If so, Vincente’s men might be hidden somewhere in a circle radius of the yellow coat. Most likely to the west or south—closer to her. That made her press herself into the trunk and carefully study the landscape between herself and the raincoat. Slowly she scanned the forest ahead and to the west several times. Nothing out of the ordinary.
She wiped rain from her eyes. The next large tree ahead of her would give her a good vantage point of the trail.
The steady rain filled the air with gray, and Vincente’s men were all wearing black raincoats. Hard to spot. But their pants would be soaked if they stopped using their umbrellas. Her own shoes and pants were soggy, her legs wet and cold.
She hesitated, remembering Steel’s advice on waiting for him if anything looked suspicious. But if it was a trap, and he followed the trail back to her, he might be in as much danger as herself. She needed to get closer for a better assessment.
Crouching, she jogged toward the next tree, watching the ground to avoid stepping on sticks. Puddles were forming on the soil. The rain wasn’t letting up.
By the time she reached the next massive sequoia, tension crawled down her limbs. She couldn’t see the trail and needed to move around the tree. Keeping her back to the trunk, she drew the Glock and pointed it behind her—so she would be able to shoot anyone trying to sneak up on her.
She slowly kept moving. Her SIG followed the round trunk. The tree had deep furrows, and sometimes the trunk jutted out at ground level. Then she had to step over or go around the bulge. She couldn’t hide then, making herself an easy target.
A quarter of the way around the tree she glimpsed the yellow coat again. Fifty yards away. The rain made it difficult to see it clearly. It looked like it was hanging from the low branch of a tree.
The woman wasn’t wearing it. Maybe she and Vincente hadn’t gone any farther. Where were they?
A cluster of seven giant sequoias surrounded her, each big enough to hide all of Vincente’s men. They could be all around her. Waiting. Watching. A number of the trees had dark cavities at ground level, big enough for someone to squat in and not be seen unless you were close.
Unsure what to do and where to go, she stood still for a moment. She heard muffled shots to the east. Steel. Focusing, she slowly continued around the trunk. She felt vulnerable, knowing every tree was a possible hiding place. Ahead of her a bulbous area at the base of the trunk—two feet high and three feet wide—forced her to stop. She would have to step around it.
Glancing throughout the grove, she slowly edged forward.
When she reached the foot of the trunk, she stopped with a jolt. A man holding a silenced pistol stood on the other side of the bulge, staring at her.
CHAPTER 21
Steel stopped running and paused behind a tree. Using the rifle, he scoured the landscape east, north, and west. No sign of the yellow raincoat. The trail wasn’t that far away—even if the rain hid it from his eyes.
Vincente must have stopped a short distance in to ambush them, perhaps never intending to lure them in very far. Christie could be facing seven men. That spurred him to change course a second time. Northwest.
As he ran, he took the silencer off the rifle and put both into the pack, threw it on his back, and drew the Glock. The rain shortened the distance that the rifle was useful and he would be in close quarters soon.
He tried to discard worries for Christie. She could handle herself.
Yet images of her lying on the ground or tortured by Vincente made his legs fly. He was taking a risk. He had no idea where Vincente’s men were hiding, and he wouldn’t be of any help to Christie if he was shot.
Three minutes later he slowed down, stopping close to a sequoia to wipe moisture off his face. Squatting, he gazed ahead. No movement. No figures. No sign of the yellow raincoat.
Remaining low, he moved farther around the tree to increase his viewing angle west. As he rounded the trunk, a figure appeared kneeling beside another sequoia to his right, aiming a pistol at him. He launched himself backward onto his back, firing as he fell.
The man ducked out of sight.
Rolling over, Steel scrambled to his feet and ran around the tree trunk in the opposite direction.
Another man rounded a massive tree to his left. Fast runner. Coordinated. Steel took a shot on the run—missed the swerving man—and kept going. Halfway around the tree he found a small crevasse in the trunk and ducked inside.
Pressing his back against the inner bark, he squatted, gun pointed out. He considered running to the nearest tree across from him. His back would be exposed to at least one of the gunmen so he stayed put.
His hope was that the men would chase him. If not, he might be here a while, leaving Christie on her own. That reality sent his thoughts spinning.
Faint shots sounded to the west.
He might have to take another risk.
CHAPTER 22
Christie recovered from a millisecond of shock and leaned back, firing her gun at the same time the man shot at her.
The man mirrored her reaction. Neither of them scored a hit. She stumbled back, keeping her gun aimed forward, but the man never came. Whirling, she ran around the tree to come up behind the enemy.
Her left arm and gun were pointed ninety degrees out from her at the forest, the Glock following the curve of the tree. She estimated three to five seconds.
She slipped once and hit the trunk with her shoulder. Grunting, she pushed off and kept going. Glancing out at the other trees, she almost missed the man running straight at her around the tree.
He was slightly farther out from the trunk, due to one of the trunk’s bulbous feet. He saw her at the same time. Stopping, she slapped her back into the tree and fired three times with her leading gun. Aware of his gun going off, she expected to be hit.
He went down in a heap. Neck, chest, and head wounds.
