by J. M. Madden
She did as she was told, kind of. She shifted around until she was wedged against the fridge, her head low so that she could see anyone entering the room. Her little Beretta was in the bedroom with the rest of her stuff, so she reached into the drawer beside the fridge and grabbed a knife, then lowered herself back to the floor. It was better than nothing. If she leaned her head all the way down, she could see across the hardwood floor the entire length of the room.
It seemed that Jack was gone an interminable amount of time. She counted her heartbeats, praying that she didn’t hear any more gunshots. Because that was what had whined over her head. A bullet. She looked at the hole in the wall near the table. If she hadn’t leaned back in her chair there was a very good chance that she would be dead right now.
Pure shock made bile rise in her throat, but she forced it back. This was not the time to break down. Where the hell was Jack?
Jack knew the shooter was probably already gone, but he had to look to make sure. The problem was the beach house was on stilts and as soon as he exited onto the deck he would be visible. It couldn't be helped, though.
He eased open the side door and squeezed out through the narrowest gap possible, but a shot still rang out above his head. Jack lowered himself down, hoping that the shooter was on the beach and at a lower elevation. He scanned the surrounding houses but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. He crawled to one corner of the deck, his knee protesting every move, where he crouched behind the barbecue grill and peered out. Nothing for as far as he could see in the pre-dawn light. He scrambled toward the opposite corner of the deck, but he didn't quite make it. A round shaved along his shoulder, slamming him back against the house. Lightning hot pain sang through his deltoid and Jack knew if he didn't figure out where the hell this guy was, he was going to be in serious trouble. He looked to the wound. It wasn't as bad as some he’d had but it burned like a son of a bitch.
The elevated deck made him an easy target and he needed to get the fuck off. With that thought in mind, he bolted down the stairs. Once on ground level, he peered out from behind the center utility room, and he spotted the shooter. It was a thin man in a black hoodie sweatshirt over on the brick patio of the house just to the east. He was crouched behind an outdoor fireplace, the muzzle of his weapon pointed into the air. The guy appeared to be looking up while he scanned the area for him, giving Jack the advantage. Apparently, he hadn’t seen Jack come down the stairs. Jack crept around the side of the maintenance room, then moved behind a stilt, flanking the shooter. The man stared up intently, making it easy enough for Jack to get around him. But he missed the second intruder, hiding behind the corner of the neighbor’s house. Jack heard the report of a semi-automatic and pulled back just in time to avoid the second gunshot wound, but the wooden beam he was hiding behind lost about an inch of wood. Unfortunately, his ass was wider than the beam and he needed to move and neutralize these assholes.
As he lunged away from cover, he fired several rounds and was gratified to see the man spin away from the corner and blood fly in the brightening predawn light. Then the intruder was on the ground, crying out. The shooter with the rifle began sending bullets his way but the weapon was a lot less maneuverable that the second shooter’s automatic. Jack dropped the clip from his empty Sig Sauer and reloaded, growling at the pain in his shoulder. When there was a pause from the rifleman Jack took off across the patio, squeezing the trigger repeatedly. He did actually try to not kill the man, but it was hard to turn off training and misplace the shots. He’d immobilized the terrorist but he could tell that if he didn’t get medical assistance soon, their suspect would be dead.
The second shooter was also on the ground, writhing in pain. There was a bullet hole in his left thigh and through his upper left chest. The Sig Jack carried was a forty-five caliber, capable of blowing serious holes in anything it hit. The shooter tried to bring his weapon up but Jack knocked it out of his hand. “Who sent you?” he growled.
The man gritted his bloody teeth at Jack, and he realized how old he was, or how young, rather. Probably no older than Andrea’s kids, just college age. “Why are you here?”
“To kill the woman, you stupid kaafir,” the man hissed as he spit out a mouthful of blood into the sand.
“Why though? She didn’t do anything.”
The man’s right hand shifted slightly.
“Don’t make me shoot that hand.”
The movement stopped, but the kid glared at him even harder. Jack gave a quick glance around. It was very early. He expected more people to have heard the shots but maybe they hadn’t over the sound of the waves and sea. His cell phone was up in the house and there was no way he was going to leave these two here. Did he dare holler for Andrea and risk detection?
As if in answer to his thoughts he saw the door he’d exited move slightly. “Andrea!”
Her head popped up just enough to see over the bannister. “Jack?”
“Bring me my cell phone and my go-bag, as quick as you can.”
The door moved again and she was gone. Within just a few minutes she was back, the biceps of her arms straining to carry the weight of his long duffel. He probably should have told her what to get out of it but it hadn’t occurred to him.
She looked at the carnage around them, blinking rapidly. “They’re just kids,” she breathed.
Jack leaned down a little to catch her eyes. “No, they’re not. They’re both terrorists sent to take you out.”
Reaching into the side of the bag he withdrew the black flex cuffs he kept there. Flipping the second kid over onto his face in the sand, Jack bound his hands together. Then he moved to the other shooter, the one that had taken the shot at Andrea. He was blinking up at the sky slowly, the wound in his gut bleeding steadily. Andrea moved to help him, but Jack waved her away. “This kid tried to kill you.”
