by Jason Kasper
“Four hundred meters,” Ian replied, pointing to a page with overhead imagery of the neighborhood and surrounding area. “And here are the floor plans.”
Matz snatched the pages from Ian and flipped through them. “Second floor is going to be tricky. How many people?”
“Four security guys and two principals. They’re moving in a Sprinter van that can pass for a service vehicle from the outside, but it’s been modified into a mobile office. Our primary and his personal assistant work in the back, and up front they’ve got one security guy driving and three riding.”
“What kind of hardware are they running?”
“At this point, we haven’t seen any weapons carried openly. Best guess is AR platforms, if not MPs or UMPs—something like that. Plus pistols. Nothing you guys haven’t seen before. And there’s another factor we have to consider: that Sprinter van has been used as a mobile office since your target has been on the run. If I can get into it while you’re clearing the house, I can pack up their hard drives for data recovery. The information we pull from those could feasibly end up being a bigger blow to their organization than killing the primary. I’d drive the goddamn thing off the objective if the cops wouldn’t roll me up on the way out.”
Boss responded, “Matz is the assault leader. It’s up to him.”
Matz looked at the floor plan. “Once we hit the staircase, you could enter through the backside and move to the garage. But you’d be on your own—I’m not stopping to clear the garage, because my priority is isolating the second floor.”
“I can take care of myself,” Ian said. I saw Ophie smirk as Ian continued, “Just be aware that these guys are willing to sit and fight it out. If they can’t escape, they’ll strongpoint the primary and make you fight for every inch of that house until the cops arrive.”
Matz’s eyes danced over the pages, his nostrils flaring as he breathed. “Surprise and violence of action can overcome a lot. We’ll be the only people leaving this house alive.”
Ian swallowed. “For now. But the biggest risk isn’t your enemy; it’s the Handler.”
Matz looked up from the floor plans, his eyes shifting first to me and then to Ian. The air conditioner kicked on with a rattle, and no one said anything until Ian spoke again.
“As soon as the war is won, you guys become a loose end—and he doesn’t like loose ends.”
Boss cleared his throat. “That’s why the retirement plan is in place.”
Ian nodded and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I think you need to initiate that plan sooner than we thought. With all the work you guys have been doing, the opposition must be close to falling. It’s only a matter of time before you kill a member of the senior leadership, and once the Five Heads start falling there’s nothing standing in his way. How long before he’s challenged again?”
“Ten years. Twenty.”
“I’d say closer to twenty. Meanwhile, he’s got an obligation to protect the legitimate part of the operation, and as soon as it’s more profitable to do business without a paramilitary element, he will. I think he’s going to offer you guys a bigger payday than usual upon completion of the last mission, whatever that may be. You need to take the deposit, deliver on the job, and leave without collecting the balance.”
“Why are you so worried now?”
Ian hesitated. “Jimmy’s team dropped off the map last week.”
Ophie answered, “They made it to the Dominican.”
“I heard that, too. But my guys didn’t move them there. Who else would they trust?”
Matz shrugged. “Jimmy didn’t trust anyone. I could see him setting up his own way out to be safe.”
“And I hope they’re all on the beach right now laughing at us. But all I know is they missed a meeting with their account manager from my side, and they haven’t shown up since. Our recovery network is spun up because we can’t rule out the possibility that they had a Midnight contingency.”
“And that contingency means… what?” I asked.
Matz replied, “The word ‘Midnight’ over the radio means we’ve been set up. Everyone splits. No pickup, no Go To Hell points, just get as far as possible from whatever we planned. At that point, it’s every man for himself.”
“And then what?”
“There’s a phone number for the recovery network. Back to the point—”
“Well, can I get the number?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’ll hook you up. Don’t be a pussy. Back to the point. Boss, this house is going to take some work. We’re not going to be able to spare anyone.”
Boss looked to Ian. “Can you get us a driver?”
