Read Online The Echo of Violence by Jordan Dane - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jordan Dane
Ads: Link
or two of the captives looked wounded, but he couldn’t determine their condition. He didn’t like the odds. All he had was a rifle with only one magazine and a handgun. He had to face facts. Confronting these men in his condition—and without resources to back him up—would only get innocent people killed.
He searched the frightened hostages, and his heart lurched when he saw Sister Kate. The nun had gathered the children and held them tight. Although she was putting up a strong front for the kids, she looked terrified; but at least she was still alive. He took comfort from that and forced himself to focus on the armed men.
Why had they stopped running? The Haitian police would figure out what had happened at the clinic and track them soon. Why risk getting caught with their backs to the sea?
His eyelids were heavy, and it was difficult to focus. He loosened his grip on the AK-47 and wiped the sweat and grit from his eyes with the sleeve of his suit jacket.
Stay alert, damn it! He took a deep breath and let it out slow to clear his head.
Kill shots would have to be on the money—quick and thorough. Any other day he would have been up for the assignment, but not now. An AK-47 wasn’t the rifle for the job. It lacked accuracy and stealth. And he didn’t have a knife to pick them off one at a time.
That didn’t mean he’d given up. The right tactic might still work. Once he started shooting, the terrorists would know where he was. Muzzle flash in the dark would put him in the spotlight and place a target on him. After his first strike, he’d have to dodge their grenade launcher and keep it from roasting his ass. If he kept the bastards busy, the hostages might have a chance to escape.
Would Kate be one of the lucky ones, or would his interference only get her and the children killed? She and the kids were positioned on the edge and near cover. They might make it if he drew fire and kept the gunmen’s attention long enough for them to get away.
“Come on, Kate,” he whispered. “I won’t get a second chance.”
He picked his first target—a masked man standing closest to Sister Kate—and took aim, but a noise forced him to stand down. He raised his head and looked for the source of a steady droning sound. His gaze shifted toward the ocean. Offshore, a murky shadow drifted into view. And a double flash of light from an undulating beacon conveyed a message to the gunmen on the beach. They turned their heads, and one man signaled back.
“Damn,” he cursed under his breath. They weren’t making a stand. They had called in reserves and were ready for round two.
An old motorized fishing boat anchored offshore, a fifty-foot craft in need of paint and repair. He’d seen the type countless times before, owned by a local commercial fisherman working the waters near Haiti. More men stood on the bow of the boat, rifles in hand and on edgy alert. He had no idea how many men were on board.
A small raft was deployed to transport the hostages. It splashed into the water, and the sound of a small engine revving up could be heard. Two men manned the raft and hit the tops of waves as they sped toward the beach. Judging from the size of the craft and the number of hostages, they’d have to make more than one trip.
Now he had no choice. His marginal plan had hit the skids.
If he waited until the hostages were split up, it would only improve the odds for some and make matters worse for others. And if he hit the gunmen before the raft hit the shore, reinforcements were too close by. Too many hostages would be caught in the cross fire. No way he’d start a fight without knowing what he was up against, not when innocent lives were at stake.
He’d have to be satisfied with providing intel for a rescue mission with Joe LaClaire and whoever he wrangled for help. Kinkaid took stock of the fishing boat and memorized details as he watched the hostages being loaded onto the raft. Sister Kate and the childrenwere the first
He searched the frightened hostages, and his heart lurched when he saw Sister Kate. The nun had gathered the children and held them tight. Although she was putting up a strong front for the kids, she looked terrified; but at least she was still alive. He took comfort from that and forced himself to focus on the armed men.
Why had they stopped running? The Haitian police would figure out what had happened at the clinic and track them soon. Why risk getting caught with their backs to the sea?
His eyelids were heavy, and it was difficult to focus. He loosened his grip on the AK-47 and wiped the sweat and grit from his eyes with the sleeve of his suit jacket.
Stay alert, damn it! He took a deep breath and let it out slow to clear his head.
Kill shots would have to be on the money—quick and thorough. Any other day he would have been up for the assignment, but not now. An AK-47 wasn’t the rifle for the job. It lacked accuracy and stealth. And he didn’t have a knife to pick them off one at a time.
That didn’t mean he’d given up. The right tactic might still work. Once he started shooting, the terrorists would know where he was. Muzzle flash in the dark would put him in the spotlight and place a target on him. After his first strike, he’d have to dodge their grenade launcher and keep it from roasting his ass. If he kept the bastards busy, the hostages might have a chance to escape.
Would Kate be one of the lucky ones, or would his interference only get her and the children killed? She and the kids were positioned on the edge and near cover. They might make it if he drew fire and kept the gunmen’s attention long enough for them to get away.
“Come on, Kate,” he whispered. “I won’t get a second chance.”
He picked his first target—a masked man standing closest to Sister Kate—and took aim, but a noise forced him to stand down. He raised his head and looked for the source of a steady droning sound. His gaze shifted toward the ocean. Offshore, a murky shadow drifted into view. And a double flash of light from an undulating beacon conveyed a message to the gunmen on the beach. They turned their heads, and one man signaled back.
“Damn,” he cursed under his breath. They weren’t making a stand. They had called in reserves and were ready for round two.
An old motorized fishing boat anchored offshore, a fifty-foot craft in need of paint and repair. He’d seen the type countless times before, owned by a local commercial fisherman working the waters near Haiti. More men stood on the bow of the boat, rifles in hand and on edgy alert. He had no idea how many men were on board.
A small raft was deployed to transport the hostages. It splashed into the water, and the sound of a small engine revving up could be heard. Two men manned the raft and hit the tops of waves as they sped toward the beach. Judging from the size of the craft and the number of hostages, they’d have to make more than one trip.
Now he had no choice. His marginal plan had hit the skids.
If he waited until the hostages were split up, it would only improve the odds for some and make matters worse for others. And if he hit the gunmen before the raft hit the shore, reinforcements were too close by. Too many hostages would be caught in the cross fire. No way he’d start a fight without knowing what he was up against, not when innocent lives were at stake.
He’d have to be satisfied with providing intel for a rescue mission with Joe LaClaire and whoever he wrangled for help. Kinkaid took stock of the fishing boat and memorized details as he watched the hostages being loaded onto the raft. Sister Kate and the childrenwere the first
Similar Books
