Jane appeared and dropped to a knee under the hallway arch, a smoking pistol in her hand.
He wanted to both hug and curse her—but now was not the time for either action.
He tapped his throat. “Kane, RETURN.”
They needed to retreat to safer quarters.
The order shines behind Kane’s eyes, glowing with the urgency in his partner’s voice, but he remains in hiding. A scent carries to him from the deeper shadows, wafting through a door that opened, drafting up from a hidden stairwell.
He knows this particular scent of sweat, salt, and smoke, remembers it from the deadfall in the forest. It marks the hunter who had ambushed him.
The man tries to do the same again now, intending to come upon him and his partner from behind. But Kane waits, crouched by a trunk of this stone forest.
Kane will be the hunter this time.
He watches the man slink out of the doorway, hugging a wall, angling away. Kane watches his prey draw up a long tube to his shoulder and balance it there.
Not a gun.
Something worse.
Knowing this, Kane can no longer wait for his prey to come to him.
He bunches his legs and bursts out of hiding, barreling toward his target.
He hits the man as an explosion blasts overhead.
Tucker ducked as fire flashed from the shadows to his left, accompanied by a deep-throated explosion. Something screamed past the balustrade and flew across the church, trailing a spiral of smoke. The rocket-propelled grenade struck a far column and detonated, shattering the old stone with a thunderous crack.
Tucker ignored the damage, hearing a savage growling from the shadows closer at hand.
Kane . . .
Waving Jane forward, Tucker passed her his rifle and had her take a position at the top of the spiral stairs. “Fire at anything.”
A brief glance below suggested it was already too late.
Technicians were abandoning their stations, running for the open door, encouraged by a pair of guards waving them out. The final instructions must have been transmitted to the fleet, ordering the complete annihilation of the valley’s hamlets.
Tucker had a more immediate concern.
Gunfire erupted from the shadows, a muzzle flashing in the darkness. It was enough to reveal a pair wrestling near the loft’s back wall. He hobbled in that direction, his hip on fire, a trail of heat running down his leg.
Hang on, Kane.
Blood flows over his tongue.
Kane ducks a flash of knife and snaps at a wrist. He catches cloth and flesh, but not enough to sink his fangs into. He gets tossed aside. He rolls as a pistol fires at him. Two rounds strike the stone before his paws; a third hits his chest. The impact cracks ribs and knocks the breath from him, but his vest holds. He launches through the air with every fiber in his hind legs.
Not to escape—but to attack again.
His body slams into his prey. The other crashes into the wall and goes down. But still an arm rises as Kane rebounds off. Fire flashes in the dark. Kane’s shoulder explodes with agony, collapsing his leg on that side.
He struggles to get up.
The man is faster, looming over him, pistol pointed down.
He fires.
Still yards away, Tucker unloaded his SIG Sauer toward the shadowy figure of Lyon—at the same time, the other squeezed the trigger of his pistol. Seeing his partner in danger, Tucker shot wildly. A bullet managed to graze Lyon’s forearm, throwing off the bastard’s aim. The round sparked harmlessly off the stone near Kane’s nose.
Tucker kept firing, closing the distance, driving the man away from Kane and toward the balustrade.
As Lyon retreated, he swung his weapon and shot twice at Tucker, his aim just as wild. Then his pistol’s slide popped, its magazine empty.
Tucker stood over Kane and centered his aim. “It’s over.”
Lyon sneered and threw himself over the railing. Tucker got off a round, but Lyon was no longer there. Tucker rushed forward. He leaned over the balustrade in time to see Lyon crash atop one of the tall workstations and roll off it. Before Tucker could bring his pistol to bear, the soldier dove under the thick trestle table in the center of the room, using the cover to crawl toward the open door.
Men loyal to Lyon fired at Tucker from that doorway, forcing him back.
“There’s nothing you can do,” Lyon called up to him. “What’s now in motion can’t be stopped!”
A new voice interrupted. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, asshole!”
Tucker turned to see Nora crouched with Jane by the balcony stairs.
