Northern Sun: Book Four in The Mad Mick Series

by Franklin Horton

  “It’s not. I have more prisoners. I’m going to bring them to you, then make a thorough search of the property. I don’t want to miss someone.”

  “Got it.”

  “Once I’ve cleared the property, I’ll search the remaining cabins for any documents or computers.”

  Conor ferried the remaining prisoners to Kamil’s cabin and made certain they were secured. All of the men were gagged, blindfolded, and face-down on the floor, hands flex-cuffed behind their backs.

  “I’ll be back,” Conor said. “If you need me, give a holler on the radio.”

  “Roger that,” said Doc.

  Once outside, Conor spoke into his radio. He hadn’t wanted to make the transmission in front of the prisoners. “Urban Cowboy for Dancing Queen. Urban Cowboy for Dancing Queen.”

  A voice responded almost immediately, puffing from exertion. “Go for Dancing Queen.”

  “The stage is clear. It’s your show.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  There was a lot more Conor wanted to say. He wanted to ask Shani to look after his daughter. He wanted to warn them to be careful but it was too late for that. All he could do was hope.

  50

  Not long after receiving Conor’s transmission that he’d secured the fishing camp, Shani and Barb waded into the woods. It wasn’t so much to conceal their presence on the empty, dark road as to use the underbrush to muffle the sound of their voices. They were each using the same ENVG-B night vision gear that Conor was using so they had no issues with seeing their surroundings, but they still didn’t know exactly where they were headed. They needed to firm up the location of their target.

  “We’re getting close to the general area those men marked on the map, but there could be dozens of houses in that same area,” Shani whispered. “I need to see if we’ve got an actual address yet.” She extracted the sPad from her gear and kept the device low to minimize any light transmission. Then folded her optic out of the way and checked the secure messaging app. Nothing.

  As much as she hated to make a call on the device, she felt like she had no choice at this point. They couldn’t waste time and energy running around aimlessly. They needed an address or coordinates. She hit Ricardo’s contact and waited for the satellite phone to connect.

  “Ricardo,” a low voice answered.

  “Any luck with that address?” Shani asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

  “One moment. We’re going through a lot of layers here and it’s causing delays.”

  “I can’t afford delays,” Shani replied. “We’re into it.”

  “The drone team says the men are still on the water, so you have a little time,” Ricardo said. He covered his phone and spoke to someone else before getting back on the call. “We’re in luck. Picture Perfect does timeshares. I’ve got an address.”

  He rattled it off to her. Even before he was done speaking, Shani was switching to the GPS app to input the address. It took the device a moment to acquire satellites and pinpoint her position.

  “It’s 0.69 kilometers from our position,” Shani finally said.

  “I just relayed that address to the drone team,” Ricardo said. “They estimate the men on the water to be no more than five minutes away from that position. You better get a move on.”

  “Acknowledged,” Shani replied. “Give me confirmation when they make landfall.”

  “Roger.”

  “We have to double-time it,” Shani said to Barb, who had heard none of Ricardo’s information, only Shani’s responses.

  “Close?” Barb asked.

  “Five minutes.”

  Barb didn’t wait for further instructions. She was out of the bushes and running, Shani falling in alongside her.

  “You have a plan?” Barb asked.

  They found a pace that was not quite breakneck speed, but hopefully fast enough to allow them to beat the terrorists to the property.

  “I’d like to alert the family and see if we can surprise the men.”

  “Whatever you think,” Barb said. “I’ll follow your lead.”

  Shani had a counter running on her wristwatch. They had four minutes. They passed a road sign and the street name was familiar from studying the GPS routing. “Here!”

  They pulled left, hitting a paved road that ran downhill toward the water. They were surrounded by street signs. Every road, even if it only had one house, had a name. Not seeing what she was looking for, Shani began to doubt herself. She considered pulling out the GPS again but her wristwatch told her they were down to three and a half minutes. It would take at least thirty seconds for the GPS to acquire satellites and adjust to her new position. That was thirty seconds she didn’t want to waste unless she absolutely had to.

