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Authors: Brad Taylor
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mouth. Knuckles winked back, and we prepared to slaughter every single one of the assholes in the room.
Dylan continued babbling, the only question now whether he realized that the men in the room gave him less chance of survival than the ones who’d flung him into it.
He did.
I heard a smack; then I heard, “All four! All four are in here!”
I slapped Knuckles’s shoulder, and we entered the room near simultaneously, Knuckles hugging the wall to the right and me going left. I saw four crewmembers lined up against the front window, two men with guns on them. One other had a weapon against Dylan, and one was missing.
I began firing, letting loose controlled pairs, taking the threat to the crew first. Both dropped without getting off a single round. I indexed to the man on Dylan and he squeezed the trigger, splitting Dylan’s head open. He rotated to me and I snapped a double-tap, hitting him but not putting him down. He dove to the front, getting below the bridge console and out of my line of fire. Knuckles, on the far side, opened up, and the man flopped into view, dead.
I swiveled, looking for the final man but seeing nothing. I heard Jennifer fire outside and she bounded into the room.
“He came out the other door. He’s in the hallway, but he’s covered behind a section of metal. I can’t hit him.”
I went to the door and got on my belly, peeking around the corner. I saw the entrance to the stairwell we had come up. At the top it had a skirting of metal, which must be what Jennifer was talking about. The question was whether he’d gone down the stairs or was waiting in ambush.
I said, “Knuckles, if he’s hiding he’s got a clean shot through the far door. I need to know if he ran or if he’s waiting.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Go to the far door and see if he shoots.”
“What?”
“Yes. Get him to commit.”
He shook his head, then pulled off the backpack with the computer chips. He duckwalked to the left side of the door, put the backpack on the end of the MP7, and slid it into the opening. A burst of automatic fire shredded the bag, knocking it to the floor.
So he’s there.
The metal may have protected him from Jennifer’s MP5, but it wouldn’t stop me. The cartridge for the MP7 was unique for a reason: It had been invented specifically to puncture body armor.
I took aim through the holosight and punched seven rounds in a crisscross pattern against the section of skirting. I heard a high-pitched yell; then Knuckles rolled to the doorway and fired a double-tap.
The room grew quiet, the only sound a single piece of brass still rolling on the floor. I said, “Give me an up.”
Jennifer, over with the crew, said, “Good here. Nobody hurt.”
Knuckles thumped the eyes of the first two I’d engaged, looking for a sign of life, and said, “All down. We’re clear.”
I said, “Only if that shitbag Dylan was telling the truth. Jennifer, get them to stop the boat and call for assistance. Knuckles, lock both doors and maintain security.”
I heard a thumping in the air that steadily grew louder. I recognized it.
Black Hawk.
Two Black Hawk helicopters flew by the bridge, their rotor blades giving off an eerie green glow from the static electricity, the birds so close I could see the lights in the cockpit.
Where the hell did they come from?
It dawned on me that we were off the coast of Cuba. Somehow, the Taskforce had managed to send in the Marines from Guantanamo Bay.
Boy, I’ll bet that required a few favors.
Knuckles watched them swoop over the deck and said, “Calvary’s here. We need to signal them before they come in shooting.”
I leaned against the console and said, “Well, this whole clusterfuck is your baby, mister vice president of maritime operations. What do you recommend? Raising the black flag? Letting them know pirates have control?”
He said, “I was thinking more along the lines of using the ship’s radio.”
Chapter 14
Two days later I was
Dylan continued babbling, the only question now whether he realized that the men in the room gave him less chance of survival than the ones who’d flung him into it.
He did.
I heard a smack; then I heard, “All four! All four are in here!”
I slapped Knuckles’s shoulder, and we entered the room near simultaneously, Knuckles hugging the wall to the right and me going left. I saw four crewmembers lined up against the front window, two men with guns on them. One other had a weapon against Dylan, and one was missing.
I began firing, letting loose controlled pairs, taking the threat to the crew first. Both dropped without getting off a single round. I indexed to the man on Dylan and he squeezed the trigger, splitting Dylan’s head open. He rotated to me and I snapped a double-tap, hitting him but not putting him down. He dove to the front, getting below the bridge console and out of my line of fire. Knuckles, on the far side, opened up, and the man flopped into view, dead.
I swiveled, looking for the final man but seeing nothing. I heard Jennifer fire outside and she bounded into the room.
“He came out the other door. He’s in the hallway, but he’s covered behind a section of metal. I can’t hit him.”
I went to the door and got on my belly, peeking around the corner. I saw the entrance to the stairwell we had come up. At the top it had a skirting of metal, which must be what Jennifer was talking about. The question was whether he’d gone down the stairs or was waiting in ambush.
I said, “Knuckles, if he’s hiding he’s got a clean shot through the far door. I need to know if he ran or if he’s waiting.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Go to the far door and see if he shoots.”
“What?”
“Yes. Get him to commit.”
He shook his head, then pulled off the backpack with the computer chips. He duckwalked to the left side of the door, put the backpack on the end of the MP7, and slid it into the opening. A burst of automatic fire shredded the bag, knocking it to the floor.
So he’s there.
The metal may have protected him from Jennifer’s MP5, but it wouldn’t stop me. The cartridge for the MP7 was unique for a reason: It had been invented specifically to puncture body armor.
I took aim through the holosight and punched seven rounds in a crisscross pattern against the section of skirting. I heard a high-pitched yell; then Knuckles rolled to the doorway and fired a double-tap.
The room grew quiet, the only sound a single piece of brass still rolling on the floor. I said, “Give me an up.”
Jennifer, over with the crew, said, “Good here. Nobody hurt.”
Knuckles thumped the eyes of the first two I’d engaged, looking for a sign of life, and said, “All down. We’re clear.”
I said, “Only if that shitbag Dylan was telling the truth. Jennifer, get them to stop the boat and call for assistance. Knuckles, lock both doors and maintain security.”
I heard a thumping in the air that steadily grew louder. I recognized it.
Black Hawk.
Two Black Hawk helicopters flew by the bridge, their rotor blades giving off an eerie green glow from the static electricity, the birds so close I could see the lights in the cockpit.
Where the hell did they come from?
It dawned on me that we were off the coast of Cuba. Somehow, the Taskforce had managed to send in the Marines from Guantanamo Bay.
Boy, I’ll bet that required a few favors.
Knuckles watched them swoop over the deck and said, “Calvary’s here. We need to signal them before they come in shooting.”
I leaned against the console and said, “Well, this whole clusterfuck is your baby, mister vice president of maritime operations. What do you recommend? Raising the black flag? Letting them know pirates have control?”
He said, “I was thinking more along the lines of using the ship’s radio.”
Chapter 14
Two days later I was
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