Lawson beat King to it from the driver’s seat. “You might get another shot at Ortega one day, but if you leave now, the next time you meet Scott Smith, you won’t see him at all. He’ll be hiding in his sniper perch, and they’ll be burying you for real this time.”
“Who the hell are you to chime in?” Sam said.
“I wouldn’t be here without him, Sam,” King said. “And he’s right. Ortega’s one thing, he’s not leaving Mexico City, but Smith will follow me wherever I go until I’m dead. Or until one or more of you are.”
Before Sam could answer, their minds were made up for them. The direction Lawson had to drive to get away from the gunmen was past the place where Scott Smith was staying. Before they ever even made it to the driveway, the passenger-side front tire exploded and the van slid out of control off to the left. King’s figured Smith had just put a sniper round through the tire.
Lawson tried to keep the van from slamming into the apartment complex across the street, but the van was going too fast. When he turned the wheel back to the right, the top-heavy van tipped over and skidded on its side down the middle of the street. The van’s momentum took them about fifty yards past Smith’s hideout. The van slammed into more than one car before it finally came to a stop. It was lying on its side, the passenger doors trapped against the pavement, the undercarriage facing in the direction of the sniper. King had been thrown against the back passenger door, and the shattered glass from the windows showered all of them inside.
King ejected his magazine, pulled the spare from his pocket, and locked it in. He pulled the charging handle, then pulled himself up. He could hear the gunmen’s vehicles pull up not too far from them.
“Kyle, pull the door handle and let it slide open!”
Kyle was held in the driver-side backseat by the seat belt.
“There’s a sniper, X. You can’t stick your head out!”
“They’re about to start spraying the van with bullets. I have to hold them off!”
Kyle pulled handle on the van, and the automatic door slid back. A light came on inside the van. King’s feet were now poking through the broken window on the street. Sam had pulled her knees to her chest to give him room.
“Jack, get the back door open. When I start shooting, you and Zhanna get out and take cover behind the van. But you have to be fast. When they start shooting, the rest of you make your way out!”
Jack didn’t respond.
“Jack! You all right?”
“He’s unconscious,” Zhanna said. “But I think he’s all right. I’ll get door when you shoot.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” Sam said.
“Toss me up an AR,” Lawson said. “I’ll help you hold them off.”
King heard Lawson’s window roll down. Everything was quiet except for the occasional horn from some impatient people now stuck in traffic. Zhanna handed Lawson an AR, and he was ready. King gave him a nod. King then placed his left foot on the side of the captain’s chair, and it was enough to get his shoulders up out of the van. He immediately ducked back down into the van when a barrage of bullets began clanking against the undercarriage.
“Shit. They have us dead to rights!”
“I’ve got you,” Lawson said. “On the count of three.”
King looked over at Zhanna and Sam who had crawled to the back of the van. They were ready.
“Three . . . Two . . . One . . .”
King raised up, leading with his AR above his head. He began pulling the trigger before he could even see the two trucks in the middle of the road. He heard Lawson shooting from the front, and he heard the clank of a sniper round hit the open back door, just missing both Sam and Zhanna. King wasn’t sure if anyone had been hit, but at least two of his friends had made it out of the van. Kyle had unfastened his seat belt and was helping Jack, who was on his way back from unconsciousness.
King’s AR pistol locked back. Kyle heard it and was already handing him a spare mag for his pistol and another for Lawson’s. King reached around the front seat, and Lawson took possession. The return fire began from the men in the street.
“On my mark, Lawson,” King said.
“Copy.”
“Kyle, your turn,” King said. “You think you can get Jack out?”
“I’ll be fine,” Jack murmured.
King looked down at Kyle. “I love you, brother. I’m sorry for the last two years.”
King hadn’t meant to say anything about it, but in between firing and watching Kyle help Jack, it just came out.
“Can we talk about this later?” Kyle said.
“Just wanted you to know.”
Kyle nodded, then crawled over the back of the third row and readied himself to exit with Jack when King and Lawson commenced shooting. The inside of the van smelled like scorched metal and smoky sulfur. King was about to remind Kyle to grab some guns, but his friend was already stuffing his pockets and throwing straps over his shoulder. Jack was aware enough to grab for ammo. King removed his go bag and tossed it to the back.
“Fill that up. On my mark, boys. Ladies? Can you hear me?”
“We copy.” Sam’s voice carried through the walls of the van.
“Kyle and Jack are coming out. Stay behind the truck. Don’t give Smith anything to aim at.”
“Copy.”
Luckily for the guys going out the back, the lift gate door was there to shelter them from the sniper. King knew that Smith would know this as well, so he would be fixed on King and Lawson.
“Lawson, don’t poke anything out the window but the gun.”
“Roger that.”
King counted down. “Three . . . Two . . . One . . .” He was already pulling the trigger when he said “one.” He knew he was firing in the general direction of the gunmen’s vehicles, but he had no idea how close he and Lawson were to hitting the gunmen. Judging by the large amount of return fire, they clearly weren’t hitting much.
“Go, Lawson. Make sure no one is coming up behind us.”
