Silence.
He’s injured... force him to shoot... make him waste his rounds… listen for the click… take him out before he can reload…
“You must be feeling pretty fucked up right about now, Harrison,” Rigel continued. “Sorry about that. But you’ve got to admit the whole fire-and-nail-bomb thing was a brilliant move on my part. Then again, it worked out a hell of a lot better for me than it did for you. Can you even fire straight? Probably not.”
There. Movement. Reflected in the pick guard. Around the corner at the entrance to the room.
A spray of bullets cut into the floor beside Rigel. One round caught the pick guard. The plate flew out of his fingers. He drew his hand back quickly.
Rigel laughed. “Whoa! Nice shot! Or was that just luck?”
A second display case stood several few feet away. If he could make it there without being cut down by the Tec-9 he’d be out of the assassin’s direct line of fire. Tasker would be forced to relinquish his position in the room. Rigel removed the candies from his pocket.
“I’m working a theory over here, Harrison,” Rigel yelled. “Want to know what it is? I think New York’s got you on their payroll and they sent you to kill me. Why, I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t care. But here’s the thing. You and I both know that’s not going to happen. You’re done, Harrison. Finished. But being a fellow pro, not to mention an incredibly generous guy, I’m going to make you an offer. Fuck New York. You don’t have to die today. I’ll let you walk out of here in one piece while you still can. I’ll even throw in an early retirement bonus. How does a million bucks sound? Go buy yourself a nice place in the Caribbean. Sip Pina Colada’s by the pool and live out the rest of your days in style. Sound good?”
“Not in a million fucking years,” Tasker replied.
“You sure about that?” Rigel said.
“Positive.”
“That’s a shame.” Rigel replied. He threw a handful of candies across the room.
Tasker reacted. He fired in the direction of the sound.
Rigel dashed to the safety of the second display case. He watched the foil-wrapped sweets skip across the floor. Tasker’s rounds caught one of the candies and blew it apart; a terrible death for a Werther’s if ever there was one.
Rigel kept moving. He slid along the floor to the wall, then rose to his feet. Tasker was twenty feet away. He trained the Glock straight ahead and waited. The assassin had inconvenienced him enough for one lifetime. The second the man entered the room he would kill him, then get back to the business of eliminating his targets and their protective detail.
He waited.
Ahead, glass crunched underfoot.
CHAPTER 51
SHOOP-SHOOP-shoop-shoop-shoop-shoop…
Zoe, Shannon and Lily heard the heavy rotor churn of the FBI’s Tactical Helicopter Unit as it approached, its blades slicing through the driving rain. The Black Hawk circled the burning ranch house then hovered above them, scanning the grounds with its powerful searchlight. The pilot engaged the air-to-ground communications system, his voice booming through the loudspeaker over the sound of the storm and the raging fire.
“This is the FBI. Get on the ground! Place your hands behind your head. Do not move!”
The two women and the girl complied. Zoe and Shannon tossed their weapons aside.
Ropes fell from the open doors of the chopper. Agents from the Hostage Rescue Team deployed from the bird and zipped down to the ground, one hand on the wind-tossed rope, the other on their weapon. The first two agents were followed by two more. They approached the trio with caution, keeping them squarely in their gun sights.
“Identify yourselves,” the lead agent demanded as he secured their handguns.
“Zoe Dunn,” Zoe said. The wicked rain pelted her face as she looked up to face the agent. “This is my sister, Shannon. The girl is Lily Maynard.”
The agent spoke into his microphone. “This is Reed. We have the package.” To Zoe, he asked, “Everyone all right?”
Zoe nodded. “Tell your men there are four dead. One in the barn, three by the car.”
Reed motioned to the two agents. “Check it out,” he said. “Anything else we need to know?”
Zoe shook her head. “No,” she replied.
A second HRT agent, a woman, spoke to her. “Who killed them?” she asked.
Zoe looked up. “I did.”
“Hands behind your back,” the agent said.
