by Matt Lincoln
“Just peachy,” he hissed as he pulled his shaking hand away from his arm to inspect the damage. He hadn’t moved more than a few scant centimeters before he clamped his hand back down over his injury with a pained groan. “I think the bullet’s still inside.”
“Dammit,” Jansen muttered as he clenched his fists in anger.
“Here,” I muttered tersely as I re-holstered my gun and pulled the first aid kit off my belt. I cracked it open and pulled out the small roll of gauze that was inside. I wasn’t glad at having to use it already, but I was glad that I’d thought to bring them.
“Thanks,” Linden spoke through gritted teeth as I hastily wrapped the gauze around his arm. It wasn’t the cleanest job, but we didn’t have any time to waste right now. I looked up and noticed that Linden’s eyes had gone wide as he looked out at the water. “Crap.”
I turned and realized what had him so concerned. The boat we’d seen earlier was coming in fast, almost skipping over the water as it approached us.
“We’re about to have company,” he warned as I finished wrapping up Linden’s arm.
“They’re coming in from this side too!” Sanchez yelled as he peered out from around the shipping container, just barely managing to pull himself back around in time to avoid being hit by a bullet.
I clenched my jaw in frustration. We were being descended upon from both sides. We were going to have to fight our way out of this, and if we didn’t move fast, they’d overwhelm us before we even had a chance to fight back.
“You two,” I ordered as I looked at Sanchez and Florence, “Go around the left side. Holm and I will take the right. Jansen, you and Linden cover the boat. We need to go, now!”
Everyone broke off to their respective tasks. I drew my gun again as Holm and I raced around the right side of the container. There was a man standing right there, and for a moment, he looked startled to suddenly see us come running at him. His finger twitched against the trigger, but before he could pull it, I knocked his hand away and shot him point-blank in the side. He howled with pain as he fell backward onto the ground. Holm and I moved in at once, shoving the man forcefully over so we could yank his hands behind his back.
Holm had just clicked one of his wrists into a set of handcuffs when I heard the sound of a gunshot behind me, followed by someone screaming. I turned around, horrified to find Sanchez on the ground. He had a bullet wound in his leg that was bleeding profusely. On the ground just a few feet away was Florence, valiantly attempting to wrestle a gun out of the suspect’s hand.
I jumped to my feet and raced toward the pair. As I ran, I heard the sound of more gunshots coming from the other side of the shipping container where I’d left Linden and Jansen. I swore internally. It felt as though everything was falling apart all at once.
I jammed my gun back into my holster before bodily tackling the suspect off of Florence, sending the both of us rolling off to the side. My elbow hit the hard ground of the dock with a painful crack, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
The suspect struggled against me, fighting to get free as I kept him pinned to the ground. I sat up and reared my arm back before punching him once, square in the nose, and then again in the jaw for good measure. The second blow was enough to knock him out, and his head lolled to the side as his body went limp.
I sucked in several haggard breaths as I stood back up to check on Florence. I spotted him a few feet away, kneeling over Sanchez and pressing his hands to the wound on his leg. Sanchez himself was unconscious. His face was pale, and the dark pool of blood on the surrounding ground grew steadily larger.
He was bleeding too much, and he needed medical attention ASAP. I kept that thought in mind as I turned to check on Holm, ready to call for backup until I saw my partner.
Somehow, in the few seconds that it had taken me to race twenty steps across the dock to assist Florence, the other suspect had managed to turn the tables on Holm. His one wrist was still cuffed, but he was standing up now, looming over Holm, now on the ground. Holm had a cut on his head that was rapidly spurting blood, covering half of his face with frightening red streaks.
The suspect was saying something, his mouth twisted into a sneer as he glared down hatefully at Holm, his gun pointed right at Holm, about to fire.
In an instant, my gun was in my hand. Before I’d even made a conscious decision to do so, I fired three times toward the man. All three shots hit, one of them cutting directly through the suspect’s neck.