“Take a look!” Jane added.
From his hiding place by the balustrade, Tucker peered through the upper arcade of arched windows. In the distance, small dark specks fell from the sky, tumbling down and crashing into the valley. On the monitors, he witnessed the same: Warhawks and Shrikes raining from above and crashing leadenly to the ground, like so many poisoned birds brought low.
And they had been poisoned.
Nora yelled down to Lyon. “Sandy says go fuck yourself.”
Lyon rolled out of hiding and hopped toward the open door on a broken ankle. His men covered him from the doorway.
“Like I said,” Tucker hollered, “it’s over.”
“For you.”
Tucker didn’t like the sound of that and peered over the balustrade
Lyon had paused at the door, standing in plain sight. He lifted something boxy and black in his hand and pressed a button on it. Blasts rose from below, igniting charges set at the bases of the columns. Other booms sounded from above. The forest of pillars began to topple, taking sections of the roof with it. Stones and chunks of wooden rafters rained down.
Tucker remembered how Kellerman had destroyed the command center in Trinidad, bombing it to ruin to hide any evidence of its presence. They were planning on doing the same here.
Lyon laughed. “Lock ’em all in here!”
Tucker fired toward the doorway. He struck a man trying to haul the heavy door closed. It was a clean head shot. The other guard took flight.
But not Lyon.
The soldier gained an assault rifle and returned fire—but not at Tucker this time. The bastard was smarter than that. He aimed for Tucker’s weak spot. He strafed toward the top of the spiral stair at the back of the church.
A gasp and cry rose from over there.
Nora yelled to him. “Tucker . . . help!”
Jane . . .
Lyon laughed again, stepped back, and reached to close the door himself. But through the smoke and roil of dust, another hunter closed upon its prey.
Kane races low under the tables, avoiding the crash and thunder all around him. He ignores the pain in his ribs, the agony in his left leg. The scent of his prey fills his skull, leaving little else but rage.
He has followed the scent trail of his target by backtracking it through the side door and down the secret stairs to this lower level.
He speeds now under tables and across the last of the distance, toward daylight, toward his target. The man realizes the danger too late, one hand on the door, the other holding his gun high.
Kane hits him low, bounding forth with both hind legs, a snarl fixed to his lip. He strikes his prey in the stomach, bending him over, knocking him back. Then the man tumbles farther backward, his arms flailing, his weapon flying . . . and falls over the cliff’s edge.
Unable to stop, still in the air, Kane follows.
37
October 27, 1:44 P.M. CET
Skaxis Mining Complex, Serbia
No!
Tucker watched Kane barrel into Lyon. Seventy pounds of rage and bloodlust bowled into the soldier, knocking him away from the door and over the cliff outside. Kane’s momentum carried the dog past the same edge, where he plunged away.
Tucker flung himself around.
It was a four-story drop to the rocks below.
He sprinted to the spiral stairs, to where Nora cradled J
ane on the floor. Nora had a wad of cloth pressed to Jane’s shoulder. Jane’s face was a mask of agony—but perhaps not solely from the bullet wound.
“Go!” Jane gasped. “Find Kane!”
Nora helped her stand, scooting an arm under Jane’s arms. “I got her.”
Jane pushed Tucker toward the stairs with her good arm. “We’ll be right behind you.”
As more of the monastery crashed around them, Tucker led the way down to the nave and across the floor. He skirted around toppled sections of column. Rock dust choked the air. A massive beam cracked overhead and plunged down, striking the trestle table and smashing through it, sending bottles of water and boxes of rations flying high.
Tucker reached the front door to find the threshold deserted. Lyon’s men had fled the destruction, leaving their dead behind. He stepped out of the church to the cliff’s edge and searched below—but a thunderous boom shook the ground as an upper level of the monastery collapsed upon itself. Tucker came close to losing his own footing, but Nora grabbed him with her free arm and pulled him back.
A parabolic dish tumbled past his nose.
