by Brian Drake
Dane landed on the other side of a couch, falling between the narrow space between the couch and coffee table as bullets chewed through, filling the air with stuffing. Dane shoved himself forward along the carpet, turning over a chair, trying to get as far as he could. Then Graypoole’s weapons stopped. Dane looked back. Graypoole worked the bolt of his gun, ejecting a jammed round and as he forced the bolt forward to fire again Dane drew his automatic and fired once. The shot nicked Graypoole’s ear, who then threw the rifle straight at Dane. Dane dropped and covered the back of his head, the rifle slamming into the wall behind and when he looked back Graypoole was yelling, his face red with rage, flying over the couch with both hands open and ready for Dane’s neck.
Dane grabbed the chair he’d tossed aside and lifted it between him and Graypoole, crashing the wood into the side of Graypoole’s head. He landed on Dane anyway, breaking part of the chair, bumping into the coffee table as he came to rest, almost pinning Dane in place. Graypoole pushed up and pulled his right hand back, hammering Dane twice in the face. Dane grabbed a broken chair leg and smashed Graypoole in the side of the face. Dane shoved a knee between them and pushed, heaving Graypoole against the table once again before rolling out of the way, the debris from the chair gouging into his body.
Dane jumped to his feet same as Graypoole, who lashed out with a long roundhouse kick. Dane dropped, the other man’s foot swishing overhead, but he didn’t avoid the follow-up kick, which connected squarely with Dane’s chest and propelled him back into the wall. The bungalow shook. Dane’s breath left him, his vision spinning, but Graypoole was closing in for another strike. Dane deflected Graypoole’s sharp jabs and punches, landing his own kick on Graypoole’s left knee. Graypoole screamed, Dane lashing out with his own series of punches, driving the other man back. A roundhouse from Dane put Graypoole on the carpet. He rolled a few times, gaining some distance. Dane took out his fighting knife, holding the blade down, and advanced.
Graypoole jumped to his feet, his hands up defensively, making a slow circle as Dane neared with the knife. Dane closed the gap, raising the blade and stabbing downward, slicing open Graypoole’s right arm and bringing the blade back for a swipe at his throat. Graypoole blocked the thrust, stepping back and as Dane lunged again Graypoole spun a kick right at Dane’s hand. A snap filled the room, Dane crying out as the knife went flying and sunk an inch into the wall behind him. Another kick--breath left Dane as he doubled over from the strike to his middle. He landed on the carpet, rolling, sweat dripping into his eyes. He wiped his eyes, still unable to breath and Graypoole yanked the knife from the wall and came at Dane ferociously, landing with a knee in his groin, Dane throwing his arms up to block Graypoole, who raised the knife over his head. He plunged the blade down, Dane grabbing Graypoole’s wrist and holding tight. He still couldn’t breathe, felt his head throb and swell and Graypoole’s strength didn’t fade. The blade inched closer, aimed for Dane’s left eye. He twisted his torso left, right, but Graypoole wouldn’t budge. The blade descended some more, Graypoole’s hot breath brushing Dane’s nostrils. Rage still filled the man’s eyes.
Another inch as Grypoole pushed harder.
Dane wedged his right knee between them. With the knee in place, Dane rolled left, the two men still locked together, Dane forcing a roll that put Graypoole under him. Dane straddled Graypoole this time, but Graypoole still had the knife and thrust it toward Dane’s neck. Dane blocked Graypoole’s arm. A vision filled Dane’s mind. Young girl. Brown eyes. It ends now! Dane grabbed Graypoole’s wrist, bending it back with as much force as he could muster. Graypoole screamed. His grip on the hilt loosened. Dane snatched the knife and plunged the blade into Graypoole’s neck, pinning him to the floor beneath. Graypoole’s mouth opened to scream, but with his throat run through, only a gush of blood appeared, the wanna-be terrorist quickly choking, his body thrashing. By the time Dane rose to his feet and caught his breath, Graypoole had not only stopped making noises, he stopped moving entirely.
His sightless eyes remained open.
Somebody entered the room. Dane turned. Nina stood in the doorway holding her Kalashnikov. “Is he dead?”
Dane spat on Graypoole’s body. “He’s dead.”
“Then let’s go home, lover.”
45
Dane and Nina bolted down the slope and back across the grounds to the chopper, Dane with a fresh rifle collected from Graypoole’s dead Iranian friend.
McConn sat in the pilot’s seat, Stone outside the cabin on guard. He yelled for them to run faster as he swung his weapon toward a returning force only he could see. His rifle spoke as he shifted his aim, yelling louder for Dane and Nina to hurry.
Slugs smacked the dirt around them, whistled through the air. Dane kept his eyes on the chopper, Nina to his right, shielded by him from the incoming fire.
They reached the chopper. Dane pivoted to face the enemy, blocking Nina and Stone from their fire and triggered a pair of salvos to keep the troopers back. Nina yelled his name. Dane turned and jumped aboard, bumping into Nina as he settled in the cabin. Nina leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
“You’re welcome,” he said. She smiled.
Stone slammed the cabin door shut as McConn worked the stick and raised the chopper off the platform. Stray slugs nicked at the landing skids and thumped into the body. McConn steered toward the ocean and put the battleground behind them.
Dane, Nina and Stone sat back against the cabin walls, gasping, tossing weapons aside and tearing off their gear.
“What’s next?” Nina said.
“Breakfast in Barcelona is a good idea,” Dane said.
The chopper flew over the ocean and into the night.
Dane and Lukavina sat in a quiet neighborhood park in D.C., kids playing behind them, a hot dog vendor across the way. Cars rumbled by.
