Hunter Killer

by Brad Taylor

  She said, “What was that?”

  Still thinking about the call, Pike glanced at her with a ferocity she’d never seen before. An animal hatred that rivaled her own. He said not a word, dialing his phone. It rang out, with nobody answering. He tried another number, and got the same result.

  He tilted his head back and screamed into the air, causing the patrons in the restaurant around them to whisper and stare.

  Aaron stood up and said, “Pike, what is it?”

  Panting, Pike said, “They have Kylie and Amena. The Russians do. They told me to stand down or they’ll be killed.”

  Pike was close to hyperventilating, his breath coming in short gasps, his hands unconsciously squeezing like they held a man’s throat.

  Aaron turned to Shoshana and said, “Pay the bill,” then took Pike’s arm and led him into the middle of the square, away from everyone else. Shoshana threw much more than was required on the table and followed.

  She saw the red remained. Pike was on the verge of exploding.

  Aaron said, “What happened?”

  “I fucking told you. They have my daughter and her nanny. Kurt’s niece. I can’t get anybody to answer their phone. Veep’s cell rings out. Wolffe’s cell rings out. They’ve killed them, I’m sure. And they want me to stop.”

  Shoshana said, “Your daughter?”

  Pike shook his head and said, “I meant Amena.” He squeezed his fists again and muttered, “I’m going to kill every single one of those fucks.”

  Shoshana saw the unadulterated pain, like alcohol on an open wound, and said, “We can stop here. Let what they have planned go. I’ll come with you to Charleston.”

  He looked at her in anguish, saying, “And then the woman and child in the church die. Along with Knuckles.”

  She saw his pain and said, “I’m sorry.” She touched his cheek, saying, “We must do what is right.”

  Jennifer came on the radio, saying, “This is Koko. I’m set.”

  She saw Pike take a breath, getting control. Returning to normal. His voice as cold as a stone in a river, he said, “Time to execute.”

  He turned and walked away. Shoshana looked at Aaron and said, “He’s not ready for this.”

  Aaron nodded and said, “Just stand by. There’s still a woman inside who needs saving.”

  He turned to go, and Shoshana pulled his arm, bringing them close. She said, “Don’t get killed because he’s out of control.”

  He smiled and said, “Stand by the radio. If anyone can shut him off, it’s you.”

  Chapter 39

  Seacrest took a right on the adjacent road from the safe house, driving with only his parking lights. He wanted to get close, but not close enough to trigger a response. He said, “We need to approach the house from the rear, but it backs up into the Fort Moultrie park, so we can’t get there in a car.”

  Wolffe said, “What are you thinking?”

  “Stop one road over, walk into the park, and hit the place, hard.”

  “We get in a gunfight here, it’s going to be messy. We have no cover here in Charleston. No embassy to run to.”

  Seacrest looked at him and said, “Messy is better than the alternative.”

  Wolffe pulled back the charging handle on his H&K and said, “I’m with you.”

  Seacrest pulled the car over next to a squat brick house on a narrow blacktop road, trees surrounding the residences built in the seventies. He said, “This is it. The target is one road up. We’ll swing around the Intracoastal Waterway. There’s a dock at the end of the park. The target house has two breaches: the front door and a sliding glass door off of the kitchen, facing the park. We’ll circle around it, I’ll breach the glass door with a rock or brick or whatever I find, and we assault. You good with that?”

  Wolffe said, “Good running around Charleston with an assault rifle looking for a gunfight? Yeah. Beats talking to the Oversight Council, even when we get arrested.”

  Seacrest laughed in spite of himself, saying, “Pike picked this house because of the location. They’re all rentals around it, and all of them are vacant. We could probably set the damn thing on fire and nobody would notice for hours.”

  Wolffe nodded and said, “Let’s get it on.”

  They exited the car in a rush, the street black, no lighting at all. They circled around a one-story ranch, reaching a backyard that butted up against the Intracoastal Waterway behind Sullivan’s Island. Seacrest began jogging, dodging yard ornaments and jumping over fencing. They reached a large concrete dock, a wide open expanse of grass to their left.

