Toothpick whipped up his gun. He was an instant too late. Kokay machine-gunned him from chest to groin. Toothpick tumbled backward into the stream. Aiden could only watch in horror as Kokay splashed toward the fallen soldier, stood over him and unleashed a short burst at his head.
Branches rustled to Aiden’s left. Easing the laptop closed, he raised his gun and aimed it in that direction. Whoever it was they were moving fast and making no effort to disguise their movements. It seemed like a lot of noise for one person.
There was no time to make a run for it. Whoever it was, they were almost on top of him. His heart pounded. His finger tickled the trigger.
The barrel of a gun pressed into the side of his skull. So intent on the approaching threat he’d had no idea someone had snuck up on him.
“Finger off the trigger,” the man with the gun ordered.
Aiden was never so happy to comply with a command.
“Keats!”
“Shh. Quiet!”
Keats lowered his machine gun. Moments later, Chef emerged from the trees in front of Aiden. In his hand was a leafy branch. He’d been using it to rustle the bushes and make enough noise to allow Keats to inch closer. They’d obviously thought he was a merc.
“Bling’s dead,” Keats said without emotion. “Have you seen the others? Can’t reach Toothpick and Rory.”
“Toothpick didn’t make it,” Aiden said.
Keats took the news in his stride. He walked over to Chef to confer privately. Aiden couldn’t hear what they were saying.
The whirr of a helicopter reverberated through the forest. It skated into view from the south and hovered almost directly overhead, a scant dozen feet above the dense canopy. A four-seater with civilian markings. No weaponry was visible.
Keats and Chef whipped up their guns but hesitated, unsure whether it contained mercs or friendlies dispatched from Tau.
The passenger door slid open. A small object flew out and fell toward them.
“Grenade!” Keats hollered.
Aiden leaped to the opposite side of the tree and flattened. Just as he hit the ground, an earsplitting roar shook the forest.
SIXTY-TWO
Michael leaned forward in the copilot’s seat and gazed down to survey the damage. The two men who’d been standing were both face down and unmoving, their guns scattered nearby. They’d been well within the blast radius of the concussion grenade, whose airborne detonation made for a more extensive impact.
Just prior to the explosion, however, he thought he’d caught a flash of movement. Possibly there’d been a third man.
It didn’t matter. He flipped his radio headset to the primary tactical channel and gave Nobe their position. Dead or alive, two men or three, the mercs would finish the job.
A better idea abruptly occurred to him. He called Nobe back.
“If they’re still breathing, keep one of them that way.”
It would be helpful to know the interlopers’ identities and who’d sent them. Michael’s best guess was that Green, Magenta and their mysterious friend, the GAO analyst, had either taken part in the assault or arranged for it. In either case, uncovering the truth might head off any future threats. If one of the men below had survived, he’d be flown back to the chateau. There, the necessary information could be extracted at Michael’s leisure. Afterward, the body would be taken to the old quarry to provide Maisey Latorsky with eternal companionship.
He checked his watch. They were still within the safe window but had used up more time than anticipated. And there could be more interlopers down there. Hovering in place elevated the risk of the helicopter being targeted.
Michael motioned to the pilot. The merc nodded and banked for their original safe zone a mile to the south. They’d stay there until Nobe signaled all threats had been neutralized.
SIXTY-THREE
Aiden got shakily to his feet, clutching his temples with both hands. The tree had protected him from the blast’s direct impact but a painful ringing noise coursed through his head. It felt as if his brain was vibrating in his skull.
He peered around the trunk. The helicopter was gone. Keats and Chef were prone and motionless. Checking to see if they were still alive wasn’t something he looked forward to.
Before he could carry out the task, fast-approaching footsteps sounded from the wilderness to his right. This time, the sounds clearly emanated from multiple locations. At least two or three individuals were approaching, possibly more. With Keats and his men dead, wounded or MIA, only Jessie remained unaccounted for. Possibly it was workers who’d gotten off the train. But the greater likelihood was mercs.
Aiden gripped his gun and swung the barrel toward the sounds. Keats and Chef could still be alive. He needed to stay here and protect them. Even if they weren’t breathing he’d stay anyway. He’d make a final stand, go out in a blaze of glory.
Think smart. Stay ahead of your troubles.
His father’s counsel tuned consciousness to a less fatalistic wavelength. Better to live to fight another day.
Head still pounding, he grabbed the laptop and hustled away with all the stealth he could muster.
SIXTY-FOUR
“Stay on the train. Anyone trying to get off will be shot!”
The warning came from outside. Héloise heard three distinct voices bellowing the words over and over.
At least five minutes had elapsed since the last gunfire had erupted from up ahead at the bridge. Shortly thereafter had come that explosion from somewhere behind the train. It was likely that by now, Unit X’s men had dealt with the intruders. Hopefully, the plan was back on track, so to speak.
Agitated murmuring arose from the workers at the front of the coach. One man, a portly administrator who had something to do with payroll, roared to his feet in a panic. He looked ready to ignore the warning and bolt for the nearest vestibule.