“You don’t look very happy,” the CIA man said. The shade of a tree covered them from the bright sun.
“I’m not.” Dane, arms folded, wearing a new suit, couldn’t shake his frown. His right sleeve was creeping up too far. He unfolded his arms and pulled the sleeve back into place.
“We couldn’t send help.”
“I understand that. It’s the least of what I’m upset about.”
“What then?”
“I don’t think we won anything,” Dane said. “We were behind the eight ball the whole time. How many people died in San Francisco and Seattle? Derya Teke is still at large. This wasn’t a victory. By any means.”
Lukavina didn’t answer right away. Then: “We got even.”
“That’s not enough for me.”
“It’s all I have to offer.”
“What happened to our FBI contact in Seattle? O’Brien was his name.”
Lukavina shook his head.
Dane sighed. “Always.” He stood up and Lukavina followed. Dane held out his hand. They shook. “Until next time,” Dane said.
“So long,” Lukavina said.
Dane crossed the grass and rejoined Nina, McConn and Stone, who waited in an SUV parked on the curb. He climbed into the front seat.
“Anybody ever been to Goa?” McConn said from the back seat. “I hear it’s nice this time of year.”
“India?” Dane said.
“Yup. Right on the coast.”
“What’s in Goa?”
“More like who is in Goa. I found our loose end last night. Thought you might like to know about him.”
Dane did indeed.
Waves crashed on the beach. Behind a wall about one hundred yards from the water sat a single-story home full of lights, music, and laughter.
The party ran well into the night, finally ending around four a.m., and that’s when a tipsy Derya Teke staggered into his dark bedroom. He wasn’t alone. He collided with a wall and his female companion laughed.
“Careful,” Teke said, “that painting is worth two million dollars.”
“Oooohhhhh,” the girl said.
Another thud. This time Teke
laughed. When he finally found the light switch, the first thing they saw was the bed.
The second thing was the man sitting in a corner chair. A window leading to a back patio was open a crack, letting in the crisp ocean air.
The girl screamed.
Steve Dane raised the Colt Gold Cup and said, “The girl can leave.”
Suddenly sober, the woman bolted from the room.
Teke remained behind on unsteady legs, his hands out on either side.
Dane fired once. The crack of the shot filled the room and Derya Teke fell forward, a pool of blood quickly soaking into the carpet. Dane left the chair, stood over the man’s body and fired another shot into his head.
Maybe getting even wasn’t so bad after all.
Dane put the gun away and slipped out the door.
Hopping the wall opposite the beach, Dane landed on pavement and headed for the curb where a car sat, engine running, Nina behind the wheel. He climbed in and smiled at her. She put the car in gear and drove away.
“Next time,” she said, “you wait with the car.”
Dane grinned. “Yes, dear.”
San Francisco
He insisted on going back.
Nina had tried to talk him out of it, but Dane stated clearly that he was not going to change his mind.
She hung back near a cluster of headstones while Dane approached the twin stones of Lilly Klove and her father, James. He held a single red rose. Nina figured he wanted to be alone. It was none of her business what he might say, if he said anything, but he somehow needed the closure. She understood that much. If he truly kept seeing the girl’s face in his mind’s eye, maybe a visit to her grave would put an end to the vision.
Dane bent down and placed the rose in front of the girl’s headstone. He stood back, hands locked in front of him and contemplated the stone a moment. Nina breathed quietly, waiting. She hoped Dane found what he was looking for but doubted he would. He’d spend the rest of his life looking for it, whatever it was, and all she knew for sure was that she’d be by his side the whole time. No matter what happened. No matter how long the journey lasted.
Presently he turned and walked back to her. He wasn’t smiling, but his face showed peaceful content. A weight was gone from his shoulders.
Maybe that was enough for now.
She smiled when he took her hand.
A Look at: Skills to Kill: The Steve Dane Thrillers
From the creator of Scott Stiletto, an explosive four-book collection featuring Steve Dane and Nina Talikova! You’ve never read action like this before!
Lovers, spies, killers. Steve Dane & Nina Talikova make the world their playground, but the exotic lifestyle of these former operatives conceals a higher purpose. From the canals of Venice to the streets of Moscow and all points in between, Dane & Nina follow their own moral code to serve justice where there is none, one bullet at a time.
This collection includes Skills to Kill, Another Way to Kill, Live to Kill,and the never-before-published Mine to Avenge, four action-packed thrill rides that will leave you on the edge of your seat and gasping for more!
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Brian Drake
About the Author
A twenty-five year veteran of radio and television broadcasting, Brian Drake has spent his career in San Francisco where he’s filled writing, producing, and reporting duties with stations such as KPIX-TV, KCBS, KQED, among many others. Currently carrying out sports and traffic reporting duties for Bloomberg 960, Brian Drake spends time between reports and carefully guarded morning and evening hours cranking out action/adventure tales. A love of reading when he was younger inspired him to create his own stories, and he sold his first short story, “The Desperate Minutes,” to an obscure webzine when he was 25 (more years ago than he cares to remember, so don’t ask). Many more short story sales followed before he expanded to novels, entering the self-publishing field in 2010, and quickly building enough of a following to attract the attention of several publishers and other writing professionals. Brian Drake lives in California with his wife and two cats, and when he’s not writing he is usually blasting along the back roads in his Corvette with his wife telling him not to drive so fast, but the engine is so loud he usually can’t hear her.
You will find him regularly blogging at www.briandrake88.blogspot.com
Find more great titles by Brian Drake and Wolfpack Publishing, here: https://wolfpackpublishing.com/brian-drake/