  Then she saw it—the road she was looking for and a rustic hand-painted sign that read Picture Perfect. She pointed it out to Barb and rushed in that direction, slowing as they started up the driveway. A house loomed ahead of them, cars parked out front. If they hadn’t known better, it would be easy to think the house held a family on vacation rather than people desperately falling back to their bugout location.

  “We need to bang on the door and wake them up,” Shani said.

  “I’ll do it,” Barb said with no hesitation.

  “I’ll cover you.”

  Barb navigated the sidewalk to the front door, stumbling on the steps in the awkward nightvision gear. She flipped the optic up on her bump helmet and banged on the door with her fist. She didn’t let up until she heard someone moving inside.

  “Who is it?” a man demanded from inside. “I have a gun!”

  “Your family is in danger, sir. Please open the door.”

  “I’m not opening the door until you tell me who you are,” the man said firmly.

  “Who I am doesn’t matter. Does your home have a basement?”

  The man hesitated before responding, apparently uncertain of how to respond to the unusual question. “Yes, it does.”

  “I’m with the police. I need you to open this door for me and get everyone to the basement.”

  To Barb and Shani’s surprise, the lock clicked loudly and the door swung open.

  A man in a bathrobe stood on the other side, no gun visible. He played a flashlight over Barb’s gear. “You don’t look like a cop,” he said.

  “And you don’t have a gun, dumbass,” Barb spat. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

  “Two minutes!” Shani called from the darkness.

  “Who’s that?” the man asked, pointing the flashlight toward the bushes.

  “My partner. Listen, I don’t have time to explain. In two minutes, a team of men will hit your house from the water. They’re here to rob you and murder your family. You have to hide. Let us deal with them.”

  “But why...us?”

  Shani flew out of the darkness and into the bubble of light created by the homeowner’s flashlight. She was a terrifying visage in her tactical gear, bristling with weapons. “We don’t have time for this.”

  She grabbed the man by the arm and pulled him through the dark house, assuming there was a lake view somewhere. She stopped at a wall of sliding glass doors and scanned the surface of the lake through her night vision. When she spotted what she was looking for, a cluster of canoes and kayaks paddling toward the shore, she unbuckled her bump helmet and plunked it on the man’s head. “What the fuck do you see out there?”

  “Men in boats,” the man replied. “But why?”

  “Why doesn’t matter. Those men have guns. They’ve been killing other families around the lake and robbing their homes. You’re next. I don’t have time to explain how I know that. We will deal with this but I need you to get your family to safety immediately.”

  While Shani was replacing the helmet and optic on her own head, the man apparently asked one question too many.

  “Who’s going to deal with this? You and that other girl?” There was some doubt in his voice as to their abilities.

  Big mistake.


  Barb Maguire tolerated no fools. There was the sharp ring of flesh-on-flesh. Shani had been distracted with her gear and hadn’t seen the blow coming.

  The man flinched and grabbed the back of his head. “What the hell?”

  Barb grabbed the man by the collar and spoke through clenched teeth. “If you open your mouth again, I’ll kill you myself. Get your family into the basement NOW!” With that, she shoved him away from the window.

  The man didn’t ask another question, hustling off toward the steps.

  “And don’t use any flashlights!” Shani called after him. “They’ll see them.”

  “Sorry about whacking him,” Barb said.

  “It’s fine. I probably should have tried that instead of reasoning with him.”

  “Dad says I can be impatient sometimes.”

  “Well, I have a lot to say about your dad but that’s a conversation for another day. I’m going outside to get into position. There’s a concrete retaining wall beside the driveway that will offer good cover. I want you to answer them if they knock but don’t open the door. String them along until I open fire. Then get yourself to that back door and engage them when they try to retreat to their boats.”

