Dance with the Enemy (The Enemy Series)

by Rob Sinclair

  Sometimes things come down to nothing more than good luck. Logan and Grainger had been completely exposed when the man had come back outside. But he had not looked up at all as he walked over to the van. After putting the weapon in the front of the vehicle, on the passenger’s side, he’d simply headed back into the house. He hadn’t once glanced in the direction of Logan and Grainger.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, they had both carried on the short distance to the corner of the house, where they now hid. Out of the light and out of sight.

  Not long after, the shorter man had come out again, carrying two more rifles. He put those into the van too before returning to the house. It looked like they weren’t planning on staying the night. And wherever they were going, they were certainly going to be well armed.

  But Logan and Grainger’s plans took an unexpected turn when they heard a gunshot inside the house. And two more not long after.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ Grainger said.

  ‘Who knows? But at least it’s not Modena that they’ve shot.’

  ‘There is that. But what else could it be? Each other?’

  Logan shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t think there’re any other visitors here. And if it’s a police raid, it’s the quietest one in history. My guess is it’s each other they’re shooting.’

  ‘But why?’ she said.

  ‘Witnesses, most likely. Limiting the number of witnesses.’

  Though quite who was in charge in there was hard to know. He just hoped Selim wasn’t the one being disposed of. Logan had unfinished business with him.

  ‘This is our chance,’ Grainger said, moving away from Logan, toward the house. ‘We should get Modena now. While they’re still in there fighting each other.’

  ‘No,’ Logan said, grabbing her arm and holding her back. ‘Modena’s in that van because they’re looking to make a get-away. Possibly any minute now. If we go over there, we could be running into them head on. And I don’t fancy our chances against those weapons. There’s another door here, at the side of the house. We’ll go in this way and come up on them from the side or from behind.’

  ‘We could just get Modena and get out of here. We don’t have to face off to them at all. Let somebody else worry about them.’

  Her suggestion was born of reason and sound judgement. Why bother walking into a fight when what they were after was right there in front of them?

  But that was the problem. Modena wasn’t really what Logan was after. He wanted to save him, of course. But getting Selim was way more important.

  ‘No, we’re here now,’ Logan said. ‘We can’t let them get away.’

  ‘I thought you said Modena was the goal?’

  ‘He is, but I don’t want to take the risk of us meeting whoever is in there as they come out. Come on, follow me.’

  He didn’t wait for her response but took off towards the side door, hoping that she would agree and follow him. The door was locked, but it was a simple structure: a wooden door with six small, square glass panels in the top half. It was possible that the door was linked to some sort of security system, but Logan was prepared to take the chance.

  As he reached the door, Grainger came up behind him. He used the butt of his gun to break the lower left glass panel, tapping the glass lightly at first and then building up the pressure, trying to crack the glass rather than smash it to smithereens. The glass was flimsy and it began to crack easily. On the sixth blow, a chunk of glass fell away. Then another on the next blow. No alarm sounded. Logan’s approach was by no means silent, but he seemed to have got away with the noise.

  He reached in, turned the key, opened the door and waited.

  Still no alarm.

  They looked at each other, nodding their heads as though both knew what to do next, then they moved forward, into the house, guns drawn.

  The door led into a pantry. The lights were off. But there was enough illumination from the open doorway off to the left, which led into the kitchen, to help them make out the layout of the room. There was another door, closed, fifteen feet in front of them. They headed for it, Grainger walking behind Logan, who kept his eyes on the kitchen doorway, looking for any sign of movement.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Logan whispered as he neared the closed door at the far end.

  He could sense Grainger’s nerves. Her breathing was getting louder, her movements becoming stiff.

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ she said, sounding offended that he’d asked. ‘Are you sure you are?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Then what’s with the hands?’

  He looked down at his hands. The tremors were back. He hadn’t even noticed. This was the first time it had happened before the action.

  ‘Shit,’ he said.

  He wasn’t going to let that get in his way now. Trying to ignore the involuntary movement, he put his left hand on the door handle and turned it slowly. When he felt the latch release, he inched the door open. The pantry opened out into a hallway with several more doors leading from it.

  They’d heard nothing more since the three gunshots when they were outside. No more shooting, no voices. Logan began to wonder whether whoever had done the shooting had already left while he and Grainger were sneaking around the side.

  But he realised that wasn’t the case when there was a blood-curdling scream from somewhere further down the hallway, followed by muffled voices too.

  Logan looked at Grainger. The worry on her face now even more evident.

  It was hard to tell which room the noises had come from. From the faint sound, it seemed unlikely to have been from the near side of the house.

  There were five doors along the hallway: three on the left and two on the right. They walked past the first door on the left, which was another entrance to the kitchen, again looking in to make sure there was no sign of anybody. There wasn’t.

  They passed the next door, this one on the right, which was closed. There were no indications of what lay behind it, no light creeping out from underneath. There were also no sounds coming from the inside. They carried on.

  As they got closer to what Logan had thought was the second door on the left, he realised that it was actually another hallway, leading towards the back of the house. He could see the back door at the far end of it, the door that led outside to where the vehicles were parked. So they were now directly in the path of Selim, or Blakemore, or whoever it was that was planning their getaway. No better off than if they had just headed straight over to the van in the first place and got Modena out of there.

