Home Fire: A Suspense Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 5)

by Dustin Stevens

  Coming to a stop, I pressed my back against the base of a poplar tree, the smell of the woods filling my nostrils.

  In an ideal situation, there would be some way for me to lure my opponents out to me. With the training that I’d had, the way I earned a living, there was nobody better at being in the forest. One at a time, I could work my way through whatever guards there were, nobody so much as knowing I was there until it was too late.

  But that wouldn’t be possible here. Not given the layout of the place. Not with Elyse likely somewhere in the house above.

  To find her meant I had to go in. I had to step away from my hiding place and into the light, making myself susceptible to the cameras and guards and whatever else may be scouring the grounds.

  Peering out from the cover of the trees, I could see that five feet from where I stood, the grounds opened up. The forest had been stripped clean and in its stead was a landing strip more than a hundred yards in length.

  A few feet of grass trimmed low surrounded it, abutting smooth asphalt. Lining either side were landing lights, red bulbs glowing and dimming in synchronization. Down the middle was painted a series of yellow dashes, caution lines to give incoming pilots something to aim for.

  To my left was a small hangar, the thing resembling a pole barn with one side gaping open. Within it sat a pair of small craft, lights out, their windshields darkened.

  Beyond it was nothing but open grass, the mansion spread a couple of hundred yards ahead. Out front was a large fountain, water spraying in the air. Circling around it was a handful of luxury automobiles, guests already arriving and beginning to ascend toward the front doors standing open.

  Even from a distance, I could make out just the faintest hint of music. Still early in the night, it appeared things were working under the auspice of formality, the gentle dins made from classical instruments.

  How long that façade would last was anybody’s guess.

  That part I would have to deal with later. For now, I needed to focus on the airstrip, starting my search there and working my way north.

  Peering out from where I stood, I couldn’t see any visible cameras, but I had no doubt they were there. The only questions were how much of the grounds they covered and how diligently they were being watched.

  Based on what the aerial schematic displayed, there was just a single road moving through the property. Meant to ensure that access was limited, it also meant that any preventive measures would be focused on it, the place not meant to be accessed on foot.

  Which was both good and bad.

  Standing there on the corner of the spread, detailing what I could see, laying it over the thin information I already had, I barely noticed the single flicker of flame. Forty yards to my right, it was nothing more than a quick flash, a spot of orange against a darkened canvas.

  Dropping to a knee, my right hand shot straight out. Extending parallel to the ground, I held it at the ready, peering the length of my arm, my breath clenched as I watched a smaller dot appear in its wake.

  Followed by a plume of smoke.

  And then another dot of red.

  A moment later, the smell of an unfiltered cigarette made its way to me. Acrid and bitter, it seemed completely out of place amidst the natural scents of the forest, its source unmistakable.

  Rotating on my knee, I turned my back to the runway. Rising to my feet, I extended one foot out before me, carefully selecting where to place it, before slipping the next one ahead of it.

  Using the bases of the trees around me, I made my way in a loose arc. Working due east, I came in on a curve, giving my target a wide berth, using the glow of their cigarette as a beacon.

  The walk from the corner to the guard took me the better part of a minute. Working slow and easy, I made not a sound as I circled in on him, finally spotting my prey perched in the same position I had been, leaning against the base of a tree.

  Silhouetted against the light of the mansion, the man looked to be several inches shorter than me. Compact of build, he was dressed in a dark suit, the cigarette held out to the side.

  One foot crossed over the other, a submachine gun hung from a strap over his shoulder, a misshapen plume of smoke extended from his head.

  Moving until I was square behind him, completely beyond any chance of being spotted in his peripheral vision, I peered into the trees on either side, looking for signs of a partner. Seeing nothing, I lowered myself to a crouch, placing the Browning on the ground by my feet.

  Remaining in position, I slid my right hand into my front pocket. Extracting the foldable knife, I flipped open the blade, a five-inch piece forged from stainless steel, the lead edge not the sharpest I’d worked with but more than enough to do the job.

  Keeping my body bent low, my knees just inches above the soil, I duckwalked forward. One step at a time, I passed in silence over the forest floor, closing the gap between us, cutting it down to ten feet, and then five.

  Two steps more made it three.

  The last distance I covered in one quick flash, my left hand rising and cupping over the lower half of the man’s face, pinning his jaw shut, keeping him from crying out.

  With my right, I held the blade parallel to the ground, driving it into the gap between his L3 and L4 vertebrae.

  For just an instant, the man’s body went tense, his muscles seizing tight as he pressed back against me.

  A moment later, his spinal cord gave way to the blade, his limbs going slack as warm blood seeped over the handle, sluicing over my thumb and index finger. The submachine gun began to slide from his shoulder, his weight dropping back against me.

  Using his chin and the handle of the blade as anchor points, I managed to keep him upright, sliding him backward, well out of sight, before lowering him to the forest floor.

  Chapter Eighty

  The last thing Sirr Asai wanted to do was step away from the party. Not now, with his guests just beginning to arrive, the most important part being for him to show face up front, greeting them by name.

