by Carr, Jack
Throwing the lead assaulter into the doorframe, Reece checked the next intruder’s gun to the side, smashing his now-inert pistol into the face of a man who did not expect to be in a hand-to-hand fighting situation when he had a rifle. As the assailant put his hands up to instinctually block his face from the onslaught, he also turned his back.
Reece snaked his left arm around his opponent’s neck, putting in the initial move of a rear naked choke. Instead of sliding his left hand into the crook of his right inside elbow to sink in the submission, Reece tapped the base of his magazine on his right leg. He then angled it so the rear sight would catch on his belt, racking it downward in a violent motion to clear the stoppage. He could tell by feel that it hadn’t helped.
Work the problem.
Instead of losing time clearing a type two malfunction, Reece went for his secondary weapon, which in this case was his Winkler tomahawk at the back of his belt.
Katie’s Glock exploded behind him, firing eight times in quick succession.
What the fuck?
Katie!
Reece’s hand found his hawk, freeing it from his belt line. He spun it so the sharp front spike was facing him, then sliced it across the abdomen of the man he was locked with in a primal dance of death. He sliced back and forth three times, feeling the sharp implement working its way deeper and deeper into the bowels. Releasing his choke hold, Reece sank the man to his knees, spun the hawk, and implanted the axe blade through the top of his attacker’s head.
He turned to Katie, who still had her Glock trained on the doorway, then to a third man lying on the floor. Reece knelt next to his pistol. He laid the hawk on the floor, ejected the magazine from the SIG, and racked the slide three times, clearing whatever clothing or body parts had fouled it. He reinserted the magazine, racked the slide again to chamber a round, and then performed a press check before picking up the tomahawk.
How many assassins did they send?
Not professionals but professional enough.
Reece moved to the closest body and bent to pick up the AR. His attempt at a battlefield pickup was interrupted by the sound of footsteps running up the outside metal staircase. Reece reacted.
How many?
Doesn’t matter.
They tried to kill Katie.
I am going to kill them all.
Rushing back toward the staircase, Reece met the first aggressor with a shot that caught him just below the nose and sent him crumbling to the deck.
Reece was overcommitting to the problem, but he was on autopilot set to rage. Visions of his dead wife and daughter forever imprinted on his soul drove him forward. His tomahawk caught the rifle of the number two man and checked it toward the ground. The violent impact of bodies and weapons clashing together in battle caused the intruder to shoot several rounds into the ground. With the AR trapped, Reece fired three rounds into the man’s stomach. He then changed angles and sent three more into his upper chest. Bringing the pistol up in an unconventional position, he fired one last round into his face.
Slide lock.
Shit.
Another threat entering the room.
Reece dropped his pistol and charged at the third person in the element, impaling his hawk into the upper arm of the new threat and forcing him back onto the second deck landing.
Control the gun, Reece.
The assailant’s finger contracted around the trigger and sent a fully automatic burst into the building—into Katie’s room.
Reece sliced down the man’s arm with the ancient weapon until it met the metal of the AR. With the axe pressing on the rifle, Reece pulled the man toward him and then slammed him into the outside wall, using the blade of the axe to scrape down through the hand controlling the trigger.
In a primal panic, the assailant pushed off the wall and sent them both careening into the outside railing. Running the blade of the axe back up the man’s arm, Reece pushed it behind his neck, grabbing either side of the axe and putting his head in a clinch. Reece fired several knees into his opponent’s groin and midsection, dropping him to the grated landing. Releasing his grip with his left hand and freeing the axe from behind the man’s neck, Reece raised it above his head and delivered a massive blow to the side of his face. His assailant’s head fell forward and Reece ripped the blade free, slamming it into the back of his neck, severing the spinal cord and sending the lifeless body onto the grate.
Knowing that too many warriors throughout history had been killed by people they thought were dead, one final blow ensured the man would never move again.
Reece’s eyes went to the stairs, the parking lot, and then to the tree line.
If there were more in this element they would be shooting.
Or they are calling in reinforcements.
That’s exactly what you should be doing.
Katie…
Reece charged back into the building.
“Katie! Katie!”
She sat on the couch, Glock still trained on the man she had killed. The cocktail of epinephrine and cortisol coursing through her body from the fight was starting to subside.
“It’s okay, Katie,” Reece said, kneeling in front of her. “Are you hit?”
Katie blinked her eyes as they came to focus on the man before her.
“I’m going to find a phone. You are doing great. Keep holding on the door, but use this,” he said, reaching down and retrieving an AR. He released the magazine, checked it for rounds, reinserted it, gave it a quick tug, and then press-checked the chamber, feeling for the round before letting go of the charging handle and hitting the forward assist. He handed it to Katie.
Reece holstered his pistol and slid his axe into the back of his belt. He then unslung another AR from a dead assailant and ensured it was loaded with a round in the chamber before moving to a desk and picking up a phone. No dial tone. He checked a second and then a third. Nothing.
“Well, looks like whatever this business was, it is shut down. The phones aren’t working.”
