“Pulse yes respiration yes he has both no new wounds Okay blood pressure fairly bad but not deathly Okay pulse lower now why respiration becoming erratic monitoring BP BP down too get the adrenaline no you gave him a double shot–how long ago Okay then he’s starting to go you prolonged it by a few minutes for him that’s all he’s given up and… he’s letting the shock take him deeper I think he’s going no there’s a slight hesitation he’s hanging on it looks like he’s going he’s going he’s down—Shit!—into a coma.
Sorry, sir. That’s it for Wilson until we get him to an emergency room.”
I got up slowly from the floor, and if I had let myself, I could have gone to bed for a week, right then and there. What a day, and it was only half done. But Wilson, the creep, had pulled through for now, and, he’d given it up for us. I checked my watch and realized that time was running out.
~
Chapter Thirty-Nine
W
e carefully took Wilson off of the tie-up that had been holding him to the cupboards below the kitchen sink, and made him as comfortable as he could be, under the circumstances. George and I carried him upstairs to the attic/third-floor-room and laid him out on one of the beds there.
The tourniquet was a bit tricky, and it kept slipping until we had to reset it completely. Then we made sure that he wasn’t going anywhere, arranging the tie so that if he got up, the tourniquet would come undone. Then we strapped him down. That was the best we could do just now to protect him and us, and he only got that because he’d ‘repented’. I didn’t have much room for that in my personal compassion bag, but the rest obviously thought it was appropriate, so, why not? I’d see him at the court-martial, anyway. Or in hell.
Evie had been dead-on. We were compromised all right. According to what Wilson had told me, we had about forty-five minutes to be gone, or prepare for a stand.
A lieutenant of Enrico, going by the code-name of Hunter Six, was expected to arrive then. He was anticipating that the inside help of Wilson, together with the element of surprise, was going to be all he needed to take us all down.
That’s what they told Wilson. That’s what Wilson told me. I didn’t believe anything except that they knew where we were and wanted to kill us all. That meant that we were vulnerable, to an amazing extent, and I didn’t like that one bit.
These clowns could be waltzing up to the front door at any minute with those bloody ‘suits’ on, carrying an armoury full of top-line materiel. Swell, I couldn’t wait. This trip was beginning to get tiresome.
These guys just kept coming back for more. It was apparent to even the most junior member of the team that Enrico was the one that had to go, and soon. This character had been attacking us even before we had started out on the mission. An infiltration was the same as an attack, and Ronnie’s home office was a prime example of the oppositions dedication to their task.
Well, as far as I was concerned, Hunter Six could go whistle. I’d leave him a note on the front door. Like,
‘Dear Hunter Six,
I do apologize for not being here for your intended slaughter, but business demands have caused a slight change in plans. Perhaps I can kill you at a later time, when I have less important issues on my plate, and time to spare for petty bullshit like you. Regards, your escaped quarry’.
It might be fun. I quickly scribbled out a note on Evie’s little notepad, and stuck it in my back pocket. Maybe I would put it up, but then we had to go first.
Evie had gathered the troops in the dining room at my request, which had no windows and so provided a modicum of protection compared to the living room, which had huge bay windows. Perfect for a rocket attack, thank you very much.
Ronnie had been awake for about twenty minutes now, and she was sick. Man, I hadn’t seen a hangover like that since college. Her initial reaction to my ‘coup’ had been somewhat embarrassing. She had first attempted to stand up and take over again, but promptly fell down on the floor and started heaving her lunch all over the living room carpet. It wasn’t something that was up for discussion at this point anyway.
Loretta was taking care of her the best she could now, but it would be hours before she could get any real rest, and without the rest, she was going to remain out of the loop.
We were all packed and ready to roll within twenty minutes of Wilson’s double-double-cross. He was going to have to hope that they didn’t bother searching an empty house. Empty except for Wilson. The note might help. Get him mad, and he wouldn’t think straight. Maybe he’d assume the house was booby-trapped. That was Wilson’s only hope, because if they found him, they’d kill him. We certainly weren’t taking him with us, though. My compassion balked at that. He’d have to trust to fate.