“She didn’t do anything wrong,” Shannon protested. “It was self-defence. She saved our lives!”
“If that’s the case she’s got nothing to worry about,” the agent replied.
“It’s all right, Shay,” Zoe said. The agent zip cuffed her hands and brought her to her feet. “They’re just doing their job.”
“We want to speak to our father, right now,” Shannon insisted.
The Black Hawk touched town. Four more agents deployed from the chopper. The team headed towards the burning building.
Reed listened to a status report in his earbud from his agents. “Confirmed. Four down. Vital signs absent.”
“Copy that,” Reed replied. The two women and the girl were soaked to the skin. Lily shivered. Shannon wrapped her arms around her, pulled her close, rubbed her arms.
“Come on,” Reed said. “Let’s get you out of the rain.”
Seated in the helicopter, shivering under a warm blanket, Lily spoke. “Agent Reed, my parents are buried in the barn. The first stall on the right.”
“Your parents?” Reed asked.
Zoe interjected. “They were murdered by the guys I killed.”
“Just what the hell happened here?” Reed asked.
Zoe stared at the agent. “Payback,” she said.
“I don’t know why, but for some reason I believe you,” Reed replied. He handed Shannon a headset. “What do you say we call your father?”
“Thank you,” Shannon said. She slipped on the earphones and adjusted the microphone.
Reed tapped the pilot on the shoulder. “Open a channel. Put her through to Director Dunn.”
CHAPTER 52
THE AGENTS followed the children and the family through the secret labyrinth hidden between the walls of the estate. Hanover heard the muted sound of gunshots and breaking glass.
He stopped, drew his weapon, turned, tried to discern the specific location of the gunfire, couldn’t. The sound seemed to be coming at him from all angles.
“It’s the acoustics,” Jordan said. “The passageways interconnect, so they form one giant echo chamber. I used to play in these corridors all the time when I was a kid, just like my kids do now. I could hear my father playing his guitar or listening to music on the opposite site of the estate. My guess is its coming from the Music room.”
“How far away?” Hanover asked. He kept his weapon trained down the corridor as if expecting the gunman to come around the corner at any second and open fire on them from behind.
“Ten-thousand feet, maybe fifteen,” Jordan replied.
“Did you say ten-thousand feet?”
“Give or take.”
“Just how big is this place?”
“The main house is forty-thousand square feet. That doesn’t include the indoor pool, underground garage, wine cellar or the Collectibles vault.”
“You have no idea how small my condo feels right now,” Hanover said. He holstered his weapon. “The garage… can we get to it from here?”
“Of course.”
“What side of the estate is it on?”
“The east.”
“And the Music room?”
“The west.”
“Good. Then that’s where we’re going. We’ll drive out of here. S.W.A.T. can deal with the intruders.”
The family reached the end of the corridor. Carnevale waited for Chris and Jordan to catch up. He was holding his weapon at his side. He too had heard the shots.
Hanover informed him of the plan. “Sounds good,” Carnevale said. “We�
�ll take the Rolls Silver Shadow. Thing’s built like a tank. The more metal around us the better.”
“In case the gunmen open fire on us?” Jordan asked.
“Exactly.”
“I won’t do that, Uncle Grant.”
“Won’t do what?”
Jordan stopped. “I won’t put my children in the line of fire. Not for a second. You need to call in S.W.A.T. Have them find whoever is in the house and put an end to this.”
“S.W.A.T. can’t possibly get here in time, Jordan,” Carnevale replied. “We need to get you and your family out of here right away.”
“That sound you heard?” Chris added. “That’s not just any gun. It’s a machine pistol. Whoever these guys are they came to play, and they brought the heavy artillery with them. We’re talking multiple rounds per second. We’re simply not equipped to go up against that kind of firepower.”
“All the more reason to call S.W.A.T.,” Jordan insisted.