Lawson stopped firing and King felt him move behind him for the back of the van. The easy part was finished. Everyone was out safely. The next part—getting out of the entire situation—would be much more difficult. They wouldn’t have much to hide behind as they moved away from the van, and that would leave them open to the scope Smith was staring down at that very moment. King hoped the cars they’d hit while skidding to a stop were still close. Maybe that could be their way out.
Then came the sirens.
He’d narrowly been able to escape the presence of the police all day. Which had been quite the feat given the number of encounters he’d had with banging guns and exploding cars. As he crawled over the third row and the gunfire ceased out on the street, he was fairly certain his luck was about to run out.
One would usually think it better for an innocent man to be caught by the police rather than by the enemy’s sniper round to the head. But in some parts of the world, those two things could be one in the same for the good guys.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The wailing sirens seemed to be coming at King and his friends from all 360 degrees. King stepped out of the back of the van where he was greeted by a cool breeze and the lunch-box-sized hand of Lawson Raines grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him around the corner to safety. The surrounding residential area just outside the tall buildings of the city were quiet except for the police cars coming. No more gunfire, and no real street noise at all since they had both sides of the road blocked. Crouched behind the overturned van, King and his crew were out of the sniper’s sights.
“The gunmen just packed it up and pulled away,” Sam said. “Could that mean they don’t own all the cops?”
“It means we have to go too,” Kyle said. “They won’t own them all, but believe me when I tell you if there is one cop on their payroll, they’ll find us.”
“You all can go,” King said as he replaced the magazine in his AR. “I can’t let Smith out of here. He gets away now, we may never se
e him again.”
“Isn’t that a good thing, son?” Jack said.
“Apparently I have enough people in the world I gotta keep looking over my shoulder for. I don’t need another one.” King looked over at Lawson. “Besides, he needs to pay for what he did to Brittany McKinley.”
“I came here to get the person who kidnapped Brittany,” Lawson said. “I don’t ever quit before the job is done. I’m ready.”
The sirens were getting closer.
Kyle stepped toward Lawson. “We’re all ready. That’s not the point.” Kyle looked over at King but pointed at Lawson. “Who the hell is this guy anyway?”
Lawson was unbothered by Kyle’s bravado. “Police are closing in. It’s now or never.”
King looked over at Jack, his resident sniper. “You think Smith is still on his perch?”
“No. But I do things differently than kid killers. So you can’t be sure.”
King nodded. “Where’s Zhanna?”
Jack motioned toward the six or so abandoned cars behind them. “She’s staying low, checking for a getaway vehicle.”
“Got one!” Zhanna said with a muffled voice. “White SUV!”
“Keep your heads down,” King said. “Let’s go.”
King ducked down and moved in between the first two cars. After one more row of two cars, he saw the white SUV. He hurried over and opened the door. Zhanna had crawled into the front seat but was ducked down behind the steering wheel. She didn’t know for sure that Scott Smith had a good enough look at her to shoot, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Everyone else hurried inside the SUV. Zhanna started it, backed up, then steered around the vehicles.
“Zhanna, this is too risky,” King said. “Just turn around and we’ll go up the back side of the house.”
“He will get away. I have to at least run over his getaway motorcycle.”
She stayed low in her seat as she made it past the overturned van, moving in the direction of where Smith had been staying. Then the first sniper round burst through the front windshield.
King was sitting diagonally behind the driver’s seat on the passenger side. The spray of Zhanna’s blood was warm on his face.
“Zhanna!” Jack shouted from the back.
The SUV sped forward as Zhanna’s slumped body forced her foot down on the pedal. When her hand dropped from the steering wheel, the SUV turned right, away from Smith’s house. Another round pierced glass, this time through the window of the seat behind the driver. Fortunately, the bullet went straight through the glass next to King. It couldn’t have missed him by more than a couple of inches.
“Zhanna!” King heard Jack shout again.
King watched as Sam reached across the console for the steering wheel from the passenger seat. He saw red and blue lights flashing through the splintered front windshield. Then another round broke the glass in the back of the SUV. King turned around and saw that it had knocked Jack’s hat right off his head. The SUV finally slammed into a car that had been abandoned earlier. Another round burrowed into the side of the SUV.
They were sitting ducks.
King grabbed the AR pistol that was hanging from the strap around his neck. He opened his door and stepped out.
“Stay down!” he told his friends.
He ducked under the window of the SUV and walked to the taillight. As police cars began screeching to a stop all around the cars in front of their crashed SUV, another sniper round hit the door on the other side. King brought the AR’s red dot optic up to his eye, pivoted around the taillight, found the top window of Smith’s hideout, and sent six rounds through. He pivoted back to cover.
“Everyone out of the vehicle with your hands up!” King heard a man with a Mexican accent speak through a megaphone. Though his mind was on laying cover fire for his team, he couldn’t help but think it was odd that the officer wasn’t speaking Spanish.
King pivoted once again and found the second upstairs window in his sights. He put six more rounds into the house. Since he’d started firing, there hadn’t been another blast from the sniper rifle.
“Put the gun down and your hands behind your head! Now!”