  Seacrest veered into the green, seeing light spill out from a lone house at the end of a street. He took a knee, saying, “That’s it. The door is on the east end.”

  Wolffe squatted down next to him, saying, “We only have a two-man assault. Need to dominate quickly. If we give them time to mass, we’ll lose. We need to kill them one at a time.”

  Seacrest nodded, and they advanced more slowly, eyes bouncing left and right, barrels forward, looking for a threat. They reached the yard surrounding the house, a small four-foot picket fence marking the territory.

  The sliding glass door was open, a sheer curtain flapping in the breeze from the wind. Just inside the door was Kylie, sitting in a chair sideways to them. To her left was a man with a weapon, leaning against a wall.

  Seacrest whispered, “We’re outside the ring of light. You get close, right up against the wall. I’ll pop that guy from here, and you enter. I’ll be right behind you when he drops.”

  Wolffe nodded, then realized they had no radios to coordinate. He said, “What’s the trigger?”

  “That guy hitting the floor.”

  Seacrest’s phone vibrated in his pocket, and he silenced it. A second later, Wolffe’s went off. Wolffe silenced his as well, grinning and saying, “Looks like someone is trying to stop this thing.”

  Seacrest said, “Too fucking late for that. Go.”

  Wolffe went forward, avoiding the light spilling out from the house, snaking over the small fence and sliding down the wall until he was next to the open door. He could see nothing but blackness in the park, but knew that Seacrest could see him from the spilling of light. He went to a knee, his weapon ready, and waited, looking through the door.

  He saw the man fiddling with his rifle, and Kylie twitching in the chair. The fear on her face clawed at him, and he glanced back into the darkness, wondering about the pause, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Begging for the assault to begin.

  He heard a muted spit, whipped back around, and saw the rifle man’s head explode. He fell forward, Kylie screamed, and Wolffe entered the house, his weapon seated into his shoulder. He scanned the room the girl was in, saw no threat, and turned to the next room.

  He entered it just as a man came running into the kitchen, so close Wolffe didn’t even get the chance to fire. The man collided with him and Wolffe reacted instantly, dropping his weapon on its sling, cinching the man’s neck, and throwing him over his hip, slamming him into the floor.

  By the time he landed, Seacrest had entered, gun and eyeballs looking for a threat. Kylie jumped toward him and Seacrest said, “How many? How many in here?”

  She said, “That’s it. Just two.”

  Wolffe punched the man on the ground in the face, hammering him until he went unconscious, then stood up, regaining control of his weapon and holding the barrel a foot away from the man’s head.

  Seacrest hissed, “You’re sure? No more in here?”

  Agitated, Kylie said, “Yes. The other two are chasing Amena.”

  Seacrest stiffened at the words and said, “What?”

  “Amena. She ran out the back. She’s being chased by the other two.”

  “Does she have the phone Pike gave her?”

  “I don’t know. I think so. She ran out of here with her bag. Nick, they’re going to kill her.”

  The elation of their perceived success vanished. His face grim, he turned to Wolffe and said, �
��Get me the feed from that Prometheus alert. Send me a grid from her phone to mine.”

  To Kylie, he asked, “Where did she go?”

  Kylie pointed and said, “Right out that door.”

  Seacrest glanced at Wolffe and said, “This site is all you. I’m outta here,” and raced out the door.

  Wolffe started working his phone and the man at his feet woke up. Wolffe pointed the barrel at the man’s head, talking to Creed and getting the Prometheus alert sent to Seacrest.

  The man rolled over, sat upright, rubbed a glob of blood from his nose, and chuckled. Wolffe hung up the phone and said, “Glad one of us can laugh about this. Even if it’s someone who failed a Mr. Clean casting call.”

  He turned to Kylie and said, “Find something to tie him up with.”

  The man said, “You have no idea of the pain you’ve just brought yourself. We would have only killed the girl. Now we’ll kill you and anyone connected to you.”