Fellow workers grabbed at his arms, urging him to stay calm. He finally relented and dropped back into the aisle, scrunching into a fetal position. One of the women leaned over him, clutched his hand and patted his back reassuringly. He started to sob.
“Downspin One to Miracle.”
Héloise was startled by the voice in her earpiece. It was the merc with the Scottish accent.
“I read you,” she whispered.
“How many others in your coach?”
“Six.”
“Don’t move. We’re comin’ in.”
The door at the front opened. Three mercs, faces hidden by masks and goggles, entered. Two of the men pointed their guns at the workers and gestured for them to move forward into the second coach. The panicked administrator and his female helper were the last to comply. The two mercs followed, leaving Héloise alone with the third man.
“Let’s see it,” he ordered.
His accent was more conspicuous in person. With machine gun dangling from a chest strap, he sauntered toward her. He looked like someone without a care in the world, out for an afternoon stroll.
Héloise wondered if he was Unit X. She’d never heard her benefactor’s real voice. The few times they’d communicated by phone he’d used a vocal distorter.
She removed the canister from her handbag and placed it on the seat in front of her. As unobtrusively as possible, she slipped her hand back into the bag. Gripping the Sig, she disengaged the pistol’s slide lock.
His head followed her movements. She had the impression he was smiling beneath the mask.
“You won’t be needin’ a gun.”
“I’ve taken other precautions,” she said, uttering the words she’d rehearsed for weeks. “I’ve put certain evidence in a safe deposit box that will–”
“Nobody cares, doll,” he interrupted.
The merc held his phone close and snapped a picture of the quiver stone through its translucent container.
They waited in silence. Presumably, he’d sent the photo to someone – Unit X? – for confirmation.
“OK, we’re good,” the merc said, closing the li
d and tucking the container in his belt pouch.
“The rest of my money?”
“It’ll be transferred into your account within the hour, as promised.” He cocked his head in a way that gave her the impression he was amused. “If we were going to double-cross you, it would have happened already. You’d be dead.”
Héloise nodded. That was still no guarantee they weren’t planning to kill her out in the wilderness. Or maybe a lesser betrayal, not depositing the rest of her compensation. At least she’d accounted for that possibility. She already had Unit X’s first two and a half million dollars. If the rest didn’t materialize, she’d manage.
The merc turned and headed back down the aisle. Héloise kept her eye on him until he passed through the vestibule and back into the second coach.
She retreated to the last car. Stepping over the unconscious Marines, she proceeded to the far end and warily stuck her head out the rear door.
No one in sight. She jumped to the roadbed, raced down a short embankment and headed into the woods. A swift hike and she’d reach her vehicle, and be well on her way to a new life.
SIXTY-FIVE
Aiden wandered through the wilderness, uncertain what his next move should be. He’d evaded the mercs without being spotted and was pretty sure he was headed in the general direction of the train. His wilderness navigational skills were for shit as he’d quickly learned. And without a radio he was essentially alone. Worse, he felt increasingly guilty for having abandoned Keats and Chef.
No choice. If I’d stayed, I’d be dead too.
The justifications didn’t help. He still felt like a coward.
He spotted Jessie up ahead, crouching behind a fallen tree caked in serpentine clusters of vine. She sensed his presence, whirled with the shotgun.
“It’s me,” he hissed.
She lowered the gun, motioned him to get on the ground and crawl toward her.
“I think we’re the last ones,” he said.
She shook her head, pointed to the train. The coaches were visible through the foliage twenty yards ahead.
“I saw three mercs dragging Keats into the third car a minute ago. He wasn’t moving but he must still be alive. Else, why take him?”
Aiden grimaced. His guilt over the abandonment mushroomed, became a psychic ache that could only be assuaged by action. No more running away.
“All right,” he said. “We go get him.”
Jessie’s eyes flashed agreement. “I think they’re holding all the passengers up front in the first two cars. Mercs peek out of those vestibules every so often, looking for more of us. They could’ve moved Keats there too.”
“Maybe. But it would make more sense to keep him isolated from the others in case they want to question him. I’m betting he’s still in the third coach.”
“If you’re right, our best chance is to come in through the back of the last car. The Marines are still out cold. No reason for the mercs to be guarding them, right?”
“Right,” Aiden said, layering the word with more assurance than he felt.
They retreated deeper into the woods and made a wide loop back around to the track. Crouching low, they dashed onto the roadbed and scrambled across the wooden ties. They reached the rear of the fourth coach without incident.
Aiden reevaluated their plan. “This won’t work,” he whispered. “Even if we reach the third car without being seen, we still have to get through two vestibule doors with windows. They’ll see and hear us coming.”
“You’re right.”
They stood quietly for a moment, considering options.
“OK,” Jessie said. “We need to get creative.”
Leaning her shotgun against the coupler, she handed Aiden her pistol. She squirmed out of her jacket and spread it across the ties. It served as a dropcloth to keep the rest of her clothes from getting dirty as she stripped off the items one by one. In seconds she was down to matching bra and underpants, magenta-colored no less.
“Not sure I’m following the logic here,” he said, keeping his attention on her face as she removed the final two items of clothing and added them to the pile.
“This’ll give us an edge.”
“You’re going to walk in there bare-ass naked?”
