into the flight, much too late to call off the op and return him to the compound.
There wasn’t much talking among the men, for which he was grateful. The biggest part of the ride passed in easy silence, livening up some only as they bore down on their destination.
“Hope we catch that fucker,” one man called above the noise.
“Then we’re gonna feed him his own dick,” another one said.
“Hey, Kelly. Thought you was sittin’ this one out?” This from Byrd, a big bald guy who looked like Mr. Clean.
“You heard wrong. Did you really think I was going to let your ugly ass grab all the glory?”
Byrd grinned. “You can try and stop me.”
The pilot put them down in a remote clearing — a couple of miles from their target, he guessed. Disembarking, he made himself as inconspicuous as possible. He wasn’t the team leader on this one — a fact that irked him to no end — but he’d have to follow for a change, something he hadn’t done in ages.
A man named Rivera addressed them all. “Okay, listen up. The border of the estate is a half mile this way,” he said, pointing to the south with the muzzle of his weapon. “One point seven miles to the main house. The place is well guarded, so be careful. B-team, you’ll secure the perimeter. A-team, you’ll secure the main house. Just incapacitate them if you can help it — we want as many alive as possible. Eliminate those who challenge you and pose a real threat. Bring Agent Foster safely out. Any questions?”
No one had any, so they got moving. Blaze assigned himself to A-team with a feral grin. Rivera wasn’t going to relish having to explain to their boss how he’d picked up an extra man without even noticing. For himself, he’d be damned lucky if he wasn’t fired.
Emma was worth making a stand.
He shunned the night vision goggles the others were wearing, and they took off, moving as stealthily as they could through the woods and bristling with weapons. He hated the NVG s and rarely used them, finding them to be weird and disorienting. He preferred to take out the enemy using his senses, like his ancestors used to do before such items were ever conceived. His senses were the only thing he trusted.
Nearing the perimeter, they fanned out and crept slowly, weapons at the ready. B-team took the lead, an occasional soft, muffled grunt of surprise sounding from the darkness. Taking out the enemy, one traitor at a time. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the main piece of shit.
As they neared the house he spotted a guard leaning against a tree, obviously bored and not paying attention. He glanced over at Byrd and gestured to the distracted guard to indicate he’d take care of this one. Just as he stepped up right behind the man, the guy turned and sucked in a deep breath as though to yell a warning, going for the gun on his hip.
The guard was too slow. Blaze slammed the butt of the M16 into the side of the man’s head and watched him slump to the ground. “Nighty-night,” he whispered, and smiled grimly. He’d need a lot more than ibuprofen when he woke up — he’d need a good lawyer.
He nodded at Byrd, and they split off together, circling around the back of the house. Byrd knocked out another guard and dragged him behind a big potted plant, giving the unconscious body a boot in the side for good measure. Blaze crouched beside a shrub and turned his attention to a wall of windows overlooking the property. The drapes were closed, hindering their view, but in the yellow glow from within he could barely make out shapes moving around. It was impossible to tell how many people were inside, but he knew to be prepared for anything.
He motioned to Byrd, indicating they should get close to the house—
A body tackled him from behind, a beefy arm going around his neck. The unseen enemy had probably planned to twist and break his neck, but his forward momentum hurled them both to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Blaze managed to maneuver onto his back, but the bastard was on him in an instant, a huge hunting knife slashing toward his throat.
Seizing the man’s wrist, he stopped the blade from slicing too deep, rolled, and twisted the arm. Bone cracked, and his enemy let out a cry, dropping the knife. Without hesitating, he scooped up the weapon and slit the guard’s throat, jaw clenching at the spray of blood and the awful gurgling noise.
The guard clutched at his neck for a few seconds, and then his hand fell to the ground. His eyes glazed as he stared at the moonlight without seeing. Blaze allowed himself a moment of regret for a life taken by his hand, but the man had made his choice the day he threw in his lot with terrorists.
Wiping off the blade in the grass, he shoved it in his boot for safekeeping. Byrd, who hadn’t moved and obviously hadn’t had any doubt that Blaze could handle the attacker alone, gave him a thumbs-up. With the threat dispatched, they continued their slow progress toward the house, keeping cover in dark shadows, behind trees and bushes.
Halfway there, they heard voices from inside the house. Loud. Anxious. Blaze held up a hand, and they stopped, listening.
Yeah, someone was shouting. Upset. Through a part in one set of drapes, he could see a figure pace by the window but couldn’t make out the man’s identity. Movement inside increased, more voices entering the fray.
For a second he thought their presence had been discovered, but it didn’t have that type of vibe. He was certain B-team had successfully removed the guards stationed outside with no time for an alarm to be raised. What the hell was going on?
Just as he was about to motion to Byrd, a patio door to the left, which was situated in an area a few rooms away from where the excitement was taking place, slid open quietly. Two figures stole into the darkness and struck out across the lawn. A man dressed as a guard, and a woman.
Even though she wore a ball cap, no doubt to cover her short, silvery blond hair, he’d know her form anywhere. Emma.
She was escaping with the aid of an unknown man, and they were in a hurry. Blaze rose from his spot with the intention of intercepting them, sending them safely to one of the waiting choppers, when three guards burst from the house, shouting.
The guards spied the fleeing couple, and weapons were raised. The man with Emma pushed her behind him and raised his own weapon, ready to defend them.
And that’s when all hell really broke loose.
Seven
At ten minutes after midnight, Emma was starting to get nervous. Really freaked. J.C. wouldn’t be late unless something was wrong, and if anything happened to him, she’d never forgive herself. He shouldn’t have tried to help her, and she should never have agreed to—
And then he was there, coming through the door, handing her a gun. “Take this.”
She took the weapon from him, heaving a ragged sigh. “Where have you been?”
“I was on my way up, but Dietz and a couple of his top dogs were arguing about something. I listened for a few minutes to get the gist, and it seems a couple of them want to move the weapon. Dietz doesn’t want to take the chance, insisting it’s safe where it is ‘at the Liberation compound,’ in his words.”
“So now we know without a doubt that it isn’t here. Now all we have to do is find out where this compound is and retrieve the thing.”
“No, what we do right now is get the hell out. I think Dietz was about to come for you when he was waylaid by this argument. Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Let’s move.”
She followed him, the gun feeling strange in her hand. Not that she didn’t know how to use one if necessary, but her job didn’t usually require her to be armed. She’d been in the field only twice to witness her creations in action, and even then she hadn’t needed to draw a weapon. But if it came down to her or the bad guys, she knew the one she’d pick.
