by Scott Blade
Right there in front of Widow, Mercer stared over at the barefoot guy, scaring him with just a look.
The barefoot guy responded by shooting his hands straight up in the air, like Harvard.
Like Harvard.
The barefoot guy was Jackson Harvard. He was alive and standing right there next to his pregnant wife.
Widow’s jaw hung for a split second, but he had to shake it off. He had no time to be surprised.
The Harvards shared the same facial expression. They were terrified.
They were terrified because standing behind them were two men, the same two men that Widow had seen following them in an F150 pickup and on another motorcycle.
They were big, like Lareno and his pal. The one on the bike had the same mismatched patches and same vest and beard. He wore sunglasses, covering his eyes. The sun bounced off the lenses like a sniper scope in the distance.
The guy from the F150 was different. He was short and looked more like the man standing next to Harvard with his hands up like they were cut from the same cloth somehow.
The F150 driver was plain-looking, clean-cut, nothing special.
Then there was another man. He was tall and big and had pale skin.
Widow saw no sunglasses on his face, but couldn’t see his eyes because there were deep-set making his eye sockets look like manmade arches.
The man’s face was long, horse-like. There were two jagged H-shaped scars lacerated across the man’s temple, cutting into his sideburns and his eyebrows, leaving white lines of scars instead of hair.
He had a big, thick beard like the other and the dead ones that maybe he didn’t know were dead, Widow hoped.
The man said, “Jack Widow.”
Shit, Widow thought.
The guy knew who he was.
Chapter 33
“J ACK WIDOW,” the guy in the front, the leader, said.
Widow stayed quiet.
“You’re the one causing me trouble.”
“Guess so.”
“Do you know who I am?”
Widow looked him up and down. The M9 was still in his hand but pointed at the ground.
Widow stood in the doorway. He thought about ducking back into the house. He could do that. But then they’d threaten to kill Harvard if he didn’t come out. He knew this game.
“You must be Mercer?”
“You do know me,” Mercer said and twisted at the waist and looked back at the motorcycle guy.
“What do you know about me?” he asked.
“I know you’re an Army reject. Probably blame everyone but yourself for that.”
“I’m Major Mercer. I’m First Special Forces Command. Do you know what that means, son?”
“Means that once upon a time you were a Green Beret, but then you got stuck in a hole somewhere by the MPs for committing a crime. By the looks of you, I’d guess it was for diddling boys in some foreign country. Or it was for purse-snatching. Or treason. Although now that I think about it, I bet it was for being an all-around asshole.”
Widow stayed where he was. Hand still gripped on the M9. His index finger slipped into the trigger housing, glossed the skin of the trigger. He could squeeze it.
Ten rounds left. Plus, one in the chamber. Ready to fire.
“Either way, I don’t give a shit.”
Mercer stared at Widow with no weapons in his hands, but he didn’t need any. The motorcycle guy had a Glock in his hand, Harvard’s Glock, Widow figured. The F150 driver had a Heckler and Koch MP5, which was an excellent gun.
Widow gripped the M9 in his hand.
Ten rounds in the magazine. One in the chamber. Two hostages and three hostiles. Two were armed and probably deadly with those weapons if any of Carr’s profiles of them were true.
Major Mercer had to be armed too. He probably had a handgun under his jacket somewhere.
The odds didn’t look good. There was little Widow could do without risking the Harvards’ lives .
“Jack Widow, troublemaker. You sure do know a lot about me. How’d you know all that? Were you sent here for us?”
Widow thought for a moment. He could lie. He could try and scare him into thinking that Widow was a part of some bigger operation.
There were Black Hawks headed their way. Probably loaded up with tactical forces. Although, most likely it was Air Force Security. The base they were flying out of was Pease Air Force Base.
A Black Hawk could travel up to two hundred something miles per hour. He knew that. Couldn’t remember the exact speed, but he knew it was over two hundred miles per hour.
They were less than two hundred miles from Pease.
Carr had said thirty minutes. But getting two teams ready, locked and loaded, and briefed took time. Knowing the Air Force, it wouldn’t be thirty minutes. Operations never went according to the plans of an optimistic civilian like Carr.
Carr seemed like a stand-up guy, but he was a bureaucratic pointy head. No way did he have an actual clue how long it would take. Unless they had a team on standby for such an emergency.
Widow couldn’t be so lucky. To his mind, it’d be more like two hours before backup reached them.
“Answer me, Widow! Stop calculating what your next move is! Your next move is whatever I tell you it is! ”
“No, I wasn’t sent here for you.”
Widow noticed that Mercer wore dog tags around his neck. Several of them.
They clanged together when he moved. Which he did, right then. He pivoted on one foot and twisted, looked back at Star Harvard. He made it big and obvious for Widow to see.
Then he stepped to her, placed a heavy hand on her shoulder.
In plain sight, he made a big fist, held it up and showed it to Widow. Then, fast, Mercer stepped over to Jackson and gut-punched him, hard, like he was trying to kill him.
Mercer recoiled back just as fast as he had moved in.
Jackson heaved forward off his feet, fell to his knees, and vomited onto the concrete.