Carnevale sighed. “Okay, Jordan. Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll go to the Collectibles vault instead. It’s impenetrable. Everyone will be safe in there. Once we’re inside we’ll call S.W.A.T. Deal?”
“Deal,” Jordan agreed.
“Does that work for you, Chris?” Carnevale asked.
“You bet.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
Outside the entrance to the Collectibles vault Andrew Dunn’s phone vibrated. He took the call. “Shannon?” he said. “Are you all right? Thank God.” The Director leaned against the wall. Hanover and Jordan stood beside him, anxiously awaiting a status update on the safety of his daughters. Carnevale escorted the Quests, Marissa, and the children into the cavernous room. Hanover expected the call would come soon. He hoped the outcome would be a favorable one. After speaking to his daughter Dunn received a brief on the situation at the ranch from Agent Reed. “Thank you,” Dunn said. “Extend my appreciation to your team. Tell them I’ll speak to them personally upon their return… Zoe said what? My God… Show her every courtesy. If she says it was self-defence, then I can assure you that’s exactly what it was. I’ll be in touch shortly.” Dunn ended the call.
“All good, sir?” Hanover asked.
The Director was quiet. He looked at his phone for a moment, then returned it to its case. He stared at Jordan. “Agent Reed just filled me in. The reading you took from Shannon’s necklace in the hospital room… the ranch house, the stables, the shackles hanging from the ceiling… all of it was accurate. You said you saw some kind of connection to the circus. They found a teenager in the stable dressed in a clown suit, dead. His neck had been broken. There was a young girl with Shannon and Zoe. Her name is Lily. You saw her, too. They had taken shelter underground. Lily took the team to the place they’d been hiding; some sort of bunker. You were right about it all, Jordan. I don’t know how you saw what you did. I sure as hell can’t explain it, and frankly I don’t care. All I care is that my daughters are safe now, as is the girl. I’ll never be able to repay you for that. All I can say is… thank you.” The stress of the last week was evident in Dunn’s voice. He was close to losing his composure in front of his agents. He swallowed hard and reeled in his emotions.
Jordan hugged him. “You’re welcome, Director. I’m glad I could help.”
Dunn exhaled sharply. “It’s about damn time we turn this thing around. Agreed?”
He took out his phone and punched in a number. The call was answered a second later. “Agent Reed,” he said, “Dunn again. We have a situation here. I need your help.”
More gunfire. It sounded closer.
“Everyone inside,” Hanover said. He turned to Carnevale and Dunn. “Lock down the room.” He started to close the door behind them. Jordan stopped him.
“What are you going to do?” Jordan asked.
“Go after them.”
“The hell you are,” she replied. “You don’t know the layout of the house. I do. There are a million places to hide. They’ll gun you down the second they hear you coming. I’m guessing that S.W.A.T. is at least twenty minutes out, maybe longer. And you already told me you’re not equipped to deal with automatic weapons. Remember?”
“All true,” Chris said. “But if you think you’re coming with me you’re out of your mind. You need to stay here with your family, Jordan.” The Collectibles vault featured a heavy bank-style door with keycode access. Valuable antiques sat on the shelves. “This room’s impenetrable. You’ll be safe in here until help arrives.”
Jordan stepped out of the room and into the hallway. “And if we’re not?” she said.
“Meaning?”
“Whoever is trying to kill my family almost killed us both at the hospital and probably took out the agents Dunn assigned to patrol the grounds. Now they’re somewhere in the house, looking for us. For all we know they have the override code to the security system. Which would give them access to the vault, in which case they could just open the door, open fire and kill us all.”
“Director Dunn and your godfather would never let that happen.”
“They wouldn’t stand a chance against a machine pistol. Dozens of rounds per second you said, remember?” Jordan stepped back into the room and spoke to her family. “Under no circumstances is anyone to leave this room. We’ll be back soon.” She closed the door, entered the pass code, locked it and began to walk down the hall.
Hanover raised his hands. “Just where do you think you’re going?”
“To find whoever is in my house.”
