Contract to Kill

by Andrew Peterson

  He scrambled over to the conveyor. Just ahead, Lyons’s grenade had twisted and mangled the metal braces and ignited the grass inside the conveyor. Gray smoke began to stalk him. Time to get moving.

  “Harv!”

  “I’ve got her.”

  Over the clatter of automatic gunfire, he heard the boom of Harv’s Remington, a sound he knew well.

  “Center mass,” Harv said calmly. “She’s down.”

  “Good shooting, partner.”

  Lyons never had a clue Harv was up there. She’d used the smoke screens effectively, but patience had paid off. Harv’s steel-core bullet had cleaved through Lyons’s body armor. She’d be in a bad way for sure. Nathan didn’t wish her a slow death, but it wouldn’t break his heart either. She’d played a role in the murder of Mara and her unborn baby.

  Encouraged by Harv’s success, Nathan cleared the dirt out of the Sig’s barrel and gained his feet. He’d just resumed his sprint along the conveyor when Grangeland’s frantic voice sounded in his earpiece.

  “There’s another vehicle coming in!”

  CHAPTER 37

  Nathan had to hand it to Mason; he’d played this well. The incoming vehicle was obviously reinforcements, a getaway car, or both. As soon as it arrived, the momentum of the battle would shift back to Mason. Nathan had a very short window to neutralize Mason before more PMCs joined the fight.

  He needed to keep Grangeland focused. “Hahn is Harv’s responsibility now. Switch your fire to Mason’s SUV. Ignore the incoming vehicle; light Mason up.” He heard Grangeland’s Springfield start pounding away again.

  “Hahn’s in a full sprint,” Harv reported. “I can’t get a good bead on him.”

  “Stay with him no matter what, Harv.”

  Nathan reached the end of the conveyor just as Mason’s SUV shot from the mouth of the canyon. Weaving back and forth and kicking up a huge dust cloud, it raced toward the burning vehicles inside the thinning cloud of yellow smoke.

  Nathan shook the earth from his hat and painted the Sig’s laser on Mason’s windshield. A burst of automatic fire from the prefab building forced him to duck and relocate. Apparently the South Koreans were alerted to his presence now. He wanted to return fire at the Koreans, but kept his attention on Mason.

  Grangeland kept firing, but few of her rounds found Mason’s SUV, and those that punched holes in it didn’t find Mason.

  Fifty yards from the trio of burning SUVs, Mason swerved to the left and slid to a stop.

  Nathan saw why.

  The business end of an M4 hung out the passenger window, and it had the menacing outline of a grenade launcher.

  Not knowing Mason’s target, Nathan hit the deck. The broken-out windows of the office and prefab buildings came to life with starlike muzzle flashes as the Mexicans and South Koreans opened fire at Mason’s SUV.

  The grenade launcher spit fire.

  A second later, thick white smoke blasted in all directions, engulfing Alisio’s burning vehicles and the folding table containing the loot.

  Bursting smoke grenade.

  Mason then sprayed the entire area with the .223. Dozens of rounds peppered the office building, forcing Alisio’s men to stop firing. Mason gunned the engine and circled back toward the access road. He hadn’t been stationary for more than two or three seconds. The combination of cover smoke and failing light made him a difficult target to acquire.

  In grudging admiration, Nathan watched Mason swing around for another pass. Grangeland continued to shoot, and miss. Nathan saw her rounds cratering the rocky soil.

  From somewhere above, he heard the boom of Harv’s Remington. Obviously, his friend had his hands full, and requesting an update would only distract him. He needed to believe that Harv was keeping Hahn from getting a bead on him. Either that, or his life might come to a quick end. So far, no one had taken another potshot at him from the rim.

  The break in Grangeland’s barrage meant she was changing magazines.

  “Grangeland, where’s that new vehicle?”

  “It just came through the gate. It looks like a Humvee.”

  “A Humvee? Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll deal with it. Keep shooting at Mason.”