“Our communications truck will be able to handle sniper placement and assault force drop-off. But after that, the truck will have to move to high ground for us to jam law enforcement frequencies and relay to you guys during the hit. Between that and me exploiting the van, I won’t have anyone in the area available for pickup.”
Ophie said, “That’s a piece of cake—Special K is standing by. Waiting for our call in this very hotel, I believe.”
“We need someone reliable,” Matz said.
“You can say a lot of things about Special K, but unreliable isn’t one of them.”
“Fuck you.”
Boss looked at Matz. “He’s right. Make the call.”
Ophie grinned.
CHAPTER 14
The air was thick with the smell of pine needles and wet leaves as the house materialized in front of us. I waved away a cloud of insects from my face with a gloved hand and felt my breath quickening and my pulse racing as Boss’s voice crackled through my ear.
“Two minutes.”
“Copy,” Matz transmitted next to me, his voice echoing through my dual earpieces with a fraction of a second delay. Shifting his M4 assault rifle to the opposite hand, he leaned toward me and whispered, “There’s a guy posted at the second floor window, left side. Hundred-meter shot. Take him on the two count and I’ll get this other shithead standing by the back door.”
“Got it.” Feeling a slight tremor in my hands, I pretended to adjust the weight of my body armor, which, like Matz’s, was neatly lined with ammunition and grenade pouches. I looked to see if he had noticed my hands shaking, but his eyes were studying the back of the house and flickering with excitement.
Ian trailed unseen behind us, his presence evidenced by an occasional branch snapping underfoot. Boss’s figure moved through the brush to our left, his own M4 strapped to his back. He held the dual pistol grips of a semi-automatic grenade launcher with a stubby barrel that extended from a wide drum containing six 40mm high-explosive rounds.
Matz stalked forward in a low crouch before kneeling and transmitting, “Assault is at last cover and concealment. David’s got a shot on the West A1 window and I’ve got one at West B3. No change to plan.”
“One minute,” Boss replied. “Ophie what do you got?”
“Front side of the house is quiet except for one guy posted at the East A3 window. I’ll tag him on the two count. Sniper out.”
Matz whispered to me, “How are you doing?”
I couldn’t answer him honestly.
In truth, I was far more scared now than I had ever been in combat. After seeing the odds these guys would willingly take on, I felt little consolation that I wouldn’t be alone this time as we assaulted a house containing six men. Once our meeting with Ian had adjourned, I returned to my hotel room and lay awake on the bed, my mind racing with likely outcomes of the upcoming mission and finding few positives.
I hadn’t voiced my concerns to the others; instead, I took part in the preparations and rehearsals with a steadfast air of obedience to make up for ignoring Boss’s order on the previous hit. To be sure, though, my act wasn’t just about rebuilding their confidence in me. I had committed to their path no matter the cost. Weighed against the certainty of death by my own hand, the likelihood of death alongside the team was the lesser of two evils.
“I’ve never felt better,”
I said with indifference. “Let’s kill these motherfuckers.”
Matz slapped me on the shoulder so hard I had to steady myself against a tree. “That’s what the fuck I’m talking about, Suicide. Between Boss’s launcher and our hand grenades, the interior doors will be blown apart—or close to it. We should be able to kick down everything else, so leave that shotgun on your back unless I tell you to breach with it.”
“Thirty seconds.”
“Stay behind me and hit your corners. Just like back at the house, only this time we get to shoot people. Don’t worry about how many guys they have. What did I tell you before we left?”
“That we’re only outgunned as long as we’re missing.”
“Ten seconds.”
Matz sighed wistfully. “God, I love my job. Now go.”
Rising slowly above the brush, I wrapped my left hand around the tree trunk to my front, thumb pointed out, and rested the M4 handguard in the notch of my palm. Taking a breath, I rotated until I saw a figure in the second floor window—our first opponent. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I raised the reticle of my sight to his abdomen.
The figure darted out of view before I could fire.
“Compromised!” I said.
