Hunt Them Down(57)

“Okay.”

Hunt took a moment to gather his thoughts and picture what was about to happen. They were as ready as they were going to be. Hunt had conducted raids similar to this one more times than he could count, and he usually had a pretty good idea of how things would go. Not this time. Having Leila in play changed things. There was no point denying it.

“Anna from Pierce, open the front gate.”

Three seconds later, Anna replied, “Front gate opening now.”

Hunt counted to ten and closed one of his eyes in anticipation of what was about to happen. There was a chance he’d need his night vision. He heard through the wall the ring and chimes of the front doorbell. When Hunt reached the count of sixty, he asked Anna to turn on the floodlight. A moment later, half the backyard was bathed in light as two powerful floodlights were turned on. Crouched in the shadows of the built-in kitchen, Hunt aimed his silenced Glock at the sliding door and waited.



“Stand by,” Emilio said, loud enough so the two shooters positioned at the back of the house heard him. “I’ll check who’s there.”

Emilio pulled out his phone and tapped on the application that allowed him to see who was at the door. It didn’t work.

Strange, but not unusual. The timing, though, couldn’t be worse. He carefully made his way to the office—which had a window with a direct view of the front of the house—and looked outside with his gun drawn and at his side. The front gate was open. Emilio relaxed. Hector had probably forgotten something and sent one of his men to retrieve it. That meant it was Hector’s man waiting for Emilio to open the door for him. He holstered his pistol and headed to the foyer. He was ten feet away from the door when one of his men shouted a warning.

“Two floodlights just switched on! North side of the lot!”

“Go check it out,” Emilio ordered. “It’s probably one of Hector’s men, so hold your fire.”

Probably one of Hector’s men. That wasn’t good enough. “Hey,” Emilio said to the other shooter, “cover him. Just in case.”

The humming sound of the keyless door-lock mechanism behind him grabbed his attention. Who had activated it? Only he and Hector had the eight-digit code to the keyless lock. If Hector was at the front door, he wouldn’t have bothered ringing the doorbell. He would have simply called in advance to warn them of his arrival and come in.

Joder! Emilio’s hand had just reached his holster when the front door burst open.



Hunt heard at least two different people yelling inside the house. If whoever was in charge was going to fall for it, they’d do it now. His pulse quickened.

C’mon, assholes. Come outside. Hunt welcomed the sound of the sliding door latch as if it were the Messiah’s second coming. Someone had unlocked it. A moment later, the door slid open.

“Anna from Pierce,” he said into the mic. “Hit the inside lights!”

Hunt held his breath and readjusted his pistol grip as a rifle barrel appeared in the gap between the doorframe and the sliding door. A tall man stepped out, and the ashen glow of the moonlight allowed Hunt to take a good look at him. He had wide shoulders and a big, beefy neck with arms to match. His hair was cropped short, and the man wore a two-day-old beard. The man squinted, trying to adjust his eyes and waiting for his night vision to return. Then the interior lights came on. Hunt had a clear shot but decided to wait an extra second to see if another man stepped out.

“I’m going in through the front door,” Hunt heard Tony say over the radio.

Before Hunt could reply, a shot rang out. Then another.

Tony!

The gunman spun around, bringing his weapon up.

Hunt broke cover and stood upright from behind the built-in kitchen with his pistol grasped in both hands and its muzzle pointed at the gunman’s head twenty feet away. The black suppressor of Hunt’s pistol coughed twice. The first round hit the man in the jaw, destroying the lower half of his face. The second round entered his neck below his right ear. By the time the gunman’s body collapsed on the terrace, Hunt was already halfway to the sliding door. He had no intention of spending any more time in the open than absolutely necessary. Being in the open had always given Hunt a sense of vulnerability. He squeezed into the opening and charged into the house, checking his right and then sweeping to his left. He saw another gunman running toward the front of the house. He had an MP5 in a sling around his neck and a pistol in his hand.

Hunt shot him in the back. The gunman, carried by his forward momentum, crashed headfirst into a wall. Hunt scanned for more threats. When his eyes returned to the gunman he had just shot, he was raising his pistol toward Hunt. Hunt rolled to his right as a bullet whizzed to his left. He reengaged the gunman with three quick rounds to the upper body. The man dropped his gun, and his body went limp. Hunt continued toward the front of the house.

More gunshots came from the foyer, and the sound of two men fighting forced Hunt to move faster.

Then he heard Tony scream in pain. The kind of guttural and uncontrollable scream that came from the depths of a man afraid to die.



The man came in so fast that Emilio’s first shot went wide. By the time he realigned his pistol, the man was almost on him. A muzzle flashed in front of him, and Emilio felt a bullet graze his cheek. Emilio fired again, and he heard the man grunt as the bullet ricocheted off his gun and nicked his hand before embedding itself in the drywall. The man yelled in pain but nevertheless managed to tackle Emilio just below the belt. Emilio’s pistol flew out of his hand, and both men crashed to the floor, locked in a deadly embrace. Emilio grabbed the man’s hair and pulled back to create some distance. The moment the man’s face was a few inches away from his, Emilio head butted him on the nose with a sickening crunch. The man cried out, blood gushing out of his nose and splashing across Emilio’s face. Emilio pushed the larger man off him and jumped to his feet.