  Nathan painted his Sig’s laser on the SUV’s windshield and popped off three quick shots. Only one of his bullets found its mark, creating a spiderwebbed break on the passenger’s side. Then he lost sight of the SUV behind the mass of white smoke. The reduced wind in the pit gave Mason a tactical advantage, and he used it well.

  A few seconds later, Mason’s vehicle reemerged from the smoke, his M4 no longer hanging out the window. Nathan lined up for another shot but had to duck for cover when several of the South Koreans in the prefab opened fire on his position again. He heard bullets thump and clang off the metal braces to his left. Staying low, he advanced to the tip of the conveyor. Beyond it, he’d have no cover. The closest object was a pockmarked washing machine or dryer; he couldn’t tell which.

  Nathan watched Mason’s SUV straighten out and head straight for the folding table. Nathan came up for another shot, but was immediately pinned by more automatic fire from the South Koreans.

  He needed Harv’s help and risked a call. “Harv?”

  “I’m CM with Hahn. He’s wounded but still in the fight.”

  “Keep after him.” CM was code for cat and mouse. At least Hahn was fighting for his life up there and wouldn’t be shooting into the pit. With the added firepower the newly arrived Humvee introduced, Nathan would soon find himself seriously outgunned. As it was, he couldn’t even shoot at Mason—the South Koreans were keeping him pinned down. It was beginning to look like Mason might actually get his hands on the money and escape. He couldn’t let that happen, but short of making a suicidal charge into a maelstrom of bullets, his options were limited.

  Grangeland’s voice was intermittent. “The Humvee just . . . pushed . . . the . . . road.”

  Shit, he didn’t catch all of Grangeland’s last transmission. Her rifle reports were drowning out her voice.

  Something flew from the driver’s window of Mason’s vehicle. It arced through the air and landed next to the last intact SUV.

  The resulting explosion ruined Nathan’s vision. Temporarily flash blinded, he cursed himself for being so careless. He should have anticipated it. Now a purple blotch dominated the center of his field of view, even as he again lost sight of Mason’s SUV.

  “Grangeland, cease fire! Cease fire.” The pounding of her reports stopped. “Does the Humvee have a turret gun?”

  “Yes.”

  Shit. That was very bad news. This fight might be over. “Mason’s heading for the folding table. Try to nail the briefcase before he gets there. Copy?”

  “Copy.”

  Nathan heard the roar of a diesel engine and had to make a decision. That rusty washing machine would offer little protection against the Humvee’s turret gun; neither would the sparsely spaced braces of this conveyor.

  He had an idea. If he could score a driver’s-side-window or windshield shot into the Humvee with an armor-piercing .308 round, it might penetrate its bulletproof glass and take out the driver.

  He holstered the Sig and shouldered his Remington. As he did, Grangeland’s Springfield began another barrage, slower this time. He imagined her walking the bullets onto the folding table. Hopefully she could nail the briefcase—anything to delay Mason.

  Harv’s rifle boomed again, but Nathan didn’t dare distract his friend by asking for an update.

  “I got it!” Grangeland said. “Alisio’s bundles of cash are scattered all over the place!”

  “Good shooting. I’ll take the Humvee. You switch back to Mason’s SUV. Can you still see it through the smoke?”

  “Affirm: it’s a bright object.”

  “Pour it on.”

 
At that moment, like a vision out of Operation Desert Storm, a tan Humvee roared into the pit.

  Nathan couldn’t believe what he saw and heard next.

  “Nathan!”

  Oh, no way. No possible way! This couldn’t be happening.

  His father was in the Humvee’s gun turret, manning its fifty-caliber machine gun.

  The voice rang out again. “Nathan, are you in here?”

  “Over here! Mason’s got a grenade launcher. Get that thing moving!”

  Nathan heard his dad yell, “George, punch it over to the south end of the conveyor!”

  George? George Beaumont was driving? Incredible. What the hell were those old Marines doing? Trying to get themselves killed? He couldn’t believe they were here. What on earth had possessed them? Part of him thought it was reckless; the other part admired the pure moxie of it. Either way, he welcomed the firepower.

