“You do that, and you miss your chance at me... Pops,” Jackson says from the shadowed hallway, stepping out of the bedroom, a strange-looking gun in his hand. “You don't want to miss out on that, do you? After all, I'm the one who started all this shit for you.”
Peter gulps, and I can't see anything except Jackson walking toward me, and in the background more flashes and shots from the kitchen. But I feel Peter's foot relax just a little bit, and Jackson lowers his gun. “Come on, Pops. I'll even make it fair, you can have at least a chance.”
“You're right,” Peter hisses, taking his foot off my neck and stepping to the side. “You did start all of this.”
“No, I did,” Katrina says from the side door, a pistol shot cutting off the end of her words. Peter falls to the side, and I stare at his empty eyes as his body hits the floor, a neat hole in the middle of his forehead. I roll away in disgust, and Jackson's there, helping me to my feet. Katrina kicks in the door and helps me the rest of the way up. “You okay, 'Lissa?”
“Yeah,” I say, hugging Jackson. “Oh God, you guys came!”
“It ain't over yet,” Jackson says, turning and raising his rifle.
Katrina puts her arm around my shoulders and triggers a microphone on her shoulder. “We've got her.”
A crackle comes over the radio, and Nathan's voice comes back. “Isis is out of the kitchen, neutralizing her now.”
Chapter 27
Nathan
The last time I had an automatic rifle in the swamp, I was twenty-two, crawling through the jungles of Panama, supposedly trying to help catch a drug kingpin. What I was really doing was crawling through muck up to my chin most of the time, chasing minor players in the game while the big guys were supposedly our hosts and supporters. Oh, we may have taken down Noriega, but that didn't mean the man in the president's office wasn't just as fucking corrupt as before.
This time though, I'm fighting for something worthwhile, and I check my MP7, quickly borrowed from one of the Major’s men. Our plan is rough but simple. Paul, Harold, Buffy, Jim and I are supposed to frontally attack the house, drawing Isis and hopefully any of the other guns toward there. Anticipating that Peter will be a chickenshit and want to keep Melissa alive as a bargaining chip, Jackson, Katrina, and Lincoln will envelop the house in a pincer movement. Carson is going to act as a long-range support sniper and to make sure Peter doesn't call in any support. Andrea's sitting a mile away in the van on the computer, making sure the local cops aren't responding by jamming the local cell phone towers, a hack that Darcy uploaded to us just minutes ago.
“You sure about this?” Jim, who's taken command of Major Munchak's forces here on-site, asks softly as we look over the fifty yards of empty space between our current hiding place and the front of the house. “You don't want to do a knock-knock?”
“We approach as quiet as we can, but I can't believe Isis would be so stupid as to not have something around the house. Ground radar, booby traps, something. Andrea and Katrina may have shut down anything she's got networked, but she's not a one-trick pony. She's too goddamn good.”
Jim nods and scans the land with me. “Still, I hate rules of engagement like this. Hostage rescues are always tough. Did too many of the fucking things in the past.”
“I know. At least you're using something you're familiar with,” I whisper, lifting my submachine gun. “What the fuck is this thing?”
“Heckler and Koch MP7, best in the world, baby. Major Munchak insisted on it. Tiny and powerful. Don't worry, it's zeroed tight. Just hit the red dot.”
I sigh, but fuck it, I take what I can get. At least I've still got my 1911 in a holster on my leg, that's something I can trust totally. “Fine. We wait until...”
“We've got movement inside,” Buffy interrupts over the radio. “Two... no, three people coming into the kitchen. Two women, one man. Confirm Isis and Peter, the other woman is blonde.”
“That's them,” I call. “Move in. Jackson, Katrina?”
“We're nearly there. Keep them occupied,” Katrina says. “One minute.”
“High shots, don’t hit Melissa,” I order, standing up and squeezing off a burst, intentionally high. It shatters the kitchen window, and we're up and moving.
