Racing Through Darkness

by G. K. Parks

  He opened the back door, took out a locked briefcase, and entered through the broken glass door. Hans was monitoring for any surrounding movement, so I focused on the dilapidated bus depot. Glancing at the clock, it had only been a little over a minute, and I wasn’t sure if I should move in. I was reaching for the door handle when Mercer emerged. He got back into the car and started the engine. Picking up his phone, he hit a single key and spoke to the rest of his team. We were moving across town to a private airfield.

  “What was inside?” I asked. I couldn’t help myself. Information was my friend, but I could see the planning, the thoughts, and the meditation going through Mercer’s mind as he drove through the darkness.

  “This.” He held up a sheet of paper with nothing but an address. “If she’s not there, we’ve lost her.” He was stoic, but despite the business tone to his voice, it was apparent he felt more than he would ever show.

  “That’s the same airfield you sent me to investigate.”

  “What did you find?” he asked bitterly.

  I thought about the two men I encountered who spoke of girls and planes. There hadn’t been enough time to process any of it because he called me away to meet him at the second hangar bay where we didn’t apprehend either of the two Seasons who were present. Something was starting to stink, and I was afraid it might be Mercer.

  “Nothing,” I stammered. Thompson ran the plates on the truck. Nothing sinister about it. Maybe it was sheer coincidence. “Since you sent me to check it out, isn’t it strange it’s the same location the kidnappers left Adalina?”

  “No.” He tore his eyes from the road and looked at me. “All the locations we scouted were believed to be viable places to hold the girls based on the information we collected from the various forms of communication with the Seasons.” Catherine said they were moved four different times. Maybe I had been a lot closer than I realized. Or he was involved. “Parker, don’t you trust me?”

  “Not in the least.” I smiled cynically.

  He let out a chuckle. “Bloody hell.” He continued driving. At this point, it didn’t matter. We were about to enter into a potentially hostile situation, and if it didn’t go smoothly, there was no guarantee either of us would walk away in one piece.

  Thirty-nine

  Breaching required some finesse, and Donovan was positioned on the roof of the self-storage units, facing the hangar. It was a distance away, but he had a high-powered sniper rifle and was a great shot. Hans was scouting the rest of the area. If he encountered any issues, Bastian would provide back-up, and if things were clear, he would find a spot to establish crossfire in the event we encountered uninvited guests. Mercer and I crept to the hangar. From my previous adventure, I was aware of the windows, the layout inside, and the cover positions. The desk, filing cabinet, larger airplane equipment, and parked Cessna were the only obstacles within the otherwise open hangar.

  “Parker,” Mercer whispered, pressed against the side of the building, waiting for affirmation of an all clear before moving in, “we’ll begin in the hangar. If we encounter unfriendlies, you locate the girl while I deal with the situation.”

  “Fine.”

  “If she’s not inside, we’ll check all of the storage units.”

  “What about Estes’ secondary team?”

  “I’d like to find the girl before I call them. We’re against a time crunch, and Miguel wants a response imminently. We must hurry.”

  “Okay.”

  After getting the all clear, I stayed on Mercer’s six as he went in the only door to the hangar. It was empty, except for the furniture. The Cessna was gone. On the desk was another note with additional instructions. It felt like we were on a scavenger hunt. Frankly, I hate scavenger hunts. Mercer and I performed a thorough search of the hangar before leaving. He radioed his team that we were on the move again; this time, we were going back to the original warehouse where I first encountered the Seasons.

  “Delay tactics,” he muttered under his breath as the odometer neared a hundred, and he swerved through traffic. “This is fucking bullshit.” I braced myself against the seat as the truck in front of him slammed on his brakes, and we narrowly avoided getting hit by a car driving in the opposite direction.

  “Why delay? They got the money.” I swallowed, regretting asking questions and diverting any of his focus from the colorful streaks that we flew past.

  “Maybe they’re planning to abscond with the money and the girl.” He jerked the wheel to the side, and we were on the sidewalk. I wasn’t positive we weren’t momentarily airborne. “Bollocks.” He laid in the horn as a few late night pedestrians scattered out of the way. “Radio Bastian and tell him to get Estes’ team in play.”