  “Grangeland, what direction does that Humvee have to fire to nail Mason?”

  “What?”

  “Cease fire again! Give me a clock vector for the Humvee to shoot at Mason’s SUV.”

  She didn’t answer, and he realized the reason for her confusion.

  “The Humvee’s a friendly! My father’s in it! What direction should he shoot?”

  “Eight o’clock!”

  Nathan yelled, “Dad, fire the M2 at your eight!”

  “Roger that!”

  A grin took Nathan’s face. Once a Marine, always a Marine. His eighty-five-year-old father looked like a World War II destroyerman shooting at an incoming kamikaze. A ten-foot javelin of mushrooming flame spat from the Browning’s muzzle.

  Nathan couldn’t help himself, and yelled, “Get some, Dad! Get some!”

  A line of bright tracers pulsed into the fog-like smoke and disappeared. The roar of the discharge was beyond deafening.

  Grangeland said, “Tell him to adjust to the left slightly.”

  Nathan knew it was useless to repeat her correction; his dad would never hear it.

  The Humvee roared toward his position. Pouring it on, his father continued to hammer away at the center of the pit. Keep it up, thought Nathan. If just one of those bullets found Mason, it was lights-out for the former PMC.

  The Humvee turned, paralleling the conveyor.

  Nathan made his move.

  He dashed from his position and felt his face vibrate from the Browning’s concussive reports. His earpiece came to life with Grangeland’s voice, but the roar of the fifty caliber drowned it. He was about to open the door and jump in when he glimpsed an unbelievable sight.

  Like a demon emerging from hell, Mason walked out of the smoke with his M4 leveled at the hip.

  Before his dad could walk the fifty-caliber barrage onto Mason’s body, the grenade launcher flashed.

  CHAPTER 38

  The opposite side of the Humvee detonated in a blinding explosion.

  Nathan’s stomach twisted as a plume of gray smoke gushed from the turret’s opening.

  “Dad!”

  He rushed to the Humvee, shouldered his Remington, and aimed at the center of Mason’s chest.

  From no more than thirty yards distant, Mason aligned the M4 on Nathan’s body.

  Nathan stood firm.

  This could be it.

  An image of his father, standing like a stone wall during the Korean War, formed in his mind, and the visual hardened his resolve. As Stone McBride had done more than sixty years ago, Nathan looked death in the eyes and felt no fear. Like an ever-heightening whistle from a teakettle, all of his senses expanded to the bursting point, then instantaneously compressed.

  Mason’s flash suppressor ignited with an alluring white star. The sight of it was strangely beautiful, like an airport beacon to a lost pilot.

  Nathan felt warmth engulf his body as three separate yet interlinked images formed in his mind.

  Holly’s smile.

  Harv’s deep laughter.

  His father’s warm hand in his own.

  And in that instant, Nathan knew it was okay to die. He didn’t question it. Didn’t fight it. And didn’t regret it.

  I am ready to walk with God . . .

  When his senses returned to normal, he heard the staccato growl of Mason’s M4 echoing around the pit. Dozens of bullets thumped on the ground in front of him and clanked off the Humvee. The sleeve of his ghillie jumped, but he didn’t feel anything penetrate his flesh.

  Before Mason’s salvo ended, Nathan pulled the trigger.

  His Remington answered the request.

  When he came back on target, Tanner Mason stood there, looking down at his chest with an expression of disbelief. The man dropped the M4, issued a nod of understanding, and collapsed.

  “Grangeland, open fire on the office and prefab buildings where the gunmen are holed up. Alternate between them like you practiced. I need as much cover fire as you can lay down.”

  “Copy.”

  Grangeland’s crackling reports resumed. Nathan used the lapse in enemy fire to climb onto the smoking Humvee. He found his father bent at the waist, slumped against the turret’s armor. Smoke still belched from the opening, but it wasn’t dangerously thick or hot.

  “Nathan—” His dad coughed and tried to straighten up.

  “I’ve got you.”