“It’s all coming down!” Jane yelled, still under Nora’s other arm. “Keep going!”
Recognizing the danger, Tucker took to the narrow steps that led down the cliff face. Despite their steepness and treacherous footing, Tucker bounded along, crossing from one switchback to the other, skipping stairs in his haste. He ignored the pain in his left hip with each jarring leap. Once on the ground, he stared up to orient himself to the monastery doors and rushed to the spot below them.
It didn’t take long to find Lyon. The soldier lay faceup, his back broken over a boulder, blood flowing from his mouth. Tucker ignored the body and searched for his friend. He spun a full circle.
Nothing.
He cupped his mouth and bellowed, “Kane!”
Ever obedient, a mewling cry answered him. He followed the whimper, but he still could not find the source.
“Kane!”
A muffled bark drew his attention up and to the left. A form struggled within the camouflage netting that was spread over the treetops.
Kane . . .
Tucker hurried toward his partner, noting the hole in the netting where Lyon had punched through before meeting his end. Tucker dropped his pistol and snatched his knife from its sheath. He gripped the handle between his teeth and scaled the fir tree to reach Kane.
“I gotcha, buddy.”
Tucker reached his fingers through the tangle of netting and rubbed Kane’s neck to calm and reassure him. Then he grabbed his blade and carefully sliced the netting under the shepherd. Kane slid out of the opening like a newborn calf. Tucker caught the dog’s weight atop a shoulder and steadied Kane there.
“Hold still,” he whispered.
Both supporting and balancing his partner on his shoulder, Tucker climbed down. Once his boots touched ground, Tucker cradled Kane around and got the shepherd back on his feet—or at least, three of them. Kane held up his left front limb. Blood dripped from his paw.
Tucker dropped to a knee to examine the injury, only to get a warm lap of a tongue on his face. Kane panted and gave a weak wag of his tail.
“Yeah, I’m glad to see you, too.”
But the reunion would have to wait. More debris rained down from above, crashing around the base of the cliff, ripping through the netting.
“Tucker!” Nora called as she reached the bottom of the steps.
Jane hung in her arms, clearly weakening.
Tucker noted a handful of trucks and SUVs still parked in the makeshift garrison at the foot of the escarpment. They were going to need a vehicle. He stepped over to Lyon’s body and patted down the man’s pockets, figuring Lyon would have his own truck, not trusting anyone else to do the driving.
Tucker found a set of keys in the man’s jacket and yanked them free. As he did so, a groan rose from Lyon. The soldier’s eyes fluttered, and he coughed blood from his lips. Tucker stepped back, but the man was no longer a threat, his spine shattered, his limbs paralyzed. Still, eyes rolled toward Tucker—then Kane.
“Little fucker,” Lyon moaned. “. . . more like a cat . . . got nine lives.”
Tucker kept a protective hand on the dog. “But he needs to learn to land on his feet. Maybe you should’ve, too.”
Nora and Jane hobbled closer to them. Tucker pressed the key fob, setting one of the trucks to chirping. He tossed the keys to Nora and took Jane from her.
“Get that truck over here. We need to find out what happened to Frank.”
Nora nodded and sprinted off.
A cough drew Tucker’s attention back to Lyon. Bloodshot eyes centered on him. “You think . . . won. Kellerman . . . you’ve got nothing on him.”
Tucker was ready to laugh at this assessment, but Jane sighed.
“Bastard may be right,” she said. “When Nora lobotomized the drones, the code erased everything. With Webster gone, there’s no one else who can directly implicate Kellerman’s personal involvement. And layered in corporate shells, he’s well insulated from liability.”
A weak laugh flowed from Lyon’s throat, along with more blood. His head lolled back, and his chest gave one final heave—then his body slackened. His eyes stared up at the sky, but they clearly saw nothing.
With a growl from the truck’s engine, Nora backed over to them.
Tucker helped Jane onto the bench seat in front. Then he hauled Kane up into his arms and hopped into the back bed. He slapped the rear window, and Nora took off across the mine’s grounds.