Harold darts forward first, but Isis is fast and good, returning fire quickly, and he's hit. Whatever she's got, she's accurate as hell with it, the round takes him just above Harold's body armor but below his helmet, his head nearly evaporating in a red splash. Isis yells in triumph, but we can't let ourselves be suckered in.
“Buffy, cover me!” I yell, getting to my feet. My knees ache and my spine is fused glass. I’m not cut out for this shit anymore. Twenty years ago, I could have covered this grassy stretch in seven seconds and not even be breathing hard. Instead, every step feels like I'm running through quicksand, and my pulse is already thundering in my ears.
But I can't send Munchak's people to die if I'm not going to lead them the right way, from the front. They're soldiers, even if they're all mercs now, but more importantly, I'm a soldier.
Buffy, despite her country club name, proves just as good a fighter as Major Munchak promises, her returning fire on Isis tight and disciplined. I see a head duck down behind cover as I run, trying to keep to the dual tire tracks through the overgrown weeds. At least I can be sure those aren't booby trapped, and I duck behind Peter's Porsche just as the first metal ball comes flying out of the window. “GRENADE!”
I jam myself against the side of the SUV as the grenade explodes, the sound tremendous and seeming to slam me against the metal even more. Thankfully, Isis was trying to throw long, and I'm unhurt. Another long rattle of gunfire from up top catches someone, I think it's Jim or Paul, but they're screaming in pain. At the same time I hear another shot, this one from around back, and I wonder what's going on.
“Lincoln found a booby trap,” Katrina replies, her voice dead calm. Jesus, she could have been one hell of a Special Forces operator. “Jackson's going through another window, we see Peter. He's got his rifle pointed down, I think he's got Melissa under his foot.”
“Jim?”
There's a crackle, and Buffy comes on. “Jim's hit. You, me, and Paul. Orders?”
“Fix her, I'm going for the front door.” I get down into a crouch, checking the path to the front door, hoping I can hug the building enough. I'm worried though, it's right underneath the window Isis is shooting out of, and if she drops a grenade out the window, I'm fucked.
Buffy and I guess it's only Peter now fire again, their rounds peppering the side of the house above me. I'm sure by now Isis realizes she's being shot at with non-penetrating rounds, as she returns fire quickly, and someone else screams, their cries dying off quickly though, she must have hit them somewhere vital. Whoever's left lifts their fire just as I start to mount the stairs when a pistol shot comes from the back.
Isis jumps out the front of the kitchen window, rolling on the ground as I hear Katrina's voice on the radio. “We've got her.”
I trigger my radio, talking quickly. “Isis is out of the kitchen, neutralizing her now.”
Isis hears my voice and spins, the barrel of her rifle pointing straight at me, but she stops, seeing that I've got her covered. She's got me covered too though, and we're in a Mexican standoff.
“Drop it, Isis. It's over,” I say, hoping to God that she doesn't squeeze the trigger on her rifle. “You know that pistol shot was Peter dying.”
“Let's see, shall we?” she says with a soft laugh. “Peter?”
“Not Peter,” Jackson calls from the house. “He’s dead.”
Isis' gun barrel wavers slightly, but still is aimed at me, and I keep my rifle trained on her. “Come on, Isis. You heard him, it's over.”
“Over? In case you haven't noticed, Nathan, there's four dead mercs lying around outside this house and a dead criminal mastermind inside. Oh, and I kidnapped a member of your family,” Isis replies, her voice sounding strained toward the end as she says the word family. “Th
at's not the sort of shit you let people walk away from.”
I nod, half-shrugging. “You're right, but I'm feeling generous. You have a gun on me, let's make a deal. Your employer's dead, you aren't getting any more money out of him. So tell me, how much was he going to pay for me?”
“You?” Isis asks, smiling. “You were the chump change. Half a million.”
Not bad. Not as big as the price on my head twenty years ago when Isis shot me in the ass, but still a good chunk of money. “Tell you what then, you lower the gun and walk away, I double it. One million, I can confirm the transfer before you even leave the property.”