Collette was terrified, and once she’d been given Therese’s hand, she stuck to her like glue. They were both packed and ready to roll along with Casey, Ted, George, Evie, Loretta and Ronnie. What a team.
That made nine of us. And only five who could fight. Two would have to watch over the non-combatants, which then left three. Myself, Loretta, and Casey. Evie was going to be responsible for the girls and Ted. George was going to back her up.
Ted had been a disappointment. He was a pilot, a rebel, and a world traveler. I’d expected more of him than he’d shown so far. He was walking around with enough fear for the whole team. Therese had been more aggressive than him. Just goes to show, you can’t judge a book by its cover.
There was only one decision to make, and it was becoming easier to make as time slipped by. Did we do ‘fight’ or ‘flight’?
The ‘flight’ option made the most sense, but it was close in timing, and I didn’t believe that Wilson was actually being trusted by the boys in grey. What I believed was that they were watching the house right now, and the minute that we stepped outside, it was going to be raining lead. We had enough firepower to handle them, what with Evie’s rocket stash and all, if we made the right tactical decisions, if we were fast and accurate. It’s never fun slipping out of the noose.
The other side of our advantage was that we were going to be using some pretty deadly rounds in those new H&K’s we were all carrying. Evie was ordered to get out the explosive tip rounds and give everyone one full clip. One shot was all it took when you hit the target with these, and that target was the head.
The force of the explosive tip was enough to knock anyone in a ‘suit’ out cold. Or all the way out. If the shot took them in the head. A body shot might knock them down, injure them somewhat, but with those damn ‘suits’ on it was almost impossible to shut down an opponent unless accuracy was spot-on.
Without the suit, these rounds would take your head clean off. It was the best option we had.
The idea had always been to surprise and kill the opposing team, however we could. In this instance, surprise wasn’t going to be a factor for us, because I thought they were watching us already, and we weren’t supposed to be wanting to kill anyone, but arrest them. Right.
Unless we used our own madness as a weapon. That meant that the only way we could surprise them was to attack with such a force and vengeance that they were knocked off balance. The old ‘Barbarian’s Rush’. The trick then was going to be getting the hell out of the way, before the Anti-Terrorist Squad, RAID, could be called out to the scene. And they would be, once we started mixing it up with rocket launchers and explosive tip rounds, in the middle of this suburban oasis. The houses in this neighbourhood must start close to a million each. The response would be fast.
I figured about five minutes, tops, and the first police cruiser would be here. Five minutes after that, and the RAID guys would be on our doorstep. Flight looked better and better, except that if we did have to fight our way out, the cars weren’t Armoured Personnel Carriers. Bullets would go right through them just as easily as on television. It was getting to be a tough day after all.
I called Evie aside for one last check on her status and to see if she agreed on the plan.
It went something like t
his.
Evie and George were the heavies for the civilian members of our group. Evie was going to clear the path, but rearward. She was going to be in the back of the Audi, in the second wave. With her rocket launcher. Anybody tried to follow, and they were toasted. George was riding shotgun, and Therese would drive the car. Ronnie, Ted and Collette were going as passengers.
I was going out in the first wave, through the front door. Casey was taking the back door, and Loretta was to drop out of the window over the driveway. That allowed us to cover the front, the back, and the left side of the house, where the cars were. At the same time, the gear was to be dropped out of the same window that Loretta used, leaving it handy at the side of the driveway for loading into either car. The three of us were to explode into action simultaneously, and Evie was to follow within thirty seconds, maximum, out the back and into the Audi in the garage. If the way was clear, she was to pick up their gear and take off, but the idea was that the ‘Vette would lead. If it wasn’t clear, then she was to blast her way clear with the rockets, and make a run for it, forgetting the gear.
