The Hunter

by Gennita Low

  Her car hidden in an alley, Amber checked inventory in the dark. She usually was light on weapons, but this time would be different. Silencer. Semiauto. She would sneak into Dilaver’s compound, but she doubted that she would be sneaking out. Wrapped-up small Uzi. Hell, maybe another one, just in case Hawk was able to defend himself…. She threw it into her duffel bag. Smoke bomb. Goggles. High-tech infrared glasses. Rope. She checked the back of her utility belt. Knives. She prayed that Hawk was still able to run…not quite sure how she was going to get him out if he was unconscious.

  The main thing was to get inside the place, locate Hawk and assess what was happening, then make some really quick decisions. If he was injured, she couldn’t mount a direct attack. If he was dead, she was going to…She mentally shook herself. Hawk wasn’t dead. Not yet. They would have killed him at the brothel if they wanted him dead.

  She loaded one of the weapons, pulled the car trunk down without slamming it, and slung the duffel bag over her shoulder. She started running up the alley. Off to get her man.

  A few items on Hawk’s new list of things he didn’t like being done to him. Number one, he didn’t like having his head slammed on a hard surface while his hands were tied. Number two, he definitely didn’t enjoy having his ribs kicked in when his legs were tied and he couldn’t retaliate by kicking back. Number three, spitting out blood wasn’t a good sign to state of health.

  The list got too long after five minutes. And he knew that more was to come. They hadn’t even mentioned what they wanted from him yet. Dragan hadn’t even lifted a hand yet. That wasn’t a good sign, either.

  Thank God she had cased the compound a few times before. First thing was to make sure she would be able to kill the lights if needed. That might help make escape a lot easier, especially if her appearance was a surprise. She prayed for enough time to get to Hawk, and that she remembered how to rig small explosives.

  When she got in through Hawk’s room, there was such a loud commotion she didn’t even have to be really quiet. From her vantage point, she could see them tearing his room apart, looking for something. She caught sight of someone walking off with a laptop. That must be Hawk’s. Another man was slicing open the mattress with a knife. Another was throwing stuff out of the little wardrobe in the corner. She had to follow the first man who went out. He would be the best bet to get to Hawk’s current location in this big place. She pulled out her silencer.

  “What are all the favorite American sayings in this type of situation?” Dilaver asked, a careless casualness in his voice as he approached Hawk. “You disappoint me. This is going to hurt me more than it does you. You make your bed, now lie in it. I think I like that last one the best. What do you think, Hawk?”

  Hawk struggled to sit up. Either he was, or the chair was propping him up, he couldn’t really tell at this moment. He peered up, blinking at the brightness of the light overhead.

  “Nothing to say, huh?” Dilaver continued. “Where are all the smart-aleck sayings, my friend? That’s what hurts most, you know. I thought we were friends. I liked you. Part of me actually admires you now because your deception was so good, and I don’t get deceived that easily, let me tell you. I repeat, where are all the smart-ass lines now?”

  Conserve energy. Why waste the rest of his ability to think on that fucking scum? Hawk watched as Dilaver lay his walking stick on the table a few feet away.

  “Do you know, if you get hit around the right spot on the kneecap, it would shatter in such a way that you would never walk again? I think that would be good payment for my limp, which I’m sure you’re responsible for, somehow. An eye for an eye, right? Or is it a leg for a leg this time around? Let’s start with that…. Oh wait, if you tell me what you know about a certain weapon, perhaps I won’t go for that sweet spot in the kneecap, what do you say? Maybe we could just break the shinbone.”

  If he could, Hawk would laugh. Dilaver was a mercenary, a brute. He had seen the thug kill with his bare hands, strike fear in those around him by giving a lot of pain. But, to win information with refined threats, he wasn’t going to win the Negotiator of the Year Award.

  There was no humor in the knowledge that his career as a SEAL would definitely be over, even if he survived this. Swimming without a kneecap would really slow him down and underwater covert operations were all about timing, especially when they had to do with underwater demolition.