He dropped the gun as he crumpled down, dead before he’d even hit the ground. My hand shook with adrenaline as blood rushed through my ears. Holm turned to look at me, relief washing over his features. It was short-lived, however, as just a split second later, the sheer horror replaced the relief on his face.
“Ethan!” Holm screamed as he pointed to something behind me. That was the last thing I saw before something struck me over the back of the head, hard enough that my vision went blurry, and I felt a strong wave of nausea rush over me. A moment later, I felt a sharp pain in my knees, and it took me a moment to realize that I’d just fallen down. I continued to fall, my reactions too dulled to even catch myself.
The last thing I remembered, as my vision went black, was the sound of someone yelling.
24
Holm
A cold chill gripped Holm as he watched his partner collapse onto the ground of the dock like a ragdoll. A new suspect had suddenly approached him from behind while he was preoccupied saving Holm and pistol-whipped Marston so hard that he immediately fainted. Where the hell had this guy even come from?
Holm scrambled back onto his feet, messily wiping away the stream of blood that was pouring down over his right eye and obscuring his vision. The man that he and Marston had apprehended had jumped up the moment that Marston ran off to help Florence, and the thug’s brute strength had shocked him. Despite the fact that Holm had been on top of him and already had one of his hands cuffed, the suspect had thrown him off easily before hitting Holm across the face. At first, Holm thought that the man had merely punched him until the pain in his head turned acute, and he realized that he was gushing blood. The man just have been holding a rock or something because whatever he had hit Holm with had cut his skin wide open.
Wiping away the blood didn’t do much good as the wound continued to bleed.
Screw it, Holm thought as he decided to ignore the blood for now and just focus on getting to Marston. As he ran toward his partner, he realized where this new attacker had come from. The boat had finally docked, and several new suspects had come streaming out to join the fray.
The man standing above Marston lifted his gun and pointed it down at the fallen agent.
“Stop!” Holm yelled as he raised his own gun and fired toward the man. The man yelled as the bullet just grazed his shoulder. Holm adjusted his aim to fire again, certain he wouldn’t miss this time, but before he could pull the trigger, a voice called out over the commotion.
“Stop right there!” one of the newly arrived suspects yelled. “Or I’ll kill him!”
Holm stopped dead and snapped his head around toward the voice. His stomach dropped when he realized that the man had one arm locked in a chokehold around Officer Linden’s neck. The other held a gun straight at their liaison’s head.
Holm gritted his teeth as he glared back at the man, unsure what to do.
“That’s right.” The man who had spoken smirked at Holm. He had darkly tanned skin and long, greasy hair that he had pulled back into a messy ponytail. He was skinny, and the red shirt he was wearing hung off of him like a sack. “Everyone just calm down, and no one has to get hurt.”
Holm quickly looked around to take stock of the situation. Linden was being held hostage. His partner, Jansen, was out cold a few steps behind the greasy-haired man, being watched by one of the other suspects. Several feet away, Sanchez was also unconscious on the ground, though he looked to be in much worse condition than Jansen. Sanchez was bleeding heavily and looked pale as a ghost.
Standing above him was his partner, Florence, who had his gun out and pointed at the greasy-haired man.
All in all, it was a terrible situation. Only Florence and Holm were both armed and alert. With three men down and one captive, it was only the two of them versus the three remaining suspects.
“Esteban!” Greasy Hair called out to the man that was looming over Marston. Holm snapped back around to watch him, anxious with every move he took. “Bring that one to the boat!”
“Hell no!” Holm roared as the man leaned down to grab his partner. He wasn’t about to let them take Marston hostage.
The man just sneered contemptuously at Holm and yanked Marston up off the ground, holding the unconscious agent out in front of him like a human shield.
Holm screamed internally. The bastard was intentionally making it so that he had no way of shooting. It just wasn’t safe when there was a chance that he might accidentally hit his partner. Holm glared at the suspect with all the viciousness he could muster as the man dragged Marston back toward the boat.