  Logan resisted looking back at Grainger. He wasn’t sure if the same thought had occurred to her. And if it had, he really didn’t want to see her I told you so look.

  Another scream. Not a scream of shock, but one of real terror and pain. It was followed by moaning. Whimpering. This time Logan could pinpoint the sounds. The last door on the right.

  They passed another hallway leading off to the right, towards the front of the house. A cursory glance down the hall didn’t reveal any obvious signs of life in that direction. They carried on towards the end of the corridor.

  ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Grainger whispered. ‘We could be seriously outnumbered here. Modena is right down there out the back. He’s already in the van. Why not just go and get him?’

  Logan didn’t answer. A small part of him agreed with her, but he was trying his hardest to ignore it. He knew he was potentially putting her in harm’s way. But he had other priorities right now. Selim was his immediate focus. And anyway, he was confident he could get himself and Grainger out of the house alive.

  They reached the end of the corridor where the remaining two doors were set opposite each other. Logan crouched low as he peered into the lit room on the right, from where he was sure the sounds had come. He saw two men standing over a third. He quickly retracted his head. The tremors in his hands began to worsen. Even with the briefest of glimpses, Logan had seen enough to figure out what was happening in there.

 
‘Logan?’ Grainger whispered, almost inaudibly. ‘What is it? What do you see?’

  ‘It’s Selim.’

  Selim doing what he does best, he thought.

  Torture.

  Another scream. Even louder than it had been before. Logan closed his eyes at the sound. Having seen what was causing it, the sound now took on a whole new meaning to him.

  ‘Logan, I don’t like this. What do we do now?’ She waited for a response. But he was dazed and confused. ‘Logan!’

  Come on, focus! he told himself. This is what you’ve been waiting for.

  He tried his best to snap out of it. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We go in.’

  He was about to move when he heard footsteps behind them. He turned his head, looking past Grainger. There, coming around the corner, was the short man, the one who’d been loading the van earlier, a rifle over his shoulder.

  ‘Shit! Move!’ Logan said.

  He grabbed hold of Grainger, pulling her with him as he headed for the other open doorway on the opposite side of the hall. But they couldn’t shift quickly enough. The man had seen them.

  With a shriek somewhere between surprise and anger, the man lifted his weapon and opened fire. A cloud of dust and plaster swept up as the bullets hit the wall next to them.

  Hastily raising his gun as he and Grainger fell into the room, Logan fired back in the direction of the man, not looking as he did so. They rolled into the room in a tangled heap, immediately getting to their feet to look for cover. The room they had stumbled into was a lounge. There were two big sofas adjacent to each other a few feet from where they stood. They both dived over the top of the nearest one just as the short man reached the doorway, still firing.

  But after a couple of short bursts, the firing stopped. Logan and Grainger looked at each other, confused. Maybe he’s reloading, Logan thought.

  Then they heard voices. Shouting. Selim giving instructions, Logan realised.

  He knew that the sofa would provide only temporary respite. If Selim’s men opened fire with rifles at such a short distance, it would do little to stop the bullets. They were sitting ducks.

  Logan looked at Grainger. She had her gun held up to her chest. She looked at him and he gave her a signal, nodding over to the door. With nowhere left to go, Logan knew they would have to fight back to have any chance now.

  ‘When I go,’ he whispered, ‘just shoot.’

  She shook her head, and he signalled again, more forcibly this time. She gave him a pleading look, but without another thought he leapt up and moved quickly across the room. He didn’t look back but heard a cascade of gunshots coming from where he’d left Grainger. In between the shots, he heard the man cry out.

  She’d got him.

  Logan dived for the ground and rolled to a stop. For a moment, everything was silent again. He looked back towards Grainger, who was standing in her well-trained gun stance, and smiled at her. She crouched back down behind the sofa, not smiling back.

  He wasn’t sure where the little man had been hit, but he could see his legs sticking out through the open doorway. He was definitely down, but Logan knew this wasn’t over yet. There were at least two more men – the ones he had seen in the other room. And one of them was Selim.

  But where were they now?

  Logan looked over at Grainger again. She was hunched behind the sofa, gun held tightly in both hands.

  ‘Cover me,’ he said.

  This time Grainger nodded.

  Logan moved quickly to the doorway, throwing himself up against the wall adjacent to the door. He looked down at the man Grainger had shot. The bullet had caught him in his gut. He wasn’t moving, but Logan couldn’t tell for sure if he was dead or not. Peering out into the room opposite, where Selim had been, he was surprised to see no signs of the other two men.

  He looked back at Grainger and nodded his head, indicating for her to come forward. Then he headed out, pulling up against the doorway to the room across the hall.

  Still no sign of Selim.

  He stole a glance into the room. It was an office. There was a man on a chair, his hands tied to the chair’s arms, his ankles bound to the legs. His face was bloodied. Logan didn’t recognise him but his appearance matched what he knew of Blakemore. The small movements in his chest showed he was still breathing.

  But Blakemore was alone in the room. So where was Selim?

  Logan heard the engine of the van starting.

