“I have one thing that should help you,” Sebastian said, shutting off the vehicle and climbing out, circling around to the truck bed.
Pulling off the canvas sheet, he revealed a beat-up motorcycle that looked like it might date all the way back to World War II.
“What’s this?” Taylor asked, following him out of the truck, confused.
“You’re out here by yourself, and I don’t know if you’ll need a way to get around,” Sebastian said. “I’ve been fixing this up for a few years. It’s not fancy, but it runs.”
“Sebastian, I can’t take this. There’s a good chance I won’t get it back to you.”
“I realize that,” the man said as he manhandled the machine off the truck, Taylor finally snapping to and helping him unload it. “But, I still want you to take it. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Taylor knew Sebastian was right, there was a chance he would need a way to get around, and this was much better than the alternatives he had for getting transportation.
“OK, but I promise I’ll try to make us even.”
“Stop these people, and I’ll still be in your debt. Good luck my friend,” Sebastian said, shaking Taylor’s hand, and getting back into his truck.
With a wave, Sebastian began backing down the logging trail, back the direction they’d come. Taylor watched him until the farmer had disappeared, before pushing the bike just into the trees so it wasn’t obvious, in case someone else came along the road. Covering it with fallen pine branches to complete the effect, Taylor turned and headed into the dense pack of trees. One benefit of the compound being in such a heavily wooded area was how much lighter the snow was on the ground; the trees having caught a lot of the snowfall before it made its way down. Boots were not the best footwear for walking through densely packed snow.
After ten minutes of walking, Taylor could see an abrupt end to the forested area ahead of him. He’d seen this before when a clear area was cut out of the forest, it ended suddenly instead of thinning out more naturally. Taylor stopped ten feet back from the tree line, confident if someone in the open were watching this direction, it would be impossible to pick out one figure through the trees, at least. Being inside the trees he could, however, see out pretty well. The compound was obvious even to the naked eye, a large walled area with multiple buildings, including what almost looked like a small mansion, inside its perimeter. There was a fifty-yard gap between the forest edge and the perimeter wall, which was a whole lot of open ground to cross to get from the tree line to the compound. If he had to guess, Taylor would bet that the same open cut land existed all the way around, or at least, it would have if Taylor had built it.
Although he’d left his duffle bag back in the car he’d rented, and hopefully that Andre had picked up for him, he’d held onto his binoculars, which he now pulled out of the pocket of his coat. It was a struggle since, even though the coat had large pockets, these were military grade binoculars and had been difficult to wedge into the garment. Once freed, he brought the compound into startling focus, and what he saw, he didn’t like.
Based on the buildings on the inside, and the one roving perimeter guard he saw near the outside of the wall facing him, Taylor would guess this wall was ten feet tall. Spread out around its circumference was a handful of enclosed guard towers, and he could clearly see the men armed with assault rifles inside the ones closest to him.
Both inside and outside he could see roving guard patrols of two to three men and, based on the men coming and going from one of the smaller buildings set off to one side of the compound, there was a significant force of guards living on the premises. A large metal gate looked to be the only way into the compound, and a small guard house next to it.
Taylor spent a full hour in the biting cold, looking at each inch visible from his position, trying to find any weakness, and finding none. No, both sneaking into the compound and a direct assault on it were off the table. Which left the question, how the hell was he going to get in there?
Motion caught his attention, and Taylor moved his binoculars toward the gate, which was opening. A black Lincoln town car and a jeep pulled through the gate, heading away from the compound. The car windows were down as the person in the back seat spoke to one of the men in the guard booth, and Taylor recognized him from the night of the auction. Timor, the second-in-command of this operation, was in the car, heading somewhere. That, however, was not what Taylor was focusing on. Through the window, Taylor could see another person in the back of the town car. Kara sat next to Timor, the same non-expression she had plastered on her face when he’d first met her in that place, showing no emotion to anyone.
Taylor could see into the back seat pretty well from his vantage point, even as the windows started to roll up. He was certain that Mary Jane wasn’t in the car, and the jeep's untinted windows confirmed she wasn’t there either. Unless the senator’s daughter was shoved in the trunk, which seemed unlikely, she was still in the compound, which presented a problem.
Taylor could go after Kara, or leave her to her fate and continue working on a way to get to Mary Jane. That, however, wasn’t a real choice, and not one he would ever pick. Kara had put herself in danger by calling him. Without that call, he might not be here looking at the compound, now. He knew what he needed to do.
As the small two car convoy started to pull out, Taylor began to run full out back toward the logging road. In half the time he’d taken to walk to his viewing point he was back, pulling the bike onto the road, and turning it over. True to his word, Sebastian had the bike running, and it turned over on the first try. Taylor hurtled along the road, the cold air biting at his face as he dodged ruts and obstacles that might send him crashing into the forest, piling on as much speed as possible. If Sebastian had described it accurately, the road from the compound ran to the town with no chance of detour before then. He didn’t know if the lumber road he was on or the road Timor was taking was more direct, not having seen a map. He also didn’t know if there was a turn off in the town itself so he might have to go into the town and hope to run into the two vehicles before they turned off, preferably without being recognized by Timor.