  “What?” The point was to avoid this situation.

  “We’ll give them the hangar we just left. It might buy us some time.”

  He launched the vehicle off the sidewalk and back onto the street, through a red light, and down the next block. We were getting close. Doing as he asked, I tried to sound calm, even though my heart was in my throat, and I thought Martin’s driving was insane.

  Instead of screeching to a stop, Mercer drove directly through the fence and used the SUV to block the front doors. There were only three ways remaining to get in or out of the building. He grabbed the radio from my hand and gave instructions to Hans and Donovan to cover both side exits. Until they caught up, we were on our own.

  “Parker, take the side. I’ll go in through the back.” He met my eyes for a moment. “This is it.” As soon as he said the words, I felt it, the brief moment of serenity before the violence breaks. That eerie quiet predicting an uncertain future. Nodding, he ran to the back as I edged to the side.

  Listening, I heard Mercer throw open the back door. The metal door clanged against the frame, and then there was silence. Holding my breath, I turned the knob, but the door was locked. Fuck. Remembering my lock picks, I found them in one of the many pockets of the bulletproof vest and quickly went to work. The lock popped a few seconds later, and I eased the door open. The room was dim. Across the expanse, there were a few monitors casting shadows as they flickered.

  Squinting, I could make out a form, hands raised in the center of the room. There were two other figures, each holding a gun. Dammit, Julian. As stealthily as possible, I edged away from the door. There were words exchanged, but from this distance, I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Taking cover behind one of the support poles near the edge of the large converted hangar, I spotted a third man edging forward from the other side.

  Hans and Donovan hadn’t signaled, so whoever was hiding in the shadows was not part of Mercer’s team. The light glinted off the end of a rifle, and I reacted. “Mercer, down,” I screamed, firing at the third man and launching myself forward.

  Gunfire echoed off the walls, and I lost track of how many shots were fired or even the direction they were coming from. My back was against a desk, and other than a few support pillars, and some machinery, there was no cover in the open. The six rooms, three lining each side of the hangar, might provide some tactical coverage, or they’d be deathtraps.

  The man with the rifle was down, and I wasn’t sure who took him out. The other two, who had Mercer at gunpoint, sought cover on the opposite side of the hangar. They cowered behind a Cessna. Carefully, I approached Mercer’s position. He made his way to one end of the hangar and threw open one of the doors to use as cover.

  “Adalina,” he hissed. In the firefight, I forgot our purpose.

  “Who are they?” I asked.

  “Not the time,” he broke cover and checked the other two rooms.

  The two men fired again, and I returned fire in their general direction to provide some cover for Julian. He finished the search of the third room and shook his head. We were close enough that I could make out even his slight movements. In a duck, he ran toward the center of the room, narrowly missing a shot that bounced off a support pillar four inches above his head. The other shooter fired at
me, and I rolled behind the desk.

  The other side door opened, and a large group of men poured inside. In the dim light, I lost count, but there were at least four. Maybe six. From the way they sprayed the room, it didn’t matter if we were friend or foe, they wanted everyone out of the picture. Mercer didn’t notice their entrance since he was focused solely on the hunt for Adalina.

  A shooter took aim, and without thinking, I vaulted over the desk and across the expanse, knocking Mercer to the ground and landing on top of him. Without missing a beat, he rolled us over and underneath a table as the gunfire left pockmarks on the floor beside us. I wasn’t sure I was breathing, afraid even the slightest sound would give away our position. He was above me, and as the gunshots hit into the top of the wood surface, threatening to splinter it at any moment, he acted as a shield from the incoming barrage.

  The gunfire shifted away from us and back toward the other two gunmen. “Looks like we’re even,” I exhaled as Mercer slid off of me and cast his glance around for a vantage point.

  “It won’t matter if we both end up dead. Dammit, where the bloody hell is our support team?”