Surprised she hadn’t been shot, she looked down. Two bullet holes had scored her poncho beneath her armpit.
Another sequoia in the grove was directly across from her to the west. She ran for it. There was movement in her right peripheral vision. Diving to the ground onto her side, she aimed both guns right.
Thirty feet away a man was running at her—firing.
She shot out his legs and kept shooting as he went down until he didn’t move. She had to assume Vincente and his men would have heard her shots.
Rattled, she scrambled to her feet and looked around. Then she sprinted for the tree ahead of her. She made it, and carefully slid around the trunk, ignoring the pain from the cut in her lower back. Vincente’s men might be working in pairs. If so, one pair had to be attacking Steel. That left two more men, plus Vincente and his girlfriend.
Slowly edging around the tree, she stared at the trail sixty feet away.
Vincente’s girlfriend was on her back, her hands raised protectively over her face. Sobbing. She wore a dark sweater and slacks.
Vincente stood above her, his feet straddling her as he bent over to slap her and backhand her.
Christie assessed him. One-eighty, mid-forties, five-foot-ten. Cretin. She wanted to put a bullet in him just for beating his girlfriend. Vincente’s driver stood on the trail fifty feet south of his boss, staring off into the woods. Unsure where the rest of Vincente’s men were, Christie didn’t shoot. They had to have heard the shots so this had to be a trap.
Keeping a pine tree between her and the two men, she ran to it. She held both guns close to her chest, wary of an ambush. The beating rain disguised her footsteps, but it also meant it would be harder to hear Vincente’s men.
Ahead of her a giant sequoia stood close to the trail. She darted to it. Taking a deep breath, she slowly crept around the tree counterclockwise. She wanted to end up behind Vincente and his girlfriend.
The trail quickly came into view. The girl was crawling through puddles, still crying. V
incente wasn’t in sight.
The trap.
Christie edged out a few inches farther. Fifty yards south, Vincente strode along the trail with his driver, headed toward the parking lot. Leaving his girlfriend? Harry’s image came to her. Vincente had to be stopped. Helping the woman would have to wait.
She hesitated. Vincente’s other men might be hiding in the surrounding trees. Where was Steel?
The girlfriend became aware of her and turned, her mascara running in the rain, her eyes wide. Korean. Five-foot, one hundred ten pounds, late twenties, black hair. Stupid. And soaked. Her wet clothing clung to her athletic frame.
The woman lifted one hand to Christie. “Help me,” she whispered.
Christie ignored her and strode forward, sighting her guns on Vincente’s back.
Something slammed into her side and her shoulder banged into the tree. She lost her balance and her ribs screamed. Vincente’s girlfriend knocked her arms aside and punched her in the ribs again.
Christie tried to raise her guns, but the woman tackled her to the ground away from the path and behind the tree. Pushing Christie’s arms aside and kneeling on them, the woman punched her in the face.
Grunting, Christie’s survival instincts and training kicked in. Her hands were useless if she hung onto the guns. She dropped the weapons and writhed violently.
One of her arms slipped free, then the other. Feinting a right punch, she used her left to hit a lower rib. The woman gasped.
Simultaneously twisting, Christie used her left knee to thrust the woman off her. Both actions made her cry out in pain. She rolled away from the Korean and pushed to her feet.
Vincente’s girlfriend was already standing and smiling. She threw a sidekick. Twisting again, Christie blocked the blow with her arm, while driving an elbow down at the woman’s knee. She missed as the Korean jerked her leg back. The woman snapped her foot into the side of Christie’s head and she stumbled back into the tree.
The woman came at her again fast, fists held up like a Thai kickboxer.
Christie remembered what Steel had taught her, and what she had practiced a hundred times in the VR sims. Pulling the knife, she stepped to the side, slashing the blade in an upward arc. She scored the woman’s forearm while twisting away from a knee kick. Dropping to one knee, she stabbed the woman in the thigh.
The woman screamed and kneed Christie in the chest.
Groaning, Christie fell to her side and kicked the woman’s injured leg. The woman cried out and fell to all fours.
Footsteps on the path.
Christie scrambled over the wet soil and picked up both guns. Beyond the tree trunk, she glimpsed Vincente and two of his men running toward her, all holding machine guns. Seeing her, they stopped and fired.
Still on her knees, she ducked behind the tree as their bullets bit the trunk and the soil near her feet.
The Asian woman was lunging at her, swinging the knife.
Christie fired twice at point blank range. The woman slumped heavily into her, her head falling on Christie’s chest as if she was taking a nap. It sickened her, but she had no time for remorse. She pushed the woman off her and hastily rose.
Running clockwise around the tree, her fingers tightened on the triggers. She fired as soon as she saw the mens’ clothing. She hit the man to the right of Vincente first—in the back of the shoulder—he dropped to his knees.
Vincente and the other man stopped and turned toward her, firing, bullets tearing up the tree. Running out at an angle from the trunk, still firing, Christie hit Vincente in the arm and leg, the other man in his chest and stomach.
Both men collapsed. She put two more bullets into the man on his knees who was trying to rise. He fell dead.
