “That’s our signal. Let’s go.” He helped Cruz get to her feet, and the two of them ran toward their ride.

  Behind the wheel, Pence stopped wiping blood from the interior surfaces and motioned. When the back doors closed, he pivoted. “Get in the cargo area and stay down, under your blankets. If we play it right, we just might be able to pull this off.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

  .

  Chapter 21: Get Down

  8:49 p.m.

  “Uh-oh.” Pence eased the Land Rover closer to the dock. “Isaac must’ve doubled the guards around the boats.” Four…five…six… “I count at least six men.”

  Hardy peeled away the blanket and peeked out a window. “Two for each of us…that’s better than the eight to one you’ve been touting. Do you think—”

  “Get down.” Pence stopped the vehicle and rolled down his window. “Evening, Antonio.”

  “What are you doing here, Pence? You should be out looking for the prisoners.”

  “Yeah, Isaac’s got me running a side job.” He jutted his chin toward the dock. “He wants a boat prepped and ready to go as soon as this storm’s over.” He shrugged. “What’s the difference? Wet is wet, am I right?”

  “I wasn’t told of this.” The man leaned and looked into the back seat. “I’ll have a man get one ready.”

  Pence shook his head. “Sorry, but I have to do it myself.” He stared through the gap between the window and the doorframe, into two narrow eyes. “It’s not your head on the block if things get screwed up.”

  The man gaped at the cargo area. “Pop the back, and I’ll have a look around first.”

  Hardy squeezed the Bushmaster, his mind forming a plan. Three on the right side. This guy gets it first. That leaves two for Pence. He spied Cruz, her face a few inches away. He took a gentle breath. Even after everything they had been through, she still smelled great. Can’t say the same about me. Climbing the cave rocks, he had gotten a whiff of himself.

  “Do we really have to do this, Antonio?” Pence motioned through the windshield. “I just want to get this done and get back to the search. Remember what Isaac promised if we don’t find them?” He waited a beat. “You know what? Forget this.” He put the vehicle in gear. “I’ve got a job to do. Shoot me if you want. Frankly, it might be better than being cold and wet.” He stepped on the gas pedal and drove toward the dock.

  “What’s happening?” said Hardy.

  Pence watched the man he had left. “Well, no one is chasing us…or shooting at us. I’ll take that as a good sign.” He backed the Land Rover up to a speedboat, killed the engine, but did not shut off the lights. “I’m going around to the back and make like I’m readying the speeder.”

  He went to the cargo area and opened the door. “The vehicle is between us and them. When I tell you to, I want you to stay low and get in the boat.”

  “They’re going to know something’s wrong when we take off,” said Cruz.

  “You and I,” said Hardy, “will lay down cover fire, while Pence disables the second craft.”

  Pence pretended he was fumbling around, searching for something. “Sounds like as good a plan as any at this—”

  The door to the boathouse opened. A man came out, lighting a cigarette.

  “Bad news, guys.”

  “What is it?” said Hardy.

  “A seventh man just appeared.”

  Hardy shrugged. “That’s not so bad. What’s one more?”

  “Did I say bad news? I meant to say good news. The bad news is I saw three more inside.”

  Hardy frowned. Definitely no
room for error now. “You know Pence, I’m not sure if Cruz and I were better off before you arrived…or after.”

  Standing straight, Pence smiled. “I can say the same about you, my friend.”

  Hardy sniggered. Touché.

  “I’m going to the boat. Wait for my signal.”

  “Copy that,” said Hardy.

  Pence boarded the craft. Keeping an eye on the men with guns, he acted as if he was prepping the boat. A minute later, he spied the ignition and groaned. “Son of a—” he climbed out and headed for the SUV.

  “Is that you, Tom?” said a voice near the boathouse.

  Pence squinted. “Vasquez? Yeah, just getting things ready for Isaac. Hey, you wouldn’t mind getting me the keys to the Queen Mary, would you?”

  Vasquez lifted the collar on his light jacket and ambled toward Pence.

  “Hang tight, guys,” Pence whispered. “Don’t move. I know him. He’s actually not too bad. He’ll get the keys and we’ll be gone.” Pence met the man at the front bumper. “How are you, Vas?”