“And without weapons, at least not the kind that have triggers.”
“That’s one hell of a bad idea.”
“Look, they probably already have an idea what I can do with the droppers. I go in there clothed and with weapons, they’re probably going to shoot first, ask questions later. But this way I have the element of surprise. Big guns or not, they’re still guys with dicks. They’ll hesitate. That’s when I’ll take ’em.”
Her plan still sounded dubious.
“You stay outside,” she instructed. “Make your way forward. After I do my thing, hop aboard.”
There was clearly no stopping her. And maybe it was crazy enough to work.
“Just make sure you aim those droppers better than last time,” he said.
“Don’t worry. Help me up. I can’t reach the door.”
He figured she could easily climb up on her own but there was no time to argue.
“Hurry up,” she hissed.
Aiden stepped in close. She grinned at his wary expression. “Grab my butt and push.”
He tucked the pistol in the back of his pants and lowered his eyes.
She turned, swung a foot up onto the coupler. Once balanced atop the coupler, it was a short hop up to the vestibule. She palmed the hydraulic actuator and the inner door whisked open. Stepping over an unconscious Marine, she headed in. The door closed behind her.
Aiden held his breath, waiting for gunshots. None came. But maybe they just hadn’t seen her yet.
Keeping tight against the side of the coach, he crept forward. He glimpsed Jessie through the windows and moved in tandem. Should one of the mercs in the front cars choose this moment to stick his head out, Aiden was screwed.
But none did. He and Jessie reached the end of the last coach together. He slipped around the sprawled body of a Marine and scrambled up the steps to the vestibule. Staying hidden behind the bulkhead, he watched Jessie stride past and hit the actuator to coach three.
“What the fuck?”
The male voice erupted from inside the car. Jessie adopted a meek and vulnerable tone.
“Please, they took my clothes. Please help me.”
Aiden sensed that she was advancing into the coach. He gripped the machine gun, ready to lunge around the corner and do whatever was necessary.
“All clear!” Jessie whispered.
He ducked into the car, grasped the scene in an instant. Two mercs were on their knees, writhing in the aisle as they struggled to breathe, their fallen guns beside them. Hands clawed desperately at droppers enveloping their masked faces.
Keats was in a seat toward the front of the coach. He was hunched over and motionless. Someone had cloaked the window of the nearby door to the second coach with a blanket, a stroke of good fortune. The covering was probably meant to prevent the workers confined there from seeing what the mercs might have in store for their special prisoner.
Aiden crouched low in case other mercs roamed outside and raced down the aisle. Keats’ wrists and ankles were bound in flex cuffs. He checked for a pulse.
“He’s alive.”
Aiden scrambled over to the nearest merc. The man’s body was spasming, in its final death throes. Aiden drew the serrated blade from the merc’s holster, unable to avoid staring at the brown mass enshrouding his face. As with Rosen back in Jessie’s living room, the merc had tried tearing away the sticky goo with his hands, causing the dropper to grow its finger-crushing tentacles.
He tore his eyes away from the grisly sight and returned to Keats. Propping the machine gun nearby, he cut through the plastic foot bindings then moved to the wrists.
“Wake up,” he whispered, guiding Keats upright in the seat and shaking him. “We need to get out of here.”
No
reaction. There was a nasty bruise on his forehead but no obvious injuries elsewhere, such as shrapnel impacts. The grenade must have been the concussion type with minimal fragmentation. Hopefully, Keats was only stunned by the blast and would wake up soon.
He started to slice the wrist cuffs. Before he could finish, the front door flashed open. A merc lunged in, his machine gun pointed at Aiden.
“Drop the knife!”
Aiden let the blade slip from his hand. He turned toward Jessie. She was striding toward them, trying to get closer before hitting the merc with a dropper.
“One more step, you die!” the merc warned, shifting his barrel to target her. His gun had a laser sight. Its red dot painted a spot between her breasts.
Jessie stopped and closed her eyes. Before she could form a dropper, another merc rushed into the coach behind her, a big man with dark skin. Even masked, Aiden knew it was Kokay.
“Jessie, look out!”
His warning came too late. She spun and met the butt of Kokay’s raised weapon. It cracked her forehead and she collapsed to the floor.
The first merc snatched Aiden’s machine gun before he could think to reach for it. The man shoved him violently backward. He fell against Keats.
A thumping noise from outside filled the coach. The helicopter was returning. It skated into view, hovered above them. The floor pulsated as the whirring blades output a cascade of vibrations.
The helicopter descended. The coach roof groaned as the pilot landed crosswise on it. Rotor blades grew sluggish. The worst of the noise abated.
A third merc entered the car behind Kokay. He stared at the unconscious Jessie, who’d landed face down.
“Nice arse. I’m guessin’ the front side ain’t bad either.”
Aiden couldn’t squelch escalating panic. The newcomer’s accent was terrifyingly familiar.
Kokay gestured to the mercs’ bodies. “I think the bitch did that. I say we shoot her in the fucking head before she comes around.”
Nobe removed his goggles and mask and stared the length of the car at Aiden. His smirk was as chilling as ever.
Refraction Page 26