The first wave would hold the line in that case. That would ensure that all civilian personnel would get clear, along with Ronnie, who wasn’t in any condition to protect herself. The fact that George would be with them was part of the idea. I had to bring George home in one piece, or my sister wouldn’t have a husband anymore. Katie wouldn’t have a father. I wouldn’t have my best friend. That couldn’t be allowed to happen. Period.
If this scenario played itself out, then the first wave, if it survived, would surrender to the RAID Squad after ensuring a clean getaway for the second wave. Hopefully we would be able to sort everything out, before we all died of old age inside some rotten Paris prison. We would have no other choice but to surrender, because we couldn’t even point our weapons at the Gendarmes. Somehow, I didn’t think much about that possibility. I doubted that it would go long enough to involve the Gendarmes.
If we caused that kind of commotion in a peaceful, residential section of Paris though, the repercussions would be felt all the way back to the Prime Minister’s office. The boys in charge back home might be inclined to think on it a while before springing us by confirming our story. That would implicate them, and cause an ‘international incident’. This is the one thing to be avoided at all costs in this business, because you’ll find yourself adrift so quick your head will spin. It’s always been that way, and I didn’t think it would change just for us, today. We were authorized, sanctioned, sure. But not for residential firefights. We would be expected, under these current circumstances, to call the police ourselves, asking for support, explaining everything, showing our papers, authenticating our mission… it just wouldn’t work.
The attack would come before the police could, I was sure of it. They had to be monitoring the communications out of the house, be they cellular, shortwave, or land-line telephone. The first hint of police, and it would be bye-bye birdie.
I had to keep reminding myself that most likely, there was a hit squad in the street, and they wanted to kill us. They were well equipped, and quite capable of completing their task. The only way out was going to be through them.
I could live with the shame of being wrong, but not with being right and goofing it up anyway.
The first wave, including myself, Casey, and Loretta, would have a maximum of thirty seconds to clear the way if it was blocked, and get the lead car into position, ready to roll. Every ‘suit’ we had was to be used. Both Casey and Loretta were going to be wearing them. George, Therese, and Evie, were to wear the others. I couldn’t function properly with the weight of a ‘suit’ on me.
Everyone else was to keep their head down. The one thing that bothered me more than anything else was, if it got heavy, the Corvette was going to be useless as a long-drive escape vehicle. Let’s face it, you could spot that thing coming from two blocks away, just from the sound of the motor, never mind the distinctive shape. I didn’t think that there were so many nineteen-sixty-six ‘Vettes in Paris that we’d be overlooked. Just the opposite, unfortunately, and I’d just found the damn thing. Maybe it wouldn’t come to that.
All three of the first wave briefed together just before we went. I had gone to the attic to see if I could spot anything unusual on the street. From my vantage point at the attic window, it was obvious that they were here already.
The street we were on was a crescent, and it curved away out of view on either side, about two hundred yards from the house. Right at the limit of my view, on both ends of the street, there were plain Citroens sitting at the curb with drivers in places. That was their modus operandi, all right. Drivers in place at all times. Using high power field glasses gave me final confirmation. The binoculars were strong enough to show the drivers’ features, and they both looked Latin. I don’t believe in coincidence. I can’t afford to.
I filled everyone in as well as I could. I knew that they were here, I just didn’t know where to look yet. That would become apparent as we exited the house, but not before. I doubted that they would tip their hand, we’d have to force it. Loretta had shed the hood to her suit, citing her inability to aim accurately with the face mask on. I understood, but was reluctant to agree. The compromise was for her to leave the hood off, but to cover the rest of the suit with her own clothes, thereby creating the illusion that she was not wearing one. Then they would target her body, which was always easier to hit, and the suit would protect her. Weak, but the best we could do on the spur of the moment. She was adamant about the hood.