“We’re going to do this like rational, civilized people,” Greasy Hair declared. “We’re going to take your friends until we can all come to an agreement.”
“What are you talking about?” Florence roared as he turned his pistol toward the men. Holm flinched, worried that he might suddenly start shooting. There was no doubt in his mind that the suspects would use Marston and Linden as literal human shields the moment bullets began to fly.
“You want your buddies back,” Greasy Hair explained as he slowly backed onto the boat. “And we want to walk away from here. Not that bad of an agreement, right?”
“You’re not walking away from this,” Holm bit back angrily, all the while searching for an opening to fire. It was impossible, though. As good a shot as he was, Holm just couldn’t take the risk. Just a few millimeters in the wrong direction, and he could very well be the one to end his partner’s life inadvertenly.
“Oh, I think we will,” Greasy Hair sneered as the other goon climbed onto the boat, dragging Marston along with him. “Because if we go down,” he pressed the barrel of the gun forcefully against Linden’s head, “I’m going to make sure my face is the last thing these pigs ever see!”
He nodded to the third suspect, who grabbed Jansen by the collar and hauled him back into the boat as well. Greasy Hair was the last to retreat, pulling Liden along with him as he slowly disappeared into the boat.
Holm’s shoulders sagged once they were out of sight. His brain had gone blank, and he felt as though all of his energy had drained out of him at once. Off to the side, he could vaguely hear the sound of Florence on the phone as he called for an ambulance.
What had just happened? How had everything completely fallen to pieces so quickly? Sanchez was bleeding to death on the ground, and the suspects had managed to take not only one but three of their men hostage, and Holm couldn’t even do anything but watch.
The more he thought about it, the more furious he became.
Get it together, he growled to himself. Marston was in there right now, and Holm needed to get him out.
Holm rushed over to Florence, who was kneeling on the ground next to Sanchez again. Holm was relieved to find that Sanchez was awake and seemed alert, though he was trembling and there was a thin sheen of sweat on his face.
“Dammit,” Sanchez coughed as he looked up at Holm. “Things really went south, didn’t they?” He smiled weakly as though trying to make light of the situation. His teeth were chattering despite the hot weather, and Holm genuinely worried that help might not get here in time.
“Just hang in there,” Florence urged him as his eyes flitted back and forth between his partner and the boat that the suspects had retreated into. “I’ve already called for backup. Just hold on.”
Scarcely a few seconds had passed before the sound of sirens filled Holm’s ears. A line of police cars came screeching into the docks, accompanied by three ambulances as well. They formed a semicircle around the area, effectively blocking the suspects’ exit. One of the ambulances drove straight up to where the three of them were waiting before coming to a sharp halt. Two paramedics hopped out of the back at once, rushing to tend to Sanchez.
“Any other injuries?” one of the men asked Holm as he and his partner set the stretcher they were carrying on the ground next to Sanchez.
“Yeah,” Holm replied as he turned to look warily toward the boat. “The perps took them hostage and dragged them in there. Two head injuries, one blunt force and one trauma. I’m not sure about the third, I didn’t see how he was injured.”
“You need to get patched up too,” the paramedic replied as he examined the wound on Holm’s head. It wasn’t bleeding as much anymore, but the blood that had already covered his face had dried and crusted over his eye, making it difficult to see. “You should go to the hospital.”
“I’m fine,” Holm insisted. There was no way that he was about to leave when Marston was still in danger. “I’m not going anywhere until we get the rest of our men off that boat.”
“They’re in there?” a new voice suddenly interrupted their conversation. Holm looked up and found a tall, imposing man standing behind him.
“Yeah,” Holm replied tersely as he stood up to face the man. This new guy wore a different uniform from the ones Holm had seen the other officers wearing so far. In fact, as he looked around, he noticed that several of the officers were wearing different uniforms than the ones that Linden and the other officers wore.
