No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(99)

Nung nodded and said, “We get past the creek, and we can see the house.”

She took a knee and brought out the monocle, surveying ahead. She said, “I see the road. The track that goes in. Fifty yards.”

She keyed her radio and said, “Pike, Pike, this is Koko. We’re at the entrance. Will call when set.”

She heard, “Roger. On the move.”

She tapped Nung on the thigh and they began stalking, moving slowly. They got to the road and crouched again. She raised the night optics and a man to her right rose out of the bushes, an assault rifle in his hands. He jabbed it forward like a sword and said, “Get the f*ck on the ground.”

Before the shock of his appearance had even registered in her brain, Nung whipped out like a snake, slapping the man in the face and trapping the weapon with his other hand.

He drove an elbow into the man’s throat, crushing it, then rotated around, circling the man’s waist with his legs and bringing him to the ground, ending up sitting behind him. Nung wrapped up his neck, placed a hand on his forehead, and harshly jerked to the rear, the pop loud enough to be heard thirty feet away. The weapon fell to the earth, useless.

Jesus.

Jennifer remained where she was. Nung slowly draped the body on the ground. He looked at her with a question. She said, “Sorry I ever doubted you.”

He smiled and tilted his head to the field across the brook.






70




We broke out of the bushes from the draw and held up, surveying the house. So far it looked like we were undetected, but that was pretty much what Knuckles had thought in Paris.

Brett brought out the thermals, and we saw no change. Two guys to the rear, and a host of bodies in the front, all milling about and blending into one another with their heat state. It was a seventy-meter stalk to the door. On open ground.

Retro said, “Now or never.”

“Wait until Koko’s set. I don’t want to push them out the back and lose them.”

I keyed the mic. “Koko, Koko, we’re in the last cover. About to assault. You got the back door?”

She came on. “Yeah. We’re set. Got clear fields of fire for everything out front. Pike, they’ve got men outside the house. We had to take one down a hundred meters away.”

Hearing the words on the radio, all three of us began scanning with our night vision. I knew we weren’t compromised, though, because of the racket Retro had made at the creek. If someone were out here, they’d have already been shooting. I glanced at Brett with an unspoken question.

How’d you miss him?

He shrugged, whispering, “Must have left while we were getting off the hill.”

Jennifer tried to sound calm, like a day at the beach, but there was something else in her voice. I said, “You good?”

“Yeah. I am now. Remind me to give Nung a bonus.”

I was reassured that she was still on her game and it wasn’t nerves. I said, “About to break cover. Get on the scope.”

She said, “Pike, they’re running outside. I see two guys carrying a body to a car.”

Body? Dead?

It didn’t matter. Slamming the place was all that remained.

In a clinical voice that belied my apprehension of what we’d find, I said, “Moving now.”

Knowing that Brett and Retro were on the radio, I didn’t give any further commands. We broke cover and sprinted to the back of the house, bashing through the bushes to the back door. I kept my muzzle on the doorknob, watching for any movement, while Brett slapped a charge straight down the middle with double-stick tape.

He primed it and rolled to the right. I went left, Retro right behind me, his hand on my shoulder telling me he was ready. Brett looked at me and I nodded.

He capped the charge and the door splintered inward in a violent explosion. I was already two steps toward it before it went off, catching some of the backblast. I entered, muzzle ready, and saw one man on the ground, a piece of wood sticking out of his jaw and an AK held slackly in his hands. I popped a double-tap and heard firing to my right.

Retro, taking care of the other heat source. We started flowing to the next room and Jennifer called, “Car moving. I say again, car moving.”

We hit the next door in a stack, and I said, “Stop it from leaving. Can’t talk.”

Retro flung it open, and I entered, number one man again. I saw a muzzle flash as soon as I cleared the breach, my mind cataloging the action in clinical detail, working in hyperdrive to distinguish friend from foe and assess my own physical state. NOT HIT. NOT HIT. FIRING FROM THE LEFT. AIM. SQUEEZE. TARGET DOWN. SWEEP. BODY = GUN = TARGET. SQUEEZE. TARGET DOWN.

The room was clear, and Brett was the first to the next door.


* * *

Jennifer saw the headlights flare and knew the car was coming. The lights from the vehicle behind it came on, compounding her problem. She cinched the weapon into her shoulder and welded her cheek to the stock, exhaling. She’d seen the men running back and forth, seen the body tossed in the back, then both vehicles began rolling her way. Without moving her head, she said, “Nung, there’s a friendly in the lead car. Do not shoot into the body. Take out the tires. All of them. First car only. The other wants to run, let it.”

He said, “Understood.”

A burst of gravel, and the two-car caravan began to rocket down the dirt track, bouncing on the uneven grade.