  “Roger that.”

  “And Barb, no one gets away. No one.”

  51

  Cautious footsteps found their way down the dark stairs. Fearful, confused voices questioned the man as he tried to explain to his family the need for haste.

  “I don’t see why we can’t use a flashlight,” a woman’s voice said.

  “I’m scared,” said a little girl, beginning to cry.

  “Just hurry!” the man hissed. “The men are at the dock. I saw them!”

  Detached from their urgency, Barb stood at the sliding glass door studying the winding path from the shore. She’d lost sight of the men behind the trees and knew it wouldn’t be long now. The frantic voices of the terrified family were only a backdrop to her thoughts. Two days ago, she couldn’t have imagined the place she now found herself.

  She enjoyed patrolling her community. It was an improvement from being stuck at the compound but it was nothing like this. This was exciting and new. She’d rarely felt as alive as she felt at this very moment. She couldn’t believe that her overprotective father had facilitated it.

  Barb caught a flicker of illumination at the wooded shoreline. From the way her goggles responded, she suspected someone was using a red-lensed flashlight. Her own experience told her that the men were landing their boats and readying their gear.

  “I’ve got activity on the shoreline,” Barb said into her radio, hustling away from the window. She stood at the top of the basement stairs and called down to the family. “They’re coming. Stay down and don’t make a sound.”

  “Okay,” the man called back. His voice was tight, his chest constricted by fear.

  “I’m in position,” Shani said across the radio. “Put your radio on voice-activated.”

  “Roger that,” Barb replied, hurrying to her position by the back door. She didn’t know what the terrorists had in the way of gear yet so she kept her body hidden by the wall alongside the door. She hoped they didn’t have thermal capability. If they did, she was busted.

  Then there was a man’s voice in her headset. “This is Urban Cowboy. You must be closer to the water because I’m picking you up loud and clear. Be careful and reach out if you need assistance. I’m free to back you up if you need it.”

  It was her father. The open water was allowing their signal to reach Conor’s position, which she assumed must be the fishing resort. Although she wasn’t scared for what was about to take place, Barb found some comfort in the fact that her dad was connected to them by the radio. She could speak to him if she needed to and he could hear what was going on.

  “Acknowledged,” Shani replied.

  “Acknowledged,” Barb repeated.

  The group of men began to emerge from the woods along the shoreline. They worked their way up the winding trail from the lake, rifles in their hands.

  “I have hostiles in sight,” Barb whispered. “They’re armed and coming up the trail to the house.”

  “Roger that,” Shani replied. “Let me know when they start around the house.”

  “Got it.”

  Barb studied the pale, ghostly faces of the men concentrated on their surroundings. She found it hard to believe that these very men were part of the group directly responsible for everything the nation was currently going through. After all they’d done, even after the success of their mission, they continued to inflict death and terror on the people of the United States. It made her hate them. As much as she knew that this work shouldn’t become personal, it was hard to keep it from becoming that. These men deserved the fate that awaited them. Barb was glad she was there to play a part in it.

  “The first man is approaching the house,” Barb whispered. “Unless he stops, he should be in your visual in thirty seconds. One is hanging back to cover the rear of the house. Be aware of that.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Despite knowing it was coming, the loud banging on the front door startled Barb. It was the authoritative banging of cops announcing their presence. Barb wanted to ask Shani what she should do but she already knew. She also understood that Shani shouldn’t speak with the men so close to her. Barb was on her own.

  After the first barrage of pounding, there was a pause, then a second burst. The knocker was shouting something Barb couldn’t make out. She approached the door quietly, not wanting those outside to hear the sound of her boots on the floor. She positioned her body off to the side of the door. If they chose to shoot through it for some reason, she didn’t want to be directly in front of it.

  “Who is it?” she asked, trying her best to play the frightened young woman.

  “There’s a fire! Flames on your roof! You need to get out of the house!”