There's rustling above us, and Melissa is in the window, her hands cuffed, reaching for Isis. “Please, Isis, take the offer. You treated me with respect, and saved me from Peter's abuse. Please, walk away.”
Isis' gun barrel drops, and she turns, her face going slack with surprise. “You... you don't hate me?”
“No,” Melissa says, reaching toward Isis. Her hands are a good two feet away, but even from where I am I can see the searching acceptance in Melissa's eyes, she's being totally honest. “No, I can forgive you for the kidnapping. I don't hate you. Just… just walk away.”
Isis sighs, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. “She’s a remarkable woman, Nathan.”
I nod, letting my rifle lower. “The most remarkable woman in the world. Come on, Isis. You've got a lot of life ahead of you, you could find your special person, too.”
She turns toward me, her face an expression I can't read, and I don't know what to make of it with her. “Special person...” she says softly, contemplatively. “Special person... I think I had that, at one point. I fucked it up, of course, but I thought I had that.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I tell her honestly. She may be a semi-heartless bitch, but I can also remember the good times, too. If she walks away now, she's not completely irredeemable. I should know. “So how about it? Put the rifle down, I'll get on the line with Andrea right now, she can transfer the money anywhere you want it. It's already in escrow even.”
Isis blinks, and I swear there's a tear in her eye. “If only it were that easy. But if I can't be happy...”
Isis spins on her heel, trying to bring her rifle up to shoot Melissa, but I'm faster, and the burst of my MP7 catches her in the stomach and chest, blowing her backward, and she falls to the ground. I'm right behind, kicking the rifle away and making sure she doesn't have any other goodies. She had one grenade, I don't need her setting off a second.
“Why, Isis?” I ask, seeing that she's unarmed. I kneel down, far enough away that she can't reach me, just in case, but her eyes are still aware. “Why?”
“You...” Isis whispers, her mouth filling with blood and she coughs, a fine spray splattering on the dirt. “Special person... was... you...”
Her eyes roll back and her head drops, the damage too much. Even if we had a medical kit, there's no way we could stop the bleeding in time.
I reach forward and close her eyes with my fingertips, taking a moment to wish her soul some measure of peace. I can still wish that, at least.
I hear footsteps running down the stairs, and I stand up, turning and seeing Melissa come the last two steps, and I walk up, holding her tightly, both of us sobbing with no shame, no regret.
“You're being generous, Sergeant,” Major Munchak says. I'm on the phone with him, the sunset beautiful in the North Carolina mountains, but I'm still not totally at peace yet. “Payouts even though Buffy reports you were the one to make the shot on Isis, and Katrina took down Peter.”
“They deserved it, sir,” I say honestly. “If it hadn't been for your team, I never would have had the chance to make those shots, and for sure I would have lost members of my family. Besides, some of your people had family.”
Major Munchak hums, and I can hear him lean back in whatever chair he's using, he really needs to oil that thing. “Nobody was currently married, but Harold left behind two kids. They hadn't seen him in years, but you set them up well. By the way, I got word from Jim, the docs say he's going to make a full recovery. Might be walking with a limp for a little while, but he was thinking of getting out of this life anyway, or at least going more... pedestrian. I've still got plenty for him to do, so you don't have to worry about him. Buffy sends her regards too, she's taking a long-deserved vacation.”
“Good. She saved my ass, Major. She's a good asset.”
Major Munchak laughs for a moment, his laughter petering out. “About those assets... the bodies?”
“We put Isis and Peter in the bayou. Lots of gators out there, they'll never be found in the swamps. Your people... burial at sea. Thought it was the best we could do, even if it took a little doing.”
“Good enough. Oh, and Paul likes his new Porsche SUV. He says he knows some people who can help him get it a semi-legit plate. Are you worried about the rest?”
“No. We bleached the area where Peter was shot, there is no DNA left there, and the house was pretty much abandoned before he started using it again. I think... I think it’s over, Major.”
“I think so, too. So what now for you, Sergeant?”
I look back over my shoulder, where the lights of the house already glow invitingly. “Now sir... now we heal. I think from now on, I’m fully retired. I'm just going to help my family, wherever they need it.”