Lawson climbed out of the back of the SUV. “That’s it, King. We’d better hope your presidential connection is as strong as it sounded on the phone earlier.” Then Lawson turned toward the front of the SUV. “We’ve got a gunshot victim! She needs help!”
King glanced back inside the SUV and saw Sam trying to keep the blood from leaking out of Zhanna’s neck. He could see that her hands were covered. King’s hand tightened around the grip of his gun. Zhanna was in bad shape. King was enraged.
“We have medical coming. But I need you to put down your weapons and step away from the vehicle!” the policeman responded to Lawson.
“I need help here!” Sam shouted. “She’s dying!”
Jack had crawled up through the SUV and was now trying to help Sam stop Zhanna from bleeding out. King didn’t want to, but he already knew their attempts were futile. He felt the anger growing inside him. He looked over at Lawson, who had his hands clasped behind his head. Two police officers were approaching him, both with handcuffs at the ready.
Suddenly something familiar sounded off in the direction of Smith’s hideout. It was unmistakable. King had owned a motorcycle his entire adult life and had always loved the sound when it first fired up. Scott Smith was about to make his getaway.
King watched Lawson glance to his left, in the direction of the motorcycle. The first police officer had just grabbed his right arm. Lawson glanced back at King, making sure King could see him. He gave King a nod. Before the officer could cuff Lawson’s right wrist, the big man turned on the officer and pinned him against the SUV. King then realized what Lawson meant by saying he hoped his presidential connection was strong. It wasn’t so the president could get them out of a Mexican prison; it was so the president could get Lawson out of prison for attacking the policemen to prevent them from stopping King from going after Scott Smith.
Few bonds are as strong as the ones formed in battle. Especially when someone lays their own life on the line for you or for the mission. King knew that for Lawson, going back to prison after spending ten years there already had to be a fear greater than dying. Yet Lawson stood in the officer’s path anyway. Their bond had been forever forged in that moment. Now it was King’s responsibility to make sure Lawson’s sacrifice wasn’t for nothing.
The second officer reached for his gun. Before King could move forward, Kyle was out the door with his feet on the ground. He’d kept the officer from pulling his gun on King by tackling the officer to the ground. Both policemen were contained. The path to their empty squad car had been cleared.
King heard the high-pitched whine of the motorcycle’s engine racing off in the opposite direction. King ran for the police car, ignoring the other officers all standing outside their vehicles with their guns drawn, and jumped inside.
King threw the car in drive and mashed the gas pedal to the floor. He was going to run down Scott Smith no matter what it took. At least for trying to set King up and ruin his name but, most of all, for Brittany McKinley—and for Zhanna, one of his only friends in the world, who he was afraid was currently taking her last breaths.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Alexander King left a trail of smoke behind the stolen police car as he sped off into the night. The lights were still flashing on the roof, and King had no intention of shutting them off. He’d take every advantage he could get. On the radio, he could already hear the police reporting the stolen cruiser. As he swerved around a grouping of cars, he found the volume and shut it off. As he’d jumped in the police car, he’d tuned his ears to the sound of the motorcycle’s engine. He never heard Smith throttle down, so he knew Smith hadn’t slowed to take the first turn off the main road. So King tested the cruiser’s torque as he surged straight ahead.
The motorcycle had a big advantage in traffic. It could fit into spaces that four-wheeled vehicles could not. Bu
t the flashing lights of the police car were a bit of an equalizer in that regard, because the traffic parted when they saw King in their rearview. King raced around cars at a red light and caught his first glimpse of Smith’s back end. The motorcycle swerved right onto a side street, nearly clipping a car on its way.
King followed close behind.
The hardest part about catching Smith wasn’t going to be stopping him. It was going to be stopping him without killing him. As much as King would like to just run him over, or jump out of the car and squeeze him by the neck until he was no longer breathing, King needed him alive. He needed to know why Smith was doing all of these things, and he needed to know either who was helping him or who was in charge. Not that Smith would give up that information easily, but King certainly wouldn’t get any answers if Smith were dead. So he had to be careful.
King took each right and left turn that Smith took, doing his best to keep up with the speedy motorcycle. King could cut corners in a car that Smith couldn’t, and that was helping to keep the gap small. Smith cut around two vehicles at a light. King wiggled his way around them and the oncoming traffic turning into his lane. He lost sight of the motorcycle as it sped away around the building on the corner. King was afraid he’d lost him.
When he finally made it around the traffic, his fear turned to elation as he saw a wall of cars up ahead, just beyond a cross street, and apparently Smith had cut it too close and been knocked off his bike. King sped forward then slid sideways to a stop, jumped out of the car, and put Smith in his sights.
“Don’t touch that bike, Scott. I have no problem shooting you dead.”
Smith was getting up to his feet. The motorcycle was about fifteen feet from him. The car that had taken him down sped off down a side street. King moved around his car door and walked forward with his gun squared on Smith’s chest. There was nowhere for Smith to go.
“Hands up and stop walking.”
Smith did as King asked.
Alexander King Thriller Series: Books 1-3 Page 60