  “I’ll be better when this whole thing is over, and we can get back to normal.” Vasquez shook his head. “It’s a shame. Those men being killed, I mean. I knew Hector. He was a good man.”

  “Yeah, I hear you.” He gestured at the cancer stick. “Got another?”

  Vasquez popped a cigarette out of the pack.

  After igniting the ciggy and taking a drag, Pence forfeited the borrowed Zippo. Blowing smoke into the air, he looked skyward. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the air remained damp.

  “What brings you out here, Tom?”

  “Just getting a speedboat ready for Isaac.”

  Vasquez’s eyebrows came together. “Really? He left the island before the storm rolled in.”

  Pence’s heart beat faster, but his face showed nothing. “I know. It’s for when he gets back.”

  Vasquez sidestepped the other man and went to the back of the SUV.

  “Hey, can you get me those keys? I’m in a hurry to get the hell out of this crappy weather.”

  “Not sure why Isaac would send you here in the first place.” Vasquez motioned over his shoulder, while observing the SUV’s cargo area. “He never uses those things.”

  “Well, I don’t pretend to know how the man’s mind works.”

  Vasquez stomped on his cigarette and gestured at the blankets. “What’s under there?”

  Sweat beads ran across Hardy’s forehead. As soon as he heard the question, he knew a firefight was coming.

  Noticing the look on her boyfriend’s face, Cruz held her rifle tighter, calculating every move she would make to exit the vehicle as fast as possible and get rounds downrange. Holding her breath, she could feel her pulse pounding in her temple.

  “It’s just some supplies.”

  Vasquez threw back the blankets, and stared down the barrels of two weapons. His free hand came up, and he took a step backward.

  Hardy refrained from touching his trigger. At this range, a bullet would pass through the target and kill Pence. Don’t shoot, Cruz. Don’t shoot. If Vasquez drew his sidearm; however, they would have no choice. Squinting, Hardy gritted his teeth. Get out of the way, Pence.

  The man went for his pistol. “Qué—”

  Pence placed one hand on Vasquez’s head, the other under the man’s chin, and moved both hands in opposite directions before catching the lifeless body. “Make room. You got company.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

  .

  Chapter 22: Heartbreaker

  Minutes ago, Hardy was inches away from a beautiful woman, who smelled wonderful. Now the cold and black eyes of a corpse that reeked of stale cigarettes and coffee looked back at him. He slowly moved a hand and closed the eyelids. Always creeps me out.

  Lifting his head to see over the dead body, he got Cruz’s attention. “I hope,” he whispered, “this is the first…and last time…another man comes between us.”

  Her mouth agape, she scrunched her eyebrows. “How can you joke at a time like this?”

  He grinned. “I’ve learned humor helps in these situations…helps me focus. So much has happened in the last—” he held a finger to his lips before pointing toward the outside of the vehicle. Footfalls moved alongside the SUV and faded away. Someone boarded the boat and got off a few moments later. The footfalls grew louder and stopped near the Land Rover.

  … … … … …

  Pence had almost made it to the boathouse when a short burst of gunfire erupted behind him. Five-five-six rounds were loud, but were deafening against the backdrop of a silent night. Within seconds, the boathouse emptied. The other men came running from their posts. Standing in wide-open terrain and trapped in an unplanned pincer maneuver, Pence dropped to the ground and army-crawled to the dock, his only cover.

  … … … … …

  Sensing a presence and hearing short breaths, Hardy clenched the Bushmaster’s handguard. That can’t be Pence. He just left. The blankets ruffled before they were ripped away, exposing the stowaways.

  “What the…”

  Lifting the rifle, Hardy recognized the voice. Antonio. Hardy and Cruz let out a short string of fire at the same time. If there were an Olympic event for synchronized shooting, they would have taken home gold.

  The agents zipped the man with four rounds, starting at the abdomen and finishing between the collarbones before putting two in the nose. The standing dead man jigged and keeled forward. Bringing knees to chest, Hardy caught and drove the body toward the wooden dock. “You go right, Cruz. I got left.” The two scrambled out of the back and knelt at the corner bumper on their respective sides.