Reece checked the three dead bodies for phones and wallets. Clean. He then moved into the front room and checked the others before returning to Katie.
“No cell phones. No identifying information.”
Katie had regained her composure and Reece helped her to her feet.
“How does it feel? Can you walk on it?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s not bad. I can do it. Think those gunshots will bring police?”
“Probably, but they could also bring reinforcements for the bad guys,” Reece said, gesturing to the bodies. “I don’t know what this is all about, but now is the time to get someplace safe. Let’s get back to the road.”
“Your car is totaled.”
“True, but I’ve heard Toyota made more than one,” he said with a smile, knowing the power of humor on the battlefield. “These fuckers had at least one vehicle, and judging by the numbers here I think they had a follow car with hitters. I didn’t find car keys, so I’d bet they left at least one person back at the road.”
Katie nodded.
“How do you do it, James?”
“What’s that?”
“This,” Katie said, looking over the trail of bodies that littered the two rooms of the second-floor office.
Reece paused.
“It’s time to go, Katie. Just like we practiced. Are you ready?”
Katie knew this was not the time to attempt to analyze the psyche of the man she loved. Could she live with someone so attuned with death? That was a question for another day. Right now, they needed to survive this one.
“On me, Katie.”
Reece made his way across the office to the opposite side exit door. Outward opening. Kicking it open, he pied the door, using angles to clear as much of the outside space as possible.
Internally, Reece shook off Katie’s question. This wasn’t the time.
He knew the answer. He’d always known.
They maneuvered swiftly down the stairs, rifles up searching for threa
ts, then moved across the parking lot and into the darkness.
CHAPTER 38
“DUDE! THAT’S GUNFIRE, BRAH!” Woody said from his captain’s chair in the back of the minivan.
“I know what it is, Worthless.”
“Well, let me go mix it up out there. I need to get after it.”
“Keep it in your pants. I’m texting Sawyer.”
“Fuuuuck! I’ll prep the bang stick just in case.”
“You do that,” Crimmins said, tilting up his NODs and starting to text.
“Who do you think they are?” Woody asked, as he opened the pelican case and extracted a Daniel Defense M4.
“No idea,” Crimmins responded, concentrating on his text.
“Can’t tell for sure on the FLIR but they look like haj to me.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah, I used to watch them in Afghanistan. These goat fuckers are holding their guns just like the host-nation-force dudes we trained up.”
“You mean the ones you watched on guard duty?”
“Fuck off, Crimmins. All I’m saying is that they move the same.”
“Ever heard the adage that ‘everyone looks guilty under NODs’?”
“What’s that mean?”
“Never mind,” Crimmins said, finishing his text.
“What’d he say?”
“I just sent it. Cool your jets.”
Crimmins moved his NODs back into place. As dumb as Woody was, he might have a point. They actually did move like the host nation forces Crimmins had worked with in the Marines, though he wasn’t about to concede the point to his partner.
Crimmins heard the bolt go forward on the rifle behind him as his phone buzzed.
“Sawyer says to just keep recording.”
“Fuck!”
“It could be anyone out there, Woody. Those could be cops, Agency, who the hell knows.”
“They’re haj, bro. You know it.”
Maybe, Crimmins thought.
“Just do your job and ensure we are recording. In the meantime, hand me that rifle.”
CHAPTER 39
REECE AND KATIE MADE their way deliberately down the wooded slope, with just a sliver of a moon to guide them. Reece angled west.
He who flanks first, wins.
He paused at the base of the embankment. His Land Cruiser was visible about seventy-five yards to the east.
Sorry, old girl, Reece thought.
Turning his attention from the wreck, he looked up toward the road. In the darkness it was hard to tell if anyone was in an overwatch position.
“Katie, stay on rear security. I’m going to go up and get us some transportation. If something happens or you see anyone but me come back over the rise, make your way back to the west. Use the road as a guide. Keep moving. That will keep you warm. Keep going until you find a house. Then call 9-1-1 and tell them everything.”
Reece looked into her eyes and then down at the diamond that still hung from her neck.
When she spoke there was no panic, no fright, no uncertainty in her voice.
“Come back to me, James.”
Reece nodded and moved up the rise.
* * *
“Charlie, we have something here,” Woody said, staring at the monitors.
“What is it?” Crimmins asked, adjusting the focus on his NODs.
“I think it’s him.”
“Who’s him? Be more specific,” Crimmins ordered, focusing in on movement closer to the minivan than he expected.
“It’s fucking Reece.”
Crimmins brought his NODs back into focus on a figure moving over the low guardrail between his position and the two vehicles he had been watching.
Shit. Though he couldn’t be sure, the figure in his NODs seemed to pause and look directly at him.
He can’t see you, Charlie. He’s just checking his flank. Isn’t he?
“Fuck, Charlie. That’s James Reece. Clear as day. What happened to the nine tangos who went after him? Think he killed them all? Damn, that’s one bad motherfucker.”
“Don’t fucking move, Woody.”