  We didn’t have time to wait. Cowering would mean death in no uncertain terms. He turned his gun and fired at one of the men. I heard a cry of pain and hoped we had one less hostile to deal with. But now our position was compromised. Mercer was on the move, back toward the remaining three rooms, and I shoved the table onto its side and fired.

  Only when I pulled the trigger and heard the click did I duck completely below the table to reload. Mercer checked all three rooms and shook his head. Or at least I think he did. It was hard to tell in the dark. Another barrage hit the table, and the wood splintered, splitting the table into two separate, ineffectual pieces. Scurrying to the back corner of the room, there were two guys down. Another two still with guns. And no sign of Adalina.

  “Sorry for the delay,” Bastian’s voice sounded in my ear. It was about damn time. “There’s half a dozen unfriendlies out here. Hans and Donovan are working on the situation.”

  “Don’t let anyone leave,” Mercer growled. Did that mean alive or did that mean at all? Shots erupted from behind the parked plane, and my gut instincts took over.

  “Cover me,” I shouted, sprinting across the expanse. Of the two men that had taken cover behind the plane, only one of them was still breathing. He turned, aghast that I was running toward him and fired. Thankfully, he wasn’t adept at hitting a moving target, and I slid across the floor and straight into him. Wrestling for possession of his gun, random shots went off in all directions. The sound was deafening, and I focused on not letting the barrel of the gun point in my direction.

  More gunfire continued, but after being so close to the discharging pistol, it sounded muffled. Finally, the man dropped the gun. I kneed him in the groin, and he doubled-over. Following through with an uppercut, I knocked him back and out cold. God, my hand hurt. This would have been easier if I didn’t run out of bullets.

  Before I could even turn around, the barrel of a weapon pressed against the back of my skull. Shutting my eyes tightly, I didn’t want to see what was about to happen next. They say you never hear the bullet that kills you. I hoped I wouldn’t feel it either. Although, if you want to shoot someone, getting this close was asking to be taught a lesson.

  Knowing any sudden movement might cause the trigger to be pulled that much faster, I didn’t see any other choice but to spin. My forearm was up, and I knocked the unsuspecting weapon away. Hearing the impotent click signifying an empty magazine, the man holding it stared at me, stunned. Amateur, I thought, kicking him hard in the ribs. He made an oof sound and stepped back. Clearly, he was surprised to encounter a woman, and I used it to my advantage to grab his gun. I pulled the trigger and nothing happened, ensuring it was empty and didn’t just misfire.

  “You goddamn son-of-a-bitch,” I snarled, cold-cocking him across the face. The echo of a shot from a high-powered sniper rifled filled the hangar, and like clockwork, the remaining men were taken down. With the crack of the rifle, another man hit the ground. Mercer rushed toward me, and he landed an elbow on my attacker. The guy hit the ground. He wouldn’t be getting up for a while. “Bastard.” I kicked him for good measure.

  “Okay?” Mercer’s voice held just a slight hint of amusement.

  “Yep.” I heard the all clears via the radio, and at last, the threat was neutralized. “Adalina?” I called, knocking against the plane. “Sweetie, are you inside?” There was no answer, and I noticed a few holes where bullets pierced the exterior.

  Mercer managed to get the door open and went inside, coming out with a terrified child. She had a few nicks and cuts from the broken windows and metal frame, but after performing an assessment, she appeared healthy.

  “Package recovered,” Mercer said into his earpiece. “Bastian, remain here with Parker. Hans, Donovan, let’s go.” He glanced at me as he hefted her into his arms and whispered something to her in Spanish. “Thanks.”

  As soon as he made it to the door, I collapsed against the plane. My eyes never left the unconscious man, and I knew I needed to check the other downed men to see who might wake up and pose a threat. The aftershocks were just starting, and my hands trembled as I found my phone and called Thompson. I gave him the location to pick up Adam. Then I called 911 dispatch and reported the incident at the hangar.

  “Bloody hell,” Bastian exclaimed, shuffling through the broken glass and fragments as he stepped around the downed gunmen. He found a light switch against the wall and illuminated the place. “Why didn’t you turn the lights on?”