  Still, the girl downstairs had been a special request, made from the biggest prospect he had ever been able to lure in on the first night.

  Controlling the largest manufacturing facility in the city, the North American headquarters for a respected Japanese automotive company, he was a highly visible individual. Overseeing more than a hundred thousand employees made him equally as influential.

  And he provided a clear chance for Asai to stick one to the homeland that had banished he and his mother so many years before, deeming them not worthy.

  In no way was he about to pass such an opportunity by.

  Excusing himself for just a moment, he joined Paco by the front door. With smiles on their faces, they threaded their way back through the interior of the home, the early arrivals just starting to mingle.

  Already, a few were sampling the food. Nobody had yet ventured toward the bar or cigars, though it was only a matter of time.

  And once the first one went, all would follow in short order, lemmings lining up for their chance to go over the edge.

  Ducking into a side hallway, the two allowed their smiles to recede. Moving in silence, they picked up their pace, retreating to the far corner of the ballroom before taking a hidden stairwell down into the basement.

  Of everything that was incurred in running a business the likes of which Asai did, this was far and away the least palatable. His hands thrust into his pockets, he made no effort to hide the disgust he felt, the entire thing on exercise that he refused to acknowledge until the moment he absolutely had to.

  Though it was a necessary evil, it was still an evil.

  In his experience, the worst form of it he had ever seen.

  Compared to the carefully crafted scene upstairs, the basement was the epitome of sterile. The floors were bare, the brick walls left plain. Harsh white light gave the place an ethereal glow, their footsteps echoing out as they proceeded.

  Increasing his pace a half-step, Paco pulled slightly ahe
ad, arriving at the holding cell door first. Using a key, he pulled it open just as Asai arrived, stepping to the side.

  Not a single hint of what lay inside was on his face as he did so, the two men entering, ready to make this one final check and be on their way again.

  Others were continuing to arrive. Perhaps not quite as large as the man they were waiting on, but still quite important.

  And it wasn’t like Asai wasn’t willing to play the long game, content to sit on whatever the night may produce for as long as might be necessary, should anybody ascend in due time.

  Along the right side of the small room was Tracee, her eyes cast downward, her makeup bag clutched before her, both hands wrapped around its leather straps. Squeezing so tight her knuckles flashed white, not once did her gaze lift to meet them, the top half of her body bowing slightly in greeting.

  Choosing not to respond, Asai instead shifted his focus to the only other person in the room.

  He had read the complete report on Elyse Denman twice the day before. Sixteen years old. Daughter of two completely non-descript people. Lifelong resident of Nashville.

  On paper, she certainly checked all the boxes, but that wasn’t the most important part.

  That aspect was left until right now, the eyeball test, the visual inspection that would determine if she passed muster.

  It was clear at a glance that the girl had already been administered the sedative. Lifting her face just slightly, her eyes had a distant, glassy appearance to them, as if attempting in vain to focus as he peered at her.

  That part, Asai barely registered, dismissing it as soon as it had arrived. What struck him instead was the fact that from where he stood, it was like peering at a computer-generated recreation of what had been requested.

  Even better than expected.

  Their guest would be pleased.

  Asai felt his lips part slightly as he snapped his focus toward the door, the corner of Paco’s mouth turned up just slightly. As if knowing exactly what Asai was thinking, he nodded.

  They had found her. It had been a whirlwind couple of days, a mad scramble to a flippant final response, but they had done it.

  Proof yet again that there was little the duo couldn’t accomplish, the elite of Nashville about to find out how dangerous a proposition that was.

  “Is she...?” he began.

  “Yes,” Tracee replied, her voice barely a whisper.

  Bit by bit, any annoyance Asai harbored for the situation passed, evaporating, taking any lingering animosity with it.

  It was time to head back upstairs. They had a party to get to.

  And one very happy guest to greet.

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Leaving the guard’s body tucked away in the weeds, I didn’t make the effort to cover him. I had to assume that he was the sole person tasked with walking the length of the airstrip, most of the firepower concentrated around the house. That if anybody were to discover what happened it would be more likely from his not checking in than somebody just happening to walk back in the darkness and spy him lying in the woods.

  And again, it wasn’t like I had an abundance of time to stop and bury him.

  A quick pat of his body revealed a wallet I had no use for and a cell phone I went through only long enough to turn off the ringer. Starting with the folding knife, I wiped the blood on his suit coat, doing the same for my hand. Getting most of it off, only my fingernails still rimmed with red, I stowed the phone back inside his suit jacket, grabbing up his submachine gun and looping it over a shoulder.

  A Heckler & Koch MP5, it wasn’t the newest sub model available, but for my money, it was still the best, something I had cut my teeth on with the navy fourteen years before. Far more firepower than the Browning, I shifted the smaller gun to my left hand, keeping it out and at the ready. The right I used to grip the base of the MP5, both ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

  Pausing over the guard’s body, I peered in either direction, listening for any sound, any signal that I had been spotted.

