A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(102)
The men reached the back door and flattened themselves against the walls to either side. Abby took the left side, drawing her gun.
The man by the door turned the knob. “Locked,” he murmured. He motioned to the one behind him, raising his hand, counting down with his fingers.
Three . . . two . . . one . . .
He took a step back, and the guy behind took his place. Then he kicked the door, smashing it open, the loud sound making Abby flinch. The second guy moved inside swiftly, and the “clear” signal came a second later. The other two men moved in, and Abby and Wong followed in the rear, weapons raised, pointing in alternate directions.
“The stairs are through that door over there,” Wong said in a low voice. “There are two more doors to the left, the front door to the right.”
How did the detective manage to recall it so clearly? Even though she’d walked through these rooms with Wong, the house seemed completely different in the green dark, the lack of color disconcerting.
They moved from room to room, making sure each was clear before continuing to the next one. When they went up the stairs, Abby climbed second. The man in front of her stopped at the edge of the stairs and signaled for her to cover the left. She nodded, tensing. When he shifted forward, turning to the right, she followed, whirling left, gun aimed in front of her. The second floor was as empty as the first.
“Tillman’s office is that way.” She pointed. “The guns should be in the room over there.”
They split, Wong and one of the men to the office while Abby and the others went for the room with the guns. Leonor had warned them that occasionally Otis stationed a guard there. The man in the lead opened the door and cleared the room.
She followed him inside. It was a sort of storage room with boxes, mattresses, a spare bunk bed. Abby crossed the room to three mattresses that lay against the wall, and shifted them aside. Nothing. Had Otis moved the guns? For a second she was gripped by fear. What if the guns were in the dining hall? This could escalate into a horrific shoot-out with innocent children trapped in the line of fire.
A fractured memory materialized. An explosion, a searing pain on the back of her neck. Her fingers went to the decades-old burn scar.
What was that? A small latch almost perfectly hidden. She unbarred it and pulled. A part of the wooden wall shifted. Behind it, two ammunition boxes and a dozen assault rifles.
“This is team two; the guns are secured,” the man behind her said.
“Team two, copy, take positions by the dining hall. Stay out of sight,” Baker responded.
The men grabbed the boxes of ammunition and some of the rifles, leaving eight behind for Abby and Wong. Abby took four, slinging two over each shoulder. A mistake, the guns clattering against each other and against her legs, making each step a stumble. Wong toted all four on the same shoulder. They all went down the stairs slowly, vulnerable with their cumbersome cargo. The first team met them outside the door, and four of the men took the guns and ammunition to the front gate, where an ESU armored vehicle now waited. Abby beelined to a knoll nearby the dining hall and positioned herself behind it. Wong joined her a moment later.
“Now we wait,” Abby whispered. “It might be a while.”
“At least unlike the people in there, we don’t have to listen to Tillman’s ramblings,” Wong pointed out.
Abby turned off her night vision goggles and removed them, making sure to look down to avoid being blinded by the light from the dining hall windows. The world turned black, but it was a relief to take the damn things off. She flattened herself on the ground, leaning on her elbows, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. She lay there, shivering, deriving little comfort from Wong’s presence. Her entire body ached from the tension and effort of the past twenty minutes. She was thankful for the opportunity to lie still.
Minutes ticked by, the compound silent.
“There,” Wong hissed.
The dining hall door opened. People trickled outside in groups. They were talking; someone laughed. Two women came out, one holding a baby in her arms, the other walking a toddler hand in hand.
And then three men stepped out together.
“I have eyes on the target,” the lookout said in the earphone. “Two armed bodyguards. I can’t see if the target is armed.”
“Copy,” Baker said. “Okay, team three, go!”
Lights. Engines roaring. Three large armored vans drove through the open gates and circled the crowd, blocking the people in. Screams. The deafening sound of a chopper’s rotors as it lowered above the crowd, a sudden blinding spotlight hitting the ground. Men disembarked from the vehicles, rifles aimed forward.
Abby ran, leaping over the knoll, gun in hand, straight at Otis and his bodyguards.
“Don’t move!” she screamed, knowing no one could hear her over the chaos. “Put your hands up!”
Tillman seemed shocked as he looked around, squinting his eyes at the dozens of armed men surrounding him. Now, in the midst of the turmoil he had no control over, he was no longer imposing or confident. He looked like a trapped animal desperate for a way out.
One of his bodyguards, Abby now saw, was Karl Adkins. He took a step forward, protecting Otis with his body, still holding his rifle despite the warning shouts from the agents around him.
His eyes met Abby’s, and she saw a flash of anger burning in them.
He moved fast, the barrel of his rifle training on her. Her own gun was too low, aimed sideways. She raised it, but she was sluggish, her finger trembling on the Glock’s trigger.