“That’s not happening.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Get back in the room, Jordan.”
Jordan stared down the agent. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know, Chris. I have certain… skills.”
“I’m aware of that, Jordan. But psychic abilities won’t help you in a gun fight.”
Jordan ignored the comment and continued down the hall. “I’m ending this now,” she said, “with or without your help.”
Hanover watched her walk away. “You realize you’re unarmed, right?”
Jordan stopped and looked back. “That’s a matter of opinion,” she replied. “You coming?”
Hanover shook his head. “Something tells me I don’t have much choice in the matter.”
“No, you don’t.”
Chris followed her down the corridor. “Where are we going?”
“North wing. Training room.”
“As in gym?” Chris asked. “You might want to put off your workout for a day or two.”
“I need to pick up a few things.”
“Like what?”
“You’ll see.”
CHAPTER 53
FOLLOWING THE barrage of gunfire, flecks of gold-foil danced in the air then fluttered to the floor.
Candy wrappers.
Fucking candy wrappers!
Tasker stepped forward to better his view of the room but stayed clear of the threshold. To cross it would be suicide. Once again, he had been taken in by Rigel’s diversion. Stupid! He was trying to fight the man while raging a battle with his own body. The morphine that had pinned down the pain long enough for him to navigate the barrier wall, enter the house and get back into the fight was wearing off. The pain receptors in his nerve cells retaliated. The Tec-9 shook in his grasp. He dropped the gun to his side and leaned against the wall for support. Darkness rose and fell in front of his eyes. He was on the verge of losing consciousness. Tasker willed himself to stay on his feet, to hang on, if even for a few more minutes, until he could find Rigel and finish him off. He raised the machine pistol and pushed himself off the wall.
Justin Bieber came to his aid. The famed singer stood beside Michael Farrow behind a life-size, glass-framed, autographed poster which reflected Rigel’s position in the room. Rigel’s back was pressed against the wall, his weapon trained on the doorway, waiting for Tasker to enter the room.
No more surprises, Tasker thought. Not again.
Tasker wrapped his arm around the corner, slammed the Tec-9 agai
nst the wall and fired blindly into the room.
The awkward, shaky motion of the gun coming at him from around the corner telegraphed Tasker’s feeble attempt to mount an attack. Rigel retraced his steps and darted back across the floor, passing the display case behind which he had earlier taken cover. He kept running, trying to build up as much speed as he could, then cut hard around the second display case, shoulder-rolled into the middle of the room, rose to one knee, Glock in hand, targeted Tasker and fired. The single round caught the man in his leg and dropped him. The Tec-9 fell from his hand and clattered on the hardwood floor. Tasker slid down the wall and sat on the floor. The weapon lay beyond his grasp. The pain from the gunshot wound rode a wave from one connected nerve bundle to the next throughout his entire body. The darkness rose again. He watched Rigel walk toward him.
Rigel kicked away the Tec-9 and stood over the man. “Harrison Tasker, I presume,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”
Tasker looked up. “Wish I could say the same.”
Rigel sat on the floor, crossed his legs, and placed the Glock between them.
Tasker’s breathing had become labored. He was having difficulty maintaining his balance. He stared at the gun. “What’s this?” he asked.
“Call it your last chance at redemption,” Rigel said.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Rigel made himself more comfortable. He stretched out on the floor and leaned on his elbow. “It means for every correct answer you give me I give you another inch.” He nudged the Glock toward Tasker. “Wanna play?”
Tasker groaned. His body swayed. “Fuck you.”
Rigel pulled the gun back. “Seriously, Harrison? You came here to kill me. I’m giving you that opportunity. You want it or not?” He inched the Glock forward again.
Tasker looked at the weapon. The gun was only four inches from his hand.
Rigel had gotten his attention. “Question one,” he said. “Who sent you?”
Tasker’s eyelids fluttered. He could feel eternal darkness settling in.
Intruders (A Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Book 1) Page 20