Behind him, Tucker watched the monastery crumble and crack, slowly falling to ruin at the base of the cliff.
Kane dropped his head heavily into Tucker’s lap and let out a world-weary sigh.
“Don’t ya know it, buddy.”
Tucker shook his head, picturing Pruitt Kellerman.
We won the battle, but lost the war.
38
November 21, 10:24 A.M. EST
Washington, DC
The ringmaster of this circus sat front and center before the closed-door Senate hearing. From the half-filled gallery at the back of the judicial chamber, Tucker watched Pruitt Kellerman lean toward one of his lawyers, smiling, offering a chuckle of reassurance to his bevy of legal counsel.
Tucker clenched a fist on his knee.
This was the third such hearing in three weeks, after what the news media had come to label “The Siege at Kamena Gora.” With the array of military hardware found strewn across those fields and forests—both aerial drones and their land-based counterparts—investigations continued, involving the military, intelligence services, and civilian police agencies across Europe and the United States. Conspiracies abounded, and villains were propped up daily, only to be cleared later.
Only one person seemed to deflect any blame.
Kellerman continued to deny any personal involvement, cladding himself with mountains of legal defenses and layers of corporate protection. But the CEO of Horizon Media had an even stronger tool to attack his accusers: a very loud and broad pulpit. Horizon Media Corp and its hundreds of affiliates continued to sculpt the story. For every allegation or claim, Kellerman had talking heads that would shout loudly from those many pulpits, drowning out discourse, declaring this all a witch hunt or worse—an attack on the foundations of America.
Tucker shook his head. Jane had been right.
The bastard’s good.
Jane hadn’t even bothered to attend this hearing, spending the crisp fall morning with her son, Nathan. She was out of the hospital after having a bullet removed from her shoulder and wanted every possible moment with her boy.
Tucker couldn’t blame her. He shifted in his own hard seat. After catching a ricocheted round in his hip, he was still in pain if he sat for long—or maybe it was simply he hated being idle, being stuck in one place. After weeks in DC dealing with the aftermath of all this, a certain wanderlust had begun to set in. He longed to finish his trip with Kane to Y
ellowstone. Winter would be the ideal time to visit the snowy, frozen wilderness, offering the perfect place to clear his head. But that would have to wait. Not only was Kane still recovering from his injuries—a broken rib and a bullet wound of his own—but Tucker had some unfinished business here.
Nora sat next to him, her arms folded over her chest. Fury shone in her eyes as Pruitt laughed at a joke by one of his lawyers. Tucker didn’t know if Pruitt recognized Nora in the gallery as one of the survivors of Redstone, but she remained here for her friends, for Stan, for Takashi, and for many others. Diane was the only other person to walk away from that purge, and she did so now on only one leg. The wound she had sustained from the escape, a deep laceration to her leg, had developed an infection that required amputation. She was still in rehabilitation.
“How’re you holding up?” Tucker asked her.
She lowered her chin and glowered. “Give me a minute alone with that asshole.”
You and me both, sister.
After another fifteen minutes of jostling and points of order, Senator Fred Mason of Utah, the chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee, banged his gavel. A hush fell over the space.
Kellerman sat stiffly at a polished wooden table before the committee’s six highest-ranking members for this closed-door session. The CEO of Horizon Media was flanked by the same number of lawyers, ready to face and contest any new allegations.
No one knew why this hearing had been called so suddenly and under such clandestine circumstances. A lone television camera sat unmanned and idle. Wall-mounted monitors to either side of the chamber were dark. Those in attendance had been granted special clearance. The hearing was beyond merely closed-door. It was hermetically sealed and locked up tight.
“I call this hearing to order,” Mason announced. “And for all our benefits, I’ll get straight to the point, Mr. Kellerman. A witness has recently emerged who will testify and provide evidence of your personal involvement in treasonous and criminal activities, covering events not only in Serbia but also here in the United States and in the Republic of Trinidad and Tobago.”
War Hawk: A Tucker Wayne Novel Page 36