I hoped that what Evie had told me about Loretta was true. She was supposed to be able to light a match at one hundred paces with her eyes closed. Or something akin to that. Her compatriots had nicknamed her ‘Loretta Eagle-Eyes’, so maybe there was some truth to it.
She was carrying an H&K .45, but it was her backup. She had a strange weapon in her hands, and I thought that it looked fairly deadly. If she got a chance to use it, the enemy would suffer for sure. It was very futuristic, with a folding stock of aluminum, a hand carved wooden grip with checks on the handle, and a thumb hole through the stock. There was a large scope on top, fat and short, with an LCD panel that flipped up at the rear instead of an eyehole. From the barrel size, I would have guessed about seven mm or so for the calibre. It turned out to be a seven point six two. The clip was also the front handle. It was long, giving her plenty of rounds to use. Sixty per clip, and she had two clips taped together, in an opposed configuration. When one was empty, you just flipped the clips, and you were full again. That made one hundred and twenty rounds. All rounds were high velocity. The kind that killed when you hit the bone, even if it was a limb you hit. The shock from the impact was plenty enough to kill. But not if you hit a target with one of those ‘suits’ on. Then accuracy counted. Loretta assured me that she understood, and if we could just flush the targets, she would take care of it from there. Her confidence was impressive, under the circumstances. What I didn’t know, and wouldn’t know until it was all happening around us, was whether or not this ‘confidence’ was misplaced. Dropping ping-pong balls at fifty paces was a little different than killing people at close range. For one thing, like they always say, the targets on the range don’t shoot back. Casey was carrying his H&K .45 with the explosive tip rounds. He’d been given one task–get the ‘Vette moving. He was supposed to pull the car up to the front of the drive, where we’d pile in and take off, after we cleared the area in front of the house, making it safe for Evie and the second wave to follow. He wore the hood.
I expected that someone would be in sniping position on the other side, I just wasn’t sure where. My call would have been the back, but it could just as easily be the front, or either side of the house. We would find out the hard way. It was time.
According to Wilson’s schedule, we had fifteen minutes until they were supposed to make their move. We knew that they were in place, but we didn’t know where. So, we were going to draw their fire by charging into the fray
suddenly, opening up their positions for return fire that had enough force, and/or accuracy, to break our way through the net. All within thirty seconds. Right. There never seemed to be an easy way to do it.
Everyone took their places and the countdown began. Evie stood in the hallway and shouted out the count. George stood by the front door, ready to open it for me as I flew through. I was about ten paces back, and I figured that I could get a good jump that would take me across the front portico and place me in a roll onto the front lawn. I was looking to end up lying behind the small shrubbery that was centered in the middle of the front lawn. That was the plan, anyway. Evie’s count was echoing through the house.
“…three, …two, …one…”
I was running as fast as I could when George flung the door open, barely in time. I jumped for all I was worth, going into a dive that was going to take me farther than I had anticipated. There was going to be no shrubbery when I came out of the roll. Then I was hitting the ground, and rolling. I landed a bit twisted, and I could feel my shoulder protesting, hard. The same one I’d landed on when that old stock trader had pushed me down the stairs the month before. Why was I landing twisted? No time. I missed the centre-piece on the lawn overshooting it by a couple of feet.
I came out of my roll with the ground next to me spitting up pieces of dirt. Great. It worked. Now all we had to do was figure out where the fire was coming from and close it down before it killed us. Me.
The trail of lead was stitching its way towards me as I pulled both .45’s from their holsters, and fell into a prone position. I had maybe a second or two to get this right and then I’d be stitched as neatly as the front lawn.
In the back of my mind I could hear the sound of distant gunfire, coming from the back of the house, and I thought of the tree in the back yard. It casually passed through my mind that I should have asked Casey to focus on the tree, then the background stuff dissolved, as the bullets from my opponent’s machine-gun came within a couple of feet of my body.
The Diamond Dust on Dragonfly Wings: A Jeffry Claxton Mystery Novel Page 92