  Hawk laughed, or at least a sound choked out of his mouth. It must be his macabre sense of humor surfacing, if all he could think about were ways to retain swimming speed when he was about to lose the use of his legs. He laughed again and a wracking pain followed the attempt.

  Two down. Luck was on her side. The man with the laptop was going downstairs alone. Amber promised that she would appreciate old European buildings even more from now on. They were badly lit, easily allowing her to tail her quarry down three flights of stairs and giving her time to plant weapons along the way.

  He turned on the landing, heading for the rooms. She looked up and down the passage as she cautiously followed. No guards. Dilaver must have left some of the men at the kafenas. Either that or Hawk had hurt enough of them to send them to the hospital. She hoped so.

  The man slowed down as he reached the end of the passage. He knocked at the door. Amber pulled on the gas mask, then raised both her hands, taking aim.

  “Untie his hands,” Dilaver ordered. “Perhaps writing is easier right now, hmm? If you cooperate and draw this weapon you’re after, Hawk, I’ll make the end a little quicker.”

  Hawk took several deep breaths as the wave of pain subsided. Dilaver must have thought he had been trying to reply. Someone came up behind him and he felt the bonds that imprisoned his hands loosening. The same person pushed him hard and he fell out of the chair onto his knees. He heard laughter around him.

  “He doesn’t act so cool now, boss.”

  “He’s still cute, though.”

  Someone kicked Hawk’s ribs. He doubled over.

  “Let’s fuck him in the ass. Always thought he was a homo, the way he stayed away from the girls.”

  “I say he’s still too pretty. We’ll have to remedy that.”

  “Now, now, men, didn’t you hear me tell Hawk that I’ll make it quick if he helped me out?” Dilaver asked. “Come on, Hawk. They’re getting restless here. Better get up and do some drawing.”

  Hawk pushed up with one hand, trying to sit up. If he could get the other man to kick him again, he could go for the weapon strapped at the man’s side. It was time to end this bullshit. If he had to go, he preferred it to be in a blaze of bullets. At least he would be sending a few more of them straight to hell. A knock at the door and Dilaver turned to answer. Hawk stared up at his attacker, Sanu, and gave him the finger.

  Everything seemed to happen all at once. Sanu came after him amid the jeers of those watching. Hawk somehow managed to dodge the kick aimed at him. He grabbed the off-balance man by the balls. At the same time, he registered a shout of surprise and gunshots coming from somewhere as he pulled the weapon from the howling man’s holster. He pulled Sanu forward, using him as a shield. Someone shot out the main light.

  Smoke. Jesus. Hawk recognized the instant and distinct burn of CS gas. During boot camp and SEAL training, they were required to sit in a room as it filled with tear gas and count to twenty slowly before they were allowed to strap on the gas masks by their sides. It was to help them to stay calm. Many first-timers gagged and panicked at the first fiery taste of the gas, forgetting to put on their masks as they rushed for the exits with closed eyes. It had taken Hawk two tries before he was able to sit calmly and count.

  More shots. Total darkness. Everyone was yelling and scrambling, screaming for the exit. Hawk stretched out on the ground and began to crawl toward the general direction of the door. Someone at the entrance was picking off the running men one by one. Whoever it was must have a mask on. He had an idea who that might be. His eyes were hurting more and more as the gas started to waft down
ward. He squeezed them shut. Holding his breath, he continued his painful belly-crawl.

  He wasn’t going to make it. He was going to be trampled before reaching the doorway.

  Suddenly the glare from a flashlight hit his eyes, blinding him even more. Something slid onto his nose. Then a familiar weight came over his face. Gas mask. He reached up to hold it in place. Forcing his eyes open, he found everything had changed from darkness to another familiar sight. He had been fitted with infrared night goggles, too. Not that he could see much when his eyes felt as if they had been scratched raw.

