Rubbing his eyes, Mahoney made an appearance. “What’s with the early morning rousing, Curt? Is everything okay?”
Ashford whirled around and motioned toward his daughter. “I need you to watch her, Father, while we,” he drew a Glock 22 from a hip holster, “look into this power outage.”
“I can do that.” From the waistband at the back of his pants, Mahoney retrieved his own firearm, a stainless steel Colt 1911, and headed for his granddaughter.
Ashford lifted eyebrows.
Hardy stood straight.
Cruz stopped shoving the twelve-gauge round into the Mossberg and eyed Mahoney’s gun.
Noticing the extra attention, Mahoney slowed his pace. He flicked his eyes toward the 45 ACP. “I’m sorry. I hope it’s okay...that I brought a pistol into your home. I just thought...under the circumstances and all...”
Hardy tied his bootlaces. “This is a gun-friendly house.” He added a faint grin. “All we ask is that you don’t point the guns at the friendlies.”
“I assure you. I can handle a weapon...safely.”
Following Ashford, with Cruz on his heels, Hardy brushed by the priest, slapping him on the shoulder as he passed. “Glad to have the added firepower, Martin.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.
Chapter 27
Here We Go
2:05 a.m.
15 miles southwest of
alexandria, virginia
One minute ago, the sudden loss of power, accompanied by the usual audible whoosh, had sent Devlin scrambling out of bed. Before that, outside of the hour of sleep she had gotten from ten to eleven, the deputy marshal had been awake for the last three hours. She had rested, but had never shut her eyes. Sleep was tough to get when you are the bait, the worm dangling on a hook.
Her Colt 1911 in one hand and a Pelican 1970 flashlight in the other, Devlin sneaked out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Every light switch and electronic device she had tried produced no results. In the country, away from city lights, the darkness indoors matched the blackness out-of-doors.
With her wrists crossed, backs of hands pressed together, gun and light pointed in the same direction, Devlin squinted toward the living room. She had last seen Randall sitting on the couch, preparing for his watch. She thought about calling out his name or lighting up the area; however, both of those acts would give away her position to intruders. She squinted at the nothingness. Where are you, Randall?
*******
His back to the street-facing, front wall—Glock 22 in both hands—Randall whipped his head back and forth, keeping an eye on the figures cutting across the moonlight and casting shadows inside the house. He had seen three, distinct silhouettes. He gripped the gun tighter. Most likely a four-man assault team. He spotted movement at the other end of the home, near the last bedroom. Devlin...sure hope she doesn’t shoot me.
An outline filled a window.
Randall pivoted his head toward the window on his two o’clock. He zeroed in on the human form’s odd-shaped head. Under his breath, he groaned at the protruding forehead. NVG’s. At his three o’clock, he saw the front door moving inward. Here we go.
*******
Straight ahead of her, toward the front of the house, Devlin saw a sliver of moonlight breaking into the structure. The thin slice of illumination grew bigger. They’re breaching. She ducked into the next bedroom on the left. Squatting, she leaned right, exposing only her right eye and her forty-five.
The outside light became a large rectangle, a man’s crouching form in the center.
Devlin made out a rifle when the man pivoted sideways. She also saw night vision goggles. Her heart beat faster, Crap, as she put the Colt’s front sight on the area just above his torso and below his neck. She touched the 1911’s trigger and applied a pound of pressure.
The door slammed shut, and the man’s shadow intermingled with another.
She moved her trigger finger to the gun’s frame. What the...
*******
Behind the invader, his left arm around the man’s neck, Randall arched his back and wrenched on the interloper’s Adam’s apple, nearly lifting the man off the floor. He put his Glock’s muzzle up to the man’s ear, looked away, and pulled the trigger.
The man’s body went limp and dropped to the floor.
Randall took a knee, holding his left ear, his mental voice spewing curse words. Whipping his head from side to side, trying to clear the ringing in his brain, he stripped the night vision goggles from the dead man and patted the corpse.
Glass shattered to his left.
His buzzing ears had registered the sound as coming from the right. He aimed his gun in the same direction, but saw nothing. Swinging the Glock to his nine o’clock, he spotted the attacker’s rifle, already pointed his way. Oh sh—
*******
Hearing the forty-caliber blast, Randall, Devlin used the distraction to scurry to the edge of the living room.
Glass shattered to her right.
She pivoted toward the source of the noise and let loose with three rounds of 45 ACP.
Leaning in through a window, a dark figure’s upper body seized and bent over the sill before lying motionless, half inside the structure.
Glass broke on her ten o’clock, and the front door burst open again. One man somersaulted in through a window while a second charged through the doorway.
Devlin heard a voice she recognized.
“Eyes and ears, Devlin!”
*******
The report of Devlin’s forty-five made its way through the high-pitched squealing in Randall’s ears. A tick later, he watched his would-be killer fold in half over the windowsill. He returned to his search of the dead man’s uniform. Come on. Come on...
Glass broke on his two o’clock.
He slapped at the body’s torso. You have to have one.
The front door flew inward.
The wood panel smacked his right shoulder, as he saw the blur of someone rolling into the house through the broken window to his right. Where the fu—his fingers touched metal—Bingo. He wrenched on the canister and pulled a pin. “Eyes and ears, Devlin!” He rolled the grenade across the floor, turned his head, and closed his eyes.
The room was filled with an intense, bright light and a deafening boom.