“You’re not with the Oranjestad Police,” Holm noted.
“You’re right,” the man replied as he thrust his hand toward Holm. “I’m Sergeant Hanks with the Eagle Beach Police. We’re about the same distance from here as the Oranjestad station is, which is probably why we were called.”
“Agent Holm, MBLIS,” Holm introduced himself as he shook the sergeant’s hand. “We’re here on an international case. We got a tip that some suspects would be arriving here today, and it looked like they got the drop on us. We’ve got two local officers and a US federal agent in there right now.”
“How many suspects are we dealing with?” Hanks asked as he turned to watch the boat.
“Three,” Holm replied. “At least that’s all that I saw go inside. I can’t be certain that no one else was already in there, but I don’t think so.”
“At least three hostiles, then?” Hanks reiterated before turning to look at his officers. “Alright, we’re moving in!”
“Wait!” Holm exclaimed as several of the officers drew their weapons and prepared to rush toward the boat. He turned to look at Hanks incredulously. “You can’t just storm in there! Didn’t you hear what I said? They have three hostages.”
“You expect me to just sit around and wait for their demands?” Hanks scoffed. “That’s not about to happen. They could flee on that boat at any moment!”
Holm glared at him. He had considered that possibility, but that still didn’t justify putting Marston and the two officers in danger. Right now, they needed to prioritize keeping everyone alive over making sure the suspects didn’t escape.
“You’re going to get them killed,” Holm insisted. “We need to approach this with caution.”
“I’m not going to just stand back and--”
“What’s going on?” a different, familiar voice cut Hanks off mid-sentence. Holm looked over to the newcomer and was relieved to see Captain Lopez. Surely he would be more level-headed than Hanks. After all, Linden and Jansen were his officers, and Lopez had been shown on multiple occasions that he took the safety of his men seriously.
“Lopez,” Hanks greeted the other man stiffly. “I was just letting the agent know that we need to move in now before the perps have a chance to do any more damage.”
“Move in?” Lopez repeated in confusion. “Just what’s going on here? We got the call for backup, but no one’s given me any information about what’s going on.” He turned to look at Holm. “Where’s your partner? Where are Linden and J
ansen?”
“In there,” Holm replied gravely as he jerked his thumb toward the boat.
“What?!” Lopez exclaimed as he looked back and forth between Holm and the boat, his eyes wide with shock and concern.
“We were ambushed,” Holm exclaimed as he dragged a hand over his face. “I don’t know how, but somehow, the locals realized we were waiting for them. They jumped us from behind, and everything went downhill from there. They managed to capture Linden, Jansen, and Marston, and they dragged them back into the boat with them.”
Lopez was struck silent for a moment, his face twisted into an expression of disbelieving horror.
“We have to get them out of there!” he declared with finality.
“Exactly what I’ve been trying to say,” Hanks scoffed. “We’re wasting time just standing around. We need to get in there now, and--”
“Are you insane?” Lopez cut him off. “If we do that, they’ll just shoot them all dead!”
“Do you have a better plan?” Hanks bit back.
Holm wanted to scream as he watched the two men bicker about how they should proceed. It was obvious that neither had any kind of hostage negotiation training. It wasn’t that surprising, considering they were on a tiny, peaceful island with an insanely low crime rate. Hostage situations just weren’t a thing that ever happened here.
Of course, Holm had some degree of hostage training. He’d been in the military, and he’d been working as a federal agent for years now. In all that time, he’d been in multiple situations where he had to talk someone down from making a terrible decision. Under different circumstances, he would have been able to handle this.
But now? It was Marston’s life on the line. Everything was different when it was someone you actually knew and cared about that was in harm’s way. The thought that he might accidentally sentence Ethan to death with a single wrong move or word made Holm feel sick.
Nevertheless, he needed to do something. He was the only one with the experience, and the two cops behind him clearly weren’t about to get anywhere.