  Barb hesitated before responding. “I’m not supposed to open the door. What if you’re a bad man trying to rob us?”

  “I’m trying to save your life, silly girl! Your house is on fire! You must get out! Your family is in danger.”

  Though she was not in front of the door, Barb replied as if she was. “If you’re here to help us, why do you have a gun? I’m looking through the peephole and I can see it in your hand. Who are those other men?”

  Two shots ripped through the center of the door. Despite being well clear of them, Barb flinched. The suddenness of the attack was unexpected. It was followed by a thud that shook the whole house when the man began kicking the door with a booted foot.

  Wanting the attackers to think she was dead, Barb retreated away from the door and crouched, her gun aimed toward the door. “I know you can’t answer me but I was well clear of those shots,” she whispered urgently, low enough that the men outside would not hear her voice. “I’m in a firing position away from the door. You’re good to go when ready.”

  Another booted foot joined the first and the door cracked loudly. A few more kicks and the jamb shattered. The door flew inward, bouncing violently off the wall. This was apparently what Shani was waiting for. Hearing the sound of the door giving way, the other men emerged from cover and stacked up around the door kickers.

  Shani had her Tavor CTAR leveled over the concrete retaining wall and she squeezed the trigger. She was in full-auto mode and pounded out controlled bursts at the men clustered around the door. Several fell, some screaming in agony, others scattering like scalded cats. She flicked the selector to semi-auto and began tracking targets, the ENVG-B goggles working in conjunction with the optic mounted on her weapon.

  The two door-kickers leapt into the house to escape the fire behind them. Barb was waiting with her own surprise. She quickly dropped the first man with a double-tap to center mass. He fell in the path of the second man who leapt overtop him at the sight of Barb’s muzzle flash in the dark room. Barb tracked him with rounds but he disappeared behind a sofa.

  She flipped t
he happy switch on her weapon and dumped a full-auto burst into the sofa. Bits of fluff and foam filled the air like dust. The man cried out, but hung his AR over the back of the couch, dumping semi-auto fire in her direction. He shot one-handed, jihadi-style, firing as fast as he could pull the trigger.

  Barb’s rifle ran dry. She needed to reload but was too exposed to fight from her current position. She scrambled on all fours for cover, her rifle dragging beneath her, but found nothing that would block 5.56 rounds. She flattened herself against the floor, ejected her mag, pounded another home, slapped the bolt release, and was back in the fight. She was preparing to fire at the gap beneath the couch when she caught movement in the basement door.

  With a shout he must have learned from a Rambo movie, the homeowner opened fire from the basement entrance with his own AR-15, sending rounds into the couch. He pulled the trigger as fast as he could with the rifle held at his hip, like an insurgent in a movie. With rounds buzzing all around him, the terrorist had no choice but to engage the homeowner, turning his rifle on this new attacker.

  Barb was prepared to advance toward the couch and ambush the terrorist but that was too risky with the homeowner’s indiscriminate gunfire. The man wasn’t aiming, just firing wildly and screaming like a banshee. Then his gun ran dry.

  Kudos to him for bringing a new gun into the fight but that was all he brought. No spare mags, no backup weapon, nothing. Taking advantage of the opportunity, the terrorist sprang to his knees and pointed his rifle in the general direction of this new attacker.

  Barb caught a glimpse of the terrorist’s head and fired a short burst in his direction. Some of the rounds went over the back of the couch and some went through it, but they hit their mark. She heard the clatter of the gunman’s rifle hitting the ground. Then she heard the tumble of a body falling down steps and the scream of a waiting family.

  Barb didn’t have time to worry about the homeowner. She scrambled to her feet and peered around the couch, rifle raised and heart pounding. The terrorist lay in a puddle of blood with multiple wounds. Yet he wasn’t dead and struggled to unholster a handgun with a broken arm, the floppy appendage pawing uselessly at the grip extending from the holster.