Taylor could see the opening at the end of lumber road coming up, the paved driveway crossing perpendicular with the lumber road like a crooked capital T. To his surprise, the black town car and jeep flashed by the lumber road while he was still a good seventy yards back, which answered which road was the straighter shot.
Taylor slowed to widen the space between him and the people he was chasing, then continued onto the paved road, turning in the direction they had passed. He couldn’t get too near them since no other vehicles were on the road; it would be obvious the guy on the motorcycle was following them.
When Taylor turned, he could barely see the red tail lights ahead of him, even though it was still morning and the weather was good. Regularly, the lights would disappear as they turned a bend, and Taylor would have to hope that, in the time it took him to reach the same bend, they wouldn’t turn and lose him.
At one point, they almost did. He turned a bend and didn’t see them ahead of him, but did see another bend they could have potentially already rounded. He almost ignored one of the smaller turn off roads, only catching the briefest glimpses of a tail light in his peripheral vision. When he stopped the bike and turned around, whoever had been along that side road was already out of sight, but he went with his gut and headed down the turn-off. Eventually, he did pick up the two cars again, proving him right, but it had been a close thing. Had his head been turned a fraction further, he would have missed those tail lights and lost them completely.
This continued for almost forty minutes as they drove what seemed like farther from the border, although it was getting to the point that Taylor was having trouble keeping up with all the twists they’d taken. Eventually, they cleared the forested area, and headed into more open plains, forcing Taylor to fall farther back. He was surprised when they turned off toward three small buildings
along a small road that intersected the road they’d been on He could see the two vehicles parked next to the buildings and Taylor pulled off into a ditch, close to two-hundred yards away from them. Shutting off the bike, Taylor pulled out his binoculars again, scanning the cars as they unloaded.
He’d been correct, that was Timor and Kara was definitely with him. Besides them, there was the driver of their car and four men in the jeep. He couldn’t tell from here, but Taylor would have been shocked if those men weren’t armed.
Taylor left the bike in the ditch and began circling through a field giving the buildings a wide berth. The fields themselves were barren, covered in the recent snowfall. Thankfully a dry ditch ran toward the building. It wasn’t very deep, but if Taylor duckwalked, he could move while keeping his body below the lip of the depression, out of view.
As he closed on the buildings, he could see a man who hadn’t been in either of the vehicles, in a forklift, pulling a small plane out of one of the Quonset hut style buildings. A plane was an entirely different level than just driving off, and Taylor picked up the pace as much as he could in a crouch. If Kara got on that plane, she’d be gone for good! Even putting aside the fact she’d helped him find Mary Jane after he’d lost her at the auction, and she’d been inside the compound and could help him again, he’d promised her he’d help get her out of the life she’d been forced into. If she got on that plane, he knew there’d be no way he could ever honor that promise.
Thankfully, none of the men with Timor seemed to consider they’d been followed, and weren’t on guard. Two of the men were still by the car, the other three were with Timor, near the front of the Quonset hut, watching the forklift being unconnected from the plane. Who knew how many men were inside the building, but Taylor figured he would deal with that when he got there.
Taylor realized his plan of attack had two major problems. The first was that the ditch didn’t go directly next to the buildings, leaving a good twenty feet from where he’d have to come out into the open and where the guards stood by the town car. Even with their lack of alertness, there was no way these two would fail to notice Taylor when he broke into the open.
When he got close to parallel with the two guards, he’d slowed to a crawl, no longer able to look over the edge and see what the Timor and the others by the plane were doing. Pulling out his gun, Taylor checked it to make sure a round was in a chamber, and the clip was full. Not necessary, since he already knew the answer before checking, but it was an ingrained habit drilled into him by his training and years of service.
Any trepidation he might have had for kicking things off was suddenly pushed out of his mind when the sound of the plane engine being turned over drowned out the sound of the cold February wind blowing across the open plain. Taylor squatted then pushed up hard, going over the edge of the ditch and already starting into a run as his back foot cleared.
Before he’d taken two steps, he fired his first shot. Running wasn’t the best thing for accuracy, but less than twenty feet was a pretty short range. He hit exactly where he’d aimed, catching the guard high in the chest. The man hadn’t even had a chance to realize what was happening, his head only starting toward what he’d known was an entirely empty landscape at some barely perceived movement through his peripheral vision. He probably never realized he was in actual danger before the bullet exploded through his heart.
His partner had more warning, reacting at the same moment his friend had at the movement, and flinching at the sound of the gun shot. He, however, didn’t have enough time to actually reach for his weapon, or do anything more than widen his eyes at the man that had apparently appeared out of thin air, pointing a gun directly at him. Then fire exploded from the end of that gun, and the guard didn’t react to anything anymore.