  ‘No!’ he shouted.

  He couldn’t let Selim get away. Not again.

  ‘Go!’ Grainger yelled. ‘I’ll wait here, make sure there aren’t any others.’

  Logan didn’t hesitate: he spun around and sprinted down the hall.

  He ran as fast as he could. So fast that when the right turn came, he almost skidded around the corner and had to put his arm out against the wall to keep upright. He bounded down the corridor. He could see Selim outside, climbing into the passenger seat of the van.

  Selim glanced back at Logan. The two men, old foes, made eye contact. A look of recognition came to Selim’s eyes. But it was also a knowing look.

  He knew that he was getting away.

  Again.

  ‘No!’ Logan shouted, desperation now in his voice.

  He opened fire, but it was a hurried and thoughtless reaction. He didn’t come close to his target. The bullets damaged the back of the van, but they all missed Selim, who was already safely inside. Logan kept pressing on the trigger as he ran. The clip was empty by the time he reached the outside door.

  But his shots had all been in vain. The van was already making towards the back gates.

  Logan fell to his knees.

  This day, that moment, had dominated his mind for the last five tortuous months and he’d blown it. Close to tears, he felt like pounding on the ground.

  He watched as the van left the compound into the dark abyss that lay beyond, its taillights fading into the distance.

  He’d had Selim and he’d let him get away.

  How could he have let that man, that monster, get away?!

  Logan noticed the other vehicle, the SUV, was still there, next to where the van had been. Feeling a sudden surge of hope, he got to his feet and rushed over to it. He’d learnt how to hotwire cars long before he’d joined the JIA. Although car technology had changed beyond recognition in all those years, many were still just as easy to start.

  The driver’s door was unlocked. He climbed in and had a quick look in the ignition and behind the sun-visor. No keys. Hurriedly he began to expose the wires underneath the steering column. If he was quick, he’d only be a few hundred yards behind Selim’s van. He would catch them up. They were in a worn-out panel van, versus this virtually new car. He would catch them up.

  He had to.

  The tremors in his hands were so bad now that he struggled to even grip the wires, let alone stick them together. He knew, though, that the shaking was as much anticipation and excitement as anxiety.

  After what seemed like an eternity, it finally worked. The engine came to life. He couldn’t help but smile. He reached out for the handle of the open door.

  But then hesitated.

  What about Grainger? Could he just leave her there alone?

  He’d been so hell-bent on getting Selim, he hadn’t even thought about her.

  But she would be fine, wouldn’t she? She was with two subdued men. One had been tortured and was tied to a chair. The other had taken a slug in the gut. He was pretty sure she could handle those two.

  But what if there was someone else in there? What if they’d deliberately tried to draw Grainger and Logan outside so that they could go back and finish off Blakemore? Surely there were more than just four men in that house?

  No, Grainger was a trained FBI agent – she could handle herself, Logan concluded. She would understand. He couldn’t let Selim get away. Nor Modena. That was what this was about, after all.

  Three gunshots rang out, loud and clear. They made Logan jump.

 
They’d come from back inside the house.

  And that was enough to make up his mind.

  He knew what he had to do. He shut down the engine and rushed back toward the house.

  Chapter 39

  As he entered the house, Logan was regretting having so hastily fired at Selim’s departing van. He had no more clips on him, so was going back into the house unarmed. Despite his Beretta being empty, though, he would at least have the opportunity to bluff should he come face to face with an attacker, so he kept his weapon drawn.

  Logan had heard three shots in total: two in quick succession, followed by a third moments later. It was hard to tell but he had guessed that all three shots had been from handguns. But he didn’t know whether one or more guns had fired the shots. He could feel the pit of his stomach churning and realised it was out of concern for Grainger. He had no idea who had been shooting, or whether or not Grainger was in trouble.

  Approaching the corner of the hallway, he paused, listening for any clues as to who or what might be around the corner. But other than the sound of the breeze coming through the open back door, there was complete silence.

  He risked a peek. The man Grainger had shot minutes earlier was still sprawled on the floor, a pool of blood now stretching out underneath his lifeless body. Nothing unexpected there; a shot in the gut would result in a big loss of blood, enough to kill you itself even if the bullet hadn’t damaged any other organs. But what was strange was the neat, circular hole in his forehead, from which a line of blood was worming its way down the side of the man’s face. And the handgun that lay on the floor, just inches from his right hand.

  Slowly Logan moved towards the man, picked up the blood-soaked handgun and trod around the blood pool to reach the office door. He wiped the gun clean with his jumper. It still had bullets in it, so unless it had somehow been flooded by the blood, it should still work. In any case, it was a better option than bluffing with a gun he knew for sure was empty.

  Leaning against the wall, only inches from the doorway, he heard movement coming from inside the office. It could be Grainger, but it could just as easily be someone else. He waited for it to go quiet, then, without looking, tossed his empty Beretta into the room. He had aimed for the far corner, behind the desk that was in the centre of the room, hoping that the noise would cause a distraction. The gun clattered as it hit the ground, followed a split second later by more movement, a nervous exhale. With any luck, whoever was in there had just had the fright of their lives and was now looking away from the door.