Some of it was blood.
Star screamed. For the first time since Widow had met her twenty-four hours ago, she looked like a woman broken, like that, like it was done at the snap of the fingers.
Then Mercer stepped back to her, placed his hand back on her shoulder. Same shoulder as before. She held completely still, afraid and unknowing of what to do. Her eyes stared at Widow like he had to save her. He’d save her. She knew it.
Mercer showed his fist to Widow again. That’s when Widow saw he wore a knuckleduster. It was copper-colored but stained with old blood .
The three bodies at the cabin had been tortured.
The image of the knuckleduster being one of the tools used to intimidate the guys at the cabin flashed across his mind.
Mercer held his fist still.
He said, “I don’t have time to waste on you. So I’ll ask again. Are you sent here for us? Have we been compromised?”
Widow thought.
“Widow,” Mercer said, “Are they waiting for us at the installation?”
Widow looked at Star’s eyes.
“No!” he shouted. “No one is waiting for you.”
“So who are you? How did you know about me?”
“I’m nobody. I’m just a guy passing through.”
Mercer pumped the fist like he was puffing it bigger.
He said, “Just a guy passing through?”
“That’s right. I wasn’t sent here by anyone. I was just here. No reason in particular.”
“Like a tourist?”
“That’s right. That’s when I met Star Harvard. She’s here looking for her husband. Seems like you found him for her.”
Mercer looked at Star and then at Jackson, who was still crawling on the ground, coughing.
Mercer smiled, and then he started chuckling.
“You’re just a guy. You are literally a guy in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“That’s right.”
“How’d you kill my guys? ”
“Easy. I ambushed them.”
“Where did you learn to do that?”
Widow hesitated for a moment and decided what the harm in telling him something was.
“Navy SEAL.”
Mercer nodded and said, “So what? Now you’re like a drifter?”
Widow nodded.
“You should join us. That’s exactly why we’re doing what we’re doing. They use you up. Tell you it’s all for patriotism, and love of country, and all that bull shit. And then they spit you out. Disgraced. Like a piece of trash.”
“Major, it’s time,” the F150 guy said.
Mercer nodded.
“In a different life, maybe, Widow. In a different life. Maybe we could’ve been teammates. But not this time.”
Widow stayed where he was but was ready to duck back into the house, ready for a gunfight
Ten rounds in the magazine. One in the chamber. And the sawed-off stuffed in a jacket pocket.
But the gunfight he prepared for never happened.
Mercer showed Widow the fist, again, and the knuckleduster, and said, “Drop the weapons. I won’t ask twice.”
Game over.
Widow exhaled and sighed and tossed the M9 out onto the grass.
“The other one too. ”
Widow pulled the sawed-off out and tossed it behind the M9.
“Bullets?” Mercer called out.
Widow followed the M9 and the sawed-off with the shotgun shells he had stuffed in his pockets.
Mercer lowered the fist and the knuckleduster and looked at his watch. He stared at it for several seconds.
Widow realized that he was looking at a countdown.
Mercer said, “Widow, come down here.”
Widow walked out and down the footpath from the front door to the driveway.
He left the front door open behind him. No reason to shut it now.
“Come close.”
Widow walked close.
Mercer said, “Stand straight. Chin out.”
Widow did as he asked.
In a fast, single motion, Mercer slammed his big fist into Widow’s chin, knuckleduster and all. Widow flew back, off his feet, tumbled to the concrete drive.
It wasn’t lights out, but he was dazed and rocked like he hadn’t been in recent memory.
Widow stayed on the ground for several seconds. He couldn’t hear anything but ringing. It was loud like a gameshow buzzer going off in his ear.
He shook his head, looked down at the concrete. It vibrated in his vision .
He steadied himself and sat back on his haunches and looked up, back at Mercer, who was talking to him, but he heard nothing.
Widow reached up and felt his mouth. He checked to see if he had lost any teeth. They were all still there, probably only because Mercer hadn’t hit him in the mouth.
He took deep breaths, and his hearing slowly came back, but the ringing continued. His vision still shook but slowed until everything was where it should’ve been, all in the right place.
“Get up.”
Widow looked at Mercer.
“I said, get up!”
Widow stood back up on his feet.
“Come on.”
Widow followed Mercer, who walked him over to the pickup.
“Get in.”
Mercer held the driver’s door open and pointed. Widow pulled himself up into the driver’s seat.
“You’re driving.”
Widow didn’t ask questions. He put his hands on the steering wheel and stayed there.
Mercer slammed the door. The F150 guy got into the back seat, directly behind Widow. He pointed the MP5 at the back of the seat.
Jackson Harvard was forced into the passenger side, front, next to Widow.
Mercer got up close to the window and said, “You’re going to drive us in. ”
Mercer looked at his watch and then showed it to Widow.
There was a digital countdown on it in big, blue numbers. It read fifteen minutes left.
“We got to be at the entrance hatch in fifteen minutes, which means no time for sightseeing. You don’t stop. You ram right through the front gates.”
“The guards will shoot us down if we floor into the gate.”
“Why do you think you’re driving first?”