  Cruz had four men in her field of view. She centered one in the XM15’s rear peep sight, but quickly moved her finger away from the trigger. The man dove to the ground and army-crawled to the edge of the dock. Thank you, Lord. Swinging the rifle left, she opened up on the armed men near the boathouse.

  Hardy counted four targets advancing on his position. Not having suppressors on their rifle’s muzzles, the bright flashes of light gave him a point of reference. After emptying a magazine and spending fifteen rounds of a second, he noticed fewer flashes. “I think I got two, Cruz. What about you?”

  Cruz slammed her last PMAG into the Bushmaster and ran the bolt forward. Boy, these things go fast. “One down,” she sent a few rounds toward the enemy, “two still standing.” She put her back to the SUV. “On my last mag.”

  Hardy pivoted and joined her. “Here,” he plopped his final full magazine onto her lap, “I still have my pistol.” Bullets tore up both sides of the Land Rover, shattering windows and detaching chunks of sheet metal. They dropped to their butts and ducked. Glass shards pelted their backsides.

  “I don’t how much longer we can hold out.” Cruz got to her feet and spun away from her partner. “This noise is going to bring the rest of them.”

  Hardy peeled away from her and returned fire. When the bolt locked open on the 5.56, he drew his handgun. And we’re low on ammo. He placed careful shots, knowing he only had whatever cartridges the weapon held.

  … … … … …

  Pence eyed the locked slide and tossed the pistol. He ran through the water, under the dock. When the water was waist high, he dove underneath and emerged at the edge of the Queen Mary a minute later.

  Grabbing the side, he pulled, only to drop back into the water a second later. Spasms pulsed through his forearm. Momentary light flashes from the gun battle showed streaks of red in the water. Are you kidding me?

  He reached for the boat again, but his hand could not grasp anything. Water splashed his face, as bullets broke the surface. It’s going to take a lot more— he channeled his strength to the uninjured arm, performed a one-handed chin-up and rolled over the side of the QM, gasping for air, than a bullet to stop me.

  Lying on his back, Pence saw stars in the gaps among the clouds. His chest rose and fell a few more times, while he caught his breath. “I’m getting,” he muttered, “too o
ld for this sh—” A bullet skipped across the vessel, jarring him back to his senses, and he rolled onto his belly.

  … … … … …

  Cruz finished her last magazine and inserted the one Hardy had given her. Hearing a noise behind her, she pressed the bolt release, whipped around and leveled the muzzle at an approaching figure.

  “Don’t shoot. It’s me.” Crouching and running toward her, Pence held up his good arm, while the other hung at his side. After stopping at Antonio’s body and fetching the dead man’s Makarov pistol, Pence took a knee between Hardy and Cruz.

  Hardy thumbed his weapon, and a magazine fell into his palm. One in the tube makes six. He smiled at the newcomer. “I thought you’d finally come to your senses and joined the other team.”

  Cruz tipped her head. “You’ve been shot. You all right?”

  The man glanced at his bleeding arm. “As long as I can,” he twisted the Makarov in his uninjured hand, “shoot with this one, I’m good.” He looked at Hardy and winked. “I’ve always picked the underdogs to win. I’m not about to stop now.” He pushed his chin toward the action. “Bring me up to speed.”

  “By my estimate,” Hardy motioned toward the body in the SUV and the one lying on the dock, “counting these two, we’ve taken down five.”

  Cruz tilted her head. “Two are still upright over here.”

  “At least two hostiles on this side.” Hardy rammed the magazine into the weapon. “I have six pills left to dish out.”

  Pence faced Cruz.

  The woman tapped her Bushmaster. “Thirty.”

  “Okay, so we’re not officially screwed just yet.” The one time drill sergeant rose up and peered through the damaged Land Rover. He spotted approaching headlights, “But we’re not far off,” and ducked back down. “Their reinforcements are arriving…maybe a minute out. Whatever the play is, it’s now or never.”

  Hardy eyed the speedboat. “Didn’t you say boats…plural? Where’s the other one?”