The Last Protector(Clayton White #1)(69)

“We need to move, Pierre,” White said. “Come on, buddy. Get up.”

But Pierre refused to move. He didn’t even look at White.

White cursed. They had less than five minutes to get their asses to the helipad. They weren’t going to make it.





CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT


Kommetjie, South Africa

Oxley was startled by the two pistol shots, but by the time his man returned fire with three-round bursts, Oxley was already sprinting to the door at the opposite end of the tasting room. He stepped outside just in time to see the silhouette of a man jump over the stone wall. The moment the silhouette disappeared into the vines, two more shots were fired, followed by a third one a second later.

Oxley clenched his jaw and took cover behind a row of empty oak barrels. He signaled his two men to do the same. He resisted the urge to race after Pierre and White. He couldn’t afford to move too quickly now. If two of his men had fallen, that meant that White and the Frenchman were now armed with rifles. Oxley asked the man on his right to call back the shooter he had sent to cover the main exit. He needed more manpower.

“Who’s at the gate?” Oxley asked.

“It’s Ricardo, sir,” his man replied.

“Tell Ricardo to grab some NVGs from the armory,” Oxley said. “Tell him to hurry his ass up.”

Oxley realized how unprepared he’d been for this. He had let himself get soft and complacent. It had been way too long since he’d last gotten into a good fight. He had let Krantz run the day-to-day operations of Oxley International Security and had instead focused his time and energy on growing the shipping company and his social engagement initiatives. His sky-high heart rate confirmed the fact that for the last few years, he had spent way too much time in boardroom meetings and not enough at the firing range or at the gym.

In his mind’s eye, Oxley visualized the map of his winery. Were Pierre and White heading toward the ocean? Was there a boat waiting for them close by? That couldn’t be. Oxley had only learned from Krantz three or four hours ago that White was on his way to Cape Town. There was no way someone could have mounted a rescue operation so damn fast. Oxley knew from experience how treacherous the rocky shores at the edge of the vineyard were. Simply stated, maneuvering a boat close enough to shore—especially in the dark—to allow two men to board was risky business. And a deadly one if attempted by anyone not familiar with the waters around Kommetjie.

What else was there? What would he do if he was the one who needed to escape?

The helipad, Oxley thought. Were they going for his helicopter? The thought sent a cold spike of anxiety through him. No, it was impossible. His chopper was at the Port Elizabeth International Airport for regular scheduled maintenance, and he wouldn’t get it back to Kommetjie for another week or so. He was about to dismiss the idea completely when the man on his right caught his attention.

“Sir! Listen.”

Oxley strained his ears for the sound of anyone approaching. He stood still for several seconds. Then he heard it too. It wasn’t someone’s footsteps; it was the distinctive thump of spinning rotor blades clattering into the dark sky. It was coming from the ocean. Oxley scanned the horizon, searching for the chopper’s position lights, but he couldn’t spot them.

“Get on your ATVs and take position fifty meters on the north and west side of the helipad,” Oxley ordered the two men squatting next to him. “Questions?”

There were none. “Make sure you don’t turn on your lights,” he reminded his men. “You don’t want to lose your night vision.”

“Understood,” one man replied.

“I’ll wait for Ricardo and the NVGs right here,” Oxley said. “Then we’ll regroup around the helipad.”

Both men nodded. Oxley rested his M4 on top of an oak barrel and scanned for threats. “Go!” he ordered.

He heard his men’s boots pounding against the dirt path behind him as they raced toward the front of the building, where they had left their four-wheelers. Oxley once again cursed his lack of readiness. If he’d had a pair of NVGs with him, it would have given him the technical advantage he needed to swiftly end this little escapade. At least Adaliya and the kids were off the property. That had been a good call.

The helicopter was getting closer. Oxley had no difficulty hearing the whine of the chopper’s turbine engine. The fact that Oxley couldn’t see its navigation lights told him everything he needed to know. This was indeed a rescue operation. But for whom? Pierre or White?

The sound of the helicopter approaching was soon drowned out by revving engines of the two ATVs that sped past Oxley. Oxley watched as his men navigated the dirt path with one hand on the ATV handlebars and the other holding their rifles. The ATVs’ brake lights came on as his men slowed down to take a sharp bend in the path.

And that’s when Oxley saw the muzzle flashes followed by the silhouette of one of his men being thrown off his four-wheeler.





CHAPTER FORTY-NINE


Kommetjie, South Africa

White shook Pierre gently by the collar. “C’mon, snap out of it, Pierre. We need to move.”

Though he’d gotten most of his hearing back, White’s ears were still ringing, and he wasn’t sure how loud he was speaking.

Pierre didn’t respond. He was in a fetal position, rocking back and forth. It wasn’t a pretty sight. White slapped him across the face. Pierre looked at him, confused.