  Wolffe ignored his words but kept the barrel on him, watching Kylie stand up unsteadily. He asked, “You okay?”

  She nodded, saying, “What about Amena?”

  He said, “Veep’s on it. Shouldn’t be too long now. Find something for this guy.”

  The man continued, saying, “This doesn’t have to be ugly. We get what we want. When I talked to Pike, he was agreeable. You should be, too. Trust me.”

  Wolffe heard the words and, incredulous, he leaned down until they were face-to-face. He said, “You called Pike? And told him you had these people as hostages?”

  “Yes. Just like my men will have whatever you hold dear hostage. Let me go.”

  Wolffe shook his head, unable to assimilate the stupidity. He reiterated, “Does Pike know you tried to kidnap Amena and Kylie?”

  Confused, the man repeated his threat, now sounding weak, “Yes. Like is going to happen to you.”

  Wolffe dialed his phone, wanting to short-circuit the wrath that was coming. The phone rang out to voice mail. He cursed.

  Kylie said, “What’s wrong? We’re safe.”

  Wolffe looked at the man on the ground and said, “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

  The man spat out, “You have no idea.”

  Wolffe squatted down and raised the man’s chin with the barrel of his weapon, saying, “In this world there is a measure of skill waiting to be exposed, whether it’s playing football or playing a piano. Very few reach a master class of talent. It takes something to trigger. Something unique to get an ordinary human to do extraordinary things. Usually, it’s pain in life.”

  The man looked at him in confusion, wondering where the conversation was headed.

  Wolffe tapped his head with the barrel of his weapon and said, “Pike Logan’s talent is death, and he learned it through the loss of his family. You were dumb enough to threaten his new family, and because of it, you just elevated him into the master class.”

  Wolffe dropped his chin and leaned back. He said, “Pike doesn’t care about your mission. He doesn’t care about your money. He doesn’t care about your threats. He cares about his family. He’s the fourth horseman, and you opened the seal. Far from you stopping him, I might not now be able to.”

  Chapter 40

  Shoshana sat at her table like a guard dog on a porch waiting on its owner, perking its ears at every twitch of noise. The waiter came back to her, confused, saying, “I thought you had left. You paid the bill. Did you want change?”

  She said, “No. You can keep it. I’m just waiting on someone. Can I get a glass of water?”

  He nodded and left the outdoor area, retreating to the interior of the restaurant. Shoshana returned to watching the street, restless.

  She saw a group of youths advance through the pedestrian area, laughing and horseplaying with each other, but with a violent edge. She tracked them with her eyes, seeing that others avoided them. They were a threat, and she wondered if she should alert Pike and Aaron. She decided against it, then heard her radio come to life.

  “Koko, Koko, this is Pike. I’m about to penetrate the alley. What’s your status?”

  Jennifer said, “I’m good. On the roof over the balcony. The OP is in position, and I have a clear shot.”

  “Roger all. Carrie, Carrie, you have lockdown of the front?”

  She keyed the mic and said, “This is Carrie. Front is secure. But I still think this is a mistake. We should not be assaulting a church. It’s bad. Bad all the way around.”

  She heard, “Yeah, I agree, but I don’t get to pick where terrorists stay. I just wipe out the nest, wherever that ends up.”

  Looking at the square around her, trying to pinpoint her unease, she said, “It’s not the church itself. It’s something else.”

  She waited, then heard, “You want to help here? I think I have your bad feeling right now, where I’m at.”

  It was a confirmation of her fears. Something bad was out there, and only she and Pike could sense it. She said, “You feel something, too, Nephilim?”

  She heard, “Yeah, but it’s not because of some damn ancient church. It’s because I can’t get to entry. I don’t want a gunfight. I need quiet, which means I need you.”

  “So you want me to do what?”

  “Walk down this alley from the back. Expose any threat that prevents our entry.”

  She said nothing for a moment, disgusted. She snarled, “That’s what you want? Me as bait?”