  As best I could tell, there was nothing, the party continuing in the distance without a care.

  Drawing in a breath, I stepped forward, moving from the brushy undergrowth to the clipped grass. Keeping my gaze even, I swept my focus the length of the runway before turning back toward the hangar on the far end and starting to walk.

  This was the moment of truth. The point where I determined if my meager preparations were sufficient, or if things went south in a hurry.

  With the suit and the sub gun, the beard trim and hair gel, I looked at least semi-passable.

  The only question was how tight things were run, how much attention was being paid at any one time.

  Despite the adrenaline surging through me, no matter the clock continuing to run in my mind, I kept my pace even. Walking in a measured gait, I swept my gaze over everything, taking in the grounds, getting a closer look at what I was up against.

  Not once did my pace slow as I made my way to the edge of the hangar. Opting against looping wide around it, I tucked just inside the edge closest to me, slipping along the far wall and looping around toward the back.

  Constructed like a three-sided outbuilding, the place was made of corrugated metal, the roof rising twenty feet above. Enclosed on the back and sides, a trio of vertical support poles ran through the middle of it, sodium lights hanging from the ceiling, casting a pale glow downward.

  On either side of the support poles were two small planes - twin Raytheon models – both sitting dark and idle. Which one had landed just an hour before it was now impossible to tell, enough time having slipped by that it had already been refueled and returned to position, ready for whatever the night ahead entailed.

  A thought that was enough to make my grip on the Browning tighten.

  A grip that grew tighter still as I reached the back corner and made the turn, a small office coming into view.

  Tucked behind the pair of Raytheons, the enclave was completely hidden from the outside. Made from the same metal as the outside of the building, glass windows comprised the top half, allowing a full visual down the length of the airstrip should one of the planes be out for taxi.

  Inside, a single desk lamp burned bright. Beside it, a man stared at a computer screen, oblivious to his surroundings, unaware I was even present.

  Much like the moment I first stepped out of the woods, the urge to sprint forward roiled through my body. It alighted on my senses, telling me to take this man down before he caught a glimpse of me, almost winning out before my rational mind took over.

  Stay calm. Walk slow. Approach as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

  I grasped the sub gun in either hand, tucking the Browning into the front pocket of my jacket. Under the additional weight, the cheap material of the suit listed heavily to the side, the seams straining as I walked directly up to the door.

  Raising a knuckle, I rapped twice on it, the sound causing the man inside to visibly flinch, his bottom lifted out of the seat for an instant before he turned to stare my way. Raising a hand to his chest, blood flushed his cheeks as he used the opposite hand to wave me inside.

  The handle twisted easily under my grasp, the hinges making not a sound as the door swung inward.

  “Sorry about that,” I said, my voice level, as detached as I imagined a guard for this place to be.

  “No, no,” the man said, extending both hands and waving them before him. Somewhere in his fifties, he had gray hair and a matching beard. Slight of build, he was dressed in slacks and a sweater.

  If I had to guess, I would say he was the man that had piloted the plane earlier in the evening.

  Some men just have that sort of look.

  “My fault,” he said. “Just getting things wrapped up and was a little absorbed here.”

  Releasing my hold on the door, I took a step into the room, cutting the gap between us to just a couple of feet. “Good trip?”

  Leaning back in his seat, some of the color began to re
treat from his cheeks. “Uneventful, barely even long enough to be called a trip. No big deal.”

  My fingertips pressed hard into the frame of the MP5, so much so I could see them flash white. In one quick movement, I slid forward, jerking the gun across my body before snapping the barrel of it across the man’s knee.

  The sound of metal-on-bone contact sounded through the office, followed a moment later by the man howling in agony. Rolling forward out of his chair, he crumpled to the floor, landing in a heap on the concrete.

  Dropping to a knee beside him, I shot one hand out, pressing it over his mouth. The other I used to jam the tip of the barrel under his chin, acrimony permeating my body.

  “Uneventful?” I seethed, my words an angry whisper between gritted teeth. “Is that what you call going and kidnapping a young girl?”

  Giving the gun a shove, I pressed the metal hard into the soft skin beneath his chin, the tip making a deep divot.

  So easy it would be to pull the trigger. To keep going with what had started out in the woods. To work my way through every person here, knowing they were all responsible somehow for what had happened.

  But right now, I needed more.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  With his eyes pressed shut, bits of moisture leaking from the corners, the man continued to writhe beneath me. Muffled sounds worked their way past my hand.

  Pulling the gun away from his chin, I swatted it across his cheek. Not hard enough to knock him cold, but enough to break the skin, to bring his attention back to me.

  “Where is the girl?”

  Loosening my grip over his mouth, I raised my hand an inch. In its wake, he gasped twice, his head rolling to the side.

  “Please,” he muttered. “Please, I have a family.”

  Again, the barrel of the weapon connected with the side of his head, this time splitting the top of his earlobe.

  “So does she,” I said. “Parents worried sick, a brother that was shot, and one very pissed off uncle.”