Matz’s unsuppressed M4 split the quiet air like thunder.
I fired five shots through the now-empty window, hearing the dull thump of Boss’s grenade launcher to my left as dogs began barking frantically throughout the subdivision. As I shifted aim and shot five more rounds, a back window of the house lit with a flash of orange. The sound of the explosion hit us a moment later.
Matz took off running through the underbrush. I fought through bushes and vines as I followed him, struggling to keep up while changing magazines.
We burst out of the woods and onto neatly trimmed grass as Boss fired a second grenade. The porch’s sliding glass door vanished in a cloud of smoke and flame as we began our final sprint across the backyard.
I couldn’t believe how fast Matz was running; he was almost twice my size, but I could barely keep up with him as he yelled with no shortness of breath, “Breach is clear!”
Two second floor windows flashed with fire, and fragments of glass rained onto the lawn. Matz withdrew a single hand grenade and hurled it through the remains of the elevated back door to our front, then cut right toward the porch steps.
I heard the detonation as we ran up the wooden stairs, and by the time I reached the porch Matz had already disappeared into the hollow doorway.
I launched myself into the house. The interior was a choking, swirling cloud of smoke, and Matz’s figure was only dimly visible three long paces ahead of me. Swinging my barrel left, I fired into a charred body before looking right into an empty kitchen. I heard chaotic footsteps and men shouting on the second floor before Matz opened fire on the staircase.
“Take front!” he yelled to me, stepping to the side to reload as I passed him and posted myself at the base of the stairs. I fired at the shallow landing between the first and second floors until he squeezed my shoulder. He appeared beside me and climbed two steps to throw a grenade over the top of the staircase.
I changed magazines, glancing left to see Ian rushing through the back door, pistol in hand on his way to the garage. Then I flinched at the sudden explosion above us, its ear-splitting blast reverberating off the walls.
Matz followed the sound upward as it receded, then pivoted where the stairs turned and crouched down to fire toward the second floor landing in rapid succession. Bullets impacted the drywall several feet over his head, and the register of a distant rifle barked as he said, “Frag front.”
I was vaguely aware of him changing magazines as I pulled a grenade from my vest. In the time it took me to yank the pin and throw it onto the second floor landing, Matz’s voice came over the radio.
“Support hit West A1, I say again hit—”
An explosion from Boss’s grenade launcher rocked the room at the top of the stairs, followed by my own grenade detonating on the landing a moment later.
Matz was managing the assault like an orchestra conductor.
He charged up the final few stairs, shooting to his front before breaking right. I followed a step behind him, firing at muzzle flashes from the corner of an open doorway before the enemy shooter rolled behind cover. Cutting right to back up Matz, I flowed into the master bedroom to find him turning left and shooting into a shattered closet doorway.
An otherworldly two-second burping noise rang out from within the closet, and Matz dropped like a stone, puffs of crimson suspended in his wake. I didn’t make it a step toward the closet before a monster of a man strode out of it, his eyes ablaze within a wide, bearded face.
His meat hook of a hand released a now-empty machine pistol. It fell to the floor as he charged me.
I wildly raised my M4, shooting as fast as I could pull the trigger and walking four rounds up his chest. The last impacted just below his collarbone before he tackled me to the ground.
My rifle was pinned flat against my chest as wide, sweaty palms encircled my throat and squeezed with unbelievable strength. His eyes were wild with rage and small rivers of blood streamed from both ears.
I reached for my pistol and found it wedged beneath my hip, so I drew the knife from my vest instead. He grabbed my wrist with one hand and slammed it to the ground, continuing to choke me as the other maintained his weight on my throat.
I panicked, desperately trying to shove my free thumb into his eye as he pulled back his head. Then I punched weakly at his throat as my brain screamed for air. Blood slammed against the inside of my skull and my vision narrowed into an ever-tightening circle; at the periphery, I saw another bodyguard approaching from outside the bedroom and holding a raised submachine gun. He saw his comrade on top of me and angled his barrel into the doorway, stepping sideways to clear the room.