“He can’t see us in here. This thing is all blacked out and high-speed. If he sees anything it’s the outline of an abandoned minivan.”
Charlie swallowed. He knew Woody was right, but something about the way the figure turned and looked right through him made him uneasy.
“Just keep recording, Woody.”
“I’m on it. He’s moving to the vehicles. He has what appears to be an AR.”
“My NODs are a little hazy at distance; what do you have on FLIR?”
Forward-looking infrared had come a long way in the past twenty years. The optics available even on the civilian sector market put the heat-sensing technology from the first half of the war to shame.
“I have one tango standing by the lead vehicle smoking a cigarette. The other guy is in the driver’s seat of the van. Appears to have the heat on.”
The crack of a rifle shot broke the night air.
“Oh shit!” Woody exclaimed. “He just straight up murdered that dude with the cig. Fuck! One shot! He’s not even wearing a shirt. What a beast! That was fucking awesome!”
“Just tell me you recorded it.”
“Oh, I got it all right. This is fucking sweet. I’m going to rub one out to this shit later. Wish I was out there stacking bodies with this dude.”
“Keep recording.”
“Oh damn,” Woody said, playing announcer at a UFC fight. “He just shot the driver in the van through the passenger window. Fuck, now he’s leaning in… oh, bro, he shot him again!”
“I can see that.”
“What’s he doing now?” Woody wondered out loud. “He’s clearing the van… now the sedan. He’s walking to the first guy. Oh shit! He just shot him in the head again. This dude is a fucking savage! He’s leaning down. Going through his pockets. He just picked him up. Fuck, that’s some cold shit.”
They watched as Reece carried the dead man to the back of the van. He opened the rear door and tossed him inside. He then moved to the front driver’s-side door and pushed the man he’d just killed between the seats. He then got behind the wheel and reversed toward the minivan.
“Oh, fuck,” Woody said. “Let’s get ready to get out of here or shoot or something.”
Crimmins was already on it. The vehicle was outfitted to drive with no illumination when in IR mode. No brake lights or reverse lights would give them away.
The van came to a stop where Reece had climbed over the guardrail. They watched as he exited the vehicle and appeared to call down the slope. Moments later Katie Buranek emerged. Reece helped her over the rail and put his arm around her. She walked with an obvious limp. Reece assisted her into the passenger seat and then walked back to the driver’s side. He stopped again, only momentarily, to look back down the road to the west.
Crimmins tensed in his seat, preparing to step on the gas to reverse out.
Be cool. He can’t see you. Just be cool.
“He’s looking right at us,” Woody whispered. “Probably just checking the road behind him. We are ghosts, brah.”
“Shut up and don’t say another fucking word.”
Reece got back in the van and a second later it sped off down U.S. 50 toward Annapolis.
CHAPTER 40
City Tavern Club
Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
“YOU COULD HAVE AT least worn a tie,” Thwaite said as he joined his companion in the private third-floor room of the City Tavern Club, a private club located north of the “Grand Old Ditch,” otherwise known as the C&O Canal near M Street and Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown.
“Not tactically sound. Serves no purpose.”
Sawyer was dressed in his normal D.C. attire of slacks, button-down shirt, and navy blazer. He stayed seated and didn’t offer a hand when Thwaite entered the room. He nursed what Thwaite could only assume was an expensive glass of bourbon.
“Pappy 23? On my bill I assume.”
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“No. Cognac tonight. Louis Treize. And yes, of course it’s on your bill. I’m not a member. I doubt the former CIA officers who restored this place would be happy I’m even having a drink here.”
“Probably not.”
A waiter approached and set a Bombay Sapphire martini on the table in front of the senator before leaving the two men alone in a private room usually reserved for functions with a minimum of fourteen people.
“Your usual?”
“Fuck you, Erik. I ordered on the way up.”
The building was one of the last remaining examples of American Federal–style architecture in D.C. With a history dating back to 1796, its early patrons included George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and John Adams. When a group of CIA Clandestine Service officers stumbled across it in the late 1950s it was scheduled to be demolished and turned into a parking lot. The enterprising officers on the verge of retirement formed an association to save the historic building. In 1962 they reopened the restaurant as a private social club, continuing its legacy of exclusivity, catering to Washington’s political and social elite, its red brick housing furniture and relics from the country’s earliest days.
“I wonder if Jefferson discussed the Barbary Wars in this room?” Sawyer said, admiring the fixtures and flooring that dated back to the eighteenth century.
“America’s first war on terror,” Thwaite said, draining half his martini in the first sip.
“There you go again, Eddie. Remember, I’ve heard your speech before.”
“You could have at least waited for me in the Receiving Room or Jefferson Library.”
“One never knows how long your vital work for the people will take, Senator. Besides, we are in the private room for a reason.”
“Erik, the president is destroying this country. Our economy is in shambles. People across the nation are sheltering in place to avoid a virus that so far has only affected Texas and Colorado.”
“Are you not worried it might spread?” Sawyer asked.
Thwaite finished his martini and looked for the waiter.