Mercer hopped off the truck and slapped the hood twice with his hand.
Widow started to put the seatbelt on.
The guy behind him shoved the MP5 forward and up and into the back of Widow’s head.
“You don’t need that. Neither of you.”
Widow looked at Jackson. They had both been buckling up. They both let go of their seatbelts.
Widow looked into the rearview.
“What do we call you?”
“My name’s Arnold. Not that that matters.”
Widow asked, “Was Lareno your pal?”
Arnold said nothing.
Widow said, “He died like a coward. So that you know.”
“Stop talking. Start the engine. Let’s go. Down that road.”
Widow nodded and started the engine. He looked up and watched the motorcycle guy get on the bike, start it up, and drive off to the road. Then Mercer grabbed Star by the arm. He shoved her into the driver’s seat of the Jeep. He hopped in the passenger side.
Mercer and Star backed the Jeep up and pulled alongside Widow.
Mercer smiled and said, “You first.”
Widow stayed quiet, put the F150 in drive and peeled away from the curb, headed down the road to the installation.
Chapter 34
T HEY SPED DOWN the road, kicking up gravel and dust clouds. Trees lined the sides.
Widow was at the front of the caravan of vehicles. Besides the F150, the motorcycle, and Star and Mercer in the Jeep, they were joined by another F150 that had been parked across the road like a roadblock.
Halfway to the installation, they passed another pickup, parked off the road. Widow saw two men standing in the bed and lined up on top of the truck. Resting on a rifle bipod was a Barrett fifty-caliber sniper rifle, a vicious weapon.
This one had a massive scope on it. It was boxy and electronic.
Widow guessed they used it to spy on the installation, probably night work to keep from being spotted.
They drove on.
Widow looked over at Jackson.
“You’re Jackson?”
“Yeah.”
“For the last twenty-four hours, we thought you were dead. ”
Jackson stared over at him.
“I’m sorry. I hid out. They ambushed my crew two nights ago. At our house. We share a house. I came home late, saw what was happening and ran.”
Widow didn’t make any judgments.
“I’m so sorry,” Jackson said, again like he was apologizing to his dead crew.
“Don’t apologize to me.”
Silence.
Then Jackson asked, “You’ve been helping my wife?”
“Yeah. Just met her yesterday. She was alone. I thought the gentlemanly thing to do was help out.”
“Thank you for that.”
Widow looked in the rearview mirror at Arnold. The guy listened to them, intently. He was staring back at Widow in the mirror.
Widow asked, “Out of curiosity, where were you hiding?”
“Motel row. I figured I could blend in with the lumberjacks.”
“Why didn’t you call anyone?”
“We’re not supposed even to be here. I didn’t know who to call.”
Widow didn’t know what to say to that. Sounded weak to him. It sounded more like Jackson was too scared to call anyone. Too frightened to help his friends. After all, he stopped calling his eight-months-pregnant wife over a month ago, long before some terrorists captured his crew .
Jackson struck him as a man who may be used to be strong, but now he was cowardly.
Widow almost spoke up about it, but what was the point? Here they were. They were in this together now.
“Stop talking,” Arnold b
arked.
A moment of silence passed, and then Arnold said, “Here we go. Get ready.”
Widow looked forward. They came over a hill, kicking up a ton more dust clouds.
Up ahead, Widow had a clear view of the installation. It wasn’t much to look at. There were two buildings, both tan, both brick, both very plain. From the air, they probably looked like dull, forgotten utility sheds.
A single radio antenna shot up into the air.
Somehow, the antenna was not working. Widow wondered how Mercer did that without raiding the compound.
A tall chain-link fence surrounded the installation. Barbed razor wire coiled at the top prevented climbers.
Widow saw the gate. It was a simple chain-link gate that opened inward.
Two MPs stood out front. Both were armed with M4 carbines. They were laced up tight with body armor and helmets. Only two visible guards, but they were serious-looking.
Widow said, “They’ll shoot us dead.”
Arnold said, “Don’t you worry. Just speed up. Ram them.”
Widow wasn’t going to run down two men in uniform .
He had to do something. But what?
“Speed up!” Arnold barked.
Widow sped up, but slowly. Kept his foot as far off the pressure as he could. Trying to buy time. What was he going to do?
He was only buying seconds, but every second counted.
He could think of nothing. No way out.
They were closing in now. A hundred yards. Eighty yards. Seventy yards. The speedometer kicked up speed. The dial was rising slowly.
Widow peeked in the rearview mirror. He saw the dust clouds kicking up thick and stormy.
That’s when he thought of the sniper rifle. They were going to shoot the guards from long range.
But the dust clouds. Maybe he could save them. He could create a huge smokescreen.
Widow punched it. He stomped his foot down as hard as he could. He loosened his grip on the wheel, trying to let the truck fishtail, wildly, riotously, madly. And it did.
The bed swerved from side to side like a dog wagging a tail.
Massive clouds of smoke kicked up into the air. The smoke rose so thick that Widow could see Star slowing in the rearview to avoid driving blind.
The motorcycle guy did the same until they were all swallowed up by the smoke.