His head vanished under a geyser of smoke and he fell out of sight.
Matz appeared over me, his M4 hanging on the sling as he clutched a knife in an icepick grip. Leaning over my attacker, he slid the blade into the base of the giant’s skull. The last thing I saw was the man’s face frozen in death, but his hands remained fixed on my throat and wrist. All at once, the pressure in my head seemed to evaporate and I passed out.
I awoke suddenly, instinctively taking flustered, seizing gasps of air. For seconds, I had no idea where I was or how I got there. The massive man’s corpse lay stiffly on the ground beside me.
Matz said, “Suicide, get up and quit fucking around.”
Through fluttering eyelids, I saw him standing in the doorway with his M4 at the ready. My earpieces filled with his voice transmitting, “Boss, I need you on the second floor. Link up at the top of the stairs.”
“Moving.”
I coughed my way back to life, rolling over on all fours and struggling to rise.
Matz continued, “Sniper, what’s your body count?”
Ophie answered, “I tagged one guard in the garage, but the guy in East A3 squirted before the two count. No Joy.”
I shakily rose to my feet, falling onto the bed and stabbing the mattress with the knife I’d forgotten was clutched in my hand. Inserting it into its sheath, I struggled upright and regained my equilibrium. I stumbled to Matz’s backside, then squeezed his shoulder and gasped, “I’m up.”
“Good for you. Reload your fucking weapon.” I changed magazines as he continued, “There’s one PA and the fat-ass primary left, so if you die after this, it’s your fault.”
“Okay,” I wheezed.
From the stairway to our left, Boss called, “EAGLE EAGLE EAGLE.”
With that, Matz moved out of the doorway and swung right, with me trailing behind him. We crossed the open landing as I heard Boss vault a final step and follow us. I sped up and pivoted right at the corner to cover a closed doorway. Matz and Boss flowed past me to enter the room to my left.
I turned and followed them inside the empty room, stopping behind Boss as he
posted beside the open doorway on the right. Beyond it, a shared bathroom adjoined the last remaining bedroom; Matz delivered a grenade into it with a light underhand toss.
We ducked against the wall as the explosive detonated, the concussion close enough to momentarily suck the air from our lungs. Boss moved forward, hooking right as I swung left and almost ran into a destroyed desk. What used to be a large window was now lined only with a few shards of remaining glass, and through it I caught a glimpse of the wooded hill from which we had approached minutes earlier.
Before I could collapse my sector toward Boss, Matz was already at his side firing rounds into the base of a closet door.
I saw a bloody smear at my feet that extended into the closet.
“DON’T SHOOT, DON’T SHOOT!” came a frantic cry from within.
I knelt and fired six rounds, stitching them back and forth across the closet door. Then I nodded to Matz, who approached the door from the side and opened it.
The personal assistant was curled on the floor.
He made frightened breathing sounds, holding both of his hands open in front of his face, his right shoulder and leg torn open and bleeding profusely. Shrapnel and bullet wounds covered his body as he squinted up at us.
Matz yelled, “Where is he?”
“I—I don’t—”
“Wrong answer,” Matz said, shooting twice into the dying man’s knees.
He screamed, “ATTIC!”
Matz shot him in the bridge of his nose and his head flung back. Then Matz led the way back to the master bedroom. We crossed the landing as dust-clouded sunlight streamed through broken blinds and glass, neatly outlining a body with a clean headshot that splayed his brain across the carpet.
Matz stepped over the body of the dead giant— the knife handle still protruded from his skull—and faced the open closet door on the left. He fired around a square hatch in the ceiling, emptying his magazine, then called, “Switch.”
I picked up where he had left off, peppering the untouched sections of the bedroom ceiling. We heard a sudden cry of pain from a far corner, and Matz fired a second full magazine toward the noise as I reloaded, squatted down, and braced my back against the closet wall under the attic hatch.