Taylor didn’t slow down, running flat out past the car, and the guard whose body was just now hitting the floor, the side of his face missing. Being near a prop plane as it’s being prepped is loud, but not loud enough to hide the sound of gunshots, and Taylor was certain the guards with Timor had reacted, coming around the building to see what was happening. Taylor hoped he’d be behind the building before they could have spotted him.
Once past the back of the building, Taylor didn’t slow down. He rounded the other side, gun at the ready in case someone had been waiting for him. There wasn’t. There was, however a side door near the back end of the aluminum building. Taylor tried the knob. Unlocked. It led into a small office with windows looking out into what was obviously a hangar. As Taylor entered, he saw the back of one of the guards who’d been with Timor circling around toward the two dead drivers, disappearing out of sight. Another guard must have been in front of him, because Taylor could only see one. Timor, Kara, one guard and a guy in a gray coverall who was quickly jumping out of the forklift, which was now parked just beyond the front of the plane, its engine almost parallel with the nose and propeller.
Unfortunately for Taylor, Timor was much more observant than his guards, and the movement of entering and crossing through the office drew his attention. A small piece of Taylor’s brain was impressed by Timor’s reaction speed, his gun coming up in a blur. Taylor dropped behind a desk in the office as bullets passed overhead. He didn’t stay behind the desk, but moved clockwise around it, popping up to take aim and fire. He didn’t have an angle on Timor, sadly, but the guard was another story, and Taylor caught the man low in the chest before he dropped back behind the desk.
Thankfully, the thin metal wall of the office and the slightly thicker metal of the desk was enough to stop the bullets Timor, and the man in the coverall sent his way, a metal on metal whack sounding with each impact. Taylor moved again, to crouch behind a second desk in the small office, before popping up again.
Timor had taken cover behind the back of the forklift protected by the small vehicle's engine and its metal sides, and Taylor could barely make out where he was. He couldn't see Kara at all, and both hoped she was behind the forklift for cover, and worried any shots he took at Timor would hurt her instead. The guy in coveralls was trying to hide behind the front of the forklift, which offered a lot less protection.
Taylor’s first shot at him either missed or impacted on the steel L that made up the front of the small vehicle, Taylor couldn’t tell, but the second shot didn’t miss, and the coverall man went down. He disappeared behind the forklift as he fell, so Taylor couldn’t tell if the man was out of action or not, as he dropped back behind the desk, followed by more shots crashing into the office.
Taylor’s going back under cover saved his life in more ways than one. It put him facing the door he’d used to enter the office when the knob turned. Taylor had enough warning to pull up his weapon. As soon as it opened, he fired four times, blindly. The two guards who’d circled around the building after he shot the guards by the car were standing in the opening doorway, stupidly stacked one slightly behind the other. Smart men would have edged into the room, to ensure it was clear, or at least had one go in first, and the other one stay clear of the doorway. It would have kept at least one of them safe and able to retaliate.
As it is, his bullets found both men, although the man in the front took the brunt, catching three of the four bullets. Taylor was certain he’d hit both men, but the door swung closed as the man opening it let go. The front man was certainly dead, but the second guard might still be alive, and continue being a source of danger.
Timor was also on the other side, sending bullets tearing into the office even as Taylor worked through his options. He couldn’t stay where he was. This point was accentuated when two bullets punched through the outside door, barely missing Taylor. He was now in a crossfire, which couldn’t hold. True, neither of the men shooting at him could actually see Taylor, so it was a blind crossfire; but it was still deadly enough that open ground on the move was a better option.
Taylor moved in a crouch, smashing through the thin door from the office to the rest of the hanger. There was no more machinery, no more equip
ment, and nothing to use as cover. He began to move toward Timor’s hiding place, gun raised, but Timor was up, already aiming, and Taylor knew the man had him dead to rights. He began to squeeze the trigger, hoping he could get a shot off before Timor killed him, at least getting Kara free if worst came to worst, when his finger paused.
Kara appeared out of nowhere from behind the forklift, blocking any shot he would have had. She smashed into Timor shoulder first, forcing his hands up as the barrel exploded, his bullet passing just over Taylor’s left shoulder, with a wicked crack.
That shove had saved Taylor’s life, of that he was sure. It might not have changed the situation since she was now in the way of any follow-up shot from Taylor, and she wasn’t large enough to actually knock Timor over, meaning the man could have taken another shot.
Could have was the operative word. The move had surprised Timor as much, or probably more than it had Taylor, and the Russian was forced back two steps to keep from tumbling over backward. Which, again, would not have put him out of the fight, except for the plane that had been sitting behind his position, with its propeller turning. A shower of red exploded across Kara in a wide sweeping arc, as the top half of Timor’s body dropped away.
The Wrong Girl (John Taylor Book 3) Page 22