Her eyes jerked down and she seemed to be struggling with the truth, until her eyes landed on the black rifle laying a few feet away. “But, they’re so young. No older than Ryan.”
Jack huffed out a breath. “No gun is going to check the age of the person pulling the trigger. These men learned that a long time ago. They were probably radicalized before they were even teenagers. You can see what we’re dealing with, Andrea.”
Crouching down he applied the second set of flex cuffs, this time in front, and he grabbed the beach towel out of Andrea’s hands. “If you want to hold pressure on the wound you can,” he told the kid, but his dark eyes weren’t really tracking anymore.
Searching the kid’s hip pockets, Jack pulled out a small nylon wallet. There wasn’t much in it other than a few dollars, a student ID from the same community college as the murderer from Andrea’s shop and a folded slip of paper. Opening it up he looked at the scratches, but was unable to decipher them right that second. He also found a cell phone, but it was locked. Jack turned the phone in his hand and looked at it, then knelt down and took the wounded man’s right hand in his. He wiped the blood off the kid’s forefinger and held it to the back of the phone and unlocked it.
Jack scrolled through the settings and changed the password so that he could get back into it, then confirmed the email that came in on notifications. Then he scrolled through the contacts and messages. The most recent message was from F. No name, just a letter. And it said he was a go for Tuesday, no matter what else happened. The time was early this morning. Apparently he’d gotten the go ahead for the attack on Andrea.
“What day is today?” he asked Andrea.
She blinked. “Um, Tuesday. The fifteenth.”
He continued to scroll through the text messages and she moved behind him to look over his shoulder. “Wait,” she said, reaching over him. “What’s that?”
Jack stopped at the picture and blew it up. It was a collage of kids. There were names written onto the pictures. Others were blank. And there were numbers on them.
“My god,” she breathed. “Are these kids they’re going to steal?”
Jack shook
his head but he was wondering the same thing. Now, how the hell did they find them?
“Oh, shit! Jack! Why didn’t you tell me you were hit?”
Jack had forgotten about the gunshot wound in his shoulder but as soon as she mentioned it the pain made itself known. He’d blocked it off, like he had every other time. “I’m okay. We need to secure these assholes and get on the road.”
“To where?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure, but you’re obviously compromised here. They know who you are and where you’re likely to stay.” He glanced up and down the beach. “I’m not sure how no one heard all this but we’re going to take advantage of it and secure these fuckers inside, then have Si pick them up and do cleanup.”
Andrea winced and he knew she wanted to get them medical and shit, but it was way down his list of priorities. Reaching down he grabbed the guy beneath the arms and dragged him over beneath their house, just inside the utility room. Then he returned for the second one.
“Why don’t you go pack your stuff,” he told her. “We’re going to get out of here in about five minutes.”
Andrea blinked and nodded, her arms folded across her stomach. She seemed lost again, but he was fairly certain she’d be able to pull herself together. “Andrea!”
She jerked into motion, trotting across the sand to the stairs up into the house. Jack secured both men in the utility room, but he didn’t think the sniper was still alive. The second guy was breathing and he would probably be fine. His wounds weren’t nearly as bad as the sniper’s.
Jogging up the stairs after Andrea he found her in the kitchen, rummaging through a first aid kit. “Sit,” she told him firmly.
Jack looked down at his arm. Yeah, it probably did need to be patched up, if just to stop the bleeding. He sank into the chair in front of her. Andrea's hands were shaking but her touch was firm as she rolled his T-shirt sleeve up over his deltoid. Now that things were calming down the pain was moving in. It was at an awkward angle and couldn't see the whole wound, but he could feel the blood dripping down his elbow. Andrea used a wet cloth to clean off as much of the blood as she could, then pressed a good sized nonstick pad to the back of his arm. It hurt but not nearly as bad some other injuries he’d had. Jack waited patiently as she wrapped gauze around and around his arm. By the time she was done the wound felt tight and secure.
He looked at her, her big eyes looking a little dark and shocky. “Are you okay?"
Her eyes slid to his and she was already nodding. He caught her hand and stopped her from moving away. "I'm serious, Andrea."
“I am too, Jack. It’s just a lot to get used to, you know? They’ve ruined the safety of both of my homes, my business. I need to call the kids and get them out of town.”
“Si has already taken care of that. He has people on them already.”
Some of her tension eased. “How do we get out of this?”
Her tears had dried but there were still tracks down her cheeks. Reaching out he used the thumb of his uninjured hand to wipe the rest away. Andrea’s eyes softened as she looked down at him. He couldn’t stand to see the pain there, and the uncertainty.
“We’re going to run down to a buddy’s house. Another former SEAL who contracts for Bone Frog. Totally unrelated to you so they have no way to track you, but I know him well.”
Her eyes clouded over again. “I don’t want to put anyone in danger again. It’s deserted out here right now because it’s off season, but I don’t want to risk anyone at the base or anything.”
“What safer place could you be, though? You know they can’t follow you there.”
Andrea sighed, conceding the point.