  “Help George . . . ”

  Nathan pulled his father from the turret and laid him on the sloped rear hatch. He jumped to the ground, muscled his dad over his shoulder, and ran him over to the protected side of the conveyor. Thankfully, Stone didn’t look severely burned, but there was blood on his left calf—lots of it. The grass fire under the conveyor wouldn’t reach his dad’s position for several minutes.

  “I’m okay . . . get George.”

  Nathan handed him a bandanna. “Tie that off.”

  Nathan opened the driver’s door and found George drooped over the center console. Nathan saw the damage right away. A chunk of George’s head was gone. It looked like something had cleaved through his skull like a broadsword. He grabbed the retired Marine under his arms and pulled him out of the smoldering compartment, and carried him over to his father’s position.

  Mason must’ve fired a standard high-explosive round. If it had been a dual-purpose, the armored Humvee would’ve sustained more damage. From what Nathan saw, the grenade had detonated just below the window, but some of the explosive force had blown through the bulletproof glass, instantly killing George. If Mason’s aim had been six inches higher, the grenade would’ve struck the glass directly, killing his dad as well.

  Nathan ran back to the Humvee and found what he was looking for: cans of fifty-caliber ammo secured by a strap. The M2’s high-energy slugs were capable of punching through the cinder block walls of the office. And that’s what Nathan intended to do. Working quickly, he released the strap.

  As much as Nathan wanted to mourn George’s passing, this fight wasn’t over.

  “Grangeland, cease fire. Cease fire. Get down here fast!”

  “On my way.”

  The smoke near the middle of the pit was thinning. He didn’t have much time before the Humvee would be visible to the remaining gunmen hiding in the two buildings.

  He wondered about Harv. Their radios were set for auto transmission, so Harv would’ve been hearing everything that happened. Should he risk checking in? He decided to wait. The last message from his friend had mentioned he was chasing Hahn. There was no reason to believe that had changed. Distracting Harv with a radio call at the wrong instant could cost Harv his life.

  He ran back to his dad, who was in the process of securing the bandanna around his calf wound. “George didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

  Stone nodded. “Look, I’m okay. I’m not worried about the fire yet. Get up there and man that Browning.”

  “I’ll be right back; sit tigh
t.”

  “Nathan—”

  With Grangeland providing cover fire, he dashed over to Mason’s prone form. The man was still breathing, but it sounded wet and labored. Nathan felt Mason’s waist pack and knew there were at least half a dozen grenades left inside. He zipped it closed, pulled his Predator knife, and cut the waist pack’s belt. Thinking it held the M4’s magazines, he yanked Mason’s backpack free.

  He was about to run back to the conveyor when Mason grabbed his ankle.

  “How did I . . . miss you . . . from here?”

  Nathan didn’t say anything or try to jerk free. Less than ten seconds remained before he’d be visible through the thinning smoke.

  All the anger he felt toward this man melted, didn’t seem important anymore.

  “Don’t let Alisio . . . get away.” Mason coughed blood and grimaced in pain.

  This could’ve been me.

  “We need to know something,” Nathan told Mason. “Did you compromise the November Directive’s operatives?”

  Mason’s eyes were losing their brightness as he stared past Nathan. “Never . . . Never do that. Tell the old man I’m . . . sorry. He helped me when . . . I was—”

  He didn’t tell Mason the grenade attack had killed George Beaumont. There was no point in tormenting a dying man.

  “I’ll tell him.”

  Mason managed a half smile and tried to finish his sentence, but only blood came out. The man’s eyes went blank, then closed for good. As he did in the presence of any death, Nathan grieved a loss, but Mason had made his own choices. He could’ve walked a different path.

  He grabbed Mason’s M4 and hustled back to his dad’s position at the conveyor. He reloaded the carbine’s magazine and cycled the bolt. Next he opened the M203, put a dual-purpose grenade into its breech, and snapped it closed.

  “This is loaded with a HEDP grenade. You good to go?”

  “Yes, now get up there and kick some ass. The turret should still work.”