“That sounds nice, Sergeant. But even if you are, drop me a Christmas card.”
“I’ll do that, Major. Last thing, just to let you know. I'm getting married, and I hope... well, I'm thinking that maybe it’s not too late to become a father.”
The Major's silent for a moment, and when he comes back on, his voice is tight with emotion. He's a military man, he doesn't express it openly that much. “Congratulations, Nathan. With that, I hope you enjoy retirement. I hope you can be a dad.”
“Me too, sir. Me too.”
Chapter 28
Melissa
It takes us two weeks to recover fully from our ordeal, but we decide to hold off on our wedding ceremony for a whole week after that as we get nothing but rain and snow, the nights just cold and dreary. Other than being kept inside the compound most of the time, it's fine though, and the seven of us treat it all as a true vacation.
There's a remarkable difference between living in the compound on the defense and relaxing. Once the swelling around my eye from Peter's slap goes down, I enjoy going to town every day with Katrina and Andrea. We go shopping, we hang out as friends and sisters, and generally, I feel like a normal woman.
“Hey 'Lissa,” Andrea asks after we leave the Asheville Police Department one morning when the weather is fine and we feel up to it. We had to give statements about my kidnapping, since while there was no video, there was a report of gunfire. Thankfully, the local cops didn't connect the dots, and they were willing to accept that the whole issue was an accidental discharge, and that I had a panic attack that required us all to leave. With a confirmed history of anxiety attacks and treatment by shrinks, the cops don't like it but let it go. According to them, no harm, no foul. “I had a question.”
“What's that, Andrea?” I ask, climbing into the truck. Today's the day, and the weather looks perfect, clear and beautiful, exactly what I want for my wedding day. “Hey, what about some cheesecake?”
“You're asking a pregnant woman if she wants cheesecake,” Katrina notes, chuckling under her breath. “As if that was even up for debate.”
“Cheesecake sounds good,” Andrea agrees, starting the truck. “But what I wanted to ask was, our cover story was you had a panic attack. But, the best I can remember, you haven't had a single panic attack in weeks.”
I think back, and nod in amazement. “You're right. The last thing I can think of was... well, I had a nightmare the night after Nathan and I told you guys about our engagement, but it was a small one. Since then... I don't think I've had a single anxiety attack. Close once or twice, but never full-on.”
“And no nightmar
es,” Andrea adds, turning right. There's a little country cafe up ahead, a place Katrina found during one of our earlier trips to town, and it has some delicious cheesecake. “If you ask me, I think you're pretty much done with those.”
I smile, looking at my sisters, nodding. “Maybe. I'm sure I'll have some nightmares in the future, but I know that from now on, I've got plenty of people that can help me, and people that love me. By the way, after this, I'd like to go by Dr. Jackson's clinic.”
“What for?” Katrina asks, and I blush. “What?”
“What I stayed behind for was a pregnancy test,” I admit shyly. “I left before he could tell me the results.”
Andrea stops the truck and hangs a U-turn, heading the other direction. “To hell with the cheesecake, we can have that afterward.”
“Really?” Nathan asks, his face filled with joy and happiness. “You really are?”
“Really, my love. Dr. Jackson says he thinks I'm just about six weeks along now, so it's too early to say anything more than we're going to be parents.”
Nathan's face is streaked with pine tar, he and Jackson have been cutting down a tree, and I think for Nathan, it was a good way to get the last of the kinks out of his neck and shoulder. His smile is pure and genuine, and he steps forward, pulling me close and kissing me tenderly, his hands resting on my jeans. “I can’t believe it.”
“Well, you better,” I hum, kissing him back. “Come on, we've got time for this later. Besides, I’d rather not have pine tar in my hair.”
Nathan pulls his hands off my hips, the light stickiness making us both chuckle, and he looks at his now black and slightly fuzzy palms. “Yeah, I guess I should clean up. I’m glad the water heater is strong, this is going to take forever to get scrubbed off.”
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