  But he didn’t need any urging. A familiar shadow stood over him. Leaned down. Hands urging him to get up. Unable to explain that he was still tied, he started to paddle hard with his arms toward the door. His rescuer pulled him by his shirt, hurrying him. He heard it tear as he tried to keep up.

  At last he was out of that room and the passage light was still on. He heard the slam of the door behind him. Then his legs were freed. Knives were wonderful things.

  He heaved himself up with the help of the wall. He staggered from the pain. He waved away the helping hand and started to run. He smacked into a wall. Still stinging from the gas assault, he couldn’t see very well. Besides, he wasn’t the one leading here. For once he had to depend on someone other than his SEAL brothers to take over. He turned to the small figure beside him. She took his hand.

  19

  Hawk coughed, or tried to. His lungs still burned like hell. Another thing to include in his new list of things to dislike—climbing stairs after being kicked in the ribs. They were heading to his room. He was very glad they were getting as far away from the gas as possible. He didn’t think he could have taken another whiff of that without throwing up.

  He saw the open duffel bag strapped over Amber’s back and reached in it. Ah, more familiar things. The woman had weapons out the kazoo. He loved this woman.

  They met with a few hostiles as they climbed the stairs. Blocking Amber’s body with his, Hawk shot out the lights with the Uzi. The firefights were short, but they were losing more time. With the surprise element gone, he could hear the sound of more people rushing up the stairs.

  Amber reached into her belt and pulled out something. “Here,” she said.

  Grenades. He managed a grin. The woman was something else. He pulled the pins and dropped them down the stairwell. The blast shook the building.

  Hawk turned to Amber. “Problem taken care of,” he said.

  They reached his room. She pushed the gas mask off over the top of her head, then pulled off the small goggles. Hawk did the same, taking in the two dead bodies in his now-messy room. She pointed to her back, indicating that he should return the Uzi to the duffel bag.

  “Are you all right?”

  Hawk grinned. “What took you so long?”

  “Oh my God, Hawk.” He couldn’t see her face, but her voice cracked with emotion. “Your face…your teeth are red. Are you in a lot of pain?”

  He shrugged, and managed to hide a wince when she touched his face. “Just a little. Do you know you look like the Invisible Man with that getup?” She was covered from head to foot in dark material. “The gas mask looks really strange on a faceless person.”

  “Yeah, well, what about flopping around, trying to walk with just your hands and belly? What was that, your rendition of the Little Merman?”

  She sounded more like the Amber he knew and he wanted to kiss her. Unfortunately, they didn’t have much time for that, either. Besides, he didn’t think she would be turned on by the taste of his blood. “Remind me later about the ‘little’ comment. So, how do we escape?”

  “Can you climb?” Amber indicated the rope that she had used. “I hope so, because that’s the only way out at the moment.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Something that would usually have been an easy task proved to be a formidable undertaking. Halfway up, Hawk struggled with shortness of breath as he blocked the surge of pain that accompanied every pull of the rope. He could feel the strain of his arm muscles as he slowed down from fatigue.

  Amber reached the upper beam first. “Hurry,” she urged softly. “There are some kind of spikes in the beam to your left. I use them for footholds.”

  “Now you tell me,” Hawk muttered.

  He found one of the spikes with one foot, secured his hold on the rope, and then, taking a deep breath, resumed pulling himself up. He finally made it to the top that way.

  Amber helped him climb onto the ledge.

  “You should have let me know how injured you are,” she scolded. “And don’t lie now. You would have climbed a lot faster.”

  Hawk was too out of breath to tell her that he hadn’t had time to check the extent of his injuries. At the moment, he was feeling every punch and kick that had landed on his body.

  It was pitch-black up there, but she seemed to be well acquainted with the cubby space, pulling up the rope and twining it around something that he couldn’t see from his angle. She had an air of quiet efficiency that reminded him of her in the kitchen. He loved to watch the way she moved so minimally and accomplished so much.