Her chest heaving, she walked up to Vincente and kicked his gun away. She put another bullet into the second man to make sure he was dead. Keeping her SIG aimed at Vincente, she ejected the Glock mag, stuck the gun between her upper arm and torso, pulled out a spare magazine and reloaded.
Her thoughts were with Steel now. Two men were missing. She looked around quickly to make sure they weren’t charging her. Safe.
Kneeling on Vincente’s chest, she placed one gun muzzle into his open palm, the other against his forehead. “I want to know how you’re contacting ISIS. When and where. If you don’t talk, I’ll start putting bullets in you.”
“Go to hell.”
She fired into his palm. He shouted and recoiled.
Switching gun positions, she ground the other muzzle into his good palm, the second into his forehead. “When, where, how.”
He gasped in pain. “My brother is always careful. He told us nothing.”
“Where’s your brother?”
“Las Vegas. That’s all I know. What do you want? Money?”
“Marita. Remember her? The DEA informant?”
“That’s all this is about? That stupid whore? Your military left her behind. They didn’t care about her so why do you?” He gasped in pain. “I have money in the house. Lots of it.”
She stood up, remembering the photo of Marita’s face on Steel’s phone. The man sickened her. “I don’t care about your money. And I don’t want to end up like Marita. Neither does anyone else.”
Holding his bloody hand in front of his face, Vincente cringed. “Wait! Wait! Diego will never let you live if you do this. He will find you no matter where you go if you kill me.”
“We’re counting on it.” She shot him twice.
Without pause she ran to pick up her knife and headed east. She wondered what she had become. That thought slipped away as panic sent adrenaline racing through her. Faint shots again to the east. All she could envision was Steel in trouble, and being too late to help him.
CHAPTER 23
After hearing more shots to the west Steel decided to act. The two men would be coming from different sides. They would be cautious, but they would come.
He could see only a few feet in either direction. If one of them saw the crevice in the tree, they might circle wide and fire at him from the protection of another tree. He listened for anything that didn’t fit the pattern of the rain.
Taking a calculated risk, he edged himself to the right side of the fissure so he could see farther in the direction he had arrived from. That man had been closer to his position and should show up first.
Ten feet away, the man’s gun hand came into view. Aiming for the man’s hand, Steel fired twice. The man shouted, his hand disappearing.
Shifting to the other side of the crevice, Steel didn’t see the other man. He leaned out. Neither killer was in sight. Leaving the backpack, he stepped out. Still no killers in sight. He ran back the way he had come.
He spotted the wounded man running toward another tree. Three shots in the back brought him down. Continuing counterclockwise around the tree, gun arm extended, he kept his finger ready on the trigger.
In three seconds he spied the other gunman pressed close to the tree, edging around it. The man whirled, but Steel fired repeatedly until he went down.
Grabbing the backpack from the crevasse, he reloaded the Glock on the run and headed for the entrance to the park. Christie had to be a prisoner or dead. His limbs stiffened.
A figure ran at him in the rain. At first he didn’t lower his gun. Then he recognized her. Eyes wide, heart pounding, he ran to her and held her, careful of her injury. His world was safe again.
In a minute he asked, “Are you all right?”
“Good enough,” she whispered.
“How many?”
“Six.”
He kept the surprise off his face. How had she succeeded against six killers? And how close had she come to dying again? “Vincente’s girlfriend?”
“She was in on it and almost killed me. Thai kickboxer. I had to kill her.”
He heard something beneath her words
that bothered him. “Let’s get out of here.”
They ran, but he quickly slowed to a jog. It was obvious she was in pain from the way she favored her side. When they reached the parking lot, they found it empty except for their vehicle and the two SUVs.
He drove.
Shivering, Christie wrapped her arms around her torso. He cranked the heater and turned all the vents toward her.
“Wipe the guns down completely, whatever you used to shoot anyone. Same with the knife.” He drove farther into the park. At a higher elevation he parked and got out with her. They wiped the grips, barrels, and stocks a second time, and tossed the weapons over the guard rail. They still had three Rattlers, a SIG, and the G28.
Back in the car, driving toward the exit, he scrutinized her. “Where are you hurt?”
She barely looked at him. “Some bruises. You?”
He didn’t believe her. “I’m fine. Now tell me where you’re hurt or I’ll stop until you do.”
Her voice had an edge. “All over. Ribs, the cut on my back, my face, and chest.”
He felt sick inside. “All the Thai boxer?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Your training saved me.” She took a deep breath. “It’s all right.”
“No, it isn’t.” He softened his voice. “It’s not you I’m upset at.”
“I know.”
He let it go. “Did you learn anything?”
“Diego is in Las Vegas. Vincente had no information on the meeting with ISIS.” She stared at her hands in her lap, her voice quieter. “Vincente thought raping, torturing, and killing Marita was nothing. Offered me money. I didn’t see how we could drag him out injured so I killed him.”
“You had no choice. He might have given us a bargaining point to get to ISIS, but that’s Jeffries’ problem now.” He was aware of her taut face, the lost look in her eyes, and her trembling hands.
“How are you, honey?” he asked gently.
“I feel like a hired killer.”
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