  On wobbly legs, I worked my way through the bodies. Three were dead. The other four may or may not be, depending on how long it took for the authorities to arrive. Bastian was armed with a loaded handgun, and I gave him strict instructions to shoot anything that moves. In the meantime, I tried my best not to touch anything. It would be hard enough explaining why I was in this hangar bay in the first place.

  “Just breathe, love,” Bastian encouraged as I took a seat on top of a bullet-riddled desk. “My god, if you get this worked up shooting people, I’d hate to see what you’re like post-orgasm.” It was a tossup between laughing and glaring, and I went with laughing.

  Forty

  It was a circus. Cops, FBI, and dozens of EMTs swarmed the hangar. All of the downed men were being bused away. We weren’t in the business of killing, so whoever could be saved would be. My empty gun was confiscated, but as of yet, the cuffs weren’t slapped on. Bastian was being questioned by Detective Jacobs and an FBI agent that I recognized but didn’t remember his name.

  “Ma’am, can you get off the desk?” a police officer asked. It had been twenty minutes since the shootout, but I was still shaking. Placing a foot on the ground, I stood, my knees knocking together uncertainly. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” The preliminary questions began immediately, and I answered. I was on autopilot. The officer watched me for a few moments before she stepped away to pass along some information over the radio.

  “Jesus, Parker,” Heathcliff exclaimed. He just arrived on scene and held me at arm’s length, examining my appearance. “Why didn’t you call?”

  “I did. Didn’t you notice everyone else hanging around, taking statements and collecting evidence? Sure, they’re cops, but they aren’t psychics.” My smartass remarks were back in full swing.

  “Did you get the girl?” he asked as his eyes focused on something.

  “Mercer’s taking her home.” Bastian caught my eye, and I realized he just said the same thing to the group interrogating him. “You can send some uniforms over there now. I’m under the assumption half the men involved in the shooting were hired to be Estes’ hit squad.” Heathcliff radioed in the information, but he didn’t let go of me.

  “Let’s get that vest off of you.”

  “Derek, I know we’re friends, but what the hell? I’m not in the mood to perform a striptease.”

  “Humor me
.” He peeled off my jacket and helped as I unhooked the Velcro straps. His hands ran along my sides. “Does anything hurt?”

  “No, but you might want to stop before I claim sexual harassment,” I teased. He held up my jacket, and I saw the hole ripped through the side. “Shit.” The room teetered. The adrenaline shock was enough. I didn’t need him to point out near misses at this particular moment.

  “Want to get checked out?”

  “No. But I wouldn’t mind sitting down.” He smirked and led me out of the hangar and to his cruiser. “Whenever you’re forced to arrest me, I won’t resist, so if you keep the cuffs off, I promise not to tell anyone.”

  “We’re not arresting you. Hell, I don’t think we’ll arrest the British chap either.” More officers pulled up, and a dozen government vehicles followed suit. It was a mess.

  By the time everything was sorted out, it was hours later. Thankfully, having friends with badges served a dual purpose. Not only were Bastian and I somehow managing to avoid being arrested, but we’d been brought coffees and sodas. After some conniving, an officer even went to pick up an extra large bag of potato chips for Bastian.

  “Are you ready to go to the station and start on all the paperwork?” Heathcliff asked as I sipped my third latte.

  The stress from the shootout finally faded, and the adrenaline left my system, only to be replaced with caffeine. At least that was one way to level out. I nodded. Bastian was taken in an hour before by an officer, and from the radio chatter, Mercer and the gang were being questioned in conjunction with the shooting and recovery.

  At the station, I gave my statement again before Moretti dragged me into his office. Everything that happened from our arrival at the bus depot to the shootout was divulged. He sent another team to scope out the other two locations we visited during our adventure. Mercer and his men were being interrogated as we spoke, and although I was curious to hear what they said or perhaps fabricated, the simple truth was Julian Mercer saved my life and I his. Moretti looked up when my story concluded. “You’re still rattled.”