  “We’re going through the ventilation access. There’s a breeze as we head out and it can get quite cold at this time of the year. There are different chutes and one comes out near the fireplace. That’s where we usually climb down from. I didn’t have time to bring us jackets. We can’t run with them on anyway. Ready?”

  Simple enough. “Yeah,” Hawk said.

  “Tell me if you need to stop,” she told him.

  He followed her, barely fitting through the opening of the access. They started on their hands and knees, and he found that he had to belly-crawl through parts of the chute. Again, he was struck with how capable Amber was, moving along in the cramped darkness, seemingly able to know which turns inside the chute they needed to take. A regular person would be lost inside this maze, but then she wasn’t one. She was doing what she did best as a contract agent, and he finally understood that guiding had many different kinds of skills. He had at first scoffed at the idea that he needed a guide when he could, with a map and weapons, get anywhere faster than most people. He’d bought the part about the need for someone who spoke the language like a native and knew the region, but still, part of him had held on to the idea that, out in the wild, he would work better alone.

  But Amber was showing him a side of being a contract guide he hadn’t considered. She was trained to be a human compass and, gender aside, she must be viewed as someone who had studied every possible route in an assignment, weighing every aspect that might affect the people she was assigned to guide, including timing and conditioning. That was why she had kept asking him how injured he was. Her job was to go from point A to point B with the least possible impedance. He realized now that he should have told her he was a SEAL, that he could take a lot more than the usual covert agent. She needed this information, especially in a dangerous situation.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “I’m right behind you, babe,” he replied softly. “Keep going. I’ll keep up.”

  “We’re almost to the chimney. Once outside, the descent is roughly ten meters. The chimney is very old, so there are plenty of footholds. I don’t know how many guards are down on the ground, what with our little grenade fun back there, but I’m sure some of them are busy looking for us.”

  “They’ll turn on the spotlights,” Hawk said.

  “No, I disabled them at the main generator.”

  “How? There was still electricity when you came in. I was shooting out the lights as we went upstairs.”

  “Plastics,” Amber explained, finally coming to a stop. “I activated that when we started climbing. I figured if I started a fire of some sort, they’d have to call the fire department and all the commotion would give us an even better chance to escape.”

  “Do you know I get turned on by brainiacs?” he asked. He reached out and took her hand. “You saved my life.”

  “Not y
et, love. We need to get out of the compound and to my car, then to my place, and then you can show me how grateful you are. Besides, I thought you were turned on by hamburgers.”

  She squeezed his hand before pushing open the flap that led to the outside. A blast of cold air hit them.

  “Cooking and brains…I just might marry you,” Hawk quipped.

  She suddenly went still and his face almost smacked into her cute behind. He was actually as shocked at his own words as she was. It was probably the most inappropriate time and place, and he didn’t know where that came from, but it sure felt right when he said it.

  “Hawk, did they hit you in the head with something?”

  He remembered the mild concussion he had suffered earlier. “Why?”

  “Because we’re going to descend really fast and you’re making me light-headed with that marriage proposal.”

  He remembered his resolve to tell her about anything that would make her job easier. “I was knocked out of it during the fight. Probably with a bottle. I’ve been knocked out before, by the way. Still single.”

  “Did a woman rescue you those times, too?”

  He could hear the smile in her voice. He grinned back. “No.”

  “Okay, then. Think you can handle thirty meters down?”

  It wasn’t as if they were underwater and that he might suffer the bends. “You’ll know soon enough,” Hawk told her. “I’ll be down there either on my feet or on my back.”

  She hesitated for a second. There was really no other choice—they both knew that—and she silently started her descent. Far below, the faint sound of sirens broke through the night air. Hawk patted his rib cage lightly. This was going to hurt just a little.

  Keep your focus. She mustn’t think about how horribly bruised and abraded Hawk’s face was. She knew he was hiding the amount of pain he was going through, but she had heard the shortness of breath, and the way he coughed didn’t sound good, either. Internal injury. Her heart sped up again when she recalled how close she’d been to being too late.