  Pike came back with the same ferocity, saying, “Carrie, this is the threat. This is what I feel. And this is what I need.”

  She understood that Pike was finally asking for her skill. Wanting what she offered even as he’d sat her on the sidelines for the same reasons. It was time to get in the fight.

  She stood up and said, “This is Carrie. I’m moving to the south of the alley. I’ll be coming south to north. I’ll have the light on my phone going.”

  The waiter came out with her glass of water and she said, “Sorry. I have to go.”

  She jogged to the end of the pedestrian square, seeing the group of youths right in front of the church, laughing and drinking out of something in a bag. They glanced at her but made no move to interfere.

  They were not the threat.

  She used a road on the south side to circle around the back of the church, walking rapidly in the darkness. She reached the rear of the building, a two-lane thoroughfare running behind it. She saw a group of men standing outside an auto repair shop, the light from an overhead lamp making them look sinister.

  She began gliding down the back of the church and they had no idea she was even there. She saw the balcony of the target room, then the man in the observation post, sitting in a chair watching her. She tried to locate Jennifer on the roof and failed due to the light. But she knew she was there, and that the man had minutes to live.

  She reached the alley Pike was on, pressed against the wall, and glanced down it, seeing nothing but trash on the cobblestone lane. She pulled out her cell phone, turned on the flashlight, and began walking like she belonged.

  She was hyperaware, all of her senses assessing her surroundings. She felt the very air around her, sensed even the hairs on her arms, everything coalescing in a kaleidoscope of protection only she could generate. She walked forward, waiting on the inevitable.

  And then it happened.

  A man came out from the side of the alley and attacked. She blocked his strikes, kneed his groin, grabbed his head by the hair, and another man slammed into her, bringing her to the ground. She began fighting, unleashing a ferocious response. The first man bounced her skull into the stone, stunning her, then the other wrapped up her legs, preventing her from moving. They gained the upper hand, she saw a blade, and then they were hammered by a cyclone of violence, one man ripped off her like he’d been sucked into the vortex of a tornado, and the other releasing her to fend off the new assault.

  She locked up his arm, twisted hard, and he fell to the ground, screaming in pain. She saw Aaron above her, a suppressed Glock 23 i
n his hand, but he did nothing. Letting her work.

  The man shouted in Russian and she realized this was about the target. They weren’t random criminals looking for an easy score. They were here for Pike.

  She turned to the other fight in time to see Pike Logan lose control. Pike had wrapped up the man from the rear and the target surrendered, dropping his knife and holding up his one free hand, begging for his life. Pike ignored the gesture, his face a mask of rage, snapping the man’s neck like he was making kindling for a fire. She was shocked at the action.

  She’d killed on command for the majority of her life, and, while she knew most were justified, others who had died at her hand hadn’t deserved it. She’d never had the strength to say no, and she wanted to believe that Pike was different. Seeing Pike kill the man when he was no longer a threat—when he was actively giving up—left her bare. She wanted to believe he was pure.

  He was not.

  She looked at him standing over the body and said, “You were worried about me going crazy? What was that?”

  She read confusion and doubt, his aura changing. He pointed at the man she held and said, “Let’s go. Put him out.”

  She nodded, then asked, “Permanently?”

  She saw him look at the dead body at his feet, then he said, “No. Not permanently.”

  She knew Pike didn’t understand what the man underneath her represented. She said, “He’s Russian. He’s not a common predator. He’s here for you.”

  She waited on the order, not wanting to hear what she knew was coming. The man at her feet stared up at her, completely under her control. The command didn’t come. She saw Pike grappling with himself, the rage bubbling out again.

  Shoshana said, “Pike?”

  Pike looked at Aaron, then back at her; she saw his aura turn a vibrant red.

  He hissed, “Kill him.”

  She forced the man onto his stomach, him begging for life. Her left hand still controlling his arm, she held out her right for Aaron’s pistol, and Aaron hesitated. She looked into his eyes and he slowly shook his head, but he handed her the pistol. She put the suppressor against the man’s skull, and he whimpered.