“Besides, Mike’s place is off base.”
Putting the sniper’s phone on the table Jack used his own to call Si. The AD sounded wide awake, thought it was still just at dawn. He updated him on what had happened.
“The second one is still alive?”
“He was when I left him there.”
“I’ll have a team there in less than half an hour.”
Jack told him what he’d found in the phone. “I’ll route the picture to you through email, and I think I’m going to head toward Norfolk.”
“Okay.”
“Jack,” Andrea said firmly. “Look.”
She was holding the sniper’s phone out to him, the collage picture blown up. On it was a little boy with bright blond hair and blue eyes. It looked like he was on his way to school because he had a blue backpack over one shoulder and a lunchbox in his right hand. He was just a little guy, probably no more than eight or nine. Her fingertip was resting on his lunchbox, and a barely visible decal. Even though it was almost completely sideways, Jack recognized it. “That’s a Navy SEAL patch. Si, they’re going after Navy SEALs’ kids.”
Chapter Six
Andrea felt sick to her stomach and she didn’t know how to make it feel better. They were flying down the highway toward base, on the other side of Norfolk. Although she wasn’t even sure why they were going there. The kids weren’t there.
The thought of military children being stolen was one of the most chilling things she could imagine. Yes, when you married a Navy SEAL, you understood that there was an inherent sense of danger in what they did. Those few select warriors on the teams were built and trained to fight, but they deserved to have a home life as well.
Kids should be completely off the table when it came to war, though. As soon as she thought it she knew it was naïve, but it seemed like the weaker and less threatening beings were always the ones that paid during war.
This was the United States, though. The fact that there was a group trying to attack these kids in particular, and so close to Norfolk Naval Station and Joint Expeditionary Base Little Creek made them incredibly reckless. So reckless that she didn’t feel like they cared what the goal was, or if they made it out alive.
They were here to become martyrs. But why?
“How are we going to figure out who these kids belong to? There are no names.”
Jack’s hard square jaw was clenched and he shook his head slowly.
“I might be able to get online,” Andrea murmured. “I still talk to some of the wives and keep up with their kids. I can see who’s in charge of the Navy Wives’ club for Norfolk.”
Jack glanced at her. “We don’t want to cause a panic. There are hundreds, no, thousands of military kids whose parents are either in the military or work on one of the bases. We can’t just randomly start showing pictures around and not expect people to react.”
“Yes, you’re right,” she murmured. She wracked her brain for options. “Well, which team is deployed right now? Maybe we can narrow it down that way. Maybe they’re on an op putting pressure on a family or something and the terrorists are responding by throwing together this synchronized kidnapping attempt.”
Jack turned and gave her a long look. “I know you’re spitballing but I think you may have hit on something.”
Pulling off at the next exit, Jack turned the truck into a gas station and called Si.
“Christ and damnation,” he breathed when Jack told him Andrea’s theory. “That would definitely derail an op, wouldn’t it? Let me make a couple of calls.”
Jack hung up knowing that Si would figure out who was where, even though that information was highly classified — top secret. They shared a look, knowing they had to wait.
Starting the truck again, Jack pulled up to the pumps and topped off the tank, then went inside for some snacks. Andrea went inside and used the bathroom, shaking her head at the cracked mirror over the sink. She looked like death warmed over. At least she’d been able to grab her bag and phone from the beach house. Hopefully when they got to his buddy’s house she would be able to clean up.
They drove for a few more minutes before Jack started winding his way through an old neighborhood. Most of the houses were well-kept little Craftsman types, with small yards. When he pulled into the driveway of one, Andrea wasn’t even sure how
he’d recognized it from the rest of the others. Ah, well, maybe the oversized blue Chevy stomper truck in the driveway was a tip-off.
No one answered the door, so Jack led her around the side of the house and through a backyard gate.
“Mike,” he called, pausing.
A voice answered them but it was muffled, so he led her further inside the back yard. “Latch that gate,” he told her. “Keep the beast in.”
Andrea quickly latched the gate and turned to follow Jack through an oddly charming backyard. There were metal sculptures placed throughout the overgrown garden, but even though they were made with odd pieces of junk they were immediately recognizable. There was a bull with oversized handlebar horns and a treadle sewing machine body. There was an odd turtle with a frying pan back and odd little metal legs. There was a pond in the far corner of the yard. A fan-bodied pelican lounged on some rocks overlooking the koi in the pond. It was the kind of place that Andrea loved, odd and unique, creative.
Suddenly, an enormous dog came barreling through the overgrown plants, hurtling toward them. Big and red, he had a massive mouth and jaw, pink tongue lolling. He slammed into Jack like he was a long-lost brother, and Jack responded in kind, pounding the big animal on the side. Andrea had no experience with pit bulls, but this one seemed happy enough; his tail whipping back and forth so fast it was a blur. When he turned to her, though, and that attention was completely on her she did have a flutter in her gut, an instinctive fear of the unknown. The dog simply walked up to her and plopped on her foot, lolling his head backward to grin up at her. Andrea laughed and braced herself against his weight as she leaned down to rub him on the neck.
